I own nothing.

"Doctor, do you have children?"

There's a question to dig under the skin of any man, let alone a man like the Doctor. Guess I was asking for it, bringing this out. It's such a pretty thing, the cot; all firm, sweet-smelling wood and silver and gold stars and moons and a softly glowing little sun in the middle. It was always such an enjoyable little thing.

It's emptiness and loss incarnate.

The Doctor smiles down at little Melody (Yeah, yeah, the stars are great, aren't they) and doesn't look at Amy as one hand traces over the wooden frame. "No." He's proud of how light he can keep his tone.

"Have you ever had children?" Amy asks, a slight tentative note flavoring the curiosity.

This isn't something the Doctor feels like explaining to Amy or anyone else, and certainly not at a time like this. Maybe he'll explain it someday; maybe he'll tell them whose cot this really was some day. Maybe some time in the future, maybe when this is all over, maybe never, but not right now.

The Doctor shakes Melody's little hand and tries not to splutter in indignation at her impertinent question. "No, it's real, it's my hair." He runs a hand through his hair self-consciously; does it really look that bad?

"Are you sure?" comes the just as impertinent response.

Amy scoffs. "Who slept in here?" Her eyes burn into the side of the Doctor's head.

For himself, the Doctor can't be more relieved than when Vastra calls him up.

He tries to leave without being accosted but Amy and Rory both ply him with questions, increasingly desperate ones. The Doctor doesn't want to explain about the whole Flesh avatar thing either; he regrets not acting sooner and doesn't think Amy and Rory would be too understanding about his indecisiveness.

"Is there anything you're not telling us?" Rory the Roman isn't a man to be crossed, and he wants answers. "You knew Amy wasn't real and you never said."

Eventually, he has to say something.

"It's mine."

Rory and Amy stare at him blankly. "What is?" the former asks.

The Doctor points to the cot. "The cot; it's my cot." He licks his lips. "I slept in there."

"You're lying," Melody calls after him as he leaves. "This doesn't smell like you."

He doesn't answer.