Author's Note:It's been forever, hasn't it? And I thought I was going to update sooner. :( Terribly sorry about that.
I don't know what to think of this chapter. I have no idea how people will respond; I just know I've tried my best. It wasn't easy to write. John and Melody have a very important conversation in this chapter-there's a lot of dialogue, and he finds out the truth about Melody (well, some of it, there's still more to discover).
There is a lot of tension between them as well, and that's really down to Melody's fear of losing him. She thinks it's going to happen, so she tries to push him away before she tells him the truth.
Melody spent the remainder of the day sprawled in bed, trying to combat the exhaustion and dread that clawed inside.
No matter how much she wanted to sleep, she couldn't seem to close her eyes without beckoning a series of unpleasant thoughts—flashes of the past, memories of this morning; images that left a pang in her gut.
After a while, Melody's restless triumphed, and she settled slowly in her desk chair, before grabbing a little blue diary from the drawer.
Her hands trembled as she opened to the first blank page, the unsettling white staring back at her.
She sighed, twiddling her pen. Her fingers tapped against the desktop, creating a rhythm that echoed her rapid heartbeat.
The familiar fear swelled from within, the panic returning, full and consuming.
A menacing cackle from her nightmares rippled through her mind, and she dropped the pen, afraid.
'You never really escaped us, Melody Williams. We were always coming for you.'
She pictured that face, grotesque and haunting, smiling wickedly at her. She had only vague memories of the woman who had once been her boss, though she remembered enough to know she was a force of power and terror.
Often she'd wake up in the middle of the night, breathing hard and sweating, unable to recall her dream but for the vision of that face lingering in her mind.
But after this morning, she seemed more real than ever, her dark eyes pooling into Melody's conscious thoughts.
Glancing down at her quivering hand, Melody soon pressed the pen against the paper, wanting to sort through these terrifying emotions.
Yet she lost her courage, realizing that once she fully admitted that Schweigen industries was back, her nightmares would become realer and realer. Because no matter how far or how long she'd run from them, she knew now that she couldn't run forever.
Melody's eyes flickered open as her phone rang, and she realized then that she must have dozed off.
Before she could even check the caller ID, she clicked the answer button, holding the phone to her ear.
"Hello?" she muttered groggily, not fully awake.
"Oh—s-sorry. Did I wake you?" Melody recognized John's panicked voice instantly.
Of course. Who else?
"No, it's—fine."
"O—okay. Are you feeling any better, Melody?"
"Honestly?"
"Well, that would certainly be preferable."
"Not really." She rubbed her eyes with her fists, as if that motion would remove the fear in her heart.
"Is there—is there anything I can do?"
Bless, he always did go straight to trying to fix things, even when they were far outside his control.
A pause.
"Melody?"
"I—don't know."
"Do you—do you want to talk about it?"
Yes, she almost said. If she didn't tell him soon, she might very well have a nervous breakdown in the middle of the school day. Every logical part of her mind told her that keeping this in any longer would only make her more vulnerable, more susceptible to whatever frightening possibilities lay in the future.
"If—if I told you the truth, you'd never—you'd never see me the same way." It hurt to admit, but every instinct in her gut told her it was true. "Sorry—not see me, you know what I mean."
"I—I don't think—I don't think anything could change the way I…" he stopped, taking a deep breath. "Melody, what I'm trying to say is—"
"I know." She cut him off, cheeks flushed, heart thumping in her chest. "That's why I—that's why I'm…afraid."
"But you don't have to be."
"You sound like my mum." Melody's laugh was hollow and they both knew it.
"And you never answered my question." Funny how he could catch her off guard so easily, like no one else.
Her brain swam with possibilities—potential outcomes, everything that could go wrong. But the more apprehension she felt, the more she realized she'd have to tell him sooner or later. And if she waited too long—well, she didn't want to consider that.
"This isn't—this isn't a conversation I can have over the phone." She shuddered, knowing the Silence's capabilities and her own limitations.
"Of course not. Um…maybe…maybe we could go to that quiet spot in the park. You know…where we first met. I could bring Idris. You know. Might—I don't know, it sounds rubbish know that I say it aloud."
"No, no—I think—I think that's a good idea."
"You do? I mean, you do? I mean, okay. Will you—will you…um…be up to it tomorrow afternoon? After you pick up Anthony—not that, not that you have to come—I know you're not feeling too well and—"
"I'll be there, Sweetie. And I'll be at work too. I can't afford to miss it."
"But are you sure—"
"Yes, now stop doing that thing where you're overly concerned about me or I might just go off and change my mind."
"I-sorry." Imagining that adorably pitiful look he must've had on his face lightened her heart a little. "Anyway, you—you must be tired. I should—I should let you get some rest now. See you tomorrow, then?"
"Yeah."
Melody arrived early to work the next morning, dark circles looming under her eyes, with little time to think before the petite brunette practically ambushed her with questions.
"Are you—feeling a bit better today? Cause if not—I wouldn't mind filling in if you need me to—" Clara's offer surprised Melody; she'd expected to feel a degree of tension, but Clara treated her with the kindness she didn't deserve.
"No—no. That's okay. And thank you. For helping me yesterday. I—I'm sorry. I know I must not have made much sense but I—"
"It's fine, Melody. I—I had some other offers open anyway. And I—I think I'm going to take the job at a local Secondary school. Not as much money as the other one would've been, but now that I've really thought about it, it's probably for the best." Clara babbled, mouth moving at 50 kilometers a minute as she wrung her hands anxiously, an action which reminded Melody too much of a certain someone who just happened to bump into her at that moment.
Typical John Smith.
"Ahhh, s-sorry, Melody," the man stuttered, as he pressed a hand to Melody's shoulder to support himself. "Ah, sorry again."
Amused by the pitiful look on his face, Melody bit her lip, holding back a grin.
"He's been a bit jittery lately." Clara's whisper caught John's attention and his head snapped up immediately.
"I'm what?"
"Nothing, John."
Despite the laugh they'd had a few minutes before, the congeniality of the moment quickly faded into an unsettling silence as they entered the office, John awkwardly shuffling to his desk, as Melody quietly settled into her chair, sorting through the cluttered stack of papers that definitely hadn't been there before. Recognizing her own familiar handwriting, she shook her head, realizing John must have tried to organize her notes while she'd been recovering—tried being the operative word. Her mouth opened and closed, and she almost made a witty comment about his housekeeping skills, but managed to stop herself, hands trembling as her mind scolded her for thinking she could act like everything was fine, when she knew nothing would ever be fine again. Not once she told John Smith the terrible truth about herself.
Much as she would have liked to focus on her paper-sorting, she couldn't long ignore the growing look of frustration on John's face as she watched from the corner of her eye. His bottom lip quivered slightly as he tapped his fingers nervously on the wooden surface—not a good sign. She could feel his longing to break the silence as if it were a palpable entity, yet she didn't speak, trying to refocus on organizing those papers. Trying, once again, being the operative word.
The dysphoria between them increased until John could hardly bear it any longer, so restless, he accidently banged his knee against his desk; red-faced and grunting in pain before he finally broke. Melody wasn't surprised; an expert at hiding, she had a resolve of steel, while impatient John had a flimsy one at best. Of course he'd be the first to break.
"Are you…cross with me for some reason?" he asked, still tapping against his desk, his ears bright red.
"Swe—John," she corrected, "class starts in five minutes. Do you really think it's an appropriate time to be asking that?" she barely looked up from her notes. "Now, do you remember—"
"Are you?" his voice dangled on the last word, and bless, he more closely resembled a wounded little boy than a erudite college professor. "Because yesterday—"
Her eyes were anywhere but his face. "No. It's not—it's not that." Melody's shoulders sagged a bit.
The confusion on his face pierced her heart a little more. Of course she wasn't angry with him, how could she be? Kind, unsuspecting John who had never once judged her for as long as she'd known him. John Smith, entirely innocent of the situation she'd got herself entrenched in ten years ago.
"Is it about Sch—"
But the bell cut him off, and he grunted, a noise that Melody did not miss even as she turned the corner.
After a brief trek to the faculty lounge and back during lunch hour, Melody stumbled into the office, her head spinning, hands trembling, as she sank into the chair, relieved that John was nowhere in sight.
"Melody?"
His voice startled her, and she jerked slightly before glimpsing the small, intricately pattered teacup he placed on her desk.
"I...I thought you might like some tea." He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
Her heart softened at the gesture, and she muttered a soft, "Thanks."
John's throat constricted, and he lowered his head, leaning against the desk for support.
"Melody…" he heard her sniffle, and bent down, hand lightly touching her shoulder. "Hey."
But she tensed, her body jerking away from his touch.
Melody felt her chest tighten, torn between the urge to flee and the urge to give in, the tragic look on his face enough to shatter her.
A beat of silence.
"Tell me how." The sincerity and tenderness of his whisper surged through her, rippling between her ribs and into the crevices of her heart, where the fear blazed, unquenchable.
"Tell you what?"
He sighed again, shoulders dropping in defeat or desolation. "Tell me how to help you." His hands tugged at his hair, pulling, pulling, pulling.
Melody's eyes watered but she didn't speak; throat dry, mouth empty.
"If you…if you'd rather not tell me about your past, then fine. I know how it burdens you, now more than ever, with whatever's going on with Schweigen, but Melody… it's eating you alive." His tongue lingered on the last syllable, and he laughed. A sardonic, bitter, properly frightening laugh that rattled Melody's bones. "Do you have any idea what it's like to—to watch someone you l—someone you care about live with that fear and that guilt and that burden—all on their own? And know that you're powerless to do anything about it?" John's voice quivered as he spoke. "I know. I know you're scared. But you don't have to be."
"It's not that simple. You wouldn't—you wouldn't understand—"
"Then help me. Help me understand. I want to understand." His wide eyes shimmered like a lost puppy's. "Please."
John's heartfelt plea brought back her mother's words.
'But you know what? That tends to happen when you love someone. You're willing to hurt for them, to bear their burdens. And you're willing to tell them the truth, even if it means hurting them.'
"I know." Melody whispered to him, voice hoarse. "I'm—I'm trying, John. I said I'd be there, John. I said I'd tell you this afternoon, like we talked about. But that doesn't mean it's going to—it's going to be easy for me."
Her hands clutched the wheel like a lifeline as she pulled up to the small park where everything had begun. Almost a year ago now, and she could still picture that day, curled up next to John Smith on that bench, his beloved dog nestled at their feet. She'd been drawn to him even then, but she'd never imagined he'd become so close to her, a best friend, someone she—
No, she couldn't think like that, not now. Not with the burden of what she'd have to tell him.
Nothing about this day had gone well—her tense conversation with John, Anthony's belligerent questions ('What's wrong, Melody?'; 'Why do you look so scared, Melody').
When the engine screeched to a holt, she nearly had a crisis of conscience, mind convincing her it was not too late, she could still flee.
But the familiar silhouette of a man sitting on a bench with his dog shattered any hope of escape. Because she owed it to him, she owed him the truth. She'd promised, after all.
John Smith recognized those soft footsteps before she even opened her mouth. His senses heightened, and he breathed deeply, knowing how difficult this would be for her.
The leash slithered out of his grasp as Idris slobbered Melody with wet doggy-kisses. He knew he'd brought the Old Girl for a reason.
"Hey, Idris. It's nice to see you too." Melody's laugh was a mix of relief and exhaustion, the happiest sound she'd made in the past few days.
"Boy, it's great to hear that laugh." He admitted before he could stop himself, not oblivious to Melody's shaky lapse of breath as she sank against the back of the bench, a good three feet away from him. His cheeks flushed as he tugged Idris' leash, and gabbled, "Why don't we give Melody some space, eh, Old Girl?"
Idris, although disappointed, complied reluctantly, resuming her recumbent position between John and Melody's feet.
Sighing, John tipped his head back, fingers tapping anxiously against the cold metal, inches away from Melody's. His heart didn't fare much better, its sporadic rhythm drowning out his thoughts, beckoning him to reach for her hand—
But he stopped himself. Try as he might to comfort her, Melody would never admit to the insecurities and fears she always hid so well.
John pursed his lips, hesitant to speak, silently waiting for her to begin. When she didn't, he resumed his somewhat hastily thought-out plan, running a hand through his hair before starting.
"I'm not proud of my past either, you know." He let the words sink in, not missing Melody's disbelieving snort. "No, seriously. I'm not."
"John, not getting perfect marks for one semester is not a reason to despise your past." Her tone was a combination of exasperation and endearment.
He didn't know whether to take the comment as insulting or flattering, but he took a deep breath, hanging his head.
"When I was 15, I ran away." Melody's soft gasp sent a new wave of shame through his body, but he continued. "Yeah. After…after my dad died, I had a really hard time. In school, at home. Clara's dad and I didn't get along very well, and mum didn't know what to do. But it wasn't just that. I didn't—I didn't feel like anyone understood me. I felt so alone. And one day—it just—it just became too much and I ran off, took some of my parents' money. Didn't even think much about it. I thought I could do better for myself if I fled from my problems. But I was wrong."
"John—you don't—"
"No, let me finish." John sighed, weary but insistent. "After I—you know; I got into some trouble. I wanted to adventure, to enjoy life, to rid myself of the ache, but the more I tried, the emptier I became. So eventually I went back. A year or so later completely broke. It was humiliating. But mum, bless her heart, forgave me and helped me get into Uni. And Clara, poor Clara didn't understand why her big brother had gone away only to go away again. I'd let them all down—my family, so I tried to show them that I could amount to something at Uni. I started getting high marks again like I used to. But I got so invested and consumed with my academic successes that I got clever. Arrogant. Thought I was better than everyone else, with my IQ, my marks. And I had that attitude for a long time."
John's finger's fiddled with Idris' leash. "Until the day I had my accident. A little over ten years ago. I was…I was in this empty part of the building where I was interviewing for a job…no one was around…I'd gotten there pretty early. I don't know how quickly it happened, but one moment everything was normal, and the next, I was huddled in the corner, terrified, as the light flashed around me and stuff flung at me, the debris flinging into my eyes before I could even grasp what was happening. Next thing I knew, I was in a hospital, only everything was dark. They told me that I'd survived an explosion. An accident, a gas leak, they said. I couldn't even remember the past few weeks at all, not until later, anyway. It was terrifying, and even more horrifying when they told me my blindness would not be temporary. My life was never the same after that…how could it be? I suddenly had to swallow my pride and depend on other people; I had to reassess my plans, my future, everything. And it humbled me. Made me who I am today."
His eyes watered, and he swallowed, wringing his hands. "When our mum died a few years ago, Clara started to take care of me. She didn't have to, of course. But that's just who she is. Despite how I treated the family, my little sister grew up to be one of the kindest, loving people I know. And she's—she's been there for me ever since."
Tears trickled down his cheeks, but he didn't try to stop them. "But little sisters can't fix everything. Not on their own, anyway. When my friend Donna got in a car accident and suffered amnesia as a result—I was devastated, inconsolable, depressed. Clara tried to help, but I just retreated further into myself. John Smith—the blind guy. Incapable of anything. An object of pity. And then, one day, I stumbled into the street and nearly got run over. But you saved me." He turned towards her with a wobbly smile. "Not far from here, in fact. And then we came to this very bench—and well, you know the rest. You've saved me so many times since then, Melody Williams, but this is where it started. Right here. I want you to remember that. And I want you to know that I have a past too and that I'm not perfect either, and nothing you've done in your past will change who you are to me." John choked out the last few words, voice trembling.
"I…I never…I never knew," Melody sobbed, overcome. John's fingers slid closer and closer, but she avoided them, feeling selfish and inadequate.
"Perhaps we're more alike than you think, Melody." He mused, grey eyes unreadable.
Sucking in a breath, she leant back, gathering her strength.
"It…it all started by accident. I was young and naïve and desperate. I needed a job. It all seems so simple, really. I heard about this place called Schweigen industries in need of young professionals. Wasn't quite the job I wanted, but they paid well, and even though the application process was difficult, I got hired. What I didn't know was the moment I signed my contract I'd become a member of an organization known as the…as the…well, I don't know if I should say it here. They only hired the brightest and the best, but what they did with us—it's just—I don't like to think about it. I only remember bits and pieces because everything we did—it was to be kept secret. So they'd—they'd wipe out memories; I don't know how. If we—if we spoke of it to anyone—they'd—they'd…" Melody's throat caught, and she struggled to continue. "…torture us."
John's fist tightened, visible lines of anger forming on his face.
"Sometimes I would wake up with nightmares about it—and I'd tell myself it wasn't—it wasn't real, but then I'd see the scars. And I'd know. I hid them from mum. Pretended everything was fine. Because I couldn't risk—couldn't risk putting my family in danger."
"It was bad, John. They taught me all sorts of things…computer programming, hacking…even…even combat skills. And they—they forced me to—to target people. Then they'd wipe my memory—but even then, I'd come home with this—this terrible guilt, and I—I knew I'd done something awful. It must have got to me after a while because I started writing these secret notes to myself before I'd get my memory wiped. I'd put them in places—places they wouldn't expect, and later—later I'd find them. And I'd—I'd see these tally marks. I didn't know what they meant. But then I realized. Because I started leaving myself other notes, with names. And I understood. That biting guilt, worse than anything I'd ever felt before. The kind of guilt that eats away inside you until there's nothing left of what you used to be. I felt that guilt because I'd murdered innocent people, John. Who cares if I was forced to? I still did it, even if it wasn't direct; I let people use me to kill. And no matter how long ago that was, even with the gaps of memory, the blurry edges of the past, even if I was able to get out of that job, I can never escape that truth. I am a murderer."
Note:Yeah, so that conversation will continue in the next chapter. Clearly Melody has just scratched the surface; she hasn't explained how Schweigen industries collapsed or anything like that. But don't worry, it will be addressed. And there's some other truths about Melody's past that will surface very soon. Things even she hasn't realized-yet.
And we've learned some more about John's background, too. That is sort of based on the the Doctor's past,with the running away and all. I also think that the Doctor and River (in terms of canon) have always been able to understand each other in such a deep way, so I want that for John and Melody too.
I don't know how long it'll be before I update again. Hopefully soon, but I don't know.