Chapter Text
~December 1st~
Rose hated December.
That’s not fair, she immediately corrected herself. Just...it hurts.
She tuned in to her daughter’s voice to realize that she’d missed the turn from talk about her upcoming birthday plans to something about the letter she was writing to Father Christmas.
“—and everyone gets a reply! You might be the one to get picked for Father Christmas to answer. Macie got a letter actually from him but they say he’s very busy, so you probably just get your own elf. Mummy?”
“Yes, darling, that sounds lovely!” She smiled at Susan’s expectant face and made a mental note to search this place and make sure there were no hidden charges. “What’s it called? Where you send the letter?”
“Christmas Ink. Ink like a pen, get it? I’ve got to finish mine so it can go in today’s post. I took a stamp out of your purse.”
“Yes, I get it. And that’s fine.” Rose leaned into Susan’s dark curls to give her a kiss. “Now you remember that Santa Claus knows best what presents to give you, no matter what you ask for.”
“I know just what to ask for,” Susan replied, her face suddenly serious as she bent her head to write, in a way that hit Rose with a clench of the heart as being so like her father. How many times had he leaned over this very table in the back of their cafe, with a furrowed brow, scribbling into his notebook.
She’d closed up 20 minutes ago, and stood sipping on a drink by the table, feet aching and a little annoyed that he wasn’t ready yet. But there was still something mesmerizing about the movement of his hand across the page and the way he worried his lip.
She leaned over the table. “Oi, Professor. You at a stopping point yet? Look, it’s snowing, and we should probably get home.”
He looked up with those blue eyes alight as a smile broke over his face. “Snow? In time for Christmas!” He jumped up and grabbed her hand. “Come on, Rose Tyler, I want to kiss snowflakes off your eyelashes.”
And he did. She closed her eyes and smiled. He’d kissed a lot more than her lashes.
It hadn’t snowed in December since that night, and before the next Christmas he was gone. Rose blinked away tears and returned to straightening chairs.
“Ready!” Susan called out, and jumped up from the cafe table to run through the jingling door, calling out, “Mr. Mott!” to the postman about to climb into his Royal Mail truck.
Rose smiled and shook off her melancholy thoughts. Susan deserved a happy birthday and a happy Christmas.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“Uncle John!” A chorus of voices greeted John Smith as he stepped into his best friend’s home. In spite of his current day job, he hadn’t felt anything like Christmas spirit until this moment, smelling pine and spices and home cooking, and hearing the general din of a busy family home. Two four-year-olds attached themselves to his legs and he shook them off with mock fear.
Jack Harkness grinned as he stepped over his sons to hug John. “Doctor.”
“Captain.”
“I was beginning to worry we wouldn’t see you at all--if you were set on staying holed up in your cave all winter.” Jack gave him an extra squeeze and a couple pats for good measure.
“Eh, you know I hate December.” John said, casually, but avoided Jack’s eyes as he handed over his leather coat.
Jack hesitated just long enough that John knew he’d stifled a comment, but he just said, “Ianto’s in the kitchen. I’ll take your bags up. Boys? Living room!”
John headed in to say hello to Jack’s husband, and found their eldest acting as chef’s assistant. “Ben! Looks like you’ve grown a foot since I saw you last.”
Ben flashed a smile remarkably like Jack’s. “Hi, Uncle John! I just finished reading your book. I had to make a deal with Polly for one week with it.”
“Your cheap dad didn’t get you your own? I’ll send you one myself! Well, if you liked it well enough.”
“Yeah, ‘course I did! No one could love it more than Polly, though. Dad said you’re writing the sequel?”
“Well--”
“Now, Ben, you can’t rush writers. Hello, John!” Ianto came from the pantry, holding a spoon in the air, and hugged him with one arm. “We’re really so pleased you decided to stay with us.”
“I’m pleased you’ll have me! The house looks beautiful.” And it really did. The Christmas tree was perfect. Every light was on, plus the strings of fairy lights wrapped around garland throughout the house, and it was the most welcoming place he’d been in for a long time. A tightness in his shoulders eased and he took a deep breath.
“We’ll be ready to eat in about twenty minutes. Go, relax and catch up with Jack. Help him corral Danny and David, if you would.”
“My pleasure!” He returned to the sitting room, scooping up a giggling child along the way. Footsteps thudded down the stairs as he came around to the front of them, and ten-year-old Polly almost crashed into him and turned it into a hug.
“You’re here! We need to talk.” She had his book tucked under her arm.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Rose closed the Journal of Impossible Things and squeezed Susan tighter. “Next chapter is called The Sensorites.”
“One more?”
“Nope nope nope, you’ve got to get to sleep.”
“Mummy, do you think I’m like Ace or like Zoe?”
Rose kissed her head and chuckled. “Depends on the day. What do you think?”
“Zoe sometimes knows better than the Grandfather!”
“Mm-hmm. You’re a smart cookie too. And you’re brave, like Ace.”
Susan was quiet for a moment, and looked off toward the window. “What would Daddy say?”
“I think...he would say that you’re Susan, and there’s never been another you in the whole world and never will be. And you can be anything you want to be.”
“Would he read to me?”
“Of course he would; he did all the time. You remember, right?”
“I dunno, sometimes. I remember he used to tell me about when I was born.”
Rose smiled into her hair. “That was your favorite. He loved to really play it up, though, and get you to say certain words when he got to them. ‘Oh, look it’s Susan!’”
“She’s finally here!” Susan piped up, imitating her younger voice.
“Haha, that’s right. You remember!”
“Um. Does it make you too sad to talk about? Is that why you don’t tell me the story?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I dunno, you’re--you’re getting older and I thought maybe I couldn’t replace those things for you. But of course I’ll tell you anything you want to know. It’ll be your birthday, maybe time to try out some old traditions, hmm? See what we might wanna keep?”
Susan rubbed her face into Rose’s shoulder. “Okay.” She sounded much younger than almost nine, for a moment.
“You know how much I love you, right? And how much your Daddy loved you?”
Susan nodded. “All the way to the moon and back.”
Rose heard the echo of James’s voice and blinked away tears. “Oh, my darling…we’re gonna be ok, you and me.” She shifted to climb out of Susan’s bed and smooched her face until she giggled. “You excited about your party?”
“Yes, but I think Gran is more excited than me.”
“Probably!” Rose laughed.
“Is Uncle Mickey coming?”
“Yes, he’ll be there. Now, you get some sleep!”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack slouched back into one corner of his overstuffed couch, sighing contentedly at the now-quiet house. “I’ve heard some news about Romana.”
John set his glass down, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes to rest back on the chair opposite him. “Do I need to know?” Throughout dinner he’d grown more warm and relaxed, full of pasta and homemade sauce, and sunk into the rhythms of the family chatter. He wasn’t particularly ready for a mood change.
“Well, yeah, I know it’s not your favorite subject, but you might have to deal with it. She’s filed to run for parliament.”
“Good for her.”
“She stands a good chance, though it could get contentious, which is why you need to be prepared. The tabs…” Jack swirled the wine in his glass.
John sighed heavily and kept his eyes closed. “They’ll get nothing from me. And what do I care what nonsense they spin up. She didn’t want to be married to me, and she left me and found someone more to her liking. End of story.”
“Well, what should be end of story and what is aren’t always the same. She might be asked about your relationship. I hope she won’t say anything, but if she does… There’s the next book tour to think about.”
“Book tour! You have a lot of faith in me. Anway, she’s got more to lose than I do, so I doubt she’ll say anything newsworthy. Her timing is impeccable as always.”
Jack sighed. “Yeah, well, I’d have rather waited to tell you, but here we are. And I do, actually, have a lot of faith in you. You have the next story and it’s good. And now it’s time for me to kick your arse to get it done.”
John picked up his glass for a long swallow. “Polly gave me a lot of notes. Might have to make some revisions.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll send her to kick your arse. I’m gonna ask--what have you gotten accomplished since we saw you this summer, hmm?”
“Needed to get the roof done and remake my desk area.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Firewood stacked.”
“I won’t say anything for the rest of this year, got it? That’s a whole month. But come January, it’ll be time to get on deadline. It’s been over a year and a half since you wrote anything.”
“Not true. I write.”
“Telling people they’re wrong on the internet doesn’t count.”
“I definitely do not waste time telling stupid apes they’re wrong on the internet!”
Jack laughed wholeheartedly, and got up to empty the wine into their glasses.
“I’ve been doing some work for Christmas Ink.”
“Christmas Ink? Oh, writing letters from Santa Claus? That’s--cute, actually. I should see if my kids have sent anything in.”
“We write as ourselves. Well, ourselves if we were elves.”
Jack cracked up. “Please tell me there’s a photoshoot!”
“It’s not like that. It’s...nice.”
“I bet you write great Santa letters, actually. You talk to the kids like their interests are important, take them seriously. It’s a good quality.”
“They’re great people, your kids. Dunno how you managed it.” He grinned, but stopped at the look on Jack’s face. “Now, don’t get soppy on me--I’ll have to open another bottle!”
Jack blinked his reddened eyes. “It’s all Yan, you know? This house, the way he makes me believe we always have more room, physically and otherwise. This family wouldn’t be--who would I be if it weren’t for him? A workaholic, noncustodial father who barely knew his son?”
“I know.” He took a drink. “How’s Lucia?”
“Good. Still with the NGO in India. We’ll see her in January. Ben can’t wait.”
“I’m glad for him.”
“Speaking of having more room in the house--that reminds me, I have to tell you that your room might be taken up very soon!”
John looked at him questioningly.
“Expanding again! Probably. We’re going to start fostering, after the new year.”
“Jack, that’s amazin’, really, I’m so happy for all of you.”
Jack leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder, looked him straight in the eyes. “And that...is why you need to get this book done. I’m about to have seven or ten kids and I need to get paid!” He winked.
John laughed hard and slapped Jack’s knee, a little too hard. “All right, point taken. It’s the least I can do after how hard you sold the first one. See, now I wouldn’t be John Smith, author, if it weren’t for you.”
“Too right you wouldn’t!”
* * * * * * * * * * * *
~December 4th~
Jackie Tyler’s new home shone bright and fully decked out for Christmas. Rose had to admit, her mother seemed truly happy with Howard the greengrocer. They’d moved out of the council estate to a slightly bigger townhome in the almost-suburbs and Jackie was in her glory.
The party was winding down. Susan’s two best friends from school had already been picked up, though a few younger cousins were still running around, and Rose turned up the stereo.
I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need...
Susan squealed, ran into the living room, and grabbed Rose’s hand to start twirling. “My favorite song!”
Rose swung her back and forth and laughed. Reclaim our memories, that’s the goal this year. And it was working. She gazed at Susan’s pink cheeks and the wispy curls that refused to stay tucked into the sock bun no matter how much Rose worked on her technique.
Susan had been delighted by everything today--proud and excited to the point of tears when Rose revealed her birthday cake, a fondant-covered tall blue box, like the one her favorite characters traveled the universe in, with layers of chocolate and vanilla cake inside. Jackie had made cutouts of various aliens for decorations, and Susan’s most prized gift, an unofficial guide to the characters, came from Mickey Smith.
Mickey...Rose’s oldest friend, who now stood at the wall watching the dancing with a small smile. “Come on over here, you,” Rose called to him, and released Susan so she could go drag her little cousin into the dance.
Mickey took her hand and gave her a spin, and when she laughed, surprised, said, “Didn’t know I learnt some moves, eh?”
“Yeah, you have!” Rose laughed.
“Maybe you want to come out with me sometime and try them out?”
“Out dancing? Like, to a club?” She and Mickey hung out pretty regularly, but there was never anything date-like about it, and now she wondered at something in his face.
“I mean, if you want to, might be fun,” he said, shrugging.
“Yeah, let me think about it.”
The song ended and she gave him a quick hug before Susan crashed into her and clung. They flopped breathlessly onto the couch. Rose tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Have you been having a good birthday, darling?”
Susan’s grin was as wide as she’d seen it in a while. “Yes! Can we stay here tonight, I don’t want to go home yet.”
“We can ask Gran. I bet she’ll want us to. And we can make a big breakfast and it’ll be brilliant.” She smoothed her hand down Susan’s face and drank in every detail.
“Mummy, you’re looking at me all silly.”
“That’s because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I’m just happy.”
Susan giggled and burrowed further into her side and Rose had to lean down to hear her. “Are you really?” She didn’t look up.
“This is the day my baby was born. And all these people I love are here. And you are happy. So yeah, I am. One day at a time right, right?”
“Right.”
Regret welled up in her gut for how Susan’s last two birthdays must have felt, but Jackie interrupted from the kitchen. “Oi, Rose! Come in here and clean up with me.”
Along the way, she saw her assistant, Clara, putting on her coat. Rose hugged her. “Thank you so much for coming! And the cake--I couldn’t have done it without you!”
“Oh, please, you were on top of it.”
“No, really, you’re magic with the structure; mine would have fallen down before the party started.” Rose slung an arm around her as she moved toward the door. “Why do you think I stick to cupcakes?”
Clara had a twinkle in her eye. “Then are we ready to revisit my wedding cakes plan?”
“You got it! We’ll talk tomorrow.”
She rejoined Jackie, who stood at the sink washing serving dishes, and grabbed a towel to dry. “Hello, hostess! Everything was beautiful, Mum, thank you.”
Jackie smiled proudly, “Well, all for my granddaughter.”
“Look at her face--she’s had such a perfect day. I couldn’t--” her voice broke. “I’m afraid I couldn’t have done it myself. I don’t even want to think about her last two--”
“Rose, love, you stop that right now! You did the best you could, same as I did.”
“I know, I just--” Rose dabbed her eyes with the tea towel, then resumed drying. “Does Howard always leave you to do all the washing up?” Her stepfather remained a bit mysterious to her, and she was not quite past looking for red flags, in spite of the recent marriage.
“He knows to stay out. I like to have peace and do things my way in here.” She gave a sly look and Rose laughed. “You think I’m old-fashioned, but it’s my territory.”
“Hey, your marriage is your business!”
“Quite right. Anyway, I’ve been wonderin’...Have you had your eyes open lately?” She nodded toward the living room, where Mickey was sat with Susan, listening as she chatted animatedly, probably about one of her many stories she’d created for her favorite characters.
“What?”
“Sounded to me like he was asking you on a proper date.”
“Mum! I mean, ok, maybe? But, we tried that, ages ago. I care about him, I do, but it’s not like. Like a--”
“A spark?” she huffed. “Let me tell you something, sometimes in life we have to make our own sparks.”
“I dunno.”
“Well, take a look at that couch and tell me it doesn’t melt your heart.”
Whatever Mickey said was making Susan laugh. Her mum had a point.
“He’s been promoted, you know. Chief software engineer. He’s movin’ up. And don’t tell me you don’t think he’s fit enough!” Jackie continued. “Could do a lot worse!”
Rose burst into giggles, then lowered her voice. “Mum! He’ll hear you.” And she took a good, long look at Mickey. He’d really grown into himself well. She thought of their fumbling but sweet teenage makeouts that she’d always remembered with fondness. It would be different, but maybe it was worth considering. They could spend some time together and see if the fire rekindled.
Nothing would ever be the same. And she should stop expecting it to.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
John turned the key to his P.O. box at the Gallifrey post office and opened his canvas bag. ‘Tis the season, he thought, pulling out handful after handful of of letters and dropping them into the bag. An official card was stuck to the top of the pile--a package for him. He’d have to come back during business hours.
Back at home, he poured a glass of wine and set to work opening letters and scripting answers to them. He was pleased with his pace. “There’s me, granting wishes all over the kingdom!” he said to his completed stack, and leaned back in his oversized office chair, looking out the picture window over his desk into the countryside nighttime. They said snow was expected this year, but it hadn’t happened yet. There was enough moonlight that he could see all across his property. The glass showed only dim reflections from his green desk lamp and fireplace, and he watched the dancing flames.
He startled awake some hours later, breathing hard and shaking off confused remnants of a firefight, and a patient he laid his body across as a shield.
No, he told himself, not here. Not here.
This cottage was the sanctuary he’d built for himself, and he refused to let the monsters in. His hands had transformed the rough shack into a warm and beautiful home, and with every piece of wood nailed and every coat of paint, he pictured a stronger barrier around his memories.
December was his least favorite month, since the December he was 19 and lost his parents, and with them his connection to any extended family. It was the month of his worst war experience, and it was a year after that when Romana decided she couldn’t live with him anymore. His dreams still worsened on schedule every year, as if stirred up from the depths by the holiday music he always played defiantly, because he refused to let any of it take Christmas away from him. He scrubbed his face. The firewood had burned down to a red glow of coal and the room was chillier.
Maybe he should have taken Jack and Ianto’s offer to stay in the city with them until Christmas. New Year’s Day would make it all easier.
A letter in a red envelope had fallen into his lap. He opened it.
Dear Father Christmas:
This will be the third Christmas since my daddy died, and my mum is still so lonely without him and so am I. She isn’t the same mum as I remember before. They were going to travel the world together, but they had me instead. My daddy loved to make plans for all the places he was going to take us. And she was always so happy and excited. And now that he’s gone, I think my mum is afraid she’ll never have any adventures. And that she’ll never be in love again.
My favorite book is Journal of Impossible Things, and it makes me wish that Jamie and Zoe and Ace could come and find us and take us to Grandfather’s spaceship and let her see so many amazing things out in the universe. I don’t want anything else for Christmas. I just want Mummy to smile all the way up to her eyes again. Can you bring back her smile?
Thank you, Father Christmas.
Love, Susan Foreman, age (almost) 9
He smiled, amused, for a moment, then set the letter down. This kid wrote to the right elf, and she didn’t even know it.
Bed now--answer in the morning, he told himself. But he sat down again, looked at the letter, and pulled out a fresh piece of stationery.
Dear Susan,
My name is the Doctor. Father Christmas is hard at work getting ready for Christmas, so I’m writing you back for him.
Whenever I feel lonely up here in Lapland, and like everyone in the world is far away, I just look up at the stars. They're the same stars that everyone else in the world sees every night, and the same stars that I used to watch with the loved ones I've lost. When I look up at the sky, the people I love are never far from me.
No one can ever replace your dad. But I know for sure that he wanted you and your mum to have a fantastic life. In every life there is a pile of good things and bad things; the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but then the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. You have each other, and you have time, and new adventures can be right around the corner.
There’s a quote from one of my favorite books, by Charles Dickens, and I think you’re old enough to understand. “Memory, however sad, is the best and purest link between this world and a better.” Your loss is irreplaceable, but your memories of your dad are where your love for him lives and will never leave you. The same is true for your mum…
Without further reflection, he kept writing, adding new pages, words flowing from his pen in a way they hadn’t in years. He was surprised to find himself at a finishing point and signing “Love Always, The Doctor.” He looked back over the letter, considering, but felt satisfied, and added his Christmas Ink elf code. He placed a first class Royal Mail stamp on the envelope and added it to the stack of completed letters, which he put in the bag by the door. First thing tomorrow: post box.
For now: a peaceful, dreamless sleep.
TBC