Author's Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who has followed and favorited this so far! I really appreciate it :) I love writing, and being able to share it with others makes it that much more fun. So thank you!
I don't own Doctor Who, because if I did, Jack would be around. And shirtless.
"What do you mean, daughter?" Clara splutters, now perplexed beyond comprehension.
The Doctor grimaces, rubbing his chin absently. "I've—ehm, I've been a father, before, you know. Old man, me. Lived hundreds of years, many different lives. Is it so far-fetched I would have children, Clara?" He casts a stern look towards her, and she flinches.
"Well, of course not, Doctor…but I thought…em…" She is wary of bringing up past children, past regrets and failures, even after the events with the Moment, but she feels this is important enough to cross that fine line between curious and digging. "I thought that all of your family…well, died," she finishes in a small voice.
A touch of hesitation and pain flitters over his face, but he shrugs it away quickly, having had many years with which to deal with the pain of losing his children and grandchild. "Yes. They did. She's an—an echo. Well, no, that's not fair. More like an anomaly, I suppose you could call her. Yes. That's the word. It's called 'progenation'." At her confused look he elaborates. "It's—ah, it's artificial reproduction, using diploid cells from one single organism. The sample of diploid cells are then reproduced into haploid cells, which in turn are reorganized to create a new arrangement, which is quite unlike the original diploid cells, but has the same genetics…." His voices trails away at her blank expression, and while he loves having Clara around, because she is caring and bright, he misses Donna and Martha in this moment; they would understand the explanation, namely because they had been there when Jenny was born—created. Plus, given her degree in medicine, Martha would have no trouble understanding the science of the process; Donna probably would have slapped him before he could mention the word "diploid". He grins at the thought, but then runs a hand over his tired face as a memory surfaces of anguished pleas and regrets.
Clara watches the motion and is unpleasantly struck again at how old this Doctor seems, compared to her previous one. The lines near his eyes and the grey marking the strands of his hair remind her of the last Christmas cracker she ever pulled with her bow tie Doctor, and she feels another twinge of grief for what has been lost. A hint of exasperation mingles with her confusion, and she wishes, not for the first time, that she understood an iota of what he was talking about.
The Doctor's eyes scan the alley and the market beyond with trepidation, as if he is afraid of the petite girl with blonde hair. Well, girl is a bit unfair—really, she seems near in age to Clara herself, but, then, if she is the Doctor's daughter, she could be anywhere from twenty-five to nine hundred. Still, no matter her age; what is more important is the Doctor's antics. Surely he is acting silly to show fear of his own flesh and blood. Clara puts her hands on her hips and asks sternly, "Don't you want to talk to her, then?"
The Doctor glances at Clara with alarm. "Of course not. Why would you ask such a stupid question?" Inwardly wincing, he thinks over the curt nature of this form. He remembers asking Clara, moments after crash landing the TARDIS, if he was a good man. She seemed then that she did not know the answer. His tenth form—or would it have been his eleventh and twelfth? He certainly was vain back then—was rude and not ginger, and it seems that those qualities have bled over into this new body. Still, if he is honest with himself, it had been a stupid question. There is no scenario that he can foresee in which confronting Jenny would end well. Not only is he two faces different from when they first met (or when his DNA created her), she is meant to be dead. She died in his arms, on that forsaken planet in front of the Source. Just because she had Gallifreyan DNA does not mean she had regeneration capabilities. Which would either mean that she was some evil version of Jenny (Raxacoricofallapatorian, perhaps?) or she simply looked like his daughter, in which case running towards her with open arms and a genial smile would only frighten her. There is no possible way that girl in the market could be his Jenny, complete with Gallifreyan regenerations.
"Jen, what do you think of this?" Pulled away from staring after the strange yet familiar man that had just darted out of sight, Jenny turns to Ben, who is holding an innocuous crimson rock in the palm of his hand. She smiles, once again pleased that she had found someone to share in her dream, the one she had inherited from her father. It hadn't been too long after leaving Messaline, only a few months or so perhaps, when she had run into Ben, quite literally, on a bazaar on the planet Denali (named for its snow-capped mountain ranges quite similar to those found in the Alaskan region on Earth; Jenny has yet to visit the human's original planet, but she is looking forward to it). Ben had been a scavenger and a small-time thief, and had made the mistake of trying to pick-pocket Jenny. She, being agile and strong—two hearts and a Time Lord father, coupled with being born knowing how to fight—had immediately brought the poor kid to his knees. He had stared at her with defiance and blatant admiration, and had said, "If you're going to kill me, do it already. I ain't got all day, you know."
She had laughed, helping him to his feet, and had asked his name. She had then been able to wheedle his story from him, and had found out that he worked for the wrong people who made him feel like he had no other choice than to steal for scraps (both metal and edible). She had told him that there is always a choice, something her father had made her believe. She then had grabbed his hand, telling him with a quirky grin to run, and they had never stopped, fulfilling her last words on Messaline.
She loves Ben; he is intelligent, kind, and charming, and he finds such joy in what they do, given that he had been stuck on Denali his entire life. It is amazing how much more exciting travelling the stars can be with someone to share it with. Plus, he is able to read people better than she, and that ability has saved them from some sticky situations. She walks over to him, glances at the stone in his palm, and asks, "What is it, then?"
"It's called 'hematite'. Apparently found on Earth, Azchalia, and a few other planets with similar characteristics." Jenny smiles; Ben apparently read the place-card for the dark red rock. "It has long been said that hematite has blood-purifying properties, but what is most interesting about the mineral is its association with psychic awareness."
Her interest piqued, she moves her hand towards the stone. "You don't say? I wonder if it increases the ability if you already have it."
He glances at her as he places the hematite in her palm. "Probably. It's worth a shot."
She certainly hopes so. Having quickly discovered her telepathy after waking on Messaline, she had been training herself, strengthening her ability. Assuming her father has the same telepathic gifts as hers, she should be able to reach out to his mind to reassure him of her reboot (having no other word for what happened to her, reboot is as good as any). Ever since leaving the newly terraformed planet, Jenny had been searching for her father, using her ship and her mind, but to no avail. She had briefly spoken to Cline and the others about what had happened after Cobb had shot her through one of her hearts and had discovered that her father believed her to be dead, which is why he, Martha, and Donna did not stay. She had been promised a place on his ship, a place in his life, and she is determined to find him to collect. Worried that her mind is simply not yet strong enough to reach out to her father's, she eagerly closes her fingers around the blood-red stone, hoping that it works.
With the rock in one hand and Ben's clasping the other, she reaches out her mind, desperately searching for her father. There is so much noise, so much that it is almost impossible to navigate the voices and sounds, but—there—a light flickering in the distance—she moves towards it, and it grows in size, stronger, too. Bright orange tendrils tentatively reach towards her sunny yellow strands, and, in her enthusiasm, her strands wrap themselves around the tendrils of light. The orange pulls back briefly, but then carefully inches forward, as if to say, "slow down". She hears those words in her mind and gasps with excitement, and the connection is broken.
Her eyes open and find Ben's; he chuckles and says, "So, I guess it works, then? A bargain at only ten denals! We should buy it, see if it will help you find your dad."
"No need, Ben. I think he's here." Her body turns towards the alley where she last saw the strange man. He didn't look a thing like her father, but for some reason, she knows that it's him.
"Here? Where? We-I-well! Which one is he?" He scans the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone resembling Jenny.
She points down the square, and, after he places the hematite back on the table with an apologetic smile, they hurry towards the alley. Jenny is sprinting, nearly jumping with anticipation. What is she going to say? Will he mind Ben coming along? Is Donna still with him? She pauses at Ben's shout to wait up; grinning broadly, she grabs his hand and says, "Come on, then, slowpoke! He's here!"
As they reach the alley, a young brunette in a red dress steps out, an older man in tow. His hair is grey, skin marred with wrinkles, face tired; he hardly resembles the man she knew as her father. He was all brown and freckles, too skinny and gangly. But he had such manic energy, such excitement for life; this man seems to have none, except in his eyes. The eyes—blue, not brown—are where the resemblance really shows; they are so full of emotion, like they've lived for so long, seen wonders and downfalls, hope and pain. Now they reflect relief and joy, the emotions swirling within her. On instinct, her mind reaches out and immediately grasp the orange tendrils. He reassures her, and she blinks in recognition. Somehow, this man is the same man she met two years ago. Rushing forward, past the startled brunette, she leaps into the man's arms, grinning all the while. His embrace tightens around her and she feels him sigh happily.
Pulling back and staring into his familiar eyes, she says, "Hello, Father."