A/N: This is it! We've finally reached this end of this tale. Many thanks to my incredible followers, to everyone who favourited this one, and to all you lovely readers who take the time to review. I appreciate every single one of you and I thank you for sticking with me and this story. Special thanks to Ashlanielle for her unending support and for helping me pick a name for a character when I was stuck ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or anything related. That all goes to the BBC.

Note: The Saatchi Gallery is a very real place, though I've used a bit of creative license with it. The British Ballet Company, however, is completely fictional, though based on a few different real life companies.

Side Note: if you're on Tumblr, I've been posting pictures to go along with each chapter. I'm over there as emkaywho.

Warning: Brief mentions of two minor character deaths.

~35 and 45~

This was it. She took a deep breath and smoothed down her tule skirt. This was a big night and she wanted to look just right. She wanted to look her very best.

"Are you almost ready? If we don't leave in the next few minutes we'll be late, and you know how your mother gets if we're late," she heard a familiar voice call out to her from another room.

She rolled her eyes. Yes, she knew very much how her mum could get whenever they ran late for anything. "Just a minute," she called back before realising that the person she was informing had moved to stand in the doorway of her room. "I just want to make sure I look alright," she added in a much quieter voice.

"You look beautiful, love," he told her, sincerity filling his voice.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, Dad," fifteen year old Imogen said. "You look pretty handsome yourself."

Ian Noble grinned brightly before bering down to kiss his daughter on her forehead. "Let's go while your brother and sister still look somewhat presentable."

Imogen nodded at the truth in his statement. At seven, her younger brother, Noah, was a force to be reckoned with a personality exactly like his father's. He was given his name because the night he was born, there was a storm and a resulting flood that was the biggest Chiswick had ever seen. Rose had gone into labour so quickly that there was no way they would even have time to get to the hospital if they tried. They'd called for an ambulance, but with the rain and flooding the emergency vehicle was having a difficult time reaching them. With Jackie and Donna's help, the baby boy was born healthy and letting them all know that he had a healthy set of lungs. When the ambulance finally arrived, Ian made a joke about naming the baby Noah. Rose had laughed at first, but the name seemed to stick, and in the end they both agreed that Noah was the perfect name for the baby born during a flood. Then there was three year old Penelope, named after Ian's own mother. Though similar to Imogen in looks, the two sisters couldn't be more different in personality. Where Imogen was shy and quiet, Penelope was boisterous and loved to be the center of attention.

On cue, the three year old made her way into her big sister's bedroom. "Daddy? May I has this pwease?" she asked, holding up a large chocolate bar Noah had received at school for getting top marks.

"Well, thank you for asking so politely, but no you may not," Ian answered, kneeling so he was eye level with his youngest daughter. "First off, that's your brother's chocolate, not your's and I don't think he would be too pleased if you ate it. Second, we need to go see your mum, and don't you want to show her how you look in the new dress your gran bought you? I think she would like to see it without it being covered in chocolate."

"Fine," the toddler sighed dramatically.

Imogen took the chocolate bar from her sister and placed on a high shelf, out of Penelope's reach, making a mental note to tell her brother where she put it. "Come on, Pennylou," she said affectionately, taking the three year old's hand and leading her to the living area where their brother was clearly waiting impatiently.

"Finally!" he groaned, heaving himself off the floor.

Their father entered the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw the mess his son had made. "What's all this?"

Noah guiltily hid a few Legos behind his back. "I got bored," was his response.

"I can see that. I'm not going to make you pick them up now, or else we'll be late, but don't think you won't be picking these up when we get home later."

"But, Dad..."

Ian shook his head. "No buts, mister. Now, come on. We need to leave."

Helping her dad usher the kids to the car, Imogen grabbed the flowers they'd picked out earlier and locked their front door. As they drove, she mused about what a big night this was for their mum, a night that had been a long time coming. Though he was keeping up a steady flow of conversation with his two youngest children, Imogen could tell by the bounce in her father's leg just how nervous he was. His love for her mum was never something she doubted, from the moment he'd entered their lives, it had been a clear fact to her. She was just glad that she had been excused from her lessons for the day and evening. With the phone call she'd received that morning, it was clear that times like this with her family would be precious due to the busy schedule she would be embarking upon soon.

"We're here," Ian announced as he parked the car. Turning around in his seat, he looked at his children sternly. "Now remember, you need to be on your very best behaviours. Understood? If you can't behave, I won't hesitate to call Miss Clara and have her come and take you home, and you know how sad that would make your mum, right? This is a big night for her and she wants us all here for support. Okay?"

"Yes, Dad... M'kay, Daddy," the children answered simultaneously.

Penelope cleared her throat when she noticed someone had stayed silent. "Immy, you need to say okay to Daddy."

Imogen giggled, but looked at her dad and said as seriously as possible, "I promise to be on my very best behaviour tonight."

He winked. "See that you do. Especially if that boyfriend of your's shows up."

"Dad..."

"Allons-y, offspring!"

With Penelope's hand in Imogen's, and Noah walking beside their father, the Noble family made their way through the front doors of the Saatchi Gallery. The very same gallery Ian had once taken a young Rose to. As they made their way into their mother's exhibit, Imogen breath caught in her throat. For her entire life, she'd grown up with Rose's paintings on the walls of wherever they were living. She didn't remember a lot about the time before Ian married her mum and adopted her as his daughter, but some of her strongest memories of those times were watching Rose work on her art. And now, the paintings she's looked at almost every day of her life where hanging in a well known gallery. Her mum's dreams were coming true and it was wonderful to see.

Apparently their father felt the same because as soon as he caught sight of his wife, he raced toward her and pulled her into a tight embrace, swinging her around in circles, much to the delight of their children.

"Oh, Rose! Look at this place! It's brilliant!" he gushed, putting her back on her feet.

"Is it really alright?" she asked, nervously tugging on her dress. At the moment, the gallery was empty, save for her family. She'd wanted them to have a chance to look around before it was open to the public.

"Rose Noble, it's more than alright. Didn't I tell you? I said all those years ago, I said that there was no doubt in my mind that I would be standing right here looking at one of your paintings. And here I am!"

Imogen let go of her sister's hand and went to hug her mum. "It really is amazing. I'm so proud of you, Mum."

"Oh, thank you, sweetheart. And look at you! You look so beautiful, so grown up," Rose said, tears framing her eyes.

She laughed. "Mum, why are you crying? Blimey, you're never this emotional."

The older woman sniffed. "Just stress, I suppose."

Ian snorted and, much to his wife's displeasure, mumbled under his breath, "Stress. Right." Imogen narrowed her eyes at the comment, but decided not to pursue it. Her parents would share when they were ready.

"What about me, Mummy!? Do you wike my dress?" her youngest daughter asked with a twirl.

"You, my love, are gorgeous! Is that the dress Granny picked out for you?"

Penelope nodded. "Yep! Just for tonight! And wook! No chocowate!"

"That's nice, sweetheart." Rose then moved to take in her son's appearance. "And look at you, Sir Noah! So handsome in that suit and tie!"

The little boy huffed and rand his hands through his thick brown hair, in a manner similar to his father. "Dad made me wear it. I wanted to wear my leather jacket, but he said that wasn't 'propriate," he commented with an eye roll.

"Well, I appreciate your sacrifice," she told him dryly.

"I like your paintings, Mummy," he offered. "They're really pretty."

She knelt carefully in her dress and kissed the top of her son's hand. "Thank you, son."

"I like the one of me best," Penelope preened, looking at a picture Rose had painted of her as a baby. It was only a picture of her little hand clothing her dad's larger one, but she was well aware that that was her hand, thank you very much.

"So," Rose said, moving back to her feet and looking at her oldest daughter, "did you tell him?"

Imogen spared a glance at her dad and shook her head. "Not yet."

Ian frowned and looked at her. "Tell me what?"

Her mum crossed her arms. "Why not?"

"It's your night, not mine," Imogen answered.

"Oh, my sweet girl, that is precisely why I want to share it with you. Go on then, tell 'im," Rose urged.

Imogen smiled bashfully. "I got a phone call this morning," she told her dad.

"And?" he prompted, anxious to hear whatever news she was about to share.

"It was an offer, an invitation really," she clarified, "to be an artist with the British Ballet Company next season."

"And she'll be their youngest member in like, fifty years!" Rose injected.

Ian's eyes grew wide. "What!? Imogen! That's... That's... Come here, you!" He scooped her up and swung her around like he did to her mother just a few minutes before.

Noah grinned widely at his sister. "Whoa! Good job, Im!" he congratulated, knowing how important dance was to her. Penelope also offered her cheers, though she wasn't exactly aware of why. She just knew that her family was excited about something.

"It's just corps de ballet," Imogen muttered, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear bashfully.

Her dad smiled proudly. "But it's a start," he told her, smiling at her mum over her shoulder.

Rose stepped forward, taking in her art exhibit as she did. "And you have to start somewhere, my love. Trust me, I know."

After a private tour of the exhibit, the gallery was officially open to the public. Since it was Rose's opening night, things were a bit more upscale than usual, including a table full of nibbles that Ian and Noah stopped at often. The support Rose was receiving from their family and friends was enough to bring tears to her eyes. The first ones through the door was Jackie and her husband, Alan Torchwood. Jackie had met Alan through Ian (the two worked together at the university) at a Christmas party her daughter and son-in-law held shortly after they were married. Though she was instantly attracted to him, it took Alan a few years to wear her down and get her to agree to marry him. It took Rose a bit to accept that her mum was with a man not her father, but in the end he proved himself to be a wonderful husband to her mum and a doting grandfather to her children. Next through the door was Jack Harkness. Imogen smiled at him, taking note that her beloved uncle was still wearing his wedding ring, though her Uncle Ianto had passed away five years previously due to lung cancer. It had been a difficult time for the American man and he ended up spending a few months with the Noble family in London, before going back to Cardiff for a bit. Now Jack spent most of his time travelling for work, though he always made sure to check in every few weeks to let them know he was safe and well.

Ianto wasn't the only one who was unfortunately not there, Imogen thought sadly as her Great Aunt Sylvia entered on the arm of Wilfred Mott, her honorary great granddad. Sylvia's husband, Imogen's Great Uncle Geoffrey, had passed away three years before due to a stroke, shortly after little Penelope Noble was born. He was missed by everyone in the family, but most especially by his daughter, Donna, who had just entered the gallery with her husband Lee, and twins Josh and Ella. Imogen was pleased to see her cousins there. Though a couple years younger than her, they all got along and had grown up next door to each other for most of their lives. In a way, they were more like siblings than just cousins, similar to how Ian felt about Donna.

As the night went on, more family and friends stopped by to see Rose's work, including Imogen's longtime best friend (and maybe something more), Alfie, joined by his parents, Craig and Sophie. As the parents all spoke, Imogen grabbed her friend's hand, ignoring her Uncle Jack's suggestive wink at the gesture, and led Alfie away, giving him a tour of the exhibit. Sometimes she felt like she knew her mum's paintings better than she knew herself and it was with an extreme sense of pride that she described them to the boy next to her, describing every detail she could remember about what was going on when Rose worked on each one.

"These are fantastic," he told her enthusiastically. "I mean, I knew your mum could paint, I'd seen the ones at your house, but wow. You and your family must be so proud of her."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "We are. Dad especially. He loves her so much. I'm so glad they have each other."

Alfie looked at her with admiration. "They're lucky to have you, you know."

Imogen blushed and and nudged his shoulder with hers. "Shut up," she muttered.

"Tell me about this one," he requested, nodding to the somewhat out of place drawing.

"This one," she started, gazing lovingly at the child's drawing of the night sky, "this is the one that started it all. The first picture my mum ever made my dad."

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