PART 7/8 | TEN | RATED T

Doomed


Nativists say a child becomes what they're made from.

Empiricists say a child becomes what they experience.

To a little boy that was nothing but a number, the arguments of nature vs. nurture didn't matter so much.

No matter who was right, he was destined to end up holding a smoking gun.


His little brother was born on the unfinished concrete floor of the first house Ten remembered living in. He hadn't even known his mother was pregnant. He didn't even know what pregnancy was. He stood crying in the hall, watching from the sidelines as the floor soaked with blood and his mother shrieked. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew it was something terrible. And he hated it.

When his father rose to his feet, a slimy, blood-soaked thing screaming in his hands, and promptly passed it to his son, Ten felt his stomach compress with disgusted hatred. It was by instinct that he drew his little hands back and let the baby fall to short distance to the dirty hall carpet. It was by instinct that he sprinted down to the opposite end of the hall and collapsed, his arms winding around his legs. His breaths were jagged pants, like when he ran too hard during playtime at school. He didn't understand. His little head ached from the strain of trying to understand. It sort of looked like a baby, like the one the neighbors had, but something was wrong with it. It looked like a monster. It was eating his mum. And why was it still screaming?

He shook and stared at the pale writhing shadow at the end of the hall. He waited for his dad to come deal with it, but he realized quickly enough that he wouldn't do that. He'd never dealt with anything. After a few moments of waiting, Ten decided to rise and get a better look at what he'd just thrown away.

It had a smushed, almost wrinkly face. It looked purple-ish, too. It might've been a he, whatever it was, but Ten wasn't even sure if it was a person like him. He stared at the creature's screaming, toothless mouth and then leaned forward, deciding it couldn't really hurt him. The screams in the kitchen took coherent form as he drew nearer.

"—JOHN! WHERE'S THE BABY?"

"Ten has him, I already told you. Where are the paramedics?!"

"YOU FUCKING IMBECILE, TEN'S A TODDLER, HE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO HOLD A NEWBORN! HE'LL KILL HIM! LET ME UP! HE'S GOING TO KILL HIM!"

"KATRIN—YOU—STOP! YOU'RE GOING TO BLEED TO DEATH, STOP MOVING!"

Ten understood that the baby was a him and that he was supposed to be holding it. He also understood that his mother cared about it. And that killing was bad, and if he killed him, he would be bad, too. Only…he didn't know how someone killed someone. For all he knew, he was doing it now.

He sat down on the floor and reached forward. He grabbed one of the baby's arms, and then the other, and then he pulled a bit. But his head seemed extra heavy, because it just flopped back, and the baby cried louder. He gently set him back down. He reached for his head this time and scooped a hand behind it. It felt squishy somehow. Then he used his other hand to push underneath the baby's legs. He lifted him slowly and then thought to how Mrs. Wring held her baby. He set the baby's head on his forearm and cradled him.

"I don't like you. You hurt my mummy." Were the first words he ever said it to his brother. The first thing he'd ever done to him was drop him. And he never, ever forgot that.

He'd only been holding him for around a minute when he heard sirens wailing. When he peeked into the kitchen, his mother was lying in that same spot with a bedsheet waded up between her spread legs. It was soaked through with bright blood. He shook, and his arms felt so heavy and tingly, and he was terrified he'd drop the baby and then his mum would be angry with him. But then a man in a dark green uniform appeared in the kitchen and rushed forward, taking the baby from Ten's arms. He watched two others rush towards his mum. And then he found himself looking at his dad's legs. The tall man's voice was freezing.

"Here we go again." His dad spat.

Ten didn't know where they were going, but he could tell his father didn't want to go.


At the hospital, nobody saw him.

Especially not his parents. He cried and he cried, but his mum did nothing but stare off into space from her hospital bed, and his dad covered his ears with his hands. When his baby brother woke up and cried along with him, Ten's father got up and stormed from the room, his ears bright red.

Ten was confused and scared. He wanted his mummy, but whenever he tried to crawl onto the bed to be with her, she turned so her back was to him. She responded to nothing. Not even his brother.

It was hours before a nurse noticed him. She took his hand in hers (Ten was scared at first, because his mum took his hand when she was angrily pulling him away from something, but the nurse didn't seem angry at all). He sat with her in a room with a nice sofa and a water machine with paper cone cups. She let him fill as many cups as he liked and soon his tummy hurt from drinking so much cold water. Her voice was soft and nice as she explained all about pregnancy and what had happened to his mum.

"She'll be just fine now," she reassured him gently. "And now you have a Brand New Brother."

She said it like there was nothing grander in the entire world. Ten had too many thoughts in his head.

"She might seem sad. That's because sometimes mummies get scared after they have babies. There's a big word for it, but it just means they're ill in a way you can't see. She might not be as smiley or huggy with you. But she'll be all right."

Ten looked down at his feet. He didn't tell the nurse, but he realized that his mum must have been secretly ill for his entire life. Because she always acted like that.


It was only two years later when he fully understood why she'd said Brand New Brother like that.

"Ten, we've got to go pick up something, keep an eye on your brother."

Your brother.

Ten looked at the toddling child—who was all smiles and elbows—and realized he was his responsibility. He was his to protect. Ten was a child, too, but now he was more than that. And he strived to make up for his first actions towards his little brother. He'd protect him.


As he got older, his parents got worse, and he tumbled headlong into fiction to guard himself.

Books pulled him away from his home and made him forget about his mum and dad's screaming and throwing, so he soon relied on them so much that he got anxious whenever he didn't have one in his hands. He read every single book he could get his hands on—it didn't matter the subject area. He used the library at his primary school more than any other student it seemed, but during the summers, he found himself terrifyingly bookless. At first, he nicked book after book from his great aunt's house, but then he exhausted that resource. He started walking to the public library after school, the Doctor tagging along behind, and that provided a lot of books for a long while. But then the Doctor accidentally knocked over a shelf and the librarian informed them that they could not come back again without an adult. Ten sat on the curb after that and blinked back tears, because he had no adult to bring. His brother stared at him, stricken.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. He was sitting beside his brother on the curb. He nervously knocked his boney knees together. "I didn't mean to mess up."

Ten felt his heart still. He jerked his head to his brother and stared at him, horrified because that's something their dad said. You messed up. Go to your room. I don't want to see you anymore. Ten found himself maniacally shaking his head and he couldn't seem to stop it.

"No." He said. His brother looked down at his lap. "No. No. You didn't mess up. It's okay."

He looked up at him, his green eyes wide and echoing with cautious hope.

"But we can't come back here anymore." He reminded his brother uneasily. He ducked his head and waited, his ears growing red. It occurred to Ten that he expected punishment so completely that not receiving it would probably unsettle him. That realization left his mouth sour.

"Well, then we'll just figure out somewhere else to go. Maybe we can walk the city. There's loads of libraries there and no one even knows us at them."

And he truly meant to do it that way. But he came to find out that it just wasn't possible to walk that far in one day without missing dinner and arriving home at bedtime. He spent one night lying in his bed with his stomach roaring with hunger and decided he'd have to find another way.


The other way was illegal.

But he wasn't so sure he cared anymore. His parents did illegal stuff all the time. And he was his parents' child.

He'd walked into the book shop with the intention of stealing The Hobbit, but after wandering about for fifteen minutes, he noticed the shop attendant peeking up at him suspiciously every few seconds. He felt his heart jolt with panic and he acted on instinct. He turned to the next aisle—just out of her sight—and grabbed the first book his hand touched. He shoved it into his school bag and spent a few more minutes pretending to peruse books for his age, his heart thumping wildly in his chest (so hard he could feel the rhythm in his cheeks), and then he strolled quickly from the store.

He pulled the book free once he was hidden away in his bedroom.

An Everyday Miracle: Delivering Babies, Caring for Women - A Lifetime's Work.

He stared at the newborn infant on the cover and realized it was every bit as deformed looking as his brother had been that terrifying night he hardly remembered now. Deep down he was disappointed, but he read the book anyway. He cracked the spine on a Wednesday night and finished it Thursday morning as he was getting ready for school, having had no sleep the night prior. He wasn't sure what it was, but he was enamored by every word on every page. After hours of reading heartfelt stories of births, of parents weeping with joy and love, he realized something. The day his brother was born was a miracle. There was nothing wrong with it. His parents were the broken ones.

He wanted to be part of those stories.


His parents' fighting swelled in frequency and degree.

He'd gotten so used to hearing them scream terrible things. He'd gotten used to hearing: I wish I'd never married you, I wish I was dead, I wish you were dead, I wished we'd never met, I wish we'd never had kids!

He tried to make up for dropping his brother in his first hours of life by shielding him from those things. Whenever they would start quarreling, he'd take his little brother by the hand and pull him out into the garden. They'd sit inside a giant, soggy cardboard box they'd stolen from the neighbors' bin and he'd grab that book he'd stolen. His brother would lean against his side and listen as he read story after story. My first patient was a woman named Karen, and when she finally held her baby, she told me all the sadness of her past was erased…

His brother would eventually nod off. But Ten would keep reading those stories aloud. And then he'd lie. He lied more than he told the truth.

"When you were born, Mum and Dad cried, and they were so happy." His sleeping brother kept on sleeping. Ten looked down at the medical illustrations in the book. "It's 'cause they made something really good. It was the first time they'd done that."

That night, the fighting went on 'till dawn.


It was two days until Christmas. Ten was nine years old. They had a Christmas tree for the very first time he could remember.

The Doctor believed things were getting better. He bounced atop the bed, a smile stretched over his face, and theorized that perhaps Santa was going to visit now that they had a tree. In his innocent eyes, things were getting better. But Ten didn't trust anything anymore, except his brother and himself. There was a tree, but there was also fighting and screaming and weeping (and sometimes hitting). It went on all night every single night. The Doctor was so used to it now that he could sleep through it. Ten could not.

And maybe it was his fault. Perhaps he'd been the one to cause it all. Because it was two days before Christmas, and his mum was in an oddly affectionate mood, but when the Doctor accidentally fell and scraped his knee, it was not her he ran to. It wasn't his mother he stumbled towards, his cheeks wet with tears, his palm cupping over his bloody skin. It was his brother.

Ten saw the way his mother's face crumbled. He saw the realization dawn on her. The realization that it was too late; she'd lost her children. It didn't really matter if she'd decided to try now. The Doctor had turned six at the beginning of December, and the only thing he'd learnt in those six years was that there was only one person he could count on. And it was not her.

That night, the fighting was nastier and more horrific than it'd ever been. Ten held the Doctor in their double bed and whispered made up stories. He'd left his stolen book in the sitting room and he was too frightened to go retrieve it. One day you'll be a dad, he told his brother. And you'll be so happy and you'll cry and you'll always love your kid. I'll be the baby's uncle. And I'll love it, too. And no one will ever scream.

He heard his mother shrieking through her tears.

This is your fault! You did this! You made them hate me! You made them you! And I hate you!

"Please," he told his brother. While he was sleeping, he looked as innocent as he had when he was a baby. His words were shaking with tears he couldn't shed. Not yet. It wasn't safe yet. "I want all the sadness of the past to be erased."

He was still naïve enough to believe it could be that easy.


His brother had been wrong in the most disgusting way.

The tree was not a promise of a better future. The tree was a blood-soaked apology.

The fighting grew so violent on Christmas Eve that the Doctor became terrified. So terrified he had an accident in their bed, and that only made him more frightened, because he was afraid of their dad finding out while he was so angry.

"Don't tell him!" The Doctor pleaded with his brother. He was crying so hard he was shaking. "Don't tell him! I'm sorry!"

Ten's heart was pounding, and somehow, he knew they needed to flee. But he was just a little boy. The only relative they had was their Aunt Tara, but she was almost an hour away. He did the only thing he could do at the time: he pulled all the wet linens off their bed, he scrubbed at the mattress with a wet flannel, he threw the sheet and duvet into the laundry basket. The Doctor grabbed his favorite (and only) toy—a stuffed badger with matted fur—and huddled inside the wardrobe. He wept quietly while Ten cleaned and paced.

And then the cries of pain started, the crashing of objects, the frantic panting and thumping footsteps as his parents fought throughout the night. They made final declarations in screaming voices. For once, they reached an understanding. I wish I was dead. I wish I was, too. I wish we both were.

Their father must have smacked their mother particularly hard, because there was a sharp sound, and then they heard her gasp aloud painfully. That sound was broken enough to break through the Doctor's fear. He crawled from the wardrobe—still shaking and pale—and he didn't even pause to glance at his brother. He hurried to the door and ran out.

"MUM!" He shrieked. Ten felt his heart bottom out. He chased after him so quickly that he slipped on the pile of dirty clothes in the hall. He landed hard on his knees. "MUMMY!"

"DOCTOR!" Ten screamed after his brother. He jumped back up and limped the rest of the way to the sitting room.

The only thing he saw was a scene of Too Late. In the years that past, he would never find another way to describe it. His parents were both holding glinting weapons, his brother had his arms around their mother's calves, and his parents didn't seem to be inside their bodies at all.

Ten didn't have to be told to do it. He rushed forward and yanked his brother away from their mother. He dragged his kicking body over to the hall. It took much longer with him fighting, but he felt a surge of strength he hadn't had before. And—somehow—he knew what was about to happen. He knew, but he couldn't get himself to look away. Perhaps he didn't care about himself enough.

He'd only just grasped his little brother's face and pressed it into his shirt when he saw it. There were flashes of light, smoke, and both his parents jumped back only to crumple down. Blood streaked everything: the walls, their new tree, the paper ornaments the Doctor had made for them at school. The dark pool of blood grew and grew until the tree skirt could suck it all up. The blood was not smooth. It was thick and there were bits of stuff in it. He looked at it and realized it was his parents' brains, their memories. Their faces were nothing more than gaping holes.

Ten could feel his brother shaking. The Doctor yanked back long enough to look, just once, but that one look had been enough. Ten grabbed him as he vomited all over the carpet. He lifted him up and he carried him from the house, even though he felt so shaky he could hardly lift the phone.

For the second time he could remember, men in dark green flooded into his home. But this time, they were not saving any lives. This time, it was Too Late.


They'd only been at their Aunt Tara's house for a few hours when the doorbell rang.

Ten opened it to find a little girl in red. Her cheeks were pink with happiness and she even had a dimple peeking out above her huge, honest smile.

And he decided he hated her for it. He hated her for being so happy when he was so sad. He hated her for having two parents who loved her, for being so innocent, for having nothing but beautiful Christmas memories. And, later, he came to hate her for inviting the Doctor into her family and stealing him away. The Doctor was all Ten had. But once that little girl opened her home to him, he was hardly around at all.

Ten couldn't blame him. What did Ten have to offer? He was severely broken. He had vivid nightmares every single night. He could hardly speak. So he couldn't blame him for seeking comfort wherever comfort was available, but he could blame the girl.

Most of all, he hated her because she could save his brother in ways he'd never been able to. And he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Tara wanted so terribly to help them both, but in the end, no one could hold a candle to that girl. She seemed to have been born knowing how to help the Doctor. After less than a year, she knew him better than Ten and Tara did. It'd happened quietly and without them noticing. Sort of like how Katrin's children had grown up from underneath her. And he was no longer just Ten's brother. He was Clara's friend, too.

He was so jealous he could hardly speak some days.


"Teeeeeeeeen!"

It was nine in the morning and Ten was exhausted. The sound of his little brother's friend's voice flittering through is closed door did nothing to help that. He ignored her.

"Ten, we need someone to be the bank manager!" She persisted. She waited, and when no response came, she continued on. "I'm Cara, the Doctor is Johnny, and we're robbing a bank, only no one suspects us because we're just an innocent married people with a baby named Elsie."

"Clara. Go away." Ten snapped.

"You're Mr. Tenure. You own the bank. You suspect us, only no one believes you, 'cause we're so cute and nice."

"I don't want to play with you."

"We hide the money inside Elsie's pram. You take the pram to look for it. Then all the people in the bank jump on you for stealing our little baby."

"CLARA, I'M NOT PLAYING! GO AWAY!"

"Then we cry. The police come and take you far far away to jail. We get away with it and buy a million sweets shops."

He grabbed his pillow and pressed it over his head until her words were nothing but a jumbled, incoherent mass.

He hated that he'd gotten stuck with an annoying little sister. He hated that he didn't even have a mum to complain to about it.

He hated that he was still too unwell to play. Or even have any friends of his own.


It came together and fell apart.

She lost her mother like Ten had lost his, but when it happened, he found he wasn't happy about it even a little bit. He cried, too. Perhaps it was because he was better by that point. He had three friends and he really fancied one of them. He wasn't feeling so jealous and unwell. So he wrote a letter to his brother to tell him to come home, to be with Clara, but Tara caught him and tore it up.

"She's not what he needs, Ten. She's like Katrin. She'll turn him bad like your mum turned your dad bad."

And, well. He didn't want anyone to have a childhood like his. So he believed her.


Ten fell in love with Rose only to lose her when he went to university. He dated a girl named Elizabeth throughout his schooling, though he always had a soft spot for the blonde woman he'd first loved.

When it came time for the Doctor to split from Clara in a similar way, he made a different choice.

Instead of moving a few hours from her, he fled the country with her. Tara was furious. Ten thought they were foolish. But it was that proclamation of reckless love that convinced him to phone Rose again. And that one decision changed the course of his life forever.


He'd been dating Rose again for six months when his brother rang him and informed him he was to marry Clara.

Ten didn't tell Tara until he was already on his way to the airport.

Loving Rose and being loved back helped him understand his brother's actions, and because of that, he had no interest in interfering with their relationship. Not anymore.


And really, it was all what they'd both been leading up to. Ten had made it so.

He became an obstetrician and he loved every moment of it. He adored being part of these parents' happiest moments. He loved being the one to safely bring new life into the world (life that was not dropped like it meant nothing). But soon it wasn't enough for him; he wanted to be that father. He wanted to feel tears swelling in his eyes. And once he'd had his beautiful daughter, he saw the same desire forming in his brother's eyes.

Even though he knew now how difficult being a parent was, and how it didn't really solve anything, there was still a subconscious part of Ten that thought back to what he'd read in that stolen book.

There was still a part of both him and his brother that believed a baby would make things so wonderful that every past misery would disappear.


And perhaps it was true.

The Doctor met Ten at their preferred pub a day before Halloween. His brother had been late, so Ten had ordered him his favorite pint. He'd expected some news about his brother's neurosurgery training. But when the Doctor slid into the booth—starry-eyed and beaming, with poorly covered hickeys lining his scarf-clad throat—he understood it was something much different.

"Oh, brilliant!" He exclaimed. He grabbed the glass and immediately took a huge sip. Ten laughed.

"I'm guessing the married life is still going great?"

The Doctor lowered the glass. His hands were shaking with excitement. He couldn't contain the words. They seemed to shake and burst from his lips.

"Clara's pregnant!" He beamed with such joy that Ten felt his own heart swell. He watched his brother's eyes grow glassy. He blinked a few times, but the film of tears persisted. "We're going to have a baby! Our baby!"

Ten reached for his own glass for something to do. He drank to keep from jumping up and hugging his brother so tightly it hurt. He grinned right back at him.

"That's great, Doctor. I'm so happy for you. You're going to love being a dad. Best thing there is."

The Doctor reached down into his pockets and fumbled for a moment. His voice was nasally when he began speaking, once he'd produced the sonogram picture and set it atop the table.

"I'm already a dad, see?" He said softly, proudly. He gently touched the image. "That's my daughter."

Ten smiled. He could've warned him not to get too attached, because accidents could happen that early on in the pregnancy, but he wouldn't be like his father.

"I can't wait to meet her."


His brother was happier on the day his daughter was born than anyone Ten had ever seen.

He'd seen fathers cry, of course. He'd cried himself when Jenny was born. But his little brother wept like it was the first time he'd ever felt joy so fully. He wept like he didn't even know what to do with the feeling. And Ten was sure that everything in his brother's life had well and truly been mended. Despite the odds, despite everything…he felt his brother had fully recovered. It was what he'd always wanted.

He didn't think he had, though. He still sometimes woke up in moods and was aloof with his wife and daughter. He still had nightmares. He still couldn't stand to even see a gun, and as he grew, he realized he didn't just despise them because they'd taken his parents away. He despised them because he was terrified he'd end up holding one one day.

His job and family helped keep those thoughts at bay most of the time. And through no little effort on his part, Christmases became times of joy again.


On what was to be his niece's first Christmas, Tara decided they should all go on holiday together.

They were supposed to leave at the beginning of December—so they could celebrate the Doctor's birthday with him as well—but his job ended up conflicting with those plans at the last minute. They were renting a cottage in West Sussex for the month and they'd already made their reservations when the Oswald-Smiths informed them they couldn't make it down there until the twentieth. And because they couldn't, Dave Oswald postponed his arrival as well. They were all planning on taking the little girls to see the garden of lights at Standen, but they had to get their tickets switched to a later date. Tara was crosser than Ten had ever seen and spent a long while complaining about Clara during the drive, as if it were her fault. Ten tried to gently remind her that it was the Doctor's job that'd caused the delay, but she didn't seem to care. Ten knew it was going to be a long holiday.

Things were all right the first part of the month—he had a lot of fun going cycling with his wife and daughter and Tara seemed in high spirits for most of it. But when the Oswalds were due to arrive, she grew frazzled and irritated. She sulked about the kitchen and Ten couldn't understand it.

"You were the one who wanted the massive family holiday. With us and the Oswalds. Why are you acting like this?" He demanded.

She was stirring her tea almost aggressively. She didn't turn around as she responded.

"Because I don't think he'd care at all if he couldn't see us for the holidays. I don't think he misses us a single bit."

Ten was usually the only one privy to Tara's sensitivity. He sighed.

"Come on, you know that's not true. He loves us. He's just got a lot going on right now." Ten explained. He paused. "I know Clara frustrates you. I'm not really her biggest fan all the time, either. I think she can be quite bossy and vain and I don't always appreciate that. But she loves the Doctor so much, and he loves her, and it'll make his holiday miserable if you treat her badly. Just try to see her how he sees her, all right? Treat her like you love her. Even if you don't."

Privately, it frightened Ten to think that Tara didn't love Clara. He loved her, even if she annoyed him. He didn't know how someone could be around someone for that many years and not love them. He cared for her simply because he'd watched her grow up alongside him, and because of that, he at least felt protective over her. He might've wanted to yell at her sometimes, but had anyone ever tried to harm her in his presence, he would've made his brotherly feelings known. She was perpetually a nagging little sister in his mind, and he was perpetually a know-it-all, aloof big brother in hers, and all their arguments stemmed from that. They understood it and it was usually all in expected jest. But with Tara and Clara it was something different. Darker. They couldn't stand each other and Ten wasn't sure if they'd ever be able to.

For the Doctor's sake, he hoped so.


The Oswalds didn't arrive until almost seven on the twentieth.

Ten had been returning from a walk with Jenny when the car pulled up. She squealed with excitement as soon as her blue eyes fell on the vehicle.

"DOCTA!" She tugged on her father's hand, impatient and quivering. "CLARA! LOTTA!"

Ten chuckled and leaned over to lift his daughter. He kissed her cheek and walked them calmly over to the car once it pulled up to the garage, the utter opposite to his daughter's thrilled fit. She flung herself towards her uncle as soon as he exited the vehicle. The Doctor held her tightly in a hug and then kissed the top of her head, laughing with joy. He looked up and met his brother's eyes.

"I wish everyone greeted me like this!" He teased.

"I greet you like that," came the playful reply. Ten looked to the back of the car—where the words had echoed from—and watched as Clara gently lifted their sleepy baby from the car seat. She held her close and pressed her cheek to the top of her head as she turned, indifferent to the car doors still opened and their bags still piled high in the boot. She rubbed Lottie's little back as her eyelids drifted back shut.

"Or, at least, something close to that," Clara continued. She met the Doctor's eyes and they shared a quick grin, one that was interrupted by Jenny leaning over to kiss her aunt. It always made Ten relieved to see Jenny responding lovingly to Clara, because he'd been worried from the start that his adoptive mother's prejudice would rub off on his daughter. He'd been very firm from the start that Tara was not to act coldly around Clara when his little girl was around, and she'd been pretty forthcoming with that so far.

"Can I play with Lotta?" Jenny asked Clara. She'd been waiting weeks for them to arrive. It was all extremely exciting for her.

"Of course!" Her uncle assured her. "She'll love to play with you! Right now she's really sleepy—see, her eyes are shut—but perhaps after dinner you two can play."

Ten glanced down at his toddler. He was expecting a meltdown. She was at the "me first" "not later, right now" stage of toddlerhood. But she merely examined the baby's tranquil face thoughtfully and then nodded.

"Babies need so much sleep." She shared wisely.

The three adults laughed.


"My cousin is here!" Jenny announced.

She barreled through the doorway and ran through the cottage in search of her mum and nana. Ten helped the Doctor carry their suitcases into the house and to the room they were staying in. He could hear Clara chatting with her daughter as she walked behind them.

"Oh, look at that! How pretty. We're going to stay here until after New Years. We're on holiday with your aunt and uncle and nana. Grandpa is due to arrive any moment. We're all going to be…"

Ten couldn't help it. It'd been too long since he'd picked on her.

"Hey, Clara?" He called. He directed the words over his shoulder as they walked. He saw her lift her head and look at him, an easy smile still on her face.

"Yeah?" She asked.

"It's an eight month old baby. She can only remember things for a few seconds at a time." He reminded her.

"Well, so can you, but that never stopped us from explaining things to you, did it?" She shot right back. He glared ahead as she turned right back to Lottie, unfazed. "We're going to spend Christmas here with everyone who loves you and we're going to go see beautiful Christmas lights."

He heard his niece babble happily into her mother's neck.

"Mmmmah," she cooed.

Ten glanced to his right. His brother had that huge, soul-consuming grin on again. He didn't have to look back at his sister-in-law to know she looked the same.

"Lottieeee," Clara cooed right back. And he wanted to tease her some more, but the look his brother shot him convinced him perhaps that wouldn't be the best thing to do.


Once they had everything settled in the guest room, the Oswalds joined everyone in the sitting room.

Tara hugged the Doctor tightly and stroked a hand over Lottie's hair. She gave Clara a stiff, cordial pat on the shoulder, but that was as much as she could manage. They both seemed to exhale the breath they'd been holding when Tara moved away, as if they both feared they'd be roped into a hug of some sort.

Jenny tugged relentlessly on Rose's trousers as Clara embraced her mother. The Doctor had Lottie now and he'd never seemed more pleased to be holding something. He gripped her legs with his hands and turned her around so she was facing outwards. He gently bounced her up and down and walked to the side of their little group, singing something to her underneath his breath. Whatever it was, Lottie adored it. She leaned back against his chest with the happiest smile Ten had ever seen on a baby. She stared up at the light fixture in wonder as her father twirled her around.

"Mummy," Jenny protested. "Can I hold the baby?"

Rose and Clara ceased their conversation and glanced down at the toddler. Rose looked to Clara for an answer.

"Absolutely. Why don't you go sit on the sofa and we'll bring her over?" Clara suggested. Jenny jumped up and down so rapidly her ponytail swung around and wacked her in the face. She didn't seem to mind.

Once Lottie was sat in Jenny's lap, Tara cleared her throat. She had a way of clearing her throat with such authority that everyone in the room immediately fell silent.

"So, Doctor. How was your birthday?" Her words were stiff, curt. The Doctor hadn't seemed to notice. He beamed and plopped down on the sofa beside Clara. He rubbed her thigh and smiled at her before turning back to his adoptive mother.

"Brilliant! It was my favorite birthday to date!" He slid his hand to his wife's inner thigh and then knocked his shoulder into hers. "I had my Clara and my Lottie. What more could a bloke need?"

Clara looked down at her lap and grinned hugely. Ten braced himself for Tara's explosion.

"Oh. I guess it was silly of me to think you might have missed us."

The Doctor turned and looked at Tara in confusion. It took him a moment, but he got there.

"Oh…oh! No, um, I didn't mean that—it's just that...well, I just had a really good birthday! It wasn't good because you lot weren't around! It was just great all on its own?"

He trailed off, uncertain whether or not he'd pulled his foot from his mouth. Judging by Tara's expression, he hadn't.

"I'm glad you had a great birthday, Doctor." Rose spoke up firmly. She reached over and grabbed Lottie—who had turned and begun looking desperately at Clara—from her daughter and passed her back to Clara. Lottie grabbed onto her like she hadn't seen her in hours and Clara gripped her in a similar way. She pressed her face into her daughter's hair and didn't seem to hear a bit of the insults that came her way next.

"Well, of course it was. You just have yourself your wife and no one else matters, do they?" Tara bit. Her words quivered, but whether from anger or hurt, Ten couldn't tell. "What a poor excuse for a life purpose."

Ten glanced to Clara. She hadn't even looked up. She pressed kisses to Lottie's face and rose from the sofa.

"Changing time," she whispered to her husband. She turned and looked at everyone else. Her eyes were still sparkling with innocent contentment. She was unaware of the cruel words being thrown her way.

"I'll be right back!" She told them. She hurried from the room, already beginning another one-sided conversation with her baby. Once she was gone, the Doctor grew cold, as if she was taking his warmth with her. He stood up to follow after her, but he paused in the doorway. He turned and stared at Tara.

"One more statement like that, and we'll leave." He swore. He'd never looked angrier. Rose shared a surprised look with Ten. "She doesn't deserve this shit on Christmas. Or ever, for that matter. Don't speak of my wife again if you can't speak kindly. I mean that. I don't want to hear her name come from your lips again, Tara."

He slammed the sitting room door.

Tara flinched like Katrin used to.


Ten kept a careful eye on his brother during dinner that night.

He'd never expected to see pieces of his parents in him. He'd always assumed that he was the only one with hidden darkness lurking about. But he couldn't forget the emptiness in his brother's green eyes when he'd slammed that door.

For all the harshness he'd exhibited in that one moment, he showed a thousand times more warmth during the meal. He and Clara sat so close together that their chairs were flush against each other and their hips were touching. They took turns cradling Lottie in their laps and chatting with her. And they were there but they weren't. They participated in conversations, but they didn't really. Ten got the impression from both of them that they always had at least one half of their attention on their daughter at all times. Because of this, she was cared for so tenderly and completely that Ten couldn't help but think they needed more children. There was too much attention allotted to her and not enough need for it. After Ten witnessed the married couple actually arguing over whose turn it was to change her, he decided his prior thought was more a fact that a theory. They both seemed to want to take care of their baby more than anything else in the world.

It was the stark opposite of the way their father had been. And because of that, Ten stopped worrying so much.

(But he couldn't help but wonder…

Was there a doomed person on the opposite side of the spectrum?

His father hadn't loved his family enough and it'd ultimately destroyed him.

Could there be a man who loved his family too much? Enough to bring ruin?

Tara certainly thought so.)


He was returning from a trip to the kitchen when he passed the Oswalds' door. He had a sippy cup of water in his hand for his daughter and he wanted more than anything to convince her to go to sleep so he could, but the sound of singing made him stop in place. He slowed and then came to a standstill so he could peek through the cracked door, curious and partly jealous that his brother still had enough energy to do anything but fall asleep standing.

He saw what he expected to see. The small family curled up in bed, the Doctor singing a song to their child, Clara smiling softly with her eyes shut. But the expected nature of the sight didn't make it mean any less to Ten.

He leaned against the hall wall and listened to his brother sing You Are My Sunshine. The way he sang it, those two girls never could've believed any differently. There was a cot set up for Lottie, but Ten could tell from the cozy way the family was curled up that she wasn't sleeping anywhere but in one of her parent's arms. Ten exhaled in exhaustion and tried to decide what he felt. He was always torn between joy that his brother was so happy and fear that he one day wouldn't be.

He supposed it was because of the lesson he'd learned at such a young age. That nothing really stays.

"You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away…oh, Clara, she's asleep." There was a pause. "And you are, too."

His brother chuckled to himself. Ten felt he was intruding on something deeply private when he peeked in and saw him pressing kisses to both their foreheads. The Doctor started to attempt to push them both off him so he could get up to turn the lights out, but Ten stepped forward and made his presence known. He reached for the light so the Doctor didn't have to risk waking the baby up again. Ten remembered how hard it was to get Jenny to sleep at that age.

The Doctor jumped in surprise. His ears grew hot in embarrassment.

"I'll make fun of you tomorrow." Ten yawned.

His brother laughed as he shut the bedroom door for him.


There were reservations in the way he loved.

He wanted to apologize to Rose for that.

But it wasn't his fault; he'd been the one to see it all. The Doctor was too young. He got away. He made it home safely. He walked from that bloody house and he forgot what a gun smelt like.

Ten hadn't been so lucky. And he could see that fact reflected in the different ways they loved. He could remember it in the guilty sting of resentment he felt each time he saw his brother filled to the brim with joy.


His brother had only been there for a few hours. Dave hadn't even arrived yet. For all intents and purposes, their Christmas holiday hadn't truly begun. And Ten was already waking to the sound of his little brother sniffling.

It didn't matter how old they were. It didn't matter how far apart they grew. It didn't even matter that they had three walls separating them. Ten heard it with ease and woke fully.

He scanned his eyes over his wife and daughter as he rose—to make sure they were sleeping soundly—and then he shuffled tiredly down the hall. He paused outside of the Oswalds' shut door and strained his ears. Perhaps his brother was fine now. Perhaps he'd made it all up.

But that same sound came again—quiet and secretive. The Doctor had learned at a very young age how to hide his sadness and fear and it stayed with him. Ten had learned at a very young age not to feel it.

He wasn't really sure what to say when he pushed the door open to find his brother hunched over, his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He just knew he immediately felt his heart rate spike, as if his body was preparing to flee from some sort of imminent danger. He hovered in the doorway.

"Doctor?"

His brother lowered his hands and snapped his gaze to the doorway. He immediately lifted a shaking finger and pressed it over his lips, jerking his head towards his sleeping family in explanation. Ten nodded and then motioned for him to come into the hall. The Doctor looked like he wanted to refuse, but after a few moments of blinking rapidly, he surrendered.

He closed the door behind him slowly and carefully, mindful not to alert the girls in the room. Ten led him to the dark, empty sitting room, not saying anything as they walked because he wasn't even sure what to say. When the time came for him to speak, he acted on instinct.

"Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?"

His brother might as well have been four years old. He looked down at his knees and didn't respond. Ten understood the silent affirmation.

"What of?"

He was quiet. Ten stared at the moonlight illuminating his stricken features. He looked nothing short of petrified.

"It's just very close to Christmas. My dreams are…not really dreams. My mind is panicky. And Clara…" he trailed off. He glanced up at his brother, his eyes leaking with vulnerability. "She's got this nasty bruise on her leg. I know it's nothing. Logically, medically, I know it's not been around for long enough to worry. But ever since I spotted it, I've been counting them, you know? When we're-well, I see them now. Do you—does this sound anything but mad?"

Ten hesitated.

"You're worried about a bruise on your wife?" He clarified hesitantly.

"No. Yes—no. Not really the bruise. I know the bruise is okay. It's the fact that I'm counting them. It's like I'm…"

His words cut off with a shuddered intake of breath. All at once, Ten understood fully. He leaned forward.

"It's like you're preparing yourself for an ending?"

His brother's voice was thick and full of childish obstinacy.

"But it's not the end. This is—this is the beginning. Our beginning. It's just got to be. Because we have to see Lottie grow up. We want to have another baby, and there's so many places we want to see, and it's like the fact that we have so many things to look forward to makes me frightened. Because we have so much to lose. I have so much to lose. Ten…I don't know how to be without her. I don't know who I'd be without her. Maybe I'd be awful. A monster. Tara's right. We don't exist outside of each other. And I know, one day, that's going to utterly…demolish me. But I can't do a thing about it. And I don't know if I would even if I could. And what I want you to tell me is..." he stopped. He took a deep breath and then began again. "What want you to do is tell me how to stop counting them."

Ten felt his own breath catch in his lungs. He struggled underneath crushing feelings of shame. Because, once again, he could not give his brother what he wanted. His palms still shook every time he saw a gun. He still sometimes held back his affection for his wife for fear she'd somehow end up disappearing.

"I don't know."

The Doctor's dismayed expression hit Ten like a physical strike.

"Please. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to be like...—"

"I know. You're not. You're not, Doctor."

"I don't want to miss out on the good because I'm drowning in the bad. Especially when the bad doesn't even exist. I'm torturing myself with these scenarios, these tragedies that aren't even ours."

"It's because you were taught to expect tragedy."

The Doctor shook.

"But that is not my life. My life is not a tragedy. Theirs was a tragedy. We were—we were just the leftovers. We get to make our own lives now. And I don't want mine to be like that." He stopped. "So why do I feel like I'm not in control of any of it?"

In his head, he said the answer he couldn't voice. Because you aren't, and the reasons for that varies depending on who you ask. It's possible you're doomed because of the DNA inside of you. And it's possible you're doomed because of the things imparted on your subconscious as a child. But, personally? I've always believed we're doomed because of a combination of the two. Out loud, he lied.

"We can't let ourselves believe we're doomed, because by believing it, we'll make it happen. You can't let yourself think like that. Okay? Stop. Stop thinking it. Stop snapping at people like dad used to. Find a different way to deal with your anger at Tara. Be the opposite of him. Be the opposite of him even if it kills you."

Be his opposite even if you end up creating your own tragedy. At least then it will be yours.

He seemed soothed just to have gotten some sort of order from his brother. He nodded.

"Yes. You're right. I know you're right. I've just got to work on it." He whispered.

"Right. In the meantime, let's be thankful for our families."

His brother's damp eyes were dancing in the dim light.

"That's something I don't have to work on. I am always thankful for them."

He found his brother's weakest spot that night. He stared at him and he saw the ways he'd end up breaking. But he couldn't fix it, and perhaps it wasn't his place to. They were doomed together and it'd been that way since the day the Doctor was born. And no matter what tragedies arrived, Ten was determined to be there for him as he always had. Even if it did no good at all.