It wasn't as if they had needed any incentive to have the sex that would eventually lead to... it. They had attributed their frantic coupling to the sheer joy of being together again. And that was certainly also true. The emotions they had both felt when they first laid eyes on each other again, and knew, simply iknewi/...Recognised each the way only Time Lords could... They had had stood there for hours. Holding hands, touching foreheads.
Slowly, between bouts of sleep and lovemaking (and enough nourishment to sustain the latter), they began telling each other of their time apart. Death, life, the unfathomable realisation that they were alone in the Universe (or so they had thought) — she in a simulated world, granted, but it had been real to her, and to the beings inside it. They did not always use words; thoughts, expressed more through sensations and images than thoughts-in-words were sufficient. No forgiveness was necessary. There was nothing to forgive. Their joy could have contained the known Universe. And then some. Once they started spending slightly more time with their clothes on (Not that they always had the patience to take them off) they started saving planets again. They still had a hard time letting each other out of their sights (Romana worried that their reluctance to split up could mean one life less saved. Then again, argued the Doctor, perhaps they were stronger in numbers). They would give each other reassuring glances and smiles. A brush of hands and fingers. The fear of losing one another again would, in time, become less acute, and they would be able to spend time apart again. But it would never quite go away. That was impossible.
But by then it had already happened. She was already showing symptoms.
''You look different.'' He told her one day, while they were both examining some readings over the TARDIS console.
Romana didn't look up. ''It's called regeneration, Doctor.''
''No, not that... Although, I have mentioned how lovely you are, you little hotsy-totsy, you?'' And she really was, all thick, chestnut hair and deep green eyes. Of course, she would always be lovely to him, no matter what she looked like.
''No, you haven't. Not in words, anyway.'' This time she did glance up at him, smirking.
He blushed furiously. It was a little late to be embarrassed,
''No, I mean...You look... softer, somehow. There's, like, a glow or something. Like you're... you're...
She was staring in his general direction, but not looking at him. Or anything else for that matter. She was pale as a ghost. The words didn't seem to register with him immediately. His mind searched frantically for similar-sounding phrases. For a moment he was certain he about to keel over like in a silent comedy, and that Romana would throw a bucket of water on him or waft smelling salts under his nose, accompanied by light-hearted piano-noises.
He looked straight ahead for what seemed like eons before speaking. ''How could you let this happen?'' He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth.
She blinked at him and left the console room.
It was hours before he came after her. Or perhaps he hadn't been able to find her. She had deliberately avoided the library, as that would have been the first place that he would look for her in. So she had decided on the wardrobe. She had sequestered herself behind a rack of coats (she recognised several of his, including that gigantic burgundy one he had stubbornly insisted on wearing constantly in spite of her misgivings).
His head stuck out between the coats.
''There you are. I was getting a bit worried. Well... not worried as in I-thought-a-leopard-ate-you worried. More as in you-haven't-graced-me-with-your-lovely-presence-since-I-acted-like-a-complete-git worried.''
''I'm fine,'' she said, flatly. But she was no longer angry. She simply looked exhausted and lonely. His hearts ached at the sight.
He crawled out from the rack and sat beside her against the wall. Neither of them said anything for a while. Their feelers were out, both of them trying to find words even remotely appropriate to the situation.
''You're pregnant,'' he finally said, matter-of-factly.
''I've taken all the tests available in the sick bay.''
''How many are there?''
''More than you could possibly need.''
''Pregnant...With child. As in a tiny blob made from your bits and my bits swimming around in your uterus.''
''I am carrying genetic material from the both of us, yes.''
Another pause. He had to tread carefully. Say something neutral.
''How far along are you?''
''A few weeks.''
Another stretch of silence before he gathered up the courage to ask her the next question.
''What are you going to do?''
''I thought about ending it without telling you.''
''Romana...'' He put an arm around her, gently. This seemed to break whatever was holding her together, and she burst into desperate tears, hiding her face in the shoulder of his jacket.
The Doctor held her close, patting her head. It was all for the best that she didn't see his own eyes turning wet.
''I didn't 'let it happen,'' you know,'' she hiccuped.
''I know... Clearly, something's going on that's beyond us... maybe it's because we're the only ones left. He felt her go completely still in his arms. She was thinking.
They both knew that the chances of the pregnancy being successful and the fetus viable were quite slim. This was a necessity of being part of such a long-living species. Time Lords were bio-engineered beings. However, said engineering had taken place enough millenia ago that it was now hereditary, passed from parent to offspring. While all genetic Gallifreyans had possessed the basic DNA — a blueprint, if you will — the Time Lords had evolved into a separate subspecies in their own right. A Time Lady could control her own ovulation, but not her fertility rate. Now, however, something unplanned had clearly occurred.
I'll... support you,'' he promised her. ''In whatever decision you make, I mean.''
She pulled back from him. Somehow, she had managed to fish a handkerchief from his front pocket, without him noticing, which she proceeded to blow her nose in and then tuck back into his pocket without comment.
''It's an unusual situation. For us, that is,'' he commented
A chill ran down her spine. ''It is quite extraordinary, isn't it? The odds of me conceiving without intervention and without self-induced ovulation are...''
''Astronomical,'' he finished.
''Well, I wouldn't go that far,'' she said, drily. ''But they are very, very low, nonetheless,'' she conceded.
''I've got impressive swimmers, as they say.''
Romana arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ''They?''
''Just an expression.''He took a deep breath. ''Maybe we could just... make a go of it. See how it goes, you know?''
Make go of it? His mind screamed at him. This isn't a new hovercar. It's a potential new, tiny person with a tiny individuality which will eventually become a big individuality and will hate you forever because you decided it was something you should ''make a go'' of.
Romana had the same thoughts. At the same time, she knew that he knew how ridiculous it sounded. And yet...
''We should run some tests first,'' she decided. ''An ultrasound would be useful.''
''Look at you, all business like and Romana-y again. I approve.''
She smiled in spite of herself.
...
There it was. Indisputable. An embryonic Time Lord. Though they both knew that the beating of its still single heart did not mean life on any scale but a very primitive one, neither of them could help but stare, transfixed, at the screen.
''Wow... '' the Doctor breathed. He approached the screen, putting his face as close as he could get.
''Why, hello there...'' He tilted his head, eyes wide. Romana hurriedly wiped her eyes before he turned back to face her.
''So...''
''So.'' Romana agreed.
And then, without uttering the words, they knew. They would try. Though the not insignificant rational parts of their brains were admonishing them harshly, telling them that this was without a doubt the most foolish, reckless, impulsive decision they could possibly make. They would, in the Doctor's vernacular ''make a go of it.'' Under normal circumstances, their decision would no doubt have been made more rationally, though certainly not without tender emotion, and they would likely have arrived at a different conclusion. However, these were not normal circumstances. They were the last of the Time Lords. Not that their decision was influenced by a desire to carry on the species. This would be impossible from one family. And this child, if it were born, would likely be their only. But the being on the monitor was the only one of its kind in existence. And that, however much they tried to reason against it, was incredible.
He kissed her. A warm kiss, full of promise.
''You taste like snot,'' he told her, lovingly.
That night (or whatever passed for night in the TARDIS), there was an air of intensity and desperation in their lovemaking that left them both even more breathless than usual. Afterwards, they lay silently, a tangle of sheets and limbs, savouring the moment.
Unsurprisingly, it was the Doctor who decided to end the blissful silence. ''It's not going to be easy, you know,'' he said, stroking her arm.
''I know. I'll need constant monitoring. Tests for chromosomal faults, ultrasounds. And then there's dietary concerns, and we might need an outsider to help with...''
''...and there's an 80 percent chance of it being unviable. Yesyesyes, but I'm not talking about the medical thingies... although that's very serious and I value your existence very much indeed... I mean... it's going to be iemotionally/i taxing, Romana.''
''I did get a triple Alpha, you know!''
''Yes, but you've never had a ibaby/i. Trust me, Romana: even if we had the biggest odds in the Universe of this thing being born alive and healthy, this would still be the most terrifying experience of your life!'
...
The Doctor dreamed of laughter. Chubby little arms begging to be lifted and sifted through the air. The smell of a newborn. Silky-soft baby hair. Adolescents. Adults. It all went by so quickly. A grand-child, a baby girl, grinning up at him from her crib as he made faces at her. Then the same child, slightly older, screaming, a scream that tore his soul into infinite pieces. And then there was just the two of them. Him and the child.
It wasn't the first time he had these nightmares. He had even had them once or twice in his and Romana's early years together (sharing a bed with anyone seemed to have the inconvenient downside of bringing them back). But they had decreased in frequency over time, since he lost... them. And now... He looked over at Romana, groggily. She was looking at him, clearly concerned. She had no doubt picked up bits and pieces from his dream. Not intentionally, of course, since that would've been the height of rudeness, but his thoughts could get a bit... loud, at times, and his dreams, he had been informed, were doubly so ('Doctor', the younger, blonder Romana had said way back in the day, 'as appetizing being made out of chocolate and jelly babies sounds, I'd rather not have it wake me up at night'). This time there had been new faces, though. Amelia and Rory Pond, crushed with grief over their own baby, Melody, who's face had stared blankly at him in his dream, before turning her more familiar alias. Poor River. He shouldn't have done that to her.
''I'm sorry,'' he told Romana, touching her cheek, running his thumb over her lips. ''I didn't mean for you to hear that.''
Romana put her head on his chest and held him close. Slowly, he relaxed again.
...
Later, after the fact, they would realise that something had been off about the whole thing all along. For one there was their own lack of curiosity about why it would take place against all of these odds. Or rather, why two unlikely conceptions would occur on the TARDIS within decades. Romana already knew, of course. About Amelia and Rory Pond, and their doomed offspring.
It was suspicious. Though their reunion had been highly... amorous, it was suspicious for her to somehow lose control over her own reproductive abilities. Something she had always managed to perfection, as soon it was taught to her at the Academy. It was the War. It had to be the War. The War... and possibly something planned a very long time before either of them had even existed.
It was Romana who had finally cracked it. The code that told them what was going on and why. It was an emergency plan of sorts. In case of near-extinction of the Time Lord race, all systems would kick into gear to salvage it. An attempt had been made with Melody Pond alias River Song, but given that she had had two human parents, there was only so much Time Lord the TARDIS could inject into the process. And it had all gone so very wrong.
This revelation might not have interfered with their plans, if it hadn't been for the fact that whereever the TARDIS took them, there were groups of people who knew about the baby and wanted it to be born at all costs, even if it meant keeping the mother imprisoned, a slave of her biology. It appeared that select societies had, depending on how advanced they were, carried on either prophesies or algorytmic predictions of Someone who would deliver them from enslavement. Or lead them to victory against their enemies. Or become a god-like ruler over their galaxy. Whoever the ancient Time Lord was who had encoded the TARDIS with the ability to interfere with a Time Lady's ability to conceive was, they had been willing to stop at nothing.
After escaping the last near-call, where the high clergy of a highly secretive sect had attempted to remove the fetus from Romana's body and gestate it artificially, the TARDIS seemed to finally break from the chains of her antediluvian programming, and refused to let them out again.
''She's protecting you. And the baby,''said the Doctor, not without affection. And then his hearts sank with the realisation that the TARDIS would be protecting them, and the baby, for as long as it took. And that would likely be forever. They could not carry on the species with only three individuals, which meant that this baby was... it.
''We can't do it,'' said Romana tonelessly. ''We can't do this to it.'' Then she broke down in his arms.
...
He hadn't been planning on taking it out. The crib. An ancient thing with outdated bio-sensors and the genetic material (blood) of his ancestors encrypted into its very fabric. The names of hundreds of infant Time Lords and Ladies were engraved into it in High Gallifreyan, including... there it was, right by the names of his own children... the only remaining, written record of it. His thumb stroked an empty spot under the name of his youngest. The TARDIS had also seen fit to prepare for another name. Names... they had never discussed names.
''It's all for the best. All for the best, really...'' he muttered, still touching the empty spot.
He put it back then. Into the casket, locking it with the code that only he knew.
He thought about Jenny. The daughter he had had for only a few hours before she perished in his arms. He never truly got to know her. Perhaps he did know, in a way, how Amy and Rory must have felt. But on the other hand, Jenny had never had a childhood, so there had been nothing to miss. He saw Susan, with only him left to care for her, sleep peacefully in the crib. Unaware that it was only him and her.
Romana was sleeping in the sickbay. She was still very pale. She furrowed her brow, probably dreaming. She didn't dream as loudly as him. He climbed gingerly into the bed with her. Gently, he shifted her so that she was resting against him. And there he remained for hours, not wishing to wake her, breathing in the fragrance of her hair, before resting his cheek against it. It was good. More than good. They would work it out, somehow, in time. And Time was their business.
...
iRomana dreamed of blood. A squalling, red infant, still covered in blood and other bodily fluids. Impossbly small and yet one of the most important beings in the known Universe.
The stranger cut the baby's umbilical cord and placed the screaming newborn on the metallic table in front of her.
''100% genetically Gallifreyan. I think it just might work this time.' She smiled at the tiny, screaming newborn.. 'Isn't that so, Tiamat?'''/i