WHAT: Rowen goes to check on Fitz the day after he rescued him from deaths door and finds out he's checked himself out from the clinic. WHERE:Hopper's Fitz' cabin WHEN: The day after the Flipped Vallo plot WARNINGS: Not really, Fitz is in pretty rough shape STATUS: Complete
Rowen made his way up the path towards (what he hoped was) the cabin that belonged to Fitz. The last time he saw the guy yesterday he hadn’t been doing so great. He’d gone to the clinic first thing this morning wanting to see if he was doing any better. He was surprised to learn that Fitz had already left and gone home. That didn’t seem right to Rowen. Why would they have just let a man who was so obviously injured just walk away? He was told (rightfully) that they couldn’t keep him there. After some cajoling, Rowen was able to learn where Fitz lived
He then went to the nearest drug store stuffed a bag full of bandages, ointments, splints and whatever else Rowen (who was not medically trained at all) thought someone who looked on the brink of death may need. Now he was standing outside Fitz’s house with that bag hanging heavy off his shoulder.
Fitz had not known, before coming to Vallo, the price of the Skill healing the coterie had performed on him. He hadn’t known that it had awoken some part of the Skill in him, some part that would automatically heal every injury he received without any input from him. The first time he’d broken a bone and had woken up the next morning twenty pounds lighter and ravenous, he’d been confused, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out what had happened.
He’d done more than just break a bone the day before. He was fairly sure that without the Skill Healing, he would have been dead by now. But he wouldn’t have healed every bruise and scrape if he’d had a choice. He’d have left some of his injuries to heal naturally, so that it didn’t take so much out of him.
He hadn’t had a choice. And now… Well, it was good that Vallo was as strange as it was, because it would have been impossible for him to explain the changes. He was gaunt, in face and limb. Had lost, he was sure, nearly all his muscles. He didn’t care much for automobiles, but he’d taken a Uber from the clinic to his cabin, and even then he’d struggled just getting into the cabin.
He had some bread and fruits, and those he’d devoured almost completely already. Nighteyes would have to hunt for them – was hunting for them now – and Fitz, who was beginning to realize he was likely too weak to cook, would have to eat the game raw.
The tea kettle whistled. It had been grueling, and had taken far too long, for him to put the tea kettle on the stove in the first place. Having running water in this world was a godsend, because he never would have been able to haul water up from the river. He took a breath and braced himself, lifted the tea kettle with the last of his strength, and made a valiant effort at bringing the kettle to his mug of tea leaves.
The kettle slipped through his fingers, bounced off the stove top, and spilled entirely onto the floor. Fitz barely managed to avoid being scalded by the boiling water, but the effort of getting out of the way left him falling to where he sprawled on the floor, hip bruised (not for long, he was sure), and without the strength left to pull himself up. He shut his mind to Nighteyes before the wolf could sense his distress.
He wondered if he’d still be laying here when Nighteyes finally came home from his hunt.
“Eda and El in a fucking tangle,” he sword, and tried to punch the floor, though it ended up as more of a pathetic slap.
Meanwhile outside, Rowen was momentarily distracted by the gaggle of chickens that ran through the yard (is that what you called a bunch of chickens? A gaggle? Or is that geese? And can you even think of this as a yard if there’s no street or anything to indicate where the property ends and the forest starts – )
Rowen’s thoughts were interrupted by a great commotion from inside the cabin. It sounded as though someone had dropped something heavy. Maybe it was a body! A body falling out of bed! Or off a ladder! God dammit, how could they just let him go home alone?!
A few select Japanese curse words on his tongue, Rowen barged into the cabin. He looked around frantically. “Mr. FitzChivarly? Are you alright?” He spotted Fitz sprawled on the floor. “Oh shit!” He dropped his bag at the door and rushed over to the man. “Are you alright?” He asked. “Here, lemme help you.” He took Fitz under his arms to help him to his feet. He was surprised by how light he felt. Like he could just throw him over his shoulder and walk back into town with him.
Fitz cursed himself for his lack of attentiveness. Someone was in his house and he had no way to fight back. Not effectively, at least. He wore no knives, had no poisons in the hidden pockets he’d sewn into his shirt and trousers.
The boy seemed familiar somehow, but not in any way that stuck in Fitz’ mind; recollection slipped through his grasp like the slippery eels of his boyhood. As they passed the table, Fitz grasped the kitchen knife that laid about it and with speed, brought it to the boys throat. His hand shook with the effort of keeping a grip on it; he didn’t think he could pierce flesh even if he wanted to.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he growled.
Rowen froze. The blade was cold against his throat, but he didn’t panic. He met Fitz’s gaze evenly as though this was not his first time behind held at knife point. “I’m Rowen Hashiba,” he said, his voice low, calm and even. “We met yesterday during the battle. I helped you get to the clinic. Do you remember?”
Fitz did not remember much of his trip to the clinic after he’d been cornered in the alley by those monsters. If he’d been conscious at all by the time he’d made it there, he didn’t remember. But someone had provided a rescue – it was how he was still standing – and he had vague memories of someone half-carrying, half-dragging him… somewhere. Perhaps to the clinic. Someone, he recalled, who’d been roughly this same height.
The knife slipped from his fingers. It was less an intentional choice so much as it was the weakness in his fingers finally overcoming his need to defend himself. He didn’t mean to sag against the boy – and it was a boy, only a year or two older than Hap – but he did.
“Not really,” he confessed. “But thank you. The couch is just over there.”
With a quick movement, Rowen caught the knife before it hit the floor. He was thankful for it not to be pressed against his throat any longer. He didn’t have a chance to set it anywhere before Fitz sagged against him. He did his best to steady the man so he could set the knife down safely and then guide the other man over to the sofa.
“You shouldn’t have left the clinic,” he said with all the bluntness of a teenager. “You look like shit.”
“Ah, that’s funny. I feel great,” Fitz said dryly, and collapsed bonelessly onto the couch. “There isn’t anything more they could have done for me. My injuries are healed.”
Maybe it wasn’t true that they couldn’t do more for him, but Fitz hadn’t liked being there all the same. There was something discomfiting about having a bunch of strangers fussing over him when he was so weak. It would have been harder to protect himself if it came to it. And Nighteyes had never liked Vallo City, and would have refused to leave him; the only reason the wolf wasn’t here now was because he was hunting.
Rowen looked down at the man on the couch with his arms folded over his chest and one brow raised skeptically. He hadn’t been in Vallo long, but even he knew that there were people here capable of doing just about anything, including healing a man on the brink of death.
But Fitz was right about one thing: his injuries were gone. At least the visible ones were. “Yeah?” Rowen challenged. “Then why do you look as though you haven’t eaten in about a hundred years?” Without waiting for an answer he went back to the door and picked up the bag he dropped.
“To answer your other question,” he said. “I’m here because I was worried about you. They told me at the clinic that you’d taken off.” He brought the bag over to the table and set it down. Then he went about righting the kettle and cleaning the water off the floor. “I brought you some supplies,” he motioned to the backpack. “First aid stuff and some food.” He raised a brow at the man again. ”Are you hungry?”
Fitz very nearly began to answer Rowen’s question, before realizing what a terrible idea that was. He was far too tired. At this point he didn’t know why he was still keeping the Skill secret – it wasn’t as if people with magic were uncommon here in Vallo – but it still seemed important to keep it close. Besides, how did one explain it? That he’d had a Skill healing several months ago,done by a coterie that didn’t know what they were doing, and now, apparently, his body just did it automatically.
This had been so much easier back when he’d had Chade and Beloved keeping him from the public eye so he didn’t have to think of an explanation for the sudden change in his appearance. He couldn’t think of an appropriate lie.
Luckily, he didn’t have to answer before Rowen continued on. “I am hungry,” he admitted, grudgingly. “What did you bring?”
“Uh protein bars, beef jerky, a coupl’a bags of chips,” Rowen answered. “I think I stuffed one or two cans of soup in there.” He finished clearing up the floor and got to his feet. He wiped his hands on his jeans and went over to the bag to start pulling stuff out of it. He listed off the things as he did, as though Fitz couldn’t see them from the couch. The food haul didn’t include anything one might think was nutritious, but among the protein bars, beef jerky and snack-sized bags of chips were two cans of condensed soup. He held them up for Fitz to see. “This one is minestrone,” he said, reading off the cans. “And…this one is tortilla soup.” He held them both up again. “Do you want one of these?”
“Soup,” Fitz said. “Just pick one. I’m not familiar with either one of those soups.” He didn’t really know what protein bars were either, but that could wait. Soup was easy to eat, and as much as he might have wanted some beef jerky, he didn’t think he had the energy to actually chew it.
He leaned his head back on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “You didn’t have to come here, you know.”
Rowen snorted. “Yeah, I did,” he said. He started hunting around the kitchen for a pot to warm the soup up in. “You were like inches from death when I found you during the fight,” he explained. “I wanted to make sure you were gonna be ok. That’s what comrades in arms do.” He frowned. “Where d’you keep your pots?”
“Next to the stove. On the left,” Fitz said, frowning. Comrades in Arms. Fitz was no stranger to the idea. He’d spent plenty of time with the Buckkeep Guard, both in his youth and as Tom Badgerlock. He’d fought in the Red Ship Wars. He’d had comrades in arms, men he’d fought with, men he’d eaten with at meals, men he bathed with in the steam baths. Men who’d died next to him with a blade in their hand.
He hopened his eyes and forced his eyes to focus as he gazed at the young man who was rifling through his cupboards. “Why do you call us comrades in arms?” he asked after a moment, curious. “What does that term mean to you?”
Rowen glanced over his shoulder at Fitz. He wasn’t expecting to be asked such deep questions today. He also hadn’t expected to come trudging out into the woods and find Fitz looking as frail and gaunt as he was either, but here he was.
He looked pensive for a moment, as though trying to get his thoughts into some kind of order before speaking. “To me it means people who are fighting for a similar cause,” he said. “Or the same cause.” He turned and put the pot on the stove. “We were both fighting to protect Vallo from those portal creatures, or whatever they were.” He paused and looked over his shoulder again, a frown pulling at his mouth. “I mean…that’s why you were out there riskin’ your life, right?”
Fitz frowned. If someone had asked him why he was out there, he didn’t know if he’d say that it was for protection. He was good at fighting. He was good at killing. In fact, killing was just about the only thing he was good at. He was a member of the Outlander Defense Team, and the Defense Teams – those who remained of them, at least – had been called to action, and he’d been called among them.
But protection? He wasn’t nearly as noble as all that. Not really.
“How did you find me?” he asked after a moment.
Rowen narrowed his eyes at the man, but then turned back to the stove. “I asked at the clinic,” he said simply. He dumped the contents of the can into the pot. He didn’t say anything as he stirred the soup. He’d assumed that everyone out fighting that day was doing so for the same reason. “I’m sorry if I was wrong,” he said without looking back at the man on the couch.
Fitz grunted at the news that the clinic had pointed him in Fitz’ direction. And when the apology came, Fitz stopped and studied the boy at the stove. He wished he’d look toward him so he could read his face, but maybe it was just as telling that he didn’t.
He didn’t know the boy. He owned nothing to him. And yet he still felt ashamed, as though he’d let him down somehow.
“No, not wrong. Not exactly,” Fitz said. “I had just never thought about it that way before.”
Rowen’s face felt hot and he knew it was beat red, and not because of the pot of soup in front of him that he was frantically stirring. He was so embarrassed! Fitz must have thought he was some kind of stupid kid – a stupid kid trying to sound important, but in reality had no clue what he was talking about. Rowen hated that feeling.
He didn’t look back at Fitz when the other man spoke again. He didn’t want him to see how red his face was. He muttered into the pot, “how did you think about it?”
Fitz frowned. Well, it was probably better to get it out in the open now, rather than let the kid get his expectations up about them being friends, or being the same.
“I’m not a hero,” he said. “I’ve never been a hero. I was there because I’m good at fighting. Killing,” people, “things.”
Rowen continued to stir the soup. His embarrassment faded as he thought about what Fitz said. “I don’t think most people get to choose if they’re heroes or not,” he said carefully, as though weighing his words carefully before he spoke them. “I didn’t set out to be one. It just…kinda happened.” He stopped stirring and frowned thoughtfully at the pot in front of him.
“No, and I think in general, one should be wary of anyone who sets out with the goal of becoming a hero.” He’d known enough people who’d set out to present a certain face to the world, and those people generally kept their true face behind their public masks. “But I think in order to become a hero, one has to be heroic, and trust me, lad, I am not.”
“Whatever,” Rowen said. He tapped the spoon against the side of the pot before setting it down. “I didn’t come here because I thought you were some kind of fucking hero. I came to make sure you were fucking alright! You were inches from death when I found you out there yesterday. That isn’t something I can just forget, you know. Then the clinic tells me that you checked yourself out and I find you here looking like…” he motioned to Fitz on the couch. “Like that!”
Fitz grimaced. He was tired, and he would have much rather gone back to sleep than to continue arguing or… whatever it was that was happening right now. Except he could see where he was coming from. Kind of.
“Thank you for coming to check on me,” Fitz said after a time. “Like I said, there wasn’t anything else anyone at the clinic could have done for me. My wounds are all healed. But I understand you were worried, and I appreciate that you came to make sure I was okay. I wasn’t expecting it, and it wasn’t necessary, but it was a good thing you did.”
Rowen looked down at the older man on the couch. The annoyed look on his face faded, revealing again just how young he was. He smiled, albeit faintly. “You’re welcome,” he said. He really wanted to ask Fitz how he’d managed to heal himself and why he looked so bad. The impulse was there, right on the tip of his tongue. But Rowen was smart, smarter about people than he sometimes let on. If Fitz wanted him to know, he would have told him by now. Rowen just hoped the guy wasn’t trying to put on a brave face just so people wouldn’t worry about him. Ryo had done that a lot and it worried Rowen.
“You’re really ok, though, right?” He asked with genuine concern. “I mean…you’re gonna be, right?”
“I will be,” Fitz confirmed, and he was tempted to leave it there. He might have too, if Motley didn’t fly down from where she’d been observing from the rafters.
“Stupid Fitz!” she cawed, attempting to alight on Rowen’s shoulder. “Food! Need to eat.”
Fitz grimaced. “The soup is appreciated,” he added reluctantly. “I would have had trouble preparing my own meal today, I think.”
The sudden appearance of the crow caught Rowen off guard. He exclaimed something in Japanese, eyes wide at the bird as she swooped down. He didn’t move, or try to duck out of her way, though. He let her land on his shoulder, lifting his arm a little to give the bird a better perch. Then he turned his wide eyes from the bird back to Fitz.
Fitz sighed. “Sorry. I should have told you. There’s a ferret here somewhere too, though he might be out hunting mice.” Fitz wasn’t bonded with Gilly like he was Motley and Nighteyes; he could feel Nighteyes still far off in the forest. Now that the wolf realized that there wasn’t such a need for him to hurry home with a kill, and, perhaps, in an effort to give Fitz some time with the boy, he’d gone off to see his wolvish friends at Atreus’ Sanctuary. “This is Motely. Motley, this is…” The name came back to him slower than he would have liked. He was tired. “Rowen.”
“Listening!” Motley rebuked him. Because of course she’d been here, listening, the whole time, and Fitz had no need to introduce Rowen to her.
“Motley followed me here from my world, I think,” Fitz said.
“Hai…” Rowen said slowly, turning his eyes to the colorful bird on his shoulder. Birds were intelligent creatures, but Rowen wondered if Motley was even more intelligent than the average bird. Would it be rude to ask? Probably. And the bird’s beak was very close to his face. “It’s nice to meet you, Motley,” he said instead. “Uhm, I came to help Fi–oh shit!”
Rowen turned quickly back to the soup. It had started to boil, but thankfully it hadn’t burned. The bird still on his shoulder he tested the soup and, determining it was good to eat, he spooned up a bowl. “I heard that animals and things can come from our individual worlds sometimes,” he said. “Did all the animals here come from your world?”
“The ones in this house, yes. Gilly and Motely. As well as Nighteyes, my dog; he’s out roaming the forest somewhere right now, but he’ll be back before nightfall I’m sure. And MyBlack, who is stabled out at the Barns.”
Fitz had meant to build a stable for her here on these grounds this spring. He hoped he’d have his strength back in time to manage it. “Do you have any animals back home?”
Rowen laddled some soup into a bowl, one handed so not to jostle Motley on his shoulder. He shook his head. “I don’t,” he said. “I grew up in a tiny apartment in Toriyama…” he trailed off realizing that Fitz might know where Tokyo even was. “Toriyama is a big city in Japan, where I’m from,” he added for clarification. “There wasn’t any room for any animals.” Neither of Rowen’s parents probably would have even noticed if he brought an animal home, but Rowen had never dared even consider it.
He set the bowl on a potholder before bringing it over to Fitz. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said as he handed it to the older man.
By all rights, Fitz should have waited a little longer for the soup to cool a little more before he began to eat, but it was all he could do to blow on it for long enough that it didn’t completely scald his mouth on the way down. He’d never had tortilla soup before – he had to assume this was tortilla soup, he recognized tortillas, at least, from all the Mexican food that Tyler had taken him out for before Tyler had disappeared – and it probably would have enjoyed it had he taken time to actually taste it. He was far more concerned with getting it into his stomach though to worry about flavour and making sure not to burn the roof of his mouth, and once he finished he held the empty bowl out to Rowen again.
Rowen was more interested in Motley than he was watching Fitz eat. She was still perched on his shoulder, which was really cool. It made Rowen feel a little special that apparently she felt comfortable enough to stay there. Though, for all Rowen knew, Motley would perch anywhere. Still, it wasn’t like you got to see a bird like this every day. He reached up to stroke her head gently.
He looked back at Fitz when the bowl was handed towards him. He took it impressed (but relieved) to see how quickly Fitz had eaten it. “D’ya want more?” he asked.
Motley preened under Rowen’s touch, leaning her head into his hand for deeper scritches. “Meat?” she asked him. She’d smelled the jerky he had in his bag.
Fitz, for his part, nodded. “Yes, please.”
Rowen refilled Fitz’s bowl and handed it back to him. He also grabbed a bag of the chips. As he did, he kept a hand on Motley, giving her nice neck scritches. She was very friendly! In an odd way, she reminded him of White Blaze. “Can I give her a piece of the jerky?” He asked Fitz.
“I’m small pieces,” Fitz said, his mouth already full with another spoonful of soup. “Pieces small enough for her to swallow; it might be too tough for her to rip pieces small enough not to choke on.”
“Can too!” Motley protested, but Fitz ignored her. She wouldn’t complain if she had less work to do to eat it in any case.
Rowen opened the bag of chips and handed it to Fitz so he had something crunchy to go with his soup. Then he picked up the bag of jerky and opened that too. The first piece he pulled out was massive. He ripped off a small bite-sized chunk to give to her.
“What kind of bird is she?” Rowen asked. Then he frowned. He hadn’t known that Fitz had so many animals at his cabin. If he’d known that he would have brought food for them as well. Fitz could barely feed himself, let alone an entire menagerie. “Uh, hey,” he said. “You know, I can come back again tomorrow if you want and I can bring you more food. And food for your animals.” He gave Motley another nice neck scritch.
“She’s a crow,” Fitz said. He wasn’t surprised that Rowen had asked though. Fitz didn’t know what had caused Motley’s plumage to become so colourful and metallic, and she had yet to tell him, but it certainly wasn’t the colouring one would expect to find on a crow.
“And you don’t need to worry about the animals,” he added, biting down on the chips with a satisfying crunch. He wished he could tell Rowen that he didn’t need to worry about him, either. He knew that he couldn’t take care of himself, but it still made his skin crawl to be dependant on this man. “They can feed themselves. In any case, Nighteyes is hunting right now, and he’ll share his prey with Motley and Gilly.”
I will not. The voice came suddenly and unexpected into his head, and Fitz nearly laughed with it.
You will and you know it. You won’t be able to turn them away when they turn up.
There was a mildly disgruntled silence on the other end of the Wit Bond. Nighteyes might complain, but he was soft on his animal roommates too, and they both knew it.
“I don’t mind,” Rowen said, and his mind was pretty much already made up. Fitz was in no condition to care for his animals and he had a lot. Not just Motley, Gilly and Nighteyes (whom Rowen had not yet met), but the chickens he’d seen outside. Chickens weren’t exactly known for hunting.
He looked at Fitz, his head tilted to the side and his eyes slightly narrowed. He was no stranger to pride. Ryo and Sage were both full of it – Sage especially. He could almost picture Sage sitting there on the couch instead of Fitz, telling him to mind his own business, that he didn’t need anyone’s pitty and he wasn’t a weakling who couldn’t fend for himself.
As frustrating as that was, Rowen understood. He was guilty of it too. His mouth screwed up in a thoughtful expression. “I think…” he began slowly, trying to phrase his offer in a way that didn’t sound as though he thought of Fitz as some kind of charity case. “I think I’d like to come back anyway,” he said. “And it’s not because I think you need taking care of.” Even though he very much did think that. “I like animals. I grew up in a city in a tiny cramped apartment. I never got to have any pets or companions. It was always just me by myself.” he turned to admire Motley again and gently rub her chest and belly. “You have a lot of animals here. So…I think…maybe in exchange for letting me come and see them, I can bring them some treats or snacks or whatever.” And more food for Fitz, but he left that part out. He’d just “accidentally” bring a hamburger with him or something. He turned his eyes back towards Fitz. “Deal?”
It wasn't pride, not really, that kept Fitz from accepting help, but the opposite of that: the belief that he wasn't worth other people's trouble. Even still, he considered Rowen’s offer. He had no doubt that his predators, all three of them, could fend for themselves and hunt their own meat. They largely did even when Fitz was well. But the chickens would need help. They could fend for themselves for a short time, but not indefinitely.
“The chickens prefer to be fed at dawn,” he said at last. “But they'll be happy enough to be fed at whatever time you can make it all the same,” he said at last.
The exhaustion hit him like a wall, all at once, and he only managed to set down his bowl before he dropped the still half-full container. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “The feed is…” he started, but the end of that sentence was drowned by sleep. He was already out, still sitting on the couch, head tilted back and resting on the backrest.
Rowen rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you don’t need any help at all,” he muttered. He took the bowl and set it on the counter. Then with Motely still on his shoulder, he helped Fitz lay on the couch and found a blanket to cover him with. Then he set about cleaning the kitchen and putting the snacks he brought away. As he worked, he quietly spoke to Motley, just random little stories about his life back in Toriyama, about White Blaze the tiger and his friends.
He then took stock of Fitz’s pantry and what he might “accidentally” bring tomorrow when he came. He wasn’t a morning person, but he’d just stay up the night before. No problem. Once the kitchen was clean, Rowen quietly picked up his back and slid out of the cabin, careful not to wake Fitz up. Once outside he looked up at Motely. “Do you know where the chicken feed is?”