chatplay log: 'that which remains'- part II
Continued from here
Culumacilinte (12:20:13 AM): Or, ooh, they end up on a planet that the Master visited at some point during this regeneration, and suddenly, they've got a load of natives out for his blood, and Harry is just confused.
kikainogimon (12:21:25 AM): Ack, and now the Doctor has to keep him safe and try not to let him learn why everyone wants him dead, and, meanwhile, if they try too hard to kill Harry, the Doctor may kill some of them.
Culumacilinte (12:23:13 AM): And I totally want Harry to kill one of them- you know, self defence that
accidentally goes too far, and then getting back to the TARDIS and just saying, like he can't quite believe it- 'I killed a man.' Just sounding... surprised. Faintly shocked by it.
kikainogimon (12:23:58 AM): Oh, wonderful. He tries to help this new man who isn't the Master and all the Doctor can manage to do is introduce him to killing again.i
Culumacilinte (12:25:29 AM): No, but Harry isn't a killer, not at all. And him being faintly disturbed by the fact that he isn't more disturbed, and excusing himself, saying that he has to go take a shower.
kikainogimon (12:29:24 AM): And the Doctor will be humbled by that, and disturbed, because he should be the one shaken by killing here, and he's not.
kikainogimon (12:30:38 AM): Though aw, Harry, he's so sweet and confused .__.
Culumacilinte (12:31:18 AM): He is! Damn the trials and tribulations of being nothing more than a construct!
Culumacilinte (12:37:00 AM): Ack, and now I'm full of ideas of Harry after he takes his shower and tries to sort out his moral dilemmas, demanding that the Doctor tell him who they thought he was. And being all stubborn and a little angry, because he's not entirely sure how one deals with this kind of situation.
kikainogimon (12:38:40 AM): In the Doctor's case, one deals with it by trying like hell not to explain!
kikainogimon (12:39:33 AM): Until he gets angry and snaps and tells Harry to just be glad they got out alive, let him plot their new coordinates, go away.
kikainogimon (12:39:46 AM): And immediately regrets it.
Culumacilinte (12:40:26 AM): And Harry bristling and snapping back that he isn't bloody well going away; something happened back there and he thinks he's entitled to know exactly what that was.
Culumacilinte (12:40:58 AM): Because either he or they have got their stories massively mixed up.
kikainogimon (12:44:46 AM): The Doctor will tell him. With as few of the worst details as possible. You were a friend, you were like me, and that ended. Because you hurt too many people and you wouldn't be helped.
kikainogimon (12:45:08 AM): I'm sorry, he'll say, which isn't something he says often, anymore.
Culumacilinte (12:47:09 AM): And Harry will scoff at that, refuse to believe it because it can't be true, can it? Of course it can't. 'What are you talking about, I was like you? I'm human; I've never seen them or their planet before in my life.' It's his truth, and Harry, like the Master, is very good at seeing his own truths when he needs to.
kikainogimon (12:49:35 AM): The Doctor will put a hand on Harry's temple and make the barest mental contact. Just enough to let him hear. The drums. He won't say anything.
Culumacilinte (12:52:41 AM): And for the first time since coming onboard the TARDIS, Harry will shrink from the Doctor's touch. Just a quiver, as if he doesn't want the connection, doesn't want to know. But he hears, hears the drums, and hears the ones in his own head speed in response, and he lifts a hand to touch at the Doctor's, pulling it away from his head and staring at it for a moment or two, before looking up at the Doctor. And it's true. God, it's true, what he says. The déjà vu and the drums and that strange, comfortable familiarity with the Doctor. It's all true. He swallows. 'Who am I?'
kikainogimon (12:55:40 AM): "You were the Master." And it's not much better, for the Doctor, sharing this, because he doesn't...want the Master back anymore. This new person could, maybe, be enough. But he deserves to know.
Culumacilinte (12:57:40 AM): And Harry's face twists itself into something at once derisive and uncomfortable. 'I called myself that? What, conceited much?' Because that doesn't sound like him. He may recall bits and pieces of what he was, but hearing that name strikes no chord in him. It's easier to mock than to take it as truth.
kikainogimon (12:59:36 AM): "Yeah, well, you were." Delivered with a bit of a grin, because...the Master *was.* And maybe this'll work, maybe it can be just like talking about someone gone now but remembered. Old stories.
kikainogimon (12:59:55 AM): "He was."
kikainogimon (1:01:12 AM): "Not you. You're Harry Saxon."
Culumacilinte (1:03:55 AM): And Harry can feel something threatening to catch, in his throat or his chest or somewhere, because yes, he's Harry Saxon. Harry Saxon is a human, and he's not a killer, and whilst yes, he's ambitious, he'd never go and call himself something as daft as 'the Master.' His hand, still on the Doctor's, tightens a little, as if to ground himself, and his voice is deceptively steady. 'Why am I not him anymore? You said I hurt too many people...'
kikainogimon (1:09:49 AM): "I did that. There's a device, the Chameleon Arch, it changes Gallifreyan biology into human. It rewrites the mind. The Master...he wouldn't let anyone help him. I thought maybe Harry Saxon would." And the Doctor's not done a very good job of it, has he? Helping. But Harry's still holding onto his hand, not drawing back, and...maybe, for once, the Doctor made the right choice, destroying one life but creating a new one.
Culumacilinte (1:14:54 AM): This is insane, all of this. The Doctor telling him that he's not himself at all, that in truth, he's a Time Lord who calls himself the Master, someone who hurt so many people he had to be... changed into someone else. That's probably more disturbing than anything else he's felt since meeting the Doctor. But he knows know that that's the Master, that indifference to killing, the pleasure at seeing the Doctor in pain, in tears, those things the drums seem to spur him towards on those days when they're at their worst, and Harry's face twists again, and he looks down at their joined hands. 'If that's the kind of man he was... I'm glad I'm not him anymore. I wouldn't want to be that, that sick-' he breaks off, swallows, his jaw set in a hard line.
kikainogimon (10:49:24 PM): Okay, I think the fobwatched spirit of the Master is going to want to psychically murder my Doctor for where he's going to go with this, but we shall see ; )
kikainogimon (10:56:02 PM): "That's it, though. He *was* sick. That's what he wouldn't let me change. He never trusted me to help him. He never *wanted* help. He believed that he was well."
kikainogimon (10:58:58 PM): The Doctor puts his other hand over their clasped hands. "What you hear, the drums, that's what's left of what drove him to become what he was. It's not something you're meant to have. It's not your sickness. It's his."
kikainogimon (11:02:00 PM): "He was a brilliant man. My best friend, centuries ago. We grew up together, but he never told me there was anything wrong."
Culumacilinte (11:02:20 PM): (And you're quite right, the spirit of the Master is spitting with rage)
kikainogimon (11:02:31 PM): "*You* know they're wrong." Half a question, and he watches for the answer carefully.
Culumacilinte (11:10:05 PM): It's hard to take in, what the Doctor's telling him, that he was dangerous, sick, a madman, and something in Harry rebels against it. Most of him's just confused, though, unable to equate this image of the so-called Master with himself. And he thinks, furthermore, that he can see something in the Doctor's eyes that's disturbing, off-putting. Harry looks down at their hands, at the Doctor's over his, and feels the cool of his skin; was he like that once, too? Cool to the touch, with two beating hearts? He huffs out a little breath. 'I don't know about... wrong or right.' He doesn't want the Doctor to know what thoughts the drums bring to his mind, on those days when they're so bad he almost wants to kill something just to shut them up. 'But I've heard them all my life. And they hurt.' He ducks his head. 'They just... hurt, there's no point to them, no reason I should hear them.'
Culumacilinte (11:11:35 PM): But then he shakes his head, runs his other hand through his hair, changing tack because all of this conversation hurts, but he'd rather not talk about the drums when he doesn't have to. 'What was he to you? You said he was your best friend, but the way you look at me sometimes...'
Culumacilinte (11:12:40 PM): He's genuinely curious, but the tilt of his chin almost makes it a challenge.
kikainogimon (11:18:35 PM): The challenge has something of the Master to it, that constant defiance, but in Harry, the antagonism has a...well, he'd almost call it a charm, but that smacks of condescension. It's vibrant and living, a willingness to question, to assert himself, that doesn't carry the malicious, insidious probing for weakness, for reaction, that the Master's challenge always did. The Doctor likes it, in Harry. Very much.
kikainogimon (11:21:34 PM): But the question he throws at the Doctor is a complex one, and difficult to explain, to a man who only remembers what it is to be human, and the short length of human relationships. The Doctor presses Harry's hand between his own, a momentary pressure, the gesture of a parent preparing to tell a child about a loved one they were too young to know, properly, before that person died.
kikainogimon (11:25:47 PM): "I'm not sure I can explain. We grew up together, went to school together. We...well, it's not falling in love, human beings always simplify things. It didn't involve any falling, it wasn't like we tripped one day and oh, there we were. We were just together. Don't know if we cared about each other because we were always together or if we were always together because we cared about each other. Bit chicken or egg."
kikainogimon (11:27:13 PM): "And then we...grew apart. People do. Not just human beings. I think he still loved me. It's not my place to say.
kikainogimon (11:31:42 PM): "I cared for him, still. I always have." But maybe not the way the Master wanted. Maybe not with the single-minded want and need that the Master seemed to hold for the Doctor. Maybe there was too much pity in what the Doctor felt for the Master, too much of wanting to make him Koschei again, when the Master loved the Doctor as much as he had loved Theta.
Culumacilinte (11:41:15 PM): They were in love, this Master and the Doctor? But not just that, Harry thinks. He can see in the Doctor's eyes that he's hiding something, but he can't tell what; what he can tell is what he knows about the Master, this madman that he was. And Harry tries to imagine how such a man feels love for someone like the Doctor; he can't quite do it, and that, together with the Doctor's words and the look in his eyes combines to feel like a punch in the stomach. He doesn't want to be that man, he doesn't, but he feels now almost as if he's broken up something that he had no business being involved in, and he pulls his hand away from the Doctor's, tucking them into his pockets. 'I could do with a cup of tea,' he says, looking up at the Doctor and pursing his lips. 'I'll make us one.' It's both an evasion and an invitation for the conversation to continue; anyway, if they are going to go on, Harry thinks he could do with somewhere to sit.
kikainogimon (11:46:41 PM): Talking about the Master to Harry like this...it's very strange. And the look in Harry's eyes when he pulls away, evades the issue but doesn't shut down the conversation, leaves the Doctor questioning himself. He feels almost ashamed, and he's not certain why. It's as though he's been caught lying.
kikainogimon (11:50:28 PM): "Tea. Right. Tea would be good. D'you want to take it to the Spring Arboretum? I think the cherry trees are peaking. It's been about a week since their last."
Culumacilinte (11:55:17 PM): The kitchen would serve as well as any place, but if the Doctor wants to take tea in the arboretum, that's fine too. Harry shrugs. 'Sure.' But off to make the tea first; he gives the Doctor a little cock of the eyebrows, a twist of the lips that invites him to follow as Harry heads off to the kitchen. The TARDIS kitchen is equipped, oddly enough, with an Aga, and Harry sets a kettle to bubbling on the stove whilst he roots through the cabinets in search of tea. It doesn't take as long as it did when he first came onboard; they're much neater now, thanks to him.
kikainogimon (11:57:43 PM): They would be. One of those quirks that carry over from Time Lord to Human, apparently; and the Doctor's not sure if he approves. He's always finding things *put away,* when they were doing perfectly well out in the open, lying about where he'd remember he had them.
kikainogimon (12:04:18 AM): The Doctor...hovers. This is a conversation he knew would happen eventually, but now that it's happening, he's not quite sure how to have it. He doesn't know what to say, or what to talk about, or whether he should lead or let Harry question, so instead he just leans against the table and watches Harry go through the cabinets. "Try the tin at the back of the secretary. Afelben goldleaf tea. Tastes like a field of wheat looks, with rain on the horizon."
kikainogimon (12:06:47 AM): The Doctor taps his rhythm against the table edge, restless, uncertain of his place.
Culumacilinte (12:11:16 AM): The box of gunpowder ceylon he'd been holding goes back on the shelf, and Harry pulls out the tin of Afelben goldleaf. He's in the process of fetching a pair of mugs when the rhythm the Doctor's drumming out hits his ears, and he stills for a moment. Hand still up on the shelf with the mugs, head bowed against the cabinet door, lips pursed tight. 'Doctor...' He's not sure if it's a warning or a plea or what, but he'd really rather not hear that particular sound at the moment.
kikainogimon (12:14:39 AM): "Hm? ...Oh." The Doctor stops, jamming his hands into his pockets
self-consciously. The strain in Harry's voice and posture, the bow of his head, eat at him--this isn't going to work. Now that Harry knows, the Doctor will be a reminder, an irritant. He shouldn't have told him.
kikainogimon (12:16:08 AM): He looks away from Harry, feeling something that could fast become distance between them.
Culumacilinte (12:21:54 AM): And now it would be Harry's turn to feel like an idiot. The drums lend themselves towards a short temper, towards wanting to just curl up somewhere away from the world; the Doctor's already got his own to deal with, he doesn't need Harry's too. He turns back to look at the other man, running hands over his face, smiling a strained sort of smile and sighing through his fingers. 'I'm sorry, I'm- it's just... this is new, that's all. One never does really prepare oneself for the eventuality of learning that one's entire life is a fiction.' A rueful little chuff of laughter, as Harry remembers university days he apparently never had. 'Descartes. Bloody... The Matrix.'
kikainogimon (12:25:10 AM): And that last makes the Doctor laugh, in spite of himself. "Oi, I'm not Morpheus. And you won't be waking up to the Desert of the Real. It's just as rich as it was before, your life. Even if the memories aren't real, they're still a part of you."
kikainogimon (12:26:02 AM): He looks up at the ceiling, considering. "We were a bit Neo and Smith, the Master and I. With better dialogue. Much better. At least, mine was."
kikainogimon (12:26:44 AM): "He did like suits. At the end."
kikainogimon (12:27:53 AM): He was dead once, for the Doctor. And now it's as though he's died again. He can talk about him and smile, and he's not sure what that means.
Culumacilinte (12:34:54 AM): The Doctor's laugh is infectious, and Harry can feel his lips curve into a wry sort of smile. Descartes, he'd remembered, sitting in a Philosophy lecture and idly scribbling notes about dualism. He remembers objecting to something his lecturer had said, a simplification, and speaking up from his seat to correct him. It's not a real memory, but it's still him. Cogito, ergo sum. Yes. He hadn't really known the truth of that before; now he does, truly does. At the Doctor's comment about the Master's clothing tastes, Harry looks down at himself; he's in nice trousers and a cashmere jumper today- he likes things classy, comfortable and maybe just a little decadent- and shrugs. 'I like suits,' he comments, rather inconsequentially.
kikainogimon (12:37:16 AM): "Well, liking is one thing, larking about like a runaway color from Reservoir Dogs is another."
kikainogimon (12:40:14 AM): "Though he couldn't have gone with the nehru collars and the black in that regeneration, it wouldn't have gone." The Doctor scratches at a sideburn, the conversation having strayed into potentially odd territory again. "The suits were when he looked like you. Earlier...it was pantomime-villain beards and Phantom cloaks."
Culumacilinte (12:45:34 AM): Whilst it's clear that the Doctor did feel very strongly indeed for this Master bloke, Harry, quite frankly, is beginning not to care for him much at all. He snorts, turning to flick off the burner as the kettle begins to boil. 'Classy,' he says wryly over his shoulder. 'Points for originality.' Nudging the Doctor's cup across the counter so that he can fiddle with it as he will, Harry adds several heaping spoonfuls of sugar (Kh'trellian hibiscus sugar, says the label on the side of the jar) to his tea. Strong and sweet is how he likes it- just the same way this regeneration of the Master liked his, not that Harry would know that.
kikainogimon (12:49:24 AM): The Doctor knows, however, and watches Harry turn his tea into sugar-with-tea with the familiar amusement of a sibling watching another sibling do something that said sibling always does and the former sibling always finds amusing, because isn't the point of tea the *tea?*
kikainogimon (12:51:52 AM): The Doctor just takes his tea straight. "Subtlety was never his style." Uh-huh, and it *is* the Doctor's? Pfft. "You'll lose the nuances, piling on the sugar like that."
Culumacilinte (12:59:55 AM): 'Apparently.' His voice is arch with mild amusement. It's a strange thing, this, talking about the man he used to be as if he was no more than an old acquaintance. Someone to be fondly remembered. 'Brings out the flavour,' he defends against the Doctor's words, 'Otherwise it just tastes like vaguely floral water.' And what's the point of that? Tea should taste of tea, otherwise you might as well just drink hot water. It is delicious, though, as he takes the first sip. It's lighter, somehow, cooler than Harry usually likes his tea- the gunpowder ceylon he favours is dark and spicy and smoky- but it tastes just as the Doctor promised, and he inhales the steam off the top, his shoulders drooping in a little sigh.
kikainogimon (1:02:58 AM): The Doctor lets the steam from his tea curl up around his own face as well, holding the cup in both hands to take in its warmth before sipping, watching Harry across the table. The sigh and that relaxation of his shoulders earn Harry a look that is entirely fond, if edged with far-away sadness.
Culumacilinte (1:10:28 AM): The thought, when it shoulders its way into Harry's brain, is entirely unwelcome, but once it settles itself, he can't shake it. Another sigh gusts against the lip of his teacup, but it's less contented now, and he looks up at the Doctor, weighing him across the distance of two mugs and a tabletop. 'He'd hate you, wouldn't he?' He says eventually. 'For turning him into me.' How exactly he knows that, he doesn't know, but he's quite sure of it, and he lets his teacup warm his hands as he watches the Doctor for his reaction.
kikainogimon (1:15:08 AM): The Doctor goes still, his expression sobering. He looks down into his tea for a long moment. "Yes. He would." He doesn't meet Harry's eyes again until after he says the words. The Master would laugh, dismiss this as all some pathetic game, the Doctor nursing his savior complex, trying to help, when what he's helping isn't the Master at all, only a human who happens to look extraordinarily similar. The palest reflection.
kikainogimon (1:16:58 AM): "You'd be nothing to him. A memory to be laughed at. Something more to taunt me with."
Culumacilinte (1:25:35 AM): It's what he expected to hear, but it still stings somehow, and Harry bristles against this memory, this idea of the Master. 'Right.' His next sip of tea is a little more than a sip, and it burns his tongue, and he shakes his head, setting his jaw and taking another. There are words bubbling up inside him, angry and uncomfortable and still, somehow, feeling weirdly guilty for getting in between the Doctor and the Master. 'I am... so glad that I am not that man,' he says quietly, staring at the tabletop. His voice nearly quivers with intensity; it's the sort of deep feeling that makes him want to go somewhere, do something, fuck or fight or run or laugh, action to get rid of this uncomfortable heaviness.
kikainogimon (1:31:41 AM): The Doctor doesn't answer; he sips his tea and sits back in his chair, watching Harry closely. The choked intensity in the man's words, that sense of deep, targetless anger and frustration barely held back, the Doctor knows that feeling. It's the feeling of having an enemy you can't see, can never identify, and part of you fears that it might be *yourself.* Perhaps, for Harry, even more literally than for the Doctor. It's the drums, and Harry responds to them in a fashion much more like the Doctor than the Master did.
kikainogimon (1:34:52 AM): He sits his mug down on the table, with quiet precision. "...Feeling alright, Harry?"
kikainogimon (1:36:24 AM): And this is something he *does* miss--the way he could feel the Master, tap into his drums, without touch. The presence they held for each other.
Culumacilinte (1:43:34 AM): Not particularly, no; he's had better days, as it happens. It's that same sense he had the first time he stepped out of the TARDIS onto a different world, of how utterly vast the universe was. Except that now it's reversed, and he's feeling intensely how very small he is. Harry offers the Doctor a crooked little smile. 'I feel like a complete twat asking,' he says lightly, 'but I could do with a hug.'
kikainogimon (1:44:18 AM): (AW.)
kikainogimon (1:53:16 AM): The Doctor smiles back, a half-smile that works up to his eyes, shades them with soft amusement at the absurdity of all of this, their conversation, and with the something beyond affection, beyond fondness, he's developing for Harry. "C'mon." He scritches his chair in next to Harry's, puts a hand on his shoulder, and pulls him into a hug.
kikainogimon (1:54:06 AM): (Somewhere, the Master is plotting to kill both of us now.)
Culumacilinte (1:54:17 AM): (Yeahhhh, kinda)
kikainogimon (1:54:29 AM): (lol)
Culumacilinte (2:00:37 AM): His smile straightens out a little at the one the Doctor gives him in return. Harry still can't understand the love that the Doctor and the Master apparently had, warped and twisted as it was, but he thinks he could understand how he might be able to fall in love himself. That's strange enough that his smile crooks again, and he lets himself be pulled into an embrace. His arms go around the Doctor's back, fingers spreading over the leather of his jacket, and he lets himself be held. It's good, and he exhales another small sigh, closing his eyes. He's Harry and that's fine with him, and it's fine with the Doctor, and the Master, who doesn't even exist anymore, can go fuck himself. 'Sorry,' he mutters after a moment, 'I'm being fucking emotional.'
Culumacilinte (2:00:52 AM): (Gahhh, Harry, why are you so adorable?)
kikainogimon (2:01:31 AM): (I don't know~ They're so goddamned cute, it's not right.)
kikainogimon (2:08:39 AM): He could never get this close to the Master, not without fear of what the contact might do, to both of them, of the Master reaching into his mind and twisting, of the touch escalating into angry, hungry violence or sex or both. It's good to be able to touch and have that mean comfort, the way it should, instead of competition and compulsion. The Doctor holds Harry against him, the soft cashmere of his jumper under his hands, and underneath that, the warm human heat of his body, blood moving to the pulse of a single heart.
kikainogimon (2:15:34 AM): "Nothing wrong with being emotional. 'S human." The Doctor closes his eyes, too, and rests the side of his head against Harry's, feels the echo of what the Master was in the drums in his mind. They're quiet now, and the Doctor establishes the barest connection, enough to let him draw on that quiet. And then it occurs to him what he's just said. "*Natural.* It's natural."
Culumacilinte (2:23:28 AM): He can feel it, the connection that the Doctor makes to his mind, but it's strange, a sensation he can recognise but not name. The quiet's good, though, and Harry lets his chin rest on the Doctor's shoulder, soaking it up. When he hastily corrects himself, Harry exhales a wry laugh through his nose; it's obvious, the difference there, implicit in his words, the difference between Time Lord and human. He said it earlier, when he said that Harry would mean nothing to the Master, and Harry draws back. Not completely; his hands slide down from the Doctor's back to let one rest on his hip, the other on his leg. The contact is good, and Harry doesn't want to let that go quite so quickly, but enough for him to be able to look the Doctor in the face. He arches a wry eyebrow. 'Oh? Time Lords do the whole emotions thing as well, then? Not just us lowly humans.'
kikainogimon (2:32:50 AM): "Yeah, yeah, we do. Oi, and humans are *not* lowly." The Doctor takes his cue from Harry, not relinquishing either mental or physical contact yet, his hands on Harry's upper arms, a slight squeeze backing up his words. "That's something the Master would say."
Culumacilinte (2:37:39 AM): It could be insulting, that, except that he knows the Doctor doesn't mean it like that, that he doesn't want to see Harry as the Master any more than Harry does. So he flashes the Doctor a grin, rubbing the hand resting on his leg up to his thigh in a gesture somewhere between fond mockery and reassurance. 'Sarcasm, Doctor.'
kikainogimon (2:49:01 AM): "Just checking. Can't have you down on your own species." The Doctor appreciates Harry's grin, the speed with which he's accepting the difficult information the Doctor's just thrown at him--or, at least, making a show of having accepted it. He lets one of his hands rub down Harry's arm, come to rest naturally along his forearm. He won't mention that the Master was also very good at sarcasm.
Culumacilinte (2:56:56 AM): Harry pulls a little 'nahhh,' face, something that easily denies that he'd ever do that. And it's true enough; he's not the sort to get down on himself- or, by extension of that, his species. As far as he's concerned, from what he's seen, humans have about the same capacity for idiocy as the rest of the universe, no better or worse than anybody else. Ok, well, there are some that just obviously operate on a different level, but, for the most part. 'Is that a Time Lord thing, then?' He asks after a moment, wriggling two fingers in the general direction of his temple to indicate the... connection the Doctor had established. 'What is that, telepathy, psychic power...?' It's not something the Doctor had ever done before today, naturally Harry should be curious.
kikainogimon (3:01:43 AM): "Oh." He forgets that he has to explain, occasionally. "Yeah, yep. Telepathy. We have limited natural ability, physical contact ups the intensity, makes it much easier. We can feel other Time Lords, sense telepathic communication from other species, like that. I'm not Charles Xavier, wouldn't want to be, but I'm not too bad."
kikainogimon (3:05:01 AM): "...If you ever want to see, you know, *him,* I can do that for you." Maybe it's something Harry will need, at some point. He'd rather Harry found out anything more he learns about the Master in mental rapport with him than on his own, where he could keep the learning secret, let it hurt him or change him without the Doctor knowing what was wrong.
Culumacilinte (3:10:14 AM): 'No,' he says almost immediately. 'No, I'd- no.' Knowing who he was is quite enough for Harry. At least for the moment. He knows who he was and has an idea of what he was to the Doctor, the sort of man he was to the rest of the universe, and Harry would rather spend his time being himself, and forget entirely about the Master. Because there's no way he can go on being himself, being happy with that, if he's got the shadow of this man hanging over him all the time. And besides... seeing himself- or rather, seeing this body belonging to someone else, someone cruel and pitiless and mad... Harry doesn't want to see that.
kikainogimon (3:18:14 AM): "Good." The Doctor raises one hand from where it rest on Harry's arm, hesitates for a moment, unsure of himself, and than lays the hand along one side of Harry's face. The Doctor has never had a problem treating human beings with an easy, unexamined condescension, as children as much as as friends; but he finds himself thinking first around Harry, not wanting a word or a touch to imply that he sees the other man as less than himself. Harry is human, but *different.* He cannot jibe at him or tease him about his humanity, because he was not born to it. Because it is the Doctor's fault.
kikainogimon (3:20:42 AM): "But if you ever change your mind. It's fine, there's nothing wrong with wanting to know. Remember that."
kikainogimon (3:22:30 AM): "I won't hide anything from you." Which is, almost certainly, a lie. The memories, even if he allows Harry full access, will be filtered through the Doctor's mind, his perspective. The Master will be unable to speak for himself, in anything the Doctor can give Harry.
kikainogimon (3:23:06 AM): And it now occurs to the Doctor that Harry doesn't, perhaps, know what *he's* done, the Doctor. To Gallifrey and to the species that Harry is now part of.
Culumacilinte (3:37:31 AM): He's not entirely sure what to do when the Doctor cups one side of his face in a hand. It's an intimate gesture, and whilst Harry's always felt an effortless closeness with the other man (and he knows why now), this one requires figuring out what to do with his eyes. He settles on direct eye contact after a moment, nodding a little, vaguely, at his words. They do come off as faintly condescending, despite the Doctor's efforts to the contrary, but Harry's travelled with him for long enough now that it doesn't really bother him. It's still not an offer he ever anticipates wanting to take the Doctor up on; worse than seeing himself as some kind of a monster would be seeing who he was and wanting to go back to that. He's a better man than that, Harry's sure, but the possibility is a disturbing one. 'I'll keep that in mind,' he says lightly- it's the tone of someone dismissing something outright but not actually saying as much- and lifts his own hand, the one resting on the Doctor's hip, to briefly stroke over his cheek, curling his fingers around the back of his neck for the briefest of moments.
kikainogimon (3:49:26 AM): And, of course, whether unknowingly or through what remains of the Master's persona, Harry manages to trace his fingers over the nerve center at the base of the Doctor's neck, the light touch shivering a response out along the Doctor's skin, raising goosebumps. He closes his eyes at the sensation, sinking into it, despite its unexpectedness. His hand on Harry's face slips down, to rest against the join of throat to shoulder; and the pressure of his other hand, still on Harry's arm, increases, like a cat kneading.
Culumacilinte (3:55:12 AM): The Doctor's reaction is entirely unexpected, and Harry blinks a little as he seems to practically melt into his touch. Unexpected it may be, but it's not at all unpleasant, and a little shock of sensation shivers out from where the Doctor's own hand slips down, thumb resting against the hollow of his throat with the rest of his hand a cool pressure through cashmere. Harry moves his hand, and it's deliberate this time, stroking down the sensitive skin on the back of the Doctor's neck, the fine, soft hair at the base of his skull to the collar of his jacket.
kikainogimon (4:07:18 AM): The thrill of sensation travels up and down his spine, from Harry's touch, tingling to fill up the space behind his eyes, moving away from the comfortable pleasure of contact towards the needier prickling of arousal. The Doctor rubs his thumb against the base of Harry's throat, at the same speed as Harry's own touch, and then slides his hand in under the neck of the cashmere jumper, long, colder-than-human fingers feeling their way down Harry's back, drawing him closer to the Doctor as his other hand slides to Harry's hip.
Culumacilinte (4:18:33 AM): He can see it in the Doctor's face, the reaction to his touch, and it floods his veins with sudden heat. Maybe that was what the Doctor needed, he thinks, for Harry to know who he was, and choose himself despite that. Because before, he's shied away from close touch, the casual intimacy that came so easily to Harry, but now... There's a low intake of breath as the Doctor's fingers slide under the collar of his jumper, tracing the bumps of his spine, skin against skin. Heat shivers down his spine following the Doctor's fingers. He lets the Doctor pull him closer, and indeed, the hand on the back of his neck tightens slightly, reciprocating the motion. He wants to kiss him. He's got very nice lips; it's not something Harry's ever noticed before, but he has.
kikainogimon (4:33:35 AM): The Doctor pulls Harry closer to him, his other hand moving in further back slipping under the jumper to the small of Harry's back, fingers tracing, patterns of touch and pressure, dipping below his waistband and back up--no object, no goal, just touching, echoing the rhythm of Harry's touch, another push-pull to bring them closer together, as his other hand finds its way back to Harry's neck, to brush up along the same space of skin Harry is caressing, to the base of Harry's skull, to pull him forward. The hand kneading the small of Harry's back slides up the curve of his spine as the Doctor draws him into a kiss.
kikainogimon (4:36:44 AM): (At some point here, the Doctor's going to realize he's switched over from thinking "Harry" to thinking "Master" and go "..." )
Culumacilinte (4:42:50 AM): It's leisurely at the same time as it's needy, and Harry feels like a canvas under the Doctor's fingers. They sweep along skin, pressing and touching, figures and patterns left behind in their wake, and Harry finds his other hand- the one resting on the Doctor's leg- doing much the same thing. Fingers following the weave of his trousers, tracing from his knee all the way up to the join up his hip and back down again. When the Doctor pulls him up into a kiss, Harry smiles against it, that hand sliding up to rest against the Doctor's waist. He leans into the kiss, mouthing at the Doctor's lips, licking out once, quick, to trace along the lines of his teeth, and it occurs to him that he tastes of honey, as well as the tea they'd both been drinking. Funny, that.
Culumacilinte (4:44:29 AM): (Eek, yeah. I was thinking, if they ever got 'round to shagging, Harry having a moment of- this doesn't feel new, this body's done this before, fucked the Doctor before- and then feeling a bit sick)
kikainogimon (4:45:05 AM): (...Aw. *pats Harry*)
kikainogimon (4:53:31 AM): The Doctor answers the inquisitive tasting of Harry's kiss with his own, the hand at the back of Harry's skull stroking, instinctively, up and down the nape of his neck, seeking to give the same pleasure that Harry's touch gives him. The warmth of him is new, and the taste of his breath, of him, is...similar but not the same. The scent, the pheromones of his body, they're close, the nearest approximations human biology can accommodate, but they aren't the *same.*
kikainogimon (4:56:15 AM): He leans further into the kiss, trying. Trying, because he's the one who initiated this--Harry didn't know what he was doing, what his touch meant, it was the Doctor who chose to accept the gesture as Gallifreyan, to respond to Harry as he once, very long ago, responded to the Master.
kikainogimon (5:03:32 AM): And he feels the drums at the back of his mind, seeking a response. In a mirror to his kisses, his mind slips in and out of Harry's, searching. Searching for the long-ago taste of a brilliant, shared youth, rebellious and full of broken rules and discoveries made together, full of hot impatience against a society that told them not to be what they were, clever, eccentric, questioning, terrible children, terrible men, always showing each other new ways to look at the universe, at its vastness, trying to show others and being snubbed, turned down, laughed at.
kikainogimon (5:08:26 AM): Nothing. He finds nothing but ghosts. Harry tastes of humanity, a taste the Doctor, no matter how he may pretend otherwise, has sampled many time over the centuries, and his mind tastes of shadows, false flavors, emptiness. Only the very recent memories stand out, whole and full and glittering, and they are beautiful, vibrant, wonderful memories, a personality that challenges life, a personality very like the boy-man that the Doctor--that Theta--once loved and still loves. But those memories are the memories the Doctor has given Harry, the memories he has formed in his travels as a companion-but-not, and they shame the Doctor. They are all that Harry has of his own, and they were all gifted to him by the Doctor.
kikainogimon (5:11:04 AM): And, then, at the very back of Harry's mind, he finds Harry's drums, and his drums leap up in response, feed on them, hungry. *Here.* Here is something of the Time Lord. Here is the imprint of Koschei, beating even in the different mind of a human man.
Culumacilinte (5:12:43 AM): (I kind of feel horrible, the Doctor is going through all this turmoil, and Harry's just a bit 'nom, snogging.' Well, not just, but still)
kikainogimon (5:13:11 AM): (The Doctor has a mun who goes MENTAL TURMOIL, WHEE!)
kikainogimon (5:13:46 AM): (Also, I think the last time the Doctor did "just snogging" he was probably, like, 70. Which is more like his teens or early twenties, for him.)
kikainogimon (5:14:27 AM): (After that, it became "Oh, hell, if I snog people they sometimes develop Emotional Connections, now I have to be angsty about this.)
Culumacilinte (5:22:10 AM): When the Doctor deepens the kiss, Harry opens to it easily, his hands slipping around, touching and petting, appreciative of the Doctor's body beneath his clothes, wanting him closer. There's something in him- the drums, the Master- that wants more than that, but it's easy to ignore that now, kissing the Doctor deep and lazy, his mind full of the taste of tea and honey and cool flesh. Except that then he feels something, that same feeling-not-feeling from when the Doctor showed him his drums, and later, gave him his silence. Something inside his mind- the Doctor- and Harry can feel some of that presence there. It doesn't match what he's feeling right now, not at all. Faint sensations of desperation, of shame and sorrow and pity that Harry can't catch enough of to properly understand. He kisses the Doctor harder, as if he could force away those unwanted feelings by the strength of his kiss, his other hand going up to join the first, carding through the Doctor's hair.
Culumacilinte (5:25:04 AM): But then, very suddenly, the drums roar up in his mind; demanding, hungry- and lustful, too, taking the arousal in his body and making it something fierce. He can hear his drums and the Doctor's drums both, and they want too much. Far too much; Harry quails, pulling away from the Doctor with a shout, clutching at his head.
kikainogimon (5:38:40 AM): The Doctor makes a noise of his own, a wordless protest in his throat, like a growl, like an animal that's had prey ripped away from it just when it had found the opening for the neck-bite, for the kill. Hunger and need and frustration and violence very barely checked. He lunges after Harry--and he's not thinking Harry, he's thinking Koschei, the Master, the sound of the drums--an awkward movement without any thought behind it, trying to grab Harry back towards him. But he gets caught up by legs of the chairs and Harry's resistance, and succeeds only in tipping over his own chair and dragging Harry out of his own, toppling them both onto the floor. The Doctor falls against a table leg, and the tea rivulets down on both of them, as the jostling tips over the mugs.
Culumacilinte (5:47:32 AM): He struggles thoughtlessly when the Doctor lunges after him- the drums, for once given the outlet they crave, the chance for blood and sex and for triumph- and Harry rips himself away from the other man, grabbing at the first thing he can to steady himself. It's the table leg, and he clings to it, knocking over their mugs and sending tea dribbling down disconsolately on them both. He's gripping so hard that his nails nearly dig into the wood, but he has to because if he lets go, he's terrified he's going to attack the Doctor. This has never happened before, ever. It's only been a faint impulse in the back of his mind on the days when they're bad, an impulse that's frightening, yes, but nothing that he's ever given into. But this time... He keeps his hold on the table leg, holding himself steady even as he looks over at the Doctor, jaw tight and eyes narrow. 'What the hell was that?'
kikainogimon (5:56:01 AM): The Doctor pushes himself up against his own table leg, angling himself back up to a sitting position. Tea puddles around him on the floor, drips from his hair. He--what--that was all *wrong.* And Harry's looking at him now with an expression that's almost the Master, that sharp, angry, *crossed* look, incredulous that the universe should vex *him.*
kikainogimon (5:59:43 AM): He runs his hands up over his face, both of them, back through his hair, horrified at himself. Without the Master's control of the drums, his resistance, that immensely strong telepathic will to back them up, the Doctor had lost control himself, let his drums take over, try to accomplish what they've always wanted--the molding of the Master's into their own image, their possession or their silencing.
kikainogimon (6:01:34 AM): "That--that was--me. You. Him. What's left of him, in you."
kikainogimon (6:03:09 AM): He crosses his arms across his chest, not in his usual relaxed Nine gesture, but as though he's hugging himself. "I'm sorry. What was wrong with him--it's wrong with me, too. I'm sorry. Harry."
Culumacilinte (6:13:59 AM): Harry feels shaken, crouched there by the table leg, looking across at the Doctor- the Doctor!- as though he was a wild animal who might attack at any moment. But that tells him more yet about the Master. His own actions aside, the Master was a man who could turn the Doctor into that. And he knows more than ever that he never wants to be that man ever again. Here come the drums, he thinks, and grimaces, not knowing where the words came from. Slowly, he allows himself to relax, grimacing fastidiously as one leg stretches out into a puddle of tea. 'Was that because of- you said physical contact made the telepathy easier- did that happen because we were kissing?' He hopes not. He really hopes not.
kikainogimon (6:20:36 AM): The Doctor regards the tea puddling on the floor between them glumly. All of that, the conversation, Harry had been doing so *well,* and then he, the Doctor, ruined it by forgetting that Harry wasn't the Master. By forgetting that he wasn't Koschei, and what was like Koschei in Harry, what made him himself, could only exist because he was *not* the Master.
kikainogimon (6:20:46 AM): "Yeah. Yeah, it did."
kikainogimon (6:27:34 AM): "Physical contact sets up the potential for...mm, resonance. The drums encourage each other. The Master could...he'd had them since he was very young, he had better control, more experience. I...I came to them late. I wanted his help, I wanted to help *him.* So we could both be whole again. But I couldn't convince him. I never learned anything about how he lived with them. My control is...well, it's...it's poor. And so is yours."
Culumacilinte (6:39:13 AM): 'Oh.' Just oh, and an illogical disappointment at hearing that. It was just a snog, of course, and Harry knows the Doctor said that Time Lords 'do the whole emotions thing' too, but he can't help feeling that the experience of them still must be different for them somehow. Because Harry had felt so good, kissing him, his hands cool against his back. Perhaps the Doctor had only felt a lack of the Master. He was right about the resonance, though; the drums had never felt like that before, and he never wants to feel that again, that sensation of being out of his own control. Still, though. Harry heaves a little sigh, looking over at the Doctor, and in a moment, he makes something like a decision. The table is small, their legs are all but tangled at the moment, so it's not hard for Harry to lean across, to take the Doctor's jumper in his hand, and press a firm kiss to his lips. It's saying something, though he's not quite sure what, and that will have to do for the moment.
kikainogimon (6:47:21 AM): The Doctor slams up all of the mental barriers he possesses as Harry leans across to him, determined not to let their minds make contact again, no matter how great the temptation (and it still is, because he cares for Harry, he wants to be close to him, and the mind is so central to that, that connection clearer than words or even touch--and because the drums know his weakness now, know that they could make Harry theirs/his, make him into their image, even more than the Chameleon Arch has already allowed). And because he knows that what he is looking for is not *there.* Harry is Harry, and if he wants to care for him, he will have to learn to accept that.
kikainogimon (6:49:19 AM): But when Harry grabs him by the jumper, kisses him, they collapse, instantly, and he can feel him, again, this human man struggling against a burden even Time Lords cannot bear, struggling to be himself in spite of the drums.
kikainogimon (6:50:13 AM): Harry is not the danger here. The Master is. The Doctor is. But not this man.
kikainogimon (6:53:44 AM): The Doctor lets himself respond to the kiss, not deep, not risking any renewal of the brief surge of violence moments ago. He runs a hand through Harry's hair, up from the base of his neck to the crown of his head.
kikainogimon (6:54:23 AM): "I like you, Harry Saxon." He smiles, subdued, but sincere.
Culumacilinte (6:59:48 AM): He doesn't really give a toss whether the Doctor kisses back. It's a statement more than anything else, after all; I'm not giving up that easily, I am not the Master, I am not going to be a slave to this thing. But he does kiss back, and Harry finds himself humming in the back of his throat as long fingers run through short hair, and when the kiss ends, he regards the Doctor with one brow raised and a smile twitching about his lips. He still feels shaken and scared, somewhere inside himself, and his nice trousers are getting soaked in cold tea, but right now... this isn't so terribly bad. Maybe. He smirks, and it's just as genuine as the Doctor's smile, even if it is a little crooked. 'You're strangely tolerable as well, thanks.'
kikainogimon (7:04:51 AM): "Oh, well, tolerable, I'm moving up in the world."
kikainogimon (7:05:09 AM): "What do you say we get out of this tea?"
Culumacilinte (7:08:34 AM): 'One of your more sensible ideas this month, Doctor.' He hoists himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help haul the Doctor up, and then plucking distastefully at his sodden trousers. 'I liked these, you know.'
kikainogimon (7:13:24 AM): "I thought rerouting the quantum reactivator through the triple-spheric liminal type-12 mark array was sensible. Oh, and running from the Qwark bats." The Doctor, having allowed himself to be hoisted up, shakes his feet like a cat that's stepped in water--somehow he's managed to get tea in his Converse.
kikainogimon (7:14:00 AM): "TARDIS'll have them right in no time, don't worry."
kikainogimon (7:15:46 AM): "So, clothing with fewer antioxidants and a new destination with fewer grudge-holding natives?"
Culumacilinte (7:16:19 AM): 'Probably a good idea, yeah.'
Culumacilinte (7:17:00 AM): And then they went off into the sunset, and nearly got themselves killed on yet another planet, and it was all jolly good fun. The end. Because I'm tired and haven't slept in far too long.
Culumacilinte (12:20:13 AM): Or, ooh, they end up on a planet that the Master visited at some point during this regeneration, and suddenly, they've got a load of natives out for his blood, and Harry is just confused.
kikainogimon (12:21:25 AM): Ack, and now the Doctor has to keep him safe and try not to let him learn why everyone wants him dead, and, meanwhile, if they try too hard to kill Harry, the Doctor may kill some of them.
Culumacilinte (12:23:13 AM): And I totally want Harry to kill one of them- you know, self defence that
accidentally goes too far, and then getting back to the TARDIS and just saying, like he can't quite believe it- 'I killed a man.' Just sounding... surprised. Faintly shocked by it.
kikainogimon (12:23:58 AM): Oh, wonderful. He tries to help this new man who isn't the Master and all the Doctor can manage to do is introduce him to killing again.i
Culumacilinte (12:25:29 AM): No, but Harry isn't a killer, not at all. And him being faintly disturbed by the fact that he isn't more disturbed, and excusing himself, saying that he has to go take a shower.
kikainogimon (12:29:24 AM): And the Doctor will be humbled by that, and disturbed, because he should be the one shaken by killing here, and he's not.
kikainogimon (12:30:38 AM): Though aw, Harry, he's so sweet and confused .__.
Culumacilinte (12:31:18 AM): He is! Damn the trials and tribulations of being nothing more than a construct!
Culumacilinte (12:37:00 AM): Ack, and now I'm full of ideas of Harry after he takes his shower and tries to sort out his moral dilemmas, demanding that the Doctor tell him who they thought he was. And being all stubborn and a little angry, because he's not entirely sure how one deals with this kind of situation.
kikainogimon (12:38:40 AM): In the Doctor's case, one deals with it by trying like hell not to explain!
kikainogimon (12:39:33 AM): Until he gets angry and snaps and tells Harry to just be glad they got out alive, let him plot their new coordinates, go away.
kikainogimon (12:39:46 AM): And immediately regrets it.
Culumacilinte (12:40:26 AM): And Harry bristling and snapping back that he isn't bloody well going away; something happened back there and he thinks he's entitled to know exactly what that was.
Culumacilinte (12:40:58 AM): Because either he or they have got their stories massively mixed up.
kikainogimon (12:44:46 AM): The Doctor will tell him. With as few of the worst details as possible. You were a friend, you were like me, and that ended. Because you hurt too many people and you wouldn't be helped.
kikainogimon (12:45:08 AM): I'm sorry, he'll say, which isn't something he says often, anymore.
Culumacilinte (12:47:09 AM): And Harry will scoff at that, refuse to believe it because it can't be true, can it? Of course it can't. 'What are you talking about, I was like you? I'm human; I've never seen them or their planet before in my life.' It's his truth, and Harry, like the Master, is very good at seeing his own truths when he needs to.
kikainogimon (12:49:35 AM): The Doctor will put a hand on Harry's temple and make the barest mental contact. Just enough to let him hear. The drums. He won't say anything.
Culumacilinte (12:52:41 AM): And for the first time since coming onboard the TARDIS, Harry will shrink from the Doctor's touch. Just a quiver, as if he doesn't want the connection, doesn't want to know. But he hears, hears the drums, and hears the ones in his own head speed in response, and he lifts a hand to touch at the Doctor's, pulling it away from his head and staring at it for a moment or two, before looking up at the Doctor. And it's true. God, it's true, what he says. The déjà vu and the drums and that strange, comfortable familiarity with the Doctor. It's all true. He swallows. 'Who am I?'
kikainogimon (12:55:40 AM): "You were the Master." And it's not much better, for the Doctor, sharing this, because he doesn't...want the Master back anymore. This new person could, maybe, be enough. But he deserves to know.
Culumacilinte (12:57:40 AM): And Harry's face twists itself into something at once derisive and uncomfortable. 'I called myself that? What, conceited much?' Because that doesn't sound like him. He may recall bits and pieces of what he was, but hearing that name strikes no chord in him. It's easier to mock than to take it as truth.
kikainogimon (12:59:36 AM): "Yeah, well, you were." Delivered with a bit of a grin, because...the Master *was.* And maybe this'll work, maybe it can be just like talking about someone gone now but remembered. Old stories.
kikainogimon (12:59:55 AM): "He was."
kikainogimon (1:01:12 AM): "Not you. You're Harry Saxon."
Culumacilinte (1:03:55 AM): And Harry can feel something threatening to catch, in his throat or his chest or somewhere, because yes, he's Harry Saxon. Harry Saxon is a human, and he's not a killer, and whilst yes, he's ambitious, he'd never go and call himself something as daft as 'the Master.' His hand, still on the Doctor's, tightens a little, as if to ground himself, and his voice is deceptively steady. 'Why am I not him anymore? You said I hurt too many people...'
kikainogimon (1:09:49 AM): "I did that. There's a device, the Chameleon Arch, it changes Gallifreyan biology into human. It rewrites the mind. The Master...he wouldn't let anyone help him. I thought maybe Harry Saxon would." And the Doctor's not done a very good job of it, has he? Helping. But Harry's still holding onto his hand, not drawing back, and...maybe, for once, the Doctor made the right choice, destroying one life but creating a new one.
Culumacilinte (1:14:54 AM): This is insane, all of this. The Doctor telling him that he's not himself at all, that in truth, he's a Time Lord who calls himself the Master, someone who hurt so many people he had to be... changed into someone else. That's probably more disturbing than anything else he's felt since meeting the Doctor. But he knows know that that's the Master, that indifference to killing, the pleasure at seeing the Doctor in pain, in tears, those things the drums seem to spur him towards on those days when they're at their worst, and Harry's face twists again, and he looks down at their joined hands. 'If that's the kind of man he was... I'm glad I'm not him anymore. I wouldn't want to be that, that sick-' he breaks off, swallows, his jaw set in a hard line.
kikainogimon (10:49:24 PM): Okay, I think the fobwatched spirit of the Master is going to want to psychically murder my Doctor for where he's going to go with this, but we shall see ; )
kikainogimon (10:56:02 PM): "That's it, though. He *was* sick. That's what he wouldn't let me change. He never trusted me to help him. He never *wanted* help. He believed that he was well."
kikainogimon (10:58:58 PM): The Doctor puts his other hand over their clasped hands. "What you hear, the drums, that's what's left of what drove him to become what he was. It's not something you're meant to have. It's not your sickness. It's his."
kikainogimon (11:02:00 PM): "He was a brilliant man. My best friend, centuries ago. We grew up together, but he never told me there was anything wrong."
Culumacilinte (11:02:20 PM): (And you're quite right, the spirit of the Master is spitting with rage)
kikainogimon (11:02:31 PM): "*You* know they're wrong." Half a question, and he watches for the answer carefully.
Culumacilinte (11:10:05 PM): It's hard to take in, what the Doctor's telling him, that he was dangerous, sick, a madman, and something in Harry rebels against it. Most of him's just confused, though, unable to equate this image of the so-called Master with himself. And he thinks, furthermore, that he can see something in the Doctor's eyes that's disturbing, off-putting. Harry looks down at their hands, at the Doctor's over his, and feels the cool of his skin; was he like that once, too? Cool to the touch, with two beating hearts? He huffs out a little breath. 'I don't know about... wrong or right.' He doesn't want the Doctor to know what thoughts the drums bring to his mind, on those days when they're so bad he almost wants to kill something just to shut them up. 'But I've heard them all my life. And they hurt.' He ducks his head. 'They just... hurt, there's no point to them, no reason I should hear them.'
Culumacilinte (11:11:35 PM): But then he shakes his head, runs his other hand through his hair, changing tack because all of this conversation hurts, but he'd rather not talk about the drums when he doesn't have to. 'What was he to you? You said he was your best friend, but the way you look at me sometimes...'
Culumacilinte (11:12:40 PM): He's genuinely curious, but the tilt of his chin almost makes it a challenge.
kikainogimon (11:18:35 PM): The challenge has something of the Master to it, that constant defiance, but in Harry, the antagonism has a...well, he'd almost call it a charm, but that smacks of condescension. It's vibrant and living, a willingness to question, to assert himself, that doesn't carry the malicious, insidious probing for weakness, for reaction, that the Master's challenge always did. The Doctor likes it, in Harry. Very much.
kikainogimon (11:21:34 PM): But the question he throws at the Doctor is a complex one, and difficult to explain, to a man who only remembers what it is to be human, and the short length of human relationships. The Doctor presses Harry's hand between his own, a momentary pressure, the gesture of a parent preparing to tell a child about a loved one they were too young to know, properly, before that person died.
kikainogimon (11:25:47 PM): "I'm not sure I can explain. We grew up together, went to school together. We...well, it's not falling in love, human beings always simplify things. It didn't involve any falling, it wasn't like we tripped one day and oh, there we were. We were just together. Don't know if we cared about each other because we were always together or if we were always together because we cared about each other. Bit chicken or egg."
kikainogimon (11:27:13 PM): "And then we...grew apart. People do. Not just human beings. I think he still loved me. It's not my place to say.
kikainogimon (11:31:42 PM): "I cared for him, still. I always have." But maybe not the way the Master wanted. Maybe not with the single-minded want and need that the Master seemed to hold for the Doctor. Maybe there was too much pity in what the Doctor felt for the Master, too much of wanting to make him Koschei again, when the Master loved the Doctor as much as he had loved Theta.
Culumacilinte (11:41:15 PM): They were in love, this Master and the Doctor? But not just that, Harry thinks. He can see in the Doctor's eyes that he's hiding something, but he can't tell what; what he can tell is what he knows about the Master, this madman that he was. And Harry tries to imagine how such a man feels love for someone like the Doctor; he can't quite do it, and that, together with the Doctor's words and the look in his eyes combines to feel like a punch in the stomach. He doesn't want to be that man, he doesn't, but he feels now almost as if he's broken up something that he had no business being involved in, and he pulls his hand away from the Doctor's, tucking them into his pockets. 'I could do with a cup of tea,' he says, looking up at the Doctor and pursing his lips. 'I'll make us one.' It's both an evasion and an invitation for the conversation to continue; anyway, if they are going to go on, Harry thinks he could do with somewhere to sit.
kikainogimon (11:46:41 PM): Talking about the Master to Harry like this...it's very strange. And the look in Harry's eyes when he pulls away, evades the issue but doesn't shut down the conversation, leaves the Doctor questioning himself. He feels almost ashamed, and he's not certain why. It's as though he's been caught lying.
kikainogimon (11:50:28 PM): "Tea. Right. Tea would be good. D'you want to take it to the Spring Arboretum? I think the cherry trees are peaking. It's been about a week since their last."
Culumacilinte (11:55:17 PM): The kitchen would serve as well as any place, but if the Doctor wants to take tea in the arboretum, that's fine too. Harry shrugs. 'Sure.' But off to make the tea first; he gives the Doctor a little cock of the eyebrows, a twist of the lips that invites him to follow as Harry heads off to the kitchen. The TARDIS kitchen is equipped, oddly enough, with an Aga, and Harry sets a kettle to bubbling on the stove whilst he roots through the cabinets in search of tea. It doesn't take as long as it did when he first came onboard; they're much neater now, thanks to him.
kikainogimon (11:57:43 PM): They would be. One of those quirks that carry over from Time Lord to Human, apparently; and the Doctor's not sure if he approves. He's always finding things *put away,* when they were doing perfectly well out in the open, lying about where he'd remember he had them.
kikainogimon (12:04:18 AM): The Doctor...hovers. This is a conversation he knew would happen eventually, but now that it's happening, he's not quite sure how to have it. He doesn't know what to say, or what to talk about, or whether he should lead or let Harry question, so instead he just leans against the table and watches Harry go through the cabinets. "Try the tin at the back of the secretary. Afelben goldleaf tea. Tastes like a field of wheat looks, with rain on the horizon."
kikainogimon (12:06:47 AM): The Doctor taps his rhythm against the table edge, restless, uncertain of his place.
Culumacilinte (12:11:16 AM): The box of gunpowder ceylon he'd been holding goes back on the shelf, and Harry pulls out the tin of Afelben goldleaf. He's in the process of fetching a pair of mugs when the rhythm the Doctor's drumming out hits his ears, and he stills for a moment. Hand still up on the shelf with the mugs, head bowed against the cabinet door, lips pursed tight. 'Doctor...' He's not sure if it's a warning or a plea or what, but he'd really rather not hear that particular sound at the moment.
kikainogimon (12:14:39 AM): "Hm? ...Oh." The Doctor stops, jamming his hands into his pockets
self-consciously. The strain in Harry's voice and posture, the bow of his head, eat at him--this isn't going to work. Now that Harry knows, the Doctor will be a reminder, an irritant. He shouldn't have told him.
kikainogimon (12:16:08 AM): He looks away from Harry, feeling something that could fast become distance between them.
Culumacilinte (12:21:54 AM): And now it would be Harry's turn to feel like an idiot. The drums lend themselves towards a short temper, towards wanting to just curl up somewhere away from the world; the Doctor's already got his own to deal with, he doesn't need Harry's too. He turns back to look at the other man, running hands over his face, smiling a strained sort of smile and sighing through his fingers. 'I'm sorry, I'm- it's just... this is new, that's all. One never does really prepare oneself for the eventuality of learning that one's entire life is a fiction.' A rueful little chuff of laughter, as Harry remembers university days he apparently never had. 'Descartes. Bloody... The Matrix.'
kikainogimon (12:25:10 AM): And that last makes the Doctor laugh, in spite of himself. "Oi, I'm not Morpheus. And you won't be waking up to the Desert of the Real. It's just as rich as it was before, your life. Even if the memories aren't real, they're still a part of you."
kikainogimon (12:26:02 AM): He looks up at the ceiling, considering. "We were a bit Neo and Smith, the Master and I. With better dialogue. Much better. At least, mine was."
kikainogimon (12:26:44 AM): "He did like suits. At the end."
kikainogimon (12:27:53 AM): He was dead once, for the Doctor. And now it's as though he's died again. He can talk about him and smile, and he's not sure what that means.
Culumacilinte (12:34:54 AM): The Doctor's laugh is infectious, and Harry can feel his lips curve into a wry sort of smile. Descartes, he'd remembered, sitting in a Philosophy lecture and idly scribbling notes about dualism. He remembers objecting to something his lecturer had said, a simplification, and speaking up from his seat to correct him. It's not a real memory, but it's still him. Cogito, ergo sum. Yes. He hadn't really known the truth of that before; now he does, truly does. At the Doctor's comment about the Master's clothing tastes, Harry looks down at himself; he's in nice trousers and a cashmere jumper today- he likes things classy, comfortable and maybe just a little decadent- and shrugs. 'I like suits,' he comments, rather inconsequentially.
kikainogimon (12:37:16 AM): "Well, liking is one thing, larking about like a runaway color from Reservoir Dogs is another."
kikainogimon (12:40:14 AM): "Though he couldn't have gone with the nehru collars and the black in that regeneration, it wouldn't have gone." The Doctor scratches at a sideburn, the conversation having strayed into potentially odd territory again. "The suits were when he looked like you. Earlier...it was pantomime-villain beards and Phantom cloaks."
Culumacilinte (12:45:34 AM): Whilst it's clear that the Doctor did feel very strongly indeed for this Master bloke, Harry, quite frankly, is beginning not to care for him much at all. He snorts, turning to flick off the burner as the kettle begins to boil. 'Classy,' he says wryly over his shoulder. 'Points for originality.' Nudging the Doctor's cup across the counter so that he can fiddle with it as he will, Harry adds several heaping spoonfuls of sugar (Kh'trellian hibiscus sugar, says the label on the side of the jar) to his tea. Strong and sweet is how he likes it- just the same way this regeneration of the Master liked his, not that Harry would know that.
kikainogimon (12:49:24 AM): The Doctor knows, however, and watches Harry turn his tea into sugar-with-tea with the familiar amusement of a sibling watching another sibling do something that said sibling always does and the former sibling always finds amusing, because isn't the point of tea the *tea?*
kikainogimon (12:51:52 AM): The Doctor just takes his tea straight. "Subtlety was never his style." Uh-huh, and it *is* the Doctor's? Pfft. "You'll lose the nuances, piling on the sugar like that."
Culumacilinte (12:59:55 AM): 'Apparently.' His voice is arch with mild amusement. It's a strange thing, this, talking about the man he used to be as if he was no more than an old acquaintance. Someone to be fondly remembered. 'Brings out the flavour,' he defends against the Doctor's words, 'Otherwise it just tastes like vaguely floral water.' And what's the point of that? Tea should taste of tea, otherwise you might as well just drink hot water. It is delicious, though, as he takes the first sip. It's lighter, somehow, cooler than Harry usually likes his tea- the gunpowder ceylon he favours is dark and spicy and smoky- but it tastes just as the Doctor promised, and he inhales the steam off the top, his shoulders drooping in a little sigh.
kikainogimon (1:02:58 AM): The Doctor lets the steam from his tea curl up around his own face as well, holding the cup in both hands to take in its warmth before sipping, watching Harry across the table. The sigh and that relaxation of his shoulders earn Harry a look that is entirely fond, if edged with far-away sadness.
Culumacilinte (1:10:28 AM): The thought, when it shoulders its way into Harry's brain, is entirely unwelcome, but once it settles itself, he can't shake it. Another sigh gusts against the lip of his teacup, but it's less contented now, and he looks up at the Doctor, weighing him across the distance of two mugs and a tabletop. 'He'd hate you, wouldn't he?' He says eventually. 'For turning him into me.' How exactly he knows that, he doesn't know, but he's quite sure of it, and he lets his teacup warm his hands as he watches the Doctor for his reaction.
kikainogimon (1:15:08 AM): The Doctor goes still, his expression sobering. He looks down into his tea for a long moment. "Yes. He would." He doesn't meet Harry's eyes again until after he says the words. The Master would laugh, dismiss this as all some pathetic game, the Doctor nursing his savior complex, trying to help, when what he's helping isn't the Master at all, only a human who happens to look extraordinarily similar. The palest reflection.
kikainogimon (1:16:58 AM): "You'd be nothing to him. A memory to be laughed at. Something more to taunt me with."
Culumacilinte (1:25:35 AM): It's what he expected to hear, but it still stings somehow, and Harry bristles against this memory, this idea of the Master. 'Right.' His next sip of tea is a little more than a sip, and it burns his tongue, and he shakes his head, setting his jaw and taking another. There are words bubbling up inside him, angry and uncomfortable and still, somehow, feeling weirdly guilty for getting in between the Doctor and the Master. 'I am... so glad that I am not that man,' he says quietly, staring at the tabletop. His voice nearly quivers with intensity; it's the sort of deep feeling that makes him want to go somewhere, do something, fuck or fight or run or laugh, action to get rid of this uncomfortable heaviness.
kikainogimon (1:31:41 AM): The Doctor doesn't answer; he sips his tea and sits back in his chair, watching Harry closely. The choked intensity in the man's words, that sense of deep, targetless anger and frustration barely held back, the Doctor knows that feeling. It's the feeling of having an enemy you can't see, can never identify, and part of you fears that it might be *yourself.* Perhaps, for Harry, even more literally than for the Doctor. It's the drums, and Harry responds to them in a fashion much more like the Doctor than the Master did.
kikainogimon (1:34:52 AM): He sits his mug down on the table, with quiet precision. "...Feeling alright, Harry?"
kikainogimon (1:36:24 AM): And this is something he *does* miss--the way he could feel the Master, tap into his drums, without touch. The presence they held for each other.
Culumacilinte (1:43:34 AM): Not particularly, no; he's had better days, as it happens. It's that same sense he had the first time he stepped out of the TARDIS onto a different world, of how utterly vast the universe was. Except that now it's reversed, and he's feeling intensely how very small he is. Harry offers the Doctor a crooked little smile. 'I feel like a complete twat asking,' he says lightly, 'but I could do with a hug.'
kikainogimon (1:44:18 AM): (AW.)
kikainogimon (1:53:16 AM): The Doctor smiles back, a half-smile that works up to his eyes, shades them with soft amusement at the absurdity of all of this, their conversation, and with the something beyond affection, beyond fondness, he's developing for Harry. "C'mon." He scritches his chair in next to Harry's, puts a hand on his shoulder, and pulls him into a hug.
kikainogimon (1:54:06 AM): (Somewhere, the Master is plotting to kill both of us now.)
Culumacilinte (1:54:17 AM): (Yeahhhh, kinda)
kikainogimon (1:54:29 AM): (lol)
Culumacilinte (2:00:37 AM): His smile straightens out a little at the one the Doctor gives him in return. Harry still can't understand the love that the Doctor and the Master apparently had, warped and twisted as it was, but he thinks he could understand how he might be able to fall in love himself. That's strange enough that his smile crooks again, and he lets himself be pulled into an embrace. His arms go around the Doctor's back, fingers spreading over the leather of his jacket, and he lets himself be held. It's good, and he exhales another small sigh, closing his eyes. He's Harry and that's fine with him, and it's fine with the Doctor, and the Master, who doesn't even exist anymore, can go fuck himself. 'Sorry,' he mutters after a moment, 'I'm being fucking emotional.'
Culumacilinte (2:00:52 AM): (Gahhh, Harry, why are you so adorable?)
kikainogimon (2:01:31 AM): (I don't know~ They're so goddamned cute, it's not right.)
kikainogimon (2:08:39 AM): He could never get this close to the Master, not without fear of what the contact might do, to both of them, of the Master reaching into his mind and twisting, of the touch escalating into angry, hungry violence or sex or both. It's good to be able to touch and have that mean comfort, the way it should, instead of competition and compulsion. The Doctor holds Harry against him, the soft cashmere of his jumper under his hands, and underneath that, the warm human heat of his body, blood moving to the pulse of a single heart.
kikainogimon (2:15:34 AM): "Nothing wrong with being emotional. 'S human." The Doctor closes his eyes, too, and rests the side of his head against Harry's, feels the echo of what the Master was in the drums in his mind. They're quiet now, and the Doctor establishes the barest connection, enough to let him draw on that quiet. And then it occurs to him what he's just said. "*Natural.* It's natural."
Culumacilinte (2:23:28 AM): He can feel it, the connection that the Doctor makes to his mind, but it's strange, a sensation he can recognise but not name. The quiet's good, though, and Harry lets his chin rest on the Doctor's shoulder, soaking it up. When he hastily corrects himself, Harry exhales a wry laugh through his nose; it's obvious, the difference there, implicit in his words, the difference between Time Lord and human. He said it earlier, when he said that Harry would mean nothing to the Master, and Harry draws back. Not completely; his hands slide down from the Doctor's back to let one rest on his hip, the other on his leg. The contact is good, and Harry doesn't want to let that go quite so quickly, but enough for him to be able to look the Doctor in the face. He arches a wry eyebrow. 'Oh? Time Lords do the whole emotions thing as well, then? Not just us lowly humans.'
kikainogimon (2:32:50 AM): "Yeah, yeah, we do. Oi, and humans are *not* lowly." The Doctor takes his cue from Harry, not relinquishing either mental or physical contact yet, his hands on Harry's upper arms, a slight squeeze backing up his words. "That's something the Master would say."
Culumacilinte (2:37:39 AM): It could be insulting, that, except that he knows the Doctor doesn't mean it like that, that he doesn't want to see Harry as the Master any more than Harry does. So he flashes the Doctor a grin, rubbing the hand resting on his leg up to his thigh in a gesture somewhere between fond mockery and reassurance. 'Sarcasm, Doctor.'
kikainogimon (2:49:01 AM): "Just checking. Can't have you down on your own species." The Doctor appreciates Harry's grin, the speed with which he's accepting the difficult information the Doctor's just thrown at him--or, at least, making a show of having accepted it. He lets one of his hands rub down Harry's arm, come to rest naturally along his forearm. He won't mention that the Master was also very good at sarcasm.
Culumacilinte (2:56:56 AM): Harry pulls a little 'nahhh,' face, something that easily denies that he'd ever do that. And it's true enough; he's not the sort to get down on himself- or, by extension of that, his species. As far as he's concerned, from what he's seen, humans have about the same capacity for idiocy as the rest of the universe, no better or worse than anybody else. Ok, well, there are some that just obviously operate on a different level, but, for the most part. 'Is that a Time Lord thing, then?' He asks after a moment, wriggling two fingers in the general direction of his temple to indicate the... connection the Doctor had established. 'What is that, telepathy, psychic power...?' It's not something the Doctor had ever done before today, naturally Harry should be curious.
kikainogimon (3:01:43 AM): "Oh." He forgets that he has to explain, occasionally. "Yeah, yep. Telepathy. We have limited natural ability, physical contact ups the intensity, makes it much easier. We can feel other Time Lords, sense telepathic communication from other species, like that. I'm not Charles Xavier, wouldn't want to be, but I'm not too bad."
kikainogimon (3:05:01 AM): "...If you ever want to see, you know, *him,* I can do that for you." Maybe it's something Harry will need, at some point. He'd rather Harry found out anything more he learns about the Master in mental rapport with him than on his own, where he could keep the learning secret, let it hurt him or change him without the Doctor knowing what was wrong.
Culumacilinte (3:10:14 AM): 'No,' he says almost immediately. 'No, I'd- no.' Knowing who he was is quite enough for Harry. At least for the moment. He knows who he was and has an idea of what he was to the Doctor, the sort of man he was to the rest of the universe, and Harry would rather spend his time being himself, and forget entirely about the Master. Because there's no way he can go on being himself, being happy with that, if he's got the shadow of this man hanging over him all the time. And besides... seeing himself- or rather, seeing this body belonging to someone else, someone cruel and pitiless and mad... Harry doesn't want to see that.
kikainogimon (3:18:14 AM): "Good." The Doctor raises one hand from where it rest on Harry's arm, hesitates for a moment, unsure of himself, and than lays the hand along one side of Harry's face. The Doctor has never had a problem treating human beings with an easy, unexamined condescension, as children as much as as friends; but he finds himself thinking first around Harry, not wanting a word or a touch to imply that he sees the other man as less than himself. Harry is human, but *different.* He cannot jibe at him or tease him about his humanity, because he was not born to it. Because it is the Doctor's fault.
kikainogimon (3:20:42 AM): "But if you ever change your mind. It's fine, there's nothing wrong with wanting to know. Remember that."
kikainogimon (3:22:30 AM): "I won't hide anything from you." Which is, almost certainly, a lie. The memories, even if he allows Harry full access, will be filtered through the Doctor's mind, his perspective. The Master will be unable to speak for himself, in anything the Doctor can give Harry.
kikainogimon (3:23:06 AM): And it now occurs to the Doctor that Harry doesn't, perhaps, know what *he's* done, the Doctor. To Gallifrey and to the species that Harry is now part of.
Culumacilinte (3:37:31 AM): He's not entirely sure what to do when the Doctor cups one side of his face in a hand. It's an intimate gesture, and whilst Harry's always felt an effortless closeness with the other man (and he knows why now), this one requires figuring out what to do with his eyes. He settles on direct eye contact after a moment, nodding a little, vaguely, at his words. They do come off as faintly condescending, despite the Doctor's efforts to the contrary, but Harry's travelled with him for long enough now that it doesn't really bother him. It's still not an offer he ever anticipates wanting to take the Doctor up on; worse than seeing himself as some kind of a monster would be seeing who he was and wanting to go back to that. He's a better man than that, Harry's sure, but the possibility is a disturbing one. 'I'll keep that in mind,' he says lightly- it's the tone of someone dismissing something outright but not actually saying as much- and lifts his own hand, the one resting on the Doctor's hip, to briefly stroke over his cheek, curling his fingers around the back of his neck for the briefest of moments.
kikainogimon (3:49:26 AM): And, of course, whether unknowingly or through what remains of the Master's persona, Harry manages to trace his fingers over the nerve center at the base of the Doctor's neck, the light touch shivering a response out along the Doctor's skin, raising goosebumps. He closes his eyes at the sensation, sinking into it, despite its unexpectedness. His hand on Harry's face slips down, to rest against the join of throat to shoulder; and the pressure of his other hand, still on Harry's arm, increases, like a cat kneading.
Culumacilinte (3:55:12 AM): The Doctor's reaction is entirely unexpected, and Harry blinks a little as he seems to practically melt into his touch. Unexpected it may be, but it's not at all unpleasant, and a little shock of sensation shivers out from where the Doctor's own hand slips down, thumb resting against the hollow of his throat with the rest of his hand a cool pressure through cashmere. Harry moves his hand, and it's deliberate this time, stroking down the sensitive skin on the back of the Doctor's neck, the fine, soft hair at the base of his skull to the collar of his jacket.
kikainogimon (4:07:18 AM): The thrill of sensation travels up and down his spine, from Harry's touch, tingling to fill up the space behind his eyes, moving away from the comfortable pleasure of contact towards the needier prickling of arousal. The Doctor rubs his thumb against the base of Harry's throat, at the same speed as Harry's own touch, and then slides his hand in under the neck of the cashmere jumper, long, colder-than-human fingers feeling their way down Harry's back, drawing him closer to the Doctor as his other hand slides to Harry's hip.
Culumacilinte (4:18:33 AM): He can see it in the Doctor's face, the reaction to his touch, and it floods his veins with sudden heat. Maybe that was what the Doctor needed, he thinks, for Harry to know who he was, and choose himself despite that. Because before, he's shied away from close touch, the casual intimacy that came so easily to Harry, but now... There's a low intake of breath as the Doctor's fingers slide under the collar of his jumper, tracing the bumps of his spine, skin against skin. Heat shivers down his spine following the Doctor's fingers. He lets the Doctor pull him closer, and indeed, the hand on the back of his neck tightens slightly, reciprocating the motion. He wants to kiss him. He's got very nice lips; it's not something Harry's ever noticed before, but he has.
kikainogimon (4:33:35 AM): The Doctor pulls Harry closer to him, his other hand moving in further back slipping under the jumper to the small of Harry's back, fingers tracing, patterns of touch and pressure, dipping below his waistband and back up--no object, no goal, just touching, echoing the rhythm of Harry's touch, another push-pull to bring them closer together, as his other hand finds its way back to Harry's neck, to brush up along the same space of skin Harry is caressing, to the base of Harry's skull, to pull him forward. The hand kneading the small of Harry's back slides up the curve of his spine as the Doctor draws him into a kiss.
kikainogimon (4:36:44 AM): (At some point here, the Doctor's going to realize he's switched over from thinking "Harry" to thinking "Master" and go "..." )
Culumacilinte (4:42:50 AM): It's leisurely at the same time as it's needy, and Harry feels like a canvas under the Doctor's fingers. They sweep along skin, pressing and touching, figures and patterns left behind in their wake, and Harry finds his other hand- the one resting on the Doctor's leg- doing much the same thing. Fingers following the weave of his trousers, tracing from his knee all the way up to the join up his hip and back down again. When the Doctor pulls him up into a kiss, Harry smiles against it, that hand sliding up to rest against the Doctor's waist. He leans into the kiss, mouthing at the Doctor's lips, licking out once, quick, to trace along the lines of his teeth, and it occurs to him that he tastes of honey, as well as the tea they'd both been drinking. Funny, that.
Culumacilinte (4:44:29 AM): (Eek, yeah. I was thinking, if they ever got 'round to shagging, Harry having a moment of- this doesn't feel new, this body's done this before, fucked the Doctor before- and then feeling a bit sick)
kikainogimon (4:45:05 AM): (...Aw. *pats Harry*)
kikainogimon (4:53:31 AM): The Doctor answers the inquisitive tasting of Harry's kiss with his own, the hand at the back of Harry's skull stroking, instinctively, up and down the nape of his neck, seeking to give the same pleasure that Harry's touch gives him. The warmth of him is new, and the taste of his breath, of him, is...similar but not the same. The scent, the pheromones of his body, they're close, the nearest approximations human biology can accommodate, but they aren't the *same.*
kikainogimon (4:56:15 AM): He leans further into the kiss, trying. Trying, because he's the one who initiated this--Harry didn't know what he was doing, what his touch meant, it was the Doctor who chose to accept the gesture as Gallifreyan, to respond to Harry as he once, very long ago, responded to the Master.
kikainogimon (5:03:32 AM): And he feels the drums at the back of his mind, seeking a response. In a mirror to his kisses, his mind slips in and out of Harry's, searching. Searching for the long-ago taste of a brilliant, shared youth, rebellious and full of broken rules and discoveries made together, full of hot impatience against a society that told them not to be what they were, clever, eccentric, questioning, terrible children, terrible men, always showing each other new ways to look at the universe, at its vastness, trying to show others and being snubbed, turned down, laughed at.
kikainogimon (5:08:26 AM): Nothing. He finds nothing but ghosts. Harry tastes of humanity, a taste the Doctor, no matter how he may pretend otherwise, has sampled many time over the centuries, and his mind tastes of shadows, false flavors, emptiness. Only the very recent memories stand out, whole and full and glittering, and they are beautiful, vibrant, wonderful memories, a personality that challenges life, a personality very like the boy-man that the Doctor--that Theta--once loved and still loves. But those memories are the memories the Doctor has given Harry, the memories he has formed in his travels as a companion-but-not, and they shame the Doctor. They are all that Harry has of his own, and they were all gifted to him by the Doctor.
kikainogimon (5:11:04 AM): And, then, at the very back of Harry's mind, he finds Harry's drums, and his drums leap up in response, feed on them, hungry. *Here.* Here is something of the Time Lord. Here is the imprint of Koschei, beating even in the different mind of a human man.
Culumacilinte (5:12:43 AM): (I kind of feel horrible, the Doctor is going through all this turmoil, and Harry's just a bit 'nom, snogging.' Well, not just, but still)
kikainogimon (5:13:11 AM): (The Doctor has a mun who goes MENTAL TURMOIL, WHEE!)
kikainogimon (5:13:46 AM): (Also, I think the last time the Doctor did "just snogging" he was probably, like, 70. Which is more like his teens or early twenties, for him.)
kikainogimon (5:14:27 AM): (After that, it became "Oh, hell, if I snog people they sometimes develop Emotional Connections, now I have to be angsty about this.)
Culumacilinte (5:22:10 AM): When the Doctor deepens the kiss, Harry opens to it easily, his hands slipping around, touching and petting, appreciative of the Doctor's body beneath his clothes, wanting him closer. There's something in him- the drums, the Master- that wants more than that, but it's easy to ignore that now, kissing the Doctor deep and lazy, his mind full of the taste of tea and honey and cool flesh. Except that then he feels something, that same feeling-not-feeling from when the Doctor showed him his drums, and later, gave him his silence. Something inside his mind- the Doctor- and Harry can feel some of that presence there. It doesn't match what he's feeling right now, not at all. Faint sensations of desperation, of shame and sorrow and pity that Harry can't catch enough of to properly understand. He kisses the Doctor harder, as if he could force away those unwanted feelings by the strength of his kiss, his other hand going up to join the first, carding through the Doctor's hair.
Culumacilinte (5:25:04 AM): But then, very suddenly, the drums roar up in his mind; demanding, hungry- and lustful, too, taking the arousal in his body and making it something fierce. He can hear his drums and the Doctor's drums both, and they want too much. Far too much; Harry quails, pulling away from the Doctor with a shout, clutching at his head.
kikainogimon (5:38:40 AM): The Doctor makes a noise of his own, a wordless protest in his throat, like a growl, like an animal that's had prey ripped away from it just when it had found the opening for the neck-bite, for the kill. Hunger and need and frustration and violence very barely checked. He lunges after Harry--and he's not thinking Harry, he's thinking Koschei, the Master, the sound of the drums--an awkward movement without any thought behind it, trying to grab Harry back towards him. But he gets caught up by legs of the chairs and Harry's resistance, and succeeds only in tipping over his own chair and dragging Harry out of his own, toppling them both onto the floor. The Doctor falls against a table leg, and the tea rivulets down on both of them, as the jostling tips over the mugs.
Culumacilinte (5:47:32 AM): He struggles thoughtlessly when the Doctor lunges after him- the drums, for once given the outlet they crave, the chance for blood and sex and for triumph- and Harry rips himself away from the other man, grabbing at the first thing he can to steady himself. It's the table leg, and he clings to it, knocking over their mugs and sending tea dribbling down disconsolately on them both. He's gripping so hard that his nails nearly dig into the wood, but he has to because if he lets go, he's terrified he's going to attack the Doctor. This has never happened before, ever. It's only been a faint impulse in the back of his mind on the days when they're bad, an impulse that's frightening, yes, but nothing that he's ever given into. But this time... He keeps his hold on the table leg, holding himself steady even as he looks over at the Doctor, jaw tight and eyes narrow. 'What the hell was that?'
kikainogimon (5:56:01 AM): The Doctor pushes himself up against his own table leg, angling himself back up to a sitting position. Tea puddles around him on the floor, drips from his hair. He--what--that was all *wrong.* And Harry's looking at him now with an expression that's almost the Master, that sharp, angry, *crossed* look, incredulous that the universe should vex *him.*
kikainogimon (5:59:43 AM): He runs his hands up over his face, both of them, back through his hair, horrified at himself. Without the Master's control of the drums, his resistance, that immensely strong telepathic will to back them up, the Doctor had lost control himself, let his drums take over, try to accomplish what they've always wanted--the molding of the Master's into their own image, their possession or their silencing.
kikainogimon (6:01:34 AM): "That--that was--me. You. Him. What's left of him, in you."
kikainogimon (6:03:09 AM): He crosses his arms across his chest, not in his usual relaxed Nine gesture, but as though he's hugging himself. "I'm sorry. What was wrong with him--it's wrong with me, too. I'm sorry. Harry."
Culumacilinte (6:13:59 AM): Harry feels shaken, crouched there by the table leg, looking across at the Doctor- the Doctor!- as though he was a wild animal who might attack at any moment. But that tells him more yet about the Master. His own actions aside, the Master was a man who could turn the Doctor into that. And he knows more than ever that he never wants to be that man ever again. Here come the drums, he thinks, and grimaces, not knowing where the words came from. Slowly, he allows himself to relax, grimacing fastidiously as one leg stretches out into a puddle of tea. 'Was that because of- you said physical contact made the telepathy easier- did that happen because we were kissing?' He hopes not. He really hopes not.
kikainogimon (6:20:36 AM): The Doctor regards the tea puddling on the floor between them glumly. All of that, the conversation, Harry had been doing so *well,* and then he, the Doctor, ruined it by forgetting that Harry wasn't the Master. By forgetting that he wasn't Koschei, and what was like Koschei in Harry, what made him himself, could only exist because he was *not* the Master.
kikainogimon (6:20:46 AM): "Yeah. Yeah, it did."
kikainogimon (6:27:34 AM): "Physical contact sets up the potential for...mm, resonance. The drums encourage each other. The Master could...he'd had them since he was very young, he had better control, more experience. I...I came to them late. I wanted his help, I wanted to help *him.* So we could both be whole again. But I couldn't convince him. I never learned anything about how he lived with them. My control is...well, it's...it's poor. And so is yours."
Culumacilinte (6:39:13 AM): 'Oh.' Just oh, and an illogical disappointment at hearing that. It was just a snog, of course, and Harry knows the Doctor said that Time Lords 'do the whole emotions thing' too, but he can't help feeling that the experience of them still must be different for them somehow. Because Harry had felt so good, kissing him, his hands cool against his back. Perhaps the Doctor had only felt a lack of the Master. He was right about the resonance, though; the drums had never felt like that before, and he never wants to feel that again, that sensation of being out of his own control. Still, though. Harry heaves a little sigh, looking over at the Doctor, and in a moment, he makes something like a decision. The table is small, their legs are all but tangled at the moment, so it's not hard for Harry to lean across, to take the Doctor's jumper in his hand, and press a firm kiss to his lips. It's saying something, though he's not quite sure what, and that will have to do for the moment.
kikainogimon (6:47:21 AM): The Doctor slams up all of the mental barriers he possesses as Harry leans across to him, determined not to let their minds make contact again, no matter how great the temptation (and it still is, because he cares for Harry, he wants to be close to him, and the mind is so central to that, that connection clearer than words or even touch--and because the drums know his weakness now, know that they could make Harry theirs/his, make him into their image, even more than the Chameleon Arch has already allowed). And because he knows that what he is looking for is not *there.* Harry is Harry, and if he wants to care for him, he will have to learn to accept that.
kikainogimon (6:49:19 AM): But when Harry grabs him by the jumper, kisses him, they collapse, instantly, and he can feel him, again, this human man struggling against a burden even Time Lords cannot bear, struggling to be himself in spite of the drums.
kikainogimon (6:50:13 AM): Harry is not the danger here. The Master is. The Doctor is. But not this man.
kikainogimon (6:53:44 AM): The Doctor lets himself respond to the kiss, not deep, not risking any renewal of the brief surge of violence moments ago. He runs a hand through Harry's hair, up from the base of his neck to the crown of his head.
kikainogimon (6:54:23 AM): "I like you, Harry Saxon." He smiles, subdued, but sincere.
Culumacilinte (6:59:48 AM): He doesn't really give a toss whether the Doctor kisses back. It's a statement more than anything else, after all; I'm not giving up that easily, I am not the Master, I am not going to be a slave to this thing. But he does kiss back, and Harry finds himself humming in the back of his throat as long fingers run through short hair, and when the kiss ends, he regards the Doctor with one brow raised and a smile twitching about his lips. He still feels shaken and scared, somewhere inside himself, and his nice trousers are getting soaked in cold tea, but right now... this isn't so terribly bad. Maybe. He smirks, and it's just as genuine as the Doctor's smile, even if it is a little crooked. 'You're strangely tolerable as well, thanks.'
kikainogimon (7:04:51 AM): "Oh, well, tolerable, I'm moving up in the world."
kikainogimon (7:05:09 AM): "What do you say we get out of this tea?"
Culumacilinte (7:08:34 AM): 'One of your more sensible ideas this month, Doctor.' He hoists himself to his feet, holding out a hand to help haul the Doctor up, and then plucking distastefully at his sodden trousers. 'I liked these, you know.'
kikainogimon (7:13:24 AM): "I thought rerouting the quantum reactivator through the triple-spheric liminal type-12 mark array was sensible. Oh, and running from the Qwark bats." The Doctor, having allowed himself to be hoisted up, shakes his feet like a cat that's stepped in water--somehow he's managed to get tea in his Converse.
kikainogimon (7:14:00 AM): "TARDIS'll have them right in no time, don't worry."
kikainogimon (7:15:46 AM): "So, clothing with fewer antioxidants and a new destination with fewer grudge-holding natives?"
Culumacilinte (7:16:19 AM): 'Probably a good idea, yeah.'
Culumacilinte (7:17:00 AM): And then they went off into the sunset, and nearly got themselves killed on yet another planet, and it was all jolly good fun. The end. Because I'm tired and haven't slept in far too long.