Chess is ruthless: you've got to be prepared to kill people. ~Nigel Short

Spencer Reid did not do a lot of running, but after nearly three months-two months, three weeks, four days, and seven hours exactly-of being confined to the house or their backyard, he was considering making an exception. His mother had finally relented and taken him to the small park near their new home, and was keeping a close eye on him from a nearby bench.

Spencer, however, was getting bored of the swing set. It had been sort of fun for the first few minutes (three minutes and twenty six seconds), and the back and forth motion could be termed relaxing, but it wasn't really what he wanted to do. Finally, his mother opened the book she had brought with her, and Spencer was off the swing and across the park before she'd found where she'd stopped reading.

Just like the one back home, this park had chess tables. Spencer made a beeline (a phrase which didn't make a great deal of sense to him, as most members of the genus Apis, honeybee, or the genus Bombus, bumblebee, went from flower to flower before returning to their hives, where they then danced a complicated pattern to direct other workers to the appropriate area-not remotely a straight line, really, as 'making a beeline' suggested, though the responding worker bees would fly straight towards the nectar source, so perhaps that was the origin)-anyway, Spencer ran directly towards the furthest table and hauled himself into the stone seat, pushed himself onto his knees so he could see over the table, and surveyed the unused board. There wasn't a set at the moment, and Spencer had not been allowed to bring his own, but that was okay. He was an imaginative boy, and smart. He didn't need a chess set to play against himself.

Spencer blinked, called up the starting positions of the black and white players in his head, and said confidently, "Pawn to E-4." The image flickered, and the pawn reappeared in the designated space. Pleased, Spencer fixed the pieces to the table in his head, hopped down from the chair, ran around to the other side of the table, and clambered up again, changing his perspective as he went so that he now played the black players. He nodded to himself once, pleased with the image, and said again, "Pawn to E-5." The piece flickered, and reappeared. Spencer scrambled down from the chair and rushed to the other side of the table. "Pawn to F-4!" The piece flashed, completing the positioning for King's Gambit.

Hop down. Scramble up. "Pawn to F-4!" King's Gambit accepted.

Hop down. Scramble up. "Bishop to C-4!" Bishop's Gambit, now.

Which meant… Hop down. Scramble up. "Queen to H-4. Check."

White's move. Hop down. Scramble up. "King to F-1."

And black. Hop down. Scramble up. "Pawn to B-5."

And white again. Hop down, scramble-

"The Immortal Game?"

The accented voice startled Spencer out of his concentration, and his sneaker slipped, he fell, and scraped his knee, palms, and chin on the rough stone of the bench with a yelp. He winced, rubbed his stinging palms against his shirt, and looked up at the man standing on the other side of the table. He was tall, and looked sort of like a professor, aside from the fact that all the professors Spener had ever met had been much older than this man. He grinned disarmingly, brown hair flopping into green eyes, and stuck both hands in the pockets of his long coat. "June 21, 1851-it was raining that day, as I recall, and Adolf wasn't very happy about the weather when I ran into him. I was looking for some scones Algy swore by, not a chess game. Never did find them. But then I never really find what I'm looking for. For instance, I'm looking for Las Vegas, but I found a cold war submarine. Clara's not best pleased with me, so we're trying again. Did I have better luck this time?"

Spencer blinked at him again. "This is Las Vegas," he said. Normally he would have been able to rattle off the address of this particular park, too, but he'd been sort of stunned by the man's rambling information. He wondered if this was why his father's friends stared at him sometime.

"Oh, good!" The man sat down in one of the chairs, crossing his legs and leaning back. Spencer couldn't even be mad at the interruption of his game, not when a very interesting puzzle had walked right up to him instead. "While I normally ignore the 'don't wander off' rule, especially when I'm lost, I think I'll make an exception for the moment."

"What do you mean?" Spencer hauled himself into the remaining chair, sitting crosslegged as well and leaning his elbows on the table. He pushed his glasses up with both fingers.

The man looked back up at the sky and hummed. "What do I mean? Well, what does your mum tell you to do when you're lost?" He barreled on without waiting for an answer. "Stay in one place. I never stay in one place, especially when I'm lost. I'm always wandering off and finding things I'm not looking for. How do you know about the Immortal Game?"

"I read it in a book from the library." The answer was automatic. "Who are you?"

The man grinned. "I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor of what?"

"No, no, no!" The man said, leaning forward and burying his face in his arms. "That's not the question! It's Doctor who? not Doctor what!"

"I didn't say Doctor what, I said Doctor OF what," Spencer said stubbornly, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Besides, saying Doctor what while asking for a name is probably more accurate, because in that case the question what is asking for the name, which is a non-sentient thing, and thus what is more appropriate than who. Who would be better if there was a name already known-for instance, a reply or request for clarification after a stated name. Doctor Jones-I'm sorry, Doctor who?"

Both of the man's very thin eyebrows had climbed towards his hairline at this point. "Oh, I like you," he said, and grinned again. "But to answer any of those questions, just the Doctor. That's all, just the Doctor." Spencer opened his mouth again. "Doctor of a Little Bit of Everything," the man tacked on. He fumbled in his pocket and flipped open a small leather wallet, flashing something at Spencer so quickly he couldn't quite make out what it was beyond horribly scrambled and-possibly flickering like a badly connected television? Spencer scowled, and doubted the man had ever been to any sort of university.

But he had introduced himself, and Diana Reid had not raised a rude boy, so Spencer held out a hand and said, "My name's Spencer."

"Spencer what?" The man's eyes were practically sparkling, and it took a moment for Spencer to realize he was teasing him. He'd never had anyone tease him before. At least, not in such a friendly way.

"Just Spencer," he said, and grinned back. "That's all, just Spencer." The man-the Doctor-threw back his head and laughed. "You were on a cold war submarine?"

"Yep," the Doctor said with a nod. "Russians. Too many guns in too many trigger-happy hands. What's the year, by the way?"

"1985."

"Ooooo, good year, weird song. Humans keep doing that, romanticizing the past. You lot! At least you finally figured out about the ozone and can get on that. It'll take a while to clear up, and the ridiculous global warming debate I don't fancy... Americans…" He sighed. "1985, Las Vegas, hm. Well, it isn't the 21st century huge party she was expecting, but at least we're in the right place! One for two, much better than zero for two and have a ice warrior and potential nuclear fallout…"

Spencer just nodded again. "Yeah, radiation is something to avoid," he agreed.

"Hey," the Doctor said suddenly, "What would you do if you found something impossible?"

That took a few moments' thought. "Try and figure out what makes it possible, I suppose."

"And what if you found something that scared you?"

That took even more thought. "I don't know," he said slowly, thinking back over the last several weeks. He'd been very scared before they moved, but now he couldn't even remember why. "Run, maybe. Or fight, maybe. Or ask for help. I think it depends on why it's scary."

The Doctor's eyes had gone sort of dark and distant, like his mother on her bad days when she was scared and scared and scared and nothing he said could make her not scared. "I see. Do you know, Spencer-" he paused, and then shook his head and smiled, before leaning forward and pointing a finger right into his face. "You. You are a very, very smart kid," the Doctor said. "When you're older, I'll show you the stars if you want. But right now, there are two things I need you to do."

Spencer frowned faintly, and shifted to the edge of his seat just in case. He could see his mother still sitting on the bench, and there were too many people around for the Doctor to make off with him easily, so he nodded carefully. The Doctor fished something out of his pocket and set it on the table. It was an oddly shaped bit of metal with swirls and circles on it, hanging from a thin chain. "I want you to have this," he said, and Spencer picked it up, running the chain through his fingers and examining the metal.

"What's the other thing you need me to do?" Spencer asked, still looking at the key.

"Nope, I just want you to keep this. I don't need you to keep this. But I lose people. I lose people all the time, especially people who are important to me. So I want you to keep this, just in case you want to see the stars someday."

"Okay. What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to stay safe." Spencer nodded. He had every intention of doing that anyway. "And I need you to tell me your name."

Spencer chewed on his bottom lip, and pushed his glasses up his nose again. "Why?"

"Because you've helped me, and I want to help you. But to do that, I'm going to need your name, so I can find you again when you need help."

There weren't many people he could count on to help him, and no one else who knew and liked chess the same way he did. Spencer hesitated, swinging his legs back and forth, before finally nodding. "It's Reid. Spencer Reid."

The Doctor's eyes went wide-a very, very odd reaction to just a name-and then he laughed again. "Spencer Reid! 1985-Four years old, then? Spencer Reid. It was very, very nice to meet you, Spencer Reid," he said, and shook his hand like he was an actual adult. "But now you really, really must remember your promise to stay safe, as long as you can." He let his hand go, and stood up. Reid hopped down from his chair. "We should play chess sometime," the Doctor added with as wide a grin as ever. "We really, really should. And the offer about the stars is always open. Spencer Reid. I told you, didn't I? I never find what I'm looking for, I always find something a bit better."

"You know me," Spencer asked, but it didn't sound like a question.

"After a fashion," the Doctor said, eyes still lit up and grinning like it was Christmas. "After a fashion. I'm not the first to know of you, and I doubt I'll be the last. Now, I really must find Clara. I'll see you later, Dr. Reid." He turned away, still shaking his head and laughing, leaving the little four year old genius standing in the park, staring after the very, very odd man.

Dr. Reid, hm? He couldn't deny he kind of liked the sound of that…

There's a fine line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line. ~Oscar Levant

A/N: A month ago I moved from the United States to South Korea to teach, and tumbled head over heels back in love with Criminal minds. I'm pretty convinced that Dr. Reid is a Time Lord, so when this image struck a couple of weeks ago, I scribbled it down. I was a bit disappointed with the execution, so today I went back to edit it and was pleasantly surprised.

To those of you who follow me because of other fandoms, consider this as reassurance that I am, in fact, still alive and writing, and will eventually return to said fandoms. Probably. I assume. In the meantime, I am so so so sorry about dropping various correspondences without warning, but I've been struggling against real life and my own mind, so it seemed rather inevitable. Again, apologies, and if anyone wants to message me, I'll do my damnedest to get back to you.