Trix felt that she’d fitted in nicely. There wasn’t much to it, after all. Just ask the Doctor lots of questions to make him feel useful and, well, cope with Fitz. Sabbath had made it all sound so complicated. Just like him to see problems where there were none.
She probably wasn’t supposed to have noticed how far Sabbath had modelled himself on the Doctor. It was quite amusing, really. Trix prided herself on noticing things like that. If you could pick up the nuances you could pretend to be anyone.
She sat in the kitchen with her feet on the table and a smouldering Marlboro in her right hand. Occasionally she’d take a drag and blow half-hearted smoke rings.
When Fitz walked into the room she met his gaze and affected a perfect replica of his confused expression. She brushed a scattering of ash from her jeans. “Are you going to stand there like an idiot all day? Or are you going to make me some toast?”
“Trix… what the shag are you doing?”
“Having a fag, what does it look like?”
“Are those my clothes?”
She looked down casually and nodded. “Yes. They’re a good fit, aren’t they?”
Fitz grabbed her arm and pulled Trix to her feet. “Take them off, you thieving bitch!”
Trix raised an eyebrow.
He blushed, bless him. “Not here though.”
“Because… you’re a girl. It’s not… proper.”
Trix leaned back against the kitchen table and inhaled another lungful of nicotine. “Shag?”
Fitz blinked. “What?”
“It’s polite where I come from. And I’m a cool and interesting rough diamond, suave and sophisticated and all those other things girls like. You know you want me.”
“Oh, very funny…” He stopped talking at that point, but only because Trix had jumped him and attached her mouth to his. It took more strength than he’d expected to push her away. Trix just laughed.
“Oh, come on, it’s not like the Doctor’s going to walk in and tut like an old woman. Besides, he knows what you’re like.” Trix hopped onto the table and started taking off her — his — clothes.
“Look, you’re new, and I get that it can be a bit of a shock living with people who hate the guy you used to work for but… oh, shag.”
Actually, the table wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d expected...
Fitz wasn’t sure, but the kitchen ceiling seemed to be moving. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “So… umm…”
Trix tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes?”
“Well… I mean, you obviously fancy me. And… umm…”
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Honestly Kreiner, is that all you ever think about? You’re so… sixties!”
Fitz winced as the back of his head hit the table again. “Oh. Right. Bitch.”
“You’re so sweet,” said Trix, and headed off into the depths of the TARDIS to add to her collection of clippings from the 2004 issues of the Financial Times.