trigger warning(s): none

*

THE DOCTOR

The Doctor doesn't look.

Even when the blinding light that is the heart of the TARDIS recedes and the console closes itself up and it's "safe" to look, he doesn't look. He can't. He's not strong enough. If he looks, if he sees what's become of MJ, his MJ, his sweet, gorgeous, intelligent, mesmerizing, strange human, he'll crumble. He knows he will. He survived the Time War but he could not survive seeing her body.

Especially when it's his fault she's dead.

She was right about the extrapolater and she was right about Blon. But he didn't listen. He couldn't. Blon knew just how to play him, how to weasel her way into his head and make him doubt himself. He simultaneously got too prideful and too deep in his insecurities, and it cost Matilda Josette Winslow her life. His beautiful, beautiful MJ. How can she be gone?

Why did he call her name? Why couldn't he just let her make good on her word and keep his mouth shut for once? Maybe because of the look in her eyes that she gets sometimes — the haunted look of a war-worn soldier. He knows there's so much she's not telling him, and he's forced himself to be content with it. After all, he's kept quite a bit from her, hasn't he?

A guardian angel, she'd called him with sparkling eyes, as if she could think of no higher compliment. And frankly, neither could he. But he doesn't deserve the title, not when he's left such horror and devastation in his wake. Not when he's committed genocide against his own people and the Daleks. He hardly deserves the title of Doctor these days.

His eyes are closed, his face turned away, tears streaming down his cheeks. He cannot look. He cannot bear to witness the latest casualty of his centuries-long reign of terror. His MJ, his saving grace, his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on. He loves her. He's tried so hard not to, but he loves her. And now she's dead and he's standing over her corpse and Rassilion, how is he going to tell Annabeth? Annabeth, the mini-MJ, a little girl who has the haunted soldier look too. And so did Zelda. Fuck, Zelda. Who does he tell first? Annabeth or Zelda?

"Where's she gone?"

Rose's words hardly register in the Doctor's head. He's too busy picturing the looks on Annabeth and Zelda's faces when he tells them their big sister, their beloved MJ, is dead. It doesn't even seem possible, when he thinks about it, that someone so full of light and life and love could be dead. It's just not right. How can she be gone?

"Doctor, where's she gone?"

The Doctor opens his eyes now, sees the blurred image of the console room, and turns to Rose and Jack. They look...less devastated than he thought they would. In fact, they look more confused than anything else. Rose's question finally processes in his grief-addled mind.

He scowls. "What do you mean where she's gone? She's—"

And he looks. He forces himself to look, to face the consequences of his actions, to see his amazing, wonderful, incredible MJ drained of life.

But MJ's not there.

Her blood is very much there. There's a massive puddle of it dripping through the grated floor, too much for any human to survive losing, but the body the blood came from is...strangely absent. And Blon's body is exactly where it should be, MJ's hunting knife sticking out of her eye. The blood and the knife are proof that MJ was there, that it all really happened, the whole terrible nightmare, but there's no body.

"I don't understand," Rose stammers out between sniffles and hiccups. "Where did she go?"

"Could she have been like, absorbed or something?" Jack suggests, the most level-headed of them all, probably because he's known MJ for the shortest time. "By the heart of the TARDIS, I mean."

The Doctor gapes at the puddle of blood. "I...I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Rose demands in a wolfish snarl. It's a tone she doesn't often take with him, a tone she only ever uses when something's wrong with MJ and he, in Rose's eyes, isn't doing enough to fix it. "How could you not know? Where is she, Doctor?"

"I don't know," the Doctor says softly. Then, more forcefully, almost panicked, "I don't know!"

Rose surges toward him and shoves him into the console. "You promised! You promised Annabeth that if anything happened, we'd bring her body back! So where is she, Doctor?" Her eyes are wild, her teeth bared, tears glistening on her cheeks. She whacks him on the chest over and over, blows that hurt solely because of who's dealing them, and shouts, right in his face, "You promised!"

And then she crumbles into his arms, sobbing, and Jack joins the hug to rub her back soothingly, and the Doctor can't stop staring at the puddle of MJ's blood. She's gone. She's gone.

How can she be gone?

*

MJ

Against all odds, MJ's eyes open.

Air floods her lungs so quickly that she chokes on it. She struggles to sit up, her muscles screaming in agony as if she's just run all the way from Angela's Diner to Camp Half-Blood while carrying a small car — one of those Beetles, maybe. Her head is throbbing and her mouth is dry. Her vision is blurry, like looking through a rain-streaked window. Her hands are encrusted in dry blood — her blood — and her shirt is totally ruined.

But she's alive. Dear gods, she's alive.

She's hyperventilating, she realizes. Chest heaving, goosebumps rising. Her heart is a hummingbird and her nerves are live wires. She is technology and organics. Nature and nurture — because what is technology but raw materials molded into something new? And what is she if not her mothers' daughter?

MJ presses two fingers to the pulse point of her right wrist and does a box breathing exercise until her heart rate normalizes. She blinks and her vision clears. She looks around to see she's still in the TARDIS console room. But it looks...different.

She clambers to her feet, eyes roving over the chrome and the blue lighting and the brand newness of it all. There are no dangling wires or coral struts. The room is still circular, still has the console smack dab in the center, but the console is hexagonal now and there are separate curved control panels on opposite sides built into the railings. The control panels are bookended by armless black seats. She looks up to see the central column now transitions into three stacked bands, each a different size with the smallest at the bottom and the largest at the top, flush with the ceiling. There are circular lights dotted along the underside of the bands. Circular Gallifreyan decorates the sides of the bands.

There are stairs now leading up to a balcony that rings the room. Bookshelves line the walls of the upper level. As sleek and modern as this cooler-toned console room is, it feels very lived in. There's a jean jacket draped over one of the chairs, and sticky notes stuck to the console's monitors. A topsy-turvy stack of books has been left on the bottom step of one of the sets of stairs. There are so many stairs, she realizes. The stairs leading up to the second level she'd already noticed, obviously, but there are stairs leading down too. The number of stairs feels a bit excessive, to be honest.

It's so much to take it all at once — the hexagonal pattern on the walls and the burnished metal floor — and it certainly doesn't help that the room is spinning.

The doors open and a young Black woman comes waltzing in as if she's here quite often, looking behind herself as she rambles on about something or other. MJ's hearing isn't the best at the moment. Well, that's not true. She can hear the high-pitched ringing very well, but not much else.

The woman finally looks where she's going and screeches to a halt. Her jaw drops at the sight of a blood-soaked and pallid MJ.

Her voice cuts through the ringing, loud and dripping with concern. "MJ? What happened?"

"Oh dear," a masculine voice with a Scottish brogue sighs, and MJ notices for the first time the old white man standing behind the woman. He has wild eyebrows and he's dressed not unlike a magician and she's never seen him before, not once in her entire life.

The old man is a stranger to her, and yet, she knows him anyway.

Her sweat-slicked brow furrows. "Doctor?"

MJ tries to walk toward him but her vision swims and she stumbles. She would've fallen to her knees if he hadn't surged forward to catch her. He scoops her into his arms as if she weighs nothing.

"Nardole, run ahead and get the infirmary prepped," the Doctor orders someone. "She's going to need a blood transfusion and lots of fluids."

MJ's brain is short-circuiting. She stares up at him with her mouth open, trying to reconcile this stranger with the Doctor whose hand fits perfectly in hers. "I should be dead."

"Yes, you should," he agrees. "And we're all very glad you're not."

"Is she going to be okay?" the young woman asks, trailing after them. "Does she need ambrosia or nectar? I know where she keeps it in her bag."

"There's some in the infirmary," the Doctor says. He looks down at MJ, smiling softly. "This is Bill, by the way. Say hi, Bill. This is MJ's first time meeting you."

"Hello," Bill says nervously. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. Where'd all the blood come from? She's not bleeding."

The Doctor's smile vanishes. "She was."

His earlier words finally register in her head, and MJ's eyes widen. "You...you know?"

"We can talk about it once you're feeling better," he tells her.

She blinks slowly. "I want to close my eyes."

Bill's voice shoots up an octave. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"It's okay," he says. He lays MJ down on a hospital bed — since when were they in the infirmary? "We'll be here when you wake up."

"Okay," MJ mumbles. Her eyes flutter shut and for once, she doesn't dream.

*

The next time MJ's eyes open, she's not alone.

"Oh my god, you're awake!" Bill cries out. She's sitting at MJ's bedside with a book in her lap that falls to the floor forgotten when she jumps to her feet. Raising her voice even louder, she looks behind herself and shouts, "Doctor, she's awake!"

Bill leans over MJ. She has a kind face. "I'm so glad you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Drowsy," MJ says, her words slurring together slightly. "But good otherwise."

"Good, good, that's good," Bill says. "I'm Bill, by the way."

"I remember."

"Okay, yeah, figured you would, just..." Bill shrugs. "You were really out of it yesterday, so I was just covering my bases."

MJ smiles. "Thorough. I like that in a woman."

Bill's cheeks darken and she looks away almost guiltily. "Er, thanks."

MJ hears footsteps and then the Doctor is leaning over her too. He grins at her. "Well, hello. Would you like to sit up?"

She nods. He disappears from view and then there's a whirring noise, not unlike the sonic screwdriver but less ear-piercing. Slowly, MJ rises until she's upright. The Doctor drops his finger from the button and returns to her bedside.

"She said she's drowsy but good otherwise," Bill reports before he can ask.

"Hm, I can tell," the Doctor says. "Been a while since I've seen you this tired."

Bill wrinkles her nose. "Okay, ew."

The Doctor scowls, face going red. "Not like that!" He waves her off. "Get out of here! Nardole's making tea in the kitchen if you want some." He looks back at MJ, face softening in the exact same way she's seen it soften so many times before on a different face. "MJ and I need to talk. Preferably alone."

"Yeah, of course," Bill says. She smiles brightly at MJ. "I'll see you later, okay?"

MJ returns the smile. "Okay. Bye."

MJ waves. Bill waves back, then scurries out of the room. MJ looks at the Doctor, who takes a seat on her bed by her feet. They just look at each other for a while. She figures he's waiting for her to say something.

"So," she says. "You've regenerated."

"Yes, I have," he says, running a hand through his curls. "Quite a few times since you saw me last."

"And how long ago was that?"

The Doctor shrugs. "Hundreds of years, at least. Maybe even billions, depending on who you ask."

"And at some point in all those years, you learned that I'm a demigod," MJ says, trying to keep her tone even despite the quickening of her heartbeat. "Did I tell you, or did you—"

"You told me," he assures her with a gentle smile, "after you got a very important phone call from Annabeth about Thalia's tree."

She nods and fiddles with the blanket over her legs. It's a colorful crocheted blanket — something she must've made between Cardiff and now. Wait. She was covered in blood and now she's...not? Someone scrubbed her clean, removed her bra, and changed her clothes for her — a simple pink tank top, gray sweatpants, and teal fuzzy socks. Was it the Doctor? Or maybe he'd asked Bill to do it since she's a girl. Either way, she appreciates it.

"So, I'm still with you, then? Even now. Because Bill knows me."

"Yes, you are," the Doctor says, shifting to sit cross-legged. "Now ask me the question you really want to ask."

"What the fuck happened?" she blurts out, eyes bugging out. "How the fuck am I alive?"

The Doctor sighs. Suddenly, he looks as exhausted as she feels. "You died, MJ."

She frowns. "Again?"

Gods, if she had a nickel for every time she's died and managed to come back to life, she'd have three nickels, which admittedly isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened three times.

"Unfortunately," he says. He's still smiling but it's not what it was. It's a sad smile to match his sad eyes and — gods dammit. All these years later and he's still doing that kicked puppy dog face? "You bled out on the console room floor. But as I'm sure you remember, the heart of the TARDIS was exposed due to Blon's meddling."

"The golden light," MJ recalls. "Yeah, I remember."

"The heart of the TARDIS is immensely powerful," the Doctor continues. "To this day, I still don't know all that it's capable of. When you died, the heart of the TARDIS poured itself into you to bring you back."

MJ blinks, her heart skipping a beat. "The TARDIS saved me?"

"She did," he confirms. A new smile now, this one still sad but happy too. Bittersweet. "But she did more than that. You see, the purpose of the heart of the TARDIS is to keep her occupants in the same time frame as their surroundings during materialization, so there's a little bit of time vortex in there. And while she was healing you, well, I guess you could say the heart of the TARDIS and the time vortex took a bit of a liking to your godly DNA."

"And that means what, exactly?"

"She didn't just save you. She changed you," the Doctor tells her. "Changed your very DNA. Now you're half-god and..." He pulls out a new-and-improved sonic screwdriver and buzzes her with it. "Right, okay. So, you're 50% god, 32% human, and 18% er, other."

MJ's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. "Other? What do you mean 'other?'"

"That's the mutated portion of your DNA," he explains. "There's no name for it because well, something like this has never happened before. You carry a piece of the TARDIS's soul in you, MJ, and a bit of the time vortex too. That's more than unprecedented, it was literally unheard of until, you know...Cardiff."

MJ manages a crooked smile. "Well, I have always wanted to make history."

The Doctor's smile morphs again — now it's warm and sweet, like maple syrup on a freshly made waffle. "You're handling this very well."

"For now," she says. "I have a feeling that's more you haven't told me yet."

"Right as always, Miss Winslow," he says, but he draws out 'Miss' like it's something worth emphasizing. "Obviously, your DNA mutating has affected you. Your healing's accelerated. You're stronger now. A little faster too. You need less sleep but more food, since your metabolism's faster. It takes much longer for you to be affected by extreme temperatures, and your physical aging has slowed."

"What? No," MJ whines. "I don't want to look eighteen forever. I want to get old and have wrinkles and gray hair. I don't know any old demigods, you know? The oldest demigod I've ever met was Halcyon Green, but he was only like, sixty."

"Oh, you'll get there eventually," he says. "It'll just take you quite a bit longer. Luckily, you have time — your life span has significantly increased."

"Well, duh," she says, rolling her eyes. "If I'm still with you hundreds or billions of years later, I obviously no longer have the lifespan of a regular human. Is there more?"

His sweet and warm smile widens. "Yes, there's more." He hesitates, then lays his hand between them palm-side up. MJ doesn't have to think about it — she puts her hand in his and intertwines their fingers. There's something like relief in his eyes. He scooches down the bed to sit closer to her. "You'll notice your sense of time has greatly improved."

She snorts. "Doubtful. It's always sucked."

"How long have we been talking?"

MJ doesn't have to think about it. "Four minutes and forty-four milliseconds." She blinks owlishly, mouth agape. "Oh, wow. That's...that's weird."

"But a fun trick at parties," he jokes. His smile falters. "And there's one more thing. One very significant thing. As I've said, probably about ten times now, you've got a bit of time vortex in you."

"You've only said it twice," she says, "but what does that mean?"

"The piece of the TARDIS's soul inside you has tethered you to her," the Doctor tells her. "You share a very unique bond now — a bond so unique that it transcends time. Your instant connection with the TARDIS was an echo of your future bond."

"What does that have to do with the time vortex?"

"Because you've got the time vortex in you and the heart of the TARDIS's purpose is to keep her occupants in the proper time, your position in the timeline can get a bit..." He trails off, trying to find the right word for it. "Wonky."

"Wonky?" she deadpans. "The fuck do you mean 'wonky?'"

"It's not stable," he says. "You bounce around the timeline — more specifically, the TARDIS's timeline which is, in many ways, the same thing as my timeline. That's how you ended up here. You essentially dematerialize and rematerialize like the TARDIS does, but you have no control over where you land or when it happens — unintentional temporal teleportation. So, when you leave this time, you could end up in the TARDIS of a future me or a past me, but never earlier in the TARDIS's timeline — and therefore mine — than the day the bond was formed. And you always appear in the console room."

He pauses. Tilts his head. "Well, almost always. 98% of the time, I'd say. Perhaps even 98.6% of the time."

MJ rubs her face tiredly with the hand that's not holding his. "Okay, so I'm basically MJ 2.0 now. Like, bonding with the TARDIS gave me a software update, but there's a bug, which is why I bounce around the timeline."

"Pretty much, yeah," the Doctor says. "You've upgraded, so to speak."

"So, I can dematerialize from anywhere and materialize in the console room?"

He nods. "No matter where you go, you'll always return to the TARDIS. And since I can't unbind you two without killing you, and you can't control it, I do mean always."

MJ lets that sink in. She'd wanted forever with the Doctor and she'd gotten it for the low, low price of losing some of her humanity — what a bargain! And no, she's not being sarcastic. She's genuinely thrilled with this development. She bites back a dorky smile, her heart swelling in her chest. She never has to leave. To some, that would be a prison sentence, but to her, it's exactly the opposite. By his side, she can go anywhere. All over the universe and all throughout history. To the end of time and back again, and with the greatest person she's ever met.

Now the loneliest man in the universe will always have a hand to hold.

But what if he doesn't want her hand? Well, okay, he's literally holding it right now, but what if one day, he gets sick of her? If they have forever together, that's plenty of time to grow to resent her.

"I'm sorry," she tells him.

He frowns and shifts closer to her on the bed. "What for?"

"You're stuck with me," she says with a weak smile.

"That's funny," the Doctor says, brushing a stray curl from her face. "I've always thought of it the other way around."

"Stuck with each other, then," MJ says.

The Doctor squeezes her hand. "No one else I'd rather be stuck with."

Heat rushes to her cheeks and she ducks her head. "I don't know, I can think of a few people."

"Really?" the Doctor asks, and gods, she loves his accent. "Like who?"

"Well," she says, drawing it out to buy herself time, "Rose, for example. Annabeth. Priscilla. Bill seems nice."

"Well, that's not fair," he says. "You can't pit me against such wonderful women. I'll never stand a chance with a line-up like that."

MJ shrugs, smiling. "Not my fault I have such amazing people in my life." She lets out a shaky breath as reality finally sets in a little. "I don't...Doctor, I don't want to outlive all of my friends and family."

"You won't," he assures her. "You'll lose people, of course, and it will be painful, sometimes so painful it's debilitating, but you're so much luckier than you know, MJ Winslow. You have the biggest family in the entire universe and you never stop making friends."

"I don't know if I'm strong enough," she admits. Tears well in her eyes. "To lose people. I was devastated when Thalia died. I only barely managed to keep going. What if...what if the pain is too much? What if I can't carry the load?"

"I'll help bear the weight," the Doctor says. "I'm not going to lie to you. It won't be easy. You still have so much ahead of you and as much as I'd like to say otherwise, it's not all good things. So I need you to remember what I'm about to tell you."

She sniffles. "I remember everything I hear."

"I know," he says, "but I need you to really remember this, okay?" She nods and he squeezes her hand. "No matter what happens, who lives or who dies, what's lost or what's found, no matter what, we'll go through it together. You will always be my closest friend, Matilda Josette Winslow, and I will never abandon you, or let you suffer alone. And together, there's very little we can't accomplish."

Heat rises to MJ's cheeks. She can't help but think this very important message she needs to really remember sounds a bit like wedding vows.

Maybe it's the fluttering of her heart, maybe it's the heartbreakingly earnest look on his face, maybe it's his hand in hers and the way it feels the same and it always will, but MJ says five words she's never said to anyone — not Luke, not any of her siblings, not even Thalia.

"You can call me Tilly."

*

With the Doctor's help, a drowsy MJ leaves the infirmary for the comfort of her own room.

"It looks the exact same as it did last time I saw it," she says, brow creased. Down to the ABBA vinyl she'd left on the record player.

"One of the TARDIS's clever little tricks," the Doctor says. "Your room will always match your present."

A thrill shoots through MJ. "So I don't have to worry about giving myself spoilers for the future? Well, my future."

"Not in here," he says, removing his shoes. "Are you cold? Would you like a sweatshirt?"

"Yes, please. No preference."

He goes into her closet and emerges with the white UCLA sweatshirt Cilla had gotten for her. In return, MJ had given her a purple Abbott University sweatshirt. She winces inwardly at the memory. That particular gift aged poorly.

"Lift your arms," he tells her. They're unusually heavy, but MJ lifts her arms. He helps her into the sweatshirt. "What do you want to do with your hair?"

She touches it absentmindedly. "Is it clean?"

"I washed it while you were out," the Doctor says. "Just shampoo — I didn't think you need conditioner."

"Pineapple," she says.

He nods and grabs a pink satin scrunchie from the basket atop her dresser. "Do you need me to—"

"No, I think I got it," MJ says, and he hands her the scrunchie. She pineapples her hair and smiles sleepily at him. "Okay. Bedtime now."

"Bedtime now," he agrees. He walks with her to the bed, pulls back the covers, and helps her into it. He tucks her in with a fond smile. "You want company?"

"Yes, please."

"Where?"

It takes her a second to understand what he's asking. "Uh, are your clothes clean?"

"Yes."

MJ holds her arms out. "Cuddle?"

The Doctor hesitates but gets in the bed on...oh. He gets into the bed on the left side like he always does. And if he always takes the left side of the bed, and if he's in her bed relatively often, doesn't that make it his side of the bed?

"Big spoon or little spoon?" he asks next.

MJ thinks about it for three seconds and fifteen milliseconds. "Little spoon."

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her temple. "Goodnight, Tilly."

"G'night," she mumbles, and then she's out like a light.

*

The Doctor is gone when MJ wakes up. She wonders if that means something. Are they in a relationship, this far into his (her original Doctor's) future, or has he been waiting hundreds of years for her to be ready? Wait. He does still like her, right? What if he doesn't? What was it he said about regeneration?

"It's dying, and then you're still alive, but you're not quite you anymore. You've got the memories, but not the quirks or tastes, and certainly not the body."

Not the quirks or tastes. So...it's entirely possible he's not into her anymore. Oh gods. What if they're just friends? What if that was platonic spooning? Can spooning be platonic? Her first thought is that she should text Silena but...Silena's on the list — Cilla's list of potential traitors. MJ doesn't want Luke to know anything about aliens or time travelers, and certainly not her alien time traveler. So as long as the possibility that Silena's an informant for the Titan army remains, mum's the word.

Maybe she could ask Cilla. Or maybe Bill knows?

MJ's stomach grumbles. She takes a deep breath and gets up. Food first, complicated relationships later.

She's too hungry to bother getting dressed, so she steps into her slippers and ventures forth to find the kitchen. As soon as she leaves her room, MJ feels the phantom weight of a hand in hers. It tugs her along, down identical hallways and around sharp corners, until she spots the familiar glow of the kitchen lights spilling into the hallway through the wide archway. The phantom hand vanishes.

MJ walks into the kitchen and almost immediately screeches to a halt. A white man with a shiny bald head is standing at the island, mixing chunks of fruit in a glass bowl. And when she says his head is bald, she means bald. He doesn't even have eyebrows. Oversized glasses slip down the bridge of his nose as he works, humming to himself. This must be Nardole. He's...interesting.

Nardole's not alone in the kitchen; Bill's at the stove, tending to something sizzling in a pan.

"Hi," MJ says, shuffling forward, her arms wrapped around herself. "What are you guys making?"

"Ah, Miss Winslow!" Nardole greets warmly. "Glad to see you up. We're making you something to eat. Are breakfast sandwiches alright? Bacon, egg, and cheese on everything bagels from your favorite bagel shop."

"That sounds amazing," she says. Her brow creases and she tilts her head. "I have a favorite bagel shop?"

Nardole grimaces. "Oops. Spoilers."

"The Doctor will be back soon," Bill says as she flips the bacon. "He's out on a coffee run."

"Coffee and baked goods," the Doctor corrects, sweeping into the kitchen with his hands full — in his left hand is a cardboard drink tray with two iced coffees, one hot beverage, and something topped with a pile of whipped cream. His right is holding two large paper bags. He smiles at MJ. "I hope this drink is okay. I told the barista to make the sweetest, tastiest thing she could think of."

"I'm sure it's great," MJ says, hurrying to take the drink tray from him.

She goes to set it down and realizes, with a start, that the table is different. To be fair, the entire kitchen is different — the color scheme has gone from creams and warm browns with copper finishings to whites and light blues with chrome finishings. The design is, unexpectedly, less sleek and modern nowadays, and more of a farmhouse kitchen with open shelving and plants sprinkled throughout. But the table is strangest to her, not because it's a lighter wood than she's used to or because the chairs all have cutesy cushions now, but because it's larger. Big enough for at least eight, whereas the old table could only fit five if they squeezed.

This kitchen is no longer what you'd expect to find in a spaceship, but it's exactly what you'd want in your home.

MJ stares at all the chairs. "Um, which seat is mine?"

"The one with the, uh, pink gingham cushion," the Doctor tells her.

MJ takes her seat and drink. She sips the drink and her eyes widen in delight. "Oh my gods. It's like drinking a churro with like, a hint of coffee."

"Nardole, can you make the eggs?" Bill asks. "I dunno how, but I always break the yolk."

"Sure," Nardole says. "Could you put the fruit salad on the table?"

Bill nods and they swap places. Bill brings over the glass bowl almost overflowing with fruit — chunks of strawberries, diced pineapple, blackberries, and blueberries tossed with fresh mint in some kind of syrup. The Doctor fetches a small ceramic bowl and a fork, fills the bowl with fruit salad, and plops it down in front of MJ.

"Eat," he says. "You must be starving."

"Ravenous," MJ says with a shy smile.

She alternates between bites of fruit salad and sips of her coffee concoction. It'd be a sweetness overload if it weren't for the mint, the acidity of the pineapple, and the pleasantly bitter aftertaste of coffee. Just as she takes her last bite of fruit salad, Nardole sets a plate down in front of her with her breakfast sandwich. It's been cut in half and squished down to make it easier to eat, and the yolk is gushing out. MJ practically inhales it.

"Want another?" the Doctor asks.

By the time MJ feels full, she's had three bowls of fruit salad, four breakfast sandwiches, and two of the ham-and-cheese croissants the Doctor had gotten from a local bakeshop.

Bill watches her wipe her face, awed. "Damn. Have you ever considered competitive eating? 'Cos I think you'd crush it."

"Am I always this hungry?" MJ questions.

The Doctor shakes his head. "It's a lot of energy, dematerializing and rematerializing, but your body will get used to it eventually."

"Okay...how long in between, um, jumps or whatever we call it?"

"It varies," he says. "Longest you've gone without jumping, as far as I recall, was about six months."

MJ nods, trying to take it all in. Her mind is whirring, her thoughts a tangled mess. She wishes future her had been kind enough to make a binder full of relevant information that she could refer to as needed while adjusting to this new reality. Or maybe future her could've written her a letter or something. Hades, a sticky note would be better than nothing. Just something, anything, to help her understand.

"I know this is a lot," the Doctor says quietly. "And I know you didn't choose this when you agreed to travel with me. I'm very sorry, Tilly."

MJ shrugs, smiling. "I mean, is it really that bad that you feel the need to apologize? I get to travel with you forever. Sounds pretty damn good to me."

"It's not always a fun life," the Doctor reminds her.

"And it's very dangerous," Nardole chimes in.

MJ raises her eyebrows. "You two do realize you just described being a demigod, right?" She leans back in her seat, fidgeting with the end of her sweatshirt sleeve. "I don't know if you guys can fully grasp the weight of it. For like, half of my life, I didn't think I was even going to make it to eighteen, but I did and it's terrifying because I never expected to live this long and I don't know what I'm doing. But now you're telling me I have a long purposeful life ahead of me, and it's...it's actually kind of relieving."

"And I'm sure I won't always feel this way," she says. "I'm sure there'll be bad days where I wish things were different and whatever, but like, as a demigod, to grow old and to be able to help people while doing that is like...I mean, it's everything."

Because she's always thought the point of her — the point of all demigods — is to use the gifts their parents have given them and make the world a better place. Sometimes, that takes the form of fighting monsters and stopping sinister plots under mortals' noses. Sometimes, it means using their natural aptitudes for machinery, plants, healing, or whatever to make breakthroughs in their respective fields. Sometimes, it's throwing their weight around and taking the hit because demigods are genuinely built different, and they can withstand things like rubber bullets and tear gas better than any mortal can. Whether it's orchestrating a protest, making scientific and technological discoveries, or drawing their weapons, demigods are born to be leaders, innovators, and warriors, but so many of them never get the chance to reach their full potential. So many of them die before they really get the chance to live.

But not MJ. MJ will be the elder in a community that's accustomed to dying young — the oldest living demigod she knows is thirty-two. Life expectancy used to be higher, but with the increasing prevalence of technology in day-to-day life, it's becoming harder to avoid being detected by monsters. So she'll be an anomaly at first, but maybe if she's smart enough and strong enough, she can change things. Maybe she could bring home some alien technology to expand the protective border and they could build a city where they can go to college and live their lives without fear of monster attacks. It's something she and Annabeth have talked about before, but they never thought it'd be anything more than a pipe dream. Maybe MJ can make it a reality.

Maybe MJ can find glory not in killing the biggest and baddest monster or leading an army to victory, but in proving all demigods can survive and thrive.

Bill has her arms folded on the table. She leans in, eyes glittering. "Can I just say something real quick? This is the youngest I've ever seen you but you're still just so MJ. I'd assumed all that wisdom and kindness and MJ-ness was something you gained over the years, but you've just always been like this, haven't you?"

MJ beams. "Well, what can I say? I was raised by an amazing woman. And my other mother is literally the goddess of wisdom, so when you really think about it, I have kind of an unfair advantage."

"Yeah, you're right," Bill says, scrunching up her nose. "I take back all my compliments."

MJ rolls her eyes playfully. "Anyway, I'm not sure I'm ready for an adventure, but I think I want to go swimming. Bill, have you been to the pool room yet?"

"You've got a pool in this thing?" Bill asks dubiously.

"A pool, a library, a cinema room, a gym, an indoor garden, a music room, an art room," MJ rattles off, kicking her feet absentmindedly. "And that's just what we've found so far. There's a lot more exploring to do."

Bill grins. "Okay, proposal then: we'll go swimming, then watch a movie in the cinema room. Something with women kissing, preferably. I'm sick of straight romances."

"Oh, have you ever seen Saving Face?" MJ questions. "It's kind of a romcom. I saw it with Priscilla for her sixteenth birthday. It's great. And the main character's a lesbian."

Bill raises her eyebrows. "White?"

"Chinese, and if I remember correctly, so's her love interest."

"I'm in," Bill declares. She scrunches up her nose. "But I don't have a swimsuit."

"I'm sure there's something you'd like in the wardrobe," the Doctor says.

"Ah, yes," Bill says. "That ridiculously big closet you guys have. Where do all those clothes from anyway?"

MJ shrugs. "Same place as the furniture."

"Where does the furniture come from?" Bill asks.

MJ and the Doctor shrug.

Bill scoffs. "You mean you don't know? How could you not know? This is your ship, isn't it?"

'Your ship.' As in the Doctor's and MJ's. Equally hers as much as his. The thought makes her giddy, and the TARDIS thrums in response, sharing her joy.

"We all have secrets," the Doctor says. "Why can't the TARDIS?"

"Fair point," Bill says. "Er, in regards to cleanup—"

"Nardole and I have it handled," he says, waving her off. "You two go get changed and go swimming."

"Thank you," MJ says sweetly. She gets up and kisses the Doctor's cheek before she sweeps out of the kitchen.

Bill trails after her, grinning. "Pick out each other's swimsuits?"

MJ winks. "This way to the wardrobe."

*

MJ finds a striped blue bikini top with yellow lining and matching shorts for Bill. Bill picks out a royal purple halter top and side-tied bottoms patterned with large hibiscus flowers for MJ. They put on swimming caps to protect their hair, not in the mood to get it wet. Then MJ leads Bill to the pool.

The TARDIS swimming pool is massive and luxurious, the water crystal clear and always the perfect temperature. There's a waterfall built into one wall that spills endlessly into the pool. All these years later, the diving board looks the same, but there's a new addition: a massive waterslide. MJ and Bill take turns going down the slide, giggling like children.

They swim for hours — three hours, twelve minutes, five seconds, and two milliseconds to be exact. When they're done, they pull themselves out of the pool, wrap themselves in warm, fluffy towels, take off their swimming caps, and relax on pool chairs.

"I wonder why the Doctor didn't join us," MJ muses, pulling her towel a little tighter around herself.

"Yeah, I didn't think he'd turn down an opportunity to see you in a swimsuit," Bill jokes with a cheeky grin.

MJ ducks her head. "So, um, are we..." She wrinkles her nose and starts over. "Do you know if me and the Doctor are like, um, you know...?"

Bill raises her eyebrows. "You mean you don't know?"

"This is way in my future," MJ says, gesturing vaguely. "So for me, last time I saw him, we weren't like, dating or anything, just friends. Well, friends who cuddle and kiss sometimes, I guess. But I have no idea what we are to each other now."

"I'd tell you, but honestly, I don't have a clue," Bill admits.

"Seriously?"

"I'm pretty new to all of this," Bill says with a shrug. "I know you're best friends. I know he adores you. I know that nine times out of ten if the Doctor's smiling, it's because of you. To tell you the truth, I assumed you guys were married 'cos you're attached at the hip and all that, but I've never seen you two kiss or anything, so I dunno."

"When you say new—"

"I think we've had about three adventures."

MJ's mind whirs. Three adventures and no kissing could mean nothing — Maybe this Doctor isn't really into PDA — or everything. If they're not together after all this time, is it because she's still not ready for a proper relationship, or is it because the feelings are no longer there? If they are together, are they married by now? How do Time Lord marriages even work? If they are married, did they have two ceremonies — a Time Lord ceremony and a human one? Which Doctor did she marry? Leather Jacket, Magician, or one of the ones in between, but how many are there? Or maybe one of the ones after Magician? Oh gods, this is all giving her a headache.

"He loves you," Bill blurts out, startling MJ from her thoughts. "I don't personally know what kind of love it is, but I know he loves you. Does that...help at all?"

MJ chews on her bottom lip. "I...I don't know."

"Maybe you should just ask him," Bill suggests. "You know, hit him with the good ol' 'What are we?'"

"No, that's so embarrassing," MJ whines, rolling over onto her stomach. Her face presses into the chair, making her cheek puff up. "I don't want to ask him what we are. I just want someone to tell me."

"Well, I wish you the best of luck with that," Bill says. She gets up, stretches her arms, and grimaces. "Could I use your shower? I want to wash up a little before movie night."

"Yeah, of course." MJ gets to her feet, abandoning her towel on the pool chair. "Do you want to borrow some comfy clothes?"

Bill grins. "Yeah, that'd be great."

*

Forty-five minutes later, MJ and Bill have both rinsed off and changed into pajamas. MJ realizes as soon as she puts them on that pajamas were a bad idea — that bone-deep exhaustion she thought she'd conquered has made an abrupt return. She sits on her bed, trying to resist the urge to crawl under her covers and get some sleep, while Bill peruses her bookshelves.

"I've never actually been in your room before," Bill says, running her fingers along the spines. "I swear, this is the size of my whole flat. I think my bedroom's smaller than your bathroom."

MJ manages a tired smile. "Yeah, I'm still getting used to it. I spent like, five years sharing a cabin with all of my siblings so to have all of this space to myself...it's crazy."

There's a knock at the door.

"Come in!" Bill calls out.

The Doctor pokes his head inside. "You ladies ready for the movie?"

"Just about, yeah," Bill says.

MJ yawns.

The Doctor looks her over with a critical eye. He doesn't seem to like what he sees. "Exhaustation's back?"

"Tell it to go away," MJ says with a pout, struggling to keep her eyes open. "Wanna watch a movie."

"You need your rest, Tilly," the Doctor says as he steps inside. Taking his shoes off, he tells her, "Your body's been through a significant transformation. You can't push yourself too hard or you'll never recover."

MJ rubs at her eyes. "But I want to watch the movie."

"You'd probably just fall asleep anyway," the Doctor says. He's right and she doesn't like it. Her pout deepens and he smiles fondly. "We can save the movie for another time."

"No, you guys can watch it without me," she says. She slips under her comforter and nestles into her pillow. "I'm just gonna get a little sleep."

"You sure you don't want company?" the Doctor asks.

Bill, who's standing behind the Doctor now, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

MJ shakes her head. "No, I'm okay. You guys go watch the movie."

"Do you want a bonnet, love?"

The pet name warms her chest and makes her squirm a little. "Um...yeah."

She closes her eyes, just for a minute while she waits for the Doctor to bring her a bonnet. Yep, just for a minute. Just for...

*

"There were supposed to be eleven crows."

MJ blinks. She's sitting at the top of Half-Blood Hill, but Thalia's nowhere to be seen. In her usual spot at MJ's side is a young black man with his hair in twists. He has a hyacinth tucked behind his ear. He has one leg stretched in front of him and the other propped up and bent at the knee. His well-muscled arms are crossed over his chest, his dark skin making the cheery yellow of his sleeveless shirt pop.

"Lord Apollo?" she guesses.

"There weren't supposed to be thirteen," Apollo says with a scowl. "It was supposed to be a message of hope, to prove to you you're right where you belong. But Nola and Orvin heard I was in town and they just had to come see me. Fucked the whole thing up, the featherheads."

MJ has no idea what to say to that.

Apollo looks at her, eyebrows raised. "Well? Aren't you going to say something?"

"You're like kind of obsessed with me, aren't you?" MJ blurts out.

He cracks a grin. "That's not quite how I'd word it. But I admit I have a vested interest in you, Matilda."

MJ leans her head back against the trunk of Thalia's tree, side-eyeing him. "Would you mind terribly telling me why, my lord?"

"Ah, none of that 'my lord' business," Apollo says, waving his hand dismissively. "And honestly, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out already."

"You're the god of healing," MJ says. "Of music, of archery, of the sun, the truth, of prophecy and plague...I don't see how any of that has to do with me."

Apollo laughs. "You missed light, art, poetry, disease, reason, and knowledge." Smirking, he leans in slightly. "Do you get it now?"

"Well, reason and knowledge are very me." She pulls her knees up to her chest and looks up, peering at the pieces of clear blue sky in between the branches. "Am I getting warmer?"

"It's like Gwyneth said," he tells her. "You see the impossible truth of the world."

"Don't all demigods?"

"Not like you do," Apollo says. "That's why I gave you my blessing."

MJ frowns. "Your...blessing?"

"Your enhanced intelligence, as you call it." He stretches languidly with a cocky grin and rests his elbow on his propped-up knee. "Call it my gift to you, little owl."

MJ's heartbeat stutters. All this time, she'd thought it was a gift from her mother, proof that Athena saw her and loved her. But no. Athena didn't care enough to give her a special ability, a power never seen before in her children. Instead, it was Apollo who saw MJ, who believed in her and entrusted her with a power not even his own kids have ever had.

She swallows hard. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he says smugly. "Feel free to write a poem detailing my greatness. Perhaps a haiku:

Apollo is great

His gift is totally cool

I owe him my life."

"Poetry's not really my thing," MJ says with a half-hearted shrug.

Apollo's face falls. "Ah. Right." He perks back up. "A tapestry, then."

"Sure," she agrees with no intention of following through. "So...what do you want from me?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, brow furrowing.

MJ takes a deep breath and says, "You gave me a blessing. You've visited me three times now. You say you have a vested interest in me, but why? And don't just say it's because I see the 'impossible truth' of the world. You and I both know there's more to it than that."

Apollo is quiet for a moment. The hand on his thigh reaches toward the sky and the sun seems to shine brighter, reaching out too. Tendrils of golden sunlight curl around his fingers, reminding her of the heart of the TARDIS.

"You are so much more important than you know, Matilda Winslow," he says, sounding much older than he did a minute before. "You burn so bright, it's blinding. Even to me."

MJ's brain shortcircuits. Pride flares in her chest, her ego growing, and she shoves it back down. "But I'm just...me."

"You are the Champion of Time," Apollo says. The tendrils of sunshine wind around his forearm, the light bringing out the golden flecks in his eyes. "The Eternal Warrior. Defender of Earth. You are Matilda Winslow, and you are everything. And you belong at the Doctor's side."

The world blurs around them — she's waking up.

Apollo smirks. "Until we meet again, little owl."

And then he's gone.

*

MJ startles awake with a sharp gasp. She reaches out — for what or for who, she's not sure. But she's alone. The room is pitch black and she's completely alone.

The TARDIS thrums, the room slowly brightening. MJ smiles. No, not completely alone. She feels a nudge in the back of her mind — wordless, but MJ can sense what the ship is trying to say.

"Yes, please," she sighs. "Unless they're still watching the movie."

Five minutes and thirteen seconds later, the Doctor steps inside. "Lonely?"

MJ nods, heat flooding her cheeks. If she's being honest, the novelty of having her own room all to herself has kind of worn off. She misses waking up in a room full of people she loves. She misses knowing there's someone there when she has a bad dream or she can't sleep. She can't help it — MJ likes coexisting with her people.

The Doctor joins her on the bed after kicking off a pair of penguin slippers. "Bad dream?"

"Weird dream," she corrects. She hesitates. "Apollo was there. He said my enhanced intelligence was a blessing from him, not something I got from my mother. He told me he has a vested interest in me and that I'm more important than I know. He called me the Champion of Time, the Eternal Warrior, and..." She trails off, eyeing him skeptically. "You already know all of this, don't you?"

He grins a bit sheepishly. "Been there, done that, as the kids say."

MJ snorts. "Okay, whatever. I just...I don't want to be alone right now."

"You never have to be alone," he tells her. "I'm always here. Even when you don't want me to be."

"Why would I ever not want you around?" she asks, brow furrowed.

Something she can't discern flickers to life in the Doctor's eyes. He takes her hand in his and presses a quick kiss to the back. "Do you want me to grab you something to read?"

"I think my copy of The Mockingjay is on the coffee table."

He fetches it for her and they sit side-by-side on the bed, backs against the pillows. His legs are outstretched, her knees pulled up to her chest. As she opens the book to her page, she notices him pulling out a pocket-sized leather-bound sketchbook and a stubby pencil from his pockets out of the corner of her eye.

MJ nudges him gently. "You draw now?"

"Yes," he says. "Not well, but someone very wise once told me the arts aren't about talent, they're about emotions. Hearts and soul."

She rolls her eyes, grinning. "Where would you be without me to constantly quote?"

The Doctor smiles sadly. "Somewhere very dark, I imagine." He gestures to the book. "This might go without saying, but the 'nothing after 2010' rule is lifted, by the way."

"Awesome," she says. "Any recommendations for after I finish this?"

"Well, you could read the prequels," he says. "Or, if you're in the mood for something leaning more fantasy, I'd recommend the Legendborn series — Black female main character, magic, and secret societies."

"Ooo, that sounds amazing," she squeals. "Okay, this, then the prequels, then Legendborn." She pauses and touches the Doctor's arm. "Thank you, Doc, for, you know, being here for me."

"Well, that's what we do," the Doctor says. "We show up for each other when it matters, and even when it doesn't."

"Usque ad finem temporis," MJ says.

The Doctor grins at her and echoes the sentiment. "Until the end of time."

"And back again," she promises, beaming.

This is a promise she intends to keep.

*

SURPRISE!!!!! this is a jumping through the timelines fic!!!!! did i do this bc it's interesting to me storywise or bc i'm too impatient to wait to get around to some of my favorite companions and episodes?? the answer, of course, is yes

sorry for the late update!! i know i said i'd post act 2 last week but the last few weeks have...not been my best, to say the least. but i'm doing better now and i'm so so excited to see your guys' reactions to this chapter and to all of the shenanigans i have in store for you!! <3