Soul's Shadow (Doctor Who - SI)

Part II (VII)

"You're bluffing," I deadpanned with squinted eyes, even though I somewhat believed it. Everything was possible with an alien. But he looked so... young, if not for his eyes. They told another story. One of countless years, unimaginable suffering and so, so much loneliness. All of it shining through for a mere moment.

He huffed and smiled bitterly. "Wish you were right, little one."

I took a sip from my coffee and studied his face for a while longer, especially since he wasn't focusing on me, but rather at something within his own mind. It almost seemed as if he were in pain, barely able to hold up the facade of nonchalance. His hands sank to the table, one forefinger taping against his other hand. Always in the same rhythm.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Pause.

tap, tap, tap, tap.

Pause.

Always the same, never changing in speed. How odd, I thought as I emptied the coffee, still contemplating what to ask next. What did I want know about him? What person was he? Old, okay. Cruel, definitely. Heartless?

No.

I had met many people throughout my life. Many people that could be considered bad in countless ways. Psychopaths, way too many narcissists and other dysfunctional people. They all shared the same cold charm that was designed to lull you into a false state of safety, but still gave me a sense of... wrongness when I was near them. They all wanted you to succumb to sympathy and trust, for them to be able to get into your head and break you for good.

The Master, however, was just downright blunt with his self-proclaimed evilness. He didn't seem to care at all what I thought of him, wasn't interested in building some kind of fake trust, although I was rather certain he could, if any of his plans required it. And right now, it actually did. So why did he behave as if he wanted to shove me away as far as possible, even though he needed my willing help?

I sighed and shook my head. This guy just made no sense at all. How he sat there, lost in whatever thoughts, tapping the strange rhythm. But now his eyes actually showed the pain somewhat. Whatever plagued him seemed to get worse.

"Hey," I quietly interrupted his and my own musings, "are you okay?"

He woke from a dream, a nightmare, a memory too painful to bare. His eyes were wide in an almost childlike manner, surprised, pained, desperate even. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, pinched his eyes shut and suddenly let out a quiet groan, while his hands shot to his head, clawing into his hair.

"Master?" I tried again, uncertain what was wrong and what to do about it.

There was no answer, not the slightest hint that told me he even heard me. Instead he only sank further down, fingers stiff, but also twitching from time to time. Finally I shot from my chair and walked over, placed a hand on his underarm to get his attention.

And I got it. Way too fast for me to react, his head shot up, he grabbed my wrist and pushed me away from him. His eyes were clouded by what I could only be describe as unadulterated madness. But not the type one would find in a psych ward. This went deeper, far deeper, as if a foreign entity was scraping at his very existence.

"It hurts," he muttered, sounding desperate. "It never actually hurt before!"

"C... can I help somehow?" I wanted to know, barely able to cope with the sight. I could feel that he wasn't acting. Whatever happened was very real.

Suddenly he sprang from the chair, made it clatter to the ground behind him, his hand still around my wrist, the second suddenly grabbing my collar. He growled. Actually growled. Like a wounded wolf.