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

He smirks, then sits up and pulls him into a kiss, deliberately not worried about the cold of his skin any longer.

"Loads?" he mutters. "More than this? I don't know if that is a good idea for you."

"You suggest otherwise?" He raises a playful eyebrow, quick to kiss him back. Though realistically, of course, Thomas is right. It doesn't mean he can't be a little stubborn and teasing about it.

"Oh never, sir," he grins. "But I do suggest it. For your own good."

It's mostly nonsense teasing now. "But for now, we should clean the kitchen."

He smiles a little, playful, and moving on to the focus at hand. "Then might I suggest something for your own good?" His tone is light, soft. Not quite teasing because he's serious, but he'll not force Thomas one way or another, of course.

He pats Thomas' knee lightly, then stands slowly; finding his footing after that takes a moment. "We should not clean the kitchen, but I absolutely should. A two person job is easily a one person job if that one person is me." He also just — wants Thomas to have a moment to rest. He's done a lot in the kitchen, and he's done a lot...well. He's done a lot tonight.

He looks up to him in disbelief. "But I - I cannot simply sit here."

What's he supposed to do? There's a little static in his brain as he tries to figure out some way to be sneakily productive.

"Simply as an adverb can imply that an action, or inaction in this case, is the sole purpose in a particular moment. When actually, you simply sitting here and talking to me while I keep busy is multipurpose and very important."

A pep in his step, he does a little spin around to guide himself towards the kitchen, smiling over his shoulder.

"Talk to me, please. About anything. Uh — how about...alright, we're short on books around here. I wish we had loads more. A shelf full of some of your favorites! Which would be..." He trails off, while he starts to tidy up, though still listens intently, for whatever might be said in response.

"My favorites? I don't have time for books!" he laughs. "I read what's available to me. I enjoy stories of adventures, but that may be because I only have access to the journals of the explorers who came before me." He leans back on the couch, stretching his legs, listening to the Doctor putter in the kitchen.

"I have read Voltaire. I enjoyed it. Do you know it?"

"Yes!" He pops his head around the corner, leveling a bright grin at him for a moment before he disappears again. He's read, of course, many beyond Earth, but he loves the works of so many humans.

"Lovely chap. I'm fond of Charles Dickens, Shakespeare...Agatha Christie!" There's some light clacking and banging that quickly stops before he continues. "I can think of loads of adventure stories you'd love, too."

Thomas resists the urge to stand up and wander over to see what he's doing in the kitchen. If he's messing with his pots and pans.

Dammit.

He closes his eyes instead, grinning. "Agatha Christie?" he wonders, calling out to him.

"She wrote loads of mystery novels!" He calls back. "Intrigue, investigations, detectives on the case. Whodunits, essentially. Quite a bit after your time."

His voice grows slightly fainter, shifting from putting things away and in their proper place to washing everything now.

"I do enjoy mysteries," he admits, lying back on the couch and closing his eyes comfortably. "But I don't know about reading them. Are they difficult to follow? Do they seem real?"

"They're meant to be...well, a bit winding, you might say. Steering you in one direction, seemingly, but then there's more clues and you go another way and there's details to recollect, a puzzle to work out. Close...ish to real, sort of, or rather — things that could happen." He pauses and there's a steady stream of water for a minute while he rinses.

"They're fun! Trying to work out who did it."

"Ah, there is your love of riddles, sir," he calls out to him, standing slowly to join him in the kitchen. "I am not here to clean!" he assures him, his hands up. "Merely for a pot of water to boil. For my knees."

After all, his knees have been given quite a workout.

He does stop short of chiding him when Thomas quickly explains his presence, and with wet hands, the Doctor turns to look over his shoulder and he winces a bit, lightly smacks his own forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Of course you need that! I know you need that. But I didn't get that — lovely, well done, Doctor." He quickly dries his hands, moving to rest them briefly on Thomas' shoulders, though he stops there at least. "You're not tending yourself."

Thomas looks up to him and then takes one of the Doctor's hands to kiss his fingers. "You can't think of everything all the time. You're helping with the kitchen," he mutters. "That is - more than enough."

"That's the point of this, though," he taps the side of his head with his free hand. He knows he's said similar before, more or less, and he remembers what Thomas said then. But, old habits. He squeezes his hand, though, and gestures to the sofa.

"Will you at least go back and lie down?"

"Oh yes, sir, I would be happy to," he says with a breathless whisper of a laugh, kissing the Doctor's hand before he moves back to the couch.

He does not lie down. He sits. Defiantly.

"Good! Always better when you listen to me," he's quick to say with an easy smirk now, more settled and more at ease. This man and his well-being are of utmost importance to him, and something as simple as knowing he's resting is all he needs right now.

He slings a dish towel over his shoulder, gets the warm compresses prepped, and busies himself drying dishes in between. When everything's ready and he goes to check on Thomas, to kneel in front of him and start to roll up his trousers, he makes a little huff of a sound. "Well, you're halfway there," he teases.

He snickers a little at that, but lets him putter around the kitchen until it's time to bring the towels over. He obliges, sticking out his feet for him in turn so he can wrap them.

"The moment I lie down when someone is working is the moment that you know I am truly ill," he laughs, but he obligingly sits still for the Doctor's attentions.

"I can hope for otherwise, still," he teases again, but he understands it. He's glad to be able to do this, though, particularly after...well, he spent quite a bit of time on his knees. That feeling won't soon be forgotten. The Doctor doesn't say anything, just ducks his head a little as he carefully wraps the warm compresses around joints that are undoubtedly sore.

Satisfied for the moment, he stays where he is briefly, kissing both knees lightly.

He reaches down and cups his face a little, trying to get him to look up. "Thank you," he tells him sincerely. "Thank you for caring for me."

He does tilt his head up, a small, soft smile on his face. "Naturally," is all he can think to say, briefly leaning up and forward to brush his fingers through Thomas' hair. It feels natural — caring for him. Like instinct now.

He leans into the touch. "Go and finish the kitchen," he tells him softly, gently. Not a command, but a suggestion.

"Then we can go to bed."

"Spotless and impeccable," he promises with a little salute and a cheery smirk. "Well done, sir, you'll say — that word, of course that word — and I want you above all others scrubbing my pots and pans from now on." He leaves the room quickly with a twinkle in his eye.

He takes it seriously, though, priding himself on there being a veritable clean slate there for Thomas in the morning. Once everything's cleaned and dried and put away, he'll settle with Thomas for the evening.

By the time that he finishes, Thomas is already dozing off for the evening, his arms resting in his lap. But when he finishes, he wakes, pulling himself up and pulling the Doctor to bed.

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

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