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Three/Delgado!Master
Date: 2008-10-27 05:16 pm (UTC)---
“I only mean, Doctor, that this comes as something of a surprise,” the Master said, watching the Doctor’s hands. “I would think grooming me would be beneath your dignity.”
“Leaving that beard the way it was would be beneath my dignity.” The Doctor didn’t break his gaze; the simple single blade of the razor flicked against the Master’s cheek, delicate. “You looked absolutely appalling. One of us had to do something about it. Up.” The pressure of his fingertips under the Master’s chin was enough to get his point across, and the Master raised his head accordingly. He adjusted his grip on the razor and inspected him with a criticism falsely cool; the metal’s slow stroke began again.
“Some might call it subservient,” the Master continued.
“Would they?” The Doctor smiled – he couldn’t see him, but he knew he was smiling. “Seems to me I’m the one holding a very sharp blade up to your throat.”
“Excellent point.” It was a simple observation, not meant to threaten or alarm. “And yet the fact remains that you are the one performing the menial task for me. Knives notwithstanding, of course.”
“Of course.” The Doctor didn’t respond for a moment, focusing on his task instead, but as he made his way along his chin, to the edge of his jaw, he noted with a casual air: “You could say that I’m abasing myself, doing something for you that you’d do yourself. But –”
And suddenly the blade of the razor pressed harder into the Master’s skin – not hard enough to draw blood, not yet, but enough for him to feel its edge and know what it could do with just the slightest bit more force. “– aren’t you still counting on me not being careless?”
Their eyes met, and in the still, perfect curve of the blade the Master could almost feel his temptation. Not the temptation to wound, no – the Doctor was never so direct. But if his hand just slipped, if he only pricked his skin and left the smallest, most impermanent mark…
For all that the Doctor pretended to be above such crude gestures of power, the possibility had obviously not escaped him.
Carefully, the Master raised his hand, and let his fingers rest along the blade, urging it on its inevitable course.
But the Doctor only smiled again, and withdrew the razor, wiping it clean as if nothing had happened. And the both of them laughed, quietly; with relief, with satisfaction, perhaps with both.
“Does this mean you’ll let me cut your hair?” The Master asked, as the Doctor went back to work.
“No. Why would I do a thing like that?”
“You’ve let it get terribly unruly, Doctor.”
Requests: Poul/D84 (both from "The Robots of Death"), Victoria Waterfield/Jo Grant
Re: D84/Poul (Robots of Death)
Date: 2011-11-27 10:22 am (UTC)Just a brief explanation, because this is a fill and a bonus fill, because, I love RoD but thought how difficult Poul/D84 would be to pull off whereas Silver (also David Collings)/D84 would be easy. And when I wrote it, then, apparently I could write the other. Hence both of them here. :-)(ETA: Just looked at the request list. You know Silver. In which case no explanation is needed. :-D)D84/Poul, 506 words, PG
***
D84 did not understand humans. He did not understand humans, but he understood his primary function to serve and assist them. He had been made and was owned by the Company, and he had been instructed to serve and assist Poul specifically. He did not understand Poul, but that was not necessary. His memory had stored many instances of times when the illogic of this human had achieved their purpose in service of the Company. He had no need to question or to understand; only to obey.
Sometimes, though, D84 felt he did not understand Poul more than he did not understand other humans.
Every night since they had been on board the Storm Mine, Poul undressed and redressed D84. First he would remove his face and look at the mechanical components that were behind it. Next it would be a hand, to find only a metal joint, no blood or decaying flesh. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but that at least.
The first few nights, he had told D84 to leave him alone, that it was not necessary to protect him by standing guard in his room at night. He had frequently added that he did not even believe Taren Capel was on board (there was no definite evidence, D84 agreed), and that he, Poul, was capable of looking after himself without a stupid robot hanging about where he wasn’t wanted.
This contradicted his primary function and instructions. D84 reminded Poul that it was not rational to refuse protection he had been instructed to give. Poul did not speak again, save for any orders, until the next night. D84 only thought that logical.
It had changed, a few nights on, to an insistence that he promise not to harm him while he stayed. D84 saw no problem with repeating the obvious: “Of course, Chief Mover Poul. A robot cannot harm a human.”
“Yes,” Poul had started to say now, at that point. “Yes. You’re not like the others, are you? You’re different. You’re on my side, not theirs. You won’t hurt me. You’re not like the others at all.”
I am not like the other robots, D84 agreed, for it was a fact. He was far more sophisticated than even SV7, a prototype more advanced than any other robot on board Storm Mine 4. I will not hurt you. I am incapable of harming a human. I am here to follow your orders.
And then, some nights, Poul would throw words at him – sometimes more than words – but never anything that could pierce D84’s metal exterior. None of it had any meaning to a robot.
Now, these last few nights, once that was over, Poul only begged to be held, to be safe where the others could not reach him. Hide me. D84 did what was asked of him. The only satisfaction he knew was to fulfil the purpose for which he had been created.
D84 did not understand humans. He wondered now if that might be a failing in his programming.
***
Prompts: Harry Sullivan/Lucie Miller, D84(RoD)/K9, Leela/Vila Restal (Blake's 7)
Re: D84 (Robots of Death) / Silver (Sapphire & Steel)
Date: 2011-11-27 10:52 am (UTC)D84/Silver, All ages, 987 words.
***
There is light and sound and he is functioning again, at least in part. That is not possible. D84 is not yet fully operational, but he knows that. Nevertheless, he is here; aware. And he is also aware of another presence, both within and without. “Doctor?”
“Well, you could say that, I suppose,” says a voice that is familiar but incorrect. Deft, long fingers run down his arm, over his mask of a face. “My, my, you really are something special, aren’t you?”
Optical and audio functions are being restored. He registers the human kneeling beside him, although something is still not correct. “Poul.”
“What?” the red-haired human turns his head to look down at him with a frown. “That’s odd. I thought I’d got everything working. I have, I’m sure.”
He states a fact: “I should not be here.”
“Yes,” says the man who is and isn’t Poul. “That is true, but it would have been a crime to leave you lying there. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it to Diamond. You’re not part of this ridiculous non-assignment, you see, so-” He gives an expressive shrug. “In many ways, she’s a thousand times worse than -” He stops, but it is then that D84 registers again that this being is also inside his circuitry, for he hears the unspoken word and the darkness that goes with it: Steel.
“You were damaged. Broken. I am sorry.”
“I -?” The man stops and moves to put his hands over D84’s silver ones. “Broken? I think not. Never broken.”
The man is not Poul. D84’s full abilities are returning, little by little and he can scan the being next to him. He is not a man. He is… It is not possible, his artificial brain concludes again.
No, says the voice in his head in wry amusement. No, I daresay it is not. I am Silver, and you are lucky I found you. Nobody else could have brought you back. (It is another fact. It is also a boast.)
D84 analyses the available data and still nothing makes sense. “I… do not understand. How am I here? Where is Taren Capel?”
“Oh, my dear fellow, you are so very much more than they realise, aren’t you?” He is closer again, here in this room, and also as a dancing, sparkling presence within D84’s every component. “You want to understand, don’t you? Yes. Oh, I know.”
There is a sense somewhere of long millennia of watching from the outside. It gives a name to the elusive thoughts D84 had believed were quirks and faults: it is an emotion, it is loneliness and longing. Humans are the ultimate mystery. So obvious, crude and short-lived; yet so triumphantly illogical, full of passions and contradictions. So easily seen through and yet forever unknowable....
Rest here at my journal