It shouldn't have been a distraction, he knew. The gentle breaths she took, exhaling silently and slowly; the tiniest of rustles of her bedding; the occasional murmur of discomfort escaping past her plump little lips. The Doctor lowered a lever and brought the Tardis to a standstill, glancing sideways at the cause of his disruption in thought, and then he looked to the time rotor, spinning to a stop as his hands slipped away and he took a step back from the console.
He pulled his Sonic, shining a green light, listening to the buzz and the squeak his target gave as her arms jerked and her legs shifted underneath a purple blanket. For a moment her tiny face contorted and he rushed forward, Sonic gripped tightly in his right hand as he fell to his knees and held the edges of the small bassinet, shushing until those frail brows lifted and then settled and the mouth that had puckered returned to their neutral state.
"I'm sorry," he told the infant, "This just won't do." He winced as he lamented, "How can I concentrate on smoothing out the ripples in time when your breaths vibrate so readily in my ear? How can I mend the broken notes in the melody of history with your whimpers begging for my attention?" He slowly stood and sighed, "How can I remember the universe sits outside of those doors with your fragile heart lying here in my care?"
Looking to the corridor, he shook his head, and then rubbed at the bridge of his nose, pocketing his Sonic before turning his attention back to the sleeping child. "I told her it would be impossible and she laughed," he explained, "She said the presence of a child only brings out the best in us all, but does she not understand, how can I possibly fix anything, change anything, protect anything, with you here?" He rubbed at his forehead, "I can't have a child aboard the Tardis."
His hand lifted and waved through the air as he turned away, taking several long steps away from the girl and closing his eyes, frowning as he dropped his chin and gripped at his waist. She murmured and he glanced back, seeing her body give a wiggle, seeing her arms rise up in an angry swing at the sky before they thumped down against her bedding and she hiccuped the start of a cry.
"Clara!" He called. "Clara, she's upset again!"
The silence of the console space was greeted by the small warbled wails of the infant in her bassinet, angry, he knew, because she was cold. Frightened, he could hear, because she was alone. He moved swiftly to her side, peering in at her crumpled reddened face and he shushed her again, but she turned away, frustrated at the sound, she explained.
He slipped his fingers underneath her, cradling the back of her head and her bum, lifting her up and curling her into the slope of his left arm. Moving carefully, he began to walk a circle around the panels that blinked and beeped, swaying the girl he held as she went silent, dark eyes opening to peer up at him curiously because he was nothing more than a blurred shape to her. Too new to focus, but, she sighed, she was no longer cold, nor frightened… she was something else. A feeling he smiled at, in spite of his earlier frustrations.
"Love is a curious thing, isn't it," he breathed. "It can be as brilliant as the brightest of stars, and it can burn with the hatred of the largest suns, but we'd be nothing without it." He watched her curl her fingers and then spread them slowly, automatic reflexes, he knew, and yet when he touched his knuckle to her palm, he felt the warmth in his hearts as she gripped onto him tightly. "You would be a beautiful thought still tucked away in the back of your mother's heart without love; little more than a lost dream buried underneath the sorrow of a dozen lifetimes in your father's mind without love."
He laughed, a huff of air into her pale face that shut her eyes a moment before they pried themselves open to stare up at him again, lips working at words she wouldn't learn for years, but her breath spoke her thoughts. She knew love and she knew she was loved and she forgave him for the nonsense he muttered in annoyance of her newness. She forgave him for the creaks in his bones and the dust in his gears that made her presence so jarring.
Because she loved.
She loved unconditionally.
With her strong human heart, pumping away healthily in her wondrous little body, she loved so much it turned his cheeks red and forced him up a set of steps and into an old arm chair. To sniffle away at tears that slipped over his face as she watched him. "The presence of a child," he repeated Clara's words from only days ago, "Only brings out the best in us all."
He felt her palms slip over his shoulders as she slipped onto the armrest carefully, and he felt her cheek warm his temple as Clara whispered, "And you can fix everything, change everything, and protect everything, because she's here."
On a quiet laugh, he tilted his head into hers, feeling her nudge him back as they looked to the girl who lay securely within his arms. Her sleepy eyes slowly drifted shut, returning the Tardis to the silence of night.