Set firmly in my Consequences verse, after the events in "Aftermath". This contains major spoilers for that story (and certain things will likely be confusing if you haven't read it, just saying). Anyway, this goes out to a certain guest on this site who left a VERY kind review on the last chapter of Aftermath, who had requested baby-fic. I hope you see it, lovely mystery person! :) And thanks to all who read.

******for the highly unlikely******

"No way, you are kidding me!"

Pressure spiked behind her eyes, and Rose turned her face into the sofa cushion. "Mar," she groaned. "Too loud."

"Sorry," said Martha and Rory in unison, from the pair of armchairs across the room. "We should maybe have this conversation somewhere else," added Rory quietly.

"Please don't," said Rose, though he was speaking to Martha. "I like it."

Martha snorted. "You were sleeping."

"No." Rose prodded at the pressure point between her brows. "Just listenin' with my eyes closed." The soft rhythm of Rory's voice had lulled her into near-comfort, at least until this moment. "'M fine."

And she was, so long as she could keep the Doctor from hovering and fussing, or attempting to make good on his threat to banish her to their bedroom. Any moment now, their bond was going to flood with unwanted, over-anxious concern, and Rose braced herself for battle. This week of fun with their friends was rare and fleeting enough; no stupid headache was gonna deprive her of one second of it.

Rory was talking again and Rose curled onto her side, breathing a sigh of relief as the pain eased back into dullness- without, by some miracle, having attracted her husband's notice.

An exasperated Scottish shout came from the kitchen. Well, that explained it. Amy had insisted that the Doctor allow her to help make dinner tonight, and right now Rose could kiss her for keeping him so distracted. Delicious aromas were beginning to waft in and maybe that was all she needed, a little food, to kick this...

Another sharp pang as the open staircase thundered, a herd of giggling buffalo tromping down it. Rose slit her eyes open, but Mickey was too busy chasing two small boys to notice her glare.

"Finally stopped raining," Mickey announced, leaning against the railing, while Charlie and Anthony raced through the room to disappear around the corner. From the east side of the house came a loud thwap, the screen door slamming. "Thought you said 1951 wasn't gonna be boring like all those old movies, Rose. We've been here two days already and we haven't done anything fun."

"Shhh." Rose scowled at him. "My head hurts. An' I don't control the weather."

Martha eyed the drippy eaves with concern. "Mick, did you tell the boys they could go outside?"

"Yeah, we're gonna toss a baseball around for a bit. They're bored."

"But it's so wet."

"And muddy," Rose chimed in. "Lots of bare spots in our back garden at the mo'."

Mickey began to sidestep across the room, in the direction that the boys had gone. "Little mud never hurt anyone," he said, eyes pleading for backup from a very hesitant-looking Rory. "Right, Williams?"

"Um..."

"I'll hurt you, mister," Martha declared, pointing a threatening finger, "if you let Charlie get all filthy right before dinner."

"It'll also stain your legs blue," added Rose tiredly, even though she was desperate for Mickey to take all his noise outside. Everyone looked at her and she sighed, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Experiment gone awry."

"Okay, so why don't you just take them over to our side, Mickey?" suggested Rory. "We have very nice, normal grass."

Thankfully, it was an agreeable compromise. Mickey left, and Rory and Martha rekindled their conversation (something about Rory's patient with indigestion and a plot-twist, unexpected twins). Rose dozed more than she listened, and so surprised even herself when she interrupted.

"Okay, I just can't stop wondering, was this lady daft or something? Twins or no, how can a person go the entire nine months without knowing she's pregnant?" She fluttered fingers at Martha's round abdomen. "You're only halfway, Mar, and it's already totally obvious."

"It's obvious on me because of how I'm built. But even in 2016, that sort of thing still happens. Some women hardly notice a change to their body, they just think they've put on a bit of weight. Kicking might be dismissed as gastrointestinal issues."

"And this woman, like so many," added Rory, "whether in this time-period or in future, was just too busy and tired to notice what was going on with her body. Months passed by without her realising she'd missed several periods."

"Yeah, stress." Martha chuckled. "My period was so messed up when I was traveling with the Doctor. It skipped months all the time."

"Mine too," admitted Rose. "Though I was so bad at keeping track of time linearly back then, that I was never quite sure when it was coming."

"And you're so good at keeping track now?" teased Martha.

"Ha, course not. But, I've made the Doctor keep us linear with you ever since your pregnancy announcement," said Rose, rolling onto her back to squint up at the ceiling. "Don't want to miss anything."

Martha replied to that, something about sweet and devoted aunt, but Rose wasn't listening anymore. Rose was biting her lip, unease slowly filling her chest, because maybe, perhaps, she had missed something. Something important. "Mar? Um, how long has it been since you told us you were pregnant?"

"Twelve weeks," she answered, after a brief pause to think. "I was eight weeks along then, and I'm just past twenty now."

Rose stilled. Twelve weeks? Three entire months since her last, ill-timed period, when she'd been caught away from home and forced to nick one of Martha's tampons. Headache forgotten, she sat up on the sofa, her imagination churning out silly rainbow visions. Oh, it wasn't fair, her body messing with her like this.

"Rose, you alright?"

She blinked, the interest on her friends' faces a much needed reminder of the tele-empathic link she shared with the most curious person alive. "Yep," she said, tossing up hasty mental shields without the least bit of guilt. No way was she handing the Doctor this kind of hope, only to have it dashed. "I just...would you two please come out to the TARDIS with me?"

"You're sure?" Rose pulled at the hem of her shirt, twisted it between her fingers. "Like, really really sure? There's no way it could be a mistake?" The medbay's diagnostic screen had been tilted to face her and she could understand it just fine herself, the results clear as crystal, but she just couldn't trust it. Not with something this important. "Because it's not possible."

A teary-eyed Martha was beaming, her nods enthusiastic and reassuring, but Rory seemed to take her disbelief as dismay.

"I was about to ask if you two had been using any sort of birth control," he said, dragging a hand down his face, "but I think I've got my answer. Blimey, Rose, you of all people should know that whenever 'impossible' comes out of the Doctor's mouth, it's time to buckle up."

Flushing, she laughed a little. "It's not like that, it's not a mistake. 'S more...it's too good to be true. Genetically we're not compatible; even when I was with the part-human him we were never able to conceive. Only seemed logical that it'd be even less likely- ow."

Rose grit her teeth, her temples aching as if under sudden vice-grip pressure. Hanging her head to wait it out, seconds pounded by as she tried to relax, and for the length of a deep breath allowed everything to just be.

At once something light and soft broke through the pain, like sunbeams through storm clouds. Light and soft and warm...and a good bit anxious? It's alright, she soothed automatically, and marveled when the small presence began to calm, fitting itself to her consciousness like a cuddle.

Her heart skipped, her hand fell to her abdomen. "Hello," said Rose, both mentally and aloud. Looking up, she found Martha and Rory were wearing worried expressions.

"Sorry." She offered a small smile. "I think I'm better now, I figured it out. This headache I've had all afternoon...well, you know how Gallifreyans are telepathic? Anyway, it was the baby. I guess he or she didn't like bein' ignored," she added, laughing as she began to blink back tears.

The baby stirred again, but this time its silky mental touch shook her world to pieces, as real as a wailing bundle already in her arms. How could this be? Yes, it was a gift, extraordinary, an honest-to-goodness miracle- but.

This was not just any pregnancy; this was bigger than she could absorb. For centuries, her husband had struggled under the heavy weight that came with being the lone survivor of a dead race, and now, after everything, came this. This tiny life, swelling her womb. And just like that, he was no longer the last of the Time Lords.

Tears rolling in earnest now, Rose rubbed damp, shaky palms on her jeans.

Martha climbed up on the bed and grabbed her into a hug. "Hey, it's okay. It's a shock, but it's wonderful, yeah?"

"Yeah. But...the Doctor, he's gonna-"

Projected worry hit her with force. Rose, what's happened? Where are you?

"He's looking for me," said Rose, escaping Martha's grasp and hurriedly wiping her face with a corner of the bed sheet.

As they emerged from the ship she saw him coming, crossing the muddy lawn with determined strides, his jaw set, Amy on his heels. On reaching her, the Doctor immediately cupped her face. Tilting it up, he studied her intently, not the least bit reassured by her smile.

"You're upset," he said, thumbs stroking her cheeks. "Very." His gaze briefly flicked to Martha and Rory, returned full of confusion and hurt. Rose chewed her lip, no mind-link needed to read his thoughts. Why didn't you come to me first?

"I'm not upset," she corrected, gently. "Just...emotional."

His hands slid to her shoulders, coming to rest on her upper arms. "Leave us be," he commanded the others, never looking away from her. Shouts from Mickey's game of catch with the boys drifted over from the neighboring garden as their friends trudged away, and Rose could also hear Amy (who was almost certainly being dragged against her will) badgering Rory for answers all the way to the house.

With the slam of the door his eyebrows lifted, expectant. Rose swallowed, opened her mouth. But her heart and thoughts were racing, and she had no idea how to break the news.

Focusing on the sleepy new presence within her, she looked down, took his hand; then she had it. A single, perfect word.

She lifted up, whispered into his ear three syllables that meant, loosely, listen.Instantly he bent, closing the distance between their foreheads, but Rose drew away. "Not like that," she said, slipping his hand under the hem of her shirt, till his wide palm and fingers splayed flat over her abdomen.

A few heartbeats later the Doctor gasped, eyes snapping to hers. His jaw was slack, his expression a jumble of disbelief and desperate hope, of awe. It was a look he'd directed her way before, once long ago, from the end of a wrecked street. And again (not so long ago) in a dingy old cafe.

"How do you keep doing this?" he said, sinking to his knees. After nuzzling his nose to the space between her hips, he looked up, eyes all watery joy, and oh, didn't she just know he'd cry? "Every time I believe something's hopeless, you come along and just..."

"Well, I didn't exactly pull this off on my own," she teased, brushing his fringe back. "Know what's funny, though? Whenever something's hopeless... I think that's when I hope the most."

With a teary smile, the Doctor kissed her belly tenderly. "Me too."

Amy's voice came from the open windows of the house, faint but clear. "He's crying, Rory. Crying. Tell me why right now or I'm going to kill you."

*******to always protect******

"An arcade," said Rose. Much in the same way she might've said "a swamp".

The Doctor chose to ignore the danger in her tone, strolling out onto the brightly patterned carpet. "Not just an arcade!" Colourful lights flashed, sirens and bells and repetitive electronic tunes filling the air. "An arcade city! They have everything! Classic games, like Skee-ball and Pacman, and carnival games with prizes, oh, and look at this!" Bounding closer, he pointed to the sign on the wall. "This says they have nearly 10,000 pinball machines!"

Silence from the TARDIS' doorway. Pretending keen interest in the long aisle of video games before him, the Doctor waited, pushing buttons and tapping screens, until the gaze boring into his back physically pained him.

He hazarded a glance her way. Rose hadn't moved, her arms folded tight above that small swollen belly which lured his hands constantly. "In what universe does pinball count as an adventure?"

He could tell her, if he had a death wish. "Okay, fair point, but what about virtual reality? All of the fun, and none of the risks! And later, we could try the amusement park outside. There might be a few rides they'll allow you on."

His smile was winning and handsome, his energy boyish, yet Rose remained stubbornly uncharmed. Changing tactics, the Doctor crossed his arms, fully prepared to hold his ground. His wife might not like it, but that was too bad. The Stuff of Legend was on indefinite parental leave.

But then... Rose shrugged. The Doctor tasted victory.

It was a bit off.

A couple (admittedly boring) hours in, the Doctor gave Rose two thumbs up and finally earned a genuine smile. Granted, he'd just breached the barricade of some dumb carnival game at her suggestion (dare)- something he wasn't all that keen on doing, but since tossing ninety-five credits worth of tiny rings had won him nothing but unfair mocking (because this game was bloody rigged), it was truly his final option.

Plus, Rose was right. The baby really did need an enormous plush gerbil.

He was racking up points at a mad rate when his own wife turned traitor.

"Hey!" she screeched, hopping and pointing and drawing the attention of every person and security officer within earshot. "Look at him! He's not supposed to be in there!"

After much wheedling and batting of eyelashes they let her stay with him in prison that night- so, Rose informed him, he had nothing to complain about. He needn't ruin her fun.

Her bright, pleased grin did nothing for him. "I'll complain all night if I like, Rose Tyler. I never did win that gerbil."

******to find what is lost******

After more than a millennium's worth of time spent around humans, you'd think he'd be an expert on their traditions by now.

Well, he was, but somehow this one had escaped him.

"I didn't know meeting your new boyfriend would be such a... festive occasion." The Doctor frowned doubtfully, taking in the rather garish scene which was Clara's small lounge, all cluttered with people and presents. And pink. Pink cloth on the table, underneath a pink cake, pink plates and pink napkins and an enormous bunch of pink helium balloons. They swayed slightly, from the enthusiastic surprise! shouted moments earlier. "Not really a surprise, though, as you did tell us about him beforehand."

"This isn't about her boyfriend," said Rose, with a watery laugh. She was beaming, tears in her eyes. "It's a surprise baby-shower. For us."

"What's a baby-shower?" asked the Doctor- rather absently, for he'd just noticed that seated in the smallish group, amongst people he saw all the time (Clara and the (newly four) members of the Smith family) was another familiar, yet unexpected face.

Another unexpected Smith.

Perhaps this was why Rose was crying.

"You crashed my wedding, Doctor," said his Sarah Jane, smiling as she stood to greet them. "I'm returning the favour."

"This is Clara's party."

"For you," she retorted, and gave them each a hug. "Though I suppose it isn't really crashing when Martha phoned to invite me. I must say, I was quite taken aback by this news-"

"Quite right, not everyday someone swallows a planet," quipped the Doctor, and got shushed by Rose as his hand found her round belly.

"- as I hadn't even heard of Rose's return," Sarah continued, as if he hadn't interrupted. "Much less that you two'd got married. Why didn't you tell me?"

He grimaced, though there was really no bite at all in her words. "Still not all that good at that sort of thing, I'm afraid."

"But he's getting better." Rose rested her head on his shoulder. "Slow but sure."

"I see," said Sarah Jane with a small smile, glancing around. "Well, add me to the list, because I'll be dying to meet this little daughter of yours."

"We'll bring her round to see you," promised Rose.

All at once the crowded room seemed empty. How many others were out there, people who'd love to meet his daughter? He wanted her life to be the opposite of his, full of friends to go back to, yet there were so many that he just...couldn't. To distract himself from the sudden melancholy, he went over to where Mickey was sitting and deftly swept the sleeping bundle of newest Smith from his arms. "Your daddy needs to learn to share," he cooed at little Millie, ignoring his friend's squawk of protest.

Martha appeared at his elbow. "I tried to find Jack, too," she told him quietly. "Do you know where he is?"

The Doctor shook his head, sinking into an open spot on the sofa with the baby. "Lost track of him awhile ago," he admitted, and his mouth quirked. "He'd have loved all this, though. Probably too much, might be best he's not here." He looked at Clara, who was sitting between him and her rather pretty, bearded young man. "Depends. Is this boyfriend of yours the jealous type?"

"His name's Danny, remember, and neither of us know who you're talking about." Clara raised annoyed eyebrows. "And you're gonna explain, but for now you need to give that baby back to Mickey and go help Rose open presents. And then, can we please show Danny the TARDIS?"

"Presents?" He stood, more than happy to obey her. "Why do I get presents, again?"

"They're for your baby." Clara nudged Danny, lowering her voice. "See that, see what I mean? He's never even been to a baby shower before."

"Neither have I," said Danny. "Hardly proves anything."

"Alright, fine. Just ask him." Clara sounded impatient. "Ask the Doctor where he's from."

"Mostly New York, for the time being," the Doctor replied, enthusiatically pulling ribbons apart.

Clara groaned. "No, no, I mean your home planet; Danny thinks I'm bonkers. When all I'm trying to do is build our relationship on honesty."

After sharing a sly glance with Rose, the Doctor turned incredulous eyes on Clara, then shared a knowing look with Danny and circled his finger in the air near his ear.

"Doctor!" shouted Clara indignantly, and he stifled a grin as he tore into more wrapping paper.

"Danny seems nice," said Rose that night, as she put a pair of tiny footed jimjams in an open dresser drawer. "But it felt wrong, not having Jack there. Even more wrong that Mum'll never be." Her lashes fluttered, fighting tears.

Taking hold of her wrist, he drew her in for a sympathetic hug. "She'd be so excited about her grandbaby."

"Yeah. I've just...lately I just miss her."

"I know," he said again, softly. "Been noticing that. And I just keep thinking, if only..."

"If only?" she mumbled against his chest, prompting him like he'd hoped she would.

The Doctor kissed her hair. "If only we had a time machine."

******for the dead to rise******

"We got stranded," she sobbed out, the lie necessary to explain her grief. Clutching her mum tight, Rose buried her face in the familiar soft velour covering her shoulder. "It wasn't the Doctor's fault."

"Oh, I'll bet it wasn't," Jackie grumbled, rubbing Rose's back. "That's why himself is off hiding from me then, because he's so innocent." With a shrewd eye, she gave Rose a once-over, and Rose held her breath, hoping her dimensionally transcendental blouse was doing its job. "Well, you look healthy enough, at least."

Rose huffed, but only because it was expected, secretly loving her mother's fussing. "M'fine, Mum. I just missed you, is all."

"Well, I should think so, being stuck away from your own mother for over a year."

Putting the subject aside by unspoken agreement, the two meandered into the kitchen. Jackie bustled around, making Rose laugh with colourful stories about the neighbors, and delighting her when she gave her sweet potatoes to peel for her special cottage pie. Showing love in all the familiar old Jackie-ways, she seemed determined to cram a year's worth of doting into one evening. Rose soaked it up. Committed to memory every little thing she'd forgotten about her mum; the way she used to wear too much eyeshadow, the floral scent of her perfume, how she could destroy a kitchen when she cooked.

"...anyway, it won't last, he's put on two stone since he was laid off," said Jackie later, coming from the kitchen with a steaming mug in each hand. "Margie's none too pleased." Handing Rose her tea, she lowered herself onto the sofa, eyes on a window that glowed faintly orange as the summer day faded. "You sure you can't stay the night?"

Apologetic wrinkled nose, slight eyeroll- strange, how easy it was to slip in to her teenaged skin. "Nah, you know the Doctor. Impatient to be off."

As she sipped her tea, Rose felt her mum's intense gaze on her, like she could see straight through to her bones. "You aren't, though. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you look at everything, at me. 'S like you're never coming back again."

Rose tensed, but met Jackie's gaze squarely. "Mum, I swear to you, you're never gonna lose me. Alright?"

Her mother was silent for a long moment. "If you want me to believe that, Rose, you need to start being honest. Because you've been away from me for a helluva lot longer than a year." She held up a hand. "I can see it in your eyes, how much you've changed."

This was bad, this was bad, this was gonna end with a forcible memory wipe. "Look again, Mum," she implored, leaning close. "I'm fine. I'm happy."

A few moments later, Jackie's eyes popped wide. "You're pregnant."

It stunned Rose speechless, like an open slap, which her mum took as affirmation.

"You weren't going to tell me?"

Rose found her voice. "No, no, you've got it wrong," she insisted, reminding herself that it was somewhat true, that the Rose Jackie'd see next was certainly not pregnant, that not even her fantasies stretched that far. With a laugh that edged toward hysterical, she clattered her half-empty cup onto the end table and stood up. "Sorry Mum, but I really should go. I'll see ya next week, yeah?"

Without a protest, Jackie accompanied her to the door, and the adrenaline from the close call kept Rose from breaking down again as they hugged goodbye.

"Next week, miss," Jackie said brusquely, as Rose escaped into cool fresh air. "I'll be waiting."

With a salute and a smile, Rose rushed away, was nearly to the stairs before her mother's clear, earnest voice caught in her ears again.

"Rose, promise me. You ever have any babies, promise you'll find some way to let them meet your mother. All right?"

Rose clutched the railing, her knuckles white. Find some way.

Closing her eyes, she nodded big enough for her mum to see.

******to banish all fears******

Rose's lips brushed the shell of his ear, forming syllables, her voice his favourite raspy whisper.

"Did you remember to get some?"

His own lips slid down her throat, in a journey so delightful and absorbing that when her meaning hit, it was like a dash of cold water. Starting a little, he drew back, lifting up on his elbows. "Ah..."

With a long, disappointed sigh, his wife pressed her fingers to her eyes. "Why not? Is it really that hard?"

A lightning grin cracked his face, which Rose met with an utterly fed-up glare.

"You have no problem popping into Tesco's for milk or bread or whatever," she said, shoving him off with a knee, and clumsily sat up. "Why is going to the chemists so different? I mean, are you embarrassed or something?"

"No," he snapped, instantly defensive and offended because he was a powerful Time Lord over a millennia old and yes, he was embarrassed and Rose was the last person who ever need know that.

"So what is it, then? You promised to go five days ago."

"Yes," he ventured, "but, well. I was hoping you'd forget."

Her eyes flashed. "Oh, I see. You think I'm being irrational!"

His head shook in vehement denial, even though it was true. But it was days away now, the birth of their baby. Rose was tired and uncomfortable, more than entitled to a little irrationality.

"That is so unfair," she continued, kicking the blankets off, "since this whole thing came from your head. Lucky for me I picked up on it, cause I don't care to get pregnant again before I've even finished growing this one!"

Put into clear words, the idea was less irrational than it was barmy- and that was a thought the Doctor swiftly put to death. "Rose, love, that was a dream. Time Ladies weren't most fertile at the end of pregnancy, it's physically impossible, and anyway the few of them who bothered to have children at all had them loomed..."

Rose arched a single triumphant eyebrow, and he bit back a curse when he realised his mistake. He flung a Hail Mary. "You aren't even Gallifreyan!"

"'Impossible', huh?" Her finger went up, circled the scene. The two of them, together, in bed, their imminent baby. "And which part of all this does that word not apply to?"

"Useless," muttered the Doctor to himself twenty minutes later, stomping further down the aisle to look at the more expensive brands. "All latex. Like that's any match for superior biology."

******for exquisite happiness******

Downy dark hair, wide eyes that wondered. With trembling hands, the Doctor cuddled his daughter close and breathed her in. All sweet newness, mingled up with something ancient and lost. The essence of his people.

Loosening her blanket, he settled her against his chest, her little diapered bum in the air. Skin to skin, her heartsbeats fluttering against his own, they mentally reached for each other, and the Doctor caught his little girl into the sort of embrace that never let go.

Rose caressed his arm and he looked over, his hearts aching at how pale and drawn she was, lying beside him, all propped up on pillows. But her smile was bright as he'd ever seen it. "We're all linked together in here now," she said, touching her temple. "'S wonderful."

"I'd forgotten," he replied, his throat aching, "what a familial connection feels like, and to have it again..." The Doctor swallowed hard. "When I first met you, Rose, I'd just lost that, lost everyone. I was a broken, suicidal madman, a psychotherapist's worst nightmare, so imagine my shock when it hit me one day, that this young, ordinary human girl had made me better." Tears blurring his vision, he dropped his nose to his daughter's soft head. "And now, you've given me my people back."

"As it should be," said Rose, stroking his cheek. "But," she went on lightly, "Gallifreyan or no, we're not choosing her name by Time Lord traditions."

"Oi, you love my name. It suits me. The Doctor. Even lived up to it today, eh, with all that work I did?"

"Oh yes, you worked so hard." Rose rolled her eyes. "Anyway, please focus, because it is high time for us to make a decision. An' if you can't manage to offer a suggestion that doesn't start with an indefinite article and is less than twelve syllables, we're naming her after Mum."

"Jacqueline will do as her middle name," said the Doctor, without bothering to feign horror. Shifting his daughter into a cradle hold, he studied her face. Sweet lips, fine features, the very image of her mother. Yet the dark hair and doe eyes, her keen interest in this brand-new world, also reminded him vividly of another girl. Someone pixie-like and intelligent and very, very dear. "As for her first, what do you think of Susan?"

"After your granddaughter?" Rose nuzzled a tiny baby foot, thinking. "Little Susy. It suits her."

"Yes, it does. Though I must admit, had she been ginger, I'd have pushed for Donna."

He found understanding in her smile. "Dear Donna. None of this would have happened if it weren't for her." Rose snuggled closer, and the Doctor slid his arm around her. "Think we'll ever be able to thank her?"

"No," he replied, full of regret. "And yet, I find myself trying to think of ways...hoping."

"That right?" Rose kissed his chest. "Then I'd say it's as good as done."