Title: Imagining It
Author: kbk
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: BBC owns Dr Who, not me. Though I do pay part of a television licence, so I have enough of a share to own this, I feel.
Notes: Fitz. Angst. Thinking, and the stupidity of that. Spoilery for The Last Resort.

Fitz thinks he remembers dying. Over and over and over again. He's probably just imagining it, of course, but he can't help thinking of all the thousands upon thousands of his selves that travelled to all manner of places in time and space to help in the Saving of the Universe. Since they're all him, isn't it possible that part of him can remember the things that didn't happen to him, but did happen to those other selves of his, the ones that are all dead, so that somewhere in the vast unused spaces of his brain are all those lives and all those deaths...

And the visions that crowd into his head do seem so very very real. And perhaps vision isn't precisely the right word. He can almost feel it sometimes, the bullet slamming into his skull, the dagger piercing his heart, the impact as he hits the ground and his vertebrae snap. The burning in his lungs, the tightness in his chest, the choking, the pounding in his head, the rushing of blood in his veins as his heart beats faster, frantically trying to keep his body functioning even though it's hopeless...

"Fitz. Fitz! Breathe!" A hand landed on his shoulder, another on his back, pushing him to sit on the bed, forcing his head down between his knees, one hand rubbing brisk circles on his back even as the other held him down.

Fitz lashed out wildly, blindly, unreasoningly gratified by the gasp of pain he heard as the blow connected. "Fitz! It's me! Calm down and breathe! In... and out..." It sounded like a reasonably sensible idea. Fitz tried it, only then realising that he obviously hadn't been doing it beforehand. As the panic receded, he realised that the hands were friendly and relaxed under their touch.

"Doctor?" he gasped out. "... hit you..."

The Doctor chuckled ruefully. "That you did. Just keep breathing, it's all right." His hand continued to rub out soothing circles even as Fitz shook his head and clasped his arms together beneath his knees, pulling in on himself and refusing to reply.

They sat in silence as Fitz calmed down, his breathing and pulse gradually returning to normal. The silence seemed to weigh on him, increasing his self-consciousness as he became more aware of the Doctor's physical closeness, the gentle weight of his hands as they drew idle patterns on his back and stroked his hair. He wanted to move away - felt as though he really ought to, planned to any second, hated feeling like a kid that needed looking after - but it was so comfortable, felt so safe...

"Any reason," murmured the Doctor, "why you had a panic attack now?" He sounded pretty much unconcerned, and his hands didn't pause in their movements.

"I started thinking," said Fitz, pushing his head, catlike, into the cool touch. "Bad plan."

The Doctor hummed sympathetically and started to rub Fitz's neck. "The timelines?" he asked.

"The deaths. My deaths. I can... I know... Am I just imagining it?" He didn't know what he wanted to hear, and he thought he might end up with bruises from where his fingers were digging into his arms. He leaned closer to the Doctor, gleaning comfort from the sheer presence of him.

"Probably," said the Doctor. "Best not to think about it."

Fitz laughed, quiet and bitter, and deliberately unclenched his fingers. "I can't not."

The Doctor placed his hands on Fitz's shoulders and squeezed firmly, holding on until Fitz gave in and accepted the comfort, no matter how unwillingly.

"It's just..." Fitz said eventually, in a very quiet voice, "I don't get..." He swallowed back all the feelings, all the guilt and fear and pain and love, and sat up, shaking off the Doctor's hands and looking him in the eye. "Why me?" he asked. "Why us? Why not any of them? I mean, yeah, it had to be someone, but... why the hell did it have to be me?"

The Doctor looked back. Very solemnly, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on his companion's brow.

"Why not?" he said.