#nenabaez

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1916

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It was a gorgeous day, all things considered. Had it not been for the shelling all morning and earlier that afternoon—up until twenty minutes beforehand—John could have almost seen it as pleasant. Clear, blue skies, white fluffy clouds in the distance, and Springtime on the Continent—it was just a shame it was being ruined by war. They were in a break now, allowing soldiers on either side some time to clean up the messes and bodies and whatnot that had been piling up for the past week… week and a half… he wasn’t entirely sure anymore how long that particular offensive had been going on. John himself was sitting down, leaning up against the wooden trench wall as he stared off into nothingness, duties far behind him.

“Oi, mate.” A voice snapped him out of his daze; it was a man about his age, holding out a cigarette packet, one already dangling from his lips. “Picked ‘em off a frog who don’t need them no more. Only two in there; might as well not be greedy.”

“You got a match?”

“O’course.” The man crouched down next to John and handed him the box while he searched for his matches. “Where’s your kilt?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re a Scot—where’s your kilt?”

“In my kit bag—prefer trousers when on holiday.”

“Bloody ‘ell; a comedian.” The man found his matchbook and waited until John had the other cigarette in his mouth. He struck one, the both of them using the same flame to light their small stick of paper and tobacco. “Hope it’s not your last.”

“Likewise.”

The other man left, John remaining in his spot. He breathed in, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, and watched as it billowed when he breathed out. Holding it between his fingers, he flicked off some ash from the end, frowning.

When did he first make it out to the Continent? How long had this war been going on? He looked at the cigarette before putting it back between his lips—it reminded him of so much that he had left behind. Late nights in art school, working alongside mates he hadn’t seen in years; the local by his granny’s house, where he would occasionally spend summer mornings as a child cleaning up; leathery old crones haunting the neighborhood and their croaking, ground-up voices. It was the languid, agonizing feel of slowly choking on air, no matter how deeply he breathed in. He took another drag and coughed it all out—there was a reason he never did this often.

“Smith, get your arse over here!” shouted someone. John looked to his right and saw a corporal waving him down. Aching as he stood, he forced himself to comply with the order, hefting his rifle over his shoulder and jogging around the bend. He followed the corporal to where there was a medical bunker, brimming with chaos. “Dump your gear and help me get some of these men over towards the med tent. They’re setting up a couple kilos from here.”

“Yes, sir.”

John looked down at the soldier laying on the nearest litter as he put down his pack and rifle—the lad’s legs had been blasted off and he was shivering severely.

“Here—you need this more than me.” He bent down, took the cigarette from his lips, and placed it between the soldier’s. The lad was barely able to nod appreciatively before John and the corporal began to carry him out of the bunker and through the trench. They got all the way to the Red Cross tent before they realized it was all for naught.

“Shit, he’s dead,” the corporal realized. The French nurse who they were passing the lad off to was shaking her head solemnly as she closed the soldier’s eyes. Ignoring the corporal as he stormed off, John took the final, tiny nub of cigarette back from the dead lad and dropped it to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his boot—the soldier did not waste his final gift.

“Merci,” the nurse nodded. John silently nodded back and left the tent, looking up at the sky. It was still bright and blue and clear; it was still a near-perfect day. Birds even chirped nearby, a sound he hadn’t heard in weeks.

Life went on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

1924

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“Alright, everyone, lunch!”

John put down his pen and stretched his arms. Thirty-two was too early to begin getting stiff, in his opinion, and the days he was spending stationary were beginning to get to him. It was only a temporary job, however, and in three weeks he would be back to being a neighborhood handyman. He didn’t think he could handle processing numbers for the rest of his life anyhow—he could do it, but it would drive him mad before long.

Taking the lunch box under the desk, he filed out along with all the other workers. Instead of making his way to the lunch hall, he went up the stairs to the roof. The building’s head caretaker was the older brother of a school mate and he allowed him up there to have a bit of peace and quiet. Few had access, and even fewer took advantage of it due to what most found to be excessive height. He found the bench that faced the Kelvin and sat down, putting his lunch next to him.

“I’ve never seen you up here before.”

John turned his head and saw another man slightly younger than him standing by the door to the stairs. He seemed a bit cautious, as if he’d been caught and didn’t know how to be casual about it.

“I know the caretaker,” John explained. “Have a seat.” He opened his lunchbox, taking out a sandwich and a sketchbook. Balancing the sketchbook on his knee, he pulled a pencil from his pocket and began to rough out the skyline while eating one-handed. The other man sat down next to him, staring.

“You, um… don’t mind me sitting here?”

“It’s a nice view—be a waste to not share it.”

The two sat there for a while eating their respective lunches in silence. John continued to sketch, while the stranger tried his best to not watch.

“Wow…” the other man marveled. “You’re really good.”

“Thanks—good to know my uni days weren’t wasted.”

“You went to university for art? How come you’re working here then?” John gave him a flat look—oh, yeah, art. “Sorry I asked.”

“Better than some.”

“I’m, uh, Max, by the way.”

“John.”

“Then do you keep art up as a hobby, John?”

“No: I used to work as an illustrator for packaging art before the War, but right now I’m trying to get into children’s books. It’s rougher than I’d like to admit.” He added some detail to a window on a far-off building. “What about you?”

“I sound a bit more educated, but it’s because I’ve been running errands around offices since I was fourteen,” Max replied. “Wasn’t made for school.”

“It happens.” He finished off his last sandwich and took the bottle of Irn Bru from his box, popping the cap open with the decorative iron workings of the bench’s armrest. Taking a sip, he tried to come up with conversation that could be general and safe—he wasn’t used to a lunch mate, but he wasn’t mean either. “Got a wife? Kids?”

“Wasn’t made for them, either; the War taught me that.” Max glanced at John, raising an eyebrow. “You…?”

“No. Never.”

“…but I thought you wanted to get into children’s books.”

“It doesn’t mean I have any of my own. Writing is a good way to explore other worlds, let yourself be what you’re not, change how the rules work, and children are the most amenable to that. They’re bright, and receptive, and honest, and if you’re lucky… they might keep that spark in them long enough to make the world a better place.”

Max nodded at that. “You’ve thought about that a lot.”

“I spend a significant amount of time thinking,” John admitted. “It happens when you consider shifting your career goals, or so I imagine.”

“…and here I thought it was just a byproduct of the bachelor lifestyle.”

The two shared a laugh, and then silence. A small flock of birds flew by and landed on the railing around the roof’s wall. John sipped again at his drink and set the bottle down in his lunchbox, keeping it on the even metal bottom instead of balancing it on the bench.

“Am I reading this right?” Max asked.

“Depends on what you’re reading.” John felt Max place his hand on his knee and he looked at the other man, seeing the wary hope in his eyes. “Ah, that… no… you’re not.”

“Damn…” Max cursed. He took his hand back and looked away, face flushing in embarrassment. “Sorry. I… shit. Please forget that ever happened.”

“No, I won’t, but don’t think that means I’m getting you in trouble for it.”

“Wait… really…?”

“I went to art school; do you really think you’re the first man to make a pass at me?”

“Then what was that about changing the rules and being something you’re not?”

John closed his sketchbook and pocketed his pencil, standing up. He walked over to the railing and leaned on it, urging Max to join him, before pointing off in the distance. “Do you see that?”

“See what?”

“On the other side of the Clyde, there’s the mouth of another river.”

“…barely…”

“…but you can see it…”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just like the River Kelvin meets the Clyde opposite Govan, the River Cart is opposite a town called Clydebank. It’s a mess of buildings, and the people who live there are mostly factory and shipyard folk—machinists, riveters, operators, toolmakers—working in their trades nearby. There’s dirt and grime and depression; children have little hope of doing anything of note there, because as soon as they are able, they have all that brightness and honesty worked out of them until they’re another husk of an adult.”

“Are those the children you write for?”

“Yes, because I used to be one of them.” John folded his arms on the railing and rested on them, staring out over the city. “I still live there, in my Granny’s house, because it’s a place to stay, meaning I see my old school mates and what life has done to them. The light they used to have is now in their children’s eyes, and I want to write and illustrate stories so they might keep that light just a bit longer than their parents.”

“You could have gotten out though,” Max noted. “You made it to university and could have went anywhere. Why go back?”

“I’m bad at being a shipbuilder’s son, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean that I’m above the people I ran with… the children who have no say.”

“I guess that just means you’re good at being a person.” Max dug in his pocket and dug out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. “Fag?”

“Sure, thanks.” John took a cigarette and the lighter from Max, lighting his before passing the device back. “Can I ask a question?”

“Since we’re sharing? Yeah.”

“How did the War teach you that you weren’t made to have a wife and kids, as you put it?”

Max snorted, almost letting his cigarette drop to the street below. “Grew up not knowing why I was bored by all the girls, but stick me in those trenches with a bunch of other filthy, desperate, randy blokes and I found my true calling.”

“Secret company girlfriend?”

“Secret company boyfriend; you’re missing out on being treated like the Adonis you are.”

“I’m flattered, truly,” John chuckled. He took a deep breath and blew out smoke, watching it dissipate in the wind. “There’s a lass out there for me—there’s just so many I don’t know where to look.”

“She’ll come to you,” Max said. “At least, I hope she does.”

“Thanks, mate. I hope likewise for you.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Late August 1940

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It was dark as John stumbled his way home. The lack of street lamps made it so that he was going by the light of the partial moon and stars, the likes of which did not illuminate the pavement quite the same. He tried to not trip and fall, failing as he caught himself on a fence and one of the unlit aforementioned lampposts, making it back home to Wissforn without too many tumbles.

“Clara…?” he called out blearily as he entered the house. “You here?”

“Sitting room,” she replied. He found her working at the coffee table, settled down on the rug so as to work somewhat more comfortably. One look at him and she chuckled. “Have a good time tonight?”

“The only way I could have had a better time was if I was with you,” he claimed.

“Oh, you really must be drunk then,” she laughed. She watched as he made his way around the table and over to her side, almost tripping over himself in the process. He did knock his knee on the couch arm, but after a moment of cursing inwardly he sat down next to her, leaning over so that he could place his head on her shoulder.

“Do you know where you’re going to write next?” he asked.

“Kinlochleven.” She picked up a map and held it so that he could see, pointing to a dot located in the western Highlands. “There’s a sea loch, fresh mountain air, everyone has electric, post is regular… it’ll be perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

“Flatterer,” she said. She put down the map and continued to go over the potential mailing list. “Did you give Richard my regrets for missing his retirement party?”

“He understands—you do important work getting those wee rascals out of harm’s way. It’s another full-time job itself.”

“Glad you all understand.” A foul odor reached her nose and she sniffed, crinkling her nose. “Ugh… what were they smoking at the pub…?”

“Travis brought in Cuban cigars he got before the War—wanted to get rid of them before they got too tempting and decided this was just the occasion.”

“Too tempting?” Clara turned her head and John pressed a kiss to her lips, the smell and taste of what she now knew to be cigar on his breath. She gagged and coughed as she scurried away, able to escape her inebriated husband’s grasp easily. Standing by the door, she was ready to dash upstairs should he catch a second wind. “That is gross, John. No wonder the stink on you is stronger tonight.”

“Have you ever been offered a Cuban cigar? You can’t turn it down!”

“Uh, yes. You can.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Now wash out your mouth or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“You wouldn’t do that to me.” John held his arms open, silently begging for a cuddle. Instead of complying, Clara quickly gathered her work and walked out of the sitting room, headed immediately up the stairs.

“Good night, John Smith. I hope the night chill keeps you company.”

“Clara, wait…!” John flailed about as he tried to stand up, yet couldn’t due to his drunken state. By the time he was finished crawling up the stairs, he saw Clara’s arms dropping his pajamas to the floor and disappearing as she shut the door. He went to go open it, finding that the knob wouldn’t even turn.

She locked him out.

“Clara…” he whined. “Clara, please…”

“No,” she replied from behind the wooden barrier. “Maybe this will teach you to not smoke and then expect to come home to a warm bed.”

“It’s not like I’m always smoking… that’s just the lads on break or at the pub… you even sit in the smoke at the pub…”

“…and even I have to step out often if it’s thick enough in there, just so I don’t pass out from asphyxiation,” she reminded him. “Now good night.”

“Clara…”

No answer.

“Claaaaraaa…”

Still nothing.

Groaning dejectedly, John gathered his clothes from the floor and nearly fell down the stairs as he went towards the sitting room. Once he was certain the drapes were firmly closed, he stripped down and changed into his pajamas, piling his pub-worn clothes in a pile in the corner, figuring it was just his luck that he married a woman who was ready to deny his rare social vice. After eating a sandwich, he piled cushions on one end of the couch and pulled the large-stitched crocheted blanket from the back, doubling it over so he had a chance of possibly staying warm. Who the hell made a blanket with holes on purpose? It was confusing and slightly infuriating, but then again… it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.

Ah, it was probably better in the long-run for him to not smoke anyhow, he groggily thought as he drifted off towards sleep. Clara was right—it was plenty of wasted money and trouble in the long-run. He wasn’t about to admit it anytime soon, however, as the last thing he wanted to do was fuel her ego.

Wait… did he want to fuel her ego? It was a lovely sight when the thing was fed. She’d get this look in her eyes, so attractive, that it made him aroused as he imagined that glint, the way her mouth would turn upwards just so, how her lashes would flutter in smugness.

John Smith fell asleep to the thought of his wife that night, and as stimulating a thought it was, it was no match for the woman in question, sitting up in bed as she finished her work for the evening. Clara Smith knew she was being drastic, though it was a point she was more than willing to be drastic about.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

October 1948

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“I’ve been meaning to tell you, by the way: congratulations.”

John glanced up from the notes he was taking and saw Mr. Brown opening his cigar box. They had been in the middle of an editorial meeting, where Teatime with Timmy was being gone over with a fine-toothed comb so as to make certain it would be as big of a hit as Kittens Come Home.

“Pardon?”

“Elizabeth told me your wife had her baby—congratulations. Have a cigar.”

“Why thank you.” John hesitated for a second, then took a cigar. They lit them, enjoying the calm yet celebratory moment, two middle-aged men who now both knew what fatherhood was like. “I never thought I’d get here.”

“That’s a loaded statement.”

“It’s a true one though. I still now have Clara and the baby, and that’s what matters.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy: David James.”

“You must be proud, getting a son on the first try.”

“I would have been proud to have gotten a healthy child our first time. Davey is healthy though, and Clara and I are both glad for that.”

Mr. Brown puffed on his cigar as he processed John’s words and nodded. “What was it? Measles? Croup? Pneumonia?”

“Born too early.” John looked at the cigar in his hand, pensive. “She would have started school this year.”

“Just wait until your son does—you’ll be so caught up in everything he’s doing that the bittersweet feeling shall… well… not necessarily fade, but at least be blunted.”

“It might, it might not… all I know is that we’ve been very lucky I have a job I mostly do at home so we can both get some sleep now and then.”

“I don’t know what possessed you to do it, Smith,” Mr. Brown chuckled, shaking his head. “Your wife is young and pretty; don’t you want to enjoy that without the threat of being walked in on by a sleepy child afraid of a shadow on the wall?”

“Mr. Brown, I’m a children’s author. Don’t you think that if I didn’t have kids already, that I might want kids now, especially since I do have a wife young enough to have them?”

“Writing for children and having them running all around your house, getting into everything and interrupting at any and every occasion, are two completely different things.”

“While this is true, this doesn’t take away from the fact I write children’s books, Clara is a schoolteacher by profession and worked as such the entire time we were in Glasgow, and now we are in an environment that is much safer when it comes to having and raising children with less risk of war and want.”

Nodding, Mr. Brown took a couple puffs on his cigar. He considered the other man’s rationale and shrugged. “If I were in your position, I would do different, but I’m not you.”

“This is also true. I can’t see you remarrying for anything other than companionship, unless there’s a side to you that’s hiding outside work hours.” John watched as the tips of his editor’s ears grew red—he was no good at being called out, Samuel Brown was, and he made note of that for the future.

The two men then continued their meeting, finishing up their cigars as they completed the nitpicking and bantering over the concept of a tiger and a boy being pen pals and bonding over nature and tea. They were able to finish mostly on-time and John vacated the office before it was actual teatime. Seeing the electricity in the air when Mr. Brown was in the same room as his secretary was too much for him to stomach, and was instead rather happy to haul his portfolio bag out to the car and drive back to Grynden Street.

When he arrived home, however, John noticed that the house was intensely quiet. There was nothing making noise in the wash, no radio was left on, not even the cry of his son or the melodic sound of his wife’s voice reached his ears. Going up the stairs and poking his head in the bedroom, he saw that Clara had fallen fast asleep—exhaustion for which he could not fault her. Instead of waking her, he padded over to the nursery, seeing that Davey was awake and looking around curiously to the best of his ability.

“There you are, lad,” John beamed. “I survived another meeting with the editor—it looks like Timmy is going to Scotland for certain now. Your cousin Donny is going to be thrilled.” The infant scrunched his face and began to cry and flail his tiny fists in protest, worrying his father greatly as he tried to bounce the bairn back to contentment. He kissed his brow and paced around the nursery to no avail. None of his usual methods to get Davey to calm were working and it was beginning to make him worry.

“Oh, you’re home.”

John glanced out the doorway to see Clara sleepily shuffling out of their bedroom over towards the nursery. His heart skipped a beat in panic—he was caught. She popped up on her tiptoes as he bent down to kiss her, after which she glared at him, unimpressed.

“You’ve been smoking.”

“A celebratory cigar with my editor, nothing more,” he claimed. “We had one back when I first signed too. Declining would have been rude.”

“Uh-huh, but I wasn’t around for that one, nor was our son,” she said. Clara took the wailing infant from his father’s arms and went towards the window, opening it with one hand to let in fresh air. Davey was calmed within seconds and John’s shoulders sank dejectedly. “Just what I thought. Change your clothes and brush your teeth—this is a smoke-free house and I would like to keep it that way.”

“Agreed.”

“Mummy!” Alison and James cheered as Clara walked into theTARDIS. Their mother put her bag stuffed with papers for marking down on thefloor and knelt down to hug them as they ran towards her. There would soon be aday when that would not happen, she knew, and she relished all the moments shecould with her nearly-six-year-olds while they lasted.

“How were we for Daddy this week?” she asked as her childrengave her kisses.

“Good,” they said in unison. Clara stood and a twin tookeach hand—James on the right and Alison on the left—to pull her towards thestairs up to the Doctor. He was sitting in his wingback chair, an openstorybook on his lap.

“Daddy was just reading to us!” Alison explained. “You likeWinnie the Pooh too! Let’s read together!”

“Yeah!” James insisted. “You can read Kanga’s parts, and Alycan read Roo’s, and I can read Christopher Robin’s!”

“Some of us were getting a bit antsy, if you can’t tell,”the Doctor said. He moved the book and allowed his wife to sit across his lapinstead, putting an arm around her waist and leaning into a short kiss.“They’ve been waiting a bit impatiently this week.”

“I can tell they’re not the only ones.”

“Yeah Mummy, Daddy keeps getting his finger stuck in thedrawer and I think he needs you to show him how not to do it again,” Alisonsaid, climbing up into the chair. She did not know Clara was referring to theDoctor’s reaction underneath whereshe settled her thighs, and that was alright. With Alison nearly on herfather’s shoulders and James in his mother’s lap, the family continued to readtheir book, doing all sorts of fun voices and giggling the rest of the waythrough. The parents had reined themselves back in by the time the book wasdone, as was their duty, and were guided through the TARDIS on the way to thenursery, as it had been decided that there was more fun and games to be hadbefore dinner.

However, it meant that later that night, after dinner andbath time and yet another book filled with silliness, James and Alison were putto bed by parents that could barely take their eyes off one another. Once thechildren were down and snuggled in with Sonny and Tau, their parents crept backinto the corridor, the nursery door barely closed before Clara pushed theDoctor against it.

“Why do you always look so shaggable when you’re taking careof the kids?” she murmured hotly in his ear, pressing their bodies together.Grabbing hold of his mouth with hers and his lower bits with her hand, shedraped her free arm over his shoulder and grasped the hair on the back of hishead as he lifted her up so that she could settle more securely on his waist.“I’ve needed this since Tuesday.”

“Then you should’ve called,” he replied between kisses. Hetook their weight off the door and carried her back to their room, sitting onthe bed so she could push him down into it and fumble with his trouser zip.“The kids don’t need to know what goes on when they sleep, especially if theirauntie gets put into park.”

The TARDIS wheezed in disapproval and the main lights shutoff, meaning the ship’s sensors inside their bedroom had also shut off.

“She’s cross,” Clara noted, taking her jumper off.

“Let her be,” the Doctor replied. “It’s just like the catran out of the room.” He then let out a little yelp as Clara flicked him just so with her thumbnail.

“Shut up,” she ordered.

Her wish was his very reason for being.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was the following month and the Doctor was again puttinghis children to bed without his wife by his side. He was glad that she insistedon working, and even felt a little proud of the fact she wanted the children’sfirst years to be on the TARDIS and not on her home planet, yet it did not makenights such as these any easier. At least tomorrow would be Friday, and Fridaymeant she could help with tucking in and kisses to foreheads and stuffed toysalike, with extracurriculars to follow.

The twins went down unusually quick, with natural-soundingsnoring before he even left the room (he could tell the difference because of,well, Dad Skills). He went to the console room and shrugged out of his coat,then sweatshirt, standing there in a t-shirt and pale, bare arms. The wiringinside the console itself needed checking, maybe even replacing, and it was ajob best left for when James and Alison were asleep.

He was just sitting on the floor and putting his lightedgoggles atop his head when his trousers buzzed. Reaching in his pocket, he sawthat it was Clara calling his mobile.

“Yes?”

“Come here. Now.”

“I thought you said we weren’t going to—”

“I know what I said,and I am telling you to ignore that and get your arse in front of me.”

The call ended and the Doctor looked quizzically at themobile. She didn’t sound happy, though he would know for certain when they weretalking face-to-face. He parked the TARDIS and walked out into Clara’s flat,where she was waiting with her arms folded and a definitely not happy face.

“This isn’t good, is it?” he asked.

“That depends on a lot of things,” she said. “I’m late.”

“Late? It’s Thursday.”

“No, my period. It is late.”

“Oh.”

The Doctor grew silent, realizing the severity of thesituation, the weight of her words. He put his goggles on and pressed abutton—sonic.

“I’m not picking up on anything…”

“I’m six weeks gone, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t,” he frowned, replacing the goggles on hisforehead. “I might need the medbay’s instruments for this… wait, how do you know?”

“The only other time I felt this consistently nauseous,sore, and jittery while not having my period is when I was pregnant with thekids,” she said, walking past him into the TARDIS. They went towards the medbay,with him following her dutifully. She sat down on the examination table andallowed the Doctor to go about the room and find the necessary equipment. Heeventually found the same device that had detected Alison and James, bringingit over to Clara. Gently, he laid her down and placed the device over herabdomen.

Beeping, whirring, and, eventually, a readout appeared.

“You’re pregnant,” he quietly confirmed. “We’re going tohave another child.”

Latent sounds of the ship were the only noises that passedbetween them for a long while. The Doctor sat down on the edge of the table andheld Clara’s hand in both of his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. Theystayed like that for a while, with him drinking in the sight of her while sheallowed her mind to wander.

“When do you think we’ll tell the kids?” she eventuallywondered.

“You want to do this?”

“I thought I told you after the twins were born that I’llhave any child that happens to come after them without question. It’s just…this was a surprise. I’m still processing it, to be honest.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the Doctor insisted. “We couldtell them in the morning, surprise them with you being here.”

“I don’t know if I want to just yet,” she replied. “I’malmost forty, Doctor; I’d rather make certain that everything is going to bealright first before we promise them anything.”

“What does your current age have anything to do with havinganother baby?” he asked. “Clara, what are you not telling me?”

“We just need to be cautious, is all,” she explained. She satup and leaned into his shoulder, gazing up into his eyes. “Give me a little bitof time, alright? By the time summer comes around, I can put in for anotherleave from work, and we can start figuring things out; I should be starting toshow around then. James and Alison will know soon enough that Mummy and Daddyare giving them a baby…”

“…oh, brother; the chromosomal analysis says it’s a boy…”

“…and they will know about Mummy and Daddy and their babybrother before long, and then, after we simply blink, there will be three of them running around.”

“Okay, now you’rescaring me,” the Doctor chuckled. “Sometimes I can barely keep track of thetwins…”

“I have a sneaky feeling that you’re more than up to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

At that, the Doctor tenderly pressed a kiss to Clara’s lipsand lifted her off the examination table, carrying her through the TARDIS andto their room. He laid her down on the bed and curled up at her side, headagainst her shoulder and hand over their child. It was peaceful—neither of themwanted to get particularly active—and they accidentally fell asleep despite thefact they wanted to keep the cuddling short. They had laid down and closedtheir eyes and seemingly five minutes later…

“MUMMY!”

The kids were pouncing on them both, despite theirexcitement being over only one parent’s presence. They were able to push theirfather aside and snuggle into their mother; the now-awake parents shared anamused glance, then a nervous one.

“How are you two doing this morning?” Clara asked.

“Great!” Alison grinned.

“Better now that you’re here,” James added. He looked at hismother quizzically. “Why are youhere, Mummy?”

“Mummy missed you both so much that I decided to come backto Auntie Idris early.”

“You don’t have work?”

“Not today,” she lied. Clara stroked her son’s hair andkissed his forehead. “All I want to do is spend today with my children andhusband.”

“Then let’s make breakfast!” Alison said. She climbed out ofthe bed and put her slippers back on, having discarded them in her sprinttowards her parents. Picking up her brother’s slippers, she threw them at him,a big grin on her face. “Come on James! Let’s make Mummy and Daddy breakfast forbed!”

“Okay…” her brother agreed. They scurried out of the room,allowing their parents some time to wake up.

“Shit—this was not the plan,” Clara cussed. She looked ather mobile and felt only slightly relieved by the early hour. “I guess I’mcashing in a personal day.”

“Do you have enough to spare? Should I abuse the ‘time’ partof the ship and get you to work anyhow?”

“No, best not.” She called herself in, faking an undisclosedillness. Once the deed was done, she began undressing and put a nightie on, whichonly served to confuse the Doctor. “Today will be a pajama day instead, wherewe do nothing but watch telly and eat junk food.”

“I know what a pajama day is, but why change into pajamas at this point?”

“You are daft,aren’t you?” She sat in bed, slipping under the covers. Patting the bit ofmattress next to her, she gave him a sultry look, which seemed to only pull himcloser without a word. He began to shed his outer layers and she smirked, “Howwe got to three children is beyond me sometimes.”

“Two and one on the way,” he gently corrected. “How we’ve stayedat the ones we have is the realquestion that needs answering.” The Doctor climbed into bed and squeaked asClara turned him onto his back. From there, she kept him in place, letting herhands wander as they languidly kissed to pass the time.

The TARDIS eventually beeped softly and flicked the lightsoff and on for a moment—the children were nearly back. No sooner had Clararolled off the Doctor did the twins arrive, pushing a cart that had four platesof waffles, a bottle of syrup, some raspberry jam, glasses with juice, and acouple cups of coffee for the adults.

“Here we are!” Alison announced. “Auntie Idris got us thewafflemaker and cups of batter!”

“We were still very careful,” James added. He took one ofthe trays hanging off the side and handed it to his father. “I don’t wantcooking taken away. It would be bad if Alison was the only one allowed tocook.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Alison scowled. She gaveClara her coffee and glared at her brother. “I cook very good!”

“No… candy doesn’t go on sandwiches!”

“Yes it does!”

“No it doesn’t!”

“Wait, wait, wait; why on Earth did you put candy on sandwiches?” Clara asked,interrupting the argument.

“I was looking at recipes in some books and found one that’sfor buttered bread and dark chocolate sprinkles! It’s really tasty!”

“No, it’s not.”

The twins stuck out their tongues at one another, only fortheir father to intervene and reach for another tray.

“Why don’t you two decide what we’re going to watch duringbreakfast?” he suggested. He eyed them carefully as they went over to a smallDVD shelf and plucked off a Paddington Bear movie to play while they ate.Leaning over to his wife, the Doctor tried and failed to keep a straight face.

“You gave them that recipe, didn’t you?” she assumed.

“Now what makes you think that?”

“Honestly, Doctor, you’re easier to read than a nurseryschool book.” She handed him her coffee, as a chamomile cuppa appeared on hernightstand. “We better search the TARDIS and figure out where some of thosewent.”

“Maybe next week, when it’s not a pajama day,” he said. Withthe trays set up and both of them content, he put an arm around her shouldersand kissed her hair. “How am I so fortunate to be here? I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do.” Clara watched as the twins scurried backto them, ready to set up their own trays. “Is the movie in?”

“Yeah—” Alison said, immediately distracted by the contentsof her parents’ breakfasts, “Daddy! You stole Mummy’s coffee!”

“Auntie Idris made me some tea instead; I think I wantchamomile for a while.”

“Okay,” James nodded. He settled himself between hisparents, with Alison bringing her tray to the other side of their father. Themovie started playing and Pajama Day began.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Over a month passed and the Doctor and Clara were out withthe twins, taking a peaceful stroll in a nature reserve… or, it was slated tobecome a nature reserve in about two and a half thousand years, give or take afew decades. The time and place they landed in was barely touched by Humankind,with no sentient life for leagues in any direction, leading them to decide itwas the perfect spot for a picnic and playtime.

“I want to go swimming, Daddy!” Alison insisted, pointing atthe nearby pond. The Doctor shook his head, causing his daughter to pout. “Whynot?!”

“We didn’t bring our swimsuits,” he insisted, knowing all heneeded to do was detract from the topic long enough for her to switch gears onher own. “Why don’t you and your brother pick some flowers over there? We canput them in the TARDIS.”

“Yes, right next to my side of the bed,” Clara added. “Theycan make the room smell better and I won’t want to throw up because of Daddy’sstinky feet.” Ah, yes, the excuse behind her morning sickness. It wasn’t a goodexcuse, but it was an excuse, whichwas the point.

“Yeah!” the little girl gasped. She tugged on her brother’sarm and urged him towards the nearby patch of flowers. The siblings scrambledtowards the blooms and their parents were left alone on the blanket, the lastof their lunch spread out beside them.

“Mmmm, this is so nice,” Clara hummed, lying down to soak inthe warm sun. “This was a very good idea, Doctor.”

“Yes, it was.” He gazed down at her—his wife, the mother ofhis children, his best friend—and relished the moment. “I was thinking about aslightly desaturated lavender.”

“What about it?”

“…for the nursery walls when we repaint them.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll whip up a simulation tonight; we don’t have to decideimmediately.”

“Good—just wait until I’m nesting again.”

The Doctor did not reply to that, remembering how terrifyingshe was when primal instincts kicked in and she began reorganizing their livingspaces while carrying the twins, instead using that as a point in which to liedown and curl up along her side. He rested his head against her shoulder andhis hand over her stomach; perfect.

“How are you doing today, little one?” he asked aloud. Claragently tapped the back of his head, smirking despite it all. He had just begunattempting to communicate with the baby, experiencing the first stages of growthinstead of corporeal thought thanks to the Gallifreyan part of it—all was goingas normal…

…except… there was nothing… not even a synapse firing toanswer him. The Doctor tensed momentarily before sitting back up and straddlingher legs, pushing up her blouse slightly so that he could put his forehead onthe skin directly over her womb. He concentrated everything he had intoreaching out to their child, yet was still met with nothing.

“Doctor…? What’s wrong?”

“I need to get you to the medbay,” he said lowly. He thenlifted his head, turning towards the children; they were concentrated on theflowers. “Kids…?”

“Yes Daddy?”

“Go inside the TARDIS when you’re done; Mam has a bee stingand I need to take her back inside. Play in your room until we’re ready.”

“Okay!” they both replied.

Neither child noticed as their father picked their mother upand nearly ran with her in his arms all the way back to the TARDIS. When theywent inside, their auntie-mothership did not let them walk past where theirmother was sobbing in their father’s embrace, and she certainly was able tolure the children out of their parents’ bedroom before the Doctor carried inClara to allow her some time to rest. The Time Lord met his children in thecorridor with red, puffy eyes that he blamed on a stuck finger before usheringthem towards the kitchen to start on dinner.

Cups full of water and dandelions sat on Clara’s nightstand,and every time she looked at them, her heart felt as though it was going toburst.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was long after dinner was made and cleaned up, after thetwins each had a bath and bedtime stories were read, before the Doctor couldreturn to Clara’s side. With Alison and James both tucked in, the Doctor leftthe nursery to find a tray sitting on the floor just outside his bedroom. Tea,some sandwiches, chocolate, and a whole tub of slow-melting ice cream was there,and he knew it was an offering from the TARDIS. As up-and-down as her relationshiphad been with Clara over the years, it was clear that this was an attempt tohelp—to comfort—and he was not going to waste that. He picked up the tray andwent into the bedroom, finding that his wife was precisely where he left her,under the blankets and curled up into a ball.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down, putting the tray on the nightstand.He gently touched her shoulder, not even needing his poor touch-psychicabilities to feel the sadness that she was radiating. “The TARDIS made us sometea.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“…but you need to eat something.”

“Please, Clara,” he begged, “don’t start this. I don’t wantto lose any time with you because this gets the better of us…”

“Easy for you to say—you weren’t the one who miscarried.”

He frowned at that. “Do you think that makes a difference? Iwas anticipating the same sort of things from when we were expecting Alison andJames—to get my hopes up, only to dash them like that, was a cruel thing forthe universe to do. It may not be the same sort of loss as you are enduring,nor does it marginalize your pain, but what I’m feeling hurts no less than howyou feel right now.”

Clara pulled the blanket over her head and sniffled, which onlymade her husband exhale heavily.

“Maybe another time,” he offered.

“No—not again,” she said resolutely, voice muffled from theblanket. “We’re going to be extra-careful from now on. No more children.”

“As Mam commands.” The Doctor laid down on the bed, stayingabove the blankets as he snugged himself up against Clara’s back and wrappedhis arm around her. He rested his forehead on the back of her head and gentlypressed his consciousness against hers. ‘Clara…?’

No answer.

‘Clara…?’

‘How can you be socalm?’

Oh, that.

‘Only because I’veseen so much death, so many lives cut short; you must remember, Clara, that Iam not a good man, no matter what you say or the children think. The universealready has enough on its hands preparing for two Hybrids—a third was just toomuch for it.’

“You are one of the most wonderful men, but you are also oneof the dumbest,” she said aloud. She rolled over and finally looked him in theeyes. Red and bloated, blood-shot and crusty, they were eyes that had crieduntil there was literally no more tears to shed. Placing a hand on his cheek,she leaned in closer and pressed a kiss to his lips. “As if the father of mychildren wouldn’t be a good man—what do you take me for? A terrible judge ofcharacter?”

“No…”

“Then shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stayed quiet as they shifted in the bed—he gettingunderneath the covers and she repositioning so that he could lay with his faceon her chest—and cuddled up together to draw strength from one another. Theywere silent for a long time, their breathing slowly synching and three heartsbeating together, before the silence was broken.

“I’ve gone by Hal before,” he stated. “Jean… Nico… Troy…Richard…”

“You’re an idiot,” she said idly.

“Yes, but I am youridiot.”

That was something that she couldn’t deny.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Hey Aly, Jim, why’s your mum so sad?”

The teens glanced up from their lunches and saw one of theirclassmates standing there, uncertain if she should sit down or not.

“What do you mean?” Alison asked.

“She seems super-depressed today,” the other girl said.“This is the third year in a row; haven’t you noticed?”

“She tends to get like that around this time of year,” Jamesreplied. He shrugged, attempting to brush it off. “Seasonal depression, Ithink. Lots of people get like that in October. Da gets it around now too, Ithink…”

“Yeah, but seasonal depression usually lasts for a season, not a week.”

“No, but that’s probably just because we’re used to it,”Alison said. “Are you going to sit down or not?”

“I promised Henry I’d eat with him today,” the girl saidbefore walking off. The twins then looked at one another, frowning.

“Now that I think about it, the fancy dinner Mum’s beenplanning is tonight,” Alison realized. “Didn’t we have a fancy dinner aroundthis time last year too?”

“…and the year before that, and that… every October 3rd,”James said. “That’s weird.”

“Should we ask?”

“What…?! If Mum and Da haven’t told us, then there’sprobably a reason, isn’t there?”

“They barely talk about their feelings with one another, letalone us,” he deadpanned. “What makes you think they’ll say anything?”

“…because we never asked before.”

James took a bite of his sandwich and attempted to ignorehis sister, though it nagged at the back of his brain for the entire rest ofthe school day. Why did they alwaysdress nice and have a formal dinner on October 3rd? He and Alisonremained quiet about the subject during the remainder of school and the entireway home. They almost made it through dinner as well, except…

“Mum? Da? Why do we do this?”

All four of them were sitting around the table, dressednicely and eating with the good dishes and flatware. The Doctor’s eyes flitfrom his son, to his wife, and back before he set down his utensils. He tookClara’s hand, which had been frozen on its way to her wine glass, and squeezedit gently.

“I told you they are too clever for our own good,” he said.A long pause settled over them, with Clara staring at the bit of air in front ofher while her husband and children waited for a response. “Should I…?”

“We should,” shereplied. She stood and smoothed the front of her skirt before nodding towardsthe kids. “Come on—to the TARDIS.”

“…but Mum…”

“You asked, James, and now you’ll know—thirteen seems oldenough to know, wouldn’t you say, Doctor?”

“It’s your call,” he replied, voice unnaturally level andcalm. He shrugged out of his red velvet jacket as they all went into hisbedroom, discarding it on the bed before holding open the TARDIS door foreveryone. Flipping some switches, he sent the ship through time and space,landing precisely in the same spot they had been going for years, except nowthe children were with them.

Clara opened the TARDIS door and saw that it was raininggently. Not entirely caring, she stepped outside without so much as grabbing anumbrella, silently leading the way. Her family followed, the kids attempting tocatch up with her whilst brandishing a pair of large umbrellas, while theDoctor didn’t bother with one for himself. Clara walked out across the rainyfield undeterred, stopping where a small mound interrupted the otherwise smoothsurface.

“What… what is it…?” Alison asked. She resisted the urge topoke at the mound with her toe, instead fidgeting as she stood uncomfortably.

“Nicolas,” the Doctor said. He watched as his wife sat onher calves and touched the mound, the wet grass shining in the dull sunlightstill filtering through the clouds above. “I tried… we tried… but the universe had another idea despite it all.” Hepaused, wondering what more he could say without spelling it out. “Today wouldhave been his seventh birthday.”

He didn’t need to say another word, because the twins bothknew what he meant. Alison crouched down next to her mother, resting her headon her shoulder. She sniffled as she stared at the mound, while James lookedaround in an attempt to see where precisely they were. Realization hit him andhe blinked heavily as he put the pieces together.

“I remember this place; we used to come here a lot when wewere little.”

“We were parked here when I lost your brother,” Claraexplained. Her voice was far-off and distant, as was her stare, invoking anintense sadness that had many years to settle in and had already shed manytears. “Neither your father nor the TARDIS could come up with why or how ithappened, but it simply did. It’spart of life, whether we like it or not, and experiencing that reminds us ofwhat’s important.”

“What…?” Alison asked quietly.

“What’s important is what—or whom—we already have, and forus to not squander the time we share,” she replied. Clara stood and huggedAlison, then James, eventually bringing them both into her arms while theirumbrellas were quickly discarded on the ground. The Doctor joined in as well, wrappinghis arms around his family as they all stood in the rain.

“Let’s continue this insidethe TARDIS,” he suggested after a bit.

“What? It’s not like you’re still wearing your jacket,”Clara teased. She laughed lightly—sadly—as he rested his forehead atop her headin reply, making the shared connection between their emotions stronger.

“Mum, you’re freezing cold,” James noticed. “You yell at usif we stand outside in the rain whilefreezing cold.”

“Oh gosh, you’re right,” Alison said, grabbing onto Clara’shand. The tweens both pulled their mother towards the TARDIS, while theirfather picked up the umbrellas and carried them back. Soon as the familystepped back into the TARDIS, the ship thrummed in an effort to chide them asthey tracked puddles and mud throughout the console room. They found that theirbedrooms were moved to the very beginning of the corridor and that there were towelsand soft, warm, fluffy pajamas laid out.

Soon as everyone was changed and dry, the lights dimmed andthe family all met in the corridor. The baseboards softly lit and ushered themdown to the study, where a couch had been set up with soft pillows, warmblankets, and trays full of snacks, all sitting in front of a large projectorscreen. As the overhead lights dimmed, the projector flicked on, drawing thekids into a viewing of The Goonies.

“You may be a stuffy old cow sometimes, but you do know howto cheer us back up,” Clara joked. She joined the twins, leaving the Doctor tolean against the doorjamb. He patted the brushed metal surface as he watchedhis family settle in.

“Thank you,” hewhispered in his native Gallifreyan. The TARDIS wheezed at him and paused themovie, causing the kids to groan.

“No, Da, get over here!” Alison insisted. “When Auntie Idrissets up a movie, you watch it!”

The Doctor walked over to his children and wife, sittingdown next to Clara so that they could cuddle together as the movie started backup again. He had his wife—whom he was honored to have—and he had his children—whomhe was fortunate to raise. The pain was dulled from their loss, yet that wasnothing they could change at that point.

“You are not squandered,” he murmured in Clara’s ear. Shenestled in his grasp wordlessly, allowing their mind to touch instead.

“You got to listen to me, Wissforn,” Ranald insisted. Heleaned on his old mate’s shoulder, a pint in his other hand, as he became tooclose for the other man’s comfort. “Give her one chance; you know I’m not hereto steer you wrong.”

“Maybe not steer mewrong, but definitely ready to dump your sister off on someone,” John frowned.Something had told him that this was not the night to head down to the pub, butdid he listen to himself? Naw, of course not. Now he was being harassed by oldclassmates with spare sisters on-hand and nowhere to run. He was trapped.

“At least do it with the knowledge that you’re safe t’ go t’work next time there’s a strike,” Ranald said. “I was at the meeting the othernight and they want you amongst the ones reporting as-usual—we don’t need tohave you sacked and then some English wank or uppity uni bastard taking yourspot. You may have been touniversity, but you ran with the rest of us as a nip and didn’t ditch theaccent when you could’ve.”

“I still didn’t run with everyone,”John said. He drained his glass and motioned towards the barman for another. “Itake two steps towards the offices and I’m getting a tomato in my face courtesyof County Cork.” His fresh pint appeared and he thanked the barman beforetaking a sip. “Don’t get me wrong, because I do appreciate knowing I won’t gettorn limb from limb should a riot break out and we attempt independence fromour masters while inspired by the Irish, but I’m not going to shag yoursister.”

“You don’t have to shagher… just talk to her,” Ranald said. “Just see if it’ll go anywhere—don’t knowuntil you try.”

“Should I be taking relationship advice from someone whovery well could stuff a child by the end of the year?” John deadpanned. Hewatched as his drinking buddy took a long draught from his pint—how many was hein tonight—and tried to ignore what as obviously a sore subject. “What wouldMolly have thought? I know Jeannie’s been a great help since she died, butshe’s fifteen! A girl! Half our age!”

“Me mam was married at fifteen.”

“Your mam was an orphan with no way to get back to herfamily in Clare, and marriage was her best option,” John reminded him. “Itwouldn’t surprise me if you get the poor girl up the duff by the year’s end andsuddenly you have a whole new set of mouths to feed.”

“The trick is to finishin her mouth, not in her belly, or have you forgotten the tricks to notgetting stuck with a girl for life?”

“This still isn’t convincing me to go anywhere near yoursister.”

“You… are a prick.”

“…and I can at least think without consulting mine.”

Ranald refused deigning a reply to that and continueddrinking his pint. The air between the men grew cold until John let out a longgroan and slammed back the rest of the pint he was working on in one long go.

“Fine, but I’m telling you it won’t work.”

John put down the empty glass and slid off the barstool,headed out into the main of the lively pub once a filled glass found his hand.He wove around other groups of friends and went towards the corner, where awoman he knew was two years older than him sat with a book, a pint, and anorder of chips. He sat down across from her, knowing it was safer overall tokeep his distance.

“Belinda?” He cleared his throat and leaned forward in anattempt to get her attention. “Oi, Belinda; what’cha got there?”

“The Lost Girl,”she replied dully. She plucked a vinegar-slathered chip with two fingers andate it before using her little finger to turn the page. “It’s Lawrence; do youunderstand Lawrence?”

“We might be the only two in the building who do,” heshrugged. “Bit too depressing for my tastes—all the romance in the wrong placeskind of wears on a man after a while. You probably read Woolf too, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He drank from his pint and shook his head. “Prefer Doyle andChristie m’self; a good mystery’s always fun, and something about the precisenessis gratifying.”

“There’s no passion though,” Belinda said. “Christie’salright enough, but Doyle has less passion than legislation concerning roadupkeep.”

“That’s… a new one.”

“Have you even readSherlock Holmes? The man might as well be a spaceman from Mars.”

“Well,” John replied, “I find him to be rather fascinating—almostlike another version of myself sometimes.”

“Pity.”

Taking that as his cue, John stood and walked back to the bar,drink in-hand. Luckily, his seat was still open and he plopped down on it.

“So…?” Ranald asked.

“Good luck getting rid of that one,” John scoffed. “Hertaste in literature is twisted beyond repair.”

“I told her she reads too much…”

“No, it’s that she doesn’t understand the difference betweenher personal tastes and literary achievement. How am I supposed to want to shaga woman like that? She has the disposition of a bloody pincushion.”

“Alright—that I’ll agree with,” Ranald said. He looked athis old mate, squinting in the low, smoke-filled light from the pub. “How thebloody hell do you survive without a lassie in your bed?”

“Easy: I toss on an extra blanket in winter,” John joked. Hesaw the confusion on Ranald’s face and rolled his eyes. “How the bloody helldid you survive between Molly dying and seducing Jeannie?”

“I wouldn’t call that survivin’, mate.”

“The right one’ll come along, so don’t you worry about me.”John drank some more and attempted to remember which one he was on; four? Five?Feck, his head was beginning to swim. “She may never come—I don’t mind. M’uncledidn’t have anyone an’ he was fine.”

“Your uncle might’ve been a poof.”

“Still m’uncle.”

Ranald nodded and downed the rest of his drink. “Can’t arguewith that.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: Sharp history nerds will attest that I’ve prettymuch stayed clear of mentioning much of the socio-political turmoil thatplagued John’s hometown of Clydebank, as well as other communities along theRiver Clyde, during his lifespan. The “Red Clydeside”, as it was knowncontemporarily, was the center of labor unrest, anti-war activism, and strikesconcerning rent, overcrowding, wages, and worker conditions, amongst otherthings. What made the Red Clydeside stand out was the militarism that someactivists resorted to, which even made the government at the time fear apossible revolution attempt in 1919 (post-WWI, but still a rather unstable time,politically-speaking). While most of the unrest was from 1911-1919, with ~1930sbeing a rough end point for the movement’s lifespan (so mostly while John wasaway at war, with little happening by the time Clara shows up (hence John’scomment in ch.11 about strikes that never happen)), the area has ever sincebeen left-leaning by supporting Labour, and the SNP in more recent years. Anadded note that muddles everything even more is that the majority of Irelandwas also gaining its independence at the time (1922 was when their firstconstitution was ratified, along with being the year British troops began tomove out of the country), and one of the things about Greater Glasgow ingeneral is that it has plenty of historic ties to Ireland thanks toimmigration, particularly in the working classes that our John’s from, which I’msure fueled some separatist flames. It’s a lot of really interesting stuff toread up on, but unfortunately doesn’t have much room within The Time That We Love Best, being thatit is a story that isn’t very political in nature.

The Doctor wasn’t entirelysure how the tiny, blue-haired feline got inside the TARDIS, but he was notpleased when he discovered its presence. While he was not particularly againstthe creatures’ existence as a whole or by principle, he was concerned about the shedding and shredding problems thatusually followed a cat, which was, of course, something that his two childrenseemed to completely ignore.

“…but Daddy!”Alison scowled. She held the kitten closer, keeping it away from her father’sgrasp. “Idris Jr. found us! We keepthings that find us!”

“Not things that ruin the upholstery,” the Doctor repliedfirmly. He tried to grab at the kitten, but his daughter refused. Even Jamesgot in on the action, stepping between them.

“Daddy! We want to keep Idris Jr.!” he demanded.

“Now what did I say? Give it here.”

“…but you ruin the upholstery too!” Alison pointed out.Well, she had him there.

“Yes, but Auntie Idris can’t be cleaning up after us and a cat all the time—it’s not fair.”

“Idris Jr. is a little kitty! Little kitties only makelittle messes!”

“James, I can personally attest to the fact that justbecause you have the tinier version of something doesn’t mean it won’t make afull-sized mess,” the Doctor said. “In fact, you two are proof that sometimesthe littler something is, the biggerthe mess becomes.”

James, thinking quick on his feet, allowed his eyes to gowide as he made the face Mummy always did in order to get something out ofDaddy. When it didn’t seem like it was working, he looked to the space justbehind his father, squealing, “Mummy!”

“Clara…?!” the Doctor breathed. He spun around only to findthat there was no one there, turning back to his children to find that they hadtaken off as well. “JAMES CLARK AND ALISON JOAN OSWALD-SMITH, YOU GET BACK HERE WITH THATCAT!”

Dashing down the corridors, the twins took their newfoundpet and scurried into a room in order to hide from their father. They stayedquiet as he stormed past them, only bothering to breathe until after theGlasgow-inspired growling was gone. Standing up, they investigated the room,which wasn’t one that they’d been in before. It was small, with some food andcat toys laid out on a faux-grass surface, along with a litter box and afuzzy-looking tower with little holes in it and bits jutting out. Alison putIdris Jr. down and watched the kitten stumble along towards the food bowl toexperimentally nibble.

“I guess we need to ask for Mummy’s help on this one,” shesaid. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” her brother replied.

“Then we have,” she counted on her fingers to be safe, “threemore days until we see Mummy again. We needto keep Idris Jr. safe until then.”

“It won’t be easy,” James said. He squatted next to thekitten to pet its short blue fur and sighed heavily. “Daddy knows all therooms, doesn’t he?”

The TARDIS dimmed its lights slightly in reply.

“Really?!” Alison marveled. “Daddy’s been with you for ages! How does he not know all therooms?!”

A further quick dim of the lights and the two childrenlaughed—at least they knew their aunt was on their side…

…or so they thought.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

All things considered, Clara found that the day hadn’texactly been a difficult one to bear in the overall scope of things. She stillreturned home to an empty flat—no husband or kids to greet her, let alone theirblue box—and that was the thing that made her the most upset. Everything atwork was absolute child’s play when compared to missing her children, and thatpained her greatly.

Dinner for one was eaten and cleaned up, and she was justabout to start on a load of evening laundry, when a distinct ring came from hermobile. Clara picked it up and saw that it was, yes, indeed, the Doctor.

“Well, that was quick,” she deadpanned. “Are the kids inbed? I’m not saying dirty things over the phone unless they’re in bed.”

“They’re not in bed;plugged into the docks for their evening lesson, then bed,” the Doctor replied.

“No bath?”

“Bath’s tomorrow—wait,hold on, dirty talk isn’t why I called though.”

“It’s not?” she wondered, truly impressed. “When was thelast time it wasn’t?”

“Can’t recall at themoment, but this time is about a cat.”

Clara’s face fell as she continued sorting the clothes thatwere in need of washing into their own loads. “A cat? You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. Somehowa cat got on the TARDIS and the children found it before I did. They want tokeep it.”

“We can’t—it’s badenough we’re raising them in the timevortex, but adding a cat to the mix…”

“I wanted to tell themthat, but they wouldn’t listen. They even named the thing and are trying tohide it from me thinking that I’ll just forget, Clara… I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell them the truth: no pets until we’re living on Earth,no exceptions.”

“That will only makethem want to live on Earth more.”

“Well, find a way to let… um… what’s its name?”

“Idris Jr.”

“…find a way to let Idris Jr. out in some space-Istanbul or Greeceor something similar and let things go from there. I trust your judgement.” Shepaused for a moment, silently repeating what she had just said. “They named acat ‘Idris Jr.’?”

“I’m only reportingback what I’m hearing.”

She chuckled slightly at that, knowing that it was simplyher children showing how much they adored their home. “Thank you for consultingme before making a decision. Are you sure you don’t want any dirty talk? Responsibleco-parenting across time and space is incredibly attractive.” There was asilence on the other end of the call, one Clara knew was her husbandcontemplating her offer.

“Give me two hours and I’ll call you back, bye,” he saidquickly, ending the call. Clara put the mobile down and chuckled, setting thewashing machine; hour and a half, max.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The following day, the Doctor peeked in on Alison and Jamesas they were sitting down in the learning docks, information being churned intotheir minds at a rate that truly boggled their mother’s understanding offlearning and teaching. They were lucky to have his mental capacity, for itallowed for the more Gallifreyan method of education instead of the Human way.Clara was, of course, by no means an idiot, nor were some of her students, butthe information processes in a Gallifreyan mind were far more multilayered andto get the mental exercise… it was good for them, to say the least. Aftermaking sure that the twins did not hear him, he closed the door and went on hissearch.

It did not take long to find the cat, as the TARDIS was unableto figure out a Ship’s Veto to the Parental Pet Ban. Idris Jr. bounded up tothe Doctor and squeaked happily, rubbing itself against his boot. He picked thecat up and scowled.

“You know I don’t want to do this,” he told the kitten, whosimply stared at him. “Maybe one day, but that day is not today.”

He could have sworn the cat was mocking him.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was after the main lessons were done for the afternoonwhen James and Alison went searching for their kitten. The siblings searchedhigh and low, only to discover that Idris Jr. was nowhere to be found. Theyapproached their father as he sat in the study, tears in their eyes.

“Daddy!” Alison sniffled. “Where’d you put Idris Jr.?!”

“We just want our kitty,” James whimpered.

“Now kids, don’t be like that,” the Doctor said gently. Heput down his book and gingerly put a hand atop either child’s head, strokingtheir hair affectionately. “I told you that you couldn’t keep Idris Jr., butyou were the ones who didn’t listen.”

“It’s not fair! Why can’t we have a kitty?!”

“Because, Alison, Mam and I discussed having pets of anysort and it’s best to leave them until later on when you’re older.”

“Why, Daddy?” James wiped his nose on his sleeve, whichcaused his father’s eye to twitch. “Idris Jr. was a good, smart kitty.”

“I know, but even if you found the best and smartest cat inthe entire galaxy, I’d still have to turn them out, at least for a littlewhile.”

“…why…?” James asked.

“What did we do wrong?” Alison wondered.

“You two did nothing wrong; c’mere.” The Doctor opened hisarms wide and his children climbed into his lap, hugging him tightly. “Lots ofpeople have pets their entire lives, that’s true, but sometimes parents don’twant their children to have pets until they’re older due to a number ofreasons, like wanting to make sure allergies don’t exist or waiting until thechild is old enough to care for another being on their own. It’s even so thatthe children don’t necessarily feel like they need a pet as they get older, so that having one is more out ofdesire than of anything else.”

“Why can’t we have a kitty?” Alison asked.

“A variety of things, but nothing that should make you angryor upset,” her father explained. “Don’t worry—I let Idris Jr. out into a verynice colony that takes good care of animals. I may not want a cat aboard theship right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m cruel. We may be able to visit oneday, even.”

“Can we…?”

“Possibly, but only if you dry your eyes and get a move on—Ithought there was some playtime yet before dinner.”

“Okay.”

Clara wasn’t exactly certain as to why she didn’t very wellthat particular day. She already felt like vomiting twice and was sore in oddplaces despite the fact it was only lunchtime. After firing off a text to Ianto check in (he and Terra both ended up being fine, despite the fact she hadrun off and hid in the garden on him again), she proceeded to ignore hersandwich and crisps in favor of only having some tea. She was able to make itthrough the remainder of the workday without slipping up, though she did happen to vomit in a hedge on herway home.

“Mummy!” Terra gasped the moment Clara entered the house.The preschooler barreled into her mother, nearly knocking her over onto the floor.“Are you okay?”

“Mummy’s fine, dear—go back to playing now, yeah?” Terrarushed back to the sitting room at that, freeing Clara to head towards thekitchen, where Ian was sitting with some scribbled notes and a fresh cuppa,leaning over the latter so that the steam hit his face. “Feeling any betteryourself?”

“Not entirely,” he sniffed. “I think this cold is nearlygone though; it’ll be good when I’m not constantly cold all the time. Do humansnormally have colds that last this long?”

“Not really, but you’re probably a special exception giventhe circumstances,” she replied. Clara poured herself some tea and sat down aswell, glancing over the papers on the table. “I thought you weren’t going toget back to work until after you felt better.”

“I’ve been down for over two months—I can’t afford to putthis off any longer,” he said sourly. “This paper will end up being a decentsupplement to your paycheck, and then we can put that addition on that youwanted plus put away for a familyholiday.” The selkie then glanced over at his wife and narrowed his eyes.“What’s the matter?”

“I don’t feel good myself,” Clara admitted. “It’s probablyjust that fermented fish we brought into class yesterday for the kids to tryfinally getting to me.”

“Whatever it is, I’d like us both to get better soon so wecan get back to… you know…” His hand found her knee and he gave her a bashfulsmile. “Terra’s going to be a good sister, don’t you think?”

“About that, Ian…” She exhaled heavily, discomfort apparentin her voice. “I’m not sure about that anymore. Terra would be fine, it’s notabout that, but I don’t know if I canhandle it right now. Maybe again in October, but not this very moment.”

“Why October?”

“So I can have the baby in the summer holiday, that’s why. Idon’t want to be off work for very long—they’re talking about giving me three grade levels next term.”

“Can they do that?”

“If they want to keep the school open, then yeah.” Clara clutchedher mug tightly, staring down at the milky tea. “I do want one more, don’t get me wrong, but since I’m not pregnant frombefore you caught the bloody cold of thedecade…”

“I understand,” Ian relented. “One day… just not today…because you can’t afford it with work, and we need to be able to afford thingsalong with the child we already have, right?”

“That’s a good way to sum it up, yeah,” she nodded. She tookhold of his hand and they continued on with their tea. They’d get there,eventually, and they were fine with that.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

She was ill again the following day.

Actually, Clara took notice of the fact that she did notfeel well the entire rest of the week. It was only that weekend, after missinga menstrual cycle, did she suspect that anything was going on. She took a testkit with her to the loo (thank God, Sjeh Mither, or whatever, for discreet packagingwhen ordering off the internet), coming out completely baffled.

She wasn’t ill—she was pregnant.

Frankly, it shouldn’t’ve been possible. She and Ian had stoppedtrying completely when he caught that ridiculous cold that had been making itsway around the island (impacting the human inhabitants much less severely), andshe knew she hadn’t been pregnant thanks to a doctor’s visit she went to in themeantime. Everything had come back negative except for the little stick in herhand—how…?

Ian found Clara that night in a completely flustered panicin their bedroom. He had just put Terra to bed, meaning they were alone.

“Is everything alright?” he wondered cautiously.

“Ian, I… oh, screw it: I’m pregnant,” she replied, cuttingto the gist of things. “I’m pregnant and I shouldn’t be and—”

“Oh Clara, that’s wonderful news,” he beamed. He picked herup in a hug that spun halfway around before putting her down. Taking a goodwhiff of his wife, the selkie grinned, “Yes, you definitely are. I wouldn’thave known had you not said so for about another week or so; this dumb cold,you know…”

“This is serious!” she snapped. “We haven’t had sex inmonths!”

“The baby just waited until it sensed I was beginning to gethealthy again to implant itself, which must mean that it can sense bothparents, and…”

“Wait, it what…?!”

“You mean… humans don’t… do… that… when… um… breeding…?”

“We do no such thing!”

“Huh, that’s odd, because that’s what seals do all the time,and I—” Ian was cut off by his tiny human wife emitting such an annoyed soundthat it sent a chill down his fae spine. “Is this one for the notecards?”

“Definitely one for the notecards,” she hissed, pointingtowards the writing desk in the corner of the room. He went over and took afresh card from one of the drawers, printing “Do not confuse seal and human physiology and/or natural processes”on it, stuffing it in with a small pile of other cards sitting on the desk,bound by a rubber band. He returned to her side, holding his arm out wide.

“Done,” he said. “I promise I’ll try not to delay-impregnateyou again.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, headbutting his chest as he hugged her.There was no denying how warm he was; warm and comfortable and smelling of thesea. He was more than just the father of her child—no, children—but he was her best friend and the one person she couldn’tstay cross at, not for a million, billion years. “Can we go to bed now? Ireally should get to bed, if I really am pregnant with your mutant seal-faechild… again.”

“We most certainly can, and you most certainly are,” Iangrinned. He picked up Clara and carried her to bed, climbing in afterwards touse her shoulder as a pillow while he laid there with his hand up her shirt,touching the bare skin of her stomach. “Now instead of trying in October, we’llbe changing nappies.”

“Don’t sound too happy about that,” she teased. She gentlytapped the back of his head as he craned his neck to kiss her throat—what anidiot. “Hey, Ian?”

“Yeah?”

“If this baby, um, behaved like a seal when it came tocoming into existence, does this mean that they will be a selkie like you?”

“Possibly, but nothing is for certain,” he said. “I musthave changed my mind over a dozen times when you were carrying Terra.”

“Now that I remember clearly.”

“At least one thing is for certain: they will be a littlebit of you and a little bit of me.” The door then creaked open and the mattressshifted slightly. “Speaking of… how’s our precious pup?”

“Daddy, under the bed,” Terra whined. She clung to herfather, who held her as he got out of bed.

“Let’s see what we can do to banish that wee imp once andfor all,” he said. He kissed his wife before bringing their daughter back toher room, determined to make the imaginary spirit vanish in the lass’s eyes.Clara laid alone in her room, putting a hand to the warm skin her husband hadjust touched.

It was the end of a long day at the border encampment andSterling was glad. There was so little for him to do that after they were donewith drills for the morning, he went to work copying and correcting maps withnew surveying information for the remainder of the daylight hours. He ate hisdinner in peace and was about to leave the mess tent when a woman brandishing alarge bag stopped him.

“Second Lieutenant Sterling Smith?”

“Yes?”

“Mail for you.” She handed him an envelope and continued onher way. He glanced down at the signature at the bottom of the envelope’s flapside and couldn’t help but smile.

Oriana A. Pink.

He then continued his way back to his tent, as before,except now he had a reason to want to read in private. It wasn’t going to beprivate in content by any means, but the thought of her writing warmed hisheart. She did not know the happiness she brought him; there was a chance shewould never know, in fact, that he was glad for a single-sleeping tent so thata neighbor did not need to see him pour over her words. There were otherreasons, of course, mostly involving sharing a space with a stranger liable tobring back someone else for the night, yet it was still good that he could hidehis schoolboy blush as he opened the letter and sat down to read.

‘Dear Sterling,

‘Sorry for botheringyou, but now I understand why Astra did as much as she did early when it cameto certifications and exams with the University—this is so rigorous that it’sincredible that she was even able to do it! Dad says that the courses he had totake in order to become certified were pretty difficult as well, so I guesssome things never change, but I guess this is why being University-certifiedtakes a lot of hard work and luck, and that there are brilliant people whocan’t claim that for themselves. The fact Dad did most of his studyingcompletely unassisted sounds really fishy to me now that I know how tough itreally is, but I will catch him in his lies eventually.

‘Everything is goingokay otherwise. Maggie is off to the capital to visit with the Braxoses; thetwo of us still babysit for Astra when we can. The little guy is way too fastwhen he runs around! I’m glad you won’t be gone for too much longer, because hegets angry any time one of us doesn’t see him for a couple days, meaning he’sgoing to be very cross when he sees you. He clings to just about anyone whowill have him; Maggie, me, your parents, you name it. Still hasn’t completely gottenused to turning while running though—the sight of him face-down on the floor makesyour papa move quicker than he ever has done normally. Actually, I think hewill be glad to see you, since Seren is not nearly as fun an uncle.

‘Thank you forallowing me to vent. Don’t let the Cyberans get the best of you!

‘Hugs,

‘Ori’

Sterling sat there, rereading the letter a couple timesbefore putting it down on his small desk. Nine years and he still was unsurehow to breech the subject. They were technically both adults grown—why was itso difficult? He could still see his father’s face, explaining to him theintricacies of their lives and restrictions due the positions they were borninto. Smallfolk saw them as freedoms, as he had learned during his short tenureas a soldier, but really… one tiny slight and he could destroy his relationshipwith Oriana, his sister’s friendshipwith her, Kasterborous and Gallifrey’s connection to Coal-on-the-Hill. Hisaffections could impact thousands of people, for better or worse, and it was athought that loomed over him treacherously.

Glad to have the letter anyhow, he took a pen and paper outof the desk drawer and began to write.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A couple days later and Oriana was sitting at the kitchentable in the tutor’s cottage, her work spread out before her. She had theremainder of the afternoon to herself for studying before her father returnedhome and they started making dinner and she wanted to use the time wisely.

She was elbows-deep into a history book about southerntribes before the kingdom’s formation when a knock at the door made her jump insurprise. Going to answer it, she found it was a familiar servant from thecastle, holding some envelopes in her hand.

“We had some of your stuff get mixed in with theMarchioness’s on accident,” the servant explained. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Oriana replied, taking the mail. Theservant left and she sorted through the envelopes. Two for her father went intohis pidgeonhole by the door, one for her mother that looked like a socialcorrespondence went in hers—there was no need to forward it, as she wasreturning home in two weeks—and there was one for her. She turned it over andgrinned at who it was from.

Sterling A. Smith

Oriana slightly squeaked in delight; yesterday she had receiveda letter from Maglina, and now she had one from her other best friend. It probably was not proper for a lady to be bestfriends with a man, but she didn’t care. So what if it was her breeding showingthrough or something like that? She liked getting news from Sterling becauseshe worried, like anyone would. After putting together some tea, she sat backdown at the table and opened her letter, using its arrival as an excuse to takea break.

‘Dear Ori,

‘Thank you for yourletter. Hearing from you will always be a treat—you are the furthest thing froma bother in my eyes. At least now I have an excuse to write you back. Since thenew recruits out of the Academy have arrived, it looks like I’m generally beingleft alone again. It’s probably better now that Tara is stationed on the Dalekifront and she is not bothering me daily, but it still is annoying that I cannotseem to escape her shadow, even with her gone. I wouldn’t trade any of mysisters for all the world’s riches, but you know what I mean. At least annoyingisn’t the same as being treated poorly.

‘I will spare you thedetails since we’ve grown up hearing about this place—you I’m sure more thanme—but now that I’ve had some time to myself, it seems as though the storieshave never done this place justice. A year of being here off and on and I’mstill amazed by the cold air in the summer mornings and how pale everythingbecomes in the dawn. The Violet Sky is far away and I’m already thinking aboutcocoa and warm pies and huddling together in front of a fire. We’ll have tomake sure to find the time for it, since one of the captains is going to be onmaternity leave around that time, and I might actually be needed around here foronce. Just between us, but I barely wait until my initial two years are up,because they will likely be my final two years. How your parents haveever done it is beyond me.

‘Your mum says hi, bythe way. It’s still weird calling her “Medical Officer Jones-Pink” instead of“Lady Martha”, I’ll have you know. At least it’s not for much longer.

‘Regards,

‘Sterling’

“Here we are… a nice picnic,” John said, sitting down on thetartan blanket in the shade of a tree. Davey and Wynn sat down with him,dragging the basket along between them. The two children began digging throughthe picnic supplies in search of their sandwiches and treats, not paying attentionto their father.

“I wonder when Mum, Aunt Collie, and Donny are coming withthe soda pops,” Davy said idly. He took out the bag of crisps while Wynn gotthe sandwiches.

“Soon enough,” John answered. He glanced around the park,seeing that there were other families taking advantage of the warm summer dayto spend some time together in town. It was a bit of a guilty feeling, knowinghe was out with all the family while Duncan was at work, but that was thenature of visiting during the work week. The Smiths wouldn’t head back toLondon until Monday, however, which meant that there was plenty of time withinthe next five days to spend some time with both families together.

“Daddy, where did you and Mummy meet?” Wynn wondered. Sheunwrapped the paper from the sandwiches and took the napkins from the basket. “Shetold me on the bus that you and her met near here.”

“Sort of near here,” he replied. “We met in a pub inClydebank, the next town over. She wasn’t even in town a week.”

“Can we go see it when we’re done with our picnic?” sheasked.

“I’m afraid that’s impossible; the pub was destroyed duringthe War, and when the owner rebuilt, he did so in a different location.”

“Lots of things were destroyed in the War, weren’t they?”Davey recalled. “That’s why we can’t see your old house either.”

“That’s true,” his father said. “The flat block is stillaround, but I’d rather not go there—too many bus exchanges and we would only beallowed on the outside.”

This seemed to satisfy the boy, though his sister still hadquestions. “You said that you and Mummy were like love at third sight—why wasthat?”

“Well… we didn’t know if we’d see one another after thefirst time we met, the second time I asked her on a date, and the third was thedate itself.”

“How old were you? You’re sixty-three now, so you were…” Shetried counting on her fingers and scowled at the fact she didn’t know theanswer.

“Forty-eight,” John laughed. “Your mam and I met in Januaryof 1940.”

“If Mummy hadn’t had her birthday yet, that means she wastwenty!” Wynn exclaimed. She quickly did the calculations and pondered. “That’sa lot of years apart.”

“It is,” he said, “but it ended up not being the worst thingin the world. We fell in love, and that’s what matters.”

“…Dad…?”

“Yes David?”

“Does that mean you knew Mum for three months before you gotmarried?” he asked. John blinked at him, unsure if he should answer truthfullyor avoid the question.

“I did,” he said, deciding on the former. “In retrospect, itwas a very reckless decision. We’re still married after all these years, but itdoesn’t mean that what we did was smart.”

“If it wasn’t smart, then why’d you get married?” Wynnasked.

John thought about that, formulating the answer carefullywhile his children watched on. “While I had dated a few women before your mam, Iknew that there was something about her that made her special. The job I hadbuilding ships was dangerous—people could very easily die in accidents if theyweren’t careful—and I didn’t want something to happen to me and then she beleft with nothing. If I died without marrying her, I would have never forgivenmyself.”

“Why wasn’t it smart to get married though?” Wynn persisted.

“Three months isn’t very much time at all to get to knowsomeone,” John said. “Mam and I took a lot of risks doing things the way we didthings. For all we knew, I could have been hiding a mean side while she couldhave had another husband somewhere and was lying about him not existing.”

“You do have a mean side though, Dad,” Davey added. “You don’tlike people with pudding for brains or the lady down the street who keepsravens or when you spill your yogurt on the kitchen floor.”

“I meant… um… how do I say this…” He scratched his head inthought, ruffling his hair. “There are some people who are very mean to those they’reclosest to, whether it be with words or by hitting, and they are able to trick theones on the receiving end into thinking it’s okay when it’s not.”

“You wouldn’t do that to Mum though,” Davey said resolutely.“You love Mum too much to do something like that.”

“Correct,” John said. “I love her so much—she’s the reason Iam here, alive and healthy, with two brilliant children, my career back, andsuch a loving family—that I couldn’t possibly imagine being mean to her likethat. Swiping the last of her favorite biscuits, yes, but that’s the worst I’llget.”

“Hey! There’s Mummy!” Wynn gasped. She stood and hopped upand down, waving down her mother, aunt, and cousin as they approached with asix-pack of bottles fresh from the shop down the road.

“Wow, that line was brutal,”Collette said. She sat down on the blanket and raised an eyebrow at John. “Youalright? You’ve got the sad face going on.”

“I’m fine,” he said. John waited until Clara sat down nextto him and leaned in, kissing her lips gently. “I’ve got my lovely lady by myside; it’s impossible to be sad for long.”

“I’d be sad if I were living in London with you, Uncle John,”Donny frowned. “Aunt Clara said you can’t get this kind of soda pop where youlive and it’s my favorite.” He took the top off one of the glass bottles andput a straw in the orange liquid, handing it to Wynn.

“We have a candy shop by our house that sells soda pop—we shouldgo there when you visit us,” Wynn suggested. While she, her cousin, and brothertalked and her aunt passed out the sandwiches, her parents talked lowly betweenone another.

“Are you alright?” Clara asked. “I know the kids have beennon-stop questions lately.”

“I am,” John assured her. “There’s no way… not with youaround.”