"Is there anything else you'll need before I go on break, Mr. Moffat?" I ask, and with a cautious pause, add, "…sir?" when he doesn't look up from the script. When he does look up, he looks like he's suppressing a laugh. And nobody would really blame him. I mean, he's Steven Moffat, THE Steven Moffat! Screenwriter extraordinaire…and the man that every person who's ever really wanted to write even a small commercial idolizes. And then there's me, the frazzled, first-year screenwriting intern. I've got piles of half-written scripts and finished episodes lying around my flat that I'd die to have Steven Moffat read. If, you know, I could scrounge up the courage to make eye contact with him, or remember where they keep the coffee machine around here. Yeah, that would be nice.

My headset beeps, and I have to adjust the clipboard I'm holding, piled high with papers that are just waiting to go flying away from me, to answer it. "Yeah, thanks, I'll be right there," I mutter. I look back up from my clipboard to see that my boss is laughing quietly. My eyes go straight back down. Maybe I've done something wrong…?

"Yes, can you please tell David to come see me, I've got a new episode for him," he says. He always seems like such a nice person, he's never once given me a direct order, like I've seen some of the other higher-ups do. He doesn't at all seem like the kind of person who rips out your heart, stomps on it with spiked shoes, and then sloppily stiches it back together and shoves it back in your chest, all using television.

"I'll make sure to do that for you, sir," I say, shifting my clipboard to my other arm and looking down carefully over the papers to make sure I don't step on any wires as I go quickly to the exit door.

I find David's trailer quickly—everyone and I mean everyone, who works here, knows where it is. I knock on the door a few times and the door opens, and David Tennant is smiling at me. He's still in costume, long coat and all, a few papers I recognize as the episode we're currently filming. "Hello there," he says, his smile broad and seemingly instinctive. "Can I help you, er….Morgan, was it?"

"Meghan, sir," I say, feeling my face heat up. I never have been able to deal with that hair of his…or maybe it's the fact that he's so nice to even a lowly intern like me. "Um, Mr. Moffat wanted me to tell you to come see him later today, something about a new episode…" I say quickly, almost stumbling over my words. Oh, shut up, I can hear you laughing…it's not like any female on set with a pulse and an interest in men isn't in love with David Tennant.

"Alright, I'll be there in a few minutes," he says cheerfully. "Thank you very much, Meghan," he nods at me, that hair of his almost bouncing up and down. I give him a nervous smile in return.

"No, problem, Mr. Tennant," I say, smiling back at him nervously. Not knowing what else to say, I wave goodbye and turn around, keeping my head down and pushing up my glasses and letting my curly brown hair fall around my face. Behind me I hear a shouted goodbye and the closing of the trailer door.

My next stop is the tech department, otherwise known as the special effects palace by all of the technical interns. I look up again. "Now, what was it you wanted, Theo?" I say, standing in the open door of the sound room.

In front of me, a boy my age looks up from a computer screen and smiles at me from behind his own headset. His light brown hair, grown down to his shoulders, is mussed and it's clear that he's been playing with it like he always does. His blue eyes shine mischievously. In fact, everything about Theo radiates mischief. Right down to his ratty jeans and old, worn t-shirt that I've told him a thousand times not to wear to work because it's awfully unprofessional. "Hello Meghan!" he says, smiling. So many people smile on this set, and again it's almost hard to believe that we're all working on one of the most heart wrenching television shows in all of history. "Look," he says, pointing to his computer screen. "I made a thing," he grins like a five-year-old on Christmas.

I put my clipboard down on an empty section of desk and move to stand behind Theo. The computer screen is showing a simple screensaver. I'm confused, never having been very proficient with technology. My knowledge extends to typing fast and that's about it. "And where might this thing be?" I ask, taking off my headset and letting it fall around my neck. I poke the mouse and the screen comes to life, showing a simple desktop. "I don't get it, Theo…" I complain. "Theodore Atkins, if you're messing with me…" I warn.

"I'm not! If you'd just let me get to the mouse, I'd show you!" he laughs and snatches the mouse out from under my finger. "Click the red button in the corner, here," Theo takes my hand and places it back on the mouse, guiding it over to the red button. "Now, with this nice new thing I made, you can click the red button and this happens!" he grins ear to ear before pushing down on my finger and clicking the button.

You know how you can just feel it when you're not supposed to press the big red button, and then you do, and then you just know that you shouldn't have pressed the red button? Yeah. That's what I feel now. Because right now, there are tinny screams coming from the speakers of the computer and a very angry-looking weeping angel staring at me from the screen. I jump and almost reflexively smack Theo across the back of his tawny head. "Theodore! I swear to God!" I'm glad that there's nobody else in the room, because I think I just shouted almost as loudly as Donna Noble on a rant. (Yeah, everyone working on Doctor Who is pretty much obsessed. Get over it. Yes, you there. I can feel you rolling your eyes at us nerds.) "Turn it off!" I order, and then decide to take matters into my own hands and mash the power button on the screen.

"You are welcome," Theo says, getting up from his chair and taking an exaggerated bow. "Just remember—don't blink!"

"I hate you, Theo…" I return with an exaggerated pout. "And I pity the poor sap that got saddled with you and had to be your supervisor," I shake my finger at him like one of those stern mothers in old commercials.

"Yes, of course you do, but who else are you going to call if you find a Weeping Angel or something like that in your flat and you don't know what to do?" he says, rocking back and forth on his toes. I simply purse my lips at him when I can't exactly find a response. "Exactly," he draws out the word. "Now let's go have our break before we get run out of time. And while we're at it, let's see if you can actually find a coffee machine."

"They hide them really well!" I protest, gathering up my clipboard and following him as he leaves the room at a pace unfair to a PA-slash-personal-Moffat-slave loaded down with every paper in the universe and then some.

XXX

"See, you've got it good, Theo. You're not running around every single set in the bleeding studio, talking to every single bleeding actor, director, hell, every special effects geek all in one hour and then back again for more orders! You get to pick whenever you want to get a cup of tea, you get to enjoy the fact that your feet aren't falling off at the end of the day! And the other PA's, the ones that aren't interns, oh, they are just awful…because they look at you and they think, "Oh, see, there's an intern, oh, she won't last long. And look, she's working for Moffat, the man himself, she's toast!" and then they go on and make sure you know it! And it's the pettiest little things too—the other day, this guy, Alvin; he glued my headset to the table while I wasn't looking! It was the most embarrassing thing!"

"You do get loud when it's just me around, don't you?" Theo raises an eyebrow as he drains his mug of tea.

"Well it's not like I can do it when there's people here," I say, taking a sip of my own beverage. "See, when I say you geeks have it really nice, I mean it, because in there," I point up to one of the sound booths, "You guys can say whatever you want, whenever you want, to whoever you want and it doesn't matter because you're all nerds when you're up there, just nerds. Down here, in the real world," I gesture to the empty set around us, all dark and deserted in its after-hours gloom, "you have to be careful. You say one thing wrong, and suddenly you're fired, and they won't write you a letter of recommendation either. Just…out on the street," I look down at the warm cup in my hands. It's almost sad—how lowly an intern really is compared to everyone else who's already done with film school.

"Hey, it's not exactly that nice…" Theo responds, rolling his eyes. Then he laughs. "Okay, maybe it is that nice… but you could always transfer to the tech department, no big deal. Just pass the class first," he says it like it's nothing.

"I can't find the coffee machines around here, and half the time when I do find them, I can't figure out how to work them. I don't think you should let me anywhere near your fancy screens and buttons," I say, looking around again.

Ever since we'd started working here two months ago, Theo and I had made a habit of getting together after everyone had gone home and treating the set like we owned the place. Of course, we never moved anything, or made any changes, but we'd go anywhere we darn well wanted to—the security never questions the PA's, we get sent literally everywhere—and we'd sit there and have a cup of tea and complain. Well, I would complain, and Theo would point out how much he loved every little detail of his job.

It's absolutely infuriating.

"Well, it's late, I'm tired, and unlike some people, I have to get up at ass-o-clock tomorrow," I say, draining my cup and getting down from the platform I'd been sitting on. Theo jumps off, landing next to me in a pile of nerd and messenger bag. He looks up at me for a split second, then back up at the platform, seeing that he's left his teacup there, and then winces slightly.

"That did not go as well as I planned…" he says, standing up carefully and reaching for his cup, somehow managing not to drop it.

I can barely get a word out past my laughter. "Are you okay?" I ask when I can finally breathe again.

"Yeah…" he says, looking through his bag for something. "Hey, I'll be down really soon, okay? I think I've left something up in the booth…five minutes?" I nod in response. Theodore Atkins, ever the forgetful one.

I watch him run up through the little tunnels off the sides of the set and up to the booth, then stop bothering trying to watch him behind all the equipment. A small, nearly inaudible noise starts playing and I recognize it instantly. "Theo! You do not have time to play with the shiny buttons!" I say as the familiar TARDIS sound gets louder.

Vworp

Vworp

"Theodore!" I yell louder, over the sound. He opens the window of the booth, hanging out of it to yell back at me. He's holding a fat notebook in awful condition, the pages in danger of flying all over the place.

"That's not me!" he replies. "…and neither is that…" he points to the corner of the set, where a blue phone box is appearing, getting more and more solid-looking.

"Theo, it can't be anyone else! Because there's nobody else here!" I say, gesturing to the TARDIS. "I have to say though; this is your most elaborate prank ever. My compliments to the chef," I say, turning away from the TARDIS and applauding him. Behind me, I hear a door open. Must be one of the janitors.

Someone behind me starts speaking, too. "So…where exactly are we?" a very familiar voice says. I turn around and see…Freema? But Freema's already left, and so has David…but they're right there, walking out of a bloody TARDIS hologram… "Theo, you can turn off the hologram thingy now…"

"Really? Hologram thingy?" he raises an eyebrow. "And…we don't have a hologram projector…"

"Okay then, um…" I don't know what to do at this point. "Um, this is all very funny, Mr. Tennant, but the set's closing, and we were just leaving—"

"Mr. Tennant? Who's that?"

Oh, this has got to be the most elaborate prank anyone has ever pulled on any intern in history. "Very funny, guys," Theo says. "Anyway, we need to be getting home, and the set's closing anyway, so you should probably leave too…"

"Are you going to ignore the fact that we don't even know where we are, Doctor?" Freema says.

"What are you talking about? We know exactly where we are, we're on a film set! This nice young man's just told us that!" David responds.

"Alright, I've had enough of this, I've had a long day, so I'd just like to find out what's going on here and go home," I shout, getting everyone's attention.

"Oh, we haven't introduced ourselves properly, have we? Well, I'm the Doctor and this is Martha," David says cheerfully.

You have got to be kidding me.