A/N: Hello! This is my first BT fic, so please be nice. It is Bart/Nat. I would like to warn you all that I haven't read the series in a while, so I'm not positive on what's fact and what I just made up...

Sorry about the length. The other chapters are longer. The first three are sort of like prolougues and then the fourth goes a year into the future (I'll remind you when I get to chapter four).

I should update about every week.

Disclaimer: I don't own BT...

Chapter 1

A boy groaned and looked around. Where am I? Who am I? And most importantly, why the bloody hell am I lying on the ground in the middle of a field? he wondered. He wobbly got to his feet, moaning when a sharp pain shot through his side. The teen glanced down, slowly lifting his shirt. There was a large wound on his side. It wasn't bleeding and looked about a week old.

He slowly stumbled in the direction of a small cottage on the edge of the field. The boy opened his mouth to call out when he reached the door, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello?" he rasped, knocking on the door. "Is anyone there?"

After a minute, he heard footsteps and a woman replied, "One moment."

A short woman with dark brown hair opened the door. Her eyes widened when she took in his appearance. "Oh my. Come in, come in. What ever happened to you, darling?"

She led him into the living room and directed him to a couch before flying around the kitchen to find food.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked as she handed him a glass of water.

He took a sip and blushed, "I- I don't know."

"Oh no!" she tutted. "Well, do you at least remember how you got to our field or what happened to you?"

The boy shook his head and self-consciously picked at a loose thread on his jacket.

"You must have been someone important or at least wealthy."

"How can you tell?" he asked, glancing up.

"The woman laughed, "Your suit is very fancy even if it is torn up. You don't remember anything, do you?"

"No. I don't," he shook his head.

"What would you like to be called when you stay here?"

"'Stay here'?" the teen questioned.

She laughed again, "Of course. I can't have you wandering the street in a torn up suit with no memories. You don't even know your name! You would be hurt out there. So, what name would you like?"

"It doesn't really matter. Whatever you want," he shrugged.

"Hm…" she tapped her chin. "How about James?"

"Sounds good, " the boy- James- replied.

"Great. James. Or Jimmy, I guess. It sounds good." James nodded distractedly. "Oh! Speaking of names, I haven't told you mine. I'm Marissa Cartani. My husband is working right now. His name's Patrick."

"Nice to meet you," Jimmy replied, shaking her outstretched hand.

A/N: I hope you liked it. I have a question: how old was Natty when he died? I want to say 16, but I'm not sure if it's right...

If you have any ideas about their meeting, tell me and I might use them (I haven't written that scene yet).

Please REVIEW!