"My agent's not here," Tom agrees, hand closing over the fish as he shuffles a little more vertical on the couch. "He didn't really understand me, though."

He puts a bit in his mouth. Fishy. Smokey. Good--childhood memories, even. He flashes another small, grateful smile to the Doctor, the same one he's given him for the umpteenth time. He's warm now. That's also good. And now he's very, very, very tired.

"I would like to nap. And then, Doctor, we talk shop."