12) Have You Ever had Children?

[starjargon]

Warning- Angsty. Not meant to offend at all. Please let me know what you think.

They had been thinking about how unfair it was, that they never got to really be with their baby girl.  They didn’t always blame the Doctor- it wasn’t his fault.  So they said.  Most of the time.  He had tried to save her.  Had, in a way.  But it was those lonely nights on the TARDIS, when they were awake with thoughts of an infant not there to keep them up, or when they were in their big house with too many quiet rooms, that they really, really ached for the child they had lost.

Both Amy and Rory battled with sleeplessness after Demons Run.  Amy’s body ached for a baby that would never again belong to it.  Rory’s arms reached for a little girl now too big to hold close in his arms.  And it was on those occasions, where the emotions of what had happened had grown too huge, and the pain and the anger welled up and the blame and the sorrow and the seemingly irrational agony for their loss overwhelmed them that they both wanted to hate the man who could never realize how much he had cost them.  Or so they thought.

It was one such night, in the TARDIS, when sleep came for neither of them, that rage rose up in Amy, too potent to stay buried.  Too wound up to stay in their room, Amy stomped down the hallway into the control room, followed patiently by her grief- burdened husband.  The Doctor wasn’t there.  This became too much for the bereft parents, and Amy could stand it no longer.  She grabbed the closest thing she could find and threw it.  Then began a steady fit of hitting and kicking and throwing and smashing anything she could find on the ship of the man who betrayed her.  Gone were the thoughts of the battle he waged, the hurt he felt for her, the lengths he was willing to go to get them both back.  She wanted her baby back- plainly, simply, achingly, agonizingly.  But she would never hold her again.

Rory tried vainly to calm her down, bursting with his own emotions.   After some yelling on his wife’s part, his long- constructed walls finally broke down and he too began destroying everything in sight, cursing the day he met the man who had no idea the pain he felt.

The TARDIS was overwhelmed with their sorrow- so palpable and heavy that it seemed to weigh her down.  She gently guided her two overburdened strays through the corridors, determined to defend her thief.  Or alleviate some of their heartache.  Or calm them down.  Or just make them understand.

She opened a door that nearly always remained shut and hidden, ever so slightly, revealing Amy and Rory’s now- grown daughter sitting calmly on the bed.  Across the room, the Doctor was throwing a tantrum, tearing and flinging everything he could find as though he wanted the room itself to hurt.  Amy and Rory were careful to remain behind the door as they watched him stop for just a moment to catch his breath, when they heard River beckon him over to her.

“It’s all right, my love.”

“HUMANS! With their weapons and hatred and war!  WHY must they always… Don’t they KNOW what they lose every time?!”

“It’s not only humans Doctor.  And this is not just about what happened tonight.”

“There was a child, River!  They just stood there and let her run out!  They didn’t even stop fighting long enough to try to bury her!”

“I know, my love.  I know.  But there was nothing you could’ve done.  There is not always something you can do.  Come here.”

Finally calmed down enough for him to see straight, the Doctor climbed up next to River, fists still balled, and put his head in her lap, letting her stroke his hair, trying to ease away the pain even now horribly evident in every line of his body.

“You knew it was a bad idea to go out tonight.  Knew what this day meant to you.  What it will always mean to you.  Why do you insist on putting yourself through that?”

“It’s been years, River.  I should be better about it now.  Someday it won’t matter.  One day I’ll get it right.  Everyone will live.  I’ll go somewhere where people will listen and put down their weapons and-“

“And you’ll be able to look at every child without thinking of her?  You know it doesn’t work that way, Doctor.   It won’t ever get better- not completely.  But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I can’t…imagine what it must feel like to lose your child.  Your only child, especially after everything else you’ve been through.  And I can’t pretend to understand what you must go through every time you relive it. But I don’t think you’ve somehow failed by not being able to let it go.  No parent should ever have to say goodbye to their baby.  I think that is one pain that won’t ever completely go away. But I do think someday, the pain won’t hurt as much.  Maybe someday, you’ll be able to think of her, and you won’t immediately hurt.  Perhaps, in time, you will even be able to think of your short time together and be glad you had it.”

“We only had one day, River!  Just a few… moments.  And I spent half that time blaming her!  For being a soldier.  For thinking she had to fight to protect me.  For existing.  For reminding me of home.  Of everything I lost.  Of my other children.  My wife.  Brothers. Sisters.  Parents.  She was everything it took me centuries to pretend I didn’t want back.  For one day, I got to imagine the life we would have together, running through the universe.  The last of the Time Lords no more.  Me and her- always.  Anywhere she wanted.  And I killed her too.”

“No, my love.  She made a choice.  She loved you.  Do not undermine that love by thinking it wasn’t worth it just because of how long it lasted.  Her sacrifice brought about so much good.  Reminded you what is really meaningful  in this life.  Made you a slightly better person.  That was not a waste.  Do not mourn the could- haves, my Doctor.  It will drive you insane.”

“Jenny.  My Jenny.”  He was crying quietly now into his wife’s shoulder; she was rocking back and forth as though to comfort a child.

“Sleep, Sweetie.  Sleep and remember all the good, and let me ward off the bad.”  She kissed his head, holding him closely, still brushing back his hair with her fingers.  The TARDIS felt the change in mood from the Pretty One and his mate and closed the door- giving her Time Lord room to grieve.

Amy and Rory were too overloaded to feel ashamed for their eavesdropping.  They went back to their room, still saddened by their loss, but now burdened with sorrow for their friend as well.  They had lost their child, yes.  And that pain would never truly go away.  But they still had her in a way.  The Doctor, though- the man who they had both secretly blamed for their baby, who Amy had begun to doubt and Rory had begun to hate because of Demons Run- he knew how much they hurt.

But, unlike them, he would never be able to hold his child again.  His children.  He had lost so much.  Had hurt, again and again and again.  Knowing that, and knowing that he was somehow still able to go on, day after day, let them help move through their own pain. It didn’t lessen their grief. It wasn’t meant to.

But they understood now why he never answered them when they asked if he had any children.  He couldn’t answer.  A parent is a parent always, even when their kids are gone.   But it would be impossible to put those missing parts of themselves into words.  Because that’s what a child is- an extension of your own soul, your own being.  How could you explain that it no longer belongs to you, yet will never, ever part from you?

The next morning, having barely slept at all, they woke early and saw River, stopping her before she left. They grabbed her tightly and hugged her long and hard.  They kissed her and held her and, though she was bewildered, she let their arms enfold her and didn’t try to pull away.  They never mentioned baby Melody to the Doctor again.

When the Doctor came into the control room, cheery façade belying the remorse of last night, Amy and Rory both approached him, their looks making his forged smile fade.

He glanced from one to the other.  They searched his eyes, finally seeing just how old he truly was.  Amy went up to him, caressing his face gently.

“I- I’m so sorry.”

“For what, Pond?”  He asked, curiously searching the grief- exhausted faces of his companions.

Instead of answering, they both engulfed him in a hug. That hug contained healing.  The joint healing of parents who have experienced a grief too deep to be expressed, who have learned to breathe one moment more when everything in them screams not to.  The healing of people who mourn for their friend and his loss.  And the healing of a shared experience too powerful to put into words, physical affection the only language strong enough.  They all held each other up, sharing both their grief and their comfort.  One parent to another.