singillatim | Be always on the watch, and pray that you may be able to escape all that is about to happen

He waits. He waits because he knows that look on the other's face. He waits because he knows that it takes him a moment to gather himself, to say what he truly wants to say.

He waits because he knows him. Because he loves him in this place of fear and scarcity.

"I'm not going anywhere, sir. Except right here with you, just across the lake."

And he pulls him close again to kiss him, feeling like that might say more.

It does say more, it says everything, like the perfect bridge between words and the bigger emotions that are sometimes difficult (at least for him) to properly convey. As they kiss, for a moment one of his hands comes to rest against Thomas' cheek, winding just a bit through his hair.

The Doctor doesn't dwell on fears and worries, he couldn't or it would have paralyzed him long ago. But it's still ever present in the back of his mind — dormant most of the time — that there is a creature here that can harm them all, that's killed and done considerable damage already, and that Thomas has been hurt here before. For just a moment, he deepens that kiss as the thought is given life. Just as quickly, though, he quietly asserts his commitment to keeping him safe, that protectiveness in him as fierce as ever.

He kisses him until he's out of breath, until everything is a little too dizzy, until everything in the kitchen just seems a little much.

"Thank you," he mutters, sliding his hands along the Doctor's arms, squeezing them gently. "I won't leave Wynonna, but - I'd like to spend more time with you."

He holds onto Thomas' hand for a moment in return before letting go, smiling softly. "If I have you, then you have me, which means — yes, absolutely yes to that." He also realizes in saying that suddenly, he doesn't know all that entails but only that spending time with Thomas — more time — is something he very much wants.

He does imagine — so many things, though. Taking care of him, being near him, enjoying every moment, and this...this closeness. More of that. It's not something he'd ever thought of before. In a moment, the rest of his brain will catch up and he'll remember to mention his time spent with Wynonna recently.

He reaches out for him again to kiss him, marveling at the fact that he can. What they've said to each other, what they've promised, it all seems so significant.

"I don't know what this means for us in the future," he mutters. "But I know that it means we're together."

"I don't know, either," he's quick to agree, only a moment after enjoying that kiss. "I don't — well, I don't look to the future, I just travel there sometimes. And I know what I feel right now, in this moment. With you."

He certainly has no better idea what it means for them a week or a month from now, but not only is it significant that they've shared these sentiments between the pair of them, it's significant that he's still standing here. He hasn't run. He wants this, wants Thomas.

"But — yes. Together." He reaches out suddenly, brushing some of Thomas' hair back from his eyes. "You're happy?"

"Very," he assures him, smiling at the gentle gesture of him tucking his hair behind his ear. "But do you know what would make me happier?" he wonders, reaching up to drape fingers over the Doctor's arm.

"I might be able to think of too many things, and then my thoughts wander off track, probably quite askew of what you're actually thinking," he smiles a little brighter. "I know I want to make you happier, and keep making you so."

He rests a hand on his hip now, remembering how lovely that feels, just to hold him close. "Tell me."

Thomas moves in close, very close, knowing that his skin is too cold for this. But he smiles, leaning close, and then whispers:

"If you took down the salt for the fish," he says with a laugh.

Of course, it wasn't at all what he was expecting, but then — what was he expecting, and why, and it was — thoughts he hasn't had in a very long time. Silly thoughts, of course they were.

But he's always quick to adapt, quick to laugh in return. "Oh, you just watch, I'm a dab hand at it."

He pats Thomas' arm briefly and moves away now, back to the task at hand, grabbing the salt, stirring the pot. Everything that's needed.

It's Thomas' turn to smile over at him, though he has a feeling he knows exactly what he's thwarted. Is that a little petty satisfaction that perhaps, just perhaps, he might get the same reaction from the Doctor that the Doctor elicits from him?

No, of course not. That's a silly fantasy.

But it's one he likes to indulge in.

Thomas gets back to work, as well. "Have I told you about the time we were caught in the blizzard in Antarctica?"

Glacially slow at times when it comes to actually expressing himself outwardly to match how he's feeling inwardly, the feelings of wanting more than only this are there, he just — needs to bridge the gap from what he's thinking to speaking.

He may also be feeling something he hasn't felt in a very, very long while, which is not only longing for more closeness, more...everything with him, but mild frustration and fussiness at being so close and yet so far. There would be a potentially easy fix for that if he used his words, but. But they've moved beyond it, at least for now, and he's genuinely thrilled, as he always is, with anything that Thomas shares with him about his life. A little space from each other while they work on the tasks at hand — perfect, yes, this will be fine. Clear his head.

"No, that one's dreadfully lacking from my collection of my Thomas Jopson tales, so now's the perfect time to share," he encourages with an easy smile. "I want to hear everything."

"I was just a boy then," he says, a laugh in his tone as he moves through his preparations. "But there was a time when the two ships lost each other in the black night. I will never get used to it. The darkness that comes at sea in the night. There is nothing on those cloudy eves but yourself and God. You can hear the voices and breathing of the men around you, but there's something so isolating about it.

"We crashed into each other, you see," he explains, firming up the pemmican. "The two ships. I thought that we would all be lost in the black ink of the icy waters. But - we managed to stay upright. There were repairs to be done, and I thought I might be better off hiding under the hammock, but - Crozier never faltered. Not once. He guided us through."

It's not often the Doctor has known or seen such darkness himself. Most times, in even the blackest oblivion, there's the smallest of lights. But he can imagine, and he has seen on rarer occasions.

"I don't doubt that for a moment about him," the Doctor smiles briefly at the mention of Crozier. "I know it goes without saying it's the duty of a Captain to do exactly that, but not all manage it, or manage it well. I'm glad you had him, and vice versa, of course." He thinks anyone should be so lucky to have Thomas Jopson there at their side. "How long did it take to repair?"

Thomas smiles into his work, shifting his feet slightly as he finishes and starts to clean.

"I don't remember, if you can believe it. I was simply too happy to be alive and to see someplace new. Antarctica was - unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was cold and vast and empty but also - so lively. It was so long ago, I don't think on the smaller parts of it any longer."

"It would be," he smiles warmly over his shoulder for a moment before he finishes up salting the fish, quickly cleaning his hands, making sure the broth is divvied up between the jars.

"How did it feel? After the ships were righted and repaired and you could — look out in this new place, stretched on and on. Happy to be alive, yes, but how did it feel inside when you took a breath and you looked all around? I like hearing you talk about it."

Thomas isn't much of a storyteller, but he is a man who delights in dreams like these. He smiles to himself, thinking wistfully on that moment.

"The world...grew a little bigger for me and smaller, at the same time. There were vast oceans and sights that only a handful of people had seen, but there is was, a poor boy from London, with nothing to my name save for that moment. I could feel it there, in my hands."

He pauses by the table, watching the window.

Thomas watches the window and as the Doctor listens to him, he thinks for a moment about — coming closer. Perhaps wrapping an arm around his waist, perhaps kissing his shoulder. He's just managed to say that he loves him, he can't figure why such an easy gesture would be something he has to really think about, but he does. As much as he wants it. He feels so close to him, listening to him relay some of his memories.

"There's nothing like that feeling, that first time," he smiles tenderly.

It's starting to snow outside; Thomas can see the flakes of snow clinging to the window in the fading light of the kitchen.

"No, there isn't," he agrees and turns back around to face him. "You should stay tonight," he tells him, which might be abrupt had he not seen the snowflakes on the glass.

He doesn't expect it, that sudden feeling that clutches at him when Thomas turns back around. It's not that he doesn't feel so much for him all the time, it's only that — something else grips him for a moment, something more, a want. When he looks at him, and his face is framed by the dimming light, and he's — beautiful.

The Doctor is staring, and he catches himself, busying his hands with nothing at all, just a distraction. Oh, right, yes, he forgot to actually respond!

"— I will," he smiles. It's possible he's blushing a little, which is why he quickly turns his head, adjusting his bowtie. "I'll stay," he adds over his shoulder.

There it is again. That feeling, that face that he knows so well. Or thought he did. He stares at him a moment too long, reaching over to link his arm, and reaches up to adjust his bowtie back to where it had been before.

Thomas likes it like that.

"With me?" he wonders, though he doesn't quite know what he's asking. Not yet.

He doesn't quite know either, but the answer is a swift and easy one for him nonetheless, and he smiles tenderly when Thomas is close enough again.

"Well...yes! Yes, of course with you. I always want that," he blurts out without much thought, without getting in his own way about it.

"Do you?" he challenges, looking up to him with great curiosity. "Because sometimes you seem like you'd rather fly away out that window." He says it with fondness and joy and love, of course, but truth all the same.

He's not wrong about that. Sometimes he has wanted that, though...not because of Thomas at all.

"That's — what I've often done, yes," he starts, slowly, searching for the words. Often meaning nearly always. "What I have done." Running, running away. "Someone told me that's not really living, though, it's just existing."

His eyebrows raise at that. "Oh? Did they?" he wonders idly, trying not to be flustered by the mere fact that he had said something that the Doctor had taken so close to heart. Something that he remembered.

Thomas Jopson doesn't last. He doesn't have anything except what he can do for people.

It's disorienting to have this.

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