→AU with Rose as “the Ghost of Christmas Past” and the Doctor as “Scrooge”

The doctor put on his pinstriped sleeping cap, lowering himself into his bed. He must have imagined Marley, he told himself. No ghost came to him that night; it had all been some sick hallucination. Perhaps the London smog was finally getting to him. And yet, as the grandfather clock struck midnight, and twelve doleful chimes rang out, the doctor’s breath hitched. His brown eyes twitched madly, his attention drawn to any sign of movement the room, even if it was just the wind blowing the curtains around.

Nothing. He sighed deeply with relief and settled himself in his rich blankets and many pillows, not really wanting Christmas day to come, but ready for its eve to end. Tomorrow would just be another day at the hospital. On the small end table next to his bed, the doctor blew out the fire. The last smoldering embers of the wick fell into the oily puddle of melted wax and went out, leaving his room utterly dark.

Abruptly, a huge gust of wind bellowed through the double windows, unhinging the lock and flying out the curtains. His cap blew off, revealing his disheveled brown hair. The doctor yelped and scrambled to his feet. The wind continued to blow through, and as hard as he tried, the doctor could not reach to shut them. A sudden bright light filled the room. He squinted, trying to see what was casting it. A vision of a blonde girl came shimmering into view, floating several feet off the ground. Her yellow hair haloed her head and her pink cheeks shone healthily, but somehow unearthly. He picked up his caramel colored robe and tied it tightly around his skinny body.

“Doctor,” she said. Her voice was ethereal, but English. Though he was frightened, he was compelled to listen. “Doctor.” White fabrics flowed all around her.

“Are-are you the spirit? Who Marley said would come to me?”

“I am,” she replied, smiling.

“But you’re so young. Almost a child!”

“I can remember hundreds of years, doctor. Years longer than you’ve lived. Take heed. Come.”

“Come where?”

“Into your past. With me, doctor.” She held out her hand to him, which he took. Immediately he felt calmed and before he flew off into his past, through his very own window, into the London night, he wondered how such as strange hand could feel so familiar.