Title: The Doctor's Daughter
Rating: G
Summary: The TARDIS on the fritz after the last narrow getaway and leaves the Doctor in the one place he never wanted to be, meeting the one person he never thought would exist. Shameless fluff&angst. No real spoilers.
There are, he knows, certain fixed points in time and space through the universe were certain things are certainly going to happen. You'll always wind up there, then, and when you don't – well, that's when the trouble starts, doesn't it?
As the Doctor punches the controls, letting out a puff of exasperated air as the TARDIS shudders to Earth, he's really not quite sure if this is one of those certainly certain times or not. The spaceship had gone up instead of down, through instead of over, stopped instead of whizzing right on by and while very few things elude his understanding after 900 years of practice at knowing (or in the very least guessing) he really hasn't the foggiest of how he's gotten here.
Pete's World.
He sulks. Just for a moment (or twelve). The bloody thing won't move, won't even budge, not even an inch. He fidgets with his bow-tie as he looks at the navigation system before worrying at his lip, his gaze slipping towards the right every few seconds as he breaks concentration.
"What's this?" Amy asks, coming around the corner, completely unaware of just how terrifying the doors to the outside world over her shoulder have become in the last half hour. "You said we wouldn't get there for another two hours. Rory's still drooling and he seems pretty happy about it. … You get to wake him up." She crosses her arms, red hair moving along her back and a brow arching in that little challenging way she has. The Doctor, for once, doesn't seem to make note of it.
"Ah," he says.
"Ah?" She goes to stand at his side, coming in close with her head on his shoulder, following his line of site to the display he isn't bothering to actually look at any more.
"Bit of a problem," he starts, brain searching for the right words. "TARDIS is … stuck. Crash landed, as it were."
Amy looks concerned for a moment, yesterday's close-call running through her mind. "Think it was the blast as we left the atmosphere?"
"Perhaps." He nods absently, looking at her, his impossibly young eyes very old and very wide as if her suggestion is a very real possibility. "Or not. I don't quite know." He scratches behind his ear before he touches his tie again, setting it askew.
"You don't know? Well that's … unhelpful. Do you know where we are?"
"Yes."
"Well then maybe there's something here that can help us get this show on the road again!" She claps him on the back, smiling as big as he frowns.
He stares at the doors and they stare back.
The newspaper says it's London in 2027 in a world that feels more than just worlds apart. Like a memory that he can and cannot place simultaneously, feelings that are and are not his own, and that little pull in between his two hearts that he never thinks much about nowadays starts up again.
He told Amy not to wander too far and left her on Market Street to haggle the vendors with a stern, unheard warning to not run off while Rory continued to lend his saliva to whatever surface he'd managed to pass out against after yesterday's bout of corridor running. They'd left a note stuck to his forehead (something's off, gone to investigate) that he was bound to see – eventually.
Well, here it is, the Doctor thinks. The people and the places are all strangely familiar but he can feel just how different they are running through the air like leaves in the fall. He wades through the modest crowd, looking up at the sky. He has a wiggling feeling that there isn't anything especially wrong with the TARDIS that some down-time wouldn't let her sort out herself; more likely than not it was all just a sick sense of unfulfilled Destiny.
He gets stuck in memories – which he never allows - hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched, lanky legs taking big steps to no where in particular. Suddenly it stops. The whole world stops. The incessant side-walk chatter, the faint roar of the Zeppelins above, music from the store across the street – just for an moment. He looks at the sky around him, brain already starting to open up it's immense catalog of facts and dates and reason and filing this particular instance away.
Silence.
He blinks and it's over.
"Oi!" and there's a train wreck. He's shuffled into her and she's plowed through him, an armful of papers raining down on the ground around them like oversized, Physics note laden snowflakes. He stares for a second at the blonde crouched at his feet, playing a game of Twister against the wind as she slaps her hands on the ground, pulling papers against her chest and back into their little file folder on top of her textbook. He remembers where he is and what he is and that manners are very important and bends to give her a hand.
"Sorry," they both mumble. She finally looks up at him and there's a weird sort of shadow that glosses her eyes. He realizes he's holding a handful of her things and glances down before he clumsily gives them back to her. There's a name (don't look) at the top and the thing between his hearts tugs – Abbey Tyler.
He looks up through that piece of hair that can never manage to stay out of his eyes and she's positively beaming. It's disturbing, actually. "You," she says, taking her things and standing. He follows, ending a head above her own.
"Me?" This has Very Bad written all over it. Stupid TARDIS.
"Doctor! Or can I call you Dad?" And the world stops for an entirely different reason.
"So, thank you."
"Wot?" He looks up from his plate, a bit of biscuit still hanging out of his mouth. He's really terrible at this, he realizes. It's been forever since he even thought about the word 'daughter' in anything more than an abstract, distant way and a lot of the things he's feeling he isn't any good at either – uneasiness, awkwardness, fear. The Doctor doesn't do fear. Especially not when the menace isn't anything more than a cute blonde with dimples in a blue cardigan across the table.
"For letting Mum go, not making her choose. For letting her have a normal life here with you, and without you." She says it like the meaning behind it isn't as ridiculous as it is, stirring her tea.
"Right. So I won't be doing any explaining then, I see."
"Nah, she told me when I was ten-ish," she begins, gesturing with her hands, utterly comfortable. "In stages, you know. Not just one big sit down or anything – aliens exist, I time traveled when I was your age, oh by the way your Dad's technically a clone, Tooth Fairy isn't real, babies don't come out of the cabbage patch like Grandma Jackie said... Bit more gradual." She takes a biscuit off his plate and dunks it into her cup.
"Ah." Well that's a fantastic response.
"Ah," she smiles.
"Well … you're welcome. Of course." That's even worse, you git. His fingers tap the table and he breathes. "How did you know? It was me, I mean. The me me."
"Same way I think you knew I was me before you saw the name Tyler. You took Mum's name, by the way. Just easier in the long run." She looks away, thinking, wistfulness all over her features. Got my nose, he thinks a little bit proudly for a second. His nose. My nose? It's a pretty good nez, regardless.
"It's weird. Whenever Mum would talk about it – you. Dad. You and Dad, I guess. She loves him just the same, because he's you, and he loves her just the same because you're him."
"Well," he pauses, "she's her and he is me."
"And we're us."
"Us." He hesitates a second, but decides he likes the way it feels on his tongue as soon as he's said it and lets his own smile match her's, coming up to their eyes. Us is an off limits concept and he knows he can't let himself slip into it with her. But the word is nice enough, and he can't help but like the way it makes her whole being light a little brighter. Not your's, not really your's, don't start.
"But I always got this feeling," she continued, "like she was missing just this tiny little piece out of it all. Got less and less as I got older and older but never went away. And when I found out the whole story it started to make sense, and I started to miss that little piece too. I'd always hoped you might pop in, just so I could see for myself. Get to know the other part of my Father."
She's fantastic, he thinks with with a quick intensity that surprises himself. All of Rose's curiosity and spunk and heart with his spirit and he wonders what she must have been like when she was little; how happy they both must have been to be able to have a family (again); the way her tiny hands might have curled around his fingers; the first science fair he would have helped her win.
"So, are you well? Off having adventures? Are you happy?" She asks, interrupting his thoughts and dropping two sugars into the tea he hasn't touched. This version of himself doesn't like things that sweet anymore but it doesn't matter enough to tell her.
"Yes, yes. And … yes." It's true or, rather, as true as it'll ever be.
The waiter brings their lunch: two grilled cheese with chips on the side and ranch dipping sauce. They eat in silence, taking in the fact that the other is there. Abbey curls her legs up underneath her, sitting Indian-style in the booth, pink converse hitting the bottom of the table.
She takes a big bite and stares at him, considering, chewing while wheels in her brain are turning. The quiet is a little too quiet. She wants to talk, but maybe he doesn't. So much like her Dad and so very different.
"I'm sorry if I come on a bit strong. I'm just so happy to … uhm, meet you. Is 'meet you' right? God. I feel like I've known you my whole life and you're a complete stranger at the same time. This is confusing. I'm sorry. Maybe talking was a bad idea on my part. At home, if you're not chattering my ear off I generally start to worry."
"You just make me think is all, Abbey Taylor. That's not a bad thing." He puts his elbows on either side of his plate, folding his hands together, head to the side.
"Not a good thing either?" She looks unsure for the first time in the whole thirty minutes that he's known her and it's like a knife to the gut.
"I had a daughter." A beat. "Before. I never thought about having one again. You're mine and you're not. It's wonderful and horrible at the same time. And maybe leaving here is just losing you both again. I don't know." He looks at her imploringly. He doesn't know how much he should say or she wants to hear, and he's rubbish at explaining. Or talking at all, really. She must be used to it, he muses. Or maybe being human's made it easier.
"I didn't know - that you had a family, I mean. Dad never - I should have thought about it more, I'm sorry-"
"Don't be." He shakes his head, emphatic. It's the last thing he wants and he never should have mentioned the past. He only wanted her to understand how much she means to him, even if he doesn't know her and will never get to see her again and perhaps is only seeing her now by accident. "It makes me happy to know you exist," he says finally, looking up at her from his plate with a smile that he rarely gets to wear. She smiles back at him and takes his hand over the table, giving it an unexpected squeeze before letting go, his skin tingling at the absence.
Another beat. "Her name was Amelianna, and she refused to go to bed without a story."
"You do have the best stories."
The Doctor laughs, mind racing over a thousand adventures. "Only after centuries of getting easily into and hastily out of really stupid situations." Abbey giggles in her seat, inwardly overjoyed that this could be as easy as it is.
"I bet you've always been full of stories, even before you made any for yourself. All of time and space and, from what I've heard, a really great spaceship. You'd have to have a foot in the grave to not get into some trouble."
Well there's a thought.
"Wanna see it?"
She's waving for the check before he can get out the last word.
"Fantastic!" She turns 360 degrees, twice, eyes wide. She's seen aliens and the supernatural for as long as she can remember considering who her parents are and what they do but there's never been anything quite like this. Maybe it's the promise of it all – that it can do anything and be anywhere and take her anytime; or maybe it's the history of the thing, radiating stories through its very existence; or maybe it's just because it's his and it's what she's dreamed of her whole life.
"Excellent word." The Doctor nods, smiling, watching her with his arms behind his back, taking in the first-time wonder he loves to witness.
He can tell she's thinking about her Mum – is this what she felt? Does it look just the same? He knows that they've told her a lot, but not everything. He wants to, of course, but he doesn't for the same reason that he never has: it's not in her cards, and it's not her adventure. Earth (or one of them, anyway) is home and even though he's here now, this will never be an option.
"She wouldn't approve, I don't think." Abbey startles before she realizes that he's picked out who she's thinking of. "Everything's the same but me. This regeneration is very much not your Dad." He drops his voice to a whisper and leans into her, tugging at his hair, "I thought I was a girl. ... But it's grown on me. And the nose. She certainly wouldn't like the suspender's though or," he wiggles the piece at his neck, "this."
"Bow-tie's are cool," she says, absently, still taking a survey of the surroundings.
"Thank you!"
They chatted on the way over about all the things he should know: how Uni is getting on, her favorite color is green, she loves to garden when she isn't studying and her boyfriend's a ruby player. He wasn't very sure about the last one but, well, can't win 'em all.
The Doctor gives her as grand of a tour as he can muster in thirty minutes – Rose is expecting her on the hour, and he quiets her suggestion with a stern No before she can even ask. He's not her Doctor, and she's not his Rose and it's just so much easier this way. He softens his expression immediately, and puts and arm around her shoulder, a silent apology for feelings he can't begin to articulate.
She can't help but touch everything. Her excitement is infectious and he's next to her the whole time, pointing out what she hasn't noticed yet, telling her about the quantum mechanics and 'how it all works', answering the mile-a-minute questions she's firing off about physics and chemistry and the vastness of everything he's explored.
He doesn't want it to end.
Abbey takes his hands in her own when they're outside, back on that beach. She's smiling but it's sad, and he hopes he isn't going to cry because then he'd never stop. It's a happy occasion. For all intents and purposes, she shouldn't exist and he shouldn't be here and yet here they are, together, even if just for half of an afternoon.
"Thank you for finding me," he begins.
"Welcome."
"I suppose we should thank Luck while we're at it."
"You don't believe in luck. And even if you did, you know it doesn't have anything to do with this," she whispers. "Things happen for a reason."
He nods, squeezing her hands. "Ah. But I don't know this one."
She shakes her head, looking away, little changes in her expression happening in a wave until he sees her lip quiver the way her Mother's use to and the tears are rolling over her cheeks. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to be alone." She looks at him, asking him to understand.
The Doctor steps in and pulls her against him in a hug as she buries her head in the crook of his neck, resting his head against her hair, his own eyes starting to sting. "I'm not alone. I'll never be alone. There's thousands of people all over the universe looking for a bit of adventure and I'll always hear them. I've got a lovely girl – around your age and full of just the right stuff for the job. And her fiance, as a matter of fact. I love showing them the world and everything beyond." He pulls her away from himself and kisses her on the forehead, head between his hands, smoothing his thumbs across fresh tears. "Don't you worry about me." His voice falters, but she still smiles up at him weakly. "I'm the Doctor."