The waiting room of the doctor's office was full of couples. Fairly improbable couples, to be precise. One had no other reason to visit Doctor Zhabehasetrul but an incoming interspecies offspring of some sort. In most of the couples, one individual was more or less visibly bearing a child or eggs in some part of their body. In some couples, both partners were expecting. Some others were carrying one or more closely-guarded eggs. The Doctor noticed some individuals too, and it took him a while to realize it was probably the case of someone whose partner wasn't there, because they couldn't be or because they didn't want to be. The thought saddened him.

Clara and the Doctor would have looked almost out of place, with their relatively similar appearances and her barely-showing, dress-hidden bump, if the Doctor hadn't had the both of them wear a perception filter. To everyone in the room, they looked like a very unusual Lucanian and Terraberseker pairing. No one could discover that he, the Doctor, was expecting a child. He had already placed a perception filter on Doctor Zhabehasetrul when he had contacted her the first time, which allowed her to remember about him, Clara, or their baby solely in the presence of either Clara or himself.

"Doctor, I don't like this place. It smells."

Clara seemed to have taken up his habit of complaining about things since she'd gotten pregnant, and the Doctor had to admit he would have preferred her to take another one of his qualities, like the love for David Bowie or for yoghurt.

"Don't talk too much or too loud, the filter isn't strong on spoken language," he whispered.

"I know," she whispered back. "But it's true. I'm feeling sick."

The Doctor sighed and leaned back against the backrest of his chair, rubbing both his palms over his face in exhaustion and closing his eyes.

"You are always feeling sick these days, Clara. Take very deep breaths."

Ever since Clara had told him she was expecting a child, the Doctor had slept very little and it was taking its toll on him. He was hoping that Clara wouldn't notice just how tired he was. There was a chance she wouldn't: he always woke before her anyway, he told himself, and with the fact that he spent a couple of weeks on his own for every day he saw her she might think he wasn't due for a nap just yet. However, she was smart, his Clara, so smart, and he was almost certain she would find out in the end.

Luckily, it hadn't been too long, only a few months from his perspective, so he didn't look like a zombie for the lack of sleep yet. A few months since she'd told him she was pregnant. Oh, he had hoped she would let him live, understand how dangerous keeping this baby would be, but deep down he knew Clara Oswald and he knew how brave, how stubborn she was. Of course she wanted to keep their baby. Of course she didn't want him to be lonely, his sweet, kind Clara, risking her life for such a silly thing as his well-being. This the reason of his sleepless nights.

"You're right, it's working."

He could hear Clara breathe very deeply in the seat next to his, long, loud and controlled breaths.

"I'm always right."

He leaned the back of his head against the wall behind him, resting his eyes.

"Shut up."

It wasn't that he couldn't sleep because he was worried, no. It was because concern kept him thinking, and his thoughts were always so loud. His head was full, full of dull noise, endless hypothesises of who and why, why always him, why always a baby, Gods, why always a baby. They'd tried it before with River, why did they never learn? He dreaded how dangerous he might become if anyone did so much as tearing a single hair from Clara's head. Just the thought of someone hurting her or their baby made his blood boil. He could feel the anger pumping in his veins, throbbing and hot.

In addition to the anger was an anxiety, something of which he didn't want to think of but that had been there since the moment he had woken up next to her for the first time, a deep-rooted fear of what would be of him after, if he lost Clara, when he inevitably would lose Clara. After getting revenge for it, tearing the universe apart if necessary to make whoever was guilty pay, what would be left of the man who once was the Doctor. If anything. If anything more than an empty shell. No, he didn't dare to think about that.

"When's our turn?"

"We're next, Clara, relax."

The Doctor opened his eyes and turned his head towards Clara, moving his right arm to place his palm over the back of her hand. He wondered what that gesture looked like to the other occupants of the room, through the perception filter.

Within seconds, a couple composed of a Pan-Babylonian and an augmented Human awkwardly exited the doctor's office. Soon after the Doctor heard Doctor Zhabehasetrul call 'Next!'

He quickly got up and entered the room, switching off their perception filters as he did so, Clara following right behind him, holding his hand.

The doctor's office was big, and brightly lit. Left to the entrance door, the wall was hidden entirely by a huge bookshelf, while to the right were different types and sizes of examination beds, suitable for a wide range of species. Opposite to the entrance were other two doors, labelled respectively 'laboratory' and 'private'.

Doctor Zhabehasetrul was sitting at her desk, placed at the very end of room, between the two doors, facing the entrance. Her upper right hand was filling in the last lines of a document in a messy but small handwriting, while her upper left moved securely over the touchpad of a laptop and her lower right rummaged in one of the drawers of the desk. Behind her back, on the wall, were hung her academic degrees, some articles from medical magazines and a number of posters depicting different anatomic tables. She briefly lifted her head from her documents to nod a greeting to the Doctor and Clara.

"Just a minute and I will be all yours," she assured in her native language, the one of a planet -Hantar 7- far far away from Earth, but the Doctor had no doubt that the TARDIS would be translating for Clara's benefit without a problem. "In the meantime, Doctor, your partner can lay down on the examination table. The one on the right, the closest to you, please."

The Doctor felt Clara pull him by the hand as she moved to the examination table. She sat on it, but didn't lie down. She tugged him roughly towards her by the collar of his shirt to whisper in his ear:

"Doctor. She has four arms!" she hissed.

'I know, it's the standard for Hantarians,' he answered mentally after he got hold of Clara's hand again.

"She has suckers on her head!"

'Those are her ears, Clara.'

Hantarians sported long, dangling ears, composed of soft muscle rings of increasing diameter, smaller at the base and larger at the end of the auricle. Fortunately, despite what one might think, they didn't have a very good hearing.

'Are you sure she's the best expert?'

It wasn't the first time he and Clara had to do with aliens who looked really different from them, but the Doctor guessed he should have told her that the person he had found wasn't a human. Clara didn't trust others easily and was especially wary of aliens who were really different from humans.

'Of course, Clara. She's the most qualified by far.'

'Right. Got it. Can't have brains and looks all at once,' she sentenced. 'Unless you're me,' she added with a smile.

'Or me,' he retorted instinctively, slightly offended. Clara scoffed. 'Anyway, she's a very beautiful woman for the canons of her species,' he said eventually.

Hantarians had a great variety of skin colours, females going from a white-ish pink to bright purple and males going from expired milk yellow to bright green: the brighter colours were considered obnoxious and unattractive, while the gentler tones were deemed much more elegant and aesthetically pleasing. Doctor Zhabehasetrul's skin was of a rosy tonality that reminded the Doctor of Clara's cheeks when she used her make up to colour them in, therefore falling in the second category. Her ears, as well as her trunk -another characteristic trait of her species, resembling that of an earthly elephant sea- were quite short too, which was considered cute and graceful.

"So. Clara. The Doctor already filled me in on your details," Doctor Zhabehasetrul said, contemplating the contents of a folder that she held with her lower arms as she turned on the monitor for the ultrasound with her upper left. "Regular Homo Sapiens, 21st century, twenty-eight years of age. Correct?"

"Yes," Clara answered simply. Her grip on his hand tightened and the Doctor could feel her nervousness.

"If you lie down and lift your dress, we can begin. The exam is much simpler than it used to be in your century. You can relax, the process is completely automated and there is no need for any invasive additional procedure. I will just run this little scanner here over your bump and that will be it."

The alien woman smiled kindly behind her small trunk, revealing little, pointy teeth, clearly trying to reassure Clara, which the Doctor appreciated. He knew that the other doctor was right about the exam being much less complicated in the 80th century than in the 21st. The process didn't even involve ultrasound anymore, the technology having improved immensely in sixty centuries, though the result was almost exactly the same, with a few extra details. The Doctor stood next to the examination table and kept holding Clara's hand, his eyes fixed on the small monitor where he knew he would see the first image of their baby growing inside Clara.

Clara lifted her dress and lay down, albeit still rigid, and showed her bare skin to the other woman, who then ran the scanner over it slowly.

It was a matter of seconds. On the monitor appeared a long list of data alongside the small, vaguely humanoid shape the Doctor had expected to see. He hadn't expected the flip his hearts made and the grin that plastered itself on his face at the sight, the hitch in his breath. He wanted to turn towards Clara, but he couldn't take his eyes off the image. Through Clara's mind he knew she felt the same, and a warm feeling of wonder and affection spread from her to him. He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb in response.

"Okay. There is only one baby, I think you knew that." Doctor Zhabehasetrul started, then pointed at the monitor with her upper left hand. "Here we have the head… and arms… the legs… and if we turn on the audio…" -she pressed a button- "…we hear their heartbeat."

Hearing his baby's hearts beat for the first time made the Doctor stop breathing. Loud and clear, a pattern of four beats, steady, unsynchronized with his own heartbeat, which was speeding up. He looked at Clara and she was looking at him, too, smiling. He saw in her mind the image of the idiotic smile that was on his face.

"Hearts like yours," Clara murmured, as though she were surprised by that fact, and there was awe in her voice and sparks in her eyes as she spoke.

"The baby's hearts seem healthy from what I can hear," Doctor Zhabehasetrul said, studying the monitor attentively. "The readings I am getting are all very positive too. You are fourteen weeks along. The baby is growing well compared with Gallifreyan standards, they are a just a bit small but nothing I would worry about given your size-"

"Wait," the Doctor interrupted. "I don't want you to overlook anything-"

"Yeah," added Clara. "I think-"

"I am a professional," Doctor Zhabehasetrul interrupted in turn. "You, Doctor, know just how qualified I am. You said it yourself, that you chose me as the most apt for your situation. I have been doing this job for over seven decades, and I can assure you I will not overlook anything." The Doctor and Clara looked at each other in a shared mixture of consternation and embarrassment. Were they already being overprotective of their child? "Now, if you allow me, back to what I was saying. Development of the organs is also proceeding normally. I can already tell that there are no significant physical abnormalities of any kind. We can exclude most if not all illnesses that could terminate the pregnancy pre-term just from the readings I have here. It is too early on now, but next time I will see you I will certainly be able to determine the baby's gender." She paused. "Now I will need to draw your blood to run some tests, you will get the results in a few days."

'Do you want me to-' the Doctor asked mentally, remembering he had promised Clara he would draw the blood if she preferred.

'No, it's fine.'

Doctor Zhabehasetrul was quick and efficient in drawing Clara's blood, the Doctor held Clara's hand the whole time and knew she felt very little pain. She could barely feel the small transparent plaster that got applied on her skin, one of the 80th century types that accelerated healing. She seemed much more relaxed than she had been all day.

Doctor Zhabehasetrul answered some questions Clara asked and recommended her to take certain prenatal vitamins and to be careful with this and that kind of food -things he had already researched and daily made sure Clara paid attention to-. Then she told them both not to worry, said her goodbyes and ended the visit, calling in another couple to take their place.

The Doctor quickly returned them to the TARDIS and then to Clara's place, trying not to draw too much attention on them. He thought Clara might be in want of a nap, too.

Joining her in a little nap wouldn't be a bad idea either, because he was starting to feel quite exhausted. It wasn't so much the lack of sleep that did it, but the constant vigilance. Even Clara had noticed and had scolded him about it. How nervous he was, restless, like a trapped wolf. He never sat, never rested, paced all the time, patrolled.

He was doing it right now too, as Clara undressed, peering out of the blinds and scanning the street outside with the eye of a soldier, of an officer. The cars parked, the people in the street, the red public phone box right opposite to Clara house. Studying, localizing the possible threats, his lips pursed in a thin line. A tension constricting his chest suggested that he was, again, missing the obvious. His eyebrows knitted together more closely at the sensation, to the point his brow started to hurt.

"I know that I can't tell you to stop worrying," Clara said, "but stop worrying."

Beautiful as ever, she was contemplating her reflection in the mirror at her side as she undressed, caressing her belly, examining the swell it had taken. Her state was evident enough now, though still concealed easily enough by the right dress or skirt. Clara was being very careful with hiding her pregnancy from others. For the moment, only she and the Doctor knew.

"That's confusing." He let go of the blinds to turn towards her. "You said-"

"I know what I said." Her eyes remained on her reflection in the mirror. "But stop worrying." She glanced briefly at him, as though to make sure he was going to agree with her.

The Doctor gave a last look at the blinds before closing the distance between Clara and himself, his right hand finding her cheek, directing her eyes on his.

"How can I?"

He felt so angry, and anxious. He felt powerless, because he seemed to be constantly a step behind the person -or people- that were trying to hurt them. He couldn't figure out the puzzle quickly enough. He had been so furious the moment he had realized Clara had been drugged, that he had punched a hole in the metal door of the TARDIS kitchen, broken three fingers. It had taken him weeks to understand that much: some cocktail of nanobots, Gallifreyan pheromones and just a dash of memory-worm blood to erase the last minutes from her mind. He had been such a fool, mindlessly taking advantage of her state without noticing anything was wrong at all, his own mind clouded, her scent so much like the one of someone of his own kind, so distracting and enticing.

Clara covered his hand with hers, than moved it to her lips to kiss his fingertips and then his knuckles, so very softly but with determination in her eyes.

"If something comes up, we'll face it."

"Something will come up, Clara," he said, cupping her face with both hands now as he did his best to make her understand. There was no way they would be left alone and in piece with their baby, no matter how hard they wished for it to be true.

Clara shook her head and lowered his hands, taking them in hers and holding them close to her chest.

"I know, Doctor. But it could be months from now, so stop overthinking it and don't worry. You're not the one who has to feel like shit for months, so let yourself enjoy it. Let yourself be happy. Don't let whoever did this to me rob you of our time. It's ours, it's finite, and it will never come back. This is our only chance of having a baby of our own, and I want you to pay your full attention to it. To me. To this baby. You've done so much for the universe, it owes you this at least."

He sighed. "Clara…"

"Don't 'Clara' me. Do as you're told."

He closed his fists in her hands and her grip tightened in response. He thought that no matter how right Clara was he couldn't help thinking that he wanted to protect Clara and their baby at all costs, in any way possible. He felt compelled to worry and overthink and do as much as he could and more to protect them. He only had to be more careful in hiding those thoughts from Clara.

Clara pulled him lightly towards her to get his attention, raising her eyebrows at him.

"Okay?"

He nodded but did not say anything, knowing he couldn't lie to her when their minds were connected, knowing that he didn't want to lie to her. It was just a necessity.

Clara seemed satisfied with just that gesture, and let go of his hands. She returned her gaze to the mirror and lifted her undershirt over her head, tossing it on their bed. Again her hands went to her hips and her belly as she removed her underwear and studied the profile of her reflection with a grimace.

"It's huge."

"I'd say it's still quite small, considering you have thirty-four weeks ahead of you."

Clara answered to that with a groan, her hands tracing the curve of her belly, definitely more visible when she was naked.

"I'm ugly."

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm fat."

"You're not fat, Clara. You're pregnant. And how does your weight affect your beauty?"

She turned towards him at that.

"You don't care?"

"Of course I care, Clara," he answered without hesitation. "I think you're beautiful. You're better than that. You're radiant."

A smile tugged timidly at the corner of Clara's lips.

"You really are a brilliant liar, Doctor."

The Doctor frowned, taken aback. He thought that pregnancy suited her. The bump she seemed to worry so much about to him seemed just a lovely match to the rotund curves of her hips, her thighs, her breasts, her face. As the weeks had gone by, something in her eyes had changed. They were brighter, almost hypnotically so to him. Her face appeared rounder than ever and her cheeks were always flushed in the most gorgeous way. He couldn't understand how Clara could see anything other than perfection in herself.

He brought his hand to her face, his thumb stroking her cheekbone tenderly. He let his consciousness melt into hers again and he showed her his thoughts, the images of her in his mind, the depth of the affection he felt for her and for their unborn baby too, already.

"Clara Oswald, you will never look ugly to me."

Clara smiled properly this time, at his thoughts and words, and he couldn't help grinning back at her. She shook her head briefly, then threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a hug.

He wrapped his arms around her, which was when he realized she was still naked.

"Clara?"

"Mmh?"

"Are you okay now?"

"I'm fine," she assured, face buried against his chest.

"Get dressed. You and the baby will catch a cold."

Clara giggled. Something about it being spring and unborn babies being unable to catch a cold, he sensed. Right, well, there's no such thing as being too careful.

She broke the embrace. Somewhat reluctantly, he felt as their minds separated. Then she walked to the wardrobe and started picking some comfortable clothes.

"It's showing too much already," she said without looking at him.

"What?"

"Bump. Is that even normal?"

She met his eyes as she put on some pyjama trousers.

The Doctor inhaled sharply and pursed his lips.

"It's normal for… someone of your size," he reassured, accurately avoiding the words 'short', 'small' and 'tiny'.

Clara shot him a look anyway.

"It will be impossible to hide in a few weeks, you know that?"

"So?"

"So, the school will know. My friends. Everyone in the neighbourhood."

"I'll take care of that." The Doctor had already started working on a series of perception filters and other devices to take care of that matter. Something to prevent anyone who knew about the pregnancy from telling about it to other people. "Are we going to tell your family now? You said we would tell them as soon as we knew the baby was healthy."

Clara put on a long-sleeved shirt and sighed.

"I don't want to tell my family."

"Why?" he asked, confused. Clara gave another heavy sigh and sat on their bed with her hands in her lap, the fingers of each hand tormenting those of the other. She didn't reply. "You're scared," he deduced.

Clara nodded emphatically, eyes fixed on her hands, but she remained silent for a while. He went to sit next to her on the bed, just barely caressing her shoulder with a gentle hand.

"I'm scared of what Dad will say. About you and your age and your species… and the baby, the lies and… just- everything."

The Doctor wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

"Why do you care?"

"He's my dad!" she exclaimed.

"He is. Which is why he will still love you no matter what."

"I'm not so sure about that-"

"Clara," he interrupted, lifting her chin with his index, encouraging her to meet his eyes. "When they first put your child in your arms and you hear their first wail, and they clutch at your clothes for the first time and bury their tiny little head into your chest… you let them inside your heart like an idiot, without even realizing it. And trust me, they never leave."

"Did he really love me when he opposed to my relationship with Nina? Or when he married Linda? Or when-"

"I think he did love you. Maybe not in the right way, but he still did."

The Doctor knew Clara's father almost exclusively from what she said about him, but he had formed his own opinions.

Even if Dave Oswald had hadn't accepted that Clara might have loved a girl, the Doctor thought he still was doing what he thought best for her daughter, even though evidently he did not know what was best. The Doctor didn't forgive him for not accepting Clara just the way she was, but in his defence he had been right about Nina not being a valid choice for Clara, even if it had been for reasons that had nothing to do with Nina being a woman.

Regarding his marriage with Linda so early after Clara's mum's death, the Doctor couldn't help but think that Dave must have thought Clara could use a female parental figure in her life after breaking up with Nina and losing her mother in rapid succession, also because clearly the male paternal figure was lacking the most basic dad skills. It hadn't been the right decision, but the Doctor had established a long time before that Clara must have inherited her intelligence from her mother: her dad was a classic example of pudding-brain-ness.

"It will be worse the longer I wait, won't it," Clara said, resigned.

"I fear so."

"I should phone Dad. So they could… meet you." A pause. "Again."

"Okay, family dinner. I can do family."

"Can you?" Clara asked sceptically.

"Why wouldn't I?"

She shook her head, but smiled.

"We should have lunch. At Gran's. You know, neutral territory."

"Whatever you want," he said simply. He would be okay with whatever Clara wanted. Besides, it was about her family, her choice.

"Right. Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I can do this. We can do this."

She got up from the bed to rummage in her purse, taking her phone out. Quickly, she dialled the number.