A/N: Due to material I've written for Stars in A Sky of Blood and Blue, story and prompt-fills, I got a prompt for this involving Twelve and the Time Twins and psychicness, so here we are!

Twelve

One week, four day, five hours, and twelve minutes—that's how long Clara had been living full-time on the TARDIS for when it first happened. She hadn't yet begun to show the fact that she was pregnant, but with twins she knew it was only a matter of time and had to concoct her cover story and commit to it quickly. Now she was living in the ship, the Doctor semi-permanently moved into her bedroom, and he was fussing over her as though they were stuck on a world which was ending.

"Hmm? What was that?" he murmured into her hair. They were snuggled up together on the couch in the study, a warm fire going and their hands up one another's shirts possessively.

"Huh? I didn't say anything," she replied.

"No; I could have worn you just said something, but I didn't quite make it out…"

"I'm telling you Doctor: I said nothing." She shifted upwards and bent down to kiss him, the action slow, steady, and reassuring. "Maybe the stress over becoming a dad again is getting to you."

"Are you saying my dad skills are not up to snuff?" he scoffed playfully. He craned his neck and nipped at her earlobe.

"That's not what I'm saying at all and you know it," she giggled. She then caught possession of his mouth with her own and soon they were going back to her room hand-in-hand, the entire thing forgotten.

The next time it happened, they actually knew what was going on.

Clara and the Doctor were laying in bed, fingers laced together as they cooled off from another round of sex. Her appetite had only grown in the past few months, the exact opposite thing both of them had expected, and even though the twins were making their presence known within her figure, the parents-to-be were still going to bed as if they were still trying to get pregnant.

"This is getting ridiculous," Clara admitted as she stared at the ceiling. Her face was bright red, partly from exertion and partly from embarrassment at their situation. "When is this supposed to stop?"

"I neither know nor mind," the Doctor grinned. He let go of her hand and rolled over onto his side. He traced his fingers along her body, taking in the wonder that was happening right in front of him. So many things about life was a wonder that he didn't even know where to begin. This hadn't been a tough decision his companion made after a slip-up on both their parts, but a conscious desire she'd had and wanted to carry through with him. It was not only a wonder (how many times would he think that word within the coming months and years?), but it was always and foremost an honor.

'Are you our daddy?'

The Doctor jerked his hand away from her and his brows arched in confusion. He stared at the skin he had just been touching—her belly—and pondered.

"What's the matter?" she asked. A frown formed on her lips as she watched her space-husband fret in the direction of their children.

"I thought I heard something," he said. He sat on his legs and carefully traced his fingers around the small bulge in Clara's stomach. "It can't be…"

"What is the matter?" she repeated, propping herself up on her elbows. "Doctor, you aren't making any sense…"

"Clara, this is incredible," he beamed. "It's a rare feat, even on Gallifrey with children born to Time Lords, but… oh my gosh…"

"What, Doctor?!"

"I just heard one of the children, telepathically! I don't have words! I…" He bent down with watery eyes, touching his forehead to her stomach, holding her between his hands. "Hello there, little one."

'Are you our daddy?' It was the same voice as before.

'Yes, I am your daddy. How are you?'

'Bothered. Other is sleeping. How does Other sleep while you and Mummy are so loud and shaky?'

I don't know. Maybe you should ask Other sometime for the secret.' Tears were dropping from his eyes to Clara's skin, rolling off to the side. 'I'm sorry we bother you.'

'I try telling Mummy and she doesn't listen! Why can Daddy listen and not Mummy?'

'Mummy isn't the same species as Daddy—I can hear those that cannot talk, like you.'

'Can you tell Mummy that I'm hungry? Mint chocolate chip, please.'

"Only because you said please," he chuckled aloud.

"Doctor, are you conspiring against me with the kids before they're even born?" Clara scolded.

"Feeling some ice cream, Mam?" he asked.

She blinked at him curiously. "How did you know that? I didn't feel you in my mind."

"It's a request from one of the wee things," he explained, placing a hand on the children. "C'mon; let's get some robes on at least before heading towards the kitchen." He tilted his head up at the ceiling. "Is that appropriate, at least?" The TARDIS whirred in agreement—no late-night naked suppers on her watch.

Rocking back and forth, the Doctor glanced down at the tiny child laying along his arm and smiled wearily. Alison was finally calm, and quieting her hadn't woken up James either, meaning that it was a victory.

"You are going to be a splendid young woman one day," he told her, smoothing her fine hair with a finger. "Just like your Auntie Amy, I bet."

'Will I ever meet Auntie Amy? You talk about our aunties and uncles a lot,' she replied silently.

"Her and Uncle Rory, unfortunately no," he sighed. "She'd be cross I didn't rip open a hole in the fabric of time to bring them back to me, and she's the reason gingers and Scots alike have the tendency to be seen as fiery and stubborn to others."

'…but you would for Mummy. You did for Mummy.'

"Yes, because out of all of time and space, I'd never met someone as extraordinary as your mother," he replied. "I've been in love, I've had other children, and I've even been married, but your mam… she is truly special."

'Can you tell me about them? One day when I'm bigger and won't forget? Now I'm sleepy.'

"Of course, darling." The Doctor kissed his daughter on the forehead and stood, crossing the nursery to place her back in her cot. Four months and he was just about used to the version of frantic his life had once again become. He crept out into Clara's bedroom—their bedroom—and laid down in his wife's arms again, covering them both with the blankets.

"Better be careful with these Daddy-Daughter late night chats or James is going to get jealous," she warned him sleepily. Clara murmured quietly into his hair, pulling him in tightly.

"Don't you worry; things are well in-hand."