{Author's Note: Well, welcome to it. This story was inspired by "Goodbye Mr. Smith" by Basmathgirl. It explored a reality in which Donna met the Doctor while he was human, hiding from the Family of Blood. I truly enjoyed the story – please seek it out so you can enjoy it too. That being said, hers was funnier and far more light-hearted than my take on the topic will be. There will be a bit more angst/drama in this story than there was in hers, just because that's what I seem to be most proficient at writing. Still, I hope you find it pleasing and/or entertaining enough to tell me so in the reviews. Any and all interest in this tale is greatly appreciated.}

Sooner or Later

Prologue:

"The Doctor and Mr. Smith"

"Oh. Oh, that's not good."

The ground lurched beneath his feet.

"They're catching up!" he yelled to no one. Instead of an answer or panicked shout he heard his own voice reverberating off the walls and back to him. Had he not been in something of a rush it would have bothered him much more than it did. "Hadn't planned on them being able to track me that easily! That was an unpleasant surprise. Well, at least now it's time for plan B!"

He could almost hear Martha's voice say, "What's plan B?!" Alas, Martha was gone. She'd ditched him, not that he blamed her for it.

That made his situation even more difficult to maneuver. Really, plan B had been his only plan. Going through with this could strand him forever without the benefit of a friend nearby, but carrying on running could lead to a particularly cruel group of hunters being able to go on hunting forever. He could pretend all he liked that the decision was a struggle, but he knew exactly what he was willing to do. This left him only one option to shake the dreaded Family of Blood off his trail – the Chameleon Arch, gods help him.

The Doctor hit one last button, pulled three levers in quick succession, and banged the mallet twice. The TARDIS gave a stressed rumble and the Doctor yanked down tortuous-looking helmet, one that he knew would attach painfully to the pressure points around his head and recode his genetic signature to hide him until the Family reached their expiration date. A little pain now, he told himself, for a lot of good later. The Family could only live three months without hosts and he wouldn't let them have him. He would let them live out their lives and then, when he could be sure they were gone for good…

Well, he'd figure that out later.

He grasped the Chameleon Arch's cool alloy handles and ignored the slight shock that passed through his calloused fingertips in warning of the joyride that was to come. Feeling the TARDIS shake angrily and hurry him alone, the Doctor took a few deep breaths and turned one final dial before placing the Arch on top of his head. For a moment after donning the Arch there was nothing – calm, serene nothing. He was just a Time Lord in a funny hat. Then – then the pain hit and he screamed, nearly collapsing in on himself to try and escape it. He could feel bits of himself being ripped out and pulled away, removing everything from him that ever made him a Time Lord.

After that, he recalled nothing else.

The man awoke with a start as his carriage jolted upon the rocks that littered the path. He heard his coachman curse and heard him pull tight the reins that led the horse further down the road. For a moment the man panicked, being unable to immediately remember where he was or what he was doing. Just short of experiencing a crisis, however, the giant looming figure of a manor arose in the distance. He could see the solid brick and the lush green fields surrounding it, immediately feeling himself to be a part of it. It was then that he came back to his senses, laughing that he should ever have felt anxiety.

Ah, yes, he thought happily. New position. Something tells me I should enjoy these classrooms very much. From the size of it, the library should do me nicely.

As his buggy approached the edifice he gathered his briefcase up, shoving all his notes and journals into the worn leather satchel. An old fob watch insisted on falling out the side and he shoved it back in, cursing its inability to do what it was told. Almost as soon as his meager belongings had been collected his carriage had pulled to the very front of the Farringham School for Boys, where he had so generously been offered a position. Quite pleased with the outward beauty of the area and his apparent streak of good luck, the man offered his chauffer payment and stepped joyfully out of the carriage and onto the rough, rocky pavement. The large wooden doors stood before him, beckoning him to step through and begin his new life as a teacher. In the end, he was certainly unable to deny himself the excitement for any longer.

Clutching his case to his side and donning his most elated smile, he walked up to the doors and pushed his way through them. The sight that immediately greeted him was astounding – polished dark wood and cream walls, a desk as old as his grandfather sitting stoutly in front of him. A pretty ginger woman looked up from her paperwork and shoved a falling curl behind her ear.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe I'm your new instructor," he said delightedly, coming to stand in front of her. She looked at him only a moment before reaching for a stack of papers a few inches away.

"Name."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your name?" she said tersely. "You have got one, haven't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I do, I'm sorry," he stammered, suddenly on edge. She fixed him with a withering glare while he collected himself.

"My name is John. John Smith."

{AN: More? Stop while I'm behind? Tell me in the reviews.}