"Merry Christmas." the duplicate doctor softly whispered into his lover's ear. The other man grunted, wrapping his arms around his double and pulling him back on top of him.

"Too early."

"It's Christmas."

"John..." the Doctor groaned as he forced himself to sit. "Fine."

"Thank you." John, as they had decided to call him only to make things less complicated, couldn't resist a little bounce. He couldn't help the excitement; it was, after all, his first real first Christmas that was his, that was actually his, and not just a memory of his lover.

"Excited?" the Doctor chuckled softly, nibbling the man's ear, a gesture not appreciated by the man at that very moment.

"Yes! Now come on!"

John had never been one for getting wild in the morning; although the Doctor didn't mind it a bit. Funny, he thought, how even though the man was him, he wasn't. He was his own person; had his own mind; could think, laugh, run, everything that the Doctor could do.

Except settle down.

Their clocks were both ticking; their time was running out, but each at a much different pace. It pained the Doctor to know that in what felt like a second, his lover would be gone. Dead. And he would be back to running.

From commitment. From responsibility. From everything. When the Doctor stops running, everything will change.

John must have noticed the sad expression on his partner's face, and tugged him out of bed, hoping to distract him. It didn't work; he knew it wouldn't, but he knew how his mind worked inside and out. Maybe the TARDIS would help him, yeah, that'd be nice. Of course, she wouldn't help. She didn't take hints from him. Only from the real Doctor.

The real Doctor... John knew that his feelings mirrored the Doctor's; mirrored them almost exactly. The only difference was the reason.

You see, the Doctor was pitying himself again. Curse of the Time Lords. He'd be alone again, like always. Running again.

But John? He was heartbroken for the Doctor. He knew how the other man felt; the pain of being alone. Truly alone. He understood the weight that the Doctor carried, the only man who ever would. And he knew that nothing could stop that.

Soon enough, John would become just another companion. The Doctor couldn't bear to watch him get old; but John understood.

Understanding doesn't make it any better, though.

They walked into one of the TARDIS' many living rooms; the one they and her had decorated for Christmas. They were both sad, so sad, but they concealed it from each other. Neither of them could talk to the other; they would just avoid it. For if there's one thing the Doctor's good at, it's avoiding things.

Presents were opened, thanks were given. At one point, John climbed into the Doctor's lap, letting the other man gently hold him.

John knew as well as the Doctor that something bad was on the horizon. Neither knew what. Neither knew when.

They didn't know. About the Master.

About Amy.

About Rory.

About River.

Just like they hadn't known about Donna.

Or Rose.

Or Martha.