A/N: Kudos if the title gave this away to you. I've been dying to see this fic for ages and just finally did it myself. I hope you all enjoy. HUGE thank you to the insanely talented TheLateNightStoryteller for betaing and chatting this out with me!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Chapter 1: Journey to the Past

Young Fitz, sat quietly as he packed his few meager belongings into his knap sack. Preparing to leave the only home he could remember once and for all. Though he would never call the aged and dilapidated building home. It had merely been a roof over his head as he tried to piece together the puzzle that was his life.

"Fitz!" Victoria Hand scolded, making the young man jump. "Are you still packing? You were supposed to be out of here an hour ago." Madame Victoria Hand was in charge of the Children's Home Fitz had lived in since he'd been found wandering, alone, soaking wet, in Edinburgh's main square with no idea where he had come from or who and where his own family was. His name, or what he though was at least part his name coming to him days later.

"I'm almost done Mrs. Hand," He said obediently, shoving a tattered notebook, containing every bit of his precious research, and closing the sack.

She scowled down at him. "Always with your nose in a book, looking for your family, when will you accept that they didn't want you, that they threw you away and move on."

Fitz felt his chest constrict, despite her telling him this for the better part of a decade it still hurt to hear. He knew somewhere, someone loved him, missed him, and was even looking for him as much as he was for them. Hand paid no heed and continued to rant on "And you show up here like the King himself, expecting the finer things in life, and tearing apart anything you could get your grimy little hands on. And when you weren't tearing things apart you were at the library, looking for clues on your family."

"But I do have a clue!" Fitz insisted, and not for the first time, pulled out a worn pocket watch. It was gold and clearly crafted by a master, Mrs. Hand having tried to get him to sell it a number of times, and every time he refused. Never mind he could never get the bloody thing to open, but the engraving on it always gave him a spark of hope. 'Together in Paris' etched into the gold.

She rolled her eyes and guided him down the hall and out the door. "You have been nothing but a thorn in my side, and I will be glad to be rid of you."

"Yes Mrs. Hand," he agreed, his impossibly blue eyes meeting hers and her gaze softened slightly. "I spoke with Mr. Sitwell down at the factory, he has agreed to take you on. It's located by the docks and he is expecting you by sundown."

"Yes Mrs. Hand," He responded obediently looking out the gates to the world beyond, once again being sent off on his own. Her hand fell to his shoulder, "Work hard and you can have a nice life Fitz, but please forget about finding your family, it will only cause heartache."

Fitz pulled away and wrapped his coat around him tightly, "Thank you for everything, I know I've been trouble. But I appreciate you putting up with me none the less." A real smile broke the mask she normally wore and he walked away. "Be safe," Mrs. Hand whispered as he disappeared into the crowded square.

Fitz walked through the congested streets, coming to a familiar fork in the road, this point representing the farthest he'd ever been from the home. He looked down towards the docks, the smoke and haze from the factories rising into the skies, as if representing the gloom Fitz felt about the prospect of a life there. To the right he could see the sun's rays peeking through the clouds, casting their golden rays on the now abandoned castle. Since the fall of the royal family it had been vacated, picked clean by looters, empty as the clans formed a new government to act in the monarchy's place. He'd always wanted to go into the castle. The craftsmanship of his watch was clearly meant for someone with status, and some of the symbology was similar to the crests of the Royal Families.

He was broken from his thoughts as someone crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. Fitz crumbled a curse, trying to pull himself up, a burly man bearing down on him. "You wretch," He said the stench of alcohol reeking from him.

"I'm sorry," Fitz apologized trying to scoot away, the man only advancing.

"You'll need to pay for that," He said gesturing to a clearly old and set in stain on his once fine coat.

"I don't have any money," Fitz said quickly now finding he'd backed himself against the wall, the other passers by paying no heed to his situation. The stranger sneered revealing yellow and rotting teeth, "I don't know, I bet you have some item of value that will make things right, just turn out your pockets and let me see."

Fitz panicked, the only thing remotely of value he had was his watch, his only link to the past. "I don't-" he started, the man grabbing him by his shirt and pushing him harshly into the wall.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a deep voice growled. Despite the fact it was quiet Fitz felt he would have been less threatening had its owner screamed it. His attacker's eyes went wide and turned to see who had interfered. He was clearly afraid but refused to let go of his prey. "This is none of your business, kid ran into me, he must pay the toll-"

Fitz finally got a good look at the new arrival, a hulk of a man that towered over him. He wore plain working clothes, but they were covered in dirt and grease…Fitz assumed a factory worker. A big, strong, angry, factory worker. His apparent savior fixed the man with a glare and cracked his knuckles loudly, the simple unsaid threat finally enough for the man to release his hold and send him back down to the ground once more. The man scurried away without another word.

"You all right there Turbo, you took quite a hit."

Fitz looked up to see easily the largest man he'd ever seen now leaning over to help him up. And for the first time in ages he struggled to form words. "Thanks," Fitz finally managed to get out taking the hand. The man pulled him up as if he were a feather, clapping him on the back, "Gotta watch where you are going around here, this isn't the best neighborhood." Again Fitz nodded.

"How about you tell me where your heading and I'll make sure you get there without being robbed," the man said. Fitz stepped back slightly, worried now what this stranger would want in return for his 'kind gesture'.

"Look Turbo, I'm not going to hurt you, my name is Mack, I'm a mechanic out to pick up some parts that are supposedly left in the castles garage…just don't' tell anyone I'm doing that. Place is supposed to be off limits."

It was Mack's turn to want to take a step back as a pair of blue eyes studied him intently. The gaze would have made his hair stand on end, if he hand any. "Fitz," the younger man finally said. "Believe it or not I was heading there as well, I have some…research I'm doing." He said, evasively.

Mack offered a smile and gestured the young man forward "Just Fitz huh, well Fitz you don't happen to know anything about how a combustion engine works."

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"We've been through this bloody library a thousand times now Jemma," Lance Hunter complained loudly, lounging on one of the few remaining moth eaten couches in the once opulent room. Across the room, Jemma Simmons shot him a glare from the desk she had taken as her own all those months ago when they had started this project.

Duke Phillip Coulson, last of the monarchy, yet due it being by marriage having no claim to the now vacant throne, had set forth a reward for any information as to the fate of his beloved lost Nephew, Leopold Fitz, The terrible night Hydra's army had attacked, their leader non other than head of the Royal Guard Grant Ward, overwhelming the castle and killing every last member of the royal family. Or so he thought.

Jemma knew better. Her parents had been tutors to the Prince and they had lived in the castle at the time. The night Hydra had struck Jemma herself had opened a secret compartment in the wall and gotten Duke Coulson and the Young Price Leopold at the very least out of the castle. Hydra's thugs knocking her out when she refused to tell them what way they had gone. Jemma had even known the Prince, and the Kind and Queen being generous had allowed her to sit in on a few of his lessons. They had been on their way to becoming fast friends when he disappeared. His fate unknown, his Uncle found unconscious in the village square by the subjects and smuggled from the city before Ward could find him. There had been no trace of the young prince despite exhaustive searches by both sides.

When Jemma came too hours later, she had found an odd metal box just outside the passage door and vaguely remembered the Prince clutching to it before he was forced through. She had kept it as a remembrance ever since. That very box now sitting on top of a stack of books.

"There is no way the kid survived," Hunter said loudly breaking her from her thoughts. "I was here that night, Hydra was like a plague of locusts and cut down anyone that had a drop of Royal blood in them. I lost the Knight that was training me Sir Triplett, bless his soul. I heard he died trying to defend the King himself". Like Jemma, Hunter had also been at the castle, a squire in training for the Knights of Shield, the Royal Families personal protection detail.

Jemma finally set her book down, hospital records from around the fall open before her. "I know he most likely didn't survive. But the Duke wants closure, so proof either way is enough to earn the reward. If anything you care about that." She said, before turning back to her list.

Hunter grumbled, "I can't believe you want to waste it on an education when there are so many more, enjoyable, options out there."

"You are going to use it to sweep your dear Barbara off her feet, run away to some exotic far away island," Jemma snapped back playfully. Hunter didn't disagree, his head snapping towards the door at the sounds of approaching footsteps. Jemma snatched the box up as Hunter pulled his gun, motioning her behind one of the bookcases. Despite being empty for years the occasional looter or vagabond found their way into the castle hoping for an easy score or piece of history.

"Library is right there Turbo, I'll be up to get you as soon as I find what I need." A deep voice boomed from the end of the hall. Seconds later the great wooden doors opened and a young man with curly hair and bright blue eyes peeked into the room. "No way, that little thing made that sound." Hunter whispered into her ear. Jemma merely nodded, something eerily familiar about the young man that she couldn't quite place her finger on it.

The newcomer finally fully entered the room, looking around it in awe. Jemma had that expression herself nearly every time she entered, taking a few moments to picture it in all its splendor. He wandered around the area, fingers lingering on tops of the tables or a chair. "Bloody Hell," He whispered his Scottish brogue loud and clear in the silence.

He continued to move, going to an odd contraption that sat on a pedestal in the foyer of the room. It had been there ever since Jemma could remember, but no one knew what it did. Solidly welded no one had been able to wrench it free nor disturb the intricate series of gears and cogs. His hands ran over the machine, one of them shaking ever so slightly, finally coming to rest on the side. He rotated one of the gears, sending the machine into motion. It was beautiful, soft chimes playing an old Scottish lullaby and despite years of neglect, the gears still shimmered in the light streaming through the window.

"You never told me it could do that!" Hunter said out loud, breaking the spell, and causing the young man to jump. His eyes feel on the gun and he slowly backed away.

Jemma didn't want him to stop, "Wait!" She called, too late as he turned and ran.

The pair followed, at least needed to impress upon the young man the need of secrecy. "You scared him!" Jemma snapped. Hunter didn't' argue merely pushing ahead to see the kid heading into the main foyer of the castle.

"Mack!" he shouted.

"Great!" Hunter grumbled remembering the booming voice that had accompanied the young man. Getting a clear shot as the escapee hit the landing "Stop!" he ordered, the sound of his gun cocking echoing in the great hall.

Jemma ran past Hunter and down the stairs, holding her hands out in front of her. "Look, we mean you no harm. You just startled us and we're not really supposed to be here. Can you please turn and look at me at least?"

Hands still above his head he slowly turned, chest heaving, hand that had been slightly trembling was now full on shaking. Jemma finally got a good look at him, the Royal family's portrait right behind him. The stark blue eyes of the crown prince starting back at her two fold. "My name is Jemma Simmons, this is Lance Hunter," Jemma said warmly unable to break away from his eyes, waving to Hunter to at least lower his gun. "What is your name?"

"Fitz," he said quietly, lowering his hands.

"Fitz what?" Hunter asked his own curiosity peaked.

Fitz shrugged, ringing his hands together. "I don't know," He said sheepishly. "I had an accident when I was a kid and don't remember the first bit of my life. Fitz was the first thing that came to me after a few weeks at the Children's Home. I came here to see if I could research some family crests, maybe see if I could find my clan."

Jemma's eyes widened and she offered a brilliant smile, circling around Fitz to properly look him over.

"Do you mind," He said folding his arms over his chest as if trying to shield himself from her. She stopped and Hunter had to hide a laugh behind his hand. "Sorry," She said pointing to the painting "It's just you look an awful lot like-"

"Turbo" the deep voice growled, a hulk of a man that they could only assume was Mack running up the stairs, taking them three at a time before planting himself in front of his self-appointed charge. Jemma held her ground, if anything put off she'd been interrupted, while Hunter took a step back.

"Oh, for heaven sake!" she snapped "If we wanted to kill him we would have done it by now!"

Fitz's eyes went wide at her words and Mack shoved him farther behind him with a growl. Jemma didn't back down stepping around Mack and grabbing Fitz by the arm, dragging him to the painting. "You look just like him! The eyes!"

Fitz though she had completely lost her marbles and was more than ready to leave, go find Mr. Sitwell like he was supposed to, and forget he ever had this crazy idea. "You are raving!" he said, though pausing to study the painting and the other figures there once more. Lingering on the king and queen.

"Look, Duke Coulson is looking for his nephew. You have no idea who you are or where you're from. Why don't we take you to visit him, see if he can help you, you said you had something with a crest on it?" Jemma said. Fitz tore his attention away and seemed to look properly at her for the first time, something tugging in the depths of his mind. He pulled out the pocket watch, letting it dangle from its chain. Hunter let out a whistle, mentally doing the calculations on how much it would be worth in the right market.

"It says together in Paris." Fitz said quietly.

"Why would you take him? Paris isn't exactly down the street." Mack asked looking at the two skeptically.

"Isn't it our duty to King and Country to restore the true heir to the throne? And it just so happens the Duke is currently residing in Paris." Hunter said, leaving out only a few of the minor details, not wanting to have to split any reward money later. Prince or no, this kid was a dead ringer and would do the job.

"And if you're not Leopold, the Duke will understand it was all an honest mistake, maybe be able to identify the crest on there for you," Jemma added tenderly. "No harm done."

Fitz looked her in the eyes, something about them drawing him in and felt familiar. He was desperate to find out who is family was and this was the first person who had offered to help him. Biting his lip he nodded. "All right," he said his gaze turning to Mack, eyes silently pleading with him to come with them. Mack looked at him incredulously, only a few hours ago he had been fixing a car, and now?

"Offer's just for you Mate," Hunter said looking at Mack with narrowed eyes. "I'm all the muscle this littler operation needs".

Mack folded his arms, having actually been content to stay in his garage until Hunter had opened his mouth. Now there was no way he was letting this kid go alone with the trigger happy Brit. "I'm going," He said in a tone that left no room for argument, putting a possessive hand on Fitz's shoulder for good measure.

Hunter opened his mouth to argue, Fitz suddenly speaking up. "He goes or I don't." He said firmly, Fitz feeling better having someone he knew would have his back.

"The more the merrier," Jemma said brightly though her eyes betrayed a little trepidation. With a grand bow she gestured down the stairs "Your Highness, shall we?"

To Be Continued-