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The best part of winter, and the whole Christmas season, was the snow. The kind that stuck around instead of melting into street slush within an hour or two.
Nostalgia got the best of you, thinking of snowman making: how you grabbed tree branches from the garden for arms, stealing your mum’s scarf and that carrot from the fridge (which your parents probably told you off for).
That was the kind of childish nonsense that used to feel like magic. For some reason this year you wanted that kind of winter, needed it. Just a little bit of whimsy, something to dull the tiredness of travelling with The Doctor and balancing a life at home. Not that you could complain, The Doctor’s adventures did provide that feeling, somewhat. Like that time she took you to a planet where animals made of clouds floated through the air like balloons.
The meteorologist on TV had sounded confident, enough to let you believe it. Snow on the 24th, 25th and 26th, that was the broadcast. And it was not just one inch of snow, but nine. So you let yourself hope. But that had been in vain. Now, standing in the console room of The Doctor’s TARDIS, you felt like an idiot for believing any of it. Because instead of snow, the sky had dumped what felt like an entire sea.
You had to sprint across the street, from your apartment to the TARDIS, just to avoid being soaked straight through. Even then your shoes and your hair were wet, and your patience was gone.
It was a few days before the holidays, and, of course, it was endlessly raining. You caught your breath, teardrops from your hair puddling onto the floor
"Hey! So, I was thinking," The Doctor chattered somewhere behind you, probably tinkering at the console, 'maybe we could go to a spa? Just us, not the rest of the fam..."
You barely heard her after that. Screw that, you weren't listening at all. All you could think about was the snow you weren’t getting.
"(Y/n), you there?"
"Yeah." You exhaled. "There’s no white Christmas this year. I know it’s ridiculous, but I really wanted snow. Not slush. Not rain. Just… snow."
"Oi, don't jinx it. Snow's fashionably late, just like me when I forget what century I'm in."
You'd known her long enough to spot a bad lie. This was definitely one of them. "Right. Sure."
You had to admit, the adventure you were currently on was a nice Christmas treat. The Doctor took the liberty of dragging you to Victorian England.
Before you knew it, you were in Charles Dickens’ place, having a cup of tea with him.
Apparently one of The Doctor's previous regenerations made great friends with the writer, even contributing ideas to a novel, or two. It made you wonder what other famous people she had met.
He told you both about the story he had recently finished. "A Christmas Carol in Prose, Being a Ghost Story of Christmas", he’d told you while he took a sip of his cup.
You stuttered, "Oh."
This was a surprise from The Doctor you never saw coming. She knew your fascination with classic literature. Maybe this visit was exactly what she planned when you told her you’d spend the holidays with her.
"I’m, um-" You tried grasping your words. "I really like your work."
Seriously? ‘I really like your work?’ Great job, me, you’d scoffed at yourself. Couldn’t have been a bit more creative in that matter.
"You do? Which story is your favourite?"
Any answer to that question would invite trouble. You looked to The Doctor, who only confirmed your suspicion: don’t go spoiling his future. It could potentially cause a paradox, rewrite his timeline, or in the worst situation both.
You faltered, unsure of the right answer. The Doctor bounced forward, nearly knocking over Dickens' teacup. "Actually, maybe they could get a copy? A souvenir, maybe?" A great save, you had to give her that.
Your knees nearly dropped when he handed you a first edition of "A Christmas Carol"
.
You knew how rare and expensive it would be in your own time. It was definitely worth more than your yearly rent, probably worth more than anything in your (not so) average life. "Maybe you shouldn’t?" But it was too late, damage already done. He'd gifted it to you, no more taking back.
"Mr. Dickens, I can’t possibly take this-" you shrieked.
He returned to his seat and took another sip of his tea, "Absolute nonsense, my dear. What’s the point of writing a story if not everybody can read it?" Your demeanor faltered, you weren’t about to cause a scene with the Charles Dickens over a book.
The moment you were back in 2025 The Doctor was fidgeting with the TARDIS controls. She almost looked satisfied with herself… If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve said she looked seemingly mischievous. The Doctor was definitely up to something. Something’s not right, you told yourself.
"Doctor, what did you do?"
"Nothing," she hesitated, "Well. Not nothing- Nearly nothing." The Doctor bit her lip, failing spectacularly at hiding her grin, "go on then."
You reached for your first edition copy of "A Christmas Carol" and paused in front of the TARDIS door. "Doctor," you warned, "I swear if you messed up Charles Dickens’ timeline or did something to the Christmas we all should know in this day and age-"
"Just trust me. You’re going to love this."
Your hunch had been right when you opened the TARDIS door. She did do something.
Cold air hit you instantly, no warmth to cover you as you only wore a sweater and not a jacket. White snow, covering your entire street. Inches of snow, that had stayed for a while, judging from the length, the inches of it. Your black Dr. Martens sank two inches within your first step outside the ship. The cold bit through your sweater immediately, but you didn't care.
"It’s snowing," you exclaimed, "it’s actually snowing!"
You gathered a ball of snow. "How long has it been here?" you asked.
"Oh, for a couple hours, I’d reckon. Judging from the way it’s lying."
"I’m no meteorologist but it should stick around through Boxing Day." The Doctor stepped out beside you, snowflakes catching in her blonde hair. "Apparently, there was a tiny alien incursion earlier... Cooled the whole area by accident. Thought I’d let it play out, y’know… timing and all."
You could’ve chosen to fight her on causing chaos but didn’t.
Because you got three beautiful gifts. A incredibly rare first edition of a book you’d liked, a snowfall when it shouldn’t have been possible, and a loving friend.
All of them made it the best Christmas gift anyone had given you that year.
"Thank you," you said softly.
The Doctor bumped her shoulder against yours. "Merry Christmas."