Hey, folks. This is my first blog post here so I thought I'd start off with something that I have written. This is a short story I wrote a while ago as fan literature for Doctor Who. I have continued to write an entire series, which will be posted as soon as they are thoroughly proof-read. Enjoy!
Doctor Who Episode One:
Seasons Greetings
Age Rating: U
A quiet street, veiled by a perfect layer of white snow is interrupted by the clumsy sight of a giant blue box. The sound of distant carol singers and sleigh bells are disturbed by the rusty sound of the TARDIS, pulsing forcefully against the wind. What snow that might have lain in the street is brushed aside, by all the wind the machine hurls about. The door flings open and the Doctor casually emerges, scanning the surrounding area, before pushing the door of the TARDIS shut. He tugs at his earlobe and scratches his lengthy sideburns, before smiling warmly and presently strolling away.
Tucking his hands neatly into his trouser suit pockets, he walks elegantly. His coat reaches low and delicately taps at the uneven layer snow, as his white trainers sink into the deepening blanket. He turns the corner and meets with the sight of the Thames, glittering in the night from the blue illuminations, which are working around the London Eye. Christmas lights are hung from posts and trees and wires, and events are being held; a group of carol singers are singing O’ Christmas Tree, and a man nearby is selling mince pies and Christmas hats and badges.
“Merry Christmas,” the man calls cheerfully to passers-by. He points towards the Doctor. “’ere, sir! ‘ave it on me! Season of joy an’ all.” He tosses a pair of flashing reindeer antlers to the Doctor; he catches them and smiles politely.
“Thanks!” The Doctor replies, somehow managing to find his head beneath his thick layer of dark hair, and sinking the antlers deeply into it. He smiles again and departs from the salesman. Then he decides to take a leisurely walk along the river, smiling casually at most folk he sees.
Children nearby are making snowmen and having snowball fights; the sound of laughter fills the air, but is suddenly disturbed by a collection of voices in one place, and then groups of people suddenly rush to one area, where the children had been playing.
“Ah!” the Doctor exclaims. “There it is.”
He approaches the commotion and manages to squeeze his way through the swarm of public. All are crowded around a snowman one child has made. It is no taller than four feet and wears a hat, scarf, stones for eyes and nose and mouth, and has tree twigs for arms – its body is made from two large snowballs. Its arms are moving slightly and its body begins to move, as more people join the commotion.
“It’s magic!” one child exclaims.
“It’s Christmas!” another says.
“Molecular animation, just as I thought,” the Doctor exclaims, gazing at the moving snowman and receiving puzzled glares from the crowd. He slips his glasses on his nose and raises a thick eyebrow.
“It’s so pretty,” a young boy adds.
“Everybody, get back, now!” the Doctor suddenly says, brushing his arms against the people, attempting to urge them backwards.
“What’s he talking about?” one man yells. “The man’s a fool!”
“Look, dad!” the boys says, gripping his father’s hand and brightening his eyes with a smile.
As the Doctor turns he is met with the sight of more snowmen, each moving individually. Children are laughing and cheering them on. Suddenly one begins to slide across the snow, and the others presently join it. All of them assemble and form a line in descending height – the tallest, at the back, is almost six foot; and the smallest, at the front, is less than two feet. The band slither across the snow, as the Doctor desperately attempts to urge the audience backwards.
“What’s matter with you, man?” an old woman in a mobility chair lifts a walking stick from the handle of her chair, and waves crankily it at the Doctor. “Stop trying to spoil their fun, you!”
“No, no, no!” the Doctor desperately replies. “You don’t understand; they kill!”
“Oh, I understand perfectly well!” she replies, approaching the Doctor in her chair. “It’s alright, love; I’ll take you to a nice place where there lots of people like you. You’ll be safe there.”
“W…what?!”
“She thinks you’re insane,” one young man whispers to him. Suddenly something made a clicking sound near to the Doctor’s wrist, and he felt something cold on his skin.
“Insane?! What, what are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to a mental home,” she cheerfully replies.
“A what?! Listen to me now, everyone here, they need me!”
“Don’t worry; I’ve been there once, for a few months last year – the food’s very nice.” She begins to move surprisingly speedily in her chair, dragging the Doctor with her. He quickly whips out his sonic screwdriver and allows it to hum on the lock of the handcuffs, helping him break free. He swiftly slips his screwdriver back into his inside pocket.
“What did you do?” the elderly woman asks. Suddenly, the cheering and laughter nearby converts to terrified screaming, and the Doctor turns impulsively and notices the snowmen; they’re marching in form, and shooting beams of light at people from their twigs, or throwing their heads or bodies to create immense explosives. The Doctor dashes away in a second towards the commotion.
“What about me?” the old woman calls. The Doctor turns to her.
“Run!” He calls.
“How?! I can’t!”
“Fly! Go!” he quickly replies.
“Fly?! I’m not a bird!” he had run too far to hear her, so she chases after him, at an unrealistic speed.
Three snowmen suddenly block the Doctor’s path, and the old woman approaches him.
“Not so fast, Doctor!” she says. “I’m not going to let you spoil my plans!”
“Your plans? Wait, how do you know me?”
“Oh, Doctor, you’re a legend amongst my species. The last of the Time Lords, the man without a home, the man without a name, the man without fate. How very, enigmatic, your titles are.”
“I don’t understand, who are you?”
“I’m hungry, how about some food? There’s a nice cafe near the pizza place. They do a very lovely chicken soup.”
“What?!”
“I’ll pay.”
“No, if it’s you who’s in controlling the snowmen, then stop all this now; people are dying!”
“Negotiate, or I shall have you rid of.”
“I won’t just go off with you while these people are being killed!”
“You’re just as stubborn as they said you were. Oh, if you must know, my name is Oganziah and I am an Ogoural.”
“Ogoural?! But you’re species is extinct!”
“Well, evidently not entirely. It’s just me left now, Doctor. Oh, you don’t mind, do you? This form is terribly uncomfortable, and I’m afraid my fans need to air; this chair isn’t doing it any good.”
“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” the Doctor replies, as Oganziah lifts herself from her chair and onto the floor. She lifts her wheelchair with surprising strength and hurls it across the ground, leaving a mere platform in replace; it hovers ceaselessly above the ground. She lifts herself onto it and sits down; it sinks somewhat. “Oh no, not while there are people around!” the Doctor continues to beg. There is a row of buttons on the top of the platform and she presses one; then her body forms into an alien, with a large, warty, wrinkly head. It is around three feet high and hovers confidently on the platform, above the ground. She burps deeply, and reveals a dry, smelly tongue, with which she licks her fat lips.
The Doctor watches her in disgust, as the flashing reindeer antlers continued to glitter; it seems he’s forgotten about them.
“There it goes, told you I was hungry,” said Oganziah, using a tentacle to rub her belly. She points to one of her snowmen. “All my food’s just passed through me gut. Need more now. ’ere, gimmie your nose.” She takes it with her slimy tentacle and crunches the carrot in her rotten teeth. “Urgh, revolting human food. Gemmie some meat, one of ya.”
“Why are you killing everyone?” the Doctor asked.
She yawned. “I’m bored of this. Shall I just kill ‘im? Oh, why am I askin’ you? You can’t talk. You’re just a snowman.”
“Right then, fine!” the Doctor turns and runs away from her, the tail of his coat trails behind him.
“Okay, Doctor, have it your way!” Oganziah calls. She pushes another button on her control panel and a beam of light grasps the Doctor at his ankles, causing him to hurtle into the snow. He picks himself up, but Oganziah has already caught up with him and, as he stands, she shoots another laser from the tip of his tall hair, to the soles of his shoes, buried in the snow. And he has disappeared.
The Doctor finds himself lying upon a hard white surface. As his eyes open and adjust to his surroundings, and he notices that the whole room is white. It’s a small room; no bigger than three metres by four, and in the very centre is a stone cold white table, upon which the Doctor is laying. He lifts himself up, messy haired, with crooked antlers. He feels the top of his hair, realising he’s wearing the antlers, cheekily smiles and adjusts them. As he turns, he notices the high ceiling, and the Christmas music playing through some tiny speakers. Upon further looking, he sees that one wall is clear, and another room is beside him, that is considerably larger than his. A door opens there. Oganziah hovers in, looking only where she’s heading, and not at the Doctor.
“I’m, dreaming, of a white, Christmas,” she sings along to the music, in her shaky old womanly voice. “Just like the…oh, you’re awake, sleepy boy.” She finally looks at the Doctor and smirks, a thick, foul, green liquid oozing from her lips.
“Where am I?” the Doctor asks, allowing his legs to hang over the table.
“My home.”
“Why am I here? I tired of your games now, Oganziah, what do you want with me?”
She sighs. “Ogourals live for an incredible nine thousand years.” She presses a button and a giant window is revealed on the wall; the sight through which is of clouds, and above there is the blackening sky, with the moon and stars in its distance. She approaches it. “There was a time, when I could look in the mirror an’ smile. Now, I break it. An’ I’m only in my six thousandth, two hundredth an’ ninety first year. See, I admire you, Doctor; you can regenerate. An’ this is why you’re ‘ere; I ‘ave injected you with a DNA extracting formula. It’s completely pain free, until the very last sixty seconds, in which time you will feel your energy slowly evaporating, an’ your hearts weakening. It won’t take long to begin its process – half an hour, perhaps. Soon, your cell will fill with your own DNA, an’ it will be extracted through the tiny holes in the ceiling, before being filtered into a concentrated liquid, an’ popped in some food, an’ eaten by me – gifting me a Time Lords power to regenerate.”
“You can’t do that!” the Doctor leaps from his seat and slams his fists against the glass.
“I’ve already done it!”
“What about me?”
“You will, eventually become partly, an’ then completely transparent. After that, you will be dead.”
“Why were you killing all those people if it was me you needed?”
“I was hungry!”
“I thought the Ogourals were vegetarian.”
“There were, but I’m the last, so if I’m going to reproduce my species again, it aught to be with my rules. Meat is far tastier, an’ much more fun; I like a chase.”
“You’re going to reproduce the Ogourals?”
“Yep; from the cells an’ skin of my body. Right after I’ve consumed you. Then, I thought of the title ‘The Ogourals, Masters of Time’, what do you think? We would be the Ogoural-Time-Lords.”
“This is illegal! You’ll never get away with it!”
“Oh but I will get away with it.” Oganziah moved slowly across the room as she spoke. “For, you see, I have invented a plan. When you’re dead, I’ll fly myself forward in time an’ plant myself there. I will regenerate an’ create a disguised ship, an’, as you should know, the Ogourals are masters of disguise. That way, there’s no way they will find me, should they come looking for me. But they never will, because they’ll never know this happened. No one will know you’re even gone. No one even cares for the Doctor anymore. You haven’t got anyone. They’re all lost, or dead, or out of reach, or have forgotten you. Who do you live for?”
“For all those people down there,” the Doctor approaches the window and mournfully looks out to the clouds from his cell. “Someone needs to protect them.”
“Oh, yes I hadn’t thought of that,” Oganziah says. “By killing you, I am eliminating Planet Earth’s protection. I have better excess to domination. Oh, an’ that’s a very good idea; Planet Earth will be my new home. I’m so tired of living in this ship. I can burn the surface an’ recreate it to accommodate my species. Then, I can form a disguise for Planet Earth.”
“You can’t!”
“You have no authority over me, little boy. Activate molecular animation blizzard.”
Suddenly the clouds begin to gather rapidly and darken in colour. Snow pours from the compressed clouds, as a storm is produced. People, at first are cheering for the sight of their white Christmas; but as the wind howls deeper, the snowflakes form thicker and heavier.
“Goodbye, Doctor,” Oganziah says, as she departs from him through a gap in the wall.
The Doctor frisks himself frantically for his sonic screwdriver.
“Oh, by the way,” Oganziah says as she suddenly emerges, “I stripped you while you slept an’ confiscated your gadgets… Nice equipment. Farewell.”
The Doctor crashes his fists again on the glass, and then repeatedly strikes it in absolute rage. He attempts to call back Oganziah to try and persuade her to let him go. After her failing to emerge, he turns to the window and begins to kick it.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Doctor,” Oganziah’s voice is coming from the speaker above him. The Doctor notices a tiny camera beside it. “It’s a long drop out of that window should you fall.”
“I’d rather fall and die than have my soul drained and fed to you!” the Doctor replied.
“You don’t have the guts.”
“Oh, don’t I?” the Doctor quickly hurls his foot flat on the window, causing a deep crack to emerge and creep across the glass. “I mean it, I’ll do it! There’s a lovely thick blanket of snow laid out down there for me to fall onto. How thick is it? Must be at least two metres by now, and it’s deepening by the second – not unlike this crack.” Suddenly the glass shatters to pieces. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Oganziah. Shame about my screwdriver; never mind I’ll make a new one. Still, make good use of it would you.”
“I’ll find you, Doctor!”
“You need to get out more. You know, there are loads of surgeons on earth who could help you lose a couple of years – you don’t need to suck the life out of me.”
“Oh, no – I can’t do needles.”
“Ah. Shame. By the way, what happened to all those snowmen?”
“They weren’t needed anymore – they just collapsed.”
“And the people?”
“I ate a few.”
“A few?”
“Twenty five.”
“What?!”
“I was hungry!”
“There are several planets nearby that are completely unused. Move to one of those.”
“No! I like earth.”
“Urgh, you’re so stubborn. Fine, I’m off then. Let’s hope I land on something flat.”
“Doctor!” Oganziah calls, but the Doctor has disappeared; he is descending towards earth.
The Doctor suddenly realises how fast he is falling and whips off his coat, tugging hard at it as he falls. He makes tears across the seams and holds it above his head, so that his fall is softened. As the surface of the planet emerges through the blizzard he hears people screaming and sees them rushing into nearby buildings.
He finally touches the ground into a heap of snow, set on top of something tall. The Doctor desperately attempts to shield his eyes from the howling wind and snow. As he stands he turns and hooks his hands on the edge of the object he’d landed on. Snow is set close to his feet, and he presses a first foot in the snow, feeling the cold seep through to his warm skin, and it soaks his trousers. As he looks down, and attempts to shake the snow off his sinking trainers, he notices that he had landed conveniently on top of the TARDIS. The sight comforts him and he smiles warmly, let out one loud ‘HA!’ and smiles brightly.
He first tries to use his hands to dig at the snow, but soon realises how agonisingly slow the process is, and looks about for an alternative. Objects are still being hurled about by the wind, and one is a plank of wood. He uses it to dig through the snow and eventually is able to open the doors of the TARDIS.
She hums calmly and contently, seemingly quiet compared to the blizzard outside. The Doctor shakes the snow off his wild hair and notices, again, the flashing antlers. He temporarily removes them to shape his hair, and then sets them back in place. He is still holding his torn jacket, and swings it over the handlebars.
“Shame; loved that jacket,” he murmurs to himself. He sharply turns towards the TARDIS control panel and clicks a button rapidly. “Shouldn’t be too hard to turn up the heat a little out there; make the snow melt. There we go.” He turns and smiles contently. Then quickly flips back and smacks a button off. “No, no, no; hadn’t thought of that – it will flood. Where’re my companions when I need them?” He brushes his fingers through the back of his damp hair. “Donna would’ve known what to do. Something stupidly obvious, only she could think of. Talking to myself now; things are really bad. Then again, glad she’s not here; would’ve got a slap for that last comment.”
He clicks away at buttons, staring at his monitor. “The clouds; of course. Somehow I need to make the clouds disappear. Ah, here we go. I can scatter a solvent across the sky; make the clouds fade. I’ll add just a little heat; help the snow melt gradually. Humans can take care of the rest. There we go.” He pushes the door open a crack and peeps out at the sky; a radiant blue wipes across the clouds and the stars are revealed. The Doctor hears people cheering nearby and smiles satisfyingly, pulling the door shut.
He slips his hands into his pockets and looks at his ship. In his mind he is beginning to wonder what would happen next. He considers, for a moment, finding someone amongst the recent commotion. Someone enthused by the event, and not scared. “Someone like Martha,” he thought. And he realises for a second how little he noticed her before.
He reaches out to activate the TARDIS and notices that his hand is slightly see-through. He compares it with his other hand and sees that both are partly transparent. “That’s just a bit creepy,” he said, wriggling his fingers about and watching the TARDIS control panel animated within his hands. He then scrunches his sleeves up to his elbows; it has only affected some of his arm so far. He quickly whips open a compartment in the floor of the TARDIS and pulls out a tiny bottle, containing a pink formula.
“This should reverse the effects,” he says, pulling the lid off the bottle and pouring it into his mouth; his face screws up as he swallows the liquid. He pulls out a tissue from his inside pocket and twitches his nose, before disposing of the DNA extracting formula through his nose; it’s produced in a sticky, running, pink liquid. He folds away the tissue, opens the door of the TARDIS and flings it out, slamming the door shut and looking satisfyingly at his complete hands.
“There we go!” he exclaims, grinning at his hands.
Something disturbs his victory; a knocking at the doors of the TARDIS. He cautiously approaches it. As the door opens, a girl is standing upon the slope of snow the Doctor had dug, with the pink tissue in her hand. She is a medium built girl, around 19 years old, dark hair, green eyes, and is cocooned in layers upon layers of clothes and coats.
“Excuse me,” she says, “didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?” She lifts the tissue to the Doctor’s closer inspection. He stares at it. “There’s a bin over there.” She twitches the tissue in her hand. The Doctor frowns like a child who’s been caught dropping litter by his mum, and swipes the tissue from her hand. He slithers out of the TARDIS, carefully avoiding the machines exposure.
She points to a bin that has fallen from the blizzard. He lifts it stroppily and drops the tissue in, smiles sarcastically and approaches his TARDIS.
“What is that thing?” she asks.
“What’s what?” The Doctor asks.
“That blue box.”
“What this?”
“Yeah.”
“Like you said – blue box.”
“But what is it?”
“Oh, it’s a…phone box.”
“Doesn’t look much like a phone box to me.”
“It’s special edition.”
“Special edition phone box?”
“Yeah.”
“For what occasion?”
“Christmas.”
“What’s so Christmassy about it?”
“Erm…good question…that’s just what I wanted to know,” the Doctor throws is thumb behind his shoulder. “If, you don’t mind; I’ve sort of got something I should be dealing with.”
“In a phone box?”
“Yes! Now do you mind?”
“I don’t believe you.”
The Doctor sighs deeply. “Alright, fine then. It’s called a TARDIS; that stands for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. It’s a…ship that travel through time and space, I am an alien called a Time Lord, and now I’ve got to go and find a giant green head, another alien, before she finds me and steals my Time Lord ability to regenerate and kills everyone on Planet Earth and recreates her vile species in return.”
The young woman stares at him.
“That is so cool,” she says.
“Yeah, well, earth was just struck by two metres of snow in an unexpected blizzard. The great big green alien’s doing, by the way.”
She approaches him and offers him her hand. “I’m Lisa Harrison.”
He shakes her hand, slightly bewildered. “I’m the Doctor.”
“Can I see it?” Lisa asks. “Inside your TARDIS.”
“Um, o…okay,” the Doctor replies, as he parts himself from the door of the TARDIS and pushes it open, so that Lisa can walk under his arm.
“Wow,” she gasps, as she looks about at the machine. “It’s fantastic. No, this is a dream isn’t? Must be; my dreams always feel so real.”
“Nope – it’s real,” the Doctor proudly replies.
“It’s so big.” The Doctor smiles wider, evidently proud. “Is it attached to the building or something?”
“Nope.”
“So it’s…no…can’t be.” Lisa backs out of the TARDIS doors and stares at the machine, pushing her hand through the gap between the blue wood and the wall behind it. She steps back inside, wide eyed and mouth opened. “It’s bigger on the inside!”
“Erm…I’ve sort of got to get going with that alien regeneration thing,” the Doctor suddenly replies.
“Oh,” Lisa replies disappointingly, “okay.”
“You could come with me, I suppose.”
“Oh, no; sorry, I can’t; I’ve got loads of collage work to finish tonight.”
“Won’t take that long; I could do with an extra pair of hands.”
“Haven’t you got anyone else here to help you?”
“Nah; I travel solo.”
“You’re making an exception for me?”
“Yeah, I suppose I am – come on.”
“Oh alright – I know how much I’d regret if I refuse.”
Lisa steps nearer the control panel, beside the Doctor. She watches him enthusiastically, as he presses alien buttons and pulls on a lever, pretending she knows what he’s doing; he sees her at the corner of his eye and smirks to himself.
“Hold on tight,” the Doctor says, pulling a final lever and causing the TARDIS to swing about uncontrollably. Lisa quickly grabs the Doctor’s arm, and pulls him with her to the floor.
A sudden silence lays the couple still. The TARDIS is landed. The Doctor’s sudden blurting of laughter warms Lisa from her shock, as he pulls her to her feet. The door opens and reveals a large, white room; in the very centre of which is a large table full of food, and at the end is Oganziah, eating merrily.
“Where are we, Doctor?” Lisa asks, grasping the Doctor’s arm and hiding behind it partly. “Is that the alien?”
“I’m an alien as well remember! She’s not that bad – just a bit stubborn, and hungry.”
An immense burp is produced from Oganziah’s large mouth, as her lips wrinkle and suck on a large slab of meat.
“We’re on her space ship – its set just above London. You could probably see it now that the clouds have shifted.”
“Come closer, Doctor!” Oganziah says, as the Doctor leads Lisa towards the creature. “The last supper. Care to join me?”
“Last?” Lisa says. “What do you mean?”
“Who’s this then?”
“I’m Lisa.”
“Your girlfriend, Doctor?”
“Actually we’ve only just met,” Lisa defended.
“Your friends, Doctor,” Oganziah says. “They’ve sent me a threat; to leave now or be destroyed. I was given thirty minutes. It’s now… ten minutes.”
“What friends?”
“Oh don’t act innocent. You know perfectly well who – Torchwood.”
“No, listen – I didn’t ask them to make that threat. Jack’s very independent.”
“Why don’t you just move?” Lisa asks.
“I’m tired. Tired of fighting. Maybe this is my end – the last of the Ogourals.”
“What about all your plans – to reproduce the Ogourals,” the Doctor says leaning over the lengthy table. “I can find you a planet – there’s so many empty lands out there waiting to be occupied. Don’t give up now.”
“It’s too much work; I can’t be done with all of that anymore – not at my age. We Ogourals are supposed to be natural folk. For the first thousand years of our lives were supposed to build a ship to live on; the rest of your life you eat, sleep and dispose of wind. I’ve not got the energy to kill everyone on planet earth, and I’ve already given up on you, Doctor. I suggest you take your little companion, get back in your ship and get away from here as fast as you can. Oh, and take these off my hands…”
Oganziah drops, on the table, the heap of gadgets she had previously confiscated from the Doctor. He approaches them and puts them into his pocket, one by one.
“Thanks,” the Doctor says.
“How did they all fit in your pockets?” Lisa asks.
“They’re like the TARDIS – they’re bigger on the inside.”
“There’s no one on my ship, Doctor,” Oganziah says. “I have no crew – so no one will die. But I should like a more peaceful passing, than by death of Torchwood. There’s a button on the wall to your left – press it.”
The Doctor presses a tiny white button planted on the wall and a screen appears.
“Click on ‘options’, now ‘emergency’, and then ‘self destruct’. Click on ‘okay’ for all the three confirmations, please, Doctor – I could never do this myself.”
“You’re final ten seconds starts now, 10, 9…” the machine says.
“Goodbye, Oganziah,” the Doctor mournfully says.
“Goodbye, Doctor, and Lisa.”
“Bye,” Lisa replies, still uncertain how to approach the Ogoural.
“3, 2, 1…” Oganziah’s platform begins to rotate, and smoke is produced. Oganziah is gone and her platform crashes to the ground and crumbles, like soft rock.
“How depressing,” Lisa says. The Doctor suddenly grabs her arm and drags her to the TARDIS. He frantically presses buttons and the machine is activated. The blue box reappears in an open place, where most of the snow has been swept away. People are looking up at the sky and cheering. The couple emerge and look up towards the perfectly starlit sky.
“Where is it?” Lisa asks.
“Torchwood have taken care of Oganziah’s ship,” the Doctor replies.
“Sorry, who’s Torchwood?”
“They’re an organisation who deals with alien life on earth, whenever I am otherwise occupied.”
“So you visit earth frequently?”
“Only by accident.”
“So maybe I could see you again.”
“Maybe, but don’t you want to come with me? I haven’t given you much of an adventure on your first shot have I?”
“I really can’t – my collage project is due to be finished in April, and I’ve been working on for three years now. That reminds me, have you got an hour spare?”
“Why?”
“Could I draw the inside of the TARDIS? It’s perfect for my design project. I’ll just tell them I made it up.”
“Oi, I could have you for copyright!”
“Well I can hardly tell them it’s an alien space ship can I?”
“Come on then – don’t suppose you make a good cup of tea?”
When the Doctor and Lisa later re-emerge two hours later, the snow is less than two feet high. People are still rushing about scooping up buckets of snow outside their homes. The Doctor smiles warmly at Lisa; and she kisses him on the cheek – his eyes glisten as he looks at her rather bashfully.
“Thank you,” Lisa says.
“For what?”
“For being you and for confirming my enthusiasm for life beyond earth.”
“Oh, there’s so much else out there – if only you could come with me; I’d show you everything.”
“You’re a wonderful man – please promise me something.”
“What?”
“You’ll find someone to share your adventures with. No one should ever feel alone.”
“I’m alright, really. There’ve been others before, but they always leave, or are forced to leave.”
“I wish I could have been more help to you out there.”
“You were company to me – that’s enough.”
“Like I said – find someone special.”
Big Ben suddenly echoes unmistakably through the streets of London, proudly announcing that it is Christmas day.
“Merry Christmas, Lisa.”
“Merry Christmas, Doctor,” Lisa replies, taking something out of her pocket and holding it above their heads; the mistletoe excuses a sweet, tender, lingering kiss she touches upon his lips. Fireworks erupt from someplace nearby and glitter the sky with red and yellow and blue. She gently caresses his face as she departs from him.
“Here – you take it,” Lisa says suddenly, breaking the Doctor’s dreamy spell. It is the sketch she had produced of the TARDIS.
“No I can’t take that; it’s for your project,” the Doctor replies.
“It’s okay – I have a vivid memory – I can create another.”
“Oh, but I haven’t got anything for you,” he looks about and then remembers the flashing antlers on his head, feels for them and puts them on her head; she smiles and pecks him on his lips.
“I’ll always remember you, Doctor. Thank you.”
“And you.”
“I hope I’ll see you again. Bye.”
“Goodbye.”
The Doctor smiles warmly and turns to his TARDIS. He caresses the blue wood, watching Lisa fade into the distance. A tear swells in his deep eyes but fails to fall, as he recalls previous Christmases, and previous companions. His heart is filled with yearning as he enters the TARDIS and activates it. The unmistakable sound grinds against the wind until it is gone.
