psych_30 5: multiple personality
The first words out of his mouth were "I'm sorry". But having just woken up from what seemed like such a long, long rest, it came out more like an unintelligible mumble. And then he discovered that nobody was there to hear him.
He noticed he was in the Zero Room, and the back of his skull was throbbing. A lot seemed in pain, actually. One big headache. His arms were sore. His legs were heavy. And the drums didn't help--
The drums...?
He sat up, slowly, and rubbed his fingers through his hair. There were bits of dried blood--all over, in fact--but it appeared as if someone had at least attempted to get the worst off.
The blood...
For a moment, he thought he could hear them, but that was just the blood rushing, hearts pounding, thumpthumpthumpthump in his chest, in his ears--but that was all. It was strange...he'd had the drums for a while now, always in the back of his mind even in his most lucid of times. That slow, steady rhythm. It was absent now. He would've tried to make sure of this, to wonder if he actually managed to block them out somehow...or perhaps it was the Zero Room.
They weren't there, and for some reason, he began to panic. He jumped to his feet, almost falling over; his chest heaved, and his lungs prickled just a bit as a result. It was probably just the result of the Zero Room, but everything seemed so much more quiet. Everything. His own thoughts. It was all a little too quiet. There were no orders for him to follow, no drummerboy, no-angeldoll?--anything. There wasn't anything, and for some reason, that made him nervous, and maybe he didn't need orders to want to claw at the walls and escape. The door. The door--was locked. It was want, though. Merely want. Merely panic. There wasn't anything he had to do. There wasn't anything he needed to do in order to get a moment of peace inside his own mind, but...but...
Things should not have been as jumbled as they were.
He jumped at the sound of the door unlocking, opening. It was his other self, peeking in and looking at him, and he must've had a very terrified or crazed or anything like that look on his face wondering if something was wrong he wasn't quite sure as his other self seemed uncertain of whether to enter or not. Maybe not. Might get hurt. Might get...no. No drums. No...residual lingering voice in the form of drums. He wasn't sure. Didn't know.
"Self?"
"I'm sorry." This time the words seemed to come out too fast, so he took a breath and tried again. "I'm sorry." And with that, he sat himself in a far corner of the room and pulled his knees to his chest. There wasn't anything else to say. That he could think to say. But he didn't want to scare his other self. Who entered, letting the door fall shut behind him as he half-hobbled over.
There was a long, quiet moment after his other self had sat down next to him--with no small amount of trouble--and said nothing to him. Just sat. They sat. Staring at nothing in-particular in the room. Taking in the slight rose scent.
"How are you?"
It wasn't that the words didn't make sense, it was merely that he didn't know how to respond to his other self's inquiry. He opened and closed his mouth several times, noticed by very worried eyes. How was he, anyway? Instead, "Is she here?"
"She's been in and out for quite some time." His other self looked decidedly unhappy about that fact. "And I'm to contact her as soon as I know your condition. I assume she's been in the library, maybe, or her TARDIS. So, that brings us back to my original question. I'm really going to need you to answer me."
"The drums..."
His other self looked a bit defeated.
"...I can't hear them, anymore."
That cheered him up more. "At all? Not a bit?"
He shook his head. Which was a very bad idea, considering he'd--oh. He'd been beating his head against a wall until someone, probably the Mistress, knocked him out. Hers was the last voice he'd heard, right behind him, anyway.
"That's brilliant."
"No, it's not. ...Well, it is, but what if that's just...what if that's just the Zero Room? What if the minute I step out the door, they'll be back? What if it's just a temporary side-effect of a concussion?"
"Very good points." His other self considered this for a moment. "I don't have any answers for you, Self. We'll just have to see how it goes."
"...Yeah."
"Are you all right?"
"I don't know." This fact was very disconcerting. "But I should be hopeful. They told me, these Masters, they've told me multiple times that they've never been able to get rid of them. Ever. So...this is good. This is a good sign." He grinned lazily, lopsidedly, almost all the way up but not quite. Laughed a bit. He pulled his other self in for a hug, chuckling into the curve of his neck and shaking just a little.
The other held onto him tightly. "I had to lock the door. I kept checking up on you, to see if you were awake, and if you were, then if you were...you." The desperate laughter died down for the most part, but he couldn't keep himself from shaking, and he knew his other self could tell. "You woke up when she and I were trying to tend to your wounds. And it wasn't really you. We had to sedate you so you wouldn't do more damage."
He tried another steadying breath. It didn't work very well. "I noticed you didn't chain me up. I was a danger."
"Yes...but I wasn't about to treat you like my..." The word was not a pleasant one for either of them. "...prisoner."
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"It was still me."
"Hm?"
"Deep down, somewhere. It was still me." His face went blank. Remembering. Probing those still raw areas of his memory. "The thing is, I remember now. All of it. It...it's like it really wasn't me. I'd rest, or I'd be relaxed or...and it would just take over. Do things. Say things. Oh god." He tensed up again. "It wasn't a TARDIS accident. It wasn't. I thought it was, somehow, but I snapped out of it the first night--the first night I was driving her mad, little late night communications--I said the most horrible things to her, no wonder she couldn't sleep--something in my mind told me my arms got...got scratched up like that because...I don't know. Something about working on the TARDIS. It was that. But I don't..."
"Hey." His other self shook him by the shoulder a bit. "Hey. Calm down."
"It wasn't me, but it was."
"I don't want to have to put you under again."
"No. Right, no, sorry, no. But. I don't think you'd be in that much danger. It was still a little bit of me. It--the drums, they wanted me to do all of this...I wanted to, so badly sometimes. Sometimes. Only sometimes, when it got bad. Would want me to hurt you. Her. Anyone. A lot. I could've. I would've. But I wouldn't allow it. I didn't want to, so I broke things. Hurt myself instead." He smirked a bit. Hollow. "I think I need to replace a few of your mugs."
"That's all right. Don't bother; I've got plenty." He was pushed back a bit, his other self holding him by the shoulders and looking serious, even upset. "You scared me. In that alley where we found you, and you just weren't you, and hurting yourself like that, that was terrifying. I think I would have preferred you--"
"What," he snapped, knowing what he was going to say before finishing, "that I had torn you limb from limb? That I would've ripped her to shreds? That I would've killed someone else, just so I didn't do any damage to my own body? Are you really going to be that selfish?"
"I--"
"I could have killed you! I could have tortured you worse than the Master did, left you for dead! And that's my point; there was still enough of me left, even when it took over completely, that I wouldn't. Don't you dare say you wish I'd done otherwise."
The hands dropped from his shoulders, but his other self nodded. "I just don't ever want to see you like that again."
"You won't have to, if they're gone."
There was a true smirk that appeared on his other self's face. "You've got that attitude back; I think that's a sign of improvement."
He noticed he was in the Zero Room, and the back of his skull was throbbing. A lot seemed in pain, actually. One big headache. His arms were sore. His legs were heavy. And the drums didn't help--
The drums...?
He sat up, slowly, and rubbed his fingers through his hair. There were bits of dried blood--all over, in fact--but it appeared as if someone had at least attempted to get the worst off.
The blood...
For a moment, he thought he could hear them, but that was just the blood rushing, hearts pounding, thumpthumpthumpthump in his chest, in his ears--but that was all. It was strange...he'd had the drums for a while now, always in the back of his mind even in his most lucid of times. That slow, steady rhythm. It was absent now. He would've tried to make sure of this, to wonder if he actually managed to block them out somehow...or perhaps it was the Zero Room.
They weren't there, and for some reason, he began to panic. He jumped to his feet, almost falling over; his chest heaved, and his lungs prickled just a bit as a result. It was probably just the result of the Zero Room, but everything seemed so much more quiet. Everything. His own thoughts. It was all a little too quiet. There were no orders for him to follow, no drummerboy, no-angeldoll?--anything. There wasn't anything, and for some reason, that made him nervous, and maybe he didn't need orders to want to claw at the walls and escape. The door. The door--was locked. It was want, though. Merely want. Merely panic. There wasn't anything he had to do. There wasn't anything he needed to do in order to get a moment of peace inside his own mind, but...but...
Things should not have been as jumbled as they were.
He jumped at the sound of the door unlocking, opening. It was his other self, peeking in and looking at him, and he must've had a very terrified or crazed or anything like that look on his face wondering if something was wrong he wasn't quite sure as his other self seemed uncertain of whether to enter or not. Maybe not. Might get hurt. Might get...no. No drums. No...residual lingering voice in the form of drums. He wasn't sure. Didn't know.
"Self?"
"I'm sorry." This time the words seemed to come out too fast, so he took a breath and tried again. "I'm sorry." And with that, he sat himself in a far corner of the room and pulled his knees to his chest. There wasn't anything else to say. That he could think to say. But he didn't want to scare his other self. Who entered, letting the door fall shut behind him as he half-hobbled over.
There was a long, quiet moment after his other self had sat down next to him--with no small amount of trouble--and said nothing to him. Just sat. They sat. Staring at nothing in-particular in the room. Taking in the slight rose scent.
"How are you?"
It wasn't that the words didn't make sense, it was merely that he didn't know how to respond to his other self's inquiry. He opened and closed his mouth several times, noticed by very worried eyes. How was he, anyway? Instead, "Is she here?"
"She's been in and out for quite some time." His other self looked decidedly unhappy about that fact. "And I'm to contact her as soon as I know your condition. I assume she's been in the library, maybe, or her TARDIS. So, that brings us back to my original question. I'm really going to need you to answer me."
"The drums..."
His other self looked a bit defeated.
"...I can't hear them, anymore."
That cheered him up more. "At all? Not a bit?"
He shook his head. Which was a very bad idea, considering he'd--oh. He'd been beating his head against a wall until someone, probably the Mistress, knocked him out. Hers was the last voice he'd heard, right behind him, anyway.
"That's brilliant."
"No, it's not. ...Well, it is, but what if that's just...what if that's just the Zero Room? What if the minute I step out the door, they'll be back? What if it's just a temporary side-effect of a concussion?"
"Very good points." His other self considered this for a moment. "I don't have any answers for you, Self. We'll just have to see how it goes."
"...Yeah."
"Are you all right?"
"I don't know." This fact was very disconcerting. "But I should be hopeful. They told me, these Masters, they've told me multiple times that they've never been able to get rid of them. Ever. So...this is good. This is a good sign." He grinned lazily, lopsidedly, almost all the way up but not quite. Laughed a bit. He pulled his other self in for a hug, chuckling into the curve of his neck and shaking just a little.
The other held onto him tightly. "I had to lock the door. I kept checking up on you, to see if you were awake, and if you were, then if you were...you." The desperate laughter died down for the most part, but he couldn't keep himself from shaking, and he knew his other self could tell. "You woke up when she and I were trying to tend to your wounds. And it wasn't really you. We had to sedate you so you wouldn't do more damage."
He tried another steadying breath. It didn't work very well. "I noticed you didn't chain me up. I was a danger."
"Yes...but I wasn't about to treat you like my..." The word was not a pleasant one for either of them. "...prisoner."
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"It was still me."
"Hm?"
"Deep down, somewhere. It was still me." His face went blank. Remembering. Probing those still raw areas of his memory. "The thing is, I remember now. All of it. It...it's like it really wasn't me. I'd rest, or I'd be relaxed or...and it would just take over. Do things. Say things. Oh god." He tensed up again. "It wasn't a TARDIS accident. It wasn't. I thought it was, somehow, but I snapped out of it the first night--the first night I was driving her mad, little late night communications--I said the most horrible things to her, no wonder she couldn't sleep--something in my mind told me my arms got...got scratched up like that because...I don't know. Something about working on the TARDIS. It was that. But I don't..."
"Hey." His other self shook him by the shoulder a bit. "Hey. Calm down."
"It wasn't me, but it was."
"I don't want to have to put you under again."
"No. Right, no, sorry, no. But. I don't think you'd be in that much danger. It was still a little bit of me. It--the drums, they wanted me to do all of this...I wanted to, so badly sometimes. Sometimes. Only sometimes, when it got bad. Would want me to hurt you. Her. Anyone. A lot. I could've. I would've. But I wouldn't allow it. I didn't want to, so I broke things. Hurt myself instead." He smirked a bit. Hollow. "I think I need to replace a few of your mugs."
"That's all right. Don't bother; I've got plenty." He was pushed back a bit, his other self holding him by the shoulders and looking serious, even upset. "You scared me. In that alley where we found you, and you just weren't you, and hurting yourself like that, that was terrifying. I think I would have preferred you--"
"What," he snapped, knowing what he was going to say before finishing, "that I had torn you limb from limb? That I would've ripped her to shreds? That I would've killed someone else, just so I didn't do any damage to my own body? Are you really going to be that selfish?"
"I--"
"I could have killed you! I could have tortured you worse than the Master did, left you for dead! And that's my point; there was still enough of me left, even when it took over completely, that I wouldn't. Don't you dare say you wish I'd done otherwise."
The hands dropped from his shoulders, but his other self nodded. "I just don't ever want to see you like that again."
"You won't have to, if they're gone."
There was a true smirk that appeared on his other self's face. "You've got that attitude back; I think that's a sign of improvement."