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!”
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?”
“WELL! Of course, Button, luv. It’d be particularly droll if we matched somehow.”
The Master flings himself into a seat beside his expecting stepdaughter, combs her hair over a shoulder and then drapes an arm around her.
“So, to brainstorm: puns are pretty delightful. We could be …Spice Girls! You know, a McCormick apron and big fake eyelashes and wigs. Or. French toast! Green with Envy, and you wear a green shirt, my shirt says envy. A deviled EGG! You be the egg, I be the devil, hehHAH. Oh, these are terrible, I love it …”
Ophelia laughed softly, leaning into him a bit, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Why can’t I be the devil? I could pull off a pretty cute one I think. But the egg could work, since I’m starting to show a bit. The bump could be the yolk.”
She gently took his hand and placed it on her stomach gently, her hand resting over the top of it. “I don’t know what to name them yet. I’m still processing that I’m actually pregnant, honestly.”
“I have to admit, that’s exactlywhat I had in mind.”
Koschei’s always been fascinated by the foreign and strange intimacy of womb birth. So when Ophelia brings his hand over her belly, he moves his palm experimentally over the surface of her navel.
“Just barely. If my crash course in midwifery serves me correctly, they’ll begin moving soon, in such a way you can feel.”
He lofts a brow at her.
“Please tell me you’ll consider not giving them a twenty-syllable traditional Gallifreyan name.”
A million potential verbalizations of the Master’s abject shock flurry through his mind like a cognitive blizzard. He grasps the side of his chair, and sits down.
And stands.
And looks around.
And sits again.
“That’s. Highly. Significant! Well done! In the. Womb department! Does your father know? Shall I fetch the, ah, defibrillator now? You know, preemptively?”
Ophelia bit her lip, watching him react. She steps over to him timidly, her hands still tentatively holding onto her stomach.
“He doesn’t… I’m scared to tell him. You’re the first to know, actually. I didn’t know who else to tell and I… I’m scared too.”
The girl took an uneasy breath, taking one of his hands and holding it tightly. Clinging to it as she tried to hide some of her fear. She didn’t know how to be a mother, she was still just a child herself.
“Probably would be best to have that ready yeah. Don’t need both of you in shock when I’m trying not to be.”
“Hoh, wait, hold on. You told me first? And nobody else?”
The Master bridles. His entire diminutive frame seems to expand like that of a little boy who just scored at cricket or football or rugby or some other upper-crust thoroughly English sport.
“Well. Well I must say. That’s quite an honor.”
He leaps over an entire chaotic pile of scrap metal and motherboards, and seizes the TARDIS key, which his husband left lying around in their joint workshop. He wiggles it in front of Ophelia’s gaze.
“Dearest Button. Congratulations. We’re going into the infirmary, which is ordinarily locked, and we’re going to give you a sonogram, and then, we’re going to hand that to your father. Trust me, with a tangible ‘discovery’ on hand, it’ll keep him from fainting dead away.”
He clasps her arms.
“And don’t you worry! How could he be anything but elated?!”
“Listen, you little rat,” he starts, trying to sound annoyed and yet there’s still a smile on his face. It’s definitely those glasses. “It’s… different with you. It’s still annoying as hell, especially at the end, but last time with the twins was completely different than the first time I was pregnant. And yes, it was probably thanks to you, so go ahead and be smug.”
“HAPPY to hear it, handsome.”
Koschei delightedly owns his title of “rat,” setting the reading glasses aside. He opens his arms to his husband, wiggling his fingers toward himself, the epitome of the self-satisfied seducer.
“Come, come snuggle. And do let your mind wander to green pastures. Shall it be a boy or a girl? Shall we go on spending sprees or hand-me-downs? Expand the cottage nursery? Come, regale me with your hopes and dreams. And I shall set about at once to commissioning a tailor for more stylish maternity clothes.”
Despite his “annoyance,” he wastes no time in hurrying over to his husband’s open arms, sprawling over him with his head in Koschei’s lap, braiding their fingers together.
“Mmmm is all of that an option?” he says, smiling up at him adoringly. “I don’t know, I kinda want another girl. But Sammy might pitch a fit if someone tries to steal her throne. Then again, she might be absolutely enamoured with a little mini-me. Definitely going to need to expand the nursery. And yes, new clothes for me. Probably my favourite part, they’ll get their own section in my closet you made me.”
Koschei leans down and squishes his husband’s face between his palms, with a an enthusiastic growl.
“Whyever would anything not be an option? YOU’RE the one doing the difficult work here.”
He sits back upright, petting Jack’s hair in even rhythms.
“Our daughter will adapt as soon as she realizes her little brother or sister is a minion she can send on errands and quests on her behest. Remember, she IS the one who takes after ME.”
The Master glances over the rim of his reading glasses at his husband. He examines him like a fruit fly, but the glint in eyes the hue and effervescence of root beer is telling.
“Has someone been bitten by the mummy bug?” he queries, closing the holographic console in front of him, to wanly smirk. “Someone who once complained of being pregnant?”
“Listen, you little rat,” he starts, trying to sound annoyed and yet there’s still a smile on his face. It’s definitely those glasses. “It’s… different with you. It’s still annoying as hell, especially at the end, but last time with the twins was completely different than the first time I was pregnant. And yes, it was probably thanks to you, so go ahead and be smug.”
“HAPPY to hear it, handsome.”
Koschei delightedly owns his title of “rat,” setting the reading glasses aside. He opens his arms to his husband, wiggling his fingers toward himself, the epitome of the self-satisfied seducer.
“Come, come snuggle. And do let your mind wander to green pastures. Shall it be a boy or a girl? Shall we go on spending sprees or hand-me-downs? Expand the cottage nursery? Come, regale me with your hopes and dreams. And I shall set about at once to commissioning a tailor for more stylish maternity clothes.”
The Master glances over the rim of his reading glasses at his husband. He examines him like a fruit fly, but the glint in eyes the hue and effervescence of root beer is telling.
“Has someone been bitten by the mummy bug?” he queries, closing the holographic console in front of him, to wanly smirk. “Someone who once complained of being pregnant?”
Icarus 