fic: dw: your heart is keeping time with me (Eleven/River, PG, babyfic)
Title: your heart is keeping time with me
Fandom: Doctor Who
Summary: He's holding a baby.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song by Aqualung, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: Spoilers for everything current, just in case. This is baby!fic. I apologize for nothing. Thanks to leiascully for looking this over!
He's holding a baby.
It's been awhile since he held a baby. The last time it was little Alfie, although, now that he thinks about it, Alfie had, at that very moment, been going by Stormageddon.
"Funny old things, babies," he says. He kisses the head of the child in his arms, and a small but determined hand reaches up to grab his nose. "Well, yes, of course you're right. Not old things. Funny, though. I'm right about that."
The baby burbles at him.
"What sort of story?" he asks. More burbling. "Where you come from? Oh. My. Well."
He blushes. There are rather a lot of interesting memories bound up in that question, and none of them are remotely appropriate for children.
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself a little there, don't you?" Tiny fingers scrabble at the edges of his bow tie. "Oh. You might have said. Yes, yes, I suppose you did. Well. Now. Where to start."
There's an amused gurgle.
"The beginning? Oh, you are terribly clever, aren't you? You get that from me," he says, preening. He sits down carefully in the comfy chair in the corner of the room. "The attitude, however, you get from your mother, who, by the way, gets it from her mother. Definitely. Trust me on that, Pond. Though you're not a whole Pond, are you? Half of a Pond, anyway. More of a puddle." He frowns and kisses the top of his daughter's head. "You're right, that's a terrible name. I'm not calling you that. Not even when I'm cross. Never call people names when you're cross. Rule fourteen. I will have to write these down for you, won't I?"
She makes a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh.
"So I have. But if your conversations can't wander a bit, they'll never go anywhere interesting. Rule eleven. So. Well. You're from... everywhere," he says, trying to fit the whole of the universe and all of its wonders into one little word. There's a window by the chair, and they can both see the stars. He nods up at them. "See all that? That's just the beginning. There's planets and asteroids and comets and people, so many people, and sometimes running, well, usually running, if I'm honest, which I'm not, always. Rule one. And I'm sorry about that. I truly am. But it's magnificent out there, and it'll be even more magnificent with you. You and me, time and space. How about it? Care to go knocking around the universe with your old dad?"
She sighs, then, a simple, happy sound, and he smiles. "Glad to hear it."
They sit there a while longer, him babbling about stars and adventures as she drifts off to sleep. If he's very still, he can hear the quick beats of her tiny hearts. He's been around a very long time, exploring this wide and ridiculous universe, un-mystifying mysteries and de-enigmaing enigmas, but he's never seen anything he'd call a miracle. At the moment, however, he seems to be holding one. He's forgotten what it felt like, being a parent, sharing the responsibility for life in the very special and personal way that only parents can understand. Sitting here brings it all back. Some day, far in her future, he will tell her the stories of the siblings she will never know, but all those bittersweet memories can wait for another day. Today is for miracles.
"Sleep well," he says, kissing her head again. He places her gently down in his old cot. "Dream of the stars. I'll show them to you, I promise."
River is there when he turns around, leaning against the doorframe.
"I hope you meant, 'When you're older, we can go knocking around the universe,'" she says softly. "Much older. And possibly trained for combat."
"Of course, when she's older," he whispers, and they creep out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Not sure how I feel about the combat training. Oh wait. I do know how I feel about that. I don't like it."
"You need a good gun arm," she says, but she doesn't press the subject, she just walks him downstairs and back to the TARDIS.
He has to go, of course. He can't stay. He's lingered far too long already. It's far too dangerous for all of them, but he's working on that. It's a thing in progress, just like their daughter.
"She'd like you to know, regarding names, that she's wavering between Brook and Andromeda," he says, snapping his fingers to open the TARDIS door. "Interesting choices."
"Brook?" River asks, eyebrows raised. "Like the body of water. You're sure you didn't suggest that?"
"Of course I didn't! And I think it's quite clever. She's got a sense of humor, that one. Gets it from me," he grins.
"When she starts talking, you are forbidden from making any babbling brook jokes," River says, and he makes a face at her. She laughs, and he bends to kiss her. It's as much of a promise as he can make to her right now.
"What did she say to you?" she asks.
"Hmm?"
"You asked our daughter to go see the universe. What did she say?"
"Geronimo," he says, stepping into the TARDIS. "She said, 'Geronimo.'"
Fandom: Doctor Who
Summary: He's holding a baby.
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: This isn't for profit, just for fun. All characters & situations belong to Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, BBC, and their various subsidiaries. Title from a song by Aqualung, which I also had nothing to do with.
A/N: Spoilers for everything current, just in case. This is baby!fic. I apologize for nothing. Thanks to leiascully for looking this over!
He's holding a baby.
It's been awhile since he held a baby. The last time it was little Alfie, although, now that he thinks about it, Alfie had, at that very moment, been going by Stormageddon.
"Funny old things, babies," he says. He kisses the head of the child in his arms, and a small but determined hand reaches up to grab his nose. "Well, yes, of course you're right. Not old things. Funny, though. I'm right about that."
The baby burbles at him.
"What sort of story?" he asks. More burbling. "Where you come from? Oh. My. Well."
He blushes. There are rather a lot of interesting memories bound up in that question, and none of them are remotely appropriate for children.
"I think you're getting ahead of yourself a little there, don't you?" Tiny fingers scrabble at the edges of his bow tie. "Oh. You might have said. Yes, yes, I suppose you did. Well. Now. Where to start."
There's an amused gurgle.
"The beginning? Oh, you are terribly clever, aren't you? You get that from me," he says, preening. He sits down carefully in the comfy chair in the corner of the room. "The attitude, however, you get from your mother, who, by the way, gets it from her mother. Definitely. Trust me on that, Pond. Though you're not a whole Pond, are you? Half of a Pond, anyway. More of a puddle." He frowns and kisses the top of his daughter's head. "You're right, that's a terrible name. I'm not calling you that. Not even when I'm cross. Never call people names when you're cross. Rule fourteen. I will have to write these down for you, won't I?"
She makes a sound halfway between a cough and a laugh.
"So I have. But if your conversations can't wander a bit, they'll never go anywhere interesting. Rule eleven. So. Well. You're from... everywhere," he says, trying to fit the whole of the universe and all of its wonders into one little word. There's a window by the chair, and they can both see the stars. He nods up at them. "See all that? That's just the beginning. There's planets and asteroids and comets and people, so many people, and sometimes running, well, usually running, if I'm honest, which I'm not, always. Rule one. And I'm sorry about that. I truly am. But it's magnificent out there, and it'll be even more magnificent with you. You and me, time and space. How about it? Care to go knocking around the universe with your old dad?"
She sighs, then, a simple, happy sound, and he smiles. "Glad to hear it."
They sit there a while longer, him babbling about stars and adventures as she drifts off to sleep. If he's very still, he can hear the quick beats of her tiny hearts. He's been around a very long time, exploring this wide and ridiculous universe, un-mystifying mysteries and de-enigmaing enigmas, but he's never seen anything he'd call a miracle. At the moment, however, he seems to be holding one. He's forgotten what it felt like, being a parent, sharing the responsibility for life in the very special and personal way that only parents can understand. Sitting here brings it all back. Some day, far in her future, he will tell her the stories of the siblings she will never know, but all those bittersweet memories can wait for another day. Today is for miracles.
"Sleep well," he says, kissing her head again. He places her gently down in his old cot. "Dream of the stars. I'll show them to you, I promise."
River is there when he turns around, leaning against the doorframe.
"I hope you meant, 'When you're older, we can go knocking around the universe,'" she says softly. "Much older. And possibly trained for combat."
"Of course, when she's older," he whispers, and they creep out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Not sure how I feel about the combat training. Oh wait. I do know how I feel about that. I don't like it."
"You need a good gun arm," she says, but she doesn't press the subject, she just walks him downstairs and back to the TARDIS.
He has to go, of course. He can't stay. He's lingered far too long already. It's far too dangerous for all of them, but he's working on that. It's a thing in progress, just like their daughter.
"She'd like you to know, regarding names, that she's wavering between Brook and Andromeda," he says, snapping his fingers to open the TARDIS door. "Interesting choices."
"Brook?" River asks, eyebrows raised. "Like the body of water. You're sure you didn't suggest that?"
"Of course I didn't! And I think it's quite clever. She's got a sense of humor, that one. Gets it from me," he grins.
"When she starts talking, you are forbidden from making any babbling brook jokes," River says, and he makes a face at her. She laughs, and he bends to kiss her. It's as much of a promise as he can make to her right now.
"What did she say to you?" she asks.
"Hmm?"
"You asked our daughter to go see the universe. What did she say?"
"Geronimo," he says, stepping into the TARDIS. "She said, 'Geronimo.'"