Couples Therapy - Sacrifice
The Doctor only sits when their therapist has thoroughly convinced him that he's unharmed. The man might think him paranoid, but the Doctor knows he's only being reasonable. Even as he leans back into the worn leather, he watches the man keenly, even as they dispense with the pleasantries.
"As I'm sure you know, Doctor, I've agreed not to disclose the discussions you each have with me personally." He nods; if he really wanted to he could pester it out of the Master later. At the time, he'd only asked if everything was still intact.
The man taps his hand with his pencil, looking pensive. The Doctor waits; he's grown very, very good at waiting.
"It did raise a matter I'd like to discuss with you, however." Again, the Doctor nods. His own hands are folded in his lap, tightly and loosely in turns. Of course he was the one who'd suggested this, but that didn't mean he was good at it, or at all comfortable with the idea.
"What have you sacrificed for this relationship?" He stares at the doctor, for a moment, who gazes at him with a slight, wan smile that never wavers.
His first thought is that there isn't so much left of him to give, but that's delving rather deeper than he wants to, so it never escapes his lips.
"My morals." Simple, obvious, if not quite easy to say. His - their - therapies waits for him to continue, and eventually he does.
"I know what he is. I should be fighting him, not…sharing his bed. I certainly shouldn't love him - that should have stopped when I met him again, and I thought it did."
"Do you want to stop, then?" The horrified look on the Doctor's face must be enough, so the younger older man simply nods.
"How do you plan to reconcile things?" At this, the Doctor smiles, wry and pained.
"I don't think I can. I can't even punish him for murdering people, aside from being irascible."
"You did say that you've been helping them?"
"Yes, and when they ask if the murderer will ever face justice, what am I supposed to say?" He can hear the helplessness in his voice, knows the doctor can hear it to, and he hates it but he goes on.
"He's been my enemy for centuries for a reason. He hasn't - he's still - I don't call him the Master, anymore, you know that, but that's who he is. That's who I'm…" He hears something crack and stares dully at his trembling hands.
When the doctor speaks, his voice is softer - calculated, the Doctor has no doubt, and when did he become such a cynic about people? Was it before Paradisa or after?
"You don't want him to be. You want him to be Koschei."
Slowly, the Doctor looks up. His own voice is quiet, weary.
"One way or another, one of us loses who we are."
"As I'm sure you know, Doctor, I've agreed not to disclose the discussions you each have with me personally." He nods; if he really wanted to he could pester it out of the Master later. At the time, he'd only asked if everything was still intact.
The man taps his hand with his pencil, looking pensive. The Doctor waits; he's grown very, very good at waiting.
"It did raise a matter I'd like to discuss with you, however." Again, the Doctor nods. His own hands are folded in his lap, tightly and loosely in turns. Of course he was the one who'd suggested this, but that didn't mean he was good at it, or at all comfortable with the idea.
"What have you sacrificed for this relationship?" He stares at the doctor, for a moment, who gazes at him with a slight, wan smile that never wavers.
His first thought is that there isn't so much left of him to give, but that's delving rather deeper than he wants to, so it never escapes his lips.
"My morals." Simple, obvious, if not quite easy to say. His - their - therapies waits for him to continue, and eventually he does.
"I know what he is. I should be fighting him, not…sharing his bed. I certainly shouldn't love him - that should have stopped when I met him again, and I thought it did."
"Do you want to stop, then?" The horrified look on the Doctor's face must be enough, so the younger older man simply nods.
"How do you plan to reconcile things?" At this, the Doctor smiles, wry and pained.
"I don't think I can. I can't even punish him for murdering people, aside from being irascible."
"You did say that you've been helping them?"
"Yes, and when they ask if the murderer will ever face justice, what am I supposed to say?" He can hear the helplessness in his voice, knows the doctor can hear it to, and he hates it but he goes on.
"He's been my enemy for centuries for a reason. He hasn't - he's still - I don't call him the Master, anymore, you know that, but that's who he is. That's who I'm…" He hears something crack and stares dully at his trembling hands.
When the doctor speaks, his voice is softer - calculated, the Doctor has no doubt, and when did he become such a cynic about people? Was it before Paradisa or after?
"You don't want him to be. You want him to be Koschei."
Slowly, the Doctor looks up. His own voice is quiet, weary.
"One way or another, one of us loses who we are."