Work Text:
The doors of the TARDIS flung open to the sound of humming machinery and far-off echoes of a bustling city. Everything was sleek steel, glowing blue glass, and an overwhelming scent of ozone.
“Smells like a malfunctioning time loop in here,” the Master muttered, glancing around the colony’s perimeter scanners. “Delightful.”
“It’s a psychic-memory research colony,” the Doctor said, stepping out with wide eyes and a gleeful bounce in his step. “Set up in the late 78th century, funded by the Theta-Project. They're experimenting with tech that can record and externalize neural memories.”
Donna trailed behind, clutching her coat closer. “You mean like a diary, but… made of wires and brain juice?”
“Basically, yes,” the Doctor grinned. “But more dangerous, obviously.”
“You’d think you’d try to sound reassuring for once,” Donna deadpanned.
The Master trailed a few steps behind them, eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, coat swirling dramatically despite the still air. “If this place messes with your head,” he warned, “I’ll burn it down.”
The Doctor didn’t answer; he’d gone still, eyes narrowing. He stepped closer to a console embedded in the wall. His hand hovered over it, and the screen lit up without him even touching it. His name flickered across the interface in glowing Gallifreyan script.
“Oh,” he said, blinking. “That’s… odd.”
Donna raised an eyebrow. “Doctor?”
“This tech—it’s syncing with me.” His voice was distant now, cautious. “It's not just reading ambient thought. It's responding to me like I’m the baseline template.”
The Master’s expression twisted. “They modeled this after you?”
“No,” the Doctor muttered. “Not me. Not yet, anyway.”
Before they could question it, the room's main doors hissed open.
And she walked in.
High heels clicking confidently against the metallic floor. Big, gravity-defying curls. A blaster holstered on one hip. That impossible smirk.
River Song looked every inch like a woman who owned the entire bloody timeline.
“Hello, Sweetie,” she purred.
The Doctor froze.
Donna blinked. “Who the hell is that?”
The Master stiffened immediately, stepping in front of the Doctor on instinct. “I don’t like her.”
River’s eyes flicked over to him. “Yes, you do,” she said lightly, like it was a well-worn joke between old friends. “You just don’t know it yet.”
His scowl deepened.
The Doctor looked like someone had just unplugged his brain. “River?”
River crossed the distance, ignoring the Master entirely and stopping right in front of the Doctor. “You’re earlier than I expected. Hair’s a bit straighter than I like, but you’ll do.”
Donna squinted. “Wait—how do you know him?”
River looked delighted. “Oh, don’t tell me. You haven’t told them yet?”
“Told us what?” Donna said suspiciously.
River didn’t wait. She held out her hand.
“Professor River Song,” she said smoothly. “Archaeologist. Time traveler. Spoiler-avoider. And the future wife of the Doctor.”
The silence was deafening.
Donna gawked.
The Master made a sound like he’d just been punched directly in the pride.
The Doctor turned the shade of a ripe tomato. “River—!”
“WIFE?!” Donna exploded. “As in, married? You—married?!”
“I didn’t—! I’m not—I mean—”
“You married her?” the Master snapped, eyes wide with pure offense. “You didn’t even tell me you were married?”
“I’m not—! Not yet! It’s future me! Some future me—her timeline’s all—wibbly and out of sync and—!”
River just leaned on the console, clearly entertained. “Oh, love, you’re adorable when you flail.”
The Master stepped forward like a wolf about to bare his teeth. “You’re lying.”
River raised a brow, amused. “I never lie. Not about that.”
Donna just looked back and forth between them, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “You’re telling me that the skinny spaceman I travel with—this one! Right here! With the hair and the suits—is going to get married to the space bombshell with the gun and the confidence of a Bond girl?”
“Well, I believe it,” River said cheerfully.
“No offense, sweetheart,” Donna muttered, “but that raises more questions than it answers.”
“Tell me about it,” the Doctor said weakly.
The Master was glaring daggers at the both of them. “So what now? You're going to swoop in from his future and claim him like some prize?”
River turned to him with a smile that could cut diamonds. “No. Because I already did.”
The Doctor groaned into his hands.
The Master looked ready to detonate.
“Anyway,” River went on breezily, tapping at the same console the Doctor had touched earlier, “the psychic-tech you’re investigating was partially inspired by, you guessed it, one of his future brain scans. Honestly, they love building things based on him in this century. It’s a little embarrassing.”
“You’re a lot embarrassing,” the Doctor muttered.
River smiled and patted his cheek. “Oh, Sweetie, not even close. But I do miss the baby face. You’re so much more flustered in this body. It’s precious.”
Donna pointed at her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think you might be the most terrifying woman I’ve ever met. I love it.”
“Thank you,” River said brightly. “And don’t worry, I’m not here to steal your thunder. I just came to drop something off. Spoilers, of course. But I had to see this face again.”
The Doctor looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
The Master looked like he was calculating how many ways he could destroy time machines without technically breaking the laws of physics.
And River?
She winked.
“See you again soon,” she said, lips quirking. “Well—I will.”
And just like that, she strolled away, curls bouncing and heels clacking, like she hadn't just dropped the most timeline-shattering bomb imaginable.
Silence.
Then—
“Wife?” the Master said, voice hoarse with disbelief. “You have a wife?”
The Doctor didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to bash his head into the console.
---
The Doctor had just barely recovered from the last encounter.
And by “recovered,” of course, that meant he was hiding under the console with his coat wrapped around his head while Donna stood with her arms folded and the Master paced furiously like a storm cloud in human form.
“Wife,” the Master muttered again, as though tasting the word could somehow make it make more sense. “You’ve married someone.”
“She said we weren’t married yet,” the Doctor groaned, his voice muffled by the metal underbelly of the console.
“Oh, so I should be comforted by the fact that one day in your absolutely absurd timeline, you just waltz off and say vows with some curls-in-heels timeline thief?!”
Donna raised a brow. “Okay, I like her,” she muttered. Then, louder, “But what exactly is the story here, Spaceman?”
“She said spoilers!” the Doctor whined, peeking out from his console cocoon. “Which means I’m not allowed to know yet! That’s the whole point!”
“You not knowing is one thing,” the Master snarled. “Me not knowing? That’s intolerable. I am your—your—” He flailed for a word, fingers clawing at the air. “—primary claimant!”
The Doctor blinked. “What?”
“Nothing,” the Master snapped.
It was exactly then, as if summoned by dramatic timing itself, that the TARDIS doors opened.
And in swept River Song.
This time, she was not in heels. She was in boots, practical and sharp, and her curls were tied up in a ponytail, goggles perched atop her head. She held a glowing device in one hand and a mug of something steaming in the other.
“Sweetie,” she called before she’d even properly stepped inside. “You forgot your tea.”
The Doctor squeaked and vanished again under the console.
River blinked. “Oh. Have I jumped in a bit early again?”
Donna gave her a wide-eyed look. “Tea?”
The Master had frozen in place, like a cat who’s just seen a vacuum cleaner.
River, unbothered, walked casually across the room and set the tea on the jump seat. “Well, it’s not your tea yet, I suppose. But it will be. You always forget to hydrate after you overwork the telepathic circuits.”
The Doctor, from the floor: “I am going to expire. This is it. I’m regenerating out of pure embarrassment.”
River crouched and looked under the console, meeting his eyes upside down with a devastating smile. “Don’t be dramatic, love.”
The Doctor choked.
“Love?!”
River didn’t blink. “Darling, I’m your wife.”
Donna made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a snort. “You say that like it’s normal!”
“It is normal,” River said serenely, then tossed a glance toward the Master. “Eventually.”
The Master, high in righteous fury, strode forward and stabbed a finger at her. “How long has this been going on? What regeneration are you even talking to right now?”
River tilted her head. “You’re a bit young for it still. Lovely suit, by the way. You’ll mellow out in the next few centuries.”
“I will not—”
“—be mellow, yes, I remember,” River said, waving a hand. “Now. Sweetie.” She turned to the Doctor, who had reluctantly emerged from beneath the console, coat askew and hair sticking in several different directions. “You’re running a bit warm, and I know what that means. Come here.”
“I’m fine!” the Doctor said quickly, backing away like she was radioactive. “I don’t need fussing!”
River gave him a look. Then, in full view of his companions, she stepped forward and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead with the casual intimacy of someone who’s done it a hundred times before.
The Doctor flushed so hard he nearly glowed.
Donna stared.
The Master looked like his soul was trying to leave his body.
And then River made the mistake.
She smiled, indulgent and warm, and said, “You always get clingy before you drop, don’t you? Next time, I’ll come sooner. Mummy’s got you.”
Silence.
Absolute, ringing silence.
Then—
Donna: “EXCUSE ME?!”
The Master: “MUMMY?!”
The Doctor: keeling over in psychic distress “Oh, Rassilon help me.”
River froze.
“…Ah,” she said.
Donna pointed a trembling finger between the Doctor and River like she was connecting alien constellations. “So let me get this straight. You’re not just married in some wibbly timey thing, you—you—what did you just call yourself?”
“Mummy,” the Master hissed, eyes wide with something between outrage and existential dread. “She called herself Mummy.”
“She’s not—” the Doctor flailed. “It’s not like that! It’s complicated!”
River, looking smug now, folded her arms. “It always is.”
“Oh my God,” Donna whispered. “You’re the Doctor’s future wife and—and Mummy?!”
River nodded. “Technically, I’m his present Mummy. You lot just haven’t gotten used to it yet.”
The Master looked physically ill. “You’re saying there’s a point in the Doctor’s timeline where he regresses into a helpless, needy little infant, and you—you get to be the one—”
“I’m saying,” River said, stepping closer to him now, “that it happens whether you like it or not. You do learn to share, eventually.”
“I DO NOT SHARE,” the Master barked, voice rising nearly to a shriek.
The Doctor, who had at this point curled into a little ball against the wall, whimpered.
River sighed, crouching beside him and brushing a curl away from his face with infinite gentleness. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. You weren’t ready yet, were you?”
The Doctor made a little noise in the back of his throat and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.
The Master stalked across the room, hands raking through his hair like he was physically tearing apart his sanity. “No. Absolutely not. There are rules. There are structures. I am the hierarchy. I’m the one who—he’s mine! You don’t get to—!”
“Relax,” River said, glancing back with a deadly sweet smile. “We’re on the same side, Dada.”
The Master actually staggered.
Donna had to catch him before he fell.
“You lot,” she muttered. “Are insane.”
And the Doctor, hiding behind his hands, whispered in sheer horror: “Why does she know everything?”
River smiled.
“Spoilers.”
---
The TARDIS had never felt more full.
Not in the spatial sense, it had hosted entire civilizations before, squeezed between console wires and tucked into extra-dimensional cupboards. But emotionally? Spiritually? Right now, the console room was bursting at the seams with chaos, tension, and the shrill mental screaming of a Time Lord trying not to collapse from secondhand embarrassment.
The Doctor—Tenth Doctor, thank you very much—was currently hiding his face, peeking out only when absolutely necessary, which wasn’t often.
Especially not after River dropped the bomb.
“Well, of course he calls me Mummy,” River said breezily, like she wasn’t murdering his dignity in real time. “During his regressed periods, at least. Mostly with Eleven. I don’t travel with him all the time, but when he’s small, I try to be there. He needs someone who understands how to swaddle a nine-hundred-year-old Time Lord.”
The silence that followed was swift, apocalyptic, and filled with the sound of the Master's psyche cracking into fragments.
“What?” the Master hissed, stepping forward like an affronted dragon. “Excuse me?! So he just calls you Mummy?!”
The Doctor whimpered behind his coat.
River gave a theatrical shrug. “Yes. When he’s really little. It’s very sweet.”
“I’m going to vomit,” the Master snarled, eyes wild. “I am actually going to vomit. That is my place! I am the only one allowed to be—he calls me—you can’t just—”
“Easy, Daddy Dearest,” River purred, eyes sparkling. “We co-parent. It’s very civilized.”
The Master visibly short-circuited.
“Co—?!” he wheezed. “I—we—I do not share custody of my Doctor with some spacefaring librarian!”
“I’m also a professor,” River added, grinning.
“Oh, that makes it better,” he spat.
Donna, who had been standing quietly with an expression somewhere between 'I’m hallucinating' and 'this is going in the group chat', finally chimed in.
“I’m gonna be honest,” she said flatly. “I need a drink. Or maybe a lobotomy.”
She raised her phone and started recording, whispering, “For future blackmail. Or birthdays.”
River didn’t bat an eye. “He’s different when he’s little, you know. Softer. Quieter. A bit clingy, depending on the regeneration. Eleven was especially attached. You—you, Koschei—were the one who taught him to say ‘two daddies’ before I corrected it.”
“Corrected it?!” the Master shrieked.
River sipped from a teacup she absolutely had not been holding a second ago and gave him a smug little smile. “You did a fine job. All things considered. You’re very nurturing in your own unhinged, homicidal way.”
The Master let out a strangled noise. Donna clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The Doctor, meanwhile, was slowly sliding down the wall, hands over his face, mumbling “I’m not here, this isn’t real, nobody is talking, I’m a lamp, I’m a hatstand—”
“Oh, come on,” River said, finally taking pity. She knelt down beside him, her voice gentle now. “Sweetie. You know I’m not here to embarrass you. I just missed your face.”
“That’s not your face,” the Master muttered, arms crossed tightly. “That’s my face. That one’s mine. You want Eleven, go bother him!”
“I already have,” River replied with a teasing smirk. “But I thought I might get a little cuddle in while he’s still this tiny. Just once.”
The Doctor made a noise like a broken kettle. “River—”
“Absolutely not!” the Master snapped. “I—no. No cuddling. No Mummy cuddling.”
“Dada,” River sing-songed, batting her lashes, “you’re being a little possessive.”
“I am possessive!” the Master barked. “He’s mine!”
“You’re going to be very grumpy in the future,” River warned lightly. “We do share. Eventually. You mellow out—sort of. You even take turns changing nappies."
The Master turned green.
Donna cackled. “You mean I miss seeing that?! Dammit, I should’ve stayed longer!”
“I think I’m going to combust,” the Doctor moaned, hiding his face again.
“Just a cuddle,” River said softly, kneeling now, level with the Doctor’s eyes. “You’ll feel better.”
The Master opened his mouth.
River gave him a Look.
“Supervised, of course,” she added, like it was obvious. “With very pointed Dada supervision.”
The Master narrowed his eyes. “... I sit with him. You don’t hold him without me.”
“Fine,” River agreed. “He likes being in your lap anyway.”
The Doctor whimpered.
And thus, a very awkward, very bristly cuddle arrangement was negotiated.
River slid in beside the Master on the floor, and the Doctor, tiny, pink-faced, and radiating mortification, was gently pulled into the shared hug. The Master’s arms stayed wrapped around his little one like a fortress, glaring the whole time as River softly rubbed the Doctor’s back.
“There’s my baby,” she whispered, brushing a curl from his forehead.
“I hate everything,” the Doctor squeaked.
“Mm,” River said. “Still cute, though.”
Donna took twenty photos.
And a video.
The Master muttered under his breath about “incinerating all future River Songs” while slowly, protectively rocking his little idiot in his lap.
It was a mess.
A deeply cuddly, time-warping, wildly embarrassing mess.
And they hadn't even solved the mystery of the psychic tech yet.
---
It took longer than expected, but they solved it.
The psychic tech, a fractured Gallifreyan memory lens merged with temporal residue, wasn’t malicious, just broken. Like a radio tuned halfway between two frequencies, it had been echoing fragments of people’s thoughts, emotions, and half-formed regrets, amplifying them into unbearable noise. That’s what had been tormenting the locals. What had been triggering him.
But now it was quiet.
The TARDIS doors closed behind them with a soft thunk. The familiar groan of the time rotor hummed in the background, a comfort, like the heartbeat of home.
The Doctor was radiant.
He spun toward River, arms flung wide, his smile full of boyish glee. “Did you see that? I reversed the modulation field and dampened the psychic bleed, all while juggling chronon decay readings and flirting with you across a flaming canyon!”
“You’re lucky I flirted back,” River teased, leaning against the console with her arms folded. “Or you’d have tripped right into that fire pit.”
The Master rolled his eyes from his usual lurking place near the scanner. “You two are exhausting.”
Donna, sitting on the jump seat with her legs crossed, grinned. “That was absolutely bonkers. Ten out of ten.”
“I was good,” the Doctor said, quieter now. Still smiling, but his voice trembled, just a little. “I—I was brave…”
“Doctor?” River’s gaze sharpened immediately. She tilted her head. “Sweetie, look at me.”
He did. His hands fluttered a little, unsure what to do. His shoulders curled inward like a wave folding back toward the sea. That glimmer of something raw and small flickered in his eyes, the kind of look she knew well, even if it was a younger face.
“I feel…” He swallowed. “I don’t know. S’like I’m big but I’m not. But I was. I did it.”
“You did,” River said warmly, stepping forward. “You were brilliant. So, so brave. And it’s okay if you’re tired now. You’ve done enough.”
“I don’t wanna stop being big,” he whispered.
“But maybe,” she offered gently, “you could let someone hold you. Just for a little while?”
The Doctor looked to the Master instinctively, unsure, already swaying toward River like a flower pulled toward light. He blinked rapidly.
“Dada?” he mumbled without thinking.
The Master was already moving forward.
But River caught him with a hand on his arm and murmured, “Let me. Just for a moment.”
The Master tensed like a wolf being asked to share its kill. “Why?”
“Because he needs both of us,” River said softly. “Because I know what it means to hold him when he’s small. Eleven has needed that from me a thousand times.”
“This isn’t Eleven,” the Master snapped.
“No,” River agreed. “This is Ten. The man who’s still trying to figure out how to let anyone help him. Let me show him it’s okay.”
For a moment, it looked like the Master might say no. He didn’t move, just glared at her. But the Doctor was trembling now, eyes glassy, hands curled into his jacket sleeves. The regression had taken hold. He needed comfort, now.
With visible reluctance, the Master stepped back a half pace.
River turned back just in time to catch the Doctor as he tipped forward into her arms.
“There you go, love,” she murmured, gathering him in close. He clung to her instantly, head tucked under her chin. “You’re safe. You’ve got me.”
The Master’s eyes never left them.
Donna mouthed, don’t growl at her, from behind River’s back. He growled anyway, just softly.
The Doctor whimpered once, then sighed, going boneless in River’s arms. “Y’r warm,” he mumbled.
“That’s what I’m here for,” River smiled.
She carried him to the nearby bench, sitting with him in her lap. The Doctor curled up awkwardly at first, not used to the shape of her, not used to being little with her. But then she started humming, an old Gallifreyan lullaby, nothing he consciously remembered, and his shoulders sagged. His hands fisted in her sleeves.
“I’m not ‘posed to be little wif you,” he said, almost accusing.
River kissed his forehead. “Who told you that?”
“Y’re Mummy for Eleven,” he mumbled. “Not me.”
River just held him tighter. “I can be here for you too, baby.”
The Master shifted impatiently, arms crossed, hovering just feet away.
“Dada’s mad,” the Doctor whispered.
“I’m not,” the Master said quickly.
“You are,” the Doctor pouted.
River looked up at him. “He’s jealous.”
“I’m protective,” the Master corrected with a snarl.
River just raised an eyebrow.
---
Later, once the Doctor was resting in the nursery with his blankie and Mr. Meow-Meow, the Master finally cornered her in the hallway.
“If you think this means you can just… wedge yourself into this dynamic—”
“You’ll always be his first,” River interrupted. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were steel. “I’m not replacing you, Koschei. You were there before I even met him. You were there when he still refused to be held. You’re the one who broke through.”
The Master’s mouth opened, then closed.
River stepped closer. “He needs both of us. Don’t make him choose.”
Silence stretched between them.
“…You sang to him,” the Master muttered at last.
“I sing to Eleven all the time.”
“He likes my voice.”
“Then go in there and give it to him,” River said. “He’s waiting for you.”
---
Back in the nursery, the Doctor was still awake, cheeks pink from the heat of the room and the embarrassment burning low in his chest.
He squirmed when the Master stepped in. “D-Dada…”
The Master crossed the room and crouched beside the bed. “Hey, baby. Still up?”
“Mhm.” He touched his own nose absently. “River smells diff’rent…”
The Master tilted his head. “Yeah?”
“She’s not you,” he pouted.
“No one is.”
“She said I haven’t grown into her yet.”
The Master chuckled, just barely. “Sounds like something she’d say.”
He reached down and scooped the Doctor up into his arms without warning. The Doctor squeaked, flailing briefly, then curled in, hiding his face in the Master’s neck.
“Dada,” he mumbled, clinging.
“Yeah, I got you.” The Master shifted him to one hip and started rocking slightly. “She did good. But I’m better, huh?”
“Mhmmm…”
River peeked into the room a moment later, smiled, and winked.
“All yours, Dada.”
The Master held the Doctor tighter, nose in his hair.
“I know.”
---
The nursery was unusually still.
No lullabies hummed from the corner speaker, no soft mechanical whirs from the TARDIS’s deeper engine rooms. Just the sound of slow breathing, one set steady, the other shivering with the occasional hiccup.
River sat on the edge of the padded rocker, brushing the Doctor’s messy hair gently with her fingers. He was curled into her lap like something folded too many times, limbs tangled, face hidden in the crook of her arm. He’d fought sleep earlier. Now, he was just fighting the moment.
His thumb rested near his mouth, uncertain.
“I don’t want you to go,” he mumbled.
River’s hand stilled on his hair, then resumed its slow, soothing rhythm. “I know, sweetie.”
The Master stood nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest. He wasn’t interfering. But he wasn’t leaving, either. His foot tapped silently, barely audible over the Doctor’s breathing. There was a glimmer of possessiveness in his eyes, but for once, he was keeping it in check.
River tilted her head, looking down at the Doctor’s tired, pouting face. “But you know I have to, don’t you?”
“Nooo,” he whispered, shaking his head, but it came out more like a whine.
“You’ll see me again.” River kissed his temple. “Sooner for you than for me. That’s how it always is for us.”
“But what if—what if you don’t come?” His little voice broke, and his hands clutched at her curls now instead of her coat.
“I will,” she said softly. “We always find each other. You know that.”
He whimpered. His bottom lip trembled.
The Master flinched like he wanted to grab him right then and there and pull him into his arms, but River glanced up and gave him a small nod—Not yet.
The Doctor snuffled, burrowing deeper into her. “You promise?”
River’s smile wobbled. “Always.”
The Master turned his head slightly, jaw tight. There were centuries between them, and so many versions of him, yet here she was, able to say it like that, and the Doctor believed her. The Master wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill her or hug her.
River glanced at the wall clock. The TARDIS obligingly dimmed the lights. Time was ticking.
She kissed his forehead. “Now be good for your Dada, alright?”
The Doctor gave a tiny, reluctant nod.
“Tell Eleven I said hi next time you see him. And—” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “—remind him Mummy always knows when he’s had too many sweets.”
That got the barest giggle from the regressed Time Lord.
She brushed his fringe from his face one last time, then gently passed him, hesitant, slow, into the waiting arms of the Master.
The Master stiffened slightly at first, still prickled with jealousy, but then he curled his arms securely around the Doctor’s tiny form. The Doctor clung to him instinctively, nose pressed to the Master’s collar.
River rose, brushing a bit of lint from her jacket.
“Take care of my boy,” she said.
The Master looked up. “I always do.”
Her gaze softened. “I know. That’s why I let myself go.”
She glanced once more at the Doctor, eyes closed now, but cheeks damp, and then, with a press of her vortex manipulator and a flash of blue-white light, River Song was gone.
Silence.
The Doctor whimpered softly into the Master’s coat. The Time Lord cupped the back of his head.
“Shhh. I’ve got you.”
“But she—she lef’,” the Doctor mumbled, barely audible.
“She’ll come back. You know she will,” the Master murmured. “But until then… I’m not going anywhere.”
He gently rocked them back and forth in the nursery chair.
“…Dada?”
“Yes, love?”
“Still yours?”
The Master’s throat clenched. He bent and kissed the top of that ridiculous head.
“Always.”
The TARDIS hummed gently, the lights dimmed low, and in the quiet of the nursery, two hearts beat close, steady and safe.
---
The lights in the nursery were dimmed now, the soft hum of the time rotor above like a lullaby in itself. Everything was peaceful. Quiet.
Too quiet.
The Doctor sat on the edge of the big bed in the nursery, fully dressed again in his usual pinstripe suit. His hair was a bit mussed, and his tie was askew from where he’d clearly yanked it on in a flustered rush. His face, however, betrayed everything: the flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his eye, the way he couldn’t quite look up without remembering the unbearable softness of earlier.
And then—
“I knew it,” came the Master’s voice, slicing through the silence like a dagger wrapped in silk. “You’re trying to act normal. Grown-up. Big boy again.”
The Doctor tensed immediately. “Don’t,” he warned, low and serious.
“Oh, don’t?” The Master strolled into the room with the air of a man who had finally won an argument that had been centuries in the making. “What’s wrong, Doctor? Ashamed?” He feigned a gasp, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Surely not!”
The Doctor’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Mummy?” the Master said sweetly. “Mummy?”
“I will throw myself into the time vortex,” the Doctor muttered.
“Shall I toss in your rattle too?”
From the console room, Donna’s laughter erupted so hard she had to lean against the coral supports for balance. “Mummy?” she echoed gleefully. “Oh my god. You are never living this down.”
“I hate all of you.”
The Master had sat beside him now, eyes glinting. “You know, I always knew you were a bit soft, Doctor. But ‘Mummy’? Really? What do you do on your honeymoon? Wear your jammies and beg for a bottle?”
The Doctor made a noise like he might actually combust.
Donna wandered in with her phone out, still wiping tears of mirth from her face. “Do I need to update the emergency contact list?” she asked casually. “You know, just in case the Master’s not around to tuck you in and burp you.”
“Not helping, Donna!” the Doctor whined, high and breathless.
“Oh, I think I am.” She smirked. “You’re a proper Mummy’s Boy, now, huh? Oh, you are so doomed in your next life. She’s going to carry you around in a sling or something.”
The Doctor jolted to his feet. “Right. That’s it. I am leaving. I am fleeing. New planet, new name. Possibly new face. No forwarding address.”
The Master stood too, looming with his smirk dialed up to eleven. “Oh no, you don’t. You think you’re escaping me?”
“I—I'm warning you—”
“You were sucking your thumb, you little fraud. Do you want me to start quoting the lullaby?”
“STOP ITTTT!”
“Come here, little Mummy’s Boy—”
The Doctor bolted.
The Master sprinted after him, boots thudding down the hall with delighted menace.
“YOU CAN’T OUTRUN ME, DOCTOR. YOU’VE GOT TINY LITTLE BABY LEGS NOW!”
Donna followed at a leisurely pace, giggling uncontrollably and filming everything for her own personal collection. “This is better than reality TV,” she sighed. “He should regress more often.”
From the nursery, the TARDIS herself gave a fond little hum.
Because even if he was flustered, red-faced, and chased down the corridors by the Master calling after him like an absolute menace, the Doctor was smiling.
Even if he wouldn’t admit it, there was something undeniably warm about knowing he was that loved. That safe. That cared for.
Even if they were all going to tease him about it forever.
He might be big again.
But he wasn’t alone.
Not ever.