I got too old for Santa when I was nine...'cept for the year I was twelve. I asked for a red bicycle. Anyway, haven't written a letter to Saint Nick since then but here in the City...I figger...why not?

No reason for me to put it on the network though.



[She's not surprised to find him in her room. She'd given him blanket permission just the day before so he'd have a place to lock himself away if he wanted to let his other self tinker in his room. She is surprised to find the Doctor asleep on his stomach, sprawled diagonally across her bed. The number of times she's caught him asleep can be counted on one hand and she knows he had to be exhausted to pass out here. Instead of waking him, she tiptoes across the room and curls up in a corner of the bed, her back against the headboard then slips a piece of paper and pen out of the nightstand next to her. She uses the book he was reading from last night as desk to start the letter to Santa that she's compelled to write.]

Dear Santa

[It's a formality for the simple sake of appearances and curses. She knows Santa can't deliver what she wants anymore then he delivered the red bicycle she loved so much]

My list this year is short.

*Real snow on Christmas Day. It doesn't happen as often to me and the Doctor as you think it might.

*I just want to know that Mum, Pete, Tony and Mickey are all right. It's okay that I won't see them again. I made that choice long time ago. Might be nice if you let them know I'm okay and I'm with the Doctor.

*Sex with The Doctor. All of him. We're sort of this awkward stage of things, all wanting and no resolve. I want past that. I've waited a long time for it and done a lot of things to get here.

Sincerely,
Rose Tyler