Koschei emits a soft gasp at the discovery, peering more closely still at the scientifically “enchanted” snowglobe.
“That’s stupendous. Darling. Nobody realizes what a genius you are, in your own right. And that is a true crime.”
He passes another kiss off to one of Jack’s beloved dimples, while peering closer still at all the intimate details of the painting.
Sharp dark eyes lock on that bassinet and his lips thin to a fine line against a torrent of ecstatic glee. A strangled little sound escapes the Master, and he shoots from his chair, knocking it clear over. He points both fingers at Jack, in unabashed triumph.
“I KNEW it!” he roars. “I KNEW IT!”
He flings his arms around Jack and tilts him back, kissing him properly on the lips.
“When? D’you know? Oh, my love, my gorgeous clever wicked Sam, have you done a scan yet?”
He laughs as he’s suddenly enveloped by his ecstatic husband, squeezing him tight as the secret comes out. “I had my suspicions about a week or two ago, but I wanted to be extra sure before I told you.”
Then he opens that ring box, and instead of a ring, there’s a little print out of an ultrasound scan. There’s BARELY a little bean sized dot in there, but it’s definitely there, and Jack kisses Koschei’s cheek.
“I was supposed to be down on one knee for this, but I guess this will do. Koschei Oakdown, will you have any other baby with me?”
“HohOOOO, bloody hell! You idiot, get OOP! Can’t have the mum on his knees!”
Koschei smacks Jack’s arm and drags him to his feet, where he steps onto his shoes and kisses him breathless.
“I’ll have a damned HORDE of them with you, and you bloody well KNOW it!”
Happy loom-day me! In the first book you’ll find some friends and even a self-cameo! The cats have learned from us in the second book. A time lady lord should never be without some eyeliner. Here’s a nice looking coffee press, you can use it for anything!
ooxoo
~K~
“Dearest Sis, I am positively chuffed. Trust me to know, well, me. I’m a tea person, but these days, I’ve grown more and more accustomed to the bean brew. Should be of use when I’m out in the wildernesses of some distant planet or period. While reading these riveting texts, and winging my eyeliner in such a way as can cut a bitch.”
It’s Koschei’s birthday!
*************
HIS BIRTHDAY PRESENT is one big box filled with all kinds of accessories and goodies; essentially an oversized care packaged, wrapped up neatly in gold wrapping paper (gabriel insisted, as he is the self-proclaimed “king of wrapping”). it has all of his favorite snacks, which may or may not be a subtle way of encouraging him to eat more. some very expensive jo malone cologne is also nestled in there, as well as a new laptop case because she can’t stand looking at the one he’s used so much he’s worn a hole in it. all this, and a velvet box, which contains a very tasteful watch, with an elegantly simple style that matches her own. rolex, of course. more significantly however, the watch is engraved with his initials: K.L.P. the same initials as her father. because all that time ago, she gave him her father’s middle name of “lucien”, in some small effort to start some kind of family tradition after her mother died. they are the initials on his adoption papers, and they are the initials that mark him as hers forever. a note in her familiar script reads sweetly.
happy birthday, pup. i’m so grateful to have finally gotten the chance to see you grow. you make me so proud with each passing year, and even though you’re away at college putting everyone else to shame, you’re still, and always will be, my baby boy. love, mum.
The prodigy who’s finished his undergraduate theoretical astrophysics and engineering degrees in two years, and is now well into graduate school at the age of (as of today) 20, can be felled immediately by goodies from mum. Because mum is his hero. Mum is his model of greatness: merciless, ambitious CEO of the largest scientific corporation in the world. And mum is just, well, the coolest.
The years they spent separated by the circumstances of war were the worst of his life: survival in and out of psych wards and foster care homes that found his manifold mental health woes too great a challenge, on the streets becoming alarmingly proficient at major felonies, and constantly high. Being rescued just after his seventeenth birthday those three Christmases ago, and reconciled to Dr. Pichiner … . he may never be able to articulate his gratitude. He did try, just a few weeks ago, on her birthday.
Still, with eagerness, and a bit of greed, he opens the gold foil he recognizes as his adoptive father’s work. He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. Gabe’s grown on him. Slowly. Mostly because he’s so good to mum. Even though he’s decidedly uncool.
He’s munching on some sweet and sour gummies while he opens the watch. Dark clever eyes dart over the data provided: a Rolex like mum’s, with his initials. He squints, and then his eyes widen with epiphany: has he ever learned his middle name? Curiosity overcomes him and he hops up while distractedly reading the note.
He dials Seraphina on his mobile.
“MUUUUUUUM!” he cajoles, when she answers, with the endearing entitlement of a child who has finally found a home in which asking for something, needing something, needing someone, is not a crime. “What IS me middle name, ey?! Oh, and THANKS, it’s brilliant! This cologne is WAY better than Dad’s!”
The Master watches the Doctor’s eagerly joyous aassault, with knowing anticipation. He flings open his arms and catches her, hands cupping her bum so she can cling on by all fours.
“Do I get to lick the spoon?” he challenges wickedly, affording her a deep, warm kiss.
The Master laughs richly, and darts, with his endless reserves of energy, into the line of confetti fire. He strikes a pose, then kisses his Button on the cheek.
“Let’s share it with your father, but keep the best pieces to ourselves,” he proposes.
Ah yes, his birthday has come around again. And this year, Jack has an extra special treat in store for him. Early in the morning, Jack slips out of their bedroom to pilot the TARDIS to their restaurant. The one that they always seem to go to for special occasions, ever since their very first date. As always, there’s a table set for two, but because it’s earlier in the day, the beach is practically empty except for a stray waiter or someone walking their dog.
It’s the perfect setting.
Jack’s waiting there for him, glasses of mimosas and a plate of croissants at the ready. There’s two wrapped presents in front of him, one largish one and the other much smaller, about the size of a ring box. Come and find him, husband.
Koschei exits the TARDIS dressed to the nines in natty formalwear that he rarely breaks out since the birth of the twins: featuring, of course, the red and brown tie. The moment he steps onto the sand he richly chuckles. He knew it. That romantic bastard always remembers.
“Sam McCoy, where ARE you?” he thunders languidly, extending his hand into the air for a kiss, and as he spots the table, he drops jovially into his chair. “For ME?”
“As if you didn’t see this coming,” he says, dutifully kissing the extended hand, once on the knuckles, once on the back of the hand, and then he just goes for it and kisses all the way up his arm until he gets that sweet spot on his neck. As Koschei sits, Jack pushes his chair in for him and drops down to murmur in his ear, “happy birthday, sweethearts.”
He moves back to his own chair, lifting his glass of (non-alcoholic) mimosa at him. “Here’s to another year of living with your magnificence.”
Koschei laughs self-indulgently, rolling his head to and fro. He scoots in his chair with an air of entitlement to the gorgeous specimen doting upon him, but at the same time, one of quiet astonishment, still, to have landed such an idyllic life: without having to feign being anyone more palatable, more desirable.
“You know you’re my birthday gift, you cur,” he voices this coyly, turning his head to catch that loving whisper in a kiss.
And he lifts his own mimosa, and clinks the glass decisively against Jack’s.
“Here’s to another year sharing my magnificence with only my darling Sam and our darling babies. Now enable my unbridled avarice and let me open one of these gifts before we eat.”
“Alright, go ahead, you hoarder,” he says, nudging the larger of the presents towards him. As he does, he palms the little ring box and sits there with a smug little grin.
Inside this larger box is a snow globe, but naturally, it’s not just any snow globe. It’s the four of them, sitting exactly how they were portrayed in the family portrait. Well, almost exactly. They all look slightly older, slightly… Well, slightly like they do today.
“Each figure is linked to our biodata, so they’ll change with us. And we can sever the link whenever we want, too, to freeze a particular period whenever we want.”
However, there is one other detail that makes it different from the portrait. On the other side of Koschei’s chair, there’s a little rocking bassinet with a question mark hovering over it.
Koschei emits a soft gasp at the discovery, peering more closely still at the scientifically “enchanted” snowglobe.
“That’s stupendous. Darling. Nobody realizes what a genius you are, in your own right. And that is a true crime.”
He passes another kiss off to one of Jack’s beloved dimples, while peering closer still at all the intimate details of the painting.
Sharp dark eyes lock on that bassinet and his lips thin to a fine line against a torrent of ecstatic glee. A strangled little sound escapes the Master, and he shoots from his chair, knocking it clear over. He points both fingers at Jack, in unabashed triumph.
“I KNEW it!” he roars. “I KNEW IT!”
He flings his arms around Jack and tilts him back, kissing him properly on the lips.
“When? D’you know? Oh, my love, my gorgeous clever wicked Sam, have you done a scan yet?”
Ah yes, his birthday has come around again. And this year, Jack has an extra special treat in store for him. Early in the morning, Jack slips out of their bedroom to pilot the TARDIS to their restaurant. The one that they always seem to go to for special occasions, ever since their very first date. As always, there’s a table set for two, but because it’s earlier in the day, the beach is practically empty except for a stray waiter or someone walking their dog.
It’s the perfect setting.
Jack’s waiting there for him, glasses of mimosas and a plate of croissants at the ready. There’s two wrapped presents in front of him, one largish one and the other much smaller, about the size of a ring box. Come and find him, husband.
Koschei exits the TARDIS dressed to the nines in natty formalwear that he rarely breaks out since the birth of the twins: featuring, of course, the red and brown tie. The moment he steps onto the sand he richly chuckles. He knew it. That romantic bastard always remembers.
“Sam McCoy, where ARE you?” he thunders languidly, extending his hand into the air for a kiss, and as he spots the table, he drops jovially into his chair. “For ME?”
“As if you didn’t see this coming,” he says, dutifully kissing the extended hand, once on the knuckles, once on the back of the hand, and then he just goes for it and kisses all the way up his arm until he gets that sweet spot on his neck. As Koschei sits, Jack pushes his chair in for him and drops down to murmur in his ear, “happy birthday, sweethearts.”
He moves back to his own chair, lifting his glass of (non-alcoholic) mimosa at him. “Here’s to another year of living with your magnificence.”
Koschei laughs self-indulgently, rolling his head to and fro. He scoots in his chair with an air of entitlement to the gorgeous specimen doting upon him, but at the same time, one of quiet astonishment, still, to have landed such an idyllic life: without having to feign being anyone more palatable, more desirable.
“You know you’re my birthday gift, you cur,” he voices this coyly, turning his head to catch that loving whisper in a kiss.
And he lifts his own mimosa, and clinks the glass decisively against Jack’s.
“Here’s to another year sharing my magnificence with only my darling Sam and our darling babies. Now enable my unbridled avarice and let me open one of these gifts before we eat.”
This time, it’s his dinner, from a lamb shank, which he just spent six hours seasoning and roasting, one of the culinarily incompetent Time Lord’s FEW cooking successes … . that clatters to the ground, as he catches, and is knocked over by, the Doctor.
Icarus 