Those widened-umber eyes scan the room surrounding him, a vastness he can’t quite place settling deep within his psyche and he doesn’t understand the meaning behind what he sees nor why that strange mechanical vibration seems to be apologizing. That was silly- machines couldn’t apologize because machines weren’t alive. So lost is he in his ponderings of the environment and the void within his head that feels both achingly familiar and steadfastly foreign that he doesn’t notice at first when the other man kneels before him.
He doesn’t notice until the gentle whoosh of air carries the scent of the other to his nostrils and they flare, his head turning instantly and his eyes locking onto the face of the man as a hand reaches out with a light touch to his brow. He can’t explain the flush that rises to his freckle-laden skin at the close proximity of this man, nor can he explain why it feels like there are two hearts fighting for dominance beneath his chest in a desperate attempt to escape the cavity they’re contained in. Before he has time to question his own bodily reactions he feels that soft, gentle warmth spreading through him that seems to relax him.
Perhaps that has to do with the touch as well but in that moment as his mind fills with a soft cotton and his veins pump downy-feathers through his body, he is perfectly incapable of caring where the pleasant sensation comes from- just that it is there and shall remain, always. His eyes become more naturally lidded and a crooked half smile appears on his face, nodding dumbly as the man speaks to him of lost memories, of friendship and safety. Of names.
“We’re friends. I’m safe with you.Koschei...”
He whispers the last part, the name, softly- like a prayer of the devout in the most holy of temples, but it sparks no memories to fill the void in his mind. This makes him feel guilty, and he can’t understand why- so he shoves the guilt aside, not wishing to feel it any longer.
“And I’m the Doctor… that’s not a proper name, though, is it. The Doctor. What sort of a man calls himself a Doctor? Bit pompous if you ask me. I don’t think I’m any sort of Doctor. Certainly don’t feel like a Doctor. Why couldn’t I have a normal name, like yours? Koschei. Your name’s beautiful, I want a name like that.”
Blimey, it seems his mouth is keen to move whether he wants it to or not. Snapping his lips closed promptly he attempts to stem the flow of vocabulary, which seems to make his tongue twitch behind his teeth. No thoughts accompany the semantics- they seem to have a mind of their own. Despite this attempt at silence, his mouth opens again and provides more words against his will. He doesn’t get up though- he stays put, as he’s told, on the floor of the vast and unfamiliar room.
“Diagnosing things- sounds more like you’re the Doctor, not me. Diagnosing mechanical issues, diagnosing me with amnesia, taking care of me here on the floor. If I am the Doctor then I’m a rubbish one and I demand a new name immediately- wait. Hang on. Did you say we’re married? Properly together? Oh that’s- that’s brilliant. How’d I land a bloke like you? You’re gorgeous! Certainly better looking than I must be, I mean- I feel all thin and- and wiry and-”
The words stop immediately, silence falling as he claps a hand over his mouth to prevent any more from flowing out. Clearly, regardless of who he is, he certainly has a gob. That flush on his face turns into a proper burn of embarrassment and he’s positive he’s going to melt into the floor. He shan’t be removing his hand from his mouth again any time soon, at least… that’s the plan.
Of all the Masters, this face is the most openly physically demonstrative, and that’s what compels him to hum fondly at the trust his lost beloved shows him, and to reach out, slowly, to pet his face.
“We’re best friends. You will always be safe with me.”
My love, oh my love, when your memory returns, and it shall, know that I didn’t lie, for all the pain’s squarely, firm as concrete, stored in the inaccessible past. Inaccessible even to time travelers, for we are changed people, no matter where or when your TARDIS takes us.
He laughs a broad cackle when his beloved suggests that he is worthier of the snobby moniker.
“You use the term less to connote a literal physician, luv. More as a bit of sanctimonious twaddle about patching oop the universe. You’re a bit of a prig, but your hearts are truly enormously loving, so after long agonies of feuding, you and I decided to simply be the old married couple that we are… . yes. I said that, yes.”
He quirks his lip at his beloved idiot.
“Don’t you dare flirt with me. Even like this! You cad. I love you.”
He turns a console monitor toward the Doctor on his way to studying the proverbial crime scene.
“You’re MY wiry thin blooshin’ maiden.”
He pinches his cheek, hard, and snaps his teeth “threateningly’ at the tip of his nose.
Icarus 