Mickey Smith faced a rather complicated predicament, and it was vital that he make a swift decision. All three options had their pros and cons: select Package A, and things would be soft and fluffy, but without much sustenance. Opt for Package B, and things would last a while, but could also get rather sticky. Or, he could go with an entirely different route (Package C) - which would be quite stimulating, but bring a lot of heat.

He decided to settle things with a guaranteed, no-fail method.

"Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe."

Ah, Package B was not it. "Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Moe." Sorry Package C, that left Package A as the victor.

Mickey set the bags of lollipops (B) and extra-spicy hot wings (C) back down on their respective counters, and walked with the victorious snack choice to the supermarket's register. He always did love candyfloss. Martha was helping them train for a half-marathon, and would only allow him one indulgent treat for tonight's party.

He rounded the aisle and let out a "dammit." Every single register had at least five customers in its queue area. He looked at his watch: 7:52 pm. He'd never make it home before the big show started airing at 8:00. He thought about putting the candy back and settling for a packet of instant pudding waiting at home, but then noticed a beacon of hope: a 10-Items-Or-Less queue opening up.

He made a mad dash for it, and would have been the first customer up, if some rude bloke in leather hadn't cut him off. (How dare he posses longer legs!) And when the inconsiderate bloke turned around, (to say: oops, he was out of money, could Mickey please lend him a quid?) Mickey really wanted to give him a good 'ol slap. But then, he actually decided to look the man in the face.

Both men gawked at each other for at least a good eight-and-a-half seconds.

The leather-coated, quid-running-out man spoke first. "…Ricky? What the bloody hell are you doing in 2012?"

"Nevermind what the hell I'm doing here, what the hell are you doing back in that big-eared body?" Mickey thought to ask, but all he could stammer out was: "I…I'm living. I'm…still alive."

The Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You followed me into the TARDIS. Don't. Ever. Follow. Me. Into. The. TARDIS."

"I…uh, sorry?"

"That's right. You should be sorry. Pfft." He folded his arms. "Mickey, the Idiot. Now I'll have to stop everything I'm doing… and take you back to the TARDIS, so you can watch the alien crash coverage with the rest of the stupid apes."

It took Mickey only a moment to understand. "Ah, you just dropped Rose off back home a year late! Yeah, that was pretty bad." He shook his head. Pretty bad didn't begin to cover it. He had hated that stupid, girlfriend-stealing alien, his stupid Northern accent and his stupid habit of labeling things "fantastic" when they most certainly were not.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just give me a quid now, will ya? I haven't got all night to sit around and chat."

Mickey felt a large smile spreading across his own mouth. Ahh, this version of the Doctor relied on him for a favor. He could work with that. "What does a Time Lord need to stop into a Shoprite for? Need a clock? Some blue paint for the TARDIS? Some ear wax, perhaps?"

The Doctor gave him a look that Mickey had last seen his newer face give the Daleks. Whoops. Never pick on the ears.

"I'm buying batteries…for my, sonic, uh…device," said the Doctor.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "You mean the screwdriver?"

"Didn't think you've seen it."

"Oh, I love the sonic screwdriver! But…it runs on batteries?" Triple-As didn't seem very Time Lord-y to Mickey.

"Don't. Diss. The. Sonic. Now, can I borrow a quid or what, Ricky?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure, boss. Whatever you need." He pulled out his wallet, and handed over a coin.

The Doctor just about passed it over to the cashier, but then took a closer look. "Wait, this says it was made in 2011. How'd you get a coin from 2011?"

Mickey just continued smiling.

"The TARDIS didn't bring you here." It wasn't a question.

Mickey nodded.

The Doctor took a step back and scanned him up and down. "A glimpse at Mickey – the older Idiot. Hmm."

"I've missed you calling me that." He did.

"What? 'Mickey The Idiot?' Good. I'll make sure to continue doing it."

Brilliant, Mickey thought. He was partially responsible for the nickname abuse. The other Doctor's words – as told to him by Martha – echoed in his head: Wibbly-Wobbly Timey-Wimey. Well this was rather Crappy-Wappy.

The Doctor paid for his item, and something dawned on Mickey. "Wait, why'd you come to 2012 just to buy batteries?" He studied him for a moment. "You knew I was here, didn't you?"

"Nope. 2012 is one of the greatest years for battery performance. Matched only by 3114, when they tried out gas-capsule versions."

"Oh."

The Doctor stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Anything else you need to discuss before I go back to saving the Earth?"

Mickey thought for a moment. "Yeah, yeah, actually, lemme give you some advice: next time you're in London and need to go to a hospital, check into Royal Hope. They'll be a great medical student there."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows, but nodded.

"Oh and your tie. Take that off."

"I'm not wearing a tie."

"Well, you will be."

The Doctor started moving towards the door, and held up a hand. "Ok well, see ya around, Ricky."

Mickey lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the Doctor, not at all caring about the stares from other costumers. "Wow, now I feel like Captain Jack." He didn't release his grip.

"Who?"

"Uh, Jackie. I mean…I don't feel like Jackie. Tyler. With the…the slaps."

"Yeah, Mickey. I really gotta go." The Doctor reached behind his back and slowly pried Mickey's hands off, finger by finger. "Bye now." He exited the store without looking back.

"See ya, boss." Mickey watched the Doctor's retreating back for a while (he really did have big ears, didn't he?), before the cashier made an odd hissing/coughing sound. Mickey turned towards her. "Actually, gimme a second. I have another purchase to make."

He set the candyfloss on the counter and darted over to the fruit department, suddenly knowing that what the party really needed...was bananas.

With a quick "sorry, I'm late", Mickey bolted past Tish, the Jones parents and all their little cousins, straight to Martha – anxious to retell every single word of his encounter, and to ponder whether that would be the last time either of them would see the Doctor.

But Martha hushed him with some frantic hand motions at the TV. "The entire crowd at the stadium just…disappeared! But then they came back! And now the torchbearer…he fainted! Sit down, you have to watch this! The Olympic torch might not get lit!"

Mickey pealed a banana and took a seat.

A/N: If you don't understand the point of the final scene, see the last few minutes of the New!Who series 2 episode Fear Her. ;)