.com/ I hope you realise this is ALL YOUR FAULT.

"Doctor." Jethro approached the lone man, long fingers twisting in his dark shirt. The light caught and glinted off his black nail varnish, and his dark, ashamed eyes stared at his feet.
"Jethro," he greeted, and looked at the youth. Of all the people on the Crusader, the dark-haired teenager was perhaps the only one he wanted to be around. The boys had picked up on things quickly, understood the Doctor's fascination, amazment widening his eyes rather then fear when whatever was inside Sky took control.
Sighing heavily, Jethro sat beside the Doctor, knees against his chest, head on his folded arms. The Doctor reached over and wrapped his arm round him, pulling him to rest against his shoulder. They said nothing-- everything had already been said, already been told. The Doctor felt regret tug at his heart-- Jethro would be a perfect companion, but he can't... can't take him with them. He cares too much about the curious navy eyed and blinding imagination, doesn't want to dampen his thirst for everything out of the ordinary.
"Who are you?" Jethro asked, fingers splayed across the Doctor's suited chest, feeling the thud of two hearts beating against his pale hand. The same awed look slipped into the shining eyes. So much life.
"I'm a Time Lord. My planet burned, Jethro, long ago. I'm the only one." His forehead creased into a frown, and Jethro's lips eased it with a soft kiss. His arms tightened around Jethro, feeling the thin bones against his fingers.
"You know, sometimes I'm not sure I'm human." The Doctor smiled. Jethro was humanity, bundled up into a single being- curiosity, dependency, so small but just waiting to burst out and sail around the sun with the best of them. It hurt more now, to get up and leave, knowing everything Jethro could offer.
The Doctor turned and pressed his lips to Jethro, having to show him everything-- Rose Tyler, the Master, Gallifrey, mighty and tall, Galifrey, burning and scattering in the wind, everything and anything, the Time Vortex, everything that drives him insane.
And Jethro just smiles sadly, melts against him, fingers tangling in the brown hair, clutching, sending his own images back, just as beautiful, terrible-- births, deaths, the stars, millions of hopes, dreams, stories, the million and one species his heart is yearning to see, find, admire, become, love.
The Doctor is the first to pull back, reluctantly, tears on his cheeks and eyes empty. "Beautiful," he whispered, and ran fingers over Jethro's defined cheekbones, over his red, bruised lips.
A thrum of something echoes beneath the tingle his touch. Jethro kissed the others palm.
"My lonely Doctor," Jethro whispers, a sad, broken timbre in his voice. He smiles, and leaves the Doctor.

But of all his assistants, Jethro will forever be the one who never leaves him, will be there in his thoughts, under his fingers.

And he is glad.

A/N: Spawned from a convo with a friend on LiveJournal, rewatching Midnight and my love for Colin Morgan.