Title: The Monster in the Dark
Author: Nemo the Everbeing
oOo oOo Epilogue: Something Like Equals oOo oOo
He found her in the mountains. Ace had always wondered why they had a mountain range in the middle of the TARDIS, but figured it was just one of those oddities she learned to live with. Now she got it. Sometimes things needed solitude. She sat on a smooth boulder and wondered if perhaps it had been worn down by other occupants before her. She sat on the summit of the mountain and looked out over the range that rose into the distance like crooked teeth. It felt like she was only person in the world, in this projected or created or whatever-it-was landscape of snow and rock. There was nothing but her and her thoughts.
And the Doctor, because he found her. He always found her. The snow crunched as he settled down next to her, not too close but not too far either. A comfortable distance. He peered off at the horizon.
"I don't come here nearly as much as I should," he said.
"I like it here," she said. "It's lonely, but a nice sort of lonely." She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Oi! Anyone out there? Can you hear me?" No response but the echoes of her own words bouncing back to her. She shrugged and gestured out at the mountains. "See? All that space, and only one tiny speck of life. And it's me. Sitting on top of a mountain."
He made to rise. "If you'd rather I—"
"Stay. Please."
He sat back down.
Ace stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye and she remembered a desert. She remembered a fake Doctor who made her forget what was real. She remembered trusting him in a way she'd not been able to since she was a kid. She remembered loving him. She focused back out on the mountains. All those things she'd felt, no matter how good and how right they'd seemed at the time, were lies. Mostly.
She suppressed the urge to shake her head. Since when had things got so complicated? Fenric had upset the balance, all right: her balance, the balance established between the Doctor and her, everything was shaken up, and Ace was left scrabbling through the rubble for some semblance of sense.
The Doctor must have noticed, because the next time she stole a glance at him, he was glancing back, his expression full of concern. Not the fake, overly emotive concern Fenric had shown her, but real concern: caring but in that somewhat reserved way he had. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She summoned a smile. "Oh," she said, "I'm ace."
He turned to face her fully. "Let's try this again, hmm?" he said, the concern still there, but a hint of confrontation creeping into his tone. "Are you all right?"
She wasn't even sure she wanted to talk about this yet, but the memories had been triggered by his presence. She recalled more than the fake Doctor. She remembered the real one, pinned against the wall by her own hands, yellow cubes scattered about them.
Ace looked down at her hands and frowned at them. There was something she had to say, something that seemed like a good place to start, but when she drew breath to give voice to the thought, she found herself swallowing air. It took a moment to compose herself.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Really, I tried to . . . I should have protected you. And I didn't." The events in the medbay flashed through her mind like quicksilver. "At the time, it . . . I was so sure I was doing the right thing."
"You're talking about the overdose," the Doctor said.
"Yes!" She bit her lip and made a small, frustrated gesture. "The Master said you needed to jump-start my heart."
"I did."
"And I'm sorry about that."
"You were worried that you would hurt me," the Doctor said, his tone neutral. He was waiting for her to say all before he weighed in.
"I was terrified of it."
"And it was easier to run from me than to trust me to help you?"
Ace laughed, but the sound was harsh. "Trust?" she asked. "Maybe if I'd told you about the dreams before the food machine went haywire . . ."
There was a pause, and Ace saw the Doctor give a slow blink out of the corner of her eyes. "Dreams?" he asked.
She sighed. Here she went. "Yeah. Of the cheetah virus—as the cat. It was wandering around the TARDIS. It was weird, but I didn't think much about it. Then I started seeing it when I was awake. I thought . . . I don't know what I thought. I'd follow it for hours, until I collapsed. I'd wake up later and my teeth would be . . . you know."
"How long did this go on?" the Doctor asked. "Why didn't you—"
"Months," Ace snapped. Her temper was shorter than she would have liked. "I don't know why I didn't tell you! I had a thousand reasons, and all of them seem kind of stupid now. I wanted to protect you. I wanted to be independent. I was scared that if you saw what I was turning into you'd, I dunno, write me off and dump me somewhere."
His neutral expression had shattered. "You can't honestly believe I'd do that."
"Right now, I'm not sure what I believe."
"All right, then. Let's try this. Next time you're in trouble, next time you think something is happening to you, something which might put either of us in danger, will you trust me to help you?"
It wasn't as easy a question as it seemed. After all, she wasn't sure if trusting him to help was the right thing to do. After Fenric, trusting anyone, especially the people with all the cards, was a tricky proposition. She always seemed to be playing into the hands of one genius or another; the big bads and the big goods alike. While she'd faced down Fenric, she'd called herself the White Queen, but she still had her doubts. After all, up until the endgame, what had she been but just another pawn? Was that all she was in the end? Was that how the Doctor saw her?
She couldn't ask. She didn't want to know that answer.
"Next time," she finally said, "I'll make the call that seems right. I think I need you to trust me to do that."
Ace looked at the Doctor, and he was nodding slowly. It was better than she'd expected. Normally he'd start scowling when he didn't get his way. It was becoming clear to her how important—how new—the tone of this conversation was.
He ventured, "And with the benefit of your recent experiences? You said that you should have told me about your dreams sooner. Will that factor into 'next time'?"
"It will."
"And do you trust me?"
Well that was the crux of everything, wasn't it?
She had to explain. She had to at least try to let him know why this was so hard for her. "Fenric . . . it tricked me," she said. "It was inside my head, I never even noticed, and it tricked me into luring you in there too. It tricked me into nearly letting it kill you. All those tricks, and I didn't catch on once. I didn't ever beat it, and if I had been alone—if you and, God help me, the Master hadn't have been there—Fenric would have taken my body and it would have destroyed the universe. And all of it, every last bit, would have been my fault. Because I stepped right into its trap." She looked at him, pleading with her eyes for him to understand. "I want to trust you. I want to trust us, but I'm having trouble trusting much of anything right now."
The Doctor took her hands in his and looked her directly in the eyes. "You weren't the only person Fenric tricked, Ace. It's older than time, and so much more cunning than I'd ever thought. If this mess is anyone's fault, it's mine. I thought that by killing the main mass I killed Fenric, but it was right: I thought too linearly."
"No," she said.
"What?"
"No, you don't take the blame for this. Fenric was in me. It was mine." She shook her head, and her hair fluttered in her face. "It said that it was every cruel word I'd ever said, every terrible thought. It was like it was more than just a living thing. Fenric is . . . it's a concept. A living idea. The thought that anyone—even you—could have predicted what something like that would do . . . nah, I don't buy it. I've got faith in you, I think you know that. But I'm not sure I think you're some kind of god." She tempered her comment with a smirk.
Fortunately, the Doctor saw the funny side. "Not even close," he said. "So, Fenric is—was a living thought. I'll believe that. But what about the cruel thoughts and terrible deeds?"
Ace considered. Did she think that? She was pretty sure it was what Fenric had wanted her to think. Which made her wary, because Fenric was nothing if not a liar. She was frowning with the effort of analysis. If it was all the terrible things she'd done, she would probably be a much better person without its influence. Then again, without all those things, what was left? She was less of a person if she didn't have cruel words and terrible thoughts.
"No, I don't believe that," she said. "It's a living idea, yeah, but it's not that all-encompassing, you know? It could influence me, but it had to snuff out my mind before it could control me. So the idea of it being all the negative things about me, that's wrong. They're mine. They're me. Fenric doesn't get the bad parts of me any more than it gets the good."
The Doctor's hand brushed her arm. The gesture conjured other brushed touches. Around her, icy peaks turned to arid desert, and she felt a thrill rush through her body, part resentment and fear, part need. The memories had disconcerted her, and she pushed them away violently. It was all just another one of Fenric's games. Unimportant, because the man who'd provoked those feelings hadn't really been the Doctor. It hadn't been real.
She was sure it hadn't been real, even if she could still feel . . .
No. Ace shook as she released her breath and returned to reality. There were implications there she couldn't confront. Not right now and maybe not ever. Their friendship was the important thing. Anything else was a risk she wasn't willing to take.
She turned to the Doctor and he was smiling at her gently. He said, "We all own our terrible deeds."
She remembered what they had been talking about and she saw where this was headed. "Professor—" she started to say, but it was his turn to cut her off.
"Ace, there are things about me I never wanted you to see, and I'm aware that I don't always succeed. The first time we met Fenric, the confrontation with Lady Peinforte . . . if I could, I would have kept you away from all that."
"You needed me there," she said.
"I did. You were a critical part of the plan both times."
And both times she'd felt horribly betrayed that he hadn't trusted her enough to let her in on the plan, or at least let her know that all her fears and pain weren't necessary. God, he could hurt her when he had a mind to. Even more than Fenric could. "So," she said, "you manipulated me into doing what you needed me to." She couldn't help it. Her fears of being his pawn were back, and she heard herself say, "I'm starting to get the feeling that everyone's pulling my strings."
"I'm sorry, Ace," he said. "If I could do it all again—"
"You'd do everything the same."
The guilty look on his face told her she was right. When he ventured to speak again, the words were soft, almost pleading. "I was wrong," he said. "I learned that in the mindscape." He reached over and, with an air of hesitation, tapped her nose. "You're nobody's pawn. Not Fenric's, and certainly not mine."
She gave a smile just as hesitant as his tap. "Does that mean you're going to let me in on your plans?" she asked. What it sounded like he was offering was a different sort of relationship. Not that of a mentor and student, but partners. Something like equals.
He returned the smile. "I'll tell you one right now, if you'd like."
"Yeah?"
"I'm feeling a bit chilly," he said, "and I have a plan that involves tea for two."
"Tea for two sounds . . . pretty much perfect, Professor," Ace said. "Do we drink it here, or somewhere else?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of the study. We could bring it back here, but it might get cold."
"And you can't drink cold tea on top of a mountain."
"Perish the thought."
He leaped to his feet with his usual flair. She rose, too, stretching out the stiffness the cold had caused. He offered an arm and she took it. Then she reconsidered, slipping her arm out and taking his hand, instead. He gave her a curious look and she gave him a smile. Something like equals, she thought.
And as she did, something occurred to her. It wasn't the right time to say it—not when they'd mended so much between them—but she felt that it needed to be said. He needed to understand, because he blamed himself for the terrible things he did. And maybe she blamed him a little too. Especially when the terrible things he did were to her. But he needed to know that, as angry as she got, she also understood. She'd tried to tell him in the mindscape, but she didn't think he'd believed her then.
"I've always known," she said, her tone low and serious as they stood on top of a mountain and she looked at his hand in hers. "About the things you do, I mean. Ever since Skaro, I've known."
His guilt was back. He tried to pull his hand away, but she wouldn't let go. "I'm sorry," he said.
"I'm not," she said. They looked at each other. "As mad as I get when you don't tell me what's going on . . . when I get hurt in pursuit of the greater good . . . you're the man who does what has to be done. Regardless of the cost. To your friends and to yourself. And I'm proud of you, 'cause that's an awful job and you do it."
"You shouldn't be."
"Too bad. I am."
Something told her that nothing she ever said was going to erase his self-directed hate, but she was Ace. She did the impossible all the time. And if she was his partner now, it was her job to make sure that he understood she was behind him no matter what. They were a team.
He turned to go and she caught him, arms around his middle. It was an awkward hug as hugs went, but it was real and solid. He wouldn't be able to mistake her intent.
He seemed to start for a moment, but she refused to give him too much time to ponder the imponderables about the situation. She rested her chin on his shoulder. "Did you know that most of the human brain is never used?" she asked. "You have to wonder if I'm going to be different now that Fenric and the cheetah virus and God only knows what else were having a party in that—what?—ninety-two percent? I mean, now that it's got some exercise, do you think it'll expect more?"
He chuckled. "You might actually learn TARDIS repair after all."
"Maybe I'll learn how to fly her."
She looked up and saw him in profile. He lifted an eyebrow and smirked. "Fine. Maybe I can finally retire."
"You could take up golf," she teased. "You've got the trousers."
His smirk faded. "Just because I recently witnessed you defeat an evil older than time itself doesn't give you the right to insult my sartorial elegance."
"Defeating Fenric might not give me that right, but having to look at that pullover every day does."
The Doctor glanced down, and Ace did the same. The woolen in question was barely holding together. It was a mass of burn holes.
"I'm going to need a new one," he said, his tone mournful.
"You know," Ace said, "that paisley waistcoat that matches your hanky looks very dashing."
"You said it looked like it had been run up from some curtains."
"Very dashing curtains," she said.
"You like the waistcoat better than the pullover."
"Could be said."
The Doctor sighed. "She wants to fly my ship and choose my clothes," he announced to the mountain range in general.
Ace chuckled and the conversation died off. It wasn't awkward, though. It was nice not to feel compelled to speak. In spite of the Doctor's indignation, he still had his arms around her. Their breath fell into a rhythm and she leaned into him.
And that was the difference, really, between the Doctor and Fenric. They both held her, but with Fenric it was all about possession, about luring her into something, but this . . . the Doctor was . . .
"Comfortable?" he asked. Maybe he'd read her mind. Maybe it was just an innocent question. No real way to tell with him.
"Actually, yes I am," she said into his shoulder.
"Splendid. We could, however, be even more comfortable in the study. And I really would like that cup of tea."
And she laughed. It was a clear sound, and it bounced and reverberated throughout the mountains. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, let's go get some tea. I'm parched. All that desert trekking."
He snorted and she moved around to his side, leaving one arm around his waist. He slung his arm around her shoulder. "You didn't have to wade through a dust storm." His voice was a pleasant rumble barely heard over the wind. "If ever I needed a good cup of tea . . ."
Yeah, she thought, this was how things were supposed to be: the Doctor, her, and a good pot of tea after saving the universe. They headed down the side of the mountain towards the door to the hall.