Author's Note: I do not own any of the Doctor Who characters.
The Doctor didn't know why he chose to spend every Christmas on Earth. He had a million-and-one other places her could be, all more exciting and thrilling, and all with many few memories than he held for this planet. For as cold as the air was outside the doors of the TARDIS, his heart was even warmer. He thought about Amy and Rory and how their love had conquered all of time. Thinking of Rose no longer hurt as much as it had in his previous regenerations, and now only remembered their time together with fondness. He imagined all of them were happy somewhere. Maybe Rose and his copy were growing old, surrounded by children, or maybe even grandchildren. Last he'd checked, Mickey and Martha had retired from UNIT works and were caring for their two children, whom they'd fondly named Jack and Jenny.
He'd stopped by Donna's house a few years back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red devil. He may not have seen her, but oh, he'd heard her. Despite his previous generation's guilt, Donna really had turned out alright in the end, even better than alright. Her memories had been erased, but her time with the Doctor had changed her. She was in the process of moving out of town to go travel the world. She was making a difference because some part of her knew that there was more to life than a keyboard and paper work.
He could have visited any number of people on Earth, hundreds of people whose lives he'd touched over the centuries. But there was only one person he was searching for. That was one thing about the Doctor—he very rarely looked back. He ran away from the past (or towards the next great adventure, he preferred to say), and this time he was running towards the hope that he would once again meet a certain Clara Oswald.
It had been one year (from his perspective) since he'd lost the spirited barmaid/nanny, and he hadn't yet given up on the possibility that the Universe was cutting him a break. He'd been lucky enough to encounter the girl twice, the chances of which were practically impossible in itself—but the Doctor had always loved the impossible. Pure sentimentality had brought him back on Christmas day, same as the day that he'd met Clara.
He wore the same dark red suit as he had a year ago, a top hat perched upon his head. He thought he looked quite dashing, even if he did look somewhat out of place in this century. He'd found that people mostly left you alone if you tried to blend in—and as difficult as it was for the Doctor, he could hide if he really didn't want to be found. He stalked the streets of a small town called Crestwood, no longer the scrooge that he'd been after the departure of the Ponds, but a man on a mission.
The TARDIS had a nose for things, always looking out for his best interest. She'd dropped him off in Crestwood this Christmas, and he could only assume that something important was here. Whether it was Clara, or some alien race to fight off, the Doctor needed to be here. He scanned so many streets that he lost count, searching for a glimpse of brown hair, or a familiar teasing smirk...
"Mum's going to throw such a hissy if we don't get home soon." Bethy Hannigan complained loudly, tucking her small hands into her coat pockets for warmth. She shifted from foot to foot, her nose even pinker than usual in the frosty air. The only reason that Bethy was outside at all on Christmas Eve was because her sister had dragged her down the street to her favorite bookshop. In a town as small as Crestwood, everybody knew everybody, and the shopkeeper had left the sister a key under the mat. There was hardly any theft in Crestwood, and very few people would steal books.
"I'll just be a minute," She insisted, walking up to the door of the tiny shop. It, like the rest of the businesses in town, were dark, as the shop owners were enjoying Christmas with their loved ones.
"Alright, but just a minute. I want to get home so I can enjoy a plate full of turkey." Bethy replied tersely. She proceeded to huddle on the nearest bench, a ways down the road, to wait. The sister thought, though not unkindly, that the rather plump Bethy really didn't need any more turkey. She slipped a gloved hand under the doormat and pulled out a small gold key, struggling a bit to coordinate the unlocking of the door. When she did, she tugged on the door, reminding herself to give the hinges a good oiling once the holidays were over. She turned on the lights and looked around her favorite place in all of Crestwood. Here, her imagination didn't seem quite so out of place, and her ideas not quite so outlandish. Her dreams of ice monsters and men in top-hats and terrifying prison were quieted by tales of even greater evil and grand adventures.
It was at this moment that the Doctor turned the corner, whistling a merry tune as he went. He was about half-way down the street when he stopped, seeing a light on in a shop. Rather than being eerie, it was cozy and inviting, both of which drew the Doctor's curiosity. The shop was like a little window in time, while the snowy landscape around it was a white canvas.
And like a beautiful window in time, the Doctor saw the face of the girl whom he'd been searching for, a girl of the past.