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

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.

He's taken very much close to heart from his Thomas. In the Doctor's mind, his historical inability to actually hold onto and let himself have what he wants doesn't stop him from still feeling it and wanting those things all the same. He just — hasn't. He doesn't.

He's trying, though. Trying to change.

"Yes, they've said quite a few clever things, actually. I'm trying to listen now. So — yes, I want to stay with you."

Thomas is closer to him now, so close that he's already afraid that he's going to chill the air too badly. Fortunately, the stove gives off enough heat to warm the room considerably, and so when he steps closer to him, he's happy.

"I hope that you continue to listen to them," he mutters. "If it means that you won't leave."

Thomas hooks an arm around the Doctor's neck and kisses him again.

He's grown used to that coldness enough now to be ready for it, and there's something extra thrilling about the warmth from the stove and that slight chill when they kiss, the way it balances and contrasts.

He murmurs something like an affirmation, a yes against Thomas' lips, but he's too caught up in the kissing part to say much more. For a moment, he runs his fingers through Thomas' hair as they press closer together.

Thomas keeps him close, not thinking of anything else aside from this right here, this moment in time and space. "This way," he breathes against his lips, taking his hand and trying to guide him back towards the living room, towards the fireplace, where they have more room and less possibility of knocking down jars to watch them shatter.

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