What to Expect [closed]

[bluesuit_handy]

Andrew's unease about his pregnancy has not abated despite James's best efforts to comfort him. Multiple scans have conclusively shown that he is not, in fact, falling apart on a cellular level, and furthermore that he does, in fact, possess the internal structures necessary to carrying a baby. On the other hand, he feels terrible all the time and a male, half-Time Lord pregnancy is -- much like a meta-crisis in general -- a medical mystery. He's been reading up on human pregnancy, which has mostly convinced him that he's in for nine months of pain and bloating. Lately, too, his trousers have started to feel tight, which can't be right at only five weeks in.

Getting out and walking seems to help with the sickness and the general malaise, so today he's set himself the goal of making it to and from the library without calling a cab despite the feeling that he'd really rather take a nap, eat some ice cream, and watch five hours of cartoons. The first half of the operation has been a resounding success thanks in part to automated check-out stands that don't ask questions or make comments about his stack of classic sci fi, trashy romance, and books on pregnancy.

Fruits of his labor in a canvas bag, Andrew slips out the library doors and points his nose toward home. He yawns and rubs his eyes as he goes, ready for a sit down but not sure he'll be willing to get back up once he does. His stomach is starting to act up, too, and less than half a block on his way he pauses and leans against a building, wrapping his free hand around his gut and willing it to pass. The wave of nausea only intensifies, though, and he grits his teeth and looks around for a trash can. He does hear the creak and crunch above him that signifies something more than a little important, but doesn't succeed in separating it from the general noise of the city.

Comin on home to you [closed]

[has_a_horn]

After what happened in the dreaming, Gabriel has lost any reservations he might have had about visiting her in person. She'd been hurt and there's no knowing how much damage had actually been done without going to see her. He'd certainly done some damage to himself in his efforts to separate her from the rift and her universe. Who knows what sort of shape she's in.

He dresses and teleports there immediately after he wakes, the image of her tearful face still at the forefront of his mind.

His head swims when he arrives. He stumbles. His knees plant down into the underbrush and he looks up. The TARDIS is sitting where he expects her to be, but he can't feel her as strongly. There are no lights shining out. If he couldn't still feel her still here, alive, the darkness would be a frightening sight. As it is, it's not exactly comforting either.

He pushes up, not bothering to brush the dirt from his knees before he steps up to set his hand against the TARDIS doors. They push open easily, and he enters.

"TARDIS?"