A/N: I've had this written down in a plan for a while now and I've just finished the prologue. Initially, I was going to wait, but I'm impatient and wanted to get this out as I'm super excited about this story! It's emotional, I warn you now. I don't know how long it'll be - I'll go through the plan and see what I've got. Been a while since I looked at it.
This is only short since I didn't want to dwell too much on this part of the story since this isn't what it's about. This is a story about the Doctor and his daughter, but this chapter is needed in terms of a bit of background.
Like I said before, I'm worry for the bad summary, it's not an easy story to summarise in so little characters.
WARNINGS: possible triggers as this chapter deals with losing someone immediately after giving birth. Like I said, the rest of the story will focus on the Doctor and Ever 16 years after this chapter takes place so this should be the only warning of this nature.
Please let me know what you think and if it's worth continuing!
To whom we lose in death, may they live in others we love
He'd always remember how he felt when she told him. He remembered a cocktail of emotions running through him the moment the words had passed her lips. Joy, fear, worry, love; all of which flooded his veins in equal measure. He was going to be a father again; or, at least, he had the opportunity to become a father again. Nothing ever ran smoothly for them.
They had been together for a year – married and bonded for just three months of that – and just getting to this point hadn't been a straight forward journey. The species difference between them had meant that him even admitting to her how he felt had been a tremendous challenge. He would outlive her and losing her, he knew, would hurt. So for years he stopped himself from getting too close, only to finally realise, after having come seconds away from losing her, that it would hurt him more if he kept his distance.
But now, his biology differing from hers had come back to haunt him. She was pregnant. Human and pregnant with his – a Time Lord's – child. It wasn't safe. It could kill her.
And so he told her.
He had mentioned it before; told her that they couldn't ever have children. In actual fact, he had always been under the assumption that she would never even be able to fall pregnant with his child, but by some miracle she had. But in doing so, it meant she and their child were in danger.
However, he knew that she wanted this and, truth be told, so did he. He wanted this child – this impossible child – and when she firmly told him that, despite the risks, she was keeping it, he had discovered that there was a chance of them coming out of this unscathed.
Of course, at first he had been reluctant and it wasn't until she had pointed out that this child would allow him to have something of her after she was gone, that he finally allowed his joy at becoming a father again win out. The worry never really left, but he didn't let it overpower.
To both their astonishment and relief, the pregnancy went smoothly and anyone would have been fooled into thinking that the worst was over and that there was nothing now to worry about – not since she was due any day now. They had allowed their worries to lapse, but it wouldn't have mattered either way. Nothing they could have done, worrying or not, would have prepared them fully for the final outcome.
She only went into labour a few days early, so neither of them had suspected that anything was yet wrong. It was only after the birth of their child – a daughter; Ever they had called her – that the worst made itself known.
She'd fallen unconscious after her husband had taken their daughter from her in order to clean her up and make sure she was fine. He was about to pass her back, telling her that there was nothing wrong when he realised she was no longer awake.
Panic had rushed through him then – hit him like the wave from a tsunami. He knew that she had been tired – expected it, after all – but she was also very pale. Too pale.
It had been in that moment that the realisation of what might happen dawned on him. She had bleed out; the strain of the birth having caused her to lose more blood than either of them had expected.
He tried everything.
But nothing worked.
It hadn't been until he had tried everything he could multiple times that he let himself stop. There was nothing more he could do. Her heart had stopped, her skin grey and pale. She was gone.
His daughter cried out – almost as if she could sense that something was wrong. He looked over at her and it hit him. How could he manage this alone?
He went over to where she lay in her cot and swallowed down the tears that hadn't fallen. He couldn't do this; he just couldn't.
He left her with her grandmother, who was still distraught after the loss of her daughter, telling her that he needed time. That he couldn't do this, not now, not without her.
And for two months he ran. It was what he had been doing his whole life, running. He ran away from the pain and the heartache that he had endured over those last couple of months and he ran from the responsibilities that he now had. He ran and he ran until he could run no more.
Then one day it had hit him. No more running. It was finally time to stop. He needed to be a father to his daughter who had lost her mother before she had even known her. He made his decision and, two months after he had left, he returned with the vow to be the type of father his daughter Ever Rose (a middle name he had given her upon returning in memory of her mother) that she deserved.
After centuries of looking, he had finally found his purpose in life.
