At the Coal Hill High School in Shoreditch, a middle aged woman was calmly lecturing a set of rather bored students. They dutifully took notes, as she told them about the assassination of American President Abraham Lincoln. "He was shot by a crazy man named Lee Harvey Oswald. I'll write that on the board for you…" she was saying as a man with boyish charm and a bow-tie thrust open the door.
"I am looking for one Susan Foreman," he announced.
"She is not in this class," replied the teacher, she turned back to the board and continued writing.
The man stayed in the door way, his hand still on the handle. He took a closer look at the teacher. "You're not Barbra!" he exclaimed.
"No, she teaches history in the classroom two doors down."
"Ah," said the man. "Well, sorry to have bothered you." He backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
The teacher resumed writing on the board. She had just finished writing the name of Lincoln's assassin when the door flew open again.
"I'm sorry to interrupt again, but did you say Lee Harvey Oswald?" asked the man in the bow tie.
"Yes," said the teacher, maintaining composure.
"Killed American President Abraham Lincoln?"
"Yes."
"Not John Wilkes Booth?"
"Please, sir, I am trying to teach a lesson. Don't confuse the children."
"But you're telling them that Lee Harvey Oswald killed President Lincoln."
"That's because he did."
"Then who shot John F. Kennedy?"
"Kennedy's been shot?" the woman dropped her chalk. The children in the class grew silent.
"Wait, what is the date today?"
"November 23nd," said one of the students cheerfully.
"So, still the 22nd in America." The man in the bow tie looked over at the large clock on the wall and wiggled his fingers, quietly counting. "Yes," he answered the shocked educator's question. Then, as quickly as he had come, the man shut the door behind him.
The Doctor leaned against the wall in the hallway, faintly hearing the excited voices of the classroom he had just disturbed. He glanced towards the classroom two doors down. He murmered to himself, "President Abraham Lincoln shot by Lee Harvey Oswald." He sighed, and stood up straight. "Susan will just have to wait."
**{+==]***
In Dallas, the streets and sidewalks were filled with people eagerly preparing to watch the president's motorcade. No one noticed the two agents weaving through the crowd speaking with hushed tones into the collars of their grey turtle neck sweaters.
"Anachronism spotted at Dealy Plaza?" asked one of the agents.
"We are already on it," said the other. She saw a tall man walking briskly out of an alley containing a blue police box that was most certainly out of place for 1960s America.
The Doctor was surveying his surroundings, but before he could decide his next move, a gruff hand was on the back of his neck, fingers digging into some Gallifreyan-specific pressure points.
"Do not move and answer all of our questions truthfully," said a lulling yet frightening voice behind him.
"Who are you? How do you know the Freezing Grip?" asked the Doctor.
The grip became firmer and a thumb found yet another pressure point. The Doctor was pulled into the alley. A woman in a grey turtle neck stepped out of the shadows. "They teach the Grip the third week of training," she said. "And they teach this the fourth week." In a deft and fluid motion she cuffs the Doctor's right wrist to his left ankle and left wrist to right ankle. The Doctor looks up to see his captors. The one is a woman, her dark hair pinned back in a tight pony-tail. The other is a man with dark sunglasses. Neither would stand out in a crowd, memorable only because they appear so bland.
"Are you CIA?" asked the Doctor. "No, you can't be CIA. The whole agency was well… everyone was, you know."
"Are you referring to the Celestial Intervention Agency of Gallifrey?" inquires the man in the sunglasses.
"We're not with them," the woman said quickly. "You are being detained under suspicion of trying to save the President."
"No," said the Doctor, struggling to face his accuser. "I am here to make sure the right person shoots him."
"Scan him," the woman instructed her partner. The man pulled from a deep pocket a small device. He scanned the Doctor's palms and flashed a red light in his eyes.
"You don't understand," protested the Doctor. "I'm here to help. Someone is messing with Time. I have to stop them."
"No, Sir. We have to stop them. That's our job." Her lulling voice took on a business tone, "What does the scanner say?"
"It's still calculating," said the man in sunglasses. He shrugged his shoulders and slipped the device back into his pocket.
The Doctor tried again, "Please, John Wilkes Booth is about to shoot Kennedy –"
"Don't try to stop JFK's death," the agents said firmly.
"I'm not. I just want to find out why it isn't Oswald. Someone is messing with Time."
Both the agents let out a sigh of relief.
"No, sir," said the woman. "Someone is messing with History." She continues to explain. "Time is just fine. As long as the fixed point is unaltered -"
"Today is a fixed point!" cried the Doctor.
"Let me guess," said the man with the sunglasses. He pulled out a small key and knelt down to release the Doctor from the cuffs. "You looked into the void, spent a couple decades at the Academy, think you know all about the delicate fabric of Time and Space." The Doctor sat up once he was free. The agent pushed him back down. "Listen up, Time Lord," he says. "A fixed point in Time is very small. It isn't a whole day, or even a whole minute. It is the length of time it takes a bullet to enter and exit a skull." He stood and moved to exit the alley.
"Who gets blamed matters little; who shot it even less so," said the dark haired women.
The Doctor scrambled to his feet. "Then why change the names? Why tinker in a thing so trivial yet recognizable?"
Both agents paused. They looked at each other silently. The man in the sunglasses whispered, "Could it be Dr. Song? This seems like a thing she'd do."
"She's an archeologist," replied the woman. "She wouldn't mess with personal histories."
"What about that agent of ours that went rogue? Jack Harkness?"
"Now you're just guessing random people. If someone were messing with personal histories, Brairian would have fixed it before even the savviest Time Traveling History Buff would have noticed."
"What are you suggesting?" the man with the sunglasses said, glancing back at the Doctor.
"Some thing is messing with personal histories."
The Doctor perked up. "Some things are my specialty. I'm on the case."
The woman glared at the foolish man in the bow tie. "Has the scanner given a reading yet?" she asked her partner.
"Oh! I forgot all about it." He took the scanner back out of his pocket. He read it. "This can't be right." He showed his partner the scanner's read out.
"But… but he's in a bow-tie. With these levels he should have long wavy hair and a velvet coat."
"Levels of what? What's that mean?" the Doctor snatches the scanner.
The woman purses her lips. "We don't have time for this. We are supposed to be setting up at the grassy knoll."
The Doctor clutched the device. "I'm not giving it back 'til you tell me what these green lights mean."
The woman gave an exasperated sigh. "It's the pull of the Time Lock. You're not done playing a role in the Time War."
"The Time War?" the Doctor lost his grip on the scanner. The woman caught it as it fell, then rushed out of the alley.
The man removes his sunglasses and speaks gently. He gently guided the Doctor back down the alley. "Don't stress about it. Just do what you would normally do." With a gentle hand he opened the door of the TARDIS. The Doctor entered silently. The man put his sunglasses back on. "Travel with friends. Leave the protection of Time and History to the professionals."
Back on the street, the woman is speaking into her collar. "This is Agent Perl recommending extra surveillance be placed on Sue and Sven."
**{+==]**