"What the hell is this place?" the bride demands.

I remain frozen in place, gaping at her all the way from her flaming orange hair to the ripples of her silky skirts. I am certain I must have missed something but then I look to the Doctor and see his equally dumbfounded expression. "You— You can't do that," he finally stammers, "I wasn't— We're in flight, that is physically impossible! How did—"

She takes a menacing step forwards, eyes ablaze. "Tell me where I am. I demand you tell me, right now, where am I?"

He sends a glance my way but all I can do is shrug. "Inside the Tardis."

"The what?"

"The Tardis."

"What?"

"The Tardis."

"The what?"

"It's called the Tardis," he states one last time. In a beat, the two of us rush back to the console but nothing seems to be wrong — no malfunctions, no damage, nothing.

She follows our movements with a suspicion that makes me all the nore anxious. Once more, she roars, "That's not even a proper word! You're just saying things."

Yanking him over to the opposite side, ducking behind the pistons, I hiss, "What did you do?"

His eyes grow as wide as saucers. "What did I do? What did you do? What's going on?"

"Well, I don't bloody know, you were the one pushing buttons. Was it the supernova?"

A quick glance back at the various contraptions in front of us is enough to convince him. "Can't be, we're not even in the same galaxy anymore." Then, sending a pointed look to the hand still clutching the collar of his pinstripe suit — which I hurriedly drop — he rushes back to the stranger. "How did you get in here?"

She scoffs, still rooted to the spot. "Well, obviously, when you kidnapped me. Who was it? Who's paying you? Was it Nerys?" The thought seems to spark another realisation and she scrunches her face up into a disgusted pout. "Oh my God, she's finally got me back. This has got 'Nerys' written all over it."

"Who the hell is Nerys?"

"Your best friend!"

Itching at the back of his neck, cogs turning, he pauses. "Wait a minute. What are you dressed like that for?"

The woman sends a sweeping gesture towards the door and rather calmly states, "I'm going ten-pin bowling." Her angry glower soon returns. "Why do you think, Dumbo? I was halfway up the aisle! I've waited all my life for this. I was just seconds away, and then you— I don't know, you drug me or something."

"Gods, no. Far too much paperwork."

It doesn't take long to realise that it was a mistake to say anything. She immediately turns on me and jabs an accusatory finger in my direction. "Oh, that's a bloody confession right there, that is! I'm having the police on you! Me and my husband — as soon as he is my husband — we're gonna sue the living backsides off you."

"For Gods' sake!"

The Doctor remains silent, all of his focus on a dial akin to a tiny ship's wheel, twisting it round and round, waiting for the green lights on the console to change. Movement catches his attention and he shouts out, "No! Wait a minute!"

I am quick to follow his lead at the sight of her approaching the doors. My clumsy rush towards her is too late, she already has the doors open, right onto a nebula. "Godsdamnit."

He is quick to join her and his hands find his pockets again. "You're in space — outer space. This is my... spaceship. It's called the Tardis."

A moment passes. She stares out at the clouds of pink and gold gas, arms limp at her sides, shoulders straining in her efforts to take in air. Confusion dawns on her and their movements halt. When she speaks, all anger fades and her voice is left strangely quiet, "How am I breathing?"

"The Tardis is protecting us."

Her gaze darts back to me. "Who are you?"

I manage a weak smile and dare to come a little closer. "This is the Doctor. I'm Inara. What's your name?"

"Donna."

He takes in her appearance and, with a wary edge, says, "Human?"

Even with her back facing me again I can see her awkward sway. "Yeah. Is that optional?"

"Well, it is for us."

The part of me that has grown accustomed to state secrets and non-disclosure agreements tenses at his answer, frustrated that he could be so careless with such sensitive information. That is until I remember where we are. There is no use in keeping it a secret. Meeting Donna's scrutiny, I send her a small wave. "You're aliens?" she asks after some time.

"Yeah."

We wait, anxious, for her response. Then, shoulders sinking slightly, she scowls once more. "It's freezing with these doors open."

He brushes aside his surprise at the comment and shuts them, racing back to the console with enough speed to send me stumbling. "I don't understand it, and I understand everything."

"Sure you do," I sigh.

"This? This can't happen. There is no way a human being can lock itself onto the Tardis and transport itself inside. It must be—" In an instant he is back beside her, peering at her through an opthalmascope. "It must be some sort of subatomic connection, something in the temporal field."

Swinging one of the screens towards myself, I poke a button at its side and squint at her body scan. "Well, Donna's not lying, she is human. And my Gods, man! What did you to to her while I was gone? These visuals are awful!" With a gentle pat on the console, I add, "Sorry, Old Girl."

"Oh, of course you find something to pick on. She's fine! Now, maybe there's something macrobinding your DNA with the interior matrix. Maybe a genetic—" He is cut off by a sudden slap to the cheek. An indignant shout rises as he staggers back, "What was that for?"

"Get me to the church!"

There is not point arguing. Huffing, the Doctor stomps over to me and starts the Tardis back up. "Right! Fine! I don't want you here anyway! Where is this wedding?"

Donna follows after him with just as much of a heaviness in her steps, her glare never leaving us. "St Mary's, Haven Road, Chiswick, London, England, Earth, the Solar System."

I watch her until she seems to give up, pacing away once she knows that he is doing something that appears close to inputting coordinates. The second she passes behind the pistons and out of sight, I lean over his shoulder to get a quiet word in. "No vortex manipulator or any visible devices. Are you sure it's not a malfunction?"

"Can't be. I've checked."

"Come across tactile holograms before. Maybe she's an illusion, a— a side-effect from something."

Again, he shakes his head. "Nothing here can produce an illusion to this effect."

I raise an eyebrow. "Right. Have you checked your tinker cupboard? Maybe you made something wrong."

"I don't 'make things wrong'. This isn't me. I'm not checking the tinker cupboard."

"But if you just checked the tinker cupboard."

"Inara, I'm not checking the—"

"I knew it. Acting all innocent. I'm not the first, am I? How many women have you abducted?"

Bewildered, the two of us break from our increasingly less-subtle conversation to find Donna clasping a purple shirt in her fist. This time her fury is outmatched by something far deeper — genuine fear.

My voice catches at the sight of the shirt. Clenching my jaw, I return my focus to the body scan. Beside me, the Doctor is just as gutted by the reminder. "That's our friend's," he hoarsely replies.

"Where is she, then? Popped out for a spacewalk?"

"She's gone."

A sharp, shaking intake of breath. "'Gone' where?"

He lowers his head, his features suddenly seeming to weigh on him. I can feel it, too. It's an exhaustion I am all too familiar with. "We lost her."

"Well, you can hurry up and lose me!" The silence she receives in response is enough to somewhat ease the harshness of her voice. "How do you mean, 'lost'?"

No reply comes. Instead, he is off again, running around to the other side. "Right! Chiswick!"

——————

The mere minutes before we land stretch out in a haze of anxiety and lingering grief. We let Donna go first; partly as a gesture of good nature, partly as an attempt to get a break before we face yet another berating. It doesn't help. The second she peers between the doors, she snaps back at us, "I said St Mary's. What sort of Martians are you? Where's this?"

He has his back to her, rubbing the blue wood of his ship's exterior with concern weighing on furrowed brows. "Something's wrong with her — the Tardis. Like she's... recalibrating. She's digesting." In a rush he is back inside. A hand rests against the glass that protects the pistons. They make a whine of complaint. "What is it? What's wrong?"

I follow him in, ducking under the console to open up a hatch at its base. Wires and tubing thread in a familiar tangle, nothing out of the ordinary. Usually she finds some way to communicate any problems but I can't find anything. "Come on, Old Girl. I'm back. It's me, you know it's me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Donna," he calls, his hearing muffled by the buds of a stethoscope, "is there anything that might have caused this? Anything you might've done? Any sort of alien contact? 'Cause I can't let you go wandering off, not if you're dangerous. Have you seen lights in the sky or did you touch something, like... something different, something strange, like something made out of a funny sort of metal or— Who are you getting married to? You sure he's human? He's not a bit overweight with a zip round his forehead, is he?"

The silence is uncharacteristic. We look to the open doors, only to find her gone. "Donna! Donna?" I shout, the both of us catching up to her as she strides away down the alley, holding her skirts up to avoid murky puddles and litter.

She shakes her head. "Leave me alone. I just want to get married."

"Come back to the Tardis."

"No way, that box is too weird."

Hands in pockets, yet again. His shoulders are almost up to his ears. "It's... bigger on the inside, that's all."

"Oh, that's all?" she retorts with a sarcastic sneer.

I can't help but smirk at him. "How long since you last got to use that one?"

"What's that mean?"

Donna checks the delicate watch of twisted silver and diamonds fastened around her wrist. "Ten past three, I'm gonna miss it."

He shrugs. "Can't you phone them, tell them where you are?"

"How do I do that?"

As I start to root through my jacket, cursing myself for relying on burners and my office landline, I don't manage to stop him before he makes another bizarre comment, "Haven't you got a mobile?"

She stops and gestures indignantly to her dress. "I'm in my wedding dress. It doesn't have pockets. Who has pockets? Have you ever seen a bride with pockets? When I went to my fitting at Chez Allison, the one thing I forgot to say was, 'Give me pockets'!"

"You walked into that one, mate," I mumble, trying my best to bite back a smile.

He nods. "Yup. This man you're marrying, what's his name?"

Immediately, her rage vanishes and she replies with a wistful sigh, "Lance."

"Good luck, Lance."

"Oi!" She points a threatening finger at him again. "No stupid Martian is gonna stop me from getting married. To hell with the both of you!"

And as she storms off onto the bustling street ahead, an almost defeated expression takes over him. "I'm not— I'm not— I'm not from Mars."

Broken glass crunches underfoot and a familiar, stale smell reaches me. I had spent so long in gated, far more protected areas of the city; I had almost forgotten what it was like to walk around London. Or run.

It's hard to keep up with the other two but I ignore my weariness and thank the Gods that I had forgone the expectation of wearing high heels to work — utterly impractical things I have long since abandoned.

"Taxi!" Donna bellows. The wild waving of her arms does not seem to catch the car's attention as it speeds right past us. "He had his light on!"

"There's another one."

"Taxi! Oi!"

The next one passes, too. Our attempts have now caught several people's attention but we hurry on, yelling to yet another. And another. All of them drive right past like we aren't here at all. Regrouping after a while, the Doctor squints at the traffic rolling by. "Do you have this effect on everyone? Why aren't they stopping?"

She fidgets absentmindedly with one of her pearl-beaded shoulder straps, tugging it further up. "They think I'm in fancy dress."

A passing car hoots at us and we hear a retreating voice yell, "Lay off the sauce, darlin'!"

"They think I'm drunk."

Another honk. "You're fooling no-one, mate!"

"They think I'm in drag."

"Hold on," the Doctor huffs. Bringing pinched fingers to his lips, he lets out a painfully shrill whistle until a taxi finally pulls over.

He waits for the two of us to climb in and Donna breathlessly lists off the address, "St Mary's, Chiswick, it's just off Haven Road. It's an emergency, I'm getting married. Just hurry up!"

The driver's stern gaze travels over the three of us, from her white outfit to our smart suits and bedraggled appearances. "That'll cost you, sweetheart. Double rates today."

"Oh my God," she gasps. "Have you got any money?"

"Nothing that's valid in this universe, sorry. Doctor?"

"Um... no. Haven't you?"

With an exasperated huff, she gestures down to her dress. "Pockets!" Her string of insults follow us right back out onto the street, even once the Doctor has shut the door again. "And that goes double for your mother!" The taxi veers away. "I'll have him. I've got his number, I'll have him. Talk about the Christmas spirit."

Only then does it register. Frowning, the Doctor and I turn our attention to the snowflake-sprinkled announcements pasted in every shop window. There is a certain chill in the air that I hadn't noticed before. "Is it Christmas?"

"Well, duh! Maybe not on Mars, but here it's Christmas Eve. Oh, phone box! We can reverse the charges."

We press on, weaving our way through the bustling street and trying to ignore more odd looks from passers by. "How come you're getting married on Christmas Eve?" the Doctor asks as we jog along.

"Can't bear it, I hate Christmas. Honeymoon, Morocco. Sunshine, lovely." She wheels around to us once we reach the booth, one hand already on the phone. "What's the operator? I've not done this in years. What do you dial, a hundred?"

Already impatient, he points his sonic at the coin acceptor. "Just call direct."

"What did you do?"

"Something... Martian. Now phone! I'll get money. Inara?"

Nodding, I sprint after him. Someone is already at the ATM when we get there. I can't help but watch the Doctor as he digs his hands into his pockets, hopping from foot to foot. Even with a blank expression his eyes are miles away. Still with Rose. I try to supress my worry at first but there is little else to do. Sidling a little closer, I ask in a hushed tone, "Are you all right?"

He won't look at me. "Yes. Yes. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?"

I pray for it to be a joke but one brief glance is enough for me to realise just how hard he's trying to supress all of the pain from the last few hours. "You can talk to me. You know that, right? I lost her, too."

"I know."

"'Cause we're still friends. All that time away, it didn't change anything." A niggling voice at the back of my mind questions it but I try to silence it with another attempt, "I just— I just want you to know I'm here. Don't plan on going anywhere for a while... if that's all right."

"I know."

The man in front of us barely has a chance to collect his money before the Doctor barges in. I stand close beside him to help shield the screen of the machine from sight as he buzzes it with his sonic. A few twenty pound notes whirr out and he snatches them free.

A familiar tune reaches my ears — the gentle notes of a brass band. Turning towards it, I freeze. There, just on the other side of the street, are three figures dressed in red hoods trimmed with fur. Their rosy faces are unmistakably metallic, painted on. "Doctor..." I hiss, batting at his arm to bring his attention to the familiar threat.

"Taxi!" Donna bellows in the distance. "Thanks for nothing, spacefreaks! I'll see you in court!" She disappears into the back of the car before either of us can do a thing, and a mask glares tauntingly at us from behind the wheel.

"Donna!"

The band of Sycorax impostors stops playing. They start to advance, their instruments aimed at us like guns. A quick point of the sonic sends banknotes streaming from the ATM, showering the street. Excitement sets in and the crowd descends.

"Come on," I hear him whisper. His hand finds mine, just like the old days. Almost.

—

"We need to lock onto her DNA," I yell over my shoulder, bolting through the Tardis doors. The Doctor only arrives a second later but I have already started to prepare the ship for take-off.

I catch the faint hint of a smile as he swings the screen around to me. The cue is easy to read and I shift out of his way, knowing that we're probably safer if he takes the controls. Geometric swirls pop up over Donna's body scan, almost like cogs — Gallifreyan. I can't decipher a single character but a few experimental taps drawn from my vaguest memories of the Doctor's use of the device surround the figure with a pale green glow. 

Sparks fly from the console and I grab onto the seats as I am sent stumbling to the side. "Behave!" I hear the Doctor sternly shout, whacking it with a mallet.

I can hardly hear his agitated mutterings over the noise of the engine. The Tardis is unhappy, that's clear enough. About what I'm not so sure. "I don't understand. Maybe the Sycorax were stupid enough to try their invasion last time but they know now. Why would they try again? What is it about Christmas?"

"I don't know," he admits — a phrase I know he isn't fond of admitting. "Time of peace? Ooh, I've got her!"

All of a sudden the view on the screen changes to show the taxi below, driving down the outer lane of the motorway. "So much for subtlety."

"Keep us steady, will you?"

I barely get a chance to reply before he closes my hands around a joystick and a throttle lever at opposite ends of the console before running off to open the doors. The Tardis tips a little as I strive to bring us closer. This must be the most stupid thing we have ever done. The road is bustling in broad daylight and here we are, flying along beside it in an old police box. I don't even want to think about the amount of damage control this is going to take.

"Open the door! Open... the... door!"

Donna's shouts are muffled. Then, after a faint buzz of the sonic, I hear her a little more clearly. "Santa's a robot."

"Donna, open the door."

"What for?"

Another jolt sets us further away from her. My face is pressed up against the pistons, my hands straining to keep their hold on the controls. Keeping a hand against the doorframe to brace himself, the Doctor calls out again, "You've got to jump."

Her pause is almost as loud as her voice, her indignance clear. "I'm not blinking flip jumping! I'm supposed to be getting married!"

The taxi speeds up and is soon lost. "Faster!"

Nodding despite his lack of attention, I yank on the throttle lever. Smoke and electricity billows right up into my face, prompting a series of rather colourful Capitian curses. They only grow more in volume when a sharp tremor sends me teetering to the side, moving us off course. "What are you— Up. Go up," the Doctor bellows over the obnoxious blaring of a car