Chapter Text
October 28, 1997
Dear Diary—
Nope, doesn’t work. I don’t know how Benny does it; that’s too cheesy for me. Let’s try again:
Hi. It’s me, Ace.
I’m writing in here because, well…I don’t have anyone else to talk to now. For the first time since I can remember, I’m…alone.
But that’s the thing. What I can remember might be a lie.
Yeah, I’m not stupid. I’ve been around time lords and psychics and crazy whackos long enough to know when my memory’s been tampered with. Something’s happened. I remember the Professor telling me that he was dropping me off somewhere, that I had a job to do…then nothing. Realistically, he could have said that before he dropped me off here on Earth. Maybe I just hit my head or something.
But there’s…something. Not quite a gap, but a fracture. Like there’s a tiny line between my memory of the Doctor and waking up here.
At the same time, though, the memory wipe is so complete that I have no idea what memories I’m missing. The person who did this to me obviously knew what they were doing, but it’s almost like they left a clue so I’d find them out. How does that make any sense?
See, the thing is, I can’t help but wonder if it was the Doctor. Was he that man I saw when I woke up back here on Earth? Did he have to erase my memories for a “good reason” and know that I’d figure it out? Or did he leave me with the knowledge that my memories were tampered with, knowing there’s no way I can recover the things I’ve lost?
That sounds infuriating like him.
Anyway, if I start thinking too hard about what I’m missing, if I delve into that little crack between memories, I get this really bad throbbing headache. But if someone thought that would stop me, they’re wrong.
No one steals my memories and gets away with it. I’ll find out who did it. I’ll get my memories back.
For now, all I can do is figure out what my next step is. I found my way to the road and got a lift to a crummy old hotel in London—whoever that guy was had the decency to put some cash on me, so I can at least make my way for a little while.
But what’s the point now? What if it wasn’t the Doctor who tampered with my memories and he doesn’t know where I am? How can I contact him? The last thing I remember him saying was that he’d come back for me—but how can he do that if he has no idea where I am in all of time and space?
Okay, Ace. Keep it together. This isn’t the worst scrape you’ve been in.
I reckon that all I can do now is find somewhere to wait. I’ll try to get in touch with UNIT and see if I can find the Doctor that way—and if that fails, I’ll run into trouble whenever I see it. I’m bound to bump into him then, one way or other. I have to.
Because the truth is, I don’t have a purpose here on Earth anymore. It’s been ten years, in linear time, since I was taken away by the time storm. How am I supposed to phone up my old mates and say, “Hey, I know I’ve been gone for ten years but could you do us a favour?” And forget Mum—that’s one conversation I’m not ready to have. Not sure if I’ll ever be ready, to be honest.
It’s like my entire life is out there in the universe, and I can’t even imagine being stuck here now—
I’m tired. Think I’ll turn in.