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The TARDIS sat in the backyard of the Nobles’ house like it had been planted there, humming softly to itself. Its steady vibration pulsed faintly through the grass and earth, a background comfort that almost felt like a heartbeat. The neighbors had long since stopped asking why there was a police box permanently parked behind Donna’s garden.
Donna had insisted they stay in the house for once, real beds, real food, and not a single alien running loose in the hallways. The Doctor had grumbled half-heartedly at first, muttering something about the TARDIS having perfectly fine accommodations, but in the end, he caved. He always did with Donna.
The kitchen was alive with warmth and clatter. Plates stacked, water running, Donna clanging a saucepan louder than necessary because she swore it “got the grease off faster.” The Doctor, sleeves rolled up, stood beside her at the sink, drying dishes in rapid, fidgety movements. His long fingers tapped restlessly against each plate before sliding it into the cupboard. He hummed under his breath, off-key, too fast, fragments of three different tunes layered on top of each other.
Donna cast him a sideways glance. His jaw was tight. Every now and then, his teeth found the edge of his sleeve, tugging fabric into his mouth. She caught him bouncing on his toes, just barely rocking in place like he couldn’t stay still.
“Always on the edge of something, that spaceman…” she muttered, shaking her head as she scrubbed.
“I heard that,” he said lightly, sleeve still between his teeth. He pulled it out, tugged the fabric straight, then reached for another plate. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Brill-i-ant, in fact.”
Donna arched an eyebrow at him. “Mhm. You’re twitchy as a ferret, sweetheart.”
He blinked, affronted. “I am not twitchy!” His hands flailed in wild defense, nearly dropping a plate in the process. “I’m just… energetic. Alert. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”
Donna smirked, drying her hands on a towel. “Exactly what a twitchy ferret would say.”
He stuck his tongue out at her before he realized what he’d done. The second the childish gesture left his mouth, he froze, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. Donna didn’t say anything; she just patted his shoulder gently and went back to wiping down the counter. But she noticed. She always noticed.
---
Upstairs, Rose Noble sprawled on her bed with her phone held inches from her face. The blue glow lit her room, casting shadows over the posters plastered across the walls. She scrolled endlessly, thumb flicking, earbuds pumping tinny music.
“Ugh,” she muttered at a video, rolling her eyes.
Her door was half open, and the faint sounds of Donna’s clattering and the Doctor’s restless hums floated upward, blending with the muffled thrum of the TARDIS outside. Rose barely registered it. Adults were loud. That was their job.
---
By the time the dishes were done, the sky outside was deep violet. The house grew quieter, the television off, the lights dimmed.
The Doctor paced the living room like a caged animal, coat flapping behind him in little bursts whenever he turned too sharply. He picked up a book, flipped it open, then immediately set it back down. Too many words. He perched on the edge of the sofa, then sprang back to his feet after less than a minute. His hands kept finding his sleeves.
Donna came in, drying her hands on her trousers, and watched him for a moment. She could see it, clear as day, the edges of him fraying. The part of him that clung to control, to being grown, wearing thinner with each twitch. But he hadn’t tipped over yet, not quite.
“Bedtime,” she said firmly, cutting through the silence.
He blinked. “It’s barely—”
“Bedtime,” Donna repeated, sharper this time.
He scowled, but it was more pout than protest. Shoulders sagging, he shuffled toward the stairs. “Bossy,” he muttered under his breath, chewing his sleeve again.
Donna smirked. “Exactly. Now march.”
---
Rose didn’t look up when the Doctor padded past her room, towards the TARDIS, though she caught the faint sound of Donna’s voice behind him. She tucked herself deeper into the covers, thumb flicking her phone screen, one earbud falling loose.
The house settled into nighttime rhythm: the quiet sigh of the fridge, the creak of floorboards as Donna turned off the last lights, the low hum of the TARDIS drifting through the open window.
The Doctor lay in his bed, eyes wide open, fingers twisting his sleeve until the fabric was stretched thin. The room was still, but inside his chest, he felt like a clock wound too tightly, gears ticking too fast. He curled on his side, pulling his knees up, trying to breathe slowly, trying to be big.
Donna’s words echoed faintly in his mind. Always on the edge of something…
She wasn’t wrong.
Not wrong at all.
---
The house was quiet. The kind of deep, midnight quiet where even the walls seemed to be asleep.
Donna had left her bedroom door cracked open, just a sliver of golden light from the hall lamp stretching across the carpet. She always did, especially when the Doctor stayed over, just in case. She didn’t say it out loud, but she worried about nightmares, about him spiraling, about that restless edge she’d seen earlier.
In the backyard, the TARDIS hummed steadily, her glow faint through the curtains.
---
The Doctor lay curled on his bed, blanket bunched around him. It wasn’t the crisp blue TARDIS blanket Missy had fussed about buying him, or the striped one Donna had left folded at the foot of the bed. It was the pink one, soft, worn thin, and comforting in a way that made him feel foolish when he was big. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t use it anymore. He’d promised.
But now it was clutched tightly in his fists, pressed to his chest as he drifted in uneasy sleep.
And then—
Flames.
Gallifrey burning.
The air was thick with smoke, ash choking his throat. Screams rose from every corner, familiar voices warped and fading. His feet stumbled over broken glass, over stone crumbling into fire.
He turned, searching.
Mama?
Dada?
But there was no one. Just silence, swallowing the screams until he was alone. The sky cracked with fire, and his hearts thundered in his chest until the world collapsed inward—
He woke with a gasp.
The room was dark. Too dark. His breath hitched in his throat, and tears pricked hot at his eyes before he could stop them. He was trembling, soaked with sweat, his pink blanket tangled in his hands.
No Missy. No Master. No one.
His thumb hovered near his mouth. He hesitated for a moment, then gave in, pressing it shakily between his lips.
He felt small.
Too small.
The tears spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as his breath came in shallow hiccups. He wanted Mama, wanted Dada, but they weren’t here. He thought of Donna next. She knew. She always knew. But the idea of Donna seeing him like this, red-faced, soaked in tears, clutching a baby blanket, made him burn with shame. She’d never laugh at him, but… she’d know.
So he whispered into the dark, to himself, soft and broken:
“…Not Donna. Rosie.”
Blanket clutched to his chest, thumb still tucked in his mouth, he slipped out of the room on bare feet. The hall stretched long and shadowed.
He walked out of the TARDIS and into the house, and didn't stop until he found himself outside Rose’s door. His hand hovered for what felt like forever before he finally raised it and gave the faintest knock. Just once. Barely even sound.
---
Inside, Rose Noble was stretched out in bed, the glow of her phone lighting her face. She scrolled lazily through TikTok, earbuds in, muffled laughter spilling now and then.
The knock almost didn’t register. Just a tiny tap under the thrum of whatever video was playing. She frowned, pausing, tugging one earbud out.
“…What the heck?” she muttered.
Sliding off the bed, she padded to the door and cracked it open—
And froze.
There he was.
The Doctor.
Not the tall, sharp-tongued man who strode through galaxies like he owned them. Not the smug genius who always had a retort ready. But a tiny, trembling mess of a man standing in her doorway, tear-streaked cheeks glowing in the dim light, clutching a pink baby blanket so tightly it was wrinkled.
His eyes, red-rimmed and wet, looked up at her in raw desperation.
“…Doctor?” she whispered, her voice soft with shock.
His bottom lip trembled. He sniffled once, then whispered, “…nightmare.”
Her chest clenched.
“Oh, spaceman…” she murmured, and before she even thought about it, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him. He melted into her, face burying into her shoulder, tiny sobs shaking his chest.
She rocked him gently, whispering, “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re alright. Just a bad dream, yeah? Just a dream.”
When he finally pulled back, he looked sheepish, eyes darting down as though ashamed of being caught.
Rose studied him for a beat. Then, instead of asking questions or making it worse, she turned and padded back to her bed. She pulled the blanket up, slipping underneath it with practiced nonchalance.
The Doctor blinked at her, confused, then slowly turned toward the hallway, as if he’d misread everything and should just go.
Rose rolled her eyes. “Oi, spaceman. Come on!”
He froze.
She smirked and lifted the corner of the blanket, patting the empty space beside her.
“Bed’s big enough for two. You’re not wandering off looking like that.”
For a moment, his whole face shifted. Tears still clung to his cheeks, but a bright, shy smile broke through. He let out a tiny giggle, muffled in his throat, and bounded forward, blanket trailing behind him.
He clambered onto the bed beside her and immediately pressed into her side, tucking his face against her shoulder. His fists still clutched the pink fabric, but he relaxed, warm and safe, as Rose wrapped an arm around him.
“There we go,” she murmured, stroking her fingers gently through his hair. “I’ve got you, spaceman. No more nightmares.”
His breath slowed, evening out. Thumb returned to his mouth, blanket tucked under his chin.
Within minutes, he was fast asleep.
Rose lay there in the quiet, one hand brushing through his messy hair, her phone forgotten on the nightstand. She glanced down at him, this alien, this impossible man, who could be so small and fragile in moments like these, and felt her chest swell with something protective.
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” she whispered, so soft he couldn’t hear. “I’ve got you.”
And she kept brushing his hair until her own eyes drifted shut.
---
The morning light was thin and gray, filtering weakly through Rose’s curtains. Birds chirped outside, the muffled sound of the city slowly stirring awake.
Rose shifted groggily, rolling onto her side. That was when she noticed it, something clammy, wet, seeping against the side of her leg. Her brow furrowed, still half-asleep, until the sensation sank in. She pushed the covers back carefully and looked down.
Her sheets were soaked.
And beside her, curled up small as anything, was the Doctor. His thumb was nestled gently in his mouth, lips moving in faint little sucks as he dreamed. His other hand was fisted tight around his pink blanket, pulled right up under his chin. His messy hair flopped into his face, and his cheeks were still blotchy from the night before.
Rose’s heart twisted.
“Oh, spaceman…” she whispered, not with annoyance, but with pure pity. She brushed a stray curl from his forehead.
He looked so small. So young. And now… so vulnerable.
She leaned closer and shook him softly, careful not to startle him. “Doctor? Hey, sweetheart… wake up.”
He stirred, eyelids fluttering, a little whimper escaping his throat. He blinked blearily at her, still half-lost in sleep, thumb working gently in his mouth.
Then he noticed.
The dampness. The sheets.
His whole body went stiff.
And just like that, he was wide awake.
His eyes went wide with horror. He ripped his thumb from his mouth as if it had burned him and bolted upright in the wet bed.
“I—I—I’m sorry!” The words tumbled out of him too fast, too frantic. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean—I’m disgusting—I swore this wouldn’t happen in this regeneration—I promised—I’m so, so sorry—oh no no no no—”
His voice broke on a sob. His hands clawed at his hair, tugging as his breathing came fast and shallow, too quick, verging on hyperventilation.
Rose’s chest ached at the sight. He looked wrecked, panicked, red-faced, utterly devastated.
Without thinking, she climbed up to sit beside him, not even caring about the wet mattress soaking through her pajamas. She wrapped her arms tight around him and pulled him close.
“Hey, hey, shhh. Doctor. Stop. Look at me. You’re alright.”
He froze for a heartbeat, then collapsed against her, face burying in her neck. His whole body shook with sobs.
“I’m gross,” he choked. “I’m—so gross—so sorry, Rose. You shouldn’t—shouldn’t have to—”
“Shhh.” Rose rubbed his back in slow circles, anchoring him as his breath hitched and broke. “It’s okay, it doesn’t matter. It’s just sheets. We’ll clean it up later. You don’t need to cry like this.” She pressed a kiss into his hair. “I love you so much. Doesn’t matter what happens. You’re family, you hear me?”
His sobbing only grew harder at that, ragged hiccups shaking him as he clung desperately to her like a lifeline. His chest hitched against hers, his breaths sharp and uneven, almost painful.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” she whispered, rocking him gently. “Just breathe for me, spaceman. In and out. You’re safe.”
---
After a while, she felt his hand twitch against her chest. His thumb hovered uncertainly near his mouth. His whole body screamed the need for comfort, but when it brushed his lips, he yanked it back as though it were fire. His cheeks burned redder, blotchy from tears and shame.
Rose caught the movement and pulled back just enough to look at him.
“It’s okay,” she said softly. “If it makes you feel better, you can suck your thumb.”
He shook his head violently, face crumpling. “I don’t need to. I’m not a baby. I’m not—”
His words broke off, his lip wobbling as tears welled up fresh. His whole face was hot, streaked with tears, red and damp and utterly humiliated.
Rose cupped his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs over his wet cheeks. She tilted his head until he met her eyes.
“Doctor,” she said seriously, voice low but firm. “Are you sure?”
His eyes darted. His lips trembled. And slowly, brokenly, he shook his head. Tears spilled free again.
Rose smiled gently through the ache in her chest. “That’s what I thought.”
She tugged him carefully into her lap, shifting until he was cradled against her like a child. He resisted for half a second, stiff with embarrassment, but then the fight drained from him and he melted into her arms.
“That’s it,” she soothed, holding him close, rocking them both slightly. “There’s my baby boy. I’ve got you.”
She began to hum a soft lullaby under her breath, something simple and repetitive, her fingers carding slowly through his hair. His sobs quieted gradually, hiccups breaking the silence until at last his breathing steadied.
With a tiny, hesitant glance at her, he let his thumb slip back into his mouth. His eyes searched hers, bracing for laughter, for rejection.
But Rose only smiled, warm and tender, and kept rocking him.
The tension drained out of him, and he closed his eyes, thumb working slowly as he nestled deeper against her.
---
Eventually, Rose shifted carefully and stood, keeping him snug in her arms. The Doctor clung to her instinctively, arms around her neck, his face burrowed into her shoulder. His pink blanket trailed down, still clutched tightly in one fist.
She adjusted his weight on her hip, swaying slightly as she held him like the little one he was in this moment.
“C’mon, spaceman,” she murmured, kissing the top of his head. “We’ll get you cleaned up. You’re okay.”
He hummed faintly into her neck, thumb never leaving his mouth.
And Rose carried him out of the room, protective and steady, as if he weighed nothing at all.
---
The scent of frying bacon and eggs drifted warmly through the house, carrying with it the familiar crackle of the stove. Donna hummed under her breath as she flipped something in the pan, her dressing gown tied haphazardly at the waist, hair still in morning disarray.
She was mid-stir, wooden spoon in hand, when the sound of soft footfalls reached her ears. She turned her head automatically—
—and nearly dropped the pan.
Rose had just stepped into the kitchen doorway, but it wasn’t Rose who made Donna’s eyebrows fly nearly to her hairline.
It was what, or rather who, she was carrying.
The Doctor was perched securely on Rose’s hip, one arm clinging around her neck, his pink blanket still balled up tight in his hand. His face was buried against her shoulder, hidden completely from view, only the mess of his brown curls showing. Rose’s free hand rubbed soothing circles on his back as if this were the most natural thing in the world. And she was bouncing him, absentmindedly, with a rhythm Donna immediately recognized: the kind you used on a small child.
Donna blinked. Then blinked again.
“…What on earth?” she finally managed, her voice equal parts shock and disbelief. She hastily switched off the stove and wiped her hands on a tea towel, coming closer with cautious steps.
Rose gave her a sheepish, half-embarrassed smile, shifting her hold when the Doctor squirmed slightly. “Morning, Mum.”
Donna’s eyes stayed glued to the Doctor, who hadn’t moved from hiding in Rose’s shoulder. Slowly, she reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair. “What happened to you, baby?” she asked softly.
The Doctor whined. A low, muffled sound, pitiful and small, vibrating into Rose’s neck. He turned his head further in, as though burrowing could erase the world around him.
Donna’s heart tugged.
Before she could speak again, Rose blurted, “Mum… is the Doctor a Little??”
The question hung in the air, absurd and yet perfectly reasonable given the sight before them.
Donna’s mouth fell open. She looked from Rose, to the Doctor on her hip, back to Rose again. “Did he tell you?!” she hissed, like Rose had just stumbled upon MI6-level classified information.
Rose snorted, though her voice was tender. “No. The puddle in my bed did.”
At that, the Doctor gave another miserable whine and tucked his face even deeper into her shoulder, as though he could vanish altogether if he pressed hard enough. Rose tightened her arms around him and began to shush softly, lips brushing against his curls. “Shhh, big boy, it’s okay. Doesn’t matter, yeah? It happens.”
Donna’s expression softened instantly. She moved closer to him, bringing herself to his level, her voice dropping into its gentlest register. “Aww, sweetheart,” she cooed, “Auntie Donna knows. Yeah, you have accidents sometimes when you’re little.”
The Doctor’s head snapped a fraction in protest, though he still didn’t dare meet her eyes. “Don’!” he mumbled, muffled. “Not a baby!”
Rose kissed his hair. “I know you’re not,” she soothed, though her eyes twinkled with affection.
Donna ignored his protest, straightening with her hands on her hips. “Well, if you’re not a baby, then tell me this—why didn’t you come to me, hmm? Auntie Donna would’ve taken care of you. You know that.”
There was a pause. His fists tightened in Rose’s shirt. Then, in the smallest, quietest voice imaginable, he whispered, “…Wan’ed Rosie.”
Rose’s whole face lit up like Christmas morning. She beamed, eyes shining, and planted a kiss right on top of his head. “That’s adorable,” she announced proudly, bouncing him slightly on her hip.
Donna’s lips twitched into a grin despite herself. “Yeah, alright. That is adorable.” She reached forward to tickle under his chin, though he tried to squirm away with another whiny sound. “But still—give him here. I’ll run him a bath, get him into some clean clothes. He’ll feel better after.”
Rose hesitated, adjusting him on her hip. “You hear that, Doctor? Bath time. You’ll be all fresh again.”
But when she tried to shift him toward Donna, his arms clamped tight around her neck. He clung stubbornly, face still hidden, and let out a distressed whine. His breath hitched like he was seconds away from bursting back into tears.
“Hey, hey,” Rose soothed quickly, patting his back. “No need for waterworks, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
“Doctor,” Donna said, getting closer to his face again, her tone patient. “Do you actually want Rosie to be the one to give you a bath and put you in a nappy?”
That did it. He froze, then pulled back just enough to gape at her, his face blazing scarlet. “No!” he sputtered furiously, shaking his head so hard his hair flopped. “’Course not! Not—don’ need—” His words tumbled into a flustered mess.
Donna arched an eyebrow. “Mhm. Then come with Auntie Donna, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?”
For a moment, he wavered. His eyes darted between Rose’s warm smile and Donna’s steady patience. His lip wobbled again.
Then, with a reluctant little sigh, he loosened his grip on Rose’s neck. Slowly, hesitantly, he raised both arms toward Donna in the unmistakable, wordless gesture of pick me up.
Donna’s laugh was fond and exasperated all at once. “Oh, you lazy baby.” She scooped him easily into her arms, adjusting his blanket as it slipped. He buried his face in her shoulder this time, still sulking but clearly comforted.
“Go on, Rosie,” Donna said over his head, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Go ahead and take a shower. I’ll handle bath time.”
Rose grinned, brushing a quick kiss across the Doctor’s curls before letting him go fully into Donna’s arms. “Be good for Auntie Donna, yeah?”
The Doctor only groaned in protest, muffled against Donna’s dressing gown.
But Donna just smiled, bouncing him lightly as she carried him out of the kitchen, mumbling to herself with all the fondness of a seasoned auntie, “Honestly. Lazy, clingy little babies, the both of you.”
---
Donna carried him through the winding TARDIS corridors, his body still clinging to her like a barnacle. His blankie was bunched up in one fist, tucked between them, as though letting go would mean the whole world came crashing down. She smoothed his hair with her free hand, murmuring softly as they approached the nursery.
The room wasn't that different from before, but had clearly changed to adapt to his new regeneration. It was softly lit, with pastel walls, plush carpet that muffled footsteps, a rocking chair, the white crib was in the corner with a big bed next to it, a wide padded changing table in the other corner with neatly stacked nappies, creams, and folded onesies. Toys lay scattered in a low chest by the crib, a stuffed rabbit peeking out like it was waiting.
She kissed the top of his head. “Here we are, baby. Your nursery. Time to get you all clean and fresh.”
When they reached the adjoining bathroom, Donna gently pried the blankie from his grip. He whined, his lower lip jutting forward, but she kept her tone calm and cheerful.
“Blankie goes on the sink, sweetheart,” she said, folding it carefully. “Safe and sound, waiting for you when you’re done.”
He gave a muffled little huff of protest, thumb edging toward his mouth, but didn’t fight when she set it aside.
“Arms up,” Donna coaxed, sitting him on the bathroom counter. “Let Auntie Donna get these messy clothes off you. Can’t go in the tub dressed, can you, silly baby?”
He obeyed reluctantly, squirming as she tugged his shirt over his head, then wriggling even more when she pulled down his trousers and smalls.
“Oi, hold still, little boy,” Donna teased, tickling his side until he squealed. “You’re wriggly as a worm. Hush now, Auntie Donna’s not laughing at you.”
Lifting him carefully, she lowered him into the warm bubble bath. He gasped, shoulders hunching, but as the heat seeped into him, his body loosened, a tiny sigh puffing out.
“There we go,” she crooned. “Nice and warm, just how my baby likes it.” She scooped up water with her hand and drizzled it over his hair. “My messy pup. Bet you’d grow moss if I let you.”
The Doctor sulked, eyes narrowing, but he didn’t pull away when she poured more water gently over his curls. She massaged in the shampoo, fingers slow and thorough, working through the strands.
“Scrub, scrub, scrub,” Donna sang under her breath. “Out with the stardust, in with the bubbles. All clean for Auntie Donna.”
He mumbled something into his fist, too quiet to catch, but his eyelids fluttered. She rinsed the soap away, leaning close. “That’s my good boy. You’re safe. Auntie Donna’s got you.”
The rest of the bath was a rhythm, washing his arms, his legs, teasing him when he tried to splash, then rinsing him all over until he was squeaky clean.
When it was over, she lifted him into a fluffy towel, wrapping him up snugly. “There we are, my little burrito. Let’s get you dry before you turn into an icicle.”
She rubbed him briskly, narrating each motion. “One arm, rub rub rub, then the other. Kick those legs, baby boy—yes, good kicking! Auntie Donna’s drying your toesies. Can’t let you catch a chill, can we?”
His cheeks were rosy now, thumb sneaking toward his mouth as he leaned into her.
Back in the nursery, she laid him down on the padded changing table, the towel slipping away to leave him bare. She reached for a nappy and spoke brightly. “Alright, baby. Time for your soft, snuggly nappy. Bum up, please.”
That snapped him out of his dreamy state. His eyes flew wide, and he shook his head furiously. “No! Don’ need it! Not a baby! Auntie Donna’s bein’ mean!”
Before she could respond, he kicked, legs flailing wildly. His heel caught the nappy and sent it flying across the room.
“Ohhh, we’ve got a wriggly one,” Donna sighed, catching his ankles before he could do any damage. “Hold still, sweetheart.”
But he wasn’t having it. He twisted, grunted, and even tried rolling to the side. “No nappies! 'M big! Don’ make me!” His voice wobbled on the last word, tears threatening already.
“Doctor,” Donna warned, placing one firm hand on his hip to pin him. “Enough now.”
Still, he kicked, fists beating the air. His face was flushed, his eyes watery, every inch the stubborn toddler he was fighting not to be.
Donna’s patience thinned. Her eyes narrowed as she slipped her hand beneath his bum, lifting his hips just off the mat. Two sharp swats landed, echoing in the nursery.
The sound cracked like thunder.
The Doctor froze. Shock widened his eyes, glassy with tears. His thumb popped straight back into his mouth, muffling a whimper. His chest hitched.
“There,” Donna said firmly, her voice low and calm. “That’s better. Now, you be a good boy for Auntie Donna, or do you want a spanking on that naughty bottom?”
He shook his head at once, lip trembling, cheeks wet. “…S-sorry, Auntie Donna,” he sniffled around his thumb.
Her stern face melted into warmth. She brushed his damp hair back gently. “Good lad. Auntie Donna’s not cross anymore. She just wants her silly baby safe and clean.”
His body sagged in defeat, a little nod jerking his head.
“Good boy,” Donna praised, sliding the soft nappy beneath him and pulling it snug around his waist. The tapes fastened with a crisp rip. “There we go. All padded and protected. My baby's bottom is safe now.”
She held up the onesie next, a pale blue thing scattered with tiny stars, snap crotch waiting. “Arms up, baby.”
He pouted, whined, tried to squirm again. “Nooo! Don’ wanna wear it! Don’ need it! You’re mean!”
Donna gave him a look. “Do you want a spanking, little boy?”
His eyes filled again. “N-no…”
“Then arms up,” she said firmly. “Now.”
Reluctantly, he obeyed, letting her guide his arms through the sleeves. She tugged the fabric down, threading his legs in, then pulled the crotch up and fastened the snaps one by one.
“Snap, snap, snap,” she narrated cheerfully. “And there’s my good boy, all dressed. Doesn’t he look precious in his starry jammies?”
He sniffled, thumb back in his mouth, eyes watery but obedient now.
“There’s my silly baby boy,” Donna whispered, kissing his forehead.
She scooped him up, snug on her hip, blanket retrieved from the sink, and tucked him into his arms. “Auntie Donna’s got you all sorted.”
Before leaving, she packed a small satchel aloud so he’d hear every step. “Couple of nappies, spare onesie, bottles, sippy cups, pacis, your bunny rabbit…” She tucked the rabbit into the bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“Nearly forgot this, didn’t we?” she said, handing him his blankie. His face lit up, arms clutching it tight.
“That’s better,” Donna cooed. “My baby's all ready for the day.”
---
The TARDIS corridors felt almost ordinary as Donna carried him back to the house. His body was still damp from the bath, wrapped snugly in his pink blankie, fingers clutching the soft fabric like it was a lifeline. As soon as the front door swung open, his arms shot up, fingers curling in the universal toddler plea: pick me up.
Rose’s eyes softened. Oh, my little spaceman.
“Come here, big boy! Look at how cute you look this morning! I love that look,” she cooed, stepping forward and scooping him into her arms.
He buried his face into her neck immediately, cheeks flushing a bright pink, thumb slipping instinctively into his mouth. The blanket rose with his little motions, hiding most of his red face. She hugged him tight, rocking him gently.
“You’re all clean and cozy now,” she murmured, pressing her cheek to his. “There’s my silly boy.”
Donna chuckled from the kitchen doorway, carrying a plate with some toast. “Don’t let him fall asleep before breakfast, Rose. He’s got to eat!”
Rose smiled down at him, watching the little whimpers and tiny hiccups of contentment as he settled. “I’ve got him, Mum. He’s in good hands,” she said softly, rubbing his back.
She lowered him onto her lap at the breakfast table, turning him to face forward. His eyes were wide as he watched the toast and fruit, still sucking his thumb but curious. Rose plated herself some food and held little bites up to his mouth.
“Open up, baby boy,” she prompted, leaning closer. He obeyed obediently, letting her feed him bite by bite. Every so often, his hand brushed against hers, clutching the blanket, thumb slipping out briefly to take a nibble of toast on his own.
Donna, ever observant, slid a sippy cup full of juice toward him. He took it with both hands, sipping carefully but pausing frequently to suck his thumb.
Rose hummed cheerfully. “See? You’ve got breakfast and juice, all sorted, my little spaceman. Good boy.”
He gave a tiny whine around the thumb, muffled but audible. “Not a baby…”
Rose just smiled and continued feeding him. Donna gave a soft laugh from the side. “Yeah, he says that every time, doesn’t he? Doesn’t matter—he’s still my little man sometimes.”
Once breakfast was done, Rose stood and gathered him into her arms. “Alright, I’ll take care of the baby now,” she said, tucking him close.
They moved to the living room, where she lowered him gently onto the couch, but he refused to let go, curling into her lap. Rose patted his back gently, smoothing his hair. This is exactly where he wants to be, she thought, smiling down at him.
He buried his face deeper into her shoulder, thumb back in his mouth. “Don’ leave me ‘lone, Rosie,” he murmured, small voice trembling with vulnerability.
“Never, poppet,” she whispered, adjusting the blanket around him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
She reached for the remote and turned on a brightly colored cartoon, the familiar sounds and laughter spilling through the room. Within minutes, his body had relaxed completely, eyes glued to the screen. His thumb stayed faithfully in his mouth, fingers clutching the pink blankie as though it anchored him to the world.
Rose hummed softly, rocking him in small circles. His breathing slowed, little sighs escaping as he watched the antics on the TV. Eventually, the warmth, the rocking, and the gentle background noise combined to lull him into sleep. His head rested comfortably against her chest, thumb still nestled in his mouth, blankie cradled in his hands.
Rose leaned back on the couch, careful not to disturb him. “There’s my big boy,” she murmured. “All safe, all cozy, and all mine for now.”
Donna peered around the doorway, smiling at the sight. “Looks like he’s settled. Good work, Rose.”
Rose gave a small laugh, glancing down at him. “Thanks, Auntie Donna. He’s perfect when he’s like this… just so little and soft. I could keep him forever.”
The morning passed quietly. Sunlight streamed through the windows, cartoons played on the screen, and for this little while, the universe outside could wait. The Doctor was exactly where he wanted to be, and Rose was exactly where she needed to be, holding him close, letting the world spin on without worry.
---
The world felt fuzzy, soft, and far away when he woke. His eyelids fluttered against the morning light spilling into the room, his head lolling in the crook of Rose’s arm. For a few blissful moments, everything felt right. Warm. Safe. Protected. Like a weight had been lifted from his chest. It was a familiar feeling; he’d known it in other bodies, in stolen moments of weakness, but never in this one. This incarnation swore he’d stopped needing this. Swore he’d never let himself slip this far again.
And yet… here he was.
Rose shifted slightly, cradling him closer without even thinking. His cheek pressed against her shoulder. His thumb was in his mouth, drool dampening the edge of his knuckle. His pink blankie was balled tight against his chest. And under the soft pastel onesie—oh no, oh no—there was no mistaking the heavy squish of a thoroughly soaked nappy.
His eyes shot wide open.
No. No, no, no, no, no—
He bolted upright with a strangled yelp, startling Rose. His breath came fast and shallow, panic flooding every nerve. “I—I’m sorry! I’m disgusting! I’ll stop, I’ll stop! I didn’t mean to—” His words cracked and tumbled out all at once, voice high and desperate. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the blanket, clutching at it like a lifeline.
Rose’s eyes widened. “Doctor, hey, hey, it’s alright!” she soothed quickly, tightening her arms around him to keep him from falling right off the couch. “Slow down, big boy. Breathe.”
But he squirmed and fought like a panicked animal, whimpering into his thumb, every bit of softness shattered by shame.
Donna was out of her chair in an instant. She knelt at his side, placing a warm, steady hand on his trembling shoulder. “Oi, spaceman, look at me,” she urged, voice firm but kind. “Did you forget I used to take care of you all the time when we travelled? Sat you down, fussed over you, kept you out of trouble? Why would this be any different now, eh?”
The Doctor’s glassy eyes flicked to hers, brimming with unshed tears. He shook his head frantically, as though denying her words, but his body betrayed him. Slowly, against his will, he leaned toward her. His trembling eased just slightly as Donna wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close into a firm, grounding hug.
“That’s it,” Donna whispered, stroking the back of his hair. “There you go, Martian boy. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
Rose shifted closer, her hand sliding down to cover his smaller one. Her thumb brushed soothing circles into his knuckles. “You’re my family,” she said gently. “You’re perfect just like this, little one. Even if…” she let out a teasing smile, “…you did make me change my sheets.”
His face went crimson, burning so hot he thought it might combust. “D-don’t say it like that!” he stammered, muffled against Donna’s chest.
But the words had landed anyway, teasing, yes, but threaded with love. Affection. Acceptance.
He tried to swallow down his mortification, thumb finding its way back into his mouth despite his protests. His voice was small, muffled, but frantic: “Y-you… called me little. Did—did Donna tell you?!”
Donna pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “Nope. Haven’t said a word, spaceman.”
Both their gazes turned to Rose, who smirked knowingly. “What? I’m a teenager with unlimited internet and a phone glued to my hand. Of course I know what a Little is.”
The Doctor gaped, utterly scandalised. His ears flushed as red as his cheeks, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly like a fish gasping for air.
Of course she knows. Of course. Of all the things in all the universes—
Without warning, Donna reached for his onesie's leg hole and pulled it up to check his nappy. The Doctor pulled away immediately.
“I-I’m big now!” he blurted suddenly, yanking himself out of Donna’s arms. “I’m most certainly very big! I don’t need—any—! I’m going to go change!” His voice wobbled so badly on the last word that it only deepened the blush spreading down his neck.
Donna arched a brow, folding her arms. “Uh-huh. And are you sure you don’t want help getting out of that soggy nappy first?”
“Wha—” He choked, his entire face flaming scarlet. “No! Absolutely not! I am a fully grown—very large—extremely dignified Time Lord! I do not need anyone’s help with— with that!” He was sputtering now, tripping over his words, hands flapping as though trying to wave the thought right out of the air.
Donna gave a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Mmhm. Heard that one before.”
Rose hid her grin behind her hand, though her eyes danced with amusement and fondness. “You sure, big boy? I don’t mind. You’re awfully cute like this.”
The Doctor groaned, dragging the blankie up over his burning face. “I’m ignoring both of you,” he mumbled from behind it, before scurrying toward the TARDIS in tiny, flustered steps, every rustle of the soggy nappy making his ears burn hotter.
Donna watched him go, shaking her head with that same fond exasperation. “Still the same old spaceman,” she muttered.
Rose, voice soft but clear enough to carry, called after him: “Don’t worry, baby. You’re still my little big boy, no matter what you wear.”
And though his cheeks burned hotter than the TARDIS engine room, some small, stubborn thread of safety tugged inside him. The panic hadn’t gone. But the warmth of their words lingered, pulling him toward something gentler. Something he wasn’t quite ready to admit he needed.
---
The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that came after a long day. The film flickered on the television, its glow soft and warm against the dimmed lamps. Donna had picked something easy, nothing with too much plot to keep track of, just a cozy story rolling along in the background.
The three of them were curled together on the sofa. The Doctor sat in the middle, tucked safely between the women he trusted most in the universe. His shoulders brushed Donna’s arm on one side, his temple resting heavy on Rose’s shoulder on the other. Each of them had claimed a hand, Donna’s thumb rubbing little circles over the back of his left one, Rose’s fingers laced tightly with his right.
The Doctor let out a long, low sigh. His whole body seemed to deflate at once, sinking into the cushions. His eyelids drooped, his mouth softened into the faintest curve of a smile. The restless energy that so often lit his body like static had gone quiet. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he was still.
Safe. Warm. Held.
Rose turned her head to look at him. His lashes were brushing his cheeks, his face slack in that almost-childlike way that only came when he was exhausted beyond protest. A piece of hair had flopped over his forehead, and his lips parted just slightly as his breathing grew slow and even. He looked small. He looked… hers.
Her chest tightened with something fond and aching. She lifted her hand, brushing his fringe gently back. “Tired spaceman,” she whispered, the words only for him.
The corners of his mouth twitched as if he’d heard, though he didn’t open his eyes. A tiny, contented hum rumbled against her shoulder.
Eventually, Rose shifted, starting to rise. She moved carefully, but even that tiny movement was enough.
Immediately, the Doctor made a plaintive sound, halfway between a whine and a whimper. His eyes cracked open, dazed and glassy. His hand twitched, fingers scrabbling at the air until Donna gave his left hand a squeeze to ground him. His gaze followed Rose’s every step, wide and lost.
“Rosie…” His voice was soft, thready, frightened in the way only Littles got. “Don’ go.”
Her heart clenched. “I’m not going anywhere, poppet,” she soothed quickly, pausing to give him a smile. “Just two seconds. Promise.”
He pouted, thumb twitching dangerously close to his mouth.
Donna chuckled low in her throat. “Drama queen,” she muttered affectionately, giving his hand another squeeze. “She’ll be right back, spaceman.”
Rose crossed to the bag her mum had brought earlier. She knelt beside it, hand rummaging until her fingers brushed against exactly what she was looking for, something smooth, plastic, decorated with soft swirls of pink. Her lips curved into a smile as she drew it out.
When she returned, the Doctor immediately reached for her, like he’d been waiting all that time underwater for air. His hand found hers in a tight, needy grip, and he tugged her closer until she was back at his side. He tucked his head against her shoulder with a shaky little sigh, his whole body curling as if to anchor her there.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” Rose murmured, stroking his hair. “See? Told you I wouldn’t leave.”
He didn’t answer, just hummed again, quiet and relieved.
Rose glanced down at the thing in her hand, then back at him. His lashes were heavy again, his lips parted, the faintest pout pulling at his mouth. She didn’t hesitate. Gently, she guided the pacifier to his lips.
At first, his eyes widened, startled, a flicker of protest sparking. But then, his chest rose with a shaky inhale, his whole body loosening as he accepted it without a word. The soother slipped between his lips, and almost immediately, he began to suck, slow and steady. A low sigh escaped his nose, muffled by the rhythmic motion.
Rose’s chest melted. She tightened her arm around him, kissing the crown of his hair. “Good boy,” she whispered.
Donna, watching from the other side, tilted her head, brows lifting. “But… he’s not little…” The words came out soft, almost hesitant.
Rose didn’t even look away from him. Her thumb traced idle patterns over his knuckles, the rhythm slow, steady, reassuring. “Yes, he is,” she said firmly, her voice tender but sure. “My little Doctor.”
At that, his cheeks pinked, though he didn’t stop. He only gave another deep sigh, relaxing further into Rose’s side, the steady suckle of the pacifier filling the quiet.
Donna’s lips parted, then softened into a smile. A little ahh sound left her, fond and knowing.
Over the top of his bowed head, Rose’s eyes met Donna’s. The two women shared a look, something wordless and full of understanding. Protective. Loving.
The Doctor’s eyelids drooped fully shut at last. His breathing evened out, lips moving gently around the soother, the sound faint but constant. His blankie was bunched in his free hand, his whole body tucked close between them.
This was it.
This was family.
And for the first time in centuries, the Doctor didn’t feel like the lonely wanderer, the last of his kind, the man who had lost too much. He felt small. He felt safe. He felt… home.