There are moments, sometimes, when she wishes she had never been born.

Well. Born isn't quite the right word, but saying you wish you'd never been machine-cloned from a reluctant Time Lord doesn't really have the same ring to it.

Most of those times are huge moments, empire-toppling moments where the fates of entire civilizations hinge on her mistake.

She's like her dad, like that.

But this isn't a huge moment. The red slash of regret clawing at her chest flares as she remembers harsh words and the sound of a slamming door; she wishes the words had never left her mouth, but she doesn't know how to fix it.

She doesn't know how he knew, but after what seems like an eternity, her bedroom door slides open, and she looks up with stinging eyes and crumples all over again at his concerned expression.

"Dad," she gasps into his shoulder. "What if she never comes back?"