content warnings: little bit of spice,  major injury

*

After The Princess Bride, Rose declares she's going to bed. Jack, looking a bit antsy, says he's going to hit the gym. And then it's just MJ and the Doctor in the media room. He offers to walk her back to her room and she accepts, taking his hand in hers. She swings their intertwined hands between them, grinning like she won the lottery — and when you really think about it, she kind of has.

"You're in an awfully good mood," the Doctor notes. "Something happen when you and Rose went to get ice cream?"

"Kind of?" MJ admits. "And it got me thinking about some things."

They stop outside her door. The Doctor raises his eyebrows. "Like?"

"I'm staying," she says. "I realized I was being...not an idiot, because I'm not even remotely capable of being such a thing, but I was being...I don't know. Silly, maybe? No, not silly."

She opens the door and they step inside. For once, the Doctor isn't wearing his combat boots — instead it's his slippers he leaves at her door, probably more out of habit than anything else. MJ flops down on her bed and pats the space next to her. He lays down too and he's so beautiful and he's in her bed and MJ needs to focus, gods dammit.

She clears her throat. "I've known, obviously, that things with Luke really fucked me up, but for some reason, I thought it didn't affect friendships and stuff. But it did. And I realized earlier that I was pushing you guys away because I was scared of getting burned again."

"But we're not Luke," the Doctor says — not in accusatory way. He says it so simply because he knows it's something she already knows, but it still needs to be said.

"No, you guys aren't Luke," MJ agrees. They're both lying on their sides, facing each other, and she reaches out to tap the tip of his nose. "You especially aren't Luke."

"And thank the gods for that," the Doctor says. He pauses and a look of horror dawns on him. "Oh no. It's spreading."

She giggles. "Well, what can I say? I'm a trendsetter." Amusement fading fast, she adds, "And I'm staying. I promise I'm staying."

"Well, that's too bad, then," he says, rolling onto his back. "Because I've decided I want you gone."

She bites back a smirk. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep," the Doctor sighs. "I realized I'm sick of being the second-smartest person in the TARDIS and I want you out. Have your bags packed and ready to go by nine o'clock tomorrow."

"Are you sure about this?" MJ asks. "I mean, I think I should at least have a chance to argue my case."

"Isn't it 'plead my case?'"

"I don't plead," she says plainly.

He considers that, then nods. "You may argue your case. But don't expect me to change my mind. I already decided I'm turning your room into a museum of my greatest accomplishments."

"Oh, I think I can convince you," she teases.

MJ climbs on top of him, knees on either side of his hips, and his jaw drops. She smooths her hands up his simple gray t-shirt and over the planes of his torso. Her hands settle on his shoulders and she leans in. He watches her with thinly veiled anticipation as she lowers her face closer and closer to his. When their lips are only centimeters away from each other, his breath audibly hitches in his throat.

She can't stop the smirk that curls her lips. MJ's always thought of herself as powerful, of course, but this? This hold she has over him? Gods, she could get drunk off it.

MJ closes the gap between them and their lips meet. It's a soft, tentative kiss. Testing the waters, so to speak. She pulls away, sees that stupidly soft expression on his face that always makes her heart flutter, and kisses him again. Harder. The Doctor's left hand comes up to grip her right hip. His other hand cups the back of her neck. Gently, he deepens the kiss.

She wants more. She needs more. And maybe the Doctor can tell somehow — or maybe he needs more too or maybe it's a combination of the two — because the hand on her hip slides to her ass and squeezes. MJ gasps and then his tongue is in her mouth, warm and exploring, and she probably shouldn't be thinking about kissing someone else right now, but gods, this is nothing like her kiss with Luke on top of Half-Blood Hill. It's so much better that she thinks she might cry.

The hand on her ass slips under the hem of her shirt. He traces circles on her lower back — at first, she assumes it's nonsensical, but the more he does it, the more apparent a pattern becomes. It's not circles, she realizes as she grips the front of his shirt to pull him even closer. It's circular Gallifreyan. The language of the Time Lords being drawn on her skin.

It turns her on more than it probably should.

When they finally have to separate for air, the Doctor beams at her. "You have excellent breath control."

"I know," she says breathlessly, and then she kisses the underside of his jaw, trailing down his neck until she finds his pulse point. The idea was to leave a mark, but something occurs to her and she pulls back. "Do your Time Lord healing abilities mean I can't give you hickeys?"

He blinks. "Uh, I...I don't know."

MJ grins wickedly. "So we'll have to do an experiment, then."

The Doctor nods. "Of course. For science."

"For science," she agrees.

She leans back in and nips at his pulse point, then soothes the pain with her tongue — she'd read this in a book once, and judging by the noise the Doctor makes, she'd executed it well. His hand on her back is moving steadily higher, nearing the clasp of her bra, and the hand on the back of her neck has relocated to cup her jaw.

Once MJ's satisfied she's left a mark, she reconnects their lips. This kiss is hurried, passionate — their teeth clash but for some reason, it just spurs her on. She has the idea to suck on his tongue and he moans into her mouth.

The Doctor lightly pushes her away and blurts out, "I'd like for you to take your shirt off please."

She rocks back to sit on his thighs and reaches for the hem of her shirt, more than happy to oblige, when she remembers something. MJ puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. "Does this mean I can stay?"

The Doctor's pupils are blown wide. Something very solid is pressing against her inner thigh. He folds his hands on his chest and nods meekly. "You can stay."

She smirks. "Forever?"

"And always," he murmurs, staring openly at her lips.

MJ freezes. Forever and always. Her promise to Annabeth on her thirteenth birthday. But it dates back further than that. Back to eight-year-old MJ and a hunting knife and Luke's hand in hers. It used to include Thalia too — after her death, it became something just for them. They said it less and less over the years, but the importance never wavered.

"Together?" one of them would ask.

"Forever and always," the other would promise.

When she'd made that promise to Annabeth, a part of her had already known she and Luke had broken it. Maybe that's why she made the promise of forever and always to Annabeth — as redemption.

"MJ?"

The Doctor's voice is perfectly soft, but it cuts through her thoughts like a celestial bronze dagger. She blinks, wondering when on Earth her face became so wet and why. Then she sniffles and oh. She's crying. She's crying while straddling the Doctor. Crying mid-makeout session, and over Luke.

MJ rolls off him and onto her back, hands flying to her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says.

"Yes, I do," she says. "Every time we kiss, I start sobbing."

"Okay, yeah, but I know it's not 'cos of me so I'm not upset with you or anything," the Doctor tells her. "Can I hold you?"

She tries to wipe away her tears, but new ones keep falling. "I don't know."

"Can I start with your hand?"

MJ hesitates, then holds out her hand. The Doctor takes it in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to her knuckles.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks next.

"Forever and always was something we used to say," MJ says. "It started when it was me, Thalia, and Luke on the streets. When we agreed to trust Luke and vice versa, we promised to have each other's backs forever and always. To be friends forever and always. And then Thalia died, and...we tried to keep the promise, but obviously, you know how that went. But now it's kind of something with me and Annabeth, and I like that. I like that the promise has evolved beyond Luke, but just now...I don't know, exactly. I guess it all sort of hit me and all these memories came back of the before times, you know? Does that make any sense?"

"'Course it does," the Doctor tells her. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't you dare apologize to me right now," she snaps. "How could you have known what that phrase means to me?"

He shakes his head, grinning softly. Pink dusts his cheeks. "Actually, I was going to apologize for maybe being a bit rusty. It's been a while since I've done anything, uh, like that."

MJ stares at their interlocked hands for a good twenty seconds before she brings them to her lips. She kisses the back of his hand and smiles shyly. "I mean, I'm still pretty inexperienced so I'm not sure I even know enough to determine if you were, you know, rusty or whatever."

"We'll figure it out together," the Doctor says. "But to be perfectly honest, if that was you inexperienced, I'm not sure I'll survive you getting any better at...that stuff."

MJ giggles and rolls onto her side to better look at him. "Well, you can always just regenerate, right?"

The Doctor grimaces. "Yeah, I'spose. It's not...it's not exactly a painless process. 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."

"Like a phoenix," MJ says quietly. "You die and you're reborn. Gods, Doc, I'm sorry. I think I was picturing it more...more like body-swapping, maybe? I don't know."

"It's okay," he says. "I didn't explain it super well."

"Well, doesn't matter," she decides. "I'm not letting you die anytime soon, anyway."

He's smiling again, but his eyes are sad. "Not quite sure it's entirely in your control."

"I just don't want anything to change," she says, clasping his hand a little tighter. "I want it to stay like this forever. The four of us."

"'Til the end of time and back again," the Doctor says.

"'Til the end of time and back again," she echoes. She reaches out with her free hand and caresses his face. "Stay the night? I think I'd like a cuddle buddy."

The Doctor pretends to consider her request. "Hm...yeah, I s'pose I could stay if you really want me to."

MJ knows he's just being playful, but she can't help but be sincere. "I really want you to."

His face softens like it only does for her and he nods. "Then I'll stay for as long as you want."

That night, she falls asleep in his embrace and for the first time in a very long time, MJ Winslow doesn't have a single nightmare.

*

"I don't know how to dress for Cardiff."

"Don't look at me," Rose says. "I barely know how to dress for London."

The girls are getting ready for the day in MJ's room. They don't really have plans beyond getting lunch and hanging out with Mickey — Jack had suggested they find a place to do karaoke. Overall, a nice, relaxing day. MJ's tempted to wear a dress, but the demigod in her knows that if trouble does find her, it's easier to run away and fight in jeans than a dress. She settles on a pair of high-waisted light-wash denim jeans she'd found in the TARDIS wardrobe and a cute lilac V-neck blouse with hand-stitched floral embroidery along the notched collar. She pairs it with white sneakers and a brown wool coat to wear when they go out.

Rose and MJ do their makeup side-by-side in her big bathroom mirror, chattering about whatever and giggling like schoolgirls. Once they're all ready for the day, they head to the console room with their arms linked. The Doctor is on a ladder doing maintenance in the gantries. He's got a big red flashing light strapped around his head. He looks like a giant dork.

Her giant dork.

MJ plops down in the pilot's seat with her copy of The Mockingjay. Rose leans against the console, chatting with Jack who's doing a bit of maintenance on the console. MJ's about halfway through chapter three when there's a knock at the door.

Jack's the closest, so he opens the door enough to stick half his body out and goes, "Who the hell are you?"

"What do you mean who the hell am I?" Mickey scoffs. "Who the hell are you?"

"Captain Jack Harkness," Jack says. "Whatever you're selling, we're not buying."

"Get out of my way!" Mickey demands, shoving past Jack.

Jack closes the door behind him. "Don't tell me; this must be Mickey."

The Doctor beams down at Mickey. "Here comes trouble! How're you doing, Ricky boy?"

"Don't listen to him," Rose says with an eye roll. "He's winding you up."

Mickey looks her up and down, something sparking to life in his dark brown eyes as he smiles wide. "You look fantastic."

They beam at each other and then Rose pulls him into a hug.

"Aw, sweet," Jack coos. "Look at these two." He looks up at the Doctor. "How come I never get any of that?"

"Buy me a drink first," the Doctor deadpans, hands still working whatever he's 'fixing.'

"You're such hard work," Jack jokes.

"But worth it," the Doctor says. He smiles, looking very satisfied with himself — his smile widens further when MJ snickers.

Rose ignores them, her attention solely on Mickey. "Did you manage to find it?"

"There you go," Mickey says, handing over her passport. He leans around her and holds up his hand in a sort of wave. "Hi, MJ."

"Hey, Mick," MJ greets warmly. "Long time no see."

"I can go anywhere now," Rose boasts.

"I've told you, you don't need a passport," the Doctor says exasperatedly.

"It's all very well going to Platform One and Justicia and the Glass Pyramid of San Kaloon, but what if we end up in Brazil?" Rose reasons. "I might need it. You see, I'm prepared for anything."

She pokes her tongue out with a smug smile.

"Sounds like you're staying, then," Mickey says. There's an awkward pause during which Jack and MJ exchange grimaces, then Mickey forces a smile. "So, what are you doing in Cardiff? And who the hell's Jumping Jack Flash?"

Jack looks at Mickey, seeming rather unsure of whether or not he should be offended.

"I mean, I don't mind you hanging out with Big Ears up there," Mickey continues.

"Oi!" the Doctor protests.

"Look in the mirror," Mickey retorts. "And MJ's great, obviously. But this guy, I don't know, he's kind of..."

"Handsome?" Jack offers with his debonair smile.

"More like cheesy," Mickey says.

"Early 21st-century slang," Jack says, walking around the console to stand closer to Mickey and Rose. MJ bookmarks her page and jumps to her feet to follow him. "Is cheesy good or bad?"

"It's bad," Mickey tells him.

"But bad means good, isn't that right?" Jack asks. He almost sounds like he's in class asking the teacher to clarify something.

The Doctor's coming down the ladder, pouting. "Are you saying I'm not handsome?"

"I think you're gorgeous," MJ says, slipping past Rose to stand at the bottom of the ladder.

She holds out her hand and the Doctor takes it. He jumps to the floor and she steadies him. They share warm smiles. Her hand still in his, he tugs her over to Rose and Mickey.

"We just stopped off," Rose says to Mickey. "We need to refuel. Thing is, Cardiff's got this rift running through the middle of the city. It's invisible, but it's like an earthquake fault between different dimensions."

The Doctor says, "The rift was healed back in 1869—"

"Thanks to a girl named Gwyneth because these aliens called the Gelth, they were using the rift as a gateway but she saved the world and closed it," Rose explains with a brilliant grin.

Jack chimes in. "But closing a rift always leaves a scar and that scar generates energy, harmless to the human race—"

"But perfect for the TARDIS," MJ finishes. "So we just park here for a couple of days right on top of the scar and—"

"Open up the engines, soak up the radiation—" Jack says.

"Like filling her up with petrol and off we go!" Rose gushes.

"Into time!" Jack exclaims, high-fiving Rose.

"And space!" Team TARDIS chorus, MJ and Rose high-fiving as the latter cheers.

Mickey looks less than amused with them. "My god, have you seen yourselves? You all think you're so clever, don't you?"

"Yeah!" the Doctor says.

"Yeah!" Rose says.

"Yep!" Jack says, and he follows it up with a friendly slap on Mickey's cheek.

MJ shakes her head fondly. "Gods, white people should never be this cocky."

Mickey cracks a smile. Jamming his hand into his coat's pockets, he says, "But you can be as cocky as you want."

"Well, of course," MJ says and her grandiose delivery is only half a joke. "My expression of my well-earned self-confidence is groundbreaking and a massive 'Fuck you' to bigots across the world. When I assert myself and refuse to make myself smaller to please society, I'm taking up space Black girls aren't allowed to take."

Jack tilts his head thoughtfully. "So when you're cocky, it's activism?"

"It's rebellion," she says, standing a little taller, more serious now. "It's revolution. It's paving the way for everyone who comes after me."

"Always the big sister," the Doctor muses. He takes the red light off his head, switches it off, and stores it in his seemingly bottomless jacket pocket. "Always fighting battles so others don't have to."

MJ shrugs. "'I must study politics and war, that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.'"

"Who said that?" Jack asks, holding open the TARDIS door for everyone.

"John Adams, second president of the United States," she says as they all shuffle out. "Fuck the Founding Fathers and all that, but it's a damn good quote."

"Should take another twenty-four hours," the Doctor says, folding his arms over his chest, "which means we've got time to kill."

Mickey's frowning. "That old lady's staring."

"Probably wondering what five people could do inside a small wooden box," Jack says, clapping his hand down on the Doctor's shoulder with a laugh.

"What are you captain of?" Mickey snipes. "The Innuendo Squad?"

Jack's brilliant retort is to (somewhat aggressively) make a W with his hands — Whatever.

Team TARDIS starts to walk off, but Mickey doesn't budge. "Wait, the TARDIS, you can't just leave it. Doesn't it get noticed?"

"Yeah, what's with the police box?" Jack questions, gesturing vaguely to her exterior. "Why does it look like that?"

"It's a cloaking device," Rose answers.

"It's called a chameleon circuit," the Doctor adds. He walks around to the left side of his ship and pats the door fondly. "The TARDIS is meant to disguise itself wherever it lands. Like, if this was ancient Rome, it'd be a statue on a plinth or something." He leans against the TARDIS, folding his arms over his chest once more. "But I landed in the 1960s, it disguised itself as a police box and the circuit got stuck."

MJ runs her fingers down the corner of the ship, enjoying the feel of the warm painted wood. It sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. In the back of her mind, she senses something like a purr.

"So, it copied a real thing?" Mickey asks. "There actually was police boxes?"

The Doctor smiles fondly at MJ before turning back to Mickey. "Yeah, on street corners. You could phone for help before they had radios and mobiles. If they arrested somebody, they could shove them inside till help came. Like a little prison cell."

Jack furrows his brow, leaning over to the Doctor. "Why don't you just fix the circuit?"

The Doctor frowns at the suggestion. "I like it, don't you?"

"I love it," Rose chimes in.

"Astéri mou is perfect just the way she is," MJ agrees.

"But that's what I meant, there's no police boxes anymore," Mickey says, grinning smugly, "so doesn't it get noticed?"

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Ricky—"

MJ clears her throat pointedly.

"Mickey, let me tell you something about the human race," the Doctor says. He walks up to Mickey. "You put a mysterious blue box slap-bang in the middle of town, what do they do?" He puts his hands on Mickey's shoulders and keeps talking before Mickey has the chance to reply. "Walk past it. Now, stop your nagging, let's go and explore."

He walks off, his hand sliding into MJ's and intertwining their fingers. Rose, Mickey, and Jack are on their heels.

"What's the plan?" Rose asks.

"I don't know!" the Doctor exclaims. "Cardiff, early 21st century, and the wind's coming from the...east. Trust me. Safest place in the universe."

MJ throws her head back with a groan. "You just had to say it, didn't you?"

The Doctor looks at her, confused. "What?"

"You totally just jinxed it," she tells him.

"Did not!"

"Did too!" she retorts. "It's like saying 'I'll be right back' in a horror movie or 'This ship is unsinkable!' You're basically daring the Fates to prove you wrong."

The Doctor laughs and squeezes her hand. "The Fates? What are we, in a Greek tragedy?"

MJ's heartbeat stutters. She huffs, hoping her panic doesn't show. "Well, yeah, we probably are now thanks to you."

"You worry too much, love," the Doctor says, bumping his hip into hers. "I've got a good feeling about today."

*

"I swear!" Jack exclaims.

"You're lying through your teeth!" the Doctor accuses jovially.

They're sitting in a restaurant in Cardiff Bay. It's a nice enough place — tablecloths and plush chairs, wine glasses and complimentary bubbly water, plants on every table and water sights all around thanks to the glass walls. MJ sits between the Doctor and Mickey, and Jack and Rose sit opposite them. Jack is regaling them with a tale from his agency days as they wait for the waiter to come and take their order.

"I'd've gone bonkers!" Rose declares. "That's the word, bonkers!"

"It turns out the white things are tusks, and I mean tusks!" Jack says. "And it's woken, and it's not happy..."

"How could you not know it was there?" the Doctor asks. He has his arm around MJ's shoulders, absentmindedly playing with the ends of her curls.

Jack ignores them. "We're standing there, fifteen of us, naked—"

"Naked?" Rose practically shrieks between peals of laughter.

"And I'm like, 'Oh, no, no, it's going nothing to do with me!'" Jack continues. "And then it roars, and we are running. Oh my God, we are running! And Brakovitch falls, so I turn to him and I say—"

"I knew we should've turned left!" Mickey cuts in.

They erupt into laughter so loud, they get annoyed looks from other patrons.

"That's my line!" Jack protests good-naturedly.

"I don't believe you," Rose says with a tongue-kissed smile, "I don't believe a word you say, ever. That is so brilliant!"

MJ sees the Doctor's face fall out of the corner of her eye. Before she can ask him what's wrong, he gets up and walks over to another table — an old man sitting alone, reading his newspaper. Jack, Rose, and Mickey don't notice the Doctor's departure, too busy giggling and chattering away. MJ's stopped listening. Her entire body's gone tense. She watches the Doctor take the old man's newspaper, a sinking feeling in her gut. He bends his head down to read and she can see the little bit of hope that his eyes were playing tricks on him fade.

The Doctor looks up. Their eyes lock.

"And I was having such a nice day," he says, crestfallen.

He holds up the newspaper, showing them the front page. New Mayor, new Cardiff, the headline reads. And above the black words printed in bold is a photo of a woman. A familiar woman. It takes MJ a second to place the face.

It's Margaret Blaine. Except no, it's not, because Margaret Blaine is dead, and has been for at least six months. The woman in the photo isn't Margaret Blaine — it's the Slitheen from 10 Downing Street wearing Margaret as a flesh suit.

"No, it can't be," Rose gasps. She holds her hand out for the paper and the Doctor passes it to her. She gapes at the photo. "How could she have gotten out?"

"Who is she?" Jack asks.

MJ grimaces. "Remember when I told you about the Slitheen in Downing Street?"

"Wait, what?" Mickey jolts upright. "You mean one of them things survived the missile?"

"It's not impossible," MJ says. "I mean, we survived, didn't we? Us and Harriet. Oh, gods, do you think Harriet knows?"

The Doctor shakes his head. "Nah. Wales is the perfect place to hide out. No one in London's paying any attention to Cardiff politics."

"So what do we do?" Rose questions, looking between the Doctor and MJ. "I mean, we are going to do something, right?"

"'Course we are," the Doctor says. His eyes narrow, his jaw sets. "Let's go pay our old friend Margaret a visit."

*

Cardiff Town Hall is a perfect example of architectural details that MJ should be able to name, but she can never remember what's what. She thinks the columns are Corinthian...or maybe composite? Doesn't matter. Well, doesn't matter to MJ, that is.

Backs straight and heads held high, they go up the steps and into the entrance hall. Their group stops at the top of another set of stairs.

"According to intelligence," Jack says, unzipping his jacket and shedding his gloves, "the target is the last surviving member of the Slitheen family, a criminal sect from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius, masquerading as a human being, zipped inside a skin suit." Now he removes his scarf too and tucks it away into his pocket as he casually rattles off orders. "Okay, plan of attack, we assume a basic fifty-seven/fifty-six strategy, covering all available exits on the ground floor. Doctor and MJ, you go face-to-face, that'll designate Exit One, I'll cover Exit Two, Rose, you're Exit Three, Mickey Smith, you take Exit Four? Have you got that?"

The Doctor eyes him with distaste, his brow furrowed. "Excuse me, who's in charge?"

"Sorry," Jack says. "Awaiting orders, sir."

Everyone looks at the Doctor. The Doctor looks at MJ.

MJ smirks. "Jack's plan will do. Lucky for us, a public confrontation means the Slitheen can't remove her suit, so we don't have to worry about avoiding her claws or electrocution. Still, wouldn't put it past her to put up a fight. Keep your guards up and be careful." She looks at Jack. "Anything else, Captain?"

"Present arms," Jack orders.

The Doctor, Mickey, and Rose all pull out their phones.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Rose, Mickey, and the Doctor say, one after the other.

"Speed dial?"

They press speed dial.

"Yup," the Doctor says.

"Ready," Rose reports.

"Check," Mickey says.

Everyone looks at MJ.

She blinks. "What?"

"Where's your phone?" Rose asks. "We're doing a thing and — where's your phone?"

"Left it on the TARDIS," MJ says with a shrug. "Doesn't matter 'cause I'm with Doc."

The Doctor frowns. "Since when do you go anywhere without your phone?"

Since she saw a god and decided a monster might not be far behind. Logically, MJ knows monsters are few and far between overseas now that the 'heart of Western civilization' or whatever is in the States, but she's not one to tempt the Fates. The less technology she uses today, the better.

But she can't say that, so she says, "I just forgot it. It's not a big deal." Before anyone can protest, she says, "No more dawdling. Our plan works best with the element of surprise, so let's not risk losing it, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jack says cheekily. He winks at them all. "See you in hell."

And with that, they go their separate ways.

*

Hand-in-hand, Mj and the Doctor approach the secretary, a young white man with carefully styled blond hair. He sits behind his desk, head bent over his work until he realizes they're there.

"Hello," the Doctor greets with a big grin. "We're here to see the Lord Mayor."

"Have you got an appointment?" the secretary asks.

"No, just a couple of old friends passing by," the Doctor says. "Bit of a surprise. Can't wait to see her face."

The secretary smiles back but there's something decidedly fake about it. "Well, she's just having a cup of tea."

"Just go in there and tell her the Doctor and company would like to see her," the Doctor requests.

"Doctor who?" the secretary presses.

"Just the Doctor," he says. "Tell her exactly that, the Doctor."

The secretary hesitates, then gets to his feet, doing a rather good job of hiding his annoyance. "Hang on a tick," he says, and then he disappears behind the paneled wooden double doors.

MJ raises her eyebrows. "And company?"

"Don't know if she ever caught your name," the Doctor explains with a shrug.

Inside the mayor's office, a cup shatters. MJ bites back a laugh. The secretary returns, opening the door just enough to slip through. He closes it behind him and stands with his back to the door, almost as if standing guard. He's clearly flustered — whatever education or training he'd gone through to get this job clearly had not prepared him for something like this.

"The Lord Mayor says thank you for popping by," the secretary stammers, polite smile strained. "She'd love to have a chat, but, um, she's up to her eyes in paperwork. Perhaps if you could make an appointment for next week?"

"Let me guess," MJ says dryly. "She's climbing out the window?"

"Yes, she is."

MJ rolls her eyes and pushes him aside to open the door. She runs into the mayor's office, the Doctor on her heels, and over to the open window. It leads out onto a balcony. MJ watches with a smirk as the Slitheen hops over the balcony railing to some scaffolding.

The Doctor whips out his phone and presses speed dial. "Slitheen heading North." He does a double-take. "MJ, what the fuck are you doing?"

MJ, who's now standing on the balcony railing, flashes him a quick smile. "Not hurting my ankles, hopefully."

Then she jumps to the pavement below, rolling into her landing.

MJ is on her feet in two seconds flat and sprints after the Slitheen. The Slitheen isn't remotely capable of outrunning her, so it's very easy for MJ to close the gap between them. She grabs the Slitheen by the collar of her blazer and whirls her around. The Slitheen tries to throw a punch; MJ evades. The momentum of the Slitheen's swing makes her stumble forward. MJ hooks her foot around the Slitheen's ankle, and the alien in a human skin suit falls flat on her face. MJ slams her foot down on the Slitheen's back, pinning her to the ground. She checks her nails while she waits for her friends to catch up.

Eventually, they all converge on her location. They form a tight circle around the Slitheen.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" the Doctor bites out. "You could've broken both your legs jumping from that balcony!"

MJ snorts. "Yeah, maybe if I was an idiot." She removes her foot from the Slitheen's back. "You going to need help getting up?"

"No, I can manage myself, you awful girl," the Slitheen grumbles.

She gets to her feet, looking unexpectedly victorious. She holds up what looks like two earrings and a brooch clipped together and vanishes in a flash of blue light.

"She's got a teleport!" Jack whines. "That's cheating! Now we're never gonna get her."

"Oh, the Doctor's very good with teleports," Rose assures him.

The Doctor holds up his sonic screwdriver, grinning dopily, and clicks it once. The Slitheen reappears. Her self-satisfied smile vanishes when she realizes where she is. Before she can teleport away again, MJ rips the device from her hand.

The Slitheen has the audacity to pout. "This is persecution. Why can't you leave me alone? What did I ever do to you?"

"You tried to kill me and destroy this entire planet," the Doctor says.

"Apart from that," says the Slitheen dismissively.

"Now what?" Mickey asks, still panting from all the running.

"Now," the Doctor says, "we get answers."

*

They walk the Slitheen back inside and into the exhibition room. A plastic model of Cardiff complete with a nuclear power station — all white save for the dark gray base under the nuclear power station itself — sits on top of a large wooden table. Around the room are poster boards plastered with documents and data, reminding MJ of a high school science fair.

"So, you're a Slitheen, you're on Earth, you're trapped," the Doctor lists, leading the march. "Your family get killed, but you teleport out, just in the nick of time. You have no means of escape, what do you do? You build a nuclear power station. But what for?"

They spread through the room — Rose crouches down on the opposite side of the table from the Doctor to get a better look at the model. The Slitheen stands at the head of the table, Mickey between her and Rose, and Jack ends up on the Doctor's right, inspecting the model same as Rose. MJ hovers behind the Slitheen, one hand on her hip and the other gripping the hilt of her hunting knife tucked into the waistband of her jeans, ready to intercept if the alien tries anything.

"A philanthropic gesture," the Slitheen lies. "I've learnt the error of my ways."

"And it just so happens to be right on top of the rift," the Doctor notes.

The Slitheen tilts her head, eerily calm. "What rift would that be?"

"A rift in space and time," Jack says. "If this power station went into meltdown, the entire planet would go..."

He mimics an explosion, complete with hand gestures and a sound effect. MJ can't help but smile. Jack might be a handsome, suave conman but he's also a dork.

"This station is designed to explode the minute it reaches capacity," the Doctor says.

Rose leans over the model, hands on the edge of the table. "Didn't anyone notice? Isn't there someone in London checking this sort of stuff?"

"We're in Cardiff," the Slitheen says bitterly. "London doesn't care. The South Wales coast could fall into the sea and they wouldn't notice." She pauses, an unpleasant realization dawning on her. "Oh! I sound like a Welshman. God help me, I've gone native."

"But why would she do that?" Mickey questions. "A great big explosion, she'd only end up killing herself."

"She's got a name, you know," the Slitheen says.

"She's not even a she, she's a..." Mickey side-eyes her. "Thing."

"Oh, but she's clever," the Doctor says.

He reaches out, knocks off a couple of the white structures, pries out the dark gray thing in the middle, and flips it over. It's a circuit board.

"Fantastic," the Doctor breathes out as if this particular circuit board is something very exciting.

Judging by the look on Jack's face — like a kid being presented with the new best toy — this circuit board is indeed something very exciting. "Is that a tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator?"

MJ scrunches up her nose. Under her breath, she mutters, "What in the technobabble..."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," the Doctor says.

Jack takes the tribophysical waveform macro-kinetic extrapolator from the Doctor to take a better look. "Ooo, genius!" he gushes. Jack walks up to the Slitheen. "You didn't build this?"

"I have my hobbies," the Slitheen says, "a little tinkering."

"No, no, no, I mean, you really didn't build this," Jack says. "Way beyond you."

"I bet she stole it," Mickey accuses.

"It fell into my hands," the Slitheen claims.

Rose gapes at the extrapolator. "Is it a weapon?"

"It's transport," Jack explains, placing it on the floor circuit side down. "You see, the reactor blows, the rift opens, phenomenal cosmic disaster, but this thing shrouds you in a forcefield, you have this energy bubble..." He draws a bubble around him with his pointer fingers, making another sound effect. "So, you're safe. Then you feed it coordinates, stand on top, and ride the concussion all the way out of the solar system."

"It's a surfboard," Mickey realizes.

"A pan-dimensional surfboard, yeah," Jack corrects.

MJ's gaze flickers between Jack and the Doctor, who's standing in front of a poster on the far wall for the power station. Above him hangs a banner that reads,

The BLAIDD DRWG project

Prosiect Y BLAIDD DRWG

Something about that makes her brain itch.

"And it would've worked," the Slitheen grumbles. "I'd have surfed away from this dead-end dump and back to civilization."

MJ shakes her head with a sigh. "If only it weren't for us meddling kids."

"You'd blow up a whole planet just to get a lift?" Mickey asks incredulously.

"Like stepping on an ant hill," the Slitheen sneers. She tries to push past him, but MJ grabs her by the arm and yanks her back.

"How did you think of the name?" the Doctor questions.

"What? Blaidd Drwg?" The Slitheen shrugs. "It's Welsh."

"I know, but how did you think of it?"

The Slitheen tries to walk forward again; MJ holds her in place. The Slitheen huffs. "I chose it at random, that's all, I don't know. Just sounded good. Does it matter?"

The Doctor turns around, looking very serious. He locks eyes with MJ. "Blaidd Drwg."

Rose plays with the end of her rainbow scarf nervously. "What's it mean?"

"Bad Wolf," the Doctor says, and a supercut of memories flash through MJ's head.

"And you. You've flown so far. Further than anyone. The things you've seen. The darkness. The big bad wolf," MJ recites, ice flooding her veins. "And over on the Bad Wolf channel, the Face of Boe has just announced he's pregnant."

Jack, who has the pan-dimensional surfboard tucked under his arm, does a double take. "Did you just say Face of Boe?"

MJ ignores him. She looks back at the Doctor with haunted eyes. "And 'Bad Wolf' is what that kid spraypainted on the TARDIS. Right? You told me you made him clean it off while I slept."

Rose nods emphatically. "She's right. Bad Wolf, I've heard that lots of times."

"Everywhere we go," the Doctor says, "two words, following us. Bad Wolf."

"How can they be following us?" Rose demands, bottom lip quivering.

The Doctor seems to think about it, staring into space, then laughs. "Nah, just a coincidence. Like hearing a word on the radio then hearing it all day. Never mind."

MJ bites her tongue. He's wrong. It's something her sister Darby used to say — once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, and three is a pattern. And there have been at least four instances of Bad Wolf popping up: Gwyneth, graffiti, Satellite Five, and now the nuclear power station. The Doctor doesn't see it. He can't see it because it doesn't make any sense. Words can't follow you throughout space and time, right? But they are. It makes no sense and therefore it's easy for him to dismiss it because he's not MJ — his best friend wasn't turned into a tree when she died, he's not a literal brainchild, he's not constantly being hunted by spiders because one of his mothers turned a woman into the original spider over a weaving contest, and so on.

Nonsense has always been her reality. MJ's learned to take threads of varying lengths and colors — logical fallacies and answers in the form of shrugs and every impossible truth — and weave them into a beautiful tapestry because the only other option was to lose her mind. So two words appearing everywhere they go? Okay, sure. At this point, there's not a lot that could surprise her.

The Doctor claps his hands together and heads for the exit. "Margaret, we're going to take you home."

MJ's eyes narrow. Is he really referring to the Slitheen as Margaret? This isn't Margaret Blaine they're dealing with. This is the monster who slaughtered her mercilessly and is wearing her skin as a costume. Calling the Slitheen Margaret is disrespectful to the real Margaret Blaine. MJ wants to say something, but no one else seems to have a problem with it, so maybe she's overthinking things again. And besides, she doesn't even know—

Blon Fel Fotch Passameer-Day Slitheen. That's the alien's real name. But this is one of the things MJ shouldn't know but does, so she can't say anything. No matter how much calling Blon 'Margaret' feels like a desecration.

"Hold on, isn't that the easy option?" Jack asks. "Like letting her go?"

Rose lights up. "I don't believe it, we actually get to go to Raxa..." She falters. The Doctor rolls his eyes and she jabs her finger at him, scowling. "Wait a minute, Raxacor..."

"Raxacoricofallapatorius," MJ says.

They all look at her in disbelief.

"How come you can say it easy peasy?" Rose grouses, pouting.

MJ shrugs. "When you learn how to pronounce 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis' to win a bet, Raxacoricofallapatorius is a breeze."

"What the hell is pneumo..." Mickey trails off, grimacing. "Whatever you said."

"It's a form of lung disease contracted from the inhalation of very fine silica particles," she says. "At forty-five letters, it's the longest word in most English dictionaries, but it's not even remotely close to being the longest word in the English language."

"Well, how many letters is the longest word?" Rose asks.

"189,819 letters," MJ says. "It's the chemical composition of titin, the largest known protein. I'd attempt to say it, but it takes three hours." She brightens, clasping her hands behind her back and bouncing in place a little. "Though some argue it shouldn't even be considered an actual word. After that, the longest published word is 1,909 letters. That one is the chemical name of E. coli TrpA."

Blon eyes her with distaste. "And you know this...why?"

MJ beams. "Because learning stuff is fun!" She walks over to Rose, taking her hands in hers. "C'mon, Rosie. You can do it. Break it down. Repeat after me: Raxacorico."

"Raxacorico," Rose repeats.

"Fallapatorius," MJ says.

"Fallapatorius," Rose echoes.

MJ squeezes Rose's hands. "Now put it together."

Rose takes a deep breath. "Raxacoricofallapatorius!" Her eyes widen, her lips curling into a thousand-megawatt smile. She lets out a victory screech.

"That's it!" the Doctor praises.

He and MJ throw their arms around Rose in a triumphant group hug.

"I did it!" Rose cheers when they part.

"They have the death penalty," Blon says.

The room lapses into silence; the joy seeps from the Doctor's face. Rose's sunshine smile has considerably dimmed and she avoids looking at Blon.

"The family Slitheen was tried in its absence many years ago and found guilty with no chance of appeal," Blon tells them. "According to the statutes of government, the moment I return, I'm to be executed. What do you make of that, Doctor? Take me home and you take me to my death."

The Doctor's unease is a blink-and-you-miss-it situation. He schools his expression into something neutral and gives a nonchalant raise of his eyebrows. "Not my problem."

"You know what they say," MJ says cheerily, throwing her arm around Rose's shoulders. "Don't do the crime if you can't do the time!"

*

"This ship is impossible!" Blon cries out at the sight of the TARDIS interior. "It's superb!" She looks at the Doctor. "How do you get the outside around the inside?"

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Like I'd give you the secret, yeah."

The walk back to the TARDIS had been...awkward, to say the least. Now they're back in the console room. MJ's still hovering behind Blon just in case while Jack wires the extrapolator to the TARDIS — MJ doesn't have the best feeling about that, but the Doctor and Jack assure her it's perfectly safe. Funnily enough, their attempts to assuage her worries only make her feel worse. Rose and Mickey are standing on the floor next to the console, forming a small triangle with Jack as they watch him work. The Doctor is standing at the console so he can monitor the systems and make sure everything's running smoothly.

"I almost feel better about being defeated," Blon says as she inspects the console — permitted to look but not touch. "I never stood a chance. This is the technology of the gods."

"Gods are useless," the Doctor says. His gaze flickers to MJ. "I'm more of a guardian angel type." He looks down at Jack. "Jack, how we doing, big fella?"

"This extrapolator's top of the range," Jack says. He leans around the console to eye the Slitheen suspiciously. "Where did you get it?"

"Oh, I don't know, some airlock sale," she says offhandedly.

MJ's eyes narrow. She doesn't trust this. Doesn't trust Blon. All of this is...too easy. Far too easy. Blon infiltrated a British intelligence agency and has been deceiving nearly everyone for at least six months. Someone as clever as she is, she'd have a backup plan and a backup plan for her backup plan. The teleport device was the backup plan. So what's the backup plan for the backup plan?

"Must've been a great, big heist," Jack says, glaring at Blon. His gaze switches to the Doctor and the animosity vanishes. "It's stacked with power."

"But can we use it for fuel?" the Doctor asks.

"It's not compatible," Jack reports, "but it should knock off about twelve hours. We'll be ready to go by morning."

"Then we're stuck here," the Doctor grumbles. "Overnight."

Blon tries to keep her face blank, but the smugness peeks through. "I'm in no hurry."

"We've got a prisoner," Rose realizes. "The police box is really a police box."

"You're not just police, though," Blon says with a cruel smile, approaching Rose and Mickey. "Since you're taking me to my death, that makes you my executioners. Each and every one of you."

"You deserve it," Mickey says coldly.

"You're very quick to say so," Blon says. "And you're very quick to soak your hands in my blood. Which makes you better than me how, exactly?"

MJ rolls her eyes so hard that she feels a twinge of pain.

"Long night ahead," Blon taunts. She struts over to the pilot's chair, takes a seat, and crosses her legs at the knee. "Let's see who can look me in the eye."

MJ steps in front of her, blocking her view of the others, and glowers down at her. "Are you really trying to claim the moral high ground right now? Every word you speak comes from a dead woman's lips. You're not Margaret Blaine. You killed Margaret Blaine and turned her into a fucking skin suit that you wear like it's nothing. Like Margaret, the real Margaret, was nothing. You live her life while her friends and her family go about their days not knowing that their loved one has been dead for months."

"Here's the thing you don't seem to understand," MJ tells her. "Even if you and your family hadn't committed whatever crimes you committed to earn the death penalty, even if you hadn't tried to reduce the Earth to molten slag, therefore making an attempt on the lives of everyone I know and love, even if you didn't make a second attempt on the lives of everyone I know and love with that power station of yours, what you did to Margaret Blaine..." MJ grabs the back of the pilot seat and leans in, brown eyes glinting silver. "That would be enough. Slaughtering a woman and wearing her skin would be enough. You can play the victim all you want, but you're a cold-blooded killer and I have exactly zero qualms about taking you to your death."

"In fact..." MJ straightens up, smirking. "You make one wrong move tonight, try anything at all, and I'll kill you myself." She folds her arms over her chest and cocks her hip. Eyeing Blon with disgust, she adds, "Wouldn't be the first monster I killed. And certainly not the last."

She turns to her friends. "Now, does the TARDIS have some kind of cell we can stick this bitch in?"

*

The closest the TARDIS has to a jail cell is the quarantine room. It's a room with dark gray tiled floors and white paneled walls. A thick wall of extremely durable glass divides the room. Behind the glass is a cot, a toilet, a sink with no mirror, and a somewhat pouty Blon. In front of the glass are medical equipment on the west wall and a seating area with a coffee table against the east wall where MJ and the Doctor are sharing the surprisingly comfortable couch.

MJ is lying across the couch, her feet in the Doctor's lap. She's finishing the embroidery project she'd started on Thalassa. There's not much left to do, just some small detail work to really make the scene come to life. The Doctor's doing Sudoku puzzles.

"I gather it's not always like this," Blon speaks up. She sits on the cot centered against the back wall of her 'cell,' glowering at the floor. "Having to wait."

She pauses as if she's had some important realization. "I bet you're always first to leave, Doctor. Never mind the consequences, off you go. You and your guard dog butchered my family and then ran for the stars, am I right? But not this time. At last, you have consequences. How does it feel?"

"We didn't butcher them," the Doctor says, not taking his eyes off his puzzle. MJ hums in agreement. "And what about you? You had an emergency teleport, you didn't zap them to safety, did you?"

"It only carries one," says Blon. "I had to fly without coordinates. I ended up in a skip on the Isle of Dogs."

The Doctor laughs. At MJ's confused expression, he explains, "A skip's a dumpster."

"Oh," MJ says. "Fitting."

"It wasn't funny," Blon snaps.

"You deserved worse," MJ says. "Should've dropped you in the middle of the Atlantic and left you to drown."

Blon tilts her head. "Do I get a last request?"

"Depends what it is," the Doctor says before MJ can say no.

"I grew quite fond of my little human life," Blon says with a smile, and immediately, MJ's blood starts boiling because it wasn't Blon's human life to live. "All those rituals. The brushing of the teeth and the complicated way they cook things. There's a little restaurant, just 'round the Bay. It became quite a favorite of mine."

The Doctor lowers his puzzle to raise his eyebrows at Blon. "Is that what you want? A last meal?"

"Don't I have rights?" Blon asks.

"I'm so glad you asked," MJ says with a sardonic smile. "No, you do not, in fact, have rights. Those who make two attempts to commit genocide surrender their rights."

Blon gets to her feet and walks right up to the glass. "But I wonder if you could do it. To sit with a creature you're about to kill and take supper. How strong is your stomach?"

The Doctor sits up a little straighter. "Strong enough."

"I wonder," Blon says. "I've seen you fight your enemies. Now dine with them."

MJ's about to roll her eyes when she sees the look on the Doctor's face. Her jaw drops. "Oh my gods, are you actually considering it?"

"It's not like I can escape," Blon says. "I can never escape the Doctor, can I? So where's the danger?"

"And it's not like it would change my mind," the Doctor says.

Blon sneers. "Prove it."

MJ throws her embroidery things onto the coffee table and jumps to her feet. "He has nothing to prove to you. We have nothing to prove to you."

The Doctor stands too. "MJ, can I talk to you in the hallway for a minute?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she scoffs. "We're not letting her out of that room until we get to Raxacoricofallapatorius."

"Hallway," he says. "Please."

MJ glances at Blon — she looks far too pleased with herself. MJ rolls her eyes and stomps out into the hallway. The Doctor joins her a second later, hands held out placatingly.

"Just listen for a moment, will you?" he asks. "I'd really like the chance to talk to her. I meant it when I said it wouldn't change my mind."

"This is a terrible idea," she tells him. "Like, genuinely horrendous. How would we keep her from escaping?"

"Who, Margaret?"

MJ and the Doctor turn to see Jack sauntering up to them, a confused look on his handsome face.

"Is something wrong with the containment unit?" Jack asks, gesturing to the quarantine room door.

MJ folds her arms over her chest, scowling. "Our Slitheen friend would like to have a last meal at her favorite restaurant and for some reason, the Doctor is actually considering it."

"She does have rights," the Doctor says.

"No, she fucking doesn't!" MJ shouts, words rushing out of her so fast they almost slur together. "She's tried to wipe out the human race twice! You think she deserves a last meal? Some creature comforts in her last day on Earth? She's killed people, Doctor. Not just Margaret Blaine. What Rose said earlier, about someone checking the power station — she was right. How many people do you think she killed to get that project built? And all of those people had friends and family. She's not worth it, okay? I know you feel like you have to prove something to her but you don't. She's a monster!"

"She's a being!" the Doctor snaps.

"Yes," MJ says. "A genocidal being."

He flinches. "MJ, please. I need to do this."

Jack's eyes flicker between them as if watching a tennis match. "Um, if you really want to take Margaret to dinner, I've got these." He produces two silver hoops from his pockets. "You both wear one. If she moves more than ten feet away..."

He makes a loud buzzing noise.

MJ can't suppress her fond smile. "Been a big sound effect day for you."

"I know, right?" Jack gushes, shifting his weight from foot to foot excitedly. Turning serious once more, he says, "But seriously, MJ, she'd get hit with ten thousand volts. Trust me, these babies would eliminate any possibility of escape."

"Right, yeah," MJ says, nodding. "And how do you plan on stopping her from maiming or killing anyone within the ten-foot range, including the Doctor?"

"She wouldn't try anything in public," the Doctor reasons. "Well, anything to people 'sides me, but I know I can counter any attempt she makes."

MJ chews on her bottom lip as she considers all of this. Eventually, she relents. "How about this? You can go to dinner with the Slitheen or you can wire the extrapolator up to the TARDIS. It's one or the other. You can't choose both."

The Doctor bristles. "MJ, I'm nine hundred years old and this is my ship. I don't need your permission to take Margaret to dinner or to wire the extrapolator up to the TARDIS. I appreciate your advice and all, but you can't tell me how to live my life or run my own ship."

She grits her teeth. Something about the way he's talking about the TARDIS is really irksome. Okay, yes, he's her pilot. But the TARDIS is hers too, in a way. This ship, her astéri, has become her home in a way she never thought anywhere other than Camp Half-Blood could. Here and camp are the only places she's felt completely safe since she was eight. That means so much more to her than she could ever hope to put into words.

And MJ knows, not in her godly way but in her common sense way, that both situations — Margaret leaving the ship for dinner and Jack hooking the extrapolator up to the TARDIS — have an extremely high chance of ending in disaster. One is risky enough, but to do both? It's hubris, plain and simple.

Nobody knows hubris better than MJ; she's had a lifetime of learning how to curb it, how to stop it from destroying her. Mickey was right. They've gotten overly confident. They need to rein themselves in and exert more caution.

MJ takes a deep breath and looks at the Doctor with wide, pleading eyes. "Please don't do this. Let's just..." She steps forward and takes his hands in hers. "Fuck the extrapolator, we stay another twelve hours. We'll be fine. Spending more time around humans would be good for all of us, I think." She smiles shyly. "And maybe instead of taking Blon out to dinner, you could take me."

"Who's Blon?" the Doctor asks, brow creased.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"You know what? Forget it." MJ drops the Doctor's hands. "You do whatever the hell you want and I'll clean up your mess when it inevitably blows up in your face. Just like the Gelth."

He reels back. Before he can get another word in, MJ storms off.

*

MJ sits in her window seat with one knee pulled up to her chest, the other leg tucked beneath her, silently fuming as The Winner Takes It All plays in the background, her pressing of ABBA's Super Trouper spinning on the record player. She rests her chin on her propped-up knee and glares at nothing in particular. Why can't the Doctor just listen to her? Doesn't he trust her?

She lets out a groan and flops back, sprawled across the seat now. All of this is so annoying. She should just come clean — tell them everything she's been holding back. After all, how can she expect the Doctor to trust her when she's lying to him?

Okay, so you come clean, a voice in the back of her mind whispers. Then what?

She grimaces. That's the real problem, she decides. It's not telling them the truth — it's all the stuff that comes after. How does she weave her worlds together? If all demigods find out about aliens, will they take it upon themselves to defend Earth from extraterrestrials too? Will Luke recruit aliens to his cause? And what about her new friends? They love her; that much is obvious. So how does she keep them from putting their lives on the line in the Second Titan War? If Luke recruits aliens to his cause, wouldn't it be for the best to have the Doctor there on the frontlines? But how could she ask that of him?

Maybe that's part of the problem — she wouldn't have to ask.

MJ gets up. There's no point in pouting in her room. She should grab her book or a new project and wait in the console room for the Doctor and Blon to get back. She hasn't crotcheted anything in a hot minute. Yeah, she'll grab her hooks, some yarn, and crochet...a coaster, maybe. Or a scarf. She'll ask Jack for ideas.

*

When she gets to the console room, Jack is under the console, hooking up the extrapolator.

"MJ?" he calls out.

"Yeah, it's me," she says. "Mind some company?"

"I'd love some company," he says. "You gonna be reading or crafting or—"

"Crafting," MJ tells him, plopping down in the pilot's seat. "Gonna crochet something. Any ideas?"

Jack pokes his head out from under the console. "Can you make me a bag? Like one of those tote bags with like, the squares and maybe. With hearts."

MJ nods. She'd made a bag like that for Silena a couple of years ago, so she knows what she's doing. "What colors?"

"Blues."

She rummages through her bag and finds a nice dark blue yarn. She'll start with the granny squares and then piece them together.

They work in relative silence, MJ humming softly. The TARDIS almost seems to hum along.

"You two seem pretty close."

MJ pauses in her crocheting. "Hm?"

"You and the TARDIS," Jack clarifies. He sits up, careful not to hit his head on the underside of the console, then grabs the console to help pull himself up. "She's not as responsive with me and Rose as she is with you."

"Really?" MJ asks, brow creasing. She'd never considered that Jack and Rose might have a different relationship with the TARDIS than she does. Does that mean something? She tries to shrug it off. "Well, you guys don't talk to her like I do, I guess."

"Oh, I talk to her," Jack says. He's checking the monitors now, making sure everything's working right. "Rose'll never admit it, but so does she. For some reason, she just...doesn't like us as much as she likes you." A cheeky smile curls his lips. "I guess she shares her pilot's preferences."

MJ's cheeks heat and she rolls her eyes, grinning. "Oh my gods, shut up."

Jack's gaze darts between her and the screen. "So, I've been meaning to ask...that ring of yours, it's celestial bronze?"

Her entire body tenses. "How do you—"

"You're not the first demigod I've met," he says with a nonchalant shrug. "And the combat skills plus the 'Oh my gods' plus the camp necklace...well, it was pretty obvious. You're a Greek demigod, right? Child of Athena, I'm guessing."

MJ's heart is in her throat. "Yeah. And yes, the ring is celestial bronze. It's a glamor for my sword and shield."

"Can I see?"

Unsteadily, she rises to her feet and abandons her project on the chair. She takes a few side steps closer to the railing to give herself more room. In rapid succession, she pulls the sword pin and taps the shield emblem twice, and she's wielding her sword and shield for the first time since August. She twirls her sword — she hadn't realized how much she missed the familiar weight of it in her hand until now.

Jack lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Gorgeous." He makes eye contact with her and winks. "And the sword and shield are pretty good-looking, too."

MJ rolls her eyes fondly and returns her weapons to ring form. She shuffles her weight from foot to foot uncertainly. "Do you think...does the Doctor know?"

"Don't think so," Jack says, shaking his head. "From what I understand, you guys — demigods, that is — bounce between fact and fiction. Just depends on the time and the place."

"Do you think I should tell him?" she asks next. "Him and Rose, I mean. I just...I don't want to put them in any more danger than they already are, you know?"

Before Jack can answer, the room shudders.

His eyes go wide. "Did you feel that?"

"Yeah," she says, a crease forming between her brows. "But the TARDIS only shudders like that when we're moving. Could it be something happening outside? Some kind of earthquake?"

She runs around to the monitor she knows she can use to see outside. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"That's so weird," he says. "Maybe she—"

The TARDIS makes a weird rumbling noise and then everything starts falling apart.

The room shakes violently, the lights flickering in and out. The extrapolator and console spark. MJ checks the monitor again. When it's not malfunctioning, she can see the street lights outside are shattering and throwing sparks. There's an odd blue light shining on the ground and reflecting in the water sculpture they're parked in front of.

"It's the extrapolator!" MJ shouts. "We have to unplug it!"

"Working on it!" Jack assures her.

"Any way I can help?"

Jack's working frantically. "No, no, I've got it."

She watches intently, gripping the edge of the console to keep herself upright, as he disconnects the extrapolator. Nothing happens.

"Oh, fuck me," Jack swears. "It's feeding off the engine!"

The door flies open and the Doctor rushes inside with Blon.

"What are the hell are you doing?" the Doctor yells.

"It just went crazy!" Jack exclaims.

The Doctor sprints to the console. "It's the rift!" he explains. "Time and space are ripping apart. The whole city's gonna disappear."

Small explosions erupt from the console and MJ lets out an uncharacteristic yelp, darting back to avoid the sparks. When she regains her composure, she scowls and storms over to Blon, yanking her away from the door. "You did this, didn't you? This was your backup plan for your backup plan!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Blon shouts, doing an excellent job of pretending she's afraid.

"Tell us how to stop it!" MJ demands.

The wires of the console glow and pulse. Sparks are flying with every explosion. Steam rises from the mechanics and fills the room with fog. A particularly violent rumble sends MJ stumbling away from Blon. Another explosion acts as a barrier between MJ and the Slitheen. MJ throws her arm up to shield her face. More rumbling makes her fall on her ass.

"It's the extrapolator!" Jack tells the Doctor as the two of them do their best to fix this. "I've disconnected it but it's still feeding off the engine! It's using the TARDIS. I can't stop it!"

The Doctor shakes his head in disbelief. "Never mind Cardiff, it's gonna rip open the planet!"

Rose bursts in, almost losing her balance. "What is it? What's happening?"

"Oh, just little me!" Blon exclaims gleefully.

MJ catches the way Blon glances at Rose. Time seems to slow, just like it did in the church with the Reaper, and MJ leaps to her feet. Blon sheds one arm of her skin suit and reaches for Rose, but MJ's faster — she shoves Rose out of the way and gets caught in Blon's clutches instead.

"One wrong move and she snaps like a promise," Blon threatens, wrapping her fingers around MJ's throat and lifting her clean off the floor.

MJ's friends freeze. MJ's shove had sent Rose tumbling into Jack's arms, and now Jack stands in front of Rose protectively. The Doctor is to their left, expression grave. MJ decides to take a page out of Blon's book and plays the victim. She claws at the hand around her throat with one hand, the other discreetly reaching behind her. Blon draws her closer and traps MJ's arm between Blon's front and MJ's back, but MJ's hand is already in position.

"I might have known," the Doctor says.

"I've had you bleating all night, poor baby," Blon taunts, forcing MJ forward. "Now shut it." Her gaze switches to Jack. "You, flyboy, put the extrapolator at my feet."

Jack hesitates and Blon tightens her grip around MJ's neck. MJ lets out a very convincing whimper, but in truth, MJ hardly feels it. She's had too many nightmares of Luke's hands wrapped around her throat. She's grown accustomed to pain like this. So no, MJ's not afraid or in pain; she's being patient. Blon's claws are too close to her carotid — she needs to wait until Blon's distracted and maybe even loosened her grip a little before MJ can strike. Jack looks at the Doctor for guidance and the Doctor nods. Jack lays the extrapolator at Blon's feet.

The Slitheen smirks down at him. "Thank you," she says in a sickly sweet voice. "Just as I planned."

"I thought you needed to blow up the nuclear power station," Rose blurts out, eyes wide and wild. Clever girl — she's trying to buy time.

"Failing that, if I were to be arrested, then anyone capable of tracking me down would have considerable technology of their own," Blon says. "Therefore, they would be captivated by the extrapolator. Especially a magpie mind like yours, Doctor. So, the extrapolator was programmed to go to Plan B."

Blon yanks hard on MJ's hair with her human hand, earning a yelp, and continues monologuing. "To lock on to the nearest alien power source and open the rift."

MJ manages a strained smile, locking eyes with the Doctor. "Is now a bad time to say 'I told you so?'"

Agony shoots through MJ, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips, but it has nothing to do with Blon's steadily tightening clasp. The pain radiates from her temple, setting her nerves ablaze, and spreads through every inch of her, then dulls to an odd tingle. What was that?

"And what a power source it found," Blon says with unexpected reverence, looking around the room in awe. "I'm back on schedule thanks to you."

"The rift's gonna convulse," Jack says. "You'll destroy the whole planet."

"And you with it!" Blon snaps.

She steps onto the extrapolator, pushing MJ aside while maintaining an iron grip on her throat. MJ bites back a grin. Any second now.

"While I read this board over the crest of the inferno all the way to freedom," Blon boasts. "Stand back, boys. Surf's up."

There's a twist in MJ's gut and then a panel of the console directly in front of Blon bursts open. A blinding golden light spills out, captivating Blon for a second too short for MJ to enact her plan.

"Of course, opening the rift means you'll pull this ship apart," the Doctor says, strangely serene.

"So sue me," Blon sneers.

"It's not just any old power source," the Doctor continues. "It's the TARDIS, my TARDIS. The best ship in the universe."

"It'll make wonderful scrap," says Blon.

"What's that light?" Rose cries out, shielding her eyes.

"The heart of the TARDIS," the Doctor answers. "This ship's alive. You've opened its soul."

Blon looks directly into the swirling light. "It's...so bright."

"Look at it, Margaret," he says.

Blon keeps looking, her face softening. "Beautiful."

"Look inside, Blon Fel Fotch," the Doctor encourages. "Look at the light."

Blon's grip on MJ relaxes. MJ could break away and run, let the TARDIS deal with Blon — because she knows in the way she knows that Blon isn't riding any pan-dimensional surfboard away from the destruction of Earth — but that's not who MJ is. She'd told Blon earlier that if the Slitheen made one wrong move, she'd kill her.

And MJ Winslow is a woman of her word.

MJ draws her hunting knife with her right hand and swings. The blade embeds itself in Blon's eye. Blon roars as MJ drops from her grip, rolls under Blon's alien arm, and pushes to her feet in one fluid motion. MJ wraps her hands around the handle of her knife and forces it in further, green blood gushing from the wound as she twists the blade.

"Matilda!" the Doctor shouts, and it's so unexpected that MJ turns to look.

It's a mistake. She knows as soon as she does it that it's a mistake. Never take your eye off your enemy until they're dead — it's combat 101. But the Doctor calls her name, her first name and not her nickname, and what can MJ do except turn to look?

There's a flash of green in her peripheral and then there is blood.

MJ vacantly presses her hands to her neck as blood spurts from three long gashes that run from her right shoulder to just under her left ear, deep enough that she sees a glimmer of bone in her shoulder out of the corner of her eye. Deep enough to slice through three arteries — right subclavian, right common carotid, and left common carotid, narrowly missing her left subclavian. Deep enough to kill.

MJ sways and falls to the grating, landing on her side. She vaguely registers a thudding sound that must be Blon dropping dead. It's a small comfort as she tries in vain to stop the bleeding. The blood, disturbingly warm, gushes between her fingers and floods her throat and then she's drowning in her own blood, red spilling from her lips. Through the blinding light still pouring from the console, she can just about see Jack holding a screaming Rose back as the Doctor stands frozen, watching the blood drain from her and rust his floor.

This isn't right, she thinks distantly. My story's not over yet.

The pressure on her wounds ceases, her hands falling to lay by her head. There's nothing to be done. No clever trick or last-ditch effort. Not even nectar or ambrosia could save her now. She lies there and waits for the cold to creep in.

But it doesn't. Instead, MJ just gets warmer and warmer, as if the sun itself is flooding her veins, and something about it feels right — like coming home. The heat builds inside her, searing her muscles and scorching her bones. Just when she thinks she might actually burst into flames—

Everything goes black.

END OF ACT ONE

*

soooooooo...how's everyone doing?

two things: first things first, sorry i've been so bad about replying to comments!!! i'm going to try and catch up over the next day or two. secondly, i'm going to take a two-week break between act one and act three, so next chapter won't be up until *checks calendar* november 30th. see you then :)