Pregnant. Rose is pregnant. He kept repeating the words in his head as he walked purposefully down the street from their flat. He needed to think. Needed to get away. Needed to wander and get lost and find himself somewhere unexpected more urgently than he could remember feeling in a very long time. Since before he was human, as a matter of fact.
Pregnant. Baby. I'm going to be a father-and then the word he never let himself think-again.
He'd told Rose once. Had told Martha and Donna too, actually. Not much, of course. Not details. He never talked about it. Never thought about it. About them. His-think it-children.
The tears started slipping down his cheeks before he knew what was happening. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his long coat he bowed his head, attempting to keep his grief private even in the midst of the busy street.
I can't do this again.