He was trying to put together her new toy castle, but it was causing him some trouble. His hair was standing on end from the number of times he'd run his fingers through it. He was muttering under his breath, something about instruction manuals and a translation matrix. She put down her wooden horses and went to sit next to him.
"Everything alright?" he asked distractedly, turning the manual upside down.
She paused for a moment, then asked him the question she'd been thinking about.
"Daddy, where are you from?"
He looked up sharply.
"What?"
"Well, Mummy's from London, but Jessie's mummy is from Sheffield and Rachel's daddy is from Glasgow and Louis says his mummy's from France. So where are you from?"
He let out a long breath and ran his hand over his jaw.
"I'm... from a long way away."
"Even further than France?"
"Yes, even further than France."
"Where?"
"Gallifrey." And his eyes were full of love and pride and sadness all at the same time.
"That's a funny word."
He gave a small smile.
"What's it like there?"
He pulled her on to his lap.
"The sky is orange, like at sunset but all day. The grass is red-"
"Red! Grass isn't red!" she giggled.
"Gallifrey's grass is. The trees have silver leaves that catch the light. You can see the forests glinting from miles and miles away. And behind them the purple and gold mountains stretch to the horizon."
"It sounds pretty."
"It is. It shines."
She snuggled into his chest. He was using the same voice he used to tell her bedtime stories, and it made her feel sleepy.
"I'd like to go to Gallifrey."
"I want to take you there, more than anything," he murmured. He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head.
She felt a drop of water land in her hair. She thought maybe he was crying, but she didn't understand why.