Year Yaw
Words: 205
Um . . . hi?
"So," Donna swung back and forth on her heels—wow, she needed to stop that, she was just like the Doctor, now—and looked the Doctor straight in the eye. "Christmas Eve, 2009. Absolutely sure, are you?"
"Of course I am," he laughed. "When have you known me to miss?"
A glower. A very glowery glower, and the Doctor gulped.
"Christmas Eve, 2009, Doctor," Donna enunciated. "Not 2008, not 2010, not January or November. My mum's expecting me, and Granddad's waiting for us both."
"He is?" the Doctor was flattered, and Donna couldn't mistake his blush for TARDIS lighting. "I think we're here."
"Got the presents?" Donna asked, and, without waiting for an answer, went outside.
The Doctor picked up the bag—too many presents, in his opinion, too heavy—and followed her. Only to fall onto his backside, knocked over by Donna's still form.
"Donna?"
"Two. Thousand. And. Nine. Doctor."
She marched back through the TARDIS doors, leaving a flabbergasted Doctor lying on the threshold of a time machine and—he stuck his tongue out to taste the atmosphere, which told him just as much as the man in the top hat that was walking on the opposite street—1909.
"At least it's Chiswick!"
Sorry.
Thanks for reading (a month late)!