From: "Clive May" 

Subject: A Piece of Christmas Silliness!

Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2003 20:55:54 -0000


A little piece of Christmas silliness - spired by DSR's crossover Christmas
Story: Twilight Zone, No Good Deed.  This story will not make sense unless
you have already read DSR"s story.

Apologies to DSR.  Apologiese also for blatantly ripping off a sentence from
Beck Mclaughlin's Allorin.

Keeping his attention on the gigantic screen dominating the grand Council
Chamber was difficult with Flavia looking so ridiculous in the get up.
Still, he had better concentrate, or this was never going to work.  Even if
it did?...  They were still not going to forgive him any time in the next few
centuries for this little escapade.  Time Lords were not known for their
forgiving natures.

On the screen, a torch beam suddenly lit the darkened room.  It moved over
the couch and armchairs before the fireplace, swept up to the mantle shelf,
to centre on the untouched glass of sherry set thereon.  Beside the glass was
a mince pie, similarly untouched.  The beam dipped a moment in despair at the
sight, then tracked hopefully along the shelf to the long stocking hanging
from the corner of the mantle shelf.

It hung limp and empty.

There was a little gasp of dismay from the darkness; the beam wavered on the
empty stocking a moment, before leaping to the darkened Christmas Tree.  The
space beneath was quite bare of packets and parcels.

"Waaaaaa," the torch bearer began to wail.

Moments later, a door was thrust open, and the room was flooded with light.
It illuminated a young girl in a Paddington Bear nightie, her long dark hair
tousled from bed, eyes screwed up as she wailed in disbelieving
disappointment at her cruelly betrayed expectations.

A larger version of the girl swept the distraught child up in a comforting
embrace.  "Hush now, Susie...  Whatever is the matter?" her mother asked,
rocking the child gently back and forth.  "There, there, Susie," she soothe.;
"tell Mummy what's wrong?"

It was some time before the child was calm enough to make herself understood.
Through her sobs, she finally got out the damning words...

"Father Christmas...  He didn't come....  He didn't come!"

The screen froze on the tragic scene.

The Doctor took a moment to gather his wits, before turning to deliver the
most important speech of his life.

"My fellow Time Lords," he addressed the assembled throng without a trace of
irony, which drew some very skeptical looks, especially from Flavia and some
of the others with whom he had crossed swords in the past.  He paused to
allow his gaze to drift over the hundreds of Gallifrey's elite all dressed
alike.  Some of them carried off the garish costume well.  The women were not
quite so convincing...  He supposed it was something to do with the beards...
Oh well, that could not be helped.  He spread his hands in a very human
gesture and went on: "I have freely admitted my fault in this matter..."

"For the first time ever," Flavia commented acidly.  The observation went
down far too well with the assembled host for the Doctor's comfort.  Flavia
pulled aside the white beard, fixed him with a steely glare, and went on:
"Doctor, if you think just apologising for this last piece of blatant
interference will allow you to evade your responsibilities?...  Then you have
another think coming."

The Doctor dramatically flung out an arm to indicate the huge screen framing
the scene of seasonal misery.  "That will happen all over the world, if you
do not help.  Can you just stand by and watch the dreams of millions of
children betrayed when it lies within your power to do something.  Can you do
that?  Can you?"

They could, all too easily, the Doctor knew.  They had watched entire
civilisations go down into barbarism without batting an eye.  If Flavia chose
to withhold her assistance, this time it would be his beloved Earth that
would be dragged down by a monstrous dictator whose crimes could be traced
back to the disappointments of a particular Christmas morning.  The Doctor
watched Flavia's face as she stared at the screen for a long time.  Was that
the tiniest hint of a tear in the President's eye?  The Doctor held his
breath, hoping it was so.  His hearts were beating heavily in his chest.

At last, Flavia turned to face him.  She regarded him skeptically for a long
moment.  If this was some elaborate ploy to escape his just deserts, she
could not divine the nature of the gentle sleight of hand which would leave
her holding empty air.

At last, with a little sigh of resignation, she set the beard straight,
turned to face her Council of fake Santa's and declared: "Santa's, to your
Sleighs....  We have presents to deliver."

Hundreds of Time lords, dressed as Father Christmas, took up sacks bulging
with packages, and headed for their TARDISes.

The end