"Christmas on Earth, you said," Sam grumbled, shivering as she flicked up the collar of the jacket against the insistent sleety drizzle and reflecting that perhaps Hirath hadn't been so bad after all.

"And here we are. Early morning, Christmas Eve…"

"I was expecting something a little more exotic than the Thames. This is the Thames, isn't it?"

The Doctor had the decency to look mildly shamefaced before he strode off along the footpath. After a few yards he realised that she wasn't following him and stopped.

Sam tried to look cross. "Well?"

He waved an arm expansively. "Hammersmith Bridge," he said, as if that explained everything.

"I thought you meant somewhere nice. Somewhere Christmassy," Sam continued pointedly. "Lapland, or a carol service at Kings College. Even New York at a pinch..."

He looked crestfallen, and she forced herself to hide a smile. She'd left Ha'olam with an overwhelming sense of self, a real feeling of purpose. But she was tired too, and somehow being back in the TARDIS had diffused her previous urgency. She needed to readjust to the idea of being a time travelling, crime-busting sidekick again; to readjust to the idea of being back in his company again. A little quality time off from saving Civilisation-As-We-Know-It and Doing Good was due. This excursion had been his idea and, though she knew better than to take things at face value, she sensed that perhaps he needed a change of pace as much as she did. But that didn't mean she was about to admit that she wasn't fussy where she spent Christmas as long as it was with him.

"An alpine cabin would have been nice. High in the mountains, a short sleigh ride away from anywhere… Yule logs on a huge roaring fire… Mulled wine and cinnamon toast…"

Sam was really beginning to warm to her theme when she was cut short as the Doctor began to emit a high-pitched bleeping. She watched as he rummaged in his pockets and eventually located the source of the noise - a palm-sized pale pink ovoid which seemed to be decorated with small purple flowers.

"Yes, yes, yes," he muttered with some irritation. "I know, I know… I'm here, aren't I?" He pressed a few buttons and the beeping stopped.

"Trouble?" Sam asked, crossing over to him, all pretence of irritation forgotten.

The Doctor frowned distractedly at the object in his hand for a second or two before he tucked it back into his pocket.

"No, no. Not trouble exactly. Just a few… loose ends that need tying up…"

"And that's why we're here?" Sam was disappointed yet unsurprised when he nodded. She waited for an explanation, but none was forthcoming, and so instead she decided to address a more pressing need.

"Do you have an umbrella in those pockets of yours then?"

This drew the Doctor from his reverie and he seemed to notice the inclement weather for the first time. Deftly he produced an umbrella for each of them, seemingly out of thin air: hers was sunshine yellow, his a deep racing green.

"We must get on!" he declared over-loudly, setting off along the path. "And I need to find a telephone."

Sam found herself having to break into a run to keep up, as she so often did on such occasions, but as he bounded effortlessly up the slope to the bridge she gave up trying to keep pace with him.

He waited for her at the footpath rail, apparently captivated by the fast-flowing Thames, which was swollen, grey-green.

And just for a moment it was like seeing him for the first time.

Somehow she'd managed not to notice before now that, uncommonly, he had made a concession to the weather - presumably in the interests of his newly re-fashioned ensemble. The chocolate-brown velvet overcoat he wore was at least two sizes too big for him, and looked as if it had barely scraped through a few lifetimes-worth of adventures. Threadbare in places and patched at the elbows, it reached perilously close to the wet pavement and flapped noisily in the breeze as the wind ruffled his hair. There was a plain-knit black scarf at his throat.

He looks like Heathcliffe, Sam thought, suddenly breathless, then berated herself for entertaining such an absurdly romantic notion. She thought she'd finally got the better of her lustful urges towards him, and was alarmed to discover that a change of clothes had her all turned upside down again. Just be thankful he's not more sartorially adventurous, she told herself crossly, joining him at the rail.

"So when are we, exactly?"

"Christmas Eve morning, 1984." He looked at her and paused for a moment, assessingly. Then he flung an arm around her shoulders and they set off across the bridge, their umbrellas snagging awkwardly. Sam collapsed hers, illicitly enjoying the notion of sharing his and the closeness it necessitated.

But however pleasant their stroll was, she sensed prevarication in the air, and after a few paces couldn't resist prompting, "So?"

"Time travel is a tricky thing sometimes, Sam," he began awkwardly.

"Tell me something I don't already know. Not a million miles away there's a four year old me sitting in an airing cupboard surrounded by prematurely unwrapped Christmas presents…"

He smiled. "Not very good at surprises are you?"

"Only when I know what they are. And I don't like secrets either - so let's hear it."

He hesitated, apparently unsure how to explain himself. "You know I often come here…"

"Hammersmith?"

"Earth! This is my favourite planet…"

"You're obviously a man of fine taste…"

"…But I haven't ever been strictly chronological about things…"

"Isn't it a bit late in the day to start worrying about your lifestyle choices?"

"Oh, it's never too late to start worrying, Sam..." He stopped, as if interrupted by the boisterous voice of an unseen third party.

("That's precisely what I would have done!")

"…And sometimes… sometimes I sense… echoes. Evidence of my own presence, yet to come. Of things I have yet to do..." He trailed off, and for a moment Sam had the absurd impression that he was ashamed to tell her any more. "And I have this..." From his pocket, the Doctor took the pink object (which looked suspiciously to Sam like the 'My Secret Diary' personal organisers that had been all the rage at Coal Hill one term) and prodded fretfully at a few buttons. "...to remind me what I have to do, and when."

In the awkward silence that fell, Sam had an inspired thought. "This is like Bill and Ted getting Joan of Arc and Napoleon out of jail, isn't it?"

The Doctor frowned deeply and Sam laughed. It was all too easy to forget he might not be familiar with every inch of the cultural wallpaper she had grown up with, although sometimes she suspected he was just feigning that ignorance to appear more... well... human. She discovered that they had meandered to a stop in the middle of the bridge, and took some time to reflect on what he had said.

"Isn't it dangerous to be messing around with your own time stream?" she asked at last.

"It's the price I pay for my freedom," he said heavily, with what Sam felt was unnecessary drama. "The Web of Time must be preserved. I must watch for the signs and ensure that Time follows its true course. To not do so could be catastrophic…"

"...And create a paradox, the results of which could cause a chain reaction that would unravel the very fabric of the space-time continuum and destroy the entire universe…" Sam finished with a breathless grin.

The Doctor gave her a hard stare, his expression unreadable. She shrugged, regretting her flippancy. "Just a lucky guess."

"You don't seem to be taking this very seriously," he reproached, abruptly walking away, leaving Sam to struggle with her umbrella to avoid getting wet. She dashed after him, alarmed. This wasn't like him at all.

"Hey!"

The Doctor stalked on in silence, so Sam ran ahead of him and stood in his path.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, and he stopped and looked down at her, tight-lipped. In that moment she couldn't fathom why she found him even remotely attractive. "And don't sulk. It doesn't become you."

The Doctor's gaze flitted away up river. Sleet pattered on their umbrellas and traffic rumbled by, unnoticed.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Sam asked at last.

The Doctor continued to gaze up river as her answered her. "I misjudged someone. And he died. Or rather, he will die. I could have saved him if I'd acted differently, but I made the wrong choice."

"People die all the time," said Sam, her conviction faltering mid-sentence as she heard the cliché ring hollow in her own ears. "Even you can't stop that."

"Today I have to make sure that he dies, Sam. I have to complete the loop - and by doing so I condemn him to death."

This just wasn't right. He was her hero. He was supposed to snatch people from the jaws of death at the eleventh hour, not help them on their way.

"But it's either him or the paradox, right?" Sam was horrified to hear the desperate tone of her own voice.

The Doctor closed his eyes and did not reply.

"No one says you have to enjoy doing The Right Thing," Sam told his back softly, finding herself on the verge of tears. She flushed hotly, wondering how she had ever doubted him, even for a second. She wanted to hold him, tell him that it would be all right, that she understood, and that wouldn't ever think any less of him because he had to do what the situation demanded of him. But she recalled his bemused look when she had kissed him on Ha'olam, and knew that she could never reach him. So instead she stood frozen, helpless and shut out, watching his shoulders, which were set and unmoving against the heavy grey sky. And at length he turned back to her, and it seemed that the crisis was passed.

"I've got a lot to do," he said, his eyes bright with manufactured enthusiasm for the task ahead. "We must get on."

They walked along in silence to the end of the bridge and along Hammersmith Bridge Road, until they reached a phonebox. The Doctor produced a credit card with Sam's name on it.

"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile that almost reached his eyes. Sam had expected something like this, and knew that there was nothing she could say to change his mind, though she wasn't about to let that stop her trying.

"There must be something I can do to help?"

He shook his head slowly. "One of the things I have to do is take some equipment over to Totter's Lane." Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "I think it's better if you do your own thing, don't you?"

"But…" Sam didn't feel able to back down immediately, even if the thought of visiting her own neighbourhood thirteen or so years out of time brought her out in goosebumps.

"And I believe that once your parents have extricated little Sam from the airing cupboard you and your family will be off to your grandparents home in Bedfordshire, so there's no danger of you accidentally bumping into yourself today…"

Sam pulled a face and gave a theatric shudder.

"So I suggest you set about spending as much money as possible before the end of the day." He waggled the visa card invitingly before her nose and cheated by smiling.

She gave in ungraciously, and took the card from him. "You might be sorry," she warned him.

"It's too late for that," he returned darkly. Then, "I'll meet you in the Old City Arms this evening."

She nodded solemnly, resigned. "Can I get you anything?"

He made a pantomime of thinking about it, scratching his head and frowning. "Smarties," he said eventually, with a hint of a smile.

Sam grinned despite herself. "Right. Well… I'll see you later then." And she set off, making a point of not looking back.

The Doctor watched Sam disappear out of sight, his face shuttered. Absently he patted his pockets and eventually withdrew a thick notebook and a handful of loose change. An observer might have fancied they imagined the faintest glimmer of a smile on his face as he let his umbrella down and ducked into the phonebox. Inside, his actions were swift and purposeful, dialling the meticulously researched number without hesitation. The call was answered almost immediately.

"Good morning," the Doctor said, with an enthusiasm Sam would not have credited. "I wonder if I might speak to Detective Sergeant Russell please?"

* * * * * *

If someone had asked her, Sam would have said that the last thing she needed or wanted was to be parted from the Doctor again so soon. To her surprise however, she found her day curiously enjoyable. There was something extremely reassuring about being immersed in her own past on her home planet, about recognising every song she heard in every shop (even if nine times out of ten it was 'Do They Know It's Christmas'). It was like visiting a total-immersion theme park that had got inside her head and shamelessly played on every nostalgic fibre in her body.

She browsed endlessly, allowing herself to be swept into a festive frenzy by the tides of people who thronged on the streets in last minute panic. It was madness, but its familiarity was somehow comforting. And she was spared all the pressures apparent in others all around her. Sure enough, tomorrow was Christmas Day, but if she missed it she could always get the Doctor to bring her back again. They could have Christmas every day, or not at all, if they chose. It was only another way of marking time, after all, like birthdays and anniversaries. And they lost all their significance when Time was your playground. They only mattered if you stood still long enough for them to catch you up.

She'd started marking time again on Ha'olam, and was glad to be free of it.

She found herself fixated in one particular shop when she recognised a dress her Mum used to wear. With a disarming flush of enlightenment, it somehow made her parents real people instead of just 'Mum and Dad', and she felt her first genuine pangs of homesickness. But even that felt good somehow, renewed her sense of self. And more than that: here she had a sense of place too. However far the TARDIS took her, Earth was her home, and it would always welcome her back.

She bought new jeans and discovered a Frankie T-shirt on a sale rail that she decided it would be archly ironic to own (she'd inherited one from a cousin which she'd worn as a nightshirt when she was eight or nine). Then she spotted a slinky green jersey dress that looked suitably festive, and caused havoc at the till when she asked the cashier to cut the outrageous shoulder pads out of it for her.

She did her best not to think about the Doctor all day. She was speared with acute embarrassment every time she thought of how she'd kissed him. Not that he'd said anything... and that was really the problem. It had been such a big deal for her, yet he gave no sign that he understood how she felt. He'd looked bemused. Not shocked, not passionate and not even repulsed. Anything would have been better than bemused. She'd felt utterly crushed.

And yet. Somehow it had helped. She had her answer, even if it wasn't the one she wanted. She still loved him, but she understood now that he was as unattainable as the Sun, and just as impossible to touch. His guileless detachment was no longer a challenge to be met but a truth to be fostered.

* * * * * *

There was a policeman standing at the end of the bridge on the opposite side of the road when the Doctor returned just before 11 pm.

"Good evening Officer!"

The policeman failed to acknowledge the Doctor's jovial greeting, and instead turned on his heel and began walking purposefully back across the bridge.

The freezing rain had eased off at last, but the air was bitter and damp. The Doctor peered after the policeman, his breath frosted in a cloud around him. Traffic was sparse. Strings of tiny white lights lent the bridge a festive jolliness he did not feel, and a large sign informed him that the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham wished him a Merry Christmas.

The Doctor walked onto the bridge with the air of a child returning to school on the first day of term after the summer holidays, scuffing his boots noisily along the pavement, eyes fixed on his toes.

At length he was forced to pull himself up short as a pair of shiny boots appeared in his field of vision. The Doctor looked up into the expressionless face of a second policeman.

"Officer..." he acknowledged with half a grin, side-stepping to allow the uniformed constable to resume his beat, and suppressing an urge to doff the hat he wasn't given to wearing in this body. It was definitely a hat moment.

The policeman continued on his way without a word, and the Doctor turned to watch him go.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor spun round in surprise at the voice suddenly at his shoulder. The man he had come to meet was clad in black and somehow contrived to lurk in shadows that weren't there. Turning, they stood, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the water.

"You came then. I wasn't sure if you would. You're looking…well."

The man gave a rich laugh. "Spare me the social pleasantries, Doctor."

"Good manners cost nothing."

"Unlike my time…"

"Which I've already agreed to pay you for," the Doctor snapped with irritation. He paused and then added in a more measured tone, "It seemed the only way to ensure you would meet me."

"What is it you want, Doctor?" Already the voice was weary, apparently impatient to be away.

"You're right, of course. There's little to be gained from pretending to be nice to each other. You did try to shoot me the last time we met, after all."

The Doctor produced a bulky manila envelope from inside his coat and held it out to the figure at his side. "Your way off this planet."

The rich laugh came again, hearty, as the man took the package.

"Whatever makes you think that I want to leave?"

"I don't suppose you do. That's why I won't waste my time trying to persuade you to come with me now."

"A wise decision."

"But you might well change your mind. In time. Perhaps sooner than you think."

"And why should I trust you?"

"You don't imagine I like the thought of you being here, do you?" the Doctor demanded tightly. "You don't belong here."

"And you feel that's somehow your responsibility?"

Sensing he was being mocked, the Doctor remained silent.

"You Time Lords are such an arrogant bunch of interfering old hypocrites!"

The Doctor turned slowly, his face set, his eyes cold and flat. "You're entitled to your opinion of course," he said, looking past the man, through him. "I've done what I came to do."

With nothing more to say, the Doctor wheeled around and headed back across the bridge.

* * * * * *

He found Sam waiting for him in the shadow of the elaborate buttress at the end of the bridge. She swamped him in an enthusiastic hug.

"Had a good day?" he enquired with a small smile, once she released him.

"You could say that," Sam allowed, presenting him with his box of Smarties. "How about you?"

"I did what had to be done." He didn't sound pleased, but he did sound sure. That made Sam feel better.

"Life isn't all orange Smarties."

He frowned, looking momentarily bewildered. Then he flipped open the box she had given him and gestured for her to hold out her hand. She did so, amused. He gave the box a shake. In the amber glow of the streetlights, all the Smarties that tumbled into her palm appeared to be orange.

Sam smiled.

~ end ~

For the continuity conscience amongst you, this story takes place between the BBC EDA novels SEEING I and THE PLACEBO EFFECT, and was originally penned for "Missing Pieces", November 2000

For the Steves and the Mike (Splendid Chaps, All of Them...)