Title: Obsessions
Author: Van Donovan
Characters: The Second Doctor, Jamie McCrimmon, Victoria Waterfield
Pairing: Two/Jamie
Rating: NC-17 overall, this chapter PG.
Word Count this chapter: 4,197
Notes: Set during the changing period in "Fury From the Deep." Slash warning for Doctor/Jamie.
Summary: Obsessions are hard to ignore.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I made no money, but if you want to hire me, I'm cheap. Betaing provided by the wonderful Starkiller, some story concepts/elements thanks to Maccine. I apologize for the clichéness, it ran away with me. Hope you'll like it anyway.
--
After three hours, the Doctor awoke feeling refreshed and content. Aware it was still the middle of the night, he merely watched Jamie sleep for a few moments before slipping out of the bed. He cleaned up the room slightly, organizing Jamie’s clothes on a nearby chair and putting his gown in a hamper for dirty clothes. He dressed properly and lit another lamp by the desk, settling in to study the list of new names and vocations Victoria had given him.
Shortly before dawn one of the maids slipped in to take the clothes and refresh the water basin. She glanced briefly at the form in the bed and then started when she saw the Doctor seated at the desk. Her eyes darted between the two forms and she blushed. “Begging your pardon, sir,” she whispered. “Just tidying up, as it were.”
She hurried about her business and left quickly. The Doctor grew dimly aware of the state of the room and what had obviously happened in it. He rose at last, pulling back the velvet curtains to open a window. For a time he stood watching the sky turn from grey to pink to blue, but was back at the writing desk by the time the rising sun finally stirred Jamie from his slumber.
“Doctor?” he called.
“I’m here, Jamie,” the Doctor reassuringly said, but didn’t go to him.
The boy lounged for several minutes before finally managing to get himself away from the sheets. He dressed and went to the window, looking out as he buttoned his shirt. When he finished, he turned to the Doctor, doing up his cuffs as he approached. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten it. His posture seemed overly casual as he leaned in. “Been up long?” he asked.
“A while, yes. I don’t need quite as much sleep as you.”
“Right, right.” Jamie sat against the desk, yawning sleepily as he continued to awaken. “Come up with any clever plans then?”
“Yes, actually. I need to speak with Tianna again, to be sure, but I do believe I’ve figured out the source of the sickness: airborne toxins. I’ve come up with a concoction I think will counter them. Of course, this is only speculation on paper.”
“Oh, well, that’s great,” Jamie said. He bent over the Doctor, casually putting a hand on his shoulder as he peered at the list of names and notes the Doctor had written.
The Doctor sighed at the touch, wishing briefly that he’d found another dressing gown to wear, before swatting the thought away. “You’re not going to like your part in all this.”
“D’ I ever?” Jamie asked.
“Come on, let’s collect Victoria. I want to explain this to both of you without being observed or interrupted.” The Doctor gathered the papers to him before pushing the chair back and getting to his feet.
He made his way to the door but stopped as Jamie’s hand fell against his arm, lightly restraining him. After a moment’s hesitation, he glanced up into the boy’s eyes.
“Victoria wouldn’t understand about last night, would she?” Jamie asked in a low voice.
The Doctor lowered his eyes contemplating the question silently, and the reality of the fact that there was all that still to deal with, before answering. “No, Jamie, I don’t think she would understand.”
“Why not?”
The Doctor dropped his hand from the handle. “It’s difficult to explain, Jamie. Victoria—and Ben and Polly for that matter—come from a time in Earth’s history when that sort of thing was rather frowned upon. It was a very primitive way of thinking.”
“Aye, it was looked down upon where I come from too,” Jamie softly said. “I’m from even further back in time than them, y’ know.”
“Yes, you are.” The Doctor studied him for several seconds before reaching out to squeeze the hand on his arm. “And you’ve been traveling with me longer, broadening your mind. You’ve nothing to worry about, Jamie. Remember how scared you were the first time you saw an airplane? People fear and dislike what they don’t understand. Once people begin to understand it, they find it’s not so bad; some even prefer it.”
Jamie looked like he was going to say something else. The Doctor could almost taste the turmoil of emotions and questions bubbling in the boy’s mind; it rolled off him in waves. The confusion and conflict Jamie was going through was undoubtedly great. At last his expression softened. “I’m jus’ glad y’ don’t see it as a bad thing,” he finally said, eyes on the Doctor’s, voice barely a whisper.
For a few seconds the Doctor thought the boy was going to kiss him.
He tried to imagine what that would be like: standing up, in the daylight, perhaps casual and brief, sweet and without the heated need for sex following it. Kissing for the sake of kissing, because he wanted to, not because some obsession was coercing him into it. The Doctor was ashamed by how very much he wanted it, by how much of it he couldn’t tell was his own desire verses the sickness, and quickly opened the door. “We can discuss all of this more in depth after we’ve saved the day.”
Jamie didn’t reply, just pushed past him to stalk over to Victoria’s door and knock.
--
Once inside things seemed to revert to normal. Jamie settled himself on her bed, swinging his legs out of boredom while Victoria insisted on trying various flower crowns on the Doctor’s head. He humored her good-naturedly, explaining his plan of attack to them as she fussed with his hair.
“Well, I think it’s a daft plan,” Jamie protested. “What happens if something goes wrong, eh? How d’ we even know if we’re makin’ a difference?”
The Doctor sighed. “It would just be too suspicious if we all went up to confront Tianna.”
“Aye, I’m not sayin’ we should knock and ask for tea,” Jamie said. “We knock down th’ door and go in fightin’!”
“And what shall Victoria do while we’re fighting?” the Doctor patiently asked.
“Oh, I don’t mind watching,” she cheerfully said. She used a few hairpins to secure a daisy crown on the Doctor’s head.
“Och, a battleground is no place for a lady like you, Victoria. Y’ could d’ th’ kitchen plan by yourself. That’s safer.”
“It is safer,” the Doctor agreed, standing up. “Which is why I want both of you doing it. It’s also important and tedious, so I need both of you working on it, keeping each other focused.”
“Oh, aye, ‘tedious.’ That means ‘boring,’” Jamie explained to Victoria. “I used t’ think it meant ‘important.’”
“How do you like it?” Victoria cut in, handing the Doctor a silver hand mirror to examine his crown with.
“It makes a very fine hat, Victoria. It’s funny that I’m not as fond of them as I used to be.” He turned his head, trying to see his profile.
“Not as fond of what?” Jamie asked.
“Hats,” the Doctor said, pushing to his feet. He handed the mirror back to Victoria. “I used to be quite fond of them. Now I can’t seem to find the time.”
“Y’ would say that, time machine and all,” Jamie fussed. He hopped off the bed as the Doctor made for the door. “You’re not really wearin’ it out, are y’?”
“Of course I am. Every world should be saved by a man in a garland at least once.” He smiled brightly. “You both know your jobs?”
Victoria nodded cheerily and Jamie gloomily, but as both gave positives, the Doctor flung the door open and started out. At the stairs, he bade them farewell and good luck. They’d continue to breakfast and finish in the kitchens; he’d try to infiltrate the library and confront Tianna one last time.
--
Breakfast was a strained affair for Jamie and Victoria.
Without the Doctor to inject sanity into the conversation, the pair was subjected to a myriad of the Prince Regent’s jokes, bad puns and crude comments. Victoria laughed politely when she could, but Jamie mostly glowered at his food and ate without speaking. If he had said anything, it probably would have gotten them kicked out of the castle.
“Where has your Doctor friend gone to now?” the Prince asked after Victoria’s strained tittering had died down and the food was beginning to be cleared away.
“Oh, I’m not sure,” Victoria replied vaguely, somewhat nervous.
Jamie wagged his fork at the Prince, covering for Victoria so she wouldn’t give the Doctor’s plan away. “Och, don’t y’ worry about th’ Doctor none. If he’s not here, he’s off doin’ something important, y’ mark my words.”
“Yes, Jamie’s probably right,” Victoria said. Gesturing then to her plate, she brightened. “This meal was quite delightful. I wonder if I couldn’t compliment the chef? I’d love to take the recipe home with me.”
The Prince was eyeing Jamie suspiciously. The silence after Victoria’s question stretched on. “Well, answer her man,” Jamie said.
Reginald blinked slowly, reopening his eyes with them focused on Victoria. “Yes, of course. One of the maids would be more than happy to relay your compliments and retrieve the recipe for you.”
“Oh, but I’d really like to meet him myself!” she exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly.
“The kitchens are no place for a lady such as yourself, Miss Victoria. No, I think I shall send a maid and take you on a stroll. You’ve not yet seen my private gardens.”
It was clear by the way that Victoria straightened in her seat that she was suddenly at a loss for how to reply. “Private gardens, you say?” she breathlessly asked.
“Well, she’s not interested,” Jamie hotly retorted, putting a protective arm around her. “And if she wants to meet th’ chef, she ought t’ get to meet the chef.”
“I wasn’t aware he was your keeper,” Reginald said, his eyes still soft on Victoria.
“Jamie’s just a friend,” Victoria replied, surprising both men.
Jamie looked at Victoria like he’d been scalded. He pulled his arm off her and pushed to his feet. “Come on, Victoria,” he commanded. “We’ve got important things t’ do.”
“I think she’d rather take a stroll with me,” Reginald said. He rose as well, coming around to their side of the table, offering his arm to the girl.
Victoria remained seated, looking between both of them. She set her napkin on the table pushing to her feet. Smiling politely at Reginald, she accepted his arm. “I do think I would.” It was only when she turned to bid Jamie farewell that she saw the crushed and confused look on his face.
“Victoria,” Jamie weakly began. “Victoria, y’ can’t.”
She looked forlornly up at the Prince, struggling to remember herself. Fighting down the desire new flowers to see filled her with, she bowed her head. “Oh, I do suppose he’s right.” She smiled sadly and disengaged herself from the Prince’s arm. “Perhaps later we can take that stroll? I very much would like to see your gardens.”
It was clear Reginald was not happy with this reversal. He made to grab Victoria, but Jamie got to her first, quickly grasping and maneuvering her behind him, so he was facing Reginald. “Now play nice, laddie,” he dangerously said, “and leave the girl alone.”
For a moment Reginald looked poised to strike and Jamie looked ready to retaliate. It was only the arrival of the maid coming to clear away the rest of the dishes that broke the tension in the room. The Prince immediately backed off, adjusting his cuffs. He looked around venomously before stalking out through the main doors.
When he was gone, Jamie gripped Victoria and peered at her. “What were y’ thinking’?” he demanded in a loud whisper.
Victoria closed her eyes and put her hand to her head. “I’m sorry, Jamie. I don’t know what came over me. I’m feeling faint. Here, let me sit down again.”
Jamie helped her back into her chair, looking around as he did. “Hey, where’s your basket of flowers?” he tensely asked.
“I left them in my room,” she replied. “It seemed silly to carry them with me everywhere.” She gently fanned herself with her hands.
“Blast,” Jamie muttered. He scanned the room for a centerpiece or other arrangement, but saw nothing. “Don’t y’ understand anything? Without flowers around, you’re going t’ get weak and sick. Come on, we’ve got t’ go back to your room and get them.”
“Oh, you go, Jamie,” she said, slumping back in her chair. “I’m too tired. I’ll just wait here.”
“I’ll not leave y’,” Jamie firmly said. “Th’ Doctor said not to let y’ out of my sight, and I don’t intend to.”
She peered affectionately up at him. “You’re very sweet, Jamie.” Her eyes drifted to the main door. “But the thought of all those stairs turns my blood to ice.”
Jamie gripped her shoulder reassuringly, looking around the room again, as though a bouquet might suddenly materialize. “Well, I suppose I could try carryin’ y’,” he began.
“Is there something the matter, sir?”
Both Jamie and Victoria turned to find the maid sheepishly smiling at them.
“Oh, Jamie,” Victoria breathed in relief. “We can send one of the maids.”
“Oh, aye, right,” he brightened. As Jamie wasn’t very good with ordering people around, having never really dealt with servants, he let her do the talking.
“I’ve a lovely basket of flowers that I’ve forgotten in my room,” Victoria explained. “Do you suppose you could send someone up to fetch them for me?”
“Of course, miss. I’ll send someone up right away.” She turned to go.
“And afterward,” Jamie said, “we’d like a tour of the kitchen, if y’ don’t mind.” He smiled brightly at her.
She curtsied. “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”
When she was gone, Victoria raised her hand to grip the hand Jamie had on her shoulder. “This place frightens me.”
He squatted beside her, careful to keep his kilt modest. “Aye, I don’t like it much either.” He smiled at her. “But once we get this all done, we’ll get out of here. It’ll be safe on th’ TARDIS.”
“Until the next time,” Victoria said. She wiped at her brow.
“Aye, well, it keeps things interestin’,” he said with a smile. “Have some water,” he added, standing back up to refresh her glass from the pitcher on the table.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip. Sighing, she added, “I don’t understand how being away from my flowers can make me feel so bad.”
Jamie looped his thumbs around his belt. “Th’ Doctor says it’s some sort of sickness,” he replied in a low, conspiratorial tone. “Something t’ do with th’ air waves or something? Well, whatever it is, that’s why we’re going t’ th’ kitchen, to make something t’ counter it. Flap it about, y’ know, cancels out th’ bad air with the good. Save the day again. On to the rest of the universe’s problems.”
Victoria took another sip of her water before setting the glass aside wearily. “Last night, the Doctor was very ill looking. Do you suppose he needs flowers too? I did give him that garland . . ..”
Jamie tensed at the question, but then forced himself to relax. He fingered the silk ascot at his throat absently. “Well, not flowers, but somethin’ like that, aye.”
She looked up at him. “And you?”
“Oh, it’s this fabric, y’ know. Th’ Doctor calls it silk.” He gestured to his throat.
Victoria reached up to stroke it, but then dropped her hand with a sigh. “I was hoping it’d make me feel better, too.”
“Your flowers’ll come soon, don’t y’ worry.”
“I feel so foolish. The Doctor said I should keep them close—I just didn’t understand why.”
Moments after she spoke, the maid they’d talked to returned, carrying with her Victoria’s basket of flowers. Jamie quickly retrieved them, thanking her greatly as he did. He hurried back over to press the basket into Victoria’s lap.
She buried her fingers into the soft petals and leaves, letting out a deep, contented sigh as she did. “You’re right,” she whispered. “It’s the flowers I needed.”
“An’ that’s why y’ wanted t’ take that stroll with that Prince fellow so much,” Jamie said with a nod as he crossed his arms. “Bad idea. I don’t like him.” Absently, he said, “Wonder where he went off t’ in such a hurry.”
Victoria was humming a bit, fingering her flowers still. “You ought to let me weave you a flower crown, Jamie. I should like to, and I think you’d look lovely in one.”
Jamie opened his mouth to retort about how daft an idea that was, but stilled himself. “After we finish up in the kitchens, aye?”
“Oh, yes!” Victoria started to her feet in alarm. “Jamie McCrimmon, how could you let me forget?”
“What? I did no such thing! You took ill!”
“Well, we’ve got to hurry. We’ve wasted so much time now, and the Doctor needs us to release that . . . concoction or whatever he called it . . . into the air as soon as possible.” She looped the basket over her arm and pushed her chair in.
“Aye,” Jamie said, feeling suddenly more optimistic about toiling in the kitchen, saving the day with plants. “I think the kitchens are,” he looked at the doors in the room critically, then took Victoria’s hand and pointed with his other, “that way. C’mon.”
--
The library, when he arrived, was empty.
The Doctor fretted about this for a considerable while. He stomped about, overturned some of the King’s books and generally made a fuss, hoping to be discovered. When neither the King nor Tianna surfaced, he flopped himself down onto one of the couches disconsolately. His whole plan of action had revolved around confronting the physician again and he was somewhat at a loss for how to proceed without her.
Jamie and Victoria working to make the concoction that would break the obsession sickness was extremely important, but it would do no good if Tianna just found a way around it. No, he had to find the woman and stop her from tainting the air with the mind-altering stuff in the first place.
“Now, if I were a vile woman bent on conquest with a devilishly handsome man hot on my trail, where would I go?” he mused out loud to himself. He stroked his chin in thought, and brightened. “She must have a laboratory!” Pushing to his feet he began to pace. “Turrets or basement?” he mused.
The words of Milyan filtered back to him and he recalled the escort’s wife’s new job: cleaning the basement. “A-ha!” he shouted.
He stalked out of the library and turned right. He continued for a few seconds before turning about face and stalking to the left. There he stopped and wrung his hands. “Oh, which way to the basement?” he cried.
At last he found a servant and asked for directions. He was promptly led down below to what was really more like a dungeon than a cellar. Thanking the servant, he proceeded cautiously. The underground was damp and rank, bitterly cold and perfectly suited for a creepy underground laboratory, but as he slunk into room after room, he found no sign of the physician or the King.
The Doctor reached the end of the underground and flung his arms out in exasperation before turning around and staring angrily at the far brick wall.
After several moments of staring, he tilted his head curiously. A brick wall? Down here? He glanced about—the rest of the underground was made of the same rough hewn stone as the floor. Great big slabs of gray stone filled the palace, making it seem uniform and orderly. The red brick wall was decidedly out of place, and somewhat anachronistic.
The Doctor approached and placed his hand on it. After ascertaining that it was certainly real, he began to walk its length, trailing his hand along the bricks, searching for a door. The bricks were cool and smooth, which made the entrance easy to find: it was warm. The Doctor pushed lightly and it unhinged on a neat spring that separated from the wall seamlessly.
He eased it open and peered inside. The door was warm as it opened to a large heater, which flooded the secret dungeon room with warmth. The interior was carpeted and well lit, with what appeared to be oak paneling on the walls. The Doctor eased inside, silently shutting the brick wall door behind him.
The room was more of a study than a laboratory. There were bookshelves along the walls, a large table in the center of the room stacked with papers, and several chairs and couches. The lamps were electric.
The Doctor poked around, flipping through books absently, before coming to the end of the room—it was decidedly empty, though a large archway stood in the far wall, hewn out of the brick and set with an ill-fitting wooden door. It creaked when the Doctor opened it and he had to resist pulling out a tin of oil from his pocket to lubricate it.
Once open he pulled a pen torch out of his pocket and shined it down the dark hall—it illuminated a stone staircase. This was a bit more like it and he eagerly started up the stairwell. It reached a platform and doubled back, eventually ending at a much nicer, thicker door. This was locked.
The Doctor jimmied the handle a few times, before bending to peek through the keyhole. Whatever the door opened to, he couldn’t see anything through the keyhole. Hemming for a bit in thought, he finally pulled one of the hairpins Victoria had put in his garland and set about picking the mechanism.
When at last he heard the soft ping that announced the lock was open, the Doctor let out a sigh of relief. He put his shoulder into it, but the door still wouldn’t budge open. At last he figured out that it was on a track, and managed to slide it aside. He stepped through and discovered, typically, that the door was on the other side of a bookshelf.
Turning around, he realized he was back in the library.
The King’s couches were to his right down several aisles, and he could only barely see the main door from where he was; it was closed. Across the room, out of his field of view, he could hear voices. He took a tentative step forward, then halted, aware his approach would be easily noticed when his shoes rung out on the stones. He bent and unlaced them, leaving them near the bookshelf-door. Padding in socks was cold, but far quieter. He was able to slip down an aisle and approach completely undetected.
When he finally got a clear view of the speakers, he was shocked by what he saw.
--
Jamie stood in the kitchen beside Victoria, flapping a thin, flat piece of wood over a cauldron, wafting the steam it produced out into the main hall. He’d been doing this for what seemed like hours and his arms were starting to hurt.
“How long do you suppose it’ll take to start working?” Victoria asked, stirring the pot with a large wooden spoon as she did.
“Och, how should I know?” Jamie protested. “Maybe it’s already workin’.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be separated from my flowers yet to see if it has,” she protested.
“No, me either,” Jamie agreed. With a sigh he lowered his arms, letting the board droop. “We’ve been at this long enough, haven’t? Feels as though my arms are about to fall off.”
Victoria kept stirring. “We’ve got to keep going, Jamie.”
“Aye, but it’s been well over an hour,” he said, looking at his watch. “Th’ Doctor should’ve been back by now.” He started intently in the direction of the stairwell.
“We don’t know that,” Victoria said. “We don’t even know what he’s doing.” She sighed and slumped against the cauldron, finally ceasing to stir.
Jamie seemed to ponder events for a few moments before abruptly deciding, “I’m going after him.”
“Jamie, you can’t,” Victoria protested.
“What if he needs my help? Listen, find one of those maids to help y’ with this. If we’re not back in an hour, make for the TARDIS, all right?” He set the plank of wood down and began pushing up his sleeves.
“Oh, Jamie, don’t leave me.”
Jamie turned back to her, his expression softening. “I’ll come back for y’, Victoria, don’t y’ worry. It’s just, right now, th’ Doctor needs me. I know he does.”
“I would hate to come in the way of helping the Doctor,” she said, peering up at him. “Oh, but please do be careful, Jamie.”
“Aye. Always am.” He flashed her a brilliant smile. “See y’ soon then, Victoria.” He turned at last, taking off down the hall at a run.
--