"What do you want for Christmas?"
The Doctor can only stare in shock at the man dressed rather unmistakably as Santa Claus standing in the doorway to his TARDIS. "What?" He finally manages to blurt out.
"I said, what do you want for Christmas?" The Father Christmas figure repeats.
"No- how did you get in here?" The Doctor's brain is finally starting to regain a rational train of thought. Question everything.
"Well if you won't tell me, I'll just have to see for myself." The statement hangs in the air for several moments as the Doctor tries to decipher what exactly this strange man is trying to suggest. Then he's advancing on him and the Doctor doesn't have time to register the device in his hand before it's pressed to the side of his head. He jumps back with a start.
"What do you think you're playing at?" His eyes are on the device as 'Santa' presses a button on the side and peers down at the screen. Then it dawns on him what exactly the small electronic contraption does; it reads thoughts. Specific thoughts, to be exact. You point the device at the intended recipient and it tells you exactly what you want to know. He frowns. "You can't just go around jumping into other's people's heads like that." He waves a hand flippantly at the infernal contraption as the man continues to peer down at the screen.
"Oh yes… should have been obvious really." 'Santa' mutters out loud. Then his eyes visibly widen. "My, Doctor, you have quite the imagination." It's muttered with a raise of his eyebrows and the Doctor's cheeks flush a shade of scarlet he's embarrassed to admit his skin can turn to.
"Those are private thoughts! You have no business in taking them out of my head!" He's on the defensive and suddenly he's marching towards the man dressed as Father Christmas. One hand is outstretched, and he's intent on confiscating the device. 'Santa' is too quick, and drops it into the depths of one of his pockets.
"Now, now Doctor. How on earth do you expect me to give you your Christmas present if I don't know what it is that you want? You didn't send me your list, after all." His hands come to rest on his hips as he explains the situation. The Doctor continues to look unimpressed.
"I don't have a list." He knows he sounds like a petulant child, but it doesn't stop him from folding his arms across his chest all the same.
"You do now. I have it right here." The Doctor furrows his brow at that, and watches with some curiosity as 'Santa' removes the device from his pocket again. From the bottom, a short slip of paper appears. "Here you go." He pulls it out and holds it towards the Doctor.
In black, cursive letters read two words: Clara Oswald.
He hadn't really expected anything else. "That's not exactly a present." He mutters barely audibly anyway.
"Well whatever you want to call her, she's my gift to you this Christmas." There's a beaming smile on the man's face as he makes the remark.
The Doctor frowns. "You can't just gift a person to someone." He states matter-of-factly. Then he turns towards the console as though he's done with the conversation. "Least of all someone who doesn't want to be gifted." He mutters under his breath.
One of Father Christmas' powers must be super-human hearing, the Doctor thinks, because he responds with; "You don't know what she wants."
"I know exactly what Clara Oswald wants." She did a fantastic job of spelling it out to me, he adds bitterly inside his own head – then immediately regrets begrudging Clara the chance to be happy just because it's not with him. Danny Pink would certainly have a few words to say about Clara being the only thing on his 'Christmas list', he thinks.
"Is that so, Doctor? Because the way I see it, if you don't even know what you want, how on earth can you possibly begin to know what Clara wants?" The Doctor's Christmas list is pocketed by 'Santa' as he poses the question. The Time Lord thinks that he's already had enough of Christmas for one year.
"This is all a moot point anyway. You can't give me Clara because she's not yours to give." His attention flicks back to the console again, and he starts to fiddle with switches and levers for something to do with his hands.
"I'm not going to give you Clara." 'Santa' states simply.
The Doctor whirls to face him then, his coat tails swirling to flash the red lining underneath. "Then why, pray tell, are you still stood in my TARDIS bothering me?" His patience for dealing with men dressed as fictional beings is wearing incredibly thin.
"I'm not going to give you Clara, Doctor, because you're going to go get her for yourself." The smile on his face grows cheerier as he unveils his master plan.
The Doctor looks away again. "No." It's a simple enough statement to convey his position on the matter.
"The thing is, Doctor… I don't think you have a choice. You see, Clara's in grave danger." The smile falters on 'Santa's' lips somewhat. It's the first time the Doctor has wanted to listen to him since he burst into his TARDIS.
"What are you talking about?" There's a look on his face now. It's the same look he gets whenever anything comes to threaten Clara – somewhere between worry and 'if anyone harms one hair on her head I won't be held responsible for the people I murder.'
"Well, every hero needs a damsel in distress." And with that, 'Santa' is gone; vanished into thin air as though he'd never been there to begin with. The Doctor stares uselessly at the spot he had occupied, before he's sent falling into the console behind him as the TARDIS takes off.