A/N: I felt like writing something a little different, so this happened.

Rough ages are as follows: Johan at 57; Daniel at 40; Clara at 38; Martha at 35; Lena at 6; Astra/Tara at 4; and Sterling at 1 1/2-ish

Sixty-One: A Night Sky Brighter Than Violet

Summer had just recently begun, along with a new series of barrages from the Dalek Empire. The Kasterborsian encampment was teeming with activity during the nightly ceasefire: tents were being rebuilt, food being prepared and served, medics tending to the wounded, and the strategists planning for more.

"It appears as though the plan of attack is merely to decimate our numbers, or at least attempt to," one of the officers said. He tapped the map on the table in front of him, right where their camp was supposed to be positioned. "We've sustained too much as far as direct attacks are concerned. They don't often aim for the tents, yet this time, they did."

"Daleki tactics often change on the daily," the Marquis grumbled. It was not that he was frustrated with the officer, but the Empire, as it was keeping him away from Gallifrey, a place he wished he would rather stay more often than not. He thought of his daughters and their schooling, his young son just beginning to toddle about the nursery, and his wife who was keeping not only all the children in line, but the entire rest of the march as well. Instead of being with them, he was slumped in a chair, a map rolled out in front of him, and little more than a few letters to keep him company later on.

"This is true, but with all due respect, Your Lordship, it seemed as though there was little interest in advancing their ground further than the demarcation line. There were attacks, yes, but no attempt to entrench a presence, which is odd when a force gains ground."

"Then keep an eye on it," the Marquis grumbled. "It could be that you are right, it could be that you are wrong, it could be that you are both… these are Daleks we are talking about… what I want to know is what you plan on doing for tomorrow."

"We must secure the demarcation line and return to fortifying it overnight," another officer said. She took the riding crop from her belt and used it to point to the space between two lines that ran parallel across the map in an unstable manner. "There must be maintenance done that has been neglected since the snowmelt—your yearly orders aside, little has been accomplished."

"…and why might that be?"

"We are often distracted and the laborers required are shunted back to their previous positions as foot-soldiers," the second officer admitted. "You know how limited our resources tend to be out here."

"That is always a risk," he nodded. "Why was I not informed of how heightened this risk became earlier?"

"We tried, but, there is a reason why you are here now and not in Castle Gallifrey." The officer looked warily at her lord as he stood grouchily. "What is the matter, milord?"

"Go ahead and let me know of your plans once you've finished them," he groused. "I'm going to the mess tent."

"…why is that?"

"…to find some sanity."

At that, he left the tent, cape billowing as he briskly walked through the torch-and-star-lit encampment. Many times since he began touring the fronts had the camp moved—a mile here and there as was necessary—yet it always was set up the same. Over four decades and he could make his way through the maze of tents blindfolded, though when the mess tent was involved, it was easier thanks to the warm, inviting smells that drifted from its tarpaulin. He drew back the cloth covering the entrance and, after a moment, the entire tent went silent, with hundreds of soldiers standing at attention.

"At-ease," the Marquis announced, allowing the soldiers to return to their meals. He did not often take his meals in the mess tent, though it was not a foreign concept either. After collecting his rations from the cook, he found a spot to sit across from a certain medical officer, who seemed to be at her wit's end.

"You arranged this, didn't you?" she accused sourly. He sat down and adjusted his cape so that it covered his lap, appearing to have not heard her words. "I'm warning you, Johan—don't go orchestrating Daleki invasions just because I'm off my honeymoon."

"Whatever do you mean, Martha?" he replied. "You know that accusing the head of the Border Forces of such collusion without proof is punishable by a court-marshal, yes?"

"What I know is that you're an idiot and probably think it is more fun this way."

"The only fun one can have with a Dalek is teaching it to serve tea with a Kasterborsian service." He noted that although the books and notes she had in front of her were fairly well-gone-through, her food remained barely touched. "Won't you have an easier time of that in your tent?"

"I can't be with my thoughts right now, you know that." Without moving, she watched him as he ate his food, so nonchalant it was almost laughable. Going back to her notes, she decided to change the subject. "Hear from Clara lately?"

"Yes, but it was short. It was mostly the girls practicing their letters. How about you? Hear from Daniel?"

"Nothing you want to hear about."

"I still write letters like that and it's been many years; don't think you're the only one." He saw as she raised an eyebrow at him. "It is only healthy for a husband to want his wife and a wife to want her husband, and any combination thereof."

"Why the unwarranted words of wisdom?"

"You haven't touched your chips—it is also criminal to take that big a helping of chips and then not touch even one."

"I also just spent the past six and a half hours in surgery while under siege, trying to amputate an arm before the victim bled out, to no success. If anyone should be allowed to take chips and not touch them, it should be me."

"That is fair." The Marquis glanced around quickly, seeing how others were staring at them. They had long been the subject of interesting rumors, now even more so now that Medical Officer Jones had become Baroness Jones-Pink. He was at least glad that rumors about them being paramours had died down since he had given her husband to the wedding platform—it was bad enough the Baron and the Marchioness were formerly in love and yet left alone in Gallifrey with the utmost trust and discretion. "I know you share a tent—would you like to not eat those chips in mine? It will be hours before your brain calms enough for sleep and I am quiet enough."

"Since when are you so worried about me?"

"One of my best physicians and surgeons looks ready to fall over—I'd be a poor Doctor if I simply let that happen in the mess tent, of all places."

Exhaling heavily, she placed her papers inside her book as a marker and slammed the cover shut. "You obnoxious little Cybermat."

"If you want Cybermats, I can more than send you to that front… you and Sargent Major Odoshi can share a tent even…"

"Don't get cheeky now—I'll tell Clara on you."

"My wife is already fully aware of my cheek; you won't be telling her anything new." They brought their trays up to the cook and got paper to wrap their chips in. "We can reheat these easily enough."

"Only because you have coals in your tent, like a proper bloody lord," she teased. They left the mess tent and began to walk towards his tent, seeing that the sky was still the deep red-violet of Summer—even with the short night, true sunrise was not for hours yet. "Don't you need sleep?"

"I'll get some while you work, then you rest during the day, if you can, and I'll make sure as few as possible find their way into your department tomorrow night."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

The rest of the way was silent, with him opening the tent flap for her when they arrived at their destination. He held back, however, to look at the guards.

"I'm going to attempt a nap while Medical Officer Jones is going through some notes where she won't disturb others or be disturbed herself," he explained. "Check in periodically to see if she needs anything, otherwise try to keep interruptions minimal." The guards both nodded and he turned back into the tent, only for to feel as though both his hearts skipped beats.

There, on the ground, with a mess of discarded chips around her, was the Baroness. Unconscious.

Skaro's sewers… this was far from good.

It was the first truly warm day in Castle Gallifrey, with a cloudless sky and three children bouncing off the walls of the stuffy schoolroom. After a morning of pleas, the Baron Coal-on-the-Hill, tutor to the Earlessa Gallifrey and her younger sisters, relented; cheers erupted and the young girls gathered their things, for they were moving their studies outdoors.

Making sure a note was sent along to his charges' mother, the Baron collected coursework and children alike and guided his class out onto the castle grounds. They were expansive and used well—aside from all the varying outbuildings, there were many gardens and clumps of trees in which they could spend their day. He chose a shaded area not being grazed by the castle's livestock and all four of them settled down on the cool grass.

"This is lovely, Sir Daniel!" Lena beamed. Her tutor smirked—she was favoring that word as of late and it was amusing. "It's much nicer here!"

"Can we have lots of classes outside?" Tara asked.

"Only if you three are good and work hard at your studies," he said. "As long as you do that, I can talk to your mama and see if we can come out here more often—twice a week, if we're lucky."

"I wonder if we can get three times!" Lena gasped.

"Three's a lot," Astra marveled. She held up three fingers high above her head. "That's almost my whole hand!"

"It is," the Baron chuckled. "Now, let's get back to our silent reading." He went and begun helping them find their pages again, pretending to not notice as their mother came walking across the lawn towards them. She put their brother down and allowed him to stomp his own way over, the toddler interrupting the study session with a high-pitched shriek of joy as he crashed into his sisters.

"Sterling, now that's not very nice," the Marchioness giggled once she caught up. The boy plopped down on the grass and snuggled against his eldest sister's skirts. "How are our little scholars doing?"

"I was just telling them that we might be able to make this a more regular thing if they keep their studies up," the Baron reported. "Does Mama have objections, or should we wait for Papa's opinion?"

"Mama trusts that her daughters' behavior shall make that an easy decision," the Marchioness said. The girls all fidgeted—it was up to them now. She then turned to the Baron and slipped into the ceremonial tongue. "Missing someone yet?"

"With every bolt and bone," he replied heavily.

"Our offer still stands—it won't take much to add one more for dinner."

"…and as much as I appreciate it, I can't impose like that, especially with your husband and my wife off to battle…"

"You worry too much…"

"Maybe I worry the precise amount."

"Mama? Sir Daniel? You're talking too fast," Lena frowned. "I can't tell what you're saying."

"You weren't supposed to," the Marchioness scolded gently.

"I guess our days of having a secret language have nearly come to a close," the Baron sighed.

"Not entirely—there's still Sterling," the Marchioness reminded him. Movement caught the corner of her eye and she turned, seeing that one of the castle footmen was running towards them. "That's odd…"

"Milady!" the footman gasped as he approached. "His Lordship has returned from the front!"

"Does he require my presence?" she asked sourly. The footman rested his hands on his knees as he stood there for a moment to catch his breath.

"No… but he did bring the Baroness with him and refuses to leave her side until her husband relieves him."

"Oh no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," the Baron panicked. He struggled to get to his feet, requiring a helping hand from the Marchioness. "Girls? Finish your reading and you're done for the day. I have to go see Lady Martha." He then rushed off towards the castle, barely taking the time to grab his things.

"We want to go visit too!" Lena insisted.

"Yes! Papa is there!" Astra added.

"Now girls…" their mother scolded. She bent down to pick up Sterling and when she righted herself again, found that her daughters were running after their tutor, books and papers and all.

The little Daleks!

Struggling to catch up while still balancing the now-squirming toddler on her hip, the Marchioness did not catch up in time to stop her children from being right on the Baron's tail as he was led by a servant up to the family's private wing and into one of the empty bedrooms. There, as plain as they were, sat the Marquis and the Baroness, the latter sitting in up in bed whilst the former occupied the chair at her bedside.

"Ah, there you are Daniel," the Marquis noted. He stood, allowing the other man to take the chair. The Baron took one of his wife's hands in both of his, with his young pupils dropping their studies so as to climb atop the foot of the bed. "What are you three doing here?"

"Is Lady Martha alright?" Lena asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, all of you," the Baroness insisted. The Marchioness had then caught up, allowing Sterling to drop to the floor and join his sisters. "Clara, tell them I'm fine!"

"What happened?" the Marchioness asked.

"I just fainted from a little bit of fatigue, is all," the Baroness explained, face growing dark in blush. "We had been on the tail end of five Daleki raids in a row."

"Not just fatigue," the Marquis mentioned. She shot him a glare—he needed to be quiet.

"Martha," the Baron pleaded, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong… it's just…" She took note of the audience and furrowed her brow. "Can we have some privacy?"

"Given the circumstances, I believe that is wise," the Marquis agreed. He clapped his hands together and then reached out towards his children, plucking his son off the mattress to place upon his shoulders. "Gather up your papers, starlets; we'll find out soon enough."

"…but Papa…"

"No buts, Tara. Let's go." He and the Marchioness were able to lead their brood out, shutting the door behind them to give the couple some true privacy.

"Johan is being incredibly sincere—what's wrong?" the Baron noted.

"I already told you: nothing."

"Then why did you faint at the border? Why did Johan escort you back here?"

"…because he's an idiot." She pouted as she realized her husband was far from accepting that as her answer. "He wanted to make certain I was safe."

"Why?"

"I've not been resting or eating properly, or getting enough nutrients altogether," the Baroness replied. "In fact, he threatened to relieve me of my duties for an entire year if I didn't come to see you."

"…why…?"

She took one of his hands and placed it on her midsection. "Apparently I'm ten weeks gone."

Relief and joy both washed over the Baron, making him laugh and cry at once. "A baby?! Really?!" When his wife nodded, he leaned in and kissed her. "Johan was right to bring you back here, if the arse was ever right about anything."

"Ugh, this is so embarrassing," the Baroness groused, her grin ultimately betraying her. "I'm going to have a baby, not die."

"Oi… you weren't taking care of yourself properly for ten weeks!" the Baron retorted. He could not sound the least bit cross or upset—his wife was with child. "Even if you only found out at six, that's still an entire month of not eating or sleeping right! That could have caused you both serious harm!"

"Since when are you an expert?"

"Since I listened to you complain about other women on the border not taking things seriously," he reminded her, voice softening. "I do listen, you know."

"Yeah… I know…"

"…and I want you to do what's best, okay…?"

"You know I shall, especially now that I'm aware…"

"…which leads me into how were you not? I thought that was kind of obvious, or am I mistaking this for something else…?"

"What I thought was my cycle wasn't—it was just some residual stuff," she explained. "After the Violet Sky, gods willing, we'll be parents."

"I think it's more the gods be damned," he half-laughed. Tears began to genuinely flow from his eyes; ten years prior and he was being tortured within an inch of his life in the half-frozen hell that was Mondas, unsure if he would ever see humanity again, let alone if his would stay intact. Alone save for his memories of an increasingly-distant past, there were times where he was genuinely surprised he woke to the red-tinged noon. Now a survivor, a titled lord, a married man, and a soon-to-be father… he wept openly at his hard-begotten fortune.

"Come here," the Baroness groaned. She watched as her husband kicked off his boots and went around to the other side of the bed, laying atop the bedding so that he was snugged against her side. "I promise that I'll put in for leave soon—normal circumstances would mean I'd leave in the early Autumn, but I think that it'll be safer for everyone involved if I leave in about a month, month and a half. That gives them time to find someone else to take my spot without having a drop in care quality."

"Of course you'd be worrying about the others on the front—you are a doctor."

"Not the Doctor, but I'll take it."

"I'm not of Kasterborous or Gallifrey—if a Doctor needs to sit in Hill House, then I know the perfect candidate."

"…and to think that as a girl I would dreamily stare at etchings of the Eleventh Marquis, wondering what it would have been like to travel with him, maybe even govern by his side," she smirked. "Instead, his grandson brought me into his home so that I might be safe while my husband tutors the future Fourteenth Marchioness, showing me more kindness and mercy than some think him capable of."

"The Eleventh Marquis…?" the Baron scowled. "The Tenth Doctor…? Really…? That's a mood-killer if there was one."

"My girlhood, not yours," the Baroness teased. She pulled her husband closer to her and kissed him. "Now if only we can get Mum and Dad in the same room for long enough to tell them."

"Oh, we'll get them in the same room, it's just a matter of it not devolving into a fight," he half groaned, half laughed.

To think, he was considering something as mundane as squabbling in-laws and preparing for a baby and… oh…

"We need to write Hill House, and I need to get the girls ready to study without me for a while," he realized. He hid his face in her side, muffling his own voice. "It doesn't end at just telling your parents."

"No, it doesn't," she said, "but at least we're doing this together, supporting one another as we should."

"Yeah," he agreed. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Papa, Papa, is Lady Martha going to be alright?"

The Marquis glanced down at his eldest daughter, who was walking alongside him as the family was making their way to the nursery. He gently ushered his children into the room and had his daughters put away their schoolwork.

"I imagine she shall be," he assured.

"Then why did you come back with her?" Astra wondered. "Is everything alright at the front?"

"No—I head back in the morning," he explained, "but sometimes people are very stubborn, to the point that someone else needs to step in and make sure they do what they should."

"…so like Mama when you're grumpy," Tara noted.

"…well… not exactly…"

"I think that is an excellent comparison," the Marchioness said. She placed Sterling in his cot and went to her daughters and husband by the low table where their schoolwork was kept. "Lady Martha and your father are both titled 'Doctor' and, in a lot of ways, the role it brings one suits the other as well. They are very much alike, which is something both of them have realized over the years."

"So then nothing's wrong?" Lena asked.

"The only thing that's wrong is that there are still Daleks attempting to invade our borders, and that shall not change any time soon," the Marquis frowned. He bent down and kissed his heir's forehead, which prompted his other daughters to insist on the same. "Now please give Mama and me some time to talk; if you're good, we might go for a walk yet before dinner."

"Okay!" all three girls said in unison. They went off to play, allowing their parents to step away for a moment, stepping into the corridor, yet still within sight as they left the door open.

"What is going on?" the Marchioness asked in the ceremonial tongue. "What happened?"

"Nothing much," her husband replied. "It is just that Daniel and Martha shall know the joys we do, with their night sky clear and bright as day." He glanced over towards their children, then back to her. "After the End Moon, I imagine."

"Oh… so soon too!" She turned as she heard a door down the corridor open—the Baron stepped out, eyes and face wet with tears, and approached them, with his wife lingering by the door. They stepped out of view of the children, after which the Baron embraced the Marquis tightly.

"Thank you," he said in the old way. He then switched back to common words, his voice already wavering. "Thank you for bringing her back."

"Johan just told me," the Marchioness said. "That's wonderful news." The Baron looked at his former love and smiled before drawing her into a separate hug, this one not just relieved, but melancholic as well. "It's times like this that make me glad we were separated, as difficult as that was to go through."

"I'd change a lot, yeah, but I wouldn't change this," he nodded.

It was something all of them could agree on.