[ Ah, mistletoe. A poisonous parasitic plant, and the source of some very silly tradition that the Doctor admittedly is only partially fond of … mostly on account of his inability to understand what a plant has to do with kissing someone else to void a dark omen and chase away the shadows of bad luck.

Still. He isn’t against the humany superstition wherever he’s spotted a sprig of mistletoe pinned over the opening of the doorway, and somehow during conversation, the tradition comes up. He doesn’t quite remember what he’d said, only — there might have been a remark at one point, a question pertaining to kissing on the station.

What is it with humans and kissing, anyway? They always seem to be going on about it. Not that the Doctor doesn’t … well, you know what, that’s a little too much information already. But he’s not immune, he’s well versed in it, isn’t even a bad kisser himself, and yes, yes, a kiss of sorts did happen when he’d arrived here. On Braccia. During a mission. Who had it been with? Well, the big, tall, handsome bloke over there — yes, Kovacs, that’s right.

How was he? Well, he was perfectly okay, as far as kissing went, a bit dry maybe, and it was really quite rushed. Of course it was all for the — oh, well, yes, there’s more eggnog over there.

The Doctor, of course, thinks nothing more of the conversation because as far as he’s concerned, those toy dinosaurs aren’t going to race themselves. And maybe he’ll help himself to some hot cocoa too. ]