A/N:The prompt for this one involved Santa giving Twelve a bit more youth at the end of Last Christmas, so here we are.

4832 words; while Twelve is without a doubt an excellent silver fox, might as well fully speculate since we have the evidence; this idea for a peak bby!Twelve AU involves something along the lines of a Soft Top Hard Shoulder-era Peter Capaldi; naturally begins to go a bit off the mark from the end of Last Christmas, but that's okay because this is an AU and it needs to be done; a version of much of this could have happened no matter which version of Peter Capaldi one chooses, so there; contains a medium level of sexual content

Santa's Gift

"Hnggg—CLARA!"

The Doctor sat up and scrambled to get to his feet. Did they do it? Did he break through the final layer of the Kantrofarri-made dreamscape? He gasped for breath as he stumbled towards the TARDIS doors; blood was dripping down from his temples from the incisions made by the Kantrofarri and the paralyzing agent that had been coursing through his system was now being properly metabolized and flushed out. Throwing the ship into gear, he made his way to the house Clara was staying at—a seaside rental for the holiday.

"Clara!" he called out again, running through the house. He got to the bedroom and saw her staring at a pile of dust that was sifting through her fingers onto the duvet. "Clara! There you are!"

"Don't come any closer!" she warned, not looking up from the extraterrestrial's remains. He stopped. "Am I young?"

"I don't…"

"Am. I. Young?"

He glanced around quickly and found a hand mirror, which he placed in her grasp. She used it to look at herself—she was the same. There were no more tricks, no more layers… she was finally free… they were free. She glanced up to look at him and her eyes grew wide.

"What...?" he asked.

"I… I think you should use this next…" she said quietly.

The Doctor's hearts skipped several beats. Oh no—did he regenerate? Again? So soon? Did they go so far as to make his regeneration instinct kick in? He took the mirror in-hand and held it carefully, unsure of what he was going to find.

There, reflecting back at him, was the same face that he had prior to the Kantrofarri encounter, except… somehow it wasn't. His hair was now brown, his face less-frowned… he hadn't necessarily changed faces, yet was more like his other recent regenerations…

…he was young.

Well, he wasn't young-young. He was actually getting up there in age, if one was honest, but there was still the fact he didn't look as old as the years belied. There was more of the mystery, more of the ageless being, more of the mask he knew he could shed because Clara was there for him.

"What… what is this…?" he marveled.

"It looks like you've been given another gift from Santa," she said. "You look the same age as me now."

"You mean… we didn't look the same before…?"

"No. The big man just shaved off twenty years, if you were a human."

"That's impossible… the only way he could have done that would involve him being one of the Sisterhood of Karn… and have you seen that beard?"

She stopped and looked at him, narrowing her eyes. "When was the last time you met a human woman who's hit menopause?" He stared at her, unsure how to answer that. "You know what? Fine. Just let me clean this up…" She got out of bed and began to pull together the duvet, trying to think of how best to dispose of the alien remains because it staying in her bed a moment longer was too gross a concept for her to consider. Clara stopped when she saw the Doctor out the corner of her eye, holding his hand out and looking at her pleadingly.

"Please… don't even argue…" he requested. She knew precisely what he wanted to say and put her hand in his, kissing him on the cheek.

A second's pause and they both dashed from the room hand-in-hand, running down the stairs and out the house to the TARDIS. To hell with the duvet—cleaning could wait. Soon as the door was shut, Clara pushed the Doctor against the console and snogged him vigorously.

Sweet fuck, her head was spinning as she kissed him, tasting the cosmos on his lips and across his teeth and tongue. She didn't care what he looked like—brown hair or grey, frown lines or smooth skin—because she would have laid him out on the console no matter what now that they were alive and together and back in the TARDIS again. Her fingers combed through his soft curls as she held him in place, his arms and hands splayed flat on the console because he didn't know what to do with them. When she stopped kissing him, she pulled away to see that his face was an interesting shade of pink and he looked almost breathless. His eyes were wild with a flurry of emotions, none of which involving wanting the experience to stop, despite the fact he was clearly shook down to his core.

Everything was going to be fine.

It had been two weeks since classes were back in session at Coal Hill Secondary School and the children were all a-twitter. Not all on Twitter, as that was a separate ordeal that involved unmitigated social media use and potential lack of (responsible, mind) adult supervision. The students were all chatting, theorizing, and amazed; Miss Oswald came back from Christmas holiday with a new gentleman caller, and it was the talk of the courtyard and canteen and corridors.

Kevin was convinced she met him while on holiday. That's how his parents met—on a seaside holiday. That's romantic, right?

Elisa thought he looked too similar to the substitute caretaker Miss Oswald had been seen with. Was that his son? Was that even legal? Could she really date her ex's son?!

No… Màiri insisted that it was a coincidence, though admitted that the timing yeah was more than a bit sus…

…except Courtney Woods put her foot down once and for all on the matter, as the unofficial-official-self-appointed expert on their teachers' love lives: it was the same Scottie in love with Ozzie.

There was a temporary coup against the unofficial-official-self-appointed expert as her classmates protested the idea. That would only involve turning back time! You can't do that! The idea was absolutely preposterous and there was no way to get around that fact. It was a complete load of shite.

Then what was the explanation for him wearing the same clothes? Holding himself the same way? Having the same wonky run that wasn't even really running? His accent was even too dead-on for any other option to possibly be considered. He was a space-bloke, so who was to say that he couldn't decide to age backwards a tic?

Logic and reason was beginning to win. Doctor Smith, the silver-haired Scotsman who filled in for a week for Mister Atif, was well-known to be a space-bloke, with a funky space-cupboard (that opposing factions agreed to disagree on whether or not it was used for snogging or for sex), and the ability to down an entire pot's worth of espresso and not even get the shakes. He called them brilliant, even when their teachers didn't, and it had made the kids all jealous that Miss Oswald had both Doctor Smith AND Mister Pink wrapped around her finger, possibly doing some juicy love-angle stuff that their parents would smack them for even thinking about. It would make sense that Doctor Smith would come back after all that time, after giving Miss Oswald some room to breathe and mourn, and to return with a bit of an upgrade to boot.

Facts and informed inference nearly won… only for Courtney to suggest that Doctor Smith was also the same man Miss Oswald had been seeing before… the one that was a more gangly and goofier version of Mister Davies.

Nah, you're full of bunk, Woods. She dumped that one because he looked like Mister Davies. How dense can you get?

Rather, apparently.

"I almost feel as though I need to take a visit to Karn and look at their rolls."

Clara smirked at that before taking another bite of her ice cream. They were meandering through an intergalactic market, arm-in-arm as they munched on ice cream that tasted vaguely of gelato. Space-gelato. The Doctor had not been impressed by the comparison; gelato was leagues superior.

"Why's that?" she wondered idly.

"We've been getting more stares since Christmas," he claimed. "I need to know who was masquerading as Santa and if punishment needs to be doled out. It's like a punishment for me and I want to know why."

"Relax," she insisted. "If it's a punishment, then I don't think it's because of anything Santa did… or, at least it's not the thing you think."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Of course I am."

They continued their stroll, coming upon the edge of the market, which itself was atop a large hill. The hill's slope began just outside of the stalls' limits, turning into a grassy plain of oranges and reds, looking over a green sunset. They sat on the sloped grass and watched the sun sink lower in the sky, nestled up against each other's side.

"You know, I was really worried about you at first," Clara said. She rested her head on his shoulder and laced their fingers together as they held hands. "I'd never seen a regeneration before that—I thought that something'd gone wrong."

"Nothing went wrong."

"Well, I know that now, but in the beginning? I thought you always regenerated to be physically around my age and then went from there. You know, took a bit of time getting to grey."

"Now you can see that I don't."

"This is correct." She sighed as she looked over the valley below, watching the breeze tickle the grass and rustle the trees. "Would you know if something had gone wrong?"

"Yes and no," he replied. "Yes, in theory. No, because I've never done it wrong."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Are you sure?!"

"It's a bit jarring each time, but yes, I'm sure that nothing's gone wrong." He took another taste of the space-gelato. "Did you like me better with grey hair?"

"I like you better when you're not pretending," she corrected. "Why would I want you doing anything along the lines of pretending?"

"It's saved our skins a couple of times."

"Not like that and you know it."

"Oh." He watched as some children tumbled down the hillside and pondered, only stopping when he found his space-gelato hand was colder than it should have been. Some of the confection had dripped out of the cone and onto his hand. He bent to lick it, though was cut off my Clara getting to it first. She kissed it away, going up his fingers and to the cone. After giving him a flirty smile, she went back to finishing off her own treat.

"Should've picked that flavor," she decided.

He crossed his legs and sat there in embarrassment—it was almost as though she was being like this on purpose.

The Doctor waited patiently outside the school on a bench. While it was often used by students (and sometimes parents) while they were going to or from the building, he decided he was going to park the TARDIS off in a corner somewhere and go on a walk with Clara after she was off from work. He idly read while he waited, feeling the impending chaos that was about to rein as the end-of-class bell inched closer and closer.

Finally, it was done and the bell tolled. Students began to slowly pour out of the building, until the schoolyard was full of the medium-sized humans, the ones that were growing up to be in the way and the others who were nothing short of brilliant.

"Hi Doctor Smith!" one of the kids beamed, approaching him. "Why aren't you inside? That's where Miss is."

"Miss Oswald and I are going to go for a walk, and I decided to wait for her out here," he explained. He noticed that the tween was staring at the book he was reading and he snapped it shut. "Yes…?"

"Just… I didn't think she'd have you read for homework."

"Did you ever think I was maybe doing it because I like it?"

A second student came up, this one a bit older, the smug smirk on her face almost cringe-worthy. "He just wants to get some action in."

"...and what leads you to believe that…?"

"...'cause that's Jane Eyre." The second student paused, watching the Doctor's eyebrow shoot up in confusion. "That's what you wanted to go for to start. You were Mister Rochester before, and you saw Mister Pink as some sort of weird St. John stand-in. We don't know how you did it, but you used your space-bloke powers to turn back to before Mister Rochester met the Masons…" She tapped her temple with what seemed like a knowing look. "You let Miss know what she's getting in the future, so now you can turn back to normal. Sneaky."

"Bugger off," he scowled. The teen pulled the younger student away and the kids generally left the Doctor alone as they all dispersed for the afternoon. Even Clara's coworkers gave him a gentle berth as he pretended to go back to his book, yet was failing miserably.

Reflecting on the teen's accusation, the Doctor's mind first dedicated a layer of thought to the notion, with it eventually consuming his entire consciousness. There had been reports—more like rumors, honestly—of Time Lords abruptly changing something about their appearance outside of post-regeneration sickness. It was most often attributed to changing hair or skin color, or growing or shrinking in height, and came after some sort of major event. A defining moment; his body doing such a thing was fairly monumental.

Was it reuniting with Clara, or was it something else entirely…?

"Ah, there you are," Clara said, catching his attention. He looked up from the book and saw her standing there, with them all alone in the schoolyard. "I was wondering where you went."

"Thought we'd go for a stroll," he said. The Doctor stood and tucked the book under one arm whilst offering the other to hold. She hooked her arm in his and they set off, taking a meandering walk down the pavement.

As they wandered their way back to the TARDIS, the Doctor pondered on a few thought layers about what the student had presented him with. He was absolutely mad about Clara, that much was for certain, but how did that tie into his current regeneration's eccentricities? How come it started off grey and then supposedly melted backwards in time? It was no mystery to the fact that the people around a Time Lord often influenced their regenerations—that much was well known in the Academy—but the topic of how was always the biggest question.

What was it about Clara that made him do this, and how was it all connected?

"You're wandering off again," Clara noted, bringing him back to their conversation. He glanced at her and saw that she was staring at him, her brow furrowed. "What are you thinking about?"

"Just this and that," he claimed. Didn't want her to overthink anything. "I thought it was on a deep enough level consciously to not interfere with out conversation—I'm sorry."

"It's alright, just as long as everything's fine. Is it fine?"

"I'm with you, Clara Oswald," he said as they turned a corner. "How can it not be fine?"

"That's good to hear," she said with a smile. He felt a flutter in his hearts, which caused him to blush. "You're adorable, you know that, right?"

"I didn't think I regenerate to become adorable."

"Well, you are," she claimed, "and when I say that, you know that I mean all of you, correct? I haven't seen a bit about you that wasn't absolutely, one-hundred-percent, purely adorable."

He scrunched his nose at that. "You've seen me… basically be an all-powerful god-like creature, ready to lay waste the cosmos as punishment for gaining my disapproval."

"Don't complicate it, alright?" she teased. "Now let's get to the TARDIS—I want some planets."

"Yes, ma'am."

It was Wednesday, which meant that the Doctor was picking Clara up directly at Coal Hill with the intent of not letting her go until it was the following day right before classes. The students snickered as they watched him loom impatiently in the corridor, waiting for them to clear out. They all stayed put as the final bell rung, watching in delight as their teacher's space-bloke glared at them through the door's window.

"Aren't you all staying a bit long?" he grumbled as he finally opened the door. The kids all grinned, which prompted him to sit down in Clara's desk chair to pout. Clara looked at him from over by the whiteboard, then at her students, and then smirked.

"If you all want to stay behind that badly, then I guess we'll be doing some silent studying," she decided aloud. Clara took the marking off one of the tables and sat down in the Doctor's lap, allowing him to hold her as she continued to work. His arms were able to wrap fully around her torso and his lips found the back of her neck, worrying the skin along the hem of her jumper.

After deciding that the display of affection was about as gross as their teenaged siblings and cousins and neighbors with their significant others, the tweens all left in a hurry. There was not a child within earshot when one of the Doctor's hands slipped under the front of Clara's jumper, his chilled hand coming into contact with her bare torso.

"Ack—not here!" she hissed, brushing him off. "It's almost like you're acting as though we've both already had sex and are on a timer to do so again."

"What I want is you out of this classroom," ha admitted. He leaned forward and murmured in her ear, "Please bring the marking with you. I'll still watch."

"...but you can't watch me here?"

He considered that. "No."

"I see."

Clara stood and gathered her things, stuffing everything in a large tote bag before crooking her finger, letting the Doctor know she was ready for their Wednesday to officially begin. She followed him through the corridors to the cupboard where he had stored the TARDIS and let him put the ship into gear, flinging them into the time vortex. He had barely turned around to say something when she grabbed him by the open flaps of his hooded sweatshirt and tugged him downwards until he was on his knees. The tote bag full of marking had conveniently disappeared as she was sliding into his grasp, using the temporary height advantage she'd gained by attempting to sit on his waist as she snogged him stupid. His hands finally figured out where to go and held her by her thighs and hips, keeping her from traveling too far down his torso.

They sat there, on the floor of the console area, aggressively kissing and petting until the Doctor could feel the muscles in his legs were as though they were bursting into thousands of tiny flames. He stood, lifting Clara into the air, and began to fumble around for a solid surface to rest her weight on. They were almost at the door when the TARDIS decided that she was not going to have any of that within her confines that particular evening and opened the door, causing the Doctor to tumble out into Clara's bedroom. Her bed broke their fall, though it also prompted them to break apart, both on their backs and gasping for air as they were completely flustered by the entire situation.

Only a moment to regain their composure and they were back at it, the two of them beginning to tug each other's clothes off as they themselves began to feel too warm to keep them on. They kissed frantically as they stripped off their layers, both attempting to make a play for who was going to be on the top. Clara ended up pinning the Doctor underneath her as he squirmed at her touch, his faculties not yet entirely sure how to process the sensation. He was completely within her auspices, and for that he was glad.

...except, as Clara sucked on his neck while he groped a breast and began teasing her between her legs, the Doctor came to an interesting realization. This woman, this human, was entirely the reason why he had been able to regenerate in almost a backwards manner. She was the one that made it possible for him to drop his mask, drop everything, and show her who he really was without any pretense. How could he hide from her anyhow? She knew what was behind the floppy hair and bowtie, behind the suit and sandshoes, behind it all. There was an ancient cosmic horror, if some were meant to be believed, and she knew that intrinsically. It hadn't even been a question, just something that they both accepted. He already knew that, she already knew that, and yet he had needed to be that, if but for a little while, reverting back to something a bit more par the course after a bit of a physical sort of rant.

She had been there for him as he regenerated into something rougher and coarser, so that he could have time to heal after the horrors of Trenzalore.

"Doctor…? Are you alright…?" He opened his eyes to see that Clara was looking down at him, concern upon her face. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked her in the eyes—those big brown eyes that seemed so impossible that he couldn't help but often get lost in them.

"I'm perfectly fine, now that I have you," he claimed. "You not only gave me this regeneration and more, but you gave me a chance to recover when, under normal circumstances, it would have been a lonely, horrible route."

"You're exaggerating," she frowned.

"I wish I was," he said, tears beginning to well in his eyes. He touched her face with his hand, caressing her cheek and jaw with his palm. "You are the reason I even exist. You are why I've been able to do the things I have under the amount of time that has passed. You are why I was able to both drop my mask and put it back together again."

She looked at him, the concern having not faded. "That doesn't mean that I prefer you like this…"

"I know—it means that you prefer me, and that is more than anything anyone else has been able to give me, no matter how much they've meant to me over the years." He pulled her back down into a kiss—gentle and tender—and chuckled weakly. There's not many who are able to say that, you know."

"Yeah, you idiot," she replied. She grabbed his lower bits, making sure they were still firm and ready to go. "So, we doing this or what?"

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Overall, it was a bit annoying that there were people who did not take him seriously anymore. Sure, it was easier to catch people off-guard, or to sneak by under fewer suspicions, but it was also not entirely fun having to reexplain every time that he wasn't entirely there to have a good time.

"Just be more upfront about being a Time Lord," Clara said idly. She was sitting next to him as they were at a table far away from the emperor's head one, which was where they needed to be in order to investigate why on earth he had access to phaser guns despite it being tenth-century Swabia. The long, low table where they are was packed full of people, making it easy for them to blend in if they were quiet, for despite being the emperor's esteemed guests, most people in the hall were also esteemed guests, making the intrusion seem more natural.

"Just relax," he murmured lowly. "Just a bit longer and we'll be in their favor just enough to get where we need to be; I'm wondering if it's Sontarans… again…"

"If it's a Sonataran, then at least we'll be able to combat it appropriately," she claimed. "I've spent enough time with Strax to know how to confuse those walking potatoes."

"They're not all as dense as Strax—some are denser."

"What is so secret you must share it with your bride, Doctor?" chortled a man sitting across the table. They both looked at him and saw the shit-eating grin on his face. "Is it that you are too anxious to return to your bedchamber? Are your youthful urges too much to handle during our dinner?"

"I would hope I married a man with at least some subtlety," Clara responded, not allowing the man to make further comments. "At least he is a man that pleases me well—not all men do."

"Women can be fickle creatures, and it is easier to have more luck with other men than with a woman," the man nodded, acting as sagely as possible. "I'm glad for you, but at the same time, I cannot help but feel jealous."

"Well, you can't have mine," the Doctor said, grabbing onto Clara's arm in a display of affection she was not going to let him forget about later. "She is the reason I am alive."

"Isn't that the reason we all are alive? A woman?" The man took a large bite of the chicken before him and chewed thoughtfully. "Yes. It must be so."

"If you are so wise, then why are you not up there with the emperor?" Clara asked. She saw the man's hackles bristle—she hit a nerve.

"I used to be, but there is an interloper in our midst," he claimed, leaning forwards so that he could lower his voice. "No one seems to believe me, and yet… I know what my eyes see: a man with six fingers."

"Six fingers on one hand…?" the Doctor asked. Then man shook his head.

"No—that is but a clansman of Kirtl—I am talking about three fingers in total, three on each hand, and something about him is simply not of this world."

It took all the Doctor and Clara had to both not burst into grins right then and there. They continued to coax information out of the man—Otsfield, as they eventually discovered—and became all that much closer to figuring out when it was the Sontaran came into their midst and why he was introducing the powerful wartime technology to a civilization that was nowhere near achieving such matters on their own.

By the time they did retire to their bedchamber, the time-and-space travelers had been able to get loads of information out of not only Otsfield, but from others as well, and they were pondering their options very seriously. The TARDIS was sitting in the corner of the stone-built room, like a cat that was waiting for its masters to sleep so that it could pounce and wake them in the middle of the night.

"I don't know about this," the Doctor mused. He took his jacket off, then his hooded sweatshirt, as he readied for bed. "It seems like there's something a bit too convenient about all of this."

"It could be a bit too convenient," Clara added, "but it would be satisfying to know that you actually nailed it right on the head for once without it being about Daleks." He shrugged at that—there was no arguing against her point. "Why don't we sleep on it—the TARDIS will wake us if there's any real issue that arises."

"Are you sure you want to…?" the Doctor asked, not entirely certain they were about to go in the correct order of things. He pulled off his t-shirts at once and stood there in his bare chest, noting how sparse and lanky this body was. Clara place both hands atop his chest—over his hearts—and looked up at him.

"Of course I do," she insisted. "There will need to be some time before the Sontaran hiding in our midst feels it's safe to move about freely, yeah…?"

"...yeah…?"

"Then let's while away the time in a manner that we see fit." She draped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. "First a shag, then we can worry about the Sontaran."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, lifting her up into the bed. He climbed in after her, rolling so that he was on his back and she was able to reach down the front of his trousers, making him groan at her touch. Her lips smiled against his neck as he pulsed in her hand, making it clear what his body and mind both thought of the contact.

Okay, so what if it wasn't the most productive way to while away their time while waiting for an antagonistic force to reveal itself? It was just fine by them, and that was what counted in the end, wasn't it?