A/N: I do not own Doctor Who, BBC, Donna Noble, Sylvia Noble, Wilfred Mott, or Shaun Temple. Trust me, there would have been a different ending to Journey's End if I did.
CHRISTMAS DAY 2015
"Mummy! Mummy, look, it's Christmas!"
Donna groaned and rolled over in bed, hearing the small yet solid footsteps rapidly approaching her room. She hoped to savor the last few seconds of peace and darkness.
"Mummy!" came a final shriek, and suddenly, light flooded into the bedroom, through the shutters and the widely opened door. Donna sat up and rubbed her eyes just as a pink-clad figure tackled her back down again. "Mummy! It's Christmas! Father Christmas came, Mummy! Happy Christmas! Mummy, wake up!" Margaret bounced up and down on top of Donna's bed, her red hair flying, her pink footed pajamas a blur.
Donna moaned. "Margaret, it's too early." She pointed to the alarm clock next to her bed, which read 9:56. "Mummy doesn't leave bed until ten on Christmas." Donna pulled her pillow over her face and burrowed under the blankets. "Give Mum four minutes or more."
"Mummy!" Margaret whined, yanking the pillow away from Donna's face. "Gran and Great-Gramps are here! Wake up, Mummy!" She began to smack Donna with the pillow, not very hard for an adult, but with as much force as a four-year-old her size could muster. "Wake up! Come ON, Mummy! Father Christmas leaved presents and I think I saw some for you, even!"
"All right, I get it, I'm awake, darling!" Donna sat up, put Margaret on the floor, and worked her way out from underneath the covers. By the time she had stood up, brushed her hair, and put on only enough makeup to look vaguely presentable, the time was 10:01. Throwing a bathrobe on over her old pajama pants and grey sweatshirt, she headed downstairs, to where she could already hear her mother and grandfather talking to an excited Margaret.
Shortly after Donna's marriage to Shaun Temple four years before, she had gotten pregnant. Though she hid this from Shaun for a little while, he found out and left the morning after his discovery, leaving a warm place in the bed and a forty pound check made out to the Nobles. No one heard from him again. Margaret somehow happened to look nothing like her father, and instead had the fair skin and fiery hair of her mother, not to mention the same amount of sass, but in a smaller package.
After the ordeal with Shaun, Donna had been completely heartbroken. For weeks, she sat in her room, unsure of whether to cry or punch a hole in the wall. Luckily for her, Margaret was just young enough that she hadn't started asking any questions about who her daddy was.
"Donna!" Sylvia Noble called the minute she could see her adult daughter. "What kept you so long? We've nearly been here an hour!"
"Not that we didn't enjoy it!" Wilfred butted in, ruffling a grinning Margaret's hair. He wore two sets of reindeer antlers on his thin, silver hair. "Our little pippin 'ere couldn't stop babbling. Could you, Pip?"
Margaret shook her head and saluted Wilfred. "No, sir!"
"Look at the little thing!" he chuckled.
"All right, you," Donna said, lunging toward Margaret and lifting her up, putting the little redhead on her hip. Margaret giggled. "Let's get something to eat, then we'll open your presents."
"No, I'm opening my presents, you're opening yours!" Margaret retorted, crossing her arms.
"Got me there." Donna laughed and planted a kiss on Margaret's forehead. "Did Father Christmas eat his cookies?"
"All of them!" Margaret wiggled out of her mother's grasp in the kitchen. "Can I eat a Christmas cookie right now, Mummy?"
"No, Margaret."
"Please?"
"Margaret Noble."
"Mummy."
"Why don't you bring Gran her coffee?"
"Fine." Margaret sulkily took the coffee mug from her mother and marched into the sitting room.
Donna returned to the sitting room with a platter of toast. "All right, I'm hungry, I don't know about you lot. Mum, Gramps?"
"Not hungry," Sylvia said dismissively, staring distantly at the star on top of the Christmas tree.
"Mum, please eat." Donna brandished the plate stubbornly in front of her mother.
"Donna—"
"Don't worry, I'll eat 'ers," Wilfred said assuredly, taking two slices of buttered toast. "Pip and I'll eat the lot." Nodding, Margaret snagged a piece of toast and methodically began tearing the crust off. Still unsure, Donna lowered the plate.
"Donna, I'm perfectly fine," Sylvia scoffed. "Now, Margaret, dear, why don't you go ahead and open mine and Great-Gramps's parcel? It's the silver and gold box, dear."
Clapping excitedly, Margaret put down her toast and reached for said box, tearing at the paper like a kitten. She crumpled up the wrapping paper and opened the shoebox inside. Puzzled, she turned back to Sylvia and Wilfred. "It's empty."
Sylvia's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
A pout beginning to form on her face, Margaret stuck the box out in front of her. "There's nothing in the box, Gran."
Donna tilted her head, like a puppy hearing a sound for the first time. "Mum, what..."
Wilfred chortled quietly. "Sylvia, I do believe you forgot to put Pippin's present in the box."
"Dad, this isn't funny," Sylvia hissed. She then turned to her granddaughter, taking Margaret's face in her hands. "I did get you a present, dear, I guess I just left it at home. Donna, dear, I think I'm driving back home to go get it."
"Mum, that's on the other side of Chiswick!" Donna countered. "It'll take you much too long."
Margaret tugged on Donna's bathrobe. "Mummy, am I going to have to wait for my presents?" Donna shook her head and made a "shh" motion.
"Mum, I'll go get it for you. Margaret, dear, if you want, you can open your presents with Gran and Great-Gramps until—"
"But I want to open them with YOU, Mummy!"
"I'll get it quickly, Margaret," Donna said, getting up decidedly. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Go ahead and start without Mummy." Margaret nodded, but the pout on her face was unavoidable. "Just a few minutes," Donna repeated. She glanced pointedly at Wilfred. "Keep an eye on her, Gramps."
"That's your mother's job."
"Gramps."
"All right, but I'm not making any—"
"GRAMPS."
Wilfred smiled, the corners of his infinitely wise pale eyes crinkling. "Of course, Donna. It's too light out for stargazing with her Great-Gramps, so we're staying in. No astronomy, just Christmas gifts."
Donna nodded. "I'll be back, you lot."
Donna pulled into the driveway minutes later, after a pleasantly chilling drive through Chiswick with the windows down. She held in her lap a green cellophane bag which contained her mother and grandfather's Christmas gift to Margaret, a mystery to mother and daughter alike. Donna rose from the driver's seat and walked to the front door, savoring the deliciously nippy December air.
"Mummy's got your present, Margaret!" she called into the tiny townhouse, locking the door behind herself. No squeal of joy met her words, no mad dash for the front door could be heard. Donna's eyebrows lowered in her classic manner.
"Margaret?" A low wail sounded in harmony with her daughter's name, from somewhere deep within the house.
A cold, raw terror began to race through Donna's veins, reaching her brain in an instant. "Margaret!" she yelled, her voice cracking slightly, the cellophane crackling in her grip. She jogged into the kitchen—empty. The den—empty, save for the Christmas tree and a mound of pristine, unwrapped presents. Finally, she sprinted up the stairs and pushed open the door to Margaret's bedroom to find her mother kneeling beside the small bed, her body shaking, the occasional wail audible from the doorway. Her grandfather sat solemnly in a lilac-upholstered armchair chair across from the bed.
"Mum?" Donna couldn't mask the high-frequency quivers in her voice. "Gramps? Where's Margaret?"
No response. Wilfred stared into space. Sylvia kept sobbing.
"Where is Margaret?"
"She's gone." Wilfred didn't meet Donna's eyes, instead staring at the stuffed animals crowding the shelf above Margaret's bed.
"What do you mean, gone?" Donna said, trying to even out her manic breathing. "She's a little girl in a little house in a little neighbourhood, how can she be gone?"
"She told your mother she was going to 'er room to get our presents." He shifted in the armchair. "We 'eard the window open, we 'eard a voice that wasn't hers, and then the window shut. By the time we got in 'ere...she was gone. She didn't even scream."
Donna gripped the edge of the little bed to keep herself from swaying. "No. No, please no."
Sylvia looked up, paler than before, her eyes puffy. "She was just...taken."
"I reckon it's like I told you, Sylvia," Wilfred said gravely. "No 'uman could have gotten in and out that quickly."
"GRAMPS!" Donna shrieked. "Now is not the time! Your great-granddaughter was kidnapped and you're blaming it on bloody aliens! You're being completely stupid! Am I the only practical one in this family?"
"Dad, please try to see reason," Sylvia begged.
"Sylvia, I am perfectly capable of logic, thank you." Wilfred crossed his arms. "Little girls don't just disappear, and besides, Donna, Margaret loved you too much to run away. She's been kidnapped, and I'll bet she wasn't taken by any normal kidnapper. No one could pry open a locked window that quickly, much less have time to grab a little girl and leave in a matter of seconds, you 'ear? Whatever took your daughter wasn't a 'uman! It's them. It's them, I swear by it. Do you want to know why I watch the skies, Donna? It's not just a crazy old man's 'obby. It's because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of someone—something—taking you, or your mother, or your little girl. That's why I'm always so concerned about the skies, Donna."
"Dad," Sylvia cautioned through gritted teeth. "There aren't any such things as aliens, all right? And if there were they wouldn't matter right now. Don't listen to your grandfather, Donna. Donna?"
But Donna had taken off, down the hallway, toward her own bedroom, where she collapsed in a mound of silent tears.
