Chapter Text
Iraq 2008
There was a blue box across the street, clearly visible from his hotel room's window. Peter was sure the box hadn't been there that morning when he'd left, he was sure because the box was, by far, the most conspicuous thing he had ever seen. He stared at it from his window for a long time, wondering what on Earth a British police box from the 60's was doing in Iraq, and perhaps most importantly, why not a single bystander had stopped to look at it. By dinner time he decided to take a look at it himself. Worst case scenario, it was some sort of trap, and if it was, whoever had set it up deserved to catch someone.
He walked downstairs and just before he crossed the street he had to correct his earlier thought— there was a man, maybe in his early twenties, crouching by the sidewalk. The man was holding a very small flashlight. Peter saw him touch the ground, point at it with his flashlight, then get up and jump on it as if to make sure it wouldn't collapse, and that was the most conspicuous thing he had ever seen.
"Hey!" He called out because if it was a trap, it was a really stupid one, and this was Iraq, and this guy was clearly young and stupid and probably didn't deserve to get shot.
"Sssh!" The man replied without turning, and— was he wearing a bow tie? Peter looked at him, then at the police box and he wondered if they were related. Perhaps the box had been shipped with him inside and no one had noticed. Or maybe— "You!" The man turned to him almost threateningly, pointing at him with his very small flashlight. "Where am I?"
He sounded English. Which didn't explain anything except perhaps that he was, indeed, connected to the strangely misplaced police box.
Peter gave him the name of the street.
"Baghdad." He added.
"Iraq? I'm in Iraq?" The man looked aggravated. He turned towards the blue box. "We're in Iraq!" He told it, as if scolding it.
So he was dealing with a mad man, Peter decided. He would have turned away right then if he hadn't been so curious. The man turned to him again.
"What date?" He asked. Date, not day.
"August 30, 2008."
"2008?" The man glanced at the blue box, then started talking to himself. "Obama, Obama gets elected this year, he's brilliant. And the Bush shoe incident, but we're months too early." He turned to the box again. "Why are we here?"
Peter looked around, the man was starting to draw attention to himself, and although that part was refreshingly normal, it was also potentially dangerous both for the stranger and for him.
"Hey, why don't you take your conversation indoors?"
"You!" The man turned to him. "Why are you here?"
"I saw the box."
"No one sees the box."
"I hate to break it to you, but it is a very visible box."
"It is not!"
"It— Look, just come with me before you get us both in trouble."
The man stopped. He just stopped, as if all of his fidgeting and odd nervous energy had never been there. And he looked squarely at him for the first time. Peter met his eyes and thought he must have misjudged the man's age.
"Why are you here?" He asked again. Peter paused just for a second, he could tell it was a different question this time, but he still only had one answer.
"I told you, I saw—"
"No, no, no." The man cut him off, suddenly pointing at him with his tiny flashlight. "How?" He asked staring at it. "You shouldn't be here." He said accusingly. "You shouldn't be here at all."