![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Finding A Way Home - Keeping Mum
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katherine_b
Rating: PG (mention of things that kiddies might find a bit naughty)
Summary: The half-human Doctor knows a secret.
Word Count: approx 1,000 words
Characters: 10.5 and the TARDIS.
A/N: Written for the forty-eighth weekly drabble challenge with the prompt ‘Mum’s the Word’
“Go away,” the half-human Doctor grumbles into his pillow as he realises something has woken him up. His time-sense kicks in before he’s properly conscious and he knows it’s only been about three hours since he went to bed. “’S early,” he complains, speaking to the TARDIS, having guessed it’s the ship that has woken him up.
The TARDIS creaks in protest as he pulls himself upright in bed and rubs his eyes.
“Well, if you didn’t wake me up,” he demands, knowing what she means, “then who did? Or what did?” he adds, realising that he’s alone in the room.
It’s been almost two weeks since the Doctor dropped Martha and Mickey off in England and picked up the newlyweds. While he loved having the other two with him, he has to admit that he feels more at home with Donna and the Doctor. After thinking about it, he’d realised it’s because they’re equals, rather than isolating him by looking up to him as something different or special. They also go out of their way to make sure he feels included, which was something Martha and Mickey sometimes failed to do, perhaps because of the newness of their relationship. While he could understand it, the TARDIS felt a lot emptier with him and two humans on board than it did when Donna and the original Doctor returned.
At this moment, though, the Doctor would rather like his room to feel empty, rather than as if someone is trying to get his attention. He looks around suspiciously. The room is silent, and he’s about to lie down and try to go back to sleep when he feels the tiniest flicker on his internal radar.
“Oh, please,” he grumbles as he reaches out to turn on his bedside light, knowing that more sleep is impossible, “don’t tell me that I’m going to be awake now just because they’re having sex!”
As he piles up pillows behind his head and reaches for his book and reading glasses, however, he realises he’s mistaken. After all, he deliberately toned down the level of sensitivity so that he wouldn’t pick up on things like this. They do have the right to some privacy!
And then Donna’s not actually in pain. If the Doctor had injured her somehow, the flash he would receive on that internal radar wouldn’t feel the way it does now.
After this realisation, it doesn’t take him more than a fraction of a second to make the necessary leap of logic to understand that there are no longer just two people on that link he has with the other occupants of the TARDIS.
He can’t help the smile that appears on his face at the thought. After all, he knows how much Donna longs to be a mother, and he’s aware that a child of his own will help to heal the Doctor’s ongoing pain caused by the loss of Jenny and the others.
As for him, the thought of playing uncle is making him grin so hard that his cheeks are actually aching.
A creaking noise makes him look around and he sits upright as a door that he knows wasn’t on the wall before slowly opens.
“What are you up to, old girl?” he demands of the TARDIS, throwing back the covers and pulling on his dressing gown as he crosses the few feet of carpet to peer into the newly discovered room.
The space looks strangely unfinished and cluttered. Large boxes are stacked against one wall, and tins of paint, big and small, almost fill another corner. When he goes over to look, he sees that there are strips of plastic stencils and rolls of masking tape underneath the smaller tins.
“You control-freak,” he teases the ship, patting the wall so that she knows he doesn’t mean it. “You’ve always got to be involved somehow, don’t you?”
There’s a hum from within the TARDIS engines that sounds suspiciously like a soft chuckle.
Still grinning, the Doctor crosses to the other side of the room and peers at the large, flat boxes. They are all flat-pack furniture items that come with hex keys and are the most frustrating things in the Universe to put together unless you happen to own a sonic screwdriver.
“Oh, this is going to be brilliant,” he says aloud, bouncing on the balls of his feet and eager to get started.
But then something catches his eye and he peers at the boxes again. There’s a sticker on the end of each that shows what’s in it. What puzzles him is that there seems to be more than one crib. As he looks further, he realises that there’s an extra high chair as well. And an additional mobile to hang over the bed. A second carrier. A twin stroller. Two plastic-wrapped mattresses.
“Two?” he asks the TARDIS, looking around the room. “Do you know something I don’t? Or,” he goes on slowly, as realisation hits, feeling a bit silly, “have I just not been paying attention to the fact that the single voice I thought I was hearing in my mind is sometimes male and sometimes female. Gah, Doctor,” he slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, “you idiot!”
The TARDIS gives that little choking hum again and he rolls his eyes.
“Yes, all right,” he says impatiently. “We both know you’re the smart one. There’s no need to be quite that smug about it though! Otherwise I might go and get some lime green paint instead! How would you like that?!”
The room is suddenly silent, as if the TARDIS is appalled by the suggestion.
“All right,” he concedes with a chuckle, dusting his fingers down the doorjamb as he heads back into his bedroom. “You know I won’t do it. Now let me get dressed and then I’ll get stuck in here. Or,” he adds as he hunts through the drawer for clean underclothes, “should I wait until Donna and the other Doctor are awake so they can help?”
A soft rattle from the TARDIS negates that suggestion, and the Doctor can understand it. He can’t help loving the fact that, at least for now, he and the TARDIS are the only two possessors of this precious secret. Hugging that thought to himself, he chuckles at intervals as he showers and does his hair before coming out of the bathroom and entering the future nursery to find an overall draped over a ladder he knows wasn’t there before.
He casts an eye over the room as he dons the garment and then begins removing the wrapping from the new paint roller, only to see small pile of books on the floor beside the box that he knows contains a flat-pack bookshelf. The title of the top book is To Mum With Love and he grins again as he covers the furniture with the sheets provided by the TARDIS before he sets out the tray for the roller and prizes the lid off the first tin of paint.
“You’re right,” he tells the TARDIS, giving the ship a fond pat on her soon-to-be-painted wall, “Mum is most definitely the word!”
Family Connections
Author:
katherine_b Rating: PG (mention of things that kiddies might find a bit naughty)
Summary: The half-human Doctor knows a secret.
Word Count: approx 1,000 words
Characters: 10.5 and the TARDIS.
A/N: Written for the forty-eighth weekly drabble challenge with the prompt ‘Mum’s the Word’
“Go away,” the half-human Doctor grumbles into his pillow as he realises something has woken him up. His time-sense kicks in before he’s properly conscious and he knows it’s only been about three hours since he went to bed. “’S early,” he complains, speaking to the TARDIS, having guessed it’s the ship that has woken him up.
The TARDIS creaks in protest as he pulls himself upright in bed and rubs his eyes.
“Well, if you didn’t wake me up,” he demands, knowing what she means, “then who did? Or what did?” he adds, realising that he’s alone in the room.
It’s been almost two weeks since the Doctor dropped Martha and Mickey off in England and picked up the newlyweds. While he loved having the other two with him, he has to admit that he feels more at home with Donna and the Doctor. After thinking about it, he’d realised it’s because they’re equals, rather than isolating him by looking up to him as something different or special. They also go out of their way to make sure he feels included, which was something Martha and Mickey sometimes failed to do, perhaps because of the newness of their relationship. While he could understand it, the TARDIS felt a lot emptier with him and two humans on board than it did when Donna and the original Doctor returned.
At this moment, though, the Doctor would rather like his room to feel empty, rather than as if someone is trying to get his attention. He looks around suspiciously. The room is silent, and he’s about to lie down and try to go back to sleep when he feels the tiniest flicker on his internal radar.
“Oh, please,” he grumbles as he reaches out to turn on his bedside light, knowing that more sleep is impossible, “don’t tell me that I’m going to be awake now just because they’re having sex!”
As he piles up pillows behind his head and reaches for his book and reading glasses, however, he realises he’s mistaken. After all, he deliberately toned down the level of sensitivity so that he wouldn’t pick up on things like this. They do have the right to some privacy!
And then Donna’s not actually in pain. If the Doctor had injured her somehow, the flash he would receive on that internal radar wouldn’t feel the way it does now.
After this realisation, it doesn’t take him more than a fraction of a second to make the necessary leap of logic to understand that there are no longer just two people on that link he has with the other occupants of the TARDIS.
He can’t help the smile that appears on his face at the thought. After all, he knows how much Donna longs to be a mother, and he’s aware that a child of his own will help to heal the Doctor’s ongoing pain caused by the loss of Jenny and the others.
As for him, the thought of playing uncle is making him grin so hard that his cheeks are actually aching.
A creaking noise makes him look around and he sits upright as a door that he knows wasn’t on the wall before slowly opens.
“What are you up to, old girl?” he demands of the TARDIS, throwing back the covers and pulling on his dressing gown as he crosses the few feet of carpet to peer into the newly discovered room.
The space looks strangely unfinished and cluttered. Large boxes are stacked against one wall, and tins of paint, big and small, almost fill another corner. When he goes over to look, he sees that there are strips of plastic stencils and rolls of masking tape underneath the smaller tins.
“You control-freak,” he teases the ship, patting the wall so that she knows he doesn’t mean it. “You’ve always got to be involved somehow, don’t you?”
There’s a hum from within the TARDIS engines that sounds suspiciously like a soft chuckle.
Still grinning, the Doctor crosses to the other side of the room and peers at the large, flat boxes. They are all flat-pack furniture items that come with hex keys and are the most frustrating things in the Universe to put together unless you happen to own a sonic screwdriver.
“Oh, this is going to be brilliant,” he says aloud, bouncing on the balls of his feet and eager to get started.
But then something catches his eye and he peers at the boxes again. There’s a sticker on the end of each that shows what’s in it. What puzzles him is that there seems to be more than one crib. As he looks further, he realises that there’s an extra high chair as well. And an additional mobile to hang over the bed. A second carrier. A twin stroller. Two plastic-wrapped mattresses.
“Two?” he asks the TARDIS, looking around the room. “Do you know something I don’t? Or,” he goes on slowly, as realisation hits, feeling a bit silly, “have I just not been paying attention to the fact that the single voice I thought I was hearing in my mind is sometimes male and sometimes female. Gah, Doctor,” he slaps his forehead with the heel of his palm, “you idiot!”
The TARDIS gives that little choking hum again and he rolls his eyes.
“Yes, all right,” he says impatiently. “We both know you’re the smart one. There’s no need to be quite that smug about it though! Otherwise I might go and get some lime green paint instead! How would you like that?!”
The room is suddenly silent, as if the TARDIS is appalled by the suggestion.
“All right,” he concedes with a chuckle, dusting his fingers down the doorjamb as he heads back into his bedroom. “You know I won’t do it. Now let me get dressed and then I’ll get stuck in here. Or,” he adds as he hunts through the drawer for clean underclothes, “should I wait until Donna and the other Doctor are awake so they can help?”
A soft rattle from the TARDIS negates that suggestion, and the Doctor can understand it. He can’t help loving the fact that, at least for now, he and the TARDIS are the only two possessors of this precious secret. Hugging that thought to himself, he chuckles at intervals as he showers and does his hair before coming out of the bathroom and entering the future nursery to find an overall draped over a ladder he knows wasn’t there before.
He casts an eye over the room as he dons the garment and then begins removing the wrapping from the new paint roller, only to see small pile of books on the floor beside the box that he knows contains a flat-pack bookshelf. The title of the top book is To Mum With Love and he grins again as he covers the furniture with the sheets provided by the TARDIS before he sets out the tray for the roller and prizes the lid off the first tin of paint.
“You’re right,” he tells the TARDIS, giving the ship a fond pat on her soon-to-be-painted wall, “Mum is most definitely the word!”
Family Connections
dorky
(no subject)
(no subject)