Nowhere Girl

6

Three Days Later…

Captain Jack Harkness cleared his throat.

"I've been asked to deliver a lot of speeches in my time, more than I can count. Weddings; parties; promotions. And funerals. I'm not going to pretend that I haven't said goodbye to a lot of people, and I'm also not going to pretend that I don't hate goodbyes, but today I'll say two of the hardest goodbyes of my life. I'd also like to apologise in advance; the truth is, I could stand up here for hours, and I still wouldn't be able to touch on how much Mickey Smith and Martha Jones meant to all of us, to each other, or to the world. So forgive me for the inevitability that things will be kept short.

"Both born and raised here, in Peckham, only a stone's throw from each other, it wasn't until 2009 that they met. And of course, thanks have to be given to the Doctor, without whom none of us would be here today and Mickey and Martha would most likely never have met – which would be the greater tragedy than what we're commemorating today. Mickey, a young mechanic who never even suspected he would become a hero someday, all his compassion spent on his grandmother who relied upon him; and Martha, a girl who dreamt of becoming a doctor and healing humanity from the day she broke her arm when she was just seven. It was when they came to work with me that they truly connected, and within a year they'd gone onto bigger and better things: married life and freelancing. I'm sure they were glad about not having me boss them around anymore. I won't get into the list of all the people they've saved, hearts they've touched, and planets they've rescued, but trust me – it's a long list, and anybody who was there with them should feel truly honoured. I know I do.

"And they might have continued saving lives for the rest of theirs, if there wasn't a new life of their own they had to take care of. Matilda was brought into this world, a world her parents worked so hard to improve, on the 10th of August 2014, five years after they first met, but it was as soon as they found out Martha was pregnant that she became the centre of their world. I remember because I was there that same day, and I, along with my co-godparent, Rose, promised Mickey and Martha that we would always do our best to keep Matilda safe and well. On that front, nothing's changed.

"The memories of who they were, what they accomplished, what they meant to us, and what they leave behind, are never going to leave us. It's important today to remember that Mickey and Martha wouldn't want us to spend the day sad and crying, they'd want us to use this as an opportunity to reconnect with each other. New friends, old friends, family close and distant: they would want us to cherish the happy memories of them, and I ask everybody to, rather than mourn, instead celebrate. Celebrate that we had the pleasure of knowing them at all, celebrate the billions of people who wouldn't be here if not for them, celebrate that life goes on. Because they would want us to go on, want us to keep living. Live twice, three times as hard, help three times as many people, and always remember it's the happy memories and moments that keep us truly human, and truly alive."

Clara Oswald's eyes were full of tears. In fact, there wasn't anybody she could see – except for Jack, who was masterful at keeping his respectful composure – who wasn't weeping. So much for him asking them to celebrate instead of mourn. It had been one of those eulogies where he said a lot without really saying anything at all, unable to go into detail about their time with the Doctor, their time battling alien invaders, travelling through time, et cetera. Then again, he was right about the list being too long for that. Mattie was clinging onto Rose on the front row, one ahead of Clara, crying very hard but very quietly; she had gotten through two packs of tissues that day already, and it was only eleven in the morning. Thirteen was on her right, by the wall. Oswin was on her left, Adam Mitchell next to her, Nios and Jenny on the end. Esther Drummond was somewhere further back with Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams, the latter of whom were both elderly now, and their daughter Anwen – who was only slightly older than Mattie but aged at the ordinary pace. She had children now, Clara had overheard, but they weren't there. The Gutkeleds – Ravenwood and Sally Sparrow – wouldn't be showing up until the wake, since they couldn't actually enter a church. The Tenth Doctor was on the front row as well, as was Tish and her oldest son – Martha's nephew. Leo wasn't around anymore, either. Donna was on the second row but on the other side of the aisle, next to River Song who'd made a surprise appearance (she never came to events; Clara hadn't seen her for decades.) The rest of Martha's remaining relatives, and Mattie's cousins, were gathered on that side of the room, too, but Clara didn't know any of them.

The most painful thing of all was saying goodbye to the coffins. She didn't really know what you were supposed to do when you were given that opportunity, but everybody had it. After Jack stepped down, music began to play, signalling the end of the service. Once they left, the coffins would be taken by the undertakers into the crematorium.

"I never know what to say to the coffins," Clara whispered to her wife, whose hand she was holding.

"I don't know that you really have to say anything, Coo," the Doctor replied, "Just do what seems natural." What felt natural was pausing in front of the two coffins for a brief moment, after the family had already been and gone, but she didn't say anything. She didn't touch them, either; it felt like an intrusion. It became almost claustrophobic with everyone queuing to greet the coffins and then leave the chapel, and Clara was glad to be out of there, where she joined her limping sister on another grey, drizzly morning. Rose was looking out for Matilda, so Clara had time for her other responsibilities.

"How are you doing, then?" she asked Oswin, who leant against the outside brick wall, trying to avoid the small crowd of funeral-goers gathering as the chapel emptied. The Doctor detached herself from Clara and slid away to find Jenny, who already appeared to have engaged some of Mattie's estranged relatives in friendly conversation, despite never having met them before. Adam Mitchell was checking his phone.

"I don't know. Always seems like a waste when people die…" she sighed, "I suppose nobody asked for my opinion, though… don't like funerals. I never got a funeral."

"Nobody would have anything nice to say about you, though," Clara told her. Oswin glared and Clara smiled and leant on the wall with her shoulder. "Really, though, you're alright with coming today?"

"I wouldn't do them the injustice of not attending their funeral, Clars," Oswin said seriously. "And I'm fine, when Mr Popular over there isn't glued to his phone screen." She knocked Adam on the leg with her cane, making him look up. Rose and Mattie – Ten lingering behind his wife – were the last few lingering in the doorway of the church, and Tish, who remained seated on the front row, waiting. Jack was off chin-wagging with the old members of Torchwood. How long until they all migrated to the location of the wake? Adam had volunteered to drive them all in some other car of his, after reclaiming his Omnio prototype some days previously.

"Sorry, sorry…" he mumbled, "I'll put it back on do not disturb…"

"He's in a PR war with Prometheus," Oswin explained.

"Isn't Prometheus a drug company?" Clara asked him, "What do they want with you?"

"I don't know – their CEO takes an issue with me."

"Is he the one with the stupid name?"

"Will Smiles. Well, William Smilson, but he always wants everyone to call him 'Will Smiles' – 'because that's what he does!'" Adam mimicked the obnoxious Prometheus sound-bite that was played at the end of every interview Smiles did – which was a lot, now that Clara thought about it; he was always all over the TV. "Forget about it, it's not important. He's just making up lies, anyway… funeral limbo like this is always awkward…"

"You think everything's awkward, babe," Oswin said as he put his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders a little, like he didn't want anybody to see him. Then Oswin lowered her voice to address Clara, "How is Matts doing, by the way? Is she okay?" Clara wasn't sure how to answer.

"We're supposed to be taking her to get the rest of her stuff from her house tomorrow," she said.

"What's happening with the house?" Adam asked.

"It's left to Mattie, but she can't do anything with it until she turns sixty in short-years. Eighteen in long-years. So it's just going to be sort of… sitting there," Clara said, "Do you know that house is the old groundskeeper cottage built where there was once a super haunted mansion?"

"No, but that sounds like your wet dream, frankly," Oswin quipped, "What're they still doing in there?" Clara glanced back over her shoulder at Mattie, Rose, Ten, and Tish.

"They're waiting for the coffins to be taken away for cremation," Clara explained.

"I can't tell if Martha wanting to be cremated is ironic or incredibly fitting…"

"Both, maybe." Mattie shook and clung onto Rose, silent on the other side of the chapel's glass door, as the morticians came to remove the coffins. The Doctor still occupied with Jenny for the time being, presumably discussing her renovation schemes she'd been talking Clara's ear off about whenever Clara deigned to listen, Jack came meandering over. Perhaps to investigate how long it would be until the chapel was emptied for the next funeral, so that he could stat shepherding people in the direction of the wake venue.

"What a mundane funeral for two of the least mundane people this universe has ever seen," he said, sounding almost disappointed, but then changed his tone slightly, "It's quaint, I suppose."

"Not sure they would've appreciated the big parade Mitchell offered to fund," Oswin remarked.

"I didn't…" Adam mumbled, "I mean, I would've, if – but they didn't… um…" Clara could see why Smiles was able to give him the run-around in the media – for a boy-genius he had always been pitifully inarticulate.

"Nice eulogy," said Clara to Jack, "Liked how vague it was."

"Bit like your poetry."

"Very funny."

"Thanks. You know about the ashes, don't you?"

She frowned, "How do you mean?"

"I gave the funeral director your address for them," he explained, "No point sending them to Mattie's house."

"Oh, right… well, yeah, that's probably for the best… it's school holidays, so we'll be in… were there any instructions for them? Like, do we need to take Mattie to scatter them somewhere?" But at this moment the doors re-opened and out walked the trio of the most fragile mourners of all, though Tish was fairly distanced from even her own niece.

"I'll come and grab you later; Ianto's got a rental to drive them in, I said I'd do it," he motioned to Mattie and Rose, and then quickly left Clara and her ilk to go take care of that.

"How many seats are there in your car, then?" Clara turned to Adam.

"Uh… I'm only driving us three, and the Doctor. Esther's taking Jenny and Nios. Everyone else has other arrangements, I guess. Do you want to get going? I don't suppose there's much point hanging around here; everyone's going to be at the wake anyway."

"Yeah, you go on ahead, I'll grab whatshername," Clara said, referring to her wife. Adam and Oswin did just that, him helping her to walk away towards the nearby carpark. Other people were dispersing as well. Thirteen was talking to Jenny quite animatedly, which looked a bit off considering their surroundings.

"…see, if I make the study, y'know, transdimensional, it could be a totally cool thing, and-"

"Is this good funeral talk, do you think?" Clara interjected, touching her arm.

"Uh…" the Doctor faltered, "I was just telling Jenny about my ideas for that extra room, instead of just filling it with all the boxes we've moved out of the loft." Rose had been a big help in clearing out the contents of their loft over the last few days, ramming the all into the spare room.

"Well, tell her about it later, Adam's waiting to drive us to the wake. There'll be sandwiches. He says Esther's driving you and Ni," Clara reminded Jenny, who nodded like this was new information.

"Right. I'll go find them…" Jenny disappeared while Clara tugged on the Doctor's elbow to follow in Adam and Oswin's tracks.

"What about Matts?"

"Jack's driving her," Clara said, "Also, uh, he says the ashes are getting delivered to us."

"What, really? How long does that take?"

"Took a week for me to get dad's ashes," Clara said, "Probably a similar time. He said he'd fill me in on the rest of the details at the wake…"

"I'm not convinced by his ability to fill in any details, after the world's vaguest eulogy."

"Mmm, I told him the same thing."

"Should've got you to write it."

"Definitely shouldn't've. Maybe the Tenth Doctor…"

"Are you kidding me?" Thirteen asked as she opened the back door into Adam's car, he and Oswin already in the front. "The guy could barely even get through his own wedding vows. He's worse than Mitchell."

"Who's worse than me?" Adam asked, overhearing once the door was opened. Clara didn't answer him.

"I don't think he's quite that bad…"

"At least Adam didn't hesitate halfway through saying 'I do,'" Thirteen continued.

"No, I'll give him that," said Oswin, "I definitely hesitated, though. Wish I'd listened to those initial doubts… biggest mistake of my afterlife, when you think about it."

"Feeling's mutual," said Adam, starting his car. Oswin fake-gasped. Clara and the Doctor fastened their seatbelts.

"Heartbreak! And on such a sad day, too…"

"Who were you talking about, though?" Adam persisted as he started the car. Like Clara, he too preferred to actually drive rather than let the automated system do it all. She'd never been a huge fan of autopiloting cars everywhere, despite the fact they were proven to be incredibly safe (a lot safer than letting humans drive the cars.) She supposed they were both just old-fashioned.

"Ten," Clara explained, "I was saying maybe they should have had him do the eulogy instead of Jack."

"Jack just played it safe," Oswin said, "What do you want him to do? Talk in graphic detail about how they confessed their feelings to each other in a sewer while hunting an alien worm parasite that killed people by crawling into their arseholes and then ripping out of them?"

"Well… no, obviously not," Clara said, feeling queasy after being reminded of that old story.

"It's a eulogy, not a biography. Not a 'complete history of Mickey and Martha.' I think he was fine. What did you want him to do? Read out one of your poems?"

"Considering my poems are predominantly about lesbian sex, I don't think they'd really fit with the tone," Clara said dryly.

"I hear you two are renovating?" Adam changed the subject as he followed the directions to the wake venue, which was a local pub as far as Clara could remember; they didn't really have access to a house to host it at, not unless Sally Sparrow wanted to volunteer her family home in Westminster. But it would be too much of a hassle trying to get the whole funeral party through the London traffic, not to mention that the house was overrun with junk as far as Clara could recall; the overflowing vampire archive and all of Esther's Lightning Girl paraphernalia.

"I'm making our spare room transdimensional," the Doctor announced.

"Haven't you been banging on about doing that for months?" Oswin quipped.

"Yeah, but somebody's only just let me."

"Well, we didn't need the space before," Clara said defensively, "It would have been unnecessary when we had the loft, but now the loft has to be emptied. I'm still not convinced about what you plan on putting in there."

"Is Mattie gonna be okay in the loft?" Adam asked.

"I think it's better she goes up there than we do," Clara said, "And doubly better than giving her the spare room when it's still small. Loft's big, after all, and she needs her privacy. And, you know, so do we…"

"You're utterly filthy, I hope you know that," said Oswin. Clara, sitting behind her, kicked the back of her seat, but for once Oswin didn't react in the childish way she usually would. The gloom of the funeral and their circumstances was still hovering, heavy and pungent, in the air. "Tell you what's funny, Clars; both of our childhood bedrooms were in attics, too."

"Mm, well, we're not planning on keeping Matilda a prisoner up there, so I doubt this is remotely similar to your childhood."

"I also like to think we'd notice if she started dating an extra person who lived with us for four years," said the Doctor, "Which your relatives seemed to be utterly incapable of."

"Flek and I were very discreet, that's all," said Oswin, "Not that you know the definition of 'discretion.' Either of you."

"Anyway," Clara ignored her, "It's a nice loft. It's got a skylight. And I really hope she'll be okay there…"

"We all want her to be okay," Adam assured her. It was only Oswin who seemed to have the heart of stone at times like this, which was due to nothing more than her masterful ability to save face; Clara had been on the receiving end of a handful of teary phone calls from her twin over the last few nights.

"I just worry about her today," Clara confessed, "The funeral is the hardest part."

"Well, the worst bit's over," the Doctor said, "What can be worse than having to watch those coffins leave?"

"Being bombarded by questions about how she's feeling by distant relatives, I'll bet. That's the bit I hate, after all."

"Are you going to send her to school?" Oswin asked. The Doctor and Clara both paused and glanced at one another uncertainly.

"Uh…" began Clara, "We, erm… we haven't brought it up with Mattie yet…"

"Better talk about it soon," Oswin advised, "Let her get used to the idea, if you do decide to send her. Don't want to spring it on her too close to the time."

"Well, it's only July," Thirteen said, "Oughta wait until she settles in with us first."

"School would probably be good for her," said Adam, switching on the indicator and turning into a carpark around the back of a pub slowly filling up with the funeral party. "She should really socialise with other teenagers… she is still in adolescence, like, emotionally, after all."

"Can you imagine how awful it must be to go through puberty for, like, thirty years?" Oswin mused. "I wasn't even alive for thirty years."

"Rain's getting worse…" Clara said, peering out of the window as Adam parked. It had only been a fine drizzle, but now it was increasing; the weather forecast said there was going to be a bad thunderstorm by the evening. They'd forgotten to bring an umbrella.

It was left to Adam to help Oswin out of the car, though Clara waited nearby in case she was needed (as usual). The Doctor grew antsy next to her, presumably dying to get something to eat from the wake spread without wanting to sound insensitive and mention how hungry she was. Clara, too, was very interested to see what food there was – egg sandwiches, she hoped. The old Torchwood lot had arrived first, then the four of them, and quickly behind came a few cars carrying Mattie's blood relatives. Rather than wait for Matilda herself, Clara deigned to follow the Doctor into the empty pub, where Anwen Williams was part-way through unwrapping the clingfilm from the trays of food laid out while her parents went to sit down. A myriad of quartered sandwiches, as predicted, and other things you'd only ever eat at a funeral or a picnic. Scotch eggs, sausage rolls, spring rolls, brownies on the end, and two large flasks labelled 'tea' and 'coffee.'

"D'you think the bar's open?" Clara asked, joining her in perusing the sandwiches.

"Maybe," said Anwen, to whom she had never actually said a single word to before.

"I'll have a cider," said Rhys.

"We don't know if the bar's open," Anwen told him.

"I thought you just said it is?"

"No, we were saying is the bar open." He was getting hard of hearing.

"It's 11am, Coo, and you're gonna start drinking?" the Doctor questioned disapprovingly.

"I fancy some cider. I'm sad, okay? Maybe I want a drink. It's not like I'm driving us home." Jenny was supposed to be taking them back in the TARDIS.

"So you're gonna get drunk."

"Not drunk, just have some Bulmers, or – look, forget about it, I'll have some tea," Clara lied. If the bar was open, she was immediately going to try and procure something at least mildly alcoholic.

It was only a short while later that they were seated and slowly eating their way through the cold buffet, and Clara had already had to prevent the Doctor once from going back for seconds too soon. Not that that sentiment prevented Jenny from collecting an almighty heaping of food and then wandering over their way to comment on the absence of the Gutkeleds.

"Are they just not coming?" Adam asked.

"You know, um… I'm not sure…"

"You're kidding, right? They might skip the funeral and the wake?"

"No – it's just that it's early, you know? They don't even usually get up until mid-afternoon. And if the weather forecast is right…"

"You could just take the TARDIS to go get them?" the Doctor suggested.

"I… don't know… maybe they just won't… Sally doesn't like to think about death or be reminded of it. And we're supposed to be being at least a little discreet, it's bad enough having you two next to each other," she indicated Clara and Oswin, "You know what – I'll call them. I'll see what's going on…" And so Jenny took herself and her plate of pastries out of the front door of the pub. Clara herself couldn't say she was that interested in whether the Gutkeleds did show up, but thought it would be rude of them if they didn't (and she'd never known Sally Sparrow to turn down free food.)

An unnatural silence fell through the pub when Matilda finally arrived shortly thereafter, still with Rose attempting to comfort her and keep her company. This was the exact thing Clara had been worried about her having to go through, nobody giving her any room. But was looking away awkwardly even more uncomfortable than watching her outwardly? Jack followed them in last of all and saw it his duty to try and improve the mood.

Quite loudly, he said, "How about I see if I can't get this bar serving?" much to Clara's enjoyment. There were murmurs of approval for this suggestion, possibly not quite as enthusiastic as Jack had been hoping for, but enough for him to go get the attention of the staff on duty. No doubt he'd be able to smooth-talk his way to some liquor. After Jack made that announcement, Mattie slipped away with Rose and Ten to a corner, and Clara became occupied by Esther pulling a stool over to their table.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?" Clara joked, letting her attention wane from the rest of the funeral party. For some reason, River and Nios were in conversation in the corner, and Clara wondered what those two could possibly have to talk about.

"Have you seen the news?" Esther asked Adam.

"You mean the thing with Prometheus?"

"Yeah! That jerk wants to implement counter-measures for the Lightning Girl!" Esther complained.

"Probably because 'Lightning Girl' is such a boring name," Oswin said, "Maybe if she had a cooler name. Like 'the Bolt.' Why isn't she called the Bolt?"

"Guess you'll have to ask her vampire roommate who came up with all the obnoxious nicknames to begin with," Esther muttered.

"The Blue Bolt would be even better."

"Too little too late. Seriously, though. Counter-measures."

"It's like when Lex Luthor got his hands on Kryptonite," Oswin said.

"Well, yeah! It's just like that! Superman's not gonna hurt anybody, and neither am – I mean, neither is the Lightning Girl…"

"I don't know," said Clara, leaning both her hands on the table so that her sprawling electrical scar running the length of her left arm was plainly visible and in Esther's line of sight, "I might beg to differ."

Esther grimaced, "You're a jerk too."

Jack clapped his hands, "Bar's open!"

"Great," Clara said, making to climb over her wife so she could get to the booze.

"Hey," the Doctor stopped her.

"I just want to-"

"But you said-"

"Just-"

"I was just looking around for you," now Jack came over, also joining them at Esther's side, while Esther lowered her voice to continue moaning about Prometheus with Adam. Oswin was stuck like a gooseberry in the middle of them all, involved in neither conversation. "I believe you were asking me about the ashes?"

"…Right," said Clara, trying to remember exactly where they'd left off. She was distracted by the sound of the rain increasing outside, lashing against the windows.

"There aren't any instructions about scattering them," Jack explained.

"What, none?" asked Thirteen, "What're we supposed to do with them, then?"

"I guess that's up to Mattie. Maybe she'll want to keep them. God knows, Jenny's been carrying that one guy's urn around for 250 years and they only knew each other for half a day."

"Jenny's a weirdo, though," Oswin pointed out.

"That's my daughter," Thirteen scolded her.

"And you're a weirdo, too."

"Gee, thanks."

"Look, they're not being delivered for a week," Jack resumed, "Once they arrive, ask Mattie what she wants to do with them, I wouldn't bring it up beforehand. Although, my best guess is that she will want to keep them, so maybe you two should get used to the idea of having them around in your house."

"I'm sure we have much spookier things hidden in our house," Clara sighed. "Now, um, I really need a drink, so if you'll excuse me…" To the Doctor's annoyance, Clara just phased through her so that she could escape the confines of their corner table (where she'd been semi-trapped against the wall) and join the small group of people milling about by the bar, waiting to order drinks

Rose appeared at her shoulder. She'd stropped crying, but her eyes were still surrounded by red, inflamed circles.

"Could you, uh…" Rose began, "Could you buy me a drink? Please?" Clara raised her eyebrows at her. "I don't have any money, and I don't understand how you use phones to pay for everything these days."

"It's not that complicated," said Clara.

"Doesn't anybody use money anymore?"

"Cash? Nope. They barely even print it. But sure. What do you want?"

"What're you having?"

"Whatever cider they've got on tap. Looks like Strongbow from here."

"I'll just have the same, then."

"How are you, uh, holding up, then?" Clara asked after a moment's pause.

"Don't know that I am holding up," Rose looked at her feet.

"Yeah…"

"You seem alright, though."

"Well, you know. Funerals are strange. I'm sure it'll hit me later tonight when I try to go to sleep. Right now I'm just dying for a smoke."

"I don't know why you don't quit."

"I keep quitting, but then things happen that mean I need them…"

"You don't need them."

"Easy for you to say. I wish you non-smokers would show a bit more empathy sometimes."

"It's your choice, though. It's not like you were born that way."

"Funny," Clara quipped, "That's exactly what my god-awful aunt said when she found out I'm queer." She got to the bar and asked for two half-pints of cider, thinking that the Doctor certainly would not be happy if she came back with a full one – and because an entire pint was a bit much for that time of day. But funerals were like Christmas, in that you could spend the whole day drinking with nobody batting an eyelash. Thunder rumbled overhead. "'Scuse me," she caught the bartender's attention again, "Is there anywhere I can smoke?"

"You can try your luck in the beer garden," he said, laughing and glancing at the rain-streaked window, "But, uh… you might want to hold off."

"I'll be okay with the rain," she said, handing Rose her cider.

"Really?" Rose asked incredulously, "You're going out in this?"

"Fresh air would be nice…"

"Rain might wash off some of the stink."

"Ha, ha. I'll see you in a bit." Clara took off, taking her cider and making a beeline for the door outside.

The rain really had picked up in the last twenty minutes, considerably. But luckily it was completely empty out in the secluded beer garden, so she could safely use her telekinesis to make an invisible umbrella to keep herself dry. Floating her glass next to her, she hastily lit a Marlboro and settled in to enjoy a few minutes all by herself.

But she wasn't alone for long. Her enjoyment of her cigarette and alcohol was interrupted when someone came bursting out of the pub door next to her, like they were desperately looking for an escape. She was surprised to see it was Mattie, who hadn't noticed her immediately.

"Matts?" Clara asked, making her jump. Mattie looked away. The door swung closed behind her.

"I thought it would be empty out here…"

"Sorry about that… are you-"

"Don't ask me if I'm okay. I'm tired of everybody just asking me if I'm okay. It's stupid; of course I'm not, how could anyone be?" she complained. Clara fell silent, trying to work out what she should say, if anything. But Matilda beat her to it. "Are you smoking and drinking?"

"…I'm a terrible role model, what more can I say?" she half-joked. Mattie smiled slightly. "I always need alcohol to get through a funeral. They're unbearable completely dry."

"Maybe you should buy me a pint, then."

"Buy your own."

"I don't look old enough."

"Then I suppose there's your answer." Mattie scowled.

"You can't talk about how great alcohol is and then just not buy me any."

"Sweetheart, if I bought you alcohol to drink, your mother would come back from the dead and murder me. And if there's one person I'm scared of, it's Martha." Mattie rubbed her eye underneath her glasses, which were getting speckled with raindrops.

"Yeah. She probably would murder you."

"The look she used to give me whenever I used to ask her to light a fag for me… it'd turn your blood cold…" Mattie was still rubbing one of her eyes. "Don't do that, Matts. You'll irritate the skin."

"It's bothering me again," she complained. It was her lazy eye she'd had since she was a baby, that had never quite let itself be corrected. Clara remembered her having to wear an eyepatch at one stage to unsuccessfully try and fix her squint.

"Well, rubbing it won't help," Clara told her sternly, "Give over." Mattie dropped her hands by her sides, then came to lean on the wall next to Clara.

"How are you not getting wet?"

"Telekinesis," she said, "Do you want me to do you?"

"No. I like the rain. Do you know what's going to happen to Mrs Ward?"

"Just a council funeral… it's, um… it's going to be an unmarked grave."

"It's what? That's not fair!" she protested, "Just because she lost everybody, now nobody will remember her at all? Won't even know where she is?"

"…You know what? I'll have Adam look into it. He'll be able to get her a proper headstone. He's got sway – much more than me, at any rate. And then we can visit, if you want. There's not really going to be a funeral…" Clara, who had stayed behind at Mrs Ward's house to wait for the emergency services to come, had bade a mortician who came to collect the body to keep in touch with her about what was happening. These were the most recent updates.

"Everyone should have a chance for people say goodbye to them. Say goodbye properly."

"Of course they should. Have you had anything to eat, though?"

"I'm not very hungry. I don't want to have to eat in there with all those people."

"They're your family."

"I know, but… it's too much."

"I can go get you something? Bring it out?" said Clara, who understood exactly what Mattie meant about it being 'too much.' But she wasn't sure anybody found wakes particularly enjoyable. Sure, she was a big fan of the tiny sandwiches and other snacks, but the atmosphere of death was still nauseating. "You didn't have any breakfast, either."

"I'm not hungry." Clara's cigarette burned down, so she dropped it in the mud and rain and stamped it out with her foot.

"What do you think of taxidermy?" Clara changed the subject, wanting to distract Mattie – at least for a little while.

"Taxidermy?"

"Yeah."

"It's kind of cool. Why?"

"Urgh."

"What?"

"Nothing… just, the Doctor's got this hideous taxidermy bald eagle stashed away on the TARDIS, and now she wants to get it and put it in the new room she's upscaling. And I've had to put up with the ghastly thing in the console room for decades, and just when I thought I didn't have to see it anymore…"

"Why does she have a taxidermy eagle?"

"It was a gift, from Abraham Lincoln, because she helped him write the Emancipation Proclamation," Clara explained, "He gave her that and then invited us for a nice evening at the theatre, which we, uh, had to decline. For the exact same reason we didn't join Jack and Jackie on their trip to Dallas."

"Taxidermy's kind of cool. I wanted to learn how to do it, but dad wouldn't let me, he said it's too macabre."

"He has a good point."

"I like macabre."

"We're all very aware of how much you like macabre, Mattie. After Martha threw out your collection of dead spiders." She'd almost finished her cider by that point, Mattie getting steadily soaked. "Are you sure you're alright with this weather?"

"It's calming."

"…Do you want to do something? Go somewhere else? Just a walk, I mean. Get away from here for a while. There's no shame in not wanting to be surrounded by over-eager mourners." Mattie was about to respond, when Rose appeared at the door into the pub, opening it a little too hard and partially breaking off the handle.

"…Whoops. I'll just leave that…" she said, then turned to Mattie, "So this is where you've got to… and are you still smoking?"

"I was actually just lecturing Matilda about the dangers of smoking," Clara lied. Mattie frowned.

"Not really."

"I can if you want?" Clara suggested.

"No thanks."

"Did you want something?" Clara asked Rose.

"Just looking for Matts."

"I'm going back inside, anyway," Matilda said.

"Are you sure?" Clara said.

"Yeah… I don't want to stay for long, though."

"That's fine. We don't have to."

"I just don't want to be rude and hide…"

"Try and eat something," Clara advised, though she didn't think Matilda would listen. She nodded meekly and then walked past Rose to go back inside. Probably for the best, Clara wasn't sure where they'd go if she had wanted to go for a walk. Just wander around Peckham for a bit? It wasn't exactly scenic. While Mattie returned – bravely, Clara thought – to the wake, Rose lingered outside in the rain.

"Smoker's paradise out here," she said as the door closed.

"Mm, the rainstorm really adds to the ambience."

"How long do you think you'll stay here, then?"

"I don't know. Half an hour? See what the Doctor thinks." Rose nodded.

"I remembered something my mum said to me earlier," Rose began. Jackie Tyler had died a long time ago, just like all their parents.

"Oh?"

"It was the day we got trapped in the parallel universe, when the Doctor and I arrived that morning… she told me that in fifty years' time, I'd have become a stranger. I wouldn't have any reason to come back to Earth once she's dead, and I wouldn't be Rose Tyler anymore… and now look. Still coming back, right back to Peckham… Powell Estate's only a ten-minute walk from here, where me and Mickey both grew up. This is the same pub where he used to go to watch the football, every Sunday. Used to make me go, too, until I complained enough," she reminisced fondly. "Laundrette mum went to every time the washing machine packed in used to be just over the road. Suppose it's closed down now."

"You seem the same to me as you did when we first met," Clara said, "And it's still home, Earth. Not so easy to say goodbye to as the Doctor might make it seem sometimes. I went off to space too, but now I'm back here… she said something similar about me too, you know. About changing."

"How do you mean?"

"You remember when she went back in time?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, when she came back, she told me she was surprised by how similar I was in the past to how I am now, that she almost thought that when she went back there she'd barely recognise me, that her influence would've changed me so much. And instead… we really are frozen in time."

"Do you ever get the feeling that we're dying out?"

"I think we're just getting old. That's what happens. People start dying. Funny how we took it for granted during the Dimension Crash… could you imagine if we were back there now? Able to just knock on the next door and see Martha? Mickey? The Ponds?"

"Your husband?"

"Maybe…"

"You don't really want to go back there."

"Do you think?"

"Imagine the washing up we'd have to do. And constantly having to buy milk, the eternal milk run."

Clara laughed, "Yeah, I suppose… you know, Rose, you can come to Brighton whenever you want to see Matilda. Like, really. Any time."

"The Doctor said the same thing."

"Well, we mean it. Like you said, it feels like we're dying out. We should try and stick together, even if we don't all live in the same place anymore."

"Another reason mum was wrong; I do have a reason to keep coming back to Earth. I've never failed to visit Matilda, and I'm not gonna fail now."

"I'm sure she'll love to see you, and so will the Doctor and I. We don't get many guests."

"Hey, I'm… I'm sorry about having a go at you the other day, when you came all that way to rescue us. And for not trusting that you'd be able to look out for Mattie."

"It's fine. I like to think you would have come to rescue me."

"Only out of a sense of obligation."

"I'd expect nothing less."

"…Do you think she'll be okay?"

"I hope so."

"Do you think we'll be okay?"

"When have any of us ever been okay? And without Martha to fix us all up? We should be placing bets on how long it takes for Jenny to be irreparably damaged."

"A few hours, probably."

"Can I ask you something personal? Only a bit personal. I think."

"Go ahead," said Clara, who couldn't really think of any question she'd refuse to answer Rose about. Especially since Rose could see into the time vortex and find out all the answers if she wanted.

"Why did you move back to Earth?"

"Well… being on the TARDIS for that long felt like I missed out on having the life I always wanted. Being a teacher, and stuff. It just got maddening after a while. And honestly, it wasn't hard at all to convince the Doctor to leave, especially not when I brought this up to her right after we'd been apart for weeks and she was missing me so much. Anyway, it's good we have an actual home where Mattie can stay, otherwise where would she go? To stay with her cousins who don't even understand what she is? Why she ages three times slowly?

"At the end of the day, though, Earth's home. The Doctor doesn't have a home for her to go back to anymore, she's only got me and the TARDIS. And you know what Judy Garland says; there's no place like home."

"I suppose that'll always be true, there really is no place like home…"