Here's the epilogue! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. I hope you had a wonderful time reading as much as I did writing this from the beginning until the very end. Some people have also asked me if I have a new story planned and I can happily say that a new fic will be released in the near future. More information will be released soon, so if you're interested, stick around!


John Smith stirred in his sleep when he heard the sound of water running in the en-suite. He lifted his head from the soft pillow and reached for the watch sitting on top of the drawer. A few minutes before his alarm goes off.

He rested his head on the pillow again and shut his eyes, but quickly realised that he wasn't able to fall asleep. There was only one thing left to do.

The Doctor sat up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing at the door to the en-suite. He smiled. She would always be up early to make sure that everything ran like a tight ship. Too bad his wife still wouldn't admit that she's a control freak.

With a contented sigh, he climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom, not bothering to knock the door.

A few minutes into brushing his teeth, John heard the shower curtain being drawn and his wife stuck her head out with a smile. "Someone's up early."

He turned his head and froze at the sight of her, forgetting whatever it was he was doing.

"Like what you see?" she teased.

It didn't matter how many times they had had this same incident he would always, always be entranced. It was then his brain started working again and he brushed his teeth quickly.

"Like would be an understatement," the Doctor murmured as he took off his nightwear.

Clara waited for a moment before pulling him into the shower, both giggling like a bunch of teenagers. She got on her toes and kissed him as he pulled the shower curtain.


"I'm surprised no one has screamed in terror yet," John commented as he got dressed in a pair of jeans and t-shirt. "You'd think that they would be arguing by now," he continued, watching his wife dry her hair with a towel. He couldn't help but eye her up and down despite being in a bathrobe.

"I wouldn't say that too quickly if I were you," Clara said, still all smiles. "Though it would be nice if they're still asleep."

He grinned, approaching her. "Some peace and quiet, finally," he whispered before giving her a quick peck.

Just before he could pull away, she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened kiss. A little quickie right now wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Mummy!" a voice shrieked throughout the flat. "Daddy!"

"I really spoke too soon," the Doctor sighed as they immediately pulled away.

She shrugged, laughing. "Told you."

At that very moment, a girl of no more than five-years-old ran into the room, tears streaming down her face.

Both Clara and John knew exactly what had happened.

The girl hugged her father and cried into his t-shirt as he gently stroked her brown curls.

"Malcolm!" the mother called, exchanging looks with her husband who was comforting their daughter.

"I didn't do anything!" a child's voice from the hallway said.

Clara crossed her arms, putting on a stern look. "Get over here, mister."

Slowly, their eldest walked into the room, a sheepish smile on his face. There was no doubt that their son looks identical to his father, anybody with eyes could see that, but the moment he smiled, it was all Clara. "In my defence," he began, hoping that sounding a bit more like an adult would get him out of trouble. His mother raised an eyebrow and he immediately stopped talking, glancing at his father in hopes he would help him. Too bad he was just as terrified of arguing against the true bossman of the house.

Vicky's crying only grew louder.

"What did you tell your sister this time?"

Malcolm stared at his own two feet. He was in so much trouble.

"Just tell us the truth, Malcolm," John spoke, lifting his daughter in his arms. He then patted the empty spot between him and Clara on the mattress. "Come on."

"He's a meanie!" the four-year-old child said, sobbing and shooting daggers at her brother. The Doctor couldn't help but smile. She reminds him so much of her mother.

Malcolm pouted just as he sat down next to his father. "I only told her a story."

"About the Cybermen again?"

"He said, he said that a Dalek was going to kidnap me tonight!"

Malcolm chuckled in response but stopped when his parents looked at him. "It was just a prank."

"The problem right now is that your sister's crying," Clara explained, hoping her son would see his mistake. "Pranks are fun, but only when they're harmless."

"What your mother said," John agreed, relieved that Vicky was no longer crying. It was then he realised that his wife was staring at him. "What?"

"Whose idea was it to make up stories about Daleks and Cybermen?"

The Doctor immediately broke eye contact and looked away from his wife. "I think you're diverging from you know, the point you were trying to make earlier."

Clara rolled her eyes before she sighed. "Malcolm, what do you have to say for yourself?"

The eight-year-old slumped his shoulders and glanced at his younger sister. "Sorry for scaring you, Vicky."

The child hugged her father and continued to glare menacingly at her brother with watery eyes.

"Vicky..."

"No more Daleks?" the four-year-old whispered.

Malcolm pouted. "Fine, no more Daleks, but you said nothing about the Cybermen."

The mother thought it was best she said something before the situation escalated further. "Right, who's hungry?"

Hearing the prospect of food, Vicky's eyes lit up. "Me, me!"

"Can we have pancakes?" Malcolm inquired. "And can I make the batter?"

His mother ruffled his curls. "Pancakes it is," she replied, beaming. "And of course, you can."

John kissed Vicky's head before he set her down and watched as his children run out of the bedroom.

"Our kids are something else," his wife commented as she shut the door and quickly dressed.

"I bet they get that energy from you."

"I have proof of what you were like as a child."

The Doctor raised both eyebrows.

"Well, used to."

Ten years. Almost ten years had passed since she came into his life for the second time. What a blissful ten years it is and still counting. To say that he loves his wife would be an understatement of the century. As much as it was a pity that they were not able to recall anything from when they first met, his wife had again reassured him that it didn't matter. They'll just make new ones.

He chuckled before reaching for her hand and planting a soft kiss in her palm. "Thank you for giving me such wonderful children."

"Thank you for exactly the same," she replied before an idea struck her. "Hang on."

His smile immediately dropped. "What?"

"Why are you suddenly being so affectionate and appreciative?"

He was surprised by her questioned and took a moment to process her words. "I thought I'm always like this."

"I barely notice any grumpiness."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not grumpy," he said grumpily.

"There it is," she laughed before pecking him on the lips. "Come on, the kids are waiting," Clara murmured, tugging his arm.

John could only smile in response as he followed his wife into the kitchen where they were greeted by the sight of their children covered in flour.

Just your typical Saturday morning with the Smiths.

The End