Behind the arrogant bravado, there is a haggardness, borne of loving worry, on the face of the Master.
“What do you know about post-partum depression?”
Romana perks up slightly, though she does actually realise the seriousness of the situation that would warrant such a question. She’s simply thrilled at being consulted by someone whom she so admires.
“Quite a bit,” she says. Naturally, she had done research on every possible avenue once she had heard the Doctor was expecting, and it seems to be reaping it’s benefits now. “Though not from experience, naturally. What do you need to know?”
“I just. I want to know… .”
The Master sits in front of his junior, pupil, and friend, pressing his thumbs into the throbbing bridge of his nose, feeling curiously bleak.
“Say that the mother’s mentioned a sense of insecurity about the relationship between the baby and the father, versus the relationship between the baby and herself. She fears she’s insufficient, that the bond she holds with her daughter is … somehow doomed to fade. What does the father do–aside the obvious recourse of caring for the mother, reassuring her? Does he sacrifice more of his time with the baby, or does that … does that somehow … enable feelings of jealousy to run unchecked?”
He lifts his face sharply from his hands.
“I’m out of practice, Romana. I haven’t been in a real relationship until I was reunited with the Doctor. I’ve been married, but it was a sham, and I’ve had lovers and companions, but they literally betrayed me by trying to forfeit my life. I want to be a good dad. I want to do this right.”
Icarus 