Christmas Open Thread

[rude_not_ginger]

•deck•the•halls•

• THE DOCTOR LEARNS THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS •

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Christmas Eve. 2009.

The Doctor loved Christmas! Back when he was a wee Time Lord, the first place he ever landed was London on Christmas Eve. He promised himself he'd never miss another Christmas ever, but that promise went into the same pile as "Lose weight" and "Regenerate a better hairline" and "Stop leaving companions in other universes". But the Doctor had never quite gotten the hang of New Years'. (He once spent several hours commiserating on the similarity between the confusing nature of New Years and Thursdays with one Arthur Dent, who will sadly not be appearing in this piece of narrative. -editor)

But! Through all his travels in space and time, he still hadn't quite figured out what Christmas was for exactly. Except as a yearly excuse for turkey, too much wine, and plum pudding (all of which the Doctor approved of). This year, though, as he strode the streets on this wonderful Christmas Eve, the Doctor decided he would figure out exactly what Christmas was all about.

This may or may not have included use of a intergalactic manipulative detector and a full pack of radio stellar isotopian crystals. Oh, and a cup of hot chocolate. In a festively-coloured cup.

There was a lovely light snow, and the Doctor grinned madly at the stars. Christmas. This year, he was going to figure out what it was all about.


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OOC: Open thread, feel free to tag in as if your character is a passerby or as if your character is a long-standing companion! I'll be working on this thread up until the New Year, most likely! Everyone from any verse (or no verse!) is welcome, just let me know if you'd prefer it from a community or specific universe! And, for this thread, threadhopping is totally welcome!

Happy Holidays, everyone! &hearts

Comments

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"Nah, it's all right, you were learning," the Doctor said. "I'm sure he doesn't think ill of that. Everyone makes mistakes when they're learning."

He'd made so many with Susan's mother, it was almost easy when he took care of Susan. Almost like he'd had a rough draft and he was finally able to properly write the essay. It was...cruel, he thought. Cruel to think of his own child that way.

"I was never a good dad, though," he said, continuing on his thoughts. "Always figured I knew what I was doing. Always thought I had more time."

And then time ran out.

[alicecarter.livejournal.com]

“He isn’t old enough to think ill of me. Isn’t old enough to think anything other than I’m his mother, and I’ll look out for him.” Which she hadn’t, of course. He’d of been better off if she’d given him up when he was born. Let some other family take him. Some family that had a real name and a real history. Someone safe.

She looked away from the man. Not because of what she saw in his face, but because of what she didn’t want to be seen in hers.

“We always think we have more time. But I’m sure you’re a better dad than you think. You’d be amazed, what children will forgive their fathers.”

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

Too late now.

Not that he'd say that aloud. He barely let himself think it. But days like this, they reminded him of just how little he had. Other people had turkey dinners and presents and that moment of quiet in the morning this woman spoke about.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Still. Bright new day tomorrow. Christmas Day, presents and turkey and the works. Well, for someone. Still."

He gave the woman a small but genuine smile. "You helped me a lot. Thank you."

[alicecarter.livejournal.com]

"For someone," Alice agreed, eyes going just that little bit red. And a lot of those someones -- almost all of them -- had Steven to thank for that. Or Jack. Steven hadn't had much of a say in it.

Maybe it should have filled Alice with...what? Pride, that so many children were alive for Christmas? Because of her son. She knew what it meant for the world that Steven'd been killed (killed. Not sacrificed. Sacrifice was too big a word, for too small a boy.) But, call her selfish, she just didn't care. Not tonight.

She looked back up at the man, honestly surprised. What about that had been helpful?

"You're welcome." She hesitated, but eventually held out a hand. "I'm Alice, by the way."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

"I'm the Doctor."

He reached out and took her hand, giving it a firm shake. Alice. It was a good name, down the rabbit hole and all that. Part of the Doctor wondered if she believed three impossible things before breakfast. He had a feeling with the life she'd lived and the things she'd lost, she probably hadn't.

At that moment, he wanted to ask her to come with him. Not to travel, but to...somewhere. Martha's house for dinner, a restaurant where it would be warm and cheery. Somewhere that they didn't have to be alone.

But grief over a lost child wasn't something he imagined she wanted to share. Especially not with a strange man asking her about the meaning of Christmas.

[alicecarter.livejournal.com]

Alice did believe in impossible things, funnily enough. But she believed -- and had learned -- that impossible things were named such for a reason. That if man wasn't supposed to do something, then the universe saw that man didn't. Her son had been impossible, in a way. She'd certainly never meant for him to happen.

But he had. And then he hadn't. And now Alice was on a street corner on Christmas Eve with a man she'd never met, and she didn't even raise an eyebrow when he said he name was "The Doctor". It was name enough.

"Doctor," she confessed. "It comes to this. The only real thing I know about Christmas right now is that I wish it wasn't Christmas right now."

[rude-not-ginger.livejournal.com]

He gave her a small, understanding smile. No one wanted to spend their holidays alone, or live alone. The Doctor did that on a daily basis. No family, no friends, no one but himself. It wasn't fair that this woman should have to feel the same.

"Don't give up yet, Alice," he said. "There are beautiful things out there in the universe. Even here on this world. Starlight and miracles and the quiet of Christmas morning. It's all...really there. It doesn't seem like it, but it is. You just have to see it. Wait for it." It was a terribly sentimental speech, but he didn't regret speaking it to the woman. "It's what's worth going on for. It's what I keep going on for."

And with that, he turned to leave.