for better or for worse- open to andiwilldie

[fobwatched]

It's not unusual for Harry to have dreams about it.  After it happened, they were fairly frequent- all entirely normal, the relevant people had assured him- but they've been less so since the Doctor moved in with him.  Which makes sense, if he were to think about it; dreams are supposed to be the unconscious mind's way of processing the events of

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[fobwatched]

'Mmm? Oh, no, it's fine.' Harry's not particularly ticklish, and he's distracted by memories at the moment anyway.

'On the Valiant. It was- you remember I told you about the Toclafane?' The first time he'd met the Doctor- or, well, this Doctor- he'd mentioned the Toclafane, which had turned out to be some figure in Gallifreyan myth. Harry nods, drawing a deep breath. 'That morning, just after eight. The... Toclafane materialised, and killed the American president, and then after that-'

He breaks off with a frown. He knows what happened, of course; chaos, after the president had been shot. Any cameras that had been there for the media were blown to pieces, but there weren't any other casualties but the president, and then... but, no, that's not right, surely. A line carves itself into his forehead as the drums behind his eyes speed up, thumping like blood in his ears. How had- Lucy had been beside him the whole time, but then, in his memory, she's across the room, with a gun in her hand, and it doesn't match up. It's a stupid thing to get hung up on; he knows what happened, obviously, but somehow the memory's like a piece of film that's been edited weirdly.

It strikes him suddenly that he's been silent for several moments longer than is easily explained away, and he shakes his head slightly, blinking as if to throw off a mantle of sleep. 'Sorry,' he says, frowning. 'It's, well, it's not all entirely clear, still. I don't know how, or why-- but she had a gun, and...'

Past that, there's not much more to say.

[andiwilldie]

"I wouldn't expect it to be clear," he replies softly. "Traumatic things like that seldom are. Human memories are so..." he begins to explain, but instead lets his voice fade to silence. That's not helping, going on like that, not really.

The Doctor fiddles with the edge of the sheets, rolling and unrolling a small bit of it between his finger tips. "I'm sorry, that's probably not what you want to hear right now, is it?"

[fobwatched]

Absently, Harry reaches to touch the Doctor's hand; not holding it, just tracing the lines of veins and tendons with his fingertips. It's a distraction as well as a comfort, and a little sigh gusts over his lips.

'Not really,' he admits hollowly. He doesn't really properly know how to quantify what he's dealing with here, and he wishes he did. Harry likes to be able to understand things, to label them and see how they fit together and react to other things. This... thing defies him; he feels like he ought to be angry, ought to hate Lucy for it, but he can't manage it. It just hurts, a confused, nebulous pain in his chest above where the bullet struck. How does one even begin to get over something like that?

The fingers limning trails on the back of the Doctor's hand move up, and Harry finds himself gripping hard at his wrist, like he needs something to ground him. 'I just... I know it's unrealistic to expect myself to be over it, but-' Tight heat creeps up his neck and cheeks, and he blinks hard, twice. 'I loved her. I never-- I just don't understand. I suppose that's why it won't seem to go away.'

He will not cry, he absolutely will not. 'You don't want to hear any of this, I'm sorry..'

[andiwilldie]

Largely unsure of what to do, the Doctor leans over and embraces Harry again. It's a little frustrating to say the least. He knows he's had regenerations before that would have known exactly what to say in moments like this, how to handle it, to cheer him up. But like so many things this go around, it seems, he just can't quite manage it. It's a very limiting feeling, and if there's anything he hates, it's feeling limited.

So, instead, he simply hugs Harry. "No, no, it's fine, I don't mind." And he doesn't, because even apart from his curiosity, if Harry needs to get it off his chest, then the Doctor will always listen.

"She never gave a reason though?"

[fobwatched]

The Doctor hugs him, and Harry hugs back. And not just a casual, comforting embrace, but a proper clinch, turning on the bed to really clutch the Doctor to him. Or maybe he's letting the Doctor hold him, not the other way 'round; it doesn't matter. It might be a little too hard; the fingers of the hand splayed over the Doctor's back are digging in, pressing white marks against the skin, but it has to be hard, right now. Everything about Harry is set and tense; his hands, the line of his back; his jaw, clenched as he bows his head briefly into the Doctor's shoulder. He shakes his head, and his voice, for a moment, is muffled against the skin.

'No.'

He exhales heavily, letting his forehead rest where it is for a moment before pulling back. And if his eyes are a little brighter than usual, well, that doesn't mean he's close to tears at all. 'No,' Harry repeats himself. 'I haven't seen her since then. Or had any contact whatever. I suppose, on reflection, that isn't precisely orthodox, but... well, it all happened so quickly. And-- I'm not sure what I'd do, if I saw her, after-- I'd rather not.'

It certainly wouldn't help with attaining any kind of closure, Harry knows that much. Maybe it isn't healthy to avoid it, but it's sure as hell better than dragging it out.

[andiwilldie]

The Doctor nods at Harry's words. He knows what that's like. Not wanting to see someone who's hurt you that much. "I can certainly understand that," he says quietly, but doesn't elaborate. There may have been a time in his life where he almost looked forward to meeting the Master, despite whatever evil and fiendish plots the Time Lord would no doubt have been trying to pull off, but that was... before this. Before their silly little games had gone just a bit too far and he'd been left here, like this. Maybe he should have seen it coming, but hindsight is 20/20, or whatever that silly little phrase was, and now he's much better off without his 'best enemy', thank you very much.

Suddenly aware that he's been quiet for far too long, and afraid Harry might start expecting him to explain things he'd much rather not go in to, he smiles. "At least you're okay now. Might want to have a Doctor look at that, though."

[fobwatched]

Harry is too deep in his own thoughts just at the moment to worry at any unaccustomed silence on the Doctor's part. It's nice, if he's honest. As reliable and comforting as the man's chatter is, there's something about an embrace in silence, without the expectation of explanation or analysis. He takes the opportunity to compose himself, shaking his head minutely and drawing an only faintly unsteady breath.

The bad pun comes with perfect timing, and he cracks in a slightly hysterical giggle. 'At "that", Doctor? And what, pray, is that? Unless you can fix my ex-marital woes with the judicial application of a plaster and a bit of hydrocortisone.'

He latches onto the opportunity for a joke with alacrity. As much as some part of him, the rational, lawyer side, knows that airing these things out and discussing them is good for him, the rest of him wants to run far, far away from that particular topic of conversation and return to the status quo.

[andiwilldie]

"Don't be silly, Harry," the Doctor says, just as completely straight-faced as he can manage. "You know I'm not that sort of doctor."

He is very proud of himself for getting through that without laughing, but a moment later he can't handle it anymore, and bursts into a fit of giggles. It's nice, being able to joke like this with Harry. He doesn't have that with anybody else, not really. Things with Ianto are different, in a way, and he's almost certain that any attempt to joke with the Brigadier would result in nothing but rolled eyes.

[fobwatched]

If Harry was a more sentimental man than he is (and fair deuce, he's not exactly a cold-hearted bastard), he might have called the Doctor's giggling adorable. As it is... well, as it is, he merely thinks it, and that doesn't count, really. He smiles tiredly, feeling hollow despite the warmth and fondness the Doctor's managed to provoke in him.

'Tch, really. Nobody wants a Doctor who can't even manage a bit of doctoring. You're lucky you found me; don't know what the hell you'd be doing with yourself otherwise.'

Of course, he knows perfectly well that while the Doctor might not have an MD attached to the end of his name, he's more capable than anyone need ever be at a myriad of other things. If anything, Harry's the lucky one. But, like his thoughts about the Doctor's giggling, that also goes unsaid. With a great release of breath, he flops back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.

'I'm never going to get to sleep again, I can tell. What time is it?'

[andiwilldie]

"A quarter 'til four," the Doctor replies without looking at a clock. He actually doesn't look at anything, instead is simply staring straight off at nothing in particular.

Something about what Harry had said struck a nerve with him. 'You're lucky you found me'. He knows Harry wasn't being overly serious with it, but he still can't help but realize how true it is. "You're right," he says simply and without any warning. "I am lucky. I suppose. Most things considered." Not even just with Harry. He's lucky he has access to the Multiverse. He's lucky to have Ianto. He's lucky that his job is normally somewhat bearable. He's lucky the Brigadier was so accommodating for so long. He's lucky he was able to get to the Brigadier in the first place. He's lucky no more than seven lives were lost that New Year's Eve.

For as completely unlucky as he's been, he has a few things to cling to, and that's good, he supposes.

So, he leans over and gives Harry a kiss.

[fobwatched]

A quarter to four. Bollocks, he'd only managed about four hours' sleep before his subconscious decided that a traumatic wakeup call was just what it needed. It wasn't as if he wouldn't be able to function the next day, but he preferred to get a full night's rest when he could; now, though, any hint of tiredness was long gone.

His eyes narrow when the Doctor speaks abruptly, and it takes a moment for Harry to place the nonsequiter. When he does, his immediate instinct is to dismiss it; he'd been joking, after all, and the Doctor knows it, but he bites his tongue, and instead simply watches the other man. There are thoughts behind his eyes, and Harry ponders for a moment on how much easier some things would be if he could read minds.

Whatever the Doctor's reflecting on, it leads him into a kiss, and Harry exhales a surprised little laugh before leaning up into it. He lifts a hand to slide over his cheek, pulling him close by the back of the neck, extending the kiss for a lazy moment before falling back onto the pillows, scooting to curl himself over onto his side, propping his head up on one hand. 'What was that?'

[andiwilldie]

The Doctor giggles a little again before snuggling down under the sheets, laying on his side and facing Harry. It doesn't seem likely that he's going to be able to get back to his book any time soon, so he might as well make the most of being in a comfortable bed and be comfortable.

He smiles a bit lopsidedly at Harry's question. "A kiss. Oh, now don't tell me our universes are so different you don't know what one of those is." He pauses, pretending to be deep in thought. "Or maybe that's what you all refer to thimbles as. I'll have to make a note to stock up on thimbles next time I'm out shopping."

[fobwatched]

'Peter Pan?'

It's funny, but Harry can't remember ever having seen Peter Pan, or read any of the books. He knows the story, of course, gets the reference, but he has no memory of how he acquired that knowledge; it must, he decides after a brief moment of reflection, be one of those cultural consciousness things. Or maybe he has seen it and has simply forgotten.

Not that it matters, though, and he dismisses the thought and turning his attention back to the Doctor with a wry smile. 'And who does that make me, Wendy? I don't know- I know I'm handsome, but somehow I don't think I'd quite look the part in a little blue nightie. Though,' he adds breezily, 'I'd pay good money to see you dressed in nothing but leaves and vines.'

[andiwilldie]

"Ahh," the Doctor says with a smirk, holding up a finger like a schoolteacher correcting a child. "You forget, it was Peter who didn't know what a kiss was, which makes me Wendy, and you the one who gets to wear the leaves."

Unless the story was backwards in this universe. He hopes not, though, as that would be terrible. It's among one of his favourite stories. He used to even have an autographed first edition copy of the book, not that it matters much now, of course.

"Not that I'm going to wear a little blue nightie either, of course."

[fobwatched]

'Well,' Harry counters with a wry twist of his mouth, 'I think we can both be glad that I'm not Peter. Unless your tastes run to having sex with little boys, and in that case, I think we might have something to discuss.'

Leaning forward, he catches the Doctor's bottom lip with his teeth in a quick kiss. He wouldn't much go in for being Peter Pan anyway, even if it would be something to be able to fly. Eternal youth is appealing enough, but not when it involves being perpetually ten years old.

'Watch what you say,' he says once he leans back again. 'You'll come home one day and find a little, lacy nightdress folded on your pillow, and I'll make you wear it.'

[andiwilldie]

He giggles, and it's as much at the kiss as it is the comment about the nightdress. "I've faced some fiendish creatures before," he says, affecting mock-horror, "but that has to be the most devilish plot I've ever heard. You monster."

The Doctor gives Harry another kiss. "Why don't we both simply agree that neither of us is either Peter Pan or Wendy, and nobody has to wear leaves or a nightie, how does that sound?"