#eightfitzweek2016

He feels included in among the thousands of stories, and when he feels alone, sitting among all of those voices here is something of a comfort. He's a story himself, just one that's not yet finished being told. He feels closest to the TARDIS here, too. Closer more than ever now, since she helped to recreate him. She is, is small ways, part of him.

As he walks by a shelf, he notices that it's filled with children's books, Doctor Seuss to the Velveteen Rabbit laid out in colorful rows of paper and cloth. He pats the shelf companionably as he walks by. It's kind of her to place things she knows he likes in his path, but that's not what he's looking for right now.

Two left turns, one right, and he's in front of a usually-out-of-the-way bookcase where he stores his own writing. With a groan, he kneels down onto the floor and pulls out a small stack of wire bound notebooks from the bottom shelf. With a huff, he pulls his legs around to a cross-legged position, then opens the first of the notebooks. 

Here it is, the life of Fitz Kreiner, laid out in small spiky writing and dressed up in a dozen different costumes. Fitz Kreiner, legendary playboy, Fitz Fortune, interstellar rockstar. Fitzwilliam Fort, brilliant paranormal detective. James Bond in space. Here’s his life, minus everything that he thought might be embarrassing or unsuited to a story about the journey of a hero.

He goes through each one, reading through, and trying to remember. The other Fitz, the original, he’s the one that wrote every word of this. He may remember the events, can pick out where the accounts are more fiction than reality, but that’s not what he’d wanted to find here.

He wants he rushed across the room grinning like I was the best thing he’d seen all day, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me down. He kissed me. He kissed me and I felt-

He wants I love her, but I can’t leave the Doctor. This is more important, will always be more important, because-

He wants there to be a mention anywhere that might confirm how he feels about the Doctor now. Even if it were a note scribbled in the margins, he would take it. As long as it said I think I love him.

When he gets to the last page of the last notebook, he holds it tightly in his hands. There’s nothing. Not how he’d felt so much confusion about the Doctor when they first met, or how he’d slowly noticed his smile, his presence, how comfortable he felt with him. Not one mention of the blind terror of thinking the Doctor might be dead. Not a single line in the entire span that describes this hot ache in his chest.

What if he only remembers it that way because that’s what he wants now? What if the TARDIS wanted him to love the Doctor, and made it so?

With disgust, he flings the notebook down the short aisle. It lands a few feet away with an unsatisfying whup on the carpeted floor, shortly followed by the dull thud of him letting his head fall back against the bookcase. He wonders idly what the animals from the Velveteen Rabbit would think about him. Would the Rabbit still have become Real if it were a copy of the one that had been loved into becoming? What if neither the child nor the Rabbit were sure of the love that had created it?

He hears a few muffled footsteps and when Fitz looks up, Anji is picking up his notebook and flipping through it. Even as he feels tenuous embarrassment clench in his stomach, she smiles down at him. “This is funny, has the Doctor read these?” He pushes a leg under himself and awkwardly gets up from his seated position. He’d been sitting there for too long. Should have got a chair.

He reaches out for the notebook. "He doesn't want to know any of this. But...he could read it. It’s not really what happened. I never wrote down anything important.”

She gives him an odd look. He hasn’t really learned to interpret her yet, and he’s not sure what’s going through her head behind this whole furrowed eyebrow thing that’s happening, but after a moment she hands the notebook back to him. “Maybe you should start.”

“What?” He pulls back a step, tucking the notebook under his arm, safe.

“Maybe you should start writing about the important things.”

He’s not used to this level of sincerity from her, but the sharp bob and the button-up go a long way to giving her an air of authority that he feels almost obligated to respect. He’s struck by the idea that the notebooks aren’t finished. That, if he is Fitz, loved or unloved, he’s the only one that can change them. He’s the only one that can write more. Maybe in the long run that won’t be enough, but it is something to think about.

She’s giving him that funny look again, so he smirks back down at her. “You mean like you falling madly in love with me?”

“Not even a little bit.” Anji rolls her eyes and reaches out to ruffle his hair, but reconsiders when she sees how greasy it is. She settles her hand at his shoulder instead and gives it a friendly pat before drawing her hand back. “I was looking for you- The Doctor is making breakfast. Breakfasts,” she intones, as if this is the intro to a new horror flick about fried ham. “He said he couldn’t remember his favorite or your favorite and he never knew mine, so he’s making everything. You have to distract him from trying to make me eat twenty different breakfasts. Plus tea.”

Fitz’s smirk shifts into a smile as he imagines the doctor surrounded by twelve types of eggs and twice as many varieties of tea. Sounds like he might need to interfere before things get serious. “Sounds delicious. I’ll be there.”

She considers him a moment longer before wrinkling her nose up at him. “Maybe take a shower first. But don’t take too long.” Anji huffs out a dry laugh and turns to walk away, muttering, “He didn’t even make coffee.”

Fitz watches her go, then pulls the notebook out from under his arm and flips it’s cover closed. Next, he kneels, gathers the rest of them up and slots them back onto their place on the shelf.

Once he’s back in his room, he grabs an empty notebook, writes a single line, then heads off to take a shower.

[image 1: Fitz Kreiner, looking annoyed, is watching the Eighth Doctor pick a book on a shelf in a library.

Fitz: You’ve already read that one, Doc’. Twice.

Image 2: The Doctor is picking a different book on the shelf.