Work Text:
7 Henrietta Street
Dublin, Ireland
November 17, 2016
3:47 PM
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Meg muttered to herself as the pounding at 7 Henrietta's front door obstinately refused to stop. "Hold on, damn you," she growled when she reached the door and began to flip all the various latches. The sound of the locks opening apparently satisfied whoever was on the other side of the door, because the pounding abruptly stopped.
Meg swung the door open and stared balefully at the man on the stoop. He had short-cut hair of a shade halfway between brown and dirty blond, atop a sharp-featured face. His head was canted forward slightly and he studied her from under his beetled brows. He wore a long glossy black leather jacket of a vaguely retro cut over a new-looking black T-shirt, along with dark grey slacks and loafers. She looked him over head to toe then said, "Yes?"
"You Meg Deckard?" he asked a bit gruffly. He had a Mancunian accent, out of place in Dublin.
"I am," she allowed. "And you are?"
He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself, then drew a worn black ID case from his right jacket pocket. "I'm Inspector Sam Tyler, with the Gardai," he said, displaying an ID that agreed that this was the case. "Except I'm not."
"Oh?" Meg raised an eyebrow, silently thanking Data for the snippet of biomimetic programming that let her do so.
He growled and scrubbed his face with one hand as he slid the ID back in his pocket with the other. "I'm screwing this up. Let me start again. My name is Sam Tyler. In 2006 I was a DCI with the Greater Manchester Police. After I was hit by a car, I woke up in 1973 as a DC in the Manchester and Salford Police. I was stuck in the 1970s for three years, then I got shot while trying to take down a suspect." He drew a deep sigh and scrubbed his face again. "I woke up an hour ago on a park bench here in Dublin. In one pocket I had an ID that says I'm an Inspector in the Gardai, and in the other I found a piece of paper with your name, this address with directions, and 'She'll understand' all written on it." The glowering expression on his face broke, replaced by confusion and near panic. "The newspapers I saw on my way here say it's 2016." He shook his head. "I've got to know -- am I mad, in a coma, or traveling in time?"
Meg took this all in, then slowly nodded. She stepped back and opened the door wide. "I think you'd better come on in," she said.