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Rose sits at the kitchen table, eyes closed as she calculates dates in her head. Months after returning to her original universe and the TARDIS, time once again passes in a disjointed way, but she does her best to follow some semblance to an Earth calendar. According to her best calculations, it’s her favorite time of the year:
Christmas.
“Donna, do you celebrate Christmas?” Rose asks, turning around in her seat to look at Donna, who’s filling the kettle with water at the sink.
Donna pauses and makes a face. “Not really, no.”
Rose scrunches her forehead together, unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t like Christmas. “Why not?”
“Well, remember Lance and the Racnoss?”
Rose nods.
“We were supposed to get married on Christmas.”
“Right,” Rose says, remembering her outrage when Donna had first told her the story. “I didn’t realize it happened then.”
“Yeah,” Donna says softly.
“What if we went somewhere else to celebrate Christmas? I think it’s close to that time of the year, and I… I miss it.” Rose stands up and leans against the kitchen island, watching her friend.
Donna raises an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”
“There’re lots of planets out there with some sort of winter festival tradition similar to Christmas on Earth. What if we made our own traditions? Erase the bad memories of your last Christmas and make it something new?” she proposes.
“Will you make the Doctor wear an ugly Christmas jumper?” Donna asks with a sly grin.
“Done,” Rose says, laughing as she takes the cup of tea offered by Donna.
“Well, in that case, count me in. What can go wrong with a very TARDIS Christmas?” Donna says, sipping her tea.
Rose cringes. “Oh, don’t say that, Donna. That’s just invitin’ trouble.”
“Trouble?” a voice asks from the doorway. “What’s inviting trouble?”
Rose shares a glance with Donna, who rolls her eyes.
“Of course you’d show up at the mention of trouble,” Donna says, pouring another cup of tea and handing it to the Doctor, who sidles up to Rose and kisses her on the back of the neck.
Rose shivers and smiles, sensing the Doctor’s curiosity through their bond.
“We’ve decided it’s Christmastime,” Rose announces, shifting so she’s facing the Doctor. “I think I’ve figured it out, and according to Earth’s calendar, it’s about that time of the year. I miss it, Doctor. I want to make our own traditions.” She stares at him, blinking innocently a few times, waiting for him to break down.
The Doctor huffs. “Why would we go to a boring Yule planet when we could go to a planet where unicorns are real?”
Rose pauses, momentarily distracted. “What, really? Unicorns?”
The Doctor smiles, as if sensing a win, and she shakes her head, pulling herself back to the matter at hand.
“Unicorns later. But right now? Christmas. But I mean, only if you want, Doctor. I don’t want to force you.” She chews on her thumbnail and stares at the Doctor, and in the background, Donna snorts in amusement.
He sighs in apparent defeat. “I never really had a choice, did I?” the Doctor says, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his bottom lip in a pout.
“Not when she gives you those mooneyes, no.” Donna reaches across the counter and pats his shoulder. “Sorry, Doctor.”
“Eh, I enjoy a good Christmas festival. The nibbles are always top notch. And snow! Real snow!” His eyes narrow as he turns to Donna. “How’d you agree to this? I didn’t think you liked Christmas.”
“Rose’s charms don’t just work on you, Time Boy.” Her long suffering sigh makes Rose laugh.
“So, Doctor, where’s the best place in the universe to celebrate Christmas? I want it all. The snow, the shops, the markets, the mistletoe,” she pauses to wink at the Doctor, “the hot chocolate and cookies, the reindeer, the presents, the trees.” Rose sighs dreamily, her eyes fluttering shut as she imagines the scene. “The perfect winter wonderland.”
The Doctor pushes off from the counter and paces the kitchen. “The perfect winter wonderland… There’s Pinehurst Rex, but no, the trees get a bit bitey. That won’t work.”
Rose wrinkles her nose. Bitey? “No, no biting trees, ta.”
“There’s Jinglelandalia Prime Alpha Three, but the last time I was there, the carolers got a bit handsy. Tried to steal my scarf! I mean, you say I’m rude, but oooh-ho-ho, those carolers...”
“Nope,” Rose says, shaking her head, struggling to bite back a grin.
“Hmm… No, not there. How about… Nah, too cold and no hot chocolate. No Christmas nibbles, either, now that I think of it..” The Doctor tugs at his hair as he thinks, and Rose waits patiently for him to come up with the perfect place. Donna shifts and sighs. “And no, not there, the shops are a bit rubbish. But there’s… Oh! Oooh! That’s it! Noël!”
Rose can’t help but smile at the expression of pure excitement on the Doctor’s face, sharing in his enthusiasm.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it right away! It has everything you asked for and more, Rose. Donna, you’ll love it! If Christmas is what you want, Christmas is what you’ll get!” The Doctor grabs Rose’s hand, but as he moves to pull her out of the kitchen, Donna clears her throat.
Rose tugs the Doctor to a stop. “Ehm, Doctor, wait. There’s just… one thing. A small thing.”
“Rose?” he asks, looking between Rose and Donna, his eyes narrowing in suspicion when Rose chews on her bottom lip. She knows it’s an easy tell when she’s nervous.
“There’s just one catch,” Donna announces, walking up to the Doctor and Rose. “I agreed to this little Christmas adventure as long as you wear a Christmas jumper.” She smirks. “An ugly one.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please, Doctor,” Rose whinges. “I promised.” Rose holds his gaze, grinning triumphantly when she feels his defenses failing through their bond.
“Fine,” the Doctor says with a growl. Then he lifts his hand and points between Rose and Donna. “But if I’m going to look like a ridiculous ape in a Christmas jumper, you are too.”
“Fair enough,” Donna calls out as she breezes past them and heads down the hall toward the wardrobe room. “Meet me in the console room in twenty minutes! I’ll bring your jumpers!”
“What?!” the Doctor squawks in indignation. “I don’t get to pick it out?”
“Oh, please.” Donna turns to face them and rolls her eyes. “Like I’d let you chose after I’ve seen some of the atrocious fashion crimes your past selves have worn? Willingly worn, I might add.” She shudders.
As Donna continues down the corridor and out of sight, the Doctor turns to Rose, who is doing her best to not laugh at the rather put-out expression on his face. “I feel like I’ve been set up.”
Rose shrugs, unrepentant. “You love it.” She smiles at him, tongue between her teeth, before pulling the Doctor down for a thorough snog.
After a few minutes, Rose reluctantly pulls away but is pleased when the Doctor gazes at her with a dumbstruck expression, dazed and dreamy. It thrills her that even now, she can disarm him so thoroughly. Leaning up on her toes, she pecks him once more on the lips, and sends a surge of love across their bond before taking his hand.
“Come on, Doctor. Time for Christmas.”
Several hours later, Donna laughs mercilessly at the sulky Time Lord as they walk out of the gingerbread house-like theater.
“You won. I can’t bloody believe it. All that whinging about wearing a Christmas jumper, and you won the contest for the ugliest Christmas jumper on the planet! she crows, wiping her eyes.
Rose doesn’t bother holding back her laughter as she pats the Doctor on the shoulder. Knowing the Doctor’s deeply competitive nature, she realizes the position he’s in must be torture. “You can’t decide if you want to gloat about your win or pout about wearing that jumper.”
“Roooose, it’s awful.” The Doctor picks at the neon green Christmas tree feathers and pouts, jutting his lower lip out in a way that makes her want to bite it. “Can I please put my suit back on?”
“Nope, not answering. This is Donna’s decision,” she answers.
“Donna, how much longer must I wear this atrocity?” the Doctor asks, flicking one of the bells adorning the bottom of the jumper and glaring at Donna when she doubles over laughing once more.
“Okay, okay, you can take it off. I’m surprised you’re not strutting around like a peacock in the middle of a mating dance after winning that competition, though,” Donna says. “You! Winning an ugly jumper contest! Oh, I’m so glad I had my camera with me.”
Before she finishes speaking, the Doctor pulls his pinstriped blazer out of his trouser pocket and pulls the jumper over his head, forcefully shoving it into a nearby bin. As he shrugs the blazer over his shoulders, he sighs in relief, then stops in his tracks when Donna mentions the camera.
“Hang on– A camera? Hand it over,” he demands, holding out his hand. “Camera. Now.”
“Nope!” Donna says with a serene smile.
The Doctor looks at Rose. “Rose, make Donna give my camera back.”
Rose smiles, then links elbows with Donna. “Sorry, I’m not getting in the middle of that. Besides, we have the winter gala to get ready for, yeah? Winner of the ugly jumper contest and his plus one and two get VIP access, remember? Right now, we have a date with the TARDIS’s wardrobe room. Black tie.”
“What?!”
“You heard me. I’m sure the TARDIS will pick out a foxy tux for you to wear.” Rose smirks before turning around, but as she walks down the sidewalk with Donna, she shares an extra thought with the Doctor through their bond along with several images of low cut gowns she’s seen on occasion in the wardrobe. Don’t worry, Doctor. I’ll make it worth your while, I promise.
The TARDIS provides both Donna and Rose with gowns befitting both their personalities and individual styles.
Rose wears a black velvet bodice with a low cut “V” between her breasts that is paired with a flowey ombre shaded skirt in shades of grays, purples, and blues. A thin gold belt rests on her waist, adding a cutting edge to the look. Rose declares a matching cape tied at the neck with a velvet collar her favorite detail of the gown.
Donna struts around like a queen in the sapphire blue velvet, off the shoulder gown with gold embroidery along the edges of the material. It’s cut in such way to flatter the figure, and despite the high slits up the sides, the matching blue tulle underneath below maintains a simple modesty that Donna very much appreciates. Much to Donna’s delight, the gown comes with a built in cape on the back as well.
“You’re gonna knock his socks off,” Donna says, eyeing Rose up and down, admiring the gown.
“Yeah?”
“Absolutely. He’ll have a double hearts attack. And I love the cape. It’s the perfect touch.” Donna reaches out to adjust the bow, and they leave the wardrobe for the console room.
The TARDIS, bless her, has temporarily shifted the floor to a smooth, marble like surface, so that neither she nor Rose would get their heels stuck in the grating.
“I’ve never been to a gala like this,” Donna announces, and Rose smiles.
“I always love a good gala, Donna. They’re gonna think you’re a queen. I’m sure your dance card will be full all night.”
“I hope so, but I’m sure you two will find some way to get into trouble,” she jokes.
Rose laughs, though she doesn’t deny Donna’s prediction.
Just as she suspects, the Doctor, dressed in a rather dashing tuxedo, loses all ability to speak the moment he lays eyes on Rose, and they stare at each other for several long moments until Donna realizes they’re having a conversation without her.
“Excuse me, care to include the whole class?” She rolls her eyes. “You may address Queen Donna.”
The Doctor finally picks his jaw off the floor and drags his eyes to Donna. They widen in surprise. “Donna! You look… lovely!”
“I know, thanks,” she smiles. “No need to act surprised about it. Thank your ship. She’s got a marvelous eye for fashion.”
“My ship… What?!”
“Has an eye for fashion. She chose our gowns herself,” Donna explains.
Rose pats the console. “Yeah, she always has the best things.”
The Doctor splutters once more, clearly not understanding how his magnificent Time Ship has a fashion sense. “I thought you said I’ve worn some ‘atrocious fashion crimes.’ Who do you think helps pick out my outfits after I regenerate?”
Donna snickers. “I’m pretty sure the TARDIS just laughs at you when you fall for it time and time again.” Taking Rose by the elbow, she says, “Come on, Rose, let’s go to the gala. He’ll get over it eventually.”
Dinner is an extravagant affair, with two long tables filled with guests and a twelve course meal to go with it. Donna can’t believe it’s the prize for winning a bloody ugly Christmas jumper contest, but she’s not complaining.
Christmas trees stand around the hall, decorated in exquisite ornaments and twinkling lights, and garlands are strung artfully around the room. The whole look is almost magical, shimmering and warm, the perfect Christmas ambiance.
A small break occurs between the main course offerings and dessert, and Donna graciously accepts the arm of an eager dance partner.
The Doctor and Rose already dance together in the center of the ballroom, completely enraptured by one another. Rose’s smile is so radiant that Donna blinks back tears at the sight.
A few songs later, the announcement for dessert is made, and the Doctor flies past Donna, making a beeline for their table. He pulls Rose along with him, who protests at his speed, but Donna knows it’s just for show, as her friend laughs gleefully with the Doctor.
“Oh, I can’t wait!” the Doctor exclaims, once they’re all settled at the table. “Desserts on Noël are supposed to be the best in the universe. Splendid! Spectacular! Scrumptious! Ooooooh, I wonder if they have bananas on Noël. Rose, do you think they have bananas?”
“You’re a nutter, you are,” Rose laughs, swatting his arm.
“Mmm, yeah, but I’m your nutter,” the Doctor smiles disarmingly, nudging her back with his elbow, and Donna snorts.
“Ugh, you two. Get a room,” she mutters.
“Oh, we will. Won’t we, Rose? In fact, we have a room, and I intend to use it later.” He waggles his eyebrows, and Donna doesn’t miss the way the Doctor’s gaze drops to Rose’s chest and lingers. The flush on Rose’s cheeks suggests she doesn’t miss it either.
Rolling her eyes, Donna turns her focus to the wait staff as they bring out tray after tray of desserts, all of which look almost too magnificent to eat. There are cakes and pies, pastries and chocolate, along with delicacies she doesn’t even have a name for. There’s no possible way she’ll be able to try one of everything.
“Oh my God,” she says, her eyes widening in awe.
Before Donna has even decided what to try first, the Doctor digs into a slice of cake. “Oh, but this is brilliant!” he shouts. “Banana, Rose! It tastes like banana!”
“Actually, sir,” one of the waiters steps over and taps the Doctor on the shoulder, “it’s a delicacy on Noël called stralaluri. It’s a fruit usually reserved for use in this cake.”
“Ooooh, I’ve never heard of it,” the Doctor says, his eyes alight with interest and excitement. He returns to his cake with increased fervor, licking his fork clean after his last bite.
Donna shakes her head in amusement. It never ceases to amaze her how an alien as old and knowledgeable as the Doctor can find such joy in something as simple as discovering a new fruit.
The Doctor devours two more slices of the stralaluri cake before moving onto other desserts. Donna finds a mini tart made out of something that tastes like a strawberry, and she closes her eyes to savor the taste.
“Fork,” the Doctor declares suddenly, and Donna’s eyes fly open to focus on the Doctor. “I eat with a fork.” He dissolves into giggles and falls into Rose, who stares at him in confusion.
Donna swallows the last bite of tart and stares at the Time Lord sitting across from her. Just as she opens her mouth to say something, he picks up his fork and holds it in the air.
“I’d like everyone to know that this is my fork. My fork-ity fork fork. Fork bork dork mork. Fork. It’s a very beautiful fork.” He gazes at it for several moments, then turns to Rose. “Look, Rose, you love the fork. Love the fork!” For a few seconds, she stares at him, brows furrowed in complete bewilderment. However, before she can say anything, the Doctor places his hand on her shoulder, and it’s as if a switch flicks. Her face relaxes and she crumbles into hysterical laughter. The Doctor joins her.
“Doctor?” Donna raises an eyebrow. She won’t deny she’s often wondered about the Doctor’s sanity, but this is pushing the limits, even for him. And Rose is… Well, the way she’d switched from sane to manic in the blink of an eye is slightly alarming.
“Donna!” The Doctor jumps up from the table and sends his chair flying out behind him. “Donna, you look ravishing tonight.” He leans forward, peering at her in wonder.
She reels back in shock, not expecting either the growly sort of voice he only uses when he’s trying to make a move on Rose – (She wishes she did not know what his make-a-move-on-Rose voice sounds like) – or the Doctor to use the word ravishing while looking at her. Bile rises in her throat.
Looking around, the guests sitting close to them stare at the Doctor as if he’s lost his marbles, and she sighs, attempting to school her features while shrugging her shoulders in apology.
“Doctor, what is going on? You’re acting weird, not that that means a lot when you’re involved, but Rose is being weird too. Are you okay?” she asks, her brow furrowing in concern.
“Oh, I think I’ve been poisoned. Nothing to worry about, Donna. Nothing to worry about,” the Doctor sings in a warbly voice. “I’ve been practicing my Xkcarthaianx language skills? How’m I doing?” He holds his hand out for Rose, and she takes it, standing up and shoving her chair back with careless grace, then sways back and forth, as if dancing to a tune only she can hear.
Rose bursts into nonsensical song, mimicking the warbly voice used by the Doctor moments before. “Molte bene, bolte bene, mooooooolte bene,” she sings.
“Bravo, Rose!” The Doctor claps furiously, shouting his praise at Rose.
“Poisoned? You’ve been poisoned? Oh, of course you have. You great big–” Donna tries to get a word in edgewise, shouting over a singing Rose and a cheering Doctor.
“Did I say I’ve been poisoned? I’m kidding, Donna. Kidding! Don’t be such a spoilsport. Spoilsport spoilsport. How do you like my Romanian, Donna? I’m fluent in a billion billion languages. Perfectly perfectly fluent. Molte bene,” he draws out every syllable of the word before linking arms with Rose, bopping her on the nose, and throwing his head back in laughter.
Donna covers her face with her hands, completely mortified. The other guests stare and point, murmuring among themselves, until one of the waiters comes to her side.
“Ma’am, these are your friends, yes? The Doctor and his wife?”
Opening one eye, Donna looks over the table to find the Doctor and Rose in a passionate embrace, moaning loudly as they paw desperately at every available surface of the other. “Oh God, yes. They’re with me. I’m so sorry.”
“For the protection of our other guests, we ask that you kindly remove your friends from the gala. You are more than welcome to return,” he says, “but please leave your friends outside.”
Donna closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to ten. Oh, she’s gonna kill the Doctor.
Standing up, she carefully steps out of her chair, and walks around the table under the watchful eyes of the other guests, already knowing they’ll be the centerpiece of gossip on the planet for weeks to come.
With an air of authority, Donna marches around the table and links elbows with Rose before grabbing a fist full of the Doctor’s lapels. “You two. Out. Now.” She shoves herself between them and half ushers, half pulls them out of the hall.
By some miracle, they follow her command, but her relief doesn’t last long.
The Doctor strokes the soft velvet of her gown. “Soft, Donna. You’re so soft, so beautiful,” he croons, resting his head against her shoulder as they walk down the hall toward the exit.
Donna reels back in horror, gaping open mouthed at the Doctor as she comes to a sudden halt. Manic, hyperactive Doctor she can handle. A Doctor putting his… his alien wiles on her is not anything she ever wants to face.
“Donna,” Rose hisses from her other side.
“Rose?” Ignoring the Doctor for now, Donna focuses on her friend. “Are you okay?”
“Donna, I think…” She whispers loudly, her voice uncertain. “I think the Doctor’s drugged. Something’s wrong.”
“Well, I certainly hope he is,” Donna exclaims, once more shrugging an overly cuddly Doctor off her other shoulder, “because if this is some weird Time Lord mating ritual, I want no part in it.”
Rose cracks a faint smile, but her eyes crinkle with worry. “I think when we touch, he can’t control his side of the bond, and whatever he’s affected by somehow affects me too.”
Donna’s eyes widen. “That would explain a lot.”
“We hardly ever shield ourselves from each other anymore, and if he’s affected, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from me.”
“No touching, then,” Donna commands, looking between Rose and the Doctor. “One of you like this is bad enough.” WIth a loud sigh, she turns to the Doctor. “Doctor, if you pet my cape one more time, I swear to all the gods that I will pour pear juice over all your suits and ask the TARDIS to hide the wardrobe room from you.”
“But Donnnnnnnnanaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”
“Pear juice! And I’ll make absolutely sure the TARDIS throws every single one of your bananas out an airlock.” Donna glares sternly at the Doctor, who gasps in horror at her threats.
“You wouldn’t.”
Poking the Doctor in the chest, she growls, “Watch me, you alien prawn. Hands. Off. Donna.”
The Doctor crosses his arms across his chest and pouts – actually pouts – like a petulant three-year old child. Then he spots Rose standing on the other side of Donna, and Donna watches in amusement as his entire face lights up with happiness. “Rose!”
Before Donna can stop him, he lunges past her and wraps his arms around Rose, who pulls against him a moment before relaxing into the embrace.
Donna’s groan of exasperation echoes down the long hallway. “Hopeless idiots,” she mutters.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spots one of the waiters walking down the hall toward the kitchen. “Oi!” she calls, unable to keep the slightly hysterical edge out of her voice. “Come here!”
Once the waiter reaches Donna, looking uneasily at the Doctor and Rose, who play imaginary hopskotch hand in hand down the hall, she explains the situation. “Look, I need a place to lock my friends so I can figure out what the Doctor ate.”
“What do you mean?” the waiter asks.
“I mean, the Doctor’s drugged, poisoned, completely unhinged. One of you lot fed him something he shouldn’t have eaten, and now him and Rose are out of control. The Doctor actually,” she pauses to make a gagging face, “made a move on me.”
The waiter’s eyes widen at her story, and in an instant, he pulls out a small tech pad of some kind and punches in a few keys. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’ve summoned my supervisor, and he will be able to assist you with anything you need. I will…” his gaze shifts to the Doctor and Rose, now taking a break to snog, “...er, find a room for them to, ah, entertain themselves.” HIs ears tinge pink.
“May I help you?” an authoritative voice calls out, and she turns to face the newcomer.
“Yeah… Claude,” Donna says, inspecting the supervisor’s name tag. “See him?” She points at the Doctor. “He’s drugged. I think your lot served him something a bit off.”
The first waiter nods at his supervisor, then runs down the hall toward the Doctor and Rose.
“I assure you, ma’am, the food served at the gala is fully inspected and is of the highest quality, safe for all guest consumption,” Claude insists.
“I’d believe you if the Doctor acted like this all the time, but trust me, I know when the Doctor is not well, and now is one of those times. Are you sure it wasn’t something he ate?” She crosses her arms and glares at Claude, who takes a step back at her threatening gaze.
“I, uh, well– What species is the Doctor? Is he not human?”
Donna looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes at the Doctor and Rose, who have accosted the poor waiter and are attempting to braid his hair. “He’s a Time Lord, ever heard of them? This one’s got a big, pompous ego with a brain that never stops but acts like a child on a sugar high more often than not.”
Claude’s eyes widen in shock. “Oh dear.”
Donna pauses. “Oh dear?”
“The Doctor hasn’t by chance ingested the stralaluri cake, has he?”
Of course it’s the not-banana but tastes like banana cake.
“Only three slices of it,” she answers.
Claude momentarily casts his gaze on the Doctor before returning his focus to Donna. “Stralaluri has been known to cause mind-addling effects to some species, causing a, as you put it, ‘drugged’ state of mind that causes a period of unbecoming behavior.”
“So it’s not gonna kill him?” she asks.
“Oh no! It’s not lethal. We wouldn’t have served it to him had we known,” he shrugs in apology. “We see overwhelmingly only visitors of human origin on Noël. I apologize for the nature of your expulsion from the gala. Is there anything we can do to assist you with the Doctor and his, I’m assuming, Time Lady wife?”
Donna laughs. “Oh, she’s not a Time Lady, but they’ve got… Oh, never mind.” Deciding it might be best to keep the existence of the Doctor and Rose’s bond under wraps, Donna considers Claude’s offer. “In fact, there is something you can do. I’d like to enjoy the rest of the gala, if you don’t mind. The TARDIS gave me this fabulous gown, and it’d be a shame for it to go to waste.”
“I agree, ma’am,” Claude says, looking her up and down in apparent appreciation. “But your friends? The cannot return in this state.”
“Oh yes, I’ll leave that up to you and your staff. I believe you’re more than equipped to assist me for the evening, yes? You can lock them in a room – no windows for them to climb out – and let them sleep it off. Guard the door to make sure they don’t escape. I’m sure they’ll shag themselves to sleep at some point.” She smiles serenely at Claude. “I just need to fetch a few things from the Doctor before I return to the party.”
Donna marches over to the Doctor and Rose, freeing the newly cornrowed waiter, who runs away with mumbled thanks, and pulls the two apart. “Rose,” she says after a moment, once her friend shakes her head and returns to a lucid state of mind. “Everything’s under control. The Doctor just ate something he shouldn’t have, but he’ll be fine. I’m going back to the gala, and I’m making them look after you two the rest of the evening.” She pauses. “Is that all right?”
“It’s not lethal?” Rose asks, unable to keep her eyes off the Doctor.
“Nope, not according to Claude. We can go, if you like, but I think it’d be easier for us to stay here so you can both sleep it off,” Donna explains.
“Good,” Rose says with a smile, her shoulders relaxing in relief. “Go back to the gala, Donna. I can see you want to. Just… Wait a mo.”
Rose steps back to the Doctor and rummages through his pockets, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and psychic paper and quickly handing both to Donna. “Probably best you hold onto these, yeah?” She giggles, then, falling into the Doctor as the stralaluri affects her once more through their bond. Holding hands, they twirl around the hallway, bumping into each other with shrieks of laughter every few seconds.
Donna tucks the sonic and the psychic paper in her wristlet, and smoothes down her gown as she prepares to return to the gala. Perhaps she’ll ask the bloke who’d sat a few seats down from her for a dance. “So you’ll sort these two out for the evening?”
“Ah,” Claude says, his face blanching slightly. “Have no worries, Ms.–”
“Noble. Donna Noble,” Donna says, turning to return to the gala. She pauses. “If the Doctor gets too out of control, just threaten him with a pear or bribe him with a banana. Works every time.”
“Unnnnnggggghhhhhhhhhh.” A loud groan vibrates against Rose’s chest.
Cracking open an eye, Rose inspects her surroundings while feeling the need to echo the Doctor’s groan of discomfort. Closes her eyes, she attempts to focus on the dim memories flitting through her mind from the previous evening.
Christmas jumpers.
A gala.
A gorgeous gown. With a cape!
Dancing.
A table filled with desserts.
It’s there the memories get hazy. Rose rolls away from the Doctor, her bladder notifying her of her need to find a loo, and promptly rolls off whatever surface she’s laying on, landing with a loud thunk on the floor. “Ow,” she mutters, then groans as the rest of the missing memories return.
According to Donna, the Doctor had eaten something that had affected his mind, and when touching him, affected her through their bond as well. Blimey. A night filled with the ridiculous antics of the Doctor makes her want to bury her head in a pillow out of sheer embarrassment.
Separated from the Doctor, now, however, her mind clears, and despite his continued presence in her mind, she feels mostly back to normal, if a bit hungover. Rose sits up on the floor and looks around the room. It’s dim in the morning light, with windows lining the room high on the walls surrounding them, far out of reach. She sits on the floor below a… baby grand piano? One of the Doctor’s legs falls over the edge.
A soft knock at the door pulls Rose from her thoughts. “I swear to God, you’d better be decent,” Donna calls, then pushes open the door.
Rose blinks, squinting as the light from the hallway pours into the room. “Morning, Donna.” She laughs at her friend, who’s holding her hands over her eyes. “We’re dressed, don’t worry.”
Donna lowers her hands, then laughs loudly. Rose follows her gaze to the piano. Another loud groan rumbles out of the Doctor. “All right, you two. Time to get back to the TARDIS. I think we’ve had enough of Christmas this year, don’t you think?” She walks over to the Doctor and prods his leg. “Wake up, Doctor.”
Rose pushes herself off the floor and stands, stretching from side to side and watching in amusement as Donna attempts to spur the Doctor into action.
“Doctor, I made good on my threats, and I soaked all your suits in pear juice,” Donna announces.
The Doctor flies off the piano in a flurry of tuxedo clad limbs. His eyes are wide and frantic. “You did not!”
Donna crosses her arms over her chest. “After what you put me and Rose through last night, trust me, Doctor. Things could be a lot worse.”
“Rose?” The Doctor whips his head around to face her. “What did I do to you?” He seeks her out through their bond, and she senses his raw anxiety which she instantly soothes.
“Doctor, I’m fine. You didn’t do anything. Well–” She pauses and turns to Donna. “No more cake for him, right?”
“Oh, God, no,” Donna says, agreeing with a vehement nod.
“What… happened?”
Donna sighs. “Turns out the fruit in that cake you had three slices of doesn’t agree with a Time Lord’s physiology. It drugged you, and whenever you touched Rose, you weren’t able to keep from sharing the effects of it through your bond.”
The Doctor blinks. “Oh, well, that explains a lot.” He smirks. “I’m sorry, Donna.”
Rose chokes on a laugh when Donna glares at the Doctor. “Yeah, you sound real sorry.”
“Oi, everything worked out, didn’t it? No harm, no foul.”
“Says the skinny strip of nothing too drugged off his arse to care,” Donna mutters.
“Tell you what, Donna. I’ll make it up to you. We both will.” The Doctor looks at Rose with a wide smile, and she mirrors him, happy and content. “Another Christmas planet? How about it? A cozy winter festival where the locals think women with red hair are goddesses of fire? Hmm?”
“Actually, Doctor,” Rose says, “I’m the one who wanted to make our own Christmas traditions. I think Donna might appreciate it more if we left her on Lux Prime for a few days of spa treatments while we make our own Christmas celebration on the TARDIS. What do you think, Donna?”
Donna smiles. “I think you have the best ideas, Rose.”
“What?!” the Doctor squawks indignantly.
Walking over to Donna, Rose links elbows with her friend. “Why don’t we head back to the TARDIS, and you can tell me all about the rest of the gala. Did you dance with that bloke sitting next to you? He was a bit pretty.”
“Oh, I did a lot more than dance with him,” Donna reveals with a sly grin. “The staff offered me the presidential quarters in recompense, and I took them up on the offer.”
“Donna!” the Doctor groans. “No need to share.”
“Doctor, remind me to show you the video footage of you hitting on me last night. I’ll overshare about my evening activities if I want to.”
Rose gapes at Donna as the Doctor gags loudly behind them, ardently denying Donna’s claims.
Donna grimaces. “Never underestimate the power of stralaluri cake.”