Secret Santa: Christmas present fic for my flist
Story: Secret Santa
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Wilfrid Mott, mentions of Rose, Jackie, Martha, Jack, Mickey
Rated: G
Spoilers: NONE past Journey's End
Summary: Six linked drabbles as the Tenth Doctor has a busy Christmas Eve. Upcoming episodes? What upcoming episodes? ;)
Written as a present for my flist, and in particular for marcasite, catsfiction, misscam, gwynevere1, acciochocolate, gioiamia and emraldeyedauter - thank you for the lovely v-gifts :)
Secret Santa
The north wind howls along the landing as he heads towards his destination, twenty-pound wrapped burden in his arms. Christmas Eve 2002, and Rose is almost sixteen. This is the year her mum couldn’t afford a turkey because the electricity bill was too high.
Carefully, he lays it on the doorstep, checking that there are no cats or dogs in sight. With a smile, he straightens and raps hard on the door, once, twice, three times. Once he hears footsteps and Jackie’s irritated tutting, he turns and runs.
“Happy Christmas, Rose and Jackie,” he murmurs, though they’ll never hear him.
***
The house is in darkness, all inhabitants asleep. The sonic buzzes and the back door opens, allowing him entry.
Upstairs, Martha is fast asleep, dreaming of Christmas and presents under the tree. One she didn’t get, because Francine Jones believed twelve-year-old girls should want clothes and make-up.
He tiptoes up the stairs, finding her bedroom on the first try. On the walls are posters of Janet Jackson and East 17, and someone he vaguely recognises as a doctor from Casualty, Beth Ramanee.
Smiling fondly, he leaves his present on her desk. Martha Jones will have her anatomy textbook after all.
***
Back to South London, then, and a flat he’s only been inside once. This is Mickey Smith’s year from hell, his girlfriend vanished and the whole world thinking he murdered her.
He can’t change that - even a Time Lord can’t always undo time - but he can do something else.
The sonic lets him in again. He grimaces, wrinkling his nose at the smell of unwashed clothes and leftover food lying around; Mickey was never the tidiest companion, even without his current excuse.
He points the sonic at Mickey’s satellite receiver. Now he can get the footie any time he wants.
***
Homes are underground on the Boeshane Peninsula, for good reason. It takes a few minutes to find the right one, and when he does fifty-first century security is no match for his trusty sonic.
Young Jack Harkness - though he’s not called that yet - is snoring softly next to Grey. Dreaming of a future as a pilot, no doubt; boys are the same the universe over.
He slips the holovid into Jack’s hand. He’ll enjoy The Daring Adventures of a Traveller in Time - and, since Jack left it on the TARDIS in the first place, it’s time he got it back.
***
It’s Christmas Eve in Chiswick, and Donna’s off to meet friends down the pub. He watches her leave, staying in the shadows, her raucous laugh making him wince even as his hearts ache at the memory.
Sylvia’s safely in the kitchen. He hurries around to the front door, slips an envelope through the letter-box. A three-week tour of Greece and Rome with a classical civilisation expert as guide should be better than that package tour she took to Egypt - even if she doesn’t remember it.
A quick trip to the allotment, a new telescope for Wilf, and he can leave.
***
There’s someone by the TARDIS when he gets back. It’s Wilf, in coat and woolly hat, and he stops, hand automatically tugging his hair.
“Thought it was you.” Wilf shuffles closer. “What you doin’, anyway? Goin’ round leavin’ Christmas presents for everyone?”
He shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Who gives you Christmas presents?”
“Ah, I don’t need presents.” He laughs, but it rings false.
“Course you do. Everybody does.” Wilf wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, mate. Gonna buy you a drink. Not where Donna’s gone, don’t worry.”
“You’re a star, Wilf.” He smiles, and means it. “Merry Christmas.”
- end
Author: wmr / wendymr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Wilfrid Mott, mentions of Rose, Jackie, Martha, Jack, Mickey
Rated: G
Spoilers: NONE past Journey's End
Summary: Six linked drabbles as the Tenth Doctor has a busy Christmas Eve. Upcoming episodes? What upcoming episodes? ;)
Written as a present for my flist, and in particular for marcasite, catsfiction, misscam, gwynevere1, acciochocolate, gioiamia and emraldeyedauter - thank you for the lovely v-gifts :)
Secret Santa
The north wind howls along the landing as he heads towards his destination, twenty-pound wrapped burden in his arms. Christmas Eve 2002, and Rose is almost sixteen. This is the year her mum couldn’t afford a turkey because the electricity bill was too high.
Carefully, he lays it on the doorstep, checking that there are no cats or dogs in sight. With a smile, he straightens and raps hard on the door, once, twice, three times. Once he hears footsteps and Jackie’s irritated tutting, he turns and runs.
“Happy Christmas, Rose and Jackie,” he murmurs, though they’ll never hear him.
***
The house is in darkness, all inhabitants asleep. The sonic buzzes and the back door opens, allowing him entry.
Upstairs, Martha is fast asleep, dreaming of Christmas and presents under the tree. One she didn’t get, because Francine Jones believed twelve-year-old girls should want clothes and make-up.
He tiptoes up the stairs, finding her bedroom on the first try. On the walls are posters of Janet Jackson and East 17, and someone he vaguely recognises as a doctor from Casualty, Beth Ramanee.
Smiling fondly, he leaves his present on her desk. Martha Jones will have her anatomy textbook after all.
***
Back to South London, then, and a flat he’s only been inside once. This is Mickey Smith’s year from hell, his girlfriend vanished and the whole world thinking he murdered her.
He can’t change that - even a Time Lord can’t always undo time - but he can do something else.
The sonic lets him in again. He grimaces, wrinkling his nose at the smell of unwashed clothes and leftover food lying around; Mickey was never the tidiest companion, even without his current excuse.
He points the sonic at Mickey’s satellite receiver. Now he can get the footie any time he wants.
***
Homes are underground on the Boeshane Peninsula, for good reason. It takes a few minutes to find the right one, and when he does fifty-first century security is no match for his trusty sonic.
Young Jack Harkness - though he’s not called that yet - is snoring softly next to Grey. Dreaming of a future as a pilot, no doubt; boys are the same the universe over.
He slips the holovid into Jack’s hand. He’ll enjoy The Daring Adventures of a Traveller in Time - and, since Jack left it on the TARDIS in the first place, it’s time he got it back.
***
It’s Christmas Eve in Chiswick, and Donna’s off to meet friends down the pub. He watches her leave, staying in the shadows, her raucous laugh making him wince even as his hearts ache at the memory.
Sylvia’s safely in the kitchen. He hurries around to the front door, slips an envelope through the letter-box. A three-week tour of Greece and Rome with a classical civilisation expert as guide should be better than that package tour she took to Egypt - even if she doesn’t remember it.
A quick trip to the allotment, a new telescope for Wilf, and he can leave.
***
There’s someone by the TARDIS when he gets back. It’s Wilf, in coat and woolly hat, and he stops, hand automatically tugging his hair.
“Thought it was you.” Wilf shuffles closer. “What you doin’, anyway? Goin’ round leavin’ Christmas presents for everyone?”
He shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Who gives you Christmas presents?”
“Ah, I don’t need presents.” He laughs, but it rings false.
“Course you do. Everybody does.” Wilf wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Come on, mate. Gonna buy you a drink. Not where Donna’s gone, don’t worry.”
“You’re a star, Wilf.” He smiles, and means it. “Merry Christmas.”
- end