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Chapter Text

The room was dim and silent. Books – real books, because she defied anyone to convince her the smell of real leather and paper didn't assist with concentration – lined the walls, their spines glowing a dull burnt orange with the reflected light of the night outside the windows.

Then, without warning, a long crack appeared vertically along one wall, the bright white light streaming through increasing as the crack grew in width. A figure stepped out, a small bundle clutched in her arms.

She didn't bother looking to make sure she was alone. She knew she would be. And no one could enter the room without her express permission. Not even by TARDIS. The child would be safe here until she should return from the council meeting she was currently at and discover her.

And, in fact, she already remembered that she did.

She set the infant down gently near her office chair, positioning the blankets around it to ensure its warmth. Without a backward glance – she knew she had mere moments of relative time before the planet would fully recede and the way back would be closed behind her and even she was too dangerous to remain – she stepped back through the crack, it closed behind her, and she and was gone.

-o-o-o-o-o-

His comm buzzed and he shook his head, frustrated. They knew he had a massive exam the next day, and he'd already told them to go along without him –

The comm buzzed. Again. Urgently. If a comm could sound urgent, of course. And at the moment, his was.

Sounding urgent, that is.

Darn it.

Apparently, he wasn't going to get a moment's peace until he responded. "Yes, what is it?" he called.

The muffled voice of his mother's personal assistant came through the speaker. "If you have a moment, you're wanted in your mother's chambers. Immediately."

It wasn't a question.

He dropped his forehead onto his keyboard. As if the stigma of having a mother instead of just being one of a batch of cousins wasn't enough. Why did she have to insist on rubbing his face in it all the time? Or calling him to come see her at all hours of the day or night when he really ought to be studying?

Pausing just long enough to grab one last biscuit from the tin she'd sent over that morning, he headed out the door.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Her aide escorted him into her study. His mother sat behind her desk, looking down at something in her lap. She glanced up as he approached.

"Hello, son."

"Mother," he acknowledged with a nod. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes." She was looking him straight in the eye and, despite the fact he really wasn't a little boy anymore and was quite nearly a full grown man, and that, for once, he hadn't actually done anything lately to be concerned about, he couldn't quite keep from squirming under her gaze. At least a little. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

If only someone would tell her he was an adult now. He shook his head. "No. Why?"

She held up the object on her lap. "Then how do you explain this?" she asked.

"It's a baby."

She stared at him for a moment.

"A baby," he repeated.

She stared at him for another moment before continuing with a sigh, "Yes, dear. I can tell that. And I hope they've taught you enough at the Academy for you to be able to figure that much out on your own. I'd meant, where did it, or should I say she, come from?"

'How the hell should I know?' is what he wanted to say. What he did say, though, was, "I have no idea. There are, though, only two possibilities. Either its mother and father, or -"

She cut him off. "It's yours. So I'm asking you. Where did this baby come from?"

"I – Mine? Really? Are you sure."

She nodded. "Absolutely certain. The markers are unmistakable. She's yours and... well... something which at first appeared alien. Only there's no exact match for it anywhere in our records. So I'll ask you again, where did she come from? Before she turned up on my office floor."

This was all moving a bit fast. "Mother, I swear to you, there's no possible way that baby could be mine." He hoped to Omega and Rassilon and anyone else who might listen that she didn't ask any more questions than that.

"Yet," she said.

He stared at her for a moment as her meaning sunk in. Yet. Meaning...

"Don't stand there with your mouth hanging open, child. You look like a fish."

He obediently shut his mouth. Finally, he managed, "Mine? … Later?"

His mother nodded. "Exactly."

"What does she say?" he asked, pointing to the baby.

"You ask her yourself. I haven't been able to get a straight answer out of the poor little thing."

He stepped around the desk and approached the child in his mother's arms. "Hello," he said, kneeling down so they were face to face.

She smiled.

"I'm your father." The child giggled and reached for one of his hands, fingers curling around his finger. Unable to keep from smiling now himself, at least just a little, he continued, "Well, hopefully I'll live up to that expectation. You wouldn't happen to know where or when you're from, would you?"

The child started to whimper. He could barely make out any of the words.

"Don't wanna think about it, huh? Well, if you'd prefer boring, you've certainly come to the right time and place for that..." Above them, he heard his mother sigh. His grin growing wider, he continued, leaning closer and half whispering, "Hey, kid? You wouldn't happen to know who your mother is? So I wouldn't... you know... turn her away when I see her?"

The child gurgled her answer. Only it wasn't a name. Maybe she'd misunderstood.

He tried again, "No, sweetie. I mean, what's her name?"

She gurgled again. Same answer. Frustrated, he looked up at his mother.

She shook her head, echoing his frustration. "That's all I can get out of her, too. Something that sounds like 'danger across the water' – by which I assume she means space, which would explain why she ended up here and now – and that her Mummy sang her lullabies."

-o-o-o-o-o-

He was just finishing up when his mother entered the room behind him. Gently brushing off the last of the dust, he stood up and turned to her. She held the child – his daughter – in her arms.

"All done," his Mother answered his unspoken question. "She's been washed and changed and fed and, most importantly, I've assigned one of the servants as her nurse."

"You plan to keep her here, then?"

She nodded. "I can't see any other option. They won't take her at the family creche – not with her questionable background and genetics – and they don't exactly accept infants at the Academy. Unless you have another idea?"

He shook his head. He didn't. Her answer was perfect and he supposed he should be grateful. Still, he'd been sort of hoping...

His mother smiled gently. "Don't worry, son. You can always stop by to visit whenever you'd like. After all, she's still yours. And in a few years, once you've graduated and taken up your duties, there will be time enough for everything else."

This time he didn't have to force gratitude. "Thank you."

She returned his smile. "My pleasure." Looking down at his recent handiwork, she continued, "Now, tell me, what exactly have you been working on while we've been gone?"

He pointed down to the old cot his mother had dug up from somewhere. "I've written in her name next to mine."

His mother glanced down and read the name. "Celeste?" she asked. "It's beautiful. What does it mean?"

"It's an Ancient Earth instrument often used to represent the music of the Universe translated into our language. It's also a version of the name used to describe space itself. I thought, under the circumstances-"

He was interrupted by the baby herself, who clapped her tiny hands together and giggled. It was all the approval he needed. Reaching out, he gathered her into his arms.

"Hello, Celeste," he said. "Welcome to Gallifrey."

Chapter Text

From where he sat, he could just make out the children, milling around in small groups awaiting their turns. It was easy enough to spot her amidst the sea of black and white robes, her hair – a vibrant red which he'd always secretly envied though it had been an ongoing grief for her – a splash of color amongst the muted blondes and brunettes of the other novices.

Though that wasn't the only reason why, even on this important day, their circles never seemed to include her. Nor was it that, unlike most of them, she had not only father but grandparents as well, rather than a multitude of uncles and aunts and ready-made cousins for friends. And it wasn't even the knowledge that she was, on a purely genetic level, just a bit different from them all. Though none of that helped. No, it was because of the way she looked at things – eyes wide and excited, asking questions no one else had ever even dreamed of wondering about before.

The ultimate non-conformist in a world which valued conformity above all else.

In fact, if she hadn't scored so well on her entrance exams, she wouldn't have been standing there today. Actually, if she hadn't scored higher than President Alstrom himself she'd not have been even considered for admission to the Academy, though he wasn't supposed to know that.

Come to think of it, maybe her still unknown mother wasn't fully responsible for all her differences. He was, after all, the son of parents and not simply a cousin himself.

Soon – too soon, in his opinion, for this moment above all others would mark the ending of her childhood – it was her turn. As her name was called, she stepped forward towards the schism, and he felt a surge of pride at the sureness of her step and the steadiness of her gaze. She needed no hand on her shoulders, guiding her forward, or a reminder from the officiators on where her duty lay. He tried to hide his reaction to her courage. She'd have enough to contend with in life without the added burden of suspected favoritism.

Then she was looking into the Untempered Schism itself; the world stopped around him. The others faded away and it was just her and him and he was waiting for her to do something... To react in some way...

And then her face split into a smile of such complete wonder and joy it nearly stopped his hearts. She looked up, her eyes seeking and finding him instantly despite the crowd of similarly robed figures in which he stood. Her eyes which seemed somehow infinitely older than the last time he'd seen them despite the delight which danced within their depths.

He was losing her. She was growing up. Maybe the others did have the right of it, and it was better never to know them at all. Never to have one who was yours.

But as he looked down at her and returned her smile, hers grew in response to his own and he had to admit the truth. And he couldn't imagine it any other way.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Took you long enough," she observed without turning to look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the vista before her, at the rock-strewn hillside sweeping down into silver forest, each leaf reflecting the blazing orange of the sunset. A million tiny sparks.

She must have heard his approach. Not surprising, really, considering how clumsy he'd been as he'd scrambled across the rocks towards her. These days he rarely left the citadel. He hadn't the time. It was no wonder he was sadly out of shape.

"I'm sorry. I tried to get here as quickly as possible after receiving your message, but I had an emergency chapter meeting, and then..." Excursions weren't the only things he didn't seem to have enough time for, lately.

She sighed, the sound reverberating through her. "I know."

He hadn't been shielding, he rarely did around her. She'd have had to try not to read his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he repeated, knowing it was only the smallest part of what he really meant. Hoping she would sense the rest.

He could hear the sadness in her tone as she answered. And the resolve. "That's why I can't stay. I can't become what... what you've become. Just another one of them. I hope you'll understand...?"

He did. Only he couldn't even say it. He could only hope she knew."Where..." he finally asked after a long pause, but he couldn't go on and had to gather himself still further before starting again, "Where will you go?"

Her face tilted upwards, looking up towards the millions of bright stars sparkling across the rapidly darkening sky.

It was the only answer he needed. Bracing himself for her loss, he asked,"When?"

She finally turned to look at him and, at the same instant, opened her mind as well. "Father... I already have."

"Oh." And though she aged no faster than any of the rest of their people, as he looked at her face, he could make out the changes. The tightening around her mouth. The depth of her eyes.

The tanning skin which could never have been earned within the walls of the Academy where he knew she'd been as recently as yesterday morning.

From his perspective.

"You could come back out there with me?" she offered.

He knew from her tone she already knew his answer. "No. It's too late for that. If I were younger..."

Her gaze sharpened. "Did you... When you were younger, did you ever...?"

Now it was his turn to gaze upwards, out past the barrier into the reaches of space where a universe of stars were circled by planets on which countless races led nearly unimaginable lives in equally unimaginable civilizations. And he remembered how, as a young boy, he would stand in almost this exact spot and look up and wonder.

"Maybe. Yes. When I was very young."

She didn't ask him what had happened. What had changed. She didn't have to because she must have seen it herself. Felt it herself. And with that realization, he felt something new stir within him.

He was glad. Glad she had escaped – though he wasn't really certain yet from what. And happy because, despite the signs of age, she looked unbelievably happy and content herself. But most of all, he felt pride. Somehow, she had found the strength to do what he had never dared, to leave the confines of Gallifrey – so safe and secure and stifling and suffocating and go out and live what he had only ever imagined.

He didn't even have to ask why she had left originally without telling him. Because he would have begged her to stay... just a little while longer. And she never would have gone. He could never have let her go, and she would never have abandoned him.

He smiled then, letting her see all that and more, and her face broke into the grin he remembered from her childhood. Before time and training had begun to leach her spirit as surely as it had once done his.

"You'll visit again?" he finally asked.

"As often as I can," she promised.

And she did.

Chapter Text

The committee meeting had run far later than scheduled. Then again, that was such a norm that he sometimes wondered why they bothered setting an end time at all. And if he didn't manage to convince his fellow members that the solution was actually doing something – doing anything – rather than forming yet another subcommittee to analyze the problem further, well, he wasn't going to be responsible for the consequences.

And he sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to clean them up.

Again.

Still, upon finally arriving back at his chambers, his most pressing concerns were changing out of his stifling high-backed robes and into something more comfortable. And finding something to eat. It had been hours since they'd broke for their mid-day meal.

All thoughts of food and clothing fled, however, at the sight of the figure sitting in his antechamber. Standing up as he entered, she said, "Hello, Father."

"Celeste!" He'd long ago given up on asking – or even wondering – exactly how she got through the barrier or into his chambers without detection.

He registered the small bundle in her arms at the same moment she said, "There's someone I'd like you to meet." She pulled back the corner of the blanket to reveal a thin oval face topped with a patch of dark brown hair. "Your grandaughter."

He reached forward, taking the sleeping child into his own arms and planting a kiss on her soft forehead. After making sure she had all the proper features in their proper places – small pink lips slightly opened in sleep, dark lashes splayed across pale cheeks either side of a round button nose – he asked, "What's she called then?"

"Susan. It's a common name on Earth. It was Anthony's..."  He looked up, confused. "Anthony... Her father... My-" She paused, her eyes narrowing as she examined him for a moment before continuing, "You haven't met him yet, have you?" He shook his head.  "Oops." There was no apology, though, in her tone or in the grin which broke across her face. "Act surprised, okay?"

He returned her smile. "Okay. I promise." Then, looking back down at the baby now awake in his arms, he addressed her, "Hello, Susan. I'm your grandfather. Very pleased to meet you."

She smiled and giggled and grabbed towards his face, and he wouldn't even have had to speak baby to know exactly what she'd said.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He started speaking before he'd even entered the Temporal Spatial Monitoring Center. "Commander Atraxis? Show me what you've got."

His presence went virtually unnoticed by the hundreds of Time Lords seated at stations around the room, tracking events across time and space. Ensuring the universe remained in balance. Only the center's commander looked up at his entrance. "Yes, my lord. If you'd step over here," he said, motioning towards the scanner station in front of him.

He followed, and Atraxis punched a few digits into the computer. "Her distress call came from Terra – more commonly referred to as Earth. The original planet of the Humans. Of The Great Human Empire?"

"Ah. Yes. Them."

"No idea why they'd chosen that planet, of course. Temporal Coordinates are 231163191715. Planetary coordinates 658197. Nothing significant there that we could find. Her TARDIS was programmed to send out the signal if she remained out of contact with it for more than a week, so we went back exactly one week to begin monitoring."

As he finished speaking, Atraxis punched in the final command and the screen in front of them sprang to life. It showed a sandbar along a river, tree covered cliffs rising up steeply behind it into cloud-strewn sky. As they watched, a bright blue tent appeared suddenly on the beach. The tent flap unzipped, and Celeste and her husband, Anthony, stepped out, carrying a long wedge shaped boat between them. A boat which could not possibly have fit inside the tent. Susan skipped out of the TARDIS behind them followed by a black and white canine which seemed almost as large as the little girl. All three people were wearing odd padded vests which he assumed were floatation devices of some kind.

Celeste and Anthony slid the boat into the water and then loaded it with a few bags fetched from the TARDIS, Susan dancing at their side as they worked. Then, the adults helped her and the dog get situated in the boat's center before climbing in themselves and pushing off from the shore.

As they paddled down the river, Atraxis sped up the time. "Here's where we get to the important part," he commented as he slowed back down the image.

It had started to rain, and the water around the small boat grew choppy. Susan began to complain, and her parents started looking for a place to pull up on shore. Stony banks and forest made this difficult, and the water was moving very high and fast before Anthony pointed toward a small sandy spot where it might be possible to bank their boat. He and Celeste began paddling towards it, but as they maneuvered sideways against the rough current, the boat suddenly dragged, caught by something unseen beneath the water, and before either adult could react, the boat rolled over on its side, dumping everyone onboard into the water.

Celeste and Susan's heads quickly bobbed back up out of the water, but Anthony was no where to be seen. Celeste grabbed for Susan, but the current was far too quick, and she missed. She tried swimming after her, but she seemed caught in an eddy on the side of the river and was having trouble getting out. Susan disappeared down a bend in the river, Celeste still futilely fighting to get free of the current which bound her.

He'd seen enough. "Turn it off."

"Yes, my lord," Atraxis said, complying.

"And that's the last anyone heard of them?"

Atraxis nodded, pausing for a moment before continuing, "We've searched the immediate vicinity and found nothing. I mean no one. If she'd made it out, even if she'd been severely injured, she'd have..."

He nodded, cutting off the commander's words. He'd known that when he'd seen his daughter go into the water. He paused a moment, gathering himself before speaking. "Take me there," he ordered.

"A team is standing by."

And as they left the Monitoring Center, heading towards the TARDIS bay, he tried – unsuccessfully - to suppress the knowledge that the mission's primary purpose was almost certainly to retrieve his daughter's TARDIS. To hope for anything more...

He followed Atraxis down the corridor.

Trying not to think of anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-o-

They found the boat caught in a tangle of partially submerged tree roots. A torn piece of yellow fabric was the only evidence of Celeste's fate. He stood watching the boat bob on the current, the bright sunshine reflecting off the water seeming to mock the darkness in his heart.

He could hear the muffled voices behind him, as one of the searchers came to report to the leader of the recovery team. He should probably have made some sort of effort to remember either of their names. He didn't bother to turn his head, but he couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

There was a pause, and he could imagine them glancing his way before continuing. "We've found the man... sir. He's..."

Of course he was. Otherwise, he would have gotten back to the TARDIS. Even if he couldn't have flown it, he'd have been able to use the communications array.

"Where?"

"Caught up amongst the branches which overturned the canoe. It looks like he hit his head and became almost immediately tangled underwater. He didn't have a chance."

"Any thing else?"

"Not so far, Sir. But we're still looking. Still, you know..."

He didn't bother to follow any more of the conversation. He looked out across the water, at the river flowing before him. Dark gray beneath the brilliant blue of the sky. He remembered Celeste asking him once about why Gallifrey appeared brown and orange from space, while most other habitable planets were largely blue, and he'd explained to her that, due to advanced water reclamation techniques, Gallifrey had lost nearly all its natural bodies of water millennia ago.

Despite everything, he caught himself smiling. For how many generations had children observed the exact same phenomenon and never thought to ask the question?

Or any questions, really?

And now...

He focused on the water again. The past was too painful, the present impossible, and the future...

Unimaginable.

Only, try as he might, he couldn't completely control his thoughts. Couldn't erase the image which danced behind his vision of Celeste, in those last terrifying moments. Struggling to stay above the surface of the rapidly rising current, getting swept under despite her vest. Or possibly, without her vest for some reason. Without that surface – without oxygen – even regeneration couldn't have saved her.

He shut his eyes, trying to forget. To not think about it. To...

Somewhere, as if from far away, he heard someone wailing. The high, piteous cry of a child.

His eyes snapped open and he scanned the surroundings. With his eyes open, though, the sound seemed to fade, and he realized it wasn't something he was hearing.

He closed his eyes again and, reaching out, felt for the source of the sound.

And found it.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She was sitting on a protruding sandbar, still wearing her floatation device. Only that alone wasn't responsible for her survival. As he and the recovery team drew near, the black shape next to her resolved into the back and white dog they'd viewed on the scanner. It rose onto all four legs, growling menacingly at them as they approached. Warning them off.

He tried to send soothing thoughts its way. To let it know they were friendly and meant her no harm.

It proved unnecessary.

Susan followed the dog to her feet and turned to look in the direction of its stare.

"Grandfather!" she cried. Tears still streaming down her cheeks, she flew across the sand and into his open arms.

Burying herself in his embrace.

Chapter Text

This time, Mistress Spaester didn't even try to hide her exasperation. Turning from the screen at the front of the room to face the class, she asked, "Yes, Susan?"

Susan tried to ignore the snickers coming from the children seated around her. She chewed her lip nervously for a moment before trying to explain, "It's just... Wouldn't it make more sense to... you know...go there? To do something about it?" Some of the snickers erupted into laughter. She didn't care. She knew she was right.

Mistress Spaester sighed. "No, Susan. I've explained this before."

Goffrey, one of the cousins a full year younger than her who liked to remind her of that fact on a regular basis, mumbled under his breath, "Maybe she's thick?"

She turned to glare at him, but their teacher continued, not seeming to notice the interruption, "We can't. That would be interfering. And interference is strictly prohibited, except in the gravest of emergencies, and then only..."

"Yes. I know all that. But, I mean, why? Why can't we interfere? These people are-"

"Susan! You will be quiet. And you will not interrupt. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then, as I was saying, we observe and we study. We do not interfere."

"But..."

"That's just the way it is. Do you understand?"

She knew what she was meant to do. What she'd done a hundred times before. Agree, and the class could move on. Only, this time, she just couldn't. She was right and she knew it. "No. I don't. I..."

"Susan..." The look on Mistress Spaester's face made it clear this would be her last warning.

This left her with only two options. And she just couldn't sit there and be quiet and pretend to agree. Grabbing up her bag, she stood and fled the room and she didn't stop running until she'd left both the classroom and the school itself far behind.

-o-o-o-o-o-

He found her where he'd known he would, seated on what might have been the exact same boulder her mother used to sit on years before. He might have wondered more at this if the same hillside hadn't once been his own favorite private retreat.  And if he'd been angrier about having been called away again from important yet absolutely deadly dull business to track her down.

"You realize that, if you can't get along at preparatory school, you haven't a chance of making it at the Academy?"

She didn't even look up from the pad on which she was drawing as she answered, "I don't care. Who needs them, anyway?"

"You do. If you ever hope to.."

Now she did turn to look at him, her eyes filled with a sad resignation which had no place in a child so young. "Who says I want to?"

"Susan, you're only seven. You simply can't know that yet. Not for certain."

She signed and turned back to her drawing. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just," she paused for a moment, and her voice was so quiet when she continued he had to strain to hear. "They make me so mad sometimes."

He couldn't quite suppress his chuckle. "I know, child. They make me mad, too."

She turned back to look at him. "Really? Then why do you put up with it?"

"I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

"Why?"

"Because..." Only how do you explain things like duty and responsibility and tradition to a child? Though come to think of it, he'd never really tried to explain them to himself. "I just don't. It's just the way things are."

Her eyes narrowed. "That's what Mistress Spaester says."

"And...?"

She looked at him for another long, hard moment before finally speaking. "It's rubbish."

He opened his mouth to protest but shut it again just as quickly.

When it came right down to it, he really couldn't disagree.

-o-o-o-o-o-

As he was tucking Susan into bed later that evening, he noticed a new drawing added to the collection stuck to her wall. It was obviously a planet, though he wasn't quite certain which one. "What's that?" he asked.

She glanced up at the wall. "That's Earth, Grandfather."

"Earth... Ah. Yes." Which was what he'd expected. After all, it had been her father's home and the planet she'd spent the most time on before coming to Gallifrey. In fact, it was the planet he'd found her on. And most of the drawings on her wall were of things she'd seen on Earth. "It looks very nice. And blue," he observed as an afterthought, feeling he ought to say something. It was his favorite color, after all.

She smiled. "Yes, it is. Lots of blue. And greens. And reds. Not at all orange and brown and boring like Gallifrey."

"I'll have you know, young lady, that Gallifrey is considered one of the most beautiful planets in the universe."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure it is. If you like boring, Gallifrey's great. If you like booorrrrring."

He chuckled. "It's not as bad as all that, surely."

"Ha!" she said. "You wouldn't even let me bring Dog here. Remember? Because it was Too Boring."

"That's not what I said. I said Gallifrey was no place for dogs. Not enough safe places to run and play and do all the things a dog's supposed to do."

She cocked her head to one side, looking at him intently. "I know, Grandfather," she said, all hint of laughter suddenly gone. "That's exactly my point." She looked back at the pictures on the wall. "And one day, as soon as I can, I'm going to figure out a way to get back there. So I can run and play again, too."

Looking back over the pictures again and then down at the little girl sitting on the bed before him, he suddenly realized that she was right. Gallifrey was boring. Susan needed to get away before she became just as boring as the rest of them or he lost her as certainly as he had lost Celeste.

And maybe – just maybe – it wasn't too late for him.

Maybe, out there, he could learn to run and play, too.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

She glanced at the chronometer. She'd made it with minutes to spare. Around her, far away and everywhere at once, the universe faded away as Gallifrey fell back down the well of time. Back into the time lock, into an eternity of war and darkness. He had done it, and she had helped. And she was proud – so proud – of everything he was and would be and had become.

Yet he would never know. Not fully. Not completely.

A flash of light behind her. She turned. The man standing there, so young, a flop of hair over one eye and a bright bowtie, she'd never seen before. But she knew him anyway. Would know him anywhere.

And the infant he held clasped in his arms.

"Son."

"Mother," he acknowledged.

"And Celeste," she said, nodding to the child.

"Yes." He held the baby out to her waiting arms. "You know what you have to do." It wasn't a question.

"How... Why?"

"There's no time. You have only moments."

"Are they enough?"

He nodded. "They will be. They were."

"Yes," she agreed, understanding. The child had already been delivered to her office. She would succeed in doing so now. And then, as he was reaching for the band around his wrist, a primitive time transport from the looks of it, she couldn't help asking the most important thing of all. "Son?"

"Yes?"

"Are you happy? Out there... Out here?"

He smiled, the most perfect smile she'd ever seen, and she knew the answer before he spoke. "Yes. Despite everything... maybe because of everything... Yeah. I am." And then, with another flash, he was gone. But she knew his smile would be emblazoned upon her memory forever. Through all the dark eternity to come.

She looked down at the infant in her arms, at Celeste, her granddaughter, and smiled.

Chapter Text

The Doctor glanced down at his watch and, upon discovering it had once again failed to properly adjust, tapped it a few times. There. Two weeks. His time. He had no idea, of course, how long it had been for her. Maybe just a few minutes. Maybe longer. Maybe a great deal longer. He clasped his hands together in anticipation. He knew from experience that, either way, she'd be just as happy to see him as he was to see her. She always was.

Straightening his tie and trying not to look too eager, he strolled casually from the TARDIS and out into Stormcage prison.

Despite the fact he hadn't remembered to turn off the brakes, River wasn't standing at the bars of her cell waiting for him. Instead, she sat on the edge of her narrow prison bed, looking up as he approached with eyes that seemed somehow dimmed. Distant.

The look look on her face chilled him to the bone.

"River?"

"Back so soon?" she asked, her voice as flat and lifeless as her appearance.

"Back? I... I haven't been here for weeks. In my time stream. I take it...?"

"Oh. Then..." He saw understanding sweep across her features. And something else. A look he'd never seen before and couldn't quite place. Resignation or... despair? "Yes. You just left. A... 'Future you', I assume."

Her eyes teared up, and he was terribly afraid she was going to cry. Even after nearly a millennium, he still wasn't quite sure what to do with a crying woman. "Maybe I should just leave?" he suggested, jerking his thumb back toward the TARDIS even though it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. "The TARDIS... You know. Sometimes she can be a little..."

River stood up quickly at that and crossed to join him at the bars of her cell. "No... Please. Don't." She glanced briefly over her shoulder at the blue box behind him. "And she usually knows exactly what she's doing. Doesn't she?"

"Then do you want to...?" He held up his sonic and pointed it toward the cell' lock.

She smiled then, though her eyes continued to gleam with unshed tears. "Yes. Please."

He was opening her cell door as he asked, "Where to, Doctor Song?"

"Anywhere but here," she said, stepping through the door he held open for her. Her voice was stronger now, more sure; she seemed to be gaining control of her emotions. But, as he gathered her to his chest, he couldn't help but notice.

She trembled in his arms.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The remains of their picnic lay spread on the blanket before them, hers barely eaten. She leaned back in his arms, against his chest, to all appearances relaxed. Only her hand, clutching his forearm, betrayed her.

Stray gusts of wind blew long curly strands of hair across her cheeks as she spoke. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He looked out across the Highlands spread before them. Jagged mountains climbed into a clear blue sky which seemed to go on forever, sparse vegetation clinging to their crags as tenaciously as the people who called this wild land home. "Yes, it is," he agreed.

"I don't know how she ever survived leaving."

"She kept her accent. All those years... I think, maybe, she never really left. Not completely."

River moved away from him then, pulling back just far enough to twist around and look him in the face. "How do you survive a loss like that?" But her eyes shone with unshed tears and he suddenly realized they weren't really talking about her mother's move to England anymore.

Still, if she'd wanted to talk about what was really bothering her... "You just do. You go on, one day at a time until, one of those days, you suddenly realize it doesn't hurt quite so much as it did the day before."

"You forget?" she asked in obvious disbelief.

He chuckled without merriment. "Oh, no. Never that. But you find new reasons to be happy... a new home." The look on her face was awful. He so desperately wanted to ask her what was wrong but didn't dare. Besides, he was beginning to have suspicions.

"Is that how you felt when you left Gallifrey?"

"Yes... a little. But I had Susan, remember?"

"Not really. You've never really talked about any of that before... about your life before you first began traveling with humans. You always told me it could wait for later. I think, my love... I think... maybe now is finally later."

And so he told her about Gallifrey – about the orange sky and the silver leaves and the mountain crags which were so similar to the ones spread before them and yet so completely different. And then he told her of his mother, and of Celeste, and of Susan – all the memories he'd kept bottled up so deeply inside he'd been half afraid of forgetting them himself. Or of what might happen should they be released.

When he had finished, neither of them spoke for a long, long time, letting the silence of the mountains close in around them. "Thank you," she finally said, her voice smaller than he'd ever heard it. "You told me it would help."

"And did it?"

"Yes."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He hadn't had to ask for more explanation. He'd seen the pain on her face. The look in her eyes... The writing on the cot and her unspoken explanation and promise all those years ago.

And suddenly, it had all made sense.

So after dropping her back off at Stormcage, he'd known where he had to go and what he'd had to do.

A short trip back into the past, and he was stepping out of the TARDIS and approaching her cell. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, reading a book. Or had been, for she'd heard the grinding of the TARDIS rematerializing and was already approaching the cell door to meet him.

Her eyes shone with a strange mixture of hope and fear and he knew he'd timed the trip correctly. "You're pregnant," he announced.

"How...?" she began, confusion momentarily clouding her expression.

He smiled his most convincing smile and hoped it would be enough. "Spoilers," he said.

It was. Fear and hope were replaced with joyous expectation.

And he'd never hated that word more.

Well...

Except maybe once.

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"John Smith?" He looked around the crowded room. No one waiting in the visitor's room responded. "Doctor John Smith?" he asked again, a bit louder.

A young man perched on a stool against the wall looked up as though startled from his thoughts. "Oh. Sorry. Yes. That's me." Somehow, the statement sounded almost a question. Yet the man's eyes were sharp with intelligence under his unruly flop of brown hair. He straightened his bowtie and tugged his jacket sleeves down as he stepped toward the guard. "I'm Doctor Smith."

"You're here for Doctor Song?" the guard asked, feeling a need for more confirmation of this strange man's identity.

"Yes."

"Good, then if you'll follow me, sir, there are some forms we need you to complete before we go down."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

At least half an hour later, the paperwork and security screenings completed, the guard led Doctor Smith down the long corridor toward the lift and down into cell block 40. "This is a bit of an oddity, Doctor Smith," he explained as he signed the visitor in through yet another security checkpoint. "Generally, as you certainly know, visits take place on the upper level. However, due to the nature of this one... We thought it would be easier and more private this way."

Doctor Smith, who had been strangely silent so far, nodded. "Yes, I... Thank you, for that."

"Well, to be honest," he continued, "We don't really have the resources, either." They arrived at cell 46 as he spoke. The prisoner was standing at the bars, waiting for them. Her visitor waited, hands thrust deep in his pockets, as the guard unlocked the cell. After opening the door for the man to pass through, the guard stepped back to give as much privacy as he could. He was certain this couldn't be easy for either of them.

"Did you have any problems?" Doctor Song asked her visitor.

"Nope. Everything's completed in good order. There'll be no questions and no investigations."

Doctor Song nodded. "Good," she said. Only her voice cracked on the word and he was pretty sure those were tears wetting her cheeks. Uncomfortable with the naked emotion in her eyes, he turned away. He had to be there but he didn't have to watch. He could give them that much. She wasn't going anywhere. Not this time.

"You don't have to do this, you know. You could..." the man was saying.

"Yes. I do. You know I have to. This is no place..." This time her voice broke completely. There was a moment of silence before she continued, "Besides, you said she'd be okay. That you could take her to... somewhere... where she could at least grow up safe."

"I can promise you that at least, River. As safe and happy as I can possibly make her. And... well..."

"Necessary?"

"Yes. Absolutely necessary." There was another longer silence. "Ready, then?"

The guard waited another few moments before turning back to the cell. The man was stepping out the door and he locked it behind him. Doctor Smith turned back to Doctor Song, who had moved to sit on the edge of her bed. "Just remember... Ask me about Gallifrey."

"When?"

"You'll know."

"Will it help?" Her voice was absolutely flat, her eyes lifeless as she looked at her visitor. Regardless of what crimes the prisoner had committed, the guard couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

Doctor Smith smiled then, a sad smile which barely touched his eyes, and nodded. "Yes." Then, turning to the guard, he said, "Okay. I'm ready."

As he led the doctor back down the corridor, the guard indicated the bundle the other man now held. "Is she yours?" he asked.

"After that pile of paperwork, she'd better be."

"That's not what I meant."

The man smiled down at the baby in his arms – the first real smile the guard had seen on his face. It seemed to light the corridor. "Yeah. She is."

"She's beautiful."

The man studied the infant intently, sadness shadowing his smile as he gazed at the sleeping child. Finally, in a voice so low as to be almost a whisper, he repeated, "Yeah. She is. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He reached one finger out to stroke the tiny cheek, his touch tentative and gentle, as though she might dissipate beneath his hand.

A low rumbling, something between grinding and groaning, echoed up the corridor behind them. Something mechanical acting up again, no doubt. Doctor Smith looked over his shoulder for a long moment, lost in thought. Then he turned back to the guard, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, his pensive mood vanished as though it had never been. "Just... you know... don't go around repeating I said that, okay?" he added conspiratorially. But before the guard could answer, the strange man was off again down the passageway toward the elevator, and it was all he could do to keep up.

Chapter Text

Her eyes traced the markings on the cot, reading each precious word. His name. And Susan's. And tucked between them both, hers, translated into the language of Gallifrey.

Which was also their daughter's. Celeste.

Melody Pond. River Song. Celestial music. Celeste.

The name – their names – beautiful in the swirls and circles of a lost people. A race so ancient they no longer even had names for untamed water. For whom the closest translation was the flow of the Universe itself. Today it had sent him off into the future to find her just as one day, long ago and far away, their daughter would lead him out into the Universe to find... everything.

And then she, too, would be lost.

River blinked, swallowing hard, and tried to smile through the moisture in her eyes. Breathing through the sudden tightening in her chest. This was no time for tears.

Sudden motion and sounds she hadn't been hearing finally registered and she looked up. Her mother was advancing toward her, gun clutched in her fist, fury and confusion and a pain which echoed River's own at war across her features.

So it began.

Again.

- fin

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