Clara stood silently at the balcony window of her flat, eyes taking in the city below without really registering any of the details. She knew somewhere down there people were shopping and meeting friends and attending parties and enjoying the holiday cheer but she felt cut off from it all. Cold, mirthless, a little numb. Not even the very familiar sound of the TARDIS appearing behind her made her turn around.
She waited, unmoving, only her hair billowing in the sudden rush of air, waiting for the final landing thump. Instead there came a bucking, shuddering sound like an old car whose carburetor was going south. She whirled at that, holding her breath as the TARDIS cycled through materialization and dematerialization a number of times until it settled with a final creaking shudder. She watched the doors, senses on alert, not sure if she should approach or dive for safety. After a long moment, the door opened slowly and the Doctor poked his head out, a cloud of steam billowing out around him.
"Clara," he said in greeting, his shaking voice ruining his air of nonchalance. He ran a hand over his face, leaving a smear of dirt or grease across one cheek.
She opened her mouth to reply but made a move for him instead as he stumbled forward suddenly, as if propelled, nearly falling headlong into the couch. The door of the TARDIS slammed shut behind him.
"Oh, dear." Clara said. "Did the two of you have words?"
Clara sat close to the Doctor on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest, an untouched cup of tea sitting nearby.
"After my mum, well….it wasn't the same," Clara said, her voice sounding gulpy from unshed tears. "My dad tried his best and my Gran did what she could but I could see the pity all over their faces for the poor motherless child." She wiped her face with the heels of her hands. "They'd always attempt these big spectacular events to cheer me up. You know, give Clara something wonderful to remember. So we'd go ice skating at Broadgate or see some horrible endless panto and someone would chuck a tantrum or cry or be sick everywhere or sometimes all three and it wasn't always me."
She tossed the pillow aside and leaned over to grab a tissue from the box on the table. She blew her nose and laughed. "Sorry, this is supposed to be a cheerful time of year and I always end up maudlin and weepy instead."
"I can see why," the Doctor said. "It sounds horrible, Clara. I wish I could take you away from it all, but," he threw his hands out in a gesture of resignation, taking in the quiet and darkened TARDIS nearby, still slowly billowing steam.
"I'll be okay," she said. "Everything is just so relentlessly festive this time of year. Makes me feel even more depressed in comparison."
"I've always found Christmas to be a rather odd human tradition. People singing about peace on earth and joy and love while they're rushing around, shouting at one another and looking as grumpy as I usually feel."
Clara nodded, retrieving her cup of tea and cradling it in her hands for the warmth. "So you're really stuck here?" she asked, taking a tentative sip.
"I am really stuck here, yes," he said, leaning his head against the back of the couch. He thought for a moment and then turned his head to look at her. "I mean, in a sense. I could always hop a bus and go away somewhere, but chances are I won't. I'll stick close until the TARDIS decides her self-repair cycle is complete."
He stood in one quick motion, nearly upsetting Clara's teacup.
"Between you and me," he said as he paced around her sitting room, "I think she's being lazy."
There was the sudden loud sound of the TARDIS door lock being thrown.
"Uh-oh," Clara said. "Don't think she liked that, Doctor."
"She wasn't supposed to hear it," he said. "And that's probably good for another few days of down time." He paused in his circuit at the balcony door, running both hands through his hair in frustration.
"So what are you going to do?"
"I don't know." He began pacing again. Clara considered grabbing him and forcing him to sit still. If he had to stay in her flat for the duration, they were both going to lose their minds.
"I don't have anything on this year, either," she said. "Dad and his wife are off on a trip to Suffolk to see her family and Gran is going on a cruise with her friends; Denmark, I think."
The Doctor flopped on the couch next to her. "And P.E.?"
Clara sighed. "He's spending it at the home where he grew up. You know, big Christmas dinner, passing out gifts for the kiddies. He invited me to come along, but…"
"You couldn't face it."
"I couldn't face it," she agreed, fingers idly twisting the fabric of her skirt. "Is that terrible of me? It makes Danny happy to help out the kids because he knows what they're going through but it just makes me feel worse. A reminder of all the suffering in the world, you know? And what can we honestly do to change it?"
"Clara Oswald," the Doctor said. "You are positively morose. We need to do something."
"I know. What did you have in mind?"
"Well, what do you usually do at Christmas? Are you going to go caroling, or drink wassail or have a figgy pudding?"
Clara laughed. "Nope, and I'm not burning a Yule log, either, Doctor. I've never done any of that in my life. I don't even know what wassail is, although if it involves alcohol of any kind, I may consider it."
She stood, carrying their cups through to the kitchen. He followed and joined her at the sink.
"I think you may have gotten your idea of Christmas traditions from old songs," she said.
"Don't be ridiculous, Clara. I've celebrated Christmas before and I know how it works." He ticked off the points on his fingers. "You complain, you eat too much, you drink too much, old resentments are dragged out, it's all perfectly dull and everyone is secretly relieved when it's all over for another year."
Clara paused in washing the cups, considering. "Pretty much, yeah."
"So, let's try something different."
A/N: I couldn't not write a Christmas story for my favorite pair, forgive me. Hope you enjoy the pointless holiday fluff headed your way and try not to be too stressed preparing for the upcoming holidays.