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It’s the small things, Fitz reflects. The big ones – the dreams, the escapes from certain death – those he can rationalize and put down as part of the deal. But it’s the small things that are changing things.
It begins like this:
A stranger buys a flower from him, and criticises his guitar playing, and they run off into the rosy (sunset, sunrise) midnight of the universe.
***
“I worry about you,” he admits, and wonders how often he will have to say this.
The Doctor just sighs, and with a sad smile reaches out to touch Fitz’ chest, right above his heart.
“It goes both ways, you know.” He leaves, the imprint of his fingertips still burning on Fitz’ skin.
And this is how Fitz knows it will be the small things.
***
On a sunny day in twenty-first century southern France, the Doctor quite unexpectedly bumps into Fitz. Unexpectedly, because not twenty minutes ago he left Fitz in nineteen-fifty five, San Francisco, to see Allen Ginsberg. Also, Fitz looks a few years older.
(Fitz should probably give him some vital information that will later save them. But, well, this is Fitz. He doesn’t quite know which bit of information might be important later, and he can’t tell the Doctor everything, so it’s just a strange meeting of two friends who accidentally bump into each other.)
“I-” began Fitz.
“No, no, you can’t tell me anything about the future,” the Doctor interrupted him. “I mustn’t know.”
“But-” Fitz tried again. This wasn’t how he’d imagined it. This was supposed to be a simple meeting between old friends, at worst a little awkward, though of course one of them was five years ahead and the other was the Doctor, who didn’t do awkward.
“I’m sorry, really, but no matter how horrible, you will have to keep it to yourself.”
“You-” started Fitz.
“No.” The Doctor held out a hand, as if to physically stop Fitz, then slapped the other quickly over his eyes. “You mustn’t tell me.”
He took a step backwards, then another, and proceeded to quickly distance himself from Fitz – now with both hands over his eyes and hopping a little. Fitz stared after him, open-mouthed.
“And he never changed a bit,” he finally murmured.
***
The big things make him uncomfortable, and secretly please him, and that makes him even more uncomfortable.
It’s a bit like a toothache, being attracted to the Doctor. He doesn’t want it, and he’s careful to avoid everything that’s even near the matter, but when he’s thrown into prison or busy saving a world he bites and prods a bit, and it’s still there, and he knows there’s an appointment with a dentist in his future.
And it’s not the hugs and kisses, it’s the little touches. It’s that the Doctor always knows where he is, even in the dark. He just grasps behind him, and because he has an amazing internal Fitz-finder, Fitz is always within reach.
***
“Please- stop. Don’t do this.” The Doctor looks surprised, then embarrassed and then disappointed, like Fitz kicked his puppy, and he can’t leave it like that.
“It’s just – I’m about ten seconds away from saying something ridiculously romantic, and I’d like to spare us both the mortification.” He’s always been a doing-guy, and sometimes (too often) a thinking-guy, but he’s not very suave when it comes to actual words.
***
Simple. Changing reality to bring someone back to life.
“But the universe doesn’t work like that,” exclaims Fitz, and he immediately feels very foolish. The universe isn’t supposed to hold cartoon worlds either.
“I know you – we – don’t do it like that, but can’t we, just this once, leave?”
The Doctor doesn’t look at Fitz.
“Oh, we can escape. But not forever, I think. Sooner or later the effects of Tel’s little ‘spell’ will spread. First it was only this town. Then the whole country was affected. And now it’s planet-wide. It will change the whole universe.” Despite himself, the Doctor looks impressed.
Fitz swallows. This is a step up from their usual escapades. And there is worry in the Doctor’s eyes, not the no-more-tea-in-the-kitchen kind of worry but the kind that means he’s thinking about his lost memories. Wishing to have them back.
“Well, it didn’t affect us last time,” continues the Doctor, “So here’s to hoping we’ll be lucky again.”
***
The Doctor looks angry, angry and hurt, and – unmovable. He’s so close Fitz wouldn’t have to stretch to touch him, but somehow he’s also in another world and completely unreachable.
This is not like the times he wanted to hug him, to ease the pain. This is the Doctor being a Time Lord, being the Doctor, and no matter how much Fitz becomes involved in others’ affairs, no matter how much he hurts when they see another world threatened to be destroyed, the Doctor hurts a thousand times more.
Maybe it’s always been like this – neither of them would know. But the Doctor can’t have been alone all the time. Fitz doesn’t particularly care what the Doctor’s previous companions were like, but they all share a kind of duty. To take care of the Doctor. And he’ll just have to play it by ear.
***
The change comes slowly and irresistibly, like a wave. And the worst thing, Fitz thinks, is that they can’t see it happening. There’s no bright flash or transformation. One moment, the road they’re on stretches into the sunset, empty. Suddenly, the road is a few feet to their left, they’re surrounded by tall buildings and hovering cars and almost knocked over by what probably passes for a cab.
***
This is not the time. This is a big thing, a universe-changing event. This is a hugs-and-kisses event. This is part of the deal. They hug (but don’t kiss), they’re congratulated, offered breakfast, and escorted back to the TARDIS.
***
This is the time: two hours later, in a dingy shop that sells cigarettes that taste almost as good as on Earth.
“Here,” says the Doctor, and just like a thousand times before, there’s an unmistakable presence behind Fitz and an arm sneaks around him. The Doctor is holding out a yellow card box. When he speaks, his breath tickles the skin behind Fitz’ ear.
“They’re supposed to be good.”
Like a thousand times before, Fitz wonders whether the Doctor understands the concept of ‘personal space’. He also wonders how long he can stay like this without anyone commenting. He makes a non-committal noise.
When Fitz doesn’t take the box, the Doctor puts it on the counter and, absently, runs his hand over Fitz’ arm and shoulder,a nd suddenly it's as easy as breathing.
He licks inside the Doctor’s mouth and almost laughs with the joy of it: snogging amidst the seductive scent of the galaxy’s finest cigarettes, his fingers tangled in the Doctor’s hair, one step away from crashing into something because neither of them can let go long enough to look around. And Fitz hasn’t kissed a guy in his life, but he knows that the Doctor hasn’t kissed anyone in over a hundred years, maybe longer, maybe he’s forgotten it all and can’t remember anyone’s kiss but Fitz’. Eventually they end up leaning against a flat surface – wall, shelf, door – Fitz’ back pressed against it and his hands tugging the Doctor closer, roaming under the velvet coat.
***
It ends like this:
On a small satellite orbiting Zeta Ophiuchi, the Doctor stares into space.
“I’m coming with you,” says Fitz. For a moment he thinks the Doctor didn’t hear him, then he turns and throws Fitz a blinding smile.
“Of course,” he says.
They go to Cardiff, to re-fuel the TARDIS and catch a bit of non-artificial sunlight. The Doctor points out local landmarks and Fitz insists on fish’n’chips. It’s August, it’s too hot for a jacket, it’s the last time Fitz sees the Doctor: when they return the Doctor closes the TARDIS door in his face and takes off.