The first of the real warmth of 1986 brought with it families wanting to enjoy the fresh air and green grass for summer holidays. Clara smiled as she stretched on the blanket she'd been napping on, waking to listen to children giggling nearby before opening her eyes to look up at the striking blue sky. It wasn't often she thought about the Doctor anymore, but it never failed when she watched the clouds, and she stared up with a sad smile, knowing he'd spent the last nine years phasing himself out of her life.

He'd shown up, just like he promised, every few months to take her back to 2015, then 2016, and so on, keeping up with time in the future as it went by in the past. The first trip had been the very next week after she'd decided to stay, when she'd sat her father down and explained what had happened with her hands clasped together awkwardly in her lap, Herbert seated anxiously at her side trying to keep his eyes focused on the man in front of him… and the Doctor leaned against a doorway several feet away, Sonic in hand. Her father had been reluctant, but eventually he had gone with them to 1977 where he'd cried and quietly asked Clara, "Could I go see her? She's still alive here. Could I…"

The Doctor made a quick rule – Dave Oswald could never travel outside of his time again and he'd made sure to give Clara a charger and equip her phone to make calls across time and space, to send photos and receive them. And it wasn't long before she found herself phoning her dad more often. Sending him photos while lying in bed with her tired feet propped up on pillows. In the midst of Christmas plans and wedding plans and travel plans, Clara found herself coming home from a doctor's visit with a very unplanned item on their agenda, jotting it onto their list on the fridge before giving Herbert a shy smile and moving back towards her room to change while he remained in the kitchen, reading in confusion.

"Clara, I don't understand. What sort of an event already has a date of expected completion, but needs to be named?"

Christmas came with copies of a blurry black and white photo of the four month old life within her, tucked into a handful of envelopes, and a shared excitement. It came with too many texts to her father and nights spent cuddled in bed with Herbert, his hand laid lightly over her belly, their hearts pounding away as they talked about all of the changes that would need to be made.

The larger room at the end of the hall became theirs and Herbert's became a nursery. One that was slowly furnished with a crib and a dresser and a large soft rug and a rocking chair. One that filled with blankets and toys and the tiniest outfits, and a musical mobile she listened to for several minutes every evening as Clara ran her palms over her growing stomach while Herbert held her, swaying with her as they told one another about their day. And on the walls were several of Herbert's drawings: Clara's mum and dad, Herbert's mum bouncing an infant on her lap, Clara's hand holding their unborn son's.

Oswald's first portrait, drawn when Herbert had been just a child himself.

Clara couldn't wait to see his face; to know just how clearly Herbert had been seeing the boy all of those years and when she finally looked down at him, pouting and trembling in her arms, she'd laughed, "Oh my stars, Herbert, look at him."

And she'd looked up to see the tears in Herbert's eyes, the pride that replaced his fear as he'd smiled wide and managed to croak out on a laugh, "He's perfect, Clara."

Shifting to sit up, she looked out over the grass to find her boy leaned against a bench near the playground. His knees were planted into the dirt and she knew without seeing his face that he had his tongue pressed lightly between his lips, his brow knotted in concentration, as he worked a pencil over the page of a notebook of his very own.

Because Oswald Wells took after his father.

As a baby, she could spend hours watching him study the world around him, curiously taking it all in with his large dark eyes. His tiny lips would be set in a ponderous frown and then she'd call his name. Clara loved the way he'd slowly roll his head towards her, his cheeks plumping with his smile as he tried to respond with a light squeal. Oswald was quiet and inquisitive, crawling and then walking and then running towards anything that caught his attention and he would consider it, memorize it, learn about it.

Just as Clara knew he would, Herbert was always right behind his son, plucking him up to hold against his chest as he explained how flowers worked or how rainbows were made or why mold grew. He knew the names of more bugs than Clara wanted to know existed and she loved hearing them softly chuckling together as they examined every inch of space in the house they'd purchased.

Herbert wanted his son to have a yard; he wanted his wife to have a garden.

She smiled as she watched the man who shifted on the bench next to Oswald. He bent to whisper encouragement to their son and she could see the boy raise his head quickly, an enthusiastic nod that came with a laugh that melted her heart as she looked to the adoration on Herbert's face. He promised his son he would never let him feel an ounce of the rejection he'd felt as a child and Herbert had more than lived up to that promise. Clara didn't know if their son would grow to be an author or an artist or an astronaut, but she knew anything that boy set his heart to, Herbert would be standing right next to him.

They both turned their heads towards her, flops of dark hair twirling on a breeze and Clara laughed, offering a wave before Oswald called timidly, "Mummy, could we pick up ice cream on the way home?"

On a nod, she replied, "I believe mummy's tummy would like that very much."

Oswald bowed his head to giggle and from beside her, another small voice chimed in, "Georgie's tummy would like that very much as well, mummy."

George Wells took after his mother.

And a bit after his grandmothers.

He smiled devilishly at her, hazel eyes disappearing easily just like his father's as the boy lifted himself up to launch himself onto her thighs. The toddler kissed lightly at her stomach and then brought his head up quickly to look for Oswald before falling back comfortably at Clara's side, laying his head against her breast to gnaw on his finger.

If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd just woken from a nap, she knew George would be running circles around the blanket pretending he was an airplane. Or he would be rolling back and forth just in front of her, asking her loudly how many times she thought he could turn over before he got sick. He was the boy who broke his arm leaping from the stairs and the boy who scraped his knees trying to ride his brother's bike and he was the boy who sang aloud in the tub and sassed old women in the market.

He was also the boy who snuck into Oswald's room when he had nightmares and he was the boy who shared his treats only with his brother and he was the boy who listened intently to anything Oswald read aloud. The boy who stopped his mess of crayon doodles to stare at his brother drawing, fascinated for just a few moments into silence. He would also be the boy who would defend his brother as they got older and she smiled when Oswald waved him over, sighing when she met Herbert's eyes.

They had two sons. Two beautiful boys, the Doctor had once told her, that would change the world one day, and Clara had no doubt they would. Herbert offered a warm smile, the same loving smile he'd been giving her since the day he'd met her and she felt her heart skip a beat just before she heard the Tardis materializing in the distance. Her eyes dropped down and she took a breath, careful as she picked herself up off the blanket and began walking towards the sound.

He was approaching slowly, confusion wrinkling his face as he looked behind her and lifted his hand in an awkward wave and she could see his fingers coming out, counting, just before he reached her and looked down at her curiously. She smiled just as his mouth fell open and his palm reached out as he questioned, "Have you let yourself go, Clara?"

She laughed, glancing down at her stomach before declaring, "No, Doctor, you're going to be a grandfather again."

Head tilting away and then coming back with narrowed eyes, he whispered in amusement, "Clara… again?"

Nodding and holding her hands to either side of the small mound of her belly, she shrugged, "Yeah, bit unexpected. A girl this time."

The Doctor smiled then, his shoulders calming as he opened his arms, enveloping her in a hug and she found on the verge of tears, feeling the bulge between them. He shifted back, his fingers landing delicately against her blouse as he laughed and nodded, telling her wryly, "Your boys are fixed points, but this girl…"

Clara shook her head, "No, we agreed – you wouldn't look anymore!"

He sighed, an easy smile spreading his lips, "Alright, Clara." Then he looked to Herbert, now seated on the park bench with George perched atop his shoulders making wild gestures, obviously locked in a ferocious conversation while Oswald sat beside them, holding his notebook against his chest as he laughed up at his brother's antics. "How are you?"

"Well," she answered quickly, taking his hands to hold them a moment before admitting, "Tired."

The Doctor gestured, "Well you're pushing 40 and having a third child – I can imagine…"

"Doctor," Clara whined. And she waited until he gave her that awkward smile of his before she sighed and told him slowly, "The boys are excited about getting a baby sister."

"And Herbert?" He asked quietly.

Clara's cheeks went pink and she smirked, "To be honest, he had hoped George had been a girl. Was all set on Georgina before the last scans."

"That would have been one uncontrollable little girl," the Doctor scoffed before chuckling. "So when is she due, I'll be sure to come back around."

Giving his hands a nervous squeeze, she stated, "November 23rd."

He smiled, then his brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Clara sighed, "She's due on my birthday. And a few hours away my mum could be in a delivery room giving birth to me."

Plucking his Sonic, he gave it a wave over her stomach and glanced at the readings, nodding and telling her confidently, "Perfectly healthy, just like her mother." And he looked to the way she bit her lip to continue, "This isn't a balancing act, Clara," because he knew she worried.

"You only knew about Oswald and George," she reminded.

Grinning smugly, he responded, "You've no idea what I know, Clara Wells."

Clara watched him as he continued to look her over, something like sadness denting the smile he was giving her stomach. He would never admit how much it pained him, knowing how much of those three precious lives he would miss while he travelled. The Doctor would never tell her how he'd miss her and as he closed his eyes and touched her belly again, he could feel that spark of life – the tiny drumming heartbeat that reddened his eyes with tears – and he laughed, "Susan."

Smiling, Clara allowed, "It's the name we've settled on."

He felt her thumbs wiping away the evidence of his tears and then he straightened, shifting back away from her and the pull of her baby girl. "She'll be magical, I think."

"Take after her granddad?" Clara teased.

Twisting his hands together, he looked away and then shrugged, turning back to tell her pointedly, "You should only hope."

"I do hope, actually," Clara stated, seeing the way the words warmed a smile onto his lips. With a long sigh, she turned back to see Herbert standing, holding tight to George atop his shoulders as they began walking towards them. "Oh good, the boys have been asking about you!"

"Ah," the Doctor shot, hands coming apart nervously, "Then I should probably be going."

She laughed, "No, come on, Doctor, you just got here – stay for dinner."

"Really," his head shifted to the right, "I must be going."

Clara turned to look at Herbert and her boys and then she swung her head back around to the anxious look on the Doctor's face before questioning, "How long has it been, Doctor, for you – since you've last seen me?"

His face scrunched and his fingers popped out and clenched back into his fists before he admitted, "A day."

She planted her hands on her stomach and nodded, "How long has it been since you left me back in 1977?"

His hands curled around one another as his body bent slightly and she laughed because he was walking away from her slowly. He stuttered over several words before she cleared her throat and he winced, "A day. Long story, research – had to know."

"You're a cheat," she spat with a laugh.

He pointed, "I've never held the pretense that I wasn't."

Shaking her head, she sighed, "You never do change, Doctor."

Shrugging, he let out an odd laugh before it dissolved into an honest smile. One that came with an adoring stare she hadn't seen from him in a very long time. In just over nine years, and she returned it, watching him turn back around and walk away just as Herbert reached her side. He glanced up at the Doctor and then asked quietly, "Why's he gone?"

Oswald took a few steps forward and answered, "Wrong time," then he turned and nodded, "Wrong Doctor, I mean – he's younger."

"He's peeking," George squeaked before giggling as he hugged his father's head tightly.

Clara's hands slipped over her stomach and she smiled when Oswald moved closer to her, hugging around her waist, his notebook pressed into her back, and he lifted his head, laying his neck and chin over her belly. She pushed her fingers through his hair, watching it fall lightly back onto his forehead, just like his father's, and then she took his small face in her hands as he smiled up at her. Always the same smile, on his father's thin lips.

"Mummy," Oswald sighed lightly, "Do you ever miss it, travelling with the Doctor?"

She glanced up at the sound of the Tardis dematerializing and she hugged Oswald closer to her as she admitted with a small nod and a shrug, "Sometimes I do," she looked back at him, "I miss the danger and the different colors of the sunsets on other planets, but it's not very unlike the life I live every day."

"It sounds completely different," Oswald laughed.

With a toggle of her head, she responded, "Suppose you're right, but every day I have adventures with you and every day is a surprise with you," she looked to George, "And you," the smaller boy giggled, "And one day this little girl will start surprising all of us," she took a breath, watching her son's head rise and fall along with her stomach.

George straightened on Herbert's shoulders and asked with a tilt of his head, "Mummy, if granddad is an alien, does that mean we're aliens too?"

Herbert laughed aloud and pulled him over his head, setting him down on the ground with a firm, "No, Georgie, we're not aliens," then he patted his backside, "Go run along, ten more minutes on the playground and then we're off."

The younger boy squealed and took off and Clara heard Oswald's small sigh before he unlatched from her waist to hand Herbert his notebook before rushing after his brother, calling his name on a laugh. Herbert stepped to her side, arm coming up around her shoulder as they began to walk towards the playground, seeing the two boys chasing one another around. She reached for the notebook and opened it, looking inside with a light chuckle at the doodles of Herbert reaching to pick him up, or Clara smiling from across the island in their kitchen.

They were more cartoonish than Herbert's had been, and he captioned them with dates and sometimes words that had been said or thoughts in his mind. She imagined as he got older, they wouldn't be able to look at his drawings anymore, as his shy flirtations with girls turned into teenaged infatuations, but for now he welcomed their opinions and he cherished every word from his father. She could easily hear his sheepish little voice asking, "Daddy, what do you think of this one?"

"Do you miss it, Clara?" Herbert questioned softly at her side and her eyes closed as she smiled, loving how much their firstborn son emulated him and his shy uncertainty.

Looking up into his concerned smirk, she reached to take his free hand to place it atop her belly, "She moves around when you speak – you can't feel it yet, but she's in there rolling about happily because of her father's voice."

Herbert laughed and Clara nodded as she joined him because she could feel the swirl of movement in her abdomen that sent her heart aflutter. She shifted into Herbert, leaning her back into his chest as his arms wrapped around her, hands settling at the sides of her stomach. Clara nodded to Oswald and George at the top of a wide slide, holding hands as they slipped down together – Oswald's face frozen in a silent laugh as George howled his amusement.

"I miss the travelling like I miss anything that's outgrown," Clara told Herbert honestly, "It's nostalgic, a lovely memory, a fun story to tell the children – but this is my adventure now." She smiled as Oswald stopped George from climbing up the slide backwards, instead taking his hand again to lead him to the stairs where he sent him up first and followed closely behind, "I have no regrets about leaving that life, Herbert, because it brought me to you."

She smiled up at him and accepted his light kiss before they looked out to their sons drifting down the slide again, the same as before, but when they reached the bottom, Oswald glanced up at them with a small grin and he held George, pointing towards them. Clara could see them nodding and she watched George's giggle as Oswald stared down at him, proud of the fact that he'd made his brother laugh. They moved forward towards them, Herbert shifting around her to reach down and launch Oswald into the air and onto his shoulders while George climbed onto his right leg, the four of them creating a beautiful chorus of laughter Clara couldn't wait to hear their daughter join.

Nodding to Herbert, she sighed happily, "It brought me home."

- The End