Here is the Doctor.
Or rather, here is Zagreus.
When he knows who he is at all, of course. At the moment, he doesn't seem to have noticed he's wandered into the Nexus at all, looking thoroughly distracted and muttering darkly to himself. 'Zagreus seeks the hero's ship/ Zagreus needs the web to rip/ Zagreus sups time at a drip-' he pauses briefly to
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... But then the projection pokes him. Which projections oughtn't to be able to do at all, as far as Zagreus knows, and in a snap of instinctual movement, he catches the other man by the wrist, slender fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises.
Voice low, he speaks, and there's the low crackle of unnatural anti-thunder around his words, a fizz and hiss of chemical reaction against this universe. 'I am Zagreus. And I know you... Doctor. Trying to fix me, are you? Kick me out of his head? I'm not- oh god-'
And quite suddenly, he lurches forward, hands finding a place to clutch at the Doctor's lapels, dragging him down as he struggles to find the balance he'd so abruptly lost. It feels like there's something else dragging him down, though, and he gasps, looking up at this other man. He- he, oh it's him. It's him! If anyone can help the Doctor, it's himself, and he smiles brilliantly for a moment, still hanging off his past Self's coat.
The smile disappears a moment later. Zagreus- he said he was- but no, no no no no no, that's not possible. 'You're too early!' He protests, ripping himself away. 'You're- no, what are you doing? You're suppose to- not, not-'
He can't quite seem to bring himself to finish.
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"You... you're me," he says softly, without much conviction. "Me..."
He suddenly lurches forward, grabbing the other man by his shirt-front. His voice is breathless, panicked. "You! You're... you're... we're... Zagreus?" He pauses, gulping air like a drowning man, and stares wide-eyed at the the stranger he's clinging to. He continues, a bit more calmly, "You... we... the Doctor? Oh no... no, no, no, no... this isn't good at all..."
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This is wrong. Wrong, wrong, it's all wrong, and he can't concentrate on why it's wrong, not with the back of his mind roaring with anti-Time, with Zagreus, threatening to overwhelm him at any moment. He wants to speak to the Zagreus in his other Self, he gloats, imagining the way he might ravish the universe with one such as himself at his side. The Doctor wants an explanation, he wants to understand, has to understand, but he can't get a grip on the words he needs to ask.
'Doctor,' he grits out, in a hiss of breath, but he can feel his control slipping, and a low, cracked chuckle follows the name. Again, his hand tightens in the other man's lapel, twisting the fabric, but this time it's slow and deliberate. Dangerous.
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"Zagreus. Zagreus. You've already claimed my mind," he pauses here, and the rest of the sentence is more snarled than spoken, "...as much as you've claimed his. What else do you want of me?"
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