Goodbye, 2064

3

Thursday, 25th of December

Every Christmas morning since they had gotten married, the Doctor had always woken Clara up at the crack of dawn with absolutely no promise of a lie-in. Clara wished she could say she was used to it, but in truth, she'd usually had enough wines on Christmas Eve that by the time the next morning rolled around it was an ordeal to rise before eleven. And Christmas in 2064 was no different.

She was woken by the Doctor turning on the bedside light, curtains open to reveal it was still dark outside, and sitting down on the edge of the bed next to her, holding a fresh and very enticing cup of coffee under Clara's nose. She could never resist freshly ground coffee.

"Merry Christmas," said the Doctor.

"You're so annoying," Clara mumbled, trying to stretch. "What time is it?"

"Half-past eight."

She groaned, "Why? Why do you do this to me every year?"

"Because! It's Christmas! You can't sleep until midday on Christmas."

"I can, and have done before," she complained, "When I was twenty, dad went on a cruise during December, and I spent Christmas Day on my own. I watched Bridget Jones and ate a load of cocktail sausages, sliced turkey, and mince pies."

"That story gets sadder every time you tell it, Coo."

"You think it was sad, Renée Zellweger and I actually had a lot of fun."

"Bridget Jones isn't even a Christmas movie."

"Of course it's a Christmas movie, it's set at Christmas."

"It's not, Clara," she corrected her softly.

"It is."

"They released it in April."

"Well, that's their mistake, isn't it?" she said huffily. The Doctor gave up; they had had this argument before. Ultimately, the coffee got the better of Clara and she finally forced herself to sit up. Then she was overcome by a lengthy yawn and nearly collapsed down into bed again.

"Wow," said the Doctor, "Impressive."

"Thank you," Clara took her cup of coffee and sipped it, "Is this my secret Christmas coffee recipe?"

"Mixing nutmeg and cinnamon into the grounds isn't that much of a secret. But yes, it's that 'recipe'. You're always the most beautiful when you've just woken up, you know."

"If you say so. But don't expect a compliment in return, I think you're at your most hideous when you wear these ugly Christmas jumpers," said Clara.

"You don't like my sweater?" she looked down at her outfit. She looked like a Christmas tree, all greens and browns with bits of tinsel presumably glued along the seams (very odd tinsel placement). "I made it myself."

"I know – it's strange, isn't it? Because when you wear a normal knitted jumper I think you look great – kind of bookish – which suits you. But combine it with Christmas and suddenly I wish it was just me, Renée Zellweger, and a packet of supermarket cocktail sausages again," said Clara. The Doctor shook her head.

"How long until you're able to drag yourself out of bed and come downstairs, then?"

"How long until you force me?" Clara countered.

"A little while yet. But you've got presents to open and lots of chocolate to eat for breakfast." Of course, they partook in the age-old Christmas tradition of eating as much food as physically possible and then some.

"You don't want to spend some time together before you get trapped in the kitchen all day?"

"It won't be so bad, Jenny's going to get here in a while, and she'll help me cook."

"So many people out there would hate what you've become. Such a… homebody."

"Only until they taste my perfect turkey, then they'll see. But anybody who said something so horrible about me wouldn't be invited to dinner in the first place."

"Everybody says it about you, and you're always inviting people to dinner."

"Well, you oughta stop me. Isn't that a wife's role? To organise dinner parties?"

"You're cooking, so you're the wife."

"How did I get stuck with being the wife?"

"You're demure."

"You're the mure. And I knew you would insist on staying in bed – that's why I, in all my wisdom, brought one of your presents up here. Your other present has to wait until later, though."

"Well, now I'm intrigued; can I have it now?" she asked, running a hand through her hair to try and untangle it a little before she could summon the energy to brush it properly. The Doctor picked up a thin envelope that had been on the bed next to her and handed it to Clara. "You got me a book token, wow."

"Very funny."

"I'm not being funny," lied Clara, "But this envelope is exactly the size and shape of a book token." She left her coffee mug suspended in the air next to her and carefully opened the envelope, sliding out two pieces of paper that were significantly more exciting than book tokens (which, admittedly, she did find exciting). "Oh my stars – you got me Hadestown tickets?"

"They're not any Hadestown tickets; they're for the closing night of the off-Broadway run, in 2016," the Doctor explained, "I hear it's a riot." Clara almost knocked her coffee onto the bed in her hurry to drag the Doctor over for a hug to show her gratefulness. "But I could probably swap them for a book token if you want?"

"Now who's trying to be funny?" said Clara, squeezing her. She laughed. "We'll have to take the TARDIS and go before the holidays are over."

"Absolutely."

"Really puts the small present I got you to shame, though," Clara said after she let go.

"Don't tell me – I'll work out what you got me with my psychic powers."

"You will, will you?" Clara asked incredulously. The Doctor put a hand to her head and feigned like she was thinking very deeply for a few seconds.

"It's a vibrator. I saw it in your mind's eye."

"Am I really so obvious?" said Clara.

"I found it when I was looking around for spare batteries a few weeks ago."

"What? And you opened it?" She had wrapped and hidden it in the end table as soon as she'd bought it.

"I merely moved the box out of the way," said the Doctor innocently, "It's not my fault it started to vibrate of its own accord. I had to let it run out of juice."

"Hm…" Clara made a face, "Well, you're remembering to charge it back up later, in that case."

"That's a burden I'll have to bear. Are you gonna get up yet?"

"Why do you want me to? What's downstairs? Is Oswin down there?"

"No. But they're awake, I made Adam a coffee the same time I made yours," she said.

"Is this about board games? Have you found some horrid, ancient board game you're desperate for us all to play as soon as possible?" Clara questioned, "I'm not playing Monopoly again. Not after the last time."

"I just think it's reductive that you can't organise a revolt against the landlords – you know the game is designed to be anti-capitalist. It's meant to incite anger against landlords, but you can't escape the system."

"You can just choose not to play Monopoly, darling. And I'm not playing a boardgame at this time in the morning regardless – you'd have more luck with my sister, she might play Battleships with you, or chess."

"She won't play chess with me, she always loses. And I just… I like Christmas morning, and I want to spend it with you."

"You are spending it with me, I'm right here." Clara sighed and gave in. "But okay, if it means that much to you, I suppose I'll get up. I need to smoke, anyway."

"Oh, you, um…" the Doctor began uneasily, "You can't."

"Why? Have you thrown my fags out again?"

"No, it's just that your present is outside, and I don't want you to see it yet," she explained, "So you can't go in the backyard."

"And I suppose that, even though it's Christmas, I'm not allowed to smoke indoors?"

"Absolutely not."

"I suppose I'll just vape then," she grumbled. "I've got a Christmas flavour, anyway. Apple and cinnamon." Though the Doctor disliked Clara vaping almost as much as smoking since it was Christmas, she didn't complain; and it did mean Clara didn't stray into the back garden and accidentally see her present. Instead, fifteen minutes later, Clara just lurked in the living room trying to find something she wanted to watch on television. "There's nothing on."

"That's hardly surprising," said the Doctor, "The King's speech isn't for hours."

"We don't even watch the King's speech," said Clara, "We both hate the royals. Well, I do – I'm not sure about you, you keep shagging them."

"Elizabeth I was an isolated event," she argued, "And I can't believe you'd accuse me of liking hereditary wealth. It's like you don't know me at all."

"Shall I put a film on?" Clara suggested.

"Only if it's not Love, Actually."

"As if," Clara scoffed, "Time hasn't been particularly kind to Richard Curtis."

"Jimmy Stewart, on the other hand…"

"No, no. It's too early for It's a Wonderful Life. That's, like, an after-dinner movie. See, you know what we should've done is stayed in bed and – hey, Mattie!" Clara changed her tune as soon as Matilda appeared in the doorway, having come downstairs far quieter than she usually did. "This is a bit early for you, isn't it?"

"I didn't sleep too well," she admitted, "Do I have to get dressed?"

"No, of course not," said Clara, who was actually still in her pyjamas, only now she was wearing a Christmas jumper of her own. Well, it was Christmas-adjacent, by which she meant it was red and little else; a far cry from sellotaping baubles all over herself. "Wear whatever you like."

"Are there gonna be a lot of people here today?"

"Um… I don't know, it depends what you mean by 'a lot,'" said Clara, unsure of how to answer. When she tallied their expected guests up it was quite a few, but it was all people they saw relatively often anyway. "There's the three of us, then Adam and Oswin – but they're still in bed – then Jenny will be here to help with dinner soon, and I assume Rose will be stopping. So, seven. But – listen, Mattie," Clara softened her tone, "You don't have to stay down here hanging around with us all day if it's too much. None of us particularly enjoy Christmas, anyway."

"Too many tragedies," the Doctor added.

"You seem like you enjoy it," said Mattie, "With all the decorations and the food."

"I just like decorations and food," said the Doctor, "Not the consumerist nightmare December has become in this country. And don't get me started on the appropriation of pagan holidays – historically, the Romans held a feast in honour of Saturn at this time of year, and it was more fun, we've been before."

"They just drank a lot of wine," Clara explained, "Which reminds me, I should get the buck's fizz out. Do you want any?"

"Am I allowed?" asked Mattie.

"It's just orange juice and champers. It's a mimosa, but… well, it's a mimosa."

"…No, thanks. I don't feel too well."

"Do you want some water?" asked Clara, deciding that that Christmas she would go easy on the booze so she could keep a proper eye on Matilda (though she was sure Rose wouldn't share this philosophy). Mattie just shook her head. "It won't be a big thing if that's what you're worried about, really. We don't even have to watch any Christmas films."

"But Coo – It's a Wonderful Life," the Doctor implored.

"We can watch It's a Wonderful Life on our own later, everybody else thinks it's boring," said Clara.

"I like It's a Wonderful Life," said Mattie, "Is that what you were going to put on?"

"We hadn't worked that out yet. Do you want to open your presents? Before we accumulate an audience down here."

"I guess. If it's alright." It was no wonder she was downtrodden that morning; anybody in her situation would be. Clara wished there was more she could do, but at that moment, she had to settle for sending the Doctor into the kitchen to retrieve Mattie's main Christmas present from the laundry room. "Aren't any of the presents under the tree for me?"

"Oh, sure, but we got you something big," said Clara.

"You don't need to get me a big present."

"We're happy to. And it's something you've been asking after, anyway." At that, Mattie's eyes lit up. She had realised what the present must be right when the Doctor wheeled it out; a brand-new bicycle with a gold, Christmassy bow stuck to the handlebar.

"I did tell Clara there are plenty of good bikes on the TARDIS," the Doctor, "But she insisted on getting a new one."

"Because nobody wants your hand-me-downs, you break everything you own," Clara said.

"Where were you keeping it? I haven't seen it," Mattie stared.

"Just in the other room, with a perception filter," said the Doctor, "But it's not like you ever go into the laundry room."

"Neither do you," she pointed out. The laundry was Clara's job. "Thanks, though, that's… you didn't have to get me a bike. But thanks." She paused, then went on, "I'm not being ungrateful, I just-"

"I know, sweetheart," Clara assured her, "Presents are always difficult to react to, I think. Good or bad. You can ride it around in the garden, if you want?"

"Nobody is allowed in the garden," said the Doctor firmly.

"Why?" asked Mattie, "Not that I want to, I'm not ten."

"Clara's present is out there, and nobody is allowed to see it yet."

"I bet it's a second-hand bike," said Clara.

"You wish. It has to wait until everybody else is here," she said, leaning the bike against the upright piano in the corner of the room.

"Why?" asked Clara.

"Because! It'll be more exciting that way. I'm going to make some more tea; do you want any, Matts?"

"Sure." When she disappeared, Clara asked Mattie if she knew what this mysterious present was, but she only shrugged. "No idea."

"What do you usually do on Christmas day, then?" Clara asked carefully; she didn't want to upset Mattie.

"Dad would make bacon sandwiches in the morning because we didn't have dinner until late, like five."

"She'll make you a bacon sandwich, we've got bacon."

"No, thanks. I don't think I can eat much. What time should I call Aunt Tish? I'll have to call her today."

"I don't know – this afternoon?" Clara suggested, "If you want to go to London to see her, I'll drive you up, I don't mind. Or you could go on the TARDIS, but I like long drives." Not that it was really that far to London.

"Maybe that would be nice. I'll see what she says when I talk to her. She could take me to get my hair done – I used to go with mum all the time if she didn't do it herself."

"Well, just let me know what you decide to do. It's no trouble."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks, Clara."

"Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm going to try and get my sister to come downstairs and be sociable."

Oswin being sociable turned out to be a double-edged sword; Clara did convince her (and, by extension, Adam Mitchell) to come downstairs promptly enough, but she was on top form where her glib and inappropriate comments were concerned. On the bright side, Clara had put on her Christmas playlist which largely drowned out everything repulsive Oswin came up with that morning – not that this stopped Mattie from being greatly amused by her.

"Don't you repeat anything she says," Clara warned, to which Mattie just rolled her eyes. Adam was keeping the Doctor occupied in the kitchen looking at the food, but Clara couldn't pretend she understood the intricacies of Christmas dinner.

Luckily, Rose arrived shortly thereafter with a bottle of Baileys and a packet of Ferrero Rocher. Clara assumed both of these had been stolen but wasn't inclined to complain, welcoming Rose into the house after she teleported onto the front doorstep (and knocked, for once).

"You started on the booze yet?" she asked, kicking off her shoes in the hall while Clara held the Baileys.

"No, I'm gonna have a dry one, probably," said Clara.

"Dry Christmas? Why? What's wrong with you? Are you sick?"

"No. I'm just being sensible."

"Since when were you sensible?" she jibed. Clara shook her head.

"I've always been the sensible one."

"Martha was always the sensible one," Rose corrected her, "You're the… gay one."

"I'm 'the gay one'? Thanks," she followed Rose into the living room, "What does that make you?"

"The fun one."

"Then what are Donna and Amy?"

"They're not here," she said simply, "How're you, Mattie?"

"I'm, um…" Mattie began, but then just shrugged.

"Do you want any Baileys? It's chocolate orange."

"No, thanks. That stuff's gross."

"Does nobody want any? What about Adam, where's he?"

"I'm in the kitchen, and I still don't drink, which you know," Adam called through.

"Fine, I'll have one glass," said Clara, "But that's it. Save some for tomorrow, Jack will be here then."

"He's not coming to see Mattie today?" Rose asked.

"Jenny will be here soon," said the Doctor, returning to the doorway, "You know they avoid each other."

"Maybe Jenny should just get over a bloke she only went out with for six months fifty years ago," quipped Rose. "But fine. I'll save most of the Baileys for Boxing Day."

"Don't you have a Christmas dinner of your own to be getting back to?" asked the Doctor.

"Not really – Donna and the Doctor usually lose track. I'd lose track if I wasn't here all the time. I decided not to remind them."

"How grown-up of you," said Clara dryly.

"It's boring not having Christmas on Earth, you don't get any of the atmosphere," said Rose, "If they cared that much, they'd remember it themselves."

"I suppose," said Clara, unconvinced. Rose trudged into the kitchen to dig out some glasses.

"Are you gonna watch the speech?" Rose asked loudly.

"I won't have that garbage in the house," said the Doctor firmly, "It's just a load of bourgeois… piffle."

"'Piffle'? Nice," said Clara.

"You can't have Christmas without the speech," said Rose as she poured the Baileys.

"My parents always hated it, too," said Clara, "All I want to know is when they'll finally abolish the monarchy, but somebody won't tell me."

"You two are so boring. What's on TV? Is Love, Actually on?"

"We don't watch that, either," said Clara.

"But I thought you fancy Keira Knightley."

"Irrelevant," she said, "The film has issues."

"That whole thing where he falls in love with his maid who can't speak English and he can't speak Portuguese is cringe," said Matilda, "He's basically a coloniser."

"Home Alone 2 is on in half an hour," said Adam, putting them all out of their misery. "I'd like to watch The Muppets, though."

"I forgot about The Muppets!" Rose exclaimed, "Let's watch that, can we watch that?"

"Do what you like after Home Alone," said the Doctor. "Just don't put on the speech."

By the time Jenny arrived, landing the TARDIS in the back garden, they were already a third of the way through Home Alone 2. She came bearing the only type of gift she ever got the Doctor, more food (and nobody else got a thing), which in this case was a bag full of mussels she had caught last night. Not too interested in seeing Adam and Oswin - whom she generally saw every day when they weren't temporarily staying in Brighton - or Rose and Clara, Jenny would have lingered in the kitchen with the Doctor and Mattie (who'd gone to say hello), but the Doctor decided that it was finally time for Clara to get her enigmatic Christmas present.

"What are we doing?" asked Rose.

"Going into the garden to find out what Clara's present is," Oswin explained, gliding through the kitchen in her high-tech, hovering wheelchair that was more than a little anachronous.

They all trekked into the frosty back garden just as the Doctor dragged a tarp off a large object and announced, "Ta-da!"

Underneath the tarp was something Clara never thought she would see in their house, and certainly not without a conversation first. She initially thought it was a small shed, but the wire-covered run betrayed its true purpose: a chicken coop. Now she understood why the Doctor had been nervous and unsure about how she would react. In truth, she didn't know how she should react, nor did any of the others who had trekked out to the frosty garden as well.

"It's a chicken coop," said the Doctor proudly.

"Yeah, I know," said Clara, more perplexed than anything else, "I don't see any chickens."

"There are none yet. I thought I'd wait and see if you hated it before committing to any actual livestock."

"Are you sure this isn't a present you got for yourself?" Rose remarked, peering over Clara's shoulder at the chicken coop.

"I hate animals," said Oswin, "Especially poultry."

"Nobody asked what you think," said the Doctor. Oswin stuck her tongue out.

"I suppose I'm just confused," said Clara, "Why do we need chickens, exactly?"

"I thought you might say that. But consider this, Coo-Bear," here she paused for dramatic effect, "Fresh eggs. And fresh mayonnaise, if you want."

"That's hilarious," said Mattie, taking out her phone to photograph the chicken coop, "I've got to tell Aki about this – she doesn't believe me about how obsessed with mayonnaise you are."

"I'm not obsessed," said Clara defensively, "I just like eggs, is that a crime?"

"Female eggs, most of all," said Oswin, "That's probably why she's queer. She's trying to get at them."

"Gross," said Rose, "There's a child present." But Mattie wasn't listening anyway.

"I built it myself," said the Doctor. Jenny, lingering nearby, cleared her throat. "Okay, Jenny helped."

"I did most of the actual work," said Jenny, "And you didn't even pay me for my labour. How would that hold up against your ideologies?"

"Jenny," said the Doctor like she was about to tell her off, then she smiled, "I didn't know you actually listened when I talk about political theory. And I'll pay you in eggs if Clara says she's actually alright with us getting some chickens."

"How many chickens are 'some' chickens?" Clara asked sceptically.

"Three or four."

"…Well, alright," said Clara, "I suppose I can't say no to fresh eggs. But who's going to look after them?"

"Me! I need more hobbies, anyway – I have nothing to do when you're asleep. At least now I'll have chickens to hang out with."

"Funny you should say that considering the present I got you," said Clara.

"Which, incidentally, I did most of the actual work for," Oswin interrupted. "Jenny and I will go on strike at this rate."

"You go for it, I'm a big supporter of unions," said the Doctor, "But what is it? Can I see it?"

"It's in Mattie's room, I'll have to go get it," said Clara.

"Mattie's room? Why?"

"Because it was the only place I could hide it, you basically never go in there."

"I wish you didn't go in there most of the time," said Mattie. Clara only went into Matilda's room to tell her to bring her dirty mugs or her laundry downstairs.

"You can give me a hand," Clara said to Rose.

"Me? Why?" asked Rose, though she followed Clara back into the house immediately, "Is it another chicken coop? I could see that happening."

"It's not a chicken coop," said Clara, "You all stay downstairs, we'll be back in a second."

"What is it?" the Doctor asked Oswin as soon as Clara and Rose had disappeared.

"Sonic dildo," said Oswin, "What else would it be?"

"Urgh, she still doesn't believe me," said Mattie, frustrated, then she asked Oswin, "Can you send a voice message to my friend?"

"About what?"

"Proof that Clara's weird about eggs."

"I mean, I'd love to, smudge, but I don't really see what Clara and I have in common."

"No incriminating recordings will be made," said the Doctor, "The last thing we need is a voice memo from you saying something heinous circulating through the school."

"I've never said anything heinous in my life," Oswin lied.

"What are you going to name the chickens?" asked Adam.

"You should call them all 'Cumlord'," said Oswin, "Cumlords I-IV. Or you could name them after your favourite sex positions. Or after me, in honour of my sparkling wit."

"Shouldn't we go back inside?" said Mattie.

With the door left ajar, it had already gotten cold when they returned indoors. But the Doctor waited in the kitchen until Clara returned to say she was ready to present this highly anticipated gift.

Where Clara's present from the Doctor had been an odd and risky one, the Doctor's from Clara was, quite possibly, one of the best presents she had ever been given by anybody. When she entered the living room and saw what lay on the rug she was beside herself with joy.

"K9!" she exclaimed, because it was. K9, her trusty robot dog, returned to her in all his clunky, silver, retro-futuristic glory.

"Greetings, mistress," said K9 in that same mechanical voice she loved so much.

"Coo! You got me K9!"

"I asked Oswin to rebuild him and made her promise not to change any of the specs," said Clara, "Which she better not have done."

"I updated the battery and his internal memory," said Oswin, "Otherwise, he's just as pointless as he always was."

"Don't be so mean!" said the Doctor.

"He's from the fiftieth century and he can't fly," said Oswin.

"He's perfect just the way he is, aren't you, K9?" said the Doctor, scratching behind K9's plastic ears.

"He can't even walk," Oswin continued.

"You can't walk, do you see me calling you pointless?" Oswin scowled in response.

"Since when do you have a robot dog?" asked Mattie.

"Oh, I got K9 a long time ago," the Doctor explained, still beaming, "Way back in my fourth incarnation, when I was travelling with Leela. He's been through a lot over the years and rebuilt maybe half a dozen times… but he always remembers me, don't you, K9?"

"My memory data is duplicated and stored within the TARDIS."

"That's right – aren't you clever? Who's a good boy?"

"Now you can stop going on at me to get a dog," said Clara, "Because there you are. Between him and these chickens, you'll never be alone again."

"You'll make a bad impression on him – I want you to meet properly. K9, this is Clara Oswald, she's my wife. And you know Rose, of course; I'm sure you know Adam and Oswin already if you've been on the TARDIS for weeks; this is Jenny, she's my daughter; and that's Mattie, Mickey Smith's daughter. You remember Mickey, he was there when you saved us all from the Krillitane."

"What's one of those?" asked Mattie, unsure about whether she had heard this story or not.

"Big bat monster," said Rose, "I'm sure we told you this one. Your dad drove his car through the door of the school to help get people out."

"And K9 sacrificed himself to detonate a barrel of explosive oil and take them all out," said the Doctor, "Aren't you brave?"

"You like it, then?" asked Clara.

"This is my favourite Christmas present in the world," she announced, standing back up. She pulled Clara into the tightest hug she was capable of for quite a long time in the middle of the room. Everybody else returned to what they'd been doing, either dipping back into the kitchen or sitting down again. "I love you more than I've ever loved anybody, Coo-Bear."

"I'll pretend not to be offended by that," said Rose.

"We'd really better put this turkey in the oven, mum," Jenny called from the kitchen. Finally, the Doctor relinquished Clara.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas to you, too," said Clara. The Doctor kissed her and then left to go load everything into the oven, preparing another splendid December feast to close out the year.