"But why would Sam have leaped into me?" the Doctor asked, not really expecting an answer. "I remember that, and nothing unusual happened. Well, nothing unusual for me. Didn't manage to catch up with the Tryl'c'ark, at least not immediately, but they weren't a pressing concern. Certainly nothing Sam would need to change."

"Something must have gone wrong," Al said again, "for Sam to have leaped there."

"But it didn't!" the Doctor protested.

"Something must have changed," the other Doctor reasoned, "or I wouldn't be here."

The Doctor considered this. "Yes, I suppose. But, blimey, I never felt anything coming on, did I?"

The other Doctor shook his head. "No sign that anything was up to anything. Course, I've missed things before. On occasion. Rare occasions."

"But if you're here now," Al reasoned, suddenly realizing something, "then you'd remember what was wrong, wouldn't you?"

The Doctor looked at Al, and then at his younger self. "Well. Theoretically."

"What do you mean?" Al asked, wary now.

"If I'd been here before, do you think I would have asked Sam all those questions when I first met him?" the Doctor questioned in reply. "I genuinely didn't know anything about it. Well. Nothing substantial."

"You mean you're not just going through the motions?" the other Doctor asked suddenly, looking a bit worried himself. "Recovering from the forgotten expected shock, stating the obvious, and moving on to prevent destruction?"

The Doctor wordlessly shook his head.

"System must really work, then," Al said, straightening up again. "Glad to know we fixed it." They'd been tinkering with it, on and off, and finally settled on what they hoped was the most flawless transition. Not that they would've felt safe with too much tinkering, but Ziggy had approved every plan and monitored the changes and installations…and Sam had still leaped, so they hadn't done anything to keep him caught in the past, or worse, caught wherever he was in between leaps.

Both Doctors were staring at him now, and it was disturbing to see such a suspicious look on Sam's face. "What do you mean?"

"Whatever Sam's doing is what you remember," Al replied simply, starting to wonder if the effort it took to concentrate on Sam's image outweighed the headache he'd get by dealing with two identical aliens. "You just think it's you yourself that did that. Which is why you don't remember coming to the Project and meeting your future self."

There was silence. Then, "You do remember what I am, don't you, Al?" the Doctor asked. "Not human."

"I do try to keep that in the back of my mind," Al replied sarcastically. "But yes, I do. And it doesn't make any difference. Sam's leaped between species before. He ended up as a chimp once."

Now the Doctor looked insulted, a look mirrored on his counterpart's face. "Oi! I'll have you know—"

He went on grumbling, though the other Doctor interrupted him, and for a moment Al could hear Sam's calm voice saying, "Point is, my mind's not subject to that sort of trickery. I'd remember." It was different for him, compared to everyone else at the Project; he heard and saw Sam as Sam and the leapee as the leapee, and that was only different if he concentrated on it—something to do with their neural contact, according to Gooshie. He was starting to wonder if that was actually a benefit.

"Then why don't you remember this?" Al shot back, not wanting to admit defeat when he didn't have a clear reason to do so.

"That's what worries me," the Doctor wearing Sam's guise replied. "Unless I purposely forget this, there's no reason I shouldn't have remembered everything."

Martha was at a loss. The Doctor hadn't warned her that something like this would happen. Then again, he never told her everything. Ever. She'd always thought he'd done that because he thought he was keeping her safe. Or because it hurt too much to talk about it. She'd had to push to get him to tell her anything about Gallifrey, and after that…. She knew not to question him now. She didn't want to cause him that pain again. Grief needed to be dealt with, yes, but he had been filing his away for who knew how many years, and she wasn't sure that he would take kindly to her prodding him to open the floodgates. She wasn't really sure how to go about it, even. Not now.

But now she had no idea how to deal with what she was facing. It wasn't definable, so she wasn't even sure where to start. She could see the Doctor standing in front of her, but she wasn't sure what the balance was between him and the other personality inside him. Maybe not the John Smith she knew, but someone was certainly emerging. And he'd been John Smith before, so maybe, somehow, all his acting…maybe it wasn't all entirely acting.

He'd told her the creatures they'd been chasing weren't dangerous, but she couldn't buy that, not now. They had to have done something to him. Even if her initial guess at 'relapse' was right, she didn't know who he was relapsing into. And from the sounds of it, he didn't either.

But it was all so frustrating! There were times when he acted just like the Doctor, but then…then he'd do something decidedly un-Doctor-like, and she wasn't sure how to face him. It had been easier with John Smith in 1913. Not that she'd had a clue what to expect then, either, not really, but she'd had the list to go back to, and she was able to follow what the Do—John Smith had expected of her. She'd managed to fit in, just like she'd needed to. And she'd done her best to protect him, really, but they'd….

And he was looking at her now. He didn't seem expectant. He was just quiet. Waiting, maybe. For her. Until she was ready. It would have reminded her of the Doctor, if it wasn't for the way he was doing it. He was watching her, yes. Out of concern, yes. But also to learn about her. He really didn't know anything about her, and now he was studying her. He didn't want to become someone else, from what she could tell, so he was watching her for clues to find out what was normal for the Doctor and what wasn't.

And she'd been giving them to him all along, which is why she hadn't been able to be certain.

He may not have been the Doctor, exactly, but this John Smith, whoever he was—he was similar to him. He still had bits of the Doctor. She had to focus on that. They'd figure something out.

But in the meantime, she had to say something.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she finally blurted out. "Before you came here, I mean." And immediately she started berating herself. John Smith had had false memories—this one would, too.

Except that he answered her. Sort of. "It's all a bit jumbled," he replied. "Bit hard to say what was last."

Martha drew in a breath, trying to organize her thoughts. "Tell me about yourself."

"Sorry?"

"Tell me about yourself. Who you are." She looked up at him earnestly. "I mean, what I'm saying now can't sound any more absurd than what I've already said, but who do you think you are? What background story did you have? John Smith, he was from Nottingham. His parents were Sidney and Verity and I was his maid and we…." She shook her head. When she focussed her gaze on him again, he was still looking at her, evidently confused. "I mean…. I dunno. What's your story?"

He seemed to think about this for a moment. He looked around the TARDIS again, touching one of the coral struts in awe. Instead of answering her, he kept examining the intricacies of the TARDIS, asking, "You said this was 1983, but you told me not ten minutes ago that we weren't in 1913 anymore. So when are you from?"

"2007," Martha replied. She saw his hand falter, and he spun around to look at her, gaze intense. "What?"

"This is all available in 2007?"

"What?" Martha blinked at him, and then realized what he was thinking. "Oh, no, no. No. It's…this…." She shrugged. "I don't know when this is from. I met yo—the Doctor in 2007." He seemed to deflate a bit at that, so she added, "Why? When are you from?"

"Not ten years earlier than you," he answered finally. He frowned slightly. "I think. I'm not sure how long I've been gone."

Even she had to admit that that sounded strange, even considering who she thought he was. "You mean…. You know you've been here before?"

He started to shake his head, but then stopped and instead craned his head to look up towards the ceiling. "I think I might have," he responded, looking thoughtful. "I can't… No, can't've been. Wouldn't forget something like this."

"It might look familiar because it's the Doctor's," Martha suggested. "John Smith didn't recognize it, or he didn't admit it, but he dreamt about it, every night. That's one reason he was so afraid to face the truth, I think. Because he knew what it meant."

"What happened to this John Smith?"

"I…don't really know." Martha sighed. "The Doctor never really explained it. He's still there, inside of you—him. Just like you were. Before you…emerged."

He didn't say anything for a while, and she started to wonder if he was going to snap out of it. But then, "I don't know if 'emerged' is quite the right word in this case." She waited, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he said, "Remind me. These…creatures…we were chasing. Were they…? I mean, were you ever in any danger, per se?"

"Not that I could tell," Martha replied. "I mean, you didn't say they were a priority or anything. They aren't the reason we came here. We didn't even mean to come here. You said you wanted to show me the Gate of Alagoriz—"

"Alguarzi," he corrected, and looked surprised.

"Right, that. Well, you were taking me to see that, but you...." She stopped. "How should I say this? You miscalculated. Anyway, we were about to turn back when you noticed the brownies, and then you started off after them, jabbering away as you went, and I followed. You never said they were dangerous. You actually told me they weren't. Just that they liked to sneak off and have a bit of fun at the expense of humans, but you had to get them out of here because aliens weren't accepted yet and you couldn't risk having that changed."

"Oh, oh, right."

Martha didn't say anything for a moment. But she finally decided she had to ask. "What's your name, then? I mean, you answered to John, but you also answered to the Doctor, and you're clearly not either of them…or at least not any of the ones I know. I mean, if the Doctor's done this before, who knows how many John Smiths there might be inside of him. So are you still a John Smith or…who are you?"

The man she knew was no longer wholly the Doctor took a deep breath. Blew it out. Opened his mouth. Stopped. Closed it, and looked thoughtful. When he finally answered, he said, "Sam."

"You went by Sam?" Martha asked incredulously.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with it, is there?" he asked. "I mean, you can't get any more common than John Smith, least not here, but it's a bit—" He stopped, shaking his head. "I've gone by a lot of names," he told her. "It hardly seems to matter now what people call me. But, since you asked, I'd prefer Sam for now."

"Sam."

"Yes."

"Sam Smith."

"Beckett," the man corrected. "Sam Beckett. Dr. Samuel Beckett."

"So you were a doctor this time and not a professor."

"I've been a professor," he said. "And a doctor. And a good many other things."

"Okay, but…." Martha sighed. "Look, correct me if I'm wrong, but there're still bits of the Doctor in you, right? I mean, I saw it come out, earlier, when you saw the TARDIS, and just now, when you corrected me, because you can't tell me there's any way someone from 1997 would have a clue about that gate you were taking me to."

"Seems to be, yeah," the man—Sam, she supposed—agreed. "Though, last I heard, it was 1999. Which would make it eight years earlier than you, I suppose. I don't remember much, but I think that I left in 1995."

Martha waved that off. "Look, focus on the Doctor, will you? I…I need to talk to him. Just for a bit."

"I'm trying," Sam replied, raising his eyebrows at her.

Martha groaned. She believed him. John Smith hadn't had quite the same expressions as the Doctor, and this man was only just a bit off. "Okay. But…." She stopped, biting her lip. "But I need to know why you're here, or I can't get him back."

Sam sighed. "Something went wrong," he said. "I need to fix it. That's why I'm here. When it's fixed, the Doctor will come back. I promise."

"Well, let's fix it, then!" Martha urged. "C'mon, what are we waiting for?" She left it open for him, hoping he'd grin at her and say 'allons-y' before taking off.

He didn't. "I don't know what I need to fix," he explained. "And until I put right whatever went wrong, I'm not going to leap."

"What?"

"The Doctor won't be able to come back," Sam informed her soberly. "Not until I've fixed it. Whatever it is."

"Oh." She wasn't sure what he meant by leaping, but she figured she shouldn't push her luck. If she asked, she'd probably be treated to a Doctor-like explanation that made absolutely no sense to the average person. "How can you find out what that is, then?"

Sam looked down at his wrist and frowned. No watch, Martha realized. "Normally, I have some idea by now. But not this time."

"Oh." She was sure that she starting to sound like a broken record, but she really didn't have anything to say in reply. "So…what can we do?"

"Wait," he answered simply.

Martha had long since left Sam alone in the console room in favour of sleep. She'd looked exhausted, but he was certain sleep wouldn't come to him just yet. He was worried about Al, for one. Usually, he'd turned up by now. That, and he was fascinated by this, wherever 'this' happened to be, since he didn't quite dare to believe everything Martha had told him—or everything he'd found himself saying when he'd entered. He wanted to believe it, and he was looking at it right in front of him, touching it, feeling a steady pulse beneath his fingertips, but to think….

It wasn't disbelief, not really. He believed it, on some level. But he could hardly believe that he was fortunate enough for it to happen to him. But even though he thought that, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was all familiar. Perhaps it was as Martha had suggested—because this fabulous ship of sorts belonged to the person he'd leaped into. But he felt it was more than that, somehow.

He hadn't managed to find a mirror yet. That is to say, he hadn't looked. He hadn't dared to leave the console room, not after Martha had mentioned heading to bed while her room still remained in the same place so she wouldn't need to walk twenty minutes to find it again. She must have noticed the look on his face and misinterpreted it, because she'd hastily added that she didn't blame him or the TARDIS, just that she'd appreciate it if she was told when she did something to annoy him. And when he hadn't been able to find a reply to that, she'd admitted that, yes, perhaps it was she who had been annoyed with him, and if the TARDIS really was sentient—Sam had thought that then was perhaps not the best time to pursue that line of thought, as much as it had startled him—then perhaps she had needed some time to cool down, but she'd rather spend that time brooding than hiking the halls of the TARDIS. Which, of course, had had her shaking her head, swearing that she knew that it was good for her to walk off some of her frustration, but that, when it came down to it, she'd really rather that that be her choice.

After hearing all that, Sam was rather glad that she had left. He needed time to think.

"What have I gotten into this time?" he asked himself, looking down at the mishmash of controls on the console. He reached out to touch the central column, and the machine hummed softly beneath his touch. He couldn't quite see his reflection in the column, but he could make out a bit of his reflection in one of the screens on the console. If he wanted a better idea of his host's looks, he'd have to find a mirror, he knew, but he wasn't ready for that quite yet.

"I need you, Al," Sam whispered. "If I have to do a leap on my own, I'd rather it's not this one."

It wasn't just the fact that aliens were involved. He'd encountered aliens before, back when he'd leaped into a grandfather whose family was ready to have him committed for his supposed extraterrestrial sightings. He remembered that leap with surprisingly clarity, actually. He'd mentioned it to Al once, how strange it was how well he recalled the leap, and Al had agreed with him. Still, now that Sam thought about it, Al had tried to change the subject fairly quickly. And if Al was being evasive, it generally meant that Sam was trying to broach a subject that Al couldn't talk about without revealing something that Sam had forgotten—something strictly against Sam's own rules, according to Al.

Still, whatever those brownie creatures Martha had been telling him about actually were, they paled in comparison to what she'd actually implied—that his host wasn't human. But as far as he could tell, he looked human. So surely he'd heard wrong. Not that he'd actually seen the aliens in that past leap—just their ship. But the sight had been amazing, and he'd never forget it—or at least he hadn't so far. He'd seen plenty of things now, in all his leaps, but this?

Nothing compared to this.

Martha was from 2007. She'd been to 1913. They were now in 1983. He wasn't the only time traveller.

Maybe he could go home.

If the leapee, the person he'd displaced, his host—if he had access to this, and he helped them out at the Project, they could fix the retrieval system.

He'd be able to see them all again, each and every one of them. Al, Gooshie, Tina, Verbeena—everyone, right down to the MPs who worked security at the entrance, the ones he'd seen every day when he came in to work on the Project. Providing, of course, that he'd left it the night before. Still, the thought that he might be able to go back to see them all….

Maybe that's why he'd leaped here. From what he could tell, there was nothing here that needed fixing. So perhaps he had leaped here so that the leapee could do the fixing, back at the Project. Then, he'd be able to go back. He'd be able to analyze what he'd done so far and control his leaps in the future.

If they had control of the experiment, then perhaps Al wouldn't have to worry so much about dealing with the politicians who seemed to constantly threaten to shut the Project down. And they'd be able to study the effects of the Project in more detail. Sam could recount what he saw, Al and Ziggy would have the records, and then they'd be able to compare with the history books to see how the change was recorded. And then they'd have positive proof to show the politicians, proof that the Project worked, proof of what they could do, and—

"But if we could control the leaps," Sam said slowly, the realization just striking him, "they'd want me to go back and change specific things, for their own benefit. And I can't do that. That's not what the Project's for. We're supposed to study the past, not mould it in hopes of shaping a better present. Just like…just like when Al wanted me to convince…because they threatened to cut funding…." Sam groaned, closing his eyes and slumping over the console in frustration.

He could only see two paths: leaping about in time forever, or leaping back home and destroying all his precious work.

The very thing he wanted most must never come to be.

A/N: *clears throat* Ahem. Please note that Sam's conclusions do not necessarily reflect the wishes and views of the author. However, at this time the conclusions were deemed logical, given the information available to Sam. No further comment, except a plea to not shoot the messenger, who adds that if questions and concerns are brought up, they will be answered as best they can in due time, circumstances providing. Also, a special thanks to Questfan for reviewing, with many thanks to my readers, who may be feeling slightly less kindly towards me after this chapter….