Christmas Ficathon: Day 6
Title: Thirty Days of Christmas
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Third Doctor, Jo Grant
Rating: G
Word Count: 469
Summary: Three and Jo celebrate Christmas. Just fluff.
For my fellow Three-lovers, black_rider and hobbit_feets.
It was Christmas every day for a solid month. The moment Jo had let it slip that it was her favourite holiday, the Doctor had made it his mission to show her the best the universe had to offer. It certainly wasn’t an excuse to spend the most possible time in his newly-repaired TARDIS, despite Jo’s frequent insistence to the contrary.
He took her to the planet Alsatia, where it snowed only once every hundred years and the celebration lasted for a solid week, whole cities covered in twinkling lights that reflected off the ice giving everything a golden glow she could only describe as magic. They traveled to medieval Bulgaria where the Doctor appeared to be on good terms with the king, and they spent an entire evening singing ancient carols, the Doctor’s voice booming louder than them all. They hovered over a planet simply known as ð, made entirely of peaks of ice so tall and jagged it was impossible to land. She had giggled wildly when they visited Earth in the year 50,000, when Christmas had become a festival of colour dedicated to a god who she insisted looked very much like her great uncle Arnie.
When she found out there was a planet called Christmas, she insisted on being taken there, though the citizens never celebrated the holiday. It was, in fact, consistently tropical on the planet and all things relating to Christmas had been outlawed, including the use of the word itself. When Jo had asked a stern-looking official how they managed to refer to the planet by name, she and the Doctor had promptly been tossed into a holding cell. The Doctor had beamed as she picked the lock in record time, promising to never again question why she put so many pins in her hair.
In Victorian England, they went wassailing in a small village. Jo declared it charming, and resisted the urge to complain about walking through the snow in platform boots. The Doctor had wrapped her in his velvet cloak when they retired to the tavern, allowing her to drink entirely too much mulled wine. He had blushed terribly when she accosted him under the mistletoe, insisting they observe tradition. His cloak had smelled of her perfume - gardenias, and something terribly sweet, like cupcakes - for days afterward, and he regretted the loss when it was replaced by his own familiar scent. He tried very hard not to think about how he would miss her in much the same way when she finally left him.
She would, eventually, find her own path without him, and afterward, he never quite had the heart to wear that cloak again. He would chuckle privately whenever he caught sight of some mistletoe, and as often as he could, insisted on having Christmas in the TARDIS.
Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: Third Doctor, Jo Grant
Rating: G
Word Count: 469
Summary: Three and Jo celebrate Christmas. Just fluff.
For my fellow Three-lovers, black_rider and hobbit_feets.
It was Christmas every day for a solid month. The moment Jo had let it slip that it was her favourite holiday, the Doctor had made it his mission to show her the best the universe had to offer. It certainly wasn’t an excuse to spend the most possible time in his newly-repaired TARDIS, despite Jo’s frequent insistence to the contrary.
He took her to the planet Alsatia, where it snowed only once every hundred years and the celebration lasted for a solid week, whole cities covered in twinkling lights that reflected off the ice giving everything a golden glow she could only describe as magic. They traveled to medieval Bulgaria where the Doctor appeared to be on good terms with the king, and they spent an entire evening singing ancient carols, the Doctor’s voice booming louder than them all. They hovered over a planet simply known as ð, made entirely of peaks of ice so tall and jagged it was impossible to land. She had giggled wildly when they visited Earth in the year 50,000, when Christmas had become a festival of colour dedicated to a god who she insisted looked very much like her great uncle Arnie.
When she found out there was a planet called Christmas, she insisted on being taken there, though the citizens never celebrated the holiday. It was, in fact, consistently tropical on the planet and all things relating to Christmas had been outlawed, including the use of the word itself. When Jo had asked a stern-looking official how they managed to refer to the planet by name, she and the Doctor had promptly been tossed into a holding cell. The Doctor had beamed as she picked the lock in record time, promising to never again question why she put so many pins in her hair.
In Victorian England, they went wassailing in a small village. Jo declared it charming, and resisted the urge to complain about walking through the snow in platform boots. The Doctor had wrapped her in his velvet cloak when they retired to the tavern, allowing her to drink entirely too much mulled wine. He had blushed terribly when she accosted him under the mistletoe, insisting they observe tradition. His cloak had smelled of her perfume - gardenias, and something terribly sweet, like cupcakes - for days afterward, and he regretted the loss when it was replaced by his own familiar scent. He tried very hard not to think about how he would miss her in much the same way when she finally left him.
She would, eventually, find her own path without him, and afterward, he never quite had the heart to wear that cloak again. He would chuckle privately whenever he caught sight of some mistletoe, and as often as he could, insisted on having Christmas in the TARDIS.