A/N: The following chapter takes place when Johan is 62 and Clara is 43. As far as the kids, ages are Lena at 12, Astra/Tara at 10, Sterling at 6, and Maglina at 4. We also have more fanart! Sketches, really, but I put a link to it on my profile for those interested anyways.

Chapter Nine: The Bit of A Wobble

Floating serenely back to consciousness, the Marquis smiled privately as he woke up flush up against his wife with an arm around her waist. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and propped himself up in bed. Their youngest was nestled in her other side, the girl having crept in during the night, preventing him from doing more to wake the Marchioness than brushing his lips lightly against hers.

"Morning," he murmured as her eyes fluttered open. She chuckled hazily and brought his face down for another kiss.

"How did you sleep?" she asked.

"Well," he replied before getting out of bed. The Marquis went to his wardrobe and chose his clothes for the day while the Marchioness took their daughter back to the nursery to sleep a little while longer. He had on his breeches and shirt by the time she returned so that she could dress and they could sit in peace before the children woke up.

Through the corner of his eye, the Marquis watched the Marchioness as she dressed in the wan violet light filtering in through the window. She was motherly curves and delicate features; to him his wife was the epitome of all the things a marchioness and Doctor should have been from her demeanor down to how she held herself while in court. Beautiful and terrifying, she was precisely the figure of the just and noble ladies that were in the children's faerie stories.

Looking back into the mirror though brought another reality to the forefront: his age. The Marquis, already past his sixtieth year, was ancient and decrepit in comparison. Still tall, still thin and gangly, and with a back he swore was beginning to show signs of bending; he was more and more the gargoyle by the day. The Marchioness, she had not outwardly aged even half of the years they had been married, but he… he was old and very clearly, to his eyes at least, with one foot already in the earth. Provided he stayed out of the line of fire while with the soldiers, he still had many decades ahead of him, making it so that his quickly-faded youth was now leagues more noticeable next to his lovely wife. She may have begun the process of becoming barren, but he was the one who appeared to be advancing in years.

"Is everything alright, Johan?" the Marchioness asked. He emerged from his thoughts in a reluctant haze.

"Lost in thought, dearest," he replied. "There's just a lot we need to get done within the fortnight if we want to host that treaty signing."

The Marchioness studied her husband as he fumbled with the clasps of his jacket. He was obviously lying—they had not been married near twenty years without her picking up a thing or two about his mannerisms—but what exactly he had been thinking of instead was the great mystery. It would surface, eventually, she figured, and dropped the thought for the time being.

"So tell me, Johan, what is your opinion on the king's proposed tax levy?"

As the rest of the day progressed, the Marchioness discovered she was in a situation she had not found herself in for a long time: being avoided by her husband. They sat next to one another during court as was per normal, his hand over hers and only stealing glances to talk, yet elsewise he seemed to dodge her presence at all costs. Even at dinner, with her at one end of the table and him at the other, he kept himself nearly over-occupied with inquiring about the children's day and what they had learned under the schoolmaster's tutelage. He could barely so much as look at her without seeming awkward and distant.

"Johan, come to bed," the Marchioness insisted that night as she turned in for the evening. She patted the empty part of the mattress and gave her husband a smile. He did not see either action; his back was turned towards her as he sat hunched over papers spread across the writing desk across the room, working by lamplight. "We haven't been together more than five minutes today since the children woke—please."

"My apologies, but I have work to do, my dear," he replied. The Marquis did not so much as turn towards his wife as she gave him a scowl. "Just give me a couple more minutes."

"Not a couple more minutes, now. What has come over you?" She was just about to physically drag him away when the nursery door opened and Maglina came shuffling in, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"Mama, can I stay with you and Papa tonight?" she asked as she tossed her grey stuffed bunny into the bed and crawled in after it. "Astra and Sterling are asleep and Tara shoved me out."

"Of course you can, sweetheart," the Marchioness said gently. She tossed a glare at her husband before settling down with their youngest child. "Papa has some things to take care of yet, so it will only be you and me tonight."

"Okay…" the girl yawned. The two then nestled in for bed, falling asleep quickly. Once he was sure they were both sleeping, the Marquis changed into his nightdress and went to bed himself, staying on the far side of the mattress as to not touch his wife. Rest did not come easily and when it did it was too light and agitated to do him much good. He kept on stirring and waking, spending the long moments in between gazing lovingly, longingly, achingly, at his wife as she lay with their daughter curled into her chest. It was all he wanted to simply touch her, but part of him said that doing so would be a mistake, that it would only be another crime for the ogre to atone for.

The Marquis rose early, unable to sleep properly, and went to the study for an early jump on his paperwork. The least he could do, he decided, was allow his wife to have as little work as possible while he figured out how to make things right again.

As the Marchioness suffered through another day of avoidance and loneliness, she began to wonder what was going on. A single day could be attributed to her husband's mood taking a temporary dive due to stress and worry. With the treaty signing not too far off, that was what she had gone to sleep attributing it to the night before yet this… this was different. He wasn't jittery or asking her hundreds of questions as he second-guessed everything known to man—instead he ducked to avoid her, backed away when she cornered him, and even gave her the slip for the entire afternoon. It was nowhere near their anniversary, both their marriage's and their courtship's, which gave him no reason as to keep anything from her.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," she whispered as she tucked Maglina into bed. The twins and Sterling were already settled in, and she trusted Lena to go to bed in her own room, but making sure her youngest was down was essential to the Marchioness. She kissed the girl's forehead and gave her a smile.

"Malcolm needs kisses too, Mama," the little girl insisted, holding up her bunny. Her mama gave the toy a kiss on the nose and pulled the blankets over Maglina as she snuggled in for the night.

"Now, will you promise to stay in your own bed tonight? No going to visit Papa and me, or your brother and sisters?"

"Uh-huh. 'Big girls can sleep by themselves'."

"That's right. Now I'll see you in the morning."

One more kiss for girl and bunny alike and the Marchioness slipped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. It nearly surprised her to find her husband standing by the armchairs with a tea tray in his hands.

"…and where have you been all day?" she asked as she crossed the room. The Marquis put the tray down on the table and sat wordlessly. "I've been worried about you, you know."

"I'm sorry," he replied quietly. "I've been cruel."

"You're not cruel, just… tell me what's going on," the Marchioness sighed. She took the chair next to him and watched as he measured out the leaves for their tea in their cup strainers and poured in the hot water.

"It's difficult for me to say," he said. "I noticed it yesterday as we were dressing for the morning."

"Noticed what, exactly?"

He hesitated, contemplating whether he should answer or not. "You are truly an ageless beauty, unparalleled in spirit and grace while I… I am anything but."

"Johan, I'm not ageless," she argued gently. "I have greys in my hair and am beginning to grow barren; our eldest is twelve and I was well past the age for debutante balls when I had her. You're being ridiculous."

"That's where you're wrong: to me, you have barely aged since our wedding day. All the years you should have gained were transferred to me instead, leaving you without fault."

"Honestly, Johan… and you wonder why our youngest has such a theatrical flair," the Marchioness scoffed, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair. She grumpily accepted her tea once her husband took the strainer out and gingerly handed it to her. Sitting upright again, she saw that the tea was not their usual for when they turned in for the night. The liquid smelled light and flowery, and when she drank it she found it to be delicate and smooth with a subtle bite at the end. "What… what is this? I've never had anything like it before."

"That's because I just blended it, as an apology," he explained. "This tea represents how I feel about you—how I've felt about you—from even before we started our courtship, through the birth of our first child, and to this very moment. I've been thinking as of late, and although I do not question your intentions and what you've said tonight, I wonder if I've truly made you happy underneath it all."

"Now why would you think that?" she frowned, furrowing her brow. "Johan, you are my husband."

"Yes, but had you been given the choice from the start I wouldn't be. The blood of the Ancient Gallifreyans runs through my veins and because of that my life will be a long one if it is not ended along the border." He paused, exhaling heavily as he focused his gaze on a bit of rug a few feet away. "Grief and constant work aged me prematurely, which means that you were saddled with a decrepit ogre who went old long before he kidnapped the fair maiden from her father's castle. You should have had someone youthful and peerless as yourself… not me. I am ugly and selfish and not a good man, far from the gentle prince of the children's faerie stories."

"That's not true…" the Marchioness began. She was cut short when the Marquis held up his hand to gently silence her.

"…but it is. Please forgive me for condemning you to this life. You deserve so much more than me." He kissed her brow and stood up to cross the room and retreat underneath the bedding. Dumbstruck, his wife looked down at her teacup in confusion.

'What brought this on?' she wondered. 'I am married to a poetic idiot.' She finished off her cup and retired as well, making sure to remain as far away from the Marquis as possible while they lay.

The following evening as the Marquis put his children to bed, his hearts ached as he thought about the day's events. Instead of needing to avoid his wife, she had avoided him, giving him the coldest glares and curtest replies she could possibly manage. It felt as if his marriage was quickly dissolving before his eyes. They'd only need his bedchamber as the nursery for seven more years—five if Sterling and Maglina moved out at the same time—and it made him wonder how long he could last in such a situation.

Quietly walking out of the nursery, the Marquis silently took his usual seat next to the Marchioness and sighed dejectedly as she seemed to ignore him in lieu of her tea.

"Clara… we need to talk."

"No we don't," she replied. "We don't need to talk because there frankly is nothing to talk about."

"…but there is. My dear, I'm sorry if what I said last night upset you, but you know nothing of how this weighs on me…"

"I think I know perfectly well," she said, "and I still think you're being silly. People worry about themselves when they reach middle age often, so it's honestly nothing to fear."

"…but the past few days…"

"…have been dreadful, yes, but I think we need a couple dreadful days now and then to remind ourselves how lucky we are otherwise." She poured him a cup of tea and handed it to him delicately. "Here, have some of this."

"…but you know I take sugar in my…"

"I blended it for you," she replied, cutting him off. "Drink the first cup plain, to understand the flavor. Then you can put all the sugar you want in it."

The Marquis paused before taking the initial sip. His eyebrows shot up as he took in the strong flavor, spiced and robust and hearty. Another taste and his surprise at the tea's full body only greatened.

"You said… you said this tea was for me," he said quietly. The Marchioness refilled her own cup and leaned back in her chair, nodding.

"You put together a tea that showed how you felt about me, so I created one that shows how I feel about you," she said. She took her own sip of tea and sighed contently, clearly confident in her choice.

"I never thought you were unhappy, but I never imagined that you would feel this way about me," the Marquis said. "Is this just how you felt at the start of our courtship?"

"It was how I felt then and it's how I feel now," she assured. "You are the father of my children, all five of my children. I could have stopped consenting after we had our heir, but instead I gave birth three more times… the last of which nearly killed me. I'd do it all over again if given the chance."

"That..." He hesitated, looking down into his cup. "You humble me, dearest. All this time I worried about one day you waking up to find yourself chained to an old and tired ogre without having aged yourself… but this…"

"Johan, I've never thought of you as that," the Marchioness replied firmly. She placed her cup on the table and knelt down before him, gently holding his jaw with her hands. "Even if you were an ogre, some princesses in faerie stories only see their gentle prince. Others may see warts and fangs and many faults on which to judge, but I see you, and I always have. I see a good man—one who tries to help the best he can—who is a brilliant ruler and commander, a dedicated father, and an affectionate husband. Maybe you did kidnap the fair maiden, once upon a time, but the maiden is now a mother and considers her brood to be one of the luckiest the land has ever known." She kissed his brow and stood up, going over to the vanity across the room to begin brushing through her hair for the night. Her husband remained seated, perplexed beyond belief.

'She sees me,' he sighed. He downed the remainder of his tea and breathed the residual scent happily. 'I'm such a fool—she has never wanted another since our courtship began, so what more could I want?' Glancing over at his wife, he smiled almost bashfully. 'I want to have her as she has me…' The Marquis put his cup down on the table and stood up to cross the room. He put his hands on his wife's waist and leaned down, his whiskers just barely grazing her cheek.

"Come to bed, please," he murmured softly. "I need to thank you for creating such an excellent blend."

"As long as that's not the only thing you're thanking me for," she replied. Turning her head slowly, she touched the tip of her nose to his and gazed into his eyes. The smell of the tea was still on their breath, heavy and sweet with spice.

They both inhaled sharply and scrambled away from the vanity. The Marchioness went over to the bed and crawled in, starting to undo the lacing on the back of her dress, while the Marquis slid a heavy chair in front of the nursery door. He undid his collar and allowed his cape to drop to the floor as he made his way over to his wife's side. Grabbing her face, he kissed her hungrily, with such a sudden ferocity that she forgot the very last of the lacing and fell backwards into the mattress. Hips bucking and hands grasping at impeding fabric, by the time they undressed one another they were breathing huskily and already ached from the enthusiastic start. Neither slowed down as fingers tangled in hair and old, ancient poetry in the ceremonial tongue was muttered between thrusts and over breasts.

Despite the early hour, both Marquis and Marchioness fell asleep upon completion, cuddled in one another's arms underneath the bedding as they drifted off happily. A long, peaceful rest later and they woke up nose-to-nose across the pillow, giggling at the memory of the previous night's activities. Still sore, they laid in bed until a knock at the nursery door told them the children were awake and in want of their attention. Forced out of bed, they faced the day more exhausted than when they retired to their chambers the night before, but at least it was the sort of fatigue that meant all was well.

The next few months for the heads of the marquisate were spent in bliss as they allowed themselves to be swept away with a renewed sense of vigor. Never since their courtship had their marriage been loveless, nor had it ever been without affection of some sort since the moment they first arrived in Gallifrey, though something about the teas sent a spark through them that seemed to light the night sky by the smells alone. It wasn't until one night when the moon was absent from the sky and the Marquis was nestled in his wife's arms did a topic long-thought abandoned reared its head once again.

"Uh, Johan…? There's something I need to tell you," the Marchioness whispered into his disheveled fluff of hair. She felt her husband roll over and his breath lightly pass over her crown.

"I'm listening," he said.

"You know how the past year my moon-cycle has not been consistent?" she asked. He made a noise in reply, urging her to continue. "Well, I don't think it will be coming again for a while."

"Do things really slow down that quickly?" the Marquis wondered. "I thought the physician said it likely won't stop until you're in your fifties."

"Johan, I'm with child," the Marchioness said. She could hear the sharp intake of air that was accompanying his shock and knew his eyes had gone wide in the darkness. "I know we were told that it was less likely this would happen now that I'm aging into barrenness, but until my moon-cycles stop for good…"

"No, I understand," he murmured. His hand traveled down her back and settled on her hip. "Maglina was supposed to be our last child—what are we going to tell the children?"

"If they ask, that we were both very scared when she was born, so scared it made us decide hastily, but that now we're confident again for one more go. To be dead-honest, this child is as much a surprise as Lena was at first."

"Yes, a surprise. That is definitely a good word for it," he agreed. "We want as many children as we can have, and to say that a child now is a welcome surprise sounds much, much better." He tucked her head beneath his chin and sighed. "Let us wait until you're showing before we say anything to anyone, even the children. There will be less commotion that way."

"Oh, gods," the Marchioness groaned, tapping her forehead against her husband's chest. "The twins will be out of the nursery by the time this baby is born. Three out of the nursery and three in; it'll be a nightmare."

The Marquis paused and thought for a moment before chuckling, "It could be worse."

"How could it possibly be worse?"

"We could have all six in the nursery, and what would we do then?" he asked. Humming contently, he ran his hand over his wife's hips while pressing a kiss to her brow. "Maybe we should go easy on the special tea."

"You think?" she laughed awkwardly. "Counting backwards, I think I actually can time it to when I first put together your blend. Honestly Johan, whatever we did that night, we need to be certain we not do again until I am absolutely, positively, done with my moon-cycles."

"If we can make it that long…"

"We shall and we must—this child will be good for their elder siblings, but I'm already old enough to where I'm going to be the one fretting over the birth." The Marchioness's grip on her husband clenched a smidgeon tighter and she inhaled deeply, filling her nose with his scent. "Another star for our sky—the last star—our Evening Star."

"Seren," the Marquis whispered. "Their name shall be Seren. It's a name that's old like Lena's, and has been borne by a great many Gallifreyan men and women. That was the name for the Evening Star and was nearly what my papa had named me."

"What made him change his mind?"

"Mama wanted to name me after my grandpapa, so a Johan I became," he said. "Papa got to choose my middle name, though Mama still had to temper him, and that was that."

"You wouldn't be the same if you were a Seren," she said. "I didn't know it was a Gallifreyan name."

"One of the oldest; it was used by the chieftains, before Lords and Doctors and the like. The name spread to other lands and became native; it even crossed the seas."

"…but only for their daughters."

"That is not my problem," the Marquis scoffed. He then exhaled in happiness. "We'll discuss this further in the morning, hmm? How about it?"

"Yes—I am tired. Good night, Johan."

"Good night Clara, Seren; until the morning."