Chapter Text
2011
There is a flat in Manchester, filled with warmth, love, and the quiet kind of chaos that comes with raising a small child. And it’s here, one winter night in the hush of the early hours, that Ruby Sunday tiptoes through the dark. Thumb in mouth, blanket in hand, she creeps toward her mummy.
She slips into the bedroom with small steps, her blanket clutched in her little hands. Her mummy stirs, blinking awake at the soft sound, feeling the presence of her little girl. As soon as she sees her, she sits up and opens her arms. Ruby doesn’t hesitate; she throws herself at the bed, burrowing deep into the safety of her mummy’s embrace. Her soft, chubby cheeks are stained with tears, and her hair is messy from thrashing around in restless sleep.
Her mummy is quick to chase her nightmares away. Her hand runs through her soft hair, and she rocks her like a baby. Ruby is being held tightly, her head tucked safely under her mummy’s chin. Her hands fiddle with the small tear in her blanket.
“Oh, honey, what’s the matter?”
Ruby mumbles something against her chest.
“What was that, sweetness?”
She lifts her head. The words are hard. Her throat is sore and tight from crying. New tears well up in her eyes.
“Are you not my mummy?”
Her mummy goes still, the rocking stops, but her arms tighten around her.
“What makes you ask that?”
Ruby sniffles and wipes her nose with her blanket. “Dylan said… said you’re not my mummy.” Her voice hiccups. “Cause we don’t match. He said… You lied.”
“Oh, baby.” Her mummy cups her cheeks gently. “That doesn’t matter, my love. We don’t need to look the same for you to be my baby.”
She likes being called her mummy’s baby.
“So, you made me? In your tummy?”
Her mummy sighs and pulls her close to her chest again.
“No, I didn’t make you. But I chose you.”
Ruby blinks up at her. “You chose me?”
“Yes, baby, I chose you.” She kisses the top of Ruby’s head. “And I will love and choose you forever.”
Ruby snuggles deeper into her arms, bringing her blanket up to her face. It smells faintly of flowers. The gold thread in the corner shines in the moonlight. She doesn’t know what the shapes mean, but she’s always loved how they curl.
“I will always be your mummy, and you will always be my baby.”
Her mummy kisses her forehead and pulls the covers up around them both.
“You’re my mummy because you chose me.”
She smiles. “Exactly, my little star.”
Ruby closes her eyes. She dreams of stars.
They moved flats not long after. The blanket was packed away, tucked into a box and left behind with the baby things. Forgotten.
Until time reached out and plucked it from obscurity and placed it in a museum, waiting for Ruby to find it again when she needed to remember it most.
--- ✦ —
The silence of the TARDIS felt heavier tonight, like even the ship didn’t know what to say.
Ruby sat on her bed, deep in thought. The kind of dwelling that wasn’t productive, but reminiscent and quiet. Her room echoed the thoughts in her head. Fleeting images of cluttered hallways and portrait-covered walls, a stark contrast to the rather plain room around her.
It had been nearly a year since she started travelling with the Doctor, a few weeks since she began to get to know her dad. Yet her room was still rather empty.
The Doctor had explained to her that the TARDIS would decorate itself exactly how she wanted it. And it was nice. The walls are a soft cream, the floor a warm, sturdy wood, softened by a plush red rug. The bed was the most comfortable she’d ever slept in. But the room didn’t feel lived in. It didn’t have the memories that were scattered across the museum.
Sure, there was a corkboard on the wall, and crimson tacks waiting on a shelf. She had planned to turn it into a collection of pictures from her adventures, but just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
Maybe that’s why the room still felt like a guest room, like she was only passing through. Like she hadn’t really let herself believe this was a home.
Ruby’s eyes drifted to the small bag resting at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t touched it since coming back from the museum. Pulling it onto her lap, she reached inside, fingers brushing against something soft.
Her baby blanket.
She held it close, breathing in the soft, faded scent of flowers. She looked at the golden embroidered circles and fiddled with the small tear in the corner.
“How could I forget you?”
This blanket had seen her through nightmares and tantrums. She had clung to it as she fell asleep, and kept it nearby while awake. It had comforted her throughout the earliest years of her life. And then one day, it was just gone. Forgotten. Like a broken toy, quietly left behind.
She hugs the blanket tightly, searching for that comfort again. Instead, she is met with the sound of paper crinkling.
The letter.
She had almost forgotten about it. The page she had found, folded inside the blanket. She hadn’t had time to read it in the museum. Not with everything going on.
She hesitates, then unfolds it. Almost scared to let her eyes focus on the writing inside.
Ruby Sunday,
You were born two hours ago now. I only have 22 left with you.
22 hours left where I can hold you and call you mine. Every second is precious, but this letter is important. There are things you need to hear, even if it takes a while for you to read this.
By now, you know who I am. We’ve been travelling together for almost a year. You’ve just come back from the museum. I am so sorry for what you endured there. But Ruby, I am so proud of you. You saved me. You do that more often than you think.
I can’t answer all of your questions here. Some things you need to discover on your own. But I will tell you what I can.
You are loved.
You are so loved. There has never been a single moment, not anywhere in time or space, where your mother and I haven’t missed you.
You were not willingly giving up. You were not abandoned.
The only reason we were able to let you go is because we know exactly where you are heading.
We knew that Carla would raise you with all the love we couldn’t be there to give.
We knew that you would be safe. And we know that we will see you again, both of us.
I can’t tell you who your mother is. The timelines are too fragile. But looking back, it was so obvious. I should have known. It was impossible, but I should have known.
Your mum loves you so much. She loves you more than words can hold. She is with you now, baby-you. You're sleeping in your nursery. She won’t leave your side. Can’t. Not even for a moment. We knew that you would only ever need this nursery for a day, but we built it anyway. It helped when the future became too much to handle.
It’s strange writing this letter when we’re still together.
Right now, as I write this, you’re just down the hall in your mother’s arms.
And right now, as you read this, I’m just down the hall again — your Doctor, waiting for you to knock.
Time can be both cruel and kind.
In 22 hours, we’ll say goodbye. And not long after that, your older self will walk through our doors for dinner.
But still. It hurts. Knowing how much time we miss you in between.
There’s one more thing I need to tell you.
The Doctor, the one with you now, can’t read this letter. Not yet.
You’ve seen the grief he carries. You saw it in the museum, written across every room. But there’s something he’s mourning more deeply than most… and this letter would only hurt him more.
Please, Ruby. Keep it to yourself. For now.
This is for you, not him.
He’ll understand one day. When the time is right.
You will always be our little star,
Lots of love,
Your mum and dad.
Ruby read it twice. Then a third time. Eyes gripping onto every single word, letting them imprint inside her mind. The letter was already stained with tears. She lets her own join them. But she isn’t sad or mourning a loss. She’s almost laughing with joy.
She feels a weight lift off her shoulders.
She wasn’t abandoned. She was loved.
She had been wanted, and she had been remembered.
She presses the letter against her chest, eyes closed. As though holding it might bring her closer to them, to the version of her parents who only got one day with her.
Then she realises. Her dad is only down the hall. He might not be the version of himself that wrote this letter, but he was here. And she wanted to hug him.
--- ✦ —
The Doctor slumps against the wall of the medbay, dragging a hand down his face. The gash on his temple is gone now, all healed up.
It’s a pity the medbay can only cure physical wounds. He is in perfect physical condition. But he feels battered and bruised. Like something deep within him has cracked open. Like he had been the one to self-destruct
The medbay is silent, save for the soft whir of machines left idle. Usually, after a day like this, he would find himself tucked away under pink covers. But he had seen too many ghosts today. He’d rather not lie with another. Today, this room was his sterile sanctuary.
He pulls out his sonic and checks again, just to be sure the readings haven’t changed. They haven’t.
“No alerts, no fractures, no broken engine. Marvellous. Shame the same can’t be said for me.” He flashes a grin at the walls like they owe him an apology.
“But hey, as long as someone’s holding it together.”
The TARDIS hums a response, low like a sigh.
He leans his head back against the cold wall, eyes flicking up at the ceiling. In the same way as he always talks to his beloved ship.
“Someday, I’m gonna die. Proper die. Not a regeneration, not a dramatic farewell with fireworks and fanfare. Just… gone. Full stop.”
He lets out a quiet, breathy laugh.
“And what do you do, eh? You remember me. Every face. Every mess. Every heartbreak.”
A pause, softer now.
“Every single one.”
The lights dim, tender and slow, like the TARDIS is holding her breath. A hum rises in the silence like a lullaby, full of light and sorrow.
Of course, she already knows, she’s a time machine. Past, present, and future are tangled in her mechanical bones. She has just met the Doctor, and she has already lost him.
She is always losing him.
“Thank you, though. For remembering me. For remembering them. Her.”
The lights return to full brightness. A machine nearby sparks, like a scoff. As if the TARDIS would ever do anything but safeguard his memory.
The Doctor pushes himself off the wall with a laugh. And begins to pace slowly around the medbay, gesturing at the empty air.
“The Gallery of Grief and Ghosts? A bit dramatic,” he said, half-smirking. “I mean, you could’ve labelled it ‘Emotional Ruin – This Way’ and saved me the surprise.”
He nudges a metal stool with the toe of his boot, not in anger, just for something to do.
“That room hurt, babes. Properly hurt.” His voice dips quieter, “Not that I was even there. Well, I was. In a way. Trapped in that stupid watch.” He drags his hand down his face again. “Still felt it though.”
He sinks to the floor. Sitting with the weight of it all.
“That room just… It went on forever.”
The TARDIS doesn’t respond.
“I mean, how much longer must my life be? For there to be that much loss?” An unsteady breath escapes his lips. “I thought I was old now. God, how much older do I get? Am I actually young?”
A bitter laugh.
“How many more centuries do I have to live with this?” He looks at the floor. Then the ceiling. Then nowhere at all. “How many more ghosts do I have to collect before I’m allowed to stop?”
He breathes heavily. The TARDIS remains silent.
He groans, throwing himself backwards onto the floor, so he is lying down, staring up at the ceiling.
“Oh, come on! I’ve been therapized! I moved in with Donna Noble for an entire regeneration!” He throws his hands up in defeat. “I journal now! I change outfits all the time! I talk about my feelings! What more do I need to do?”
Another beat. The TARDIS hums, like she is rolling her eyes.
“...Right. Yeah, that’s fair.”
The Doctor stays on the floor for a long time. Far longer than he should. He just stares up at the ceiling. He can’t quite tell if he’s thinking too much or not at all.
Then,
“Da-Doctor?”
Her voice startles him. He scrambles to sit upright, like he’s been caught doing something deeply embarrassing. Probably because he has.
Ruby stands in the doorway, clutching something in her hands. Her eyes are red and puffy, like she had been crying. That doesn’t surprise him, he had assumed that’s what she had left to do. No, what surprises him is the smile. The way her eyes, though red and puffy, shine down at him. Amused.
He blinks up at her, disoriented by how carefree she seems.
“Ruby? What…Are you ok?”
She chuckles, hugging whatever is in her arms tightly. She looks at him knowingly.
“Are you?”
He just stares back at her. She raises an eyebrow.
“You’re lying on the floor, talking to the ceiling.”
The TARDIS hums a laugh. Great, they're ganging up on him. He looks up at the ceiling again and lets his back hit the floor once more.
“Another fair point.”
--- ✦ —
The medbay wasn’t the ideal place to have a proper conversation. Especially not after being caught lying on the floor mid–minor breakdown by your daughter. So, the Doctor pulled himself together, and they headed to the galley. He had spent more than enough time in London to know when tea was called for.
The Doctor started the kettle while Ruby grabbed their mugs. They were naturals now at moving around each other in the galley. Making tea had become a well-practised dance. Which is why it is so surprising that their mugs aren’t in their place, waiting and ready for the Doctor to pour in hot water.
He turns, confused, wondering why Ruby’s broken routine.
She’s staring at his mug; the same one she’d grabbed for him a dozen times before. But now, she’s looking at it like she’s really seeing it.
‘Badass by nature. Blonde by choice.’
Ah…
He’s been using this mug since…
She doesn’t say anything. Just picks it up gently and places it beside her own.
The Doctor says nothing. He returns to the kettle, eyes low, avoiding her gaze.
He can feel the weight of her pity pressing against the side of his head.
He makes their tea.
“Someone you lost?” She asks quietly.
“Yeah…”
The word lands heavily. But Ruby doesn’t push. He’s grateful, but bothered by the new thick weight in the room.
He clears his throat, nodding at the bundle in her lap.
“I’m not judging,” he says, aiming for a lighter tone, “but is that a baby blanket?”
She smiles, looking down at it like it is the most precious thing in the universe.
“Yeah, I used to be so attached to it. Then, I don’t know. One day, it just sort of disappeared. I found it in the museum. And you did say that it doesn’t count as stealing, if it belonged to you in the first place.”
He laughs, “Tell that to most of the museums in Britain.”
She lifts the blanket onto the table, smoothing it out with careful hands. It looks like it has survived a lifetime of being loved, the fabric is well-worn, edges frayed, its once bright pink dulled from time. But something catches his eye, a glint of gold, curled in the corner. It can’t be.
He leans forward, hands hovering over the blanket.
“May I?”
Ruby nods.
He lifts the blanket carefully, turning it over in his hand. He recognises the material. It’s rare, definitely not from Earth. Velantha, the most expensive fabric in the universe, at one point at least. But it’s the golden thread that has caught his attention. He traces the circles with his fingers, smiling faintly.
“It's Gallifreyan.”
“Your language?”
He nods.
“I never knew what it was when I was younger. I just liked the shapes.” She takes a deep breath. “So, what does it say?”
He hesitates, not because he doesn’t know, but because saying it out loud feels like unlocking a door he never thought he’d see again.
The Doctor turns the fabric so that the curling letters are facing her.
“It says Ruby. It’s your name.” He sniffles, “I named you.”
Once again, they’re both crying. But this time, the tears fall alongside laughter. Quiet at first, then growing with each second. Their cheeks are wet, their eyes are red, and neither of them cares.
Because this isn’t grief. This is joy, sharp and aching and full to the brim.
A question has finally been answered.
They stay like that for a while, enjoying the happiness, the tears, and the tea. But eventually, the quiet settles in again. The Doctor has another question on the tip of his tongue.
He clears his throat, leaning back into his chair.
“So… You called me dad. Back in the museum. Can we talk about that?”
Ruby stiffens a little, caught off guard. He realises that she didn’t know he had heard that. That he had been aware of his surroundings while confined inside the watch.
She laughs nervously.
“Oh yeah. That. Uh… heat of the moment? Emotional collapse? Mild hysteria?”
The Doctor smiles reassuringly at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain.” He starts softly, “I haven’t earned that title yet. But… I appreciated it. More than you know.”
Ruby deflates a little. Relief floods her face as she relaxes.
“It’s not that. I’m just not ready. I’ll probably slip up and call you that again, but I can’t make any promises.”
The Doctor smiles properly this time and reaches a hand across the table. She places her hand in his.
“That is perfectly fine. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
--- ✦ —
They will spend a few days resting. Drifting through the vortex, letting the air settle.
Ruby will call her mum to check in.
The Doctor will get a full night's sleep, wrapped in pink.
And when they’re ready, they’ll return to the console room and set off to the next adventure.
That adventure is already waiting.
A small signal has wormed its way past the TARDIS’ firewalls. While the Doctor and Ruby sleep, a transmission plays.
“Mr Spock, I’m in a bit of trouble. Mind lending a hand?”
A pause.
“I’d prefer is this one stayed attached to your body, though.”
Another pause. The transmission is audio only, but the grin is audible.
“Oh, and bring back up. Preferably someone cute. But not too cute, I don’t want to get distracted. Oh, and-”
An explosion booms in the background.
Click.