The T.A.R.D.I.S. door flew open with ferocious force, slamming against the metal railing and rebounding, only to be met by the forward flung momentum of a soft but unyielding body. "Ahh!" cried Rose and the T.A.R.D.I.S. with her equivalent, in unison.

The electrostatic fizzle and zoom of a Fulocksian micro-cellular helioatomiser blaster triumphantly singed a few billowing locks of blonde hair as Rose simultaneously ducked and half tripped, half trampled over the bulging shopping bags at her feet as she stumbled forward and out of range. The red beam continued its linear course striking the console with a hiss of melted electronics as Rose regained her breath and grimaced at the stench of burnt peroxide and mechanico-organic emissions.

"Get your skates on! Move it!" she bellowed at the Doctor as he dodged and swerved with white knuckled grip on a plethora of expensively labelled luggage in one hand and a garish hat box pressed on top of his head with the other.

Rose ducked back inside as an energy bomb in a mushroom cloud of crimson powder exploded against the emergency 'call for help' police sign, followed about sixty seconds later by a flash of brown pinstripe who unceremoniously shucked his cargo and fell against the door, closing and deadlocking it, to be on the safe side.

He slumped his head with a thump against the fake wood closing his eyes and gasping in lungfuls of air. A mournful, girlish cry drew him from his reverie and into immediate action, falling to his knees beside the fragile, human form sat on the grating floor before him. He brushed back her hair with one hand checking for injury as the other groped in his jacket pocket for his trusty sonic, "Are you alright? Where are you hurt?" he asked anxiously.

Rose whimpered, caressing the burnt and torn magenta and gold strips of material through the ruptured shot-gun like hole in the hat box, "It's ruined."

The Doctor swore under his breath and groaned theatrically. He placed his hand over her shaking one and stroked in comfort, "It meet a good end," he choked and Rose swatted his hand away.

He laughed heartily, "Wohoo, that was a close one," as he jumped up and raced to the console, circumnavigating it in his familiar, age old dance of piloting pontification. "Note to self – never take one Rose Tyler Christmas Shopping without a visor, harpoon and load bearing beast of burden!" he chuckled and ducked a pink, spangly stiletto that Rose had salivated over earlier in the day.

The ride into the Vortex was even bumper than usual, sending the Doctor into a sprawled, undignified heap, propped precariously with an elbow on the pilot seat and Rose, face first onto a mound of shopping.

As they settled, she huffed herself upright and started the onerous, repeat journeys to and fro to her bedroom with bags and boxes slung over her shoulder and weighing in her palms. The Doctor, meanwhile, cooed and coddled over the scorched T.A.R.D.I.S., "It's alright girl, let me see. I'll have you purring like a '69 Cadillac in no time. That's it, now what did those brutish Fuloxsies do to you, eh?"

Rose rolled her eyes and headed off into the bowels of the ship to begin the less fun challenge of wrapping all her Christmas purchases. After turning up last year with no money, no presents and an unconscious, unrecognisable Doctor she wanted to make amends and had become strangely nostalgic for the seasonal ritual that represented her humanity and grounded her even among the frenzied, fiery constellations of stars.

The guilt ridden Doctor had acquiesced quickly and she found she was unnaturally excited but the prospect of normality, a concept now so foreign to her that it held a magical, luxuriant allure.

She flicked on the multicoloured, shimmering fairy lights that dressed her mirror and popped a 'Number One Christmas Hits' album into the CD player, settling on the floor surrounded by gifts, snow flake patterned sellotape, scissors, bright and cheery wrapping paper and some glittery, metallic bows.

She was humming along to Cliff Richard's, 'Scarlet Ribbons' with a velvet Santa's hat on her head and hands full of sticky tape as the Doctor rapped lightly on the door, "Come in," she chirped. "And through the night, my heart was aching and just before the dawn was breaking, I peeped…"

"Quite the busy little elf, aren't you? Are you going to shake your belly like a bowl full of jelly?" he teased as he shuffled through the door as far as the messy array would allow.

"Oi Scrooge! No hum-bugs here!" she warned distractedly, her tongue tensed between her teeth as she tried to figure out how to wrap the all singing, all dancing reindeer.

"No hum-bugs but I do have gum drops," he proffered her a crinkled, white paper bag, stretching his arm over the present strewn chasm. She didn't seem to notice.

"Ah Rose," he cleared his throat while a hand rubbed feverishly at the back of his neck. "About Christmas at your mum's?" she stilled and let out a dramatic sigh, finally looking at him.

"What about it?" her voice was short and clipped and the Doctor instinctively braced.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," this did not bode well. "We can't…" Rose rushed to object but he interrupted her, placating with shushing hands. "I know I mock Jackie something rotten but it's all bravado, well mostly, well some of it is. I actually respect her," he looked queasy at the admission, looking down and tracing unseen circles on the carpet. "She loves you fiercely. She's brave and strong and annoyingly shrill but she just wants to protect you and worries about you and I'm actually a little jealous of that bond, of the devotion and affection of family and having somewhere to belong. I don't mind visiting her 'cause I want you to be happy and I'd never take that away from you but thing is, the console was hit pretty badly in that shopping spree and well…she can't travel in Time at the moment. Space, yes, but Time, not so much."

Rose found herself not only mollified by his words but saddened at the lonely god and his lot, the man who tread where angels feared and encompassed all of Time and Space but belonged to no when or no where and no matter the length of his weary pilgrimage, would never find a 'home' save that of his companion in solitude, the glorious wooden box of legend and trepidation. Everyone is so transitory and brilliant but perishing by the second while he continues, will always continue and suddenly the sympathy and sorrow in her heart burnt so brightly as if trying to touch him with its heat.

"Can you fix her?" she hesitated.

"Oh yes, easy as pie, well except that blueberry thing your mum concocted, pitiful thing, beyond hope, may it rest in peace. Oh sorry! There I go again. It's affectionate insulting, honest," he shifted nervously, finding the contents of her make-up drawer suddenly stimulating.

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" he looked up guiltily, waiting for the righteous indignation of the Tyler breed.

"S'okay, yeah? Time Machine, remember?" she smiled genuinely.

He instinctively returned the smile before it stuttered, "Well not at the moment. The actual repairs won't take long but the T.A.R.D.I.S. has to grow and reconfigure some component parts and link the temporal and spatial thrusters. It takes a while. Like human transplant surgery the new organ can be rejected or in this case needs to evolve symbiotically with the ship and solidify its place in the vortex. Could take a few weeks, at least," he cringed.

She couldn't help it and actually laughed out loud at his desperate, 'please don't shoot the messenger' face. She reached out and squeezed his hand reassuredly, "Gives me time to diet so I don't feel so guilty about all those roast turkey dinners, oh and selection boxes. They're the worst. You don't want to be running with a belly full of jelly or chocolate as the case may be!" she smiled amiably and he visibly relaxed.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," and he darted off down the corridor.

"You don't have to. Really, it's fine…" she called heedlessly to his athletic, energised footsteps.