Four Words
Rating: G
Prompt: #036 - Smell
Claim: The Time War
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Fitz/Doctor (8), kind of.
Summary: The day started so well. For Fitz, at least.
Note: It may not be good, but writing it was fun.
The Doctor woke to the smell of burned coffee.
There was something profoundly wrong with that. No human… no remotely intelligent creature in general, nowhere in the entire cosmos, should be able to burn coffee.
After having half risen from the bed, startled by remains of a nightmare as well as the sheer impossibility of this assault to his nostrils, he let himself fall back and covered his eyes with his arm.
“Fitz,” he groaned.
-
“Did you use the coffee pot as an ashtray? Because it smells like it.”
Fitz looked up from his failed try at cooking to see the Doctor entering the kitchen. He didn’t wear his usual clothes but - Fitz could hardly believe it - a bath robe. And no shoes.
The Doctor’s feet. Naked.
Fitz ogled.
“Did you at least remove the coffee before you violated the pot?”
The Doctor’s voice called Fitz back to reality. Which also contained naked feet and a bath robe but also a frown and a general air of grumpiness.
“I burned the coffee,” he managed to say. The Doctor sighed.
“That should be physically impossible.”
His hair was wet and unruly. It was often unruly, but not so often wet. Unless it rained. In general. The weather. If the weather rained. Not the Doctor’s hair. That would look silly.
Although right now there was water running from his hair. Because it was wet. A few drops of water fell from the wet strands as he moved, and ran down the Doctor’s neck and chest, disappearing beneath the robe. It didn’t look silly at all.
Fitz swallowed.
“What?” he said.
The Doctor sighed again.
“I asked how you managed to do that.”
“What?”
“Burning the coffee.”
“I don’t know. It’s the TARDIS’ fault. She sabotaged the coffee machine or something.”
“That would be her revenge then for you using her as a graveyard for cigarettes, I suppose?”
“You look… ruffled,” Fitz said. The Doctor suddenly smiled at him like he’d been complimented.
“Thank you!”
Fitz would never get used to his mood swings.
If he was honest he didn’t want to.
“You’re wet,” he pointed out. Apparently the Time Lord had put on the bath robe before getting dry first. Maybe they didn’t learn how to use towels on Gallifrey.
Fitz didn’t exactly mind.
The Doctor nodded - apparently he’d noticed.
“And your shirt is on fire,” he said helpfully. Fitz looked down to discover that indeed it was.
-
Why had he even fallen asleep? The Doctor remembered lying on the bed, reading. He hadn’t been tired.
He’d dreamed - but what? The dream left him nervous, shaken, like something bad had happened. He vaguely remembered being afraid.
The door to his room was open. He was sure it had been closed before, but this could be the TARDIS’ doing, trying to alert him that Fitz was damaging the kitchen. When he left the bed he noticed that his clothes were drenched with sweat.
Unusual.
When he stood in the shower he tried once again to recall his dream. It seemed rather important somehow - not knowing unsettled him, but something warned him that he didn’t really want to know. Something about fire, a smell like burned flesh…
Or coffee. It didn’t have to mean anything.
When in doubt, blame Fitz.
-
Fitz blamed the Doctor. For the burning shirt. Not for the ruined meal, that was without doubt the TARDIS’ fault. But if the Doctor hadn’t distracted him in a crucial moment - meaning when the cuff of his shirt had been caught between the hot plate and the frying pan - he wouldn’t have needed to jump around like a panicked chicken until the Doctor calmly emptied a pot of water over him.
Of course it was only the rareness of a freshly showered, half-dressed Time Lord wandering into the kitchen that had distracted him. It had nothing to do with the way the water ran down his body or the fact that the belt of his bath robe had come a little lose and Fitz could see more of his naked body than he’d ever dreamed of.
Not that he had dreamed of it. He dreamed of women. Like Trix. Trix was the proof that he liked women, and only women. Well, had been the proof. She’d left him. Them. Whatever.
“I hope you’ll be happy together”, she’d said. When asked what that was supposed to mean she’d only answered “You talk in your sleep.”
Well.
Women were strange. But Fitz liked them. More than men. And especially more than the Doctor. And he wasn’t at all disappointed that the Doctor was wearing his normal outfit again.
“What were you trying to cook?” the Doctor wanted to know. He was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading a book.
“That dish we’ve been served in that hotel-palace-thing on Wega VII. It was tasty.”
The Doctor looked genuinely surprised.
“You know the ingredients?”
“Well, knowing isn’t exactly…” Fitz tried no to look embarrassed, fiddling with his guitar. “But I tried to find ingredients that looked similar.”
“Fitz, it was a paste. I remember it being rather formless.”
Oh, how he loved it when the Doctor said his nam - No wait, he hadn’t thought that!
“I was orientating on the colors!”
The Doctor said nothing for a moment. Then:
“And the coffee?”
Fitz decided not to answer that.
“It’s been a bit boring lately”, he tried to justify his violation of the kitchen instead. “We haven’t fought any evil conspirators in weeks. I was just looking for a way to entertain myself.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to kill time here much longer,” the Doctor said without looking up from his book. “I’m sending you home.”
-
The Doctor couldn’t tell what it was that made him go to the console room first. He’d been aiming for the kitchen, lost in thought, as if he was still walking though a dream. Reality seemed to have shifted, just a little. And then he found himself in front of the console. Staring at the monitor. The monitor was staring back at him, displaying a message. Romana’s seal. Short, not really telling anything. He could hear Fitz’ voice coming from the kitchen, singing happily while he defied logic and nature. For a moment the Doctor closed his eyes.
-
“You what?”
“You have to leave. I’m sorry.”
“Did I do something wrong? It isn’t because of the coffee, is it?” Fitz couldn’t believe it. He’d nearly dropped his guitar after the five seconds his brain had needed to register what had been said.
The Doctor was leaving him. Or he was forced to leave the Doctor. Either way.
The Doctor closed his book, but he still didn’t face Fitz. Instead, he looked over to the door. Probably because the door wasn’t pale and shocked and heartbroken.
“I’m sorry, Fitz,” he repeated. “There’s something I have to do. Maybe I’ll see you again some day.” It didn’t sound very convinced. Fitz knew it then. Something had ended, that very moment, with four words.
The remaining time until they got back to Earth was but an epilogue.
Fitz looked down, trying to collect his thoughts. His heart was racing.
The Doctor was leaving him. Somehow that was much worse than Trix leaving. Or Anji. Or the thought of never going home at all.
“Let me stay here!” he suddenly said, looking up. But the Doctor’s chair was empty, and Fitz was already alone.
-
Doctor,
I fear I have waited too long, because I didn’t want to ask this of you. Now I have no other choice. We need you. Gallifrey is facing an enemy much stronger and more vicious that we are prepared for and you might be the only Time Lord alive knowing how to deal with them. The High Council is still convinced that we can handle it alone but they are only fooling themselves. I want you here. It will be dangerous, more than ever. Don’t bring anyone.
Come home.
Romana
-
September 19, 2007
Prompt: #036 - Smell
Claim: The Time War
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Fitz/Doctor (8), kind of.
Summary: The day started so well. For Fitz, at least.
Note: It may not be good, but writing it was fun.
The Doctor woke to the smell of burned coffee.
There was something profoundly wrong with that. No human… no remotely intelligent creature in general, nowhere in the entire cosmos, should be able to burn coffee.
After having half risen from the bed, startled by remains of a nightmare as well as the sheer impossibility of this assault to his nostrils, he let himself fall back and covered his eyes with his arm.
“Fitz,” he groaned.
-
“Did you use the coffee pot as an ashtray? Because it smells like it.”
Fitz looked up from his failed try at cooking to see the Doctor entering the kitchen. He didn’t wear his usual clothes but - Fitz could hardly believe it - a bath robe. And no shoes.
The Doctor’s feet. Naked.
Fitz ogled.
“Did you at least remove the coffee before you violated the pot?”
The Doctor’s voice called Fitz back to reality. Which also contained naked feet and a bath robe but also a frown and a general air of grumpiness.
“I burned the coffee,” he managed to say. The Doctor sighed.
“That should be physically impossible.”
His hair was wet and unruly. It was often unruly, but not so often wet. Unless it rained. In general. The weather. If the weather rained. Not the Doctor’s hair. That would look silly.
Although right now there was water running from his hair. Because it was wet. A few drops of water fell from the wet strands as he moved, and ran down the Doctor’s neck and chest, disappearing beneath the robe. It didn’t look silly at all.
Fitz swallowed.
“What?” he said.
The Doctor sighed again.
“I asked how you managed to do that.”
“What?”
“Burning the coffee.”
“I don’t know. It’s the TARDIS’ fault. She sabotaged the coffee machine or something.”
“That would be her revenge then for you using her as a graveyard for cigarettes, I suppose?”
“You look… ruffled,” Fitz said. The Doctor suddenly smiled at him like he’d been complimented.
“Thank you!”
Fitz would never get used to his mood swings.
If he was honest he didn’t want to.
“You’re wet,” he pointed out. Apparently the Time Lord had put on the bath robe before getting dry first. Maybe they didn’t learn how to use towels on Gallifrey.
Fitz didn’t exactly mind.
The Doctor nodded - apparently he’d noticed.
“And your shirt is on fire,” he said helpfully. Fitz looked down to discover that indeed it was.
-
Why had he even fallen asleep? The Doctor remembered lying on the bed, reading. He hadn’t been tired.
He’d dreamed - but what? The dream left him nervous, shaken, like something bad had happened. He vaguely remembered being afraid.
The door to his room was open. He was sure it had been closed before, but this could be the TARDIS’ doing, trying to alert him that Fitz was damaging the kitchen. When he left the bed he noticed that his clothes were drenched with sweat.
Unusual.
When he stood in the shower he tried once again to recall his dream. It seemed rather important somehow - not knowing unsettled him, but something warned him that he didn’t really want to know. Something about fire, a smell like burned flesh…
Or coffee. It didn’t have to mean anything.
When in doubt, blame Fitz.
-
Fitz blamed the Doctor. For the burning shirt. Not for the ruined meal, that was without doubt the TARDIS’ fault. But if the Doctor hadn’t distracted him in a crucial moment - meaning when the cuff of his shirt had been caught between the hot plate and the frying pan - he wouldn’t have needed to jump around like a panicked chicken until the Doctor calmly emptied a pot of water over him.
Of course it was only the rareness of a freshly showered, half-dressed Time Lord wandering into the kitchen that had distracted him. It had nothing to do with the way the water ran down his body or the fact that the belt of his bath robe had come a little lose and Fitz could see more of his naked body than he’d ever dreamed of.
Not that he had dreamed of it. He dreamed of women. Like Trix. Trix was the proof that he liked women, and only women. Well, had been the proof. She’d left him. Them. Whatever.
“I hope you’ll be happy together”, she’d said. When asked what that was supposed to mean she’d only answered “You talk in your sleep.”
Well.
Women were strange. But Fitz liked them. More than men. And especially more than the Doctor. And he wasn’t at all disappointed that the Doctor was wearing his normal outfit again.
“What were you trying to cook?” the Doctor wanted to know. He was sitting in his favourite armchair, reading a book.
“That dish we’ve been served in that hotel-palace-thing on Wega VII. It was tasty.”
The Doctor looked genuinely surprised.
“You know the ingredients?”
“Well, knowing isn’t exactly…” Fitz tried no to look embarrassed, fiddling with his guitar. “But I tried to find ingredients that looked similar.”
“Fitz, it was a paste. I remember it being rather formless.”
Oh, how he loved it when the Doctor said his nam - No wait, he hadn’t thought that!
“I was orientating on the colors!”
The Doctor said nothing for a moment. Then:
“And the coffee?”
Fitz decided not to answer that.
“It’s been a bit boring lately”, he tried to justify his violation of the kitchen instead. “We haven’t fought any evil conspirators in weeks. I was just looking for a way to entertain myself.”
“Don’t worry, you won’t have to kill time here much longer,” the Doctor said without looking up from his book. “I’m sending you home.”
-
The Doctor couldn’t tell what it was that made him go to the console room first. He’d been aiming for the kitchen, lost in thought, as if he was still walking though a dream. Reality seemed to have shifted, just a little. And then he found himself in front of the console. Staring at the monitor. The monitor was staring back at him, displaying a message. Romana’s seal. Short, not really telling anything. He could hear Fitz’ voice coming from the kitchen, singing happily while he defied logic and nature. For a moment the Doctor closed his eyes.
-
“You what?”
“You have to leave. I’m sorry.”
“Did I do something wrong? It isn’t because of the coffee, is it?” Fitz couldn’t believe it. He’d nearly dropped his guitar after the five seconds his brain had needed to register what had been said.
The Doctor was leaving him. Or he was forced to leave the Doctor. Either way.
The Doctor closed his book, but he still didn’t face Fitz. Instead, he looked over to the door. Probably because the door wasn’t pale and shocked and heartbroken.
“I’m sorry, Fitz,” he repeated. “There’s something I have to do. Maybe I’ll see you again some day.” It didn’t sound very convinced. Fitz knew it then. Something had ended, that very moment, with four words.
The remaining time until they got back to Earth was but an epilogue.
Fitz looked down, trying to collect his thoughts. His heart was racing.
The Doctor was leaving him. Somehow that was much worse than Trix leaving. Or Anji. Or the thought of never going home at all.
“Let me stay here!” he suddenly said, looking up. But the Doctor’s chair was empty, and Fitz was already alone.
-
Doctor,
I fear I have waited too long, because I didn’t want to ask this of you. Now I have no other choice. We need you. Gallifrey is facing an enemy much stronger and more vicious that we are prepared for and you might be the only Time Lord alive knowing how to deal with them. The High Council is still convinced that we can handle it alone but they are only fooling themselves. I want you here. It will be dangerous, more than ever. Don’t bring anyone.
Come home.
Romana
-
September 19, 2007