Smoke billows from the open hatch in noxious clouds. Muttered curses turn to coughs and I yank up the collar of my shirt to shield my mouth and nose. In no time, the alarms blare. "Caution. Fire detected. Caution. Fire detected," a polite voice chirps from the speakers above.

"Oh, yes. Thank you very much. I'd never have guessed!"

With a great deal more swearing, I snatch an ice extinguisher from the wall and spray its contents through the small hatch until the worst of the smoke is gone. A novel tea towel protects my hand as I kneel, reaching inside. "Doctor?" A great deal of fumbling later and I manage to produce a near-frozen tin. Peering at the charred lump with my nose scrunched up in disgust, I call out again, "Doctor!"

Footsteps thunder along the corridor. Skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway, he surveys the hazy room. "Are you all right? What's that smell? What happened? Are you all right?"

My frustration fades almost immediately, somehow endeared by his panicked expression and general cluelessness. With a sigh, I toss it into the bin and pour out some coffee for the both of us. "Yes. Burnt cake. Also burnt cake. Also yes." He accepts each answer with growing ease and slumps onto a stool at the oak island. I join him, unable to help my sympathetic smile or the brief pat on his hand that makes him tense up once more. "Look, it was very sweet of you to make me a cake after all those sick days but might I offer a bit of advice? Please set an alarm next time."

"Right. Sorry. Got a bit distracted."

I follow the slight twitch of his wrist to the tablet he holds. "Found somewhere new to visit?" I ask. "Hopefully somewhere with less Antiprotea pollen, I think my sinuses might need a break after that one."

Chuckling, he tilts his head from side to side as if deliberating something. "Well, not exactly 'new'."

He passes it over and I read aloud, "'Static anomalies and plasma coils at the Royal Hope Hospital, London. 31st March 2007.' Earth again?"

"Seems to be where most of the fun is, yeah. I reckon this might be another undercover investigation. Haven't done one of those in a while."

His leading tone amuses me. "Oh? What are we, then? Health inspectors? Caterers? I'd pay to see you in the old hairnet and apron—" my focus flits over to the plumes of grey still rising from the oven "—although, come to think of it, maybe that's not such a good idea."

A shy smile plays on his lips and he fishes an ID out of his pocket, passing it to me. "Actually, I was thinking something more like this, for better access."

Examining the small picture of me, I frown. "'Inara Luscinia Smith.' That doesn't make any sense. What—" Doing a double-take, my attention is drawn to the thin band of gold that sits between his pinched fingers. "You're joking," I breathe, all humour gone.

He shakes his head. "Only a biodamper. What do you say... Mrs Smith?"

"Do you have any idea how— Doctor, we kissed."

"Not something I'm likely to forget, is it?"

A sharp glare is enough for him to suppress his smirk. "You know," I begin after a moment's pause, "if you just wanted to ask me on a date, I would've said yes. No need to propose."

His voice rises to an indignant squeak as heat rises up his neck and into his cheeks, "Who said anything about 'proposing'?"

"If I were to go out on a limb, I'd probably hazard a guess and say the one who just gave me a ring!" With a playful scowl, I slip it onto my finger and remark, "Next time I'm expecting flowers at the very least." I get up from my seat and rest my hands on my hips, already flustered by the new and oddly pleasant weight around my finger. "So what ailment am I going in for? Just so we're clear, I'm fine with any kind of break but my fingers. They take far too long to heal."

"What?"

I can't help but laugh at his bewildered expression, rolling my eyes. "Oh, come on, I was a con artist. Sometimes the job required a little realism. Now, what am I doing?" I can already tell what his plan is from the look on his face, though. My voice drops to a stern warning, "No. Absolutely not."

"It's fine. They won't pick up on anything," he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Oh, they won't? You have the blood pressure of an eighty-year-old and — hmm, let me think — two bloody hearts! The second they find out, you'll be carted off to be dissected in some lab. No! As your fake wife, I simply won't allow it."

He shrugs in response and speaks up before I can tell him off for his growing smirk, "Good thing you're only my fake one, then. Grab your coat, we've got an ambulance to catch."

——————

The hospital bustles, lively and loud. Nurses go about their rounds and visitors pour in to see their loved ones. I move straight through, head held high, knowing my confidence won't draw any attention to me.

A passer-by roughly knocks into me, sending my bag flying off of my shoulder from the force. Half of the contents spill out. Declaring a rather loud Capitian swear that I'm grateful nobody will understand, I scramble to recover the lost items. A glance up at the retreating figure gives me no certainty of their appearance; all I see is a leather jacket and a large motorbike helmet.

"Here, let me give you a hand." I look up again to see a young woman with russet skin and dark hair that falls straight to her shoulders. She offers a kind smile which quickly wavers when she picks up a boxed device of glass and metal with an antenna and tape reel protruding from it.

I hurriedly stuff it back into the bottom of the bag. The brief connection of our hands forms a sudden spark. We both flinch. "Science project," I explain as I gather the assorted wrapped chocolates that had come loose from their box. "Thank you so much."

"No problem. Same guy bumped into me just outside. I swear some of these people have no manners. You all right?"

"Yeah. Thanks again."

I keep my hand aloft — still stinging from the electric shock — as I take the lift, gaining a few odd looks. My focus barely passes over them, instead landing on the familiar face at the end of the ward. A smile breaks across my face no matter how hard I try to suppress it. "How's my favourite patient?"

The Doctor seems to be afflicted by the same relief the second he sees me, sitting up a little in bed. His usual suit has been replaced by striped pyjamas that I affectionately recall him wearing on that Christmas so long ago. His happiness soon morphs into amusement when he catches sight of the hand I hold out in front of me as if in greeting. "No need for the formalities," he teases.

Scoffing, I take a seat in the chair beside him and singlehandedly rummage through my bag until I find his sonic screwdriver, which I use to scan my fingers. "Oh, haha. No, I got a shock from this girl. And you really need to make more subtle instruments, your temporal anomaly detector fell out of my bag and I didn't even know how to begin explaining it."

He takes a look at the device and shakes his head, passing it back. "Nothing odd. Just static electricity. Wait, what 'detector'? Is that what it's called?"

"Makes more sense than 'timey-wimey'. Honestly, you're supposed to be all science-y! And I thought that was the whole reason why we're here, because the static electricity is odd. Oh!"

My gasp startles him and he sits up again, eyes wide and panicked. "What?"

"I almost forgot." With a sheepish smile, I produce the box of chocolates. "I stopped by the little shop," I explain after a hesitation.

Immediately, his eyes come alight. "You didn't! Really? Cor, that's brilliant! Thank you, Mrs Smith!"

The nickname pleases me far more than I'd like to admit. Lowering my gaze again, I resume my fidgeting with the ring and mutter, "Luscinia Smith, thank you very much. Gods, if this is what you're like, I can't imagine actually being married to you."

"If I'm really that bad, feel free to take the ring off," he jokes, although I sense a hint of anticipation behind his words.

"Tea?"

The Doctor and I both quickly break eye contact, turning our attention to a nurse. He accepts a cup from her trolley with a polite nod and chirps, "Lovely jubbly! Don't suppose there's any coffee in this place? My dear missus gets a bit jittery without her morning cup."

She seems to interpret my glare as shyness and chuckles. "Yes, there's a machine out in the hall. Is there anything else you need while I'm here?"

He grins widely and pats my knee in a gesture of affection that sends me rigid and airy-headed. "Think we're all right. Thank you."

The second she's gone, I send another glare down at his hand and he reluctantly removes it. "Unbelievable."

The curtain behind me is drawn without warning. Flinching, I look up to see a balding man in a smart suit approach, followed by a group of medical students in lab coats. The girl I had met earlier pauses when she recognises me and offers a warm smile. "Now then, Mr Smith... Mrs Smith," the man says, "a very good morning to you both. How are you today?"

"Oh, not so bad. Still a bit, y'know, bleuch."

"John Smith, admitted yesterday with severe abdominal pains. Jones, why don't you see what you can find? Amaze me," he suggests with what I bitterly recognise as an intention to embarrass her for lack of knowledge.

The girl puts on her stethoscope with a sigh, "Well, it wasn't very clever running round outside, was it?"

We both exchange confused glances. "Sorry?"

"On Chancellor Street this morning? You came up to me and took your tie off."

"Really?" he asks with genuine uncertainty. "What did I do that for?"

Her gaze darts over to me but I simply shrug. "I don't know. You just did."

"Not me. I was here in bed. Ask my wife." Once more, in an effort to get me flustered, he takes my hand and spares a flicker of his eyes towards me.

She seems to believe him but still frowns. "That's weird, 'cause it looked like you. Have you got a brother?"

"No, not anymore. Just me." At his remark, I find myself squeezing him lightly, my thumb starting to stroke the curve of his.

Their supervisor grows tired of the exchange and interjects before Jones can get any more distracted, "As time passes and I grow ever more infirm and weary, Miss Jones."

"Sorry. Right." She leans over and presses the drum of the stethoscope against the left side of his chest. I tense, growing defensive at the sight of the examination, but he squeezes back and I find my nerves easing. Clearly hearing the uneven sound of his double heartbeat, she moves to the other side and listens for it again. Realisation and denial merge into one and she meets his gaze as if expecting to find the answer.

"I weep for future generations. Are you having trouble locating the heart, Miss Jones?"

A few of her peers suppress smirks and she stands again. "Erm, I don't know. Stomach cramps?" she suggests.

"That is a symptom, not a diagnosis. And you rather failed basic techniques by not consulting first with the patient's chart." His smugness vanishes when he unhooks the clipboard from the end of the bed and receives a shock, dropping it.

Jones looks at me with growing suspicion. "That happened to me this morning."

Morgenstern nods. "I had the same thing on the door handle."

"And me, in the lift," another student says.

"Well, it's only to be expected," the supervisor chuckles as he picks it up again. "There's a thunderstorm moving in, and lightning is a form of static electricity, as was first proven by..." He pauses, wishing once again to catch them out. "Anyone?"

"Bejamin Franklin," the Doctor states.

He straightens his posture, eyes narrowing. "Correct."

His eyes shift focus as a far-off look comes across them. "My mate, Ben," he murmurs. "That was a day and a half. I got rope burns off that kite. And I got soaked."

"Quite."

"And then I got electrocuted."

"Darling," I hurriedly interject, tightening my hold on him again in brief warning, "you're rambling again. Sorry. He has all these stories, you see, just floating about in that head of his."

It seems enough to satisfy him. "Moving on..." He waves over a passing nurse to quietly recommend, "I think perhaps a visit from Psychiatric."

The moment they are out of earshot I break into a fit of laughter stifled against our connected hands. When I've composed myself enough to sit up again, I find that the Doctor is watching me again with a warm, fond look in his eyes. "You really need to learn when to shut up. One of these days you will get into trouble."

He hums, traces a fingertip against my ring and softly repeats under his breath, "'Darling'."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

—

Lunchtime comes and the shift change gives us a moment. Grabbing the dressing gown draped over the back of my chair, I help the Doctor into it and lead the way out of the ward. I can't help my sad smile when I see him in it, once again reminded of that Christmas. He hesitates, concern weighing on his brow when he sees my face. "What's wrong?"

I can barely hear him over the heavy patter of rain against the window at the end of the corridor. I shake my head, waking myself from the thought, and force a brighter smile. "Nothing. Just... very Arthur Dent."

"Now, isn't that interesting?"

His attention has shifted from me. I follow him to the window and follow his gaze out to the streams of water racing down the pane. Only, it isn't ordinary rain. Beyond the blur, I can see the rush of thousands of raindrops all moving up towards the sky. "Oh, Gods."

Before he can say a thing, I grab him and bring him down to the floor, huddled in the corner. My arms instinctively reach to cover our heads. Just in that moment, white light burns on the other side of the glass and the ground beneath us shudders. The walls tilt and we follow them, keeping a tight hold on each other as we land on our sides. Distant screams are lost on the roll of thunder and broken equipment.

Then it's over.

Gasping for air, I push lightly on the Doctor's shoulder to keep him down as I unsteadily get to my feet — I'm not quite sure why, perhaps to check that this part is over. He joins me soon after, a hand finding my back as my legs start to shake again. "Now, there's something you don't see everyday," he quietly remarks, starting to rub circles.

I look out to the darkness that now lies beyond the window. All there is below is a vast expanse of grey rock, spiked with the occasional peak. Hanging in the sky, bright and swirled with clouds, is Earth.

We're on the moon.

—

Nobody notices our brief disappearance back in the ward. The entire hospital is in an uproar. Patients, visitors and professionals alike all run rampant, screaming for help.

Jones seems to be the only one stood still. Her voice raises, desperate to be heard above the din, "All right, now. Everyone back to bed. We've got an emergency but we'll sort it out. Don't worry."

I pull the curtains across as I see the Doctor reach for the safe by his bed, already pulling off his dressing gown. My back remains to him but even the sound of discarded clothes and the shuffling into his usuals brings heat to my face that I'm glad he can't see. I've started to fidget with the ring again. "I swear, there used to be a time when all of this was a lot more subtle."

"You and I remember things very differently," he scoffs, joining me, now in his suit.

Trying to find something to calm me, I step closer and tighten his tie. "Let's sort this out, yeah? Then we'll go somewhere relaxing."

On the other side of the curtain, we hear Jones' shouts again. "It's real! It's really real. Hold on."

"Don't! We'll lose all the air!" her friend pleads in what I assume is in response to her attempt to open the window.

"But they're not exactly airtight. If the air was gonna get sucked out, it would have happened straight away, but it didn't. So how come?"

Seizing the moment, the Doctor flings open the curtain. "Very good point! Brilliant, in fact. What was your name?"

"Martha."

"And it was Jones, wasn't it?" She nods. "Well, Martha Jones, question is, how are we still breathing?"

Her friend starts to cry and I offer her a hug which she instantly accepts. "We can't be!"

He only spares her a glance. "We obviously are, so don't waste my time." I send him a sharp glare. "Martha, what have we got? Is there a balcony on this floor, or a veranda, or—"

"By the patients' lounge, yeah."

"Fancy going out?"

Martha's courage grows with the invitation. "Okay."

"We might die."

"We might not."

Coming to his side, I lean up to whisper, "I like her."

"Good. Come on! Not her, she'd hold us up."

Again, I roll my eyes at his off-handedness and offer the girl a smile. "You're doing great. Take a moment, then try to get the patients settled. We'll sort this out."

A couple of patients huddled in the lounge rush away the second they see us approach the doors. They open onto cool air and the glow of the earth. In any other situation, this would be incredible.

Martha hesitates in the doorway, gasping for breath as if the very idea startles her. "We've got air," she says, cautiously stepping out onto the balcony. "How does that work?"

"Just be glad it does."

Sadness takes over and the initial wonder at the view fades from her eyes. "I've got a party tonight. It's my brother's twenty-first. My mother's gonna be really— really—" Her voice catches, quiet all of a sudden.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

We glance to each other, then back to her. "Are you sure?" I ask.

She nods dazedly. "Yeah."

"Do you want to go back in?"

Certainty takes over again, determination strengthening her voice. "No way. I mean, we could die any minute, but all the same... it's beautiful."

I wonder if this is how the Doctor chooses his companions, if he looks for certain characteristics. I wasn't there when he first met Rose but her courage, kindness and curiosity surely set her apart as the perfect person to join his travels. If anyone would be suitable now to join us, it would be Martha.

For a second, I also find myself questioning what exactly he saw in me — if he brought Jack and I along simply because our ship was destroyed, because he couldn't leave us and decided to keep us along for the ride. If so, there must be a reason why he has let me stay with him, perhaps due to the feelings that have grown between us. I hope so. Maybe then I won't have to say goodbye just yet and, in turn, our relationship can go somewhere. I don't know what.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer and he smiles. "Do you think?"

She nods enthusiastically. "How many people want to go to the moon? And here we are."

Satisfied, he leans against the stone barrier of the balcony. "Standing in the Earthlight."

"What do you think happened?"

His hands clasp, elbow nudging against mine. We both instinctively shift closer. "What do you think?" he gently encourages.

The girl shrugs. Her eyes scan the rocky horizon with more wonder than fear and her body tilts slightly to follow the path of a distant shooting star. There is no breeze out here. Everything is unnervingly still. After a moment of deliberation, she concludes, "Extraterrestrial. Got to be. I don't know, a few years ago that would've sounded mad, but these days— That spaceship flying into Big Ben, Christmas... those Cybermen things." Something in her face is shadowed, weighed