singillatim | there'll be oats in the water

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there'll be oats in the water

JULY 2024 EVENT

PROMPT ONE — THE AURORA: REDUX: A storm finally arrives, and with it — Enola extends her hand to help the Interlopers once more, granting them new abilities.

PROMPT TWO — PENSIVE LOOKOUT: With the Forest Talker efforts focused on sabotaging hunting efforts, Interlopers can attempt to explore the Pensive Lookout Tower, where they can uncover secrets from the diary of Sam Bouchard — the former firewatch worker of the summer of 2014.

PROMPT THREE — A PEEK INSIDE: A group of Interlopers get their hands on one of the Forest Talkers in search of answers — and get a little more than they bargained for.

THE AURORA: REDUX

WHEN: Mid-month, for three days.
WHERE: Everywhere.
CONTENT WARNINGS: supernatural/extreme weather; lightning storms; potentially disturbing dreams; dreams of being trapped in ice; dreams of animal death; dreams of the death of loved ones.

July brings warmer weather. The fog has lifted, and the daylight returned — but an odd kind of pressure lingers in the air, the kind that feels similar with oncoming storms but something still feels off about it all. Measurements and readings are erratic, with them often making little sense. It’s hard to predict just what might be coming, but sure enough something is coming.

Hold on a little longer, Enola told you. A storm is coming.

It comes quickly, the gathering of storm clouds. At first, it looks as if a kind of snowstorm is moving in, but there’s something else at play here. Within the grey, cloudy skies, there is a tell-tale sound of an Aurora mixed within those clouds.

And with it, in amongst the dark, the swirling colours. Greens, pinks and purples weaving through the clouds, almost mesmerising to watch. The air is alive with sound: static noise, cracks and pops: a storm and the Aurora mixed into one. For those who’ve been here long enough, it’s a worrying, unnerving sight. The storm rumbles with the low roar of distant thunder, growing ever closer. The electronics of the world begin to come alive, and in the static of it all — you begin to hear Enola’s voice even clearer than before.

After so much darkness, now there is so much light. A lightning storm — aurora colours mingling with the grey clouds, punctured with crackles of lightning. Something powerful and strange — flash forking across the skies, followed by booms of thunder.

The storm lasts three days, and even though her voice is soft — you hear it over all the noise, nestled gently in your ear.

“You're still here. It means something. This isn’t the end, I refuse to let it be the end. It can’t win. You won’t go into the Dark.” Enola tells you. ”I will make you more than what you are, more than what was stolen from you. This place will not be your end. I have to try. We have to try. Together. I showed some of you, once. I’ll show you again.”

She tells you to sleep. For some, they recognise this and realise what may end up happening. For others it feels like going out on a limb. But you sleep, and perhaps a dream may come to you.

COLD FUSION: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of a great hall of ice: as if it had been carved into some great ridge of it. You walk through it, marvelling at the beauty of it — a blue gloom, echoing with each of your footsteps. But as you take one particular step, the ground cracks and collapses beneath you, sending you into dark, frozen waters. In seconds, the water freezes around you, encompassing you in thick ice, your entire body trapped within it. The coldness burns you, and you are stuck there — frozen in agony. The pain is immeasurable, your entire body crushed and searing from the ice. There is no escape, no reprieve.

A voice speaks to you, perhaps it is the voice of a stranger, perhaps it is the voice of someone you know: Do you know how you survive the cold?’ They ask you. You do not know, and you wait for the answer: ‘You become colder than it.

Your eyes close. You believe those words, you do. You must become colder than the cold itself. And so you will. Your breathing slows, your heart slows and the cold… it stops hurting, it doesn’t burn. The ice around you begins the crack.

When you awaken the first thing you realise is despite the temperature, you are completely cosy and warmed. You do not feel the slightest chill. It is perhaps only once you are around other than you truly notice the difference to you — you are cold to the touch, lacking the heat you once had. An understanding comes: you are at one with the cold, it will not beat you, it will not cause you agony. Winter is at peace within you: perfect Cold Fusion.

MOON TOUCHED: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape. You dream of running through the silent woods at night. The moon is full above you, the air is calm and still. Hunger draws you forward, everything is so sharp and vivid in your senses, even in this dreamscape. You hear the crispness of the snow beneath your feet, smell the scent of the pines on the air, feel how warm you are against the coldness around you.

The snuffling of a rabbit catches your attention, and you swiftly leap after it, jaws opening and closing around its neck as you capture it. You bite down hard, feeling the crunch of its bones as they break, the sweet coppery taste of blood filling your mouth and nose. You lift your head towards the stars, blood on your tongue. You realise you are not a person at all, but a beast on all fours: a wolf, content and filling your belly with meat.

You wonder, for a brief moment: were you ever a person at all?

You do not know the answer to the question. You do not seem to worry about such a thing but there’s a flash of warning on the air. Something you cannot quite place, but you know that you should not forget it.

When you awaken, you feel… different, somehow. Everything seems a little sharper, as if the world around you had been dull, or behind some pane of frosted glass. With it comes a strange balance of calmness and chaos, tameness and wildness, fear and bravery. You find yourself looking for the moon in the skies and when you finally find it, it hits you — this is what it means to be Moon Touched.

INTERLOPER’S SACRIFICE: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape and then fade into nothing. You dream of kneeling in a darkened, charred wood. You are not alone. In this dreamscape, you dream of a loss, or a time you have never felt more helpless in your life. Perhaps it is when someone you knew died before you, or you stood as someone was sick and injured and you were unable to do a thing. As you kneel, they are there with you: sick or dying or even dead in your arms. You cannot do anything but hold them, and the helplessness is overwhelming.

You look up and a woman in furs stands before you, her expression solemn. Enola herself. There are tears in her eyes, as if she shares the very pain you do: the loss, the grief, the hopelessness, the powerlessness. She approaches you and lowers herself to kneel in front of you and your companion, bracing your shoulders for a long, lingering moment. There are no words, none from neither of you.

Enola shifts slightly, leans forwards. She kisses your forehead, much like when a parent kisses their child: sweet and tender.

And then you feel it, as if you are set alight: an agonising pain that encompasses you whole — so painful you cannot even open your mouth to scream. You feel yourself growing weak, the corners of your vision blurring into black. It feels as if you might die from the pain, and you want for it to stop but it doesn’t.

Enola pulls away and you gasp, slumping in exhaustion, but still alive, somehow. You stare at her, sweating and clamouring for breath, and she offers you a sad smile. Never again. you feel the words inside of you. This time, it will be different. Better.

When you awaken, you can still feel the kiss upon your forehead — enough to make your fingers reach up to touch it, your entire body tingling a little. A small voice in the back of your mind whispers, reminding you as you find yourself looking down at your hands: never again. Never again, you tell yourself and the comprehension comes to you: you have chosen. This is what it means to be: this is your sacrifice. The Interloper’s Sacrifice.

NOTHING: The colours of the Aurora dance around you in your dreamscape, but only for a moment. The edges of your vision begin the blur with black, slowly closing in until everything goes dark and you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. You awaken, and although you feel rested, as if the dreamless darkness has helped you feel a little more ready to take on the day — nothing else about you has changed.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: Pensive Lookout Tower, Lakeside.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; possible fall injuries/treacherous climbs; themes of terror; themes of diminished sanity; themes of starvation.

The Old Hunting Lodge is located in the southern-most area of Lakeside, and its surrounding area is generally considered no-go territory with the presence of the Forest Talkers. As June turned into July, the Forest Talker’s presence in the wilds of Lakeside has begun to grow again — but their efforts appear to be focused on sabotaging the efforts of Interlopers, Methuselah and Young Bill in hunting fresh game. If anything, it could mean that with attentions drawn away — perhaps the braver sorts of the Interlopers can explore the area a little more fully.

There’s little in terms of buildings of interest in this area. The wilderness is thick and deep here. Perhaps the odd ransacked cabin once belonging to a local may be stumbled across — its contents picked clean, presumably by the Forest Talkers. Many of these buildings will be completely inhabitable due to the damage done — with some cabins being razed to the ground.

However, on higher ground, with a good hike to access it, stands a watch tower.

These lookout towers could mean a number of things: a chance to access supplies that may have otherwise been forgotten about due to the hike to get up there, a better view of the surrounding area, and the possibility of a radio — given the sign of a radio transmitter that can be found blinking a feeble red on Aurora nights.

With the snow on the ground it’s a little more treacherous, but given the circumstances, anything’s worth a shot, right? Those who attempt the hike may fall foul to slips and trips along the steep slow to reach the tower, and should take care in the ascent. Even with the warmth of July, it’s difficult. One might hope this might make the place a decent outpost, if you think about it. Somewhere hard to reach, and with such a vantage point.

Reaching the tower and climbing it to its interior will it largely intact but a mess. Someone has lived here for some time. Interlopers will find no food here, but some useful tools that belonged to the lookout: binoculars, maps, a compass, an alidade. There is even a radio sat upon a desk, and with it — a journal.

The journal, Interlopers will find, belonged to a man named Sam Bouchard — the firewatcher for the season during the previous year, detailing the months of his arrival and ending in November last year. It is unknown what happened to Sam, but his journal will perhaps offer some insight and even some information.

A PEEK INSIDE

WHEN: The month of July.
WHERE: The Gas Station, Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of kidnapping; imprisonment; self-starvation; blood/minor injuries; psychological torment, supernatural abilities.

The Forest Talkers have a long history in the Northern Territories, long before Interlopers started arriving in Milton. Champions of nature, they have sought to put an end to the industries and tourism-related expansions in the Lakeside area, first peacefully and then… not-so-peacefully. But with the events known as the ‘The Flare’ last year, Forest Talkers have been… acting peculiarly, disturbingly, aggressively.

There are plenty of questions to be asked. But the Forest Talkers are difficult to communicate with. Previous attempts have ended up in aggression or being ignored entirely. And now, even with the events of the previous month coming to an end — game remains difficult to find, and Forest Talkers are keen on sabotaging any attempts of hunting made by Interlopers, Young Bill or Methuselah. And more importantly: what is the yawning grave?

It starts as mutterings between tired and disgruntled Interlopers. They need answers, and there’s got to be a way in trying to get some. They’re hungry and exhausted and so many of their numbers are now dead. Those mutterings grow, and soon enough a plan is put into place. A small group of Interlopers embark into Lakeside and wait.

Soon enough, it bears fruit. A man is captured, bound and blindfolded — quietly and secretly brought back to Milton to be held up in the unused Gas Station to be questioned. It is not the leader, but surely one of them is better than no one at all. He is injured, but not enough to kill him. It will prove challenging in trying to get answers out of him, but soon enough the Interlopers will get him to talk.

News of the Forest Talker in their midst will inevitably spread, as most things do in small communities. Secrets are hard to guard. It won’t be just those behind the kidnapping who might end up coming across the man being held in the Gas Station.

Anyone who goes to investigate will find the man sat on the floor in quiet contemplation. Attempts of conversation will be met with long, silent stares — holding your gaze for an uncomfortably long time. He will spurn any gestures of kindness: spit on the floor at Interloper’s feet, refuse any food offered — as if the man has chosen to starve himself in protest. He says nothing, at first.

But after some time, he will look into an Interloper’s eyes and utter something. A word. A phrase. It may be a name, or a place. It may be a specific thing an Interloper has read, or been spoken to by someone. Something that holds meaning to the Interloper. It may be the name of a loved one from home, or the last words ever spoken to you by a friend. Something the man shouldn’t know.

Whatever it is that he speaks to you, it is not something that will fill you with hope or fondness to remember — but quite the opposite. A reminder of something painful, of a loss, or some other thing that caused you misery. As if he had reached right inside your mind and plucked some painful part of your past from you and spoken it to the wind.

The Forest Talker smiles, and will say nothing else. The damage has already been done.

FAQs

THE AURORA: REDUX

1. The next three Aurora Feats are unlocked! Please see the following page for more information.

2. Aurora Feats are completely optional.

3. Interlopers will only receive ONE Aurora Feat. The only time this is available is this month. After July, players will have to wait for the next Feat round for another chance at an Aurora Feat.

4. This Aurora/storm will last a full three days, darkening the skies almost to night.

PENSIVE LOOKOUT

1. Interlopers who dwell in the lookout for the next Aurora will find the radio works, albeit poorly. They will be able to pick up the same broken morse code message.

2. There are no signs of blood/injury that befell Sam in the lookout. It appears he made good on what he wrote on in his journal and attempted to leave to get to Silverpoint.

A PEEK INSIDE

1. While only a small number was involved in the kidnapping itself, anyone can discover the fact there's a Forest Talker being held in Milton.

2. In terms of appearance, the Forest Talker is very much your typical average white guy. Bearded, weathered by the cold, someone who's lived several years without much in the way of comforts or luxuries.

PLOTTING POST

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Thomas sits up, reaching around the Doctor's chest gently to try and pull him down. He sees that mask clearly now as if it was a physical thing on his face, and the only thing he can do is show him the affection, the strange, elusive thing that he doesn't really understand completely now.

He wants him beside him on the small bed, holding him close as if Third Lieutenant Thomas Jopson could single handedly keep the rest of the universe at bay.

"Why not?"

It's difficult to reconcile it in his mind, for some reason, the act of being held like this. It's not that he doesn't like it, it's...not something he's used to. He just doesn't allow people close enough generally speaking but that's all turned on its head. He has passed some sort of invisible line and he doesn't know why or how, it's only the knowledge that he trusts Thomas and cares for him that keeps him from pulling away, and even staying close. He doesn't deserve to be held like this, protected, or worried over. That's the part that's hardest to reconcile. This sort of comfort and care, it's not supposed to be for him, it's for everyone else. It would be easy to run, to do what he always does. To pull back and run out into the darkness, but then where would he go? To the forest and its strangeness, its madness? What might it devour of him now that the light from the sun has gone out for the day? And then...to leave his friend behind? To leave like he always does? Perhaps it doesn't matter to dwell on it much — Thomas will let go of him soon enough when he hears the truth. Which is why he at least deserves to hear it all, to make the choice himself, to continue knowing him or turn him away. He would forgive him that in an instant, too — he thinks little of himself deep down.

"There was a war. The Time War. For the sake of all creation. It was fought between my people and the Daleks. I don't believe everything or everyone can be easily categorized as good or evil, I've seen too much of the in between, but...the Daleks, they were, they are purely evil. They feel nothing, they were made to feel nothing. They mean only to destroy. Had they won, they would have enslaved and killed all life in the universe."

He didn't want to fight, he desperately, absolutely did not want to fight. He can be hard when he needs to be, yes, he can be merciless when protecting others and innocent life, but his nature and his purpose is to protect everyone, to help. This went against everything he stood for.

"I couldn't avoid it any longer and I was — I fought. I led battles, I made terrible choices. There was cruelty on both sides and in me, and in the end, no one was really right anymore. Everyone got hurt, everyone lost. Everyone loses in war. I had only one choice left, on that last day, and I nearly killed them all — my people and the Daleks, and myself. I was going to end it all, I was prepared to. I thought I had, actually, for a long time. That's the man I am, Thomas. That I would come to the end of it and wipe them all out."

To keep the rest of the universe safe. For the "greater good" — as if there could be any goodness in that at all. But he doesn't say that because it sounds like a justification he doesn't deserve for the thoughts he had then. He was not a good man. Far from it. It doesn't matter that in the end, he had figured out a way to protect Gallifrey in a pocket universe; he didn't remember that he had at all, not for a long time. Instead, he remembered standing over that horrible device, the Moment, ready to end it all so the rest of the universe could keep going at least. He was capable of doing it, of wiping them all out in an instant, to save everyone else in every other world far beyond. The Trolley Problem come to life. On that last terrible day, when he considered it and had no options left, he hoped he would simply die. Die and never come back. He wasn't supposed to. But he'd rewritten time and he shouldn't have — he saved Gallifrey, sort of. He ended the Time War, but he carries the cost with him everyday. He tries very hard to forget, he wants to forget, he pretends to forget — the blood spilled, the innocent lives lost, the screams in his head that he tucks away.

Thomas can't imagine the scale of such a thing. The entire universe, the people within, the creatures and people at war. Thomas also doesn't believe in good and evil, but he has faced evil. Absolute evil, and he came out of it unscathed.

He holds the Doctor as he explains and he shakes his head, as if he can single handedly take him out of this way of thinking.

"You are the sort of man who made a decision he thought best with everything he had," he says, letting out a long breath. He saw Crozier do the same. Crozier, who was and still is the single greatest person in his experience, made mistakes based on what he knew at the time. He would have changed them, if only he knew how.

"What happened instead?"

Some part of him can't entirely fathom that Thomas is still holding onto him after all he's said, but he stays where he is, eyes watching his briefly as he speaks. For the people who died in the war, all the ones he couldn't save — he sees and feels no scorn or disgust in Thomas' eyes, no judgment. It feels like more than he deserves for the things he's done, but he'll take them nonetheless.

Drawing in a slow breath, he lets it out equally slow.

"I sort of tucked it away safely in a parallel pocket universe, is the simplest way to explain. While the Dalek fleets were firing on it, it...disappeared so they fired on each other, wiping themselves out. At least for a time. I can't ever seem to be rid of them."

He brushes fingers through the Doctor's hair, marveling at the way he simply stays and breathes and listens.

"Why do you carry that so deep, Sir?" he mutters. "Why do you blame yourself?"

He can guess, but he wants him to say it, to hear those words. And Thomas will hold him while he does.

He is once more acutely aware of the tenderness shown to him, in the way he's being touched, and he once again considers pulling back. Not because it's not wanted, it's just a closeness that scares him. Even pushing past whether he deserves it or not, they are so very close right now. All the old fears grip him — the thought of anything happening to Thomas, losing him, knowing what awaits him in the world beyond this one...it's what he always fears. How does he stop it now, though, when all that he wants is to hold him tighter?

"I have a duty of care," he explains simply. It's his responsibility, to keep everyone safe, to keep the balance of the universe in check. "My name, it's like a promise. The name I chose."

His promise to the universe — to help, to never harm. Who else is to blame if he gets it wrong?

"You cannot hold the entire universe together any more than I could have held together the Terrors. You want to and that is - that is something I admire about you. But such high expectations for yourself only guarantee heartbreak. You can never live up to the person in your head, Sir. Because he does not exist."

He leans his back against the wall, draping an arm across him.

He does not exist. It's a simple thing, but not something he's ever thought or would ever think to accept for himself. What he hopes to be, tries to be, wants to be — he'll always be chasing that and yes, that is...that is exactly why the heaviness never lessens.

The Doctor shifts a little, just a bit onto his back, but he rests his hand on Thomas' arm.

"It's something I admire about you. Everything you do for others." There is so much comfort and steadiness that Thomas gives, and he's so mindful of that because it would be easy to accept it all and not give enough back. And Thomas deserves all of it back and more.

Thomas slides his hand onto the Doctor's chest, shaking his head. "It is part of the job," Thomas tells him softly, smiling even as he says it. But it had been Thomas' nature that had drawn him to the work. He had to be hard when it was time to be hard. He can be a leader, he can rally the troops and bark orders as needed. He can keep people together, keep their spirits up and keep them organized. He can serve tea and manage up and ensure that his Captain, drunk as he was, never once went out with a hair out of place. Thomas cares for everyone as if they were the most precious thing in his life.

And it's exhausting. He never expects reciprocity, never expects anyone to give him anything in return.

He doesn't need it until, all of a sudden, he has it and then he's never wanted anything more.

He reaches out to cover Thomas' hand, his thumb moving across his knuckles for a moment as he considers him. That simple statement, that it's merely part of the job, feels like so much more.

"But it's you, Thomas. Not only the job — you. Isn't it? You don't only have to give, you know. Not now, not here, not anymore."

He shifts just a little, trying to give Thomas more room. "Space is a commodity, but — I just want you comfortable. I want you to rest."

I want to take care of you, he thinks. He sweeps his fingers through Thomas' hair now, smiling softly. "I promise I won't move."

"Doctor and a Steward. We make quite the odd pair."

His hands are cold, as he's afraid they always will be, but he doesn't pull away, leaning in to kiss him instead. And he lets the moment linger, feeling the ache in his chest come apart.

He's just a man. A dead man with no future. Tomorrow, he has to find the strength to get up and walk back down. It's not so daunting a thought any longer.

He wants to care for him and be cared for in return. That, he feels, makes all the difference.

"As we should," he smiles softly.

When he kisses him, the Doctor's hand moves to cradle his cheek. This goes against all of his instincts. He should tell Thomas not to get too close, that he's no good for him, but he's heard the worst things and he only held him through it. But they are in a desolate place and everything he might want and wish for Thomas to experience — a full life beyond this — is already gone. This is all there is.

That should scare him more, but then he's been afraid all of his life anyway. It's one fear or the other — being alone or losing the ones you love. It's trading one pain for another. It's losing the good things by refusing to hold on when you can.

He wants to hold on.

Thomas doesn't know how to do anything like this in moderation. He gives his absolute all to everyone he serves, everyone he gets close to. He pours himself out completely, and the arms around the Doctor should prove that he isn't going to let him go anywhere.

He lets the kiss linger, combing fingers through his hair, down by the back of his neck.

When he finally does pull away, it's with a laugh and a blush of his cheeks.

"You aren't going to convince me you are anything but a good man," he insists.

The Doctor isn't really at all used to even the idea of that sort of loyalty from others, though not for lack of want or trying on their part, not in all instances. It's not that he hasn't had devoted friends through the years, people whom he was equally devoted to and would have done anything to hold onto, but therein lies the problem — as hard and as steadfast as he's always wanted to cling, he simply can't. They leave, in one way or another. By choice or when death takes them. He always watches them go, no matter how hard he tries to keep them with him.

Thomas will go. And it's agony to think about, but he's so very alive here. He feels it in every cold touch, every kiss. There's so much life in him and he's so fond of that laugh, that blush already.

"You say that, but you haven't seen me when I've lost a game of charades. I'm an absolute menace," he teases with a soft laugh of his own.

There's something else he wants to say and he's not sure how to say it yet, so it sits there quietly while he distracts himself with Thomas' wrist. He finds something reassuring as he moves his thumb across, seeking out the pulse point and counting in his head a moment. "Perfectly healthy," he notes, smiling softly, pressing the lightest and briefest of kisses there to his skin.

He is able to talk with a straight face. "I would believe that, sir. You don't seem like a man who enjoys losing anything, especially a game you play constantly." His hands moving, his body moving, everything always in motion, betraying his feelings and his thoughts. Charades is just the sort of game that the Doctor would be well suited for.

The small kiss, the gentle touch, makes him shake his head. "Is it not too fast? I fear you have that effect on me."

"Within the parameters, but certainly faster than if you were having a lie-about with a book." He envelops his hand fully, resting it on his own chest now. "But if I have that sort of effect on you, I should stop. For safety reasons! I do want to fully protect your heart."

He is half-serious, half not. But he's also not very good at flirting, clumsy and overly literal at times. As though Thomas' heart rate really does need to be considered here.

Thomas rests his cheek on a thin pillow. "My heart does not need protection from you," he tells him, smiling though he also has another, underlying meaning to his words. He doesn't want to hurt him and doesn't want him to leave. He wants this, this moment right now, to last forever between them. Like he could bottle it up and save it forever.

"Let it beat faster for a while, because at least it's beating." He spreads his fingers out along the Doctor's chest.

If he had the power within him, the Doctor would freeze this moment in time himself. Not so they were static, but so it could stretch on and on and in this way, he'd never lose him. It's not real, it's not possible, but it's a feeling he clings to.

"You asked me before, what happens when I'm still. And it's — every time I've stopped, if I...settle, if I let myself forget to keep running and moving and chasing, I lose something or someone."

He can't bear to lose him. What a silly thought to hold, when he already knows the truth of Thomas' future. But — what could they make of the time here? That scares him, too. His protectiveness over this man is already a fierce thing. He would be dangerous, indeed, if anything ever happened to Thomas here.

Thomas opens his eyes. "What can be done to me that hasn't already been done? I have been lost and betrayed and killed. If I die now, it is with the knowledge that I was at once enjoyed and seen. And if I survive, if we leave, then you take me on all the adventures you promised. And it will be me who saves you."

He takes his hand.

"Fortunately, we need not worry on that here. Here, there is only us, and now, this very small cot to rest on, and the knowledge that we scaled this together."

It's not unusual for the Doctor to care for others quickly. He's always been more than willing to do everything he could — even give his life — for anyone at all, whether he knows them or not. But it's something else, to feel attached like this to Thomas Jopson, where this man has such a grip and sway on his hearts already. He can believe his words with such ferocity, to the very depths of him. And to believe that anything, in fact, could be possible.

"That is a promise I intend to keep," he's quick to agree. He's about to cheekily say he doesn't need any saving, but the truth is that Thomas has already saved him in some way. A way that's only just begun. His words are soothing, though, and give him hope to continue clinging to.

He laces their fingers together, resting his head close. "I haven't slept beside anyone in a very long time so I can't promise I'm not an awful bedmate, Thomas. But I don't steal blankets."

As though they had an abundance of luxurious quilts.

He laughs; he can't help it. "Ah, well. When we return to our luxurious rooms and our fine beds down below, we shall put that to the test. But I hardly need them now." He's as warm as he should be, though his skin is cool. Blankets hardly do anything.

Eyes close again and he pulls him close, drawing the thin blankets around them. He just needs to sleep a while, just a moment. He needs to dream and finally rest so he will be ready to face the trek back. It's daunting, but he's not alone. That means the world.

It used to be that the Doctor rarely needed sleep. He could go days without it, but that all changed the moment he arrived here, his body requiring rest as much as any human would. It still takes some getting used to, though, the way the fatigue settles in. In moments like this, he almost wishes it wouldn't be there at all. They are safe here, he thinks. He's felt no threat from their surroundings, not even when he walked around a bit ago. It's fine, but he would feel better lingering awake long into the night, knowing this man who's become so precious to him really is safe.

He does fight it a bit longer, busying his mind with thoughts of those adventures, where he would take him, what he would show him. But eventually, he can't keep his eyes open any longer and he's asleep beside him, dreaming long into the night. His grip on his hand naturally slackens, but he doesn't entirely let go, even in sleep. As though it were a last measure of protection.

Thomas is used to tight quarters, small cots, and light sleep. He's used to the sounds of another person, their movements and rhythms. But he's so tired that none of that matters. Thomas drifts into a deep sleep, dreaming of all the places they might go, all the places he's already been.

And when he does wake, it's slow and foggy, a luxurious sort of transition into the morning rather than an abrupt shift. It's a chilly air, but that doesn't seem to touch him or affect him. He can enjoy it. He takes in his surroundings first, then memory hits him and he searches out the Doctor.

When he'd awoken, he'd taken care to make sure the thin blanket remained tucked around Thomas, even knowing the cold doesn't affect him now. He'd swept a lock of hair back from his eyes as he slept and carefully gotten up with the hopes of having a warm drink ready before Thomas would wake. In his most ideal, he'd have a full English breakfast for him, but...this will have to do.

He'd foraged a modest amount of berries and acorns, and just as Thomas stirs, he puts the kettle on to boil.

"Finally, he awakens!" The Doctor teases fondly, rubbing his hands together to warm them in the cold air. "If you were wondering, I'd grant you a solid nine out of ten stars for pleasurable sleeping-next-to partner. That's high marks! With only a bit of room for improvement." He's glad to see him rested.

He pulls the blanket off of his shoulders, rubbing his stuff fingers as he shakes his head at the other man, deeply amused. Thomas is still waking, but he can hear the sound of water boiling and he searches it out.

"I shall strive for perfection next time." He says with a laugh. "We should get an early start. What - are you making?"

He stands up on achy legs, but they are sore in a pleasant way, the way muscles get after a very good and deep sleep.

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cw: mentions of war, suicidal ideation (sorry this got so long!)

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