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It was three years since he had seen the Doctor. That part wasn’t bad. He had gone a thousand years without the Doctor, and he could go a thousand more. After the Doctor had left him – citing that he didn’t want Fitz to be killed by the war – Fitz had begrudgingly continued his life. He had traveled from one job to the next, his attention span unable to keep to one topic. How had he ever survived before meeting the Doctor? He could remember thinking that life was so utterly boring and unbearable. And then the Doctor had swooped in and saved him from the fatal monotony.
But it wasn’t the Kreiner Way™ to simply give up after he didn’t get his way. So, after a few months of sulking, maybe closer to a year, Fitz got himself back together. Fitz doubted he would have had such a hard time with the aftermath of the ‘goodbye’ if it hadn’t seemed so permanent. But that was the past, and this was the present. And wasn’t there some sort of expression about how the present was a present?
Fitz wasn’t as sentimental as to believe something like that, but nonetheless he had given up his search for the Doctor. Sure, every now and then he would think about strange things he heard and he would wonder what the Doctor would do, and there had even been an occasion or two or three (or more than he cared to admit, actually) where he did take something into his own hands. It was just what he had been trained to do.
His guitar was strapped to his back, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and a replacement leather jacket (retrieving his favorite jacket from the TARDIS after the Doctor made him leave had been the last thing on his mind) hung off his shoulders. It’d been long day, and he was content to just go down to the Underground with his busking license to blow off some steam.
Except… there was a box. A blue box. Fitz walked up to it and sat down in front of it, staring up at the door. It was different than the Doctor’s, but it had to be the Doctor. It had to be.
The Doctor was lying underneath the grey hexagonal counsel, located in the middle of the counsel room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his jacket was draped over the railing neatly, or at least his idea of neatly. Wires hung down freely from the underside of the counsel, waiting patiently to be put back into place. The Doctor had just finished fixing the H.A.D.S., and was now putting the finishing touches on. He couldn't remember why he disabled it in the first place. It was a very useful accessory to the TARDIS, especially in times of great danger.
With a contempt sigh, the Doctor sprang out from underneath the counsel, banging his head as he did so. This time the Doctor got up slowly, making sure his head stayed away from the hard metal. He wiped his hands on his pants, looking around at the blue grey interior of the TARDIS. It wasn't exactly the happiest interior he's had in the past, but he thought that this suited his personality more then the others. Dark and dreary, just the way he liked it! The Doctor leaned against the counsel, accidentally pushing the lever that activated the H.A.D.S. system. Before he had time to deactivate it, the TARDIS lurched into action sending the Doctor sprawling on the floor.
Once the TARDIS stabilized, the Doctor leaped to his feet practically running over to the monitor to check where the TARDIS had taken him. At least he was on his beloved planet Earth, and in one of his favorite towns, London. Deciding to take a look around while he was here, the Doctor pretty much skipped to the door, throwing it open and immideantly freezing in the doorway. Sitting right in front of him was... Fitz. His Fitz, the one companion that had traveled with him the longest in the Doctor's greatest time of need. Fitz was really the only person that had kept him together all those years... And he had left him here on Earth for his protection during the Last Great Time War, before he had to... That wasn't important right now.
The Doctor was speechless, all he could do was stare at Fitz with a mixture of admiration, guilt, and incredible sadness. He had never forgotten Fitz, he even wore his leather jacket all throughout his ninth life in his honor. It had broken the Doctor's hearts having to part ways with him, but he just couldn't see Fitz hurt because of his own need to have someone with him, his own selfishness. The Doctor opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was just speechless. Unable to think of anything else to do, the Doctor just slid down the door frame still staring at Fitz like he was some sort of ghost from his past. Which he practically was... "Fitz..." He practically breathed the name, still not believing he was there. He would of loved to say something like 'Fitz! It's been so long! How's life?', but instead it came out like this. "Fitz...I'm so sorry.."
Of all the reactions that Fitz hadn’t been expecting, it had been that. The look of guilt and almost numbing sadness. Fitz lowered his eyes guiltily, not wanting to think he was the cause of such pain for someone else. He knew it was the Doctor – he knew it. And Fitz wagered that he would know it even if the man hadn’t stepped out of the TARDIS. There was something on his face, though the more Fitz thought about it the less it made sense. There was something inherently familiar about the man.
Fitz’s eyebrows raised in alarm as the Doctor sunk down to the ground, whispering his name. Well, if there had ever been a doubt in Fitz’s mind, it vanished. He was torn between staying where he was and crawling forwards, making him rock slightly on the ground. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, and a thousand more he wanted to ask, but there was really just one thing he wanted to tell. It had been fermenting his mind, growing over time.
He shook his head as the Doctor apologized, finding the courage to crawl over and sit beside him. “I forgive you,” he said, relieved to finally say it. “I’ve forgiven you, but… I guess you have to forgive yourself.”
The Doctor nodded slightly at Fitz’s words. He was relieved to her that Fitz forgave him, he knew that he would, but the Doctor just needed to hear it. From at least one of his former companions. But then again, he also needed to forgive himself… and that was something the Doctor just hadn't learned to do yet. He stood back up, pulling his vest back down. He then walked back into the TARDIS, assuming that Fitz would follow without him having to say so. “ The interior’s been through a few change sense you've been here.” He didn't think it needed to be said…. You could clearly tell just by looking, but the Doctor needed to say something to fill the silence. He was never really good at reunions anyway…
The Doctor hopped down below the platform, walking towards the storage chest’s built into the base. He opened one up, rummaging through it until he came upon a nearly worn out leather jacket. It had been Fitz’s favorite when he traveled with the Doctor, and he had left it behind when he left. The Doctor just couldn't find the strength within himself to throw it away, or give it back to him at the time. So he had kept it, wearing it all throughout his ninth incarnation in his honor. The Doctor hopped back onto the main platform, a little reluctantly, handing Fitz back his jacket. “ I thought you might want it back.” He then turned leaned against the railing, next to his jacket that was precariously dangling over it.
He still didn't exactly know what to say… it had been so long sense the Doctor had seen Fitz, practically a thousand years his time. And he had lost so much in that period of time.. He shook his head lightly, bringing his mind back to Earth.. Or well rather back to the TARDIS. “ So, Fitz. How have you been?” He was trying to distract his mind from wandering to unpleasant memories, that he thought he had locked in a no go zone. He mentally sighed, minds can be funny like that he thought.
A few changes was an understatement. In his Doctor’s TARDIS, it was in high Edwardian fashion. There had been atmospheric lighting – which seemed to still play a part in this Doctor’s scheme – but it had also been more… home-y in his Doctor’s. There had been places to sit, for one thing. Fitz tapped his finger against his lips. “I bet you changed it to impress the birds,” he smirked, looking back at the Doctor. He was never good at reunions either – or expressing his feelings out loud. Inside he was thoughtful and erudite, but he never wanted to cross over into the pretentious with his words.
Fitz took the jacket, noting the hesitance with which the Doctor returned it to him. “No,” he said, pushing it back into the Doctor’s hands. “I want you to keep it. To remember me by,” Fitz added. That way, if this wasn’t an invitation for Fitz to travel with him, at least he wouldn’t be forgotten. Though… the Doctor didn’t seem ready to forget him. That was always a positive thing. He leaned against the railing beside the Doctor quietly, feeling his skin itch from thee silence but not wanting to force the Doctor to speak to him.
“I’ve been fine,” Fitz replied quickly, which was the universal answer for ‘I’ve been falling apart at the seams’. “You know, just fine. Famous rockstar. Long line of birds trying to catch my eye. It’s a nice life, sometimes it just gets a bit exhausting about how wonderful it was.” Lie, lie, and lie. Fitz Kreiner was an incredibly skinny man, from a diet of cheap booze and fags. His fingers were cut and raw from too much playing his guitar. His eyes had hints of dark circles underneath them – he’d put tea bags on them to prevent showing how tired he was really was. Most days he just ran off pure adrenaline and hope.
He took the jacket back. Lightly rubbing his thumb against the material, he was glad that Fitz didn't want it back. But at the same time guilty, as if this was a sign that Fitz had moved on. Like he should of. The Doctor knew that most of the companions he’d left behind never forgot him, some of them never even moved on in their lives. Like his dear Sarah for instance, she never found love or settled down completely because of him. She never gave up hope that he would one day return and she would continue her travels with him. Another ruined life because of him. The so called 'Doctor'.
He shook his head lightly, this wasn't a time for dark and depressing thoughts. The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest as he listened to Fitz answer his question. He could tell they were mostly lies. Not that he doubted Fitz's musical talents, even if his rhythm was a bit off, but the tone of his voice, and the way he answered the Doctor's question a little too quickly was a big sign. He turned his head to look at Fitz, letting worry slip into his eyes for a split second, then clearing it of emotions. He pushed himself away from the railing, clapping his hands together as he spun on his heal to face Fitz. “ So! Are you hungry? Or would you like some tea? If I can find the kettle...” He turned away tapping his chin thoughtfully. “I think the last place I had it was the swimming pool.. Or was it the library? Oh well, its here somewhere.”
The Doctor walked to the entrance leading towards the corridors, turning into the right hallway. He quickly stopped, spinning back around to walk down the left hallway. “This way...” He smiled apologetically at Fitz for the mistake. Even though Fitz was used to it, his eighth incarnation didn't exactly have the best memory.
He could tell that the Doctor didn’t believe him, but luckily he decided not to press the issue. Fitz smiled gratefully. “I’m a little hungry,” he admitted. ‘A little’ was more like he was ravenous, but he decided that the Doctor didn’t need to know that fact. He was probably worried enough about him – it wasn’t like it was a terribly big secret that Fitz looked rough. And anyway, there wasn’t much Fitz could do to hide his thoughts from the Doctor. Fitz wasn’t sure if the TARDIS had played with their minds and formed a connection between them when she had stitched him back to life, or if they’d simply been friends for so long that the truth was on display in his gestures and face.
“Never could keep up with that kettle,” Fitz scoffed playfully, following the Doctor quickly. “Not that you’d get much use out of it anyway. You couldn’t even make tea without catching the kitchen on fire,” he reminded him, a teasing smirk on his lips. As the Doctor backtrack, Fitz’s grey eyes rolled. “And you still can’t find your way around. Some things never change, eh?” he asked. It was good to tease. It kept Fitz’s mind from drifting too far close to the obvious. Such as some things always changed, and that he was still a little upset at the Doctor for abandoning him. Even Compassion had given him a kiss on the cheek and some sort of reassurance before she’d left him.
But the Doctor was never good with goodbyes, and Fitz knew he would have killed himself clawing his way back to the TARDIS. It was… better for the Doctor to have just vanished. Fitz knew that was a lie. Nothing the Doctor did could have made it hurt less. Fitz had been more than willing to die for – with – the Doctor. He’d done it before – why would the final time be any different? “I can still make some killer Darjeeling.”
The Doctor looked back at Fitz, a little hurt. "For your information, I haven't set the kitchen on fire sense... last week." And to be fair, he wasn't making tea... he was making toast. Who knew toasters caught on fire when mixed with an atom accelerator? They should really put that on the warning label... " I can find my way around. The TARDIS just likes to... change it up a bit. For.. entertainment purposes." That sounded about right. Even though it wasn't true, but hopefully Fitz wouldn't catch on.
He walked into the kitchen, glancing at the stove where the kettle sat, with a note next to it. He quickly picked it up, scanning the words. 'Don't burn the TARDIS down while I'm gone. ~ Clara', he set the not edown at the table. Did any of his companions trust him alone in the kitchen? They shouldn't, but it would be nice if at least one of them did. Just one. He grinned lightly at Fitz. "Would you mind making some?" He hadn't had darjeeling in a while.. he couldn't even remember the last time he drank tea.
He leaned against the kitchen table, while watching Fitz carefully. He was half afarid if he looked away, Fitz would be gone and it would be another one of the Doctor's 'dreams'. Which resulted with him jolting awake somewhere, like the library, or the counsel room. Once he even fell asleep in the swimming pool...
“Oh, last week. What a record,” Fitz snickered. He looked over the Doctor’s shoulder to look at the note, then picked it up as the Time Lord put it on the table. “Clara’s the new bird, then?” he asked curiously – hadn’t he and his Doctor met a Clara? Probably the same one, then. He put the note back on the table, rolling his eyes as the Doctor asked him to make the tea. “How did I know you were going to ask me?” he teased.
He grabbed the kettle and the tea, filling it up with water and beginning to boil it. “Have you been busy?” he asked curiously. The Doctor had asked how he’d been, but Fitz had been so awestruck at the changes to the TARDIS and the fact that he’d found the TARDIS that it had completely slipped his mind.
He nodded absently at the mention of Clara. “Because I'm so predictable.” He smirked lightly, before thinking his next question over. He'd been very busy, but then again he always was. He just didn't know where to start, should he tell him about his last two regenerations? Or just the highlights of his life sense. “Oh, its been the same really. Died a few times, was erased from existence for awhile, got married. Sort of... Probably.” He was still a little confused about that one.
“Saved the exsistence of the oods, met the TARDIS while she was in human form for awhile, Destroyed an asylum for Daleks.” He stopped himself short, he didn't know how much to tell Fitz. And he didn't know if he'd want to hear it all. Instead he glanced over Fitz again. “Are you hungry?” He had been trying so hard not to fuss over the state he was in. But it was in the Doctor's nature.. he was a fusser.
Erased from existence? Fitz was about to quip that that seemed like the normal routine when the Doctor mentioned marriage, and Fitz choked. He’d gotten married once when Fitz knew him, and Fitz had never quite understood what had been up with that, or why—well, he never understood a lot that had to do with the Doctor. “Yeah?” he asked, turning around to look at him after the kettle was on the stove. He leaned against the counter. “Who’s the lucky bird?”
——And what was an ood? Fitz raised his eyebrows at the TARDIS comment. The TARDIS? Not Compassion? For a moment, Fitz panicked and looked around for a sour ginger. His panic assuaged when the Doctor distracted him with a question. He shrugged a shoulder, sinking deeper in the oversized clothes. “Nah,” he said. “I’m fine. Just want some tea.”
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