This is the longest hiatus that I've been on so far, and I am so sorry. I had no idea of how this chapter was going to flow and I haven't got the entire story written down, although I have a mind map of how this story will end. I'll try to update more often. I am so, so, sorry.

On the other hand, the coffee machines make the most horrible kind of coffee ever.

Chapter 7 – Toxic Coffee and Dads

He vaguely registered a beeping sound within his dreams. It was small, but it was loud enough to signal that he was becoming conscious. Would it go away if he regained his conscious completely?

The constant beeping in his noise was making his head ache. By its volume, the source of the sound was probably very close to his ears. It reminded him of his alarm clock. In that moment, more than anything else in the world, he wanted to turn it off.

Matt opened his eyes.

And immediately shut them close. Some manipulative bastard must have opened the curtains and the bright sunlight was shining in his eyes. He groaned as he placed a hand over his eyes, before noticing several tubes and needles that entered his wrist.

His eyes numbly followed the lines before finally taking in the plastic medical bag full of liquid, hanging on a hook.

Even though his head was filled with a lazy haze, he was able to comprehend where he was.

Not in his room.

Matt groaned slightly. Alright, maybe his mind wasn't working as well as he thought it was. But even so, by the tiles on his ceiling and what he could see of the fuzzy outline of the room, it definitely wasn't his.

He could also see a dark shape next to his bed, which was currently slumped over in the chair where the person was sitting in. Matt's eyes blurred, and he wasn't sure who exactly he was looking at. By common knowledge, it was probably a member of his family but he couldn't tell if the person had black hair or brown, or if he was wearing a brown suit or a blue one.

He vaguely wondered if he was going colorblind.

Or maybe it wasn't a family member at all. Maybe it was Craig, his apartment buddy. He tried to remember if the ceiling in Craig's apartment was white. He didn't think so.

Why was he even in here in the first place? Why wasn't he in his room? He didn't know anymore. He couldn't remember. He questioned himself if he even wanted to remember. Matt didn't have an answer. Maybe not now. Maybe later, he'll want to remember, but definitely not now.

Not when he was so tired.

He was becoming drowsy again. All that he wanted right now was to go to sleep and think about the questions that he had later, when he might get his mind cleared up a little more. He tried to move a little, to get into a more comfortable position, or to curl up into a ball before going back to sleep, but a splitting pain that came from somewhere around his stomach stopped him from going further.

Sleep was pulling him into her embrace. Matt let out a small sigh before ceasing to struggle, and closed his eyes. He was unconscious again within seconds.

The dark shape that had been nodding off at the side of Matt Who's bed, jerked awake just a few minutes later. The father rubbed his eyes and ran his hand across his shaved head, feeling slightly irritated at the fact a certain blond haired archeologist was absent from the seat next to him, but then got over it. She could have gone to get some coffee. Even Christopher with all the days and nights he could spend without sleeping a wink had a hard time trying not to fall asleep from the anxiety and stress that Matt's accident had brought.

He remembered River Song running her hands in his son's hair, looking as if she was hoping for Matt to feel her caresses in his unconscious state. Christopher knew that the woman would take care of his son, no matter what happened. He wondered if the twinge in his chest was jealousy. Jealousy, because somebody else would be there for Matt when he, as the father, couldn't be. He felt that he wasn't doing enough as a father.

Then there was yesterday. He couldn't remember why he had said such a thing; it was terrible. He could never imagine those same words coming out from his mouth at that particular situation, but by the time he realized that, it was already too late. He remembered his Idris's face, how she gasped and how tears started to form at the corner of her eyes at his words and –

What a wonderful time it was, to be pessimistic. He internally smacked himself.

The man sighed, smoothing the leather jacket which he was so fond of, attempting to straighten the bottom which had folded over from him sitting on it for so long. He wondered if River would be gone for a long time, since he himself wanted a cup of coffee as well.

He stretched again and felt all his remaining energy suddenly dissipate into nothing. Chris rubbed the back of his head again, and felt the short hairs prick his skin like a porcupine. He smoothed them down, and they felt silky.

He looked down at Matt. His son looked like he was still unconscious. Maybe he was awake while Chris was asleep? Unlikely. The eldest Who reached out and gently took Matt's hand into his own. The skin was pale and white, unlike his own, which was slightly red. There were several scorch marks on his fingertips where Matt had clumsily burned himself while working with a welder.

Chris turned the hand over without a thinking. Matt's hand was cold, but that was to be expected. He rolled his son's hand in his, thinking that maybe he could bring the warmth back into his hands if he tried enough. Sure enough, the hand became warm again after a few moments.

He remembered the first time that he held this hand, more than twenty years ago. How small that hand looked then. How small, how pale, how weak it was.

But babies weren't weak. Chris thought about how he put his finger onto Matt's tiny, baby hand, and thought he could remember how strong the grasp was that had latched onto him. He had read somewhere that if you put a finger into each of a baby's hands and lift them from their arms, they would hang themselves from the fingers and would not let go. Chris often thought it was nonsense. But he remembered Matt's tiny hand, and David's tiny hand, John's tiny hand, and he knew that the text was true.

Now Matt has grown. They've all grown. All of his children, all tiny, small and frail at one point, were all grown up and were strong. And they didn't really need him anymore. The thought saddened him. In fact, he couldn't remember a single time when they actually came to him for help. Chris wondered again, if he had failed as a father.

The thought was depressing. He slumped in his seat and his hold on Matt's hand lessened slightly. But he didn't let go. He couldn't let go. Would Matt feel Chris holding onto his hand in his unconscious state?

It was in that way that River Song, with two cups of coffee in her hands, had found her lover and his father.

"You're awake," she announced, standing in the doorway. Christopher looked up, his eyes slightly damp.

"Hmm," he hummed in reply. River ignored how the man subtly brought a hand up to his eyes and wiped away what was there when he thought she was looking in the other direction. She pretended that she hadn't seen and handed Christopher a cup instead, who took it gratefully. She sat down in her previous seat next to him and sipped her coffee silently and made a face at its taste.

"It's terrible," she remarked. "I've always hated the coffee machine. They're so…" She trailed off, looking for the right word.

"Cheap?" Christopher offered. River smiled , glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Well, there's cheap," she said. "I was looking for 'artificial'. Or perhaps, 'phony'."

"Phony," he muttered. He looked down in his cup. The plastic substance that was painted on the inner walls of the paper cup was toxic – he wondered if the white, oily substance that swirled around the top of his cup was the poison itself. Or maybe it was the powdered milk. Maybe he should take it to the lab and have it tested. But he was an astrologist. An astrophysicist. Both of each. Standing on the thin line that separated the two. He wasn't supposed to be in the lab, testing for chemical substances.

A more saner part of his brain asked if he should really be wondering what the oily substance was.

He stole a glance at River. She was staring at him, her gaze piercing. He tried to hold his glance, but failed and looked back down to his cup.

"You must be pretty tired," she said, reaching out to pat him on the back. Chris breathed in deeply. She laughed.

"Yeah, you must be," she chuckled, taking her hand away. Christopher straightened up, just remembering the fact that River had donated a tremendous amount of blood for Matt with her cousin, Amy. And she wasn't showing any sign of distress or trauma, or lack of energy.

He had to admit that what Matt had always proudly stated about his girlfriend was true; River Song was a strong woman.

There was a small commotion outside the door. There seemed to be an argument between two people, and by the sounds of it, both were women. River frowned at the noise.

"Oh, for God's sake, can't we just slap them sometimes?" she said, glaring coldly towards the door. Chris replied no.

"This is a hospital, and the patients here need rest," she grumbled in low tones, but Chris could hear her quite clearly. "Can't they take their arguing elsewhere?"

"Where's David and John?" he asked the archeologist, attempting to steer her attention elsewhere before she actually followed her previous statement of slapping the women. He tried to pretend that he just realized that they were absent from Matt's bedside. It seemed to have worked, because River softened her glare and directed it back at Matt. She quietly fluffed Matt's hair before answering.

"They went home, shortly after we were allowed in here. They decided that they wanted to catch a bit of sleep. It was the right thing to do, I guess, seeing as Matt's not allowed a large number of visitors at the moment, and we were hogging his bedside. They would have just stood out in the hallway until one of us decided to move."

Chris nodded absentmindedly. He looked towards the blond, who had stopped fluffing his son's hair and was now poking Matt's cheek repeatedly.

"Aren't you going to get any sleep, Professor River Song?" he asked, his Northern accent heavy.

River shook her head. "I'm going to stay here," she said. "although if you ask me, you need the sleep more than I do."

Christopher downed the remaining coffee in response to show her that he would stay. Which was all for naught, because he felt a yawn split his head open only a few seconds afterwards. River grinned viciously, as if she had made a point. Which, Chris had to remind himself, she had.

"Fine," he said, glaring at her. River didn't even flinch. "I'll call up Idris and have her or one of the boys come. Are you staying?" He directed the question towards River.

"If they want to come, I'll be somewhere else," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Just as long as they call me when Matt wakes up." Chris nodded, acknowledging her.

"Alright," he responded, pulling out his phone and walking out the door. The two women outside had stopped arguing a moment ago, and there was only one person standing from across the door. Chris slowly lowered his hand holding the phone, and took in the woman's appearance instead. She was a middle aged woman with ginger hair that came down past her shoulders, but she didn't look particularly interesting. She just looked like a normal person. She wasn't someone who he knew, so she must have been an acquaintance of River Song or Matt.

"Uh," he started, wondering that maybe she was waiting for someone else other than the previously mentioned couple, but the woman straightened her back to stand taller and crossed her arms in a no-nonsense way before opening her mouth to start talking.

"I am Donna Noble," the woman said, her speech chock full of Chiswick accent and signs of stubbornness. "and I would like to see the man who saved my life."

Chris blinked in response.