"Your grandfather is weird."
Icarus was used to hearing it, so used to it that he simply shrugged in response and looked to the man in the sunglasses with the unkempt silver hair who strummed a guitar at the gates of the school and then he corrected confidently, "My dad is weird," before turning to give the pale ginger boy just behind him a pointed stare of his large dark eyes through his mop of brown waves to add, "And I rather him that way, thanks."
His careful footsteps quickened towards his father, and he watched the man smile down at him, oblivious to the exchange that had occurred, his slender fingers flowing gently over the strings, the hum of a familiar chord buzzing the cool autumn air. His mum's song, Icarus knew all too well. His grin lifted and he grabbed hold of the straps of his pack as he stopped in front of the man in the long formal jacket with the black hoodie zipped up underneath. A t-shirt of Icarus's favorite band remained hidden there – a token they'd gotten at a concert not long ago.
One Icarus should never have attended, except that the place he called home came with an advantage most homes did not. Aside from the Olympian sized swimming pool, and the never-ending library, and the astronomy room, and the bounce house room, and the enormous kitchen in which he must have burned a thousand soufflés with his mum over his lifetime... it was a time machine.
His father gave his hair a loving flick of his left hand, removing the thick locks from his eyes, and then leaned back slightly, looking him over. Assessing him, Icarus knew, and he blushed warmly at the notion. Of course his father worried about him, moreso sometimes than his mother.
The sunglasses his old man wore buzzed and Icarus glanced to his left, forefinger of his right hand brushing the tip of his small nose before he asked, "Both hearts in working condition still, dad, or do I need a doctor?"
His father feigned a laugh, then swiftly swung the guitar back, letting it settle against his bum as his hands fell tenderly on Icarus's shoulders, pulling him into a hug he melted into before his father plucked him back and stated pointedly, "Went to Floritopia today, thought we might stop by again tonight before bed – your mum thinks you'll enjoy a drink she likens to a frothy hot chocolate with just a touch of cinnamon."
Icarus laughed easily, nodding as he fell into step with his father, walking towards a blue box parked just enough away from the school to not stand out. There would come a time, Icarus knew, when they'd have to hide it better; when school children – or teachers – might follow him home out of curiosity, because not many people knew as much about history as he did, and not many could so easily decipher other languages. And not so many thought the science project for an eleven-year-old should be based on science they'd never seen.
"So," his father began quietly, in that way that Icarus knew he'd be asking him a heavy question – or a ridiculous one, except his hands were in his pockets and his head was shifted downward, eyes only barely glancing over at him. Icarus's own hands came up at his waist, fidgeting in much the same way his mother's did when she was nervous and he sighed. He knew, Icarus understood, and he waited as the man finished, "The boys in school, they tease you about me, don't they?"
"I don't care that they do," Icarus argued immediately, voice cracking as his body twisted towards him before turning and beginning to walk backwards next to the man, trying to discern how much of this was concern for a son and how much might be embarrassment as a father.
Gesturing at his fingers, knotted up at the knuckles, his father chuckled as he told him, "Yes – yes, son – you do."
Dropping his hands at his sides, Icarus twisted his body around to walk beside him normally again as his head bowed and he shook it, glancing up sadly to tell him, "They don't know you how I do." He pointed, "That bothers me, dad." On a shrug, hands coming up at his sides, he shouted "If they knew how amazing you are; if they knew how cool you are," his arms fell and he squirmed slightly as he repeated, "They don't know you how I do."
Icarus glanced up to see the solemn look on his father's face and he felt his hearts racing as they reached the Tardis and stood, each at either side of the entrance, Icarus wondering what the man was thinking. And then he asked, "Do you know why you're named Icarus?"
Rolling his eyes, he responded, "Mum read it in a book because she loves histories and is absolutely fascinated with Greeks and Romans and..." he stopped when his father's finger lifted to stop his rambling.
"Your name is a warning," his father told him quietly, "We're different, your mother and I, and you. Well. You should never have happened. Your mum's heart doesn't beat, her pulse doesn't throb its way through her body and we don't know if it ever will and we'd resigned ourselves to her end until the morning after that first night, the morning we'd decided would be her last day." Giving Icarus's cheek a quick caress, his father continued, "For eight months, three weeks, two days, four hours, and six minutes, her heart beat for you – to bring you into this universe – and we agreed then that she'd see your life through."
Swallowing roughly as he felt his chest drumming, Icarus asked, "Why's my name a warning?"
"Do you know the story of Icarus?"
He nodded slowly lips pressing together tightly as he reached up to take hold of the handle on the Tardis door. "The story itself is a warning – too much hubris means crash and burn."
His father gave him a smile, one that came with his light eyes closing and some memory burning its way through his mind before he nodded and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "You're our Icarus, and we should humble ourselves, or risk losing you to the crash and burn."
Looking away, Icarus nodded, curious to know more, because he understood his mother's heart was frozen – he understood she was frozen in a second of time – but he never knew it had restarted for a time. He only knew there were always hushed conversations about ways to avoid the inevitable and they always ended with frowns and the acknowledgement that they couldn't.
Raising his head as his father entered the Tardis, Icarus asked quickly, "What's any of this got to do with the boys at school?"
Blinking twice at him in a sort of befuddlement, his father shrugged and scoffed, "Oh, nothing at all. You can't let those boys at school weigh your mind down with their pettiness. They're only human and trust me when I say, you'll hear far worse as you grow older."
The door closed, leaving Icarus in the cold street, hands coming up to grip the straps of his pack again as he considered it. He was the son of two quasi-immortal beings, traveling about time and space between school days and on holiday. His father was right, there were probably better things to worry about. He smiled, and then let out the smallest huff of a laugh – one his mother would say he got from his father – and just as he turned, the door opened again and his father popped his head through.
"You really think I'm amazing," he began curiously, glancing inside before turning back to add with a crooked grin Icarus mimicked, "You really think I'm cool?"
Raising his hands, he playfully shoved at his father, laughing aloud and hearing a familiar chuckle from inside escape from lips that would greet him with a cool kiss to his forehead and words that would ease all of his worries – as his mother often did – and he teased, "Hubris dad – this piece of junk's already crashed and burned enough," and he pushed in, giving the outside world one last once-over before shutting the door behind him.