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All that is lost

Written for @doctorroseprompts 31 days of ficmas for the prompts hope, lights and love.

I've been working all December on this and had wanted to post by Christmas day, but boxing day is close enough. I'm incredibly proud of this fic and it's long; just over 8,000 words long.

Rating: T, just in case || Words: 8,300 || Pairing: Ten x Rose || Summary: When the doctor lands in the wrong season on an alien planet, Donna says there's nothing but trouble in store for them. But is there also a Christmas miracle? Reunion fic.

Also on AO3

Enjoy!!

Christmas had always been a human holidays that the Doctor has loved from the moment he heard about it. Humans are forever creating reasons to celebrate something, but there was always something special, to him, about Christmas.

It got a lot more special when it became this body’s birthday. And now, after his loss of Rose, the festive season has gotten a lot sadder.

Even now, when it’s Christmas on this human colony they’ve landed on and not his personal timeline, it fills him with sadness.

Christmas, for him, equals Rose. He supposes it was doomed from the beginning, when her first trip to the past ended up on Christmas Eve. Christmas brought back memories of Rose’s smile, of her laughter, of her joy, leaving him only with a deep pang of bereavement.

Rose loved Christmas. He found that out earlier on in their travels. She loved the holiday spirit, the giving and receiving of presents, the snow, the Christmas carols and decorations. Said it was the one time of year her and her mum truly forgot any problems in their lives and just… celebrated.

There’s a magic in Christmas, Rose had said to him. Looking into her golden eyes, that beautiful smile of hers dancing on her lips, the Doctor had to agree with her. Or maybe that was just Rose.

Rose’s missing presence is reminded to him almost constantly, from little things. There’s never a moment that goes by he’s not missing her; a constant dull ache in his hearts.

The ache feels heavy today, on this planet. Xyaria, the planet’s name. It’s a bit of useless information rattling around the Doctor’s mind, as he tells Donna it, trying with all his might to sound just as enthusiastic as he normally does.

Too much of Donna’s time with him has been spent focused on Rose, even if she tells him it’s good to talk about her (it doesn’t feel good). Donna’s strangely in tune with him, in a way similar but very dissimilar to how Rose was, and he supposes, deep down that’s a good thing. But it’s painful to talk about Rose, and Donna’s very good at getting him to talk– not past his limits; she would never, but rather in a way the Doctor reluctantly admits is helpful.

Still, the Doctor doesn’t like alerting Donna to his more dark moments. She handles the balance between being a good friend, and her own enjoyment well– she is rather brilliant after all (it’s with another deep pang he thinks that Rose would get along swimmingly with her) – but if there’s one thing the Doctor is good at, it’s guilt.

Xyaria is a human colony. It’s not a human only colony, sharing the planet with one main other race; the Grefrians (a humanoid race with light violet skin, who’s native to a neighbouring planet). There’s other races here, too, immigration is open and Xyaria is a hotspot, but humans and grefrians dominant.

Being human dominating means that Xyaria, as a planet, celebrates a lot of human celebrations. Annually, there’s a mix of human cultures celebrations, the humans who colonised this planet being a mix of cultures themselves. There’s also, annually, the Grefrians’ own celebrations they brought over and now is celebrated by the whole planet.

Really, Xyaria is one of the most peaceful and festive planets– and Christmas is one of their biggest events.

And they don’t do things by halves. The town they’ve landed are covered in lights, an array of colours lighting up the town. A huge, heavily decorated tree stands in the centre of the town, and the town’s people are dressed in festive colours.

The beauty, the true Christmas spirit, of the town cannot be captured or described to justice. The Doctor thinks it looks rather magical and that’s what cuts him to his core.

Rose would love this. Rose would absolutely adore this.

The Doctor could picture her, all wrapped up and flushed pink. A huge grin on her face, amazement in her eyes, the lights reflecting in them as she spins around, taking everything in. It’s beautiful! She would say, her voice filled with wonder. A squeal of glee would escape those lips as she presses her foot on the snow and– and then he’d pull her to him to steal a kiss from her lips.

His mind, his big mind with its detailed imagination, can be his greatest enemy; the pain his imagery left him with a reminder of that.

“Wow,” Donna’s voice breaks his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. The Doctor’s hearts twist as the beautiful imagery fades away, leaving only the pain. “Just…wow,”

The Doctor takes a moment in all his misery to revel in that he’s gotten Donna, self-proclaimed hater of Christmas, to be amazed at something Christmassy.

Donna looks at him. “So, then, space man. Where’s the trouble, why are we here?” Just like that, Donna snaps out of her amazed state, ready to advance on their next adventure. The Doctor sighs.

“There’s not trouble everywhere I go,” he tells her, for the hundredth time. Donna shoots him a look, disbelieving.

“You are trouble,” she replies. “So why are we here? I didn’t ask for Christmas, I asked for a beach. Therefore. Trouble,”

“I was aiming for a beach!” The Doctor glances back at the TARDIS. “She’s just a bit…off, that’s all. I was aiming for Xyaria in the summer. And on the other side of the planet,” he defends himself, rather weakly depending his companion. For once, he thinks, it’ll be nice for his ship to work so he doesn’t have to stand somewhere yet again defending himself. Although, he really should start double checking the coordinates.

This time, Donna sighs. “Alright, well then we better get exploring. Do you reckon they have Christmas sales?” She begins to walk off before he could answer and once again, he thinks it’s not only Rose, but Jackie, who would get along nicely with Donna.

It’s not long before trouble finds them.

It’s to be expected. Trouble seems to find him, with or without him seeking it out. They’ve just finished shopping—or rather, Donna’s finished, because who would he shop for now?—and Donna’s debating which café to go in to have something to eat when they hear the screams. There’s festive music playing, the screams just barely audible over it. The rest of the townspeople doesn’t react, either because they don’t hear it, not tuned in to looking for signs of trouble like they are, or they’re choosing to ignore it.

Donna looks over at him, the same time he looks over at her. She gives him an I told you so look as they begin to sprint in the direction of the screams.

The screams have stopped by the time they arrive where the screams came from– in a cute little alleyway not far from the town’s centre. The Doctor worries that whoever was making the screams would’ve gone completely, but those worries are put away when they find a woman.

She’s in her mid-forties, and leaning against the wall, sobbing. The sobs aren’t just heaves, the Doctor’s ears picking up on sound—a name?—coming from the woman, joining the sobs. That’s not, however, what the Doctor notices first; it’s her dark clothing. Not necessarily unusual, but when the whole town has been dressed brightly and festively, it’s striking.

Donna, for all his legs and her complaining, gets to the woman first, comforting her. The woman accepts the comfort, at first, seemingly unthinking, before pulling away when Donna asks what’s wrong. Alerted that there’s people she doesn’t know here.

Wide eyes stare at them. Fear dancing in the irises. “If you don’t know… think yourself lucky,” the woman’s words leaves him with a chill. How she says them, how sobering her expression is, how collected she became once realising she was with strangers.

The woman edges away from Donna, and that’s when he notices it. She’s holding her hand in what looks to be an uncomfortable position, a scarf draped over it, obstructing him from getting more than a glance. She pulls it closer to her body when noticing his look.

Cautiously, he speaks. “I’m a doctor… would you mind,” the Doctor extends his hand slightly, indicating at the held arm. It could be just a normal injury, unrelated to her screams, but the Doctor’s instincts, his gut, that incredible mind of his, argues otherwise.

The woman stares at him, almost as a challenge. It only lasts a few seconds, and then she’s pushing past Donna and him. The Doctor notes she’s got a limp.

She looks at them both, haunted eyes. “Enjoy Christmas. I know I won’t,” with that, she turns her back onto them and strides off.

It’s silent between Donna and him until she can no longer be seen.

“Well, if that wasn’t creepy,” Donna’s the first to break the silence. “And a little bit rude. All we did was ask if she was alright. After she screamed the place down and everything!” The Doctor hums in response, his eyes scanning the area for any hints or clues as to what made the woman scream. The ground is normally where clues lie, and being that its snow coated, that would be a huge advantage– almost anything shows up on white. He drops down, lowering himself closer to the ground.

Nothing.

Wait.

There was a faint smell, a faint tang of something metallic. Faint, but there. The Doctor sniffs, again, trying to identify what would create such a smell.

“Donna,” he says, looking up. His next sentence is cut off as the woman stands there once again. She’s looking at him, curiously. Still shielded, but curious.

“You said you were a doctor?”

***

The woman leads them away from the town centre, away from the sounds of festive cheer. Still, the streets still give away the importance of this celebration to Xyaria, as the buildings and houses they pass are covered with Christmas lights.

The woman in front of them is jarring to the Doctor; a contradictory image to the one around him. She feels out of place, being so dark, in a place so bright. He supposes he could say the same thing about himself.

They walk in silence, Donna and him respecting her clear wish to not speak. There’s many questions bouncing at the end of his tongue, but his adventures have taught him that speaking when the other does not just leads to getting nowhere.

She stops in front of a house. It’s a terrace house, standing with three windowed floors, but thin. It’s as lit up as all the other house, light-up Santas and reindeers adorning the bricks, but the Doctor sees it for what it is. A disguise. This woman clearly does not want to attract attention, and having a house undecorated in a town like this would do so.

“In,” the woman commands, pushing open the door.

The house inside reflects the woman, than the town. The hallway greeting them is dark, dimly lit merely by a dull lightbulb. There’s a tense atmosphere the moment he steps in, one which only raises his concerns that there is something not right.

The woman shuts the door behind them. It may be worse lighting than before, but the Doctor can see her clearly for the first time. Her expression is guarded, but tired. There’s bags underneath her eyes, tiredness, uncertainty and a little glimmer of something—of hope. And that’s why he loves humans, because underneath everything else, there’s always that little spark, that not all is lost.

“You said you’re a doctor, well I have a patient for you,” The woman says. Her tone is still portrays that harsh edge, a distrust, but willing. The woman indicates to a door on his left, but stops him before he goes in. Uncertainty, and a fire, swims in her eyes.

“It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before; and it’s not. There’s some people who wouldn’t want to see it. But she—my patient—she’s delicate.” The words are warning, a protective edge to the words. The Doctor nods, his expression somber, and the woman—satisfied, opens the door. The Doctor makes a mental note to himself to keep himself in check.

Oh, there’s another pang in his hearts. Rose was good at keeping him in check.

The door opens up on to a living room. This room is more clearly lit than the hallway, but there’s nothing festive about it, impossible to tell its Christmas time. The colour theme, of dark colours, continues to match the woman’s attire. There’s other people in the room, three individuals cuddled up on the sofa, lying underneath a dark blanket. They’re younger than the woman, around late twenties to early thirties. On the floor, at the base of the sofa, sits a child, playing with a toy. Then, to the right of the sofa, just entered from another doorway, stands a young woman, holding a tray of cups. Out of everyone, she’s the only one dressed in lighter clothing.

They all stop what they’re doing, freezing in time, as Donna and him enter the room. They stare at them, eyes wide. Questions bubble in their eyes, the Doctor can see, but in different forms. For the three on the sofa, their eyes are distrustful, guarded—like the woman’s—but the child’s is curious, unguarded. The young woman’s is also curious, and welcoming. The Doctor notes this down. It might be useful for later.

“This man is a doctor,” the woman speaks, her tone authoritative. The words breaks the frozen positions they all stopped in. The Doctor also notes that down, for later. The woman is the one who they follow and trust.

The Doctor smiles, trying to seem unthreatening. Trustworthy. “Hello, I’m the Doctor, and this is Donna,” He introduces them. No one speaks back.

It’s only when the woman shuts the door they came through that the Doctor sees the other sofa, someone lying across it, with around four blankets on top of them. By the raggedy breathing coming from them, the Doctor guesses that’s who his patient is.

The woman walks to the sofa, and the Doctor follows, Donna close on his heels. The person laying underneath is a grefrian, and a very unwell grefrian if the dark violet skin is anything to go by. Her eyes are shut, asleep. Close to death.

“What… what happened?” The Doctor asks, gently, softly, as he kneels down beside the sofa. The woman strokes the grefrian’s forehead, a jarringly gentle gesture from how this woman has been holding herself. The Doctor has only ever seen a few unwell grefrian’s in his time; but never this bad. They’re notorious for their almost impenetrable immune system.

The woman glances back at the others, uncertain. Of what, the Doctor can’t place. Questioning her earlier judgement of if he should be allowed to know, perhaps. Questioning if he’ll—and Donna—believe them.

“I can’t treat her unless I know,” The Doctor says, still keeping his gentle tone.

The woman sighs, tiredly, dejectedly. “We don’t know,” She says. There’s a pause in her voice, and the Doctor waits, waiting for her to continue, like the pause suggested she would.

“Angel went out one day, to get the food, and she. Well, she was taking too long, and since she’s prone to talk to everyone she sees, I decided to go out to look for her. And that’s when I found her. Like this. She’s just continued to get worse and we don’t even know what happened. No doctors can tell us what to do,” the woman finally continues. The Doctor looks back at the grefrian—Angel, he assumes.

“What… before we came in, you told me it’s like nothing you’ve seen before; but this is how grefrians look when ill,” The Doctor tries to be delicate with his words. There’s more, the woman isn’t explaining everything.

The woman kneels beside him, beside his patient. “Angel,” She says, her tone gentle, laying a hand on her shoulder. Angel’s eyes flutter, slightly, but remains closed. She takes a deep breath in, sharper, but other than that, there’s no response. The woman looks back at the Doctor.

“She doesn’t have the strength nowadays to open her eyes. Most days she’s just sleeping—in and out of consciousness,” The woman’s eyes are sad, watery. She blinks the tears away, and the Doctor gets a pang in his hearts. There’s something familiar about the woman’s expression; something he has seen in his own. She turns more to look at Angel again.

“I’ve got a doctor,” the woman tells her, even though she’s probably still out of consciousness. With a gentleness which makes the Doctor wonder if Angel is the woman’s Rose, she pulls back the blankets, and the edge of Angel’s top.

Donna’s slight gasp can be heard as they do so, an appropriate reaction. Across Angel’s chest there’s a darkness. A vine-like pattern, made from intricate swirls, which would be beautiful had it not been a black shade, which emits an unease from it. The Doctor wants to both look away, never to look again, or look at it forever.

The Doctor can see why the woman warned him that not everyone wants to see it.

“Can you help her?” the woman breaks his thoughts. The Doctor looks around at everyone, who’s all watching, still with distrust, but now also hope.

“How long ago did this start?” The Doctor asks. The woman looks at one of the other people on the sofa, a man, quickly, but noticeable to the Doctor, before answering. The Doctor notes that as well in his head.

“A few weeks ago,” The woman answers. “Now, tell me. Can you help her?” The woman’s voice is demanding, an impatience leaking into it.

“I don’t know for certain,” The Doctor, if Angel is indeed this woman’s Rose, doesn’t want to give her false promises, especially when she isn’t telling him everything he needs to know to be sure. “But I can try and help.” The Doctor tells her.

“What do you need?” The woman asks.

“So, you know what Angel has?” Donna recaps, when they’re alone in the kitchen of this house an hour later. They stand leaning against the counter beside each other, Donna drinking some grefrian apple juice.

“I might,” The Doctor says. “There’s still…something they’re not telling me. They don’t trust us, that’s understandable, but I need to know,” The Doctor tells Donna, tilting his head down and lowering his voice so that they can’t overhear him.

“How are you going to find out?” Donna asks, mirroring his lowered voice. He nods his head in indication to the young woman. The potential weak spot; the most trusting. With that, he pushes himself of the counter, and towards the young woman.

“Here, let me,” The Doctor offers, taking a tray of her. She smiles up at him, thankfully, and the Doctor gets another pang in his hearts. If Rose was here, she would’ve already befriended her, and not just to get information.

“What’s your name, then?” The Doctor asks, trying to push back thoughts of Rose, and concentrate on the objective at hand.

“Jemima,” She tells him, then looks curiously at him. “Can you help her—Angel? Can you really help her?” She asks. The Doctor places the tray down, letting out a deep breathe.

“I can try.” He looks at her, letting his own curiosity come out. “How do you all know each other, all of you?” He inquires, something he’s been curious about since stepping into this house.

“Well Lorna—she’s the one who brought you here—she’s my aunt. Before all this started, we lived here. Me, Lorna and Angel. Also, Harriet, and David, with little Samuel. Samuel’s the little boy. David was mostly at work, so he had a flat closer to his work, so it was more that they lived here part time. Samuel was here almost all the time.” Jemima tells him.

“Harriet and David—those are two of the others on the sofa,” The Doctor asks. Jemima freezes, her eyes wide and not unalike a deer caught in headlights.

“Uh…no,” Jemima answers. “That’s Roger, Ruby, and Pia,” Curious.

“Where’s David and Harriet, then?” Jemima’s body tenses, slightly, and he can see reluctance and uncertainty in her eyes. A conflict, but underneath it all, he can also see a want to tell him.

“Jemima, I can’t help if I don’t know everything,” The Doctor gently encourages.

“They’ve gone,” Jemima says, her voice now a whisper, frightened. “Harriet—she was one of the first to go. And David, he went a week back now. Poor Sammy, he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know where his parents have gone. We don’t understand, but at least we’re adults. He thinks it’s his fault. He won’t talk to us anymore, scared that we’ll go if we do,” Jemima’s voice is filled with sadness, prominent amongst the fright.

“What do you mean, they’ve gone?”

“I don’t know. They go out, and then they go. I don’t understand what’s happening. Lorna won’t tell me. All I know is ever since it happened more and more people are coming here, and then they go. And now Angel’s ill, and I don’t know if she’ll survive. I don’t know what Lorna will do without her, if she doesn’t. My aunt’s never been the same since my mother died; my mam was the last of her family left, part from me,” Jemima’s shoulders sag.

“I just want it to be happy again. Christmas is always a happy time for us. Even Lorna loves it, especially since she met Angel,” Jemima looks up at him, sadness in her eyes.

“Jemima,” his voice is serious. “When you said ever since it happened I need to know; ever since what happened?” He asks. Jemima opens her mouth, but sound comes from behind him.

“I’ll tell you,” The Doctor turns around, to see Lorna standing there. From next to him, he hears Jemima mutter an apology. Lorna shakes her head.

“No, dear, I should’ve told him from the start. It’s just, you don’t know who to trust. Already people in town think we’re mad; they only believe us when it happens to them. Then they come here.” Lorna says, before indicating that they move out of the kitchen and back into the other room.

When all seated, Lorna begins to talk.

“A few months back, we—Roger and I—we came across something strange. A darkness, in the field, at the edge of the town. We didn’t do anything, we just left it. I thought it was the crops dying. But that’s when it started.” Lorna pauses.

“People started disappearing. First it was Roger’s wife, Breena, he said she went out one day, and didn’t come back. We filled a police report, at first. Of course. But then Harriet, she disappeared. Only, this time, Roger and I, we saw it. When Roger’s neighbour disappeared, that’s when we decided to warn people, especially when we noticed the darkness on the field had gotten closer. Not bigger, just moved.” Lorna takes a breath, shaky.

“People didn’t believe us. No one else could see the darkness, only us. But it’s there, and it’s taking people. It took Cole today, that’s what you heard—that’s why I screamed. It took another in front of me. It’s how I hurt my arm, trying to grab him back, but it, it burnt me. It left no mark, but it hurt. And it’s taking more people, no one else can see it, but it doesn’t spare them. Not even being inside helps,”

The Doctor leans forwards. “How does it take people—you said it took them in front of you, how?” he asks.

“It’s a darkness. It’s in the shadows, but it’s darker. It’s black, and then, in a wisp of smoke, it takes you. You can’t stop it. It looks like…” Lorna trails off, looking at where Angel lies. “It looks like Angel’s chest, but a physical form,” She looks back at the Doctor.

“I don’t understand it, Doctor. Why Angel has been infected by it like this, why it isn’t taking her like the others,” Lorna gets up from where she sits, and perches on the arm of the sofa Angel lies across, grabbing Angel’s hand in hers.

The Doctor’s hearts constrict, a burning pain in them, at the gesture. At the softness in Lorna’s action, at the tears in her eyes and the sadness in her voice. There’s no denying it, from this and what Jemima said; Angel is Lorna’s Rose.

And that makes him more determined than ever to fix this.

Especially now, he knows for certain that he knows what’s happening to Angel. He doesn’t get it, but he knows. And he will heal Angel. And maybe—just maybe, if luck was on his side, he’ll be able to save all those who have been lost. He could do with a miracle.

He doesn’t want to tell people bad news, not on Christmas, not when Rose isn’t by his side. She always made difficult moments better; a comfort, a hand to hold.

The Doctor gets into action quickly. Time is of the essence, as Angel has been sick for a few weeks now, which means he doesn’t have long.

“Take me to the field,” He says to Lorna, determination in his voice. Lorna stands up.

“Why?” She asks “You won’t be able to see it, no one else has,”

“I’m not just like anyone. And I need to see if I’m right, and if I am, I can save all the people who are lost.” He tells her. Lorna glances down at Angel. “Angel, too,” He adds on, which is what spurs her into action. The Doctor thinks that makes sense.

He explains his theory on the way, to Lorna, and Donna—and Jemima and Roger who have come along with them.

The Doctor has an extensive knowledge of a lot of aliens, and illnesses, across time. He had recognised it, from books as he has never seen it in person, on Angel. Grefrian Shade. Long time ago, from where they are now in Xyaria’s – or rather Grefri, it’s twin planet—history, the grefrian’s developed an illness, airborne, that would infect them, and kill them within a month.

It had been plaguing them for months, killing off many, many of their kind, before a doctor from Xyaria found the cure—simply, a plant native to Xyaria. This plant was from the same strain of a plant of Grefri, but where’s Grefri’s grew in plentiful, a weed, Xyaria’s was rare. Luckily, only a leaf mixture was needed to cure one person, so soon everyone was cured.

The disease, as a result, died out, and alongside it, the weed.

“But how is it infecting Angel then?” Jemima asks, as soon as he takes a break from his explanation. “And how does it explain the missing people?” She adds on, the others murmuring in agreement.

“I believe the dark patch on the field is a rip in time—from ancient grefri to present day Xyaria. From a time where this disease still existed. That’s how it infected Angel.” He says.

“But Angel hasn’t been by the field, I wouldn’t let her. And if it was airborne—shouldn’t all the other grefrians in town be suffering, because they’re not. Angel has been the only one—not even any other grefrians have been taken.” Lorna protests. He sighs.

“Angel hasn’t been by the field—but you have. You left the dark spot alone, yes, but you breathed in the air around it. Then you went home, and had close contact with Angel, which infected her. It hasn’t done much damage as fast because she hasn’t had direct contact with it.” He explains further.

“But what about the people—my wife?” Roger asks.

“This disease, it’s never met humans. It doesn’t know what to do, it forces it to, for a few seconds, become coloured. It’s why it was so deadly, because it was airborne, except there was always dark patches on the crops. Its form is dark, and that’s what you’ve seen when it’s taking people, it becomes visible because humans confuse it. It can’t infect you the way it does the grefrian’s, so it sits in your throats, and one day, it attacks. Only it still can’t infect you, and that’s when I think the rip drags the disease back—see, the universe can’t prevent time rips, but it’s given it a defense, an ability to try and pull whatever comes through it, back. And it detects the escaped disease as soon as it attacks the human, but it’s sloppy. It pulls the human back, too,” They’ve reached the field now, and three pairs of eyes stare back at him.

“But doesn’t that mean they’re in the past? And how come I and Lorna haven’t been taken yet?” Roger questions.

“They’re in a bubble, hopefully. Between this time and the past. The time rip would understand that they’re not from the past, but the shade in them would stop it from leaving them here, so therefore, it creates a bubble. And you two haven’t been taken yet for the same reason you can see the dark patch—I suppose you both were born exposed to time in some way, which let you see the dark patch, but also protects you,” The Doctor answers, before approaching the said dark patch on the field.

The Doctor turns to look at them, manic grin on his face.

“Now, watch me do something clever,”

He turns back around, and prays for a miracle. He could do with a miracle.

One of the things the Doctor has always liked about Christmas is the magic of it—how people wish for miracles, and when good things happen, for a moment, even sceptics believe it’s a miracle. The Doctor is blessed with three miracles.

He manages to save the people, close the time rip and find the rare Xyaria plant to cure Angel.

All in a day’s work. Still, as joyous he feels at getting to make sure this is another successful day, at being able to make sure another person doesn’t lose their Rose, he can’t help but feel lacking. If he was going to have a miracle today, why couldn’t it be Rose?

***

“That ship of yours, it really does take you to places where you’re needed,” Donna says, after finishing her meal. It is a few hours afterwards; he would’ve already gone from this town, but Donna wanted to stick around to finish her shopping and eat something first.

They’re sitting on a bench, outside a nice little café, opposite each other. Donna’s empty plate sits in front of her, and his drink, barely touched, sits in front of him. Donna’s bags sit around them both– “for protection”, she had said as if anyone in this nice town would rob visitors.

“If you think about, we always end up getting into trouble– but trouble you fix.” She shifts her body so she’s looking more at him. “Maybe you’re not a bad driver,” her tone soft.

The Doctor can’t help but smile at that. This day truly is full of miracles. “You reckon?” He says.

“Now, don’t be getting all smug, spaceman. I still want to go to the beach, and you and that ship of yours better get it right this time.” She continues, giving him a look he can only describe as her or else look. “Still. That must be why the TARDIS decided to land here instead.”

The Doctor looks around, thoughtfully. Donna is correct, his ship is stubborn but she does take him where he needs to go. But, somehow, the Doctor feels she’s not quite correct in saying the Grefrian Shade was why they landed here today.

There’s something else.

Or maybe that’s just him. Never rested, always alert.

“This town is nice, though.” Donna’s eyes join in him in looking around.

“It’s beautiful,” the Doctor says, his tone low, a breath of sound. He speaks mostly to himself, his thoughts from earlier coming to the front of his mind again, dragging the accompanying pain with it.

It really is beautiful.

The café is located in a peaceful place, not far from the town centre. It’s not too crowded, however, a peaceful atmosphere encasing around them. Away from the hubble of the town centre, with only the carol music still being able to be heard, faintly, drifting down from the town’s centre, it almost feels like it’s in its own bubble.

It overlooks a lake, frozen, glimmering, and the buildings are alight with the same adorning lights as before.

Its late evening, now, and the suns of Xyaria are setting, creating a warm glow which reflects of the lake.

Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cover it.

It’s too beautiful. It feels wrong being in such a place, a place he knows Rose would love– a place he had plans to take Rose for their next Christmas.

Being here, it feels like a mistake, a wrongness crawling up his body, creeping over him like the shade on Angel.

Yes, he was aiming for Christmas on Xyaria, but that’s neither here or there now he’s here.

But not with Rose. Never will he look at any beautiful sights again with Rose, and that knowledge, hits him deep, punching him in his hearts.

She’s lost.

“Look at you, saviour of the day again, beautiful scenery before you, and still, you’ve got that face,” Donna’s voice, loud, startles him. He looks at her, saying nothing, but he’s still lost in his own mind, in his thoughts of Rose at the forefront of his mind. His startlement gave him no opportunity to hide his pain, and he thinks it shows, in his eyes, in his face.

Donna’s face softens immediately. “Doctor,” her voice is gentle, almost pitying, but this is Donna; Donna doesn’t do pity. It’s what he likes about her.

“I was–” the Doctor’s voice breaks, and he curses himself. Donna tells him it’s good for him to talk about things, and before her, Rose did– and Martha was evidence of what happens when you don’t– but even still, the Doctor hates being so vulnerable.

“I was going to take Rose here. For her next Christmas, with me.” The Doctor continues, this time with a stronger voice. “She loved Christmas,” he adds on, but quieter, his voice low, sad.

“I’m sorry,” Donna says, and from anyone else, the Doctor would hate the word– he says it a lot, but the word sorry should be erased– but when Donna says it, it says more than enough. She reaches across the table, to rest her hand gently on top of his– a gesture, in the less morose of times, she’s emphasized strongly is not a sign of romantic affection, with a shiver accompanying the words– but he moves his hand away, into his lap.

He appreciates the gesture but it’s the wrong hand. It adds to the wrongness he already feels, being here, adds to pain in his hearts and the emptiness in his hand. Rose’s hand should be tucked into his, in her cute pink mittens she loved. But it’s not. Because she’s not here.

She should be telling him that they need to go closer to the lake, that they need to see all of nature’s wonders up close. She should be convincing him oh-so-easily to skate with her. She should… The Doctor could think of a million things she should be doing, but she’s not because she’s not here.

The Doctor sighs, running a hand through his hair, as he takes one last, longing look at the lake and the image of Rose skating on it, huge smile on her face. He imagines grabbing her hand, spinning her around, feeling, underneath her glove the ring that he had hoped to give her.

Pain clutches at his hearts again, a deep sorrow, and the Doctor decides it’s time to go home. Donna has done all that she needs to do, and even though the Doctor feels a reluctance to go back to the TARDIS—be it because he feels, for whatever reason, that they’re not quite done here, or because there’s no place he feels the heaviness of Rose’s missing presence than on the TARDIS—if he stays on this planet any longer, he feels as if his hearts may just stop from pain.

Donna, as if sensing what he was about to say, grabs her bags. The Doctor looks at her, a tight smile on his face, and he’s about to offer his assistance, when he pauses.

His ears, if he does say so himself, are rather magnificent, even if they aren’t as big as they were this time around. And through the faint caroling sound, through the faint hustle of people, the Doctor hears a laugh.

Not any laugh, no, he’s been hearing loads of laughter today. Not anyone’s laughs, her laugh.

The Doctor’s ears are magnificent, but they’re also cruel. They play tricks on him, as do his eyes, so he has no reason to believe the sound they’re hearing. It’s not like he hasn’t imagined her laugh before.

But, maybe it’s because it’s Xyaria, maybe it’s because they’ve had a day of miracles, and a day of reminders, but the Doctor’s body is frozen at the sound. Frozen, until it starts moving, moving towards the sound.

He moves silently, wordlessly, his expression frozen, his thoughts all but paused. He faintly acknowledges that Donna is following him, calling his name, but her words are muffled. His ears only focused on the laugh, his mind only focused on the hope that’s building as he gets closer and it gets louder.

Hope is a dangerous thing, he thinks, as he approaches the corner of the building, about to turn in the direction the laugh is coming from. He tells himself last chance, last chance to turn back, to not do something which would inevitably break his hearts.

He turns the corner.

There’s kids playing, in the snow, looking like they’re having fun as their parents watch. But that’s not what he sees, not really. His eyes are immediately drawn to one person and one person only; a blonde playing in the snow with the children. Smiling wide. Beautiful.

The Doctor’s hearts stop, and his breath catches in his throat.

Rose.

Her laugh hits his ears again, and he nearly falls over. Shock overrides his body, and he can’t breathe and his hearts aren’t working, and a numbness of disbelief washes over him. His only thought is Rose. Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose.

His mind is chanting, and he opens his mouth, to say what he’s thinking, but nothing comes out. Words, oxygen, blood, all these functions are pointless to him, but he panics, because he can’t call to her.

Then, she looks up.

She looks up from the children, her smile fading, slightly and he can see her pain in her eyes, and oh, he wants to call to her. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s looked up, and she’s looking at him.

She’s looking at him.

Her expression shifts, showing the shock that he’s feeling. Her mouth drops open, slightly, and he wonders if her heart stops like his did, or if it’s beating as fast as it is doing now.

He wonders if her breathe catches in her throat at the sight of him.

She takes a step back, shocked. Her eyes, wide, disbelieving. He watches as her head, moves, slightly, shaking, unbelieving.

A hand to her chest.

He wants to go to her, he wants to call to her, he wants to do anything but stare, but he’s frozen in his spot.

Children are playing around them, Donna is beside him, calling his name but all he can see, all he can think, all he wants to look at is her, his light, his queen, his Rose.

Rose, Rose, Rose.

His mind chants again, and then his legs are moving, oh they’re moving, needing to get closer, and so is hers. They’re only a short distance away from each other, but they’re running, moving as quickly as they can until finally– finally– they’re in each other’s arms.

Her body hits his, the momentum almost hitting him over, but he steadies himself, leaning back on one foot as he lifts her up, his arms wrapped securely around her. Keeping her in place. Holding her against him.

He rolls back on the foot, placing them both flat on the ground, straight, but not letting her go. Never letting her go.

Her body is warm against his, and he can feel her heart beating, fast, fast, fast. Before Canary Wharf, before he lost her, he’d be filled with concern at the rate, but now, now all he feels is happiness.

There’s no denying that he can feel her heart racing, no denying that she isn’t really here. She’s alive, she’s found, and she’s here.

She still smells the same, and he breathes it in as he holds her tight to him, and she squeezes him back, and they both say nothing but say everything.

Her shampoo smell is different, no fancy alien shampoo where she’s been, yes, but underneath it all, there’s the same smell he’s been addicted to since day one, the smell of Rose.

He rests his face on her head, millions of questions of how, how, how, running through his mind, but he pays it no attention. Wanting to let this just be a Christmas miracle. He can worry about the questions later.

Because she’s here, she’s in his arms, she’s home.

“Rose,” The Doctor finally speaks, his voice hoarse and he’s surprised at how quickly tears appear in his eyes, although he really shouldn’t be.

“Doctor,” she says, too, her voice soft, filled with emotion. She nuzzles at his shoulder, at the crook of his neck, before looking up at him, their eyes connecting. “Doctor,” his name comes out her lips as a half sob, and his arms instinctively squeeze her more tightly.

“Rose,” he says, again, his own voice sounding like hers. “Rose, Rose, I love you,” he tells her, his voice choked, one hand touching her face, her soft face.

“I love you, and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve said it,” now he’s broken his silence, he never wants to stop talking, but his vocabulary is limited to only Rose, and I love you and I’m sorry. It’s all he finds necessary; long, winding words mean nothing to him, not now.

“I should’ve, Rose, oh my Rose, I should’ve never–” he cuts off, his voice breaking, the true extent of his heartbreak, the pain, the remorse, everything he’s felt since she’s been gone coming out, flourishing in his voice, in his expression.

Rose’s eyes look into his, filled with her own pain and heartbreak. They’re watery, but oh-so filled with such emotion.

“Doctor,” Rose’s voice is quiet, a whisper. His name, spoken with pain, and love, always love. One of her hands moves from its place on his back, snaking around his neck and touching, gently, the edge of his chin.

“That, none of that, matters now– I,” Rose breaks off, as well, blinking as a two tears run down her cheeks. She takes a shaky breath in. “I found you,” she says, her voice still shaky, but strong.

She smiles, letting out a breathy laugh filled with disbelief, but joy. “I found you,” she repeats, with wonder in her words.

She lets a grin over her face, wide, happy, joyful, and the Doctor allows himself to do the same. Allows himself to laugh, happily in disbelief, alongside her.

Allowing themselves for the first time in years to be happy. To enjoy no longer having that arching weight on his hearts. To revel, in this moment, of this Christmas miracle.

They’ve reunited, at last.

They grin at each other, stupidly. And then, he doesn’t know who, but then they’ve leaned towards each other, and their lips are meeting, and they’re kissing, they’re kissing again, he’s finally feeling her lips against his, and, and it’s all too much and not enough and–

She’s here. Rose, she’s really here.

The Doctor never wants this moment to end. He wants to live in this weightless bubble, of happiness and joy, of miracles. This bubble of just Rose, Rose, Rose.

Rose pulls back, only slightly, her hands playing with his hair, a smile dancing on her lips he so badly wants to kiss again. She tastes exactly the same; the most wonderful and addictive taste in the universe.

“My Doctor,” Rose says, breathlessly. “I found you,” she lets out a giddy laugh and he, yet again, returns it.

“Hello,” he says, laughing at the absurdity of saying so after five minutes of her being in his arms. Then, he leans down, and steals another kiss from her. There is, after all, mistletoe hanging from the tree nearby.

Rose, and him, reunited again, at Christmas, on Xyaria.

All miracles are is science, really, everything can be explained; that’s what he thinks. But, in this moment, in this glorious, glorious moment, all he can think is that miracles do exist. That the universe, for once, is on his side.

Or maybe, Rose is just that brilliant. That she was right when she said the universe will never split them apart. They’re like magnets, drawn together, belonging together.

The dull ache in his hearts is gone, instead thumping with such love, love for the human in his arms.

“I missed you,” the Doctor murmurs, quietly, from where he rests his head upon hers, having broken the kiss. He holds her to him, a contentment he hasn’t felt in a long time gently washing over him. He could stay like this forever.

Rose, from where her head lies against him, fitted snug, murmurs her reply; “missed you too,” with a content sigh.

He feels her shoulders relax, as if a weight has been lifted from them, and the Doctor’s shoulders do them same. Indeed, a weight has been lifted and he feels weightless, a relief.

Her body fits against his almost as if she has never gone, nothing feels any different, but yet, she was gone. They can feel that, as they hug, as they lean against each other. Their weightless, but it’s a heavy hug, a hug filled of all that was lost which is now found.

For the Doctor, it’s been a day of finding lost people. A day of reuniting other people’s Roses. And now, his Rose has been reunited with him, and he thinks that’s, perhaps, which also adds to the heavy relief of this hug.

The feeling that he could’ve gone back to the TARDIS, without her, but having her in his mind, after a day of seeing other people get their Rose back.

There’s a lot to dissect, still the questions of how exactly is Rose here bouncing around the back of his mind, but they live in this weightless, heavy hug. Content.

“Not to interrupt what I’m sure is a lovely hug, but have you noticed it’s started to snow. Heavy.” Donna’s voice breaks into the bubble he’s found himself in.

He turns his head, slightly, but his chin is disrupted, as Rose moves, pulling her head up to look at Donna. The Doctor’s arms instinctively hold her body tighter, not wanting her to move away from him completely. Unwilling to have her away from him. Not this soon.

“And I can’t help but notice that you both are as underdressed as each other– although my concern is mainly for you, not him, he’s insane,” Donna carries on, ending the sentence by looking more at Rose. The Doctor would feel insulted, if it wasn’t Donna.

The Doctor looks around, only now processing Donna’s words. It is, indeed snowing, his and Rose’s shoulders coated with a layer of snow. He notices how snowflakes sit in rose’s hair, a light film of snow sugaring her. A snowflake sits on her nose.

The Doctor’s hearts twist, at the sight. Rose’s face, aware of the cold even if they weren’t, is a light pink shade, and the Doctor thinks she looks beautiful.

The most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“Hey, lover boy,” Donna captures his attention again, and he drags his eyes away from Rose, although he doesn’t want to, to look at Donna again.

“What did you call me?” His brain catches up with him. From the corner of his eye, the Doctor sees Rose smirk, amused.

“Lover boy.” Donna repeats. “Now, if you can stop giving Rose those eyes, its cold, we need to go back to the TARDIS.” Donna commands.

“Wait, how do you know my name? I haven’t introduced myself,” Rose asks, looking between them.

“Well, I was rather hoping you was Rose. I mean, surely, there can only be one person who’s actually into this skinny piece of nothing,” Donna answers, in the most Donna-like fashion. Yet again, a running theme with Donna, he doesn’t know if he should be insulted or amused.

“And there was only going to be one person who could turn him into a deaf zombie and make him look so, so lovesick, and that’s you,” Donna adds on.

Rose looks up at him, an emotion the Doctor can’t quite place swimming in her eyes. “You mentioned me?” She says, her voice oddly quiet. The Doctor’s hearts constrict, wondering how she could think he could not mention her when he loves and missed her so much, but knowing why she does.

“Yes, he did. And if he ever made you think he wouldn’t, well he’s an idiot. But you can talk about that after we get into warmth,” Donna speaks again, and they both look at her. “TARDIS,” she commands, authoritivly beginning to walk off.

With a shared smile, the Doctor and Rose follow her, the Doctor grabbing Rose’s hand, tight in his own.

Back where she belongs.