what’s the Tumblr equivalent of commentboxing a fic?
robinade replied to your post: look more than anything I want a fic where Fitz is…Oh my god, hit me right in the heartstrings why don’t you. THE FIC I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED.
I have always been OBSESSED with the idea of Fitz not only surviving the Time War, but being a soldier in it, and coming out of it even less human than he went in. Because one of my favorite narrative threads with him is that he’s not human at all, really, except that he decides he is. He self-determinates a lot of himself— part of why he’s a gorgeous conman and wears personalities like different jaunty hats.
But the Time War was serious enough that apparently the Time Lords are gone from existence, so that’s a hell of a tear. And The Doctor, the Master, Fitz, the TARDIS, and probably Compassion made it through. Compassion would be fine, being a TARDIS herself. But Fitz? If I am remembering the EDAs properly, the events that resulted in Fitz 2.0 were erased from history in The Ancestor Cell, so he’s already been a walking paradox.
Maybe Fitz died in the Time War. Maybe he died a million times on a thousand missions, and yet showed up at every debriefing and suited up for every task given to him. After a while, the Doctor stopped questioning it.
In my head, he vanished after the Fall of Arcadia, presumed dead. But obviously not. Probably fell through a Rift and ended up who-knows-where. Started adventuring, with the purpose of finding his way back to Gallifrey, but when he feels the War end, he gives up on that and just works on putting a foot in front of the other.
His mind isn’t normal. In Earthworld and To The Slaughter, we learn about just how mechanical and ordered it is. So it’s easy to pull out his old joyful self like a mask and wear it until it’s fused to his skin, and Fitz Fortune is reborn anew.
But of course the universe has bigger plans for him. Or, is it that the universe has no plans for him?
It takes a few decades for him to notice the lack of age clinging to his frame, less so to find that any mark made on him is gone inside a week, be they scars or bruises. And after the thirtieth time he beats the sort of odds that shouldn’t be beaten, he knows somethings wrong. And when a Judoon patrol scans him with their species specification devices and the thing bloody explodes, he gives up trying to explain it and just makes his way.
The old Fitz is dead, long live the Fortunate Son.
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