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Naughty or Nice by AND [Reviews - 11]  Author's Notes: I've been meaning to put up this Christmas story for three years now - it's about time! | |
He was at it again, darting in and out of that daft police box. Occasionally she could hear him alternately cursing - well, it sounded like it might be cursing, even if she didn't quite grasp the words - pleading, and pounding on something.
Liz shook her head and went back to pulling a statistical sample from the punch. It was supposed to be safe enough to drink - the Brigadier had been very specific in his Directives For an Office Christmas Party That Upheld UNIT's Reputation (even though he'd given the orders verbally, the capitals were clearly audible). But Liz had also overheard both Benton and Yates having separate quiet conversations with their mates about "adding a little life to the party," and so she wasn't drinking anything until she'd run a chemical analysis on it.
Well, well, well, whiskey and vodka. For a moment Liz thought about warning the Brigadier, then wickedly decided that she might save the world, but she didn't have to save a bunch of grown men from the consequences of not coordinating their surruptitious spikings. She poured half of her drink into the Doctor's mug, thought, poured a little more into the Doctor's portion, topped both off with additive-free punch that she'd hidden before the party began, and started gingerly sipping.
In the meantime, the rattling and banging reached a climax and fell silent. Suddenly the police box started making an odd grinding noise and Liz almost drowned in sugar and alcohol in sheer surprise. She'd thought it was broken; the Doctor certainly complained loud and long enough about being "stuck" with them all. The thing shimmered. Had he fixed it? Was he leaving?
If he was, how did she feel about that? The Doctor was the most frustrating person Liz had ever known - he and UNIT had introduced her to a world she couldn't have imagined, and yet at the same time he'd reduced her brilliant career into fetching, carrying, and telling him he was the brilliant one.
Be a scientist! she scolded herself. Observe! So she watched closely as the grinding noise abruptly cut out. The shimmering did not, warping and distorting her view of the box. When that cleared as well, the TARDIS was gone.
Instead, there was a large medieval-style fireplace against the office wall, all flagstones and carved heraldic shields. It looked large enough to roast a pig, almost dwarfing the wall behind it.
Liz was looking doubtfully at her watered-down drink when the Doctor stepped out of the fireplace, slapping dust off his velvet jacket. He looked it up and down, and sighed. "Well, at least I've got the chameleon circuit working again. Sort of." He thumped the mantlepiece. "Not a very good attempt at doing modern architecture, old girl!"
"What... is that?"
"It's my TARDIS, Liz, you've seen it often enough."
"Not like that!"
"I needed it to change. Setting a trap, you see." With great care he tacked a sock in the precise center of the mantle. "Oh, ta, most kind," he added, picking up the punch and stealing half her goodies from the party. He ate a chocolate biscuit, laid his pocket handkerchief on top of the mantle, set the rest of the treats on top of it, considered, and took another chocolate biscuit back from the pile. When he turned back to her, Liz reflexively grabbed her plate closer and picked up the last of the biscuits. With a half smile, the Doctor drank the punch instead. After a startled look at it, he wiped off the edge and put the cup next to the sweets.
"You're setting a trap," Liz repeated. "For who, Santa Claus?"
"Of course! Best night to catch him. It, really. He's not human, you know." The Doctor busied himself in a maze of wires and vacuum tubes that he was laying around the fireplace and hiding behind sprigs of holly.
"Doctor," the Brigadier said wearily from behind them, "Surely you're not going to tell us that St. Nicholas is an evil alien bent on conquering the Earth."
"Oh, no, no, not evil at all! Crashed here a few centuries ago. Adapted. Perfectly harmless. Beneficial, even, since its home planet sets such great store by living with morals and honor. Naughty or nice, see? It lives on psychic emanations - belief, if you will - and it's perfectly happy to grant wishes in return for being fed."
"And it only needs to be fed once a year," Liz stated.
"A major meal, yes. I think it poses as the Easter bunny for elevenses."
"I never know when you're winding us up or not, Doctor," the Brigadier complained.
The Doctor only gave that mad grin of his and kept twiddling with wires. "There! Finished, and just in the nick of time! Liz, if you'll go check that power meter. When I switch on, it has to stay in the green area, see that? You'll need to adjust the knob until I tell you to cut the power. Brigadier, can you give me a countdown to midnight?"
With a "why do I listen to him?" glance to Liz, the Brigadier stood at attention and checked his watch. "Midnight in 50 seconds... 40 seconds... 30..."
There was something moving in the area over the fireplace at 10 seconds to, Liz heard it and even though her brain insisted that there was no chimney over the transformed police box, a part of her heart lept with hope. When she was six she'd worried about what her schoolmates told her and had tried to be empirical about it. If Santa existed, she should be able to catch him, right? So, using all the tricks in her Jr. Chemistry Set and her Physics is Fun kit, she'd laid traps. She'd been unsuccessful, of course, and her mother had complained about the stains in the carpet, and from then on she'd been quite happy knowing the adult secret that there really wasn't a...
A boot! That was a boot, coming down the non-existent chimney, it really was!
"NOW, LIZ!" the Doctor bellowed, flipping switches furiously. Liz turned on the meter and started adjusting the knob to keep the wildly flickering needle in the safe zone. The Brigadier drew his gun out of reflex, startling the creature into stepping back. But when it tried to flee the way it had come, an invisible field kept it in the center of the fireplace.
"Put that down, Brigadier! How could you!" the Doctor scolded. Blushing furiously, he lowered the weapon, while Liz took a good look.
It wasn't a fat man dressed in red and white fur. It was shapeless, like a large cat, bones moving under skin and folds, the fur being a natural ruff around the extremities of a reddish skin. Large, shining eyes moved from person to person. She wasn't afraid of it. She should have been, after everything she'd seen, but Liz wasn't afraid of it. The child in her believed still; she wanted to pet it and feed it mince pies.
"It's all right," the Doctor soothed it, his lisp coming out. "We won't hurt you. I just need to talk to you."
The eyes went over them again, and Liz could feel thoughts that weren't hers tickling the edge of her brain as it looked at her. There was a sensation of cold snow, the faintest hint of the scent of pine, then it nodded, no longer cringing. "Ho. Ho. Ho." Each syllable was a separate, fluting note. "What do you want for Christmas?"
"Eh?" the Brigadier asked.
It looked at him. "Good boy? Have you been?"
"It doesn't really speak your language," the Doctor warned. "It's picked up words here and there over the centuries relating to the myths it plays, but it actually communicates brain to brain. Think soothing thoughts, both of you, and Liz, you can turn the meter off now."
She did so, taking great care in putting the equipment down, thinking gentle, gentle, no hurt, slow and gentle. There was another impression of pine-and-snow in her mind, bringing with it a sense of relief and peace. Startled, she looked right into its eyes, and was rewarded with a surge of emotion. There was confidence there, and pride, hope and belief. It trusted her. It believed in her. It thought she could do anything, that she was right to fight for what she truly wanted and strong enough to get it. Startled, she just stared, her mouth dropping open.
"Good girl. You good girl. Get your wish. Good girl," it sang to her.
"You just spoke to it," the Briadier protested to the Doctor. "And it's speaking to Miss Shaw."
"That was for your sakes," the Doctor hissed in a whisper. "I was thinking at it too."
At the sound of the Brigadier's voice it turned to him, and for a moment she saw something moving deep in those alien pupils. The Brigadier blanched a bit, but didn't fall back. Bless him, last of the great British soldiers, he would never give ground. Liz held her breath.
"Yes. Good man. Good man. Yes. Dor-is. Yes, get wish with Dor-is."
"Doris?" the Doctor asked interestedly. The Brigadier blushed a bit again, but didn't answer.
It looked at the Doctor now. He stepped forward eagerly, this time not bothering to translate for the humans in the room. It was a long conversation, full of silent gestures from the Doctor, who pointed at the fireplace and his own temple several times.
The Claus creature shook its head.
"NO?" the Doctor bellowed. "What do you mean, no? You have time travel capability, it's how you do what you do! Why not return what the Time Lords took from me?"
"Bad."
"BAD? I've saved this planet so often-" he cut off, swinging around on the Brigadier and Liz. "Tell it," he pleaded. "Tell it how good I've been!"
"He's been very good," they chorused dutifully.
"Your people. Bad."
"Just because those stuck-up, know-nothing-and-do-less Time Lords exiled me here doesn't mean that..." The Doctor looked like he was settling in for a long rant, and the Claus creature was looking equally stubborn, its skin flushing redder.
The Brigadier touched her elbow. "Shall we leave them to it? I don't think there's much else we can do here."
"Yes, I think that's a good idea." They retreated in excellent order. Once out in the hall, the door muffled the sound of loud shouting behind them, while louder offkey singing echoed down the hallway from the other direction. Liz turned to him. "I suppose I'd better warn you about the punch."
"I know." The Brigadier smirked. "I figure their own heads in the morning will punish them enough."
She laughed back at that, but underneath it, she was thoughtful. "What did it... give... you?"
"Courage, I think."
"You? Needing courage? Never, Brigadier!"
"Never on the battlefield, Miss Shaw. Never on the battlefield. But... well, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to call someone and tell them that yes, we should give it a try."
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask who and what, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He never talked about his private life, and she respected that. Besides, she had to think. Get your wish, it had told her. What did she wish for, more than anything?
To be honest, she wished to be a scientist. A real one in her own facility, not running behind the Doctor and his alien technology, no matter how thrilling. That was what she had always wanted to be. But then they'd come to take her away to UNIT, and they'd showed her aliens and battles and the work was important and could she give all that up? It was a good life for a woman, an exciting one; while the world might give lip service to feminism and women in the sciences, it would be a hard, uphill climb to be taken seriously. Was it selfish to wish to be someone in her own right?
The same mix of confidence and hope swirled through her. In her gut, she knew it would rise every time that she doubted herself from now on, that it was her gift. How daft was it to take such a leap on the basis of the transmitted thoughts of an alien posing as Santa Claus?
The Brigadier was still there, watching with some concern. "Miss Shaw? Are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes, I think I am. Have a happy Christmas, and I hope things work out for you."
"You too, Miss Shaw. I'll see you in the New Year."
No, she thought with a little sorrow. In the new year, I'm returning to where I belong. I'm afraid my Christmas present to you will be a letter of resignation.
She would miss them. But not as much as she'd miss who she wanted to be. Who she'd intended to be.
Liz stepped into the snowy night and walked away, never looking back. But for the rest of her life, she would set out treats and milk on Christmas Eve, remembering.
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