(So, here's the rules for this little piece, before we start, which won't take up that much time: these are a series of 440 drabbles, which have been divided randomly between the 11 Doctors. The drabble does not necessarily have to have that Doctor IN it, really just anyone from that era, so I'm not writing the same character repeatedly. The Doctor era used will be noted when the prompt is listed. Topics, pairings, characters, and such will vary, but I'll be sure to note any possible warnings at the start of each drabble. I'm posting these in order, and I'll try to get them all done as soon as I can.

All characters are Doctor Who-related, and not owned by me.

So, here we go! Have fun and enjoy~)

1: Violinist (or Violin): Eight

He wonders why she listens to it so much, and it's then that he realizes how beautiful the music is when she's

the one playing. (Grace/8)

Grace likes the opera, he notes to himself as he sits in her home (the front room void of furniture due to a particular "Brian" that he doesn't think he'll bring up), looking at the stack of records and tapes in one corner of the room. Among those, several violin pieces and concertos—and one that he remembers partially writing himself—stand out to him, slipped in among the stack here and there in a sort of haphazard way.

But then they're running for the one and only time, and he doesn't see those tapes ever again. If he'd cared to ask which one was her favorite, maybe he'd send her the sheet music for her birthday.

Time flies all too fast, and in 2009 when he's dropped Charley off for a minute, praying that she won't cause trouble for just a few minutes without him, he decides that it's time to pay Miss Holloway an overdue visit.

She's moved, yes, but not too far away, and almost regrets not being back to check in on her sooner, wondering what's changed since their run with the Master what seems like ages ago. It's a simple enough house, he estimates, painted a powder blue, two stories, maybe two or three bedrooms, and a nice fenced-in-backyard. She's probably married, then, he thinks, and freezes at the plastic ball thrown aside in the front yard.

Maybe she's got a dog, the Doctor wonders...or kids?

Either way, it's mid-day, so her husband probably isn't home. Stupidly straightening his jacket and running a hand messily through his hair, he raises a fist to knock on the door.

And freezes. It's spring, mildly warm out, and the front windows of the house are open. There's music, classical, playing, and it's too real to be from a recording. A quick peek through the glass panels at the top of the door show a modest living room with a plush couch and several throw rugs, a piano in the corner. A young girl sits on the bench, her legs too short to hit the pedals, or even reach the ground, and a woman stands beside her, a violin tucked under her chin. She stops to give the girl some direction, and he can hear them talking for a moment, laughing, before she disappears into the conjoined kitchen, leaving the girl alone at the piano.

Taking a breath, he knocks. The girl looks up suddenly, her long hair falling into her eyes. She wiggles off of the bench, and pads silently across the wooden flooring to the door, reaching on her tiptoes to open the knob.

"Hello?"

She only comes up to his hips, her hair rather straight, a sort of gingery blonde that he's only seen a few other times in his travels. Grace is confused when she comes back into the living room, balancing a tray of sandwiches and two glasses of lemonade.

"Emma, where—"

Seeing the girl by the door, she rushes up behind her, almost alarmed.

"Honey, don't do that, did you even see who it—"

And the words die on Grace's lips when she sees the man at her door, and she pulls the girl closer to her with one hand. "It's you.'

The Doctor is all too happy to see that she's okay and doing well, but he's not sure what this reaction means from her. The girl between them hugs on the hem of Grace's top, her wide eyes full of wonder.

"Mama, what...?"

"Go have your lunch, honey. This is a friend of mine. I'll be there in a minute."

Her daughter is satisfied with this, and goes to pull herself up onto the couch, a sandwich clasped in her hands. Grace steps out onto the patio with him, closing the front door behind them. As soon as it's shut, she turns on him, and he thinks that she might him for a moment, but she stays silent.

"It's been nine years," Grace sighs, looking him over. "You haven't changed."

He eyes her in the same manner, and smiles. "You have."

And she has: her hair is much longer than he remembers her keeping it, and it hangs well past her elbows. She's matured a little, if anything, looking much happier and more confident than before, a few inches taller, a few minor shades tanner.

"You don't know how much I wanted to go with you," she confesses, refusing to look him in the eyes.

"You could've said yes. I wouldn't have minded, Grace."

"But I had to think about things realistically, you know. I had a life to try and get back to, I don't think I could've handled it if I'd gone with, but I wish I had, and..."

She frowns then, looking at him with a bit of a scowl. It must have been hard, he knows.

"You have a daughter now?"

Her expression melts almost instantly into a smile, and she nods. "Emma. She's seven."

"You're married?"

"Yes."

Their conversation stalls again, and he didn't think that it would be this hard.

"I've missed you, Grace," he admits, almost shyly, and she looks back down at the patio, thinking hard and then softening when she thinks for a moment.

"I've missed you, too."

And he feels terrible when he kisses her on the patio furniture, but her daughter isn't watching, and she has no complaints to make.

"Emma, this is a friend of mine," she tells her daughter when she finally invites him into the house.

The girl waves, finishing off a sandwich triangle, but says nothing. He crouches beside the couch at the young girl's height, and holds a hand out to her, eyeing Grace cautiously to see if it's okay.

"I'm the Doctor," he tells her. "Would you like a surprise?"

Emma's eyes light up almost immediately, and she nods, pressing her tiny hand into his. He doesn't let her go into the TARDIS—knowing how children talk, and not wishing Grace to get into trouble with this husband of hers—but makes the girl close her eyes when he comes back, pressing the paper bag into her tiny hands.

She opens the bag quickly, sticking one hand in and pulling it back full of candy.

"Candy?" she asks him, with the soft gaze only a child could have.

"What is it?" Grace asks, coming down off of the front porch. He reaches into the bag and takes one of the candies, pressing it into Grace's hands.

"Jelly baby, Grace?"

And she laughs, smiling when she pops it into her mouth.

"Always."