Title: One Cigarette
Author: kbk
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Don't own them.
Notes: Fitz angst. I'm sleep-deprived and headache-y and stuff and I don't even know Fitz, and I barely know Eight either though he's not really here and this is probably more influenced by aces's F/E than anything else but. Oh well.
More Notes: Dude! This got recced by a pro-fic author! *preens*

It's a damn good thing he picked up that extra five hundred the last time they saw a duty-free, or he'd have run out by now, and there are times when Fitz just needs a cigarette. Like now. Which is a fairly stereotypical time, but not in the way he'd like it to be.

He's just so very, very... well, kind of surprised and annoyed and disappointed and confused and some other stuff at the same time, and he didn't even know he could feel so many different things at once but thinking about that just adds even more into the mix so he takes a deep drag and holds the smoke in until he starts feeling lightheaded.

And so maybe the smart thing to do would be to think about it and work out what the hell just happened, but he's never said he was smart and he'd really rather just skip to the forgetting all about it, so he just concentrates on watching the little swirls of smoke and the way they vanish into the air, and it's really kind of pretty.

And what the hell was that all about anyway? He likes girls, with curves and perfume and soft bodies and pretty hair, and OK, so those curls are actually kinda inviting but that's not the point, the point is... that he shouldn't be thinking about this at all.

Anji, now, Anji's a pretty girl, and sure she'd never look twice at him but it's not like he would either and why the hell can't he keep his mind off the way the Doctor - the Doctor, why the hell can't he have a proper name like anybody else, except he isn't like anybody else, he's got two hearts and this kind of calm befuddlement that would go better with a grandfather than the tall slim young whatever he is now... and it was just a look, just brushing up against him on the way past and seeing those too-wise eyes just accepting him being there and all of a sudden Fitz wanted to grab him and hold on for dear life and there must have been something of that desperation in his face.

Because the Doctor reached out, a hand on Fitz's shoulder, just stopping him questioning reassuring something, and Fitz just wanted to lick him, turn his head and taste that pure skin, lick and suck and bite and maybe leave a mark on him because it's not like he matters, that's not what he's about, and...

He just wanted. Which fucked with his head, because, again, girls, so he made an excuse and got the hell out of there, except, he didn't really want to and he can't help thinking about it and wondering what would have happened and...

Fitz takes another drag, flicks the butt to the ground and grinds it slowly and deliberately into the floor. "Fuck it," he says to himself. "Didn't happen."