Disclaimer: Doctor Who is property of the BBC.
Christmas Present
"Where are we going?" Rose squealed, stumbling on the stairs as she rushed to keep up with the Doctor.
"Shhh! They'll hear," he warned her. "And then they'll want to know where we're going and then I'll have to make something up and I really don't want to have to lie..."
"Okay, okay. But… why the secrecy? We're not leaving yet are we?" she asked, increasing her pace to draw along side him now that they were outside the flats and heading for the TARDIS. They were trudging through mounds of snow-like ash and Rose grimaced slightly.
"We're not exactly leaving no… I could do with hanging around a bit actually," the Doctor told her, which surprised her no end.
"First you sit down for Christmas dinner with my mum, now you want to hang around her flat. You really have changed haven't you?" Rose asked, her look incredulous.
"Yep," he confirmed, and flashed her a winning smile. Okay, she reasoned, basking in it's glow, some things might never change.
They reached the TARDIS and the Doctor fumbled in his pockets for his key. He turned and handed her an assortment of odds and ends; a ball of wire, half a small calculator (where the other half was she could only guess), a tiny light bulb and something that looked like a pink egg, but smelt suspiciously like an air freshener. He finally found his keys in the fifth pocket he tried.
"Sorry, new coat," he explained. "Odd how you forget where you put things."
"Mmm," Rose agreed indulgently, wondering when he'd possibly found time to collect all that stuff. He'd only chosen his new clothes that day. She shoved what he'd handed her back in his coat pocket as he opened the doors to his ship.
The Doctor slung his coat over the railing near the door, and Rose wondered if that was going to become a new habit. He then headed straight for the centre console, beginning to plot a course.
"So, what are we doing, if we're not leaving yet?" Rose asked, planting her hands on the console beside him.
"Well – we are going somewhere, but we'll be coming straight back… still got a wonky regeneration to recover from."
"Right."
"But there's something I've been meaning to do," he explained, flicking switches and rolling dials as he talked. It was good to see him back in charge of his ship, and not in an, 'I'm mad and we're about to crash land' kind of way. "And now is as good a time to do it as any… in fact," the Doctor continued, "it's the perfect time." He suddenly whirled to face her and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Because it's Christmas! Happy Christmas Rose." He smiled giddily.
"Happy Christmas Doctor," she grinned back.
The Doctor released her and turned again to the console. "So… remember ages ago… months and months… feels like years… I once mentioned the red bicycle you got for Christmas when you were 12?"
"Ye-es," Rose confirmed slowly, completely thrown.
"Well," he went on, finishing his course plotting and starting the dematerialisation sequence. "You remember that bike, am I right?"
"Yeah… it was beautiful. Never understood how mum could afford it."
"Ah-hah!" the Doctor cried, jabbing one long finger in her direction. "Exactly. And d'you know something?"
"What?"
"I made it up!"
Rose stared at him in wonder. The information sinking in slowly, she tried to process what it meant. The Doctor gazed at her fondly, her beautiful face twisted in to her 'working it out' look.
"But that means…" she trailed off.
"Correct!" he cried. "We either create a spine-tinglingly massive paradox, which, left unchecked, rips the very fabric of the universe asunder or…"
"Or?"
"We go play Father Christmas."
.-.-.-.
"My bum's getting cold," Rose complained, some while later.
"Ooh, stop your whining," the Doctor told her playfully. "You want to barge in there before they're both asleep?" He nodded across the square to the light on in Jackie's flat.
"They are me and mum," Rose told him, shifting on the narrow ledge they were leaning against.
"Yes, and we all know what happens when two of you get together in one place in time don't we?" Rose merely stared at him in shock. "Remember 1987?" he went on.
"That," she told him. "Was a cheap shot."
The Doctor looked surprised. "Yes, it was wasn't it. Ooh – d'you think I'm going to be rude?" he asked suddenly, gazing in to the distance. "You'll have to watch that… tell me if I'm rude."
Rose smirked. "How much longer?" she moaned.
"How should I know?" The Doctor replied. "She's your mum."
Rose rolled her eyes. They sat in silence for a moment. "I expect she's doing my stocking," she said at last, watching her breath mist in the cold night air. "I'll have made her leave out a mince pie and a glass of whiskey for Santa."
"Bagsie the mince pie," the Doctor told her, his eyes dancing.
"Who says bagsie anymore?" she asked, smiling fondly.
"Me," he told her. "Oh look!" He was pointing up at the flat, where the light had now gone out. "How long do we give her?"
Rose shrugged. "Ten minutes?"
"Okay."
"I can't believe we are doing this."
"Me neither. I must be mad, with your track record."
"Oi, I said enough!" she told him. They shared a grin and Rose couldn't tear her eyes away from his. "You really are different," she told him, giving herself a moment to map his new features. His slighter, sharper nose. The deep chocolate colour of his eyes. The way they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Every freckle. That smile... his bottom lip fuller than his top. She looked away, feeling a blush rising to her cheeks.
"Yeah?" he asked, amused by her attention. "Very different?"
"Yeah," Rose recovered. "But also the same. Where it counts." She poked him softly in the chest.
"Good-ho," he replied, still smiling.
Rose let her gaze wander to his hair. "I know we sort of covered this," she told him. "But, how big is your hair?!"
The Doctor laughed and Rose reached out suddenly and pushed her fingers in to it. "Hey!" he complained. "Don't mess it up."
"Like it could be any messier," she replied, slowly drawing her hand away, resolutely ignoring how good it felt, slipping through her fingers. She firmly placed her gaze elsewhere after that, even though she could feel that he was still looking at her. "I'm thinking of getting mine cut," she admitted, smoothing her own hair and winding one golden strand around her finger.
"You are?" he asked.
"Yeah," she told him, standing and shaking out her legs where they had grown a little stiff. "Only fair. New Doctor, new Rose."
"Okay," he said, as if she needed his permission. "But not too much hey?"
Rose smiled, ridiculously pleased and a bit confused that he should care. "Come on," she told him, holding out her hand. "Should've been long enough now."
.-.-.-.
Sneaking in to the flat was no problem at all – got sonic screwdriver, will break and enter – keeping quiet whilst trying to manoeuvre through the pokey hallway with a brand new bicycle was. The Doctor had taken Rose to a bike shop across London when they had arrived. He didn't want to make it a local store in case her mum got suspicious and went checking who'd bought it. Rose had spotted the right bicycle as soon as they had walked in.
"That one, there!" she'd cried. "Just as I remember… only in better nick than when I last saw it."
"You're sure?" the Doctor had asked. "Has to be the exact one you remember."
"I'd know it anywhere," she'd told him. "I loved that bike. This is so weird. Thank you!"
"Thank yourself," he'd told her and she'd laughed.
Now she was creeping through her mother's silent flat, approximately eight years in the past, by her clock. She'd kind of given up working things out in relation to each other after spending nearly a year on the TARDIS. What with the Doctor's propensity for turning up in the wrong place or time (more often than not both) and the lack of any kind of night and day on the ship, she'd lost track along the way. She wasn't even completely sure how old she was anymore. She was pretty certain the Doctor would be able to tell her, but for some curious reason, it no longer seemed that important.
The Doctor turned and held a warning finger against his lips when she knocked in to the stand in the hallway. It was one of those metal ones with a curled design around the edge. Rose knew it well. It had stood in that hallway as long as she could remember, ugly thing. Peering at the veneered top next to the telephone, she realised it was before her accident with the red nail varnish would leave a permanent stain upon it and worked out that that would happen in a couple of years time. Again, very weird.
They reached the lounge without incident and Rose pointed in front of the tree, to indicate where she had found her bike that Christmas morning. Her mum had left her stocking hanging by the fireplace. The sight of it bulging with presents almost drew Rose across to it. Instead, she watched as the Doctor carefully arranged the bike, propped it on it's support and smiled triumphantly. She smiled back. She was full up of gratitude, as if she was 12 all over again. When he returned to her side and winked at her in the half-dark, she planted a kiss on his cheek and squeezed his hand.
Outside they ran across the square, finally letting out the shouts and laughter that had been bubbling in the quiet of the flat.
As they reached the TARDIS, Rose turned and gave Jackie's window one last look.
"I wish I could be there to see my face," she said wistfully.
The Doctor smiled. "You were," he told her, prompting a smile in return. "Now," he went on, opening the doors and moving inside. "Let's go home." He made his way to the console and began plotting a course back to Christmas 2006.
"We are home," Rose told him, walking to stand by his side.
The Doctor looked up suddenly, hope written all over his features. "And you really feel that?" he asked. "Still?"
"Yeah," Rose told him. "I really do."
He gave her his biggest grin yet and she laughed happily when he picked her up and spun her around.
"Now that," he told her, setting her back on her feet, "is the best Christmas present ever."
The End