The road less travelled...

Title: Finding A Way Home – New Arrivals
Author: katherine_b
Rating: G
Summary: I’ve teased enough. This, really, is what you think it is.
Word Count: 3,543 words
Characters: Ten, Donna, Sue, Geoff and Addy.
A/N: The beautiful graphic in this fic was made for me by eljay_earthgirl. Thank you so much!



“Smile!” the half-human Doctor orders, completely unnecessarily, because Donna and the other Doctor haven’t stopped smiling since baby Sue first screamed her protest at arriving in the world. The appearance of little Geoff seven-and-a-half minutes later only made them beam even harder. Then again, he has to admit he's been grinning pretty hard himself.

Donna cradles her children, a smile of pure joy and contentment on her face, and, pressed as close to her as he can manage, with one arm supporting Geoff and the other around Donna’s back, her husband touches his head lightly against hers.

The man takes the photo and lowers the camera to peer at the image. Then he frowns and looks again.

“It’s blurry,” he complains.

The Time Lord arches an eyebrow and comes over to take the object from him, glancing at the screen, before looking up again.

“Your eyes are blurry,” he retorts, putting the camera on the table and then placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Not surprisingly, really, considering how long you’ve been awake. Won’t be long!” he calls back to Donna even as he steers the man in blue out of the room.

“Wait – what?” the half-human Doctor protests rather feebly, trying to wriggle free. “What are you doing?”

“You do realise,” the other man points out in almost conversational tones, but still leading the two of them relentlessly in the direction of the bedrooms, “that it’s been more hours than I want to consider since you’ve slept.”

“Hey, I slept!” protests the half-human Doctor indignantly. “When you were unconscious I had a brief – well, I suppose it wasn’t quite a sleep. Not really a nap either, if I’m honest. I...”

“You mean you shut your eyes for ten seconds – ”

“It was at least eleven!”

“ – And you think that’s enough to keep you going? Well, I’ve got news for you, Earth Boy,” he adds with a snort as he throws open the door to the other man’s bedroom and all but shoves him over the threshold. “I’ve got enough to do looking after a wife and two newborn babies without picking up your unconscious body off the floor when you pass out from exhaustion. So have the goodness to collapse on your own bed and not waste my time, huh?”

But for all of his brusque tones, there is affection in the way in which he gives the thin shoulder beneath the blue suit a reassuring squeeze and then gently turns him so they are facing one another.

“I know you,” he goes on softly, and his voice carries the deepest understanding. “I know you because I know me. I know what you were doing for all those hours and days while you were waiting for me to wake up. And then all the effort you put in helping me recover my memory. Not one thought of yourself or what it would mean to you if I never came back.”

“Not quite,” admits the half-human Doctor, feeling almost uncomfortable at the too-good idea that other people seem to have of him, as if he’s some sort of paragon. “Believe me, there were moments...”

“You never gave up though.” The Time Lord’s voice holds quiet meaning. “You never gave up on me. You could have. Called it. Removed the healing cell. Left me to die and gone on to tackle the Universe in your own way.”

“No!”

His cry is a protest against the very thought, against all of the ideas that that suggestion encompasses. It almost makes him angry to hear the other man state it. He even finds himself tearing up, which suggests that he might be more tired than he’s willing to admit.

“No,” echoes the Time Lord. “Exactly. And now,” he goes on, an authoritative tone creeping in to his voice, “it’s time you stopped looking after me and let me do the looking after for a while. Sleep, and then a decent meal when you wake up. Frankly, you look half-starved!”

The man in blue attempts a laugh in response to the exaggeration, but finds himself yawning instead. The other Doctor guides him over to the bed and forcibly seats him on the edge, kneeling down to take off his shoes.

Oh, the sheer bliss of a soft surface that he can truly appreciate without having to worry about anyone or anything else! He actually moans with relief and has to put out a hand to stop himself from falling against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed.

He wants to revel in this moment, in the knowledge that everything is safe again and that he no longer has to dread any of those nightmare thoughts he has considered over the past few days becoming reality.

But things are getting hazy and it all fades away at about the same time as the other Doctor begins gently removing his jacket. He doesn’t even remember lying down.

* * *
Stretching luxuriously, the Doctor rolls onto his side, about to sink back to sleep again when there is a high-pitched squeal and something wriggles madly under his arm. Unable to help chuckling, he rolls onto his back again, feeling as a small, fatty body clambers up on his chest where it sits and makes faces at him.

“Sorry, little guy,” he apologises. “Didn’t know you were there.”

The Adipose gives a fang-toothed grin and it’s at that moment that everything comes flooding back to the man’s mind. He has to endure several seconds of his hearts racing before he remembers how it all worked out in the end and he lets his head sink deep into the pillow with a relieved sigh.

Then he looks up at his little friend again and gentle pokes it in the stomach. “So where were you during all of that?” he demands. “Nicked off as soon as Donna left, didn’t you? I presume you found somewhere to hide.”

“Actually, he was with Donna,” the other man’s voice says from the doorway, and the half-human Doctor turns his head on the pillow to find the Time Lord standing there holding a tray. “She told me she felt him in her pocket the whole time.”

“And how is your wife?” demands the man in bed as he wriggles into a sitting position and heaps pillows behind his head.

“Sound asleep, unsurprisingly,” replies the other Doctor, settling the tray on his knees and stretching himself across the end of the bed. “She nodded off soon after I got back from tucking you in. I feel like I’ve been stuck in the Glen of Sleeping for the past seven-and-a-half hours, waiting to see who was going to wake up first.”

“What, you haven’t been spending time with your babies?” demands the half-human Doctor as he lifts the cover off the plate and peers eagerly at the large pile of banana pancakes. “Ooh, this looks good!”

“I should hope so, all my hard work,” chuckles the other man. “There’s more in the kitchen if you want them. I’ve restrained myself...”

“...and only eaten a dozen or so instead of the whole batch,” comes the snappy retort as the half-human Doctor pours maple syrup lavishly over the plate. “Your self-control is remarkable!”

The Time Lord grins rather guiltily as the other Doctor begins to realise just how hungry he is and attacks his food as if it’s the last meal he will ever eat. The only sound in the room for some minutes is the chink of cutlery on china. The Doctor’s sigh, as he swallows the final mouthful of pancake, dripping in syrup, and washes it down with the last of his juice and then gulps the remains of his tea, is enthusiastic enough to ruffle the other man’s hair.

“That,” he says firmly, “was brilliant.”

“Glad to hear it,” replies the Time Lord, running his fingers through his hair as if to check that it’s still attached. “Do you want...?”

He is cut-off mid-sentence by the sound of a wail from the neighbouring room, and leaps up off the bed, darting through the dividing door into the nursery.

When the half-human Doctor hears a second voice join in, he sets the tray to one side, throws back the blankets, slides his feet into his slippers and joins his progenitor, who is walking up and down, a crying baby on each arm, looking rather helpless.

“I’d forgotten they could be like this,” he admits over the noise when the other man appears.

“You’ve never had twins before, so you wouldn’t know it was going to be exactly like this anyway,” retorts the man in pyjamas as he takes baby Sue and rocks her against his chest. After a few seconds, he understands what’s wrong and looks up. “We’re going to have to wake Donna up, at least if she really is sure she wants to feed them herself,” he tells the babies’ father. “They want food and they want it now.”

“I’d rather not wake her if it’s possible,” says the Time Lord rather uneasily, casting a glance at the door that leads to the bedroom he shares with his wife. “With all she’s gone through – not just the birth, but her worrying about me – she really needs to rest.”

“My friend, there really aren’t that many other options,” the other man teases, as the baby in his arms gives a particularly loud cry. “If we don’t feed them soon, then, even if the TARDIS is blocking the sound, which I presume she is, Donna is probably going to pick up on their distress.”

“Right, formula it is then.” The man in the brown suit nods at the door leading back through to the other Doctor’s bedroom. “Let’s go into the kitchen. It’s further away and might buy us enough time to get them fed before she realises.”

In the kitchen, the half-human Doctor suddenly finds himself holding both crying babies as the Time Lord darts for the cupboard and begins mixing up formula from a large tin. The man in pyjamas is unable to help since he has his hands full of screaming babies, but he sends a questioning thought to the TARDIS about why she isn’t doing anything.

With a soft click, the gas burner on the stove turns on just as the Time Lord sets a saucepan on it with the bottles floating in water. Fishing out his sonic, he uses it to detect the temperature of the formula and, when the bottles are finally ready, brings them over to where the other Doctor is pacing up and down the room, trying not to be deafened.

Relinquishing Sue, the half-human Doctor takes one of the bottles and lies baby Geoff back on his arm, slipping the rubber teat between the boy’s lips as he takes a seat at the table.

The screaming melts away to the sound of two babies sucking enthusiastically, and the men exchange relieved grins.

“I really had forgotten all this,” admits the Time Lord, slightly adjusting the baby girl in his arms. “How little they are. How helpless.”

“That’s because you had a nanny to help you last time,” the other man points out. “You were busy with the Academy and everything, so I don’t think you had much to do with them when they were this size. I doubt though,” he adds, a meaningful tone in his voice, “if Donna will let you get out of it as easily as you did then.”

The man in brown rolls his eyes, although a smile is pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Probably not,” he agrees, removing the empty bottle from his daughter’s mouth and lifting her so that she rests against her shoulder.

He begins pacing the room, gently patting her back, as the other man waits for Geoff to finish his share.

“All those revolting nappy changes,” teases the half-human Doctor as he is finally able to begin burping the baby boy. “Cleaning up after them when they get sick. Putting up with them crying non-stop. Dribble everywhere...”

“If you’re trying to make me unhappy,” interrupts the other Doctor, his eyes dancing, “you’re wasting your time. Not even all of that happening at once could change how I’m feeling right now.”

Smiling in his turn, the man at the table stops teasing and lowers Geoff back into his arms once the baby has finished being burped. He smiles into the boy’s brown eyes, which are identical to those of his father, and brushes flat the fuzz of ginger hair.

“Oh, there you are!” the Time Lord says suddenly, and the other Doctor looks up in time to see the Adipose skip into the room. “What have you been up to, Addy?”

It takes the half-human Doctor a second to remember to associate that name with the sentient blob of fat that is doing its best to clamber up on to the table.

A number of other associations spring to his mind a fraction of time later and he shoots the other Doctor a suspicious glance, certain that there was some hidden meaning behind his question, which, after all, the Adipose is unable to answer since it can’t speak.

There is something very suspicious about the way in which the Time Lord is fussing around his daughter and refusing to look up.

However thoughts of Verity are rapidly overtaking everything else.

He realises she actually hasn’t crossed his mind since those dark hours when he thought he might have to give her up if the man now standing opposite him hadn’t survived.

He hasn’t considered, because he hasn’t allowed himself to, how it must have felt for her, walking away from the TARDIS after she spent so long searching for him in the first place. It occurs to him for the first time that she no longer even has the journal, possibly the only remnant of one of the few family members she was close to, and how selfish it was of him to demand it from her when he could so easily remember what was written in it anyway.

He wonders how soon it would be reasonable of him to suggest they go back for her.

He’s about to say something to that effect, is in fact working out the best way to phrase the sentence so he doesn’t sound too eager, when another voice breaks rudely into the silence of the room.

“Is that formula?”

The Time Lord starts visibly, fortunately without waking Sue, and an uneasy expression of guilt appears on his face as he turns to face his wife.

“Um,” he prevaricates wildly, “maybe?”

“It is!” Donna storms into the room and snatches the bottle from the table beside where the half-human Doctor is sitting, waving it at her husband. “We talked about this! I mean, why do we even have formula?”

The man in the brown suit mutters something that seems to end with ‘d-i-s’ and Donna raises a hand, clearly about to slap him. Then her eyes fall on Sue and she is brought up short.

With a hopeful look on his face, the Time Lord makes the mistake of offering their daughter to her mother. Donna cradles the sleeping child for a moment before gently passing her on to the other Doctor. Then she turns and delivers a smart smack to her husband’s arm.

“Well,” that man confesses, rubbing the spot where her fingers made contact, “that was unexpected. I was thinking you’d aim for the usual place.”

“Between the sound of skin on skin and your squawking, that would make too much noise,” Donna retorts, glancing at her sleeping children. “I don’t want to wake them up. Besides,” she pokes him, “I have to save something for next time you do it.”

“Now, Donna,” her husband begins in his most soothing tones, holding up his hands in a gesture designed to placate her, even though it has never successfully done so in the past, “you needed sleep and...”

“Don’t tell me what I needed,” she shoots back. “It’s not about what I needed, it’s about what they needed!”

“One meal of it isn’t going to hurt them,” the Time Lord argues. “And this isn’t the same as the formula you’d find on Earth...”

The half-human Doctor, still carrying the twins, sidles towards the door and manages to get out of the room without being spotted. He hears the patter of feet on the floor behind him that suggests Addy has had the same idea.

“Definitely not the place for us,” he says, slowing down so that the Adipose can scamper ahead.

As he tucks the twins in their beds, however, he knows, and is aware that the other Doctor also understands, that the formula is not the issue. It is simply the catalyst for the emotional outburst that Donna desperately needs. Considering what she has been through over the past few hours, she deserves the chance to let everything out in the arms of the man who loves her.

Half-closing the door that divides the nursery and his room, he turns to find his suit, clean and pressed, waiting for him on the chair next to his bathroom door.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to the TARDIS – the thought of putting back on the clothes he had worn for all those hours waiting for the Time Lord to wake up hadn’t been appealing – and heads into the bathroom.

The room is already full of steam and delightfully warm. He dumps his clothes on the top of the radiator and is about to open the shower door when there is a rushing sound and he realises his bathroom, for the first time, now has a bath. A very large one, with jets that are turning it into a miniature spa.

“Right,” he says briskly, tuning his thoughts in to those of the TARDIS. “This is my thanks? Yes?” and when there is a purr from the machine, he adds, “You do know, if I fall asleep and drown in there, you’re the one who’s going to have to tell the others.”

The ship gives a rattle of affirmation and what is clearly a chuckle at his joke.

“Well, all right then,” he says eagerly. “Allons-y!”

Removing his dressing gown, kicking off his slippers and shedding his pyjamas, he steps into the bath, unable to help ‘accidentally’ knocking in a bottle of bubble bath that just happens to be standing on the edge. He ‘rescues’ it before too much leaks out, but there is enough in the water to produce an almost instead heap of foam thanks to the jets.

He plays with the bubbles and wallows for the next eight-one minutes, the TARDIS keeping the water at the absolute optimum temperature. He washes everything from his hair to between his toes and everything else he can think of. He drinks several cups of tea that appear on the shelf near the bath-pillow, while reading two books (the TARDIS developed a waterproof e-book a few centuries ago, which does in a pinch, although he still prefers the feel of paper and binding). He even has a nap, just to get rid of the very last bit of residual tiredness and completely recharge his batteries. The TARDIS provides a bath pillow so that he doesn't drown.

His first waking thought is to wonder what Verity will make of the TARDIS.

Somehow he can’t stay here after his thoughts have strayed in her direction.

Getting out of the bath, he dries himself as he watches the water drain away and then gets dressed. For reasons he chooses not to consider, he pays particular attention to his hair.

He goes into the nursery to check on the twins. Sue has just opened her mouth to begin crying when he scoops her up and cradles her against his chest.

“There now, beautiful girl,” he murmurs. “What’s the matter, hmm?”

The discovery of a damp nappy swiftly answers that question and he changes her before sitting with her in the rocking chair and slowly rocking back and forth until she falls asleep again. He tucks her in to bed before turning to Geoff, but the little boy is still asleep.

For several minutes he stands in the middle of the room, opening his mind so that he can feel the emotions spilling from the twins’ uncontrolled thoughts, detecting the patterns and ideas that gave their father back everything.

“Brilliant,” he murmurs as he detects the faint hints of memory, human and Time Lord, intertwined. “Absolutely brilliant.”

It’s times like these that he wishes he had someone to talk to, to share his relief at what happened today, to revisit it in detail. Addy isn’t much of a conversationalist, and the half-human Doctor has the sneaking suspicion, from the way in which the door of the room belonging to the other Doctor and Donna is firmly closed, that there is a certain amount of ‘making up’ going on after their spat. No hope for company from that quarter then.

The man in blue wanders along the passage and finds himself in the console room. He isn’t about to send the ship out of the vortex, but he moves down the ramp and opens the doors, staring out into the twisting colours of the vortex, thinking.

Prisoner of Fate