A/N: A study in the relationship between Rose and the Doctor's children - three life-altering moments in the alt!verse. They do have names by the way. I just found it a more interesting experience in character study if I didn't use them. You want to know what they are? Review and I'll tell you! :P
Again, like all my fic this takes place in the alternative universe in which the Doctor and Rose have grown their own TARDIS.
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to the BBC. Those you don't recognise belong to me. This is true of all chapters.
A Hand to Hold
He's snuck in, breaking cardinal rule number one in the process, but he believes that this is much more important than any silly old rule. Anyway, his Mum's sleeping, and his Dad is watching her in that disconcerting way that makes him feel like he really should just have stayed in his room.
Not that he really blames his Dad, all that screaming and shouting earlier had scared him too, and he'll be keeping a close eye on Mum for the next few days. A close eye on Mum, and one on this new person who has cried more in the last few hours than he's sure he's cried in his whole life. There've been far too many tears today. Even his Dad has shed a few, and he never, ever, ever cries; and it is all due to this little thing: this sister.
She doesn't look much to him. When Dad had put her in his arms and told him her name she'd just sort of wriggled and then spat on his arm. Mum says spitting is rude he'd told her and his Dad had sort of snorted and then he'd sort of cried. He'd pretended not to see of course, but he still thinks a bit of spit and a pink wriggly thing aren't really worth crying over. He peers between the bars of the cot, squinting to try and see what all the fuss is about, but the pink wriggly sister just huffs and moves one thin arm in her sleep. He can do that. He wonders if Mum and Dad cry over him spitting and breathing and moving his arm. He hopes not; the thought rather disturbs him.
He's already noted her orange hair that looks like it might make a wonderful crayon, and Dad's already explained to him that she's different to him because she's a girl, but he can't see much else that marks her out as special. He's about to sneak back to his own room and consider it at greater leisure when she opens her eyes.
Their eyes meet, blue on blue – though one will change soon enough – and something sparks inside his mind. Next to Dad's flickering burning presence and Mum's fleeting golden mist – gone then back so quickly he cannot follow it - is a new mind, a new link shining blue and green and filling his head with thoughts and feelings that aren't his own. He thinks he might have been lonely, but the thought has never occurred to him before. This sister watches him with wide eyes, but she doesn't cry, and with her untidy mind filled with unformed thoughts she shows him something brilliant. He doesn't cry, and she can't yet smile, but they reach for each other all the same.
Mum finds them sleeping; her in the cot, him curled up on the floor.
They're still holding hands.