Chapter Text
His eyes bore into the computer screen, a constant pain spiking through his dead eyes due to two days of nonstop working and zero sleep.
Hands skittering stressfully through his short, tussled curls every so often. A repeating tick of the clock, agitating him further as he made the finish touches to his game.
"One day soon, Pongo, I'm gonna make a sale." He said without taking his eyes off the computer, his hands still skating across the keyboard. "We're fast approaching the point where I'm gonna have to start eating your table scraps." He teased, and was rewarded with a sharp bark which morphed into a low whine.
"I'm exaggerating." He clarified, before grumbling incoherently about their current financial situation.
It wasn't too long before Fitz called out in glee, relief taking over him as he finally finished his game. "Alright, Pongo, what do you think?"
The dalmatian jumped onto his owners lap as the game played on in front of him. A slight growl from Pongo indicated to his owner his dislike of the game.
Sighing, Fitz moved the hand which wasn't stroking Pongo, to pause the game. "It's not that bad, is it?" Pongo tilted his head slightly to the left and Fitz knew his answer.
Running a hand through his hair, Fitz turned to look at the clock. 10:35am. His meeting commenced at 11:30, and Fitz worked out he had just enough time to freshen up, and have a much needed shower before heading to his meeting.
Almost half an hour later, Fitz was hurrying to put all his equipment into his briefcase. "It's very important this meeting goes well." He told Pongo, who lay on the beige couch with his head resting on his paws and his sulking gaze set on his owner.
"You know how I am about meetings," he rambled, "I tend to get a little, well, nervous. When I get nervous, I say things, I do things. Things I shouldn't say, I shouldn't do." He trailed off, closing his briefcase and heading to the door, before continuing, "and the next thing we know, freelancing."
He gives Pongo one last stroke on the head before leaving.
Pongo lets out a sigh, and returns to sulk in his bed. It's very rare that Fitz leaves the house without him, and Pongo can't help but wait until his owner returns home.
"Well, what do you think?" Mack, one of the marketing consultants for Shield Computer Entertainment, asked.
"Potentially good graphics, reasonably entertaining premise..." Bobbi answered, as she watched the ten year old play the game. "The dogs well conceived and the environments are engaging-"
"-But I'm not interested, especially not in a game that has a chubby little dog catcher for a bad guy." Robyn interrupted. "Sorry."
"Yeah, but wait, wait, wait!" Fitz called as the ten year old stood to leave the room, "What if there was a better villain? Someone who you could really hate, yeah?"
"It's not the hatred which is important. It's the desire to annihilate." Robyn answered, with a destructive glint in her eyes.
Fitz sighed and collapsed into the chair as the little girl left.
"What does she know? I'm sure lots of kids would love this game!" Hunter, the coffee boy who had no reason of being there other than to impress Bobbi, raged.
"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's the fact that she's predicted the 'best selling video game of the year' since she was six." Fitz snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, "She's right...it's- not even Pongo liked it." He finished lamely.
"I suppose you could always try making more violent games?" Hunter suggested.
"That's not me. I don't- I don't...aren't we suppose to be making less violent video games for children? Surely this isn't all that ethnic."
"You're right, but it's ever since Daisy Johnson brought out her new game "Inhumans", kids have being going crazy to destroy things. Even Cal Zabo has released a new violent game about a crazy man who turns into a monster." Bobbi listed.
"Don't worry, Turbo, this is just a rough patch. You'll think of something. Then you'll be making games like you used to, like 'Maveth'." Mack added. Noting the frustration on his friends face. "Why don't you go home? I'm sure Pongo is missing you already, and it's been what? Forty minutes?" His tone light and teasing as he attempted to bring his friend out of his moment of self loathing.
It had been one year and a half since Fitz was in a car accident. The after effects of which had left him with brain damage, and the inability to use his left hand. Over time his hand had became mobile again. And his speech, which had once been a cluster of stuttered and unfinished sentences, was now as clear as it had been before his accident - aside from the minor stumbling over words which only occurred when Fitz was stressed or nervous.
Though his external problems had faded, his internal pain still haunted him. His creativity which once ebbed out of him, struggled to come out which meant his video games had suffered immensely. His lack of creativity was not the worst thing to come of his accident, during his recovery Fitz began talking more and more to himself. Though his friends saw him mumble quietly to himself, Fitz saw himself talking to the beautiful, nameless woman who had appeared so frequently in his previous video game, 'Maveth'. With kind, amber eyes, a brilliant smile and hazel locks of hair; this woman had been a coping mechanism for Fitz - that was until Mack adopted an abandoned Dalmatian in Fitz's name. Once Pongo came into Fitz's life, he no longer needed the comfort of his hallucination.
Fitz sighed in resignation and nodded his head. He mumbled a few apologies before heading home.
With the matter of making ends meet on his mind, Fitz pedalled in a daze. He was so distracted by the very thought of money that he almost ran into a woman and her dog. A few British curses was all he heard before stopping to apologise sincerely. However when the woman angrily protested that he should be more careful, he found himself unable to give her an answer other than a quite "sorry". There was something about this woman that looked familiar.
The woman stared expectantly at him, and it was then that Fitz realised he hadn't caught a word of what she had just said. Panicking, Fitz offered yet another, "Sorry", before rushing off.
Yes, something looked familiar about that woman. Very familiar.