Bought a neat pocket watch at a convention, which sparked up an interest in what the Doctor would do upon meeting someone just as strange as him, who liked to take things apart.

"Oi, Jack! Are you done yet?!"

I rolled myself out from under the car with a grin, a bit of grease smudged on my cheek. "Yup! Just finished replacing the drive-shaft and had to tweak the axle a bit before—"

Mitch, my boss of 42 with short graying black hair waved his hand about with a groan. "Ah, ah, ah. I don't want to hear any more of your technical jargon. Just tell me if it's done or not."

I pouted slightly, upset that I wasn't being allowed to explain what I'd done. "Yeah, it's done."

"Good. That was the last one for the day, so hurry up and scram. I've got paperwork to file."

I rolled my eyes, sat up and wiped some more grease from off my hands with a rag, before getting up and stretching my lanky 5'7" frame. Once I'd gotten out some kinks in my shoulders, I clocked out for the day, grabbed my army green knapsack, and bounded off towards an alley in the hopes that the trash truck hadn't come by yet. I quickly checked the fat leather bound watch on my wrist and tapped at the face with a frown. Come on, I wound you this morning! Gah, I hope this is the right time. Thankfully, it was and I rounded the corner with a bright grin upon seeing no trash truck just yet. The grin soon feel off my face though, because a large blue police box sat in the middle of the alley, leaving barely enough room on either side to get past it.

"Now who the heck parks some big ol' police box in the middle of my favorite dumping grounds?" I complained, heading towards it and opening the box with the phone and picking it up. "Not even a dial tone. What kind of silly telephone box are you?" I questioned out loud, before hanging the useless phone up and looking the box up and down.

It was old, definitely and not just because police boxes hadn't been around in a long while, but the blue paint on the box was chipped in some places. It looked relatively well taken care of though, and as much as I would've liked to look at it a bit more, I was on a schedule.

"Agh! I don't have time for this!"

I quickly scrambled to the side of the phone box and squeezed myself past it, before grinning at the little treasure trove behind it.

"Ah-ha! You've done it now, Jackie Whyte! Let the dumpster diving begin!" I beamed, before hurrying to climb into said dumpster in search of the parts I needed.

That's right. I said parts. I'm a sort of... tinkerer fixer-upper kind of person. Give me a watch, a toy, a car, a robot or whatever and I'll take it apart, figure out how it works, and fix it right as rain. This particular dumpster I was searching through was a treasure trove of parts, it being nestled between a number of repair shops, auto shops, a smithy, wood working shop, and a rather picky thrift store that threw out whatever the manager deemed 'unsaleable to the public'. All in all, I found some pretty good finds in here. I once found a mini-TV that I fixed up and was able to watch Korean soap operas on (I still don't know how it picked up on that signal, but it did and I must say, they're pretty good). That being said, I had about half an hour before I needed to head to my next job and about fifteen minutes before the trash truck drops by, so I needed to move fast.

Today was a pretty good day too. I found a trashed, busted up Hublot watch that I could pick for parts since it looked impossible to fix anyway. And possibly a knock off too. But I'd also found some small metal wheels, gears, and a torn up stuffed giraffe with a bow tie. I brushed the dirt off it with a small smile.

"Now who would throw you away? You just need a little touch up."

I heard this strange noise then, like a mechanical wheezing and I rolled my eyes, peering over the edge of the trash can and prepared my most stern I'm-not-scolding-you-from-a-dumpster face.

"Oi, don't you know you're not supposed to drive something with the... breaks still... on?"

Oddly enough, there was no one there. Better yet, the blue police box had just up and disappeared. And I don't mean it moved or somebody took it, because I would've heard them backing a truck up to take it. No, I mean it was gone. Like it hadn't even been there. And I hung my arm over the side of the dumpster with a confused expression, resting my chin on my other arm.

"Huh, maybe I've finally lost it."

I caught sight of my watch then and panicked.

"Ah! I'm going to be late!"

I quickly scrambled out of the dumpster, very nearly falling on my face in the process, before bolting down the street with my knapsack of parts bouncing over my shoulder. I ran all the way to my flat and rushed up the stairs as I pulled my key out and unlocked the door. In a rush, I hurried off to the bathroom and quickly showered before changing into some jeans, a white dress shirt, and a grey vest. Once I was more appropriately dressed for my second job, I grabbed my knapsack and slung it over my shoulder before grabbing my tool belt and hooking it securely around my waist and taking off once more. I ran into the old time watch and toy repair shop—the bell on top of the door clanging loudly to signal my entrance—and I called out to the seventy-eight year old owner who was probably working in the back room.

"Mr. Stanford! I'm sorry I'm late! I was looking for parts and—"

"Stop, stop, stop. You're far too loud. I'm not hard of hearing you know." The elderly man complained, coming out of the room with his usual scowl in place as I rubbed the back of my neck with a nervous smile.

"Right. Sorry."

"And for being late, I'm adding an extra job for you to do."

I immediately slumped as I dropped my knapsack behind the counter. "Aw, really? How many do I have now?"

"Three. And it'll be four if you keep complaining."

I sighed. "Yes, sir."

"That's better." He said, standing straighter and practically preening himself as he grabbed the projects I was to work on and brought them over to the counter I was now seated behind. "You have this coo-coo clock that won't wind up—"

Probably a gear problem. Might or might not need replacement parts. Need inside look to be sure. Difficulty level around 3. I mused, as he set down the wooden coo-coo clock and then moved onto the next one.

"—this pocket watch that isn't ticking—"

Another gear problem. Possible a resonance issue too. Though perhaps it's something more complicated. Inside look needed. Replacement parts possible. Difficulty level around 6. He then moved over to a large grandfather clock up against the wall nearby.

"—and this is your punishment. It ticks, it tells time, but never chimes and the pendulum doesn't sway like it should."

Harder. Definitely a tricky one. Multiple possible sources. Inside look definite. Difficulty level around 8. I winced then, having received a hard whack to the head, courtesy of Mr. Stanford.

"Ow!"

"No day dreaming." He scolded, waving the book he'd hit me with threateningly. "That pocket watch is to be picked up tomorrow morning and the others later that day."

He headed to the back room and I pouted as I rubbed my head and grumbled to myself.

"I wasn't daydreaming, old man."

"I heard that!" He called out and I jumped, startled by his good hearing, before setting to work.

The pocket watch would be second for me to do, since those were usually the hardest in comparison to the wooden clocks, despite the grandfather clock probably needing more time on it. I had less time to get the pocket watch done, after all, so it would have to be next once I finished the coo-coo clock. And, after a decent number hours and a frustrating gear that was bent at an angle, the coo-coo clock was finished and I polished it before setting it aside. The multitude of clocks around us chimed one in the morning and I honestly wanted to go home and sleep myself, but I'd been the one to put off the pocket watch until now and knew that it was my own doing that led me to the all-nighter I was about to pull off... again. I yawned and stretched as I heard Mr. Stanford packing up.

"Leaving already?"

He nodded. "Not as young as I used to be. I need my sleep, unlike some people."

"Hey, I sleep... sometimes." I chuckled slightly and he rolled his eyes.

"I'll leave you to close up then. You can open up in the morning?"

"Sure can. It's the weekend, right? I only work the auto shop on weekdays. 8am sharp, right?"

He nodded, dropping the keys off at the counter. "Yeah. I won't be in until 10 though. I have a meeting."

I raised a brow. "You mean your Saturday morning BINGO game with Max at the retirement home?"

He stopped at the door, looking over his shoulder at me slightly. "How did you know that?"

"Vince told me." I smiled, gesturing to the cash register I'd named as Mr. Stanford waved a hand.

"Never mind. I should know better than asking you questions. I either get outrageous answers, a trivia question, or some rambling big-worded nonsense."

"Love you too, Mr. Stanford." I chirped as he scoffed and headed out, leaving me alone with the clocks.

And once I'd gone around and set them all to go off at 8am, I plopped back down and looked at the pocket watch before me, my thumb tracing over the circular designs on the front. Seems sort of sci-fi, but it's definitely a nice design. Shaking my head out of my thoughts, began my work and pried off the backing before taking the watch apart and trying to figure out what exactly had gone wrong with it to stop it ticking.

Dozens of alarm clocks and coo-coo clocks went off at once and I jumped, bolting up from my seat before remembering where I was and begrudgingly getting up and wandering around to shut up the clocks. I then unlocked the front door and changed the sign to 'open', before collapsing back on the stool behind the counter with a sigh. Despite my happy-go-lucky personality, I was not a morning person and I knew the banana from my knapsack would not wake me up enough to work on the grandfather clock. I'd worked all night to fix the pocket watch—some of the pieces seeming a little strange for a pocket watch—along with patching up the giraffe from the dumpster and cleaning it up a bit; allowing it to sit beside the cash register for now. I'd apparently fallen asleep though, maybe an hour ago maybe less, and I knew I'd need some sort of sustenance to keep myself going so I got up grabbed my wallet and the keys, and put up a small sign that said I'd be back in five minutes before heading down the street to a café.

One coffee and a bag of doughnut holes later, and I was back in the shop half inside the grandfather clock; the doughnut hole bag on the ground within arm's reach. What can I say? I'm great at multitasking. When I'm dealing with a rather difficult problem though, I tend to forget my surroundings a bit and turn all my focus to what I'm doing. Which would explain why I banged my head rather harshly on the inside of the grandfather clock when someone spoke behind me.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Wah!"

The loud thud from my head hitting the clock seemed to echo as I cradled said body part in my hands while crouching on the floor; the person who called out immediately panicking.

"Are you alright? I didn't mean to startle you like that. I thought you heard the bell chime when I came in."

I waved the man off as I got up—grabbing my doughnut bag from off the floor—and moved behind the counter in search of the ice packs in the hidden mini-fridge. I tended to get hurt a lot here, unfortunately.

"No, no. It's fine. I tend to get a little too focused in what I'm doing. Perhaps that'll teach me not to." I joked, finding what I was looking for as I rolled my eyes. "Though it didn't teach me much the first dozen times I hit my head, but thirteenth time's the charm, right?"

I brought the ice pack to my head with a smile, a bit more perky after my breakfast.

"So pick up or purchase?" I asked the man.

"Pick up, actually. I dropped off my pocket watch yesterday? Though, uh, you're not the one I gave it too. It was a Mr. Stanford, I think."

I nodded, reaching under the counter for the book that Mr. Stanford put all of the names of people who dropped off their things and when they picked them up and such.

"Yeah, he's at a meeting. I'm his... assistant, I guess. I fix up some things when he's busy. It's kind of my thing." I smiled, flipping through the pages to yesterday's log. "You're Mr. Smith, right? I need to see an ID before I can give you back your watch. Mr. Stanford is a bit stiff on the whole procedure thing. Have to make sure I'm not giving a million dollar watch to someone who's not who they say they are."

"Right, course." Mr. Smith said as I finally looked up and got a good look at him, now that I wasn't wincing in pain or half inside a clock.

I immediately wished I didn't though, because the guy was quite a looker. He was rather tall and lanky, like Mr. Stanford had said, but had this messy look about him. Like a mad scientist sort of vibe, and I couldn't help but stare as he dug through his pockets for his ID. Wow... Between his hair and his eyes, I don't really know where I should look.

"Ah-ha! There it is." He pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. "My ID."

I took one look at it though and raised a brow. "Um, sir?" I pointed to the wallet in suspicion. "That's a blank piece of paper."

He blinked, looking rather surprised and looked back at his wallet before tucking it away. "So it is. Have you ever had any psychic training?"

I was getting more and more confused by the moment. "Um, no. Not that I know of. But I honestly can't give you the watch until I have seen an ID, sir."

"Ah, well, there's the problem." He said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I seemed to have misplace it. Is there any other way I could get my watch back? It's rather important."

I knew what it was like having no way of getting back something important and really did want to help the guy, but I needed to follow the rule Mr. Stanford had in place too. I couldn't just give this man the watch should he not be the Mr. Smith who dropped it off.

"Look, I can't give it to you without proof that you were the one who dropped it off. So you need to either find your ID, or I guess you could come back when Mr. Stanford returns from his meeting. He was the one who took it from you, so he should recognize you and allow me to give it back."

The man grinned. "Perfect! I'll stick around until then."

I gave him a disbelieving look as he started roaming around the shop.

"Stick around? He, uh, won't be back for another hour and a half. You'd be better off getting a coffee or something and coming back."

The man shrugged. "Eh, I'm not a coffee person. Or tea, really. I don't mind waiting."

I couldn't exactly force him to leave, so I reluctantly gave in and allowed him to wander the shop as I found something else to occupy my time with. Namely, fixing that grandfather clock. I believed to of found the problem just before the supposed Mr. Smith had came in and nearly had it done when he spoke up once more.

"Did you fix this?"

I poked my head out and looked at the giraffe he was now holding and nodded, poking my head back into the clock.

"Yup. There's this... place I go to look for parts and things nearby and I found him there. He was pretty beat up, but like I said before fixing's my thing. Coo-coo clocks, pocket watches, cars, toys, whatever. I've always had a knack for it."

"And what did you say your name was?" He asked, setting the giraffe down.

"Jackie Whyte. Or Jack, is fine."

"Was it you or Mr. Stanford who fixed my watch?"

I waved my hand out the opening of the grandfather clock. "That was me. And I have to say, you've got some strange things in there. Not the usual gears I normally see. It's custom made, I'm guessing."

"Something like that." He said, and I poked my head out to give him a stern frown.

"And if it's so important to you, you should know better than to be eating jam right next to it."

"W-What?" He questioned, looking shocked and confused as I nodded and went back into the clock again.

"Yeah. That's why it wasn't ticking. There was some weird purplish red jelly stuff stuck to some of the gears. They were sticking to each other and couldn't turn like normal. You should take better care of your watches, Mr. Smith."

"R-Right."

I grinned then, pulling myself out of the grandfather clock and digging through my pockets for it's windup key. "And..." I wound it up and reached in to give the pendulum a tap. "...that should do it."

The clock ticked for a few seconds before the hour hand moved to the twelve at the top and the clock chimed proudly for the hour of twelve noon. Sure, it wasn't even 9:30 yet, but I fixed it. That's what mattered. The time could be set later.

"Fixed a client's clock?" Mr. Smith asked and I nodded at him, practically glowing with accomplishment.

"Yup! It might have been my punishment for being late yesterday, but I love a good challenge. The coo-coo clock I had earlier was way too easy. One of the gears was bent and so I just had to replace it with some gears from this broken watch I found in the dumpster off—" I quickly cut myself off, embarrassed that I'd just told the man I'd been dumpster diving. "That I, um, found."

He raised a brow. "You go dumpster diving for parts?"

Red quickly traveled up my cheeks. "W-W-Well you would too if you were a bit tight on money, work two jobs, and have a problem with... arguing about prices..."

He snorted and I cleared my throat awkwardly when I was saved by the bell, literally.

"Ah! Hello, are you here for pick up or are you looking to purchase something?" I greeted, trying to force the blush in my cheeks down as an older woman walked in.

"Oh, I'm here to pick up my clock, dear."

"Oh, okay. Come over here so I can check the logs and I'll need an ID, please."

"Of course." She smiled and I went through the logs before matching the name up to her ID and carefully picking up the coo-coo clock.

I turned the hands so they were both pointing at twelve and demonstrated the clock chiming for her.

"Oh, it's practically new! How much do I owe you?" She asked, pulling out a wallet from her purse and I grabbed a calculator and began putting in the numbers.

"It'll be five for the replacement gear, five for the polish and touching up, and fifteen for the time spent. So your total is twenty-five pounds, ma'am."

She nodded and handed me the amount as I gestured to the clock.

"Do you want me to put it in a box for your trip back?"

"If you could." She said and I nodded before carefully wrapping it in bubble wrap and tucking it away in a box.

Once the box was tied shut with some twine, I offered to carry it to her car—or cab, as it were—and sent her on her way before returning and jumping upon seeing Mr. Smith still there. I'd forgotten he was here. Oh my God, and he knows I dumpster dive for parts! Gah! How stupid can I be?! That's so embarrassing! I cleared my throat awkwardly and moved back behind the counter, fiddling with the clunky watch on my wrist and silently questioning if I should attempt to figure out why it was running slower than usual. I wasn't going to, but then I kept staring at it and the second hand was moving just way too slow, so I groaned and unhooked the brown leather strap and set it on the counter. Grumbling complaints under my breath, I pulled out my tiny screwdriver and began unscrewing the back of the watch, picking apart the contraption as I tried to figure out what it's problem was.

"Stupid watch. I swear you're sassier than that punk cat down the block who sits in the middle of the sidewalk and won't let me pass. And ten pounds says it's the same cat who's pooping in my flower pots." I suddenly had a thought then and grinned devilishly. "Ooh, what if I grow a cactus next time? Or poison ivy? That'll keep the cat from pooping in my plants."

"That's not very nice."

"Well, the cat shouldn't be using my potted plants as a toi… let…" I trailed off when I realized that it wasn't my watch talking, but Mr. Smith; who'd moved closer to watch me work at the counter.

Where he found that extra stool, I'll never know. I shook my head from my thoughts and let out a nervous chuckle.

"Sorry."

He just grinned. "It's fine." He then gestured to my watch. "Fixing another one?"

I slowly nodded, turning my eyes back to what I was doing. "Yeah, sort of. This one's mine. Made it from scraps of other watches, which is probably why it's only working at half the speed it should be." I frowned slightly, spotting the problem. "Though it looks like I either need a new gear or need to find a different set up with the ones I have."

I put the screwdriver in my mouth to hold it as I dug through my pockets for what I needed. I finally found it and used the magnetic tweezers I'd made to pull out the gear in question, setting it aside and I removed the screwdriver from my mouth.

"The gear's too big and was slowing everything down. I wonder if I..."

I spun around and dug through my knapsack before pulling out a small pouch. I dumped the pouch onto the counter away from the watch—and directly in front of Mr. Smith—and began searching through the small gears and busted watches for a gear that would work.

"No. Nope. That won't work. Perhaps..."

I grabbed the Hublot watch I'd found yesterday and used my screwdriver to open it up as Mr. Smith began waving his hands about in a panic.

"Wait, wait, wait! What are you doing?! Do you know what kind of watch you're taking apart?!"

I stopped and raised a brow at him. "I work at a watch repair shop. Of course I know."

I went right back to work and took off the back, but he wasn't finished.

"But that watch is worth thousands! Hundreds of thousands even!"

"Actually, it's worth zero." I argued with him. "It's missing almost half of the gears that used to be in it and a good number of the remaining gears are in such poor condition that it'd almost be cheaper to get a new watch. Not to mention the cracked face is near impossible to fix. So why not use it for parts that you would have to buy otherwise?"

He sat there with his mouth hanging open and I pointed at him with my screwdriver.

"You're gonna catch flies."

His mouth snapped shut and I couldn't help the small smile that made it's way onto my face before I found the gear I was looking for and tried it in my watch.

"Oh, thank God, it fits." I let out a sigh of relief and began rearranging the gears back inside the watch before closing it up and pulling the key I had on a chain around my neck, out to wind it up.

Thankfully, the watch began working at it's normal pace again and I felt relief flood through me as I put it back on my wrist and cleaned up my mess.

"You really like working on watches, don't you?" Mr. Smith asked and I nodded.

"I like to figure out how things work. Taking them apart is a good way to figure that—" I cut myself off as I felt a chill go up my spine and my whole body was on immediate alert.

Something's wrong. I don't know what it is, but there's something wrong. Where? Where is it? Has something been moved? I looked around the shop, but everything looked to be where it should be. Then what? The sound... Something's wrong with the sound. I looked around once more, standing up from my stool and moving out from behind the counter, giving everything in the shop a careful look over. There's twenty-seven clocks, thirty-two toys—No. There's thirty-three, if you count the giraffe. And seventeen miscellaneous other items. That's seventy-seven objects all together. And forty-eight of those make noise. My eyes narrowed, feeling that I was nearly catching on to whatever was bothering me. Twenty-eight making ticking noises. Ten making various buzzing or mechanical clicking noises. Four sing. And six play various other melodies. But this doesn't sound like singing or music or mechanical. That leaves twenty-eight. Twenty-eight ticking objects. Twenty-seven of which are clocks.

I walked over to the one toy that 'ticked' and found it off, narrowing down my list even further as I brushed a finger over it; not hearing Mr. Smith asking if everything was alright as he got up and followed me around. Twenty-seven clocks. Why is that bothering me? Something's wrong with the sound.

"Something's wrong with the sound." I muttered, before a hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump as I turned to Mr. Smith.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with the sound?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but the bell over the door chimed and Mr. Stanford walked in, taking off his straw hat and hanging it on a coat rack by the door before giving the two of us a look.

"What are you doing standing around, Jack? Why are you not giving Mr. Smith back his watch yet?"

"A-Ah, well he didn't have his ID and you said I'm not allowed to—"

Mr. Stanford groaned and waved his hand about. "Oh, never mind that. Just give the man his watch. He's probably got things to do."

"Right. Course." I muttered, eyeing the shelves of clocks I was in front of momentarily before heading behind the counter and taking out Mr. Smith's pocket watch from an under-shelf before setting it on the table. "Would you like a box for it, Mr. Smith?"

"No, that's alright. How much?"

I didn't bother with the calculator this time, just rattling off the numbers in my head. "Five for the gear cleaning, five for the polishing, and twenty-five for the time needed. Thirty-five pounds total."

"Take ten off that for making him wait, Jack." Mr. Stanford called from the back room and I bobbed my head.

"Sorry, twenty-five pound then."

Mr. Smith set down fifty pounds though and my eyes widened.

"T-That's way too—"

"Sh." He shushed, putting a finger to his mouth with a wink. "It's for keeping me entertained while I waited. And I'll take the giraffe too, if you don't mind."

I shook my hands. "N-No. No. Go for it."

"I can hear you!" Mr. Stanford called out and I winced.

"Geeze, he's got good hearing for an old guy."

Mr. Smith chuckled and gave me a wave before he headed out and Mr. Stanford came in from the back room and gave me a stern look.

"I'm seventy-eight. I'm not deaf. So stop calling me old or I'll dock your pay."

"Right. My bad, Mr. Stanford." I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Oh, you bet it'll be your bad. Especially if you're short on your bills." He said, turning to head back as I whined after him.

"Oh, don't say that! I need to pay my bills on time!"