A word or two about this story and series:

The onset of September (or the pending onset of September) seems to mark milestones for me in the way of writing about the Doctor and Martha, and their son C.J. Ephraim. It has been one year since I finished "Dress Code," I have written on other, different ideas, and now I am ready to return to the C.J. stories. More accurately, I find that I am unable to keep away from them! There is so much potential for sequel after sequel there, and I have tons of ideas... but I'm honestly not sure how far I will go with it. In all of the stories I've written for our favorite couple, I must say, I hold a special place in my heart for this little series, but I don't want to overdo it, and ruin the storyline or my feelings for it. Or yours!

Having said that, this story could have been told as a stand-alone, with any modern Doctor and any modern Companion, and certainly without the pregnancy. In fact, I almost wrote it as an Eleven/Clara tale, just for the challenge of doing something I've never done before! However, as the outline took shape, I realized that with the emotions involved, the pseudo-quantum-mechanics involved later on and the implications for the future... it would make a fine, if heavy, "next chapter" for the Doctor and Martha, as they await the birth of their son.

As such, this story picks up the minute "Dress Code" leaves off. It is its own story, of course, but certain things will be bound to make more sense if you have read the previous stories leading up to it. If you don't feel like it, as always, here I provide a synopsis:

In "Things We Weren't Meant To Know," the Doctor and Martha begin as friends (canon), and fall in love as they attempt to thwart an intergalactic plague. As they research, over time, they realize that they will eventually have a son named C.J. who will do much of the biomedical work that they have used as a jumping-off point in their own studies (it's all very timey-wimey). They know that he will be mostly raised by Martha's sister Tish and her future husband Robert Oliver, and will live, in many ways, quite a sad, bleak life. At the end of the story, Martha realizes she is pregnant with C.J., and as a result, she is imbued with the multiple intelligences of a Time Lord, as her body is temporarily host to a Time Lord consciousness.

In the story that follows, "Dress Code," a malevolent being without corporeal form begins "stealing" people out of thin air and keeping them prisoner inside the internet. Once the being works out who the Doctor is, and that a new Time Lord will be born soon, his primary objective is to appropriate the baby's consciousness and become omnipotent. The Doctor and Martha are able to dispatch him, but they soon become aware that similar non-corporeal beings are on the prowl, and that this is the sort of thing that could cause them to have to leave their son behind one day for his own protection, to be raised by his aunt and uncle. The story ends with the two of them in a state of depression and doom, having worked out the logistics of perhaps their own demises, and certainly of the sad fate of their relationship with C.J.

(There is also, in the mix, a oneshot called "Fear" which deals with some of the psychological issues that Martha faces as she comes to terms with motherhood. It's not important to the big picture; it was mostly a therapeutic piece for me, as I was writing "Dress Code" during my own pregnancy, and was having horrible nightmares!)

And on that happy note, I give you this new offering. If you are inclined to feel attachment to the C.J. stories, that's wonderful - I think this will be great fun for you! If not, I hope you enjoy it as its own thing!

Chapter 1

Much like their lives, the day had brought with it some extreme highs, followed by severe lows. Tish's wedding was bound to be a happy occasion, but it carried with it, at least for Martha and the Doctor, some heavy portents for the future.

And untrue to form tonight, they sat poring over them, until they were both in a depressed stupor. They had pooled some data, and realised that their recent debacle with a basically disembodied data entity, that wielded its malevolence via the internet, would eventually lead to more ugliness that would end with them having to give up their son. After that, Tish and her husband would take the young Time Lord into their capable care, but the boy's parents would never see him alive again.

No matter how much they talked through the different scenarios, it had not helped; it had only served to illustrate to the Doctor and to his temporarily-Time-Lord-imbued Companion that some events in time could be in flux, but their son's fate was not one of them.

The Doctor stopped pacing and turned to look at her, his hands on his hips in an annoyed stance. "Well, blimey! Gotta love the doom and gloom." His voice was tight and angry.

"Let me help," she said. She stood at the console and performed the task that the Doctor had had in mind, cloaking Tish and her husband's existences, so as to make any telepathic scanners believe them to be dead. It was small consolation in the grand scheme of things, but it would help protect their son in the long-run.

The Doctor watched over her shoulder, and was glad to let her do the work this time.

"And now that all the wedding chaos is over with, let's do what we do best," Martha said, flirtatiously. "Something we haven't done in way too long. I'll take the lead."

He raised his eyebrows.

She flipped a few switches on the console and sent the TARDIS out into open space, open time, in search of their next adventure.

For a bit, she flew the vessel aimlessly, just content to be on the road again, and ecstatic to be piloting the TARDIS on her own. So much of the task required a Time Lord's instinct, feeling one's way through calibrations - navigating on a thin sheath of time versus a stable swathe of events, and balancing all of that with the climate of space and the temperament of the TARDIS herself. Just now, Martha had everything she needed to fly without the Doctor's help, though she knew that the state of things within her mind was temporary, and scheduled to taper off with the birth of their child about two months from now. She reckoned she'd better take advantage of this gift (which could also be a curse, as she had learned) while she still had it.

For the moment, the Doctor was fine with just letting her do the thinking, knowing himself that all too soon, he'd be back in the driver's seat of time and space, with the universe on his shoulders alone. And, for longer than usual, neither of them said anything while they both tried to decompress. For a change, Martha stood at the console while the Doctor sat on the single seat in the room, with his head back, staring at the ceiling.

At last, Martha said lightheartedly, "You know, with all of this drama, I think we deserve a babymoon."

"A baby moon?" the Doctor asked. "There's no such thing. Moons aren't exactly born, Martha."

"Well, I know that," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Not a baby moon... a babymoon. One word. Like a honeymoon. The last holiday before the baby comes and takes over our lives."

"Oh!" the Doctor replied, sitting up straight. "Is that a real thing?"

"Sort of," she shrugged. "People do it. Well, normal people who don't plan to raise their child in a spaceship. I suppose for us, the babymoon was staying put in London all those months to help Tish."

"Well, just 'cause we're going to be travelling a lot after he comes, doesn't mean we're going to get to have a holiday together," he said with a smile. "At least not until he's, like, five. I say we do it. What would you like to do?"

She chuckled, looking down at her burgeoning belly. "I don't know, but I'd say rock-climbing and water skiing are both out of the question."

"How about the leisure planet of Oliris?"

"Okay. Just how leisurely are we talking?"

"As leisurely as one could want. All manner of fun activities exist there, including rock-climbing and water skiing, but also beaches, libraries, shops, carnivals, spas, restaurants... things that are more in tune with your current speed. Our current speed."

"You just said the magic words: beach and spa."

He smiled. "All right then. Set a course for the Cantchep Galaxy, on the outer sector of ring number four."

Martha made some adjustments on the console, and the TARDIS' gears began to churn and whine anew. They were on the right path.

With that, she went to the bedroom to change out of her beige bridesmaid dress, and emerged five minutes later with her hair tied down with a purple band over the top of her head, and a simple v-neck sleeveless frock in black. Most importantly, she was now wearing rubber flip-flops, rather than the torturous high-heeled lace-up shoes Tish had had her in for the wedding. The Doctor's opinion wasn't exactly an objective one these days, but he felt this was how she looked best anyhow.

When the TARDIS stopped, they expected to step off into the lobby of the grandiose hotel, the Thonil Oliris West, home to the most opulent Red Cloorda Clay Baths in the known universe, renowned for deeply cleaning pores and sinuses, and adjusting its temperature according to the bather's telepathic commands.

But Martha sighed with disappointment when she took a quick glance about. "Damn."

"Well, you missed," the Doctor told her, shrugging. "Welcome to my world. At least we're on the right planet."

Far from being in a hotel lobby, they now found themselves in what looked like an old-fashioned carnival. Beings from different walks of life passed by, tittering, talking, cheering, and everything in-between. The smell of something sweet was in the air, and it reminded Martha of the super-rich caramel corn she had had on the Santa Monica Pier as a kid, while visiting a cousin in California. They were surrounded by gigantic tents of light blue and white stripes, which shone brightly in the afternoon sun, and flapped happily in the gentle wind. Beneath their feet was perfect green grass, and above their heads, a cloudless sky.

"Oh, I know what this is," he mused. "This place is legendary. It's the Pecclates Carnival!"

"All right," Martha nodded. "What's so legendary about it?"

"It's got the universe's largest... well, for lack of a better description, talent collection."

"Oh. Interesting!"

He took her hand, and they walked forward a bit. "Yeah, it's filled with these rows of booths," he explained, indicating one of the blue and white tents, where aliens of all different ilks sat in partitioned spaces. "They've managed to procure some of the most talented and fascinating species - and individuals - in the universe. They... entertain, provide services, and what-have-you."

The two of them started down a row of talent stalls, and looked from side to side. On the right, there was a tall man who, on further inspection, had four arms, and was playing a three-tiered xylophone, at about a hundred miles per hour, using eight mallets. A small crowd stood round him in a semi-circle, watching and listening.

On the left, there was a short, stout guy with very red skin, and he was holding a mixing bowl, stirring and talking to folks. On both hands, he wore insulated mittens. Martha stopped for a moment to watch. After finishing the mixing, he poured contents, which was a small amount of reddish batter, into a cup. He took off his mittens and held the cup for about ten seconds in both hands. The batter rose out of the cup slightly, domed over and solidified like a cupcake. He then re-covered his hands with the mittens, placed a crystalline sweet on top of the cupcake, and handed it to a delighted little boy. The boy's father dropped a handful of coins into a bin, and they made to walk on.

"Who's next?" asked the talented baker.

"I am!" said a voice in the crowd. "I'll have chocolate loolifruit with magnuts!"

"Certainly, sir," said the stout man with the burning hands, and he grabbed a clean mixing bowl and began tossing ingredients into it with deceptive quickness and an eye-pleasing flourish.

"Wow," Martha mused.

There were singers, dancers, acrobats, more cooks and instrument-players, sculptors, magicians and athletes. Any kind of talent one could think of was on display here, from the sublime to the grotesque. It was engrossing and curious, and Martha wondered for a moment if the TARDIS had brought them here on purpose!

"Well, are you ready to get back in the TARDIS and try again for the Cloorda Clay Baths?" the Doctor asked her.

She was opening her mouth to say yes, when they heard a calm, crisp voice penetrating the general din. "Sir, madam, come this way," it said.

They turned toward the voice, and saw a man, completely humanoid in appearance, sitting alone in a booth. It was the only booth in the vicinity with no patrons currently standing and spectating.

"Yes, you," the man said with a smile to the Doctor and Martha, and he made a little gesture with his fingers for them to approach.

The travellers looked at one another, and then began to walk toward the man. To Martha's Earth eye, he seemed to be about sixty years old - he had short white hair and a pleasantly worn-in face. His eyes were a bright, penetrating aquamarine, and he wore a still, calm smile that made them feel free to come nearer. He was dressed in a blue robe of sorts, vividly-coloured, but it made him seem wisely minimalist somehow.

"Hello, lovely lady," he said to Martha with a slight bow of his head. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. May I ask where you hail from?"

"Erm, Earth," she answered uneasily.

The man smiled. "I see. And, forgive me, but am I to understand that you are expecting a child soon?"

"Yes, in two months."

"That's wonderful news."

She nodded wearily. "Yes, mostly." She had noticed during her pregnancy that there was no room in the public milieu for having mixed feelings about an impending birth; no-one was allowed to acknowledge in the presence of a pregnant woman that parenthood could be a mixed bag and that the prospect was terrifying sometimes - even the pregnant woman herself. Apparently, the same was true all over the universe.

The man looked directly at the Doctor and said, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," the Doctor replied with a slight smile.

"Perhaps you'll allow me to paint your portrait to commemorate the occasion," the man suggested. "The expectant mother and father in the last ecstatic weeks before the happy event."

"Er, I don't think so," the Doctor said, backing away slightly. "Thanks just the same."

The man got suddenly to his feet, and his Zen-like expression changed. His eyes went harder, and his lips squared. "Perhaps just the lady, then," he said with a bit of urgency in his voice.

A little startled, Martha looked at the Doctor, and then back at the stranger, and replied, "I really don't think we need it, but it's nice of you to offer."

"Please," said the man, trying once again to smile. "If you don't mind my saying so, you are a very beautiful woman, and it would be my pleasure to paint your portrait."

"Thank you, but..." she began.

"And," interjected the man, and for a moment, he disappeared behind a thin portion of blue and white tent. He emerged on their side, and took a few tentative steps toward them. "You are all the more beautiful for the warm glow that impending motherhood gives you. It would be a shame to let this opportunity pass."

"Sir, we are actually headed someplace else..." the Doctor protested.

"Look," said the stranger, taking Martha's hand gently. "I don't mean to frighten you. But I am sincere when I say that it would truly be my pleasure. I would, of course, do it free of charge, and I would consider it to be a great personal favour."

There was something pleading in the man's blue eyes. Something pleading, and somehow innocent as well. It was something that made Martha not want to pull her hand away and flee when he stared into her, as she might do with any other presumptuous stranger.

"A free portrait that you'd get to take with you, and have for posterity," he said, letting go of her hand. He looked again at the Doctor. "What have you got to lose?"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes. Whatever it was that Martha had seen, he was seeing it as well.

Martha sighed. "How long would it take?"

"An hour at the most," the man said excitedly.

She looked at the Doctor. "Is it all right with you?"

He shrugged. "Sure, if you want it."

"Okay," she conceded to the blue-eyed man. "One hour."

"Wonderful!" the man clapped, taking her hand and hurrying toward his booth in the tent. He pulled her through the thin flap, and the Doctor followed. He invited them to be seated on two short stools that sat in the stall where he worked.

"I promise, you will not regret this!" he exclaimed as he set up his easel. "I am so grateful to you both!" He hung a can of brushes off the side of the wooden apparatus, and reached into a box and extracted a canvas which he then affixed, using some rollers and a clamp.

As he moved about the space, the travellers glanced at each other a few times, and just watched him rush around.

At last, the stranger turned to them, and looked Martha over. "All right, now," he said, clapping once again, then framing her between his fingers. "There is some special paint I'd like to use for this special occasion. I won't be a moment."

He disappeared behind the booth between two flaps of tent. In a moment, the Doctor and Martha heard a weird, low groaning sound, almost like a large creature in pain. Once again, they looked at each other, both wondering silently whether they had made a mistake in agreeing to this. They had been looking for a relaxing holiday, and somehow had got roped into an hour-long portrait-sitting with a mysteriously keen stranger who seemed to have a dying animal behind his workspace.

Within a few minutes, the man returned with a palette of various colours and a wide grin. "Shall we begin?"

"Sure," Martha said.

The stranger smiled, beatifically, as he had when they'd first seen him. "By the way, what is your name, lovely lady?"

"Erm... Martha," she replied. "And this is the Doctor."

"Enchanté," he said, before taking up two brushes. He began alternating between glances at Martha and mixing his special paints on his palette.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?" he wanted to know.

"What's your name?"

He was wide-eyed for a moment, glancing back and forth between her and the Doctor. "Well, you can call me Michelangelo." Then he went back to his work.

"Great," she sighed. The Doctor patted her knee in sympathy, and the two of them willed this sitting to be over as soon as possible.