Title: The Unplanned Pregnancy of Rassilon
Summary: It's the wrong bed, on the wrong planet, and he's sharing it with the Lady President.  And that's just the start of Narvin's problems.
Rated: PG-13
Spoilers: First couple of seasons of Gallifrey, plus an allusion to an upcoming episode of Doctor Who -- but nothing more spoilery than a character name.
Notes: Livii put the idea in my head. Branwyn grit her teeth and gave it a beta.  Anyone unlucky enough to be unfamiliar with the Gallifrey audios may wish to know that Narvin is a senior Gallifreyan bureaucrat, and Romana's primary (non-villainous) foil.  Set mostly between "A Blind Eye" and "Lies".



The Unplanned Pregnancy of Rassilon
by LizBee



Narvin woke up slowly, vaguely taking stock of his existence.  Alarms blaring: none.  Appropriate number of limbs attached to his body: check.  Lady President curled up beside him: check. 

No, wait.

"What?"

"What?" Romana echoed dreamily, hand trailing down his chest, and now he came to think of it, there was a distinct lack of clothing involved.  And this was not his bed, and they were not on Gallifrey.

Narvin cast his mind back.  Yes, Free Time terrorists threatening key temporal targets on Earth, Arkadian turning up like a bad smell to negotiate.  Said "negotiations" turning into dinner, with Arkadian attempting to ply Romana with wine, while she emptied her glasses into the pot plants and drank Narvin's water. 

Several thoughts occurred to him at once:

One, that he had just fallen for the oldest trick in the book, and let the Lady President follow him into the same trap.  Not even Leela would have made that mistake.

Two, if Leela found out about this, he would be eviscerated.

Three, if this was Arkadian's idea of a negotiating tactic, the man was even more incompetent than Narvin had previously believed.  His memories of the latter parts of the evening were somewhat fuzzy, but he was pretty sure Romana had managed to bring matters to a conclusion before she dragged him out of the restaurant and jumped him.

Four, any rumours involving Romana, the Doctor, and the practices of more primitive species could effectively be considered proven.

Five, Romana would probably help Leela with the evisceration.

The Lady President herself was beginning to wake.  Narvin didn't quite throw himself out of bed, but it was with some haste that he got up, found his human clothes from the previous night and began to dress.  He needn't have bothered; Romana shifted into the space he'd just occupied and curled into a foetal ball with a ragged little sigh, and it was a full twenty minutes before her eyes opened.

For a second she looked dazed, then surprised, and for a fleeting moment, rather smug.  Then her jaw set.  After that, the morning's pace picked up somewhat.  Narvin had never found himself facing imminent regeneration at the hands of a naked woman.  Of course, Romana always did like to claim her presidency set precedents.

"I'm not the one you should be strangling," he hissed, extracting his neck from her hands.  "And Arkadian's probably half a galaxy away now."

Romana's look could have frozen a supernova, but she turned away with a frustrated snort.  "He set this up," she said.  "He knows how I feel about his taste in wine.  Where the hell are my clothes?"  She retrieved her dress and pulled it over her head.  "And why does this always happen when I'm in Paris?"

Narvin was saved from answering by a new series of thoughts.  "If this was actually Arkadian's plan--"

Romana demonstrated a previously-unrevealed proficiency with Shobogan obscenities as she reached for her hand-bag.  A flick of a switch on her sonic device, and there was a satisfying series of bangs and pops around the hotel room.

"I will kill him," Romana breathed, picking up a piece of the wreckage.

"Streaming video?"

"From the looks of the power cells, I'd say it's linked to a data hub out near Mars."

"Times like this, I wish we still had the Oubliette of Eternity."

"I visited Shada once.  I think I'll reserve a cell for Arkadian."

Narvin took her arm.  "You realise, of course, that if this gets out, neither of our careers will survive the scandal."

"Oh yes," Romana murmured.  "We need a trustworthy agent to track down Arkadian and his -- files."

"I have some people--"

"I meant someone I can trust."

"Romana, I am not sending K9 out to find your sex tape--"

"My sex tape?  I'm sorry, Co-ordinator, just whose tongue was it--"

"Look, yes, never mind--"

"Well I do mind, I mind quite a lot--"

The problem was that they were by this point mere inches apart, and Romana was rather magnificent in her fury.  And if anyone asked, Narvin was perfectly prepared to claim it was the lingering effects of Arkadian's chemicals.  It probably came under loyalty to the presidency, pretending she didn't make the first move.



Later, on the presidential TARDIS, Romana said, "And we'll never speak of this again."

"Never," Narvin agreed fervently.



It was some weeks later that Narvin received a message from the President, relayed via K9.  The message ran, simply, Paris experiment yielded unexpected long-term repercussions.

Narvin presented himself at the presidential suite within the hour, scaring off two clerks and an Arcalian cardinal in his haste to see the Lady President.

"How many people know?" he asked as soon as the doors sealed behind him.

"You, me and K9."  Romana looked as unhappy as Narvin felt, and slightly nauseous on top of it.

"How can you possibly be pregnant?" he demanded.  "You've had that second body for a good few centuries, and I know your Family frowns on unauthorised reproductions."

"Believe me, I've been asking myself the same thing.  Nevertheless," she shrugged, "unauthorised reproduction has taken place." 

Narvin picked up a book on pre-Pythian legend, skimmed a page without recognising a single word, and said, "What are you going to do?"

"There's a rather good physician attached to Prydon Academy.  He treated me after -- after I returned from Etra Prime.  He can transfer the embryonic mass to a bio-chamber and arrange adoption into a Family.  Floodkeep, maybe, they've been solidly apolitical for centuries."

"And this--" Narvin swallowed the word doctor -- "physician is discreet?"

"Why, Narvin," Romana gave him a mocking smile, "are you worried about your reputation?"

"I have a very simple ambition, Romana -- for my career to survive long after the extended circus parade you call a presidency is over."

"Oh, lovely."  She circled him.  "I can't say I'm overjoyed to have you grafted onto my genetic legacy--"

"Believe me, the feeling's quite mutual--"

"Not to mention that K9 seems to find this inordinately amusing--"

"Well, you would go and program humour algorithms--"

"It was sort of by way of being a hobby.  Something you may want to try if you can ever get your head out of--"

"Excellent, yes, I shall collect rare works of art and impressionable young Time Ladies--"

"Now that is a step too far," Romana hissed.

They were frozen in a tight orbit, and he only had to move a little to touch her.  And her lips were decidedly kissable, an adjective he had never before wished to apply to a holder of high Gallifreyan office, and there was something compelling about the curve of her hip and her hands on the back of his neck--

"Hormones," Romana murmured.

"Right.  Yes.  Hormones."



Later that year, after civil war made it necessary to break the President out of the Capitol prisons, Narvin sought her out in the catacombs, where she was co-ordinating the resistance.

"In light of recent events," he said quietly in the crowded chamber, "I've taken the precaution of making arrangements for the safety of infants from vulnerable families -- Hearts-haven, Floodkeep, Redleaves.  A few others."

There was a flicker of gratitude in Romana's eyes. "What sort of arrangements?"

"The secure sort," Narvin snapped.  "The infants will come home when Gallifrey is stable, and not before."

"Then I hope they're comfortable," said Romana, "because it looks like we could be in for a long wait."



On another planet, in another time that was simultaneously long before and long after the death throes of Gallifrey, a young woman pushed her long, blonde hair out of her face and opened a fob-watch.

"Ah," she said thoughtfully.

"Well?" asked the Doctor.

"Two hearts," she said thoughtfully, "and a vague impression of being very small, surrounded by adults.  Bright lights, and the sound of a TARDIS."

"Brilliant."  The Doctor enveloped Jenny in a tight embrace.  "Didn't I tell you?  My daughter.  My very own daughter.  I knew your mother, you know--"

"I believe that's the usual way of things," Jenny said, but her voice was muffled by the Doctor's coat, and he didn't hear her.  "But tell me," she added, pulling away, "are you really sure I'm your daughter?  I mean, it's like Donna said, you can't have been the only one on the planet having sex--"

"You'd be amazed," said the Doctor, "and your mother was a bit brilliant like that -- smarter than me, even ... well, almost.  We used to go dancing--"  Jenny, who had heard Donna's thoughts on the Doctor's 'dancing' metaphor, raised her eyebrows -- "and she loved kids -- well, there was Adric ... and she had to exile me to another universe, which is sort of ironic now I think about it.  Broke her hearts, I expect, but there was the genetic sample in the bio-data archives -- never did find out what happened to those, something about a Time Scoop -- the important thing--" Once again, Jenny was smushed against the Doctor's coat, "is that you're here, and alive, and safe, and you can live with me and we'll go traveling--"

Jenny let him go on, on the principle that one should always humour a madman, but later, she promised herself, later she would find that nice Doctor Jones, and find out if it was possible to create a paternity test for Time Lords.



end