A/N: no real theme, just a few scenes.

Clara was restless… really, really restless. The Doctor could tell because she was pushing him down onto their bed now that the twins were down for their nap, kissing him roughly and pawing at his jumper.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," he said, attempting to wriggle out of her grasp. "I need to find where the TARDIS hid the condoms first." He began to search through the bedside drawers, noting that Clara was not stopping, instead moving towards his neck and shoulders. "…or is this you wanting a third child? I can't tell."

"Find the condoms so I can shag you silly," she ordered despite not letting up. He grinned at that, searching more fervently until he found the little, wrapped, rubbery bits of joy. The Doctor then laid back on the bed, allowing his space-wife to do one of the things she did best, until they heard the door to the nursery open.

"Mummy, Daddy, I don't wanna nap," Alison muttered sleepily. She toddled over to her parents and crawled into the bed, not noticing the fact her father had nothing on his top half and her mother was missing her blouse and leggings. "You gonna nap too?"

"We were, but Mummy and Daddy take naps differently than children," Clara said. She was a bit agitated, but couldn't be cross with her daughter. The girl was barely three after all—she couldn't help interrupting. "Why don't you go back in the nursery and lay down? Even if you don't sleep, you should still lay down."

"I wanna lay down with you," she protested, clinging to her father's arm. He stroked her hair and pulled her close, shushing her gently.

"You really need to listen to Mam," he insisted. When his daughter whimpered into his chest, his hearts shattered. "Alright, this once, yeah?" Alison squeaked in delight as she hunkered down between her parents, who immediately struck up a telepathic conversation.

'You are wrapped around her pinkie finger,' Clara scowled.

'Only half-so!' the Doctor protested. 'The other half is around James's finger—I love both my children equally.'

'…and what about your wife? What does she have left in hopes of wrapping around?'

'We'll simply have to wait to find out,' he replied sassily, kissing the tip of her nose. She stuck her tongue out at him before giggling, knowing that it was right to cherish these moments, for they wouldn't last forever.

When they woke up, James had joined them as well, and it was back to life once more.

Both twins were crying loudly, unable to do much of anything else. Their faces were red and snot dribbled out their noses and they sat together on the examination table in the medical bay, rubbing their eyes and interrupting their cries with tiny coughing fits.

"Doctor, what's wrong with them?" Clara asked, biting her thumb as she watched him run scanners over the children. The readouts were in High Gallifreyan, which she was always rather rubbish in, and even if she were competent in the script, she couldn't concentrate with her babies in so much pain.

"Double-ear infections on them both, from the looks of it," he replied. It was difficult to not shout as he talked over the children, but he had to in order to be heard. "I can have the TARDIS synthesize medicine, but it will take a few days before they are completely better."

"You mean you can't fix it instantly like you do a bone?!"

"Not in bodies as young as theirs—they need to go through puberty before I can start doing things like that or it will potentially damage their continued development." He walked over to a refrigerator and plucked a smallish bottle of thick, pink fluid out.

"Daddy! It hurts!" James sobbed, holding his head in confusion. The Doctor pulled a hollow medicine spoon from his pocket, filling it to just the right amount with the pink stuff.

"Tuck in, son; this'll help," he said. James took the spoon and sucked it dry, holding it out towards his father afterwards. He continued sniffling, though trembled in an attempt not to cry while his mother wiped his face off.

"Doctor, you really should wash that out first," Clara scolded. She watched as he refilled the spoon with medicine and passed it to their daughter.

"They've been in the same places; they have the same germs," he reasoned. Alison took one sip of the medicine and spat it out dramatically, getting it all over her father's favorite jumper.

"UCKY!" she screeched. The girl flopped down on her back and began kicking her legs in the air as she wailed. Her brother, meanwhile, was safely in their mother's arms, rubbing his nose against her shoulder while he clung to her possessively.

"Alison Joan, take your medicine whether you like it or not," Clara scolded. "It's the only way for you to feel better."

"GROSS!"

"Aly! Take medicines and feel better!" James shouted at her. The Doctor simply shrugged off his pink-splattered jumper and tossed it aside before rummaging through the cupboards with only a t-shirt emblazoned in faded skeletons on his top. He returned to the table with a different spoon filled with purple stuff instead, which his daughter glared at in suspicion.

"Here we go dear: better stuff," he said. He helped Alison drink the medicine and wiped her face off as well, hoisting her into his arms. "Give it a bit to work and you won't feel as awful."

"Thanks Da," she muttered sourly. Her head was still throbbing, as was her brother's, so their parents decided to put them down for a nap. With a plush swordfish in James's grasp and an Alpha Centuari in Alison's, the preschoolers shut their eyes in the dim nursery in an attempt to feel better.

"What did you give Alison?" Clara wondered once she and the Doctor were back in their room. The TARDIS had been kind enough to stick the nursery so that the two rooms shared a wall again in case the little ones needed something urgently.

"Same thing I gave James," he shrugged. The Doctor went into the wardrobe and pulled out another jumper, pulling it on over his head. First his grey fluff of hair poked out the top, then his face, and finally he was fully-clothed again.

"No it wasn't—James had the pink stuff and Alison had purple."

"James and Alison both had the pink stuff, but she also had a bit of sugar and a couple drops of blue food dye."

"You idiot," Clara exhaled, rolling her eyes. Instead of succumbing to cuddling she went over towards the bookshelf, running a finger over the spines until she came across one on pediatric medicine and childcare, hoping there would be something in there that she could shove in his face and shame him into not turning their children into pint-sized, walking sweet-tooths.

"Mummy? Why is Daddy old?"

Clara glanced down at James, who was calmly molding the wet sand at his feet into a globular mound. Alison and the Doctor were by the edge of the water, splashing about in the chilly seafoam, while she supervised James with help of a parasol in the ground, a blanket, a lounge chair, and some Austen. The sand was a pale blue and the ocean a soft yellow; whatever the planet's name was, she forgot it already.

"How old do you think Daddy is?" she wondered.

"Old," the boy replied. "When him and I were with Auntie Jenny, some lady thought I was his grandson. That means he's old."

Oh yes, Clara recalled that afternoon well, when her husband came storming back to Paternoster Row, fuming over the fact he and James had accompanied Jenny to the market, only for him to be assumed he was doting on his daughter and grandson.

"I think your Daddy is just the right age," she said simply. "Mummies and Daddies are all different, and sometimes other people forget that."

"Oh…" James continued fiddling with the sand pensively, squishing it between his fingers. Then another thought came to his mind. "Where is our granddad?"

"The planet where I come from," Clara explained. "You will meet him one day, and I'm sure you will get along splendidly."

"What about your mummy? She's our gran, yeah?"

"My mummy died when I was a teenager," she said. "Daddy's parents are gone, and I only have my dad and a gran left. Sometimes these things happen, which is why we have to enjoy what time we have." She stroked her son's shock of hair, noting how his back was starting to redden in the sun. "Come here and let me put more sunblock on you."

"That stuff's smelly, Mummy," James protested as he sat down at the edge of the blanket. Clara began to slather more sunblock on his back and arms. "Hey, Mummy?"

"Yes?"

"Don't die when me and Aly are teenagers," he insisted. "That would be sad."

"I'll do my best, but we all in the end," she said. "Everything and everyone, but it's normal to not want it to happen."

"You sure?"

"I'm positively sure."

"James! Son! Come over here!" the Doctor shouted over the roar of the waves. "We found a seastar!"

"Coming Daddy!" the boy replied. Once Clara was done covering his disturbingly pale skin in lotion, James gave her a kiss on the cheek and ran to join his father and sister.

"I promise I'll do my best," Clara vowed, knowing her family couldn't hear her. She knew she would see her children grow up, maybe even have children of their own, but she also knew that the inevitable was… well… inevitable.

Except, well, a thought tugged at the back of her mind as she watched her family from afar. Her cosmic deity of a husband and their children, born of two warrior races, would someday watch her pass on to Heaven, Hell, the Nethersphere, nothingness, some alternate dimension, wherever it was, yet she had no idea if they would ever join her. It wasn't that she wanted to think about it, but with the increasing grey in her hair (though not noticeable, thank goodness), she not only was experiencing a spike in arbitrary vanity, but morbid thoughts as well.

"Mummy! Mummy! Come look at the seastar Daddy stepped on and almost killed!" Alison shouted cheerfully, waving at her mother and jumping up and down. Clara placed the errant leaf—all metallic pink and silky—she had picked up for use as a marker in her book and placed the novel down, ready to investigate.