thedreamer | open post;

He's finding simple joy in things like this, the act of simply holding him and being held close. If he were at all drowsy himself, he wouldn't stop himself from drifting off with him. But the busy day has his thoughts sparking too much.

"Just a bit," he promises. He'll only move when he's decently sure that Thomas is sleeping soundly; mindful that the movement of getting up won't rouse him. And he won't be far, although he does a quick check to make sure he's properly tucked in, warm enough, before he leaves the room. He stays busy for an hour or two, doing some practical work and modifications on the TARDIS, after so long away. He picks out an outfit for himself, for later, and then he'll come back to the room eventually, stretching out beside Thomas again, but this time reading a book, perfectly content until he wakes. He might get impatient soon enough, though, too eager for their next outing.

Thomas sleeps a deeper sleep than he ever has before. Whatever was in the medications is doing its work on him, giving him a sound rest, helping his body knit itself back together and fight the impurities that had settled all the way down to his bones.

And when he wakes up, groggy and disoriented, he feels -

Different. Better. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with air and finds that it doesn't hurt. He pushes himself up and finds that his joints don't complain nearly as loudly as they did before.

He sits up, all the way to his knees.

"Wow..." is all he can say as he lays his eyes on the Doctor with a laugh.

When he seems to be stirring a bit, the Doctor puts his book aside, and of course, he feels like he's holding his breath a bit. He hopes the medicine will work quickly, but one can never be sure, until —

Well. That. One simple, delightful word, and he feels suddenly at ease and elated all at the same time, letting out a laugh of his own as he sits up more to match him. "An exclamation usually denoting amazement," he grins. "Which I take to mean, you feel good?"

"Ah, thank you for the definition," he laughs and laughs and laughs because his lungs feel good and they don't feel like they're covered in spikes. He rubs at his knees which don't hurt any longer. They feel like they belong to a much younger man. He's elated by the changes already and celebrates with a whoop as he throws his arms around the Doctor.

Oh, that laugh — over and over again, he soaks it up. It's the most beautiful sound, and it sends a pleasant ache through his hearts, while he wraps Thomas up tightly. Being together was one thing, and he would care for him through every moment, but — it would be agony to watch him continue to suffer, to be slowed by aches and pains that would only worsen with time. But they're here now, and this is, in every way, a new beginning.

"Now you have no excuse not to dance with me all through the night," he teases.

"None at all," he agrees and slides off of the bed to take his hand, just briefly. "But first you must catch me."

Perhaps it's a little more spring in his step now, the absence of pain that makes him truly - want to live. He steps back and then turns to run out of the door and through the TARDIS herself. He's going to get himself terribly lost, but that's the price he'd like to pay.

Catch me, he says, and — "You," the Doctor laughs, a bit husky under his breath; he's pleasantly surprised. He adores everything about this moment right now, and though he makes a move to quickly follow him, he's also just a touch delayed on purpose because he's eager to see what room Thomas ends up in. He'll find him, regardless.

And there are so many rooms — a pool, an observatory, a butterfly room, drawing room, workrooms where he tinkers with gadgets and building things. And so much more, but he's quick on his heels, calling out — "Go easy on me!" Of course, he'd want nothing of the sort, in fact.

He runs like he's a child again, because that's how he feels. He feels years younger, like he's gotten so much of his life back. And he's not going to waste it. His socked feet slide and skid on the floors, but he searches a few rooms before he stops dead in the butterfly room.

It's outdoors.

There's a hill.

There are butterflies.

Thomas knows the rooms here are strange, but this one takes his breath away.

When he catches sight of him around corners as they run, he's mostly just caught up in watching Thomas' joy, seeing him so full of life, and less concerned with catching him. At least for now. That can wait.

But then he stops, and the distance between them narrows, and as he comes up closer to peer over his shoulder, there's nothing but that big grin on the Doctor's face. "Oh, yes! Nearly forgot —" Understandable, perhaps. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"They are," he agrees and reaches back to take his hand. There's no more running, not for now. Right now, he wants to walk inside and he wants to be with those butterflies, but he doesn't want to be alone.

"Why is this here?"

"It had to be somewhere." Okay, so perhaps that's not entirely true, nor very much of an actual answer. It didn't have to be at all really, but it is, and it's here.

The TARDIS has her own whims, rooms appearing and disappearing all the time. But a room like this is just fun and joyful, and perhaps sentimental; for those days and months and years when he's been alone here, there are rooms like this with — life. More than just himself. He takes Thomas' hand and leads him further in. The room will feel warmer than the corridor they've just left, and there's a giant tree to lie beneath, on a grassy hill. To most, he imagines, he must seem like a dream. He offers a little more explanation, though. "They're friends," he adds.

"Friends of yours or friends of hers?" he wonders, looking down at his bare feet on the grass.

"I can't remember the last time I've felt grass under my feet," he says softly, pulling back on his hand so he can curl his toes and get the full feeling of it.

"Yes, exactly." — Is how he, apparently, chooses to answer that question. While no one else can ever really know the TARDIS the way he does — their connection unique and theirs alone — she has her own temperament, a way of feeling, fond (sometimes) of the strays he collects, as she called them. Fond of other life, too, like these butterflies.

"I'd come here and read sometimes, under that tree," he nods to it, smiling as a warm breeze tousles his hair.

He raises up on his toes and looks to the tree before he starts to walk again. "That sounds - peaceful," he admits, since it looks like this is going to be his new favorite place. Until he finds another one.

"Do you want to sit there now?"

"I'm not sure I want to sit this time," the Doctor smiles as he breathes in slowly, puffing up his chest a little before letting it out, just playful and relaxed. Happy. "I think I want to climb it!"

And he'll dart forward towards it now, shedding his waist coat haphazardly, kicking off his shoes and socks, shedding as he goes until he reaches the trunk. There, he untucks his shirt, begins to roll up his trousers to his knees, and then reaches for his bowtie, to begin untying it, intending to just drape it around his neck, wanting to be more casual in here.

There's a stirring in Thomas' chest as he watches him strip down just to climb a tree like a schoolboy. He smiles despite himself, and decides after just a moment to join him. He hurries to the trunk and reaches for the bottom branch. His clothes are more casual at the moment, and so he swings forward and places his feet on the trunk to help climb his way up. He might be healed, but his muscles are still learning!

The Doctor isn't far beyond him, and he delights in seeing him begin to climb along. It's a rather perfect climbing tree — it would be, of course — like the TARDIS taking care of him, and everyone else, in all the ways she can. Even if it's just to have a bit of fun. The branches are sturdy and thick, at least, but able to be held onto.

He reaches down to offer a hand, if Thomas needs. Otherwise, he'll watch in delight as he climbs up to join him near the top.

It's been a long time since he's climbed a tree, but his body seems to remember exactly how it's done. Pull up and balance, reach up and pull. Pull up and balance, reach up and pull. He places his feet against the trunk for purchase, but delights more in the ascent, even if he takes a few precarious wobbles.

But it's not long before he's by the Doctor, taking his hand if only to press a kiss to it.

"There you are," he grins, his absolute joy at the simplicity of climbing a tree with his Thomas so evident on his face. He squeezes his hand. "Where you should be, of course. Close enough to touch."

A warm, gentle breeze passes through, tossing some of the leaves about, fussing with his hair. He closes his eyes, tips his head up a moment, breathes it in, then looks at Thomas again. "Not bad, eh?"

"No, sir," he breathes. "Not bad at all."

He turns and watches the butterflies as they land on the leaves, switching places, maneuvering from place to place in the most beautiful of dances.

"I could stay here for days," he says, a hint of a smile on his lips.

There's a variety in here, too, at least a handful of different butterfly species. When they settle on the leaves, there's time enough to study the patterns on their wings, the beautiful coloring. He's seen them all before, but it's been long enough that he's just as fascinated all over again himself.

"It's sort of..." He looks around a moment at the space they're in now. Not massive, but not small. A perfect little microcosm. "Its own world. Easy to linger here. It can even rain — oh, that's a treat." He smiles warmly at Thomas, though. "If you're planning to stay for days, then we'll have to set up camp." He's fully aware it might have only been a figure of speech, but the Doctor is always quick to latch on to big ideas. He carefully shifts from where he is, though, and he leans forward suddenly to kiss him.

"Well, but how will - " And then the Doctor is kissing him and it's a perfect moment, a perfect time, and Thomas grips onto his shirt with tight fingers.

He shudders a little, thrilled and elated, and has to move one hand to grip a nearby branch.

"I thought we were going to - dance on the moon," he mutters when he pulls away to take a breath.

It's very, very easy for the Doctor to jump from one thought to the next, every excitedly, not slowing down. Which means, it's also very, very easy for him to unintentionally barrel over the wants and needs and desires of even the one he loves and adores.

So he's about to whimsically weave a whole day where they can do both all in rapid succession, and maybe Thomas would like that, but maybe he doesn't. So he opens his mouth to speak, he pauses, he weighs the moment, he reaches out to brush some of Thomas' hair back from his eyes. "There's time enough for both! So much time, but — I leave it to you. What we do first, that is."

Thomas tries not to look surprised. He tries not to feel surprised. Leaving it to him? For what reason?

Thomas reaches forward and kisses him again before he starts to climb down. "I like your plan. I have the energy for it. I have the life again. I don't want to spend it sitting around right now."

"And you absolutely should not," the Doctor grins, making his way down the tree with him, on the other side. He moves quickly, not like they're racing to the ground to beat each other, but he might seem to be moving faster than is really necessary. And when he just about nears the ground, he does a ridiculous tuck and roll that's a sort of clumsy recovery from almost falling. But he makes a show of it — he meant to do that, obviously — and he does a little bow, smoothing his tousled hair back from his eyes.

"Perfect eleven from the judges," he announces, like he's making perfect sense. He tugs at his undone tie, starts to button his shirt up again, then realizes he's about to change into something else for their drinks on the moon, and thinks better of it.

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