Doctor Oneshots

Christmas (Nine/Rose)

In the faint glow of faerie lights, unbothered by the passing drunken strains of carols being sung by wrung out pub-goers, on an old estate in London, there was a blue box that no one questioned being there.

Inside the blue box, the console room was warm, and silent except for the hum of the engines and breathing from two people. There were lights and garlands strung up on the railings, over one of which an old leather jacket was hanging, and a paused iPod blinked the name of some poppy Christmas song.

A bright tree cast a multicolored glow on the normally green room, and a silver star shone from it's peak. There was a fireplace that hadn't been there before, that someone had squealed at in delight earlier in the day, where a blaze had died down to a few warmly licking flames on the bottom of a worn log.

There were two plates scraped clean of turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and honey carrots, sitting on a table before the fire, right beside a plate that used to hold mince pies, and now held only one half-eaten treat. Beside those were two emptied tea mugs. On the ground were bits of torn-to-pieces wrapping paper, pink and darkest blue.

Up on the arm of the old leather sofa, which had also not been there before, were a couple of presents, one of them being a dark brown leather journal with an embossed letter D on it and writing on the first page that simply stated "For after the running," one of them being a small gold necklace with a pink rose cameo pendant, which had "I only take the best" written on the back.

And on the couch, fast asleep and curled into each other, was a tall man with short hair and big ears, and a small girl with blond hair and a big smile, even in her dreams.

You could almost hear the soft, sleepy words of a few hours before.

"Happy Christmas, Doctor."

"Happy Christmas, Rose."