Author's Note: Welcome back, everyone! This follows my previous story featuring the Eleventh Doctor, the TARDIS crew, and his daughter Jenny-"Wars of our Fathers." If you want to know what's going on, I'd recommend you read it first! This story, by request, is going to pick up just after Season 6 and be a complete sequel to that piece. A special shout-out to Princess Pinky, Raven-Dragonlady84, and all of the other reviewers on my previous story that encouraged me to keep going. This is for you! Let me know what you think of it, and where you'd like to see our adventure take us this time!

The 51st Century.

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

For a moment, Jenny had absolutely no idea what the librarian was on about. Well, more than a moment. Actually, she glossed over it for an entire four minutes before curiosity had her spinning on her heel on the platform of the rail car and jostling back through the irate crowd of the station, trotting back up the steep steps of The Library with her books stacked high in her arms, pointed chin planted on the top book's cover to keep the stack steady.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

Behind the counter, the librarian looked up again in confusion upon finding herself distracted from the work she'd long since resumed, and blinked twice on seeing Jenny there again. "Hello, dear. Did you need something else? I thought we were going to get the rest of the books in your next trip. We've tapped out the lending maximum. . ."

Waving a hand dismissively was enough to almost upset the stack in her grip, setting the books to tilting dangerously, so she stopped that gesture as soon as she started, swaying herself to keep the volumes in place. "No, I know, lending limit, due date, barter system doesn't work to loosen the rules, I know. You were very helpful. When I was leaving, though, you said you were sorry for my loss, and I missed it, sorry. What exactly did I lose?"

Embarrassment and sympathy played across her features, and Jenny felt the world begin to tilt in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the stack of books. This was bad. Very bad. Part of her wanted to snatch the question back, but curiosity had driven her since the day she was generated. She'd done enough running from hard facts, she didn't intend to start plugging her ears to information as well.

"I thought. . . well, I thought you'd heard. I thought that was why you were here. You told me you knew him, and we just updated all of those editions. It's tricky with time travelers, you know, but. . . "

"Just spit it out already, tell me what you're trying to say." She realized how it sounded after it came out of her mouth, rude, abrupt, not at all like her (perhaps a bit like him, the other him) but instead of anger she saw something worse in the librarian's eyes. Something well and truly terrifying.

Pity.

Dropping the stack of books onto the floor, she snatched the first one off of the top, flipping immediately to the back pages. Her eyes searched the page frantically, as the librarian's voice quavered. "Well, we've gotten word. . . a time agent sent it along, it was in the news . . . that the Doctor's linear timeline has been terminated. He's been murdered while he was in the past. The research holds true, historical records have substantiated it. I'm sorry. . . "

And there they were. The words, an image of her father as she'd known him last, and a mugshot of his murderer.

The Doctor

Confirmed Date of Death: 22/04/2011, 5:02 PM

Her feet were taking her towards the wide doors in a sprint before she realized it. Almost as quickly, she spun around again, skidding back to the desk and ignoring the information node's calm, reasoned admonition that for the safety of all of the readers she should refrain from running, sliding, flying, crawling, or otherwise mobilizing (without being speciesist) at such a speed.

"Forgot these. Sorry. I. . . " She had no idea what to say. It was like the rug had just been yanked out from underneath her, but under her mind. Not that her mind was sitting on a rug. . . Her thoughts were incoherent, that was a rubbish analogy. "Thank you. You. . . you've been very helpful." Shuffling all the books back onto the stack untidily, shoving one under her arm, she hesitated a moment, weighing something. "You know, you should think about taking tomorrow off. You look a bit peaked. Get some rest. Or catch a vacation off planet, that'd be. . ."

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Jenny closed her eyes a moment, trying to impose order on her thoughts. "Just. . . something to consider."

She bolted once again, as she'd always intended to, heeding a vague warning when she stepped out of the TARDIS and into this century: she had books to irradiate, and she needed to be off planet before nightfall.

Darkness was coming to the library. And one hundred years later and four years ago, the Doctor was on his way.

Thirty centuries back or days ago, her father was dead. She needed to see for herself. Needed to call home. . .

Fumbling with her wrist watch upset the books again, so that when the flash of light and wrenching feeling behind her eyes dragged her backwards through time and space they crashed onto the glass floor of the TARDIS spectacularly. 'Able to call home' indeed, he'd rigged her with a recall button without a by-your-leave. He could have used it, could have brought her back to him. . .

The TARDIS interior was silent, the time rotor still and lights dimmed low as it drifted aimlessly through the time vortex. Letting her legs give out beneath her, Jenny sent her thoughts out to the TARDIS, letting it know she hadn't been abandoned, that she wouldn't be left alone to drift.

And a man skidded into the control room, hair tousled, collar undone, sonic screwdriver swinging around as he looked for a threat in response to the noise of her arrival. A familiar man. A very, very familiar man, floppy hair and all.

". . . What?"

"Jenny!" His voice squeaked, and suddenly the sonic was put away and he was desperately trying to straighten his hair and wipe the prominent smudge of lipstick off of the corner of his mouth at the same time.

". . . What?"

Behind him, a familiar face appeared in the doorway, looking just like her mugshot. Unaccountably smug at the Doctor's besmirched state, her own naturally unruly curls a riotous mess, entirely unabashed as she flashed Jenny a knowing smile. "Ah, the prodigal daughter. Welcome home."

" . . . What?"