My Beautiful Laundrette - by nostalgia (with Edithmatilda)
[R, purely for the f-word.]
Fitz was doing the laundry. It had to happen eventually, and he felt he was being remarkably brave about it, given the circumstances. He was vaguely aware that some people had some sort of system for the whole thing, and that folding was involved. But he reckoned that his own system — place in machine, hit machine, take out of machine and dump in basket — was as good, if not better, than anything like that.
Washing was, after all, a girl’s job. Anji probably had a system. As well as being a girl, she was horribly competent and probably alphabetised her pants. He was mildly disappointed that she had refused to let Fitz do any washing that involved her underwear, but refrained from spitefully mixing her whites and her colours. He was above that sort of thing. But he really wished she’d put a few bras in with all the t-shirts.
The Doctor knew about washing. But then, he knew about everything, so perhaps that was to be expected. Also, he was a bit… well… feminine. Or asexual, at least. Or a sort of feminine asexual. He didn’t have any interest in that sort of thing. Which, obviously, was why Fitz shouldn’t want to shag him.
Not that he’d actually asked. He was a bit nervous about the whole ‘coming out’ thing. Not that the Doctor — or Anji, for that matter — would have any sort of problem with it. They’d be horribly supportive and helpful. Anji would probably take him shopping. It occurred to him at this point that if he neglected the whole ‘but I still fancy girls as well’ bit, she might drop a few bras into the wash in future. Which was a fairly good incentive.
The real problem though, was the fact that he didn’t seem to fancy boys in general. Just the Doctor. Not that he expected the Doctor to get suddenly and uncharacteristically homophobic, but it was bad enough with one of them being aware of it. It would be weird. And, anyway, he thought he’d been obvious enough about it. But Fitz wasn't very good at subtle, and maybe all his obvious hints had been completely opaque to everyone else.
And what was he supposed to say anyway? “I fancy boys. Well, you”? That was just stupid. Even Anji’s bras couldn’t be worth that humiliation. She only shopped in sensible places, anyway. The worst bit, he thought, would be if the Doctor actually fancied him too. Because he liked the Doctor in that way, and he also didn’t.
Christ, you’d think he could at least fancy a human bloke. This was just embarrassing. It was a bit like wanting to fuck a goat, the way Welsh people did. Only with a whole sentience issue involved. OK, so he looked human, but there was always something slightly skewed about the way he went about things. Like the other day when Anji had gone on for ten minutes about how the Doctor didn’t really understand capitalism. Fitz didn’t really understand it either, but that was because he was a bit thick. That was normal. Ignorance was very, very human — especially if you believed the Doctor.
At least with a proper bloke he’d only have to face the normal human spectrum of reactions. Which he reckoned he could deal with. Probably. Fancying an alien was crap, he decided. Girl aliens were bad enough, but he didn’t really understand human women anyway, so it didn’t seem like that big a deal. At least the Doctor didn’t menstruate. At least so far as Fitz knew.
He had the sudden nightmare image of getting pregnant by the Doctor. Which, OK, was unlikely, but you never knew. He’d seen sci-fi. These things happened. It would have to gestate in his liver, and that wasn’t any place for a kid to start its life.
Alright, now he was going mental. It was completely the Doctor’s fault. For being, well, shaggable. It wasn't fair. He’d been a complete bastard, making Fitz fancy him like that. He’d slowly infiltrated the bit of Fitz’s brain that decided what things were OK to shag. It was bloody evil of him. The git. At least girls gave you warning. That was what breasts were for, wasn’t it? So you knew that you might potentially fancy them at some point.
He’d thought about trying to fancy Anji, but that seemed like incest somehow. And she was scary. Also the Doctor might get funny about that and strand the two of them on some alien planet. Because the bastard was weird like that. The Doctor made no fucking sense. He made good cakes though, which was always something. A bit girly, mind.
Which was obviously spite. He obviously only did it to mess with people’s heads. Like making Fitz fancy him, despite the whole Not Properly Gay thing. How the hell had he even done that anyway? It was probably some hormonal thing. Yeah, that was probably it. Girl pheromones or something. The guy didn’t even smell. Of anything. It was perverted. Then again, it was a well-known fact that vegetarians smelled less. It ate their pheromones.
The washing machine clattered and he wondered if Anji ever sat on it like in porn. He decided to put that thought away for later use, because there wasn’t that much to do round here. Actually, that might explain why the Doctor kept dragging them off to have adventures. So maybe if they hung around in the vortex long enough… Thankfully, the washing machine clattered again at that point, saving him from that particular train of thought.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said aloud. He was turning into a woman. Next thing he knew he’d be knitting scarves and cooing at babies. And then he’d have to have lesbian sex with Anji. Which was another thought to be filed away for later.
Thankfully at this point he had one of those episcopacy things. Which was good, as he’d started to worry that he couldn’t even angst properly.
He left the laundry and headed for the console room.
“Doctor,” he announced, “I am never, ever, doing the laundry ever again.”
And with that, he left.