A/N: Oh, the absolute cringe of people actually reading this chapter. Please keep in mind that at this point of writing this fic, it was just for me.

Emerald Green

Chapter Three

Extraordinary Ordinary

Molly felt the Doctor pull back, slowly letting go of her shoulders. For a moment she felt like she was freefalling, the colors whirling around beneath her. But her vision settled, and she felt more on solid ground. After a moment of trying to keep the image imprinted in her memory forever, she turned her head. The Doctor was already back at the controls, messing around with gears and buttons. She turned back, said a silent goodbye to the Polychrome nebula, and shut the door. She walked back towards him.

"So," the Doctor began. "Where to next?"

"I thought we were trying to figure out how I got here and how to get me back," Molly reminded him.

The Doctor glanced up. "Plenty of time for that. I've already got the TARDIS working on your scans and trying to track the path you took through universes. In the meantime – where to next?"

Molly shivered. "The wardrobe."

He looked confused for a moment, and then his eyes went wide. "Ah. Right."

She wrapped her arms around herself again. "It's completely freezing in here. How can you stand it?"

The Doctor walked away from the controls and motioned for Molly to follow him up the stairs. "It's comfortable. It's you lot that like to keep the TARDIS sweltering."

Molly followed, and hid the pain in her spine with each step upward with a smile. "Oh, right, Time Lord physiology," she commented, more to herself. "I forgot you run so much colder than we do."

"They discussed my physiology?" he asked as they began down a corridor. "Please tell me my show isn't that boring."

"It's been on for about sixty years, they've talked about a lot of things."

"Sixty years?" he asked incredulously. After a moment, he continued. "That makes sense, actually. I've been around a long time, and the number of adventures I've had could probably add another four or five hundred years to the series."

She looked over at him. "How long was mine on, before it got cancelled?"

"It only made it to series three," he explained, sounding disappointed. "The actress won an award for it, and she got offers to do some big films, so she quit." He glanced over at her. "I'm still not over it."

"So…" Molly started speaking before she even fully realized what she was going to say. It was starting to sink in that he'd watched her life, just like she'd watched his. "You must know almost as much about me and I know about you."

"I wouldn't say so," said the Doctor. "I doubt either of our shows really portrayed us in our entirety."

Molly stopped walking, cold filling her stomach that wasn't from the low temperature. "But you know."

"Know what?" The Doctor took a few more steps before he realized she wasn't following, then paused and turned back halfway to look at her. "About the names?"

Her heart sank. She swallowed hard, fighting to keep herself from crying again. "Yeah," she whispered, her throat tight. "About the names." She had never imagined she would have to worry about the comfort character she idolized knowing the secret behind the names, that he would know what they meant to her, that he would know the awful, horrific truth about her. She didn't want him to know. With all her soul, she didn't want him to know that about her.

He took a few steps towards her. He seemed to realize that she desperately hoped he didn't know. "I don't," he said.

"You're lying," she accused. "Rule number one, the Doctor lies. There is no way there could have been a whole show about me and they didn't show it."

"They didn't," he reassured her. "I'm not lying, I promise. It was one of the big mysteries of the show. It was cancelled before they ever revealed it. I hated not knowing – I always hate not knowing – so I tried bribing the writers. They refused to tell me. Said something about artistic integrity that honestly, I wasn't paying attention to." He paused. "If you like, you can watch the whole thing and see for yourself. But I swear, I don't know what the names mean."

She couldn't be certain he was telling the truth, but the mild frustration in his voice helped her feel secure in the thought that he hadn't been able to solve the mystery. The promise of being able to check for herself was further reassurance. Warm relief flooded her. "Okay. Okay. Good." She continued onward, and the Doctor followed beside her.

After a moment, the Doctor cried out, "Oh!" and snapped his fingers as he jumped in front of her, facing her while walking backward. "Question, big question, big, important question!"

"What?"

"What do people think about the bowtie?" he asked, reaching up to straighten it again. "Do they think it's cool?"

Molly remembered the intimidating faces he'd given her, the sharp way he'd spoken when she'd first arrived, his hands shoving her onto a deserted planet as he pretended to leave her for dead. "No."

She felt a little vindicated as his face fell. "What? Really?"

"Really." But a second later she realized she couldn't take the sad, frustrated eyes. "I'm messing with you. Everyone loves the bowtie. Bowties are, indeed, cool." She paused. "Actually, come to think of it, I'm pretty sure you're the one that made them cool."

"Of course I did," he said with a grin, and turned through a door to her left. She followed him into what had to be a wardrobe the actual size of Narnia. Endless rows of clothes surrounded her, almost like a department store. In fact, like a department store, there were signs: Earth 1560's Women's, Galomora 5 Religious Robes, Universal 1980s Fancy Dress, a whole section for bowties. Upstairs there were rows of hats, bags, scarves, jewelry. She spotted a fez under glass.

"Huh. It wasn't like this last time I was here," the Doctor said, glancing around. "Guess she got bored and reorganized."

Molly looked around, feeling both lost and excited. A stroll through would be fun, especially through the historical or alien sections, but mostly she just wanted some pants on. She spotted 'Earth 2020s Women's' about twenty feet away and headed in that direction. The Doctor followed her.

"By the way, good thinking, flattering the TARDIS like that," he said. "Flattery will get you everywhere with her."

"Flattery?" she turned to look at him with a confused expression. "I was telling the truth. She's got more fans than any single version of you."

The Doctor looked a little hurt. "Well, you might've lied to spare my feelings," he said. "Flattery will get you everywhere with me, too, you know."

"Oh, don't I," she breathed. But as she arrived at the racks of clothes that felt like home, she began to feel a strange lightheadedness, attached to the idea of making a good impression on the Doctor. She began looking through racks for something that would fit both her body and her personality, and looked up to steal looks at the Doctor, who'd gone to the other side where a selection of astronaut clothing from different times and different planets hung, holding one up to himself to see how it looked.

Oh. The Doctor was right there. Not just any Doctor, her Doctor. She'd stared at his face on a screen for hours, almost obsessing over his gestures and speech patterns. She'd thought Matt Smith was a genius, so easily going from a childlike Doctor to a self-loathing Doctor to an ancient Doctor, that the writers who created his dialogue had been so brilliant with his cleverness and his speeches and the lessons they taught about coping with trauma and self-worth and love. But this wasn't an actor, this wasn't a writer – this was the character himself, a real, live person who had actually done and said all of those things. She had been so focused on processing that it was all real, that she had forgotten to process exactly who it was she was standing next to, talking to.

She had met Matt Smith once, at a convention. Took a picture with him and Karen Gillian. She'd promised herself she'd be cool, she wasn't the type to get starry-eyed and ditzy just because someone was famous, that she knew they were just people. But the moment she'd stepped up to them, the air around her seemed to buzz with an electric energy – an electric, nervous energy. She'd felt lightheaded, like she did now. Everything had become one big blur, and she still couldn't remember anything she'd said, but she did, sadly, remember accidentally waving hello three different times.

That was nothing compared to this. That was a pebble compared to a mountain. This wasn't just a person, just an actor doing their job, this was the actual person she'd actually loved. The one she had adored watching every frame of.

"What? Is there something on my face?" the Doctor asked, wiping a hand over his cheek and looking to see if there was anything he'd swept away. Molly realized she'd stopped looking through clothes and had begun to just stand and stare with wide eyes. She realized they were dry from staring and blinked a few times, and forced herself to look down at the clothes.

"Oh. Nothing. Nothing. There's nothing. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing." That was two or three too many 'nothings'. It was the waves all over again.

"Oh, nothing, is it? Nothing at all?" She wasn't looking at him, but could sense his sardonic expression. "Is that why you've said 'nothing' five times in a row?"

She sighed and looked back up at him. "I did say I was a bad liar, didn't I?"

"You did mention it, yeah."

Now she was looking at him again, she felt that star-struck idiocy sinking in again, and couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. Or blink, for that matter.

The Doctor started to look uncomfortable. "Okay, you can explain any time now."

"Sorry," she apologized, and looked back down at the rack. This was going to be easier without eye contact. "It's just…now that I've started absorbing that this is actually, really happening, I'm starting to feel a little…" and she lowered her voice enough that she wasn't even able to hear the word herself.

"What was that last bit?"

"Star-struck," she mumbled it again.

"Sorry, again?"

Molly rolled her eyes and looked back up at him. "Star-struck, okay? I'm feeling a bit star-struck. Leave me alone, I'm allowed."

He seemed surprised. "Are you really?" Then he seemed to think better of the surprise. "Well, of course you are. I'm awesome. Very star-struck…able." He frowned at the last bit ending not quite the way he'd expected.

She stared at him again for a moment. "…and now I'm over it," she said. "Thanks for that."

He pouted. "Well…I…" Then he sighed and turned around to look through the row of what seemed to be firefighter clothing. Molly turned back to her own search so he wouldn't see the lie in her eyes. Finally, she spotted a pair of black leggings of thick material and an oversized dark green long-sleeved top that would work perfectly in the chill of the TARDIS. She'd need some shoes, but it was a good start. A heaviness about her lids, though, told her she might need to consider asking for a bed before changing out of her bed clothes.

But suddenly, the Doctor was at her side, looking frustrated with her.

"Oi," he said, his voice holding a note of accusation. "Now you've got me all – all star-struck!"

Molly stared a moment. Somehow this was harder to process than almost anything else that had happened. "…over me?"

"Yes, yes, who else do you see here, Queen Victoria?" He paused. "Actually, met her already, never did get star-struck. Lovely woman, though. Hosts an excellent tea."

She felt like a computer that needed rebooted. "…me?"

"Yes, you!"

"Why in the world would you be star-struck over me?"

"Well – well – why wouldn't I?" He lifted an arm and tried to lean on the rack of clothing beside him, but the hangers shifted with his weight, causing him to slip and stumble little. He moved his arm higher, and it failed again, so he folded his arms across his chest as though he'd always meant to do that. "I told you, you're my favorite show. I've watched the whole thing at least forty-six times. Probably more."

She pulled the jeans and shirt off the hangers. "You can't be serious. Why would anyone want to watch my life forty times? It can't be that interesting."

"Are you joking?" the Doctor asked, skeptically. "You're clever and funny and daring, and determined to put good into the world, even if it gets you in trouble. Especially if it gets you in trouble. You enjoy trouble. Just what I like in a person." He smiled. "I'm a fan. Big fan. Huge fan."

She glanced over at him, raising her eyebrows. "Lots of compliments there. Did you ever say 'yowza' while watching my show?" she joked.

He almost looked offended. "No. Yes. I prefer not the answer that."

She laughed at the absurdity of that ever happening, and turned to walk towards the stairs. "Well, those are all just compliments about me, and while I'm grateful, there's got to be more to the show than just how awesome I am."

He didn't say anything for a moment as she started up the stairs. "Actually, thinking about it, we may be a bit alike, you and I."

Molly wanted to object, and then realized that they'd both called themselves 'awesome' in the space of a few minutes. Okay, in that way, maybe he was right. "I mean, it makes sense why I've watched your show a hundred times," she said. She paused, turning to look to him as she spoke, hoping he didn't notice it was actually to take a break from the spinal pain. "It's not just the running around and getting into trouble, and helping people, and getting out of trouble again, or even the saving the universe part. It's just…feeling like we're seeing new planets and the future and the past along with you. It's a taste of freedom we'll never experience. Most people will be trapped working for most of the day, most of the week, most of the year, most of their lives, and still never have the money or time to go and see new things and have new experiences and make memories. But watching the show, we get to experience it all second hand, the wonder of it all, everything that almost feels like magic." She paused, trying to put it all into words rather than the rush of feelings she always experienced. "And it's the…the…well, you know, you've given those speeches. The reminders that we're each unique in the universe, that we have worth even when we don't feel like it, that it's more important to be kind than powerful or smart or brave. That you don't have to have an amazing life to be someone amazing. It's all so important." And then she realized exactly who she was saying this to, and turned to keep walking to hide her blush. For a moment she'd felt like she was just talking to another fan, not describing the Doctor's life in passionate terms to the Doctor himself.

She continued up the stairs and felt herself leaving the Doctor behind. Maybe he needed a moment to process the emotions about his life she'd just gushed like a moron. But after a moment he called, "So, it is your favorite show."

Molly turned, giving a playful, irritated look. "Shut up." But she knew the Doctor well, and she knew that tone. He was overwhelmed with some emotion, and hiding it with humor. She thought about giving him another moment, and then decided changing the subject would probably make him more comfortable. It would make her more comfortable, anyway. "What's my life compared to all that? No real family, no real friends. Everything I do is on such a small scale it's barely noticeable. No adventures, no decent romances, and my mental health is shit so I doubt there's been any big, inspiring speeches. Not that I recall giving any, anyway." She started looking for a pair of shoes that would fit her small feet. "I might be funny, and clever, and pretty, and yes, I want to make the world a better place – but that's all I am. Characteristics and wants, not anything real, solid. I'm all surface." She said none of this with self-pity. It was all just fact. She was a surface person with nothing going on deep below but pain, and nothing sent out into the world but bits and pieces of dreams. "I'm surprised it even made it three seasons. What's there to win an award for, anyway?"

When he didn't answer, Molly stopped to look at him. He was still standing a couple of feet behind her. Even having studied each moment of him over and over again, she wasn't sure she could read this expression. Surprise? Sadness? Concern? Suspicion? It was like there was a fog between them. She supposed to was true: the shows hadn't portrayed them both in their entirety. Otherwise, she'd be able to read him like a book.

"Do you really feel that way, Molly? That you're…superficial?"

She shrugged and turned back to the shoe rack. "That's a good word for it. Superficial."

"Molly."

His tone shot a warning through her body, a sharpness. It was the sort of gentle kindness in his voice. And gentle empathy always made her cry, which made her feel that she would never stop crying.

"No, thank you," she replied. She spotted a pair of black combat boots on the bottom shelf and picked them up. She'd been a heels girl before the spinal injury, but found that boots suited her better now.

"Molly." His voice was insistent now. She still tried to ignore him, but he approached, took the clothes and shoes out of her hands, and put them on the top shelf of the rack. "Is that really all you see when you look at yourself, at your life?"

"I don't know what other idea the show gave you, but that's my life, Doctor. That's what it is."

He shook his head. "That's not at all what was on the show," he said, his voice soft. "Yes, your wit and your humor make it more fun. But it's not the fun, not the mysteries you solve or the great big question mark of your past that made people watch. At its heart, it's a story about a woman who took all her pain and turned it into something good. It's a testament, that small acts of kindness and everyday heroism are what matter most. You may not be saving worlds, but you're saving people. The regular, ordinary people who fill the Earth, and ordinary is important, ordinary is beautiful. You don't have to blow up Cyberships or talk down parasite gods the size of a sun to be important, to be a hero. You can help a small charity raising money to pay hospital bills for children with a rare disorder become successful, decry the destruction of the planet by forcing a company to change its waste disposal habits, give the homeless a safe place to sleep, help a lost child find their mother. And that's not touching on the bigger things you did – forcing a corrupt businessman to donate his profits back to the people he hurt, helping to create a free clinic by tricking investors into a meeting, trying to stop a politician from gaining power while connected to organized crime, volunteering for disaster relief efforts. Those seemingly little acts of compassion, the determination to make things better a little at a time, can mean so much more than you believe. It's kindness and courage and being willing to sacrifice for what's right that makes a person a hero. A thousand small acts that change the world…it's the most human thing I can think of."

There it was. One of his speeches that she so loved. And it was directed towards her. It was too much to take in. She wanted to, but she couldn't. The idea of her Doctor comforting her, the meaningful speech, those were overwhelming, yes, but she also felt the wall go up that protected her from anyone trying to make her feel better about herself and her life. Letting those words pierce it felt like it would make her break. She couldn't break here.

She gave a weak smile. "You don't have to talk like that to comfort me."

He frowned, and placed his arm on top of a shelf to lean against it. "And what would you say if your favorite character talked about themselves and their life like that?"

Molly opened her mouth to argue that she wasn't his favorite character, she couldn't be, so it wasn't the same thing. But she didn't want to invite more of this conversation, so instead she said, "Don't be silly. The TARDIS doesn't talk." But all he did was stare at her with expectant eyes, still waiting for a real answer. She made another attempt to make things light again. "Okay, okay. You're my favorite character. Of all time," she said. She decided to leave out just how much he'd mattered to her. "Happy?"

"Are you?" The Doctor asked. "Happy? At all?" He leaned his torso towards her a little. "I don't mean now, here, on the TARDIS. I mean in your life. You don't seem to be."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not drowning in sorrow, if that's what you mean. I enjoy myself. I have fun. I laugh."

"But that's not what I mean," he said earnestly. "I mean…are you happy?"

Molly sighed, and wished for an 'eject' button for this conversation. These were the kinds of things she didn't enjoy talking about. She liked being perceived as a happy person. And she wasn't lying about enjoying her life, as small and empty as it was. But she also had scars on scars and secrets locked in boxes deep in the dark that she fought against every time they tried to seep out. How to explain that she was the happiest unhappy person she could think of…other than him?

"Honestly," she said, finally, accepting that he wouldn't let it go, "I don't remember being happy in my life, ever. Not since I was twelve. I was too focused on surviving and being strong to worry about being happy. There were moments of happiness, of course, everyone has those. But just a generally happy life? Really, truly happy, as a baseline? I don't know what that means. I don't even know if it's real."

A gloom seemed to settle on him, along with a desire to investigate. The Doctor tried to search her eyes for answers about who she was again. "What happened to you to make you feel this sad?"

"I'm not sad," she argued.

"You are," he said. He hesitated a moment. "What do the names mean, Molly?"

She drew in a sharp breath, and then leaned in closer to him. "So, what about you, Doctor? Are you happy?" Her voice was harsher than she'd meant it to be, but she needed him to stop asking questions.

Molly didn't need him to reply out loud. She saw in the wince around his eyes that his answer was the same as hers: no.

She seized the clothes and shoes from off the shelf. "Okay, so. Any chance you have any canes around here?" She asked, and began walking again.

"Canes?" he asked, sounding confused. She was grateful that the empathy was gone from his voice.

"Yeah," Molly said. She supposed it was time to admit her weakness. "The gunshot caused some spinal damage. Sometimes I need a little help walking." She looked beside her at him as he caught up. "Or did they show that in the series?"

"It was the last thing that happened. The screen went dark and the gun went off," he explained. "It's one of the things I tried to talk to the writers about, whether or not you survived. They told me that since the show was from your perspective, and the show was cancelled after you were shot, it meant that you'd died, so there was no story to continue. Very glad that wasn't accurate."

She held fingers to her neck to feel for her pulse. "Nope. Not dead. Not that I've noticed, anyway," she said. "So? Canes?"

The Doctor pointed to a sign to her right, and she began off in that direction, grabbing a pair of socks at the end of the shelving. "I suppose we ought to find out where we are in each other's timelines," he said.

"Right," she agreed. She reached a rack and glanced through them. Nothing too flashy. "Well, mine is pretty straightforward. I survived the attempted murder, went through multiple surgeries the following three or so months, and then went to a sort of hospital/physical therapy rehab for about seven months. Two weeks after I was released, I packed a bag, changed my identity again to Alice Liddell, and ran for London. I went to bed my first night, and woke up here." She turned to him. "That's about it. That's where I am."

"Alice Liddell? Alice in Wonderland?" he asked. "You did read that in an episode once."

"Alice in Wonderland was always one of my favorite books." She smiled. "I guess I've always had a thing for stories about running off to strange new worlds."

"Me, too."

"'Course you would." Molly pulled out a cherrywood cane with a pretty grain pattern. "Anyway, where are you? I'm really confused by it. You seemed to know about Christmas, but you can't have passed that point and still be…well, you. Unless you were just going along with it, which does sound like you."

"No, I wasn't just going along with i – wait, what do you mean I can't be me?" He stood beside her now. "What's wrong with being me?

She turned to look at him, her blue eyes showing her confusion. "I mean…you regenerated."

"Yeah. Whole new regeneration cycle. I recall."

"So…" She waited for him to grasp the obvious. "So, where's the new face?"

The Doctor seemed even more confused. "No new face. Did they not show me after the regeneration?"

"No, they did," she said. "There was the reset, and then the full regeneration."

"Full regeneration? What do you mean?" Lines appeared between his brows as he tried to understand. "I fully regenerated. I even took out a Dalek fleet with the energy. It was so awesome – did they really not show it?" He sounded disappointed.

Molly shifted her new clothes to her other arm. "They showed that. It was amazing. But then you regenerated."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I regenerated twice?"

"No, a reset and then a regeneration." She paused. "…did you not?"

The Doctor gestured to himself. "Obviously."

"Huh. I guess the shows sometimes deviate from what really happened. I wonder what changed in mine," she said, as she hiked the clothes further up her hip. "What really happened?"

He rubbed his hands together. "Well. I regenerated into myself, again, it's happened before, don't know if they showed that. Christmas was saved, then Clara's Christmas dinner. I left Clara there, went off and had some adventures of my own. Last one was saving the Ood from some nasty Sontarans. Did they show that?"

Molly shook her head. "No. After you was the twelfth Doctor, and he had one season filmed before it was put on hiatus a couple years back, and it never aired. It's not fully cancelled, they're still planning on coming back, but there was a huge strike by the writers and actors and editors that went on for a year, and it's taken another to finish up new contracts and write up new scripts and figure out new budgets and prepare for another season. So anything after Christmas probably never actually happened in the show."

"Who played the next Doctor?"

"Peter Capaldi."

"Don't know him."

She searched her memory. "Um, you met someone who looked like him once, in Pompeii. Lobus Caecilius, I think? They reused the actor."

The Doctor's face dropped. "I got old?"

Molly tried not to laugh. "Yeah."

"Hope that doesn't really happen," he scoffed, but then gently took the clothes from her arms. "Come on, I'll take you somewhere you can change."

"Thanks," she said. "But is there any chance you can take me to a bed?"

The Doctor froze, and turned toward her with an embarrassed, weirded-out expression. "I don't know what you're thinking, but-"

She cut him off. "Doctor. It's the middle of the night."

"No, it's not, there's no day and night cycle here."

Molly shook her head. "No, I mean for me. It's the middle of the night for me. I feel like I must have only slept two or three hours, it's got to be like, three am for me – I mean, sleep-wise. And that's on top of the jet lag, and I didn't sleep much the night before I left because of the anxiety." Of knowing she was going to leave Isla behind without a word.

"Oh," he said, finally understanding. "Oh, yes, of course. You woke up here. You'll need more sleep." He motioned for her to follow. "Yeah, I'll get you a room."

"Thanks," she said. She followed him back down the stairs, grateful for the cane though it slowed them both down. As they made their way down the corridor, the Doctor made a 'hmm' sound.

She turned her head towards him. "Sorry I'm a little slow moving."

He waved a dismissive hand. "No, it's not that, that's fine," he said, his voice sounding distracted.

"What is it, then?"

He was silent for a moment, and she watched as the gears turned in his head. "There's something about my show being called 'Doctor Who' that's bothering me. I'm not sure quite what it is." He was silent for a moment longer, but couldn't seem to reach the information he wanted. He looked over at her with a confident smile. "It'll come to me."

Thank you to those of you who have reviewed! I am going through hell at the moment, and each review has given me a reason to smile, and it means more to me right now than I can say.

To answer some questions:

- Our protag's name is Molly Quinn, and will stay Molly Quinn! I know the names at the start were a bit confusing, I'm not always sure how to address name changes.

- This chapter somewhat addressed it, but since it's not directly addressed: there are some changes from their real lives and their shows. So for things such as merch, they didn't appear in the show. For example, Molly's exploding TARDIS tank top would have been just a regular tank top on the show.

- Not a question, but you can call me Gwen! I'm keeping this penname for now because I have some very, very old fanfics to update, and if any old readers are still around, I want them to recognize the name before I change it.

- Not a question, but ramble-style reviews are my favorite to give and receive, so if you ramble or jump topics, you absolutely don't have to apologize!

And thank you to anyone who has been reading but hasn't left a review, too. It's just such a relief to know people are reading this at all after working on it for three years.