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”Another day, another dollar,” thought the Doctor as he applied the TARDIS’ landing brake. While unnecessary turbulence and inadvertent detours were originally defining features of his travels across space and time, this jaunt had been a particularly smooth one, but it didn’t come with any great astonishment. After Peri became pregnant with their first child he made a point to ensure that every ride she and the little one took aboard his craft was safe as houses (in reality the idea was actually Peri’s, but who was counting?). The Type 40 driving manual was dusted off and studied from cover to cover. Now, after welcoming a second child into the world, the Doctor had finally become something of a bona fide TARDIS-wielding expert—approved of by the wife herself.
The landing was quiet enough that it did little to wake his youngest from their morning nap. Four year-old Kensington was strapped into his car seat, the last to be dropped off at school. His chin was dropped in his chest, his favorite model jet plane soon to plunge from his grasp. The Doctor’s hands were deft as he unclasped the seatbelt, but the click of metal was loud and the strap had nowhere else to retract but up and across where the boy’s head was. Kensington awoke with a tired mew and the plane slipped from his fingers as he went to rub his eyes. Luckily the Doctor was there to catch the aircraft before it crashed onto the hard floor. He set the toy safely upon the adjacent seat and smiled warmly at his son.
“Hello again, my little flitter-mouse,” he said. “What a nice nap you had!”
The boy murmured indistinctly before repeating, in his signature echolalia, “Nice nap.”
“Yes, someone was quite jet-lagged, weren’t they? You slept the entire ride here. You see that Penelope has already gone.”
Kensington looked to his right. Indeed, the seat beside him was now occupied by his plane and not his ribbon-clad sister. The Doctor, too, was looking around the area.
“Where did—ah, there it is.” He retrieved the book bag from beneath the console. “Now how did it run over there? Is there a family of mice stashed away in one of these pockets?”
Kensington nibbled on his thumbnail and rubbed his eyes again. A small yawn escaped him.
“My, you are a sleepy one,” said the Doctor, giving his son’s curls a tender mussing. “See, that’s exactly why mummy warned you against staying up late last night.”
“Wherefore art thou?” Kensington asked.
The Doctor resisted the urge to inform his son that “wherefore” was not, in fact, an archaic synonym for “where”, but he understood the context well enough to let it roll off his shoulders. “Mummy has a very important examination this morning,” he said. “She’s been studying hard and it was paramount that she not spoil her success by being a minute late. She needs time to relax and acclimate to the testing room, to sharpen her pencils, to take another once-over of her copious notes…And, speaking of which, it’s time for you to bask in the wonders of education as well.”
Kensington leapt out of his seat and stretched his arms to the ceiling with a groan in relief. He then grabbed the bag his father was proffering and slipped it on. The Doctor couldn’t help but notice how darling his son looked in his button-down, cardigan, and corduroys. A new age Fauntleroy…except for the navy blue socks crumpled in a heap around his ankles. How very unseemly. The Doctor kneeled to shimmy them up appropriately.
“Are you ready for beddy-bye, daddy?” asked Kensington.
“Me? No, I’m ready to seize the day with both hands! But you, my child, look as if you’d like nothing more than to crawl back into bed.” He rose to his feet. “How are you feeling?”
“How are you feeling?” the boy repeated.
Mentally, the Doctor reprimanded himself. He knew better than to expect a complex answer from such an echo-prone question. Starting over, he tried a more efficacious technique. “Oh, well, I’m happy that we’re spending time together on this lovely morning,” he said. “And I love that outfit, it’s very dashing.”
Kensington smiled and said, as prim as could be: “Thank you, my sartorial taste is unmatched.”
Despite Kensington being unable to outright say that the colorfully dressed Time Lord was his father, he made it crystal clear in other capacities—no one in their right mind could say he wasn’t the Doctor’s son.
“We’re the bastions of fashion, aren’t we? All the world’s a catwalk, and the spotlight’s squarely on us.”
“I bought it from my mummy!”
“Oh? I appreciate the recommendation, thank you very much! I’ll have to see what this ‘mummy’ is all about. She certainly knows her haute couture!”
Kensington retrieved the fob watch from his father’s pocket and examined the dials. Returning it to its place, he dutifully took his father by the hand. After a harrowing event that had occurred the previous summer, it was crucial, especially when crossing the street, that his hand be held while in hazardous public spaces. He had a tendency to dart off when something out in the distance had caught his eye and, to his parents’ occasional chagrin, had quite the pair of legs on him. Kensington was an affectionate one, however, and didn’t mind the parental contact.
“Aprés nous, le déluge!” he cheered.
The Doctor strode over to the button that operated the door, only to notice that the toy plane remained idle in its hangar. “Oops, we forgot something!” he said, and led his son to the flight line. “Let’s bring your plane into commission, hm?”
“Yes!” Kensington snatched his plane, a sleek MD-11 with sky blue KLM livery, from his father’s grasp and held it tight to his chest. “All clear for takeoff. All systems go!”
The Doctor scooped his son into his arms and twirled him in the air. “Then up, up, and away we go!” he said. Kensington cried in delight, outstretching his arms to obtain the maximum amount of “g-forces” before holding tight to his father’s broad frame.
“Daddy, what do you think you’re doing?” he said, imitating his mother’s tone of voice. “You silly man!”
~~~~
It was a calm spring morning, the warmth of summer just beginning to creep in. Birds were twittering away in search of food and the odd squirrel was scurrying across the sidewalk. Hand in hand father and son strolled across the parking lot and into the school. They had plenty of time before the busy day began. Kensington appreciated the lack of rushing, and was keenly observing the scenery around him; the trees, the animals, the cracks in the pavement. Although their vibrancy was softened by the dawning light, there wasn’t a single color, texture, or sound he didn’t want to absorb.
Inside the building Kensington knew he could let go of his father’s hand. He used his freedom to run his fingers along the walls as they walked, feeling the gritty, popcorn kernel-esque texture they possessed. He skipped exuberantly as he did so, the bookish contents of his bag bouncing loudly. He was in his own little world. The Doctor wondered what fascinating subjects were occupying his mind. Planes? Tom Kitten? The metal albums he was stimming to the previous day? He needn’t wait long for the answer. There was a tug on the lower half of his coat.
“Daddy? Daddy?”
The Doctor stopped walking. “Hm? What is it?”
“We…” Kensington’s face scrunched, as if he was occupied with an intense scrabbling of his thoughts. “We?”
”Since when did tu parles français?, the Doctor wanted to say, but he feared that any dialogue he said—especially that of the humorous sort—would throw Kensington off course. He fell to bended knee and cupped an encouraging hand to the boy’s arm, listening intently. It was rare for Kensington to produce his own novel sentences, but when he did, they were nothing short of relished in.
“We…Concorde plane?” he mumbled out.
“Can we go on the Concorde?” the Doctor said in clarification.
Kensington nodded a trifle. “We go…on the Concorde?”
The Doctor couldn’t stop his lips from quivering out a grateful smile. “Excellent work,” he said, placing a kiss upon Kensington’s cheek. “You’re progressing beautifully. Mummy and daddy are so proud.”
“We go on the plane?”
“Hmm, I’ll have to ponder that request. I won’t deny the airliner can reach impressive speeds, but it’s no match for the TARDIS. Not to mention how it’s confined to traveling within the boundaries of a single planet.”
“We go whether you like it or not,” was the soft reply.
The Doctor barked out a laugh. “How droll,” he said, and brought Kensington into a side-embrace. “I’ve been thinking, perhaps when you’re older daddy will buy you your very own jet.”
Kensington gazed wide-eyed at the Doctor. “I’m ready to go?!”
“Well, you’ll also be expected to earn your wings, of course. They don’t just allow any person off the street to fly a plane! There are years of training involved to ensure that you’re the right fit to fly the friendly skies.”
Kensington’s face wrinkled into a pout. “Don’t!”
“Then again, every rule is not made equally…” The Doctor tapped the side of his nose. “I trust you can keep a secret?” His son’s brow peaked, and the Doctor wagged his finger to beckon in his listening ear. In hushed tones he told Kensington that he’d let him fly the TARDIS to his little hearts’ content—no complicated training required. It was the least he, a devout follower of nomadism, could do for his child. In the grand scheme of things he’d only recently cracked open that old pilot’s guide!
Hearing this, Kensington giggled mischievously behind his toy. “This is your captain speaking,” he said, in as low and ominous a tone he could muster, “and this vessel is now under my complete control…” If the Doctor was blindfolded and didn’t know better, he’d think this was one of the Master’s spawns!
~~~~
Time was still on their side upon their reaching the classroom door. Kensington stopped in his tracks. There were a couple of children waiting for the teachers’ arrival: one was playing in the grass, another giving their mother an earful about their favorite interest. Upon seeing the crowd Kensington scurried into the Doctor’s coat, hiding his face from view.
The Doctor didn’t push his son away, but set a tender hand upon his head in quiet acknowledgement of his reticence. In Kensington’s stead, he greeted the parents with a warm wave. “Lovely weather this morning,” he said.
The parents answered perfunctorily. The other father talked about the week’s rain forecast and how he feared it might “dampen” the gala he was planning to attend that weekend. The pun pleased the Doctor, causing him to launch into a rambling lecture about the intricacies of interplanetary precipitation. “Interestingly enough, on Nimbia Alpha it never stops pouring…” It didn’t take long for the other parents’ eyes to glaze over. The Doctor, however, was oblivious.
During this impromptu science lesson, Bethany and her mother arrived. Bethany was a firecracker of a girl who always adorned her long black hair with two ponytails on the crown of her head, reminiscent of spigots. The Doctor overheard her chattering about Kensington to her mother, but this was nothing unusual. She had a certain affinity for Kensington, preferring to play with him over the other children. Kensington never had a bad word to say about her, but, when she approached him, the Doctor felt Kensington move towards his backside, doing his best attempt to render himself invisible.
“Hi, I speaked to Kensington?” Bethany asked. Her pronunciation made the name sound more like “Keseeton” than anything else. Her hands were clasped behind her back.
“Hello, Miss Bethany,” said the Doctor, and he turned about to try and wriggle his son out from his coat. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Good,” she answered.
“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” He flashed a greeting to her mother then returned his attention to his son. “Look who it is,” he gently prodded. “Let’s talk to our friend Bethany! She won’t bite…I assume.”
How shy Kensington was, even as an infant. He latched onto his parents’ arms with his life, and it took some time to make him comfortable enough around newcomers to even acknowledge them. But Bethany wasn’t a faceless, nameless stranger. Holding his plane close to his chest, the boy stepped out from his father’s shadow, but remained close by in safety.
“Hi, Kensington!” said Bethany.
In response, Kensington sang under his breath: “Howdy from the big bear, want some fun? Here's where. Just for you, all is new in the house of blue.”
“I love that show!” she said. “I made you art!”
Like a street magician, she whipped open her hand in front of her. In the center of her palm was a origami plane folded with yellow paper. It was intricately done, with a sharp nose and wings that were almost too delicate to want to fling across the lawn. Kensington looked at it silently for a moment, but did not touch it. He delved into a monologue about the Airbus A320s used by Spirit Airlines.
Bethany stared at him quizzically, her head cocked. “What does that mean?” she asked.
But Kensington knew exactly what he was saying. Seeing (and talking about) the model plane sent a surge of excitement coursing through his system. He squealed and, his larger-scaled KLM in hand, he capered around, flapping his hands and sharing his love of Airbuses and Concordes and TARDISes to the world. His cloud of curly brown hair bounced to the rhythm of his joy.
“Does he likes it?” asked Bethany, looking up at the Doctor. “I do something bad?”
“You absolutely did nothing bad.” The Doctor plucked the origami plane from her hand. “Next to surprising him with a jet with a genuine Rolls Royce turbofan and glass cockpit, you couldn’t have given him a better present! He’ll cherish it.” Kensington returned to the Doctor and was told to say thank you to his friend for the kind gift.
“Thank you,” he repeated, to no one in particular, and raised his arms to his father. “Daddy, lift!” he said, bouncing on his tiptoes. “Lift, lift!”
“Up we go!”
Being careful to not damage either aircraft, the Doctor swept Kensington into his arms. The boy wrapped his arms around his father and nestled his face in the crook of his neck.
“I love planes,” the Doctor heard him say.
“It’s a pretty plane Bethany made, isn’t it? A lot of skill involved. And, one of these days (or, perhaps, one of these hours…), we’ll take you on a marvelous journey across the skies in a Concorde. You’ll earn your wings one short hop at a time.”
Kensington pulled back to meet his father’s face. His little mouth was shaped into a wistful smile. “Concorde…” he said, dreamily. “Bethany ready to go?”
“I see no reason why not! But first we’ll have to ask her and her parents now won’t we?”
“Oops!” went the boy, lowering his head again. “Nevermind! Nevermind!”
Sometimes the Doctor wondered why his son was as bashful as he was. Where did the trait come from? Would he ever outgrow it? But it was a casual sort of questioning. At the end of the day he loved his son, and he wouldn’t change him for all the complimentary flight upgrades in the world.