Out of Time -- 7

It was an invitation, he supposed. He was still amazed, somewhat, that the human species could portray so much in the method of pen and ink. They were the race that produced some of the best poetry and some of the most well known literary works. They used their somewhat limited ability to string together letters, syllables and words to convey their fiery and powerful emotions in such a manner that often one was left aching from it. Shakespeare, Thoreau, Tennyson...the names and the works were well known...and their language was used to convey argument, statement, beauty and thought in equal measure. He liked the languages of Earth as he liked the inhabitants...very much, thank you. And, after all, the pen was mightier than the sword.

But the Doctor had never received a written note that cut him as deeply as this one.

They had talked, he and Jo. They had discussed her marrying her doctor to accompany him on his life’s work. But, he supposed, the arrival of the invitation to the wedding was as final as a coroner’s signature on a death certificate.

“Doctor?”

With a jump, he glanced at the door. Jo stood at the entrance of the room, her hands folded together in front of her. She wore a new frock, a deep green one that looked becoming with her blond hair. And there was the glow about her that he had noticed lately; happiness, he thought.

“Doctor, you simply mustn’t be glum, you know,” she said quietly. With a tilt of her head, she contemplated him. Under her blond bangs, her eyes twinkled with a combination of sadness and joy that both contradicted and exaggerated their intensity.

“Glum?”

“Well you are moping, Doctor,” she chided with a sigh. “He’s a good man.”

The Doctor stood up from the table and put his hand in his pocket. His velvet smoking jacket was held back and he moved around the table towards the TARDIS. “Of course, he is, Jo! A giant among men.”

“You don’t believe that,” Jo said as she looked down at her feet. “I’ve heard you, you know. I’ve heard the comments about humans, but you forget...” she edged forward and looked up at the Doctor from under her bangs. “I’m human too. For a human, though, he is good; you have to believe that. And I do love him.”

He bent a little to look at her. “Of course, you do,” he responded immediately. “I wouldn’t think you would marry a man you don’t love.”

She nodded slowly. The Doctor straightened. Maybe there was something in his stance that she knew well, but he felt as though something had just been affirmed. A small teasing smile appeared on her lips. “Oh Doctor...” she widened her smile. “I’m still as fond of you as I always was.”

He gave her a small smile and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that, Jo.”

She shook her head slowly, as though she didn’t quite grasp his attempt at a mood change. “You’ll come then, won’t you? To the wedding?”

The Doctor nodded. “I’ll be there in my best suit, Jo. Wouldn’t miss it for the world, although if Lethbridge-Stewart drives, we might be there a tad early.”

Jo laughed. The sound was like twinkling chimes and made the Doctor’s grin widen further. “Good, good, Doctor. I’m so glad.” He glanced down at her eyes and nodded, rubbing his thumb into her shoulder before he released it. She walked past him to leave, turning once at the door to smile back at him. “Don’t forget or run off in the TARDIS, Doctor. We’ll see you tomorrow for tea and then Saturday for the ceremony.”

And then she was gone.

In the silence left after her departure, he let the smile fall from his face. He would be sorry to see her go and would miss her dreadfully. He was fond of Jo and quite frankly wouldn’t let her go off for anything less than her happiness and with anyone less than a man made for her. There had been others...Liz Shaw for one...who had left him for something as simple as a change in occupation. Sara Kingdom and Katrina, bless her heart, had died in his care; marriage was, at least for some, a better fate than death.

Still, there was something bittersweet about releasing a friend, a traveling companion, to their own happiness. It served to remind him of his own loneliness; his own self-imposed separation from his own species, his own life. Although he had made that decision, it often only truly affected him at times like these.

He glanced at the invitation. It only contained words. Why did he feel it contained the answer to his emotional state as well?