To say that Sam had been less than enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the Vega Station would be something of an understatement. And that had been before the Doctor and Fitz had decided that it would be the ideal place to indulge in a small competition. She had been here for almost two days now, and couldn't wait to leave. Boys!

That was what they were. Big boys, true. 'Old' even. But still boys. Playing games. Literally. Despite having known the Doctor for so long, she had still been surprised at the childlike grin and innocent pleasure he had displayed at Fitz's suggestion that they see who could win the most at the casino in a week.

A week.

Sam took a deep gulp of the burning pink liquid and wondered not for the first time in the hour what antifreeze might taste like.

So, rather than use the winnings from his previous visit ('Oh that was ages ago, years, soon after the place opened, in fact - er, about when I thought we'd be arriving this time, actually'), the Doctor and Fitz were each starting with a float of a hundred plaudits. Or, rather, the Doctor was starting. Fitz was propping up the bar. 'Psychology,' he had confided to Sam when she suggested he might do better by actually trying to win something at backgammon, roulette, baccarat or poker.

*

For Fitz it was like a dream come true. He had always had a thing about casinos, had always fancied himself as a cool, wealthy, mysterious gambler. It had probably started when he'd read Casino Royale , and seeing Dr No had certainly not cured him of it.

Which was why he was so desperate to make an impression. And why he had sneaked down to the casino the first night, clutching the gaming chip that represented the plaudits the Doctor had given him for their wager. He wanted a little practice, wanted to be sure he got it right before he performed for Sam and the Doctor. And what a performance it would be.

The dark suit and black bow tie from the TARDIS wardrobe had been perfect. The Doctor's machine might not be able to hit the target exactly on time, but it knew how to dress for the occasion. He helped himself to a spare seat at the roulette wheel, and tapped his chip on his fingers, watching to see what everyone else did.

The croupier reached out and took the chip from him. Fitz was surprised and barely stifled a cry, turning it into a grunt of appreciation as the croupier slotted the chip into some sort of device, and then handed Fitz several smaller wooden gaming chips in return.

"Thank you,' Fitz said, keeping his voice deep. He reached for his cigarette case. Then realised he didn't have one, and pulled out a battered packet of Camels instead. His last. Maybe his last ever. Which would please Sam if nobody else. He tapped out a cigarette. "The name's Kreiner,' he said as he put it to his mouth. 'Fitz Kreiner.' But nobody seemed to be listening.

The wheel was spinning. Fitz watched its hypnotic motion, reaching for his silver lighter as he did. A Ronson would be nice. But all he could run to was a box of Swan Vestas. He shielded the match as he took it to the cigarette. That was good. He blew out a stream of smoke and leaned forward to place his chips. He put half on thirteen. Lucky thirteen.

Beside him a woman started to cough, caught in the full blast of the smoke. As he leaned back, ash dropped from Fitz's cigarette on to the felt edging the table. He brushed it away quickly, aware of the croupier's stern gaze. 'Sorry,' he muttered.

The woman was still coughing. A man next to her had started to clear his throat in a rather pointed manner too. 'Sorry,' Fitz said again. He held the cigarette away from them, almost stubbing it into the man on his other side. 'Sorry.'

Fitz looked round for the ashtray. There wasn't one.

God, didn't they smoke here? 'Sorry,' he said. He wasn't sure what he was apologising for this time, but it did no harm to keep in credit with the apologies. Everyone seemed to be looking at him now. He smiled, swallowed, gritted his teeth, and stubbed the cigarette out on the heel of his left hand. It couldn't be that bad.

'Aaah.' It was worse. 'Sorry. Sorry, everyone.'

The wheel had stopped. Everyone was looking at him again. 'What?' he asked, sure he had committed another faux pas, another social gaffe to add to the collection. Things were not going quite according to plan here.

'You've won,' the woman beside him breathed. Her voice was husky, and Fitz hoped it was from her appreciation and awe. But he suspected it was the cigarette smoke.

'Have I?' he said. 'I mean, well, yeah, right. Of course.' He gathered in the chips the croupier raked towards him. 'Thanks, mate. Er, my good man. Sir.'

Everyone was still looking at him. Here was Fitz's chance to redeem the situation. He stuck his chin out slightly, waggling his head to try to loosen the wing collar that was tight round his perspiring neck. 'Black,' he said confidently, pushing his chips forward. 'Everything on black. The lot.' He was on a roll here.

There were not the gasps of astonishment at his recklessness that he had expected. But at least there were several raised eyebrows. He sat back, arms folded, and watched as the wheel spun again. A dream come true.

The wheel slowed, the ball rolling noisily over the numbered compartments. Then the ball stopped, though the wheel was still spinning. And the dream became a nightmare.

Red.

It had stopped on red. On six. He had thought about putting everything on six, really he had. Or red. But he hadn't done it. He'd gone for black. And it stopped on red.

The croupier handed back Fitz his chip. 'Your balance is zero, sir,' he told him.

'Thanks,' said Fitz, thickly. 'Thanks a lot.' He stood up, slightly shakily. 'Easy come, easy go,' he said with almost convincing levity. 'Well, see you all tomorrow night, then.'

As he mooched his way across the casino, hands deep in his trouser pockets, staring at the floor, Fitz struggled to think of how he could convincingly explain to the Doctor and Sam why he was not actually taking part in any gambling during the week ahead.

Of course, it would be easy and sensible to confess and ask for more money, or just concede defeat right now. So that was right out.