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Having a row with River – astonishingly enough – used to be a much quieter affair. Granted, that was before he had to argue his point of view over the wailing of an infant. The baby, rightly enough, commands the majority of her attention, and that’s all well and good because he knows from experience how lovely it is to have River’s full attention – but the Doctor finds it hard to be quite so understanding when he’s being very clever and persuasive and she can’t even hear him.
Clementine – it’s a pretty name, a catchy tune, a yummy fruit, and carries none of the sorrow naming their daughter after a previous companion would have done. The Doctor had insisted, begged prettily, and River had eventually relented so long as he promised to never ever sing Oh My Darlin’ Clementine in their child’s presence. She’s a bit colicky tonight and much like any other Pond, she isn’t about to suffer in silence.
River paces the length of the nursery, bouncing her up and down and humming softly. The Doctor follows behind her, hovering like an agitated, anxious shadow. “I really just think -”
Clementine wails.
“What did you say?” River bounces the baby a little harder.
Abandoning his argument for the moment, the Doctor cocks his head, listening closely. “She doesn’t like that. Says it feels like a wonky amusement park ride.”
She turns on him, incredulous. “She’s three months old! How would she know what that feels like?!”
“She’s ours!” He shouts to be heard over the discomfited shrieking of their child. “She knows everything!”
River instantly stops bouncing, sifting her fingers through Clementine’s fine hair and pressing her lips to her forehead. “I know, darling,” she murmurs as the baby fusses. “I know you’re miserable. Mummy’s feeling quite wretched too, if it makes you feel any better.”
Clementine stops crying and sniffles, cheeks red and eyes wet.
“Misery loves company,” the Doctor smirks.
River throws him an unimpressed glance and the smirk drops from his face as he takes in the dark circles under her eyes and the tired set of her mouth. They’re both sleep-deprived and badly in need of some alone time, and he feels terrible for arguing with her now. It’s just…
“Do you really think guns have a place on the TARDIS right now? She’ll be crawling before you know it and -“
Heaving a sigh, River shifts the baby against her chest and says, “Oh god, sweetie. Please. Just give it a rest for tonight.”
He huffs. “I have been giving it a rest for nine months!”
“No, you’ve been hinting around for nine months with as much subtly as a giraffe in a roomful of gazelles and I’ve been ignoring you in hopes that you’d get the hint and shut up.” River smiles sweetly down at their daughter and coos, “Silly mummy, should have known that would never work.”
The Doctor pouts. “It’s not safe, River! You may have known what to do with a gun since infancy but -”
“Yes,” River says icily, “I suppose not everyone is born into such privilege.”
He winces, backtracking quickly. “No, no, that’s not -” He stops flailing when River frowns at him, reaching instead for a much more subdued Clementine and cradling her to his chest. Sighing, he leans in close to brush his lips against his wife’s temple, a silent apology. “That isn’t what I meant.”
Swaying into his touch, she nods once. “I know.” Clementine automatically reaches up for his bowtie and frowns sleepily when she finds it missing, her little fist closing around thin air and they both smile. “I’m just tired.”
“We both are.” He sighs. “I’m sorry, it’s silly to argue now -”
She rises up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to his lips.
“Go to bed,” he whispers against her mouth. “I’ve got her.”
Smiling sleepily, she nods. “Thank you, sweetie.” She pauses only long enough to kiss Clementine’s forehead. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
She reaches the doorway before the Doctor calls out, “River?”
Without turning to look at him, she tosses over her shoulder, “The guns stay.”
“But -”
River glances over her shoulder and he can’t help but admire her in the soft light of the nursery – in a thin nightgown, an oversized jumper with sleeves that fall over her small hands, and obviously exhausted, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Well, aside from Clementine, of course. “Sweetie, do you really think the TARDIS would allow any harm to come to her while she’s on board?”
“Well, no, but -”
“You worry too much.”
“You don’t worry enough. I wanted to be the cool parent, River!”
She snorts, looking at him fondly. “Oh honey, that was never going to happen.”
“Oi, I am plenty cool!” He bristles, and then relaxes instantly when Clementine stirs grumpily at the tension in his body and voice. “Just let me babyproof -”
River settles a hand on her hip. “You are not going anywhere near my gun collection with your sonic, if you know what’s good for you.”
“River -”
“Don’t touch my guns or the Stetson gets it.” She narrows her eyes, giving him that look that used to mean I will really kill you this time but lately has come to mean don’t make me hurt you in front of our offspring – both of which are equally terrifying. “Got it?”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “Go to bed. But don’t think this conversation is over, Song.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetie,” she yawns, and wanders down the hall to their bedroom.
Muttering to himself, the Doctor turns his full attention to his tiny daughter, his annoyance instantly forgotten as a besotted grin steals over his face. “Alone at last,” he sighs, swaying gently around the room and watching her eyelids flutter. “Just you and daddy, poppet.”
Clementine blinks sleepily up at him, nestled in close and obviously well on her way to sweet baby dreams. He watches in silent fascination. The Doctor is not a man with a long attention span but it’s been three months and he’s still no less enthralled with his child. Every breath that makes her little chest rise and fall, every quirk of her petal pink lips, every cooing sigh, every grasping wave of a tiny fist is just as delightful and awe inspiring as the first time.
She’s absolutely perfect.
Most parents are apt to think such a thing about their own offspring, but the Doctor surmises he is the only one in the universe who has ever actually been right – aside from Amy and Rory, of course. With an already abundant mop of red curls, River’s eyes, his nose and double heart beat, Amy’s chin and Rory’s solemn stare, Clementine is a perfect blend of himself and all his Ponds. How could she ever be anything but magnificent?
“Daddy will make the mean, scary guns safe,” he murmurs, pacing the nursery floor with her. “Don’t you worry about mummy.”
She coos at him.
“Yes, well,” he falters. “I don’t want you to grow up without a father either, but I don’t think she’d really kill me – not again.”
Clementine gurgles softly.
He grins. “Yes, she is.” He stops suddenly, looking worried. “But don’t tell her I said that. Some things are just between you and daddy, eh?”
She snuffles sleepily in agreement. Watching her lashes flutter against her rounded cheeks as her eyes slip shut, the Doctor feels his hearts melt just a little more. He never thought this would ever be his again – a family – but River has given him such a wonderful gift and nothing he does in return will ever be enough. He should probably start by leaving her guns alone, but ensuring their daughter’s safety wins out in the end.
When she’s sleeping soundly, he shifts Clementine into her cot and brushes a soft kiss to her forehead before settling the mobile of stars overhead spinning with a flick of his finger. He grins down at her, watching tiny legs kick in sleep as the TARDIS hums a lullaby. It’s the same tune she sings for River, when she’s stressed or hurt or overtired – a special song for both his Songs.
He creeps out of the nursery on his tiptoes and only breathes easily again when he’s standing outside her room. Eager to crawl into bed beside his wife in the peaceful quiet of their bedroom, he nearly sprints down the hall and stops short at the sight of River sprawled across the mattress, hogging the blankets and utterly dead to the world. Smiling fondly, he slips into the room quietly and closes the door around, reluctant to shut it completely in case Clementine calls for them. He starts for the bed, intent on pulling a sleepy River into his arms and shutting his eyes, but on the way, he spots her gun holster lying at the foot of the bed, the gun still inside it.
The Doctor freezes in place, glancing slowly from the gun to River and back again, debating silently. He could just… attempt to babyproof it and see what happens. If it doesn’t work, River will never know, and if it does, maybe she’ll finally admit he’s right and let him sonic all of her guns. He crouches silently at the foot of the bed and picks up the holster gingerly, handling it like he might a grenade.
Wincing when the leather holster creaks loudly in the quiet of the bedroom, the Doctor glances at his wife and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds her still sleeping peacefully. Slowly, he inches the gun from the holster, the cold metal handle uncomfortable in his grip. Finally freeing it of its confines, he drops the holster back to the floor and lifts the gun, beaming triumphantly.
“Come along, little gunny,” he whispers, carrying it with him to his screwdriver across the room. “Just a little sonic and you’ll be -” He shifts the gun in his grip, reaching for his screwdriver, and his finger slips.
The blast is loud enough to rattle their bedroom and River jolts awake, hands curled into fists and arms already in front of her defensively as the Doctor yelps, dropping the gun to the floor and jumping back like a startled bird. His hat stand in the corner crashes spectacularly to the ground, and down the hall, Clementine begins to cry.
Sitting up in bed, River levels him with a sleepy glare; green eyes alight in her fury.
Backing away hastily, hands in the air, he explains quickly, “I was just trying to babyproof it!”
“It doesn’t need babyproofed,” she growls. “It needs Doctor proofed!”
Swallowing at the sheer force of her glower, the Doctor toes gingerly at the gun on the floor, nudging it cautiously in her direction as Clementine’s cries grow louder. “Erm… it won’t happen again?”
If anything the glower intensifies. It’s truly impressive, in a terrifying sort of way.
“You’re very pretty?”
River continues to glare.
He shifts anxiously under her gaze. “I’ll just go take care of the baby, shall I?”
She blinks at him and he takes it as his cue, fleeing the room to their wailing daughter. Sighing, River runs a hand through her rumpled curls and flops back onto the bed, listening to her husband down the hall, cooing to their child. Straining her ears, she can hear his soft voice murmuring Oh My Darlin’ Clementine. She stifles a smile that quickly turns into a triumphant smirk when she spots his smoking Stetson lying on the ground, utterly destroyed by his own clumsiness.
“Idiot,” she mutters fondly, and rolls back over to sleep.