A/N- Another segue chapter that got away from me, but you know how I love angst and fluffy romance. Anyway, enjoy!
When they all made their way back into the console room, the Doctor sat, thinking about the most recent encounter he'd had with Bella and all the others that came before. From those experiences, he knew she always felt him reliable, for which he was extremely grateful, if equally unworty.
Time had proven him not always so. Years ago, when he left Gallifrey, he'd left his children there as well, taking only his beloved Susan with him as they ran away from home. His wife, every time he did return after that, had assured him they were grown, old enough, obviously, to have children of their own and to look after themselves. She was always quick to absolve him of everything, though, so he could never be sure if they didn't resent him for it, even a little, though none of them ever mentioned.
During the war, everything had changed for him. He had lost all of them, neither his sons nor his daughters nor their children willing to leave their home or the fight for it to run away with him. He couldn't help feeling that was his fault. Had... he been more worthy of their trust, had he been more worthy of them, would they have followed, even when they were so unsure? Would they have abandoned their people, been willing to betray them all even as he had?
He remembered the piercing eyes of his youngest- trusting even as he explained his final plan and telling him he needed to do whatever was necessary to stop the fighting. And the reassuring nod from his oldest, unwilling to abandon his post even after knowing the consequences of staying on Gallifrey. He remembered how proud he was of all of them, so passionate in their convictions of what they believed was right that most of them refused to just run, even when that would have been the easiest thing to do.
Was that due to him, or in spite of him?
When he looked up into his double's eyes, he saw the pain there, the terrible memory neither of them wanted to acknowledge- of the ones who were too like him, who had tried to stop the fighting, all in vain. The moment he realized he would do everything- anything- necessary to stop that child-slaying war.
And then, miraculously, there had been Jenny. His new little girl. He could still feel the gut-wrenching pain when he'd held her, dying, in his arms. Too much of him as well. And now there would be Bella...
Would he ever not destroy his children?
Humans, he could handle. But his own daughter? He would break her like he'd broken almost all the rest. History had proven to him he didn't deserve to have children. He didn't deserve to be called Father. Or Daddy. There was too much trust in that word, too much expectation and responsibility. And, he would destroy her. Because in the end, they were always too much like him.
The Doctor. Doctor who? There were few times when he asked that question about himself, and it usually involved him destroying things.
Just when he thought his friends had finally convinced him to stay, he decided he needed to answer that question, first. Before he messed up another one of his kids over and over again their whole life. How could the universe handle another child of the Doctor? How could he?
He found himself pacing, his friends all around him as they silently let him process his thoughts. He was grateful to them, mostly, but right now, he didn't need to process, he needed answers. Answers none of them could give- not really. Blind faith and trust did not guarantee everything would work out fine.
And he needed that guarantee. Suddenly, now more than anything- he needed to know he could raise Bella to the best of his ability. Even if she was just like him. Even when he wanted nothing more than to run away. He needed to know he could be her Doctor as well.
Because still, he remained unsure, the presence of those he'd lost long ago all around him an all too-painful reminder of his mistakes. He'd all but destroyed them. Had, in some of their cases. And that seemed to be the thing nobody else understood.
He needed to convince them of how dangerous he was. Then, they'd see why he needed to run away from this. His baby. He needed a plan. He needed someone who knew him as well as he knew himself.
River. She could help him. She could tell them all about Demon's Run. About how their Doctor could fail so miserably the damage can't ever be undone. Then, they'd all agree. He might fail his child.
And then, he could run again.
Yes, he comforted himself, all of this would be made right when River came back out.
With Bella.
The Doctor's new bab- his chil- his daug- No.
The thought, even after centuries, still terrified him. Even though he had met her before. Despite her own seemingly unshakeable faith in him. In spite of his adoration and admiration of the daughter he'd encountered in different phases of her life and his own. He chuckled at each memory of his child not-yet-born.
She was... well, she was just so Bella. His Bella Song.
That wonderful girl with his eyes and curiosity and excitement and Amy's spunk and Pond-ness and Rory's kindness and acceptance and River's... everything else. She was, would be, well... beautiful. Bella was so him... and River.
His River.
His River who let him love her just as much as he could, every time. Even when he got so very scared of that love and ran away, again and again.
He sighed, remembering all the times he had met their little girl. Every time he'd met her mother.
River. And the Doctor. Then he finally, finally, realized something he had been running from for So. Very. Long.
That's who Bella was.
She was the two of them. The physical evidence of their love. The Doctor and his River Song. Years ago, River had told him no one loved him more than she did. She had been so young then. So reckless and selfish and selfless. Human. And so very... River. Who knew all of him and accepted all of him and loved him still.
And now that- that Earth-shattering, time-stopping love- that was Bella.
NOT his daughter. Their daughter. Them. Together. They made a her. And she would be... amazing.
A slow, wide smile crawled across his face at this realization. And, for the first time in hundreds of years, the Doctor finally stopped running.
