Chapter 3: Lust, Instinct, and Passion
The next morning, Fitz woke up with a bastard behind his eyes. The night had been a blur of booze, and lust, and sex. They'd gone through all of his condoms, and most of Giac's, and at some point close to dawn he had stirred from a sound sleep to find the Doctor getting shagged in the bed beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Muttering Giac's name over and over again. Insatiable prats.
Fitz knew that shouldn't have bothered him. It wasn't the first time he'd watched the Doctor shag someone else, though at those times he'd at least been actively involved. Instead of feeling like some creepy voyeur, unable to look away but for some reason afraid of letting them know he was watching.
And he realized he was being an utter hypocrite. How many times had the Doctor watched him fall in love with some pretty bird? Without complaint. Shit, at the end of the day it was always the Doctor who helped him get over the inevitable heartbreak.
What a bloody complicated relationship... Still, it was better than what usually happened. Which was him fucking everything up by getting drunk and shagging some other girl, then lying about it, then getting caught, then promising to never do it again. Then doing it again. At least this way everything was out in the open.
He sighed and draped an arm over the sleeping form half-hidden under the blankets. It was Giac, he could tell instantly. Which meant the Doctor was nowhere to be found. Fine. Good. He knew how to deal with this. If Giac shagged the Doctor, then all he had to do was shag Giac, and then he wouldn't feel so... Not jealous, definitely not jealous. But something. Just not jealous. Because he refused to admit to that.
And he did rather fancy Giac. Of course, who wouldn't? Here was a bloke bloody famous for the mere act of shagging anything that moved. And he was damn good at it, too. So Fitz ran his hands over the other man's body, and Giac curled into his touch, still mostly asleep, and Fitz was just about to kiss him when he heard the door open.
The Doctor crept into the room and sat down on the bed, placing a tender kiss on Fitz's temple, oblivious, or unconcerned, that Fitz had been in the middle of seducing another bloke.
"Come on, sleepyhead," he said in that irritatingly cheerful voice he always had in the morning. "Chop chop, things to do. I've been investigating the disappearances that have plagued Venezia for several months now and—"
"Sod off," Fitz growled.
"Fitz!" the Doctor squeaked, sounding offended.
"It's too early to be so damn cheerful, Doc."
"It's not early at all!" the Doctor argued, placing a hand on Fitz's shoulder. "I've already had breakfast, investigated the scene of last night's mysterious attack, interviewed 12 Venetians who claim to have heard howling in the night—"
Fitz shrugged him away. "I mean it, sod off."
The Doctor swallowed, as though unsure what to say.
With a sigh, Fitz turned to face him. He really did look hurt. And part of Fitz recognized he was being completely unfair. That his reaction at the moment must seem incredibly out of character to the Doctor, who probably took for granted the fact the Fitz usually followed him around like some love-struck teenager.
But if anything, that thought only pissed Fitz off even more.
"Look, I mean it, all right?" he snapped, then forced himself to soften his tone. "I'm taking the day off. We'll meet up later, yeah?"
"As you wish," the Doctor replied, sounding absolutely crestfallen.
He left the room without another word. Great, now Fitz felt like a bastard who'd just kicked a puppy on top of everything else. To distract himself, he gave Giac a blowjob.
Venice alone, during the bright, muggy day, seemed ready to crumble into the waters. A gloomy place. Beggars in the alleys, gondoliers shouting at each other. Filth in very corner. Chickens skittering every which way.
That reminded him.
He sighed, and glanced at the indicator he had cobbled together earlier that morning in the TARDIS. Without Fitz. Which was fine, he told himself. That was fine. Solving a mystery in the most romantic city on Earth. Alone, because his best friend preferred to remain in bed with the most famous lover in the history of the human species.
Which was fine, he told himself. Perfectly understandable. To be expected, even. And anyway, he'd brought it on himself, as usual. The Doctor wasn't stupid. Nor was he entirely naive. He realized he'd instigated the entire evening himself, acting rather unusually forward even for this incarnation, who so often let himself be led by lust, instinct, and passion. Rightly or wrongly.
It was his fault, because that evening he'd sensed a surprising possessiveness, even jealousy, in Fitz that had been truly surprising. Almost completely out of character for him, in fact. And the Doctor had shrugged it off because he was enjoying himself too much at the time to worry about the consequences. How predictable of him these days.
So here was his punishment. No Fitz. Wandering through Venice alone. Searching for a terrible predator from a distant star system that had somehow managed to get lost in one of his favorite cities on Earth.
He forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The creature had come from several galaxies away, and his blood chemistry and pheromones were like nothing else on the planet. In the water, it was difficult to track, but if he could figure out its hunting patterns, follow the tracks it had left from its nightly excursions through the alleys, then he could lie in wait until the evening. He could stop the creature, capture it, drop it back off on his home planet. And then maybe by tomorrow he and Fitz could catch a play, perhaps a nice commedia dell'arte. Enjoy a lovely candle lit meal overlooking the Piazza San Marco before heading back to the TARDIS, and off to whatever adventure awaited them next.
"But first thing first," he said aloud, and glanced back down at the tracker.