“Shh, sweet little hearts.  It’s only a guest.” 

The Master looks up from the vulnerable cocoon of warmth and nurturance in which he’s caught.  There’s startling gentleness in bottomlessly dark eyes.  It’s residual from looking at his daughter, but beyond the miracle of a womb-born Time Tot, it’s the months and months he’s spent at the Doctor’s side in rare, honest, open communion, airing and nursing his wounds, and growing past them.  

Beyond any miracle, reform is painstaking work. 

      “Believe it or not … that’s become my goal already. Blame a blonde
       goose.” 

---

@forgediinfire tagging you because reasons))