Catching Up On Old times (Meddler, Specialist)

"It'll make a lovely nursery, and chambers." She said softly as she touched the walls.

"Nursery?" the Meddler echoed, a note of confusion in his voice. For a moment, he considered the logistics of remodeling the room into a garden, before his mind caught up with the alternate meaning of the word. "Oh! You mean a creche? Yeah, this would probably work for that."

He threw his mind back through his memories - his personal experience with children was sorely lacking, so he took a moment to review how he was raised. "I'm pretty sure I'd make a lousy Creche Uncle," he mused out loud. "I doubt that Alec would either, or the Doctor. Or the Phantom, for that matter. Although she'd probably be enthusiastic about it."

Worry was obvious in his voice, now. "They'll need someone to take care of day-to-day needs, though... Ah!" He snapped his fingers as relief flooded through him. "I know! The Brownies! They'll be miserable on the education front, but they should be able to get the children through rudimentary linguistics and mathematics."

He smiled, relieved. It wasn't a perfect solution, but he was confident the Brownies would be attentive Crech Uncles. Or Aunts. To be honest, he wasn't sure how to determine Brownie gender.

He watched the Specialist walk the room, examining the furnishings. "I would like to find if The Archivist survived. We do need to rebuild our culture, and I heard rumors she made a TARDIS compatible archive of all of her knowledge."

The Meddler considered that. "She might have, but I don't think I'd count on it. I only know of... let me see... me, the Doctor, Alec, the Phantom, you now, Xandavier... six of us." He paused. "Oh, and I know the Master survived, only to get killed a few personal years ago." He shook his head sadly. "We can look, if you like. I just don't want you getting your hopes up."

She stopped, and stared when he asked if she was alright. "Other then being slightly jealous that a woman younger then me got to kiss you that way, I'm fine." She said while crackign a smile. That was the first joke the blond woman had ever made.

He hesitated, uncomfortably aware of his own - probably unwanted - attraction to Sisilaya. (She's my Niece! he thought. My goddaughter!) It was something he'd suppressed for more than a year, now, and it had been dragged to the surface again by the events of the last few hours. (Do not be a fool to a young woman's feelings, the TARDIS had said. When was the last time she called you Uncle instead of Godfather?) Then he smiled, awkwardly, and took her hand.

"I..." he said, hesitantly, "It... that is..." He swallowed, hard, and tried again. "It wasn't just talk, when I said..." He shook his head. "I do love you." And with those words, he kissed her.

"Yes, a good creche. I want to do things a little differently then what was done on Gallifrey. I think it's time for a more hands on approach with the children." She stated as she turned to face him, her face holding a stern look. "We need to spend at least three hours a day, with the children. So we can watch their development."

The Meddler cocked his head slightly to the side, bemused. The memories of his own childhood, recently called up, were fresh in his mind. "That's... what the Creche Aunts and Uncles do, isn't it? A hands on approach to education, and monitoring the child's development?"

And then her words sank in. "Wait, we? Do you mean 'we' like me as part of we?" He laughed. "Seriously? I'd be a terrible Creche Uncle. I obsess on my work, I'm a monomaniac, and I've been known to spend over fifty hours in a single sitting working on one engineering or temporal integration problem."

The laughter faded. "Also, let's not forget the fact that I'm a temporal abomination and a mass murderer. Even if I could make myself focus on the work of a Creche Uncle, the Grandfather Paradox is hardly ideal for that role."

"Further then that, we have the vessel I locked away, and pushed to safety. After you left, I set it up. Somewhere, out there, is a TARDIS in a small pocket dimension, waiting for a rescue... In it are three whole generations of Gallifreyan children."

His jaw dropped. Literally. He listened in dumbfounded shock as she continued.

She said as she turned to face him. "The youngest group is fresh from the schism, the older ones are probably around fourty to fifty years. I instructed the guardians, to slowly awaken the groups and have them grow to learn. So we have at least fourty to fifty more members of our race, out there... waiting."

"Guardians..?" he said, stunned. "Three... generations,,?"

Abstractedly, he considered his emotions. There was joy, elation even, at the prospect of more surviving Time Lords. But mingled with that joy was... fear. Fear, and a sick sense of horror. He'd heard the rumors, heard the Doctor's own words.

The Daleks had survived as well.

He didn't need his precognitive talents to see where this could lead, but they came forth anyway. The children would learn. Would grow. Would reproduce, and teach their children. And then one side would learn of the other soon enough.

And the War would begin again.

No, he thought, there has to be a way to stop it. There has to be another way. But all he could see were burning worlds, galaxies converted into weapons, civilizations stripped from existence to gain a tactical advantage, terribly still burning figures, and diamond-like lattice of forces that could destroy history itself.

"That's... that's wonderful," he heard himself say. Really, though. What else could he have said?

And then she joked about her jealousy when the TARDIS (Sisilaya) had kissed him. And so he kissed her.

"Meddler, you mean a lot to me. And it made me happy when you retrieved me." she said finally, her eyes dancing as she pulled back from the kiss.

He released his breath, and held onto her hand. "I promised," he said, simply. And then he smiled. "I promised."

"These children, will be born into a different life."

"I certainly hope so," he said, still haunted by premonitions of a new War.

"We need a gathering of the Time Lords left. I believe, with my talents, and yours combined, we can call all the Time Lords to one place."

"That shouldn't be hard," he said with a laugh. "We'll just show up in Cardiff and wander around. Half of them will show up before we make it out of Roald Dahl Plass."

He kept laughing, unable to stop for several minutes. It really wasn't that funny, but it helped cleanse some of his fears. "Seriously, though," he said, wiping his eyes, "I think the single largest convocation of Time Lords I've seen since the War ended was at Demons Run, and half of us seemed ready to kill the other half within minutes."

He considered the problem, seriously. "Getting in touch with them won't be all that hard. I've still got all the old communications systems and data links and such in a storeroom somewhere. The hard part will be getting them to cooperate."

"Yes, like us. Not creche Aunts. A hands on interest in the development of future time lords. Parents will be required to either rear their child on their own, or spend several hours everyday with the child. So that the Creche aunts and Uncles, don't have to do all the work. Not that we will have many of them at first, we have to get the race going again." She said as she closed her eyes, her hand on her belly now as she felt the four beats under her palm.

"But..." the enculturated values of a Time Lord were hard to shake, even for a renegade. "Isn't the whole purpose of the creche system to ensure that someone qualified and competent does the work of preparing the children for Initiation and training?"

"The Grandfather paradox is perfect, something chose you to help me. Something pushed you to get me. That something gifted me with children, with you nearby. That means you are meant to aid in the development of their minds." She stated firmly as she watched him. A small smile gracing her features, as the pale woman prepared her thoughts for the situation at hand.

He blinked at that. "You mean... one of the Guardians thinks I'm the right person to train a new generation of Time Lords?" The enormity of the suggestion nearly floored him. "Which one, do you think?"

"Yes, three generations, and I chose the captain of the group that was chasing you. He was a trustworthy lad, and they escaped flawlessly." She said with a small smile. "Except this time, we are doing it right. No matter what, Time Lords will aid in the development of the universe, and keep the darkness down. We will be the keepers, and the aids. Like The Doctor has become. Though the darkness will fear us, I intend for us to fix things. This'll require a rather large network being spread out. And we will run into the Daleks again, but we will teach the children of non-lethal ways to overcome them, so we can perhaps try to reprogram those creatures."

The very thought of the Daleks made him tremble again. There are no non-lethal ways to overcome them, he wanted to shout. But everything else she said made sense.

"Keep the darkness down," he echoed, remembering beings of crystal singing their lives out in an effort to keep the last sun in the universe from burning out. "Maybe..." he whispered, "maybe it will work..."

"Let's open up the old systems and send out a notation. All of the Time Lords born on Gallifrey, would remember the Name of the Specialist. And we have to be specific in our determination of which Doctor to invite. I've had temporal visions of him crossing his own timeline quite often. I believe the most recent is the Eleventh? Perhaps The Doctor knows where The Archivist is." She murmured as she shivered from head to foot.

"Either way, I want to restart our civilization, under a special leadership, with different leaders. So that we can make it work this time."

"It'll take time," he said, considering the logistics of the matter. "But I can do it." He nodded. "All right, let's try and call this meeting. Let's see who comes, and what they think."

At that moment, one of the brownies - Tonks, the Meddler remembered - appeared seemingly from nowhere. "Your pardon, your highness," he said with a low bow. "You asked to be informed when the Princess regained consciousness..?"

"Yes, of course," he said, distractedly. Then he bowed, slightly, to the Specialist. "If you will excuse me, my lady? I must see to the health and well-being of my Niece."

(OOC: Should we try calling the meeting in this thread, or take it to another?

Also, no matter what, he's about to go and walk into that "C-Box Saturday Soap Opera" thread and watch his life overcomplicate.

)