It was unusually quiet in the TARDIS. After the fiasco at Anathema the Doctor had decided to park the ship in the most non-threatening corner of the least assuming galaxy he could find. They all needed a break. He hadn't seen Fitz in over a week and Compassion, hardly the most sociable at the best of times, only once or twice. He'd left Fitz alone in order to give him time to heal, but as the days dragged by, he'd begun to wonder if that had been the right thing to do.
And so it was a rather morose Doctor that made his way through the TARDIS hallways in search of a cup of tea. The main kitchen had been overrun by clockwork mice, forcing him to find another. The room that finally presented itself was a small, homely area that more resembled a farmhouse dining room than anything else. The Doctor was fairly sure he hadn't been in this kitchen for several regenerations and wondered why the old girl had led him here.
That question was answered when he caught sight of the room's other occupant. Fitz was asleep at the table, head resting on his arms. The kitchen smelled heavily of smoke and there was a rather alarming amount of cigarette butts resting in an ashtray. The Doctor frowned as he fetched the kettle, moving quietly so as to not wake Fitz up.
He sat down next to his companion when the tea was done, holding the warm mug between his hands. The Doctor blew on it softly and took a slow sip, watching Fitz sleep. It had been too long since he'd seen him; the Doctor wasn't sure if Fitz was avoiding him or if the TARDIS was keeping him away. She liked Fitz, the Doctor knew, even more so now that she'd put him back together. She must've decided that they needed to talk. Rassilon knows he'd left it too long.
Fitz muttered something and turned slightly towards him so that the Doctor could see his face. His hair had fallen over his eyes and the Doctor moved to brush it away, studying his companion. He looked…threadbare, for lack of a better word. The Doctor knew it wasn't sporting to liken people to clothes but it somehow seemed appropriate. Fitz looked absolutely worn out, haggard and pale and a bit thinner than the Doctor remembered.
A sudden pang of concern seized him and he mentally berated himself for not making a better effort to seek Fitz out and talk. If he was being honest with himself it was because he was a bit afraid. This entire situation was his fault and he'd done horribly shady things in a desperate attempt to fix it. He'd been scared to approach Fitz because what if Fitz hated him? He was terrified he'd have to apologize. Had he even apologized? The Doctor furrowed his brow, thinking.
No. He hadn't.
The Doctor sighed, laying his hand on his companion's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Fitz started and woke up, blinking blearily. He flinched away from the Doctor's touch and the Doctor withdrew his hand, hurt. "Hello," he said gently. Fitz didn't respond, just curled up tighter, fingers digging into his arms. "How are you feeling?"
Nothing. The Doctor decided to try a different tack. "Would you like a cup of tea?" Fitz hesitated, then nodded mutely, still looking down at the table. The Doctor frowned again as he stood up and went over to the kettle. He glanced back while waiting for the water to boil to find Fitz staring at him, gray eyes flat and dead. The Doctor found it rather unnerving and was glad when the kettle whistled, giving him an excuse to look away.
"Here you are." The Doctor placed the cup on the table next to Fitz before settling back down. Fitz glanced at it but made no move to pick it up. "I haven't seen you in a while. What have you been doing?"
No response.
"Fitz, talk to me, please," the Doctor pleaded. "I want to help." It was painful to see him like this, withdrawing back into the shell he'd just started to come out of. Fitz was cynical and jaded, he knew, with an affected air of self-sufficiency, but the Doctor had come to realize it was mostly bravado put up to protect a sensitive heart. He'd been opening up recently, but now, with Sam gone and…
"I've been thinking, mostly." Fitz's voice was quiet and rough, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time. He still wasn't looking at the Doctor. "Taking walks. Trying to sleep. I thought I'd dream but I haven't." He picked up the up of tea, staring down into its contents. The Doctor somehow got the impression he was checking for poison.
"Fitz-"
"What am I, Doctor?" Fitz interrupted him, slamming the cup back down on the table. Tea splashed out and landed on his hand, making him hiss and swear. "Damn it," Fitz muttered, pressing his head into his hands.
"Let me see." The Doctor leaned forward and took his hand. Fitz, startled, tried to pull away but the Doctor tightened his grip. "You'll be fine."
"I'm not worried about my hand, Doctor." Fitz laughed bitterly. "I'm worried about my mind."
The Doctor really didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if there was some sort of guidebook about what to do in this sort of situation; what would it even be called, 'help, I've cloned my friend and he's taking it badly?' The Time Lord stared down at their hands, noticing that Fitz's was trembling slightly.
"I feel like I'm going crazy," he continued. "I always used to worry about that, y'know? Runs in the family. But not…not now, I guess." He started to pull his hand away, then hesitated. The Doctor squeezed in in an attempt to provide some comfort. "I don't know who I am anymore," Fitz whispered. "I'm scared."
"Fitz." The Doctor reached out and turned his face towards him, pained at the lost expression his friend was wearing. "Hey. You're still you, okay? That didn't change."
"That's not true, though, is it?" Fitz was speaking in a broken voice and that hurt, although the Doctor was glad he wasn't trying to pull away from his touch. "I'm not- I look the same but it doesn't feel right, you know? It's like…" He paused, struggling for words. "It's like when you're in a dream and you know that it's you but you can't see yourself and for all you know you could be someone else. And I have the same memories but they're too fresh. Because you know how stuff from when you were a kid gets fuzzy and you can't really recall what happened? That's not there anymore. I can see all the bad stuff, like my dad dying or…everything else…like it happened yesterday."
Fitz raised a hand to tap his temple, brushing past the Doctor's on the way. "And I have his memories in here too and it's wrong because they shouldn't be there…" His voice cracked. "Because I didn't live that. That wasn't me. It's some kid who was just a copy and he didn't want to die and I'm stuck with his memories and now I'm a copy and I just-" He was crying now and he tugged away from the Doctor, putting his head back in his hands. "Damn it."
The Doctor stared helplessly at his companion, overwhelmed by guilt. This was his fault. If only he hadn't forgotten...The Doctor pulled Fitz close to him, holding him tight. Fitz didn't object this time, instead turning into him and burying his face in the soft velvet of the Doctor's coat. The Doctor could feel his thin body shaking beneath his arms.
"It's going to be all right, okay, Fitz?" He murmured gently. "It'll be all right." That apparently was the wrong thing to say, because Fitz started crying harder. The Doctor settled for just holding him, occasionally rubbing soothing circles on his back. His mind kept repeating accusations.
They stayed like that for a while, until Fitz's sobs had quieted down. Finally he lay still and the Doctor didn't dare to move, fearful of breaking him. "Doctor?" Fitz asked quietly, voice muffled.
"Mmm?"
"Can you promise me something?"
"What is it?"
"Don't…don't forget me again. Please." There was a desperate note in his voice and the Doctor tightened his grip.
"I promise," he said, kissing the top of his friend's head. Fitz let out a long, shuddering sigh.
"Thank you." He was even quieter now, so much that the Doctor had to strain to hear him. He didn't say anything else and the Doctor realized he'd fallen asleep. It was hardly surprising, given how emotionally exhausted the poor boy was. He'd better put him to bed.
"Come here," the Doctor said softly, maneuvering himself off the bench and picking him up. Fitz was almost worryingly light, he noticed. The Doctor exited the kitchen and started down the corridors towards Fitz's room, careful to not let his companion bump into anything.
They reached the bedroom and he set Fitz down on the bed, pulling the covers over him. The Doctor looked at his friend with concern. Fitz looked even more worn-out now, almost as pale as the sheets. The Doctor knew he should let him sleep but…was it really all right to leave him alone like this? The Doctor bent down and kissed his forehead, whispering an apology against his skin.
Fitz stirred slightly, blinking tiredly up at him. The Doctor forced a smile. "I'll let you sleep, then." He made to leave but Fitz reached out from under the covers and grabbed his hand.
"Don't leave. Please. I don't want to be alone anymore."
The Doctor didn't hesitate. He slid under the sheets and wrapped his arms around Fitz, who buried his face in his neck, falling back asleep immediately. His eyelashes were still wet. The Doctor pulled him a little closer, kissing him again. "It'll be okay," he said in a choked voice. "I promise."