Jamie strode into the Tardis costume room grumbling under his breath. The Doctor had told him that his shirt stank. He'd only been wearing it a week!

Resigned, since it was the Doctor's house after all, he pulled his shirt off over his head and shoved it in the hole in the wall where the invisible maids did the cleaning.

He wandered to a corner and started rummaging through the pile of shirts there. It's not like the Doctor had any dearth of garments. He could outfit a whole clan with the clothes just in this room.

This one was too small, that one was too long, that one was too... glittery. The air circulation in the Tardis washed a cool breeze over his back. He smiled. Just like home. It also brought the sound of someone humming.

He stopped digging and stood. The hackles rose on his neck. The Doctor was in the control room. No one else should be in here. He silently pulled his knife from his boot and prowled forward, keeping low, below the edge of the clothes racks.

The sound got clearer through the next doorway, this room was full of women's clothes, and someone was in here. Singing.

It was a low, throaty voice, not intrusive, but it sent a shiver down his spine. A dark, sensual voice that had him thinking of dryads in the forest, sent to tempt a man, or kill him.

His hand tightened on his knife, he crouched, frozen in indecision, wondering if he should go fetch the Doctor. But there was an intruder in the Tardis. He'd seen enough by now to know that anything that could get in here, especially without the Doctor's knowledge, would be dangerous.

Gathering his courage, and feeling sweat trickling down his spine, he leaned out around the last rack of clothes, careful to stay hidden.

It was a woman. He blinked. She was still humming, quite unconcerned, holding up a long, electric blue dress as if judging it for size. Her throaty humming settled into the back of his neck and made him flush. He'd been right, she was a dryad sent to tempt a man.

She was wearing a glittery golden dress over mature, mouthwatering curves. Her hair was unbound, a silky halo of fire and sunlight, she moved and swayed with her humming, like the willowy trees in the depths of the forest.

And yet, when she walked, she stalked with the fluid grace of a predator.

"You don't need that, love." She plucked the knife out of his hand. He jumped back and away. He hadn't even seen her move. He panted, the air cold on his sweaty chest.

She casually tossed the blue gown over a rack of clothing, and flipped his knife across the room, leaving it sticking, quivering, out of the doorframe.

"Who are ye?" His voice squeaked, and he shoved it down, squaring his shoulders. His knife was out of reach, but the Doctor had taught him that anything could be a weapon. "What are ye doing here?" he asked belligerently.

She smiled and patted his cheek. "Not to worry, Jamie. I just came for a change of clothes. I'll be gone in a trice."

"How did ye get in here?" He ignored the softness of her palm, and how good she smelled, like lightning and honey.

She smiled at him over her shoulder, rifling through another rack of clothes. "Oh, I have my ways." She pulled out a lambskin jacket and a pair of jodhpurs. She went to a large standing mirror and held them up in front of herself.

He looked at his knife and started edging his way toward it, toward the door. The Doctor needed to be told.

"I wouldn't go anywhere if I were you, Jamie," she said in a soft, threatening voice.

He froze. He looked toward her, she was watching him in the mirror. She had a stern face, a strong face, carved of teak and eagle. With her hair unbound around her, her carriage so straight and strong, he could see her as Boudicca, one of the warrior queens. He felt his superstitions rise up with his admiration.

Her eyes were green and stormy. Yet, he felt no danger from her. "How do ye know my name?"

"Oh," she fluffed her hair aside and started unbuttoning her gown. He flushed and whirled away. She laughed softly, the kind of laugh he'd occasionally heard coming from the Laird's rooms. "I'm an old friend of the Doctor's."

The two thoughts clashed horribly in his head, making his eyes cross. He could hear the rustle of the gown behind him, the soft slither as it fell to the floor. He gulped. The skin of his spine itched, just thinking what he might see behind him.

He fisted his hands until his fingers bruised his palms. He rubbed one foot on top of the other. "If ye're known to the Doctor, why didna you come in the front door, like a proper guest?"

"Oh, I'm not staying. I only popped in for a change of clothes. This just happened to be the nearest Tardis." Her voice was light and airy, as if it wasn't an unusual thing to know where a time ship was, when it could appear and disappear anywhere.

He puzzled that out as he listened to the sounds of wool and leather behind him as she dressed.

"Are ye one of his people?" he asked. The Doctor never talked about his people. But surely he must have a clan somewhere. And this woman had the same sort of timeless heedlessness he'd seen in the Doctor. An uncaring for the conventions. A way of seeing a bigger world.

She sighed behind him. Such a sad sound. "You could say that," she said softly. The mournful way she said it spoke of tales untold.

Not for the first time, he wondered who the Doctor's people really were.

"You can look now."

He turned around.

He'd been right. She was Boudicca. Stately, wild and regal. Armed with a laser gun at her side. A knife at one knee. Armored in thick wool, with a wide leather belt and high boots. She was a figure of a woman he'd be proud to call his queen. His chest inflated a bit. He stood straighter.

She smiled at him. Her eyes widened slightly, roaming up and down him, his bared chest, kilt, and soft, form fitting boots. Her approving gaze roamed slowly back up, and if he stood any straighter he'd float.

"My, my, such a nice stout Scottish lad. I can see why the Doctor's fond of you." She sauntered up, and he gulped.

She leaned close, her voice a whisper. "A word of advice. If you want to get the girls..." His eyes swiveled to hers, he quivered with curiosity. "Bathe."

She kissed him.

Jamie sat up in the pile of shirts and blinked, he looked around. Why was he in the costume room?

Air shivered across his shoulders and he looked down. He was bare to the waist. A dark blue, fuzzy soft cotton turtleneck was draped across his lap. Oh, that's right, the Doctor sent him to get a new shirt.

He yawned and stretched and stood up, it had been a tiring few days. He picked up the shirt and started to pull it on, he stopped. His skin was sticky against the soft, nappy cloth.

Perhaps he'd have a bath first.

He slammed the door casually on his way out. Unnoticed, his knife quivered and clattered to the floor.

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