Fight or Flight ( Doctor Who Fanfiction )

Truth

The dream was as clear as a vision.

The sound of waves, of seabirds overhead, and a baby crying.

I stood on the edge of a porch that came right out to the ocean line, and behind me I heard my mother's voice and careful footsteps.

"Don't cry, baby girl," she soothed, walking out from the brick house behind me, bouncing a toddler on her hip. It took me a moment to realize she was speaking in Hindi.

The baby didn't seem convinced, still sniffling as she looked out at the ocean.

I recognized this place, but only from pictures and not by name. We'd lived on private beaches in Southern India when I baby, before Rue arrived on scene. It was a mystery to me, why we didn't move back to those beaches when Rue's mental health crumbled in the cities where she grew up, and instead we set course for Leadworth. I guess I'd never thought to ask until it was too late.

The young woman before me smoothed the dark hair out of the child's tear-stained face, and pointed out towards the horizon, continuing to coo in her mother tongue. "Do you see the whale? Look. Can you say fish?"

Behind us,  the door opened again, and out came a man dressed in tan and white, holding something aloft in his hand.

"You'll never guess where it was," he said, offering a small stuffed sloth to the baby in my mother's arms.

"Where?"

"Exactly where you left it, Omara," he said, dangling it in front of the baby so she could lunge and grasp it with her chubby fingers, pulling it in by its soft limbs and burying her nose in its fluff.

I stared at him. Skin pale as milk, his cheeks badly sunburned. His hair was a brighter red than even Amy's. By the time I had real memory of him, it had faded to a strawberry brown, and began to turn silver when I was in my teens.

My mother, though - her appearance hadn't changed much. Her long, dark hair was loose over her dark shoulders, which told me that they were the only two residents in the house. Like me, my mother preferred to have her hair up in the presence of strangers. She wore a long, flowy skirt and a shirt that exposed her abdomen, which was a far cry from the business attire I'd grown up around.

"Are you happy again, now? " She cooed to the tiny version of me in her arms. "Omara, can you say 'fish'? "

"Machhalee," The baby repeated after her.

She grinned down at me, and her smile sent a tremor to my heart. "That's right. You're so smart, my baby."

My father ruffled my hair, a look of serene pride on his face. "Good girl."

Then, he turned his face to my mother. "My father called."

"Your parents promised they would not call during our honeymoon."

"Seems they've changed their mind. The client wants an in-person pitch."

"Michel - "

"You don't have to go," he assured her. "I'll be gone less than a day."

She frowned. "I do not want this to be how our marriage starts."

"This is important, Simone. I'll come back right after, and we'll take her to play on the beach again, like we did today. It'll be like I never left."

She looked unconvinced, but Simone just reached up to give him a peck on the cheek. "Put something on your face. You are red as a cranberry."

He nodded, and kissed the crown of her head, and then the crown of mine.