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Art hummed to himself as he scrolled on his tablet, his coffee on the table long since cold.
He’d be damned if he’d admit it to Rogue, but some of the stuff on that playlist of his was pretty catchy and, ironically, Can’t Get You Out Of My Head had been stuck in HIS head for three days now.
He scrolled through the list of possible jobs, trying to find one that His Royal Highness would accept. Something interesting and exciting and valuable enough to be worth doing while also not having to compete with others. The list of requirements made it impossible to find jobs.
Art was just trying to decide which of Rogue’s conditions to ignore this time when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked up from his tablet to find a small boy staring at him, still holding Art’s sleeve.
Art didn’t have much experience with kids, but if he had to guess he’d say that the boy was around three or four years old.
His skin was a couple of shades darker than Art’s. His curly black hair was almost long enough to fall into his eyes, deep cerulean blue, which seemed to stare into his soul. It reminded Art a little of Rogue, sat in the corner of a bar the night they met, staring at him until he worked up the nerve to approach.
The kid had a stuffed animal with him. Art recognised it as a Selko. Rogue had talked about them before, animals from his home planet that always sounded to Art like a cross between a cat and a dog. A three-headed feline with the attitude of a golden retriever and a tail a squirrel would be proud of. This one was being dragged by the neck of its central head, brush like tail picking up dirt as it dragged along the ground.
“‘Scuse me. I’m lost,” the boy said, with the slight lisp common to very small children.
Art blinked. “Okay…”
“Can you help me?”
“Why are you asking me?” There were plenty of other people around. Mothers and shop keepers and police officers (Art didn’t trust them himself, but he knew that many people told their children to ask an officer if they got lost). People who would be safer, and not to mention more capable with children, than an engineer turned bounty hunter.
“My Papa knows you.”
“And do I know your Papa?” The boy nodded. “What’s your Papa’s name?”
“His name’s Papa.”
“Okay, let’s try a different way. Do you have another parent?”
“Daddy.”
“Okay. Good. What does your Daddy call him?”
“Baby.” Art sighed. This wasn’t working. He resigned himself to taking the kid for a walk and hoping to see someone he recognised.
“What's your name?”
“Ali.” Good, someone in this family has an actual name.
“Alright.” Art put his tablet back in his black satchel and stood, holding out a hand to Ali. “Let's see if we can find your parents.”
When Ali took Art’s hand it was like his vision shifted. At first, he couldn't figure out what had changed. He looked around him. Everything seemed the same. Same people. Same cafe. Same sign declaring its coffee to be the best in the country. Art frowned. Hang on a minute. He was pretty sure he hadn't been able to read that sign earlier. As he looked around him, he realised what it was. All the signs that were previously in Yunqitese were now in… Welsh? He hadn't read Welsh in years. Nobody used it this far out. (If he were honest with himself, he’d never seen it used outside of Wales.)
He looked down at Ali, who stared up at him expectantly. It was then that Art realized he had completely frozen, so shocked by the language change that he was just standing in the middle of the town square holding the hand of a strange (in more ways than one) child.
On their third lap of the market, a man came running over.
The man had large brown expressive eyes, closely cropped black hair and dark skin that seemed to glow in the light of Yuqinta’s three blazing suns.
Art found himself wondering what the situation was between this guy and Ali’s Papa. Were they married? Open relationship? He would have loved to take this guy back to the Yossarian with him. He was so attractive that even Rogue probably wouldn’t mind his company. There were so many rings on his fingers he couldn’t even be sure if any were wedding rings, although one of them…
Art frowned, noticing that one of the rings was very familiar. The design on it was very similar to the one that Art had been designing for Rogue: an engagement ring for the day they finally left bounty hunting for good. It wouldn’t be too long now; they just needed a couple more big jobs. Art shrugged it off, though; D&D was popular across the cosmos, so it was inevitable that someone else would have eventually made a similar ring.
Behind him were a girl and a boy. The girl must have been about eight. She had beautiful braided black hair and eyes with something familiar about them. They were the same brilliant blue as Ali’s, and combined with their shape they seemed strangely familiar. The boy was a little younger than her but older than Ali, and had olive skin and long, dark, curly hair.
“Ali!” the man shouted.
The child dropped Art’s hand and held out his arms to the man. Art was disappointed to find that as soon as Ali’s hand left his, his vision snapped back and everything around him was Yunqitese once more. “Daddy!” As soon as he got close, the man scooped Ali into his arms, hugging him tight.
The man turned to the girl that was with him. “Sarah, honey, can you go find your Papa and let him know we’ve got Ali?”
“Sure,” the girl said, before disappearing into the crowd.
The man finally seemed to notice Art. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” Art told him, surprised to find he really meant it. Normally he didn’t like children, but this one… “He’s a sweet kid.”
“He doesn’t normally talk much to strangers.” The man paused before offering Art a hand, the other still holding Ali. Art expected he wouldn’t be being put down any time soon. “I’m the Doctor, by the way.”
Art shook his hand, noting with interest that it had the same effect as touching Ali. “Nice to meet you. Listen, this might sound strange, but I’ve been wondering about something Ali said.”
“What did he say?”
“He said something about his Papa knowing me.”
“Hmm.” The Doctor hummed and readjusted his grip on Ali. “That’s my husband. He doesn’t talk about his past very often, so I don’t know everything. Ali probably knows more than I do because he doesn’t have control of his psychic abilities yet. He tends to see everything. Whether we want him to or not. What’s your name? Maybe he’s mentioned you.”
“It’s -“
“Art?”
The Doctor’s eyes widened, mouth falling into a silent oh. Art turned at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice but something sounded… wrong and there was a distraught tone he’d never heard before.
Not even when Rogue’s favourite bear, Larry, (a present from Art for their first Valentine’s Day) was burned in the crash landing that destroyed their first ship. Art had fixed him as best he could. He wasn’t any good with sewing so he made do with the skills he had by creating little cybernetic implants.
Now he’s a cyborg bear. A cybear if you will. Art had joked.
When he turned to look he noticed the girl from earlier. She was holding Rogue’s hand, but why was she…
Oh… oh!
Suddenly things started making sense. The blue eyes that reminded him so much of his boyfriend. The stuffed Selko, native to Rogue’s home planet. The ring on the Doctor’s finger, so like the one he had made.
The realisation hit him like a Transfluvian shuttle.
Rogue was ‘Papa’. This was Rogue’s husband. Rogue’s children. Rogue’s life. With no Art in sight.
For the first time, he properly looked at Rogue. Really looked.
His dark hair was threaded with silver and white and there were lines around his eyes and mouth that definitely weren’t there this morning. On his finger sat a red and silver wedding ring that perfectly matched his husband, the Doctor’s.
Art was vaguely aware of Rogue’s husband shepherding the children into the crowd.
“So…” Art trailed off, not really sure what he wanted to say. Unsure what else to say he shot for something semi normal (not that anything about this situation was normal). “How did you meet?”
“At a party.” Art’s doubt must have been written on his face because Rogue laughed. “It was in the Regency,” he explained, as if that clarified things.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I was hiding on the balcony.”
“Now THAT sounds like you.” Rogue huffed a laugh, and a sad smile crossed his face that made Art’s stomach turn.
“I've really missed you.” Art could see the look of tortured indecision on Rogue’s face and a feeling of dread washed over him. Whatever Rogue wanted to say was eating him alive and, based on the way his eyes darted between the direction the Doctor had gone with the children and himself, Art suspected it would be timeline shattering. He wondered briefly what could possibly be on the horizon that Rogue would take that risk, the risk of losing the family he’s built. The people he loved.
“Don’t. Please don't.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't tell me what's going to happen. I don't want to know. You… you have this amazing life. A gorgeous husband that I’m hoping we were a throuple with.” Rogue shook his head. “Damn. But you also have those kids and I don't want that on my conscience. If I learned something that stopped you from having them if we stayed together or…” Art trailed off at the stricken look on Rogue’s face. “Oh.” Suddenly Art understood. This family had come at a cost, and that cost had been Art’s life.
He'd suspected, of course. He knew it had to be something big; would Rogue really risk his children to reverse a breakup? But could he have forgiven himself if he had just let Art go to his death?
Art had never wanted children, never particularly liked them if he was being honest. As soon as he saw Rogue, holding that girl’s hand, he knew. If Rogue had children, there was no room for Art. Was it wrong to have hoped that they had broken up? Maybe. He wanted Rogue to be happy, but was it selfish that he had hoped that he was out there happy too? That he and Rogue had split but remained friends? Maybe because they decided they wanted different things. Rogue could have his family and Art could have…
But deep down he knew. Rogue’s family didn't recognise him and that look… if Art lived for a thousand years (which he now knew wasn't happening) he’d never forget the look on Rogue‘s face when he said his name.
This was a family that Rogue had, that his Rogue will have, after Art is dead.
Art shook his head, trying to clear it and looked up at Rogue’s watery eyes.
He was upset, of course he was. Finding out that you're going to die isn't exactly a picnic. But Rogue, his darling boyfriend of almost a decade, was standing here with that look on his face. For Rogue, this was going to be their last conversation and if Art wasn't going to get to live his life with him, he at least wanted to hear all about it.
“Tell me about your kids.” That subject should be safe enough, Art thought. Parents love talking about their kids.
Rogue looked like he wanted to say something else but nodded anyway. “Our eldest is called Sarah. We found her by chance on our fifth anniversary, so we call her our best anniversary present, though the boys have started calling her mum on account of her always bossing them around.” Art nodded for Rogue to continue. “Jay is the middle child.”
“Oh thank god.”
“What?”
“I was worried you were going to say his name was Art.” Art already knew Ali’s name so he was safe. Rogue’s people didn't have middle names, so it seemed unlikely his children would, especially as his husband was simply the Doctor.
Rogue laughed. “No, you made your opinion on that very clear.” Art made a mental note to do so with his Rogue, as he had never said anything like that. They’d never really considered that Art might be the one to die first. “Anyway, Jay is human. We found him on a mountainside in ancient Sparta.” Art winced. That poor kid. “His favourite film is Encanto.”
Art snorted. “Bet you love that.” Rogue had always been of the opinion that Lin-Manuel Miranda was overrated, though Art thought he was just bitter about being drafted into Hamilton.
“Mmm.”
“Why did you even let him watch it?” It seemed like such a simple thing. Don’t show a kid a film you don’t want them to like.
Rogue sighed. “Because… because he’s human.”
Art frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Sarah is a Trelit, which means she can change her appearance however she wants. Ali has all the same abilities as my husband, like the touch telepathy, and he inherited the ability to drink salt water from me. Jay… Jay doesn’t have any of that. He’s a human living among other humans with family that has these extraordinary abilities.”
“Just like Mirabel.”
“Exactly. He was so down and our friend Ruby thought that it might help, to see that even in a world where everyone else has powers, you don’t need them to save the day.”
“That’s so nice.”
“They were even the Madrigal sisters for Halloween last year. Sarah was Isabela, Jay was Mirabel and Ali was Louisa.”
Before Rogue could reach into his pocket and start showing him pictures, not that it didn’t sound adorable but he’d probably be here forever if he allowed that to happen, he moved the conversation on. “What about Ali?”
“Ali is half Binesian and half… the same species as my husband. They have a longer lifespan than the rest of us, so I wanted…”
But Art knew what he was thinking, because it was so very Rogue. He didn't want his husband to be alone so he made sure he had a child with the same long life span. Of course that didn't require DNA from Rogue but Art suspected that was the Doctor's doing, because if he were in the Doctor's shoes he'd want to keep something of Rogue alive too.
Art pushed that train of thought aside to focus on the glaring omission. “And what about your husband? What species is he?”
Rogue’s cheeks turned red and he mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?”
Rogue sighed. “He's a Time Lord.”
“A what?”
“A Time Lord.”
“A Time LORD, you say.”
“DON’T.”
“As you wish, Your Lordship.”
“God, I hate you.”
“No, you don't.” Art grinned. “But seriously, you didn't just marry a lord, but a lord of time.”
“Well, even I thought ’king of time’ sounded a bit pompous.” The Doctor's voice cut in. He walked over and wrapped an arm around Rogue’s waist, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“More like a queen of time,” Rogue snarked, but he leaned slightly into the touch and it made Art’s heart ache to see how much more relaxed he seemed in his husband’s arms.
“And what does that make you? Prince Kristoff?” Art snorted at the Doctor’s retort; he knew about Rogue’s acting career, then. This earned him a glare from Rogue and a grin from the Doctor.
“Right,” Art said, clapping his hands together. “As much as I’d love to stay, I should probably get back before someone gets hungry and sets fire to the ship trying to make beans on toast again.”
Rogue groaned. “Oh, come on, that only happened twice.”
“Good to know.” Art made a mental note to get the fire extinguisher refilled before the second time happened.
“Doctor, it was very nice to meet you. Try and keep him from doing anything too stupid.” Art offered him a hand to shake.
The Doctor laughed and took his hand. “Easier said than done.”
“Tell me about it.” Art paused. “Just… look after him?”
“Of course.”
”And Rogue.” Art held out his arms and Rogue practically collapsed into them. He could feel his shirt becoming wet beneath Rogue’s face. Art stroked his back gently. “I wish there was some way I could make this better, but just know that I love you and I’m proud of you. I don’t know what’s coming but… but whatever it is will have been worth it because I know what’s going to come next and I know you’re going to be alright.” Art held him for a moment, allowing him to cry before carefully passing him over to the Doctor, who also had tears streaming down his cheeks.
Art gave him a small and unconvincing smile and turned to leave, but he only made it a few paces before he turned back to the couple. “When’s the last time you changed Larry’s batteries?”
Rogue frowned, looking up and wiping the tears from his eyes. “They're Duranium power cells. They don't need changing.” It was true, they weren’t going to run out until some time in his great grandchildren’s lifetime.
“I know.” Art winked and turned back around. He walked towards the Yossarian and his awaiting fate, taking time to clean up his own tear tracks along the way.
Art stood in the doorway, watching Rogue work. He wanted to savour these moments while he had them.
He took in the way Rogue looked like he had just rolled out of bed, with his messy hair sticking up in every direction. He had a smudge of blue paint on his cheek and a streak of yellow highlighting his hair. This was particularly impressive, as there was no blue or yellow on the table in front of him.
He could see that Rogue was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a Brawn GP shirt from Art’s youth. Both were splattered with paint and oil and all kinds of other stains and messes.
It was his messy clothes that Rogue was wearing. He had kept ruining his clothes by getting paint or oil on them, so they had come to an agreement, that this specific pair of faded jeans and Art’s shirt would be worn whenever he planned to do something messy like painting or eating spaghetti.
Today, he seemed to be painting miniatures.
Rogue stuck his tongue out while he focused intently on the fiddly details. It was so cute when he did that.
“In or out, pick one,” Rogue said, not looking up. Art laughed and came into the room, sitting down on the other side of the table and watching Rogue.
After a couple of minutes of silence, Rogue looked up with a frown on his face. “You alright?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“I dunno… something just feels… off.”
“Just been thinking.”
“About?”
“The future.”
“You mean like how we said we’d get married when we retire?” Rogue asked, putting his paintbrush down to focus on the conversation at hand. “Or more where we’re going to have date night next week?”
“More like what you would do if anything happened to me.”
Rogue frowned. “Why are you worried about that? We both know I’ll die before you will.”
Art gave him a sad smile. “Maybe, but you can never be sure. Hypothetically speaking, what would you do? Move on? Get married? Have kids?”
“I’ve never given it any thought.” Rogue said with a shrug.
“Ok, well think about it now. Do you want to have kids someday?” Art wasn’t sure why he was pushing this. He knew the answer, even if Rogue didn’t.
“You don’t, so I don’t.”
Art frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I want you more than I would want kids.” Art internally winced, wondering how long it would be before those words would be back to haunt Rogue. “Sure, in an ideal universe maybe I’d have a kid or two.”
“Or three,” Art muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing, go on.”
“But we don't live in an ideal universe and I couldn't do that to a child. I couldn’t put them through what my dad put me through.”
Art paused. “I think you’d be an amazing dad.”
“I don't think so.” Rogue shrugged. “Anyway, why are we talking about this? We’re on the same page here. We’re never having kids.”
No, WE’RE not, Art thought to himself, and was surprised to find that the thought made him sad. Because although he didn't want kids, he was planning a future he would never have with a man who didn't know that he didn't want the same thing.
He wondered what would have happened if he had been alive when Rogue figured that out. Would they have broken up? Or would Rogue have been too damned stubborn to admit that he did want children and resent Art for it? Art didn't suppose it mattered now but he suspected it was probably option B.
“Just do me a favour? If something happens to me and you ever have kids, don’t name them after me.”
Rogue laughed. “Sure, whatever you say.”
Later that night, Art grabbed a biro and a sheet of paper. He watched as Rogue snored in his hammock for a moment. Rogue liked to sleep there on nights Art stayed up late tinkering or going out to bars or whatever. Art wondered if their bed would ever be used again.
He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand: writing a letter he could stash in Larry for Rogue to find.
My Dearest Rogue
You probably think I’m going to be sarcastic now. Make some quip about wishing you had died, maybe, or lamenting your inability to cook or clean. I could, maybe I even should; I've never been very good at sincere open emotions as you know, but, if you can't be open with the man you love before you die, when can you?
Tonight we talked about whether you wanted kids, and you didn't think you could be a good parent. I couldn't tell you then what I know now. That you ARE a good parent. You’re an amazing parent. It was so clear how much you all love each other. You obviously must be doing something right.
You also have a wonderful husband, I wish I could have gotten to know him better because he may even be an adequate replacement for me.
Tonight I also took a job, tomorrow we’re heading to Glarcom to go after Hexam Droogle. I don’t know if that’s THE job (I assume it was a job and not, I don’t know, choking on a pea or something, that would be embarrassing) or how much longer I have so I’m going to do everything I can to make what time we have left count and maybe… if I can… prepare for what will come next. I’ve already started adapting the controls to be piloted by one, I’d meant to do it for years (what is it with you and tall buildings) but it’s funny how a deadline focuses your mind.
All my love, always,
Art
PS: thank you for the warning about the second bean fire, I got the extinguisher refilled just in time
He knew. Rogue thought to himself, unable to quite grasp the concept. Art had known that he was going to die for weeks beforehand. From the moment he accepted the Droogle job.
Rogue put down the letter on his desk as his vision blurred with tears. He didn’t want to risk smudging the letter, even if it was written on the back of a character sheet of all things.
He heard the Doctor enter the room. He knelt down in front of Rogue’s chair and felt as he placed his hands on Rogue’s knees. “It’s okay.”
“No! No it isn't! I… I was going to…”
“What? What were you going to do? Please, Rogue, you've been so quiet since we got home.”
“I almost told him. I… I wanted to…”
“Oh, baby.” The Doctor pulled him into a tight hug and Rogue started to sob into his shirt.
“I knew what it would cost, but I couldn't bear to let him die, when I could have told him. I could have saved him. But I would have lost you, and the kids. I shouldn't even have considered it.”
“Grief does funny things to your brain.” the Doctor explained, gently stroking his back. “I can't tell you how many times I wanted to tell River. I almost did so many times on Darillium. I wanted to tell her to stay away from that library.”
“Art didn't even let me. Told me not to.”
“He took the decision away from you, so you wouldn't have to make a decision that would have hurt you either way. So you didn't have to choose between people you love. Like you did for me, the night we met.”
Rogue pulled away and wiped at the tear tracks on his face. “But I still could have, if I weren't a coward.”
“Did I ever tell you about Bowie Base One?”
Rogue blinked at him, thrown by the sudden subject change. “The Mars Mission?” Seeing the Doctor's surprise at his answer, Rogue added, “Art was into the history of human space travel. To him most of it was the future so…”
“I was there. It was a fixed point, but I had just lost Donna and thought I could change the outcome. Because I thought that if I could do that, maybe I could change what happened to her. But I was wrong and reckless, I saved some of the crew including Adelaide but I had also told her how her death would inspire her granddaughter...”
“So she shot herself,” Rogue realised, remembering Art’s theories about that. Nobody knew why she did it. Nobody knew how she made it back to earth. But the Doctor did. The Doctor had been responsible. “To preserve the future, and if I had told Art he could have done the same.”
“It's very possible. He loved you and wanted you to be happy.”
“But I was happy with him,” Rogue whispered.
“I know, baby, I know. But as a very wise woman once said, pain and loss define us as much as happiness and love. Everything has its time and everything ends.” The Doctor’s eyes trailed over to a photo sat on a shelf in the attic. They had been trying to take the children to Dapidor for The Festival of the Ephemeral Lights but it had gone a bit wrong. Instead, they had ended up in London in the 70s and the children, being the children, had wandered off. When they were found, safe and sound, Rogue had suggested they take a photo with their rescuers. Sarah Jane, beautiful as always, beamed with her arms around her namesake while the Brigadier looked imperious in his uniform. Jay held Ali who, oblivious to the photo being taken, was sucking the ear of his stuffed Selko, Snufflepuss (Snuff for short). Rogue had his arms around his grinning husband whose arm was looped around Sarah Jane. The other Doctor had taken the photo when Rogue’s camera phone proved too much for Sergeant Benton.
“You miss them, don’t you?”
The Doctor gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand. “I miss all of them, and one day, god, one day I’m going to miss you so much.”
”That’s not going to be any time soon if I get a say in it.”
“I know, now come on. We have a night to ourselves. What do you want to do?”
“What about -“
“They’re Auntie Ruby’s problem until tomorrow afternoon. If only there were some way to spend that time.”
“Like falling asleep with takeout in front of the television?”
The Doctor grinned. “You read my mind.”