"So…," the Doctor said.

The doors opened. Lizzie's street. Exactly as it always was, apart from the big blue box underneath the streetlamp. Obviously. Lizzie walked out from underneath it, and the Doctor came too – just hovering beside the doors.

"Christmas with Maggie?" the Doctor enquired. Just looking out for Lizzie. Always looking out for Lizzie – making sure that she wouldn't be alone.

"Yeah," Lizzie smiled, trying to hide herself together. Trying to… keep her emotions buried. She was good at it, to be fair. Maggie had always said it was one of Lizzie's greatest talents. Lizzie wasn't sure whether that was a good thing.

"Tell her I say hello…," the Doctor smiled. Lizzie laughed – Maggie always gave the Doctor quite a hard time whenever she saw him. Lizzie wondered whether things would be any different at Christmas – probably not. But Lizzie could see it – Maggie liked the Doctor – and Maggie would always vet anyone close to Lizzie, to ensure that they wouldn't hurt her. And although she would never say it… Lizzie could see it, whenever the Doctor was on the scene, that Maggie thought he was a decent guy.

"I will."

"And… you'll look after yourself? Because…," the Doctor said, not sure what words to use. "I – I worry about you, Lizzie. All the time."

Lizzie shook her head, as if to ridicule what the Doctor was saying. "Honestly. Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Always will be."

The Doctor looked at her incredulously. That was exactly the reason he always worried. Especially at Christmas. Season of goodwill and cheer, and happiness. Of course Lizzie was going to say she was fine. He did not believe her for a second, however.

"Straight to Maggie's, yes? I don't want you alone on Christmas Day…"

"'Course," Lizzie smiled. She hesitated – and so did the Doctor. It felt strange, almost… too quick.

That was what life was like with the Doctor, though. One minute, you'd do… such mad, amazing things. And the next, it was over – like they'd just been on some sort of errand.

Lizzie realised what she needed to say. It was Christmas. Why not tell him the truth?

"It means a lot," she said, smiling at him, a look of sheer gratitude upon his face. "That… you take me to all these places. Include me in your family. So… thank you. So much."

The Doctor gave her that look. He always gave her that look. That look, as if to say 'you're part of my family, and you always will be'.

"No, Elizabeth," the Doctor shook his head. "Thank you. And… I hope that you have the most wonderful of Christmases."

Lizzie had to look away, then, unable to watch him as he said those words. She bit her tongue, and looked out of the light of the streetlamp.

"Goodnight, Doctor," she turned back to the Doctor, like she was willing him to go. She could see that that was the way he'd interpreted it. She saw the brief look of disappointment flicker across his face.

The Doctor paused, not wanting to say it.

"Goodnight, Lizzie."

He stepped back inside the TARDIS, as the doors shut behind him.

Lizzie looked away, at the street ahead of her. She heard the noise – the slow wheezing sound, and she could picture it – see it fading away, disappearing off to wherever the Doctor was destined next. Often, Lizzie was on board, excitement and intrigue leaping in her heart, as she wondered what beautiful corner of the universe they would see next. And they would fly, so fast through space, facing the universe with determination and hope – and they would greet the universe with open arms.

But not this time. Lizzie felt her feet firmly on the Earth – and she did not move. She looked away from the box, unable to bear the sight of it – so instead, Lizzie's eyes drifted over the street, and she bit her tongue, trying hard not to cry, Nobody would see – but Lizzie still didn't want to cry.

She saw the houses and sets of apartments lining the road. There were Christmas trees in their windows, the glow of Christmas lights hanging on the ledges, as if each property was even endeavouring to get into the Christmas spirit. Lizzie could see candelabras, Christmas cards, little ornamental ceramic snowmen, probably from the primary school's Christmas fair. Lizzie saw wreathes on doors, 'Santa stop here' signs, and even a pair of welly boots tied upside down on top of a chimney.

It just hurt more, and so Lizzie looked at the ground. Her eyes traced the concrete, in all its bleak greyness. No snow. There never seemed to be any snow at Christmas. The dreaded sound of the TARDIS finally died down, and Lizzie could breathe again.

Stood alone, by the side of the road, Lizzie took in the air. It was freezing out, and she pulled her coat around her – but it was so chilly, that it didn't make too much of a difference. Therefore, Lizzie resigned herself, to drift slowly off to her flat. It might be warmer in there, and at least she wouldn't have to look at all the festivity constricting the world around her. So, she turned, and hesitantly walked to the door behind her.

But she stopped, when she heard the bells ring.

Some nearby church – the bells rung in melodic fashion – and then she heard them strike.

One. Two. Three.

That church. People gathered inside, worshipping some deity, warmed by the spirit of each other and the community they enjoyed. Content in their faith, in a way, Lizzie was happy for them. If that was how they got their kicks, so long as they didn't harm anyone, she couldn't care less. They probably had more focus on Christmas day than her.

Four. Five. Six.

Having said that, the religious elitists who got stroppy about Christmas now acting against their faith were truly irritating. While she was no die-hard Christmas fanatic anyway, and most certainly not religious, even Lizzie could see that the yuletide season transcended far beyond its Christian watermark.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

Lizzie just thought Christmas should be celebrated however one chose to celebrate it. Not to be forced down one's throat, as Lizzie was too used to experiencing.

Ten. Eleven.

Twelve.

Midnight.

Christmas Day.

Nothing changed. Much. Except… now it felt like a confirmation. Christmas was here. Joy to the world, etc.

Lizzie breathed again, and this time it was shaky, and nervous. An insomniac, alone at home during the small hours of Christmas day. Perhaps she would go insane.

So, contrary to every and any degree of sensibility, Lizzie turned from her doorstep, and began to walk down the road. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn't really care. She just walked down the road, past the houses with their decorations, past the sleeping people waiting for a day of giving and togetherness, past the children sleeping contently, Santa Claus watching over, protecting from the dark outside. Lizzie made an effort to ignore it all.

Maggie – 00:04
Ho ho ho! Hope you're okay love. Phone me at some point xx

Lizzie stopped beneath a street lamp, and tapped out a reply.

Me – 00:05
Am good. Will phone at some point x

That was good enough. Lizzie eyed the underground station at the far end of the road, and decided to make her way over to it. Hop on a train, go… somewhere.

Though as she walked over, her phone began to ring. As expected, it was Maggie – and Lizzie answered it, after a brief spell of hesitation.

Maggie's voice was crackly, and almost a little bit muffled, in that way that mobile phone voices so frequently are. But it did not matter – as soon as Lizzie heard it, she felt a little bit better.

"Merry Christmas, love!" Maggie's voice came down the phone. It was just a voice – and yet, it was like Maggie was with her. Lizzie saw a bench, and she sat down on it, holding her phone tight to her ear, as if there were a risk that it might slip away. Regardless of how stupid it was – it was a chance Lizzie wasn't willing to take,

Lizzie couldn't help but smile. "Merry Christmas."

"You alright?" Maggie asked – and then stopped. "Where even are you? Are you on Mars or something?"

"No," Lizzie said, chuckling. "I'm on Earth."

With a bit more trepidation and uncertainty, Maggie asked… "You sure you're alright, love? You sound… shaky," Maggie wasn't actually sure what shaky meant.

The words, however simple, were like a knife to Lizzie's heart. But she didn't waver. Wouldn't cry.

"Yeah," Lizzie shrugged it off nonchalantly, doing a pretty good job at sounding alright. "Shivering. Just out and about."

Technically she wasn't lying.

"Well, get inside!" Maggie instructed, and Lizzie heard Maggie quickly drawing her Dunsworthian curtains. "Looks bloody freezing out…"

Lizzie could tell that Maggie still wasn't 100% certain of Lizzie's excuse. "It is. Really cold. I'll go in soon."

A brief spell of silence passed – one unusual in their conversations.

"Chaos at the home earlier," Maggie said, trying to stir up some conversation. "Absolute madness."

"Really?" Lizzie asked. "The kids alright?"

Maggie made a noise to indicate her uncertainty. The answer was probably no. To be a child in care at Christmas was a terrible thing, and Lizzie would be quite happy if those memories just… left her brain, and never returned. "Some kids acting up, some not doing anything, some just being normal. Such a sad place to be at Christmas. Not nice at all. Pat and Sarah really have to work the impossible."

"They always did try," Lizzie acknowledged. Even if they couldn't make much of a difference, at least they were there, and tried to understand what it was like. "Chaotic here as well. In a different way, of course."

"Yeah. 'Course. But nice chaos?" Maggie asked. "Because… I'm so glad that you're going to be spending Christmas with the Doctor and his family. I wouldn't have agreed to work if I knew you weren't."

Lizzie hesitated, as if she couldn't bring herself to say the words. Eventually, she spoke.

"Yeah. Nice chaos."

Only three words. Four syllables. Meant it was very hard to make the words tremble, and Lizzie could just about struggle through them without tripping over them. She still had to force them out, though, much to the pain in her gut. Lizzie pushed her forefinger nail into her thumb, the sensation of pain a welcomed distraction – and even that was barely enough.

Somehow, Lizzie found herself continuing. "The Doctor is watching some documentary on the telly about classical composers and Christmas carols. Cioné is knitting, and Iris is sat deliberately trying to wind her up. Kym's here as well, pouring herself another mulled wine…," Lizzie stopped, realising that she'd started to sound… almost wistful, and as if she could talk about it and somehow be transported to that place. "Yeah. It's good."

"Blimey," Maggie exclaimed. "All at this time of night?"

"They're Time Lords," Lizzie quickly said. "They sleep weirdly. And one of them is Kym, who basically… never sleeps."

Maggie laughed. She'd met Kym once. Quite an unforgettable presence.

Lizzie was content with her life, and for a few seconds, she put the phone to her shoulder and looked away, to blink the freezing tears from her eyes.

"So yeah! All good here," Lizzie said. She sounded content. Genuinely, properly content. In a strange way, for someone who tried to be honest and kind… Lizzie thought herself to be quite a good liar.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god Lizzie was going to be alright. It was what she'd been most afraid of, when she'd agreed to work on Christmas day. But… so long as Lizzie wasn't going to be alone. Maggie laughed, just so happy that she finally had her mind put to rest. "You really need to get out of the cold, love!" Maggie exclaimed, a chuckle creeping into her voice.

"Y – yeah," Lizzie laughed as well.

"You know, Lizzie," Maggie began. Lizzie listened as she spoke the words, and she held tightly to them. "I'm so happy for you. Happy that you could finally find a family. I've… I've watched you grow up, and honestly – that means so much."

Lizzie nodded, even though Maggie wouldn't know. At least if she nodded, it might make Lizzie feel as if she was being honest. It might just make her feel that there were people waiting for her.

"That doesn't make you any less important," Lizzie said. And this time, she was being honest.

"Me? Ha! Don't be stupid."

"I'm not! Honestly. You deserve the best Christmas."

Maggie paused. "Thank you, love. So much."

"Right," Lizzie said. "I really need to go inside. It's so cold…"

"Yes," Maggie declared. "Yes, you do. Get back in that flat, make sure Kym isn't drinking the wine – enjoy it. Embrace it!"

"I will," Lizzie said.

"Ta-ra, love."

"Bye."

The phone bleeped, and Maggie was gone. Lizzie held the phone by her ear, just for a bit longer – as if, in some blind bit of Christmas hope, Maggie might still be there. Might still have something to say to her on Christmas morning.

But it was silent. And in that silence, and the night, and the cold, Lizzie Darwin felt very, very small.

Slowly, she took her phone from her ear, and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Maggie's voice already seemed distant – Maggie seemed further away than she'd done before. And Lizzie stood, and walked across the sullen tarmac to the other side of the road.

Yes. Lizzie had… twisted things, a little bit. Told the Doctor she was spending Christmas with Maggie. Told Maggie she was spending Christmas with the Doctor.

Lizzie traipsed over to the underground station, and made her way down the steps. Soon, she was engulfed by the ground, and she scanned her oyster card over the car-reader. The barrier, notorious for its inability to read cards and tickets, let her through with little fuss – and Lizzie felt that even it was embracing Christmas with open arms.

Passing through the barrier, she stepped onto the escalator, and began a descent to the belly of the Earth. Reduced services, but the night tube was still chugging through, a thankful reminder beneath the surface of society that life still went on.

It didn't totally feel that way, however. There were adverts, electronic and paper, stuck to the wall, eying Lizzie up as she made her steady crawl downwards, as if the very businesses they promoted were eying her with nothing but contempt. Good, she thought.

But that was it – it was like Lizzie could not escape it, not even beneath the surface of the Earth. Because it was there, wherever she went. Christmas! Christmas, Christmas, bloody Christmas, all the time from 1st of bloody November through to mid-January when the post-Christmas sales eventually dried up. And it was painful, and torturous to endure.

Lizzie waited for five minutes on the platform. Five, long, dragging, tedious minutes. Normally she was patient, but sometimes, Lizzie just felt the passing of time, and felt it to be so quick, and to feel a desperate need to chase after it so it couldn't get her first. And yet… it was impossible to beat it.

Time was a thing so immense and so invincible, that what hope did anyone have in beating it? What hope did anyone have of understanding it?

And that was all Lizzie wanted. For people to understand that she did not hate Christmas. And if she ever had to hear the phrase 'don't be such a Grinch' ever again, Lizzie was quite certain she would finally lose her marbles for good. She was not bitter, or cruel, or nasty. She did not hate what Christmas stood for. In fact, she thought it was very admirable, and she respected it greatly. She just found it hard. Nothing more than that. Just hard.

Eventually, the train wormed its way through the tunnel and to the platform. Its doors opened, and Lizzie stepped on board. A couple sat at the far end of the carriage, one of them chatting about she was flying out to see her cousins in Japan and grandparents in the Himalayas, and how her grandparents were keeping an alpaca stronghold and making cheese out of the milk, or something. Lizzie ignored them, and sat close to the doors, so she could make as quick an escape as possible when the time eventually came.

And because she found it tricky, all she wanted was for people to understand that for some, a festival of love and unity was not always so easy.

Lizzie was content in the family she had around her. Why, she was not willing to cut off her nose to spite her face, although her brain did do some blatantly illogical things.

No… it was the simple fact that Lizzie was not in the mood for expectation. It was not a simple matter of simply having people around. The point still stood. Christmas was a time of year tinged with sadness, and to live Christmas as a child in care was nothing short of one of the hardest things she had endured. And whenever the festivities rolled around again, as they did every year, Lizzie felt those memories stir from their slumber, a reverse hibernation, leading monsters out to the front of her mind again.

A world of joy was painful, when all Christmas did was awaken memories of the absolute antithesis.
Hence her isolation.

She loved them all dearly. Maggie. The Doctor. Iris. Cioné. But they would be happy, and Lizzie would not. And she did not want to dampen their days – especially Iris, who held Christmas so close to her heart. She also did not want to feel as if she had to feel like them.

All she wanted was to be alone.

And yet… being alone was nearly just as hard.

There it was. Christmas. The one time of year when she could never win. And it wasn't even her fault, like Christmas had been destined to be rubbish ever since she was a kid.

It always came back, every year. Those memories of the past, always resurrected by seeing all those families, so close to each other. Lizzie had a family now – one who she loved dearly – and she was grateful to them – for being there for her. Lizzie always thought, it was one of the worst things – the people that had nobody to go to at Christmas – it was one thing her shutting herself off by choice, but quite another for those who had nobody – and quite another for those who were scarred, and were so often ignored.

And togetherness at Christmas only brought back the memories of the times she hadn't been with anyone.

Lizzie had spent Christmas alone before. In her little flat in Dunsworth, or back in Durham. She was used to it, and… numb to it, perhaps. Maybe it had reached the point where she just… didn't care.
Lizzie didn't think about her mum much. She didn't think about either of her parents much. Perhaps, though, it was because the presence of both of them was always felt simply in everything Lizzie did.

They had shaped her past – set forth the events that led to her ending up in care. And through that, they had breathed life to the events and demons that had slept inside her head. Besides – she had enough things to face without having to face her parents as well, with her parents an issue that she had laid to rest a while ago. Hence why her father's little dream appearance had come along at perhaps the worst time – for it simply awoke things she'd been done with, a long time ago.

It was, instead, what her parents had done to her that messed her up.

But at Christmas, it sometimes crossed her mind. Her parents… what would life be like, if things were different? What would Christmas be like? Her parents would be rich, and she'd have gone to some private school, and married some rich, stuffy old Tory, someone she'd been matched to at one of her mum's crazy social dos.

Maybe that was the plot of Bridget Jones.

Lizzie loved those films. Socially inept weirdo stumbling through life with no Christmas.

And yet… Bridget Jones had a heart. Always tried to do what was right. That was what Lizzie tried to be, at Christmas – even if it was not 'the most wonderful time of year' for her, she could at least try and be somewhat like Maggie. Do something… good for people.

She'd often been inspired by someone, not much older than her, who'd built The Fox Force – a charity to help children and young people affected by major attacks and disasters – who, every Christmas, embarked on an enormous charity drive. She'd raised it from nothing, fought tooth and nail to get it to where it was – and still fought hard to prevent the big companies – Google, Apple, Facebook, from endorsing their efforts, and using them to piggyback their way to appearing like good, moral corporations.

So, she tried to be kind. So hard, just in the hope it might make things easier for someone like her.
The train continued its way through London, and the darkness of the tunnels blended into one black constancy – a monotony of travel. That was, perhaps, an apt way for Lizzie to think about her Christmases. Things that just… happened, every year, at a regular interval. Not anything she hated. Not anything she loved… just something she didn't care about.

That was it. Ambivalence. Not having a feeling of wanting to enjoy anything.

Half an hour later, it stopped. As Lizzie filed out onto the platform, and made her way up to the surface, there were people – a lot more, going about whatever it is they did. The numbers increased exponentially as Lizzie traipsed up to the ground – and soon, as Lizzie wandered up to the steps, and stood back in the night, looking out over the people ahead of her – it could easily just be the daytime.

People, late at night – and as Lizzie walked out and around the corner, and stood on Oxford Street, it was like the world didn't sleep. That was the one thing about London that Lizzie didn't like – once upon a time, in Dunsworth, she could be awake from any time after midnight, and it would be like time itself had stopped – like the world had ground to a halt – and Lizzie was the only one with the permission to walk over it. And she could do it – living, pulling herself together – all outside the confines of existence.

But in London, that time window was drawn so short, to an hour or two at most – and even then, it barely existed. Time kept ticking, with restaurants and bars and places still open – and when they closed, it wouldn't be long before supermarkets that opened so ridiculously early started taking in cash. And all that time, there would be someone about, somewhere. Company, that Lizzie didn't want – when she just wanted to be alone. Because that was her time. While Lizzie craved company and understanding, she needed that way out too. Oh, to be an introvert was such a paradox.

As Lizzie walked down Oxford Street, through the throngs of people all wrapped up in winter woollies and kept burning by the heat in their hearts, she could see it. The life passing her by – packs of individuals, laughing and chatting and smiling, kept alive through the night by the sheer act of enjoying themselves. The darkness didn't matter, when the world was lit up.

And actually – Lizzie didn't feel not alone. Instead… she felt more alone.

For the briefest of seconds – she was scared. There wasn't much worse than to be in a place full of people and still feel alone – for it made her feel isolated – an outsider. It was even worse, when with a group that one loved – to feel isolated from the individuals who held such stature was truly one of the hardest things. But it was tough too, when walked through a crowded street, or a place where life seemed to be captured in some sort of microcosm, and to feel like she wasn't part of it. To feel like… Lizzie was drifting by, a ghost unable to live it.

That's all Lizzie felt like sometimes.

A ghost.

Lizzie looked up, as she walked down Oxford Street. She stood alone in the middle, the crowds washing over her, trapping her in the middle. But that was okay – and she stopped, and looked up.

She saw the Christmas lights.

Orbs, shining brightly, spherical, almost like moons – celestial objects, shining in blue and gold, suspended above and through that, almost distant but drawn so close – like a dream that was somehow being lived. The shops were covered, blanketed in a tight-knit cover, draped over the buildings as if to protect them from the cold that could come and freeze the world at any moment.

They hung over the street, joining at the centre, like two arms had reached out to each other to guide each other through the dark. And all shone, as if they could light up the world, and guide people home.

And Lizzie remembered then why she liked London – for it was a place that she felt at home – and as Lizzie looked up at those lights, it was as if she'd just been returned there – brought back to that place she felt alive. It worked for her, to blend into obscurity, and to drift along on the periphery as if she didn't quite exist – in a way, it brought her to life, simply watching the world tick by. For at the same time, everyone else becoming background noise meant she saw those that she loved in even greater focus.

When she had, that one, fateful time, dared to go clubbing with Lizzie and Iris, she had hated it – the sheer volume of people in the room constricted the life from her, crushing her – and she hated it.

But at the same time, she had seen Iris and Kym, and Ulysses too – and it was like everyone else had been invisible to the people who mattered.

It was then that she had found Leo.

Lizzie stood there, letting the world walk past her – and she looked up at the sky, and to the lights. Not only did they bring the world to life around her, but they brought her to life too.

She watched them, holding them close. Hoping that one day, even when things hurt – even when Christmas hurt – that she could hold onto those lights, and they would guide her through – home.

And then Lizzie's eyes fell down. There was a man, nestled between the units of two of the shops. He looked as if he was in his 50s, though perhaps stress had taken its toll, as he seemed weathered simply by the act of living. His face was rough, his features sharp, his facial hair a straggly mess, a jungle upon his head. He looked to the floor, burying his eyes in the ground beneath him – and occasionally, he would glance up. He looked sad, sat alone in his patchwork threadbare quilt, with damp, sodden and flimsy trainers on his feet, and an old blazer, once white, but faded a murky grey by the elements. His trousers were plaid, his shirt a faded yellow, and a spotty tie lay loose on an open neck.

He wrapped his garments and accessories tightly around him, though Lizzie could see him shivering from where she stood. It was freezing, and Lizzie could not even fathom what it would be like to be outside on such a night. Not only a night of such bitter conditions, but on Christmas morning. While the world would sleep cosily in their beds, warmth burning in their hearts in the excitement for Christmas Day – the man would waver in and out of consciousness, upon his bed of cardboard, only to wait for another day, the same as any other – just a little bit more painful. And that was what it was like – the world, and the man. An outcast to everyone else.

Lizzie hated it, that there were people sleeping on the streets. Not because of the people, of course – but because nobody ever did anything about them. 'Them'. Even a subconscious division that Lizzie didn't think about. Because… they weren't a 'them'. They were an 'us', and Lizzie despised the way in which others, just like her, were treated like dirt. It made her angry, and sad, and everything in between, that there were men and women who had to live like the man she saw below her – and it always felt like no matter how many times she cast her vote a specific way, or signed petitions, or did whatever… nothing ever seemed to happen.

This time, while it might not have made that much difference, Lizzie decided to do something.

She walked across the street, to the McDonalds beside which the man was sitting, and she entered.

McDonalds, open at night. Probably just another push for commercialisation, but Lizzie was too enamoured by its convenience to care. It was a tall building, airy, with white lights shining down from above, like a divine slap to the face after emerging from the darkness outside. There were not many gathered around the tables, barring a rowdy group of teenagers, two middle-aged women sat gossiping, a few young people who looked like students… Lizzie walked past them all.

"Next please!" the guy at the counter called, even though there was nobody else that could want serving. Lizzie walked up to the counter.

"Oh, er, hi," she muttered.

"What can I get you?"

For all Lizzie loved fast food (which she did – considerably), the environment was one of immense stress. She had braved McDonalds during the lunchtime rush before, and she would never do so again – and while, at quarter to one in the morning, it was not so busy – it still stressed her.

"Er…," she hesitated, her eyes scanning over the banner thing at the top. What to get? She had no idea – burgers? Nuggets? Fries? "Can I have a, er… yeah, two lots of twelve nuggets, er… two large fries…"

Yes. Lizzie was going to need the fries.

"… a Big Mac, a strawberry milkshake, a latte, er… an apple pie? Yeah," Lizzie looked up at the menu again, as if to confirm. "Yeah, that's all, thanks," Lizzie confirmed. "It's, er, erm, not all for me," she quietly added the disclaimer.

"Eat in?"

"Yeah," she said, sticking her card into the machine and paying. Then, the man behind the counter turned and began preparing the food. He fumbled around, taking longer than it usually took at McDonalds. Then again. Lizzie hadn't ever ordered so much before.

A few minutes later, and the man presented her with everything on two trays.

She noticed that he had given her an extra fries. Lizzie looked up at them, and then looked at the man.

"Have them. And have a happy Christmas."

Unfortunately, Lizzie didn't actually hear him – whether it was simply her mind drifting off somewhere else at one o'clock in the morning, or whether it was her usual ineptness and the way she tended to gravitate towards awkward situations like a moth gravitated to a flame – Lizzie wasn't sure.

However, because she did not hear him, she stood, presenting the fries at arm's length, returning them.

"I said take them!" he said, a bit more insistently.

Lizzie realised her faux pas. Well. That would require her to recognise everything she did in public – but at least she realised her idiocy. When she looked up at the man behind the counter, she saw his face. Not a look of anger, or irritation. Merely a look of pity.

"Oh, er, sorry…" she murmured, not really concentrating. The guy smiled his pitiful smile as Lizzie tried to balance both trays on her arms. "Actually, er…," Lizzie realised that it would not end well, taking both trays at once. "Yeah, I'll… I'll do two journeys."

She invited the man in – 'invited'. Made it sound as it were some kind of dinner party. Posh, neither of them were. Dinner party – yeah. As Lizzie looked down at the paper bags, she thought to herself – this was better than any dinner party.

The man came in, and he sat down in front of Lizzie. There was a sort of awkward tension between them, and neither of them spoke much. The man pulled his chair in, though he seemed to pull his jacket even tighter – he'd been outside for so long, than the warm building almost didn't feel any different. Lizzie hesitated, and then reached over to the food.

"Sorry, I, er, didn't know what you liked, so I just sort of… got loads. Er...," she rifled through the paper bags and began fishing stuff out.

"I'm not exactly… choosy," the man smiled.

"Er… there's some nuggets, a big mac, oh, I brought you a latte but like –"

"Seriously," he stopped her. "It's fine. Thank you."

Lizzie smiled, as if to say 'no problem'. It wasn't a problem. Nothing of the sort. Even as Lizzie looked down, she felt useless, like what she was doing meant nothing.

Another awkward silence passed between the two of them.

"You got family to be with?" the man asked. Perhaps it struck him as odd that she was out and about at such a time in the small hours of Christmas Day.

"Yeah," Lizzie smiled. "Just… not with them. That's all."

The man seemed taken aback. "Why not?"

Complex question, Lizzie thought. She didn't even know herself. Her whole life was one entire paradox apparently, and this was no exception. Why wasn't she with her family?

Why?

1. She didn't want to rain on what would be, for them, a wonderful parade. Lizzie was quite sure of that.

2. She wasn't with them because she was afraid. So many Christmases alone, it had almost made her scared to spend them with someone else.

3. She couldn't face Christmas. To spend Christmas with a family was to do just that – spend Christmas. And as she'd deduced – for her, that was easier said than done. Couldn't be dealing with everyone else being happy, when she just… didn't want to be.

And yet, all three reasons were almost voided by the fact she didn't want to be alone.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Lizzie said, shrugging it off.

The man looked as if he were weighing the factors up. Christmas day. People you love. Perhaps he just saw Lizzie and saw her internal dilemma, that burning confusion. "Matters quite a lot."

Lizzie didn't agree. The three reasons she had discussed with herself were quite clear. In fact, Lizzie had made quite a good case for her argument. If she wasn't so lacking in confidence and so unable to argue anything she didn't believe in, Lizzie would make quite a good lawyer. But, she had certainly convinced herself that, for the reasons mentioned, there was no need for her to be with anyone on Christmas Day.

"Why, then? Why doesn't it matter?" as if he were reading her expression. He sat back, taking a sip from his latte.

"I dunno. I just…"

Her voice trailed off, and she didn't finish. Lizzie looked at her chicken nuggets, thought eating one, and decided she just… couldn't.

Her mind did that. Convinced itself of various different mental lists that were, in fact, utter shit. She always needed someone to tell her that, though – that her brain was being useless.

So. What was it?

That was it.

She just hated being sad on Christmas day. She couldn't bear those beautiful people to see her sad on Christmas day.

Lizzie looked at the man – and their eyes met. A mutual flicker of recognition across each other's faces – as if they understood something about each other.

"You should go to your family," he said bluntly, tucking into a chicken nugget.

"Why?" Lizzie was entirely confused.

"Because you're sad."

The words caught Lizzie short, just for a few seconds. She hadn't been expecting them. Was it that obvious? Perhaps with anyone privy to the constant implosion that was her mind, then yes.

But to anyone else… Lizzie had become accustomed to disguising herself. That was, after all, why she was so frequently known as the Grinch, or… whatever else one cared to insult her with. And, in fact, while Lizzie would not credit herself for much, she would certainly credit herself for that.

Though maybe, the man just understood her. He could, perhaps… see through her.

"I'm fine," Lizzie said, like she was trying to bury what the man had said by drinking her strawberry milkshake.

"You… look sad."

That was Lizzie's natural aura. Sad. A bit grumpy. She could hide anything behind that.

"I'm honestly not," she smiled at him, in the way she smiled at the Doctor when she told him not to worry about her.

"Christmas makes it harder."

Lizzie didn't answer back this time. What did one say to that? The words hit so true, that she couldn't even bring herself to lie about them.

"Out there," the man gestured outside the window to his usual spot. "I don't look at the ground because I worry what others think of me. It's just too painful."

Lizzie nodded.

Some things… people just didn't understand.

Lizzie was about to say something, then stopped. It had been a convenient way to change the subject, but, in fact, Lizzie realised it was tactless. She thought to herself, then spoke again.

"Everyone is so bothered about there being a white Christmas. But I guess that for you, it's awful?"

"It's not great."

"Sorry."

"Don't have anything to apologise for. Don't know why people get so worked up about snow anyway."

"Yeah?"

"I like the lights," the man said. "Look out there now."

The lights on Oxford Street. Beautiful.

"Yeah," Lizzie agreed. "They're beautiful."

"Aren't they? Guiding people home…"

May all your troubles soon be gone, those Christmas lights, keep shining on. Some song lyric, one that had just become faintly lodged in her head. She liked it. Maybe, one day, her troubles would be gone, and those lights would guide her there. The man had used a funny choice of words.

"Can't do you any much harm to go home," the man said. "Warmth. People to love. Maybe not happiness, but at least…"

"I'm… not worried about the harm it'd do me."

She was lying. She totally was.

There was a pause.

"Why'd you say that? About Christmas lights… guiding people home?"

"They guided me home."

"Yeah?"

"Not literally. Few years ago, I realised something. It was Christmas night, and I saw the lights. That was all."

She did not know what it was he realised.

"Haven't slept in a bed for longer than a night since."

Lizzie wondered what he could have realised, that could have brought him out to the streets. She didn't need to know. It was okay for her not to know.

Now he was the one who looked sad. "It's okay to be sad at Christmas."

"I know… doesn't make it any easier."

"No. No, 'course not."

"But promise me you won't stay out?" he insisted

"I can't promise that…"

"You have a place to go. There might just be a light, somewhere, that'll make you realise that not all hope is lost, and not all love is gone. Christmas? The hardest time, for so many – and that's fine. But we can get through it, hmm?"

Lizzie smiled.

"Yeah. Yeah, we can."

They didn't even know each other's names. But that was okay. Like ships passing in the night.

Lizzie eventually made it up to the top of the last stair – and she stood, outside her flat. She watched the door, just for a few seconds. Home. Perhaps she would be alone at Christmas… but Lizzie felt okay about it. Because no longer was she trapped in feeling guilty about being sad at Christmas.

While she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a wallower – Lizzie would be happy in living her life as she always did. And maybe she'd put on a few Christmas specials. She liked Christmas specials.

She smiled, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was quite tired. It was late, and as sleeping was entirely out of the question, she decided that she'd go inside, make herself a nice cup of tea, and slump down in the armchair. Lizzie would read her book for a while – maybe she'd lose consciousness at the bidding of slumber, but it didn't matter if not. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door.

However, Lizzie was quite taken aback – for the lights were on. Now… Lizzie could distinctly remember turning the lights off before she'd left the flat, simply because she remembered Iris leaving them on, and she remembered herself complaining about it, declaring it a waste of electricity.

But they were on. Quietly, Lizzie entered the flat. She snuck in, passed Iris' general piles of clutter building up at various intervals on the floor. There didn't seem to be anybody about… but Lizzie continued, out into the main body of the flat. It seemed entirely empty, just as the rest of the flat had done. So, she walked further out into the flat, senses honed, ready to run away from any intruders.

But there was nobody to b –

"Hello," came a voice a few metres to the right of her.

Lizzie jumped, almost leaping backwards to catch a good look of the voice she recognised pretty instantly. "Jesus ch – oh," she spluttered, as the familiarity finally registered with her brain.

The Doctor. He was stood there in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. However, at the sight of her shock, he quickly placed the mug on one of the kitchen surfaces and dashed over to Lizzie as quickly as he could. "Sorry, sorry, sorry – it's me."

"Yes," Lizzie protested, trying desperately to catch her breath, and having to sit down in one of the armchairs to fully regain herself. "I can see that! I thought somebody had broken in…"

"Sorry – do you want my tea to recuperate?"

Lizzie sounded the situation out further. "Have you drunk from it?"

"A bit."

"Eww. No thanks."

The Doctor shrugged. "None taken."

Rather irritatingly, the Doctor had a face that was very difficult not to smile at. He had wandered over to the balcony, and was looking out at the night sky. Christmas morning – and the stars shone brightly over London. His face shone in the moonlight and the starlight, and the Doctor thought that it all looked quite beautiful.

"You've got a lovely view here," the Doctor smiled, his voice distant, almost as if it were being carried off into space by the stars outside the window.

"Yeah," Lizzie smiled, standing up to join him. It was cold, by the window, and she pulled her coat close around her – but although it was cold, Lizzie didn't feel as if she wanted to get away from it.

Perhaps, inside, she felt okay enough not to care. The Doctor and Lizzie looked out the window – the small hours was always the weirdest time to be awake… because nobody else was. The world had a strange quality to it – of utter peace and contentment. It only felt stronger, on a morning like Christmas.

"Wait," Lizzie said, suddenly realising something. "You bought this place and you never even checked it out?"

The Doctor looked sheepishly to the ground. "I was very tied up. Cioné came, though. She approved."

"You're ridiculous," Lizzie shook her head, a smile dancing across her face. "I thought you liked architecture…"

"I do," the Doctor admitted. "Just… not this sort of architecture."

"You're so middle-class," Lizzie chuckled. Had anybody told her a year ago that her best friend would be a middle-class Edwardian gentleman, she'd have laughed in their face.

"I'm not!" the Doctor protested.

"Such a champagne socialist…"

The Doctor jokingly scowled at her. "I… do my bit."

"Look," Lizzie continued. "Nothing wrong with having money and being a socialist. So long as you practise what you preach."

The Doctor smiled, holding onto the windowsill and gently rocking backwards on the balls of his feet. It was like he was trying to hold onto the moment – holding it closely to himself. That was, perhaps, something that everyone should do at Christmas. Hold onto things, as one never knows when they might end. And so the Doctor treasured it – himself, and Lizzie.

"It's been… the weirdest year," Lizzie admitted. It felt as if it had gone on forever, and as if so many weird things had happened. Well. So many weird things had happened. When she looked back on the person she had been at the start of the year… they were so different. Almost two different people. And yet, at the same time… almost exactly the same. Lizzie had learned to live – and at the same time, she was still tired of living. She had come to terms with her depression – and there were still days when she wanted nothing more than for life to just… stop.

And that was the hardest thing. To know what a crazy year it had been, and to know that there were just going to be more of them. That life was just going to keep coming at her, thick and fast, and that it would keep wearing her down. And it scared Lizzie to think what might happen if she ever broke again, like she when the universe had ended and she'd faced a childhood version of herself. Again – another weird thing that had happened in the space of a year.

But what defined it, more than anything? Perhaps it was that now, finally, Lizzie had learned to be sad. Accepted how she felt – all the time, and at Christmastime.

Not much of an achievement.

But it still made the impossible make sense, just a bit.

As she looked to the Doctor, she remembered. He'd packed a lifetime into her one year – literally, the start of his daughter's lifetime. So many years for him, all wrapped around one for her – and he could see it in his eyes, the age weighing on them. It always confused her, and made her brain hurt, the way their times had aligned. And at the same time, it didn't matter.

They were still together, at that moment, looking out the window.

"How did you know?" Lizzie asked. She knew he would understand what she meant. Lizzie had built something with him – and the Doctor would understand.

"It's Christmas. I just… know these things."

Lizzie sighed, and smiled, for she hadn't expected an actual answer.

Though, in a way, that was enough of an answer.

"Why did you lie to us?" the Doctor asked her. The words were a slap around the face, for she hadn't actually thought about it. She'd just… done it, as if it were the subconscious thing that she always did.

Lizzie thought about it – and then realised. That's why she'd done it. Because it was the subconscious thing she always did. Lizzie was simply being herself. Same old Lizzie Darwin. Again. Barely changed. Still a coward. The girl who couldn't bear to face Christmas – and so just decided to run from it.

"Didn't want to… rain on your parade, or whatever," Lizzie shrugged it off, as if it meant nothing.

"You're not a coward, Lizzie. We understand, though. I do." The Doctor. Reading between the lines of what she said – she felt it's what he spent half of his time doing.

Lizzie nodded. The Doctor knew she understood.

"Merry Christmas, Elizabeth Darwin."

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

They stood, and watched the stars for a few minutes.

And then suddenly, the Doctor snapped his fingers. Lizzie looked up at him, entirely bemused – and that's when the TARDISes started to arrive. Slowly they faded into existence, just as they always did – and Lizzie felt that flare of hope rise up inside her, just as it always did.

Cioné's TARDIS appeared like a bookshelf, and she emerged carrying several paper bags. And from the iconic blue police box, Iris and Kym also came out carrying several paper bags.

"Merry Christmas, darling," Cioné walked over, and gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek. "Sorry – don't get too close, I'll get you terribly greasy, if you'll pardon the innuendo."

"Eww," Iris grimaced, dumping her set of paper bags on the kitchen table. "Mum, that's gross."

"SISTAAAA," shouted Kym, pointing at Lizzie, waiting for Lizzie to point back. Tentatively, Lizzie did as

she desired, before Kym swooped in and hugged Lizzie.

"Oh, bloody hell," came a voice from the corner of the room.

Kym gasped audibly. "O. M. G," Kym spun on her heels (a description that was, in multiple ways, quite apt), and turned to confront the individual who had just prowled down the hallway and into the living room. "ULY, MY G," Kym yelled at the cat, bouncing over to him and scooping him up into her arms.

Lizzie had never seen such an accurate grumpy-cat impersonation, as Ulysses resigned himself to being engulfed by Kym's arms. Iris giggled, and Lizzie smiled too.

She glanced over, to see Cioné fumbling through the cupboards, clattering crockery as she hunted for plates – which weren't anywhere to be seen. "Do you lot ever wash anything up?" she muttered.

"Nah," Iris slumped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table.

"Yes," Lizzie said. "Well. I do. Ulysses dries."

At that moment, Ulysses deftly leapt down from Kym's arms, causing Kym to squeal slightly. "I do…," he murmured in his silky, dulcet tones.

"You wash things up?" Iris looked up at Lizzie, entirely confused. "I just assumed we had a lot of plates…"

Cioné gasped. "Oh my goodness, Lizzie, I am so sorry. I cannot believe my sprog's behaviour."

"Can we get a dishwasher?" Iris enquired.

By this point, the Doctor had already sat down in one of the armchairs, and was reading The Guardian over the rim of his glasses. "If you behave."

"Dad, I'm 108, not 42."

"Really?" the Doctor murmured, not looking up from the crossword. "Going by your inability to wash things up, I wouldn't have realised…"

Iris looked up, laughing in shock at her father's brutality.

"O.M.G," Kym proclaimed, revelling in the Doctor's cutting remark. "Savage."

"Right everyone, grub's up," Cioné began taking the polystyrene tubs out of their paper bags. "Sorry – we've just got fish and chips, as I've just burned the turkey hauling a planet into a new orbit. It was causing a traffic jam. Ulysses, I got you a battered sausage as well."

"Uly loves a battered sausage," Iris chuckled, swooping off the chair and descending for one of the polystyrene tubs and a plastic knife and fork, before returning to her undisputed place on the sofa.

"I can't think of much better," Ulysses prowled, as Lizzie came over to her armchair with a container of fish and chips for herself, and Ulysses' fish and chips (with battered sausage), placing it down on the ground in front of him.

The Doctor stood up to get his food, but before he could return, Kym had descended into his chair, leaving the Doctor looking around in dismay.

"Sorry old man!" Kym smiled breezily.

"That's the point," the Doctor said, hauling over a kitchen chair. "I am old, I need the seat."

"Kym, if you don't give it to him you'll be my best friend forever," Iris turned around and called behind her.

"Look Doc-brain," Kym explained. "You ain't been walking about in heels."

The Doctor resigned himself to not getting a seat, but smiled to himself as he opened his food and readied his plastic cutlery. Best Christmas dinner ever, he smiled to himself.

Lizzie thought the same, in fact.

Cioné now descended over to Iris, having the bravery to slump down beside her daughter on the sofa. "Budge up."

"No!" Iris protested. It was almost a statute that the entire sofa belonged to Iris, and if anybody else sat on it, they were probably going to die. However, Cioné did not care for the law, and shifted her daughter along anyway. She laughed at her mother's uncaringness, and Cioné couldn't help but chuckle too.

And this was them. Her crazy family. This lot, and Maggie too.

"Well, everyone," the Doctor stood up. "I'd like to propose a toast."

"To my sanity, hopefully…," Iris murmured.

"To a merry Christmas," the Doctor declared. "And a very happy new year."

"To a merry Christmas," they all said. "And a very happy new year."

And for the briefest of seconds, Lizzie was content.

They had all left her to it. Kym had gone off to some party down the road. Iris was out somewhere with Jada. The Doctor and Cioné had gone off to watch Love Actually.

And Lizzie thought that was that. It had been the most incredible time – and for someone who didn't always find Christmas the easiest of times, Lizzie certainly felt, just this once, that it had been alright.

The dilemma she'd spent so long wrestling with… she'd settled it, in her own way. And now, she could be content. So, Lizzie had taken her book, and curled up in the armchair. It could not be denied that regardless how depressed she had felt at Christmas before, that there was always something strangely peaceful about the season.

For once, Lizzie now felt at peace.

She knew it, for the fact she was alone – and she was content.

It was at that moment, however, that there was a knock on the door. If it was the Salvation Army, Lizzie would be fuming, and tell them to go away. Well. Maybe not so abruptly. She would politely tell them to leave her alone. It was, then, with great confusion, that Lizzie took herself over to the door, absolutely in the dark as to who she might be about to greet.

With nervousness, and slight trepidation, Lizzie put her hand on the door handle – and gently, she opened it.

There he was. Leo.

"Hello. I'm collecting for the Salvation Army, can I come in and tell you about the important work we do?"

Lizzie looked at him, a sarcastically miserable look on her face. He smiled, charming and a little bit cheeky, and for a few seconds she was just a little bit tempted to shut the door in his face. It was perhaps a good thing that Leo was so rubbish at keeping a straight face, and also that Lizzie was too rubbish at pretending to be angry. She held open the door, shaking her head and smiling.

"Come in."

The only time she would ever open the door to someone from the 'Salvation Army'. He followed her in, traipsing down the corridor after her, negotiating his way around Iris general piles of clutter.

There was something about the way that Leo walked, as if he were trekking into a place where he didn't belong – like the way that Lizzie walked, whenever she left the TARDIS onto some strange new world. Slight nervousness and trepidation.

She didn't want Leo to feel like that, as he made his way inside, still wearing his coat.

"Just, er…," Lizzie pointed to the coat-hooks.

"Oh, er, yeah," he took off his coat, and after a few failed attempts, hung it up. "Thanks," he said, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked into the living room – and then deciding not to put his hands in his pockets – and then re-deciding to put his hands in his pockets.

"Tea? Coffee?" Lizzie asked.

"Oh, er… not just yet."

"So…," Lizzie said, making her way over to the sofa and sitting on it. Leo did the same, though it was more of a perch, as if he felt entirely like he had to be on his best behaviour. He was only a few feet away – and yet… Lizzie felt distant. Stuck from the real him, trapped behind some walls of awkward social gesture and ritual "What can I do for you?"

Like she was in a shop. Forced, unnatural smile. Sometimes Lizzie was spellbound that she ever managed to find a job serving people in a café. Clearly the Dunsworthian employee pool had been sparse.

Bloody hell, Lizzie, she told herself. Come on.

"I just wanted to bring you this," Leo presented her with a gift. She took it, and awkwardly smiled.

She hated receiving gifts – she sort of… never knew how to react. Of course, 'gratefully' was the obvious answer. But it felt like a matter of course – something that Leo was doing simply because he was doing it. And that was the whole thing about them.

That was why it never worked.

Because they did what couples did. What all fresh-faced naïve, uncertain early-day people in relationships did. All the standard stuff, the awkwardness, the pussyfooting, as Iris had put. They walked upon the walls of the conduct of a relationship – when between the two of them, one might ask, what was there? Of course, there was something between the two of them – but what was being made of it, what sort of connection being created?

They didn't do what they did. They didn't understand each other.

"Oh, er… thanks. You want me to open it now, or…"

"Whenever you want."

"Yeah, er, okay. I'll – I'll open it later."

No. No, you stupid girl, Lizzie said to herself. He wants you to open it now. Moron. However, no matter what protestations emerged from her brain, she put the present to the side, and turned back to Leo.

"Anyway, yeah. Wanted to bring you that. And, er… well, Iris texted me –"

Immediately, Lizzie was a little bit on edge. They had been talking about her behind her back. Again. Not a big problem. Loads of people did that. Probably. All the time. Even so – a confirmation of it only made it a little bit harder to listen to. Clearly, he either noticed a look a look on her face, or realised his very poor choice of words.

"No," he tried to backtrack, or correct himself, or whatever. It didn't work. "I mean – I was on my own. I… heard that you were on your own. And thought, well. Yeah."

"Oh. Well, er, thanks."

Lizzie was struck by that. The fact that Leo was on his own at Christmas.

"Not spending Christmas with family?" she asked, entirely intrigued.

Leo shook his head grimly. "Told them I was in Austria skiing because they're manipulative and nasty."

Lizzie was quite taken aback by his answer – it hadn't been the sort of thing she'd been expecting from someone who was usually not exactly… confrontational. For a few seconds she wasn't exactly sure what to say.

"You got rid of your manipulative parents by manipulating them?" Lizzie looked at him incredulously. "Nice."

"Eh. No worse than anything they've ever done to me."

"Hmm…," Lizzie mused.

And that's when she realised. It wasn't just… small things. Little things that they were talking about, discussing. Leo had known about it. The way she'd lied to everyone. And that's when it dawned on her – the feeling of having almost no control over any of it – everyone talking about her, discussing her, judging her and the things she did. Why would she want to be in a relationship with someone who did that?

"Wait," she looked up at him, a look of something that was… almost the feeling of having been betrayed, etched upon her face. "Iris told you that?"

"No, well –"

"Don't lie to me, Leo."

"Well, yeah."

There was something about him, then. He wasn't all sweet, and awkward, and funny. There was something sneaky about him, in that moment. Devious. Not much – but in a way, it reminded her of herself. Not that Lizzie would call herself devious… but Lizzie could lie, if she wanted to. She was good at it. And there it was – another parallel, between the two of them. One that was, perhaps, a bit darker…

"And do you talk about me often?"

NoLizziewhywouldyousaythatyoustupidgirl.

It wasn't meant to sound confrontational. It bloody well did sound confrontational, though – but it had just slipped out.

"No, no – of course not. I was just – can we not argue? It's Christmas."

"Sorry," Lizzie said, quickly shrugging it off. In a way… Lizzie quite liked it when they argued. It made things between the two of them a little bit interesting – when, the rest of the time, they weren't.

"It's just… Liz," Leo said. "Sometimes I feel like… you're so reserved –"

Oh, here we go again. Blame me for having trust issues. "Wow, Leo," she said, standing up and walking over to the kitchen, trying to increase the distance between him and her as much as possible.

"That's not a low blow at all."

"I just think you need to be more open." Leo's response was almost like he was advising her on some essay she'd written. Some teacher having marked it, giving her feedback to act upon.

"What? Like the guy who's been talking about me with my sister behind my back?"

… Shit.

Lizzie realised she was getting quite confrontational. She liked it. She liked it a lot. Was this what it was like to argue? To properly argue? In fact… in the funniest of ways, she was quite getting into it. It was cathartic.

"I was looking out for you!" Leo grumbled. That typical masculine response. It was quite fitting that as he proclaimed his dutiful gallantry he stropped angry, like any male did, to the other side of the room.

"You were being weird!" Lizzie retorted back. She didn't even know what she was arguing about – but she was getting into it, whatever it was. Cathartic – why? Maybe because this had been building up inside for so long – feelings towards Leo that she just needed to… get rid of, in some way.

"Me? Being weird? Liz, I'm not the one who is quiet and socially awkward to the point of difficult –"

Says the person who is socially inept as hell, Lizzie thought, as Leo continued.

" – who spends more time watching Coronation Street than she does actually living her life."

"Well at least I don't have a nervous disposition that I don't try and hide from by making jokes about everything and trying to be a charming idiot. Seriously, Leo, 'it's always funny', there are some things you just shouldn't make jokes about."

"Well what can I do? You're not exactly a laugh a minute, you're mopey as hell."

"Mopey as hell!?" Lizzie realised she was full-on shouting now, but she didn't care. "Just because I have the emotional maturity to deal with more than two emotions, then yes, Leo, that's me. Mopey as hell. Also, quite frankly, don't judge what I am or what I've been through by the standards of your own, self-centred little brain. It's not all about you! Just because I'm upset doesn't mean I'm annoyed at you, I probably fell over my shoelaces or something. Seriously, don't flatter yourself."

"I just want people to be happy!"

"By what? By thinking the sun shines out of your arse, or by embracing that whole, 'oh, look at me, I'm so sweet and awkward and funny and cute and charming', act?"

"Clearly I have a stable personality. I'm not the one who won't commit to a relationship," Leo said.

"Then, for Christs' sake, just move in or something, I don't care."

Huh.

Lizzie had meant to correct him on the fact that it wasn't her who couldn't commit, but what she'd said instead had just sort of come out. She didn't even know what she was saying now – Lizzie was just saying it – speaking how she felt. In fact, in a way… it was the first time she'd ever done it.

And Lizzie felt more alive than ever before.

"You want me to move in?"

"Yes. I do. But you're just being really, really, ann –"

Leo was laughing.

And suddenly, it fell into place. All of it – to say that the tension entirely evaporated would be too idealistic… but it was at that moment that the walls fell down. To think that once, she'd dreamed him up. But this person… he wasn't a dream. He was an entirely different, real, alive, thing.

And as Leo looked up, he saw Lizzie. She was a girl who, perhaps confused her. Scared her, a little bit.

And then Lizzie started laughing as well.

"I've never seen that side to you," said Leo, laughing. Secretly, he was quite amazed

"I've never seen that side to me."

They both kept laughing.

"I'm – I'm sorry," Lizzie said, murmuring through broken breaths.

"Me too," when Leo caught sight of her again, they couldn't stop. They just kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing.

Perhaps that's what they'd needed… to just shout at each other.

"Can I actually move in?" Leo said, looking a bit too excited.

"Er… sure?" Lizzie was quite shocked – they'd gone from a lull to Leo suddenly moving in. "I think?"

Should she ask Iris? She should probably ask Iris. And Ulysses. And Ky – no. No, Kym had no reason to know – Kym didn't actually live with them, although occasionally, it did feel as if she did.

"Brilliant!" Leo exclaimed. "Wow. Okay. Wow."

"Alright, calm down. You'd have thought Christmas had come early…," and as Lizzie said it, she realised it was a very poor choice of words, considering it was actually Christmas.

Leo sniggered, and then stood up, as if waiting for something.

"So? Show me around! It'll be like an episode of… whatever it is."

"Cribs?" Lizzie suggested, still sat down and looking up at him like he'd lost his marbles.

"Yeah," Leo said. "Probably. I dunno, I've… not seen it."

"It's… good," Lizzie said, realising that if she told Leo she watched it he'd probably think she did nothing but watch TV. Which to be fair, was a bit true.

"Please? Just a quick tour?"

Lizzie yielded, and stood up. "Fine. It's not that exciting…"

Lizzie shifted around to the back of the sofa.

"This is the sofa," she explained. "You can't sit on it when Iris is here."

Leo looked quite unnerved.

"Don't ask, you just… can't."

"Right…"

Lizzie guided him around to their hallway, where the other rooms extended from.

"Bedrooms," Lizzie skipped over all that as quickly as possible. "Coat-rack. Shoe-rack. Bookshelves. Iris' clutter. Bathroom. Er… yeah. That's it really."

"Well. It's a lovely place, Liz."

"Yeah. It's nice enough. Oh," Lizzie pointed at the light in the bathroom. "It's temperamental. We need to get a new bulb. So don't go around, like… randomly pulling the switch thing hard or… or anything."

Lizzie walked into the centre of the flat, and stopped, leaning back on the sofa.

"Yeah. That's it."

Leo sort of… hovered. Lizzie had noticed he had quite a way of doing that… wanting to say something, but never quite saying it. Again – another thing that she found herself doing a lot.

"Ten minutes ago… you were shouting your head off at me? What changed? Am I dreaming? I mean, wow, if you were in by dream, I don't know, I'd be… yeah," he started laughing.

It was a question that had been bugging him. Some… niggling insecurity. He had a lot of those… and he needed them put to bed.

Lizzie shrugged, pretending not to know the answer. In reality, she did. When she'd been having a go at him… she'd seen him for who he was. Maybe that was why she got so caught up in it… but now, Lizzie felt she understood Leo in a way she hadn't before. That she grasped his insecurities, his quirks, and his intricacies. He understood her, what she had been through. He found a lot in life to laugh about, perhaps because otherwise, the world was just too dark. She had seen a sort of… cowardice brewing in him, and the occasional flash of egocentricity as well.

"I don't want to do this, Lizzie, if it's going to put too much strain on you."

But she also saw the way that he had a heart. Leo tried to get things right, even if he couldn't always manage it.

"I dunno," Lizzie lied. That was a habit she needed to get out of. "I mean – you're not dreaming. I think. Probably."

She paused, and then walked over to the kitchen.

"Tea? Coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely."

Lizzie pottered over to the cupboard, and took out the teabags. "I think," she said hesitantly. "Iris said it earlier. I think… we're not pussyfooting anymore."

"Pfft," Leo sniggered, also seemingly tickled by the word. Everyone was, apparently. Lizzie also found it faintly amusing – though Leo's amusement made her laugh more.

"Don't laugh at me," Lizzie smiled and turned away at the same time, as she fumbled around for the teapot. "What I mean, is…, " she tried to find the words. She wasn't sure they would make any sense. "I think…"

Oh… it just wasn't going her way.

"I understand you," she admitted. "That's it. You're not just a scary image of something…"

"… scary person?" he chuckled.

"… that I go out for dinner with occasionally, and sometimes go to the cinema with. You're an actual real… person. I think before, I loved the idea of a relationship."

The dream of it.

"… whereas now," Lizzie continued. "I think…"

Those were the words.

"I think now, I love you."

They stopped, in the middle of the kitchen. Lizzie even put the teapot down on the counter, just so she could wait for what he had to say. There we go – that was clearly the start of something. Not many people Lizzie would delay tea production for.

Leo was about to say it – or at least, say what she thought he was going to say. So she stopped him.

"Don't say it – I don't want it to be something you just… reply to. I had to say it then, because I had to accept it. I don't ever want those words to become something we just… say for the sake of it."
Leo nodded. He understood. He always seemed to understand.

She reached up, gently put a hand on his face. For a few seconds, she just stared at him. Then, she kissed him.

"Merry Christmas, Liz," he said to her.

"Merry Christmas, Leo."

Then Lizzie walked back over to the kettle, which she removed from its stand and put under the sink, where she began to fill it with water.

"Where'd you keep the biscuits?" Leo asked.

"Er… top cupboard, there on the left."

"Thanks...," he murmured, as he slunk past her as she moved around him to start boiling the water.

Leo opened the cupboard, where he saw the biscuits, loitering at the back. He fumbled for them, but accidentally knocked over two packets of pasta in the process and a stray pot noodle (Iris had taken quite a liking to them). "Oops," he muttered, trying to sort out the cupboard. Lizzie thought it was quite nice being the more coordinated of the two of them.

"Just balance them back up again. Actually – what's the use-by date on that pot noodle?"

Leo glanced at it, the gasped. "Two-years ago."

They hadn't even been living in that flat for two months, let alone two years.

"Bin it," Lizzie grimaced. "Like… right now."

Leo did as he was told, and then went back to fishing out the biscuits. Meanwhile, the little switch on the kettle popped, and Lizzie took it off, before pouring the boiling water into the mugs. And as she did so, everything around her began to blend into something strange, and menial, and… constant.

The monotony of every-day life, the sort of constancy she'd wanted to escape from with Leo.

Except… this time. It wasn't bad.

This time, it was good. Because this wasn't them… lulling, or pussyfooting, or anything of the sort.

Now, Lizzie was content. Because she loved him – and because of that, the simple act of doing the simple things of living, felt so much more… real. So much more alive.

And finally, Lizzie felt happy at Christmas. It was okay for her to feel sad at Christmas – but this year, she felt she had been accepted. That she had been loved.

And not only by Leo Akram – although, of course, he made her so very happy.

But Lizzie felt like she had been loved by everyone. In this crazy year of her life, she had met the Doctor, who had shown her what it meant to feel alive. She had met Cioné, and her quirkiness. And Iris, too – her sister – although not biologically, but what did blood ties mean? All of it, along with Maggie's guidance, and Kym's audaciousness, and Ulysses' wit.

Leo making her happy.

And that was it. Lizzie felt loved. And while the year had its ups and downs, at least Lizzie could, quite certainly, say that.

As Lizzie poured the tea, she glanced out of her window.

She saw the Christmas lights, lighting up the world.