For TM prompt 240: Discuss an individual who has scared you.
OOC: Post ep fro the audio Colditz, in which Ace is imprisoned in Colditz Castle during WW2. Ironically, the Kurtz character mentioned was played by David Tennant.
Warning: What follows is sensitive material. It is also locked like whoa, and not canon knowledge to anyone (with the possible exception of the TARDIS) especially not the Professor.
...
You keep it together for as long as it takes to get away from the console room and into the safety of your bedroom. The door is barely closed behind you when the trembling begins, the tears blinding you as you stumble towards the loo. With fumbling hands you manage to turn on the shower as high and hot as it will go (not too hot, because She won’t let you scald yourself) but the buttons on your shirt don’t give as easily and you step under the water fully clothed. Water pours over you, weighing you down, and you slide down the wall to crumple on the floor.
Sobs rip through you, released from the deep corners where you’ve shoved everything these last few days. You’re crying for Tim, broken and bloody because he tried to help you. Crying because the most gruesome death you’ve ever seen keeps playing over and over in your mind. Mostly, though, you cry because you’ve just cut off a piece of yourself and you don’t know if you’ll ever be the same again.
Not Ace, you told the Professor, just minutes ago. You said that you needed to grow up, implied that you were too old for the moniker you had chosen in your teen years. It was a lie, as many of the things you told him while standing in the console room were lies. The truth is that you can’t be Ace anymore. Ace was strong but you’re weak and helpless. Ace was unafraid but you cower in corners. Ace was clean and no matter how much water runs over you you still feel dirty.
Ace would have shuddered in horror at Kurtz’s death, and that’s the darkest secret of all. You stood there, feet away from the door, and watched as his body was torn in half. It was the most brutal ugly death you’ve ever seen, something no one deserved, but you couldn’t be sorry it happened. Somehow the right words came out but you didn’t feel them. You’re glad he’s dead. But in his death he’s somehow managed to take Ace with him, and all you’re left with is Dorothy McShane. You don’t like Dorothy very much.
The sobbing slows into great hiccoughing breaths, not because you are done mourning but because there are no more tears inside you. You’re hollow, all used up. Kurtz wanted to use you, and he came close to having his way. He wanted to kill you, and you almost wish that he had succeeded. That would have been easier than this half life, easier then avoiding looking the Professor in the eye as you tell him lies topped with more lies. You can’t let him see the truth (you’re scared he’ll see it anyway.) You’re dirty, tainted, unfit to be his companion anymore. Unfit to be his friend.
You’ve always been able to take care of yourself. Daleks and cybermen, the Fearmonger and the Evil from the Dawn of Time, gods and monsters; you’ve faced them all with nitro and baseball bats and fists and taunts. Nothing used to scare you. Kurtz terrified you. Backed against the cold stone wall of a solitary cell he took away your power and made it his own. You can still feel his hand running down your arm, burning a trail like fire across your skin. You feel the weight of him against you, the suggestive grind of his pelvis making you sick to you stomach. Even now his words echo in your mind, his voice harsh and painful.
We shall see how defiant you are tonight. You are still in a single cell, Fraulein. I can dismiss the sentry from the promenade. Nobody will come. We will have many hours together, you and I, to reach an understanding.
If the Professor hadn’t of come back when he did, if you’d spent one more night alone in that cell...
You rip at your shirt, the shirt that he touched, and it finally comes off with a torn seam and popped buttons (you never would have worn it again anyway.) The waterlogged trousers are harder to get off, the underwear easier. Looking at the heap of clothing you wonder if you’ll throw them all away or burn them. Maybe you’ll burn your black bomber jacket too, because you don’t think you’ll ever wear it again.
You stumble to your feet because you can’t reach the soap from the floor. As you have is a washcloth and it’s not enough to scrub away the touch that still lingers on your skin (you wish you had a wire brush) but you scrub as hard as you can, over arms and legs and face and breasts until the skin is red and your hand can’t grasp the cloth anymore. It’s not enough; it will never be enough.
The water stops suddenly even though you haven’t touched the handles (you hate Her for that, for not letting you drown) and you have no choice but to leave the shower. You don’t bother to dry off and avoid looking in the mirror as you pass it (afraid you’ll see him behind you, on you, in you.) You fall into your bed, pulling the blankets tightly around you, and pray for the oblivion of sleep. You couldn’t sleep there, knowing he was watching you. You need to sleep so you can wake up tomorrow as Dorothy and forget what it was to be Ace.
You’re still fighting desperately for sleep when the door to your room opens. For one terrifying moment you are sure it’s Kurtz before you hear the whisper of the name you’ve given up. He doesn’t enter the room but stands in the doorway. You can feel his gaze on you even though your own eyes are closed and you stay as still as possible so he won’t know that you’re awake. Countless minutes pass, both of you unmoving (Kurtz’s ghost stands between you.) When he leaves he doesn’t close the door completely, and you wonder if that’s an accident or not. Does he know about the nightmares? Will he hear them through the crack of open space between room and hallway (you hope not; you couldn’t bear to have him comfort you.)
The last thing you remember before you fall asleep if Kurtz’s voice telling you that you owe him. You don’t think you’ll ever escape.
Warning: What follows is sensitive material. It is also locked like whoa, and not canon knowledge to anyone (with the possible exception of the TARDIS) especially not the Professor.
...
You keep it together for as long as it takes to get away from the console room and into the safety of your bedroom. The door is barely closed behind you when the trembling begins, the tears blinding you as you stumble towards the loo. With fumbling hands you manage to turn on the shower as high and hot as it will go (not too hot, because She won’t let you scald yourself) but the buttons on your shirt don’t give as easily and you step under the water fully clothed. Water pours over you, weighing you down, and you slide down the wall to crumple on the floor.
Sobs rip through you, released from the deep corners where you’ve shoved everything these last few days. You’re crying for Tim, broken and bloody because he tried to help you. Crying because the most gruesome death you’ve ever seen keeps playing over and over in your mind. Mostly, though, you cry because you’ve just cut off a piece of yourself and you don’t know if you’ll ever be the same again.
Not Ace, you told the Professor, just minutes ago. You said that you needed to grow up, implied that you were too old for the moniker you had chosen in your teen years. It was a lie, as many of the things you told him while standing in the console room were lies. The truth is that you can’t be Ace anymore. Ace was strong but you’re weak and helpless. Ace was unafraid but you cower in corners. Ace was clean and no matter how much water runs over you you still feel dirty.
Ace would have shuddered in horror at Kurtz’s death, and that’s the darkest secret of all. You stood there, feet away from the door, and watched as his body was torn in half. It was the most brutal ugly death you’ve ever seen, something no one deserved, but you couldn’t be sorry it happened. Somehow the right words came out but you didn’t feel them. You’re glad he’s dead. But in his death he’s somehow managed to take Ace with him, and all you’re left with is Dorothy McShane. You don’t like Dorothy very much.
The sobbing slows into great hiccoughing breaths, not because you are done mourning but because there are no more tears inside you. You’re hollow, all used up. Kurtz wanted to use you, and he came close to having his way. He wanted to kill you, and you almost wish that he had succeeded. That would have been easier than this half life, easier then avoiding looking the Professor in the eye as you tell him lies topped with more lies. You can’t let him see the truth (you’re scared he’ll see it anyway.) You’re dirty, tainted, unfit to be his companion anymore. Unfit to be his friend.
You’ve always been able to take care of yourself. Daleks and cybermen, the Fearmonger and the Evil from the Dawn of Time, gods and monsters; you’ve faced them all with nitro and baseball bats and fists and taunts. Nothing used to scare you. Kurtz terrified you. Backed against the cold stone wall of a solitary cell he took away your power and made it his own. You can still feel his hand running down your arm, burning a trail like fire across your skin. You feel the weight of him against you, the suggestive grind of his pelvis making you sick to you stomach. Even now his words echo in your mind, his voice harsh and painful.
We shall see how defiant you are tonight. You are still in a single cell, Fraulein. I can dismiss the sentry from the promenade. Nobody will come. We will have many hours together, you and I, to reach an understanding.
If the Professor hadn’t of come back when he did, if you’d spent one more night alone in that cell...
You rip at your shirt, the shirt that he touched, and it finally comes off with a torn seam and popped buttons (you never would have worn it again anyway.) The waterlogged trousers are harder to get off, the underwear easier. Looking at the heap of clothing you wonder if you’ll throw them all away or burn them. Maybe you’ll burn your black bomber jacket too, because you don’t think you’ll ever wear it again.
You stumble to your feet because you can’t reach the soap from the floor. As you have is a washcloth and it’s not enough to scrub away the touch that still lingers on your skin (you wish you had a wire brush) but you scrub as hard as you can, over arms and legs and face and breasts until the skin is red and your hand can’t grasp the cloth anymore. It’s not enough; it will never be enough.
The water stops suddenly even though you haven’t touched the handles (you hate Her for that, for not letting you drown) and you have no choice but to leave the shower. You don’t bother to dry off and avoid looking in the mirror as you pass it (afraid you’ll see him behind you, on you, in you.) You fall into your bed, pulling the blankets tightly around you, and pray for the oblivion of sleep. You couldn’t sleep there, knowing he was watching you. You need to sleep so you can wake up tomorrow as Dorothy and forget what it was to be Ace.
You’re still fighting desperately for sleep when the door to your room opens. For one terrifying moment you are sure it’s Kurtz before you hear the whisper of the name you’ve given up. He doesn’t enter the room but stands in the doorway. You can feel his gaze on you even though your own eyes are closed and you stay as still as possible so he won’t know that you’re awake. Countless minutes pass, both of you unmoving (Kurtz’s ghost stands between you.) When he leaves he doesn’t close the door completely, and you wonder if that’s an accident or not. Does he know about the nightmares? Will he hear them through the crack of open space between room and hallway (you hope not; you couldn’t bear to have him comfort you.)
The last thing you remember before you fall asleep if Kurtz’s voice telling you that you owe him. You don’t think you’ll ever escape.