Chapter 37
Jamie
I step away from the tree I’d been leaning on and rush after him, catching up just as he gets to his car. My footsteps crunch on the gravel, and the Doctor turns as I pull up behind him.
“What in the name of God…?”
“I didn’t want to scare you,” I say.
“Were you waiting for me in the car park? How did you know when I’d be finished?”
He looks angry. He clearly doesn’t like that I came all the way out here, hid behind a tree, waited like a stalker for him to arrive, then jumped out behind him.
“I didn’t know,” I say.
The Doctor looks me over for a second.
“How long have you been here?” His tone shifts, more worried than annoyed now.
“I don’t remember,” I say, my teeth chattering.
“You’re some idiot. You could’ve called.” He gives out to me, but the anger is gone.
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“Do you now?”
I shake my head.
“You’re a mess.”
“I am.”
You have no idea how much.
I wrap my arms around myself, but I’m still shivering. I’m soaked through, right down to the bone.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“I have my car. I can drive myself.”
I’m not a fucking kid he has to drop off with his parents after I’ve gotten into trouble.
“To my place. I’ll take you to mine. Otherwise, you’ll get pneumonia and end up in the hospital. And I hope it’s not mine, because I don’t know if I’d be able to treat you. And I hope it’s not some other one, because I don’t want anyone else touching you.”
Why do I get the feeling he’s not really talking about hospitals and pneumonia?
He walks around the car and opens the passenger door. “Are you getting in, or do I have to carry you? Then, on top of the pneumonia, there’ll be my dislocated shoulder.”
I can’t help but smile.
The Doctor is joking. The Doctor isn’t angry. The Doctor hasn’t given up on me yet.
The Doctor still wants me.
I slide into the seat as carefully as I can. He shuts the door and goes around to the driver’s side. A second later, he’s beside me, starting the engine.
“I’ll soak your car,” I mutter.
“What do I care?”
He pulls out of the car park and onto the road. “You’re a dickhead.”
“Wasn’t I an idiot?”
“And an arsehole.”
“I deserve the lot.”
“At least you know.”
“About the other night…”
“Not now. I’m bringing you home. You’re going to let me take care of you, and you’re not going to make a fuss.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“I’m not messing.”
“I’m in your hands,” I say. It’s so fucking true, I just close my eyes and hope his magic hands might work on me too.
As soon as we step inside the house, the Doctor orders me to take off my clothes.
“Are you trying to take advantage of me?”
“I’m trying to keep you from getting hypothermia.”
“My health is not your problem.”
“It is. You stood out in the rain because of me.” His tone is full of reproach. I’m not sure whether it’s directed at me or at himself, but I don’t like either way.
“Don’t act like you’re so important, Doctor,” I snap.
“You’re already starting to get delirious.” He doesn’t flinch. “Get out of those clothes; I’ll grab you some towels and a thermometer.”
The Doctor leaves me alone in his kitchen. I hear him fiddling, opening doors, and slamming drawers. I remain standing, one hand braced on a chair, unable to move or fully grasp what is happening. I feel weak, aching, and not quite present, as if I’m about to lose consciousness.
When the Doctor returns, I can no longer see him clearly, nor can I make out what he’s saying.
My vision is clouded, and his voice sounds distant, like something from a dream.
I try to follow it, to reach out to him, but I am confused and exhausted.
I extend a hand towards that fading image and take a few steps, but then fatigue, sleep, and my own confusion take over, and I fall into a black void.
I open my eyes, something cool resting on my forehead. I turn my head to the side and a dazzling light forces them shut again.
I’m dead. Or maybe I’m dying. Someone up there is showing me the way.
Wait. I don’t believe in anything. How is that possible?
I open my eyes again, ignoring the jackhammer in my skull, and finally realise where the light is coming from.
“Am I dead?”
“What an idiot.”
“Are you my guardian angel, come to save my damned soul?”
“I’m your doctor.” His words shake through me. “I’m here to save your arse. Someone else will take care of your soul.”
“My Doctor,” I whisper.
“You have a high fever. I’m trying to bring it down, but you should swallow these at least.” He shows me some tablets. “Can you manage?”
I nod, wincing.
The Doctor lifts my head and slips two tablets into my mouth. Then he presses a bottle of water into my hand and makes me drink.
“Good boy,” he says, before lowering my head onto the pillow.
“I feel like shit.”
“I can tell. I’m here to put you back on your feet.”
“Can you put everything back together?”
“You’re delirious again.”
I reach up and grab his arm. “Can you put me back together, Doctor?”
His eyes shift in colour, even in shape. They speak in whispers, in a language without sound.
“I’ll do my best.”
And I know he truly will.