Author's Notes: I do not own Doctor Who. So, I've been getting a lot of requests about my follow up to "An Ordinary Human Life," which you should have read to understand this. Rest assured, it is in the works, but consider this a teaser. Happy reading!

In even the darkest of hours, wonderful things can happen. They shine even brighter against the dark and this was Gallifrey's darkest hour. The war with the Daleks had been raging for what seemed a long time even to a species that lived for thousands of years.

The Trident had lived thousands of years. He had seen many things and could see the end of things. Yet, in his house, in a little room overlooking the garden was a new thing. Something just beginning.

His new daughter. So small, so fragile. She had ginger hair. Who had ever even heard of a ginger Time Lady? Her eyes had a ring of green and another of blue. He loved her very much, more than was proper. He wanted to do the best he could for her. And the best thing was to send her away.

He did what he had to. He borrowed an old Type 40 TARDIS and took the girl away while her mother slept. The baby cried such screams in the Chameleon Arch and it pained the Trident beyond belief, but he knew making her human was the only way to keep her safe. For now. She was special. The Trident could see that as well.

Earth was a safe enough little planet. Safer than Gallifrey. He would have to choose suitable parents. That was the tricky bit.

The Trident carried her along in a Moses basket as he walked down the street. This was Earth. London, Chiswick. The year was 1970 AD and he was going to the home of Geoffrey and Sylvia Noble in a curious land called Chiswick.

Geoffrey answered the door. He looked at the man in the morning suit curiously. Who wore a morning suit that wasn't a cabinet minister?

"Mr. Noble?," he asked, taking his hat off.

"Yes."

"I'm Mister Trident," he said flashing his psychic paper. "Parson Edwards must have spoken to you."

"Yes, well," he eyed the Moses basket as the baby cooed, "we weren't expecting anything quite so soon. Please come in."

The Trident entered. It was a cozy little house, bright and clean. Evidence of extended family everywhere.

"Sylvia?," called Geoffrey. "Mister Trident is here."

Geoffrey showed the Trident to the sitting room and shut off the football match on telly. He took a seat on the sofa and put the Moses basket on the floor.

Sylvia entered, still wearing her apron. She looked around and specifically at the Moses basket on the floor.

"What's going on here?," she asked.

"This is Mister Trident. Parson Edwards spoke to him."

Sylvia sat. "I don't understand."

"Parson Edwards explained to me that you had been looking to adopt a child."

"So, you just brought one by?," Sylvia asked incredulously.

"Sylvia, love..." said Geoffrey.

"No, your wife is quite right," said the Trident. He was glad for the evidence of Sylvia's skepticism. It meant she was a suitable protector for his daughter. "I'm laboring on behalf of some very high profile people. This little girl is theirs and they are unable to give her a suitable home. Parson Edwards explained you were good people, unable to have your own child."

Geoffrey patted Sylvia's hand. "We've tried for years."

"It's just been so hard," said Sylvia. "Why can't they give her a home?"

He took a deep breath. "They are dying."

"Dying?," asked Geoffrey.

"But the child is in perfect health, the family only wishes to spare her a miserable fate."

"Miserable?," asked Sylvia.

"She would be alone in the universe. You could spare her that."

Sylvia looked at the baby. The Trident could tell she was quickly being taken in.

"There are some conditions. First, you must never tell her she was not your child. You must raise her as you would your own."

"And?," asked Sylvia.

The Trident took a small wooden box out of the pocket of his coat.

"In here is a locket. It must be kept in her possession, but it must never be opened. Not until she chooses."

"Are you sure there's not anything else?," asked Sylvia as the Trident stood in the doorway to the front path. She now held the baby in her arms and she had fallen asleep in her fancy white gown.

"No," said the Trident, facing the path outside, already wishing he were gone. "That is all."

"What's she called?," asked Sylvia with a little irritation. This man was being awfully peculiar about all this, just bringing a baby by and dropping her off.

He turned back. "Oh. She is called Donnavariadanna."

Sylvia looked at Geoffrey, then the Trident. "Do you suppose we could call her Donna?"

"As you wish," the Trident answered.

Without speaking another word, the Trident walked away because another word would have broken his resolve. Another word and he would have taken his baby home.

No, he thought. She must stay here. Earth is her home now. I have no home to give her.

When he made it back to the old Type 40 TARDIS, he finally turned back around to look at the Nobles as they stood on their front step holding Donna. They were cuddling her, cooing back at her.

She would be fine.

The Trident shut the door and the brakes of the TARDIS began to grind as it faded away.

Sylvia looked up at Geoffrey. "What on Earth was all that racket?"

A/N: I know it's a trope, but I didn't make up the eye thing. Catherine Tate's are actually like that.