Title: Find Your Way Back
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, 50ficlets
Prompt: 29, Feel
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor raised one hand in front of him, squinting at it. It almost seemed as though it didn't belong to him, wasn't a part of him, which was a ridiculous thought. Of course it was part of him. It was his body. One that he'd had for a while.

Why had it been so hard for him to feel anything since the Master had .... passed away? He flinched inwardly as the word burgeoned in his mind. He hated to say the word "died," even though that was what had happened.

It didn't seem possible that the Master was gone. For as long as he could remember, they'd been the bitterest of rivals -- but that hadn't meant that he'd wanted the other man dead. He'd felt even more alone ever since that fateful day.

There were times when those moments that he'd held the Master in his arms and begged him to regenerate seemed like a dream, even though the memory was disturbingly vivid.

Had it all really happened? He didn't want to admit that it had. It as as though when the Master had ceased to exist, the Doctor's ability to feel, physically and emotionally, had died along with him. He'd simply shut down, at least in some ways.

Oh, he could still function just fine. He was still walking, talking, eating, sleeping, breathing, even smiling and able to make jokes. But inside, he was .... empty. He couldn't feel anything. It was as if a part of him had run down, and had been turned off.

He didn't know how to make that part of who he was come back to life. Had the Master meant that much to him, then, that he could be so devastated by the other man's death? That didn't seem possible, not after what that maniac had put him through.

It wasn't just that the Master had been someone who he'd known since childhood, though that was a large part of his sorrow. Yes, the other man had gone down a dark path that the Doctor would never have followed -- but there was always the chance that he could be redeemed.

The Doctor almost wanted to snort aloud at his own line of thought. The Master would never change. He should have learned that from their encounters over the centuries, if nothing else. He would have always stayed exactly what he was.

But that wouldn't have stopped the Doctor from trying to make him see the error of his ways -- even if it was a completely thankless task.

And if the Master hadn't chosen to die, then he would have had a companion who would stay with him forever. He would finally have someone there who could spend their life with him. He woudln't have had to face the prospect of going through his life essentially on his own.

Yes, he could have companions who'd be there for a short span of time. But someone who would always be there, someone who had the sort of life span that he himself did? That wasn't possible -- unless he was with Jack, who hadn't wanted to stay.

Or, of course, unless he'd been able to keep the Master with him, as he'd wanted to do. He didn't consider that the other man would rather die than be what anyone might consider a prisoner. He hadn't thought that the Master would be willing to give up his life.

But he had. It was the ultimate rejection.

All right, so maybe it was silly to be so hurt by that. But he was. It had been the Master's decision, and he couldn't hold it against the other man. Everyone had the right to decide how they wanted their lives to end.

He'd looked into the Master's eyes, and he'd seen .... nothing. Nothing but victory, triumph, the knowledge that he was, once again, thwarting the Doctor. Even in death, that had been his main priority. He'd known just how much it would hurt.

It was in that moment, when he'd looked into those eyes and known that he would never have anyone in his life who could stay with him, that he'd stopped feeling. When the Master's life had drained away as the Doctor had held him.

Something inside him had died along with the Master. Or maybe it hadn't died, but had only hidden itself away, unable to face a world where he was the last of his kind. He didn't know how to bring it back. He had no idea where to even begin searching for it.

So .... in effect, he was condemning himself to go through the rest of his life as an unfeeling automaton -- which wasn't something he fancied doing at all.

What choice did he have? He was numb, inside and out. And there was no one in his life who could turn that around. Jack might have been able to, but Jack wasn't here, and never would be again. He couldn't go to the immortal and ask him for help.

There was no way out of this, no way to grope his way to who and what he'd been before the death of the Master. Not unless he found it himself -- and at this point, he was stumbling along in the darkness with no clue of which way to turn.

Sighing, the Doctor looked down at his hands. Would they ever feel as though they were a part of him again? He had no idea, but he hoped that he could recover those lost feelings. He had to. There was no telling what would become of him if he didn't.

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