Well here we are, then. We're now officially halfway through the Christmas season.
I really don't want it to end…
I ALSO WATCHED The Husbands of River Song.
OHMYGOODNESS. THE FEELS ARE UNBELIEVABLE. AT FIRST I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO THINK, BECAUSE I SUPPORT ELEVEN/RIVER MORE THAN ANY OTHER RIVER/DOCTOR SHIPPING, BUT ELEVEN WASN'T PUT DOWN AT ALL IN THE EPISODE!
IT WAS FUNNY AND FRESH AND HEARTWARMING AND HEARTBREAKING AND I CAN'T BELIEVE HOW WELL-WRITTEN IT WAS FOR A MOFFAT EPISODE AND I STILL HAVE HOPE FOR THE FUTURE OF DOCTOR WHO!
Also, "Damsel".
That is all.
For those who haven't seen it yet, you're missing out on something fantastic.
(Something that I use to watch stuff like Doctor Who and The Flash is called put locker .is [just get rid of spaces]. You don't need to set up an account or anything, so it's a good option if you don't have Netflix. Or if Netflix doesn't have the latest seasons up yet.)
In unrelated news, I went to several stores dressed up as the Doctor in order to fulfill the requirements of a scholarship. I didn't think that scholarships would end up involving stuff I really liked. I had a lot of fun running around and acting in-character, despite the fact that no one made any noticeably Whovian comments.
Meretricious!
(And a Happy New Year!)
God bless and have a Merry Christmas!
ThePro-LifeCatholic
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't own Christmas. All I own are the self-inflicted feels that do me more harm than good. It's a burden that I simply have to bear.
ErinKenobi2893: I know…so much Doctor angst going on. And you're only on the third day, last time I checked. Trust me, it gets worse.
As to your Eight/Rose story, I'm afraid I'm the least qualified person to ask. I have heard of Pacific Rim, but I know nothing about it. At all. And I'm not learned in the ways and adventure(s) of the 8th Doctor. It's nice to know that you value my opinion, though. I'm really quite honored.
Writing Prompt: 6th Day of Christmas
Characters: 10th Doctor, Donna Noble, Wilf Mott, Sylvia Noble
Shippings: None
Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship/Christmas-y
Rating: K, mild K+
On the Sixth Day of Christmas
The Doctor let me see:
Tea after Midnight,
SURPRISE SNOW FIGHTS!
Carols from the past;
Mugs of Hot Chocolate,
A new red bike;
And a small Babe asleep in the hay.
For the longest time after Donna Noble forgot, she received many items of clothing as anonymous presents on all special occasions. Dresses, tops, skirts, fancy pants; Christmas, her birthday, her wedding anniversary. One year she got a red-and-white-striped hatbox with a unique and lavish headpiece nestled within a bed of white tissue paper.
They were the perfect outfits, and they matched her as if they had belonged to her before she had acquired them.
Wilf and Sylvia would exchange glances whenever the unmarked box or bag was pulled out from its hiding place beneath the tree, but they never said anything. The wrapping paper was somewhat sloppily done, as if the person didn't have enough skill or patience (or both) to polish the final result. It was usually very glittery, or covered in scrolls and swirls and complex designs. A bow was often perched precariously on top of the package as a finishing touch.
Thankfully, Donna never seemed to tire of getting only clothes as gifts from her Secret Santa. There were times when she would stroke the fabric fondly, with an expression that blended perplexity with something almost sad. Other times, though, it was only happiness and excitement that shone forth from her countenance, and she would rush to try on the new outfit and show it off to the rest of the household.
Every year this happened, and every year Wilfred and Sylvia discussed how they were going to repay the man (or more accurately, alien) who bestowed (returned) such lovely gifts to his companion. And every year, the Christmas season or holiday or special occasion would pass by in a blur of laughter, cooking, cleaning, and gift-exchanging, with no time to consider the mysterious Secret Santa.
It was Christmas Eve of 2015 when Wilf Mott finally managed to catch him. Time and again the old man had failed to herald his friend's coming, and this year he stubbornly decided to do something more about it. So he retired to his bedroom early, not even bothering to go up the hill, so as to convince the women of the house that he was really in bed and asleep.
Once the lights went out in the rest of the house, and the low buzz of talking finally ceased, Wilf creaked open his door and quietly took account of the rest of the household. The front room was empty, save for pieces of furniture and the brightly-lit tree that stood in one corner of the room. Several packages had been stuffed beneath its leafy bows, ready-and-waiting for tomorrow's festivities.
The fire in the fireplace had faded into nothing more than a handful of red coals; Wilf stooped down and pocked them with the stocker until a few small, crackling flames began to dance merrily. He straightened up slowly, wincing as a jolt of pain traveled down his back.
Then he moved to the kitchen, where he attempted to get the kettle out of the cupboard without waking anyone. He was successful, despite the fact that he nearly dropped it several times. In went water and some tea bags. Reaching into another cabinet, Wilf produced two glass cups, which he placed side-by-side next to the stove. He then returned to the front room, where he settled himself on the comfy love seat. All he had to do now was wait.
Wilf had taken care to snatch a nap earlier that day, but tiredness still hit him hard as he leaned back on the cushions. The only sounds were the snapping of the fire, and the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall. Despite his gallant attempts to remain wide awake, it wasn't too long before his eyelids began to flutter shut, almost of their own accord. His body relaxed, and his breathing came slowly and steadily. The warmth of the fire was perfect for fighting off the chill in the air on that cold winter's night. Little shadows flickered and raced across the walls of the room. Silence reigned in the house.
He must've fallen completely asleep, because the next thing he knew, Wilfred was starting out of his chair at the sound of the nob rattling. He froze, eyes fixed on the front door. A strange buzzing noise reached his ears, followed by the *click* of a lock. A shadow entered the room, and a silhouette made its way towards the tree.
"Hey, you," Wilf called softly. The figure froze up, the tips of his brown hair seeming to stand on-end. In a quick and silent movement, the unexpected guest faced the love seat.
"What d'you think you're doing, eh?" Wilf stage-whispered, "Are you pretendin' to be the Ghost of Christmas Present or something?"
The stranger considered these questions before shrugging and shaking his head.
"Just giving Santa a bit of a break," he answered, walking over to the tree. He crouched down and rearranged the presents before placing a small box carefully, almost reverently, on top of a larger gift. Then he leaned back to examine his handiwork.
For a long moment the two men didn't speak or acknowledge each other. Wilf, still settled comfortably on the couch, took in the man's appearance; from the bright red shoes on his feet to the sticky-uppy hair that seemed to have a life of its own. His face was long, thin, and shadows cast from the fire played on his countenance. Brown eyes, looking so old and tired, stared listlessly at the flames. Having grown uncomfortable with the silence, Wilf cleared his throat.
"I've got some tea brewing, if you'd like a cuppa," he offered. "Just don't wake the ladies. They retired hours ago."
For the first time since his arrival, the Doctor smiled. "Shouldn't you be in bed also?" he countered. Wilf shook his head.
"All those times you've been leavin' gifts for my little girl, and you thought I wouldn't find a way to thank you some time or another?" He huffed obstinately. "Sylvia and I promised to show our thanks, and this is how I'm going to do it."
The Doctor chuckled, and a glint of warmth flashed in his eyes. But it was soon gone, replaced by the tired coldness that came only with loss and rejection. Wilf fiddled with his fingers, despondency replacing his initial optimistic hope. It was Christmas, and one of his best friends was stuck in a serious rut. He had thought that he could bridge the gap between them, make the Doctor feel better for one night, but here he was with nothing to show for his plans.
"Please, Doctor", he tried again. "Just have one cup. You can leave as soon as you like. Just let me thank you. You do so much for everyone else; it's Christmas. Let the Noble family give you something for once." He looked to the Doctor beseechingly.
His guest continued staring at the flames, not saying anything. In the kitchen, the water inside the kettle had begun to boil, and a pleasant hum alerted Mr. Mott of the oncoming whistle of steam.
Bouncing up from the couch, Wilfred raced to the kitchen, moving the kettle from the stovetop just in time. He poured two steaming glasses of hot tea.
"How much sugar?" a voice queried. Wilf turned to see the Doctor standing next to him, busily dumping several spoonfuls of sugar into one of the mugs. With a grin, the elderly man shoved his glass across the countertop. "A couple scoops will do just fine."
With their tea prepared, the two returned to the front room. Quiet settled once more as the alien and the retired soldier sipped their hot beverages. The peaceful half-hour was gone too quickly, and their cups were soon emptied. The Doctor and Wilf washed the dishes, and Mott accompanied his guest to the door.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said as he opened the front door. The Doctor nodded and smiled.
"It's nothing much. Those clothes belonged to her, anyway. I couldn't very well keep them."
"Not just for them clothes, Doctor. For everything."
The Doctor's face smoothed into a blank slate. He sniffed once, loudly, and cleared his throat. Then, with a parting grin that didn't quite seem to reach his eyes, the Doctor stepped out of the house and onto the empty street. Wilf could see the Doctor's ship parked on the sidewalk just across the road. The Time Lord dashed over to it, patting its side lovingly before opening the blue wooden door.
"Hey, Doctor!" Wilf suddenly shouted, not caring at the moment for the sleeping women in his house. The Doctor glanced over his shoulder. Wilfred cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath.
"Merry Christmas!" he hollered, probably loudly enough to wake the whole neighborhood. The Doctor stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed. To Wilf, that was the best noise he had heard all day long.
"And to you!" the Doctor called back. He waved, then disappeared inside the ship. The whirring groan of the TARDIS engines filled the night; Wilf kept his eyes fixed on the box until it had completely vanished.
"Thank you, Doctor," he murmured. "And a very Merry Christmas to you."
Don't worry, folks. I'll get caught up; I promise.