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It was December 24th, and every child in England, Scotland, and a gravel quarry in Wales lay fitfully in their beds, dreaming of a white Christmas as rain pounded Britishly against their rooftops. Mercifully, this story has nothing to do with any of them. Rather, we find ourselves on the planet Lakertya, where the Rani has brought the Doctor to her laboratory, and the Doctor is very, very dead.
Or maybe he wasn't, unless Time Lords had a very involved and vocal form of rigor mortis. The Rani scrambled to close her laboratory door before the terribly-dressed man got to his feet.
'That was a nice nap! Now, down to business!' The Doctor sprang up and clapped his hands together, 'I'm a bit worried about the temporal flicker in sector thirteen,' he trailed off into talking to himself, as usual, as the Rani looked on unamused.
'... and perhaps a quick holiday. That all seems quite clear; just three small points:' he withdrew a tacky brass pocketwatch from his tackier, oversized vest, 'what day is it, where am I, and who are you?'
He looked at his watch and gasped loudly, then looked up from it and gasped louder. 'The Rani!' he shouted, 'Merry Christmas!'
He threw his arms wide as if expecting the Rani to come in for a hug; she instead greeted him with a stern expression and a raised blaster. 'The safety of your companion depends entirely on your co-operation, Doctor.'
'You don't understand!' He rushed forward heedless of her warning, 'It's Christmas!'
'I'll have none of your senseless babbling. What is "Christmas"?'
'What is Christmas!?' The Doctor recoiled in shock at his Gallifreyan comrade's ignorance. 'Why, it is only the greatest holiday on Earth!'
'Why should I care about the celebrations of lesser species? I've barely even been to Earth!'
'Why, that's the beauty of it!' The Doctor senselessly waved his hands about. 'It's a holiday of giving, of thankfulness, of spending time with your loved ones, of-'
The Rani rolled her eyes, wondering why she expected coherence from a Time Lord immediately post-regeneration; it was very inconsiderate of him to die upon bombardment with radiation. Perhaps showing him that he was no longer his sixth incarnation would persuade him to shut up.
'And they tell stories. Oh, the stories!' The Doctor rushed back to the Rani's console. 'You know, the humans have a story about a man who hates Christmas. And then he loves it! Do you know why he loves it?'
'Because he's stark raving mad?' The Rani grumbled, 'Come on, Doctor, I'm not going to wait all day.'
She reasserted her weapon in his face, and the Doctor seemed convinced that his outstretched hands would make an excellent energy shield. Recklessly he slammed his hand onto the console screen and tapped away at the screen with the same disregard with which he would barbarically treat another poor TARDIS, such as his own. The Rani's TARDIS, however, seemed more preoccupied with foolish matters such as tracking the positions of its Lakertyan test subjects, and maintaining its own defence systems.
'The spirit of Christmas comes to him,' the Doctor poked at the touchscreen like someone's granddad on their new tablet, 'and shows him the ghosts of his past and future! Now, if I can bypass the temporal override...'
The Rani took a moment to process his ramblings. 'Wait!' She rushed forward to stop him, 'Don't you dare-'
There was a blinding bright flash, like some hapless intern had shone a stagelight into the camera. Surrounding the console now were four additional Time Lords: a short woman with long, curly hair, a tall man with a tricorn hat and velvet suit, and two women in identical clothing, one with dark red hair, the other blonde. As the light subsided, the five Ranis looked back and forth between one another as if at an unwanted workplace icebreaker activity.
'Wait a minute...' said the shortest Rani.
'Voila!' The Doctor threw his arms in the air in short-sighted triumph, 'the ghosts of Rani past and Rani future!'
'You're not telling me I turn into this lot?' The first Rani gestured incredulously at her successors.
'What in Rassilon's name is happening?' The man tugged at his lapels and bounced pretentiously on his suede-booted heels.
'He's just regenerated.' The original Rani scanned the screen for a way to undo this mess while the Doctor waxed poetic about the true meaning of Christmas; the other Ranis, who had the privilege of missing the Doctor's original speech, puzzled amongst themselves.
'And the ghost of Christmas future - that's you -' the Doctor said, taking the hands of the future Ranis, 'show Scrooge what his life will be like if he doesn't open his heart...'
The blonde Rani pulled her hand away and turned to the original Rani. 'You said he just regenerated? How long has it been?'
'Maybe three hours.' Replied the original.
Now preoccupied with a jaunty song and dance, the Doctor spun circles around the past Ranis who had since taken to arguing with one another about who had better hair.
'And as the ghosts of Christmas faded,'He beckoned his captive audience to join him in completing his sentence, 'Ebenezer Scrooge learnt a valuable thing...'
The blonde Rani drew her blaster and shot him three times in the chest.
'With the Doctor out of the question, the universe was hers for the taking. And that, my dear children,' echoed every tele-screen in the galaxy, 'was how the Rani discovered the true meaning of Christmas.'
The broadcast flickered dimly across the genetically-identical faces of every child as rain pounded Britishly against their fallout bunkers. It was a joyous occasion; the Rani of the 13th sector had granted their shelter extra chocolate rations, and they would sleep beneath the radioactive glow of the fusion reactors. Tinny, off-key Christmas carols played in the background as the program drew to a close, signalling the shutdown of their electricity until the next cycle of the moon.
'Merry Christmas to all,' the televised Rani closed a heavy book bound in clashing patchwork fabric, 'and to all a good night.'