A/N: OK, so the epilogue became a beast. I'll be posting this chapter, the next chapter, and then something that serves as a more fitting epilogue afterwards. Thanks again for your reviews and support!
The two hundred and thirty-nine years the Doctor spent on Trenzalore had felt like atonement for more than a thousand years of sins against the universe. He had saved so many people, so many planets and star systems and galaxies, that it ought to be the universe that owed him the debt, but he never saw it that way. His victories were a triumph that he revelled in, but all he ever saw whenever he looked back was the damage he caused: friends lost, civilisations destroyed, and countless people sacrificed for a war that wasn't theirs, only his.
Two hundred and thirty-nine years serving time for crimes against the universe had been a much easier pill to swallow than hanging up his coat and spending the rest of his life on Earth with the woman he loved and their son. Even while a part of him did recognise all the good he'd done for the universe and felt he'd earned a happy ending of his own, the Doctor ultimately felt like he didn't deserve it.
He slept more than he used to, although still not as much as Clara or Sam slept, and he figured it had something to do with the fact that he was nearing the end of a very long life. There was one night in particular when he actually tried to sleep, but instead found himself staring at the ceiling the wall or Clara's sleeping face as she softly drew in and expelled soft breaths.
He marvelled at how she could make him happy without even trying. Maybe she did try, but it was the little things she did that brought a smile to his face: humming softly to herself while she performed some mindless activity like doing the dishes or folding laundry, grinning curiously at him whenever he exhibited some of his more unusual behaviour, or that look of concentration that furrowed her brow whenever she was determined to understand something that baffled her. More than anything, what warmed his hearts was the look she'd given him one night when they were sitting on the floor next to the sofa, her arms wrapped around Sam as he sat in her lap reading aloud from one of his books. He could still feel the warmth in his hearts and the tingle in his toes just thinking about the slight crease of her eyes and the curve of her lips. She looked at him like he genuinely made her happy, like he and Sam were all she needed to feel content in life.
Sighing with exasperation, the Doctor smoothed back Clara's hair and then rose from the bed, stretching tiredly before shuffling out of the bedroom filled with boxes labelled "Bedroom" or "Books" and into the hallway. They had quickly discovered that Clara's tiny two-bedroom flat wasn't big enough for the three of them, so the Doctor pulled a few strings and managed to get them a house in a nice neighbourhood in North London that was close to good schools, some nice parks, and a tube stop so that Clara could easily get to work every morning.
He poked his head through Sam's bedroom door, the room dark save for the soft starry lights circling overhead. It was one of those night lights that projected stars on the ceiling, something Clara had gotten for Sam when he was still a baby to help him sleep, but apparently it wasn't working that evening. Sam looked over at the Doctor from where he lay in bed and sat up curiously. "Did you kick Mummy?"
He chuckled softly and shut the door. "No, I didn't kick Mummy. She's still sleeping."
"Oh," Sam replied as he laid his head back on his pillow.
The Doctor walked over and crawled into the bed with Sam, curling around the boy's small body as they both stared up at the ceiling. "I don't think I've ever seen any stars form this pattern," he said disapprovingly.
Sam giggled. "These are my stars."
"Are they?"
"Mm-hmm."
He placed his hand over Sam's chest so he could feel the dual thumping of his hearts. Sam sighed tiredly.
"Why aren't you asleep?" the Doctor asked.
"Can't sleep," Sam replied somewhat dramatically.
"Are you excited about the new house?"
"Yes. I get a big room in the new house. Can I get more toys to put in it?"
"Of course," the Doctor replied. "But we'll have to acquire them slowly, otherwise your mum will accuse me of spoiling you."
He nodded knowingly. "She says Granddad does that a lot."
"Spoil you?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Yeah, well—that's his job, isn't?"
Sam sighed again.
"Is something the matter?"
"No," Sam said airily.
"Are you lying to Daddy?"
"No."
The Doctor frowned. He used to think children were easier to talk to than adults.
"Mummy will be sad if she wakes up and you're not there," Sam told him after a lengthy silence.
"Will she?"
"Mm-hmm. Mummy likes you sleeping with her. Especially when you tickle her."
"When I tickle her?"
"Mm-hmm. She doesn't laugh when you tickle her, but I know she likes it."
He grimaced comically when he caught on to the sort of 'tickling' his son was referring to. He hoped the new house had thicker walls.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, pickle?"
"Why aren't you asleep?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. I'm actually quite tired, to be honest. Just can't seem to turn my brain off."
Sam turned and kissed him on the cheek. He then wrapped his little arms around the Doctor's neck and started patting the back of his head.
"Shh, Daddy's brain. Turn off and go to sleep."
The Doctor chuckled and held Sam tightly to him while stars flitted across their skin. The door to the bedroom opened and Clara appeared with bedhead and a bleary-eyed pout.
"Everything alright?"
Sam sat up a little, facing her. "Daddy's brain won't be quiet so he can sleep," he whispered loudly.
Clara smiled at them both before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Daddy's got a lot of noise in there," she agreed, tapping gently against the Doctor's temple. "We all need to get a lot of rest if we're going to move into our new house in the morning."
Sam and the Doctor sighed heavily in unison. Clara grinned while the Doctor reluctantly extricated himself from his son's bed and then she leaned down to press a kiss to the boy's forehead. "Sleep well, love."
Sam wrapped his arms around her neck before she left. He got unusually clingy whenever he was tired. He whimpered pitifully in her ear when she tried to pull away.
"Go to sleep, sweetheart."
He fell back onto his pillow with his hands over his head, sighing dramatically. Clara whispered "Night, night" before quietly shutting his door and then turned to lean against the Doctor's chest with a tired groan.
"He's gotten more dramatic since you showed up," she said.
"Are you accusing me of teaching our son theatrics?"
"Yes."
"Well. I stand accused, then."
She wrapped her arms around his middle and they swayed lightly where they stood. His hearts thudded against her ear and she smiled. It was times like this, holding each other in the middle of the night when she was too tired to properly process everything, that she felt it the most. It was the opposite of that deep, longing ache of missing someone—it was a contented wholeness that filled her body and put her mind completely at ease.
"Can you not sleep?" she asked, her lips moving against the cotton of his t-shirt.
He nodded glumly. "It's one of those nights, I'm afraid."
Clara rubbed her hands up and down his back in a soothing manner, and the Doctor's voice rumbled in his chest. She giggled; it sounded like the purring of a really cranky cat.
"Come to bed, Doctor."
She took his hand and he laughed softly as they entered the bedroom.
"What?" she asked.
"Sounds like you're inviting me in for a bit of a tickle."
She snorted. "A what?"
"… Nothing."
They crawled into bed. Clara leaned towards him to kiss his cheek and lay her head against his shoulder for a moment before rolling onto her usual position on her side. The Doctor stared at the back of her head for a moment before curling up behind her, his arms hugging her close to his chest.
"If he didn't have my dad's nose, I'd swear you implanted me with your clone."
He frowned. "What?"
Clara chuckled and sank back into his embrace, her hands resting over his at her belly. "I think I'm saying you're indistinguishable from a three-year-old."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"You would."
She glanced back at him with a smile on her lips and lifted a finger to stroke his cheek before kissing him softly, her lips moving languidly against his. She turned so that she could press her body against his and he held her close, his hands dipping into the small of her back and cupping the back of her head.
"I thought we needed to sleep?" he said.
"We do," she agreed, kissing his neck.
His lips parted when she nipped at a particularly sensitive spot. "That's not making me very sleepy."
"No?"
"No."
She grinned against his skin. "Is it making you feel… ticklish?"
His belly was then assaulted by tiny, wriggling fingers. "Cla—Clara! No, ha ha, stop!"
She grinned wickedly as he rolled onto his back and attempted to curl up in a ball to ward off her attacks, but she straddled his waist to keep him pinned down, his belly rising and falling sharply with breathless laughter. She fell against him with a giggle when she finally relented, the Doctor breathing heavily as he wrapped his arms around her.
"You can't… do that to me…. I'm an old man."
"Who is indistinguishable from a three-year-old," she reminded him as she pressed a kiss to his collarbone.
He stroked her hair while their breathing slowed, Clara's eyes drifting shut as he held her.
"You know that's not what Sam meant by 'tickling,'" he said.
"Yes, Doctor," she replied tiredly, snuggling into him with a sigh. "I'm well aware."
They held a Sunday roast after they'd settled into the new place, but the night didn't pan out as either of them had hoped. The roast and potatoes turned out alright, but the soufflés burned and Clara wept in near hysterics before the guests arrived. The Doctor had her breathe into a paper bag and tried to get her to tell him what was wrong while Sam loudly refused to clean up his toys in the living room. When she said 'burnt soufflés' he should have recognised that as a bad omen.
Sam was in poor spirits. Martha and Mickey brought Olivia to entertain him, but he was very sore about sharing anything with her, particularly space at the dinner table. He kept shoving her elbow away when it got too close to his, and there was a lot of screaming from the kids and irritable grumbling from their parents. Threats of "no dessert" and "no telly before bed" were thrown about, which finally silenced both Sam and Olivia, but they still sulked for the remainder of the evening.
Kate got on really well with Clara's dad. They chatted for the majority of the evening about their only shared subjects of interest: Clara, the Doctor, and Sam. While the others were grumbling or shouting or feigning smiles, those two were chuckling softly to themselves while humming appreciatively around each bite of food.
"Doctor, you don't like wine," Clara hissed when he started pouring himself a glass.
"How do you know?" he countered before taking a sip and then promptly spitting it back into his glass.
She heaved a heavy sigh and sipped from her own wine glass, her attention turning to Linda, who commented on their unusual choice of curtains for the dining room.
"I suppose it would have felt a bit too Stepford if the Doctor could throw a dinner party and everything went smoothly," Martha teased as she, Mickey, and Olivia headed out the door later that evening. They were the last to leave. "I didn't even know you could cook."
"Yeah, well, you knew me before I'd learnt."
He did the dishes while Clara helped Sam get ready for bed. He was rinsing the wine glasses when he found one that wasn't stained at the bottom with the usual cabernet residue, but instead a substance that was stickier and of a slightly different colour. He dipped a finger inside and then licked it, smacking his lips multiple times before he determined that it was grape juice… which was what wine was, but this wasn't fermented. He hadn't noticed at dinner, but now he was standing over the sink with a rag in one hand and the juice-stained wine glass in the other, and he had the strangest feeling that this meant something.
Her body was stiff when he wrapped his arms around her that evening. He had joined Clara in bed even though he wasn't tired. Sometimes he just liked to lie with her until she fell asleep, or even afterwards. On those nights he would just hold her and think to himself.
"Everything alright?" he asked.
"Just exhausted," she replied.
"You feel awfully tense, Clara. Should I rub your back?"
She laughed softly, the sound similar to whenever she tried to hold back a cough.
After a period of silence, she spoke again. "Doctor?"
"Hmm?"
She was holding her breath. "I think we did it again."
"Did what?"
"I think I'm pregnant."
The forgotten mystery of the grape juice was suddenly solved, along with Clara's hysterical reaction to the burnt soufflés and Sam's general crankiness at dinner (Gallifreyan children could usually sense the presence of a new sibling, even early on.)
He couldn't tell if it was with excitement or dread that she told him this news, so he struggled to keep from saying anything for fear of upsetting her.
She turned to face him. "Did you hear me?"
"I did."
"And?"
A smile cracked through his façade. Clara's eyes lit up with relief.
"You're alright with being a father again… again?"
He slid his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. Clara's fingers slid through his hair and she giggled against his neck.
"I'll take that as a yes."
A few nights later, Clara brought up the subject of baby names while they were curled up on the sofa. The Doctor had dismantled the toaster because only one side was browning. "You didn't get to have any say with the last one," she pointed out.
"But I like Sam's name," he replied distractedly. He pushed the spectacles up his nose and continued fiddling with wires.
"Are you saying you don't want to help me name our baby?"
"No!" he exclaimed, flinching as if he'd just realised where he was. "No, I'm not saying that."
They turned towards each other on the sofa, both of them grinning broadly with excitement.
"What do you think about Beryl for a girl?" he asked.
Clara was unable to mask distaste. "Beryl?"
"What? What's wrong with it?" the Doctor asked defensively, shoulders slumping.
"It's just a bit… old-fashioned. It sounds like it belongs in a pharmacy."
He pouted like she'd just kicked a puppy he'd offered her. Clara put on a cheery voice. "What about for a boy?"
He shrugged a shoulder and stared at the TV. "I dunno."
She scooted closer and nudged him. "C'mon."
He smiled sheepishly and glanced at her. "Allegoran."
She shrank away from him. "That's it. You're not naming our child."
"Clara!"
"That's not even from this planet!"
"Well, neither am I!"
Clara sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry." She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled his face towards hers for a kiss. "My sweet Doctor."
"You're buttering me up."
She nodded against his cheek. "Yes.
"You don't like my names."
She shook her head. "No. But I like you."
"You're flirting your way out of this argument."
"What argument?" she asked airily, kissing his neck.
He sighed and pulled her close. "Are you trying to make another baby before we have the next one?"
She pulled back, a stricken look on her face. "That's… not something that happens with Time Lords, is it? Cause that generally doesn't happen…"
He chuckled. Her eyes widened.
"Doctor—answer me!"
Later that spring, Clara arrived home from work to find her house devoid of its usual noise and activity. She tossed her keys on the messy counter and placed her bag in one of the bar stools in the kitchen, grimacing lightly as she placed one hand on her sore back and the other on her swollen belly.
"Doctor? Sam?" she called, walking towards the door to the back garden.
As soon as she slid it open, she heard the Doctor's voice. He was speaking quietly and reverently to the boy sitting on the bench while he knelt before him in the grass.
"It's not a shed, Sam; it's a police box. It's not even that. She's very, very special."
"How can a box be a girl?"
Clara smiled. They were near the ivy-covered back wall of the garden, in front of which stood the TARDIS. Sam had asked what that blue box was when they first moved into the house, but Clara had followed the Doctor's lead and told him it was just a blue box that came with the house. Now that she saw the Doctor almost physically holding himself back from telling Sam the truth, Clara understood it hadn't been his lead she'd been following.
"Because she's not a box," she said as she approached.
"Mummy!" Sam greeted gleefully.
Clara rued the day when she would come home and he wouldn't be thrilled to see her. She sat on the edge of the bench next to him and smoothed back his hair, which stubbornly whipped back against his forehead. He and the Doctor watched her with twin looks of expectation on their faces.
"Have you ever heard Mummy or Daddy say the word TARDIS before?" she asked.
Sam nodded. She met the Doctor's eyes.
"That's what that is," she explained, glancing up at the TARDIS.
She hadn't become a lawn ornament, although the Doctor had bitterly launched the term at Clara during an argument they'd had shortly after they'd moved in. She hadn't been comfortable with him running off in the middle of the night without telling her, but instead of having a conversation about how the TARDIS was going to fit into their lives, they just shouted at each other irritably before he disappeared into the TARDIS for several hours, returning with a bouquet of flowers and an apology.
It wasn't that she didn't like him leaving because she was afraid he'd never come back, although that fear did plague her every time she heard the groaning of the TARDIS engines. It was more that she was jealous. He would leave, go off and have an adventure or visit old friends, and she wasn't invited along for the ride. After their initial argument, they briefly talked about their future with the TARDIS, and Clara had agreed that the old girl shouldn't be left to weather and decay in the garden, but she was starting to sort of view the TARDIS as the Doctor's mistress. Or, actually, maybe she was the mistress.
"What does a TARDIS do?" Sam asked curiously, turning his attention to his father.
"Well…" He glanced up at Clara, who smiled encouragingly, and then he told Sam the story of a planet called Gallifrey and people called Time Lords who could travel through space and time as easily as hopping on the tube.
"Except sometimes the tube will take you to a Russian submarine during the Cold War instead of Las Vegas," Clara interjected dryly.
"Yes, that does happen… quite a lot."
The story was complicated, fantastic, and altogether strange, but to the mind of a three-year-old boy, it was simply wonderful. Sam wanted to go inside right away and see the ship that was bigger on the inside, but the Doctor placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Maybe tomorrow," he offered.
Clara shrugged. "Why not right now?"
The Doctor grinned at her, his face lighting up with excitement. "Well," he began, suppressing a wide grin. "Sam, there's someone I'd like you to meet."
Sam's amazement was of a different sort than the Doctor was used to. Normally, grown adults would enter the TARDIS and marvel at its impossibility, but the fantastic didn't seem so impossible to Sam's three-year-old imagination. He was rather thrilled that it was bigger on the inside and wanted to fiddle with every button, lever, and dial on the console, something the Doctor quickly prevented with a nervous laugh.
However, the TARDIS was sore with neglect, so she slammed her doors shut and flung them into the vortex, far away from their cosy little home and onto a planet in the distant past. The Doctor was desperate for a peek outside—and truthfully, so was Clara—but before Sam could get his hopes up too high, she placed both hands on her belly and encouraged the Doctor to think of the safety of his children.
Shoulders slumping, het managed to get them back home, although it was a day later and Clara had mysteriously not shown up for work.
"Great!" she'd groused, stomping up the stairs and slamming the bedroom door shut.
Sam looked up at his father, nudging him lightly. "Maybe you should go tickle her."
He winced and shook his head, fingers fidgeting nervously in front of his chest. "No, no—I think we'll leave Mummy be for now."
They had a bit of a row that night. They kept their voices down for Sam's sake, but Clara emphasised how dangerous travelling in the TARDIS was and how Sam's and the new baby's safety were paramount. The Doctor readily agreed, but argued once again that he couldn't just leave her out there on the lawn. "What do you want me to do, use the TARDIS to store garden tools?"
Clara was pacing along her side of the bed, her breathing growing shallow. "No… that's not—! That's not fair; you know I don't want that."
"Then what do you want?" he asked.
She struggled to breathe.
"Clara?"
She nodded to confirm that she'd heard him, but that was all she could do before he rushed forward and she collapsed in his arms.
He rushed her to UNIT HQ for medical attention, where a Dr Louisa Reinhardt just happened to be working the night shift. Her eyes grew large when she saw the Doctor waiting by Clara's bedside, but before she could ask if he wanted another doctor, he begged her to make sure Clara and the baby were alright.
After doing a few routine tests, Dr Reinhardt diagnosed Clara with gestational hypertension and suggested bed rest and a "stress-free environment." Placing her hand over his, Clara laughed lightly and said, "Hear that, Doctor? Stress-free."
He licked his lips nervously and nodded. "Right. We can take care of that, can't we, Sam?"
The boy was curled up against his mother's side on the bed where she'd been examined. He nodded.
Louisa smiled at the little family. "Good. I suppose you already know the sex of the—"
"NO!" the Doctor and Clara shouted in unison.
Louisa blinked rapidly. "Oh," she said. "We want to be surprised."
"Daddy," Sam began with a quizzical frown. "Is it sex when you tickle mummy in the—"
Clara's eyes widened and she clamped a hand over Sam's mouth, laughing nervously at Dr Reinhardt. "I assume it's safe for me to return home?"
"Yes," Louisa responded, holding back a smile. "But you might want to notify your employer you'll need time off."
Luckily the school year was nearly over, so Clara wouldn't miss much other than final exams. The Doctor fussed over her constantly, asking her if she needed a pillow for her back whenever she sat down or a footstool for her feet. Clara learned to always say "yes," otherwise he'd come up with about fifty other suggestions to enhance her comfort.
Bed rest became more than a little trying on her nerves after about two weeks. The Doctor put up a fuss when he caught her getting ready one afternoon to run errands, but she argued that her blood pressure would skyrocket if she didn't get out of that bloody house, so he offered to take her and Sam to the zoo. It proved to be a memorable afternoon after the Doctor attempted to sonic the lock on a closed exhibit and accidentally set off the fire alarm. Those poor penguins; he felt bad about terrifying them for weeks.
"Are you alright?" he asked after they had dashed to a less conspicuous part of the zoo. He placed a hand on her belly and the other on her shoulder. "That wasn't too much, was it?"
"Yes, but I'm fine," she assured him with a smile. His constant hovering had started getting on her nerves, but his sweet concern still made her grin broadly and pull him down for a kiss.
"ICE CREAM!" Sam shouted before running off.
They tore their lips apart so the Doctor could run after him, Clara coming up behind as quickly as she could. She was still pretty quick on her feet, although two months later she was waddling about the house like one of the penguins at the zoo.
"I've got a brilliant idea!" the Doctor said when she was prepping her lesson plans for the new term. "I should be the substitute teacher for your English classes!"
Clara laughed. He frowned.
"What's so funny?"
"You are."
"I've done it before!"
"Have you, now?"
"Yes! In a twenty-first century school, if you must know. I taught physics. I was amazing.
"I'm sure you were, dear."
She was leery of letting the Doctor loose on her poor students, especially at the start of a new term when she didn't know any of them, but Clara knew if he didn't get out of the house and find something else to occupy his time, she was going to go mental.
So far, looking after Sam and taking care of Clara had filled most of his days. He did most of the errands, the cooking, the cleaning, painted the new baby's room, played with Sam in the back garden or in the local park, begged Clara to get a dog at least twice daily (she'd relent soon, she just knew he'd go for one of those chaotic, excitable breeds and she wanted to enjoy the relative peace a bit longer before the new baby came), and read and rearranged all of the books lining the shelves in the lounge.
"We should have gotten a bigger house," he said one day. I'm not used to having just so few rooms to put everything in."
"You've still got the TARDIS library…" she said carefully.
His shoulders slumped. "I will not use her for storage."
"I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't."
They held Sam's forth birthday party in the park, where Clara sat back with some of her friends from work who marvelled at the Doctor's energy while he ran around with the kids.
"He's like a big kid himself, isn't he?" her friend Amanda said with a laugh.
Clara was busy marking down who had given Sam what gifts in a book, but she couldn't help but grin as she looked up at her boys. "Yeah, he is."
"Are you two planning on getting married?" Amanda pressed further as she tossed some crumpled wrapping paper into a trash bag. "Or does that sort of thing not interest you? I hope it's not rude to ask…"
Clara laughed softly. "No, it's fine. We haven't talked about it yet."
"You haven't even considered it?"
"I didn't say that," she replied, hoping they could drop the subject.
Later that night when the Doctor finally joined her in bed, she played with his finger's while he curled behind her and rubbed her belly, talking a mile a minute about his plans for the week.
"Doctor?" she finally interrupted.
"I—yes?"
"When you were married before… how did you do it? I mean, was it like a normal wedding or was it completely different from…?" She sighed. It wasn't often that talking to the Doctor made her this nervous.
"Oh. Um, well—no, it wasn't normal. I suppose. A bit different from my other weddings…"
She shifted so she could look back at him. "Just how many times have you been married?"
He grimaced guiltily. "Um… a few times?"
She giggled and tapped his nose. "I was there for one of them, remember?"
He breathed a laugh of relief. "Yes, well, as I recall you were quite enthusiastic about the whole affair."
"So was your bride," she reminded him with a playful nudge. He bowed his head shamefully. "But really, I guess I was just wondering…" She splayed his fingers apart and slide the tips of her fingers up and down his long digits distractedly. "If, you know, that's something you'd want. Again."
"Clara," he said softly. "I'm spending the rest of my life with you. We're having a baby… Isn't that being married?"
She blushed for a number of reasons and batted back tears. "Yes. Sorry. I was just curious."
She took a deep breath and released it on a sigh as she curled back against her pillow and closed her eyes. The Doctor remained still behind her, his thumb tracing circles across her belly until they both felt something thump against his hand.
"Clara."
"I felt it."
"So did I."
She rolled onto her back and smiled at his beaming face as he lowered his ear to her belly.
"Hello, Baby? Can you hear me?" Another thump. "Clara!"
She giggled. "Yes, Doctor, I assure you—I feel it too."
After talking to her belly for a good ten minutes and shouting her name every time the baby kicked, the Doctor sat up and kissed her. Even after being together for nearly nine months now, Clara was still startled every time he initiated a kiss. Years ago it had been the last thing she'd ever expected from him, but now he was kissing her constantly, and he always did it in a way that caught her off guard.
"I wish I'd been here for you with Sam," he said.
His chin dropped to his chest and she lifted it up to peck him reassuringly on the lips.
"So do I."
As if hearing his name, their four-year-old son knocked on the door and entered the bedroom.
"My bed's all wet," he announced glumly.
Clara groaned. "Oh, sweetheart…"
The Doctor hopped up to help clean him up and tuck him in to a freshly made bed. Clara was asleep by the time he returned and she looked so peaceful, he didn't want to disturb her. So instead, he walked outside to the TARDIS.
"Oh, come on," he said to the doors when they wouldn't budge. "Don't be like that. I came to see you yesterday." He gasped at her silent accusation. "I've been busy!" He shook the doors. "We'll go somewhere soon, I promise." Guilt plagued him when he tried the doors again. "You know I can't help that I'm dying," he said softly, leaning his forehead against the doors. "I'm sorry."
The doors opened. He smiled and went inside and spent an immeasurable amount of time checking on everything, making sure the old girl was still in tip top shape, so when he heard banging on the doors outside, he immediately worried about how long he'd been squirreled away.
He rushed to the doors and opened them to find Clara clutching Sam's hand while bracing herself against the edge of the TARDIS. She was breathing heavily. "Were you ever planning on coming out?" she asked.
"What's wrong?" he asked with alarm.
"Oh, nothing. Just going into labour."
His eyes grew round and he practically leapt to the ceiling. "Baby! Oh! Right! Right! Sam, can you go get mummy's bag out of our bedroom? A-and oh, the keys to the car. Oh god..."
"Ow, Mummy!" Sam cried.
Clara released his hand and grimaced with pain. "I'm sorry, sweetie! I think your little baby brother or sister is coming right now!"
"No!" the Doctor cried. "No, no, no! Not yet, baby! We've got to get to mummy's doctor!"
"Aren't you Mummy's Doctor?" Sam asked.
"No, no, no, the medical doctor—the baby doctor! I'm not a baby doctor!"
Clara leaned against the TARDIS and slammed her eyes shut, a look of quiet agony on her face. She didn't look like she was breathing.
"Clara? Clara?"
"Contractions are close together," she explained in a strained voice.
He pulled out the sonic screwdriver and gave it a whir in front of her, quickly flicking it to check the readings. Clara growled irritably—she hated it when he waved the sonic at her.
"But—they're supposed to start far apart. How long was a I gone?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. I didn't want to leave without you."
"Right. Into the TARDIS, both of you."
"What? Doctor, no! We can't take the TARDIS to the hospital."
"We can when it's a UNIT doctor delivering the baby. Come on!"
Sam dashed inside excitedly. "Are we going to travel through time again?"
"No!" Clara shouted as the Doctor closed the doors behind them. "We can't go to the hospital in the TARDIS… That's like putting a pregnant woman on a fault line during an earthquake!"
"She'll behave, I promise! Lie down on the floor."
"What?"
"Lie down on the floor! It's safer!"
He pulled a lever and the TARDIS started taking off. Clara leaned onto Sam for support and the Doctor rushed over to help her lie down. "I will never forgive you for this!" she said crossly.
"We're moving!" Sam said excitedly.
Clara started screaming.
