Elsewhere
Rating: PG
Prompt: #067 - Snow
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: None
Characters/Pairing: Fitz/Doctor (10)
Summary: A skinny stranger provides much needed distraction for Fitz as he spends a lousy night in a club.
The club wasn’t the kind of place Fitz usually visited. Friends from work had dragged him here, sat him down in front of a table to keep it free for their group and disappeared somewhere in the crowd on the dance floor. Some friends they were. But Fitz didn’t much care - he hated them as well. Hated his job, now that he though about it. After years of time travel and alien planets an insurance agency just didn’t do it.
But this was the life and time he’d chosen for himself so he had no ground to complain on. Better swallow it all and bring an axe to work someday, to chop off the heads of all that got on his nerves.
The Doctor would frown at that.
Fitz sighed and gazed into his glass, looking for the alcohol that had mysteriously vanished. True, he’d chosen this life. But when the Doctor had asked him which time to drop him in he hadn’t imagined he’d have to stay here forever.
Years had passed before he’d slowly come to accept the fact that his friend wasn’t coming back to pick him up. He was most likely dead but Fitz preferred not to think about that. In his favoured world the bastard had simply decided he didn’t want him anymore and shuffled off to find someone else to travel with him. This way Fitz could curse him for is neglect and his heart didn’t break quite as much every time he thought of him.
He didn’t think of him that much. Just, like, once a day. Maybe twice. Like in the morning, when he wondered for a second when the TARDIS had managed such a perfect imitation of daylight. And every time he kissed someone and cursed himself for never…
There was no way around it - his drink was gone. Fitz waved his arms until someone came to bring a new one. It wasn’t the second.
Maybe he got drunk a bit too often these days, he observed and took a long gulp. Smoked too much as well. Yes, the Doctor would frown. And give a lecture. But the Doctor was off fighting a war somewhere, or (dead) travelling the universe with some chick. What a waste, actually, if he never looked at them twice anyway. In that case he could just as well take a bloke. Like Fitz. He’d join the Time Lord once more if he got that chance.
But the Time Lord was gone and Fitz was stuck in this dance club, drinking… stuff. He didn’t mind stuff. That he was left to watch the table was okay since he didn’t want to dance anyway. He was quite content sitting here getting drunk - just the music got on his nerves. Far too loud, and the style of this era really sucked. So he wasn’t at all sad when suddenly the music stopped and the lights went out.
There were some surprised screams in the darkness. If Fitz had been down on the dance floor he might now have his arms full of some random frightened girl. Up here he only got his glass, which he emptied before calmly seeking shelter under the table. He’d travelled with the Doctor. If the lights went out it could be a power failure, but it could just as well be a brain-sucking alien about to attack in the darkness. Fitz didn’t take any chances.
There was some rumbling in the distance, a male voice cursing - indicating someone stumbling in the darkness. A high pitched shrieking noise and silence.
When the lights went back on he left his shelter and ordered a new drink. He felt strangely happy. Just the sounds he’d heard in the dark had made him feel like he was back where he wanted to be, just for a second. The rumbling was some evil alien creature after the people in this club and the cursing voice the Doctor as he fought it. The shriek was the creature’s death-cry.
All this lacked was some actual creature, as opposed to old pipes or something similarly undramatic. And the Doctor. Some Doctor would be great. Fitz would be tempted to hug him in a rather unmanly way if he showed up now. But first he’d kick him. For not coming back sooner. And then he’d kiss him. Because he hadn’t before and spend far too much time wishing he had.
Fitz was aware that he was really quite drunk, and thus excused for thinking such thoughts.
With the light the annoying music came back. When he’d been a child, back when his mother had still been alright, Fitz had wondered why the older people always complained about the new music, so stuck in the tunes of their youth, and sworn he’d never be like that. And he wasn’t. He was open to new things. This music was to blame, for being so sucky.
Still better than being back in the sixties, he supposed, with the police being after him and all. Perhaps he should have chosen a time when they had time travel, so he could go by himself if the Doctor didn’t want him.
Damn that bastard anyway. Who needed the Doctor? Not Fitz! Fitz needed another drink.
Oh, wait! His last one wasn’t finished yet.
This stupid music was really getting on his nerves. Making him itchy. When exactly had mankind forgotten how to create melodies?
In the short silence between one song and the next Fitz heard yelling. He looked up, distantly wondering where exactly his heavy head was intending to move, and saw a big, burly and very angry man dragging some skinny guy though a door leading to the areas of the club the guests weren’t supposed to see. The guest let himself get kicked out without protest. He grabbed a canapé off a tablet when they passed the counter and let it disappear in his mouth, telling the angry guy something with a delighted expression that made Fitz think of jelly babies. Apparently it made the angry guy think of violence. One second later the slim man picked himself off the floor, dusted his ridiculously out of place suit and walked away without caring for the collection of swearwords that followed him.
He pushed through a group of young women in an uncaring way that was completely beyond Fitz, aiming for the exit. After two steps his gaze fell on Fitz. He froze. For a second they were staring at each other, neither of them moving. Then the other man shook his head, and went on. Fitz was still staring at him when he passed by his table.
“Anything I can do for you?” the stranger asked cheerfully, noting his lingering gaze. He had to yell to be heard over the music.
A few mental kicks and punches got Fitz’s brain back where it belonged.
“You were staring first,” he accused, his voice slurred and drowned out by the noise. But apparently the other had heard him.
“You just looked like someone I knew. Happens. Your excuse?”
“What was going on there?” Fitz was too drunk to not be direct. The man shrugged. He had to bend down to be heard over the music anyway and so he sat down on a chair marked as taken by a coat draped over the back.
“Private business,” he explained and hastened to add: “Not that sort of private business.”
Fitz looked at him: ruffled, skinny like him, his suit in disarray but generally untouched. Not likely, indeed. But his thoughts had still wandered to that direction. This guy was kind of sexy. Well, good looking. In a way even a heterosexual man with no interest whatsoever could notice. Kind of like the Doctor had been.
Fitz was drunk, unhappy, and, as he now discovered, horny. The evening kept getting better.
He suddenly lost any will to sit here all night, staring into his drinks and thinking of lost people. That led to misery.
And boredom.
He was pretty bored already. And when he was bored him mind wandered, as it had been for hours. Which would make him really miserable eventually, resulting in more alcohol and more misery.
Just one way out of it.
His eyes met the other’s and they stood at the same moment. Understanding each other without words was a useful ability in a place too noisy for decent conversations.
Fitz couldn’t tell what they might have to say to each other but the man didn’t seem to mind his company. Abandoning his place as a guard over other people’s jackets Fitz didn’t feel the least bit guilty as he followed the stranger out of the club.
The cold air outside was both a relief and a shock after the long time spend in that warm haze. Digging his hands deep into the pockets of his coat Fitz took a deep breath.
“God, I’m glad to be out of there!” he stated for lack of anything else to say. “I hate that music. It’s crap.”
The other snorted. He was standing beneath a street lantern and its yellow light illuminated the snowflakes falling around him.
“I thought so,” he said. “I’m not particularly fond of it either.”
“Then what were you doing in there?” asked Fitz.
“What were you?” the man asked back. “You came with friends, didn’t you? Won’t they miss you if you leave without telling them?”
Fitz smirked. “Only if their stuff gets stolen.”
The skinny guy frowned at him in a way that looked pretty Doctor-like.
“You just walked out when they counted on you watching their stuff?”
Fitz shrugged in return, feeling the urge to defend himself. As if that guy was in any position to judge him.
“I didn’t ask for it and didn’t offer. And they’re not my friends. Just colleagues from work. I didn’t even want to come.”
“From work…” the man repeated, a thoughtful look on his face. “You have a good job?”
“I hate it!” Fitz stated with feeling. They were still standing beside the exit of the club but the thick metal door blocked out all sounds from inside. There was no wind, just the snowflakes falling in silence. In the spot of light where the other was standing the snow looked cleaner than it had any right to be in this part of the city. It crunched quietly when the man shifted his weight.
“I’d rather be somewhere else,” Fitz added and fished for the pack of cigarettes lost somewhere in his pockets. Found it, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as he lighted one. One second later his eyes flew open to stare at his hands that were unexpectedly empty.
Herr Skinny flicked the gleaming cigarette into the night.
“Why?” he asked, ignoring Fitz’s cry of protest.
What could he possibly answer that didn’t sound completely retarded?
“Because my life sucks?” It was all the explanation he could give.
“It can’t be that bad.” Wide eyes looked unhappily at him and there was genuine concern in the other’s voice.
“Well, no, not bad,” Fitz hurried to say. “Just not good, you know? Not like it used to be. I had the time of my life and everything just pales in comparison. I was elsewhere once and I now want to go there again.”
“Wouldn’t anybody miss you if you were gone? No girlfriend? Friends?”
“No girlfriend,” Fitz admitted, not even really noting that he hadn’t been asked for family. “Some girls, nothing lasting. You know how it is.” He couldn’t tell why he was so honest with this man. “No one special. No friends either. Just those brainless bastards at work.”
This conversation didn’t really help getting over his misery, he realised. And now that guy was looking at him with real sadness and something like pain in his eyes but he didn’t say anything.
The next second he was pressed against the wall and Fitz was kissing him, hungrily, desperately, like he hadn’t kissed anyone in forever. He didn’t think that this was a man, or that anyone could see them, just that he had the perfect height to be kissed by Fitz and that his lips were cold and tasted of snow and the time between moments.
The kiss lasted for ten seconds or a minute. It ended when long, fine-boned hands gently pushed him away.
“Why don’t we go to your place and have another drink?” the man asked softly. Somehow Fitz knew it wasn’t an offer of anything but company and a shared drink but that was fine with him and he nodded mutely while he waited for the moment when he’d start to feel incredible silly.
“My place is just around the corner,” he finally said and began to lead the way. The other held him back.
“Let’s go the other way. It’s longer and I could do with a little walk.”
Fitz stared down the road not taken for a moment before he turned. In the darkness between the street lamps he raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything.
-
Fitz’s flat was small and messy. He didn’t feel ashamed for it and the other didn’t comment. Until deep into the night they sat on the narrow couch and the man asked questions about his life, his job, the people he knew. Fitz told him, and told, vaguely, of the things he would give this life up for in a second. The other listened and didn’t tell anything himself.
At some point Fitz kissed him again, less passionate, more tender, his hands in hair that was too short yet just as soft. His friend let it happen but Fitz could tell that he would stop him should he decide to go any further and he didn’t try.
He didn’t know what this was. Didn’t know anything other than that it felt precious. A memory to savour, a gift. Maybe that was the idea.
There had been too much alcohol tonight. At some point he fell asleep.
It was the sound of the door falling shut that woke him.
By the weak grey light falling in though the small window Fitz could tell that he’d slept a few hours. He lay stretched out on the couch, a woollen blanket draped over him.
Once he was awake Fitz didn’t waste any time - biting back a curse he jumped up, grabbed his coat and was out of the door in an instant.
Falling asleep had been bad. Now he could only hope he would not be too late.
And that he wasn’t, in fact, a total idiot.
His coat was short enough not to hinder him as he sprinted down the road as fast he could. The snow was another matter, but even the slippery spots where it had melted and then frozen over didn’t make him slow down. Only someone stupid or desperate would run in this weather. Which gave him a tiny little chance to be faster, especially since the other had apparently taken the long way again.
Fitz was out of breath when he spotted the club but still he didn’t slow down. He reached the small alley beside it, the one that man had avoided to pass the night before - and there she was in all her blue, phone-boxy glory. Fitz’s heart managed to skip a beat while pounding hard in his chest.
He got his key out in a matter of seconds and grinned euphorically when it turned in the lock.
The console room was a shock - so completely different from what he remembered that for one moment he worried he’d been wrong after all. But then he mentally kicked himself (as he was going to do with a certain someone later, just less mentally and with more force). What other TARDIS looked like a police box on the outside?
He’d run as if his life depended on it (and it did), he had taken the shorter way and had left his flat only a minute after the other. So he had enough time to catch his breath and was leaning casually against the console by the time the door opened again, his arms folded across his chest.
“You didn’t really believe I’d let you get away so easily, did you?” he grinned with a lightness he didn’t feel when the Doctor stopped right in front of the door to speechlessly stare at him, his coat draped over his arm.
“Well,” Fitz continued when his old friend didn’t say anything. “I’m here. You’re here. The TARDIS is ready. Where shall we go first?”
June 7, 2008
Prompt: #067 - Snow
Claim: The Time War
Table: Here
Spoilers: None
Characters/Pairing: Fitz/Doctor (10)
Summary: A skinny stranger provides much needed distraction for Fitz as he spends a lousy night in a club.
The club wasn’t the kind of place Fitz usually visited. Friends from work had dragged him here, sat him down in front of a table to keep it free for their group and disappeared somewhere in the crowd on the dance floor. Some friends they were. But Fitz didn’t much care - he hated them as well. Hated his job, now that he though about it. After years of time travel and alien planets an insurance agency just didn’t do it.
But this was the life and time he’d chosen for himself so he had no ground to complain on. Better swallow it all and bring an axe to work someday, to chop off the heads of all that got on his nerves.
The Doctor would frown at that.
Fitz sighed and gazed into his glass, looking for the alcohol that had mysteriously vanished. True, he’d chosen this life. But when the Doctor had asked him which time to drop him in he hadn’t imagined he’d have to stay here forever.
Years had passed before he’d slowly come to accept the fact that his friend wasn’t coming back to pick him up. He was most likely dead but Fitz preferred not to think about that. In his favoured world the bastard had simply decided he didn’t want him anymore and shuffled off to find someone else to travel with him. This way Fitz could curse him for is neglect and his heart didn’t break quite as much every time he thought of him.
He didn’t think of him that much. Just, like, once a day. Maybe twice. Like in the morning, when he wondered for a second when the TARDIS had managed such a perfect imitation of daylight. And every time he kissed someone and cursed himself for never…
There was no way around it - his drink was gone. Fitz waved his arms until someone came to bring a new one. It wasn’t the second.
Maybe he got drunk a bit too often these days, he observed and took a long gulp. Smoked too much as well. Yes, the Doctor would frown. And give a lecture. But the Doctor was off fighting a war somewhere, or (dead) travelling the universe with some chick. What a waste, actually, if he never looked at them twice anyway. In that case he could just as well take a bloke. Like Fitz. He’d join the Time Lord once more if he got that chance.
But the Time Lord was gone and Fitz was stuck in this dance club, drinking… stuff. He didn’t mind stuff. That he was left to watch the table was okay since he didn’t want to dance anyway. He was quite content sitting here getting drunk - just the music got on his nerves. Far too loud, and the style of this era really sucked. So he wasn’t at all sad when suddenly the music stopped and the lights went out.
There were some surprised screams in the darkness. If Fitz had been down on the dance floor he might now have his arms full of some random frightened girl. Up here he only got his glass, which he emptied before calmly seeking shelter under the table. He’d travelled with the Doctor. If the lights went out it could be a power failure, but it could just as well be a brain-sucking alien about to attack in the darkness. Fitz didn’t take any chances.
There was some rumbling in the distance, a male voice cursing - indicating someone stumbling in the darkness. A high pitched shrieking noise and silence.
When the lights went back on he left his shelter and ordered a new drink. He felt strangely happy. Just the sounds he’d heard in the dark had made him feel like he was back where he wanted to be, just for a second. The rumbling was some evil alien creature after the people in this club and the cursing voice the Doctor as he fought it. The shriek was the creature’s death-cry.
All this lacked was some actual creature, as opposed to old pipes or something similarly undramatic. And the Doctor. Some Doctor would be great. Fitz would be tempted to hug him in a rather unmanly way if he showed up now. But first he’d kick him. For not coming back sooner. And then he’d kiss him. Because he hadn’t before and spend far too much time wishing he had.
Fitz was aware that he was really quite drunk, and thus excused for thinking such thoughts.
With the light the annoying music came back. When he’d been a child, back when his mother had still been alright, Fitz had wondered why the older people always complained about the new music, so stuck in the tunes of their youth, and sworn he’d never be like that. And he wasn’t. He was open to new things. This music was to blame, for being so sucky.
Still better than being back in the sixties, he supposed, with the police being after him and all. Perhaps he should have chosen a time when they had time travel, so he could go by himself if the Doctor didn’t want him.
Damn that bastard anyway. Who needed the Doctor? Not Fitz! Fitz needed another drink.
Oh, wait! His last one wasn’t finished yet.
This stupid music was really getting on his nerves. Making him itchy. When exactly had mankind forgotten how to create melodies?
In the short silence between one song and the next Fitz heard yelling. He looked up, distantly wondering where exactly his heavy head was intending to move, and saw a big, burly and very angry man dragging some skinny guy though a door leading to the areas of the club the guests weren’t supposed to see. The guest let himself get kicked out without protest. He grabbed a canapé off a tablet when they passed the counter and let it disappear in his mouth, telling the angry guy something with a delighted expression that made Fitz think of jelly babies. Apparently it made the angry guy think of violence. One second later the slim man picked himself off the floor, dusted his ridiculously out of place suit and walked away without caring for the collection of swearwords that followed him.
He pushed through a group of young women in an uncaring way that was completely beyond Fitz, aiming for the exit. After two steps his gaze fell on Fitz. He froze. For a second they were staring at each other, neither of them moving. Then the other man shook his head, and went on. Fitz was still staring at him when he passed by his table.
“Anything I can do for you?” the stranger asked cheerfully, noting his lingering gaze. He had to yell to be heard over the music.
A few mental kicks and punches got Fitz’s brain back where it belonged.
“You were staring first,” he accused, his voice slurred and drowned out by the noise. But apparently the other had heard him.
“You just looked like someone I knew. Happens. Your excuse?”
“What was going on there?” Fitz was too drunk to not be direct. The man shrugged. He had to bend down to be heard over the music anyway and so he sat down on a chair marked as taken by a coat draped over the back.
“Private business,” he explained and hastened to add: “Not that sort of private business.”
Fitz looked at him: ruffled, skinny like him, his suit in disarray but generally untouched. Not likely, indeed. But his thoughts had still wandered to that direction. This guy was kind of sexy. Well, good looking. In a way even a heterosexual man with no interest whatsoever could notice. Kind of like the Doctor had been.
Fitz was drunk, unhappy, and, as he now discovered, horny. The evening kept getting better.
He suddenly lost any will to sit here all night, staring into his drinks and thinking of lost people. That led to misery.
And boredom.
He was pretty bored already. And when he was bored him mind wandered, as it had been for hours. Which would make him really miserable eventually, resulting in more alcohol and more misery.
Just one way out of it.
His eyes met the other’s and they stood at the same moment. Understanding each other without words was a useful ability in a place too noisy for decent conversations.
Fitz couldn’t tell what they might have to say to each other but the man didn’t seem to mind his company. Abandoning his place as a guard over other people’s jackets Fitz didn’t feel the least bit guilty as he followed the stranger out of the club.
The cold air outside was both a relief and a shock after the long time spend in that warm haze. Digging his hands deep into the pockets of his coat Fitz took a deep breath.
“God, I’m glad to be out of there!” he stated for lack of anything else to say. “I hate that music. It’s crap.”
The other snorted. He was standing beneath a street lantern and its yellow light illuminated the snowflakes falling around him.
“I thought so,” he said. “I’m not particularly fond of it either.”
“Then what were you doing in there?” asked Fitz.
“What were you?” the man asked back. “You came with friends, didn’t you? Won’t they miss you if you leave without telling them?”
Fitz smirked. “Only if their stuff gets stolen.”
The skinny guy frowned at him in a way that looked pretty Doctor-like.
“You just walked out when they counted on you watching their stuff?”
Fitz shrugged in return, feeling the urge to defend himself. As if that guy was in any position to judge him.
“I didn’t ask for it and didn’t offer. And they’re not my friends. Just colleagues from work. I didn’t even want to come.”
“From work…” the man repeated, a thoughtful look on his face. “You have a good job?”
“I hate it!” Fitz stated with feeling. They were still standing beside the exit of the club but the thick metal door blocked out all sounds from inside. There was no wind, just the snowflakes falling in silence. In the spot of light where the other was standing the snow looked cleaner than it had any right to be in this part of the city. It crunched quietly when the man shifted his weight.
“I’d rather be somewhere else,” Fitz added and fished for the pack of cigarettes lost somewhere in his pockets. Found it, leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as he lighted one. One second later his eyes flew open to stare at his hands that were unexpectedly empty.
Herr Skinny flicked the gleaming cigarette into the night.
“Why?” he asked, ignoring Fitz’s cry of protest.
What could he possibly answer that didn’t sound completely retarded?
“Because my life sucks?” It was all the explanation he could give.
“It can’t be that bad.” Wide eyes looked unhappily at him and there was genuine concern in the other’s voice.
“Well, no, not bad,” Fitz hurried to say. “Just not good, you know? Not like it used to be. I had the time of my life and everything just pales in comparison. I was elsewhere once and I now want to go there again.”
“Wouldn’t anybody miss you if you were gone? No girlfriend? Friends?”
“No girlfriend,” Fitz admitted, not even really noting that he hadn’t been asked for family. “Some girls, nothing lasting. You know how it is.” He couldn’t tell why he was so honest with this man. “No one special. No friends either. Just those brainless bastards at work.”
This conversation didn’t really help getting over his misery, he realised. And now that guy was looking at him with real sadness and something like pain in his eyes but he didn’t say anything.
The next second he was pressed against the wall and Fitz was kissing him, hungrily, desperately, like he hadn’t kissed anyone in forever. He didn’t think that this was a man, or that anyone could see them, just that he had the perfect height to be kissed by Fitz and that his lips were cold and tasted of snow and the time between moments.
The kiss lasted for ten seconds or a minute. It ended when long, fine-boned hands gently pushed him away.
“Why don’t we go to your place and have another drink?” the man asked softly. Somehow Fitz knew it wasn’t an offer of anything but company and a shared drink but that was fine with him and he nodded mutely while he waited for the moment when he’d start to feel incredible silly.
“My place is just around the corner,” he finally said and began to lead the way. The other held him back.
“Let’s go the other way. It’s longer and I could do with a little walk.”
Fitz stared down the road not taken for a moment before he turned. In the darkness between the street lamps he raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything.
-
Fitz’s flat was small and messy. He didn’t feel ashamed for it and the other didn’t comment. Until deep into the night they sat on the narrow couch and the man asked questions about his life, his job, the people he knew. Fitz told him, and told, vaguely, of the things he would give this life up for in a second. The other listened and didn’t tell anything himself.
At some point Fitz kissed him again, less passionate, more tender, his hands in hair that was too short yet just as soft. His friend let it happen but Fitz could tell that he would stop him should he decide to go any further and he didn’t try.
He didn’t know what this was. Didn’t know anything other than that it felt precious. A memory to savour, a gift. Maybe that was the idea.
There had been too much alcohol tonight. At some point he fell asleep.
It was the sound of the door falling shut that woke him.
By the weak grey light falling in though the small window Fitz could tell that he’d slept a few hours. He lay stretched out on the couch, a woollen blanket draped over him.
Once he was awake Fitz didn’t waste any time - biting back a curse he jumped up, grabbed his coat and was out of the door in an instant.
Falling asleep had been bad. Now he could only hope he would not be too late.
And that he wasn’t, in fact, a total idiot.
His coat was short enough not to hinder him as he sprinted down the road as fast he could. The snow was another matter, but even the slippery spots where it had melted and then frozen over didn’t make him slow down. Only someone stupid or desperate would run in this weather. Which gave him a tiny little chance to be faster, especially since the other had apparently taken the long way again.
Fitz was out of breath when he spotted the club but still he didn’t slow down. He reached the small alley beside it, the one that man had avoided to pass the night before - and there she was in all her blue, phone-boxy glory. Fitz’s heart managed to skip a beat while pounding hard in his chest.
He got his key out in a matter of seconds and grinned euphorically when it turned in the lock.
The console room was a shock - so completely different from what he remembered that for one moment he worried he’d been wrong after all. But then he mentally kicked himself (as he was going to do with a certain someone later, just less mentally and with more force). What other TARDIS looked like a police box on the outside?
He’d run as if his life depended on it (and it did), he had taken the shorter way and had left his flat only a minute after the other. So he had enough time to catch his breath and was leaning casually against the console by the time the door opened again, his arms folded across his chest.
“You didn’t really believe I’d let you get away so easily, did you?” he grinned with a lightness he didn’t feel when the Doctor stopped right in front of the door to speechlessly stare at him, his coat draped over his arm.
“Well,” Fitz continued when his old friend didn’t say anything. “I’m here. You’re here. The TARDIS is ready. Where shall we go first?”
June 7, 2008