They'd gone back and forth on it for so long she'd started to think she'd win by default. He'd finally even conceded that maybe the Sisters of the Infinite Schism themselves weren't absolutely necessary, but he'd continued to insist on someone with medical expertise in interplanetary genetics until she was almost into her second trimester. By then, they'd rented a small house in Stanwell in 2021 and she'd already had several appointments with a local physician, an old experienced family doctor who'd seen everything – or thought he had – and whom she'd liked and trusted from the moment she'd met him.
Eventually, she'd won the argument only by convincing the Doctor that the danger to their child should anyone even suspect he or she existed was greater than the dangers of twenty-first century Earth medicine. Or lack of it, as he was always quick to remind her. Of course, it probably didn't hurt that by then he'd studied the blood test results and the early ultrasounds and had enough interaction with Doctor Adams himself to begin to believe more specialized care might not really be necessary.
And, most importantly of all, by then he'd felt their baby kick.
So Doctor John Smith and his wife Jessica dutifully saw Doctor Adams once a month, and then once a week. And then they were preregistering at St. Peter's and stashing a packed suitcase in the hall cupboard.
It was all so normal and domestic. Except for the blue box in the spare room. Though by then even short trips had become infrequent as she more than most knew how quickly rumors could spread.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
They'd wandered down this same corridor more times than she could begin to count. Actually, they'd traveled every corridor more times than River truly cared to contemplate, and they were all beginning to look the same. At first, they'd walked side by side, his hand in hers the only support she'd needed. He had babbled on incessantly next to her, discussing everything and anything from the dangers of circumnavigating dwarf stars in twenty-third century Earth starliners to the best way to prepare beef roast, keeping her mind occupied while her body worked.
Then even the Doctor had fallen silent as her labor progressed, his presence the only comfort she'd wanted or needed as her pain increased; between contractions, they'd continued their endless walk. Now, though, well into her ninth hour of active labor, she shuffled more than walked, his arm around her shoulders adding his strength to hers.
She gasped and stopped mid-step as a particularly strong contraction tore through her. He pulled her into his arms and she leaned against him, riding it out.
"That was strong," he observed as the contraction passed.
She took a deep faltering breath. "Yeah."
"You okay?"
She nodded against his chest. "Yeah," she repeated. Then, as another contraction followed, just moments after the last, "But we need to get back to the room."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
He stood at her bedside, the blanket-wrapped bundle of their son held in his arms, lost in the newborn's infinite gaze. One tiny hand reached up, grabbing for the lock of his father's hair which dangled tantalizingly close, and the Doctor laughed with delight as the child caught it.
The Doctor glanced down at River, his eyes dancing. "He's perfect."
And, looking up at him, feeling the joy flowing out from him to encompass their child, and her, and the rest of the entire universe...Well. She couldn't have agreed more.
