Author's Note: I found my Doctor Who advent calendar yesterday and each panel opens to reveal a picture of a character from the show. I thought it was a good source of prompts for drabbles/one-shots, but as I've started so late, chapters will be irregular. I'll try to be funny with these, and if you have any ideas for Christmas escapades then please let me know. Hope you like and review!

Day One: The Doctor

Oh, I love Christmas. It's such a joyful time of the year, isn't it? Nothing could possibly go wrong... apart from that time with some aliens invading London, or that other time some other aliens invaded London, and when the Titanic nearly crashed into London... in fact, London at Christmas may not be the best place to go.

Now, Leadworth. Nothing could go wrong there when it's Christmas. Probably.

I'm visiting the Ponds (the in-laws, you could say) for Christmas this year. I pilot the TARDIS to our destination, an exciting and bumpy ride which only goes to show how experienced and skilled I am at the driving thing. I am about to point this out to my companion, but then remember that it is just myself and Sexy here – and she already knows how brilliant I am.

The old girl lands with a definite thump. I murmur a "Thank you," to her console and move swiftly to the door.

I pause here, my hand resting on the door handle, and mentally prepare myself to face the terrible wrath of Amelia Pond. For every time I land here, I have crushed her flowers.

She should be impressed by the fact that I can land my ship with such precision every single time, but instead I usually just get a thump on the arm. And I have to pretend it doesn't hurt.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

The door creaks closed behind me, and I give it a helpful pull so it locks. The garden still looks as it did the last time; an almost leafless hedge runs all around the edges, a lone tree in one corner with no leaves at all – instead they are crowded around its trunk at the bottom. In the middle of the space is a round tale with three chairs. I can imagine Amy sitting there, having tea and scones on a sunny afternoon. But there are no Ponds there, or anywhere in sight. I wonder where they are before my attention turns to my shoes, which are slowly sinking into Amy's flowerbed, taking me down with them.

I yelp (in a not-at-all girly way, might I add) and jump down from the height of the flowerbed, landing on the soft grass. Now my shoes are muddy and wet, thanks to the sopping grass.

Checking the time on my watch, along with the help of my uncanny ability to know the time, I find out that it's just after twelve thirty in the afternoon. The lack of snow almost makes me think that I have missed the twenty-fifth of December, but then the smell of cooking reaches my nostrils and I'm sure this is the right date. Good driver. Never forget that.

I squelch over to the back door, leaving muddy footprints in my wake. It must have been a very wet winter with the Ponds. I am about to open the door and grant myself entry to their household when I see a figure moving swiftly towards me through the distorted glass window. I jump backwards with much grace as Rory barrels into me.

He's out of breath, he's sweaty and frankly it looks like he's taken part in a war. He's bent over double, and I can only watch as he slowly gets his breath back. I can see the vapour from his fast and deep breaths rising to the heavens.

When he has composed himself, he stands tall, his grey eyes full to the brim with fear.

I place an awkwardly comforting hand on his arm.

"What happened, Rory? Are you in trouble?" I ask him in the most calming voice I can muster at this possibly dire time.

"Amy's cooking Christmas dinner," Rory replies, still in some sort of shock, "and she made me help her."

"I should leave now, shouldn't I?"

"It would be for the best," Rory nods. Ah, always brave, our Rory. Always ready to sacrifice himself for others. "Save yourself."

I give him a reassuring grin that also conveys my gratitude and turn on my heel, taking massive strides across the garden to the flowerbed which also has the TARDIS on it.

Before I can get there, however, a familiar Scottish voice followed by a familiar Scottish woman flow out of the door. "Doctor!"

I wince, and reluctantly, turn to face Amy. She is looking as great as ever, not a ginger hair out of place. I can only imagine what happened to Rory, what with his hair unkempt and sticking up in all directions. Before I can speak, she says, "Come and help me stuff the turkey."

Drat.