Fitz Kreiner (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
everythinglost) wrote2023-04-18 11:33 am
everythinglost) wrote2023-04-18 11:33 am
Memories
[For Sweeney/open, just a day in the life]
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[For Flint/open, saving the world]
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[For Misty, cn messing with memories]
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[For Kirei, cn watching a love one dying]
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[For Tim/close CR; meeting his evil original self]
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[For Pagan, held up by a unicorn]
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[For Norton, cn just after he's been tortured, war crimes]
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[Open, early teenage memory, cn his mother's mental illness, bullying]
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[Open, no pain, no gain]
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[for Raylan, heroics the medium hard way]
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[For Flint/open, saving the world]
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[For Misty, cn messing with memories]
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[For Kirei, cn watching a love one dying]
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[For Tim/close CR; meeting his evil original self]
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[For Pagan, held up by a unicorn]
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[For Norton, cn just after he's been tortured, war crimes]
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[Open, early teenage memory, cn his mother's mental illness, bullying]
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[Open, no pain, no gain]
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[for Raylan, heroics the medium hard way]
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For Sweeney/open, just a day in the life
It's always the same. He promises a gift. He promises that you'll be something more. He promises a place of power where you'll get respect and power and everything a person could want. A person would like some help moving a box, you don't say, because you just nod along to his claims.
"I got the merchandise," you say, in your best old time gangster voice (not that you expect any actual appreciation) when you've managed to get into the atrium after being left outside for three hours to cool your heels. It's ol' slime who meets you, sneer looking a lot more natural than his attempts at a smile.
"This isn't the door you're supposed to use."
"And here I thought it was the servants' door," you say, again, it's a good thing you find yourself funny because there's no hope of finding a laugh from these guys.
"You're not a servant." The 'god' sneers. "Just a tool that's no longer of use."
"Aww, does that mean I don't get to be patronized in person by the biggest dickheads on this side of the galaxy." You've always known that he barely sees you has a person, and a very lesser person than that. He's not the first, and he's very far from being the last. This is always the game, people just want what they can use, and they pretend, to varying degrees, that you'll matter as long as you do what they say. That you'll have a place ordering others around if you spend long enough following orders.
It's hard not to laugh, to be honest. You don't care about people who think you're lesser. You don't care about people who think you're less than a man. You have a lifetime of being used by people, but none of that matters. You check your watch. You have about three moments before the first explosion is going to go off. You've missed the Doctor (your best friend, the most infuriating person you know in the best, the one who matters, who you love), but you've won him the time he needed.
Cool guys walk away from explosions, but you decide to sprint. This is a new jacket, after all. You've already forgotten the attempts to tempt you into wanting to be part of something.
For Flint/open, saving the world
You know that all of this is a way of thinking about not dying, because what use is it to think of that? You stumbled over a tree root and banged your knee because this place has too many damned forests. You were beaten up by the guards, which is never unusual but that doesn't remove the bruises. You're worried about Anji because you're not sure if she got to safety. You can think about the stupid sewers and Wulf's weight - the kid is definitely too big to carry easily. All that is easy.
What is this planet? You didn't have a chance to learn the name. It's a place with trees that come out of nowhere. It's uncomfortable cities and people who it's a little awkward to communicate with as you don't have six limbs. You've met a couple you've liked. You've met plenty you've disliked, from the guards to Teo to Mildrith to everyone who's refused to listen to the danger. You don't like many people, so you could probably add most of the planet to this list.
If they'd listened you could be sitting with your feet up right now. Instead, you're walking towards the bomb set to blow a big enough junk out of this planet that the people who aren't lucky enough for a fast death are going to be facing a slow one. You cold run away. Yet here you are. If you move it, you can save the planet. If you move it, there's no certainty it'll save you. Your life to save a world.
You're not going to turn around and run for safety, even if that would be far smarter. So there's no reason to think about it.
For Misty, cn messing with memories
It's still hard to get used to the TARDIS' new look. The change doesn’t make it less your home but isn’t that an unfortunate metaphor for this whole mess. There’s a lot to relearn. But how much is still there?
“Doctor…?” Anji distracts you from maudlin contemplation, and the Doctor from his spaghetti wiring.
“Yes?”
“If you get the machine working again, we could continue what the girls were doing, couldn’t we? Give you your memory back.”
The Doctor seems to be considering it, fear starts creeping up your spine. “Possibly, possibly. It depends. Did they do the initial work? Is there a copy of my memories in your head?”
“I don’t know,” Anji (why would she suggest that/she doesn’t know/worry). “I don’t think so.”
“I’m pretty sure there wasn’t time. In fact, I’m certain.” You interject, tone confident. This is not going to happen.
The kid (annoying) just has to butt in. “The princess said she was copying the memories across. And then they were talking for a bit before – you know. I think it could have happened.”
“I don’t think so!” You shout, a bit too forceful. The Doctor gives you a concerned look, familiar in all the ways that matter.
“Well, let’s not worry about it now. Plenty of time to sort it out once I’ve done this. Even if they haven’t copied my memories into Anji’s mind, I’m sure I can work something out with this marvelous machine.” He pats it fondly, so proud. He smiles at you before the look of fierce concentration takes hold of his face as he attaches it to the woman. He’s plugged into the controller’s section – where Asia had died.
You can’t drag your eyes away. What if this is the last time you see the Doctor you know? His mind had been almost destroyed once by what he’d done. What would happen this time? You can’t tell him that it’s a really bad idea to have his memories restored because then you’d have to explain why and that would be just as bad. If he’s going to remember, he has to do it naturally. He can’t take another shock.
You slip through the doors on the far side of the room, everyone else is too busy to notice. You wander the corridors, not quite sure where to go. The console room is the obvious place, the heart of the ship (home), but that’s no good at the moment, being full of people. You settle on the library instead. You’ve never really tried to talk to the ship, not directly, but it’s worth a go. Even if you feel a bit silly, standing in the middle of the library, clutching a copy of ‘The Tale of Peter Rabbit’ for emotional support. But you have to do this. The planet is gone, the Doctor survived. He did the right thing. He doesn’t have to know; you can handle that.
“I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can, I expect you probably… well, care about him, like I do.” Friendship, love, the new protectiveness. “And you mustn’t let him use that machine. Please. Um, that’s all. Thank you.” You take in a deep breath in the calm of the corridor before stepping back into the chaos of the console room.
You seem to have missed most of the action. But the Doctor’s eyes are flickering open, and he’s sitting up. “It worked, didn’t it?” He says, smiling. “I could feel it working. Well done, old girl.” He reaches an arm up over his shoulder to pat the central console. The console spits sparks at him and he yelps and leaps up, clearly astonished.
“Something’s going wrong!” Anji cries (obviously, but someone always has to say the obvious, and the rush of fear overwhelms that momentary flash). Something’s definitely gone wrong: an electric-blue current streaking down the wires that are connecting the Doctor and Elizabethan. The Doctor yanks the connectors from his head, diving towards the unconscious woman (of course he does, he’s still who he was), but Anji gets there first and grabs a handful of wires. She’s thrown backwards with a scream, hitting her head and lying still.
You feel rooted to the spot. You wanted to stop people from being hurt, not to get anyone hurt. But then the Memory Machine explodes, and you manage to get between the Doctor and the explosion – the explosion that doesn’t hit as it should just as you land on top of the Doctor.
The Doctor (safe/alive/without that shattered look in his eyes) beams at you. “The TARDIS! She’s contained it! The clever old thing.” He looks ruefully at the imploded shell of the machine. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be able to use that again, though.”
“Oh,” you say, unable to offer any insincere sympathy. You pat the floor of the ship. She did what she had to, just like you.
For Kirei, cn watching a love one dying
‘You can’t fault my bedside manner, though, can you?’
Fitz swore wearily. ‘There’s a time for humour, Compassion. It isn’t now.’
‘Sorry.’
She actually sounded like she meant it, but he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of letting her know that.
He knelt by Arielle’s side, holding her hand. It was cold and dry and it felt as brittle as burnt paper. The skin was almost transparent. She was lying, naked, on a giant spongy leaf Compassion had grown for her in her forest – her deep, secret place of nature and emotion. The leaf pulsed gently around Arielle, infusing painkillers through her skin into her body. That was all Compassion could do. Make it as painless as possible. Live up to her name in actions if not in actual emotion.
Because Arielle was dying.
Compassion had told him why. She had been possessed by spores of the Omnethoth, the thing that controlled the transmitter, the thing that had brought about the destruction of Yquatine. Their very essence had invaded her cells, making her one of them. They had made her build the transmitter, birthing it from her own cells, nurturing it. It sent signals to the dormant Omnethoth colonization clouds spread throughout the universe, activating them. They had worked to produce the invasion fleet, the thousands of black ships that the transmitter had teleported to Yquatine. Now the transmitter’s work was done, the Omnethoth spores had withdrawn from Arielle, taking their essence away and leaving behind a devastated body. Arielle was disintegrating before Fitz’s eyes.
He remembered what had happened on the St Julian. Arielle’s eyes completely black. Arielle in a coma. They had taken her then, these Omnethoth.
It could have been him. He railed against the unfairness of it all. Why couldn’t it have been him? At least he was used to being taken over by alien entities.
‘Arielle?’ whispered Fitz. ‘Can you hear me?’
She gave no sign that she could. Her eyes remained closed. Short, gasping breaths escaped from between her desiccated lips.
If he hadn’t come back in time one month, if he hadn’t worked in Il-Eruk’s, if he had never met Arielle, then she’d still be alive. And maybe the Omnethoth attack wouldn’t have happened. His head reeled as he tried to work it out, and he came to a shattering conclusion. His coming back in time had set in train the sequence of events leading to the end of Yquatine. He’d been so bloody careful, not warning anyone, going out of his way to avoid Lou Lombardo, but it had all been for nothing. He’d walked right into it, like a trap. Was it because he was tainted by Faction Paradox? Was this some intricate, temporal sick joke? Fitz couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all somehow his fault. That inbuilt Kreiner guilt again.
‘Arielle?’
She was hardly breathing now.
Fitz let go of her hand, turned away. He couldn’t stand this. ‘How much longer?’
Compassion’s impassive tones. ‘Not long.’
Fitz screwed himself up to say kill her, put her out of her misery, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go of hope. ‘Isn’t there anything else you can do for her?’
For Tim/close CR; meeting his evil original self
Kreiner stood before him, and raised his one leathery arm to take Fitz’s chin in his gloved hand. ‘Was I ever this young?’ mused Kreiner, twisting Fitz’s head to one side to get a proper look. ‘Was I ever this naïve? Or this frightened?’
Fitz decided to treat these as rhetorical questions. He could feel the grip tightening on his chin, hear the little motor devices in Kreiner’s arm and fingers whining as the pressure grew. He winced a little, but said nothing.
‘You know, I can kill you now. Don’t think that I can’t.’
Fitz could hear Tana chuckling, a throaty satisfied sound that filled the dark room.
‘Yes,’ continued Kreiner. “That sounds like a splendid paradox, doesn’t it? I kill my ancestor, but I survive.’ The pressure on Fitz’s chin seemed to reach a peak, and then Kreiner just stopped squeezing and pushed him aside.
Fitz gasped as the blood returned to his face, and he clutched at his chin.
‘But you’re not my ancestor, are you?’ hissed Kreiner. ‘You’re an ersatz version of me, created by the Remote over many years. First on Ordiflca, and then on Anathema. Lifeless biomass, given history and meaning by the remembrance tanks. You’re a fake. You’re a fiction. Truth is, boy, I am the person the Doctor first met, first took from Earth in the TARDIS.’ He closed his eyes, and the lids fluttered as though he were searching deep in his memory. ‘I was the young man who went to China with Mao’s army. I wept at the sound of the T’hiili Queen’s song. I saw the double sunrise on Cherantrin V It was me who travelled with him and … . Samantha? Yes, with him and Sam to Vega Station …’
There was a long pause. Fitz couldn’t think what to say to all this. Couldn’t admit it might be true. Couldn’t speak.
Kreiner’s eyes snapped open again. The Faction monster said, ‘I am the real Fitzgerald Michael Kreiner’
‘And I claim my five pounds.’ He’d found his voice at last. Don’t let this crinkly old sod see you’re rattled, Fitzie. “The Doctor reminded me of what I really am. Being me is more than just existing in a continuous line for ever, you know. You can’t be me any more. Not even if you live for another four thousand years. You could never be Frank Sinatra, like I was on Drebnar. You could never be Fitz Fortune, or Simon Templar, or Alphonse Lebleu. Because you’ve forgotten what it ever meant to be the real Fitz Kreiner.’ He gulped, watching for the Faction man’s reaction. ‘Ersatz? I don’t think so. I’m more Fitz Kreiner than you’ll ever be, you sad, forgotten nobody. Don’t think you can manipulate me like the other poor fools: He nodded at the few remaining coven members, sprawled around them.
He thought that Father Kreiner was going to explode at this point. Instead, a guttural laugh bubbled up and burst out of the Faction man’s skeletal face. Somehow, that was more unnerving.
Eventually, Father Kreiner said, “The Doctor certainly must have thought I was nobody. The same Doctor who you speak of with such affection. He abandoned me, you know. Left me to rot on Earth, left me to the Faction. How convenient, then, to have you – another version of me that he could shape as he wished, that he could control.’ He gestured around him at the fallen coven members. “That he could manipulate, like these poor fools.’
Kreiner stepped up close to him now, and Fitz could smell the stench of his ancient breath, icy on his face. Fitz felt the cold seep into him, filling him with dread and despair. As a kid, he’d dreamed of living to a ripe old age. Well, be careful what you wish for, Fitzie: it may come true.
‘I’ll tell you why I won’t kill you, little fake. Because I want you to learn for yourself about your friend the Doctor. How he knows he can just leave people, give up on them, because there’s always an easy replacement. Ask him about Susan – ask him how he can call himself a grandfather after abandoning her on Earth. She was the first, the first of so many … And when you’ve learned all that, then ask yourself whether everything you believe hasn’t been a lie. I’ve lived thousands of years knowing that. Now it’s your turn, young Mr Kreiner.’ He hissed a dismissive sound at Fitz, and stumped off into the room. “There are many things that my biosystems have erased from my memory over the long, long years I have served the Faction. But I haven’t forgotten what it meant to be Fitz Kreiner. Not for a single moment.’
Fitz watched him go, letting his words sink in. He recalled how the Doctor had refused to discuss the events surrounding Fitz’s return from the Faction all those years previously. And he knew how the Doctor had made it a personal project to humanise Compassion – and look what had happened to her: the result had been quite the opposite. He could scarcely credit what he was thinking. Could it be true?
Maybe Father Kreiner was right.
The cold feeling of dread was still with him in every cell of his being.
He saw that Tarra was watching him closely, her eyes bright within the savage mask of bone. ‘You can understand now our instinct for revenge on the Doctor. Until we realised that, after all, he was one of us all along. That was the most delicious paradox of all.’
Fitz shook his head. Though he knew, deep down, that he believed it now himself. He was going to get away from them the next chance he got. But for the first time in ages, he didn’t know where he would run to.
For Pagan, held up by a unicorn
‘Well,’ Fitz said, ‘on alternate Thursdays.’ He put the lighter away and took a chocolate bar out of his shirt pocket and started playing with that instead. ‘Maybe.’
They turned into a narrow side street choked with parked cars. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d go for the vestal-virgin type,’ said Sam.
‘Yeah, well maybe there’s more to her than that.’
Time to squelch this, right now. ‘I’m not going to be impressed by you being sweet and wholesome.’
‘This isn’t for you,’ he shot back. ‘This is for the Doctor.’
‘What’s that supposed to –’
‘It’s the Law of Conservation of Niceness,’ he said. ‘It’s a fundamental principle of the universe, like Schrodinger’s cat or Heisenberg’s knickers.’ He twirled the chocolate bar in his fingers. ‘The Doctor’s always got to have someone around who can be fluffy and sympathetic. With your alter ego gone, for the safety of the cosmos, I have to make the supreme sacrifice. Give up smoking. And practise saying “Gosh wow!”’
She followed him around a corner, waiting until he’d wound down. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Just keep in mind she’s not me.’
He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t even looking at her. She reached out, wanting to grab him, shake him, drag him back into the real world and make him listen. There was a unicorn in front of them, big as a Clydesdale horse.
Bigger. Filling up the narrow alleyway in front of them. The horn was a spiralled lance of ivory as long as her arm, solid as a piano leg.
Its cream coat was streaked with grime, the tufts of hair above each hoof dirty and chewed-looking. Hard muscles rippled under the muddied skin as it began to clop towards them. It looked as though it could kick the buildings down.
The unicorn gave a low, rolling snort, looking from Fitz to Sam and back again, then moved closer. Zeroing in on her now, lowering its head to her level.
‘You have got to be taking the piss,’ said Sam.
The tip of its horn was right in her eyes now. She pulled backward as the point came on, and the unicorn snorted again and lowered its horn even further, tossing its head, forcing her to the side. She caught a glimpse of Fitz, almost hidden by the creature’s bulk. There was no way he could reach her. Then her back smacked into the alley wall and the horn was right across her throat, pinning her there.
‘C’mon,’ demanded the unicorn. Its voice was a deep growl, gravel at the bottom of the ocean. ‘Hand it over.’
Sam swallowed, felt the horn press against her voice box. ‘What?’ she managed.
‘The food. Hand it over now!’
Fitz unfroze, tugged the wrapper off his chocolate bar, and awkwardly pushed it into the unicorn’s mouth. Huge grooved teeth closed on the chocolate, nearly taking his fingertips with it.
‘It’s all we’ve got,’ said Fitz.
The unicorn chewed. With each chomp Sam felt the horn pushing against her neck. It only had to toss its head to draw blood, probably tear out her throat. All she could do was stare down the length of the horn, watching the giant nostrils flare, breathing the blasts of musky breath.
At last the unicorn backed off, nearly crushing Fitz into the opposite wall. The alley was too narrow for it to turn around.
Its head flicked back and forth, keeping its horn pointed at them. ‘Now get out of here,’ it growled. ‘Tell anyone and we’ll kill you, understand? We’ll kill you!’
The unicorn squeezed out into the wider alley on the other side, turned, and was gone.
‘You OK?’ Fitz asked.
Sam nodded. She didn’t feel like speaking yet. They both stared after the unicorn, until finally Fitz let out a small laugh.
‘This is Fitz,’ he said. ‘This is Fitz Kreiner’s life encapsulated in an instant.’
For Norton, cn just after he's been tortured, war crimes
eyes. Then into another room. He was deposited into another hard wooden chair. He wondered briefly if this was some new trick. Take him for a nice wander and then dump him back in with Burton. Raise a little interest out of him, maybe even some hope. His concentration was shot though, he could barely remember a few seconds ago, let alone a few minutes. He didn’t care what they did any more. Maybe the Doctor would come. Why hadn’t the Doctor come? Because he doesn’t know where you are, you idiot.
‘I’ll take it from here,’ a new voice told the two guards. Fitz didn’t bother to glance up. He picked slightly at the bandage on his hand, wondering when – if – he could get a clean bit of lint for it. It was going brown now, drying stiff and hard against his raw palm.
‘With respect, comrade –’
‘Fine. Stay. Given the state of him I may have need of your muscle anyway.’
Fitz sensed the new man come forward, standing so that his smart boots were in Fitz’s downcast eyeline.
‘Fitz?’ the voice was saying quietly. He reluctantly opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look, not bothering to shove his hair back. He stared in disbelief at the man stood in front of him. Sasha was looking haggard. He was in civvies, smarter than before. Much the same anonymous clothing as worn by the men who had been at the bar when the arrests started. His hair had grown since Fitz had last seen him at the station, and he’d clearly not shaved for a few days. His face blurred slightly before Fitz’s eyes, and he narrowed them to try to hold the focus. God, he was feeling woozy.
‘Sa-’
‘Don’t talk unless I tell you to,’ the Russian barked at him.
Sasha grabbed his chin and held his eyes, glaring into them. Then he winked briefly. Fitz groaned.
‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he said, gritting his teeth and trying to sound as stubborn as possible.
‘We’ll see about that once you’re at Alcala de Henares. I have your transfer details right here.’
With that, Fitz felt himself being lifted again. This time he tried to pay attention as he was hurried down another corridor, across a landing, down more stairs and then out into a cooling evening. The yard was busy with movement and Fitz realised it was the yard of the building in Barcelona. Of course, he should have realised as soon as he saw Pia, but her blanking of his greeting had made him wonder if he was hallucinating her. No, here were the same battered cars, the same gates. Then the two men had shoved him, none too gently, into the back of an old Citro¨en. One of them deliberately squeezed his bad arm as he manhandled him.
‘Comrade, will you require an escort?’
‘Look at him, comrade. Do you really think he could overpower me?’
When it looked as if the guard was to argue, Fitz felt a handcuff snap tight
around his good wrist, heard it thunk around the looped leather strap of the car door handle. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t feigning disinterest in what was going on around him, he realised, he really was too exhausted to care.
The car jolted into life, chugged a short way. Then Sasha was arguing with someone at the gate, a lengthy torrent of Spanish and French ending with some kind of command. Then the car was moving again, bumping and jarring over the uneven cobblestones, growling against a kerb when a corner was taken too tightly. The light flickered as Sasha drove them down sidestreets, looping blocks. Fitz lost all track within moments. The car slowed to a crawl as they drove through a long archway into a square, parked.
Fitz groaned as the front door opened and then slammed, the shock jolting through the body. The back door was being opened and the handcuff removed from his wrist.
‘Fitz? It’s OK. I think we’ll be OK for a while.’
‘Sasha?’
‘Yes.’
‘I looked for you. They said you didn’t exist. Yet here you are in Party civvies. Getting me out of a Party prison.’
Fitz opened his eyes and saw the genuine concern and hurt on his friend’s face. The Russian was lifting his bad hand up gently, turning it over as he inspected the bandages. ‘They did this?’
‘What? Yes. No. I mean, they fixed it up. Can’t have a prisoner dying on you, can you?’
‘I’m not party to that.’
Fitz barked a laugh at that. He used the ball of his good hand to rub his eyes, pressing it in so he saw colours swirling. Then he looked back at Sasha. The Russian was pulling more papers from an inner pocket.
‘Fitz. The TARDIS is just here, just outside. The Doctor gave me a list of instructions for you.’
Fitz frowned. ‘The Doctor?’
Sasha glanced away, out of the window to the twilight square. The huge lanterns in the centre were being lit, making the trees stark and huge, bright against the squared sky. Fitz continued to watch him. How had Sasha run into the Doctor? Why had the Doctor trusted him? Why should he even believe Sasha? The man had lied to him, was involved in some seriously grim stuff.
‘Look. He told me to say something, so you’d know to trust me. He said: “the planet is called Albert”.’
Fitz started to laugh then, hiccuping to a stop after a moment and grinning weakly at Sasha. Sasha grinned back, shrugged. ‘I don’t know what the hell that means, but he said you would.’
Fitz nodded. He closed his eyes briefly, letting his current situation vanish for a moment.
‘Fitz?’
‘Wha-’ Sasha was shaking his good shoulder, peering at him in concern.
‘You blanked out for a couple of minutes then. Listen, the Doctor said you’re to use the emergency phone, dial a number,’ he held out a piece of ticker tape, with the Doctor’s odd copperplate scrawl over it, ‘and convince von Richthofen to use the VB/88 squadron in the attack on Guernica.’
Fitz nodded. Emergency phone. Richthofen. V-88. Guernica. He saw the flames again, the blood red sky and him helpless to stop it. The Doctor wanted him to...? ‘No.’
‘What?’
‘Killing thousands. Not right. I won’t.’
‘Fitz, the Doctor says you must. He says the consensus is shifting, that everyone believes the Reds did it themselves. You have to ensure there’s a documentary trail, evidence so that people believe the truth. He thinks there’s a link: that the Absolute’s system can be used to actually travel back to the right place and time and that the TARDIS can ensure you get there.’
An old farmer stood alone in a field, cut down with machine guns by a fighter. Another building crumbling and smashing, even the masonry burning. No. No, it was wrong. Thousands would die. But he’d seen it: the fighters, the bombers. And he knew that it was the version that people should be believing, the version that had screamed to the whole world that total war meant this utter destruction. That war was never civilised. But to be involved, to help in those deaths... just to ensure the reports communicated that horror. To create that horror...
‘He said you’d be able to do it, that he trusted you,’ Sasha said, nudging him gently.
‘I can’t.’
Sasha was sat on the edge of the door, facing him and looking upwards. ‘He’s doing his part, Fitz, but he needs you to do yours.
Fitz leaned back. It always came down to this. The Doctor trusted him. The Doctor needed him. He couldn’t let the Doctor down. Not ever. The Doctor was the brains, the instinct, the one who could make the hard decisions. And he wasn’t here for Fitz to question in person. History isn’t just a list of events, it’s how they are perceived. He pushed himself more upright, glanced at Sasha’s face.
‘OK. I don’t like it, but I’ll try.’ Fitz gestured for the Russian to move out of the way, swung his legs round and tried to get out of the car. The ground continued to swirl under him for a moment. ‘OK, I’ll try, if you can just give me a hand as far as the TARDIS.’
Sasha hurried to get a hand under his bad arm, swung the good one over his shoulder. Getting out of the car became a chorus of cursing, as various elbows and heads bumped on the framework. Once out, Sasha shifted his grip to around Fitz’s waist and they stumbled the few feet to the doors of the TARDIS. Fitz leant against it, feeling the cool almost-wood under his forehead. Sasha ran his hand down it gently, cautiously.
Open, early teenage memory, cn his mother's mental illness, bullying
You shift a little in your seat, trying to find something more comfortable. Usually you'd spend the times drifting into adventures of Marlowe or Templar or maybe even the Shadow, but while they might be beaten up by thugs and come out triumphant, but today that's not enough. A revere of everything being destroyed by Martians' provides a better distraction, you can think of a whole list of people you'd be happy to see hit by a Martian heat-ray.
It's not like you care about your Maths homework, but Mr. Sacker's voice when he said it was no surprise, when you know he knows that it wasn't your choice. It brings the mockery to the forefront, the teachers and the smug bastards who caught you before school -
Billy Burke tripped you up, laughing when you fell over. You know he's just angry because Vera Rye talked to you the other day. Maybe it's just because you're taller but that's still something he isn't, besides you think she would think you're better looking even if you were the same height. And better to talk to. Girls generally only seem to beat up each other and it's not like whispers are going to do anything to your reputation.
But Billy had asked if you were in such a hurry to see your mum locked up with all the other crazies and you'd said that at least she'd want to see you and he'd punched you in the eye. It's because he's stupid. Everyone knows, but that's just making it obvious. If it was you, you could think of a dozen retorts, but he didn't have anything but his fist.
You don't regret it. Last time you were there, your mum was asleep the whole time, and it was like everything was fine as long as you just imagined you were home, shutting out the hospital. You're good at that. If she's awake - well, you don't want to upset her, but you're sure you can think of a good story. If she's awake and it's like how it was before - well, you don't want to think about that. They said she was getting better.
You put on your best smile, pretending you're back in your flat instead of in the hospital. You can tell her a story about a fight over a girl and she'll give you a lecture on behaving right that's happy underneath that you're getting into normal sorts of trouble. She'll be home soon, and then you can go home too and none of this will matter at all.
open, no pain no gain
"Doctor!"
"Fitz!"
You crash together in a tangle of limbs, the Doctor slightly more enthusiastic than usual - only slightly, Anji would remark, but she's annoyed from having fallen over. There's some noise in the background but you're not really paying attention. "Fitz Fitz Fitz... I thought..."
"It turns out they do know how to put on a party," you say, so he doesn't have to say it. You're no stranger to danger since you met the Doctor. It's clear enough to you that it goes with the territory. You have big adventures, you accept the downside that you're gonna get hurt now and then, in all senses of the word. No pain, no gain. You want a rich and fulfilling life, you get it full of all sorts of shit.
You think the alternative is far worse. Locked into a pattern of life that would age you just as quickly as running around the universe losing your head every now and then. You cam to the conclusion long agao that, given the choice, you'd rather get old dying than get old dead.
You don't say that sort of thing to the Doctor, though. Instead, you can tell when he thought you'd died, and you can serve as proof that it's not true. Hell, you sure want to hold on when it looks like he's died - the countless times it happens.
"I told you they could," he says, keeping on arm around you. You don't mind. You start heading towards the cafe where Anji should be waiting for you.
"Just amazing parties at any time, I remember you saying. For Thursdays, when the moon's a particular shade of blue, when the authoritarian cyborg-queen and her rat minions have been overthrown with quite a lot of effort that including dragging you across a whole mountain range."
"I heard it was a hill."
"I heard that I was the one carrying you."
He laughs, buoyant and mildly mad sounding as always. The second moon is starting to rise, and you were promised free drinks. The streets are full of joy, and there won't be too many funerals tomorrow to pop the bubble. The Doctor's pointing things out enthusiastically, even if he hasn't started dragging you to any particular stall, and it's worth any amount of storms.
saving words against profit
You give Yiv and Miriam the best smile you can manage at the moment. They don't look reassured which, fair. The mining companies' 'official security' had their fun throwing you out, bastards, and white with pain isn't the most appealing look. Probably more if you're used to blue-black scales, though you hope that makes it harder to read just how sick you feel. Someone has to pretend they know what they're doing, and you have the most experience there.
You'd pegged Yiv as the skeptical nun from the start. You get that, even though exposure to gods and monsters means she's not necessarily right. But where does belief get you. At least her god doesn't sound that they're usually particularly bad and 'nun' doesn't mean the same thing here. Anji had rolled her eyes at that, heading off to your rooms, but you'd say she has a narrower view on what's attractive. You hope she's okay.
Miriam had been excited to talk to an outsider, excited about her faith. Some sort of volcano god, you think, one that didn't demand sacrifices so alright with you. The Doctor had been muttering about the tremors and you can put unusual amount of earth quakes and mining corporations together to get four. You hadn't really gotten a chance to be smug about being right, when the Doctor had told you that the planet's set to blow. He's just gotten a chance to get the detector into your hand before he'd been dragged off. You'd prefer to try to get him out, even with the amount of real guns being waved around, but you three hours until the explosives are going to go off in a terminal way. For the planet and, much more importantly, everyone on it.
Yiv had been willing to lead you to 'sacred territory', even more ready once you'd disarmed the first bomb. Miriam's trailing, still shocked that anyone would abuse faith like this. Which might be better than the fact that her entire world and everyone on it except those who have a way on to the mining ships are going to be killed if you don't carry this off. You'd try to reassure the kid, but you don't have much time. Not that you're thinking about that. It can go with mental notes about there being a hole in your arm. Three down, four to go. You could wish that you haven't gone through this often enough that you're pretty certain you're unlikely to faint from pain until after, as long as you keep moving. At least the bullet didn't go through your leg.
A planet where rocks dance and the waters sing. A little exaggerated metaphor there, but just as beautiful as promised. All of it declared worthless because there's some metal at the core that will keep prices where people want them.
Yiv looks like she wants to ask if you can do this, but she knows that there's no choice. No point. You give her another smile. It comforts you, anyway. You can't think of Anji poking at figures or what they might be doing to the Doctor or a planet of people who might die - there's never certainty that they won't, you've seen planets destroyed before, in acid weapons from the stars and creeping shadow and devouring monsters and you can never forget. You raise the tracer. Four down, three to go.