A/N: Anonymous wanted the Doctor and a baby, so I did them one better and wrote Twelve and BOTH the Time Twins when they were under the age of one okay let's go.

Twenty-One

Ah, naptime: a glorious time of the day when small children and overly-large children both get to take a rest from the hustle and bustle of daily life. With Clara gone to visit her family, it was entirely the Doctor's responsibility to look after the twins, and once they were nestled down snug in their cots, he decided that he needed a lie-down as well.

It wasn't that he needed sleep—at least not during the day, as he caught up on his lack of standing catnaps during the nighttime hours—but the Time Lord figured that if he was going to be in charge of James and Alison completely one day, he needed to figure out a schedule while he could and things were still flexible. Until what age did human children need naps? Would the genetics that he contributed take effect while they were still young, or would they come out of puberty not needing as much sleep? He laid in his bed, thinking with his eyes closed, until a weight dropped on his chest, alerting him to her presence with a string of babbling syllables.

"Alison Joan Oswald-Smith, why aren't you in your cot?" he asked, not opening his eyes.

More babbling and her tiny hands smacking his collarbone.

"I don't care if you're not sleepy; you need your nap." He opened his eyes and sat up, allowing his daughter to slide into his lap in a fit of giggles. "Yes, I know Mam's gone, but that doesn't mean we have to go and not follow any rules."

Scooping up Alison into his arms, the Doctor carried her back into the nursery, only to find that James was awake as well and playing in the corner with some toys. He put Alison down and watched her crawl over towards her brother, sputtering as she went.

"I wasn't asleep to begin with, young lady," he scolded gently, following her across the room. He sat crosslegged on some cushions and watched his children as they quietly scooted their toy cars around the rug. At least they were still rather calm for playing, and he took that as a good thing.

Eventually, Alison stopped with her toy and crawled over towards her stuffed Alpha Centuari doll, lugging it over to where her father sat and tossed it in his lap. She then crawled in after it and held the plush up high over her head with both arms.

"Yes, that's Tau," the Doctor replied. "Oh really? Tau wants to nap with me? Are we sure that's Tau talking?" Alison scrunched up her nose and her tiny eyebrows furrowed in something resembling a scowl, at which her father couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright, alright, it is Tau talking. Let's settle it down for a nice nap, yeah?" He then stretched out his legs and handed the doll back, allowing Alison to snuggle into his side.

Not to be outdone, James abandoned his car to fetch his stuffed swordfish, bringing that over to his father and sister, babbling in a panic. The Doctor let his son cuddle underneath his other arm, both babies now safe within his grasp.

"Does Sonny need to nap with Da as well?" he wondered. James nodded quietly, rubbing his face against his father's jumper. "Well, then there's nothing to fear—Da's got both Tau and Sonny for a nice and restful nap. How about that?"

The twins both made a noise that their father took as being in approval and they went to sleep, nestled comfortably against the Doctor. When he tried to move to put them back in their cots, however, they only clung tighter, whimpering for him to stay put.

'How long will they stay like this?' the Time Lord wondered. He absentmindedly stroked his son's fluffy hair and frowned as he lost himself in thought. 'When will Da no longer be needed for naps? When will they be too big for naps? When will they be too big for Da?'

Shaking his head, he excised all those sorts of worries from his mind—they were babies still. This was what Clara didn't want to miss by leaving them entirely in his care from the get-go, and he really, truly, could not blame her in the slightest. He had almost forgotten the joy of holding a child—his child—in his arms, and now he was fortunate enough to have two sweet, adorable little ones of his very own.

An odor reached his nose and he sniffed experimentally—two sweet, adorable little ones with rather soiled nappies. He attempted to wiggle away from them again and they stayed latched on, not wanting to move.

Curse Rassilion, he was trapped.