Waking up that morning felt like he was still dreaming. He groggily blinked up at the glass ceiling, at the beams of sunlight stretching across the sky and the snowflakes drifting downward, and it still felt like a dream. The first thing he did was lift his hand to twist the simple gold ring on his finger around and make sure that it was actually there.
The Doctor was married. Properly, happily, without showing up late or running off early, without anything going wrong or anyone dying, he got married.
"I'm not telling you the combination to take it off."
He looked beside him and saw Harry laying there, with the majority of his face still buried in his pillow and just the corner of his mouth visible to show that he was smiling. Harry was really there. They were both really there. It seemed that some part of the Doctor's brain had never trusted this reality, had never trusted that any of his happiness could last, but now it was sinking in that this was no dream. He had a spouse. He had a family. He had a life now.
Whatever nightmares were to come seemed all the more terrifying, yes, but the Doctor was all the more determined to fight like hell for it. He would not sit idly by and let someone take that which he had waited so long for. And that silly little gold ring—that very human tradition of flaunting relationships that went completely against the Doctor's private nature—that ring was the one and only warning he would give. Only a fool with no value for their own life would dare to stand between him and Harry now.
"I won't take it off," the Doctor promised.
No matter what anyone did in the whole of time and space, they could never change this. The Doctor had been sure to land them during a still point in time so that, with a little help from the TARDIS, he could create a fixed point. If anyone ever tried to erase those moments of quiet oaths and the moments of joyful celebrations that followed afterwards, they would have to sacrifice the whole of creation with it. He couldn't think of anything more binding than that.
Harry rolled over onto his back, shifting uncomfortably as he removed the pillow he had shove under his chest to hold him up and stop his weight from crushing the denndi. The moment the Doctor saw that little ball of flesh come into the light, he couldn't resist reaching his hand out and touching it.
"Hello, there, you little monster," he said, grinning as Harry groaned and tried to push his hands away. "Do you want to say good morning to your Banni? Aw, yes, you do."
"Stop it," Harry grumbled, trying unsuccessfully to push the Doctor back. "It can't hear you yet anyway."
"Oh, we don't know that," the Doctor insisted and latched on to Harry's side, forcibly pulling himself close so that he could rest his head on Harry's shoulder with his nose against the side of the denndi. "It's got two geniuses for parents so it's probably an early learner. Tokrah has no faith in you, baby."
"Don't say that!"
"But I thought it couldn't hear me?"
Harry gave up after a few minutes and let the Doctor do what he wanted. He laid there for quite a long time, finding it strangely comforting to talk to the little bump even if he was only talking nonsense that wouldn't be heard.
This one would grow up properly, he decided. There was no Academy that would want to whisk them away too young, no burden of duty placed on their shoulders from infancy, and absolutely no loneliness. This baby would not feel any fear of the universe because it had two fathers who were masters at fighting back the monsters in the dark, and an entire family of people who were not afraid to take a stand. This baby would not grow up as a Time Lord but as a child of the TARDIS, and that was so much better.
By the time he felt satisfied to let the motionless bump be, Harry had fallen back asleep. It was probably best not to wake him after such a long night and the Doctor crept out of bed quietly to jump in the shower. It would be nice to have a little time to himself after all the commotion last night anyway.
Boris had attracted an awful lot of attention at the restaurant and several people couldn't resist coming over to talk to him. Then of course, once they were there, there were so many other interesting things to hold their attention. First, they would become captivated by Boris himself, then by the fact that Harry could use telepathy to speak for Boris, then they would notice the lump on Harry's chest and Wilfred couldn't help but blurt out that it was a baby, and at some point during the baby talk, Donna would happily find some excuse to bring up the fact they were celebrating a wedding.
As the night progressed, more chats turned into invitations to sit down, tables had been pushed together, and their party had doubled. A lovely couple who had joined them insisted on buying a round of drinks for everyone, then insisted on buying more just so that they could watch the way Boris would stick his finger in the glass and the drink would vanish as though it were being sucked through a straw. They shared many stories and the Doctor was a little relieved to see that Jack had a rather attractive woman for him to focus his flirtatious comments on.
It was all good fun, but it had been an unusual amount of people and noise to be exposed to. When the others left to return to the TARDIS and he and Harry were finally left alone to head to the hotel suite they decided to stay in, they both let out a sigh of relief. Men who had spent so many years alone were not entirely prepared to be quite so social.
As he reached to turn the water off he felt something stir in his mind—something being touched by an outside source. He paused a moment to slick back his hair with his hands, keeping the water from his eyes, as he tried to identify it. But there was no feeling of warmth or happiness, nothing even familiar.
"If you think catching me without my clothes on is going to make me an easy a target," he said casually, reaching through the shower curtain to grab a towel. "You're going to have to try harder."
He expected it, but seeing her standing there when he pulled back the curtain still seemed to make his hearts stop for a moment. There she was, as real and solid as he was, though he knew she was only projecting the image into his mind. That sweet looking little girl from Godforge that he had gotten to his knees for, suffered having his hair pulled, and kissed her happily on the cheek was staring up at him with her grey eyes full of confidence.
"Doctor," she said with a little bow of her head. "I believe congratulations are in order."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing," she answered simply and her black lips curled upwards into a polite smile. "I am glad to see that you are living your life well."
Did she only mean the wedding or did she know about the baby as well? He couldn't let any fear show. He couldn't react in any way that might give her information. She was presenting herself for a reason and he was determined not to give her what she came for, no matter what it was.
"Don't give me that rubbish," he answered impatiently, grabbing a second towel to rub his hair dry. "You can hardly say that when we both know you have only the worst intentions for me."
"Not for you," she assured him, still smiling in that eerily casual way, as though they were only discussing weekend plans. "You are so loved. Not just by your new husband, but by all, and I have a lot of respect for that. I have to admit that I am jealous of you, Doctor, and I still regret what must be done. I do not—"
"There is nothing that must be done!"
"Do not interrupt me." She said it calmly, but with an edge of anger to her voice.
"I'll interrupt you all I like. Talking is what I do best," he spat back—it was always possible that she might slip up if he made her emotional. "And I hardly think that I owe you any courtesy no matter what niceties you observe because, even if you regret it, you are willfully trying to take away everything that matters to me. You don't deserve to speak to me, let alone ask me to listen. Now, in case you haven't noticed, I was trying to get ready for my first day as a married man. So go away."
He turned away from her and looked into the bathroom mirror instead. There was a painfully long moment where he had to pretend that he was truly preoccupied with drying his hair and checking if the length of his sideburns were even. She stood there, like a ghost, just watching him in the mirror's reflection. He supposed she was waiting for a sign of weakness or some signal that could allow her to start up the conversation again.
"I came to talk with you, Doctor," she said after a significant silence.
"I know that," he answered, keeping his tone impatient and refusing to let his eyes wander back to her. "But I don't want to talk to you."
"Perhaps I have waited long enough. Perhaps I should take you now?"
"You're welcome to try."
"Are you not concerned for the safety of your child?"
He hesitated. He not only hesitated, he looked at her. She got the reaction she wanted. He had really hoped that she didn't know about that. But she was threatening his family again—reminding him of what she intended to do and making it clear that she was not going to change her mind. That was what she came for.
This was about power and control. This was about fear. She wanted him to feel like he was trapped on some path to an inevitable fate. For the first time, he realized that maybe the reason she was warning him was because she hoped he would walk into the slaughter, thinking he had no choice. Just like he nearly did on Christmas day because he misinterpreted the prophecy of the Ood.
So far, he hadn't seen her do anything but talk and display a few telepathic tricks.
"Don't play games with me," he growled, truly losing his patience now. "My child is no more safe from you than I am. I know what you do to children," he was raising his voice now but he was too angry to care, and seeing her take a step backwards only fueled the forces of anger bubbling forth in his mind. "And you should know what I do to people who kill children. You like to act like you know so much but you have made a mistake that even the biggest of fools would not be stupid enough to make."
He turned now and bent down low to look her right in the eye—the same thing that had earned him so much of her admiration on Godforge. He saw just a flash of fear in those dead, grey eyes and a surge of savage pleasure shot through him, rippling through him and growing stronger as he watched her take another tiny step back. He thought of the presence he felt during the soul infusion with Harry and felt it again now, of a grizzly animal waiting to bite and tear and taste blood.
"You let me know that you're still alive," he hissed, bringing his face within inches of hers. "You think you're coming after me but know this, little girl: I am the Doctor and I am coming for you."
It was then that he realized why she looked afraid. He was reaching back through the bridge she had created and the fury he felt was lashing out. He was using the same skill that he thought was Harry's alone—creating a physical sensation by simply tricking the brain into believing it was experiencing touch. He knew that she could feel his hands, like those of some vengeful ghost, gripping her by the shoulders and squeezing with crushing force, threatening to find their way to her throat.
"Because if there was anything true that the Master ever told you, it was that I know what you did. And I will kill you for it."
He saw her flinching. Saw the confusion and surprise. She didn't know that he had learned such a skill any more than he did, and he loved that it frightened her. He didn't really know how he was doing it but he tried to intensify everything he felt and thought about hurting her. With the simple power of his mind, he could make her feel physical pain. As satisfying as it was to make her hurt, it felt so much better to make her afraid.
"Basically . . . run."
