Every so often, someone runs a scanner over her before saying hello. And then they look at the scanner and frown, and look sad or scared or angry or all three at once. They say 'Time Lord' though she's not, really. The machines which were used to make her gave her the short history of humanity, not Gallifrey. If she knows those names now, it's from books and the records of fairytales. The planet that disappeared in time, leaving only echoes. And her Dad.
They want her Dad, you see, and she's not quite enough. She learns fast, but he's been doing it for nine hundred years or so and she's in her mid-twenties by one count and three by another. She knows not to use guns (or only as a last resort, she amends, stuck in another underground prison) but no one told her what to use in their place. She lets herself cry for a minute or two and then she wipes her eyes and stands up. She's tried running and now she defaults to what she does not realise is Time Lord Move No.2. She talks her way out of it. She's not him but she's good enough to sort this mess out. She knows what it's like to be born fighting and have to learn how to do something else instead.
There were Time Ladies too, it turns out, though history is a little quieter on what they did. Jenny does her homework and finds out. They seem to have been pretty kick-ass. (She picks up words along the way, and that one is appealing literal. Jenny kicks asses quite a lot these days.)
She picks up companions as well, when she realises that stealing a bigger spacecraft is easy, and time-travel is not so much harder. At least, not when your genetic pattern is modelled on a race of geniuses. This probably isn't how she is supposed to be using that heritage. (Not everything he did is in the history books.) So Jenny ducks into earth in the eighteenth century and the Travelling Syntin Circus in the thirty-first and now she has people to run with. It makes everything easier and she wonders why that wasn't the first of his few lessons instead of no, don't.
They arrive just in time for three festivals, four near-assassinations, two minor natural disasters and one coup. They stick around for a few months after the coup, just to be polite, as there seems to be an awful lot of mess to clear up. But once the planet looks to be back on its feet, Jenny gets bored again and sets them flying. She likes the flying best, really, but it only works when there's something to aim at.
Jenny stops in on London in two thousand and ten and watches a red-haired woman walk past her without a second glance. Kales waves her antenna in a sad sort of way and asks, "Who was that?"
"She named me," Jenny says. "But something happened." She can tell that, though she can't tell what. Him, she thinks. It must have hurt.
Miriam hugs Jenny from behind. "Is she your mother?" Miriam still thinks of things that way, though by the time Jenny picked her up, there was no one left to look for her.
Jenny laughs. "No. Never had one of those. Just a Dad. Wherever he's got to."
Kales brushes over Jenny's hair. "Would you like to look for him?"
"What? Oh, no, not yet. We'll run into each other sooner or later." Relatively speaking, possibly both sooner and later. Jenny says, "And, oh, when he does… I'm going to have so many stories to tell him. History didn't stop with them, you see. Not even with him. I can't meet him again until I have more stories. More life. That's the great thing about being me. Being us. There's always more life."
Somewhere in the distance there's a shout and a bang and a blast of green smoke.
Jenny blinks. "And more explosions."
"Trouble-magnet, you are," Miriam says.
Kales sighs. "Keeps it interesting though."
They smile at her and Jenny takes Miriam's right hand in her left, and Kales's left hand in her right. If there were rules and regulations once, they have been long forgotten. They start running.