trigger warnings: none

*

Being a demigod is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in nasty, painful ways. Today, it saves MJ's life. She would've never survived the journey otherwise.

She's not sure how long she lies there in the fetal position, gathering enough energy to sit up. Even though she doesn't have ADHD like most demigods, she still isn't great at keeping track of time, especially when she's in unbearable pain. Her best guess is that it's been an hour or two, twenty-ish minutes of which she spent not even realizing she'd stopped tumbling through that stupid portal. Who even puts a portal in a puddle? An asshole, that's who. Probably the same dickhead who kicked her into it.

It's the fury at someone having the audacity to kick her into a portal that gives her the strength to shift onto her butt. It really fucking hurts to move, but she powers through. Once upright, her back pressed against a wall, she finally opens her eyes to see a room with wooden paneled walls, marbled columns, and a rectangular window that runs the length of an entire wall. The view is of a planet haloed in fire. Half the room is elevated, with stairs leading down into the sunken portion, where MJ sits.

Huh. Not exactly what she was expecting.

The tile floor beneath her is strangely soothing in its coolness as she shrugs her backpack off her shoulders. A sixteenth birthday gift from Silena, the dusty pink backpack is in considerably better condition than the rest of MJ. The rest of MJ is currently smoking, and not in the fun, sexy way — steam billows from her flesh, covered in second and third-degree burns. Her clothes are badly singed, but thankfully still wearable, at least for the time being, and her hair feels incredibly brittle. Luckily, she has her emergency supply of nectar on her. That should go a long way in healing her physical injuries.

The canteen is in the front pocket of her backpack. Pain shoots through her fingertips when she grabs the zipper, but she ignores it. Just a little longer, and then she'll feel much better. She digs the metal canteen out, unscrews the cap, and tips the opening to her cracked and bleeding lips. While she wants nothing more than to down the entire thing, she forces herself to take small sips. How embarrassing would it be if she survived falling through some mysterious portal only to turn to ash because she drank too much nectar? Humiliating, probably. All the spirits in the Underworld would laugh at her.

MJ drinks until her skin has gone from badly blistering to slightly raw. Her hair feels stronger too. Unfortunately, the nectar can't fix her clothes, so she's still stuck looking like she caught on fire and was put out with minutes to spare. Her eyes light up as a thought occurs to her. She quickly unzips the biggest pocket of her backpack and digs around. Yes! She has a change of clothes with her. Gods, she's a genius.

Now she just has to find somewhere to change.

She kicks off her ruined shoes, thankful her socks somehow escaped any damage and is about to force herself to her feet when a door to her right slides open.

A white girl who looks around MJ's age rushes in. She's carrying a plant, and she's so upset that it takes her at least a minute to notice MJ's presence.

"Oh!" the girl exclaims. She has a British accent — not one of the posh ones. "Sorry. I didn't know anyone was in here."

"It's okay," MJ says. To her surprise, her voice is only a little rough. "You're welcome to stay."

The girl sits down on the ledge by the stairs and sets the plant down beside her. A silver ball rolls out of her hoodie pocket. Then her head snaps toward MJ, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Wait a minute. You're human." She squints, leaning in. "And you're hurt!"

"I applaud your observation skills," MJ says. She screws the cap back on her canteen and returns it to its rightful place in her backpack. Carding her fingers through her hair, she offers the British girl a tentative smile. "Sorry if that was rude. I'm having a bit of a rough day."

The girl waves her hand dismissively. "Believe me, I get it." She picks up the plant — a tree cutting, if MJ had to guess — and lifts it into MJ's line of sight. "Guess who gave me this plant?"

"Who?"

"A tree!" the girl says. "A walkin', talkin' tree! And then she flirted with the doctor!"

MJ's entire body tenses. "The doctor?"

"Yeah, do you know him?" the girl asks, tilting her head. Slowly, her eyes narrow. "And who are you, anyway? They said that piece of scrap was the last human. Are you a stowaway or somethin'?"

"I need to find the doctor," MJ says as she rubs her temples in an attempt to chase away her sudden headache. That's what the mystery man had said. 'When you get there, you need to find the doctor.' What are the odds that the first person she meets here knows a doctor? Wait. "I'm sorry, did you say 'piece of scrap?'"

The door opens again, and a white man in his forties strolls in. "Rose, there you are!" He does a double-take at the sight of MJ, then smiles pleasantly. "And you made a friend! Odd choice of clothing, but I suppose I can't judge too harshly. I once wore celery as an accessory."

MJ frowns. "I'm sorry, do you think I intentionally dressed in burnt rags today?"

"And did you just say you wore celery as an accessory?" Rose asks. She shakes her head as if dismissing her thoughts. "You know what, doesn't matter. She says she needs to find the doctor. I think she's hurt."

"I'm fine," MJ says. "Ish." She forces herself to stand, grimacing at the ways her legs shake beneath her, and then at what's become of her outfit. Half her shirt has burned away, but her chest is still covered, and so are her scars, so she counts that as a win. "Aw, man. I really liked this shirt."

"What's left is cute," Rose says. She quickly takes off her hoodie and holds it out to MJ. "Here, take this."

"Thanks," MJ says. She pulls the maroon-and-gray hoodie on and zips it up. She suddenly realizes she hasn't checked the state of her camp necklace. She pulls it out of the collar of her just-about-ruined shirt and nearly sobs in relief when she sees it's in perfect condition. She tucks her necklace away again and smiles at Rose. "I'm MJ, by the way."

"I'm Rose," she says. "This is the doctor."

Not Dr. XYZ. Just the doctor. Maybe...the Doctor? Yeah, now that MJ thinks about it, Rose has been saying it with a capital 'D.' The mystery man did too.

MJ's smile widens. "Great! Please tell me you have some idea of what's going on."

The Doctor looks at her strangely. "Sorry?"

"The mystery man, the guy in the blue suit who sat next to me on the bench a few days ago," MJ says. "He said a bunch of cryptic shit and told me to find the Doctor. And Rose says you're the Doctor so...I'd love an explanation, please." The Doctor just keeps staring at her, and her shoulders slump in defeat. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"Not a clue," the Doctor confirms a tad too cheerily for her taste.

"Great," MJ sighs, hopping up to sit next to Rose on the ledge. "Well, in that case, tell me more about this walking, talking tree."

Rose shrugs. "I dunno. She's just...a tree."

"Not a tree spirit, like a dryad or something?" MJ presses. "Just a straight-up tree?"

"Pretty much," Rose says. "Everyone out there, they're all just so alien! The aliens are so alien. You look at 'em and they're alien."

"Good thing I didn't take you to the deep South," the Doctor jokes, looking displeased with her assessment.

Rose leans back, one hand on the floor. "Where are you from?"

"All over the place," the Doctor says dismissively. "What about you, MJ? Where are you from?"

"Long Island, New York, 2006," she says. Technically speaking, she's not actually from New York, but it's been her home for the past five years, so she thinks it counts.

The Doctor raises his eyebrows. "You included the year."

"Well, yeah." MJ has her backpack in her lap. She rubs one of the patches she sewed on ages ago as she talks — a patch she made herself from an old pair of strawberry-printed socks. "I mean, we're in some kind of space station, right? And Rose was talking about aliens. So, those two details combined with the fact that the planet outside looks like Earth make me think that we're on a space station sometime in the future. Maybe when the sun's expanding."

"That's right," he says. He grins at her, blue eyes sparkling. "You're clever."

"They all speak English," Rose says. She's staring out the window, in her own little world.

The Doctor shakes his head, reclining like a Roman emperor as he excitedly explains, "No, you just hear English. It's a gift of the TARDIS. The telepathic field, gets inside your head and translates."

"TARDIS?" MJ echoes curiously.

"It's inside my brain?" Rose balks.

"Well, in a good way," the Doctor says.

"Your machine gets inside my head?" Rose says, her eyes narrowed. "It gets inside and it changes my mind and you didn't even ask."

MJ spares a quick glance at the doorway. She has no clue what's on the other side, but she wants to find out, her curiosity emboldened by the tension in the room that's growing more and more palpable by the second. Would Rose and the Doctor even notice if she left?

The Doctor's smile slips. "I didn't think about it like that."

"No, you were too busy thinking up shots about the deep south," Rose snaps at him. "Who are you, then, Doctor? What're you called? What sort of alien are you?"

The Doctor's an alien? That...makes sense, actually. Was the mystery man an alien too, then? Gods, MJ has so many questions on the tip of her tongue, begging to be asked, but she sincerely doubts they'll be answered any time soon. Not until these two are done with their spat anyway.

"I'm just a Doctor," he says defensively, sitting up. That mirthful sparkle in his eyes is gone, nothing more than a memory now.

MJ slings her backpack over her shoulder and gets ready to make a run for it.

"From what planet?" Rose demands.

The Doctor laughs. "Well, it's not as if you'll know where it is!"

"Where're you from?"

"What does it matter?"

"Tell me who you are!"

"This is who I am. Right here, right now. Alright?" the Doctor yells. "All that counts is here and now, and this is me."

MJ is on her feet now, backing up toward the door.

"Yeah, and I'm here too because you brought me here! So just tell me!" Rose insists, raising her voice too.

The room settles into an awkward, heavy silence. The Doctor walks down the steps to the sunken part of the room and jams his hands in his pockets, back to Rose and MJ. MJ is so close to her sweet, sweet escape when her back hits the wall and she hisses, skin still sensitive from her little trip through that portal. Rose and the Doctor startle and look at her with wide eyes, as if they'd completely forgotten she was in the room. Their faces soften. The Doctor opens his mouth to say something, but he's cut off by a computerized voice coming over the intercom.

"Earth-death in twenty minutes," the computer reports. "Earth-death in twenty minutes."

"Alright," Rose says, walking down the steps to stand by the Doctor's side. "As my mate Shareen says, 'Don't argue with the designated driver.'" She pulls her flip phone out and makes a show of looking for a signal. "Can't exactly call for a taxi. There's no signal. We're out of range. Just a bit."

"Tell you what," the Doctor says. He takes Rose's phone from her and starts to take it apart. MJ inches closer to see what he's doing. "With a little bit of jiggery-pokery..."

"Is that a technical term, 'jiggery-pokery?'" Rose teases.

"Yeah, I came first in jiggery-pokery," the Doctor says. "What about you?"

"No, I failed hullabaloo," Rose says.

"Aw." The Doctor finishes up, putting the phone back together. "There you go." Rose takes her phone and immediately dials a number, wandering to the side of the room for some privacy. The Doctor turns to MJ, smiling awkwardly. "I could do yours too if you want."

MJ pulls out her phone. It's in surprisingly good condition, all things considered. She hesitates, then jogs over to him and hands it over. She watches closely as he removes the battery and swaps in a new one from his pocket. While he puts her phone back together, she turns her gaze to the Earth below.

Where are the gods now, she wonders? Are they still around? Did they escape the end of the planet with the humans? She's assuming humanity made it off the planet before this started. Where's the heart of Western civilization now? Is that even still a thing? She's tempted to ask, but the Doctor would probably just think she's insane.

"All done," the Doctor says pleasantly. Rose is still talking to her mom, absentmindedly nudging the remains of MJ's shoes with the toe of her sneaker as they chat. The Doctor is about to hand MJ's phone back over when he catches a glimpse of the screen. He frowns. "What's this?"

MJ leans in to see what he's talking about. "Oh. That's a picture I took of the puddle-portal that sent me here."

The Doctor furrows his brow. "Puddle-portal?"

MJ takes the phone from him and shows him a wider shot. "See? At first glance, it just looks like a really big puddle. But when you get closer, you can see it's reflecting the wrong sky. I was investigating it when someone kicked me into it."

The small of her back aches with the memory.

"I don't think it's a portal," the Doctor says. He covers her hands with his so he can flip through the photos at his own pace. "Not exactly, anyway. It looks like it might be a rift in space and time." He pulls back and looks her over, eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you survive getting sent through a rift in space and time?"

"I'm a lot tougher than I look," she says with a shrug.

She sticks her phone back into her pocket. Actually, come to think of it, she might be able to save these jeans. She can just turn them into shorts and patch the holes with the fabric of her choice — something that will compliment the flowers embroidered along the top of the front pockets. She could try and save the shirt too...except all of her fabrics, threads, and sewing equipment are back in Cabin 6. Hm. Maybe she could ship them to CHB and fix 'em up in the summer?

"Don't worry," the Doctor says suddenly. "I can get you home."

"Thanks, but I'm not supposed to be at home," MJ says. "I'm supposed to be at college, getting a higher education so I can get a good job at a soulless corporation and maybe be able to afford a house at some point in my life."

"Blimey," the Doctor says. "I'm not sure you could sound more miserable and bitter if you tried."

Heat prickles at the back of MJ's eyes. Her throat tightens. She wraps her arms around herself. She doesn't want to cry again. She's so sick of crying. But fuck, even just the thought of going back to her dorm makes her want to hurl herself into the vacuum of space. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to love college. She was supposed to thrive there. What the fuck happened?

Luke, her brain whispers. Luke happened.

Rose comes back over, done with her phone call, and the Doctor offers her a small smile. "If you think that's amazing, you wanna see the bill."

"That was five billion years ago," Rose says. "So...she's dead now. Five billion years later, my mum's dead."

"Bundle of laughs, you are," the Doctor says sarcastically.

Around them, the entire space station shakes and shudders. MJ's instinct is to find the nearest doorway and brace herself — you can take the girl out of California, but you can't take California out of the girl — but the shaking stops almost as soon as it starts.

"That's not supposed to happen," the Doctor says. He looks oddly excited by this. "Come on, let's get back to the others."

He takes off, leaving Rose and MJ little choice but to follow. As they're speed-walking down a hallway, a voice comes over the loudspeaker.

"Honored guests may be reassured that gravity pockets may cause slight turbulence. Thanking you," the masculine voice says in a perfect customer service tone.

MJ follows the Doctor and Rose into an observation gallery full of aliens. MJ's gaze sweeps the room. She can see what Rose meant about these aliens being 'so alien.' While most of them are humanoid in shape, they aren't in appearance. MJ spots the tree-woman Rose had mentioned, and the 'piece of scrap' that's supposedly the last human. It's literally a sheet of skin pulled tight over a metal frame. The skin has two blue eyes and a pair of ruby-red lips, and will probably feature in one of MJ's nightmares in the near future. There's also a giant head in a tank, a set of figures wearing hooded cloaks that hide their faces (if they have faces), a couple of lizard people, and a blue man. All in all, a very diverse group.

"That wasn't a gravity pocket," the Doctor says, checking some sort of display. "I know gravity pockets and they don't feel like that." He turns to the tree woman as she approaches. "What do you think, Jabe? Listen to the engines. They've pitched up about thirty Hertz. That dodgy or what?"

"It's the sound of metal," Jabe says. For a tree woman, she sure sounds Black. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

"Where's the engine room?" the Doctor asks. He has an air about him that reminds MJ vaguely of the gods — the kind of confidence that lets you walk into every room like you own it.

"I don't know, but the maintenance duct is just behind our guest suite," Jabe tells him, "I could show you. And your wives."

MJ looks around for the Doctor's wives but only sees herself and Rose. Wait.

"Oh, they're not my wives," the Doctor says.

"Partners?" Jabe asks.

"No."

"Concubines?"

"Nope."

"Prostitutes?"

"You know, there are easier ways to ask a man if he's single," MJ cuts in irritably.

Rose is just as agitated. "Whatever we are, it must be invisible. Do you mind? Tell you what, you two go and pollinate. I'm going to catch up with the family. Quick word with Michael Jackson." She starts in the direction of the piece of scrap. "MJ, you coming?"

"As much as I want to know how the fuck that thing is alive," MJ says, eyeing the 'last human' apprehensively, "I'd much rather go to the engine room." MJ turns to the Doctor, brow creased. "Unless you want me to stay here?"

"Nah, the more the merrier," the Doctor says. To Rose, he orders, "Don't start a fight." He offers Jabe and MJ his arms. "Ladies."

"And I want you home by midnight," Rose calls out to them as they leave.

The computer chooses that moment to speak up. "Earth-death in fifteen minutes. Earth- death in fifteen minutes."

*

The maintenance duct is not what MJ expected.

Bundles of wire run along black walls with the occasional piping or electrical panel. The duct is tall enough that they can walk mostly upright, occasionally ducking under low-hanging headers and wires. The Doctor's in the lead with Jabe on his heels. MJ takes up the rear, rubbing the shield of her ring.

MJ checks her Snoopy watch to see how they're doing on time, but the glass is cracked and the hands aren't moving. She must've broken it when she fell through the rift. Damn. Who does she know that can fix a watch and is willing to do so for free? Maybe she could ask Theo or Beckendorf.

"Who's in charge of Platform One?" the Doctor asks Jabe as they maneuver through the maintenance duct. "Is there a Captain or what?"

"There's just the Steward and the staff," Jabe says. "All the rest is controlled by the metal mind."

"Okay, but who controls the computer?" MJ presses, pushing her hair out of her face. She really needs to tie it back, but there's no time to go digging in her backpack for a scrunchie.

"The Corporation. They move Platform One from one artistic event to another."

"But there's no one from the Corporation on board," the Doctor notes.

"They're not needed," Jabe says matter-of-factly. "This facility is purely automatic. It's the height of the Alpha class. Nothing can go wrong."

MJ rolls her eyes. "I'll take Famous Last Words for five hundred, Alex."

The Doctor shoots her a grin, then glances back at Jabe. "Unsinkable?"

"If you like," Jabe begrudges. "The nautical metaphor is appropriate."

"You're telling me!" the Doctor says. "I was on board another ship once. They said that was unsinkable. I ended up clinging to an iceberg. It wasn't half cold." Before MJ can fully process his casual reveal that he was on the Titanic, the Doctor barrels on. "So, what you're saying is, if we get in trouble there's no one to help us out?"

Jabe grimaces. "I'm afraid not."

"Fantastic," the Doctor says, grin widening.

"I don't understand," Jabe says. "In what way is that fantastic?"

She looks at MJ for an answer, but MJ doesn't have one for her. She doesn't get it either. How is having no backup fantastic? It's almost always better to have a reserve unit, a calvary to call in if you're losing. That's Battle Strategy 101. She doesn't have much faith in whoever runs the Corporation (what a lame-ass name), but they have to be better than nothing, right? At the very least, they might be able to help evacuate Platform One in the case of an emergency.

"So, tell me, Jabe," the Doctor says after a few minutes of silence, "what's a tree like you doing in a place like this?"

Is he...flirting?

"Respect for the Earth," Jabe says simply.

The Doctor scoffs. "Oh, come on! Everyone on this platform's worth zillions!"

"Well, perhaps it's a case of having to be seen at the right occasions," Jabe admits.

"In case your share prices drop?" The Doctor raises his eyebrows at her. "I know you lot. You've got massive forests everywhere, roots everywhere, and there's always money in land."

"All the same, we respect the Earth as family," Jabe says. "So many species evolved from that planet. Mankind is only one. I'm another. My ancestors were transplanted from the planet down below, and I'm a direct descendant of the tropical rainforest."

MJ's face lights up. "Really? That's incredible!"

That feeling rises up again — the instinct to ask a million and one questions. Is Jabe's species in any way related to the dryads? What kind of food do they eat? What are their life stages? Do they have an equivalent to puberty, and if so, what is it exactly? Can they reproduce with those outside their species? How many languages and dialects do they have? What holidays do they celebrate? Do they honor gods, saints, or science?

Alas, they're in this maintenance duct for a reason. Something is wrong with Platform One, and for some reason, it's their job to figure out what and how to fix it.

They stop at some kind of terminal. The Doctor takes out a silver tube tipped with a blue light from the inside pocket of his jacket and uses it to do...something. None of the symbols on the screen make any sense to MJ, and she has no idea what that silver tube is or what it's capable of. Her eyes light up and she remembers she has a notebook in her backpack. She rests the backpack on a pipe while the Doctor works, pulling out a scrunchie that she uses to tie her hair back and a spiral notebook with a plastic purple cover to write her questions down in. There's a mechanical pencil ready and waiting clipped to the spine.

Jabe leans in closer to the Doctor. "And what about your ancestry, Doctor? Perhaps you could tell a story or two. Perhaps a man only enjoys trouble when there's nothing else left. I scanned you earlier. The metal machine had trouble identifying your species. It refused to admit your existence. And even when it named you, I wouldn't believe it. But it was right. I know where you're from! Forgive me for intruding, but it's remarkable that you even exist! I just wanted to say...how sorry I am."

Jabe puts her hand on the Doctor's arm, he covers her hand with his, and the two share a tender look, eyes watery. MJ runs her tongue over her teeth, folding her arms over her chest. Maybe she should've stayed behind with Rose. Neither Jabe nor the Doctor seems to want her here very much, and the feeling that she's intruding on something private is getting worse by the minute.

MJ clears her throat pointedly. When Jabe and the Doctor look at her, she raises her broken watch into their line of sight and taps the face.

Before she can let her hand down, the Doctor's hand shoots out. His fingers wrap around her wrist, moving her arm so he can take a better look. "Is that a Snoopy watch?"

"You got a problem with my boy Snoopy?" MJ asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all," the Doctor says. He lets go of her wrist, wipes his eyes, and returns his attention to getting the door open. "Just trying to understand you better."

MJ tilts her head. "Yeah. Same here."

The Doctor gets the door open. As he and Jabe slip inside, MJ quickly tucks her notebook back into her backpack before she follows.

The engine room is cavernous and looks like something out of Star Wars. You know those bridges in the Death Star with no railing that seem super impractical and like a major safety hazard? That's the exact kind of catwalk that extends before MJ, the Doctor, and Jabe now, all sleek and shiny black metal. It's intersected by a series of humongous fans with somewhat rusty blades. The setup reminds MJ of those obstacle course shows the Stoll brothers love so much, except there's no water below the catwalk to catch your fall if you get knocked off. Just a long drop into a pit of death.

Lovely. There must be no OSHA in the future because there's no way they'd approve something like this.

"Is it me, or is it a bit nippy?" the Doctor asks. "Fair dos, though, that's a great bit of air-conditioning. Sort of nice and old-fashioned. Bet they call it retro."

The Doctor turns his attention to a panel to the right of the catwalk. He has that silver tube out again, and he uses it to do...something. MJ's best guess is to scan the panel.

"Gotcha," the Doctor says. He grabs the panel and pulls it right off.

Something with more than two legs skitters out and MJ, acting on instinct alone, yelps and jumps back, falling onto her ass. It's a small silver robot with four long legs. The way it moves is so reminiscent of a spider that MJ backs up onto the catwalk, skin crawling, determined to create as much distance between her and it as possible. Even when it scurries up the wall, she doesn't budge.

"What the hell is that?" the Doctor asks, getting closer for some reason.

Jabe trails after him. "Is that part of the 'retro?'"

"I don't think so, hold on," the Doctor says. He raises his silver tube thingy and tries to use it on the spider-bot, but it doesn't seem to do anything. After a few seconds of nothing, Jabe extends her arm and lassoes the spider-bot, letting it fall right into the Doctor's hand. He grins at her. "Hey, nice liana!"

"Thank you," Jabe says a bit shyly. "Not supposed to show them in public."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anybody," the Doctor assures her. He leans to his left to see around her, eyeing MJ in concern. "Are you alright?"

MJ gets to her feet, breathing evening out, and tosses her ponytail over her shoulder. "Yeah, I'm good. I just...really don't like spiders."

"Duly noted," the Doctor says. There's no judgment in his eyes, nor mockery in his tone. His sincerity beckons MJ forth until she's standing right next to Jabe. The Doctor holds up the seemingly deactivated spider-bot, turning it to see it at different angles. "Now, then, who's been bringing their pets on board?"

"What does it do?" Jabe asks.

"Sabotage," the Doctor says.

"Earth-death in ten minutes," the computer chimes in.

The Doctor's eyes widen in realization. "And the temperature's about to rocket. Come on."

*

The Doctor, Jabe, and MJ are racing through the halls when a new voice comes booming through the intercom system.

MJ scowls. "Who the fuck is playing Toxic by Britney Spears at a time like this?"

The three round the corner and are immediately assaulted by smoke and the delightful smell of burning flesh. Through a glass panel in a locked door shines a glare like MJ's never seen before. There's a label on the door that looks vaguely like English, but the font is so atrocious that MJ doesn't have a chance in Hades of deciphering it sometime this century.

"Alright, hold on, get back!" the Doctor orders the small blue staff members gathered outside the room, easily bullying his way through the crowd. He gets that silver tube back out (seriously, what the fuck is that thing?) and uses it on a small display screen embedded in the wall.

"Sunfilter rising," the computer announces. "Sunfilter rising."

"Is the steward in there?" Jabe asks worriedly.

"You can smell him," the Doctor replies. An alarm starts beeping. "Hold on. There's another sunfilter programmed to descend."

He takes off running again. MJ follows after him to a hallway that looks...vaguely familiar. Well, all of these hallways kind of look the same, but something about this is ringing a bell in her head. Someone's banging on the door that the Doctor stops at.

"Is anyone in there?" he asks over the computer announcing that the sunfilter is indeed still descending.

"Let me out!" Rose begs.

"Oh, well, it would be you," the Doctor scoffs.

"Open the door!" Rose yells.

"Hold on, give us two ticks," he says. He keeps buzzing his silver tube at the screen until the computer changes its tune.

"Sunfilter rising," the computer announces instead. Before MJ can even let out a sigh of relief, the computer changes its mind again. "Sunfilter descending."

"Just what I need," the Doctor groans. "The computer's getting clever."

"So be cleverer!" MJ snaps at him. A part of her thinks that maybe she should just bust the door down, but then there'd be a gaping hole for the burning light to pour in through, and that's probably not a good thing.

"Stop mucking about!" Rose says, banging on the door.

"I'm not mucking about!" the Doctor protests. "It's fighting back."

Rose bangs on the door some more. "Open the door!"

"I know!" the Doctor says. He's pulled off another panel and is buzzing some wires with his tube.

MJ squats down beside him, hoping to see some magical solution he hadn't thought of, but it just looks like a bunch of wires to her.

"The lock's melted!" Rose screams.

The Doctor keeps doing whatever the fuck he's doing and then come MJ's new favorite words: "Sunfilter rising. Sunfilter rising."

MJ tries opening the door to let poor Rose out, but it won't budge.

"The opening's jammed!" the Doctor realizes. "We can't open the door. Stay there, don't move!"

"Where am I gonna go, Ipswich?" Rose scoffs.

The Doctor grabs MJ's hand and the two of them take off running again to the tune of, "Earth-death in five minutes."

*

The frosted glass doors to the observation gallery open automatically for MJ and the Doctor.

"How's that possible?" the scrap of skin is saying when they walk in. Jabe must've told them about the sabotage. "Our private rooms are protected by a code wall. Moisturize me, moisturize me."

Her assistants, dressed like the Invisible Man, spray her with something as the Doctor snatches the spider-bot from Jabe's hand.

"Summon the steward!" a little blue alien in an egg-like chair commands.

"I'm afraid the steward is dead," Jabe announces.

The crowd gasps.

"Who killed him?" the little blue alien asks.

"This whole event was sponsored by the Face of Boe!" the scrap of skin exclaims. "He invited us. Talk to the face! Talk to the face!"

The giant head in the jar shakes its, well, head.

"Easy way of finding out," the Doctor speaks up. "Someone brought their little pet on board. Let's send him back to master."

The Doctor sets the spider-bot on the floor and it reactivates. MJ takes a quick step back, then takes a deep breath and follows the spider-bot, prepared to crush it under her heel on a moment's notice if need be. The spider-bot looks around the room, seeming to linger on the scrap of skin, before scurrying over to the figures in the heavy black cloaks.

"The Adherents of the Repeated Meme!" the scrap of skin says. "J'accuse!"

"That's all very well and really kinda obvious," the Doctor says, joining MJ in her approach to the Adherents, "but if you think about—"

Time seems to slow down a little, the way it always does for MJ when this sort of thing happens. The Adherent in front shifts its foot, just the tiniest movement, but it's enough for MJ to know what comes next. A swing at the Doctor. Yeah, right. Like she'd let that happen.

MJ acts first, kicking the lead Adherent in the chest.

It stumbles back into the others. MJ pushes the Doctor behind her seconds before another Adherent attempts a punch. She skirts back, then grabs its arm and judo flips it, ripping its arm off in the process. Not missing a beat, MJ ducks under another punch, dodges an elbow and whacks one of the Adherents right in the head with the severed arm so hard it loses its balance. It crashes into the others, sending them all tumbling to the floor. Before MJ can finish them off, someone taps on her shoulder. The Doctor.

"May I?" he asks, holding his hand out. She passes the arm to him.

"As I was saying," the Doctor says, "if you stop and think about it, a Repeated Meme is just an idea. And that's all they are, an idea." He rips out a cord and all of the Adherents immediately power down. He flashes MJ a toothy grin. "That was impressive, though."

She waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. That was a light warmup."

The Doctor lets out a little laugh (a nice laugh, MJ absentmindedly notes) before switching back into Scooby-Doo unmasking mode. "Remote-control droids. Nice little cover for the real troublemaker. Go on, Jimbo. Go home." 

He nudges the spider-bot with his foot and it heads straight for the scrap of skin and her (?) two helpers.

"I bet you were the school swot and never got kissed," the skin-piece says. "At arms!"

Her helpers lift their sprayers. The Doctor presses his hands to his chest, feigning concern. "What are you going to do, moisturize me?"

"With acid," the skin-piece snarls. "Oh, you're too late anyway. My spiders have control of the main frame. Oh, you all carried them as gifts, tax-free past every code wall. I'm not just a pretty face."

MJ snorts. "I don't think what you have going on even counts as a face anymore."

"Sabotaging a ship while you're still inside it, how stupid is that?" the Doctor scoffs.

"I'd hoped to manufacture a hostage situation. With myself as one of the victims," the skin-piece explains. Seriously, what the fuck is this thing's name?

Cassandra, a deep voice answers.

Thank you, random voice, MJ thinks.

Wait. What the fuck?

"The compensation would've been enormous," Cassandra says.

The Doctor glowers at her. "Five billion years, and it still comes down to money."

"Do you think it's cheap, looking like this? Flatness costs a fortune," Cassandra tells him. "I am the last human, Doctor. Me, not that freaky little kid of yours. Or whoever she is."

"Arrest her!" the little blue guy says. "The infidel!"

That's the Moxx of Balhoon, the deep voice says.

And who the fuck are you? MJ asks.

A friend. A very old friend.

The information pushes its way to the forefront of her mind, as it always does. The voice is the Face of Boe. The Face of Boe is in her head. Weird.

"Oh, shut it, pixie!" Cassandra snaps. "I've still got my final option."

"Earth-death in three minutes," the computerized voice chimes in.

"And here it comes," Cassandra says smugly. "You're just as useful dead, all of you. I have shares in your rival companies. And they'll triple in price as soon as you're dead. My spiders are primed and ready to destroy the safety systems. How did that old Earth song go?"

"'My world's on fire, how 'bout yours?'" MJ guesses.

"No," Cassandra says with her best attempt at an eye roll. "'Burn, baby, burn.'"

Jabe glares. "Then you'll burn with us!"

Cassandra has a cheeky response for that, too. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I know the use of teleportation is strictly forbidden, but...I'm such a naughty thing. Spiders, activate!"

Platform One quakes with a series of explosions.

"Force fields gone, with the planet about to explode..." Cassandra trails off. "At least it will be quick. Just like my fifth husband." She laughs. "Oh, shame on me! Bye-bye, darlings. Bye-bye, my darlings!"

Cassandra and her helpers glow and vanish as the computer kindly informs them all, "Safety systems failing. Heat levels rising."

"Reset the computer!" the Moxx of Balhoon suggests.

"Only the steward would know how," Jabe says.

"No, we can do it by hand," the Doctor declares. "There must be a system restore switch. Jabe, MJ, come on!" MJ quickly falls into step with him. Just before they leave the observation gallery, the Doctor turns around and says, "You lot, just chill!"

Alarms blare as MJ, Jabe, and the Doctor race back to the maintenance duct and through it to the engine room. The computer won't shut up. First it's 'Earth-death in two minutes,' then 'Heat levels critical.' The computerized voice only frays MJ's nerves more.

The three stumble to a stop in front of the catwalk.

"Oh, and guess where the switch is," the Doctor says, eyeing the moving fans.

MJ watches the fans carefully. The Doctor finds a breaker lever and pulls it. The blades momentarily slow but speed back up almost as soon as he lets go of the lever. That's enough for MJ to make her decision. She slips her backpack off her shoulders and drops it on the floor.

"External temperature five thousand degrees," the computer says.

Jabe reaches for the breaker level, but the Doctor stops her. "You can't. The heat's going to vent through this place."

"I know," Jabe says.

"Jabe, you're made of wood," the Doctor reminds her not-so-gently.

MJ spins around, hands on her hips. "How do you reset the computer?"

The Doctor looks at her with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"Is it a switch?" she asks, quickly stretching her calves. "A lever? A code?"

"A lever like this one," the Doctor says.

"Great!" MJ claps her hands together. "Jabe, you get to safety. Doctor, you hold down this lever and I'll go through the fans."

He shakes his head. "MJ—"

There's no time to argue, so she decides to remove all semblance of choice from the situation. She spins around and darts between the first fan's blades. Over her shoulder, she hollers, "Are you gonna stand there or are you gonna help?"

Seconds later, the fans slow. MJ grins, lowers herself to the ground like she did every time she raced track, and waits for the right timing. When she sees her chance, she takes it: MJ sprints past the second fan and narrowly dodges a blade of the third. To her delight, there's only one lever on the wall. Without stopping, she grabs it and yanks it down. The metal is searing hot, but she pays it no mind.

"Raise shields!" the Doctor shouts as the computer starts her ten-second countdown.

Before MJ can wonder aloud if it worked, the room drains of all heat. Oh my gods. Did she do it? Did she actually do it? Did she just save the lives of everyone on this platform? The frigid air-conditioning washes over her and she nearly bursts into tears. She actually did it. Her heart is in her throat and she's drenched in sweat, her hair frizzing real bad, but fuck if she's never felt more alive.

MJ runs through the fans again, one straight shot this time, and runs right into the Doctor's arms. He sweeps her off her feet, swinging her around as they both whoop in celebration, the computer finishes its countdown and a massive explosion sounds. Outside Platform One, the Earth is being swallowed by the sun, and MJ couldn't care less. All that matters is they made it out alive.

The door to the engine room creaks open and Jabe slips back inside. "Are you two alright?"

"In desperate need of a shower, but otherwise, I'm great," MJ laughs as the Doctor sets her down.

"Sure about that?" he says. He grabs her wrists and raises her hands, revealing blisters from where the lever had scalded her skin.

"Oh, dear," Jabe says softly.

"There's a water bottle and a first aid kit in the second-biggest pocket of my backpack," MJ says. "There should be burn cream in there."

Jabe uses her liana to lasso MJ's backpack, holding it for the Doctor so he can rifle through and find what he's looking for. He finds the water bottle first and dumps the surprisingly cool water all over her hands. He gently removes her ring and with a pang, she watches it disappear inside his jacket pocket. The first aid kit he pulls out is the biggest one she could fit in her backpack. He opens it and scours the contents. He finds the burn cream fairly quickly and applies it liberally. Then he wraps her hands gently in bandages from the kit.

MJ is used to others tending to her injuries for her. Thalia and Luke used to do it when they lived on the streets, and then, of course, Cabin 7's healers took care of everyone who came into the infirmary. Something about this feels different. Maybe it's because the Doctor's still pretty much a stranger to her. She knows his name and that his existence is remarkable and...that's about it, actually. Yeah, that weird feeling in her stomach is definitely from being in such close proximity to a stranger.

"How's the pain?" the Doctor asks.

MJ shrugs. "I don't even feel it. Probably because of the adrenaline. I have some ibuprofen to take if it gets bad, though."

"Good," he says. He closes the first aid kit and shoves it back inside her backpack. He smiles at her. "That's quite the kit you carry around with you."

"A Girl Scout's always prepared," MJ says nonchalantly. She takes her backpack back and slides the straps up onto her shoulders. "We should head back to the gallery, make sure everyone is okay."

Jabe and the Doctor don't argue. Their return to the observation gallery is much calmer and slower than their last departure. When the doors slide open for them, MJ scans the room to see how everyone is doing. There are some injuries, some damage to the room itself, and sadly, the Moxx of Balhoon has been charred to a crisp, but other than him, it seems everyone's alive. Rose has even escaped from the room she was trapped in.

"You alright?" Rose asks them as they approach. Jabe splits off just then, walking right past Rose to rejoin the other tree people, who look extremely relieved to see her.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the Doctor says testily. The light that had glimmered in his eyes when he hugged MJ is gone now, replaced by flickering flames. Well, not literal flames. He might have the confidence of one, but the Doctor is definitely not a god. "I'm full of ideas. I'm bristling with 'em! Idea number one, teleportation through five thousand degrees needs some kind of feed. Idea number two. This feed must be hidden nearby."

He stalks over to...an egg, maybe? It looks like an egg on a pedestal. Actually, it looks like an egg until the Doctor picks it up and smashes it. Then it looks like a broken egg with an egg-shaped silver device inside. Egg-ception, one might say.

"Idea number three," the Doctor says, walking back over to Rose and MJ. "If you're as clever as me, then a teleportation feed can be reversed."

He does something to the device — presses a button or flips a switch, MJ can't tell — and a warbling whine fills the room. The same glow that had swept Cassandra away brings her back mid-victory speech.

"Oh, you should've seen their little alien faces..." Cassandra trails off when she realizes where she is. "Oh."

"The last human," the Doctor says darkly.

"So, you passed my little test," Cassandra bluffs. "Bravo! This makes you eligible to join the...the Human Club."

"People have died, Cassandra," the Doctor snaps. "You murdered them."

"It depends on your definition of people!" Cassandra says haughtily. "And that's enough of a technicality to keep your lawyers dizzy for centuries! Take me to court then, Doctor, and watch me smile and cry...and flutter."

MJ smirks, folding her arms over her chest. "And creak?"

Cassandra's smug tone falls flat. "And what?"

"Creak!" the Doctor says. "You're creaking."

"What?" Cassandra blusters as cracks spread through her skin like webs. It's like watching cowhide turn to leather in real time. Not a pleasant sight, but MJ feels a sick sense of satisfaction as Cassandra splutters, "I'm drying out! Oh, sweet heavens! Moisturize me, moisturize me! Where are my surgeons? My lovely boys! It's too hot!"

"You raised the temperature," the Doctor reminds her.

"Have pity!" Cassandra pleads. "Moisturize me! Oh, Doctor!"

Rose comes to stand at the Doctor's side. Her hair is a mess and she has a haunted look in her eye. The smell of burnt Mox of Balhoon lingers in the air. It's all Cassandra's handiwork, and yet Rose looks at the Doctor and says, "Help her."

"Everything has its time and everything dies," the Doctor says without sparing Rose a look.

"I'm too young!" Cassandra wails.

Just before she goes splat, MJ ducks behind the Doctor. Chunks of Cassandra hit the wall behind them. The Doctor looks down at MJ, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Seriously?"

"The last thing I need right now is bits of dead white lady in my hair," MJ says.

He scoffs, then walks off, leaving Rose and MJ to their own devices.

"Is he always like this?" MJ asks, wrinkling her nose at his attitude.

"I've really only just met him," Rose says.

MJ does a double-take. "What do you mean you've only just met him? Didn't you like, travel through time and space with him?"

"Yeah, but I've only known him like a couple of days," Rose says. She walks over to the giant window that takes up an entire wall, on the other side of which the Earth is burning. MJ trails after her. Rose shoves her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "I met him in the basement of this store I was working at, Henrik's. He saved my life that night. And blew up my job."

"Saved your life from what?"

"Living alien plastic," Rose says. At the disbelieving look on MJ's face, Rose laughs. "I know, it sounds mental. But it really happened. This alien, the Nestene Consciousness, wanted to take over the world by taking control of all the plastic. Me and the Doctor stopped it." Her gloss-coated lips curl into a soft smile, brown eyes shining. "We saved the world together. It was the first time I ever did anything that actually mattered."

MJ lets out a long sigh, leaning her back against the glass. "There's pretty much exactly how I felt when I reset the computer and got the shields back up."

"That was you?" Rose's smile widens. She nudges MJ playfully. "Nice work! We all would've been ash if it weren't for you!"

"I'm sure the Doctor and Jabe would've figured out a way to get it done without me," MJ says. With a cheeky grin, she adds, "I just made everything go a lot faster."

She and Rose giggle. They stand there for what feels like age, talking about nothing and everything. MJ gushes over how much more fun it was to go through the fans. Rose tells MJ that it's just her and her mom (a story MJ knows all too well) and that she has a boyfriend back home named Mickey. As they chat, the room empties out. Before Jabe leaves, she comes over to say goodbye.

"There's something I want to give you," MJ says. She goes rifling through her backpack and pulls out a pressed orange cosmos flower. "Here. I thought you might like this. A little piece of Earth."

Jabe accepts the flower with a warm smile. "Thank you. I will treasure it greatly."

Rose watches her walk away, then raises her eyebrows at MJ. "You just carry around pressed flowers on you?"

"I make things with them," MJ says with a shrug. "Usually bookmarks, sometimes jewelry or coasters."

"Wait, you make stuff?" Rose's eyes glitter. "That's so cool! What else can you make?"

MJ tells Rose about some of her crafts and her plans to save the remains of her outfit. Then they lapse into a sad yet comfortable silence, watching the asteroids that used to be Earth float past from the safety of the gallery. At last, the adrenaline's left MJ's system, and her entire body aches. Her heart sits heavy in her chest as she looks out at the red sun.

By the time the Doctor joins them at the window, the gallery has emptied entirely.

"The end of the Earth," Rose says softly. "It's gone. We were too busy saving ourselves. No one saw it go. All those years, all that history, and no one was even looking! It's just..."

"Come with me," the Doctor says, holding his hand out to Rose. She takes it without a moment's hesitation. To MJ, he offers his arm. "You too."

The three of them exit the gallery, leaving the remains of the Earth behind.

*

"Here we are," the Doctor says pleasantly as they stroll up to a blue police box from the 60s.

MJ eyes it apprehensively. "The box...is this supposed to be a disguise?"

"What d'ya mean supposed to be?" the Doctor asks, brow furrowed. "It is a disguise."

"Not a very good one," MJ scoffs. "I mean, it's pretty in its own right, but it's kind of shit for blending in. How often do you even go to the 60s?"

The Doctor's face has gone red. Rose has a hand over her mouth, looking like she's trying not to laugh.

"You know, I'm half-tempted to leave you here," the Doctor says.

"Rose would never let you," MJ retorts.

"I really wouldn't," Rose chimes in.

The Doctor rolls his eyes playfully and pulls a key out of his pocket. Within seconds, the door is unlocked. He holds it open for them. "Ladies."

Rose is already inside by the time MJ walks around the Doctor to see his ship — the TARDIS, he'd called it — in its full glory.

"This is more like it," she says, walking up the ramp.

The console room isn't cold and sterile like alien spaceships always are in movies and shows. The curved walls are warm-toned with dozens of hexagonal insets, each containing a light. The grated flooring is copper-colored, and the coral-like struts that ring the room are almost golden. Black wires hang from the ceiling, and there's a beat-up jumpseat tucked against one of the struts. The console itself looks like a mess of buttons, levers, switches, dials, and some straight-up nonsense. At its center is a coil glowing teal in a rounded glass casing.

"So?" the Doctor asks as MJ laps around the room, pushing her pain to the back of her mind.

"Stunning. Better than any sci-fi movie I've ever seen," she says. Which, to be totally honest, isn't saying much when you consider just how much pop culture knowledge MJ lacks, but the Doctor doesn't know that.

She expects him to be pleased with her assessment, but he pouts. "You didn't say it."

"Say what?" she asks.

"Normally people when they come in, they say 'It's bigger on the inside,'" the Doctor says.

MJ furrows her brow. "Well, of course, it's bigger on the inside. Wouldn't be much of a spaceship if it was the actual size of the police box."

The Doctor plants his hands on his hips, now looking a bit annoyed with her. "I mean, yeah, but...you're not impressed by the size? You don't want to know how it works?"

"My best guess would be a dimension tucked inside another dimension," MJ says, trailing her fingers along the rim of the console. "So the exterior is one dimension, and the interior is another."

"That's..." The Doctor stalks over to her and looks her up and down, seemingly searching for something, but MJ has no idea what. "That's an excellent guess. How do you just know that?"

"I come from a family of nerds," MJ says with a shrug. "My sister Luna in particular fucking loves sci-fi stuff. She's studying to be an astrophysicist."

Rose is watching them from next to the start of a hallway, leaning against a bit of railing. "You know Doctor, I'm starting to find MJ more impressive than you."

The Doctor does a double-take, then starts spluttering. "It's not a competition!"

"But if it was, you'd be losing," MJ says. She turns to Rose. "Is there anywhere I can change? I actually have some extra clothes on me."

"Blimey," Rose says. "What don't you have on you?"

"My ring." MJ turns back to the Doctor and holds out her hand expectantly. "I'd like it back now, please."

The Doctor immediately starts rifling through his pocket. A minute later, he drops her ring in the palm of her hand. "That's quite the ring. Where'd you get it?"

"It was a gift from my uncle," MJ says. It's only half a lie — Chiron is really more like a father to her than an uncle. She slips her ring into her pocket. She shouldn't put it back on until her hands are healed even though she feels almost naked without it on. Vulnerable. Which makes sense, considering it's the only weapon she has against monsters.

Hm. Would celestial bronze work on aliens?

"Think you could wait to change until we take a quick trip?" the Doctor asks, turning his attention to the console.

"How quick a trip?"

"An hour," the Doctor says. "Tops."

MJ looks at Rose, who just shrugs.

"Okay," MJ relents. "I can wait an hour. Where are we going?"

*

MJ tries not to complain when she exits the TARDIS to see they're in present-day London.

She follows Rose out onto a sidewalk. There are at least a hundred people in sight, all bustling from to and fro. All human. All alive. British, but alive.

"You think it'll last forever, people and cars and concrete," the Doctor says. He has his hands in his pockets and the same expression on his face as when Jabe brought up his ancestry. "But it won't. One day, it's all gone. Even the sky."

They all look up. The sky over London is gray and cloudy, nothing like the clear light blue that stretches above Camp Half-Blood.

"My planet's gone," the Doctor admits. Rose and MJ look at him. At the haunted look in his eyes. "It's dead. It burned, like the Earth. It's just rocks and dust. Before its time."

"What happened?" Rose asks.

"There was a war," says the Doctor, "and we lost."

MJ's stomach turns. She remembers Percy's account of his confrontation with Luke in the woods. Kronos will cast the Olympians into Tartarus and drive humanity back to their caves. There is a new Golden Age coming. As clear a declaration of war as leaving a severed head on your enemy's doorstep. What if Kronos wins? What will happen to the ordinary people walking down this street?

How many is Luke willing to kill to satisfy his thirst for revenge?

"A war with who?" Rose presses. The Doctor doesn't answer, just stares at the ground. Rose clears her throat and tries again. "What about your people?"

"I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor says. "I'm the last of the Time Lords. They're all gone. I'm the only survivor. I'm left traveling on my own 'cause there's no one else."

A Time Lord. MJ bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing hysterically. A Time Lord. Of course. If Kronos succeeds in overthrowing the gods and enslaving humanity, will the Doctor try and intervene? What good is a Time Lord against the Lord of Time?

"There's me," Rose says shakily. She bumps her shoulder into MJ. It's probably supposed to be a cue, but MJ's stuck staring at the cars driving past, wondering once again if there's something more she could've done to stop Luke from going down this path. Rose sighs. "And MJ. I think."

"You've seen how dangerous it is," the Doctor says. "Do you wanna go home?"

"I don't know," Rose tells him. "I want..." She trails off, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "Oh. Can you smell chips?"

The Doctor laughs. "Yeah! Yeah."

"I want chips," Rose decides.

"Me too!" the Doctor says.

"Alright then, before you can get us in that box, chips it is and you can pay," Rose says. She nudges MJ again. "How does that sound to you?" Her face softens. "MJ? What's wrong?"

MJ is about to ask Rose why she thinks something's wrong when she realizes her face is wet. Oh my gods. Is she crying? Again? Are her tear ducts broken or something? Her hands ball into fists, her nails digging into her blistered palms.

Get over it, she tells herself. You're not responsible for Luke's choices. You can't control others' actions, only how you react to them.

Except she can't control that either, or she wouldn't be fucking crying again.

"Maybe we should take her home first," the Doctor suggests. "Or, you know, back to school."

"Yeah, and why don't you shove me into oncoming traffic while you're at it?" MJ blurts out. She buries her face in her hands. "I'm so fucking sick of this. I'm so sick of it."

"Sick of what?" Rose asks, gently touching MJ's shoulder.

"Being sad!" MJ exclaims. "And angry, and hurt, and...and..."

And violated.

Bile rises in her throat, but she forces it back down. She manages to meet Rose's eyes. "When British people say chips, what does that mean exactly?"

"Oh, um, I guess you'd call them fries in the States," Rose says.

"Can we get cheese on them?" MJ sniffles, wiping at her eyes.

Rose grins, tongue peeking through her teeth. "Yeah, okay."

"I can't pay, though," the Doctor chimes in. "No money."

"What sort of date are you?" Rose teases. "Come on then, tightwad. Chips are on me. We've only got five billion years till the shops close."

They all link arms, and then they're traipsing through the streets of London in search of chips with cheese.

*

mj's got soooooo many issues. she's so relatable <3