Things Time Lords Don’t Get(and Other Gifts)

Doctor Who Christmas Story

‘You can’t be serious about that.’

‘Oh, I’m very serious about that, Doctor,’ Donna said, dropping two bulging shopping bags onto the kitchen counter with a thud. 

He put the other three bags he had been carrying next to them—much more carefully.

The front door of the Temple-Noble home clicked shut behind them.

‘Let me remind you,’ Donna went on, ‘it’s pretty much thanks to my new neighbour Yukiko that we even made it through this past year. She moved in, lost her husband, still had time to help us. So, yes, I’m making her a Christmas cake. It’s the least I can do for her and her little boy.’  

She started unpacking the groceries as if they’d personally offended her. The flour pack almost exploded.

‘And we always make Christmas biscuits. Every. Single. Year. Ever since Rose was born.’ 

When the Doctor muttered, ‘Not very British,’ she deliberately ignored him. Apparently, she had no desire to tear his head off. Yet. Instead, she continued, ‘It’s a tradition. At least for us. And this year—’ she pointed a finger at him, ‘—you will be helping.’

The Doctor leaned in the door frame, arms folded. ‘Will not.’

Donna turned around and looked at him as if he’d just admitted to killing Father Christmas. ‘I’m sorry, you what? Are you honestly saying no to Christmas biscuits? After all that banging on about your favourite niece and your so-called best friends? Your new-found family even?’

‘I… I wasn’t— I mean, I’d never— not in front of— that’s—’ the Doctor stammered. ‘That’s not fair, Donna.’

She stepped in front of him, arms crossed, mirroring him. ‘I never claimed to be fair, spaceman.’ Her voice dipped, and her eyes softened. ‘I’m just what you need.’

‘Do I look like I need baking?’

‘No. You look like you need therapy. But here we are. Baking is as close as we’re gonna get, I reckon.’ She turned on the oven. ‘And the oven is already on.’

He stared at her, speechless. 

But she just carried on clearing away the groceries and getting the necessary ingredients and utensils ready.

Finally, he gave up his position in the doorway and lent her a hand.

‘I’ve never really baked, you know’ he tried again. ‘And I just know that I’m not good at it.’

‘Oh, believe me, that’s not the only thing you’re not good at. But that never stopped you from doing things anyways.’ 

‘Hey!’

She handed him the biscuit cutters, which he stared at helplessly. 

‘For once, just try it. Maybe you’ll be surprised.’

‘I don’t like surprises,’ the Doctor grumbled, putting the cutters down on the counter. 

‘Oh wow, you’re such a little ray of sunshine. Remind me to wear shades next time.’ Donna rolled her eyes. ‘Pull yourself together, spaceman. Don’t think you can just drop off the shopping and vanish into thin air again. And don’t you dare ruin the mood,’ she added pointedly as he drew breath to protest. ‘Rose will be home soon. And Shaun and my mother will be here any minute, too. Why don’t you just go with it?’

The Doctor looked as if there was nothing he would rather do than go. 

But he didn’t. 

He just sighed. And stayed.

Soon after, the kitchen was bustling with life.

Rose was overjoyed that the Doctor had agreed to join their traditional biscuit baking session on the eve of the fourth Sunday in Advent.

As soon as he arrived in the kitchen, Shaun started what he called ‘the absolute best Christmas biscuit baking hit compilation’—which the Doctor found a bit too unwieldy for an ordinary Christmas playlist. Shaun even wore a festive jumper featuring Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer surrounded by sunflowers, little Christmas trees and snowflakes. This piece of clothing completely redefined the term ‘ugly Christmas sweater’. But at least Donna’s husband was in a good mood.

In the meantime, Donna had prepared everything so well that even Sylvia had trouble finding anything to complain about. Of course, she managed to do so anyway.

‘Do you really need to bake that cake? It’s not even a proper cake. Just whipped cream and strawberries. In December! Must’ve cost a fortune. And for what? A few oohs and aahs and an empty plate. And then all that effort…’

‘Mum, please. Stop right there,’ Donna interrupted the litany. ‘Yes, it’s necessary. Yes, the strawberries were expensive. But you know what: UNIT pays me well enough that I can choose what I spend my money on. Now pass me the icing sugar. Please,’ she added with an expression that, even at the best of times, could hardly be interpreted as a smile.

‘Okay, do as you like,’ Sylvia said frostily as she handed Donna the sugar jar. ‘Seems like my opinion is not needed here. Maybe I should just take my cup of tea and go watch some TV.’

Donna rolled her eyes. ‘Cut it out, mum, please. Just take care of melting the chocolate as usual, will you?’

‘Oh, that’s what you suddenly need me for, isn’t it?’ Her mouth was a thin line as she walked to the sink to pour water into the pot for the water bath.

With her first choice of complaint not working out, Sylvia turned to the second best option.

Him.

‘And what do you think you’re doing there?’

Standing right next to the Doctor and piercing him with her eyes, she left no doubt who she was referring to.

‘What does it look like? Amateur hour at the biscuit counter?’ replied the Doctor, trying to sound light-hearted.

‘Like you’re dusting the floor instead of sifting the flour into the bowl.’ 

The Doctor glanced at the flour-covered counter, then at the clouds of white floating down. ‘Well, at least the floor will be festive.’

Sylvia scoffed. ‘Do you think you’re on Home & Garden or Kitchen Nightmares or something?’

‘Depends. Are you judging the technique or the performance?’

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. ‘Have you ever done this before?’

‘What, dusting the floor? Or my avant-garde baking?’ the Doctor quipped, but the grin froze on his face when Sylvia retorted, ‘Oh, you think that’s funny? And who’s going to clean it up when you’ve had your fun? That’s right—me. And let me tell you something, flour may not be as expensive as strawberries at this time of year, but we don’t have anything to waste just because Mr Time Lord is all thumbs at things that are basic to us ordinary people.’

‘Mum!’ shouted Donna.

‘Grandma!’ shouted Rose at the same time. 

‘What?’ Sylvia snapped. 

‘It’s okay, she’s right,’ the Doctor conceded. ‘I just don’t have any practice in these things.’ 

‘Stop it, Doctor. Don’t you dare take the blame for something that’s not your fault. Just because someone can’t handle not being in charge for once.’ She glared at her mother.

‘Oh, Fiddlesticks! Don’t sweat it, Donna.’ He waved her concerns aside before she could start a full-blown argument with Sylvia, and looked around. ‘Maybe we can find something else I can do to help?’

‘You can crack the eggs,’ Rose said quickly before the situation could escalate further.

‘Certainly!’ the Doctor beamed. 

Rose handed him the egg box and a large cup. 

The Doctor cracked the first egg on the rim of the cup—but with far too much force. Eggshells flew in all directions and the gooey mush dripped onto the kitchen counter.

‘Oh, sorry.’

Shaun wordlessly picked a piece of eggshell from the butter he was weighing.

As for the second egg, the Doctor accidentally grabbed it too hard, crushing it before it even had a chance to touch the rim of the cup.

‘Oh, yes. That’s going brilliantly,’ commented Sylvia as she turned to the stove.

The Doctor apologised again and began to clean up the sticky mess.

‘Keep going,’ said Sylvia. ‘If we have to buy new ingredients, or renovate the kitchen—you’re paying.’

Shaun let out a low whistle.

‘Don’t worry, mate. First time I baked, I nearly set the kitchen on fire. Twice.’

Rose nodded. ‘You should’ve seen him last year. He looked like the ghost of Christmas dough with flour all over him.’

That memory made everyone laugh. Even Sylvia couldn’t suppress a smile, though she quickly put on a sour expression again.

Shaun patted the Doctor on the shoulder. ‘See? Compared to that, you’re not doing too badly. Come on, let’s crack on!’

The rest of the evening felt more like assisted baking than real fun. At least to the Doctor.

Everyone was in a good mood and did their best to include him, glossing over his obvious lack of talent—or the trail of chaos he left behind. But it didn’t help.

Shaun hummed along cheerfully to whatever festive tune came next on their playlist and weighed ingredients like a pro. Rose giggled at the speck of icing sugar Donna had dabbed on her nose before greasing the trays for the first batch of biscuits. Even Sylvia had stopped grumbling—for the most part—and was now serving tea and preparing a few sandwiches for dinner. 

Only he didn’t seem to belong. 

Every time they gave him something else to do—some new task, some well-meant suggestion—it only made things worse. Nothing felt right. He felt clumsy, out of place—more and more in the way.

When no one was looking, he took out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the oven—just to make the biscuits bake faster and get himself back on familiar ground—but that only made Donna really angry.

‘But it’s quicker this way!’ the Doctor insisted. 

‘They’re not baked, they’re cremated!’ she snapped, scraping the smouldering briquettes off the tray.

Rose, meanwhile, opened the porch door to let the smoke out.

‘And that’s not the point!’ Donna added sharply.

The Doctor wrung his hands.

‘I was trying to help!’

‘I know,’ said Donna, making an effort to calm down. ‘You always do. But I thought that as a Time Lord, you of all people would understand that this isn’t about how quickly we finish.’

‘Well, none of my Time Lord abilities are even remotely useful right now.’

‘Then maybe start using your other abilities. Or better yet—just relax for once.’

The Doctor huffed—then realised the room had gone still. Everyone was looking at him.

‘Well, maybe… you’re right,’ he began hesitantly. ‘Might be best if I step out for a minute.’

‘Off you go, then,’ Donna said, starting to grease the baking tray she had just cleared of the charred biscuit remains and rinsed.

Rose nodded encouragingly. ‘I’ll fetch you once the biscuits are ready to decorate. If you’re not back inside by then.’

‘Thanks.’

The Doctor pocketed his sonic and turned around. The porch door stood wide open—he could’ve stepped straight outside. Instead, he turned away and headed for the front door. 

It clicked shut behind him almost silently.

At first, he just wanted to go outside and take a few deep breaths. But when he was out of the door, he didn’t stop. He just went on. Soon, he started running. Down the road, round the next corner, and then further and further away. 

He passed countless houses on his way through Chiswick—festively decorated with fairy lights, wreaths and inflatable snowmen—but the lights and colours blurred past him as he ran, noticing none of it.

By the time he arrived at his house—miles and hours away from everyone else—he was panting and sweating, his clothes in disarray, his hair damp and tousled.

He tore off his tie and flung it carelessly into the hallway. With trembling fingers, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it aside as he stumbled through the living room.

His coat… where was his coat? The thought briefly flickered through his mind, then the image of the Noble’s hallway flashed up. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. 

Out. Out!

He pushed through the door and stormed out into his garden.

He couldn’t do it. 

He couldn’t stand it. 

It was as if he could never fit into their normal life, their lovely but ordinary activities. Their family time wasn’t his time, even if they all tried very hard to make him fit in.

But he didn’t. 

He felt, and he simply was, alien. In every sense of the word.

There was nothing he could do.

When he came to his senses, he was standing in his garden, under the bare rose arch, under the night sky, hands braced against the familiar blue wood of his garden shed. No—of his TARDIS.

He leaned closer, pressing his entire body against the wood, as if seeking to vanish into it. In the darkness of the December night, their silhouettes merged. Feeling the reassuring presence of his steadfast companion beneath his fingertips, the Doctor’s frantic breathing and the wild drumming of his hearts began to calm down.

And slowly, very slowly, the noise in his head began to fade, making way for clearer thoughts.

Clearer than he wanted them to be.

He knew he had messed up. 

He felt miserable. Not just for spoiling the evening for the people who meant the most to him right now—but also for not being able to enjoy any of it. At all.

Why couldn’t he simply go with the flow? 

Every mistake, every strained smile, every flicker of doubt what the hell he was doing there—it all had set him on edge. 

By now, they’d probably realised he wasn’t just outside. He was gone. Properly gone. All the way to the only place where he felt safe. At ease. At home.

He snapped his fingers.

The TARDIS door creaked open.

And he slipped inside.

It would be easy to jump ahead a little. Just five days—to Christmas Day. Or better yet: six days. He’d already wrecked the biscuit baking. No need to mess up Christmas itself.

Boxing Day would do just fine.

Just a quick appearance—wish them Merry Christmas, maybe drop off a little present for Rose, compliment the biscuits—which undoubtedly had turned out better without his interfering. And then: be gone until New Year’s Eve.

He leaned against the control panel and let his gaze wander—across the dark displays, the myriad of buttons, levers, cranks and slots, the faintly glowing time rotor inside the centre column, the high ceiling, the dimly lit walls full of the familiar roundels.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

A moment later, a gust of wind came up and that wheezing, groaning sound filled the garden.

When the wind died down, the garden shed had vanished. And the night was silent once more.

The trip had been long, chaotic, and just what he needed to clear his head.

Still, he didn’t forget to pick up a few things—after all, he didn’t want to come back empty-handed.

‘What do you think, eh?’ the Doctor said into the quiet of the control room. ‘Evening on the 26th. Perfect, isn’t it? Nice and safe. Out of everyone’s hair.’

The TARDIS hummed softly as he keyed in the date and time and pulled the final lever.

Moments later, the TARDIS landed with the usual wheeze and groan, settling with a  clang. The Doctor straightened his clothes and put on a smile. He grabbed the two big sacks of gifts and flung open the door.

The TARDIS had materialised a few yards down the street. The Doctor strode up to the Noble-Temple’s house and burst through their front door without a second thought. 

‘Ho, ho, ho!’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘Hiya! It’s me! Look what I’ve brought!’

Without waiting for a reply, he marched down the hallway and flung open the living room door.

‘Happy Boxing Day, everyone!’ he beamed.

Four pair of eyes turned to him.

Sylvia, settled in one armchair with a cup of tea, scowled. 

Rose, curled up in the other, offered a quick, polite smile—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

And Donna and Shaun, who’d been snuggled up on the sofa, sprang apart like teenagers caught snogging behind the bike sheds. Shaun managed to sit up a bit and nod half-heartedly at the Doctor. 

But Donna…

Donna shot him a look so sharp it knocked the breath from his lungs. She didn’t say a word—but in that moment, she looked more like her mother than ever.

The Doctor faltered mid-step.

‘I, uh… realised I’d completely forgotten to get everyone gifts,’ he said, lifting the bags a little higher, voice strained with cheer. ‘So I nipped out. Just a short hop. Only a few light-years. You know… the usual… uhm…’ He trailed off, grasping for words.

Donna stood, arms folded. She clearly had a lot to say—and none of it quiet. But instead, she took a deep breath and asked, ‘What do you mean, Boxing Day? It’s Christmas Day, spaceman. Half ten at night. So unless you’re planning to invent your own time zone—’ She tilted her head. ‘You’re late.’

‘I’m… sorry, what?’

There he stood, dumbfounded, in the warm and dimly lit living room, with its scent of pine, cinnamon, and something sweet like… biscuits. With the Christmas tree standing proudly in the corner, a few baubles slightly lopsided, its tinsel glittering in the golden fairy lights. With a few presents—already opened—under its decorated branches. With steaming mugs of tea and half-empty plates of biscuits on the coffee table. With Elvis Costello crooning She may be the face I can’t forget… on the telly and Julia Roberts flashing a mysterious smile at the cameras.

The Doctor was still rooted to the spot, one of the sacks slipping from his grip and landing with a muffled thud.

‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—’ he began, taking a step back.

But Donna wasn’t having any of it. ‘Don’t you dare sneak back to where you just came from.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Looks like you got the timing wrong again, eh, Time Lord?’

The Doctor took a breath to retort, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

‘Or maybe not. Maybe you finally got the timing right.’ Her gaze softened and her intimidating demeanour vanished as she took a step towards him. ‘You idiot.’

‘Scuse me?!’

‘You heard me, you big, stupid idiot,’ Donna repeated. She didn’t sound the least bit insulting, or even upset. If anything, her tone was gentle.

And so was her embrace.

‘We knew you’d bolted again,’ Donna said, handing him a steaming mug of tea.

‘You did?’

‘Your TARDIS was gone,’ Rose said. 

Everyone had settled back into their seats. The telly was off; instead, Shaun had put on a quiet Christmas playlist.

‘You know, I wanted to come by the next day—to invite you for Christmas and bring your coat and some of the biscuits you helped make,’ Rose explained. ‘But your house was empty—and so was your garden.’

The Doctor straightened up. ‘Oh, right. As I was saying—I suddenly remembered I hadn’t got any presents, and I…’ He trailed off, catching the others’ expressions.

‘You know, I wasn’t expecting any presents,’ said Donna casually. 

‘Me neither,’ agreed Rose.

‘And certainly not me,’ added Shaun.

‘Hmph,’ was all Sylvia said.

‘Well, I couldn’t exactly turn up empty-handed and…’ the Doctor tried, but didn’t know how to continue convincingly. 

He paused.

Then he drew a breath and straightened his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry. I felt terrible for being so useless and then leaving you all hanging. I thought I had to make it up to you.’

‘Finally, you said it.’

The Doctor blinked, frowning in confusion. He looked at Donna.

‘Well done, spaceman,’ she added, giving a faint smile—then she grew serious again. ‘So now, would you kindly explain why you thought you had no business being here—today, yesterday, or any time this past week? I mean, your stupid space-time ship can just drop you off here anytime you want.’

The Doctor gulped. ‘Well, anytime she wants, obviously. I was aiming for tomorrow, but—’ He broke off as Donna’s brow darkened. Best to drop the quibbling. ‘Anyway. I just didn’t want to barge into your precious family Christmas and ruin it all.’

‘Oh, good thing you didn’t,’ Donna said with a smirk. ‘Except for the ruining part. Seriously, though: why on earth can’t you get it through your thick Time Lord skull that you, too, belong to this family?’

The Doctor froze.

‘Oh don’t give me that dumb old deer-in-the-headlights look,’ said Sylvia, setting her tea down with a clink. ‘Be glad I’m not just throwing you out after barging in here in such a good mood, acting like nothing happened. It wasn’t you who had to see Rose’s disappointed face for five days straight—or stop her from camping out on your doorstep three times a day, waiting for you to come back from your little sulk.’ 

‘Grandma…’ Rose protested weakly.

‘I’m right, aren’t I? It was unbearable!’ She glared at him. ‘I told you it wouldn’t work. Mr Doctor here was never going to be up for something like that. But Rose really wanted to spend time with you. Include you. She wanted you to be part of our family traditions. Only that didn’t suit you, did it? No centre stage, no crowds swooning over the big hero. Just quiet time and ordinary people. So you bolted. And what did it cost? Look at her. That was your price to pay. So take responsibility for once, will you?’

‘Grandma, stop it,’ Rose insisted. ‘It’s fine. We got your point, didn’t we?’ She looked to the Doctor for help.

‘We did,’ he said firmly, holding Sylvia’s gaze.

Then he looked around at all of them as if he were seeing them for the very first time. Really seeing them.

Sylvia, who was still grumbling, but now quietly.

Shaun, nibbling on a biscuit, trying to keep his head down and not get in the way of his three women.

Rose, who was clearly embarrassed by it all, but couldn’t help glancing expectantly at the Doctor.

And Donna, just sitting there with her arms folded, waiting for him to finally take a step forward.

The fairy lights blinked once. 

Then again.

‘Sorry that my skull is so thick. Time Lord physiology,’ the Doctor said, a lopsided grin on his lips. ‘And thank you. I’ll do better next year.’

Rose threw her arms round his neck without hesitation. ‘You will!’ she said, beaming.

The Doctor caught her, laughing. 

Donna merely nodded appreciatively. ‘You’d better, mate.’

Finally, the tension seemed to have eased. 

‘But hang on a minute. There’s one thing we don’t have to wait a whole year for. Remember? I’ve brought you something!’ The Doctor sprang to his feet, grabbed the two bulging bags and held them up triumphantly. ‘And I’m not even late, as I first thought. So, once again: Ho, ho, ho and a very merry Christmas everyone!’

The rest of the evening passed in gentle chatter and quiet laughter, with warm tea in hand and the last of the biscuits slowly disappearing from the plate. Donna told them about Yukiko and the Christmas cake—how delighted she’d been with the gesture, and how she’d invited Donna and the others to share it with her and her son on Christmas Eve.

‘You really missed out, Mr Travel the Universe. It was de-li-cious. And so much fun.’

‘I bet!’

‘She gave us some mince pies in return for Christmas dinner. And I’m very sorry to inform you that there are no leftovers.’ Donna grinned at him unabashedly.

The Doctor pulled a suitably sad face before launching into the tale of where—and how—he’d found their presents.

He’d just placed a glass sphere on the coffee table—one that cast delicate snowflakes onto the ceiling. And then, it really began snowing in the room—except that the tiny flakes seemed to disappear before they touched the floor, and they didn’t feel cold and wet, but instead gave them all a warm, cosy feeling.

‘Fresh from Christmas Planet! Not kidding, it really exists. You should see it—they’re really big fans of this sweet little Earth tradition of yours. And they love snow and Christmas lights so much that they invented this snow globe. It’s all the rage over there right now. Be glad I managed to get my hands on one!’

‘Let me guess,’ Donna chimed in. ‘You just had to save a bunch of aliens from an apocalyptic threat, like here. I mean, if they’re going to adopt Earth’s Christmas traditions, they might as well do it right.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ the Doctor cried. ‘Never! Well, maybe a little. I certainly had to put on a fresh shirt before I flew on to Thadruatera because those laser beams really ruined… never mind.’ He grinned broadly. ‘Anyway, after that I went to Thadruatera—’

‘Say that three times fast,’ laughed Rose.

‘I’d rather not,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Almost tied my tongue in knots twice already.’ He rummaged around in his bag of gifts. ‘Anyway, I got you this.’ 

He placed a beautifully wrapped present on the table. 

‘The Thadruaterans are extremely talented artisans. And during their summer season, there’s a festival where they bake something called “star cakes”. Mind you, they’re not star-shaped or anything. They just sparkle like actual stars.’

He lifted the lid of the gift box to reveal two intricately crafted, palm-sized biscuit cutters and a bag with a strange, alien-looking inscription.

Rose leaned in for a closer look. The fairy lights glinted in her eyes.

‘It’s flour from a plant that bioluminesces at high temperatures,’ the Doctor explained. 

‘And now again for temps and others who didn’t take Gallifreyan as an elective?’ Donna interjected.

‘The stuff glows and sparkles when it’s baked,’ the Doctor clarified. ‘And that wasn’t even Gallifreyan, just…’ He stopped talking when he caught Donna’s gaze, and grinned sheepishly.

Rose picked up the biscuit cutters and the flour, awestruck, and examined everything very carefully.

‘Does that mean we’ll make another attempt to include you in the baking tradition next year?’ she asked cautiously. 

‘Well, we’ve got a whole year for you to teach me the basics, haven’t we?’

Rose’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I’d love to! After all, I’ve got fifteen years of experience making those biscuits! And remember, you don’t have to be perfect on your first try. It’s not about the outcome. We just want to spend some time together as a family—and that includes you! Relax, have a laugh, make a mess. That sort of thing.’

‘I get it now. Finally.’ The Doctor smiled, genuinely. ‘Thanks.’

‘Just one tip, mate,’ Shaun chimed in. ‘Don’t use that sonic of yours again. If anyone’s responsible for setting the kitchen on fire, it’s me! Got a reputation to uphold. You can go back to covering everything in flour!’

‘Promise!’ the Doctor grinned. ‘This time, the kitchen will sparkle all right—just don’t expect it to be clean.’