Touch The Sky: Doctor Who/Studio C [Book 3]

Secrets

Secrets

(Original Interlude)

She wasn't sure when exactly she had decided not to tell him.

On second thought, Mallory realized, it hadn't really been a conscious decision. Twelve weeks had spiraled into fourteen, sixteen, eighteen; a bump that had once been disguisable under only a t-shirt was now visible through all but the thickest of sweatshirts, and she still hadn't managed to pick up the phone.

It was foolish and silly and a thousand other unflattering adjectives, and she freely admitted that to herself.

Yet she still hadn't done anything.

She knew she'd missed her window. Matt might have forgiven her for keeping it from him for a week, maybe even two—but six? Not even the TARDIS could help her there.

Maybe it was better. Better to have a child raised on tales of their father giving his life to save the world instead of a living man who had a myriad of reasons to hate her.

Even a lie, she realized, sounded good if you repeated it enough.

Probably not better, she admitted to herself. Easier, though. Easier to pretend the Matt she'd gotten back was a figment of a tortured and grief-addled mind, easier to mourn and move on than to actually bring herself to face those consequences.

She knew what she was doing and she let herself do it anyway.

A lazy, surprisingly warm Saturday morning in mid-April dawned, and the sun was high in the sky by the time Mallory finally woke. Had her TARDIS key not been hidden, she would have noticed it glow a few hours earlier, as the TARDIS made the shortest of stops in Utah before spinning off toward Pompeii. As it was, though, she simply indulged in a very late morning on a rare day off.

The clock read ten-thirty before hunger finally drove her out of bed and sent her padding into the kitchen. She pulled open the window over the sink as soon as she got there, glad there seemed to be a bit of a breeze to counteract what amounted to carrying her own personal heater around twenty-four seven.

Despite herself, a bit of a smile came to her face. The worst of her symptoms had abated, and everything seemed to point to the next couple months being 'the fun part,' before she got too large, achy, and impatient to enjoy being pregnant.

At least, that's what she assumed. It wasn't like there was really anyone around to ask about it.

She'd told Mark a couple weeks ago—he'd been quietly congratulatory, but distant ever since and she hadn't had the will to figure out why. The other side of that coin, however, was far less field work at UNIT, and far more safe, boring paperwork.

Could be worse, she told herself, tugging on the hem of a pink shirt that really wasn't meant to have a baby inside it, finally giving up and ignoring the three inches of skin it bared. She blew out a breath, sending a few strands of hair flying, and reasoned that when one was down to three pairs of pants that fit, one really needed maternity clothes.

But she liked it. It surprised her, when the world so often seemed to paint it as a necessary evil of backaches and swollen feet and fat jokes to endure in order to get a baby in the end, how much she actually enjoyed being pregnant. The realization that no matter how isolated she might feel, she was never truly alone was an easy comfort.

Someone knocked on her door.

Startled, Mallory glanced toward it, wondering for a moment if she'd imagined the sound. Who would be visiting? Mark would've known it was a day off and called, she doubted any of her other coworkers would visit her out of the blue, and she guessed if it was the Doctor he would have simply sonicked the door open and barged in, babbling away.