milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Tear in the universe," says Wells. "I saw the papers. Three days in 1980, there was a huge fucking rip in the walls between universes. That's what Rendlesham Forest was. A shitload of things that never in a million fucking years belonged in my world made it across. The government killed some of 'em. Not all- the Nestene, for one- but they sure as hell tried. Left the place irradiated as anything after the fact."

He rubs at his nose, which is still angrily demanding the right to a beer-flavoured sneeze, and adds, "The way I see it, if you were trying to get well clear of Earth once you finally got your TARDIS up and running again, and your sensors picked up a big fucking disturbance in reality, and the first thing that greeted you when you got in close was the RAF's finest in full 'kill it if it moves' hue and cry... you might not exactly make it to your intended destination either, eh?"

Ace scowls. This doesn't make sense. It has all made perfect sense for so very long, and now it's all going pear-shaped again. Ace does not approve.

"No, see, that doesn't work. The Doctor never disappeared. Especially not that one of him, the CIA an' Gallifrey liked usin' him as their clean-up boy too much."

Wells shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Ace. All I know for sure is, Dad introduced me to the Doctor and such by watching the telly with me when I was just a kid, and we only ever saw the bits about the First and Second Doctor. Never the third. He stopped before I ever saw that one. I'm as confused as anyone here."

"I am not some bint on the telly. I'm real. All this is real. You've seen them." Yes, she heard the bit about tears between galaxies and whatnot and if she's honest, she'll admit that's a definite possibility. More than a possibility, if there actually isn't a UNIT. She just hasn't ever been the grand master of adjusting in a heartbeat.

"Ace," says Wells patiently, "the reason I was so fucking angry about there being Autons in my England wasn't because it was England, it was because it was my England and not your England. Nothing against your England, but those things gave me nightmares when I was six years old. Them and the damn Daleks. I thought they were going to come out of my wardrobe if I fell asleep, some nights."

She shakes her head, but she knows he's making sense. Of course, now she feels more like an idiot.

"Y'never know. Daleks are sneaky." She offers, but her heart's not in the teasing.

"Yeah, well, I was five and all I had on me was a dart gun," Wells says. "That would've put a dent in a Dalek, all right. Dad had to come and shine a torch in the wardrobe to show me nothing was gonna come out and try and exterminate me, three weeks running."

He looks to the fire a moment, then back to Ace. "I meant to tell you before," he says. "Never could figure out how. Not until I found out about Rendlesham. At least now I know some of what happened, and where to start looking for the rest of it. Tears like that don't just happen out of nowhere. I expect somebody was doing something he shouldn't've, on one side of the wall or the other. I think I'm entitled to find out who and what and why, by this point."

One day he's going to realise he's doing the accent thing before the words come out of his mouth like that, but today is not that day.

Ace nods, fiddling with the bookmark for her book.

"Y'know." She says, studying the worn binding, "It'd be a lot easier t'believe if y'didn't have that trick with accents. Y'sound just like him, down to the motivation."

Gods, she misses him. All of the hims, though one in particular.

"I can understand the theory an' yes, it's possible. I just... Gordon Bennet, y'da must think I'm a complete arse."

"Actually," says Wells, grimacing a little in rueful acknowledgment, "he's always spoken highly of you. Although he did ask about the power company uniform and the bicycle, that seemed a bit of an odd combination to him. Other than that, he's spoken well of you whether I asked him or he brought it up himself."

"Well, guess that's a'right then." She rather liked thinking, however, that however strained things are between them now, she at least got on with past versions of him.

Getting on with Wells da is also good. Just.

Different.

His nose isn't as good as Spoon's, but Wells knows when there's distress on the air.

"I should've told you long ago, Ace. I'm sorry."

"Not y'fault." Ace smiles. Ace has gotten too much practice at smiling when she doesn't really feel like it.
"It was silly of me t'think it was my 'verse, after all."

"And it was wrong of me to let you go on thinking it," Wells says quietly.

"Don't be daft. Prolly wouldn't have listened anyway. M'good at not listenin'. Just ask Spoon."

Ace doesn't know what to think about the whole situation. When in doubt, play up the clueless delinquent act.

Wells' mouth twitches a moment. "I came close to trying a few times," he admits. "I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. I thought you'd be angry with me for playing you for a fool, which isn't what I meant to do at all."

Normally it takes a really phenomenal sort of anger being reined in to make him speak in such a way that you can hear all the consonants, but this is something else entirely, and he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Now that'd be a royal waste of time. I'd spend m'whole life angry, wouldn't I?" Ace is played for the fool on a depressingly frequent basis. Between her quick imagination and a talent for trusting the wrong people, it's hardly an unfamiliar situation. At least this time it wasn't on purpose.

"You'd know better than I," says Wells.

He flexes and clenches his fingers a moment, looking down at his forearms. Then he shakes his head. "You should know that it doesn't change anything so far as I'm concerned, for whatever that's worth," he says. "I still mean everything else I ever told you."

"Of course."

Not of course, but good luck getting her to admit it right now.

"It's just never easy, is it? Every time I go out now, there's a chance I'll never get back t'the farm. Just figures."

"I'd miss you if that happened," Wells admits.

He doesn't add for whatever that's worth; it'd sound bloody mawkish right now, wouldn't it, and she doesn't need him getting all soppy on her.

"Just dunno what t'do. I can't... I can't give it up. It'd be like walkin' into a cage... a very nice cage, admittedly, but a cage an' slamin' the door shut behind me. But if I got lost out there... there'd be very little point t'bein' out there at all."

See? This is why love is stupid. It even gets you hurt with nothing at all wrong with the relationship itself.

Wells is quiet for a while.

"If it ever comes down to it," he finally says, "take Spoon with you. I'd rather the two of you have each other than not."

"What is wrong with you two? Yeah, like I'd do anything t'take Spoon away from his pack. Piss off, mate." Ace flashes back. She's getting tired of that suggestion.

"That's all I'm saying," Wells says. "He's happier with you than I've ever seen him. Including before."

"Fuck off. Y'his family. I don't break up families." All she wanted for a long time was a family. Now all she wants is for life to stop taking away the one she's managed to get.

He starts to say something, doesn't know what to say, stops.

Wells is still half convinced that when the Witherspoons say they want their son back, that'll be the end of it. They'll be back to him and Annie and the dogs, and maybe not even the dogs.