trigger warning(s): none afaik

*

When they get back to the TARDIS after their day on the beach, Rose and Jack pretty much immediately head for bed — after giving MJ another hug each.

The Doctor turns on the stabilizers and parks them in space as per usual. Then he turns to MJ, who's still only wearing her bathing suit, and smiles a bit awkwardly. "You off to bed too?"

"Not yet," MJ says with a shake of her head. "Since I got my hair wet and went into the ocean, I figure I might as well make this a wash day."

He tilts his head. "A wash day?"

"Well, I don't wash my hair every time I shower," she explains. "Twice a week, I do a wash day, so that's deep conditioning if my hair is feeling particularly dry, shampoo, conditioner, detangling, then style with curl cream and gel, then I plop my hair for about twenty minutes, and then I usually let it air dry for a few hours."

The Doctor scrunches his face up. "That sounds like a lot of work."

She shrugs, leaning against the railing. "Eh, it's not that bad. People whose hair is more textured than mine have it worse. Besides, I like it think of it less as a chore and more of a way to pamper myself. Me, Annabeth, and Zelda, we'd always hang out together on our wash days. They'd help me with my hair on mine, and I'd help with their hair on theirs. Annabeth's hair always took the longest, but Zee and I never minded. It's a really good bonding experience, actually."

"Is it more of a chore when you're alone?" he asks.

"Not really, but it's a lot more boring," MJ says. She sees the hesitation on his face and can't help the stupid smile that curls her lips. "Would you mind keeping me company, Doc? At least until I get in the shower, anyway."

He perks up. "Yeah, sure!" Face flushing pink, he tries to play down his excitement. "I mean, if really you want me to, I s'pose I don't have anything better to do."

She giggles and holds out her hand. "C'mon. I need to rinse this saltwater out of my hair stat."

The Doctor eagerly takes her hand, trying and failing not to look so happy about being invited along. MJ supposes it has been a while since they've hung out just the two of them — probably because she's been purposely avoiding being alone with him. Unfortunately for her already wounded pride, she misses him too much to maintain her boundaries. For tonight, anyway.

When they get to her room, MJ drops her beach bag by the door and, since she's barefoot, heads straight for the bathroom. She turns the shower on and rinses her hair, then turns the water off. She doesn't see the need for a hair mask, so she grabs her shampoo to get to work.

The Doctor appears in her doorway. "Do you, um, want any help?"

MJ hesitates. The only people who have ever helped her wash her hair — besides hairdressers, that is — are her mom, Thalia, Annabeth, Zelda, and Silena once. All girls, even the hairdressers, and all Black. Not even Luke in their ten years of friendship ever participated in a wash day. To him, that was 'girl stuff' and nothing he needed to be a part of, which MJ was perfectly fine with. She never wanted his help with this particular matter anyway because well, hair has always been sacred to her and someone helping you wash your hair outside of a salon setting tends to feel very intimate. She trusted Luke with a lot, but not washing her hair. Or touching it ever, really.

"Yeah, that would be great," MJ says. "Can you grab the chair by the vanity for me?"

The Doctor wastes no time in complying while MJ fetches a towel to drape around her shoulders. She has the Doctor put the chair with its back right up against the sink and then she sits down and leans back. He gulps, then gently pulls her hair into the sink. He turns it on briefly just to wet his hands.

"How much do I need to use?" he asks, picking up the shampoo bottle she'd left on the counter.

"Less than you probably think," she tells him. "And focus it mainly on the scalp."

MJ watches him squirt a comical amount of shampoo into his palm and bites back a laugh. She doesn't mind if he uses too much — he owes her a shopping trip, anyway. As directed, he focuses on her scalp and works his way down. The sensation of his hands in her hair like this, fingernails lightly scratching her scalp, intently working the shampoo into her curls, feels almost sinful. It's too quiet, she realizes. She should've put some music on.

On cue, the TARDIS starts playing 90s hits from hidden speakers at a low volume. The sound of No Scrubs by TLC is enough to pull some of the tension from MJ's shoulders.

"Alright, I think I got it all," the Doctor says. "Now we rinse?"

She grins. "Now we rinse."

"Hot or cold?"

"Warm," she says.

He adjusts the taps. "This okay?"

"Perfect."

They lapse into silence once more as the Doctor focuses on getting all of the shampoo out of her hair. He has the same look on his face as when he tinkers with the TARDIS — total concentration with an undertone of fondness. It's adorable. MJ can't help but appreciate how seriously he's taking this, as if washing her hair is some sacred duty he's sworn his life to.

He turns off the tap. "Now conditioner?"

"On the shower shelf," she says. "Use plenty. It'll help with the detangling."

"How do you detangle?" the Doctor questions as he grabs her conditioner.

"I usually just use my fingers," MJ says. "But a wide-toothed comb would also work."

He returns to her side, looking very grave. "But you prefer your fingers?"

"Yeah, I do," she admits. "I think there's less breakage that way."

"I'm not sure I'd do it right," he says with a slight pout. He squeezes an even more comical amount of conditioner into his palm, but honestly, it's only slightly more than she usually uses. "I don't want to mess up your hair."

"I can teach you," she offers, gazing up at him. "It's easier than you'd think. Just gotta be patient and gentle."

"Patient and gentle," the Doctor echoes as he starts to apply the conditioner. He beams. "I can do that. So, do you rinse before or after you detangle?"

"After," she says. "But I usually wait until the end of my shower to rinse out the conditioner to give it time to work. So, once we're done detangling, you're pretty much off the hook."

His brilliant smile falters. "But I can stay, right? I mean, just hang out in your room while you shower. 'Cos you still have to do the styling and the plopping thing, right?"

Her heart swells in her chest. "Yeah, you can stay. Or maybe you could run back to your room, shower, and get into your PJs, and then come back. You know, if you don't want to stay in your swimsuit."

"I don't look as good in mine as you do in yours," he says. She sees his gaze flicker to her chest, then back to her hair, his face red.

"I think you look lovely," MJ praises, and his face turns a darker shade of red. "But then again, I always think you look lovely."

He now seems to be purposely avoiding eye contact. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty boy."

The Doctor's blush somehow worsens. (You Drive Me) Crazy by Britney Spears plays softly in the background.

"'S not fair," he grumbles. "When you say things like that and I can't even kiss you."

She knows he's just joking, but her heart leaps into her throat. "Well, do a good job with my hair and maybe you'll get a reward."

Her intention was to be playful, but it comes out more sultry, and the Doctor swallows hard. "What, um, what kind of reward?"

"What do you want?" she teases.

He steps back, done conditioning her hair. "That's a dangerous question."

MJ sits up and bats her eyes. "I'm a dangerous girl."

"You can say that again," he says, cracking a smile. "Alright, how do we detangle?"

She rolls her eyes at his abrupt topic change but lets it slide. "I told you, it's easier than you think."

MJ demonstrates for him and then, once he thinks he's gotten the hang of it, she arranges her hair to drape half over either shoulder. He works on detangling the right half while she detangles the left. She tries very hard not to notice how good he is with his hands, and how nice his hands are, and how they looked cupping her breasts in her sex dream-turned-nightmare. Dear gods, her face feels like it's on fire. Heat pools in her lower belly and she tries to very subtly press her thighs together.

"All done!" the Doctor announces cheerfully.

MJ detangles her last curl with shaking hands and offers him a nervous smile. "Yeah, me too." She stands, pulling the damp towel from around her shoulders and tossing it into her hamper.

"I'll take the chair so you can, you know," the Doctor offers, gesturing vaguely to the shower.

"Sounds good," she says.

MJ watches him carry the chair out. Once the bathroom door is shut behind him, she ditches her swimsuit, leaving it in the tub to dry out entirely before it goes into the hamper, and steps into the shower. The TARDIS is still playing music, which she very much appreciates. It's easier to not think about having sex with the Doctor when she has lyrics to focus on. Though it's not like it's illegal for her to think about having sex with the Doctor. He's probably thought about having sex with her, right?

She freezes mid-scrubbing her body clean. Has he thought about having sex with her? Do Time Lords even have sex? They have kids, right? But maybe they reproduce differently. Would it be weird of her to ask? No, it wouldn't be weird, would it? It's probably a fairly important conversation for two people planning on entering a relationship to have.

Once MJ's out of the shower, she towels herself dry, pulls on her robe, and applies her curl cream. Normally, she'd jump right into gel and get dressed later, but instead, she peeks her head out. The Doctor's gone, probably in his room getting changed. She quickly pulls on a cute pair of pajamas — a green gingham set of shorts and a button-up short-sleeve shirt. While she waits for the Doctor to return, she grabs her gel from her bathroom and an old t-shirt.

MJ checks her phone. A couple of missed texts from Priscilla, all about whether or not MJ's coming to camp this summer. MJ hesitates, then dials Cilla's number.

Cilla picks up right away. "You could say literally anything right now and I'll start crying because I've missed your voice so much."

"Hi," MJ says.

"Oh my gods, I wish I was joking but I'm actually tearing up," Cilla says. Even over the phone, she sounds slightly choked up. "My beautiful, beloved MJ, it's been far too long. Please tell me I'm seeing you at camp this summer or I will hurl myself off the nearest cliff."

MJ smirks. "How are you even more dramatic than the last time I saw you?"

"I'm thriving here, darling," Cilla says. "UCLA was 100% the right choice for me. I don't have any cishet friends right now, MJ. Can you believe that? Well, Ola thinks she's cishet, but lesbian recognizes lesbian, and let me just say that Ola is looking very familiar."

"I'm so happy to hear that, Cill," MJ says, pulling her knees up to her chest. "You deserve nothing but the best."

Cilla's thousand-kilowatt smile is damn near audible. "As do you, habibti. As do you." Her tone shifting to something less dramatic and far more sincere, she adds, "I really miss you. It's so weird never seeing you."

"I know," MJ says with a wrinkle of her nose. "I really miss you too. And I am coming to camp this summer, just later in the session. I promise I'll be there as soon as Thalia's tree is cured. My siblings just don't want me running myself ragged with border patrol, you know?"

There's a pause on the other end, and then, "What do you mean cured? What's wrong with Thalia's tree?"

MJ grimaces. "No one told you?"

"I haven't really talked to anyone from camp since I left," Cilla admits. "I mean, obviously, I've been texting you and Silena, and I went back for winter break unlike a certain someone I know so I talked to everyone then, but that's pretty much it. I'm not exactly up-to-date on all the drama."

Ignoring the jab at her expense, MJ sighs. "It's more than drama, Cill. Thalia's tree was poisoned with something from the pits of Tartarus that not even Chiron's seen before. The border's fading."

Cilla goes quiet for a while. When she finds the words, her voice is heartbreakingly soft. "It was Luke, wasn't it?"

"Probably not personally," MJ says. "More likely it was a proxy. But he's definitely behind it, yeah."

"Proxy?" Cilla echoes. "Like a spy?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"If it would help, I could..." Cilla groans. "Ugh, I hate saying this, but I could make a list of, you know, suspects. Kids I know are loyal to Luke who were still there over winter break."

MJ twists her lips. "I'm not sure it would matter, but it might still be good to, you know, have an idea of who to keep an eye on. The first name that comes to mind for me is Chris."

"Yeah, me too," Cilla grumbles. "I love him, but...yeah. Alabaster, too."

MJ scowls at the mention of the name. Alabaster C. Torrington is a child of Hecate and a long-time member of Cabin 11. He's always been a little shit — but Cilla's right. Alabaster's always had a strange loyalty to Luke that MJ never understood until now.

"Fair warning, it's not just kids from Cabin 11," Cilla says. "Lonnie from Cabin 7, Parvati in Cabin 4, Nathan in Cabin 5, Silena—"

"Silena?" MJ scoffs. "Why would she be loyal to Luke?"

Cilla lets out a long, beleaguered sigh. "Okay, I've never mentioned it because before Luke went Darth Vader on us, I had no reason to suspect there was anything wrong but I have, in the past, seen Luke and Silena talking quite a bit just the two of them. Honestly, I always just assumed it was something to do with you, you know? Because that's the only real reason I could think of for those two interacting. But now...now, I'm not so sure."

MJ shakes her head. "But it's Silena. She wouldn't—"

She cuts herself off. Who is she to think she knows what her friends are truly capable of? She never thought Luke would rape her, but he did. And if her supposed best friend can violate her like that, then adorable, kind, caring Silena can be a spy.

Her door opens and the Doctor steps inside, now clad in a blue short-sleeve shirt and blue pajama pants with white pinstripes. He frowns at the sight of her phone and gestures to the hallway — a silent Should I wait outside?

MJ holds up her finger. "Cilla, I gotta go. But make the list and call me when you get to New York so I know you're safe."

"Yes, Mom," Cilla whines, but her excitement at the prospect of seeing MJ again seeps through. Her voice softens again. "Hey, MJ?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you," Cilla says. "You know that, right? If it's between you and Luke, no matter what the situation is, you know I'm picking you."

"I know," MJ says. "I love you too. And I'll see you soon, okay? I promise it'll only be a month — two months, max."

"Two months?" Cilla shrieks, possibly permanently damaging MJ's hearing. "Why the fuck would it be two months? Do you hate me? Do you think I smell bad? Have you replaced me? Is she hot? Is she single? Is she into women?"

MJ bursts out laughing. "Oh my gods, Cill, it's nothing like that. I mean, I have made new friends, but no one's replacing you. And yes, one of them is a girl, and yes, she's beautiful and yes, she's shown attraction to women, but no, she's not single. You'd like her. She's white, but she's British."

"You have a hot sapphic friend with a sexy accent and you're gate-keeping her from me? Wait, when you say not single, do you mean she's in a serious relationship or is it something more casual? Doesn't really matter either way. I've kind of always wanted to be a homewrecker."

"Priscilla Nisreen Karam!" MJ admonishes.

The Doctor takes a seat on the bed, eyebrows raised.

"Just once!" Cilla exclaims. "You know how much I love to try new things."

MJ rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses. Look, I have to go but I love you and I'll see you as soon as possible, okay?"

"Okay, fine," Cilla says dejectedly. "Bye, I guess."

"Bye," MJ says. "Stay safe."

"You too, habibti."

MJ hangs up and flashes the Doctor an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. I love Cilla, but that girl's a yapper."

"It's fine," the Doctor says. He picks up her gel. "So, what now? Styling?"

"Yep," she says. "I use curl cream and gel. I already did the curl cream since you're supposed to do that like, right after you wash out your conditioner. The gel is to sort of seal everything in."

He tilts his head. Lifts the gel to his nose and takes a sniff of the pump. He looks at her dubiously. "But why? Aren't you going to bed soon?"

"Yeah, but it'll save me time tomorrow." She separates her hair down the middle. "You take the right, I take the left?"

The Doctor perks up. "Yeah, sounds good."

Like with the detangling, MJ demonstrates the proper way to apply the gel and the Doctor follows her example.

"Can I ask you kind of a weird question?" MJ asks as they work.

"I love it when you ask me questions," the Doctor says with an award-winning smile. "The weirder, the better."

"Be careful what you wish for," she warns playfully. Her smile falters and she thanks the gods she has an excuse to avoid eye contact. "I guess I was just wondering...how do or did Time Lords, you know...have relationships?"

He frowns, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like dating," MJ clarifies. Heat rushes to her cheeks at the way his eyes widen.

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Well, I mean, it was a bit different from humans. Time Lords, we're much less concerned about appearances and the like. Personalities and intelligence, that's what really matters."

"So, like genders and stuff?"

"Oh, barely a consideration," the Doctor says. "The thing is, Time Lords, we have this, um, cheat, of sorts. When we get close to death, we can regenerate — change our entire bodies and cell structures. Our mind's the same, but we get completely new bodies. It's, uh, a little hard to explain."

"No, I think I get it," she tells him. "Same brain, different body. It's like taking your old hard drive and putting it in a new computer, right?"

He blinks at her. "Well, yeah, actually." A smile spreads across his face and warms her from the inside out. "That's a really good analogy. I might steal that."

"No need to steal. You can have it for free," MJ says. "So, when you regenerate, you can change genders?"

"Genders, age, race," he says. "It's sort of a lottery. But yeah, when you're part of a species that can change bodies at the drop of a hat, appearances just don't matter." He pauses, then adds, "Doesn't mean I can't, er, appreciate someone's appearance. Just not as important as what's inside."

MJ smirks. "Do you appreciate my appearance?"

"Maybe a little," he mumbles. "Alright, I think I'm done. Time to plop?"

MJ grabs a couple of tissues from her bedside table so they can wipe their hands clean. "Time to plop. And what do you mean 'Maybe a little?'"

The Doctor pouts, face reddening. He whines, "MJ."

"Doctor," she echoes in the same tone of voice. She grabs her old t-shirt — an oversized white long-sleeve that's only ever been used as a hair towel — and spreads it flat on the edge of the bed. She gets to her feet and sends him a playful look. "What's the problem, Doc? You seem nervous."

"I'm pretty sure I've made it blatantly obvious that I think you're beautiful," he says.

MJ kneels at the side of her bed, then flips her hair over and lowering it to the center of the shirt, pressing her curls down like an accordion. She takes the edge of the shirt furthest from her head, folds it over her hair, then grabs the sleeves, twists them together, and wraps the sleeves around her head. She ties the sleeves to hold everything in place, then straightens back up. The Doctor watches her with a small smile.

"Humans and the things you do for vanity," he teases.

"It's not vanity, it's hair care," MJ retorts. She sits back down next to him on the bed and taps the tip of his nose. "And don't act like you don't love my hair."

His smile widens. "I do really love your hair. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And gorgeous, and stunning, and..." He trails off, averting his eyes. His smile turns self-deprecating. "And you deserve a lot better than an old man like me."

"How old do Time Lords typically live?"

"Time Lords can live for hundreds and hundreds of years," the Doctor says. "I've even heard claims that Time Lords can live for ten thousand years before having to regenerate."

MJ nods understandingly. "So, you're a baby, then."

The Doctor immediately scowls at her. "What? No, I'm not a baby. I'm nine hundred years old."

"And you said Time Lords can live for hundreds and hundreds of years," MJ says. "So, when you consider the average life span of a Time Lord, you're like the equivalent of...what? Thirty or forty? Even younger if you believe the ten thousand claim." She pokes him in the chest. "You can't compare your lifespan to mine. You don't see me calling myself ancient because I've outlived a million mayflies, do you?"

"Well, no," he relents, "but—"

MJ swings her leg over and sits on his knees, one of her knees on either side of his thighs, and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. He looks at her with wide, almost fearful eyes. She cups his face in her hands and leans in with a slightly predatorial smile.

"You keep trying to talk me out of wanting to be with you, I'm gonna start thinking you don't want your reward for helping with my hair," she says, batting her eyes.

His hands fly to her waist. "No, uh, that's not what I was doing. I mean..." He clears his throat forcefully. "I never told you what I wanted for my reward."

"What do you want?" MJ asks. She glances at his lips, remembering how they felt against hers, and a pleasant shiver runs up her spine.

"I want to know why you've been mad at me and Rose since the Blitz," he says.

She tenses. Suddenly, being in his lap feels a lot less appealing. She slides off him and gets up from her bed. MJ folds her arms over her chest, gnawing on her bottom lip. She doesn't want to have this conversation. Not now, anyway. She's not in the mood to feel bad about herself.

But if they don't talk about it now, then when?

MJ forces herself to look him in the eye. "When we were stuck in that room hiding from the gas mask zombies, you and Rose were having that conversation about dancing, and I couldn't tell if it was a euphemism or not, and then you guys were standing really close together and only talking to each other and it was like you forgot I was in the room. And you were flirting and dancing, and it really fucking hurt my feelings, and you were so into each other that you didn't even notice you got teleported, and then you both just acted like it never happened."

The Doctor jumps to his feet. "What? We weren't flirting."

MJ shoots him a blank look and recites, "Captain Jack fixed me up. Oh, we're calling him Captain Jack now, are we? Well, his name's Jack and he's a captain. He's not really a captain, Rose. D'you know what I think? I think you're experiencing captain envy."

"That wasn't flirting," the Doctor insists. "That was just friendly banter."

"Well, it didn't fucking feel friendly," she spits out.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking crestfallen. "I am, I'm..." He runs a hand over his hair. "I'm not always the best with human social cues. I didn't think I was flirting, and I don't think Rose meant to be flirting either. But obviously, we both hurt your feelings and I'm sorry for that."

"Doctor—"

"I don't want Rose," the Doctor tells her. "I want you. Whenever you're ready."

MJ wrings her hands. "I don't know when I'll be ready. It might be a really long time."

"Great news!" he exclaims. "I'm a Time Lord. Doesn't matter how long, MJ. I'll wait."

She takes a deep breath and steels herself for the pain that's sure to come. "I'm leaving."

He doesn't get it. "Yeah, I know. You said you always spend your summers with your family, so I figure I'll drop you off whenever you want, and then I'll probably just skip right to the end of the summer, which I know is cheating, but—"

"Permanently," she cuts in. "I'm leaving permanently after our next adventure."

You would've thought she shot him. All color leaves his face. He shakes his head desperately, mouth agape. He stumbles toward her, tears springing to his eyes, wide with horror. There's a terrible, awkward silence that stretches on so long MJ feels it weighing on her chest.

She starts babbling. "I don't belong here, Doc. I'm really sorry. I've loved traveling with you, really, I've had an amazing time, but I just...I can't stay. I can't. And really, it's for the better. I know it might not feel that way right now, but eventually, you'll come to the same conclusion I've already come to — the TARDIS is not my forever, and it's better for me to leave now before, you know, I get too attached."

"No," he says. "You're wrong."

"Wasn't really asking for your opinion," MJ says.

"Well, you're getting it anyway," the Doctor retorts. Anger burns in his eyes. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. "You're wrong, about not belonging here. You heard the Dalek, same as me — where the Doctor goes, Matilda Winslow follows. You and me, we're meant to...we're meant to stay together."

MJ shrugs half-heartedly. "Time can be rewritten."

"No!" he shouts, so loud she jumps back. "Not this! You can't rewrite this! I won't let you."

It's one of the worst things he could've possibly said. MJ's hackles raise and she narrows her eyes. She folds her arms over her chest. "Oh, yeah? You won't 'let' me?"

"Yeah, I won't," he says.

"And how exactly do you plan to stop me?" she asks, crossing the room to get in his face. "Huh? What are you gonna do, Doc?"

The Doctor's fury falters. His face softens. "Please, MJ. I have lost everything. I don't want to lose you." To her great shock, he drops to his knees, hands clasped as if praying. "Please stay. I-I promise, I'll be better. I'll do anything if it means you'll stay."

She has to close her eyes — the sight of him on his knees is really weakening her resolve. And also maybe turning her on. "You don't even know me."

"But I want to."

Well, fuck her. She opens her eyes. He's looking up at her as if she's his salvation. MJ reaches out and touches his cheek. He leans into her touch, closing one hand over hers. Nine hundred years old and begging on his knees for her to stay. It strokes her ego and stokes the flames of her desire. But, for some inexplicable reason, it occurs to her for the first time. He's nine hundred years old, and she's known him for maybe six months.

"I don't know you," she says.

The Doctor hesitates. He presses a kiss to her palm, then gets to his feet, still holding her hand in his. "You're right. We're just strangers, aren't we? And for all we know, that Dalek could've been lying just to get me to open the bulkhead." His shoulders sag and he releases her hand. "I can't make you stay. And if I honestly tried, I wouldn't be the Doctor anymore. If you really want to go, you can. Just name the time and place, and I'll take you there. I won't even pout about it."

"Liar," she teases. "You're totally going to pout."

"Like a child," he agrees, cracking a smile. "But I'll do it. And, you know, if you ever decide you want to come back, all you have to do is call."

MJ can't help herself. She launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you. I'm sorry."

She repeats it over and over again. Buries her face into the crook of his neck and says it over and over, like a mantra or a ritual prayer. Like the hymns Cabin 7 sings to heal the sick and the injured. Like the incantations Alabaster and his siblings use to cast their spells. Like if she says it enough, it'll eventually mean something or ease the heartbreak. Because she knows by leaving the TARDIS, she's breaking three hearts. Five, if she includes Rose and Jack.

But she has to do this. She needs to leave now before her friends find out the godly truth about her and they're pulled into a war they have no part in. It's for the best. They'll understand someday. Maybe not fully, but in time, they'll know she made the right choice for them all.

It's for the best.

*

"So, here's what I'm thinking for today."

It's breakfast time on the TARDIS. Jack's inability to sleep last night manifests in an extravagant meal — traditional eggs benedicts with homemade hollandaise sauce, crispy homefries, fresh fruit salad, strawberry banana smoothies, and mimosas for those who like to drink (so just Jack and Rose). All four of them sit at the kitchen table with their nearly overflowing plates, all save for Jack still clad in their pajamas.

"The TARDIS needs to refuel," the Doctor explains. "Luckily for us, Cardiff's got a rift. Or did, until Gwyneth closed it in 1869. Closing a rift always leaves a scar that generates energy perfect for the old girl."

"But harmless to humans," Jack chimes in. "I've read about rifts. How long will it take, refueling the TARDIS?"

"Couple of days," the Doctor says. "Should give us time to do some maintenance too."

Rose perks up. "Oh, if we're going to Cardiff, I should ask Mickey to bring me my passport!"

"Why do you need a passport?" the Doctor asks.

She shrugs, takes a sip of her mimosa, and says, "Just in case."

Jack knocks his foot into MJ's. "You gonna get your passport too?"

"I don't have a passport," MJ says. "Never needed one. I've never left the country in anything other than the TARDIS."

"So, what are we gonna do while we're in Cardiff?" Rose questions. "I mean, it's Cardiff, but there must be some mischief we can get into, yeah?"

She smiles, tongue peeking between her teeth, and the Doctor shakes his head adamantly. "No mischief. This is not an adventure. Just a fuel break and some maintenance."

His gaze flickers to MJ. Last night before he left her room, he'd agreed not to tell Rose and Jack about her plans to leave. She doesn't want to put a damper on their last adventure. Which this is not, apparently. MJ has a funny feeling the Doctor will be doing some mental gymnastics to make all of their trips from now on not technically an adventure.

"I don't mind a break," MJ says. She spears another bite of egg, Canadian bacon, and English muffin on her fork."We can make a nice dinner, watch Princess Bride, maybe go get ice cream for dessert...or Jack, you said there was a 21st-century video game you wanted us to try?"

Jack grins, setting down his fork and stretching his arms languidly. "Well, there are a few. Depends on if you want to do co-op or not."

Rose tilts her head. "Co-op is we play together, yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. "Or we can take turns playing a game."

"I vote co-op," MJ says.

"Seconded," Rose says.

The Doctor scrunches up his nose. "Thirded?"

"I'm thinking Overcooked, then," Jack tells them. "Basically, we're all chefs and we've got to cook to save the world."

Rose laughs, leaning back in her seat. "Sounds like an actual thing that could happen to us. We should consider this training."

"Oh, gods, it does," MJ groans. "That would be just our luck, right? Get stuck in an alien cooking show or something where they kill the eliminated contestants."

"Eh, we'd be fine," the Doctor says. He 'casually' stretches and puts his arm around her shoulders. "We work well in a team."

MJ grins cockily and leans closer to him. "Oh, I never said we wouldn't win. I have no doubt that we'd totally fucking crush it."

"Still," Jack says, "couldn't hurt to train. And I think it will bring all of us closer in the long run."

*

"I hate all of you," MJ says.

"Oi!" the Doctor exclaims. "What did I do wrong?"

"For starters," Jack says, "you keep thinking my character is your character." He frowns at MJ. "Wait, what did I do wrong?"

"It's your fault we're playing this game, isn't it?" she snaps.

Rose ignores them, too busy glowering at the pink controller in her hands. "How do I hit the wrong button every single time? I swear, they're changing on me."

They're sitting on the very comfy couch in the gaming room. None of them are sure whether they've just never discovered this room before or if it's brand-new, but after everyone had gotten freshened up for the day, it'd appeared down the hall from MJ's room. It's got a massive screen, a surround-sound system, sixteen different gaming consoles, access to an archive of over a trillion video games, plenty of seating, and a snack bar in the back, complete with a mini-fridge full of sodas.

"Maybe we should switch gears," Jack suggests. "Why don't we try taking turns on a game?"

"Or you three could take turns, and I can just sit and watch and do commentary," Rose says, leaning forward to put her controller on the sleek coffee table.

"What game?" the Doctor asks.

"Depends," Jack says. "What do we want? Something spooky? Something more action-focused? Maybe a platformer, or if you want a challenge, we could play something like Dark Souls or Elden Ring."

MJ scrunches up her nose. "I think I want to kill stuff. Not humans. And maybe puzzles."

"Resident Evil's probably our best bet, then," Jack says. "Or maybe Prey? But the Doctor might disagree with the portrayal of aliens in that one."

The Doctor frowns. "I'm not playing a game where aliens are the bad guys."

"Resident Evil, it is," Jack declares, almost triumphantly. "This is one of the greatest video game franchises of all time, MJ. You're going to love this. Doc, do you have the 4k remastered version of 1? I want to start at the beginning if we can. If not, 2's a good launching point too."

"Do I have the 4k remastered version of 1?" The Doctor scoffs. "Of course, I do. And don't call me Doc."

Without having to press a button, Overcooked exits out and Resident Evil 1 takes its place on the screen.

"What is this game about exactly?" Rose asks, snuggling into MJ's side.

They've been sharing a pink checkered blanket. Rose is sandwiched between MJ and Jack, and the Doctor is to MJ's left. There's enough space on this couch for them to spread out, not to mention the other seating options throughout the room, but the gang huddles together anyway. As she checks the game's settings to make sure the subtitles are on, it occurs to MJ that all of Cabin 6 could fit comfortably in this room, with room for Grover, Priscilla, Silena, Percy, and maybe even Chiron. The thought of all of her family and her closest friends in the TARDIS makes her heart flutter.

She pushes the warm feeling away. This is temporary. It'll all be over soon.

"Not telling," Jack says primly.

"Alright," MJ says, starting a new game. "Let's see if Jack gets to keep his rights."

"Wait, what?"

*

"Fuck, marry, kill," Rose proposes. "Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, or..." She purses her lips. "Or Leonardo DiCaprio."

"Fuck Leo, marry Jill, kill Chris," Jack says without a moment's hesitation.

MJ shakes the pan, making sure the pancetta and onions don't burn. "Fuck Chris, marry Jill, kill Leo."

"I'm fucking Jill, marrying Leo, and killing Chris," Rose says. She flashes the Doctor a cheeky grin as she brushes the butter, herb, and garlic mixture onto a fresh baguette split in two. "Doctor? What about you?"

None of them expect an actual answer, but the Doctor gives one. "What MJ said. Only right choice."

"I'm always right," MJ says offhandedly. "How's the pasta looking?"

"It's done," Jack reports. He dunks a measuring cup into the pot of spaghetti made from scratch, sets it aside, then takes the pot and empties it into the colander in the sink. "Doc, how's the salad coming along?"

"Salad's done, working on the dressing now," the Doctor says pleasantly with a very cute smile. Suddenly annoyed, he shoots Jack a dirty look. "And for the last time, don't call me Doc."

Jack huffs as he turns his attention to beating the egg-cheese mixture that will someday be a carbonara sauce. "This is discrimination, I say. Oh, just because I'm not a gorgeous genius with perfect skin and a head of hair people would kill for I'm not allowed to call you Doc? It's pretty fucked up when you think about it."

"You forgot my brilliant sense of humor and enviable fashion sense," MJ teases.

The Doctor tacks on, "MJ wouldn't have forgotten to list her brilliant sense of humor and enviable fashion sense. That's one of the reasons why she's allowed to call me Doc and you're not."

"Yeah, whatever," Jack grumbles good-naturedly. "MJ, you ready for the new step?"

"Yep," she says.

"Oh, I can get the pasta," Rose volunteers, grabbing the colander and bringing it over to the range top.

She dumps the spaghetti into MJ's pan, then scurries off to check on the garlic bread. MJ takes the pan off the heat and Jack pours the beaten egg-and-cheese mixture into the pan. Now MJ tosses the spaghetti, getting it nicely coated. When she holds out her hand, Jack wordlessly passes her the measuring cup of pasta water. MJ pours about a fourth of a cup over everything in the pan and tosses the spaghetti some more. Jack waits with the rest of the cheese (a combination of freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and pecorino romano) at her side.

When MJ takes the bowl of cheese from him, he gets to work setting the table. She adds the rest of the cheese and tosses the spaghetti even more. Once it's coated to her liking, MJ seasons it with salt and pepper.

"Done?" Rose calls out.

"Just about," MJ says. She turns just in time for Rose to hand her a big serving bowl. "Thanks. Where's the parsley?"

"On the table," Rose says.

MJ carefully transfers the carbonara from the pan to the serving bowl, then carries it over to the table, Rose on her heels. The Doctor and Jack are already sitting in their usual chairs. MJ and Rose join them, filling in the gaps, and gods, this is so domestic. MJ spares a glance at the Doctor — he's happily loading his plate with food.

"I can't believe we did all this," Rose says with comically wide eyes, gaping at the spread. "This is like a proper meal."

MJ serves herself some salad — they have separate salad plates, by the way — and dresses it with whatever concoction the Doctor made. She takes a bite and raises her eyebrows at him. "Honey, olive oil, lemon juice, and balsamic?"

"Nicely deduced, my lady," he tells her, grinning goofily.

"Why thank you, my lord," she says with an equally goofy smile.

Rose takes a bite of carbonara in between forkfuls of salad and she just about moans. "Blimey, this is good."

"Oh, I forgot the wine!" Jack exclaims, jumping from his seat. He fetches a bottle of white wine that's been chilling in an ice bucket. "MJ, you having any?"

"I'm not twenty-one," she says automatically.

Rose snorts. "So? Who's gonna stop you? The cops?"

"Well, I'm not interested anyway, so," MJ says with a nonchalant shrug.

"You want anything else to drink while I'm up?" Jack asks, filling his and Rose's glasses halfway.

MJ perks up. "Well, I wouldn't say no to a root beer."

"Root beer?" Rose scoffs. "Gods, you are so American."

"Yeehaw," MJ jokes as Jack hands her an ice-cold bottle from the fridge. She unscrews the cap, takes a good long sip, then looks at Jack. "Thanks. So, how far did we get into the game?"

"If you want 100% completion, we're about five hours into fifteen," Jack says. "And I get the distinct feeling you're a '100% completion' gamer."

MJ frowns, stabbing her fork into her salad. "Well, duh. What's the point of starting something if you're not going to finish it?"

"After dinner, are we playing more or are we watching Princess Bride?" Rose asks.

"Princess Bride," MJ, Jack, and the Doctor all say at the exact same time.

Jack laughs. "Oh no. Are we spending too much time together?"

"No such thing," Rose says decisively. She gestures around the table with her fork. "The four of us, we're a forever thing. We're...we're the Fearsome Foursome."

"Kinky," Jack jokes.

Rose winces. "Fantastic Four?"

"Pretty sure that's copyrighted," MJ chimes in, trying to ignore the way the Doctor's gaze is burning into the side of her head.

"What about Fruity Friends?" Jack suggests with a wink at the Doctor.

"I'd honestly rather die," the Doctor says. He scratches his chin. "What about Team TARDIS?"

Rose waves her left hand dismissively and grabs another piece of garlic bread with her right. "Whatever we're called, we're traveling together 'til the end of time."

Jack raises his wine glass. "To the end of time."

"To the end of time," the Doctor says, raising his glass of water, "and back again."

MJ raises her root beer with a heavy heart. She echoes the Doctor's words and they all clink their drinks together. Rose and Jack are beaming. The Doctor has a small, strained smile, and MJ's pretty sure her attempt at faking a smile looks more like a grimace.

"Did you know the tradition of toasting dates all the way back to Ancient Greece in the sixth century?" she blurts out to distract from her surely visible discomfort.

Rose's brilliant smile somehow widens. "Didn't it start 'cos people were scared of being poisoned so they'd clink the glasses together to spill their drinks into theirs or somethin'?"

"That's a myth," MJ says and, despite the context, the word tastes bitter on her tongue. "It began as an offering and praise to the gods. The stories as to how it got its name vary: some say it came from the Romans adding toasted bread crumbs to their goblets to reduce the acidity of the wine — that it came from the Latin tostus meaning to dry up or scorch. Others say it dates back to the 17th century when people would put pieces of spiced bread in their wine to flavor it, and that the word originally referred to the woman who was being honored with the drink."

"Damn," Jack laughs. "What don't you know?"

"Plenty," MJ says. With a self-satisfied smile, she adds, "Luckily, I have lots of time to learn more. I'm only eighteen. Well, nineteen soon, I think."

Rose positively lights up. "Oh my gods, what are we going to do for your nineteenth birthday? Do you want to do like, a thing with us and a thing with your family, or something all together?"

MJ decides she prefers being literally ripped open by gryphon claws to having this conversation. She pushes her food around on her plate with her fork. "I, uh, don't know. Honestly, my siblings might already have something planned. I'll have to talk to them first before I decide anything."

"Ugh, I should've gotten Annabeth's number so we could plan behind your back," Rose complains. She shrugs. "Maybe next time."

Next time. She says it so casually, so confidently, as if there is no doubt in her mind that there will be a next time. MJ wishes Zeus would smite her where she sits — that would be less painful than sitting here knowing she's going to break Rose's heart.

*

The Doctor and Jack clean up dinner while the girls get dressed to get ice cream for them all — they just finished eating, but they all know by the time the cleaning's done and the ice cream's ordered and they sit down to watch the movie, they'll be hungry again. MJ's certainly looking forward to drowning her turmoil in sugar.

"I called Mickey, by the way," Rose says as she and MJ leave the TARDIS to wander around Cardiff in search of ice cream. The Doctor had parked them in Millennium Center Square in front of a silver water sculpture Annabeth would probably appreciate. Rose is wearing the cami MJ made for her under her maroon hoodie. "He'll be here tomorrow with my passport."

MJ nods, jamming her hands into her pockets. "Hey, um, I've been meaning to ask — are you and Mickey still dating?"

Rose scrunches her face up as if she's smelled something awful. "It's, er, complicated. But we're not not dating, you know?"

"I think," MJ says.

"How're things with the Doctor?" Rose asks, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Get any closer to recreating your sex dream?"

Heat rushes to MJ's cheeks. "Things are...fine, I guess. He helped me with my hair last night which is, admittedly, a level of intimacy more sacred to me than sex."

Rose squeals, drawing looks from passersby, and grabs MJ's arm, linking hers through. "Oh, that's so sweet! And he was all gentle, yeah?"

"Gentle and kind and respectful," MJ confirms with a little wistful sigh. "If I'm being perfectly honest, I almost definitely would've fucked him if he asked. But he wanted to talk instead."

"About what?" Rose scoffs.

"About us," MJ says. "About...why I've been angry with you two."

Rose licks her lips. "So you finally told him you thought he and me were flirting, then?"

MJ's jaw drops and she almost pulls her arm away but thinks better of it. "You knew?"

"Of course, I knew," Rose laughs. She doesn't look even remotely upset. "I'm a human girl, and it wasn't like you were being subtle. I was hopin' he'd figure it out on his own because I knew that's what you wanted, so I told him I didn't know 'cos if he knew I knew, he wouldn't stop bothering me 'til I told him."

"If you knew..." MJ shakes her head. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

"I was waitin' for you to bring it up," Rose says. "I was worried if I brought it up...I dunno. I just thought it'd be easier for you to take the first step." She eyes MJ worriedly. "You know we weren't flirtin', right? I was just messing with him. I'm not really interested in the Doctor like that. I mean, I was in the beginning, kind of, but after seeing how he looks at you, I knew I didn't have a chance."

MJ frowns. "How does he look at me?"

"Like you hung the stars in the sky," Rose says. "He's so ridiculously into you, I'm embarrassed on his behalf. I'm pretty sure if you ever left the TARDIS, he'd kill himself."

MJ's blood runs cold. She knows Rose is just joking — well, mostly joking — but she can't help but remember the look on the Doctor's face last night when she said she was leaving permanently. That face will haunt her for the rest of her days, she thinks. The loneliest man in the universe had gotten his hopes up that for once, someone wouldn't leave, and she ripped that away from him.

It's for the best, she tells herself. It's for the best. All of this is temporary.

When they eventually find an ice cream shop, Rose takes it upon herself to order for everyone. Chocolate chip cookie dough for Jack, vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles for the Doctor (since the place didn't have banana), strawberry for Rose and—

"Medium chocolate peanut butter in a bowl, please," Rose says sweetly to the old man behind the counter.

MJ's gaze is drawn outside, where a flock of crows is taking over an outdoor table. Her breath hitches in her throat and she quickly counts them — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven...eleven crows. What does eleven crows mean again?

Under her breath, she recites, "One for sorrow, two for mirth, three for a wedding, four for a birth."

Rose frowns at her. "Did you say something?"

"Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret ne'er to be told," MJ continues. "Eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, ten for a bird you shouldn't miss. Eleven for—"

Two more crows land, and then they all seem to look at her.

She swallows thickly. "Eleven for hope, twelve for health, thirteen beware of the devil himself."

"What are you goin' on about?" Rose asks, laughing nervously.

"It's the 'One for Sorrow' nursery rhyme," the old man behind the counter says. "In Britain, it's magpies, but those aren't so common in America, so for them, it's crows. 'Course there are variations and different meanings behind the numbers depending on who you ask, but that's folklore for you." He smiles kindly at MJ as he sets their orders down on the counter. "How many are out there?"

"Thirteen," she says.

His smile falters for a second, then brightens once more. "Well, it's only a nursery rhyme. Doesn't really tell the future."

MJ takes a deep breath and tears her eyes away from the crows. "Crows have significance in a lot of cultures, actually. In Ancient Greece, they were associated with Lord Apollo and Lady Hera. In Norse mythology, they were linked to Odin, who had two crows: Huginn, thought, and Muninn, memory. Supposedly, his crows would fly all over the Earth and bring him back tales and knowledge. They could see into the past and future. Crows represent a lot, from transformation and rebirth to death and the afterlife." She relaxes, shoulders sagging. "And thirteen is only an unlucky number to some. In France, it was considered a lucky number prior to the First World War."

Now the old man beams at her. "You're a very intelligent young lady. I see a bright future ahead of you."

Rose grins at him, tongue peeking between her teeth. "That's our MJ. She's a certified genius."

"I have a crown and everything," MJ jokes. She gestures to the ice cream. "How much?"

The old man waves his hand. "On the house."

MJ and Rose exchange surprised (and slightly horrified) looks.

"Oh, no, we couldn't," Rose says.

"You can and you will," he says firmly. "See, Matilda? Your luck isn't so bad after all."

And then he winks at her.

MJ's vision tunnels and her blood runs cold. She stands there in shock as Rose tries for at least five solid minutes to argue with the man about paying. When he points out the ice cream's melting, Rose accepts defeat and thanks him. MJ echoes her, her heart thumping in her chest, and then they leave with their free ice creams in hand, startling exactly zero crows because now, there are none. As they walk back toward the TARDIS, MJ knows without looking, but she looks anyway.

The ice cream shop they'd just come from is closed. A 'For Sale' sign hangs in the window. So who the fuck was that? Apollo? Was the 'bright future' comment a cheesy joke? Crows are one of his sacred animals. When associated with him, they're symbols of prophecy and omen. They're one of Hera's sacred animals too, though. Could it have been her? No, Hera's not a fan of MJ simply because she was Thalia's best friend. The queen of the gods would never give her free ice cream.

Apollo would give her free ice cream. He saved her life, after all, back in London during the Blitz. What was it he said? "Your story's not over just yet, little owl. You've still got a whole lot of life left to live." And now here he is again, with a flock of crows and complimentary desserts. Unless that wasn't Apollo. But then who was it?

"You okay?" Rose asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Yeah, I'm fine," MJ lies. "Just...don't think I like Cardiff."

Rose snorts. "Well, yeah. It's Cardiff."

MJ holds all of the ice creams so Rose can unlock and open the door for them. Once they're inside, MJ runs the ice creams to the media room, pops them into a fridge she's pretty sure wasn't there last time, and then runs back to her room to change into comfier clothing and maybe also have a mini-freakout.

MJ's not important. She's accepted that by now. Annabeth's the important one. Annabeth's the one who will go on all the quests and lead Camp Half-Blood to greatness. Annabeth is the one who will make it into history books and leave behind a powerful legacy. Annabeth's the hero, Percy and Grover are her sidekicks and MJ...is her big sister.

But this makes it twice now that MJ was personally visited by gods. Gods only visit important demigods. So why did Apollo bring her back to life in that abandoned train station? Why did he give her free ice cream and wink at her like they were in on something together? Her story's not over just yet, he said. But what the fuck does that mean? Does it have something to do with the Daedalus cube she rescued from Adam's workshop? Or maybe something to do with the Doctor and the TARDIS?

A thrill rushes through her so fast she gets dizzy. Does...does she actually belong on the TARDIS? Is this really her new home? Because she doesn't want to leave. She's been lying to herself, saying that she needs to go, that it's better to get out now, that it's for the best if she leaves, but she doesn't want to leave. She's never wanted to leave.

She just doesn't want to get left.

The realization brings her to her knees. She doesn't want what happened with Luke to happen again. She doesn't want to get too attached for fear of betrayal. That's why she blew the thing with Rose and the Doctor out of proportion — looking back, it's blatantly obvious that Rose was just fucking with the Doctor, trying to get a rise out of him and make him flustered. But MJ let herself believe it was some big conspiracy because it was easier. Somewhere along the way, it just became easier to think they didn't really care about her, that she couldn't stay, that all of this was temporary.

But maybe this is her destiny. Maybe the Dalek was telling the truth. Maybe MJ is right where she's supposed to be.

The lights brighten and the TARDIS hums as if saying, Finally, you figured it out. All that fussing for nothing.

MJ rolls her eyes fondly, gets to her feet, and pulls on her pajamas with a renewed sense of purpose. She wants to stay. She's going to stay. She'll leave for summers at camp, of course, and probably the winter holidays too, but she'll come back. This is her home.

And she's not leaving any time soon.

*

mj's hair care routine is taken from a good housekeeping article by andrea johnson so if it's inaccurate or smth, pls direct your ire towards her /j

also you can blame my cat and his need for nightly cuddles for the slightly late update <3