Fic: Predestination Parenting (G)
Title: Predestination Parenting
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna, Martha, Ian, Barbara.
Word count: 3700-ish
Summary: “Sorry, I don’t take passengers who can’t tie their own shoelaces. Running’s an important part of the job description.”
Spoilers: Blink.
Beta: Many thanks again to ponygirl72 and bytheseaside for their help.
A/N: Kinda fluffy, but with a generous helping of snark and a touch of contemplation. See if you can spot the NA reference - it's relatively blatant if you know your Virgin novels.
oOoOo
“You what?!” Donna stared at the offending object in alarm. “Well what do you want me to do?”
“I thought you’d have some sort of natural instinct for this sort of thing.”
A sharp slap rang out as the Doctor failed to duck in time. His reaction times were improving, but he was still getting slapped far too often for his liking.
“Okay, sorry!”
“Sexist pig.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Donna sniffed, folding her arms.
“Look, it’s not like I know what to do about this,” the Doctor protested.
“Well, why not?”
“It’s never been a problem! Why don’t you?”
“Not all Earth women are broody, you know! I don’t know the first thing about -” She stopped and glanced around quickly. “Where is the baby?”
The Doctor cursed and dashed towards the door to the rest of the ship. He returned a moment later, holding a chubby, sticky, dark-haired baby at arms’ length.
“It’s crawling already?”
“Apparently.”
He set the baby down on the floor near their feet, and they both stared at it.
“So what is it?” Donna asked.
“Human.”
Donna sighed heavily and gave him a look. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Oh. I’m not sure.”
She sighed again, with a little more pointed irritation, and squatted down to look at the baby closely. Studying its face for a bit, she finally concluded that it might be a boy.
“Don’t you need to -”
“Oh, I’m not going in there.”
“But what about when it fills its... what’s that thing called?”
“Its nappy? You can deal with that, I’m not touching it.”
“What?!”
“Have you gone deaf or something? I’m not changing any nappies! It’s your TARDIS, it’s your problem: you deal with it.”
Leaving the Doctor gaping at her, with the baby pulling happily at his shoelaces, Donna stalked off to her room.
oOoOo
“I thought you liked getting your hands dirty?”
The Doctor looked up, the grimace remaining on his face as he took in Donna’s smirk, her arms folded smugly as she leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m a scientist,” the Doctor replied calmly, trying to unwrinkle his nose, but the smell rendered him unable to do so.
“Yeah?”
“So there’s usually a purpose to getting my hands dirty.”
“The kid will start screaming if you don’t change his nappy,” she told him, still smirking in that infuriating way. “That’s a purpose.”
The Doctor turned back to the wriggling child (who was definitely a boy), trying not to look at the dirty nappy or the used wipes.
“What’s that stuff for?” he asked, waving his hand at a small grey container.
Donna sauntered over to the kitchen table where the baby lay gurgling on a changing mat, kicking his legs, and picked up the item in question.
“It’s for preventing nappy rash.”
“It’s for what?”
“Oh for god’s sake, just smear some on the kid’s bum and put a nappy on him,” she snapped, thrusting it into his hands.
She was loving every second of his grimacing and cringing, he knew it. The next stage was relatively easy, just unfold the clean nappy and put it on the baby.
“Wait, this... how do I -? No, wait, it’s easy, I’ve got it.”
“You have to lift his legs.”
“I know! Oh, but then how am I supposed to -”
“With one hand!”
“Oh, I see. Right.”
“Honestly, useless male like every other...” Donna reached over and pulled a tab open to reveal the sticky side.
“If you know how to do it, why don’t you?”
She scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t Martians have babies?” she asked after a few more moments of watching him struggle to make the tabs stick. “What do you do, clone yourselves or something?”
“Look, for the last time -!”
“I know, I know, you’re not from Mars, I was only teasing...”
The nappy secured, the Doctor sat the baby upright.
“Doesn’t he have any clothes?” Donna wondered, watching the boy chewing on one foot.
“No, just a blanket from his cot, but I can find some - should he be doing that?”
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know? I thought you didn’t know the first thing about babies.”
Donna shifted her weight to her other foot and glanced away. “Well, my cousin had a few kids...” The Doctor glared at her. “What? I never actually helped with them, I only saw them a few times. Anyway, where did you get all this baby stuff?”
“The TARDIS provided it,” the Doctor replied. “I should be able to find... uh... what do babies wear? Trousers and t-shirts, or those little all-in-one things?”
“They’re more for sleeping, I think. Just find some regular clothes in the right size and he’ll be fine.”
The Doctor turned away from the table, rolled his sleeves down from his elbows and picked up his jacket. As he turned back, Donna laughed. He looked down at his shirt as he remembered the most likely reason for her amusement, glared at the offending wet patch then at Donna, and stalked off to change his shirt.
“Oi!” Her voice echoed down the corridor after him.
“Your turn!” he shouted back.
oOoOo
The kid was staring at her. Big brown eyes serene and questioning, little nose sniffling occasionally, tiny pursed mouth blowing bubbles from time to time.
“I don’t have any toys, you know. Or food. But I’m sure the TARDIS can come up with something. You hungry? No?”
He kicked his feet lazily towards her.
“Hey, that’s my knees you’re kicking.” Donna leaned forwards and leveled her eyes with the baby’s. He kept staring, blinking slowly. “You watch who you’re kicking,” she told him, allowing her voice to slip ever so slightly into a baby voice. “Don’t be kicking the nice lady. You can kick the Doctor all you like, yeah? And feel free to piss on him again if you get the chance.” The kid gurgled happily and rocked backwards from his sitting position on the floor, falling onto the pillow she’d put there for that very purpose. After a few moments, he decided lying down was boring, so he rolled over and began to crawl away from her.
Donna leaned back on her hands and watched him prowl around on the floor for a while, smiling when he discovered his new pinstripe trousers and tiny t-shirt and spent five minutes chewing on them.
“You got Doctor trousers?” she asked him as he tugged on his right leg. He crowed back at her and she laughed. “Mean old Doctor’s good for something, huh?”
“Having fun?” She sat up and turned around so quickly she almost pulled something. The Doctor, speak of the devil, was doing exactly what she’d been doing earlier: leaning against the doorframe, smirking. Well, at least she was significantly cleaner than he’d been.
“Yes, actually. Babysitting’s a doddle.”
“Well, you didn’t have to change him. What’ve you done? Baby talk?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if the TARDIS had been informing on her. “He’ll need feeding soon.”
“What does he need? Some sort of milk?”
“He’s probably old enough for baby food. See if the TARDIS has anything in the fridge.” With a put-upon expression, the Doctor turned to go. “And a spoon!” Donna called after him.
She got up and caught up with the baby, scooping him up and attempting to hold him the way she’d seen her cousin holding her kid. He stared at her with those big expressive eyes again.
“Doctor’s gone to get you some food. Nice mushy food, you’ll like it.”
She ruffled his soft hair with one hand, then smoothed it down when the resulting quiff made him look far too much like a mini-Doctor, albeit a rather scruffy one in his little t-shirt. She bounced him slightly in her arms, watching him examine her face. He lifted a pudgy hand and pressed at her cheek and nose. She smiled as he poked his fingers into her skin, and murmured to him softly.
“What happened to you, huh? Where’d you come from? Where’s your mum and dad?”
The Doctor hadn’t even explained to her the reason for making her stay in the TARDIS on that last trip; he’d just told her not to go outside under any circumstances. He’d been so serious that, for once, she’d followed instructions. Then he’d brought back a baby. She was in dire need of an explanation.
“What’s your name? Don’t even know your name.”
“I know his name.”
She turned more slowly this time, and the Doctor handed her a jar of baby food and a plastic spoon.
“Thanks. So what’s his name?”
“John.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really. I recognise him. Met him before.” He seemed more thoughtful than when he’d left the room, and she wondered what exactly he’d figured out while he’d been in the kitchen.
“When?”
“In the 1960s.”
“Oh. But ... but weren’t we just on a planet in the 27th century?”
“Yep.”
“Right... Doctor,” she began, adding a warning note to her voice that he should be acquainted with by now. Sure enough, he hastened to clarify.
“Right, yes, okay. The planet we just left was newly settled by a colony from Earth, but it hadn’t been properly investigated before colonisation. There was a virus present that only affected the adults.” Donna felt the colour drain from her face, and was suddenly very glad she had stayed inside. She sat down on the floor with the kid and opened the jar of baby food. The Doctor sat near them, out of reach of sticky fingers. “The TARDIS detected it when we landed; it’s only fatal to humans, which is why I made you stay here. According to their records they didn’t take any children with them, so this one must’ve been born on the journey. And, well...” He spread his hands, a helpless, apologetic expression on his face. “Nobody survived but John.”
Donna aimed the first spoonful at the kid’s mouth and he grabbed it from her and missed, smearing his cheek with mushy carrot and ham.
“I couldn’t leave him there,” the Doctor said, as if he was trying to make excuses for taking the child back to the TARDIS; as if the baby was a stray dog that had followed him home.
“I know, Doctor,” Donna told him, managing to get the food in John’s mouth this time. “I’d’ve slapped you harder if you had.”
He laughed, but there was still darkness in his eyes, that self-pitying streak that she hated. He got so maudlin sometimes.
“It’s not like it’s your fault, you know,” she continued, knowing her chances of cheering him up were slim, but trying anyway. “And you rescued him. He would’ve starved.”
“I know.” He looked up and smiled at the food-smeared face grinning at him. “I know where he belongs,” he said quietly. “I’ll set the coordinates, put some things in a box...” He reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair, and inadvertently got a sticky high five instead. “Finish dinnertime and say goodbye,” he told her, wiping his hand on his trousers.
She looked up at him as he stood. “We’re taking him there now?” The Doctor nodded.
“Not attached to him already, are you? I thought you weren’t a baby person?” She glared at him, and he gave her one of those infuriating smiles. “Sorry, I don’t take passengers who can’t tie their own shoelaces. Running’s an important part of the job description.” She knew he was just making light the way he always did, but she still hated him for it just a little bit.
oOoOo
John was falling asleep in the blanket-lined basket when the Doctor returned to the console room with a cardboard box of baby supplies foraged from the depths of the TARDIS. Donna was crouching next to the basket, watching him nod off and wondering who would be looking after him and bringing him up, and whether the 60s and 70s was the best time for him to grow up in.
“He’ll be fine,” the Doctor told her again. “Really, he’s in for a brilliant childhood and an ever better teenager...hood. Adolescence, that’s the one. The culture he has to look forward to ... the music, the television, the games, being able to play outside without his parents freaking out about germs or strangers... It’ll be great, he’ll love it.”
“What about the parents? You never told me who they are.”
“Just some old friends of mine. I saw them recently, with Martha.” Donna rolled her eyes at the prospect of another Martha story, but it didn’t come. Maybe he was learning. “They’ll be wonderful parents, I’ve already seen it.”
Reassured, Donna went back to watching John, but he was already fast asleep. She leaned down and kissed the soft hair on his forehead, then stood up quickly, hoping the Doctor hadn’t seen her going soft.
With a shudder and a ding, the TARDIS materialised, and the Doctor picked up the box of supplies and headed to the door. Donna carefully picked up the basket by its handles and followed him at a slower pace.
Outside the TARDIS, it was a warm summer evening in 1965, somewhere in London. A row of suburban houses stretched out in front of them, and the Doctor set off determinedly for the third from the end. He set the box down next to the step and indicated for her to put the baby down on the step itself. He reached for the doorbell, stopped, then started rummaging in his pockets.
“Are you leaving them a note?”
“Not exactly.”
“What?! You can’t just leave him without a note, they might put him in foster care if they don’t know he’s from you!”
“Would you shut up!” he hissed, still searching for something. Eventually, he pulled out a leather cord with a polished stone pendant hanging from it. When Donna grabbed it for a better look, she saw that it had two strange symbols carved into it.
“What does it say?” she asked when he snatched it back from her.
“It’s an old nickname,” he explained grudgingly. “They don’t know it, but I’ll recognise it as mine when I see him again in 1969.”
“Time loop thing, yeah?”
“Something like that.” The Doctor placed the pendant on top of the blanket and gently touched the baby’s head before standing upright and turning to go.
Donna rolled her eyes, rang the doorbell, then hurried after the Doctor. They dematerialised quickly, but rematerialised just a few seconds later.
“What -?”
“I did a short hop. I’m good at those. It’s fifteen minutes later. Look.” He pointed to the display, and she saw the street they’d just left, a fraction darker this time. The third doorstep from the end was empty. Satisfied, the Doctor pulled the dematerialisation switch again.
Donna stepped away from the console, not sure how she felt. She wasn’t someone who was inclined to be maternal; she’d always seen babies as noisy, messy, smelly annoyances, but John had grown on her very quickly. She was definitely going to miss him.
“He’ll be fine,” said the Doctor simply. “Trust me. I’ve seen him, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine.” Donna shot him an amused smirk. “You’re just glad you don’t have nappy duty anymore.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Come on, let’s go to ... oh, I don’t know, how about Mars? I’ll show you some real Martians. Have a look in the wardrobe room for something warm, you’ll need it.”
oOoOo
“29 ... 31 ... Number 33! This is the one.”
“Doctor, are you absolutely sure your friends won’t mind us staying with them? Just turning up out of the blue and asking for lodgings? I’d be pissed off.”
“Martha, trust me. These two are the most dependable, reliable, down to earth couple you’ll ever meet. That, and they got used to unpredictable circumstances when they travelled with me.” The Doctor rang the doorbell and stood back. “Oh, and they won’t recognise me, so I might have to do a little bit of persuading.”
Before Martha could respond to that rather odd comment, the door opened and she did her best to look friendly and apologetic.
“Ian!” The Doctor sprang forwards and shook the man in the doorway warmly by the hand. “It’s been far too long. Bit of a situation - can we come in?”
The dark-haired young man was understandably blindsided by the stranger’s enthusiasm, so he just blinked in a baffled sort of way. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Ian, dear boy, I’m the Doctor!” The words ‘dear boy’ sounded so odd coming out of the Doctor’s mouth that Martha could fully believe that he had really been a “different man back then”, as he’d told her a couple of times. She had to struggle not to laugh.
“You’re the Doctor?” Ian repeated, clearly not convinced.
The Doctor rolled his eyes slightly, let go of Ian’s hand, grasped his suit lapels with both hands and said in a stern but avuncularly familiar voice, “Now, now, Chatterton, don’t tell me you don’t recognise an old friend when you see one, hmm?”
If Martha’s knowledge of anatomy hadn’t been so firmly grounded thanks to hours upon hours of study, she might’ve believed that the young man’s lower jaw could actually have separated from his skull at that point.
Grasping the Doctor’s hand again and smiling broadly, although still with a lot of stunned disbelief, Ian ushered them both into the house.
“Barbara!” he called. “You’ll never believe - come through, quickly! Can I get you two some tea? Oh, I do apologise, I haven’t introduced myself - Ian Chesterton, and you’re the Doctor’s travelling companion, I take it?”
Greatly amused by the flustered excitement brought on by the Doctor’s visit, Martha couldn’t help but grin as she shook Ian’s hand. “Martha Jones.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Martha Jones.”
A woman bustled through from the kitchen, stopping short when she saw the Doctor and Martha. “Visitors, Ian?” she asked, a confused smile flickering across her face.
“It’s the Doctor!” Ian told her, shaking his head a little as though he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“The Doctor?”
“The one and only,” said the Doctor, standing up to greet her. “It’s a little complicated - basically, my whole body renews itself when I die. My personality changes a bit, but I’m still me.”
Ian frowned quizzically at this explanation. “Some sort of backwards-ageing thing, then, like Merlin?”
“Er, yes - something of the sort,” the Doctor replied, glancing at Martha with that all-too-familiar “I’ll explain later” expression.
Barbara seemed sceptical, but Ian stood up and moved to her side.
“He called me ‘Chatterton’,” he told her. “He did the voice. And the...” He mimed the lapel-grasping motion, as his cardigan didn’t have any, and Barbara turned her now amazed gaze onto the Doctor.
“Then it is you!” He nodded, and swept her up in a hug. She made a little noise of surprise, and gave him an amused but weirded-out look when he let her go.
“I take it he didn’t hug many people back then,” Martha offered.
“Not really, no,” Barbara replied, laughing almost nervously as she sat down. “Sorry, I didn’t... You’re travelling with him?”
“Oh, yes. Martha Jones.” They shook hands, and Barbara gave her a warm, welcoming smile. She hadn’t received many of those since arriving in 1969, that was for sure.
“So, Doctor,” Ian began, “what brings you here? Not that we don’t welcome a visit, but it’s a little unexpected.”
“Oh, it’s a long story; stone angels, time loops, the works - I’ll explain later. But you two! You two got married!” The Doctor beamed at them both. “I had my suspicions at the time,” he confided, bringing colour to both their faces.
“Oh, wait a moment,” Barbara said suddenly, getting up and leaving the room. Martha could see her through the living room door. “John!” she called up the stairs. There was a thump and a clatter, then running footsteps.
“You -” The Doctor pointed towards the stairs as Barbara returned, smiling. “You two - you didn’t!” Ian took hold of his wife’s hand as she perched on the arm of his chair. The Doctor was grinning in disbelief as a small boy of about five years old ran into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of the strangers.
“John,” Barbara began, getting up and standing just behind him, hands on his shoulders, “these are our friends who’ve come to visit. Remember I told you about the Doctor?” She nudged him, and he held out his hand. The Doctor shook it, still grinning. “And this is his friend, Martha.” The little boy shook Martha’s hand next, glancing up from his feet to smile shyly at her.
“You two had a baby, I can’t believe it,” said the Doctor. Ian and Barbara glanced at each other.
“Well... it’s a bit of a long story,” said Ian. “Four years ago -”
“What’s...?” The Doctor leaned forwards in his chair and reached out to the little boy, who backed away a step. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I just want to see your pendant - it’s very cool. Can I look at it?” John stepped forwards again, bolder now, and lifted the pendant over his head. He held it out to the Doctor, who laid it on the palm of his hand, whipped out his glasses and studied it closely.
“I had it when I was a baby,” John said in a quiet voice.
“But this is...” the Doctor muttered.
“What is it, Doctor?” Martha asked, peering over his shoulder. He looked up at her over his glasses.
“This is mine.”
“What?”
“It’s mine.” He rummaged in his suit pockets for a moment, and came up with an identical pendant - polished stone with two Greek letters carved into it. “See?”
“You have one!” John said, smiling and looking up at Barbara, who was stunned but had a knowing look in her eye.
“Why does it say ‘theta sigma’?” Martha asked.
“It was my nickname at school,” he muttered distractedly.
“Seriously?”
“Where did this come from?” he asked Ian and Barbara urgently.
“It was in the basket with him when we found him on our doorstep four years ago,” Ian told him. “We always suspected that it was you who left him with us.”
Martha looked up from the identical pendants (which the Doctor was carefully keeping separate) to see Barbara looking misty-eyed and hugging John to her side.
“I suppose it must’ve been me,” the Doctor said, and Martha could see the gears turning in his head as he worked out yet another predestination paradox. “Well, I’ll have to remember that,” he said with a grin, handing the pendant back to John. “It’s been a bad month for causal loops. Speaking of which, we have a bit of a problem with the TARDIS - i.e., I don’t have it. It’s in 2007. Any chance you have a spare room or a sofa until we can figure out how to get it back?”
oOoOo
Rating: G
Characters: Ten, Donna, Martha, Ian, Barbara.
Word count: 3700-ish
Summary: “Sorry, I don’t take passengers who can’t tie their own shoelaces. Running’s an important part of the job description.”
Spoilers: Blink.
Beta: Many thanks again to ponygirl72 and bytheseaside for their help.
A/N: Kinda fluffy, but with a generous helping of snark and a touch of contemplation. See if you can spot the NA reference - it's relatively blatant if you know your Virgin novels.
oOoOo
“You what?!” Donna stared at the offending object in alarm. “Well what do you want me to do?”
“I thought you’d have some sort of natural instinct for this sort of thing.”
A sharp slap rang out as the Doctor failed to duck in time. His reaction times were improving, but he was still getting slapped far too often for his liking.
“Okay, sorry!”
“Sexist pig.”
“I said I was sorry.”
Donna sniffed, folding her arms.
“Look, it’s not like I know what to do about this,” the Doctor protested.
“Well, why not?”
“It’s never been a problem! Why don’t you?”
“Not all Earth women are broody, you know! I don’t know the first thing about -” She stopped and glanced around quickly. “Where is the baby?”
The Doctor cursed and dashed towards the door to the rest of the ship. He returned a moment later, holding a chubby, sticky, dark-haired baby at arms’ length.
“It’s crawling already?”
“Apparently.”
He set the baby down on the floor near their feet, and they both stared at it.
“So what is it?” Donna asked.
“Human.”
Donna sighed heavily and gave him a look. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Oh. I’m not sure.”
She sighed again, with a little more pointed irritation, and squatted down to look at the baby closely. Studying its face for a bit, she finally concluded that it might be a boy.
“Don’t you need to -”
“Oh, I’m not going in there.”
“But what about when it fills its... what’s that thing called?”
“Its nappy? You can deal with that, I’m not touching it.”
“What?!”
“Have you gone deaf or something? I’m not changing any nappies! It’s your TARDIS, it’s your problem: you deal with it.”
Leaving the Doctor gaping at her, with the baby pulling happily at his shoelaces, Donna stalked off to her room.
oOoOo
“I thought you liked getting your hands dirty?”
The Doctor looked up, the grimace remaining on his face as he took in Donna’s smirk, her arms folded smugly as she leaned against the doorframe.
“I’m a scientist,” the Doctor replied calmly, trying to unwrinkle his nose, but the smell rendered him unable to do so.
“Yeah?”
“So there’s usually a purpose to getting my hands dirty.”
“The kid will start screaming if you don’t change his nappy,” she told him, still smirking in that infuriating way. “That’s a purpose.”
The Doctor turned back to the wriggling child (who was definitely a boy), trying not to look at the dirty nappy or the used wipes.
“What’s that stuff for?” he asked, waving his hand at a small grey container.
Donna sauntered over to the kitchen table where the baby lay gurgling on a changing mat, kicking his legs, and picked up the item in question.
“It’s for preventing nappy rash.”
“It’s for what?”
“Oh for god’s sake, just smear some on the kid’s bum and put a nappy on him,” she snapped, thrusting it into his hands.
She was loving every second of his grimacing and cringing, he knew it. The next stage was relatively easy, just unfold the clean nappy and put it on the baby.
“Wait, this... how do I -? No, wait, it’s easy, I’ve got it.”
“You have to lift his legs.”
“I know! Oh, but then how am I supposed to -”
“With one hand!”
“Oh, I see. Right.”
“Honestly, useless male like every other...” Donna reached over and pulled a tab open to reveal the sticky side.
“If you know how to do it, why don’t you?”
She scoffed and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t Martians have babies?” she asked after a few more moments of watching him struggle to make the tabs stick. “What do you do, clone yourselves or something?”
“Look, for the last time -!”
“I know, I know, you’re not from Mars, I was only teasing...”
The nappy secured, the Doctor sat the baby upright.
“Doesn’t he have any clothes?” Donna wondered, watching the boy chewing on one foot.
“No, just a blanket from his cot, but I can find some - should he be doing that?”
“He’s fine.”
“How do you know? I thought you didn’t know the first thing about babies.”
Donna shifted her weight to her other foot and glanced away. “Well, my cousin had a few kids...” The Doctor glared at her. “What? I never actually helped with them, I only saw them a few times. Anyway, where did you get all this baby stuff?”
“The TARDIS provided it,” the Doctor replied. “I should be able to find... uh... what do babies wear? Trousers and t-shirts, or those little all-in-one things?”
“They’re more for sleeping, I think. Just find some regular clothes in the right size and he’ll be fine.”
The Doctor turned away from the table, rolled his sleeves down from his elbows and picked up his jacket. As he turned back, Donna laughed. He looked down at his shirt as he remembered the most likely reason for her amusement, glared at the offending wet patch then at Donna, and stalked off to change his shirt.
“Oi!” Her voice echoed down the corridor after him.
“Your turn!” he shouted back.
oOoOo
The kid was staring at her. Big brown eyes serene and questioning, little nose sniffling occasionally, tiny pursed mouth blowing bubbles from time to time.
“I don’t have any toys, you know. Or food. But I’m sure the TARDIS can come up with something. You hungry? No?”
He kicked his feet lazily towards her.
“Hey, that’s my knees you’re kicking.” Donna leaned forwards and leveled her eyes with the baby’s. He kept staring, blinking slowly. “You watch who you’re kicking,” she told him, allowing her voice to slip ever so slightly into a baby voice. “Don’t be kicking the nice lady. You can kick the Doctor all you like, yeah? And feel free to piss on him again if you get the chance.” The kid gurgled happily and rocked backwards from his sitting position on the floor, falling onto the pillow she’d put there for that very purpose. After a few moments, he decided lying down was boring, so he rolled over and began to crawl away from her.
Donna leaned back on her hands and watched him prowl around on the floor for a while, smiling when he discovered his new pinstripe trousers and tiny t-shirt and spent five minutes chewing on them.
“You got Doctor trousers?” she asked him as he tugged on his right leg. He crowed back at her and she laughed. “Mean old Doctor’s good for something, huh?”
“Having fun?” She sat up and turned around so quickly she almost pulled something. The Doctor, speak of the devil, was doing exactly what she’d been doing earlier: leaning against the doorframe, smirking. Well, at least she was significantly cleaner than he’d been.
“Yes, actually. Babysitting’s a doddle.”
“Well, you didn’t have to change him. What’ve you done? Baby talk?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering if the TARDIS had been informing on her. “He’ll need feeding soon.”
“What does he need? Some sort of milk?”
“He’s probably old enough for baby food. See if the TARDIS has anything in the fridge.” With a put-upon expression, the Doctor turned to go. “And a spoon!” Donna called after him.
She got up and caught up with the baby, scooping him up and attempting to hold him the way she’d seen her cousin holding her kid. He stared at her with those big expressive eyes again.
“Doctor’s gone to get you some food. Nice mushy food, you’ll like it.”
She ruffled his soft hair with one hand, then smoothed it down when the resulting quiff made him look far too much like a mini-Doctor, albeit a rather scruffy one in his little t-shirt. She bounced him slightly in her arms, watching him examine her face. He lifted a pudgy hand and pressed at her cheek and nose. She smiled as he poked his fingers into her skin, and murmured to him softly.
“What happened to you, huh? Where’d you come from? Where’s your mum and dad?”
The Doctor hadn’t even explained to her the reason for making her stay in the TARDIS on that last trip; he’d just told her not to go outside under any circumstances. He’d been so serious that, for once, she’d followed instructions. Then he’d brought back a baby. She was in dire need of an explanation.
“What’s your name? Don’t even know your name.”
“I know his name.”
She turned more slowly this time, and the Doctor handed her a jar of baby food and a plastic spoon.
“Thanks. So what’s his name?”
“John.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Really. I recognise him. Met him before.” He seemed more thoughtful than when he’d left the room, and she wondered what exactly he’d figured out while he’d been in the kitchen.
“When?”
“In the 1960s.”
“Oh. But ... but weren’t we just on a planet in the 27th century?”
“Yep.”
“Right... Doctor,” she began, adding a warning note to her voice that he should be acquainted with by now. Sure enough, he hastened to clarify.
“Right, yes, okay. The planet we just left was newly settled by a colony from Earth, but it hadn’t been properly investigated before colonisation. There was a virus present that only affected the adults.” Donna felt the colour drain from her face, and was suddenly very glad she had stayed inside. She sat down on the floor with the kid and opened the jar of baby food. The Doctor sat near them, out of reach of sticky fingers. “The TARDIS detected it when we landed; it’s only fatal to humans, which is why I made you stay here. According to their records they didn’t take any children with them, so this one must’ve been born on the journey. And, well...” He spread his hands, a helpless, apologetic expression on his face. “Nobody survived but John.”
Donna aimed the first spoonful at the kid’s mouth and he grabbed it from her and missed, smearing his cheek with mushy carrot and ham.
“I couldn’t leave him there,” the Doctor said, as if he was trying to make excuses for taking the child back to the TARDIS; as if the baby was a stray dog that had followed him home.
“I know, Doctor,” Donna told him, managing to get the food in John’s mouth this time. “I’d’ve slapped you harder if you had.”
He laughed, but there was still darkness in his eyes, that self-pitying streak that she hated. He got so maudlin sometimes.
“It’s not like it’s your fault, you know,” she continued, knowing her chances of cheering him up were slim, but trying anyway. “And you rescued him. He would’ve starved.”
“I know.” He looked up and smiled at the food-smeared face grinning at him. “I know where he belongs,” he said quietly. “I’ll set the coordinates, put some things in a box...” He reached out to ruffle the kid’s hair, and inadvertently got a sticky high five instead. “Finish dinnertime and say goodbye,” he told her, wiping his hand on his trousers.
She looked up at him as he stood. “We’re taking him there now?” The Doctor nodded.
“Not attached to him already, are you? I thought you weren’t a baby person?” She glared at him, and he gave her one of those infuriating smiles. “Sorry, I don’t take passengers who can’t tie their own shoelaces. Running’s an important part of the job description.” She knew he was just making light the way he always did, but she still hated him for it just a little bit.
oOoOo
John was falling asleep in the blanket-lined basket when the Doctor returned to the console room with a cardboard box of baby supplies foraged from the depths of the TARDIS. Donna was crouching next to the basket, watching him nod off and wondering who would be looking after him and bringing him up, and whether the 60s and 70s was the best time for him to grow up in.
“He’ll be fine,” the Doctor told her again. “Really, he’s in for a brilliant childhood and an ever better teenager...hood. Adolescence, that’s the one. The culture he has to look forward to ... the music, the television, the games, being able to play outside without his parents freaking out about germs or strangers... It’ll be great, he’ll love it.”
“What about the parents? You never told me who they are.”
“Just some old friends of mine. I saw them recently, with Martha.” Donna rolled her eyes at the prospect of another Martha story, but it didn’t come. Maybe he was learning. “They’ll be wonderful parents, I’ve already seen it.”
Reassured, Donna went back to watching John, but he was already fast asleep. She leaned down and kissed the soft hair on his forehead, then stood up quickly, hoping the Doctor hadn’t seen her going soft.
With a shudder and a ding, the TARDIS materialised, and the Doctor picked up the box of supplies and headed to the door. Donna carefully picked up the basket by its handles and followed him at a slower pace.
Outside the TARDIS, it was a warm summer evening in 1965, somewhere in London. A row of suburban houses stretched out in front of them, and the Doctor set off determinedly for the third from the end. He set the box down next to the step and indicated for her to put the baby down on the step itself. He reached for the doorbell, stopped, then started rummaging in his pockets.
“Are you leaving them a note?”
“Not exactly.”
“What?! You can’t just leave him without a note, they might put him in foster care if they don’t know he’s from you!”
“Would you shut up!” he hissed, still searching for something. Eventually, he pulled out a leather cord with a polished stone pendant hanging from it. When Donna grabbed it for a better look, she saw that it had two strange symbols carved into it.
“What does it say?” she asked when he snatched it back from her.
“It’s an old nickname,” he explained grudgingly. “They don’t know it, but I’ll recognise it as mine when I see him again in 1969.”
“Time loop thing, yeah?”
“Something like that.” The Doctor placed the pendant on top of the blanket and gently touched the baby’s head before standing upright and turning to go.
Donna rolled her eyes, rang the doorbell, then hurried after the Doctor. They dematerialised quickly, but rematerialised just a few seconds later.
“What -?”
“I did a short hop. I’m good at those. It’s fifteen minutes later. Look.” He pointed to the display, and she saw the street they’d just left, a fraction darker this time. The third doorstep from the end was empty. Satisfied, the Doctor pulled the dematerialisation switch again.
Donna stepped away from the console, not sure how she felt. She wasn’t someone who was inclined to be maternal; she’d always seen babies as noisy, messy, smelly annoyances, but John had grown on her very quickly. She was definitely going to miss him.
“He’ll be fine,” said the Doctor simply. “Trust me. I’ve seen him, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m fine.” Donna shot him an amused smirk. “You’re just glad you don’t have nappy duty anymore.”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Come on, let’s go to ... oh, I don’t know, how about Mars? I’ll show you some real Martians. Have a look in the wardrobe room for something warm, you’ll need it.”
oOoOo
“29 ... 31 ... Number 33! This is the one.”
“Doctor, are you absolutely sure your friends won’t mind us staying with them? Just turning up out of the blue and asking for lodgings? I’d be pissed off.”
“Martha, trust me. These two are the most dependable, reliable, down to earth couple you’ll ever meet. That, and they got used to unpredictable circumstances when they travelled with me.” The Doctor rang the doorbell and stood back. “Oh, and they won’t recognise me, so I might have to do a little bit of persuading.”
Before Martha could respond to that rather odd comment, the door opened and she did her best to look friendly and apologetic.
“Ian!” The Doctor sprang forwards and shook the man in the doorway warmly by the hand. “It’s been far too long. Bit of a situation - can we come in?”
The dark-haired young man was understandably blindsided by the stranger’s enthusiasm, so he just blinked in a baffled sort of way. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Ian, dear boy, I’m the Doctor!” The words ‘dear boy’ sounded so odd coming out of the Doctor’s mouth that Martha could fully believe that he had really been a “different man back then”, as he’d told her a couple of times. She had to struggle not to laugh.
“You’re the Doctor?” Ian repeated, clearly not convinced.
The Doctor rolled his eyes slightly, let go of Ian’s hand, grasped his suit lapels with both hands and said in a stern but avuncularly familiar voice, “Now, now, Chatterton, don’t tell me you don’t recognise an old friend when you see one, hmm?”
If Martha’s knowledge of anatomy hadn’t been so firmly grounded thanks to hours upon hours of study, she might’ve believed that the young man’s lower jaw could actually have separated from his skull at that point.
Grasping the Doctor’s hand again and smiling broadly, although still with a lot of stunned disbelief, Ian ushered them both into the house.
“Barbara!” he called. “You’ll never believe - come through, quickly! Can I get you two some tea? Oh, I do apologise, I haven’t introduced myself - Ian Chesterton, and you’re the Doctor’s travelling companion, I take it?”
Greatly amused by the flustered excitement brought on by the Doctor’s visit, Martha couldn’t help but grin as she shook Ian’s hand. “Martha Jones.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Martha Jones.”
A woman bustled through from the kitchen, stopping short when she saw the Doctor and Martha. “Visitors, Ian?” she asked, a confused smile flickering across her face.
“It’s the Doctor!” Ian told her, shaking his head a little as though he still couldn’t quite believe it.
“The Doctor?”
“The one and only,” said the Doctor, standing up to greet her. “It’s a little complicated - basically, my whole body renews itself when I die. My personality changes a bit, but I’m still me.”
Ian frowned quizzically at this explanation. “Some sort of backwards-ageing thing, then, like Merlin?”
“Er, yes - something of the sort,” the Doctor replied, glancing at Martha with that all-too-familiar “I’ll explain later” expression.
Barbara seemed sceptical, but Ian stood up and moved to her side.
“He called me ‘Chatterton’,” he told her. “He did the voice. And the...” He mimed the lapel-grasping motion, as his cardigan didn’t have any, and Barbara turned her now amazed gaze onto the Doctor.
“Then it is you!” He nodded, and swept her up in a hug. She made a little noise of surprise, and gave him an amused but weirded-out look when he let her go.
“I take it he didn’t hug many people back then,” Martha offered.
“Not really, no,” Barbara replied, laughing almost nervously as she sat down. “Sorry, I didn’t... You’re travelling with him?”
“Oh, yes. Martha Jones.” They shook hands, and Barbara gave her a warm, welcoming smile. She hadn’t received many of those since arriving in 1969, that was for sure.
“So, Doctor,” Ian began, “what brings you here? Not that we don’t welcome a visit, but it’s a little unexpected.”
“Oh, it’s a long story; stone angels, time loops, the works - I’ll explain later. But you two! You two got married!” The Doctor beamed at them both. “I had my suspicions at the time,” he confided, bringing colour to both their faces.
“Oh, wait a moment,” Barbara said suddenly, getting up and leaving the room. Martha could see her through the living room door. “John!” she called up the stairs. There was a thump and a clatter, then running footsteps.
“You -” The Doctor pointed towards the stairs as Barbara returned, smiling. “You two - you didn’t!” Ian took hold of his wife’s hand as she perched on the arm of his chair. The Doctor was grinning in disbelief as a small boy of about five years old ran into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of the strangers.
“John,” Barbara began, getting up and standing just behind him, hands on his shoulders, “these are our friends who’ve come to visit. Remember I told you about the Doctor?” She nudged him, and he held out his hand. The Doctor shook it, still grinning. “And this is his friend, Martha.” The little boy shook Martha’s hand next, glancing up from his feet to smile shyly at her.
“You two had a baby, I can’t believe it,” said the Doctor. Ian and Barbara glanced at each other.
“Well... it’s a bit of a long story,” said Ian. “Four years ago -”
“What’s...?” The Doctor leaned forwards in his chair and reached out to the little boy, who backed away a step. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said reassuringly. “I just want to see your pendant - it’s very cool. Can I look at it?” John stepped forwards again, bolder now, and lifted the pendant over his head. He held it out to the Doctor, who laid it on the palm of his hand, whipped out his glasses and studied it closely.
“I had it when I was a baby,” John said in a quiet voice.
“But this is...” the Doctor muttered.
“What is it, Doctor?” Martha asked, peering over his shoulder. He looked up at her over his glasses.
“This is mine.”
“What?”
“It’s mine.” He rummaged in his suit pockets for a moment, and came up with an identical pendant - polished stone with two Greek letters carved into it. “See?”
“You have one!” John said, smiling and looking up at Barbara, who was stunned but had a knowing look in her eye.
“Why does it say ‘theta sigma’?” Martha asked.
“It was my nickname at school,” he muttered distractedly.
“Seriously?”
“Where did this come from?” he asked Ian and Barbara urgently.
“It was in the basket with him when we found him on our doorstep four years ago,” Ian told him. “We always suspected that it was you who left him with us.”
Martha looked up from the identical pendants (which the Doctor was carefully keeping separate) to see Barbara looking misty-eyed and hugging John to her side.
“I suppose it must’ve been me,” the Doctor said, and Martha could see the gears turning in his head as he worked out yet another predestination paradox. “Well, I’ll have to remember that,” he said with a grin, handing the pendant back to John. “It’s been a bad month for causal loops. Speaking of which, we have a bit of a problem with the TARDIS - i.e., I don’t have it. It’s in 2007. Any chance you have a spare room or a sofa until we can figure out how to get it back?”
oOoOo