As part of the TARDIS Guide Advent Calendar, @lwebb asked people to think about how classic doctors would celebrate Christmas, which lead to me making a short fanfic about The Fugitive Doctor. I didn’t want to lose it in that thread, and wanted to give more of a chance for people to see it, so thought I’d post as a seperate topic too
The Doctor let out a sigh as she collapsed into her armchair. Just once she’d like to leave somewhere without wrecking nearly as much as she put back together. How long had she been at this now? She wracked her brain for an answer, but none came, it felt like her whole life. She smiled to herself as she supposed it had been. She enjoyed the work, she was doing good after all, but things were changing.
That mission with The Hate Weaver a few megaspans back had dealt a large blow, most of her team were dead or fell to its influence, and it was going to take a while to bounce back. Gat… he’d died there once too, but when she got better, she was different. This new Gat was born of war, more hard, more dedicated, more devoted. That new kid Karvanista had made it too, there was one to watch, in the time since the incident he’d more than managed to pull the weight of half the crew, maybe it was time to downsize the teams?
She shook her head, worrying too much again, that wouldn’t get her anywhere. She’d just gotten back from a long hard mission, maybe it was time again for that tradition of hers. Gat wouldn’t like it, but what did she care, she needed some time to herself every once in a while, she needed a reminder of what she was fighting for.
The TARDIS landed, and The Doctor strode out into the brisk air, walking to a nearby vendor. A couple of minutes later she was sitting at a nearby table, looking at the tower in the distance, once the tallest building on this planet, not any longer, but it was still magnificent.
Sol Three, Earth as they called it. She’d been sent here on a mission ages ago, back when this body was still fresh: Track down the anomaly, prevent any interruptions to the timeline, eliminate the cause if necessary. She’d been given a rundown of the location, ‘December 25th, 1949’ by the local calendar, this city, ‘Paris’, had been occupied a mere four years earlier in a war that had affected a large swath of this planet. The effects, she’d been told, would still be massive.
She’d walked those streets on a cold, dark day, searching for something out of place, and she’d found it all around. Joy. Hope. She’d come on a day of celebration, a day on which the inhabitants of this world looked into the darkness, the bleakness of their day to day life, and said ‘No, not yet, not today’. She’d thought it’d make finding the anomaly more difficult, but the bright red of the 22 bus was visible from a mile off, and luckily a conversation with it’s owner hadn’t lead to blows. For once she’d been able to take in the moment, to look around, to take in the sights, the smells, the people. She’d loved it.
And so here she sat, now. Paris, ‘December 24th 1951’, cradling a delightful drink of what the locals called hot chocolate, looking to the tower, and watching it glow with hope.
She couldn’t stay for long, the bleakness and darkness would come back again soon, but that single moment was enough, for now.