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The Doctor had ushered you off to go find a room in the TARDIS. He said the machine was alive and could sense what you liked. You shrugged at the technobabble and strutted through the long passageways. It was all white—more a creamy white than an ivory white—(made it look more homey, you thought) though it was still rather hard on your eyes.
The moment the thought had entered your mind, the surroundings dimmed in brightness. Maybe the TARDIS could hear your thoughts, then. You had passed by plenty of doors, but none of them particularly called out to you so you left them as they were. Unopened.
Eventually, you found yourself in a long white corridor with a single door at the end. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the door was more…personalised than the rest of the bland TARDIS. No offence, you think, hoping the TARDIS knows she’s appreciated. The door was spraypainted with bright red letters you couldn’t read, there was a well-worn welcome mat placed in front—you think it was supposed to say keep out, but it’s been almost completely eroded, you can’t be sure.
The TARDIS had a mind of her own, yeah? So she must have shown you this for a reason. You turn the doorknob and take a step inside. The room was smaller than you expected—and much messier. The first thing you notice is a pile of clothes on the nearest chair. There was a black pleated skirt and at least four pairs of jeans in there. There was also a big jacket covered in symbols and memorabilia you didn’t recognise…and a communism pin. Legendary. Whoever’s room this was was amazing, you think to yourself. You check the CD player by the bed, opening it to find an Elton John Greatest Hits CD. It’s cute. There’s an unwashed toothbrush with crusted toothpaste sitting next to some alien device you didn’t recognise. The place smelled kind of smoky, but you don’t know where it’s coming from.
The bed was tucked away in the corner, and on it was a collection of photos. Some selfies, some seemed to be security footage…and some were birthday photos. What else could they be, they have “Happy Birthday, Ace,” written on them.
Ace.
Ace was her name. The name of the girl in all these photos. She was swinging a massive baseball bat in the first one, the Doctor the one taking the photo, by the looks of it. She looked young, couldn’t be older than seventeen. Then, in a few photos passed, she’s holding the Doctor up all by herself. She looked a bit older by then, though. There was this blond man in scrubs half the time and a black hoodie the other half that started showing up in all the photos beyond. He was usually standing on one side of Ace, while the Doctor stood on her other side, so she was always in the middle. There’s another photo that stood out to you, of Ace, completely covered in green goo, holding a thumbs up to the camera and smiling a bright smile. In the most cursive handwriting you’ve ever damn seen, it says, “Happy 21st birthday, Ace Mcshane.” Yes, including the period. The Doctor’s way of writing is odd. There were these small, circular symbols drawn in the bottom left in golden ink.
“Hello?” the Doctor’s voice rang out. “Have you found a room? I do hope you haven’t run off—” he cut himself off before you could see him.
You turned around to see him walk into the room. “Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, the TARDIS just—”
“It’s alright,” the Doctor said. “She must have found this an important thing to show you.”
“Who’s Ace?” You ask.
“Oh, she’s…well, she’s like a daughter to me,” the Doctor explained. “We used to travel together.”
“For a very long time,” you say, gesturing to all the photos.
“Yes…” the Doctor said, trailing off. “Yes, I suppose we did.”
You sit down on the bed and place your face in your hands, completely attentive to the Doctor. “Well? Tell me about her!”
“Oh! Oh, yes, well…” the Doctor thought for a moment. Then, sitting down in the chair of dirty laundry he began. “Well, she’s one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. She’s smart, resourceful, a little abrasive, but she can be polite when she wants to—oh, and she’s a bit oblivious from time to time. Growing up in the TARDIS, she didn’t exactly have a regular childhood, and missed some of the same social cues as I do.” He paused, and a different expression passed over his face, but you couldn’t read it. “I suppose…she was a little too much like me…in many ways. Oh, I’m sorry Ace…”
You cleared your throat, sensing it was time to change the subject. “Uhm…” You pick up one of the photos and point to the blond man. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that’s Hex,” the Doctor said. “Remarkable man, very gentle. Despite being a nurse, he had a rather weak stomach when it came to bloodshed.”
“Is he Ace’s boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?” the Doctor echoed, as if it was the first time he’d heard that suggestion. “Oh, no, not at all. Hex, well…He might have had a bit of a crush on her at one point, but I don’t believe it was ever reciprocated. Ace never had intentions towards any men, not that I recall.”
“None at all?” That piqued your interest. “Did she have any intentions towards any…women?” You asked. For some reason, you felt a sliver of hope—hope for what you don’t know. You’re probably never going to meet this woman, let alone have a chance with her.
The Doctor scrunched his nose. “You know, I’m not sure. I never asked. Didn’t seem like something I should. She’s a daughter to me, I never thought to inquire. But I know she knew I’d love her no matter what.”
The photo in your hand has Ace wearing her thick jacket and high-fiving Hex. Her smile was completely natural…her nose scrunched up and her eyes were screwed tight. Candid photo.
“She’s pretty…” you said out loud.
“That’s a first.”
You look at the Doctor. “Eh? What do you mean?”
“I mean, you’ve been completely uninterested in anyone for as long as I’ve known you,” the Doctor said. “You’re completely aromantic!”
“Yeah, well, I can still appreciate a beautiful woman, now can’t I?”
“I’m sure you can.”
You looked at the photo in your hand again. She’s wearing that thick jacket you saw on the back of the chair. “Doctor, can you hand me her jacket?”
Once he did, you began inspecting all the stickers and designs added to the sleeves and the front. Half of them were alien, you suspected, and the other half might as well have been. There was a communism pin you recognised and one other you recognised.
“Aha!” You announced triumphantly.
“What? What is it?”
“Look!” You said, pointing to the pin. “That’s the lesbian flag! Oh, I knew it!”
“Don’t sound too excited.”