Jamie wouldn't describe himself as broken. No, not ever, not even if you held facts and evidence up and shook them in his face. He knew who he was, and what he was, and it had nothing to do with him that the rest of the universe seemed to sing a different tune.

Had the thought ever strayed across his mind? Unasked for? Oh, aye, yeah.

Had he taken to the habit, lately, of stretching out in his room on the TARDIS and thinking about what was off kilter about him? Well, he'd never admit to it - if Zoe, or heaven forbid the Doctor, asked him about what he'd been up to on one of those ponderous afternoons aboard the TARDIS while the others were occupied with all their big smart activities, well, he'd tell them he had a nap. Or brush off the question altogether, turn it around on him. Or her rather. Zoe was likely to ask him questions about anything and everything, the nosey wee lass. The Doctor... well, Jamie never could predict what the Doctor might think or say or notice. Sometimes he asked Jamie an endless array of questions he didn't half understand. Other times they would navigate days and adventures out of the TARDIS with barely a word between them, but being able to read exactly what was going on in each other's eyes.

What him and the Doctor had going on was weird, right? Jamie didn't know. A part of him didn't want to know. He almost felt like if he ever spoke to the Doctor about it, if he put words to the things they were, that it would all become too much to bear. It was better to play on the edges of things, and just be the Doctor and Jamie.

It was more than that though; if he was forced to hold it up to the light, and properly look all over his own fear, it was that he didn't know that he could commit to anything, whatever the Doctor might be considering as the answer to what they were to each other. It's not that he wasn't capable of loyalty or kinship, no! He was more than proud to say he had both of those in spades. But it was a more fundamental brokenness - he couldnt count on himself to feel the right things, to want the right things.

Some days Jamie wanted it all. Passion and touch. A whirlwind romance. But most days he was content, more than content, to just be him and the Doctor. He wouldn't measure up, in any case, as a lover to whatever the Doctor was. But the Doctor was like him, wasn't he?

Usually, Jamie knew how to play the game. He'd had his share of experiences, kissing and the sort. He knew what people liked, he mostly knew what he liked. He knew when to apply a soft touch, be the right amount of charming and flirtatious. He'd had good luck with girls in the past.

But things were different with the Doctor. For one thing, when he held onto the Doctor, or his hand happened to brush against him, Jamie somehow felt like he was. Hmm. Connecting with the Doctor in some strange way. He knew it was a bit of a daft idea but he felt like it had to be true. He'd first noticed it early on, when he'd put an arm around the Doctor as he asked a question, and as the Doctor answered he realised that something, somehow, was clearer than it otherwise would be. Not that he could suddenly make head or tail of whatever it is the Doctor was saying, it wasn't like that. But it was like he could understand him better somehow, like he was getting something of the way the Doctor saw things beamed into his mind. He'd tried to ask Ben and Polly once, if they'd noticed it, but he hadn't figured out a way to word it that didn't make him feel like a loon. But he knew he wasn't imagining it; sometimes it was even queerer than that. Nebulous, even, as the Doctor might say (and then have to explain what he meant by that, when it became clear Jamie had no clue what he was on about, and even then, Jamie would only sort of get it). Once they'd been at some archaeological dig, a ruin of some sort, and the Doctor had convinced the team there to let them do some of the work, and he held a piece of pottery in his hand while Jamie crouched beside him with a hand on his shoulder and as he explained something about it Jamie's fingers brushed against the Doctor's neck and suddenly it was as if Jamie could feel the history radiating off of that small object, weaving round them, infusing him with a sense of every other hand that had touched it, though he couldn't make sense of anything concrete. Was this how the Doctor always saw the world, the universe? Even if it wasn't, Jamie wanted desperately to see things through the Doctor's eyes, to understand him. So he'd taken to the habit of touching the Doctor whenever he asked him a question, and feeling that strange comfort as the usual confusion in his mind eased a little. He liked it, and he was glad the Doctor hadn't commented on it. Surely he'd noticed, yet he still allowed Jamie to touch him.

Well, there had been that one time. The two of them had sat down, exhausted after a long day trekking across an alien world, and still with a few things to take care of but they were taking a break, having made sure Victoria had gone happily to bed. Jamie had meant to only rest a few moments but instead he'd fallen asleep, and waking up bleary eyed not long after he found himself curled into the Doctor's shoulder, arms draped across him. He barely had the chance to feel embarrassed before he noticed the look on the Doctor's face, and realised what had woken him was the Doctor trying to push Jamie's arm away from him. Jamie had just looked at him for a minute, the skin of his hand still touching that of the Doctor's, and he'd realised that blooming fresh in his mind was an intimacy with the man, thought and feeling unfurling from the prolonged touch between them, blissful in a way that the brief grabs and touches hadn't been able to betray.

The Doctor had looked at him warily, and Jamie had withdrawn his hand, but then, curious, of course, and trusting the Doctor with everything he was, reached up and touched the Doctor's face, wondering how it would feel, how his mind would feel against his palm.

There was a second, the merest second, of softness and song passing between them, and Jamie parted his lips, desperate to say something, anything, but then the Doctor removed Jamie's hand from his face, and stood up and away from him. Jamie had been crestfallen, watching the Doctor babble about the work they still had to do, blustering on as if nothing had happened. He'd picked himself up though, and folllowed the Doctor, of course he did. And he'd decided to follow his cue and not say a thing. But he wouldn't forget how it had felt.

One of the earliest things Jamie could remember from his tiny life was sitting on a hill watching the sun rise slowly through the trees, light branching out and filling the sky with a comforting brightness, and singing his wee heart out at the sight of it. Sometimes the memory played in his mind when the TARDIS took them somewhere extraordinary, like he was still that little boy entranced by something simple and wonderful. Sometimes being with the Doctor felt like that, like the world was magical and endless and soft and safe. Just like it had in that moment between them.

And sometimes it was adrenaline and heat and barely stopping to catch his breath. Sometimes it was being trapped on a satellite away from the TARDIS and losing oxygen fast, with even the Doctor succumbing to fatigue. Sometimes it tested him to his limits, broke and battered him until he scarcely recognised his own life. Looking at the Doctor and thinking I'm not meant to be like this you have made me something unlike myself. But then it's not as if he could've told you who he was before the Doctor. He'd always been on the outside looking in.

Sometimes he liked the mindlessness of it. When he didn't have to think. When things were easy. Like when the TARDIS had ended up in some city in the Americas and there had been a party and music and Victoria had begged the Doctor to take them dancing. He'd enthusiastically agreed but then realised that neither Jamie or Victoria were from anywhere near this time period and didn't know any of the styles of dancing that were popular where they were. So he'd taught them so they could dance as partners, being the man so Victoria could learn the woman's parts, and the woman for Jamie so he could learn the mans. It had been sweet watching Victoria wobble as she spun out from the Doctor's outstretched arm, and frantically try to keep pace with the song as they crossed arms past each other. Jamie had stood with his arms crossed, laughing and just enjoying it; even if they never went to any of the parties and dancing like Victoria wanted, just this had been a novelty to him. And then the Doctor had laid down Victoria's hand and reached out for Jamie, and he'd let himself be drawn in. And then the Doctor had explained that since Jamie was the leader that meant he had to actually do some leading and pay attention and Jamie had grumbled but he'd listened to the Doctor and placed his hands instead of expecting them to be guided, and it was a little awkward cupping the Doctor's back with his hand, and gripping the other with his own (but not too tight, a loose grip as the Doctor instructed). But then once their hands were entwined it made it all easier of course, because as the Doctor put his hand on Jamie's shoulder (which he didn't think too hard about, that soft pressure pushing down on him and completing the connection between all their limbs, turning them into some sort of continuous creature that was now supposed to move in sync) he had that extra little push from the Doctor's mind as he went over the steps again, hooking his foot one way as the Doctor mirrored him (not him mirroring the Doctor, Jamie was the one leading after all), then shuffling over to the left, then extending the arm, letting the Doctor twirl out from him, big frock coat flaring out as Jamie trusted the momentum to carry him to that satisfying pop, just straining on his elbow before the Doctor spun right back into his arms and they continued the dance, step after step. Victoria was clapping and laughing joyously at them and saying how silly they looked and Jamie was grinning and the Doctor was almost bouncing on his heels as they moved round each other, feeling that lock as their arms extended again and then their fingers brushed past each other yielding only to open air. That one moment of lost contact almost disoriented him completely - feeling suddenly like he had lost the Doctor, lost everything, lost himself, and the whole universe was shut off from him in an instant - and then the Doctor grabbed his hand back and the world righted itself. He groaned as the Doctor scolded him, the leader was the one supposed to rejoin their hands, not the follower, and he shoved down the enormity of his fear and desire as quickly as it had reared its head. But that was a simple task when things were so easy and he was so happy. The Doctor decided he was convinced that Jamie could handle the basics in spite of his less than impressive leading and he handed him over to Victoria. This time Jamie handled the loss of the spark of the Doctor's mind with grace, and he stumbled through his steps as Victoria solemnly practiced her own, almost in sync but not quite. It was wonderful to watch her twirl, so elegant already after her clumsiness before, she'd learnt far faster than he had. Once they had a handle on things she giggled and said she wanted to see Jamie try the spin and so this time the Doctor led him and he looked into the Doctors eyes with his hand resting on the back of his ribs and they were back to that thoughtless easy world again and his foot hooked itself back in one smooth movement and then he spun with his kilt fluttering around him and Victoria was cheering and the Doctor was smiling and Jamie was tripping over his own feet. It was messy and it was perfect and they were shining, in the TARDIS with music emanating from the console, ensnaring them, and even when they ventured out into the future and tried the steps out in public and he and the Doctor took turns dancing with Victoria (but not with each other, not in this time and place, as the Doctor had explained softly) they were still shining. It became a great memory, and Jamie felt light through most of the next day until he inevitably stretched out in the TARDIS when things were quiet and the joy of it all wore off and now he had to contend with all the other, more difficult, feelings.

Ach, it was all too hard.

That night with the Doctor and Victoria was a distant memory now, and still he had made no progress with how he felt about the Doctor. What he wanted. What the Doctor wanted, what he should do about any of it.

He was sick of this. He was so sick of going over the same thoughts day in and day out, wondering whether he should be ashamed with himself, or whether he should find a way to be more bold. What difference would it make? Would it change anything, anything at all, if he tried to talk to the Doctor about this, if there was some big revelation between them? The problem was only in Jamie's mind, and that didn't matter, did it? He'd told himself he wouldn't bother with words... He tensed without thinking, and then let himself think, let all his memories of the Doctor, that silly old man, rotate in his mind. He realised he felt so simply, deliriously happy, and he wanted to keep feeling that way.

And just like that Jamie had resolved it. He wanted to be with the Doctor, and it didn't matter what that looked like at the end of the day.

Well, that was that then. He might not know what he wanted, it might shift like sand around him at all hours of the day, but right now what he wanted was to be with the Doctor, and so he picked himself up and strode out of the room to go find him.

***

In the depths of the TARDIS, the Doctor was hard at work, attempting some maintenance. He passed much of his time like this, mostly during what his companions on the TARDIS took as the equivalent of nighttime. It wasn't that time right now, but nonetheless his companions were otherwise engaged in their rooms; he knew Zoe had found an ancient-to-her-personal-time encyclopedia in the library and had become quite engrossed in it, and Jamie was likely napping. That boy sure spent a lot of time sleeping. The Doctor found it to be quite a charming trait, really, but given that he himself didn't need anywhere near as much sleep it meant that even with his little family on the TARDIS he often just ended up desperately lonely, isolated, tinkering in the TARDIS to feel some sort of connection.

He built it up, one thing then another; it all came cascading. He knew he could never afford a normal life, not in any manner of the concept. He was a renegade from his own people and unlike them (he was proud to say) but he could not have a human life either. He modelled some level of domesticity on the TARDIS and found comfort in it. But ultimately it was all playacting, it wasn't real.

He had to admit he'd been lucky, so very lucky, especially recently, to have found people who he could share his life with, insofar as he was able. He'd struggled at first, sharing his ship with humans, felt smugly superior to them for a good while, and then distant from them still even after he had come to respect them, astounded by their vulnerability, their fragility. He had begun to see himself as a protector of humanity. Then ever since his renewal, which had done him so much good, he had been able to shed those last vestiges of ego and learnt to fully indulge in the simple pleasures that made life so wonderful. He still had his responsibilities, still fought evil wherever he saw it, but he was also able to relax, to play, marvel at the sunrise, enjoy life to its fullest. On his best days he could forget it was a facade entirely. He was lucky, ever so lucky, to have his human companions with him, to equalise himself with them as best he could, and nullify the distance between them for a moment at a time.

For so long now, he had had Jamie alongside him (oh, Jamie, he felt himself trilling with delight just at the thought of his companion, so dear to him) and they had achieved a coterminance between them, though (by all rights and rules of the universe that he had been raised on, had instilled in him) there should be no room for overlap. But Jamie continued to astound him, and there was a magnetism between the two of them, something unfathomable, nebulous even.

Now, there were a lot of things that confused him about Jamie. There was of course the matter, early on, of that business with the Chameleons. He'd been separated from Jamie, and Ben and Polly of course, but Jamie had had, hmm, what was the right word... A romance, perhaps, with that girl Sam. The Doctor didn't have a problem with that of course, and had only glimpsed the edges of it anyway. He'd simply wondered why, in the aftermath, with Ben and Polly deciding to return to their own time, and Jamie so attached to them both, and having made that very human connection with Sam, he hadn't chosen to stay behind on Earth himself. It wasn't Jamie's proper time or place of course, but it wasn't as if Jamie would have fit in if they ever managed to return to the Highlands. Even back then, Jamie had been changed beyond recognition from the boy Polly had brought onto the TARDIS. Though really that was nothing but the Doctor's fault. On the more difficult days the Doctor felt immense guilt for the way he had warped Jamie - none more so than right after Ben and Polly had left, and they'd chased after the TARDIS and gotten embroiled in a sadistic Dalek plot. He kept casting his mind back to the start of that whole affair, of him and Jamie waiting in that quaint diner. He'd been struck, then, of how, though Jamie wasn't from this time, how well he should fit in here, among people his age, who dressed like him, who he could come to understand, yet instead Jamie sat with the Doctor, commiserated with him, threw his lot in entirely with him. Oh it was certainly comforting, the Doctor couldn't deny that. But the memory still felt melancholic, to him, and even more so given what had followed. He and Jamie had never truly talked about it, of the Daleks forcing the Doctor to experiment on Jamie for their own ends, of his helplessness, his callousness, of the fight they'd had when Jamie thought he understood what was going on. Jamie's words still rang in his mind, after that long long night; You and me, we're finished. What had he meant, really, by that? They'd never talked about it, didn't have the chance, at the time, as they were corralled to Skaro and fought for their very lives, losing so many in the process and then charged with the care of Victoria afterwards. Oh, Victoria. The Doctor paused, briefly, in his tinkering and thinking, and simply closed his eyes, holding her there for as long as he could.

He missed her dearly, whenever she wandered back into his vision, and her leaving, his failing of her, of keeping her safe and happy, never failed to weigh him down. He and Jamie had fought then too, and Jamie had barely spoken to him for days in the aftermath. He hadn't understood how he could've let her go, saw that as the greater failing than the fact that she'd felt she had to leave them. But that was the heart of the problem, wasn't it? They always left, they could never stay, and them staying was almost the greater tragedy. Those who stayed only became more like him. He should've been concerned that Jamie had stayed as long as he had, stayed longer than anyone for a long time in fact. He should have been concerned, to all rights, but he was so selfish. He wanted companionship. He wanted to be known, to be understood.

Susan had known, well, perhaps not everything; but she had known what they two had left behind and what was at stake if they were discovered. And that had only put her at odds with him, in his insistence on protecting her, until he finally realised he had to let her forge her on path on the Earth. It had been far better with Vicki, who’d known nothing and treated him as family anyway. But even she had left, before too long.

He couldn't dwell too much on it. Life in the TARDIS had always been a stopover for his companions on the way to something better, a return to normality. And some people - his throat felt dry, raw, suddenly - there had been no choice in leaving. The hiss of an airlock door. The onslaught of time rushing forward without mercy.

He screwed his eyes shut now. He tried not to think of the precious cargo he had aboard the TARDIS right at this moment; couldn't allow himself to consider what could happen to Jamie, to Zoe, if he wasn't vigilant, if he failed them like so many before. He was keeping horrible secrets from them, about his people, about the very reason he lived the life in the TARDIS that he did. He doted on Zoe, and he hadn't been able to stop himself getting close to Jamie, but he'd hesitated to divulge anything too incriminating. Simple things, simple displays of trust here and there, as they deserved for being so dear to him; his age, bits and pieces about the TARDIS (like where the Doctor went to perform this sort of tedious maintenance), reciprocating the physical touch that came so naturally to Jamie. Intimate in his own way, but he knew it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

But like he'd said, he was selfish, hideously so, and he would do anything to keep them both around for as long as he could keep them. Especially Jamie, who he'd spent most of this life with and didn't know who he would be without.

He would have to keep revelling in the miracle of the time they were getting to spend together, and put in a box any trepidations he had about the Time Lords catching up to him. There was no use dwelling on the fear, since there was no more he could do to prepare himself for that day; he knew in his hearts that the moment they got even a whiff of him it would be over and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He would simply have to keep living in hope, grasping onto the time he had with these two that he loved, who were choosing to stay with him, who had both told him they would never leave him. Zoe, of course, would eventually move onto bigger and better things, her unique skills making her a remarkable asset to any world she might end up in; and he'd played this game before, he knew that she would grow up and leave him someday, no matter how sincere her affection for him. There was always the problem of Jamie then, Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. The Doctor was endlessly fond of him, and he and Jamie had something... unquantifiable between them. For better or for worse, the Doctor had the comforting certainty of Jamie in the TARDIS, in his life, more often than not right beside him, holding him steady.

He really ought to make sure Jamie knew how he felt about him, how important and vital he was within the Doctor's uncertain maze of an existence. In spite of every reason he had to keep Jamie, to keep everyone, at arms length, in the dark, a part of him wanted to share everything he was with him. That being impossible, he settled for as much as he could manage, sharing with him the wonders of the universe, the small joys to be found wherever they landed, his very being - and he hoped Jamie didn't feel rejected by his shortcomings, by his hesitations. He hoped, desperately, that there were enough sentimental memories between them to balance out the more strained moments, where their relationship was pulled taut, dragged into the light for inspection. Where Jamie pushed him, challenged him, expected better of him; yet even those moments only strengthened the bond between them, twining them round each other. The Doctor and Jamie, as things should be.

He hesitated for a moment, pausing in his pondering and pottering in the depths of the TARDIS, indefinitely.

For suddenly the sound of footsteps reached his ears, a soft, steady rhythm but approaching swiftly. It would seem the Doctor's isolation was at its end. But why did he feel so changed? What could be filling him now with a low thrill, an anticipation brimming on the edge of his senses? Jamie, always Jamie, he thought to himself with considerable simplicity.

For there he was.

***

Jamie reached the Doctor, and all the guilt and confusion between them evaporated without any trace. The two exchanged pleasantries, and on the surface there was no marvel at work, beyond the obvious one of the way time and space had been reached into and these two brought together in the first place.

It was not a dramatic reunion, but rather mundane, all things considered, in spite of the fervent nature of their reflections; but an understanding passed between them, as it often did, without even the need for that strange touch telepathy. Then of course, Jamie did reach out for the Doctor, and found his affections met with that same reliable pressure. There was still so much the two could not, would not, say to each other, but what they could say was enough. They were the Doctor and Jamie, and would continue to be so.

Presently they left that room behind, maintenance forgotten, and made for the console room, thoughts of their next adventure humming in the air. Zoe appeared before too long, her reading having become tedious compared to the anticipation of some new wonder beyond the TARDIS doors. She had rustled up a new ensemble from the TARDIS wardrobes, a trench coat over buttoned shirt, trousers and a scarf, quite a practical outfit. She joined the Doctor and Jamie with a radiant grin and a brimming energy that she found matched in her two friends. They were the Doctor, Jamie, and Zoe, and poised to explore and learn and grow ever more closer together. The Doctor set the TARDIS in flight, and he and his companions chattered about his repairs, and the reliability of the ship, mostly in jest, as Jamie and Zoe - in spite of (and because of) everything they had experienced together - could no longer imagine anything but the continued solidity of their travels in this ship that was also their home.

While the ship was in flight, Zoe, Jamie and the Doctor shared one last meal in preparation for whatever lay ahead, still lighthearted. They had been through so much together, been to the furthest, murkiest reaches of the universe, and overcome whatever they had encountered. They all had complete faith in the others abilities, and in themselves to do whatever they could to protect their companions.

Finally, dramatically as ever, the steady, familiar wheezing of the TARDIS engines as they arrived to their destination. Beyond those doors: excitement, danger, history, mystery, the thrill of the unknown, the opportunity to make a difference.

.

The three exited the TARDIS as they had countless times before, but this time onto a battlefield that would tear them all apart beyond repair.