A/N: Co-Written with FireBurnsBrighter

Sarah sighed, her hand going down to her swollen stomach. It wasn't long before the baby would be there, though not with her.

She was going to give it up for adoption, because the practicalities of being a mother, at her age and with a baby that was none other than the Doctor's... it wouldn't work. She couldn't take care of a child, especially not the child of a man who had left her, pregnant and alone, with nothing more than a scarf to remember him by. A scarf that he had quickly replaced, one that she had walked out of the TARDIS with, though it was hidden in her bag. She hadn't even looked at it until she was safely out of Aberdeen, back in South Croydon. Safe.

She didn't need to break into tears and have her heart aching in public.

And admittedly, while she was sitting there, sewing the words onto the back of that scarf, the heartache did return. But she had bigger things to worry about. Like the fact that not long from that moment, she'd be giving birth to a small version of herself. Of the Doctor. A baby she couldn't keep, because she knew she wouldn't be able to let it grow up normal. She'd tell it who it really was.

She finished the sewing, and admired it for barely a moment, until she felt it. A contraction. She wanted to stop it, she didn't want it to happen now, it couldn't happen now, could it? It was a bit early. Could she even go to a normal hospital?

But she couldn't think much longer, the pain was too much and she had to get out.

A girl. It was a girl. She watched as it was cleaned up, but made it very clear it was to go up for adoption. She sighed, and when she was recovered, when she was feeling better, she went to see it. Her daughter.

The baby was innocent, beautiful, even. So small and perfect and wriggling in it's blankets. Full of energy, just like her father. With a sigh, Sarah looked down at the scarf in her hand.

She knew who she'd say it was from. She'd make sure the note was attached. Blame it on the old curator at the art gallery, say it was him because it was easier to say it was him, easier than to let a little girl grow up thinking she could track down her father.

So she put the scarf in beside her, and the girl pulled it up instinctively, like a blanket. Sarah scrawled a quick note, and put it in with the scarf. Making sure that one day she'd get it, and she'd think it was just a gift from a slightly crazy but nice old man who'd been... kind to Sarah. He looked familiar, though she couldn't quite identify where from.

She turned around, and bit her lip, glancing back at her daughter for the last time.

"Goodbye." she murmured, and looked down at the writing, at the part of the scarf facing her.

She walked out the room, hoping the little girl would heed her advice, however hazy it was, she needed to have something from her father, some information about him, even if she didn't know who he was.

The information on the back of his scarf that was simple, easy to remember.

The Doctor will always protect you.