itsjustkind:

｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ masterfulxrhythm:

    “Take off that magician’s tux straightaway.  And open the parcel on the bed.”

Never has the Master looked so benevolently smug.  Never.  

He’s standing in the doorway, wearing an implausible shirt indeed, a simple white with red print, in a blunt Century Gothic sans font, which reads,

       I am Koschei.

Within the parcel is another white tee, which reads, in blue,

     If lost, return to

and in red again

     Koschei.  

The Doctor, meanwhile, has never looked so confused. Take off his magician’s tux? For a start, there’s a complaint about the use of ‘magician’ on the tip of his tongue, and shortly after, a question about why Koschei would suddenly demand that he take off his beloved outfit. He doesn’t voice either, though, because his eyes fall on the parcel. A gift? He hasn’t done anything to deserve a gift, he’s quite sure, and he doesn’t think it’s his birthday. Not that he’d remember anyway.

He steps forward and tears open the parcel, hesitantly at first, and then with the eagerness of a child at Christmas, once he’s forgotten he’s being watched. The shirt he takes out warms his hearts like nothing else. ‘If lost’ can be said to have always applied to him, and now applies whenever he is alone. The idea of being lost, literally or metaphorically, does not affect him greatly any more. ‘Return to Koschei’ is the part that touches him, warmth seeping through the cracks in any mask of emotional detachment.

Now he follows the initial instructions, throwing off his jacket and the several unnecessary layers underneath that. He pulls on the shirt, wearing it with pride. He is wanted. Needed. The other half of something that isn’t ashamed to claim him as its own.

There’s a specific part of his mind that hurts sometimes, when he feels the sting of rejection or abandonment. In all the time he’s been in this body, the only thing that can soothe it is being made to feel wanted, or irreplaceable. Doing what he does, being the Doctor, doesn’t help. Wherever he goes he is an abstract concept, a mystery. He’s simply a being with a title, who arrives with a purpose and disappears from a person’s world when he has done what he needs to do. All the kindness in the world won’t make him important to someone who needs him only to save their life. He is temporary, most of the time.

This touches that part of him more than anything else has ever done. He doesn’t speak, because he hasn’t found the words to express any of this, but he does wordlessly make his way across the room to the doorway where Koschei stands. His arms hug tightly, pulling close the only being who has ever made him feel so complete. He’d never dream of asking for validation or reassurance that Koschei is pleased to have him. Him specifically, not just a being who has something to offer. The wonderful thing about this is that he hasn’t had to ask. 

“I love you,” he says. “I’m never going to take this off. Do you understand what you’ve just done for me?” 

He’s still holding him, but he pulls back just enough to let Koschei see his face. This is no time for using hugs to hide his face. His eyes shine, and there’s no hint of coldness anywhere in them. No mask. The Doctor kisses him on the face, just in case the hug and the tears in his eyes aren’t enough to demonstrate his feelings about this.

      “I do understand, as a matter of fact.” 

I love you.

Every time the Doctor says those words–the Doctor that the Master thought had finally given up on him, relegated him to a “hopeless case”–his hearts are buoyant, and his head experiences brief but intense vertigo.  He gets giddy.  

     “When you’re accustomed to being thought undesirable, or problematic, or simply ‘too much’ … . being claimed by a loved one is an act of salvation.”