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DTBP--Birth..... [Nov. 7th, 2008|02:34 am]
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Alright, here's my take on the delivery of Billie's son...hope you like it!!!

Title:       Birth
Summary:     David rushes to be with Billie when she unexpectedly goes into labor.....
Rating:      PG
Disclaimer:  This story about David Tennant and Billie Piper is fictional and is not intended to give offense....


David was pushing his new-ish Skoda to the max as he careened around yet
another London corner.

Billie was in labor, and he desperately wanted to be there for her. 

She'd phoned him from the hospital, her words bitten out between tightly
gritted teeth.  His best mate was in pain, and that would have been more than
enough to pull David out of a high-society soiree.  But the fact that she was
in pain *and* in labor served to send him sprinting out of the room without a
backward glance at Georgia or any of the other blue-bloods he'd been mingling
with.  His girlfriend wouldn't like it, but she'd probably understand.  And
David couldn't have given a flying fuck about the others.

Billie was all that mattered right now.

With some sense of relief, David sighted the bright lights of the Casualty
center just ahead, and swerved to meet the entrance ahead of oncoming traffic. 
With a hair's breadth bit of leeway, he scooted past and roared to a stop in
the closest available parking space.  Flinging the door open and leaping out of
the vehicle, he charged toward the illuminated doors without bothering to
secure the motor in any way. 

There was no room in his head for such frivolous concerns.

David burst through the double doors, startling a gaggle of nurses, and skidded
to a halt before the high counter.  "Billie Piper!" he barked, his accent
heading south in his anxiety.  "She called me an' said she's in labor.  Where
do I go?"  He made absolutely certain that his tone brooked no argument.

The young nurse behind the desk had flushed bright red as soon as she'd clapped
eyes on him, her gaze going wide and misty.  It was an expression David had
grown accustomed to since becoming the Doctor.  "M-m-mr. Tennent!" she
squeaked, then cleared her throat.  "W-well normally, Mr. Tennant, it's j-just
the family that's allowed in."  David's face fell.  "B-but," she exclaimed
hurriedly, waving a hand in the air, "I think I can make an exception this
time, Mr. Tennant.  Would that be okay, Mr. Tennant?"

David had never been so grateful to be famous. 

And why did the girl keep saying his name, anyway?

Shaking off his musings, David followed her down a featureless corridor, almost
literally on her heels.

She's in labor, she's in labor, she's in labor, his mind chanted relentlessly,
and he'd have picked the young nurse up and propelled her forward if he'd had
any inkling of his direction.  As it was, he had to exert a mighty strength of
will to rein in his impatience.

"You bloody bastard!"  The words echoed down the hall, with hearty vehemence,
and David actually felt himself relaxing slightly at this evidence of Billie's
continued vigor.  "You did this to me!  You should be sent to the ninth circle
of hell, you should, an' then you might understand my agony!"

Fed up with the less than speedy pace, David sprinted past the nurse toward a
certain unmarked door that was practically vibrating with his friend's fury and
barreled his way inside.

And then the world seemed to slow to a snail's crawl.

There was Billie, sprawled on a delivery table, her face beet red with fury and
effort and pain, her legs akimbo.  There was the doctor, probing into his
friend's unmentionables with calm efficiency.  There was Laurence, pale and
stalwart, the bones of his left hand clearly disarranged by his wife's iron

But, of course, all that mattered to David was Billie.

She was thoroughly disheveled, her now-ginger hair plastered to her sweaty face
in thick hanks, her thin hospital gown sticking to her heaving chest.  She
looked so tired, oh so tired.  Dark circles shadowed her usually dancing brown
eyes, and the skin of her face seemed to sag with fatigue.  Her entire body was
trembling, with effort or torment David couldn't tell.

All he knew clearly was that he needed to touch her.  Right now.

"David!" she exclaimed, and her utter relief was so palpable, it was something
to be grasped and clutched close and savored.

He was by her side without any conscious thought.  Suddenly her fingers were
clutching his, and his other hand was soothing her fevered brow.  His best
dinner jacket was forgotten, the presence of her young, tow-headed husband was
forgotten, the entire world was forgotten in favor of this one pained specimen
of humanity who was all that mattered to him in the universe.

"Oh, Bill," he sighed, and the longing in his voice was entirely too obvious. 
He leaned in to press a fervent kiss to the hectic skin of her forehead, and
allowed her greater purchase on his hand, steeling himself to broken bones in
the near future.  "I came absolutely as soon as you called!"

"I know, sweetheart," she murmured, her eyes shining, before hunching over
convulsively and crushing his bones into meal.  "Oh, God!"  The pain was
clearly stupendous, more than she'd ever experienced before, and David would
have given absolutely anything to bear that agony himself, if it spared her one
iota.  But he couldn't. 

There was nothing he could do for Billie, except be as supportive as possible,
and it was killing him.

"Tell me what to do, my darling," he begged, his voice cracking.  "Ask
anything, and I'll do it.  Doesn't matter what you need, I'll do it."  And he
meant it.  He'd have done his best to make the TARDIS and the Doctor a reality
if only it would save his darling Billie one moment of this misery.

Billie was gasping and straining valiantly.  "You're doing it," she ground out.
When she finally relaxed, after the seemingly endless contraction, she was
panting, her breath hitching painfully.  "You're doing it, love," she repeated,
her eyes finding his, and she gifted him with a strained little smile.  "You
alright?" she breathed shakily.

He couldn't see properly.  His vision had suddenly blurred, and he blinked
rapidly, noting with a small, unoccupied part of his mind that tears were
running freely down his cheeks.  How had he been so blessed?  What wonderful
thing could he have possibly done to be rewarded with knowing this fantastic
woman?  With having her love and regard?  Here she was, in the throes of
feminine torment, and she was kind enough to be thinking of his well-being.  It
was illogical, unthinkable, undeniable that he had been so favored.  It was
daft, but it was true, and David could only offer thanks to a God he wasn't
sure about for such benevolence.

"I'm fine, Bill, darling Billie, as if I mattered just now," he murmured
against her tense fingers.

A short bark of laughter issued from her chapped lips.  "You always matter to
me, Davy," she said firmly, and he noted with detached interest that she seemed
to have forgotten her husband in the rush of his arrival.

David's eyes slipped closed.  "I'll do anything, sweetheart, anything at all."

Like a searchlight warming his skin, he could feel his friend's eyes roving
across his face.  Eventually, she murmured, "Tell me a story, David."

And for the next few hours, he told her a story, a fantastic story that he wove
entirely from his own head, drawing from fairy tales and their time with
'"Doctor Who" and his own private fancies.  He painted an epic portrait, of
maidens and knights in armor and terrible dragons and prizes to be won.  That
the primary maiden was named Rose seemed to be a given, and that the gilded
prize was called Forever should only have been expected.

David's story carried them through endless and repeated contractions, and ever
-shortening periods of rest in between.  His lilting Scots accent distracted
her from the clenching agony in her belly and focused her as she breathed
mechanically and forcefully through each abdominal convulsion.  His soft voice
soothed her when the pain verged on overwhelming, steadied her when she wanted
to cry out that it was too much, too horrible, not worth the unbelievable
effort.  Billie believed it was worth it, and because David was there with her,
she was able to remember that conviction at every moment.  He made it possible
to endure.

When she wasn't spasming or screaming or writhing in anguish, Billie did make
an attempt to include her young husband in the goings-on.  It was just
difficult, you see, when David was in the room to think of anyone or anything
but him.  He shone like the morning star, scintillating with vivacity and
energy.  He was a force unto himself, and she had never been able to divert her
attention successfully away from such magnificence.

In the deepest recesses of her heart, Billie knew that it was David's soothing
presence, his wit, his voice, his vibrant personality that got her through the
long and arduous night.  It was nice to have Laurence there, to have the father
of her child present at its birth, but it was David who steadied and bolstered
her faltering courage.  It was David's hands that kneaded her aching back and
massaged her spasming belly.  It was David's Scots burr that broke into the
pain-filled silence to coach and encourage her in her stuttering breathing.  It
was David who distracted and enchanted her with his beautiful off-the-cuff tale
of love and adventure.  And it was David, once the inevitability of the
Cesarean section became obvious, who was there to calm her rampant fears and
gather her close to his body in a silent, supportive hug.

She clung to him, desperate and afraid, as he stroked one trembling hand over
and over again through her ratty hair.  He'd discarded his restrictive jacket
long ago, and had immediately climbed up next to her when the horrible news
came.  His long, lithe body was molded to hers in those brief moments, and all
she seemed able to do was to close her eyes and breathe in his familiar,
infinitely comforting scent.  He was solid and strong and, it seemed, the only
thing that was absolutely sure in her life just then.

It didn't occur to Billie to wonder why her husband wasn't the one she turned

It was near dawn when they took Billie away.  Her contractions were nearly
continuous, but no baby would deign to emerge.  The warring thoughts and
feelings in David's head had merged into a continual buzzing, and he was acting
on pure instinct.  Hold and protect what you love, that was the only clear
thing in his mind. 

So he did.  He held Billie, wrapped her in himself until the last possible
moment before she went under the knife.  And it was only when her gurney
disappeared into the operating theater that the serrated blade of fear stabbed
into him and twisted viciously.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.  He felt numb.  He felt consumed by the
writhing, burning, incinerating torment of his fear.  She must be okay.  She
*would* be okay!  There was no other option!

He wouldn't allow any other option.

As if he had any say in it!

With a resounding thump, David felt himself hit the floor as his body slumped
down, rendered powerless beneath the weight of trepidation.  His fear was
crushing him, grinding him down and turning his insides into a coiling,
crawling, aching mass of helplessness.  He could do *nothing*.  His heart was
about to be cut open, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent
it, to solve this impassable difficulty.

It was unbearable.

David was only dimly aware of strong hands lifting him up, hooking under his
shoulders and dragging him bodily across the hall to the bank of molded plastic
seats.  A hand shoved his head down between his knees and kept it there as wave
after wave of gagging nausea washed over him.  Once the ringing in his ears
finally receded, David could feel a heavy hand resting on his back, supportive
in its way, but obviously awkward and male.

Laurence.  He'd almost forgotten about The Husband in his single-minded focus
on Billie.  Still, he seemed a good enough bloke.  David's opinion of the lad
inched upward as he recalled how wrapped up with each other Billie and he had
been over the last few hours, how oblivious of their surroundings they'd
become.  They'd sort of forgotten Laurence, but from what David could tell, the
boy didn't mind so very much, just seemed resigned to it.

Were they really so transparent?  Or was it because her husband was so close to
Billie that he could clearly see the ties binding the two friends like rubber
bands?  He didn't seem to mind, just then, and David was grateful for small

Drawing in a shaky breath, he scrubbed at his face with both hands, trying to
will some optimism into his current attitude of abject terror.  Billie would be
fine.  Thousands of women did this everyday, and only a few of them died.

David pushed that last thought away violently.

Billie *will* be fine, he told himself firmly, ignoring the whine of fear
niggling at the edges of his mind.

Dimly, he heard his equally tense companion murmur something, and leapt at the
chance for some distraction.  "What's that?" he asked, glancing to the side.

Laurence started, looking a bit sheepish.  "Just reminding myself that
everything will be alright."

David expelled the air from his lungs in a long, forceful burst.  "It will." 
And it seemed to them both that the mere brute strength of his will could make
it come to pass.

A long silence followed in which both men lingered in their own private hells,
which were, naturally, very similar at this juncture.

Suddenly, the younger man spoke.  "I feel like Mickey, sometimes, you know."

"Wha'?" David asked, a bit bewildered.

"Like Mickey.  From your show.  I used to tune in to 'Doctor Who' all the time,
but Bill won't let me watch it now.  I'm just saying I sometimes feel like
Mickey when I watch the two of you.  You're not so far removed from your roles,
you know," he said softly.

David's eyebrows rose at this confession.  "How, exactly?" he inquired
cautiously, very aware of the possible ramifications inherent in this

The younger man's head bowed lower, and his voice became even softer.  "You
know what I mean.  You two are like one person.  Billie may love me, but you're
her other half."

The boy stated the truth baldly, without equivocation or adornment.  It was a
fact, and he didn't attempt to quibble about it. 

David could feel every part of him stilling, unsure of how to react.
"It's alright," Laurence went on hurriedly.  "I understand, like Mickey did in
the show.  I understand how it is, and it's alright.  I want my wife to have
all parts of her satisfied."

David didn't miss the blatant statement of possession.  And yet, it also seemed
that Laurence had conceded a similar kind of dominion to him, unlikely as that

They were silent for a long time.  "I'd say I was sorry, but I'm not.  Billie's
love is worth anything," David stated bluntly.

"I know," Laurence replied, and a complete understanding infused his tone.  "It
is worth it."

That seemed to be the end of the discussion, and they retreated into their own
thoughts again for an interminable time.

The silence was suddenly broken by the angry screech of an infant, and Laurence
leapt to his feet.  David's head jerked upward and his whole body stilled, like
a hound on point.  "Well," he said slowly, cautious joy suffusing his tone,
"boy or girl, that bairn's certainly got it's mum's lungs."

"Yeah, he does, doesn't he?" the younger man whispered, hugging himself in an
obvious effort to rein in his quivering impatience.

David drew in a steadying breath through his nose.  "One down, one to go," he
muttered, almost inaudibly.

By the time the surgeon emerged, nearly half an hour later, both men were ready
to either snog him senseless or wring his neck.

The doctor's eyes lingered on David's bedraggled form for a long moment, so
long that he had to wonder what had so captured the man's attention.  Probably
just a bit star-struck, he mused.  And yet....there was some heavy, inscrutable
speculation going on behind the surgeon's eyes, David was sure.

"Mr. Fox," he began, finally tearing his eyes away from David to face the young
blond.  "Everything went swimmingly.  Mum and baby are both perfectly healthy
and safe.  The surgery was textbook, and we're very hopeful that scarring will
be minimal."

Laurence seemed to sag with relief, and David's eyes slipped shut in
benediction.  "Thank God," he breathed, and was unsurprised to feel his throat
tightening painfully and his eyes stinging with tears.  Billie was blessedly
safe and whole and, most importantly, wouldn't be leaving him alone any time
soon.  And the baby, her flesh and blood, had arrived unscathed.  And David
loved the child already, as if it was his own, because it had sprung from his
Billie.  And anything so intrinsically tied to his best mate could only be
perfect, as she was.

"You may go and see her now, though she may be groggy from the anesthesia," the
doctor was saying, and David sprang to his feet, intent on reaching her side in
the shortest amount of time possible.

The doctor narrowed his eyes at the eagerness of this non-family member, but
Laurence quickly assuaged him.  "He's alright.  Billie will want him there."

That had to be the understatement of the century.

David could never recall the intervening period between standing in the hallway
and being with Billie.  All he knew was that she was suddenly there, pale and
sweaty and a bit woozy, but reassuringly *there*.  His first real recollection
was of his friend in a clean, white gown, snuggled under several blankets, and
cradling her newborn child to her breast. 

The small part of his brain that wasn't focused on Billie noted that the infant
was swaddled in a blue blanket and that he had a shock of brunette hair issuing
in wild clumps from his tiny scalp.  Like me, he thought, but without the help
of hair gel.

"David!" she breathed with obvious relief, a brilliant smile stretching her
lips, belying her exhaustion.  Her eyes shifted to her husband, and the smile
changed to something that spoke more of comfortable affection than elation. 
"Come say hello to our son, Laurie."

Both men moved instinctively to opposite sides of the small hospital bed, and
David had to consciously hold himself back, forcing himself to allow the
child's father his rights before leaping into the fray himself. 

He watched, his blood singing in his veins, as his friend carefully passed the
sleeping bundle to the awkward father.  Billie was simply radiant, her love and
satisfaction and triumph shining plainly in her warm, brown eyes.  Someone so
bedraggled shouldn't be so beautiful, but she was, there was no denying it. 
She was beautiful, and her new son was beautiful, and David felt humbled and
privileged to be included.

"Winston James Fox," Laurence murmured, running one careful finger over the
delicate little brow.

David's eyebrows rose involuntarily.  "Winston?" he said, testing the name on
his tongue and, after some thought, finding it acceptable.

Billie bit her lip, gazing at her friend with something like trepidation.  "We
thought it sounded....I don't know, solid and commanding, or something.  D'ya
like it, love?"

Infusing every bit of reassurance and support he could muster into his tone,
David said simply, "Yes, of course, darling girl.  Winston Churchill!  I mean,
wha' better namesake can you have, really?  He'll be ready to step up with an
abundance of charismatic leadership in time of crisis, at this rate!"  He
paused, then smirked wickedly.  "Though I can tell you now what his favorite
cartoon character will be."

Billie gave into a controlled bout of laughter, trying not to wince.  "I say
'poo' on your Pooh!  An' I hope to God he'll not be called 'Winnie' once he
reaches first form."

"Nah," David assured her with admirable nonchalance.  "With a mum like you,
he'll not take guff from any of the lads his age."  He glanced at father and
son, and was amused to witness the infant's small fist connect with Laurence's
chin.  "See, he's already a fighter!  Winston the Valiant and Wise.  He'll be
imagining himself a knight in armor before he reaches short pants."

Billie snorted and squeezed his hand.  "Only 'cause you'll be filling his head
with stories like that!" she exclaimed.

David swallowed fitfully at the lump that had suddenly invaded his throat.  He
would be included, it seemed, in this child's life for many years to come.  And
in Billie's.  It was almost too good to be true.  It was serendipity itself. 
He cleared his throat and pressed a fervent kiss to her pale cheek.  "I'll only
speak the truth, darlin'.  Still, he can't help but be fantastic with such
influences around him, poor little Winnie!"

A weak slap on the arm was his reward, and David had to grin, brilliantly and
ecstatically.  Billie was alive.  Her child was alive and healthy.  It was
everything he had hoped and prayed and longed for.  Well, maybe not everything
he had longed for....but it was enough.  More than enough.

The abrupt entrance of a frazzled nurse drew their attention.  "Mr. Fox," she
blurted, "There's a whole gang of reporters crowding the lobby, an' they insist
on getting a statement about Ms. Piper."  It was obvious from her tone that she
didn't approve of such shenanigans and demands, but had been compelled by a
higher authority to convey the message.

Laurence and his wife exchanged silent glances, and then the boy was
reluctantly passing his tiny burden on to David, and striding out of the small

For a very long moment, David was unable to react.  He suddenly possessed an
armful of new human, Billie's son, the infinitely fragile product of love and
duty and hope.  He was so small, was Winston, and reddish and a bit squished-
looking and oh, so beautiful.  His tiny eyes were tightly shut, and his wee
fists were clenched, as if clutching in memory the security he'd just been
forcibly evicted from.  His hair was a riot of brunette spikes, and David
wondered momentarily if desire could actually influence the characteristics of
a new baby.

After what seemed like hours, David tore his eyes away from the infant to meet
Billie's gaze.  There was something awe-struck and awe inspiring in her eyes. 
She was looking at the two of them with some unreadable and unfathomable
contemplation.  David didn't understand it, but he was, as always, content to
be the object of even her slightest attention. 

"You handle him well, Davy," she said softly, her eyes heavy with affection.

He huffed a short breath of amusement.  "Hmm, a future god-father must do his
best, I suppose."

"I suppose," she mused, then grinned, her utter happiness shining brightly from
every pore.  "I couldn't have a better man at my side."

David felt humbled and transported all at once.  "I'm happy, *so* happy to be
here, love," he breathed with every ounce of sincerity that he possessed.

With careful movements, he insinuated his long body along the edge of the
narrow hospital bed, without jostling the infant unduly.  Once their bodies
were flush, touching from heel to temple, they sighed contentedly, Winston
included, though his exhalation might conceivably be explained by some more
mundane reason.  The two adults, however, were never unsure about their mutual
ease and elation.

David reached out one trembling finger to run softly down the child's
impossibly tiny nose, and then with a grin gave the same treatment to its
mother.  Brown eyes met brown eyes, and they smiled.  "You did well, Billie, so
very well," he sighed, his tone full of artless wonder.

"Did my best, is all.  It was horribly difficult, but I had my Teninch with me,
so I got through it."  David snorted in a rather self-deprecating manner. 
"No!" she said forcefully, reaching out to grasp his chin.  "I couldn't have
done this without you, David, an' that's a fact.  I will thank God every day
that you were here with me.  That you're always with me."

And David believed her, couldn't help but believe the earnest love and
gratitude singing in her voice, shining in her face.  Impulsively, he pressed
an ardent kiss to her face, lingering just a bit too long for his own peace of
mind.  Blushing slightly and hoping Billie wouldn't notice, he focused on the
baby, passing little Winston carefully to his mother.  And then, because he
couldn't help himself, couldn't express his feelings in any other way, David
wrapped his long arms around mother and child protectively and rested his
burning face against the crown of Billie's head.

His friend was alive, healthy, and happy, and blessed with a new life.  And
that was all that really mattered, anyway.


so, i know we all want Billie's son to be David's love child (though that would hardly be a pleasant experience for little Winston), but i've decided to continue in my previous vein and portray thier relationship as friendship, with a hint of unrequited love.....i hope you won't mind, but i do think that this is the most likely reality at present........and in my view, even thier friendship is so scintilating, that no reasonable fan can object to such a portrayal.....though, if you do object, feel free to tell me, of course!! ;-)

[User Picture]From: ophelia_winters
2008-11-08 09:49 am (UTC)
My heart aches for them in this, and for her husband. "I feel like Mickey, sometimes..." daaaawww. And David just wanting to take the pain away. Just, guh, lovely. You did brilliantly.
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From: (Anonymous)
2008-11-11 10:29 am (UTC)
yes, i know....i have to say i included more allusions to deeper feelings in this one than in previous stories. i don't know. somehow it seemed appropriate to the situation....they were so wrapped up in one another that it didn't seem wrong to hint at a few of David's repressed feelings. the Mickey thing came to me as i was trying to think up what in the world the two men would have to say to one another, other than creating an "Admiration of Billie Society."

anyway, i'm glad you liked it, especially! ;-)
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: radiotardislive
2008-11-08 05:16 pm (UTC)
So cute!! Loved it :D
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: noisseau
2008-11-11 10:30 am (UTC)
thank you very much indeed! i read about Billie's giving birth, and the picture of David screeching into the hospital parking lot leapt into my mind.....so i had to write it obviously... ;-)
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