'One last day with your beloved…which day would you choose?'

Not this day, the Doctor knew. Not a day spent running from the worst of his mortal enemies, and definitely not another day spent on bloody Trenzalore. He should have known better. It was Christmas, after all.

It hadn't seemed so bad, right at first. They'd stepped out of the TARDIS into a scene right off of a Christmas card. Bells, carols, surprisingly not-cold snow…and the wonder of it all shining in Clara's eyes as she'd hugged his arm and smiled up at him.

How had it all gone so horribly wrong? To nearly lose her to a Weeping Angel, of all things. The voice of the Time Lord Victorious nudged at the back of his mind, urging him to go back in time to their point of origin and simply ensure that they'd never trouble the universe - at all - ever. But then, there was a soft voice, tugging him insistently back to the present.

"No," Clara told him, her fingers gentle against his face. "I'm here. I'm fine. You are not going off all crazy to do something you know you shouldn't do."

"How did you know what I was thinking?"

"I always know."