In which Greg becomes less confused

Greg looked at the package River had given him. He decided that the console room was probably not the best place to open it. Also, he wanted coffee. Kitchen, he thought. But where is the kitchen? Something hummed in the back of his mind. I'm here, it seemed to say. "TARDIS? Is that you?"

Yes, it hummed.

"Hi. Okay if I call you 'old girl'?"

The TARDIS hummed happily.

"Okay. Could you show me to the kitchen?" A path of light appeared on the floor, leading to a corridor. Greg followed the light. It led along the corridor to a medium-sized brown panelled door. He opened the door, and sure enough, it was a fairly ordinary kitchen. Greg went and put the kettle on, setting the package on the table as he did so. He reached up to a shelf of mugs, took down one at random, and grinned. It was exactly like his own special mug at home, even down to the chip in the side.

When he had his coffee (and had enjoyed watching the "I AM LOCKED" change to "I AM SHERLOCKED and the wallpaper appear), he sat down at the table and examined the package. Brown paper and string, nothing too fancy. He unwrapped it. Contents: a blue diary like River's, a phone, a letter, a wallet, and a

very familiar green pen. "Riptide?" he wondered. He picked up the letter.

Dear Past Me, it read in his own handwriting, yes, you are COMPLETELY sane. Also, stuck here permanently, as far as I can tell. Yes, you jump through the Doctor's timeline, even past what you've seen on TV. Green Riptide is now Green Sonic Riptide. The diary and the wallet are what you think they are. You should probably go to your room after you read this, and change into the clothes you find there. You and I are Greg and the Other. Go to The Princess Bride when in doubt, but then, you already do that. I think you can figure everything else out. -Other

Greg looked up from the letter. "That… was VERY weird. Green Sonic Riptide? Cool! And that was also the best coffee ever. Wait… I have psychic paper? Yeah! Always wanted it!" He went and washed out the mug, then left the kitchen and stared at a door on the other side of the corridor that he was certain hadn't been there before. Guessing that's the door to my room. "Thanks, old girl!"

Greg entered the room and looked around. It was exactly the kind of room he wanted: comfortable and with lots of books. A daybed was against one wall, with what looked a lot like the Fourth Doctor's scarf blanket his sister had knitted for him last Christmas on it. There was a desk in front of a window he presumed was fake. It was covered in papers, all unreadably blurry. Perception filter, probably. There were two cubby holes on top of it, one on each end. The right one had a sticky note on it with a capital G, and the right one said O.

Greg looked in the O cubby. There was a note in there saying "You should check the G cubby first usually. Could you get me Malory's Morte D'Arthur? Money to pay for it is in the other one. Just put it in the cubby when you get back, or give it to Martha to put in here. - Other. Greg put his hand in the G cubby and felt something cold and hard. He took it out. Elizabethan money. He went over to the bed and changed into the clothes that were on it. He didn't bother looking thoroughly at them, just transferred the contents of his pockets.

Suddenly Greg felt nauseous, then everything swam, spun, and generally made him dizzy before he blacked out. When he regained consciousness, he was in 9 or 10's console room. "Oh yeah, Martha, this is Greg," said a familiar voice.

"Hi Doc," said Greg.

"Hi Greg," said the most amazing woman ever, Martha Jones. "Gosh, you're young."

Greg looked down, which he should not have done, noticed he was standing on the railing, and, of course, fell off.