It's morning, and Theta's snoring in their room when Koschei gets up to make tea. Koschei smiles and lays the cream out on the table, across from Theta's chair.
It's noon a month later, and Koschei watches Theta fidgeting in his chair, looking stuffy in his formal suit. He takes Theta's hand and runs it between his own before settling it in his left. His skin is still clammy, but at least he stops wearing down the Lord President's couch cushions.
It's sunset a few hours later and they finally hear they'll be given a Loom. Theta spends all of supper gossiping with his mother, and Koschei starts obsessing over name books.
It's evening two centuries later and Koschei curses over the cacophony of the Drums. Their stolen TARDIS disappears into the night with his husband and granddaughter on board. Abandoning him.
It's midnight. Japan is burning. Lucy Saxon is sleeping in the next room. Jack Harkness is kept awake by the ropes around his neck. Martha Jones is whispering bedtime adventures in a child's ear. The Doctor is crying and the Master is thrusting. The minute turns, and…
It's morning again, and Koschei is only 331 years old. A young man with old eyes and a bowtie appears in his room, gazing at him sorrowfully. He asks why Theta's obviously crossed his own time line. The man stares and grins, and says it's better if he never finds out. They part at lunchtime with words of confusion and love. Koschei decides not to mention the visit to Theta.
Finis
A/N: Ello, ello. I've decided to be weird and write Whopoetry as opposed to the usual Whofic. Even if this is technically not poetry.
So… There's nothing left to be said.