FIC: come to me with remedies [2/6]

[luciazephyr]

My plan was to post another chapter every two days or so, but fuck that. I'm going to edit this thing all night and post as I finish each part. I figure this way it'll be one day of me spamming everyone instead of several days of spamming. So I'm sorry for the coming deluge of posts.

Title: come to me with remedies [2/7?]
Doctor Who EDA, Obversefic, Fitz/Doctor, Anji. NC-17. A year's time in a blue house in a tiny English town. The ups and downs of the lives of a not-so-perpetual slacker, a daydream believer, and a terribly sensible trader.

previous chapter

He was convinced there was nothing wrong with what they were doing and that it was probably a logical progression in their weirdly co-dependent relationship. That said, Fitz couldn't help feeling like the Doctor's dirty little secret. He often found himself pulled into empty rooms with the Doctor and enthusiastically snogged, all of the innocence of that first kiss abandoned for a deliriously joyful mash of lips. Fitz was getting used to the Doctor's hands curling around his neck, pulling him down to close the distance between them. He wasn't getting used to how often he ended up with his back against closed doors and open walls, but with the Doctor pressing against him like he was trying to meld their bodies together, Fitz did not mind.

But as affectionate as the Doctor was, he played it like a game. Covert kisses out of sight, always taking Fitz off guard and always slipping away just as Fitz was getting with the program. Fitz could simply assume he wanted to keep things quiet from Anji, but the new mischievous gleam in the Doctor's eyes made him think flustering Fitz was half the point. "You're a bloody tease," Fitz once hissed at the Doctor's back after one such occasion.

It was telling that Anji didn't seem to notice any difference between them. She accused him of doting on the Doctor at times, long before the Doctor had even mentioned kissing him. The addition of daily, furtive liplocks to their routine wasn't a great shift. They still spent all their time in the house lazily orbiting each other, moving apart only to swing back together like some inexplicable gravity controlled their lives. Business as usual, only now Fitz didn't lay in bed at night wondering why he was so unlucky in love. He had better things to occupy his mind, like recalling the unanticipated strength of the Doctor's hands as they directed Fitz or the soft little hum he made against Fitz's mouth when their kisses started.

He played sweeter songs, filling the house with more romantic tunes than were usually in his wheelhouse. Anji did give him the queerest, most baffled look he'd ever seen on her when she stood in the garden and tipped her head back, finding him singing "Angel of the Morning" on the widow's walk.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and called up to him, "Have you hit your head?"

"Not recently, no." He kept playing even as he answered her, notes spilling from his fingers like water. "Why'd you ask?"

"You must be a body snatcher or something then."

"I'm just in a good mood, Anj. Can't I be in a good mood?" He could do to tone it down, he realized. He was acting like a lovesick git, but underneath the plant shop clerk was the soul of an artist. Artists were practically required to be lovesick gits sometimes.

Later, the Doctor leaned forward and snogged him as they sat behind the ivy-covered trellis, tending the snapdragons and orchids. Fitz murmured into the warm air between them, "You can't go a day without doing this, can you?"

"You aren't used to it by now?" The Doctor sighed melodramatically. "I guess I'll have to kiss you more often until you've grown accustomed."

Fitz snorted. "No, I don't mind. At all. Take as much advantage of me as you like, Doctor." The Doctor seemed to take that as invitation to kiss the corner of Fitz's mouth as he spoke. He never needed much provocation to do so. Maybe he'd been so restrained for so long, he had an overwhelming surplus of affection to dispense. "But Anji thinks I've been possessed by an alien invader or something."

"Oh, certainly not. I'd know if you had."




"You and I need to talk," Anji said, slipping into Fitz's room late one evening and quietly shutting the door behind her.

"Finally giving into my considerable charm and good looks? No need to feel bad, no one can hold out forever," Fitz quipped, barely looking up from his book. It was a novel about a house, or about a movie about a house, or about a documentary about a movie about a house. All Fitz knew was that it was weird and left him feeling more baffled as he went on.

Anji approached the bed, standing over him with her arms akimbo. "You need to be serious, Fitz. I know it's so very difficult for you, but try it for a moment, okay?"

"Uh, okay." Fitz frowned up at her. She looked upset, and what was more she looked upset at him. "You're going to have to tell me what I've done wrong. I'm really bad at that thing women do when they're angry at you and won't tell you why because you're supposed to just know or something." Anji glared fiercely at him and snatched his book out of his hands, tossing it on the dresser. "Hey, careful with that!"

She swatted him upside the head. "This is important! Can you wrap your head around that? Or is everything just a laugh in the life of Fitz Kreiner?"

Clutching his head, he stared up at her in alarm. "Okay, see, you're doing it! That exact thing I told you not to!"

"Don't be a child." Anji sat down next to him on the bed, shoving his long legs aside for extra room. The longer she lived in the house, the less reservations she had around him, he noticed dimly, rubbing his head where she'd hit him. "You're not actually hurt, I barely tapped you."

"Still." Fitz dropped his hands in his lap, tense and ready to block another whack. "So. We need to talk about something."

"Someone," Anji corrected darkly. Her anger slipped into exasperation, as though she'd expected better from him. "What do you think you're doing, Fitz?"

"I dunno what you mean," Fitz muttered, looking askance at the door. He was always pretty fast. He could make a run for it if he needed.

Anji faltered, face reddening a little. "I... saw you. This morning."

"Oh." Fitz remembered reading aloud some article in the newspaper about the upcoming lunar eclipse for the Doctor, interrupted near the end by a sudden kiss. He didn't resist the urge to hold the Doctor's shoulder, prolonging it for a little while before he heard the sound of Anji waking up and pretended to act like nothing happened. Evidentially he hadn't been careful enough.

Fitz had to look at her again when she took one of his hands in hers, drawing his wandering gaze back. "Fitz. How long have..."

"I don't know, a week?" She was staring very hard at him, a bit like the Doctor did at times. All her focus sitting on his face felt disconcerting. "What?"

"You really don't see what a bad idea this is? Come on."

Fitz bristled. "Do you expect me to feel guilty or something? If he wants to snog me once in a while--" more like every day-- "I've got no problem with that. And, hey, he's the one who grabs me more often than not!"

"But you let him!" Anji's grip tightened, her short nails digging in a little against Fitz's skin, making him flinch. "It's not right. He's got something wrong with his head and you're taking advantage!"

Fitz's patience dropped like a stone into a deep lake of outrage, leaving no sign of his usual languid calm but the ripples of resentment on his face. "Anji," he started, voice uncharacteristically quiet and low. "Get out."

She recoiled at the harshness of his tone, taken aback. She'd never seen him properly angry before. Hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so upset, but it washed over him, sudden and drowning him. He thought she'd known better by now. He thought she might have understood, but her words reverberated around his head. Wrong.

"Fitz..."

He leaned forward and said, voice shaking, "I said get out." With one sudden jerk, he shook her hand off him, standing up and stalking across the room. He wrenched the door open and stood beside it.

Anji slid off the bed and reluctantly followed him, as if afraid he'd lash out at her. Fitz dropped his gaze to the floor. She stopped by him, her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, the way she stood just a little back making it obvious she didn't want to be too close to him. Not only don't you understand him, you don't understand me either, Fitz thought bitterly.

"I'm sorry." She bit her lip, waiting for him to say something. When Fitz just stood there, holding the door open, she sighed dejectedly and left.

He pushed the door shut behind her, wincing at the slam. Deep down, he knew or hoped she didn't mean it, that it'd just been a slip of the tongue, the wrong word at the wrong time. He couldn't wrap his head around her thinking like that. She'd lived with them for months, she couldn't possibly think the Doctor was wrong. He was strange and brilliant and saw things no on else did. Granted, every once in a while the things he saw really weren't there, but that was what Fitz and Anji were there for, to keep him grounded and safe.

Fitz buried his hands in his hair, tugging at his fringe irritably. He never could hold onto anger for long. He just wasn't wired that way. All he was left with was a faint feeling of betrayal and disappointment.

As the night went on, Fitz holed himself up in his room, ignoring the Doctor's call for evening tea. He faintly heard the sound of conversation downstairs but made no motion to leave. He wondered if Anji was chatting with the Doctor, oblivious to what she'd said about him or telling herself it wasn't a big deal.

His songs were far from the Pretenders this time, instead floating through one depressing and beautiful song after the next. In the end, he played McCartney's part of "I Want You (She's So Heavy)" to himself, sometimes purring the lyrics to himself, but mostly just looping the arpeggio to himself, over and over and over, tapping his foot where the drums should be. He could play it in his sleep, and he hunched over the guitar with his eyes closed, rolling the refrain over and over in his fingers until his breathing, heartbeat, and the ringing of the strings all seemed in tune.

It was dark behind his eyelids, so when the door opened, he saw the glow of light more than he heard it. He ignored that too, not wanting to lose the hum of the music, like it could shield him from the world. If he couldn't hear it, it couldn't bother him.

The fractured logic of that was obvious when hands cupped his face. Fitz startled, his playing halting abruptly, and rather fittingly considering the song. He opened his eyes and was taken in by the searching blue of the Doctor's eyes. He always doing that, not bothering to ask, just reading Fitz and finding what he wanted.

"You're rarely like this, Fitz." Fitz closed his eyes, sighing. The Doctor's thumbs brushed tenderly over Fitz's eyes. "What did she say to you?"

"It's nothing, Doctor," Fitz replied, unconvincing to his own ears.

"It's all right. You don't have to tell me now." His fingers scratched lightly, soothing back into Fitz's hair. His nails felt wonderful, pulling a groan out of Fitz's throat. "Do you know... in my dreams sometimes, I can just touch your skin and know what's bothering you. I can fix it." He kissed Fitz's forehead. "Now I can just ask you not to be like this. It hurts to see."

All the cool-skinned touches disappeared and Fitz felt oddly bereft, watching the Doctor leave him alone with his guitar.




Fitz successfully dodged his housemates all morning through a mix of pure luck, being skinny enough to hide anywhere in the house, and not bothering to grab anything to eat before heading to work. His job was mindlessness at its zenith, something he usually railed against, but one this particular day he didn't mind. It made the time pass slowly and gave him time away from Anji's sharp words and from the Doctor's piercing stare.

But it couldn't last forever, even when Fitz offered to stay after his shift. He was shoo'ed off by his boss, who seemed to think his offer was a sign of the endtimes. He hadn't been aware he was that lazy.

Fitz wandered home, taking the long way through the park, his gait slow and as leisurely as it could be while still being considered progress. He smoked a fag on the front porch, practicing making smoke rings, and after various attempts at further procrastination, went inside.

His efforts seemed silly in hindsight. No one jumped him as he entered his home. It was quiet, almost empty. The lights left on were the only sign that anyone was actually there. That, and in the kitchen, there was a lemon scone sitting on a plate next to a teacup with the saucer flipped on top, holding the heat in the cup. He lifted it and inhaled deeply. Darjeeling. The Doctor's classic bribe. Fitz never turned down food, his financial strife before meeting the Doctor making him opportunistic when it came to eating. He helped himself to the scone as he discovered a piece of paper under the plate and read it. The Doctor's elegant but somewhat illegible script asked him to go up to the attic to find the spare record needle as theirs wasn't playing properly anymore.

The attic seemed safe. It was about as remote as any room in the house could get. Fitz thought the Doctor might even be helping him stay isolated from everyone while he got over what Anji had said. It'd be the first time he'd done so, but Fitz could hope.

Licking his fingers free of crumbs, he took off his trainers and headed upstairs to the top floor. There was a pull line from the ceiling in front of the Doctor's bedroom door and with a tug, Fitz opened the attic door and steadied the sliding ladder before ascending.

Much to his surprise, he wasn't alone. Sitting on one of the many unlabeled storage boxes was Anji. Immediately, she called out, "No, don't shut it!"

"What?" Fitz blinked, coughing as he inhaled some dust.

"The door, don't let it close!" She practically threw herself at him to get to the hatch. He lost his footing in his attempt to get out of her way, managing to trip her along the way, and they landed awkwardly on the floor. Anji's fall was broken by Fitz's body, winding him when her knee knocked right into his diaphragm.

"Ow," Fitz complained, thumping his head back against the floor, then coughing again at the dust he unsettled.

"Great." Anji climbed over him and knocked on the door a few times. "He's locked us in."

His pain was instantly forgotten at that. Fitz sat up and pushed Anji aside, trying to open the door himself with a little more gusto. The door didn't budge. "Oh shit, this is bad." He looked at her, eyes wide and wild. "Is he having one of his spells?"

Anji shook her head, scooting away from Fitz and tucking her legs under her as she sat. She looked resigned. "No. This is just his way of getting us to talk apparently."

"So he's locked us in the attic?"

"Yeah, he's very determined to have us discuss things." She seemed about as thrilled with the idea as Fitz was.

Fitz finally looked at Anji, the way her hands were folded in her lap, fingers twined tightly. She seemed much smaller now, lacking that easy confidence she had when she barged into his room the night before. Now she just watched him, waiting for him to make a move. He wondered what the Doctor had said to her.

"I don't want to discuss things with you," Fitz said. That betrayed feeling was making itself known again.

"I don't want to either, but the Doctor's right, even if his methods are a bit extreme. We should talk." She fidgeted, her hands folding and unfolding in different ways. Her eyes flicked to his face, away, and back again. "I know what I said about the Doctor upset you."

Fitz closed his eyes, recalling what she'd said like he'd only just heard it. "What you think of the Doctor is your own business."

'It's not that simple, you know that." She rubbed her face and finger-combed her hair back, blowing out a long, weary breath. "We have to take care of him."

"Yeah, because he's wrong, is he?" Fitz spat viciously, a remnant of his previous anger flaring.

"I didn't mean it like that! You know I didn't!"

"Oh, it was just a Freudian slip thing, it's okay then."

Anji rolled her eyes. "Do you think being sarcastic is going to help right now, Fitz?"

Fitz fixed her with a glare. "Who said I was being sarcastic?"

Her face fell abruptly, wounded. "You can't think that."

"Well, what am I supposed to think?" Fitz grumbled.

"That... that I was agitated and I said something I didn't mean?" Anji stood up and walked over to Fitz, sitting down again right in front of him. Fitz leaned back and looked around skittishly, like he wanted to run away. Anji confronting him seemed to make him want to do that a lot. But once again, like they were repeating the steps from before, she grabbed his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that about him. I care about him like... well, not like you do. I don't know how you do it, but I do care, all right?"

Fitz deflated, his hopes about her confirmed. But without his anger, he didn't know how he felt about her. It was safer to be ticked at her. That way he didn't have to think about what she was saying. "I know," he mumbled, squeezing her hand faintly. "Think we can go now?"

Anji glanced at the attic door, then back at Fitz. "I don't think we're done."

"Anj..."

"I'm sorry for saying what I did about the Doctor, but I did have a point." She leaned forward, forcing him to look at her and not just stare at their hands. "You can't pretend he's completely normal."

"I know. I know he's not," Fitz insisted. "You weren't even here for the worst of it. He was out of his head for a long time before he got set up with his shrink. He's so much better now." He scratched his neck, uncomfortable. No bloke liked talking about these sorts of things, especially with a girl that wasn't his girlfriend. Even more, talking about feelings to family and people who were like your family, that was the worst.

"But he still has episodes," Anji pointed out.

He got loud again. "So what? So bloody what, you want to treat him like a kid?" He shook his head, wordlessly apologizing, making an effort to not shout so much. If the last day had taught him anything, the Doctor was clearly a trigger of sorts with him. He felt like the man's only protector sometimes. He'd never been good with responsibility. "He's a grown man."

"I... oh, I know, but it's not that easy, is it?" She leaned forward on her knees, tucking one chin on her fisted hand, watching him closely. Her voice was soft, lacking that usual assertive tone that she carried around so much. He sometimes envied how certain of herself she could be. "Why're you doing it?"

Fitz shrugged. His face felt hot and he was grateful to the dim light of the attic. "He said he wanted to kiss me."

"Are you humoring him?"

"No! Er, no." Fitz cleared his throat. "I wanted him to, I mean. Who wouldn't, you know?"

"Not me," Anji replied, now smiling a little. "Not my type."

Fitz had been under the impression the Doctor was everyone's type. He assumed everyone who spent enough time around him would be drawn in by that magnetism he had. But then again, Sam and Compassion had left. Fitz hadn't. That put things into perspective.

"You don't want to talk about this. I can tell. So just listen." She waited patiently for him to meet her eyes. "I'm just trying to help you, okay? You never know when he might get worse. And you know him scarily well, but even you might hurt him. I just want you to remember that, okay?" When he mutely nodded at her, she tugged him forward and hugged him. He stiffened, bewildered for an instance before he slowly hugged her back. At least she wasn't asking him about the big L word or anything.

He waited what he hoped was the appropriate amount of time before asking, "Can we get out of this attic now?" Anji leaned back and looked at him like he was some sort of alien. "This dust is killing me."

She sighed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why do I bother," under her breath. She slammed her fist on the attic door a few times. "You can let us out now, Doctor!"

The Doctor beamed beatifically at them as they climbed down from their impromptu prison. Anji fixed him with a furious look, wordlessly stomping past him and downstairs. His pleased smile remained nonetheless as he tried it on Fitz instead.

"Don't give me that," Fitz grumbled, coughing some more, feeling like he'd inhaled a sandstorm. "I'm as angry at you as she is."

"Oh, she's not angry," the Doctor said with absolute certainty. "She wanted an excuse to talk to you. I just helped."

"All right, first off.... thanks, I guess, for being off your rocker enough to do something that extreme to your friends."

"You're quite welcome, Fitz." For the second time, Fitz was swept into an embrace, nearly toppling over as he was forced to bend at the waist, his face buried in the white cotton over the Doctor's shoulder.

"Mmph." Fitz held the Doctor by the arms and extracted himself from the hug. "Not done, Doc." He gripped the man's shoulders, ducking his head so they were at eye level. "Don't ever lock us in the attic again. I will kick your arse."

"You will not."

Fair point. "I'll be very cross at you."

"I won't do it again, I promise." He kissed Fitz's cheek, smiling winningly. "Come on, some tea will help your throat."




Since moving out of his tiny little flat, Fitz had made changes, adapting to his new surroundings. More precisely, he adapted to the Doctor. Sam had done her best for him, but she lacked Fitz's experience with logic from the dark side of the moon, metaphorically speaking. Asking nicely did not make the Doctor stop turning the house upside down for his magic screwdriver. Standing in the doorway just meant he'd use another exit (once, memorably, a window) to pull a runner. Treating him like a glass figurine on a high shelf didn't prevent his hold on the real world from occasionally shattering. When Sam had been the Doctor's companion-- the Doctor's word, not Fitz's, who found it a bit bawdy-- she was loyal as anything, but never talked about the episodes, pretending they didn't exist.

Fitz knew better. Sometimes you had to fight crazy with crazy. Point out the flaws in the Doctor's space logic and you could disarm him long enough to calm him down. When he wanted to run, you ran faster. You started bar fights with the local boys who called him a nutter, but you called him out if he forgot to take his medicine.

You slept lightly, ready to jolt awake at the first sound of footsteps on the stairs. Like one night or perhaps early morning when Fitz's eyes slit open, not sure why he was awake but knowing something had set off his internal alarm. The house was quiet though, the only sound the light rain on the roof. He closed his eyes again, ears straining to hear more and coming up with nothing. Thinking it nothing, he shut his eyes against, ready to drop back off into sleep.

And yet he stayed awake. Paranoia that he'd miss an important thing kept him conscious. He sat up, groaning, and fumbled around, looking for a shirt to throw on. Five seconds of patting the bedspread, looking for the right material came up with nothing, so he decided to forgo the whole process of making himself decent. It wouldn't be worth it if he was just going to be back in bed in a moment anyway.

He shuffled out of his room and downstairs, reflecting wistfully on how much easier his life was when he didn't care about other people. Anji was sound asleep, the garden was empty, and the front door was still locked. Mentally jotting a checkmark next to those items on the list in his head, he turned around and went back upstairs, past the second floor and up to the third. He always started downstairs. Going up and finding the Doctor gone was a time-waster when he could be catching him on his way out. That hadn't happened in a long, long time, but it had once happened often enough to leave a permanent mark of Fitz's instincts.

Upstairs, he found the Doctor's bedroom shut, as usual. He took a deep breath, gripping the doorknob and turning it slowly. Determined to keep as stealthy as possible, he nudged it open carefully. The hinges would squeak if he moved too hastefully and the Doctor was almost as light a sleeper as Fitz.

"Thank you for the consideration, Fitz, but I'm awake."

Fitz swung open the door and peered into the dark room. His eyes were still adjusting to the lack of light, but he spotted the giant four-poster bed near the window. The Doctor was sitting up on it, curled up with his arms folded on his knees. Fitz couldn't see the expression on the man's face, but he could hazard a few guesses about what he'd see there if he could.

"What bloody time is it?" Fitz muttered, inviting himself in. He rubbed one of his eyes, tired but determined to make sure the Doctor was all right before anything.

"I don't know. If I had to guess, I'd say 3:25, maybe a few minutes before." He laid his head down on his arms effetely, seeming painfully vulnerable tucked up as he was in the middle of his expansive bed. "Did I wake you?"

"Dunno, just woke up. Sixth sense put out a siren, I think." Fitz sat on the edge of the bed, back against one of the posts. "What's got you up at this hour?"

"Oh, nothing really. The usual dreams." He looked away, out the window. This close, Fitz could see the barely contained sorrow on his face. He scooted closer and put a hand on the Doctor's arm.

"D'you want to talk about them?"

"What's there to say?" He lay his head back down. "I know all these dreams are pure fantasy, but even so, they make me feel so helpless." His eyes opened, an oddly luminescent sight in the dark. "I keep dreaming about people leaving. Always people I care about. But..." He frowned deeply. "I can see their faces but often I cannot remember their names. My memory has always been a little spotty, or as much as I recall about it, but it's their names, Fitz."

He looked like he desperately needed a hug. Fitz crawled over the bed, close to the Doctor, and obliged, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. "I know. It's awful, but... maybe you don't want to remember. You always get in a state when someone moves out, maybe that's just your head's way of dealing."

"That's a rather insightful hypothesis." The Doctor sounded a little awed, though whether by the idea itself or that it was Fitz's idea wasn't clear. "Oh, but that just makes things worse. What about when you leave? I... can scarcely remember a time you weren't here. I can't even imagine it," he moaned, distressed.

Fitz leaned his face against the Doctor's, breathing in the smell of his shampoo and water from his earlier shower. Very quietly, he said, "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'd love to believe that."

"Where would I go? What's better than here? I mean," he sat up straight again, twisting so he was facing the Doctor, able to stare imploringly down at him, "knowing my luck, I'd move out and my neighbors would be even noisier than I am or crazy or something."

"Crazy?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow, not needing to expound on his point further.

"I mean proper crazy," Fitz explained impatiently. "People who try to hurt me or steal my stuff. Stuff you'd never do."

"I may not be what you deem 'proper crazy'," he smiled slightly at the term, "but there was that time I stole your guitar."

"What?" Fitz was confused for a moment, not awake enough to remember right away what the Doctor was referring to. "Oh, that time you were going to use it as a weapon against those aurally sensitive invader guys. You didn't hurt it, I got it back, no problem."

"Still."

"Still what? You took my guitar to fight off an invasion and you think I'm upset or something?" Fitz chuckled. "Do you know, sometimes I think if I knew someone at the Beeb, we could make millions off your schemes."

The Doctor didn't look so sure, frown returning. "Oh, don't joke about that, Fitz. They'd be dreadful."

"No, it'd be like Star Trek, but with decent effects!"

The Doctor cracked a small smile at Fitz's insistent enthusiasm. "People will watch anything, I suppose."

"Killjoy," Fitz accused lightly. "You think you're all right now to sleep? Got some of that off your chest?"

The Doctor nodded slowly. "I should try at least." He uncurled his body, stretching out more across the bed. He still seemed small in comparison. That more than anything was why Fitz was reluctant to leave. Instead, he lingered around the room as the Doctor got settled and slipped under the covers. He felt like standing guard, needing to be that protector or something equally daft. An awkward silence filled the room as he uselessly stood around, retying the ropes holding the four-poster's drapes back. "Fitz."

"Yeah, sorry, I'll just..." Fitz waved vaguely to the door. "G'night."

The Doctor reached out, grasping Fitz's hand, halting him instantly. Fitz paused, looking back. The Doctor stared up at him, and it was plain on his face that he was still rattled. "Promise you'll... that you'll be here tomorrow."

Fitz sat down again beside him. "Doctor, what's wrong? What'd you dream about?"

The Doctor laughed suddenly, not happily. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Tell me anyway." Because it always worked on him when the Doctor did it, Fitz reached out and cupped his face, trying to be comforting but entreating all at once. "Please, Doctor."

The Doctor put his hand over Fitz's, framing it in cold skin. It'd taken so long for Fitz to not want to do something to warm him up all the time, to just accept his oddities weren't solely mental. "You died. But it wasn't you, it was..." His nose scrunched up as he tried to explain, as though he couldn't figure it out himself. "Another you. You died because of me, somehow. I think you blamed me. You'd waited so long." His face crumpled and Fitz quickly embraced him, feeling the Doctor's hands latch onto him tightly. "I keep wanting to tell you sorry. Isn't that odd?"

"If it's really me in your dream, he forgives you." Fitz rubbed the Doctor's back soothingly.

"You don't know what happened."

"Doesn't matter. He forgives you." Fitz pulled back enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. "This is me we're talking about. So I should know, right?"

"I... I suppose." The Doctor laid his head on Fitz's shoulder. "Thank you, Fitz."

Fitz just hummed back, threading one hand into the Doctor's hair and rubbing his thumb over the spot right behind his ear. He heard the Doctor mumble happily if a bit incoherently at the attention, and grinned. "Sleep?"

"Mmm." He didn't move.

"Sleep on the bed, not on me. I am not sitting like this all night." In a fit of pique, he pushed the Doctor down onto the bed, amused by the surprised gasp he let out as he bounced against the pillow. "Goodnight."

"You're leaving?"

That had been the idea. "As opposed to what?"

"Nothing, nevermind." He rolled over, away from Fitz, pulling the sheets up. "Goodnight."

Fitz leaned over him. "Do you... want me to stay?"

"No," he said in the sullen tone that mean 'yes.'

"All right." Fitz spent a moment hoping he wasn't doing something stupid-- always a possibility with ideas like this-- before slipping under the covers as well.

The Doctor immediately turned and wriggled over. He didn't bother keeping up the pretense that he'd expected Fitz to leave. Manipulative git. "Thank you." Fitz nodded, giving a long-suffering sigh, mostly for effect since he didn't actually mind too much. The Doctor lay against Fitz's side, his skin cold even in the early summer heat. Once he'd stopped moving around to get comfortable, it was nice. Fitz shut his eyes, ready to finally get back to sleep.

Right before he managed to make it to unconsciousness, the Doctor moved again. He crawled over Fitz and for one second, Fitz felt a low heat skitter around his stomach. Their bodies slid together, the Doctor climbing on top of Fitz. He wondered if the Doctor had misread his intentions. Not that he didn't want to but when the Doctor was sad because the Fitz in his head just died, it didn't seem right. "H-hey, Doc..."

Then the Doctor flopped down on Fitz's other side, all his exciting squirming ceasing. "There. That's better." He laid his head down on Fitz's chest, shutting his eyes.

"Uh..."

"Sorry, I just thought I'd sleep better if I could hear your heartbeat. I was on the wrong side." He looked up at Fitz, eyes wide and clueless to Fitz's trouble. "You don't mind, do you?"

Fitz slumped back down against the pillow, certain the Doctor had done that on purpose. He wouldn't be sleeping well that night. Still, he whispered, "Nope. Not at all."



There were worse things to wake up to than a bloke you quite fancied watching you with his bright blue eyes. It felt like Fitz was living inside a really cheesy guilty pleasure sort of telly show, where the camera went fuzzily out of focus while the music got all twinkly. He used to scoff at those sort of scenes, having woken up next to his fair share of bed partners and not found them tastefully lit in the morning light with a little lens flair for... well, flair. But the Doctor never fit into the groups of people Fitz often get involved with. He was a singular, remarkable event in Fitz's universe, impossible to replicate or even imitate.

Thus, he did wake up with that whole soft focus filter thing going on as he opened his eyes and saw the Doctor leaning over him, mouth curved in a secretive smile.

"Morning," Fitz murmured.

"Yes, it is," the Doctor agree just as quietly, then leaned down and kissed him like he'd been waiting to do so for some time.

Since Anji confronting Fitz, they hadn't done this so much. Regardless, it was easy to fall back into the routine of it. The Doctor's kissing was insistent and a little pushy, so much like the man himself. Either he was reserved or greedy with no middle ground between the two. If anything, now Fitz noticed that more. With them lying down and Fitz under the Doctor, there was no need for bent backs or balancing on one's tiptoes. The Doctor was sprawled half on top of Fitz, and it was gravity binding them together.

The Doctor shimmied over a little more on top and, oh, his tongue flicked along Fitz's. He tasted minty and clean, the faint tang of toothpaste painfully domestic. Fitz didn't want to think about why that was so freakishly sexy, but he was throughly awakened by it and kissed back open and wet. Definitely worse ways to wake up, he decided, hands slipping under the covers and holding the Doctor's hips. Fitz found hands winding into his hair, keeping him still, as if he was planning on going somewhere. The Doctor was always doing that, grabbing his hand, the sleeve of his shirt, anything his fingers could get a grip on. Fitz didn't know what to do to prove he wasn't going to leave.

Not that he was in any position to think too deeply about that. He wasn't thinking about anything really. His mental facilities weren't up to the task with drowsiness just fading and being replaced with a rising heat that left him equally loose-limbed and slow. There was no urgency and Fitz wasn't certain the rest of the world even existed at the moment.

The Doctor pulled back briefly, staring down at Fitz. Anji had been right: Fitz could read him scarily well, and Fitz could barely breathe with that much intensity radiating off him. He so often hid himself, layering purposeful misunderstanding with off-putting bizarreness to keep himself safe. And here Fitz was with him and the only layers left were only physical and textile.

Even you might hurt him.

Oh, goddamn Anji.

"What's wrong?" The Doctor's face fell, making Fitz curse how bloody transparent he apparently was.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Here." Fitz leaned up and caught his mouth. It was obvious then how much desperation the Doctor was pouring into him now that Fitz wasn't so off-guard. He fell against Fitz, hands splayed over his chest. It felt brilliant, that weight almost pushing him down.

Just not right now. And he so very much blamed Anji. Her, and how at twenty-nine, he couldn't keep pretending he wasn't a somewhat responsible adult.

Fitz rolled them both over, laying the Doctor onto his back on the bed. He went too willing, too eagerly, even as his hands clung to Fitz. Fitz gently pried them off, twining their fingers and pushing their joined hands into the mattress.

Then he let go, rolled over again, and climbed off the bed.

"Fitz?" He looked back, meeting the Doctor's completely lost stare evenly. "I'm not sure I understand." From the shaking in his voice, Fitz could tell that was an understatement. He sat up, folding his hands in his lap nervously. "Why...?"

Fitz took a deep breath and walked back to the bed, leaning across it to kiss him again. The Doctor didn't respond, just looking at him, waiting. Fitz shook his head, licking his lips. Minty, he noted vaguely. "This is going to sound stupid, but because I think I might love you a little bit."

"That's... that's somewhat contrary."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Fitz straightened and shuffled backward a few steps. If the Doctor reached out and managed to pull him back into bed, Fitz wasn't sure his resolve would hold out. Because, honestly, he'd been around a bit when he was younger. Sex was always fun, but sometimes there was that thing, usually just a spark that made it brilliant. The Doctor had more than just a spark of it. A lot more. It was like the man's inexplicable influence over Fitz was multiplied by touch.

It was the Doctor, though, not just some bird he'd met in a bar. If he let this happen because the Doctor thought it'd keep Fitz from disappearing like the others, and not for the right, better reasons, Fitz wouldn't be able to live with himself. So he backed off and gave the Doctor his most reassuring smile. "I'll see you at breakfast," he promised, then made himself walk out the door.




Anji's jaw dropped as Fitz walked into the living room. "What, is it your birthday or something?"

"No. March the seventh though, I'll expect presents," Fitz replied, putting down his shopping bags and pulling out the bottles, setting them neatly on the coffee table.

"What's the occasion then?"

"The Doctor's going to be gone for the night. Went for a check-up to the hospital, standard stuff." Fitz dumped the rest of his goods out, a few limes and other citrus fruits, a box of gaudy paper umbrellas, and a container of bright red maraschino cherries. The last he picked up and opened, popping a cherry into his mouth, then sucked the juice off his fingers. "Did you know I can tie a knot in a cherry stem?" He smirked, waggling his eyebrows at Anji.

"Wait, back up. Hospital? Is the Doctor okay?"

"Yeah, just getting his hearts checked." Anji stared at him. Fitz's smirk widened. "Oh, did I forget to mention? Doc's got two hearts."

"You lie."

"Like a barrister, but he does have two hearts." He clapped his hands together. "I'll prove it to you. Be right back. You," he pointed to her as he headed upstairs, "get the glasses out of the china cabinet. And break out your laptop. That thing can play movies, right?"



"Where's his lungs?" Anji asked later, holding the x-ray up to the light.

"What?"

"His lungs." She tapped a finger over the picture of the Doctor's chest.

"It's complicated," Fitz hedged, more focused on shaking the cocktail mixer than anything. "And I wasn't really listening when he told me. Something about his having a completely different respiratory system than the rest of us. Gimme your glass."

"Hm? Oh." Anji set the translucent image aside, letting Fitz pour out a drink for her. "Amazing they haven't locked him up or something. F-for his hearts, I mean," she added quickly when Fitz shot her a sharp look. That wound hadn't fully healed and things had been awkward between them since their fight. Half Fitz's reason for doing this was to repair things. He adored Anji, even when he wanted to tell her to shut up and let him make his stupid mistakes in peace.

"I think they did for a while when he was younger. But really, what're they gonna do with him? He's got two hearts. Big deal." He shrugged and flopped down on the sofa, clicking his glass against hers and ignoring the incredulous look she was giving him. Anji gave him that god, you are thick look often enough, he barely noticed anymore. "Cheers."



Even later, Fitz was occupying himself by dusting the rims of their glasses with sugar. "I can't believe I'm making bloody girly drinks for you. If I even said the word cosmopolitan where I grew up, I'd get my arse beat."

"I thought you grew up in London." Anji didn't look up from her laptop, where she was picking which Star Trek movie they'd watch next. She had all of them on there, much to Fitz's surprise. She just said something about a former boyfriend who was a fan when asked about it, getting this faraway look in her eyes that was like flashing a neon Keep Out sign at him. He'd obligingly asked what she wanted to drink next after that, which lead to his current girly drink dilemma.

"Not that part of London."

"Well, if it offends you so much, why'd you buy cranberry juice?"

"To make raunchy jokes while I make us Sex On the Beaches, of course."

"Of course," Anji intoned dryly. "Almost done there, Fitz Fortune, self-styled bartender to the gods?"

"Just call me Dionysus." He'd missed that surprised look she gave him when he said things like that, bits of information your average slacker didn't bother learning. "I read, you know."

"You reading classic lit of all things, that's my real point of contention here."

Fitz set up their glasses and added the ingredients into his shaker. Quietly, he recited, "Sing to me of the man, Muse. The man of twists and turns, driven time and again off course, once he plundered the hallowed heights of Troy."

"This is you drunk, is it?"

He poured once again, filling the glasses with cheerful pink liquor. "Anji, I have not yet begun to drink. Now budge over, I haven't seen the one with the whales."



"Question for you."

"Boxers."

"You don't quit, do you?"

"Quitting's for losers. Why do you think I still smoke, even with a man called the Doctor putting me up?"

"Sheer bloodymindedness?"

"That too."

"Has he tried to get you to quit?"

"Many a time. But I look far too sexy when I'm smoking, can't give that up."

"That coat of yours smells like an ashtray."

"Was this what you wanted to ask me?"

"I don't remember, actually..."

"That's fine. Hey, did I mention I can tie a knot in a cherry stem?"



"... And then her grandfather screamed at her for sullying herself with a Kraut and tossed me out," Fitz went on, pausing to tip some more beer down his throat. It was dark by then, the only light on the moonless night coming from the laptop's screensaver, one of those generic starfield deals. Fitz never liked them. He'd seen the pictures sent back to Earth from the telescopes floating around the galaxy. Everything was vivid and colorful, like swirling clouds of rainbow paint dabbed onto a black canvas.

"That's terrible," Anji mumbled from somewhere near his shoulder.

"Mind you, he didn't have the decency to toss out my clothes with me." He felt Anji start to snicker against his side. "I hid in the brush nearby, throwing rocks at her window until she opened up."

"That must've went bad." She paused. "Went badly."

"Yeah... she did throw one of her nighties at me though."

"You didn't."

"What else was I going to do? Walk home nude? Nah, it worked out. Made a great story once I got over the fact I walked over a mile wearing just a pink dress thing." Fitz tipped some more beer down his throat, long since having abandoned his stint as their personal bartender. "And that's why I hate lace. Hard to be turned on by it when you actually know what that shit feels like to wear."

"I'm half-convinced you made all that up."

"The names were changed to prevent the innocent."

"And who's innocent there?"

"Fuck, I can't remember."



Fitz was almost dozing off when Anji burst out, "I remembered my question!"

"Oh good," Fitz grumbled, covering his eyes with one hand. "Kindly forget it again. I'm sleeping."

Anji was giggling about something she evidentally found funny. She hadn't needed that last G&T, he decided. "You can't talk and sleep, Fitz."

"You're right. You must be sleeping yourself then and imagining I'm talking."

Anji was very quiet for a very long moment as she thought about this. "No, I don't think so. Anyway." She poked him in the chest. "Why'd you do all this?"

"Mostly to seduce you, but you wouldn't let me do my cherry stem trick, so." Fitz shrugged the shoulder Anji wasn't resting against.

"You don't think it's a little suspi.... weird that the moment the Doctor's out of the house, you get us totally pissed."

And there it was again, that feeling of hating Anji and loving her all at once. "I am not totally pissed. I'm not the one who can't say suspicious."

"Did you have a fight?"

"I don't want to talk about this, Anj, please." He was whinging, he could tell. Why couldn't she just fall asleep like most people did when they imbibed as much as she had?

"So it is about him."

"Fuck, Anji, what in my life isn't?"

Again, she was quiet. Fitz shut his eyes and slumped back against the cushions, wincing. He really hoped that was the alcohol talking, or at least that he wouldn't remember anything about the night tomorrow. He was in the mood to get drunk and forget everything, not to get introspective.

Anji sat up and looked down at him, eyes clearer than he would have expected. She seemed to be sobering somewhat. "You love him, right?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, it's not." It was like they'd swapped scripts all of a sudden, ethos and logos traded off. "When someone becomes your whole life... that's either love or hate, right?"

Fitz didn't hate the Doctor, that was for sure. He refused to say it out loud though. Anji watched him expectantly for a long time before getting up. Unsteady, she kept a hand on the wall as she wandered off to bed.

Much to his dismay, Fitz didn't feel better. He'd managed to distract himself for a few hours, but alone in the dark, he just wished he'd made an excuse to go with the Doctor. He should have. He could have bluffed something. But when the Doctor didn't respond to the kiss Fitz gave him that morning before breakfast, he was too cowardly to say anything.

He wondered how the Doctor was, if he sleeping that night or if he was laying awake, filled with sullen regrets like Fitz was.

Fitz slumped sideways on the sofa and tucked his feet up, shutting his eyes. He'd sleep there, not wanting to settle for his empty bed when he'd much rather be in another.



The phone rang. As it was what only the most technically minded people would call morning and the phone was right next to Fitz's head, this turned out to be extremely unpleasant.

"Can't a man be hungover in peace," he grumbled, patting around the table to try and locate the phone by touch. "If this is Mrs. Simms calling me in, I'm quitting. I'll be a loser for once." He reluctantly sat up and found the phone, snatching it up and slumping back down before hitting the call button. "Whoever this is, if you ask me if my fridge is running, I'll hunt you down."

"Fitzgerald Kreiner?"

"Speaking." He was ready to just drop back off and let them try to sell their product while he napped.

"We apologize for the hour, sir, but you're the first name on our patient's contact list."

Fitz sat up, sober as a heart attack. "What's happened?"

next chapter

Comments

[silver-sandals.livejournal.com]

Oh, I do love Anji. And Anji&Fitz. And I love the way you're keeping up Fitz's canonical erudition.

It's painful to see the Doctor this insecure and lost. I'm very glad he has Fitz to look after him.

[lucia-tanaka.livejournal.com]

Anji and Fitz are basically the secondary OTP for this one. And a character doesn't get to write a song with the line "wanton dissipation" without making me write him as simultaneously erudite and indulging in Buffy Speak. 8D

[wyntereyez.livejournal.com]

This is beautiful so far. Your characterizations are wonderful, very spot-on even though they're the Obverse counterparts. The slow build of the relationships is really lovely.

I wish I had the free time to read this through in one sitting. Or to re-read 'The Blue Angel,' since it's been so long I can't properly remember it.

[lucia-tanaka.livejournal.com]

Oh, well thank you so much! I'm glad you're liking it so far and hope you continue to do so. 8D It's definitely a slow build.