Fic: Doctor Who/NCIS - Rebuilding a Life (PG-13) [1/4]

[settiai]

Title: Rebuilding a Life
Author: Settiai
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~40,000 words
DW Characters: Fitz Kreiner - *highlight for more - somewhat spoilery* Eighth Doctor, Ninth Doctor, Tenth Doctor, Anji Kapoor, Donna Noble, Harriet Jones, Ianto Jones, Jack Harkness, The Master, Martha Jones, Rose Tyler, Sam Jones,Toshiko Sato, Trix MacMillan, Winifred Bambera, and a cameo appearance by the Fourth Doctor and Sarah Jane Smith; vaguely spoilery mention of Ace McShane, Brigadier Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, C'rizz, Charley Pollard, Clive Finch, Compassion, Gemma Griffin, Gwen Cooper, Henry van Statten, K-9, Jamie McCrimmon, Leela, Lucie Miller, Mickey Smith, Owen Harper, Romana I, Romana II, Romana III, Samson Griffin, and Zoe Herriot
NCIS Characters: Tony DiNozzo - *highlight for more - somewhat spoilery* Abby Sciuto, Ducky Mallard, Jimmy Palmer, Kate Todd, Jeanne Benoit, Jenny Shepard, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Michelle Lee, Timothy McGee, Ziva David; vaguely spoilery mention of Ari Haswari, Chip Sterling, Gerald Jackson, Mike Franks, Paula Cassidy, and Viv Blackadder
Pairings: Fitz/Tony - *highlight for more - somewhat spoilery* with background Eight/Fitz, Fitz/Kate, Jack/Ianto, Jack/Ianto/Abby, Jimmy/Michelle, McGee/Toshiko, Tony/Jeanne, Tony/Paula, Ten/Fitz

Warnings: Features an attempt to mesh BFA and EDA canon into one that fits with New Who, as well as vague references to a handful of my Doctor Who fics, several blink-and-you'll-miss-it crossovers (extra points to anyone who can spot them all!), mention of (canon) character deaths, and some minor OCs. Spoilers for most of the Eighth Doctor's BFA and EDA storylines, a few details from "Gallifrey," some vague mentions of Classic Who, New Who through mid-S4, Torchwood through early-S2, and NCIS through late-S5.

Notes: Originally written for wishfulaces in dw_cross, though this version is well over twice as long as that one. Many thanks to brewsternorth, soundingsea, stellastars, strangevisitor7, wiccagirl24, and zortified for beta'ing the story at different stages in its life, as well as jmtorres for listening to me rant and rave to her in the early days of this fic, wishfulaces and killing_rose for not killing me for taking so long to finish this story, and the extremely patient azarsuerte who will hopefully stop wanting to strangle me in the near when I post a "missing scene" based on events near the end of this one. The blame for anything still found wrong with this story rests solely on me; my betas have all gone above and beyond the call of duty on this one.

Alternate Links: The story can be found as one long file at my fanfiction website, AO3, Dreamwidth, or Teaspoon, if you'd rather not have it split into smaller sections.

Summary: Near the end of the Time War, Fitz Kreiner finds himself stranded on Earth in an unfamiliar time and place. His life moves on, whether he wants it to or not.



17 January 2002

The first thing Fitz Kreiner became aware of as he regained consciousness was that he had a splitting headache. Groaning, he pointedly didn't open his eyes as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He felt dizzy, disoriented - like he was missing something, though he couldn't quite remember what it could be.

All signs pointed toward him having the hangover from hell.

Well aware that doing otherwise would simply be putting off the inevitable, Fitz reluctantly cracked open his eyes. Squinting as a dim beam of sunlight caught him in the face, he groaned again. Judging by the rubbish bins and scattered trash that surrounded him, not to mention the smell, it looked as if he was in an alley.

He suddenly froze as he realized that his headache was quickly fading away now that he was sitting up. That was a sure sign that it hadn't been alcohol that had caused it, at least no type of alcohol that he'd encountered over the years. And he'd encountered a lot of different kinds throughout the universe, so it seemed unlikely that he'd finally managed to find one that didn't leave him wanting to die when he woke up.

But what had happened, then?

Frowning, Fitz clumsily started to pull himself to his feet. He needed to think. The Doctor was probably wondering where he had disappeared to, and he had no idea where to even begin looking for the TARDIS. Of course, there was always the chance that it was just around the corner . . . but Fitz had been traveling with the Doctor long enough to know that he would never be that lucky.

Wait. There was something about the Doctor that he needed to remember, something important that was tickling at his brain. If he could just recall . . .

Fitz gasped as his memories rushed back, and he almost collapsed back to the ground at the weight of them. As it was, he leaned back against the grimy wall of one of the buildings that made up the sides of the alley. The Time War. The Daleks. Gallifrey, brought back only to face destruction again.

"Fitz, you have to leave." The Doctor had met his gaze without blinking, for once not trying to hide the desperation in his eyes. "If you stay with me, you'll die."

Fitz had snorted. "I've known that for a long time," he had said, shrugging casually even though his voice was shaking. He had shot the Doctor a wry smile. "I've already made my decision. What can I do to help?"

The Doctor had stared at him, uncomprehending.

"I'm not leaving," Fitz had said pointedly, spelling it out.

For just a moment, he had read the Doctor's face like a book. A series of emotions had fluttered across his features, each instantly melting into the next: astonishment, happiness, trepidation, sadness, regret, determination.

And then the Doctor had leaned forward and kissed him.

Fitz had frozen, not entirely certain how to react. It wasn't the first time that the Doctor had kissed him, though it wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence, but it felt different than before. More final. A tiny voice in his head told him to kiss back, for God's sake, but the Doctor was already pulling away before he could convince his body to act on that impulse.

You can't stay here," the Doctor had said firmly, not quite meeting Fitz's eyes. "Too many people have died already."

As Fitz had prepared to argue, he had felt the Doctor's fingers lightly brush across his neck. Realization had flooded through him, but there had been nothing he could do before his world went black.

The Doctor had used one of his Venusian Aikido techniques on him. He'd knocked him out, and then he'd sent him away. Fitz's legs suddenly felt shaky, and before he was even aware of what he was doing he found himself sitting on the ground again. He hadn't even got a chance to say "goodbye."

"Bastard. That damned bastard," Fitz muttered, clenching his fist. "It was my choice, not his. He didn't have the right to do this."

As angry as he was - and he was furious - deep down he couldn't blame the Doctor. Not really. If he had been in the same position, he knew that he would have made the same choice that the Doctor had.

That didn't mean he couldn't still be mad as hell.

A shadow suddenly fell over him. "Hey, are you all right?"

Fitz's breath hitched a little in surprise as he looked up, only to find himself staring up into the worried face of a man who looked to be in his early thirties. Maybe eight or so years younger than Fitz himself, not that he actually knew his own age. He had been twenty-seven when he had first met the Doctor, but so much had happened since then. It had to have been at least a decade since then, didn't it? Longer? Or did age really even count if you were a copy and not the original? He'd never quite made up his mind, and the Doctor had never given him a real answer . . . .

"Seriously, are you okay?" The man reached out and waved his hand in front of Fitz's face, snapping his fingers to get his attention. "Do I need to call an ambulance or something?"

Shaking his head, Fitz forced his brain back to the present. "No," he said, his voice cracking somewhat. He cleared his throat. "No, I'm fine. I just--"

Fitz trailed off, suddenly realizing that he still had no idea where or when he was. Judging by the other man's accent, he was probably in the States - but that was about all he could tell. He had no identification, no money, nowhere to live . . .

The man was frowning now. "Were you mugged?" he asked, offering Fitz his hand.

Mugged? Fitz blinked in surprise before he remembered the fading bruise around his right eye. He and the Doctor had arrived on a planet that the Time Lords were using as a secondary base, just in time for a few of the locals to decide that they didn't like their planet being dragged into the middle of a fight that didn't involve them. He'd got a few nice new bruises before the Doctor had managed to talk everyone down, and there had been more important things to worry about than a quick trip to the infirmary for some superficial injuries. Like planning for the defense of Arcadia. It had been just a few days earlier, plus or minus a few thousand years.

It felt like a lifetime.

"I -- I can't remember." Not quite true, but it would probably go over better than claiming to be a time traveler. "Maybe? Everything's a little vague."

Fitz took the offered hand, surprised slightly at the strength in the grip. He felt a slight bulge in his pocket as he stood up again, one that he knew hadn't been there when he'd been in the TARDIS, and once he was on his feet he reached in to see what was there. When he pulled his hand back out, he was holding a wallet that he knew without a doubt wasn't his as well as what appeared to be a slightly bent passport.

Not sure what to expect, Fitz opened the passport. His photo stared back at him, alongside quite a bit of information that was completely false. He couldn't help but feel a hint of amusement when he saw his supposed date of birth, though he was careful to keep it off his face. It was a very familiar date from 1963 - the day he had met the Doctor and Sam for the first time.

"If you were mugged, it looks like you lucked out and were robbed by an idiot," the strange man said, his voice light even though he still looked a little concerned. "Is your money still there?"

Fitz obediently opened his wallet, swallowing and going slightly weak in the knees when he saw a large wad of what looked like $100 bills in American currency. Inside was what also appeared to be a Virginia driver's license, as well as a small piece of paper with what looked like a phone number written on it. Several credit cards were inside it, Fitz's name on each of them, plus a debit card. Even though he couldn't see it, he knew that the pin number had to be in there somewhere too.

There was even a green card. The Doctor had apparently thought of everything, except for actually asking Fitz what he wanted.

The man started to whistle appreciatively, but he quickly turned it into a cough. Fitz knew that he had probably gone pale, but he couldn't do anything about that right then. The only thing he could think of was what this meant: the Doctor wasn't planning on coming back. And that meant he wasn't planning on being on the winning side of the war.

"My name's DiNozzo," the man said slowly, his gaze focused on Fitz's face. "Anthony DiNozzo. What's yours?"

It took Fitz several seconds to respond. "Fitz," he said finally. "Fitz Kreiner."

DiNozzo smiled reassuringly at him. "Can you tell me where you live, Fitz?" he asked. "Or where you're staying? I'd be glad to give you a ride.'

Fitz reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, well aware that it was probably standing on end on its own. "I know this probably sounds crazy, but I don't really know," he said weakly. "Can you tell me what the date is?"

"It's January 17th," DiNozzo said slowly.

Well aware that DiNozzo was about to start wondering if he was insane, Fitz had no choice but to push on. "And the year?"

"Okay, that's it," DiNozzo said, pulling out a cell phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."

Fitz desperately reached for an explanation that wouldn't involve a doctor of the non-time-traveling alien type. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a newspaper lying on the ground near his feet. For the first time in ages, he appreciated that the doctors on Proctimus had improved his eyesight instead of merely returning it to normal after that incident with the laser spanner and the first minister's daughter.

Of course, even sixty-third century medical procedures had their limits. "2002?" he asked slowly, praying that he was reading the barely legible date correctly. Apparently he was in Washington D.C. as well; that was something, at least. "That's right, isn't it? I haven't lost a decade or anything?"

Though he was still eyeing Fitz warily, Tony nodded and closed his phone.

Taking a deep breath, Fitz tried to think. Early twenty-first century. He tried his hardest not to picture a grave with Sam's name on it, 1980-2002 engraved in the stone. At least he knew why the Doctor had left him on the opposite side of the ocean; he hadn't wanted him to be tempted. But why had the Doctor left him in that particular year? And was there anyone he knew? Anji would still be out traveling with the Doctor. Trix wouldn't meet the Doctor for another year or so, not that he'd really consider her even if that wasn't the case. He'd met a few former companions of the Doctor over the years, but he wasn't entirely certain if they would know him yet or not.

"Are there any decent hotels around here?" Fitz asked finally. It looked like he was on his own; at least he was used to it. "Nothing too fancy, just somewhere I could stay until I figure out things? You know, call some people and try to piece things back together, that sort of thing?"

DiNozzo looked like he wanted to protest, but he apparently decided to hold his tongue and merely nodded. "Yeah, I know of a few places." He opened his phone again. "Tell you what, let me call my boss and tell him I'm gonna be late. I'll give you a ride just as soon as he stops yelling."

Fitz shot him a look that he hoped was grateful. He suspected that it was probably more sheepish than anything. "Thank you."

"No problem," DiNozzo said, waving his hand.

As the other man talked on his phone, Fitz let his mind wander. He half-listened to DiNozzo's conversation - it sounded like he hadn't been kidding about the yelling - but his attention was elsewhere. What was he going to do?

A cool wind blew past, ruffling the old newspapers and other assorted trash littering the ground. Fitz couldn't help but shiver and wrap his arms protectively around his front. Then he frowned.

Damn. His coat was still back in the TARDIS.

***

25 January 2002

Fitz woke up screaming.

Well, to be honest, it was more of a choked yell that died on his lips the moment he was fully awake. Still, "screaming" sounded better. More impressive, like there was a real reason for his reaction other than a vague memory of a nightmare that had already faded away.

Sighing, Fitz rolled out of bed and made his way toward the bathroom. He had to admit, DiNozzo had dropped him off at a fairly decent hotel. He couldn't stay there indefinitely, but it would suffice until he could figure out what he was going to do next. At least he didn't have to worry about money for quite awhile; he still felt a little weak in the knees when he thought about the figure that the lady at the bank had recited when he'd checked up on the debit card that the Doctor had left him.

There was always the possibility of getting on a plane and heading back to London; in a few years, at least, he knew that he'd have some friends there who'd be able to help him out. But for now, he didn't know. For the first time in years, he didn't have a clue what he was going to do next.

He'd called the phone number left in his wallet almost as soon as he'd shut the door to his room behind him, a week earlier. The voice on the other end had been vaguely familiar, and - though he suspected that it was someone who the Doctor had introduced to him sometime over the years - he hadn't convinced the woman to tell him her name. He had, however, found out that he didn't have to worry about anyone finding out that his identification was faked; it was completely valid, if anyone decided to take a closer look.

"Let's just say that UNIT owes the Doctor a few favors, Mr. Kreiner."

In theory, his future was apparently full of options. He could go wherever he wanted on Earth. He could do whatever he pleased. Technically speaking, the world was his for the taking. The woman from UNIT - who did he know from there other than Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart and Dr. Shaw? - had even told him that strings could be pulled to get him into any job that he felt he was qualified to do. Not that Fitz was planning on taking them up on the offer, but it was nice knowing that it was there.

Still, Fitz couldn't shake the feeling that there must have been a reason for the Doctor leaving him in Washington D.C. It was probably nothing more than unrealistic hopes getting the better of him, but he couldn't quite shake the idea that his adventures weren't quite over yet.

Fitz splashed some water on his face before studying his reflection in the mirror. It had been ages since he'd really looked at himself, but now that he was on his own he couldn't seem to stop. His hair was still as unruly as ever, though he thought there might be a few gray hairs in it now. There were a handful of wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, and the small scar on his left cheek - a reminder of an argument with Trix that had ended badly - seemed more pronounced than it had when he had last looked in the mirror in his room in the TARDIS.

"Not so young anymore," he said quietly, "are you, Kreiner?"

Luckily for his sanity, his reflection didn't reply. Fitz sent up a silent thanks to any higher being - God, alien, or otherwise - that might be listening. He pointedly ignored the flicker of movement behind his reflection in the mirror as he pulled out his razor and started to shave. A familiar young girl peered out at him from the reflected doorway, even though he knew she wouldn't be there if he turned around.

Sam grabbed his arms, and for a moment Fitz thought she was going to kiss him. "You see her too? Oh, thank God. I thought that I was going mental. She's always there, every time I look in the mirror, except when the Doctor's there. He just stared blankly at me when I asked him about it."

"Do you think she's dangerous?" Fitz asked warily, glancing back at the mirror. The girl had disappeared, but for just a second he thought that he saw a red balloon floating in the air where she'd been standing.

"Maybe," Sam said, not letting go of his arms. "Maybe not. We won't know until you come with me to tell the Doctor that I'm not just imagining things."

Fitz stumbled over his own feet as she started pulling him toward the door. "But then he'll think that I've lost my mind too! I like being the sane one for once!"

Shaking his head, Fitz forced his mind back into the present and went back to shaving. He needed to stop thinking about the past so much, at least for the time being. All that did was make him miss the TARDIS - and the Doctor, a small voice at the back of his mind added - even more than he already did.

Just as he was finishing up, someone knocked on the door to his room. Fitz frowned as he wiped his face, glancing at the clock beside his bed. It was almost noon. He was still getting used to sleeping regular hours, in a place where time was constant instead of in flux.

There was another knock at the door.

"I'm coming!" Fitz yelled. He grabbed the cheap robe he'd bought and quickly put it on, pulling it shut as he unlocked the door and opened it.

DiNozzo was standing there.

Fitz blinked a few times before reaching up to rub his eyes. It didn't change anything; when he was finished, DiNozzo was still there. The only difference was that he was grinning and obviously trying to hold back laughter.

"You haven't been up long?" DiNozzo hazarded.

"Still getting used to the time difference," Fitz said after a short pause, quickly reaching for the nearest half-truth. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, DiNozzo, but what are you doing here?"

DiNozzo shot him an easy grin. "Call me Tony."

Fitz nodded, eyeing his unexpected guest warily. "Okay then, Tony," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd check up on you and make sure you were doing okay," Tony replied with a casual shrug. "It's not everyday that I help someone who can't remember how they ended up in some alley." He paused, an unreadable expression flashing in his eyes. "Well, when it's not work-related at least."

Curious despite himself, Fitz stepped away from the door and motioned for Tony to come in. Then he walked over and sat down on his unmade bed. "Police?" he guessed.

Tony snorted as he shut the door and sat down in a chair near it. "Used to be," he admitted. "I'm with NCIS now."

"NCIS?" Fitz repeated slowly, staring at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. "No," he said, "it has nothing to do with CSI."

Fitz just kept staring.

"You haven't heard of CSI?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. "Finally, I've met somebody with some taste."

Chuckling more at the expression on Tony's face than anything else, Fitz tilted his head slightly. "NCIS?" he repeated patiently.

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We deal with crimes related to the Navy." Tony paused and gave Fitz a speculative look. "The United States Navy, that is."

"No, really?" Fitz asked dryly. "I thought it would be the Australian Navy. Isn't this Sydney?"

Tony threw back his head and laughed. Then he shot Fitz a grin; for the first time, Fitz thought it might be a real one. After a decade or so of traveling with the Doctor, he felt pretty certain about his ability to recognize when someone was faking.

After a few seconds, Tony grew a little more serious. "In all seriousness, do you remember what happened? Or did you at least get in touch with somebody?" He glanced around the messy room. "I'm assuming you figured out where you'd been staying and why you're in D.C."

Fitz suddenly felt relieved that he'd gone shopping for some clothes and basic necessities earlier in the week.

"I'm still a little vague on how I ended up in that alley," Fitz said, forcing himself to give Tony what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Other than that, I'm fine. I got in touch with an acquaintance of mine, and everything's worked out now."

Tony leaned forward. "So are you here on vacation?" he asked curiously. "Or is it something more permanent?"

Fitz shrugged. "I really don't know."

"What?" The look on Tony's face was a mixture of surprise and worry. Fitz couldn't help but feel a hint of gratefulness toward the other man; he barely even knew him, but he seemed to at least care a little bit about what happened. "I thought you didn't have any more memory problems?"

Fitz let out a quiet bark of laughter, earning an even more scrutinizing look from Tony. "Don't worry," he said reassuringly, "I don't mean that I can't remember. I just . . . haven't made up my mind on what I'm going to do next. I had some plans, but they kind of collapsed on me so I'm just trying to figure out what the future holds."

Tony nodded, and Fitz couldn't shake the feeling that the other man really did understand what he was talking about. "Taking it one step at a time?"

"Exactly."

A thoughtful look appeared on Tony's face as he reached over and snatched a piece of paper and a pen off the nearby table. "I haven't been here that long myself," he said, scribbling something down on it. "I was with the Baltimore PD until Gibbs convinced me to join NCIS."

"Gibbs?" Fitz asked. "Is that the boss who yells a lot?"

Tony snorted. "You have no idea."

They sat there a moment, neither of them saying anything. To Fitz's surprise, it was a comfortable silence. That was a rarity for him. The last person who he'd been able to sit with quietly, without feeling the need to open his mouth and say something no matter how inappropriate it might be was . . . the Doctor.

He quickly turned off that train of thought.

After a minute or so, Tony glanced down at his watch and swore. "I've got to go grab some lunch and get back before Gibbs kills me."

Fitz nodded as he stood up. "Thanks for stopping to check up on me," he said. "I really do appreciate it."

"Tell you what, if you end up staying in D.C. for a while, give me a call." Tony handed Fitz the paper he'd been writing on as he stood up as well. "I don't know about you, but I could stand to make a few more friends."

The Doctor's face flashed in Fitz's mind before he could stop it. He hesitantly smiled. "That makes two of us."

***

7 February 2002

"I'll take it."

The real estate agent looked up from the forms she had been shifting through, a startled look on her face. Fitz figured that most people looked at more than one flat before making a choice, but he wasn't in the mood to play games in order to pass as just another everyday, normal person. He'd learned a long time ago not to be too picky when it came to finding a place to sleep at night.

"You're certain?" the real estate agent asked, schooling her surprise.

Fitz nodded. "Absolutely." He stole a quick look at her badge - Rachel Johnson; he had barely paid any attention to her introduction. "Do you have some papers for me to sign or something, Ms. Johnson?"

"I left them out in the car," she said. "If you'll give me just a moment, I can go get them."

She started out the door, pausing a moment to look back. "By the way," she added with a flirtatious smile, "you can call me Rachel."

Fitz stood there, blinking in surprise as she disappeared into the hallway. Then he shook his head. Damn, he was out of practice if all it took was a woman flirting with him to throw him for a loop.

Tugging at the collar of his shirt, he looked around the empty room. It had potential. He could picture himself living here, at least for awhile. Then he frowned. He was definitely going to have to go shopping - furniture, more clothes, food. It hadn't really sunk in while he was staying at the hotel, but he didn't actually have anything. His few belongings were still in his room on the TARDIS, exactly where he'd left them.

"Here's the paperwork!"

He was startled but quickly recovered and grinned as he turned around to face Rachel. She was standing just inside the door, holding what looked like a fair-sized stack of papers. "That was speedy," Fitz said, raising an eyebrow. "You must really want to get this place rented."

Rachel flushed slightly as she handed over the papers, and he found himself wondering just how old she was. He'd assumed that she was in her late twenties, maybe even her early thirties, but he wasn't quite as certain now that he was really looking at her. She honestly didn't look that much older than Sam had the last time he'd seen her.

Neither of them said a word for several minutes as Fitz flipped through the forms, glancing at them without much scrutiny as he signed them. Then Rachel cleared her throat. "So do you work near here?"

"I've got a new job starting tomorrow," Fitz said distractedly as he signed the last form. Then he realized what she'd asked and quirked an eyebrow as he looked up. "Why?"

Her face reddened slightly. "Oh, no reason," she said, practically yanking the signed papers from his hands. "Let me carry these back down. I'll be back in just a second."

Rachel reached in her pocket and pulled out a small card. She shoved it at him before hurrying toward the door.

Fitz frowned. "What's this?" he asked, glancing down at the business card she'd handed him.

"My phone number," Rachel said, glancing over her shoulder with a nervous smile. "My home phone number."

Then she disappeared out the door again.

Chuckling softly, Fitz slipped the card into his pocket. It really had been too long. If he was stuck on Earth, then he figured it wouldn't hurt to at least have a little bit of fun. He'd give her a call after he got settled in.

Speaking of which . . . .

Looking around the empty room again, Fitz frowned and glanced down at his watch. He'd probably have time to go hit a few stores before they closed for the night. He knew that the sooner he got out of that hotel and into his own place, the more comfortable he'd be in the long run.

With a bit of trepidation, he pulled out the cell phone that he'd bought the week before and dialed the number that he'd accidentally memorized just because he kept looking at it. He wasn't used to the mobile yet, but he remembered a few comments that Anji and Trix had made about the devices. Even Sam had talked about them from time to time. It had sounded like he'd need to know how to use one, whether he liked it or not.

"Tony?" he asked when he heard a familiar voice on the other end of the line. "It's Fitz. Fitz Kreiner. You wouldn't happen to be free this weekend, would you?"

***

10 February 2002

Tony laughed as he put down the heavy box he was carrying. "Damn, you're lucky," he said, shaking his head. "The agent who found my place for me was old enough to be my mother, and she looked like my grandfather."

"Oh, she sounds like a keeper," Fitz said, smirking. "You did get her number, didn't you?"

There was an awkward silence from Tony.

Fitz blinked. And then he blinked again.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Tony said defensively. "She practically shoved it down my throat. And I'm being literal."

Turning his laughter into a thin disguised cough, Fitz carefully avoided looking at Tony. He knew that if he did there was no possible way he'd be able to keep a straight face. "And have you called her?"

A chair cushion promptly hit him in the head.

"For your information," Tony said, his voice taking on an exaggeratedly snobby tone, "I'm seeing a woman named Paula Cassidy." He frowned, his tone going back to normal. "Well, as long as she was just kidding about never wanting to see me again."

Not even trying to hide his laughter, Fitz leaned down and picked up the cushion. He smiled as Tony struggled to shove a bookshelf into place. "Thanks for helping me unpack all these boxes."

"No problem." Tony shrugged, but he didn't look away from the bookshelf he was setting up. "In theory, it's my day off."

"Until your boss calls you," Fitz added.

Tony nodded, finally glancing away from his project long enough to grin at Fitz. "Until Gibbs calls me," he agreed. He turned back to the bookshelf and gave it another shove, pushing it against the wall. Grimacing as a stack of boxes sitting nearby wobbled, Tony moved away from the shelf and headed toward Fitz. "Speaking of which, how's the new job?"

"It should cover the rent," Fitz said, shrugging. He grabbed the beer he'd put down on a table earlier, taking a swig as he looked around the room. "Of course, I've never really considered myself to be a secretary type of person. My friend Sam would be laughing her ass off right now if she could see me."

Tony laughed as he grabbed his own beer. "Don't you mean an administrative assistant type of person?" he asked teasingly.

Fitz waved a hand in Tony's direction. "Just because a book has a different cover, it doesn't mean the story inside's any different."

"Touché," Tony agreed, still smirking slightly.

Rolling his eyes, Fitz dropped down in one of the chairs he'd bought at a local secondhand store, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the small table next to it. He couldn't help but let out a sigh as he lit one and took a drag from it, his body instantly relaxing somewhat.

Tony raised an eyebrow as he sat down in the chair next to him. "You smoke?" he asked, sounding a little surprised.

"A friend of mine's been trying to get me to stop for years," Fitz said, carefully schooling his face as he shrugged. He was starting to get used to being stuck on Earth, but it was going to take a lot longer than that for him to be able to talk about the Doctor without looking like a "kicked puppy" - which was exactly how Rachel had described him after their date the night before, whatever the hell that meant. "I've quit a few times, but it's never really lasted."

Tony shook his head. "You should listen to your friend. They'll kill you."

Fitz shot him a weak smile. "Maybe I will," he said, nodding. He took another drag from his cigarette. "Just not today."

As if on cue, the stack of boxes that had been wobbling earlier suddenly crashed to the floor. Fitz jumped, while Tony let out a surprised cry.

"Definitely not today," Fitz muttered, taking another long drag before pushing himself to his feet.

***

16 April 2002

Fitz looked up when a shadow fell across his desk, raising an eyebrow when he saw Tony standing over him. "You're early."

"We don't have any hot cases," Tony replied. He lowered his voice. "Do me a favor and introduce me to the babe sitting over there. Red hair? Green eyes? The shirt that doesn't hide a thing?"

Shaking his head, Fitz saved the file he'd been working on. Or, at least, he tried. A grey box popped up on the screen, and he almost groaned when he read the word "error" followed by a string of numbers. He was slowly getting used to the more everyday technology of the twenty-first century, but it looked like he still had a ways to go.

"Come on, just a quick little introduction?"

Frowning, Fitz decided he'd deal with the file after lunch. Surely one of his coworkers could figure out what was wrong this time. Speaking of which . . . .

He glanced over at the coworker in question. Monica, apparently sensing that they were talking about her even though Tony had kept his voice low, smiled widely when she saw that she'd caught his gaze. "Introduce me," she mouthed silently.

Fitz rolled his eyes. "I'm going to regret this," he muttered as he gestured for Monica to come over to his desk.

Monica hurried over, giving Tony a coy smile. He ran his eyes over her face for just a second before focusing them on her chest. Her smile grew brighter.

Tony winked as he took her hand. "The name's Tony," he said, bringing her hand up so that he could kiss the back of it. "Tony DiNozzo."

Fitz barely resisted the urge to groan. "I thought we were going to lunch?" he asked.

"Just a second," Tony said, waving distractedly. "Fitz, buddy, why didn't you tell me that you had such beautiful coworkers?"

Monica giggled.

This time, Fitz did groan.

***

30 July 2002

Fitz jolted awake at the sound of his phone ringing, muttering a Rhijalian curse under his breath when he saw the bright red "2:47 a.m." shining on his alarm clock. He grabbed for the phone, missing it several times in the dark before he managed to pull it off the hanger. "This better be important," he snapped.

"I wouldn't have called you at this hour if it wasn't, Mr. Kreiner."

Frowning, Fitz tried to place the woman's voice. "Is this my mysterious benefactor from UNIT?" he asked slowly. "I'd call you by name, but I have this slight problem of not being able to read people's minds over the phone."

The woman on the other chuckled; he might have been imagining it, but Fitz thought she sounded almost pleased by his comeback. "My name's Winifred Bambera. We met a little over ten years ago, although I doubt it was that long ago for you."

"Brigadier." Fitz sat up straight. He'd almost forgotten that incident. That was the problem with concussions - they made memories a little fuzzy at times. "Why didn't you tell me your name last time?"

There was a short pause. "The Doctor asked me not to tell you then," she said, sounding a bit puzzled. "He didn't say why, but I assume he had his reasons."

Fitz felt his heart rate speed up the moment she mentioned the Doctor's name, and his breath felt as if it was catching in his throat. He knew exactly why the Doctor had told her not to mention her name. He'd wanted to make certain that Fitz didn't come looking for him. Manipulative to the end, no matter how innocent he seemed - that was the Doctor.

A few black spots appeared in the corners of his vision, blotting out the thin stream of light coming from his alarm clock. Fitz was startled to realize that he had actually stopped breathing for a moment. He had thought he was doing a good job of not letting anything related to the Doctor get under his skin; apparently he had been wrong.

"One moment, Brigadier," Fitz said, hoping his voice didn't sound quite as strangled as he suspected it did. He pulled the phone away from his ear, covering the mouthpiece with his hand as he tried to get his breathing under control.

After several seconds had passed, Fitz felt his anger drain away leaving nothing but resigned disappointment. He removed his hand and put the phone back up to his ear. "I'm sorry for the delay, Brigadier Bambera," he said, aiming for polite. He thought it probably came across more as choked. "I just needed a moment."

He could practically hear her smiling. "Believe me, I understand."

Fitz took a deep breath. "What can I do for you, Brigadier?" he asked. "I'm assuming you didn't call just in order to finally tell me your name."

"No, I'm afraid not." Her voice suddenly sounded serious. "Tell me, what do you know about the Ghaiju?"

"The Ghaiju?" Fitz repeated slowly. He thought back, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. Hadn't the Doctor mentioned them before? Something about UNIT, and unusually hot weather, and mysterious time travelers from the future, and . . . and . . . .

His eyes widened with realization. "Oh, hell. Aren't those the ones that throw fireballs?"

Bambera made a noncommittal sound. "That's what our records say. Apparently the Doctor encountered them back in the 70s, but the details are slightly . . . vague."

Well aware that her tone of voice was practically daring him to ask why the records didn't have a lot of details in them, Fitz kept his mouth shut. He might still be half-asleep, but that didn't mean he was insane. Still . . . .

"Would it be safe to assume that the heat wave we're in the middle of over here has something to do with the Ghaiju?" he asked dryly.

The Brigadier didn't reply for several seconds. Fitz suddenly had a sinking sensation in his stomach. "Tell me, Mr. Kreiner," she finally said, "how would you feel about doing some field work for UNIT?"

***

31 July 2002

Fitz stared at the Ghaiju standing just inside the doorway of the abandoned warehouse. He'd heard the Doctor mention them before, but he'd never actually seen one. They weren't exactly what he'd been expecting. The aliens were vaguely humanoid, if you ignored the purple and orange feathers that covered them. Not to mention the green beaks. Those were a bit noticeable as well.

"Trust me," Fitz said, making certain that his hands were held up in front of him as a peace gesture, "this is the United States. These people like to shoot first and ask questions later."

The lead Ghaiju made a chirping sound. He wasn't entirely certain what it meant, but he recognized the tone. He'd heard it a lot over the years.

Fitz groaned, dropping his hands. "Why would I lie?" he asked, thankful that the Ghaiju apparently understood English even if they didn't - or perhaps wouldn't - speak it. "Seriously, what do I have to gain by warning you to get off of Earth before any of the apparently large number of secret government agencies notice you're here?"

The Ghaiju's eyes narrowed. Well, at least, Fitz assumed they narrowed. It was hard to tell under all the feathers. Of course, he didn't know if that was a good sign or a bad sign.

"Well?" Fitz prompted after a few seconds. "What's it going to be?"

He barely had time to dive out of the way as a fireball flew through the air at him. Fitz quickly looked up as soon as he hit the ground, trying to see what the Ghaiju was going to do next. His eyes widened when he saw all five of them crowded in the doorway, their hands glowing.

"Oh, fuck."

Fitz had the odd feeling that Brigadier Bambera wasn't going to be happy when he called her back and told her that the military was definitely going to have to get involved. Especially when he suggested that UNIT set up a headquarters somewhere in the States so that next time they wouldn't have to send him to check out a potential threat. Probably not D.C. itself - the U.S. government might balk at that. Maybe somewhere on the west coast? Los Angeles, might work. Or Seattle. Actually, New York had possibilities as well.

Several more fireballs went flying over his head. Fitz decided he could think about it later, once he was out of the line of fire.

***

1 August 2002

"Don't ask," Fitz said as he limped across the room, glaring at Tony as he sat down on the stool next to him at the bar. "Just . . . don't ask."

Tony raised an eyebrow as he took in Fitz's haggard appearance, his gaze lingering on the singed edges of his hair. "And I thought I'd had some bad dates," he said, whistling.

Fitz shot him a dirty look. It quickly faded as Tony handed him the fresh beer that the bartender had just given him. "It looks like you need this more than me," Tony said, gesturing for someone to bring him another drink. "Seriously, what happened?"

"None of your business," Fitz said, rolling his eyes. He took a large gulp of his drink.

Tony leaned forward, resting his arms on the bar. As he met Fitz's gaze, his eyes suddenly looked wider and more innocent. "Please?"

Fitz took another sip of beer, and Tony's eyes somehow got even wider. After a few more seconds, Fitz let out a groan. "Will you stop doing that?" he snapped.

"Only if you tell me why it looks like someone tried to barbeque you," Tony replied. His voice was light, but there was something in his eyes that made Fitz think he was being more serious than he appeared. It looked almost like . . . worry.

Sighing, Fitz took another sip of beer before putting the glass down on the bar. "I was doing a favor for a friend," he said, thinking fast. Technically true, if you squinted. Possibly while standing on your head and attempting a backward summersault. "She needed some help with a problem she was having in her kitchen. There ended up being a small fire, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle."

The something-akin-to-worried expression disappeared from Tony's face. "Haven't I been telling you that smoking kills?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. "Ready to listen?"

Fitz rolled his eyes.

For a few seconds, Tony sat there in silence. Then he cleared his throat. "Fitz?" he said slowly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but . . . ."

"What?"

Tony gestured toward his face. "How long do you think it's going to take for your eyebrows to grow back?" he asked. "I'm not going to be able to use you as my second on double dates until they do."

***

31 December 2002

"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Fitz asked, tugging uncomfortably at his tux. He looked around the lobby of the fancy hotel they were waiting in. "Seriously, Tony, this isn't my type of place."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Relax," he said out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were focused on two gorgeous women who had just stepped out of the elevator. "Here come the ladies."

Trying his best to ignore the urge to hit Tony, Fitz smiled weakly as the women stopped in front of them. He must have succeeded, because the smiles they shot him looked genuine. More genuine than the one that the brunette was shooting at Tony, at least. Though he couldn't help but think that looked more like a glare than anything else.

"Hi, Gillian," Tony said, grabbing the blonde and giving her a quick peck on the lips. Then he glanced at Fitz. "Fitz, this is Gillian."

Fitz nodded politely. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice accent," Gillian said, her face lighting up a bit. "British?"

Tony quickly cleared his throat, cutting in before Fitz could answer. "And this," he said, gesturing toward the brunette, "is her roommate, Jena. She's going to be your date tonight."

Jena gave Fitz a polite smile. "Nice to meet you, Fitz," she said. "Would you give me just one moment? There's something I need to take care of before we leave."

Then she turned toward Tony and, without saying a word, brought her arm back and punched him right in the face. Gillian gasped and stepped back, a shocked look on her face as she moved her gaze between Jena and Tony, who was clutching his bleeding nose. It was obvious that she had no idea why her roommate had just hit Tony.

Fitz tried not to let his curiosity show too much. He doubted that he succeeded, but at least he was in good company. From what he could tell, three-fourths of the people around them were staring as well.

"I probably deserved that," Tony said finally, trying his best not to let blood drip on his rented tux. "Uh, was this about that whole incident with the French maid outfit and your sorority sisters? Because I honestly didn't know . . ."

This time, it was Gillian who punched him - albeit in the side. He immediately shut up. "Tony is the one you've been ranting about for the past month?" she asked incredulously.

Jena muttered something under her breath in what sounded like French. Then she grabbed Fitz's arm and smiled at Gillian. "Fitz and I will meet you at the party," she said, pointedly ignoring Tony. "Perhaps your date would like to freshen up a bit?"

Gillian sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She glanced over at Tony, an undecided look on her face as if she wasn't sure whether she wanted to be seen with him in public or not. Then she nodded.

Tony shot Fitz a betrayed look as Jena started pulling him toward the door. Fitz shrugged helplessly, trying not to let his amused smile show. He apparently didn't succeed, if Tony's expression was anything to judge by.

He'd learned by now it was better off not asking questions. Besides, he expected Jena would fill him in on everything before the night was over.

***

22 April 2003

"Come on," Tony said, rolling his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder to look at Fitz. "It's not going to kill you or anything."

Fitz shot him a dirty look. "Remind me again," he said irritably, "why do I need to meet your coworkers?"

Tony shrugged. Fitz was fairly certain that he saw a hint of sadistic glee in the other man's eyes. "Payback's a bitch?"

"You're the one who asked me to introduce you to the people I work with!" Fitz said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Remember? You wanted to ask Monica out on a date. She's still not talking to me, by the way. Thanks a lot for that."

Shaking his head, Tony walked over and grabbed Fitz's arm. "How was I supposed to know that I'd dated her sister a few months earlier?" he asked, forcefully pulling Fitz along with him.

"They're identical twins!"

Tony didn't reply, and Fitz suspected that it was because he couldn't think of a comeback that would end with him coming out on top. Before he could call Tony on it, though, they were standing at the door to a bar and he was being pulled through the door in spite of his admittedly weakening protests.

His protests died completely as he caught sight of a gorgeous woman sitting at the bar on the other side of the room. She was obviously a goth, though her clothes and make-up were a little more subtle than some of the ones he'd seen elsewhere. The outfit she was wearing was tasteful and revealing at the same time, and he thought that he saw hints of a few tattoos peeking out from under some of her clothes. He was so busy keeping his eyes on her that he didn't realize that Tony was actually dragging him in that direction until they'd stopped right beside her.

"Fitz Kreiner," Tony said, gesturing toward the woman that he'd been staring at. "Meet Abby Sciuto. Or Lilly, or whatever name she's going by this week." He paused for a second. "The name's because she lost a bet. Trust me, it's better not to ask."

Fitz felt his jaw drop.

Abby smirked at him. "Not what you were expecting?"

"No," Fitz managed to choke out after a few seconds. He shot Tony a quick dirty look before looking back toward her. "Someone forgot to mention a few things when he was telling me about you."

"Ooh!" Abby clapped her hands together. It made her look surprisingly like a little girl, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. "Tony, you never said anything about him having an accent!"

Tony, who had been grinning madly at Fitz's reaction to Abby, suddenly looked puzzled. "Why does his having an accent matter?"

Abby winked at Fitz. "Because," she said slowly, as if she was speaking to a child, "everyone knows that accents are hot."

Fitz felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

"Is that so?" Tony grinned as he dropped down on the stool next to Abby, throwing his arm over her shoulders. Fitz almost groaned at the fake British accent that he'd put on. "How much hotter does this accent make me?"

Behind Fitz, someone laughed. "Dear Lord, Anthony," a man said, his words enunciated with a light Scottish accent of his own, "please stop abusing our ears with that atrocious sound."

Tony rolled his eyes as he spun around to meet the new arrival. "Fitz Kreiner, meet Ducky Mallard," he said, speaking in his normal voice. "Ducky, this is Fitz."

Fitz held out his hand as an older man stepped around him. "Nice to meet you," Fitz said, smiling as Ducky took his hand. Ducky's grip was surprisingly strong. "I thought that I was going to have to punch him if he didn't drop the accent soon, so it's a good thing you got here when you did."

Ducky and Abby both started to laugh, while Tony put on a pout. His eyes were twinkling, though, so Fitz could tell that he wasn't too upset.

"It's nice to meet you as well, Mr. Kreiner," Ducky said, smiling. "Would it be safe to hazard that you're from London?"

Fitz nodded. "Once upon a time," he said, knowing full well that he probably sounded a little wistful. "Though I'd really prefer if you could just call me Fitz."

Ducky smiled. "Of course."

"So this is the guy DiNozzo picked up in an alley?" An unfamiliar man stepped past Fitz, sitting down beside Abby at the bar. He ran his eyes up and down Fitz, studying him closely. "He's not what I was expecting."

Fitz's smile faded when he saw Tony stiffen.

"Gibbs!" Abby punched the man in the arm. "Be nice!"

Gibbs. That explained quite a bit. Fitz studied Gibbs's face, trying to read it. He'd heard all sorts of stories about the man over the past year, but he'd never seen him before. He wasn't quite what Fitz had been expecting either.

For one thing, he didn't have horns growing out of his head and a pitchfork in his hand.

Ducky shook his head. "Jethro, you're going to scare the poor boy."

Gibbs just smiled. It didn't look very warm.

Fitz was usually good at reading people's faces, but he couldn't make heads or tails out of Gibb's. He shot Tony a look, silently pleading that he'd step in.

Shaking his head, Tony started to say something. He was cut off by his cell phone ringing. Shooting the device a dirty look, he reluctantly answered it. "DiNozzo. Oh, hey Viv."

Fitz blinked in surprise. He hadn't heard that much about the remaining member of the team, at least compared to the others. Not that Tony had really been that forthcoming on details about any of his team members.

Tony's face quickly grew serious as he listened to whatever she was saying on the other end of the phone, and the others all sobered as well. "Yeah, I'll tell the others."

Gibbs shot Tony a pointed look as he hung up.

"That was Blackadder, obviously," Tony said, all business. "They've found the body of a JAG officer in the woods."

Without waiting for Gibbs to say a word, Ducky and Abby quickly stood up and headed for the door. Tony shot Fitz an apologetic look as he got up as well. "Sorry to cut the meet and greet short, but duty calls."

Fitz waved toward the door. "Not a problem," he said. "Besides, I'm a big boy." He gestured with his eyes toward a group of women gathered around a nearby table; one of them gave him a wave and a wink when she saw his attention focused on them. "I think that I can take care of myself for a few hours."

Tony laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before turning and hurrying to catch up with Ducky and Abby. Fitz followed him with his eyes, not wanting to look away just yet for some reason. Once Tony reached them, Abby turned around and shot Fitz one last speculative look, as if she had noticed something about him that she hadn't expected to see. He wasn't entirely certain how to read it.

It took Fitz a second to realize that Gibbs was still there, staring at him. Trying not to let his nervousness show, he forced himself to stand up a little straighter. "Yes?"

"Military?" Gibbs asked. Fitz couldn't help but think it sounded more like a statement, despite the slight inflection at the end.

It took everything Fitz had not to blanch. "Something like that," he said carefully, forcing his mind to focus on the present and not the past. "I can't . . . it's not exactly something I can talk about."

Gibbs's face suddenly looked a lot less intimidating and much more compassionate. For the first time, Fitz could see what Tony saw in him.

"You'll do," Gibbs said, nodding. He clasped Fitz on the shoulder for just a second, but he didn't say another word as he walked past him and headed toward the door.

Fitz didn't know exactly what the other man was talking about, but that didn't stop him from smiling. From what he had gathered, that counted as high praise from Gibbs - and that meant something.

If he was honest with himself, for the first time in quite a while the future didn't seem so bad. The past, on the other hand . . . .

"I refuse to simply wait to be slaughtered!" the Master had hissed, grabbing the Doctor by the coat and pushing him into the wall. "We're going to lose this war."

Fitz had practically jumped from the chair he had been sitting in, and he would have been halfway across the room within seconds if the Doctor hadn't met his gaze. Though he hadn't said anything, the unspoken message in his eyes had been clear; he wanted Fitz to wait.

"Romana feels that we have a chance of regaining lost ground if we manage to defend Arcadia," the Doctor had replied calmly. His eyes had been shining with a combination of anger and defeat even then, despite his collected appearance. "You cannot give up on Gallifrey just yet."

The Master had snorted, abruptly letting go of the Doctor. Then he had reached up and brushed a few loose strands of long, red hair behind his ear. "I gave up on Gallifrey a long time ago, Doctor," he had said chidingly. "As did you, though I expect you've been the Lady President's pet too long to remember how things used to be."

The Doctor had narrowed his eyes at that comment, and Fitz had realized what was about to happen only a second before it actually occurred. By the time he had managed to dash across the large room to where they were standing, the Master had already been struggling to pry the Doctor's fingers from around his neck.

"Doctor!" Fitz had said, his voice firm as he had grabbed his friend's arm. "He's not worth it!"

For just a moment, Fitz had thought that the Doctor was going to hit him as the Time Lord turned his angry gaze toward him. Then his fury had seemed to ebb away, leaving nothing but tired regret. He had loosened his grip on the Master's neck, sending the other Time Lord sprawling onto the ground at the unexpected action.

The Master had glared up at them. "The Time Lords aren't going to win the war," he had repeated, his voice cold. There had been red marks around his neck that would become bruises within the hour. "Not this time. Everyone you know care about is going to die, Doctor, starting with this human pet that refuses to leave your side."

Regretfully, Fitz glanced back over at the women he'd been looking at earlier. Then he waved, trying to get the bartender's attention. He suddenly wasn't in the mood for company anymore.

***

2 July 2003

Fitz couldn't help but stop when he saw the guitar in the window. He stood outside the secondhand store for several minutes, just staring at it. It had been a long time since he'd really thought about music. He hadn't played since that night on the moons of Xxerli, near the beginning of the Time War, when he and the Doctor had slipped away for one last trip before . . .

. . . and he really didn't want to think about that right now. It had been over a year, but it was going to take longer than that to stop hurting every time he happened to think about the Doctor.

Shaking his head, Fitz focused on the guitar again. It was gorgeous. He knew just by looking at it that it would play beautifully, and he could almost feel it in his hands.

"What would it hurt?" he muttered, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. "I'd been playing for years before I ever met the Doctor. It's not like he taught me to play or anything."

Except he did, that annoying little voice somewhere near the back of Fitz's mind chimed in. You knew the notes, how to put them together, even how to put your soul into playing - but if it wasn't for him you'd never had learned that music was actually a language in some galaxies. That it could go so far beyond beautiful that humans can barely even comprehend it. That it was so much more than you ever thought it was.

"You like the guitar, huh?"

Fitz jumped at the unfamiliar voice and made a noise that sounded very similar to "meep."

There was a man standing in the doorway of the store, trying not to laugh. Fitz had to fight back the urge to stare. With his chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail and dark eyes peering out from under tortoise-shell glasses, the stranger bore a definite resemblance to the Doctor.

"Sorry," the man said with a smile, "I thought you saw me."

Fitz shot him a sheepish grin. "I was lost in the past," he replied after only a second's hesitation. Then he gestured at the guitar. "It's been awhile since I've played."

The man nodded. "Do you want to see her?" he asked, holding the door open a little wider. "Maybe play a few chords?"

Fitz bit his lip and glanced at the guitar one more time. He knew it would remind him of everything: the Doctor, the TARDIS, Sam, Compassion, Anji, Trix, the Time War, Gallifrey, the Faction Paradox, the Daleks, probably even Father Kreiner. Still, it was tempting. Very tempting. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

Grinning, the man ushered him in. "I'm Jim, by the way," he said, closing the door behind them. He walked over to the window and carefully picked up the guitar, holding it like it was a priceless treasure. "I own the store."

"The name's Fitz."

Fitz wavered for just a second as Jim handed him the guitar before taking it. His hands automatically put themselves in the right position; he didn't even have to think about it. He tentatively played a few notes, letting the sound rush over him. It had been too long.

Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift as his fingers started playing. For just a moment, he could almost imagine that he was back in the 1960s. Everything he'd been through over the past decade or so was nothing more than a dream he'd had.

Except it hadn't just been his imagination. He wasn't a twenty-seven year old just barely eking out a living, taking care of his sick mother and trying to pretend that his last name didn't earn him dirty looks even though the war had been over for almost two decades. He'd seen the universe, saved the world, faced some creatures that were usually only found in nightmares, and came across things that were so beautiful it would make a grown man cry. Not that he'd admit to anything.

Sighing, Fitz stopped playing and opened his eyes again. Jim was staring at him, an impressed look on his face. "Just how long has it been since you played?"

"A couple of years," Fitz said, shrugging. It was all but impossible to actually do the math and figure out exactly how long it had been.

Jim whistled. "A couple of years?" he repeated. "And you can still play like that?"

Fitz felt his face grow warm, and he quickly tried to hand the guitar back to Jim. "I better be going."

Jim held up his hands, refusing to take the guitar back. "Not without that guitar, you're not." He shook his head. "Trust me, it was meant for you."

Biting his lip, Fitz glanced down at the guitar. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford it. The only reason he wasn't jumping at the chance was because it reminded him of the Doctor. Where would it stop? Was he going to spend the rest of his life making decisions based on whether or not it would make him remember the past? The Doctor had left him. Why was he rearranging his life for the Doctor's sake?

"You know what?" Fitz said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "I think you might be right. Maybe it's time I tried to live a little."

Continue to Part Two.