Title: Fragile
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 3, 10_hurt_comfort
Prompt: 1, Fragile
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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He hated that he could appear so fragile, to everyone else's eyes as well as his own.

The Doctor sighed as he looked into the mirror, studying his nude body intently. He looked frail on the outside, but that look belied what he was on the inside .... didn't it? He was stronger than his appearance led others to believe.

Though not in a physical way. He smiled wryly at the thought; he was certainly no superhero in that sense. He'd never have the physical strength that most people might associate with someone like himself -- at least, not in this body.

He'd never had that kind of strength. He'd always been more agile with his mind than with any sort of physical characteristic, and he didn't have a problem with that. He'd discovered long ago that a developed mind was worth more than a developed body.

Though it would be nice to not have such a look of fragile helplessness about him, the thought, sighing as he regarded himself. What he saw wasn't unpleasant, but it was certainly far from being perfect, or even being what he'd like to be.

It was a shame that he hadn't been ginger this time around. He sighed regretfully, raising a hand to smooth his hair. Still, this wasn't bad at all.

His face definitely wasn't bad. He couldn't help but smile again; he had a rather nice smile. He could see why people liked it -- he was fond of it himself. Yes, he liked this face, in spite of the flaws it had. It was interesting, arresting; it had character.

This was the youngest he could ever remember looking, though he was older now than he'd ever been. Well, he'd had a couple of bodies before that looked younger facially -- but they had seemed worn down by more cares than this face was.

Still, he'd aged visibly in the time that he'd had this body. Was it his imagination, or were there more lines on his face now than there had been when he'd first regenerated? The Doctor frowned, learning closer to the mirror to peer into it.

Yes, there were. But that was only to be expected, given the fact that he was still recovering from his part in the Time Wars, as well as all the battles he'd had to fight in his ongoing struggle with the Master -- battles that would be fought for longer than he cared to think of. He couldn't foresee a day when one of them would actually win out over the other for good.

Even though this face wasn't perfect, he still liked it. And he wanted to keep it for as long as he could. He had no intention of regenerating any time soon -- though if the need arose, he'd do it rather than give up his life before it was time to do so.

His eyes traveled lower in the mirror, taking in his body and frowning again. It wasn't a bad body, not at all. For some things, it was a wonderful body. Long and lean and agile -- physically fit, good for so many things that he had to do when he was caught in a bad situation.

How many times had he been glad that he was in good shape in this body? There had been too many others that had physical impairments to hold him back.

Age had been one of them. No matter how young he might have been in Time Lord years, his bodies aged -- and a few of them had been at the point where he'd needed to regenerate even if his life hadn't been in danger.

This body was young and strong; it would last a long time if he didn't somehow damage it beyond repair. He'd worried about that a great deal since he'd first regenerated into it, especially after the regeneration had been so painful and taken so long.

Thin, yes; so slender that he looked breakable. But there was a strength there, something that would make anyone who saw him in this way look twice. He couldn't quite put a name to that quality, but it was there, just under the surface.

He loathed seeing the bruises that were marring it now, bruises put there by his last encounter with the Master. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to push that memory to the back of his mind; it was still too fresh to think about, too new.

The Master knew how fragile he was -- and he knew exactly how to play on that. Not only the outer fragility of this body he was in now, but the tender core of his hearts, his psyche. No one else had ever been able to get to him in that way.

He didn't want to admit to that inner fragility. He hated knowing that there was indeed a part of him that was vulnerable, though he tried his best not to show it. Other than the Master, no one knew about that soft, hidden center of his being -- not even the one who had been his lover for a while. He'd never let that mask slip.

It wasn't something he was proud of, that fragility. He'd tried to make that part of himself stronger, to harden his heart against sentimentality, against emotions. But he hadn't been able to do that. It had worked to a certain extent, but no further.

The Master knew that -- and he played on it. He knew just how fragile the Doctor was, just how easy it was to use certain people and places against him. He'd done that often enough -- and he'd never hesitate to use whatever he could in his quest for victory over the Doctor.

Maybe he was wrong, and his inner self matched the outer far better than he thought. That wasn't something he was happy with.

But it was also something that he couldn't really change -- not unless he wanted to slam a door on his emotions and become hard and cold, like the Master. The Doctor sighed, closing his eyes and turning away from the mirror.

He wasn't going to let that happen. The Master had insisted more than once that they were closer in spirit than the Doctor wanted to admit, and he'd denied it categorically every time. He wasn't like the Master. He never had been, and he would never let himself be.

He wanted the best for the universe. He wanted to look on the bright side, to see the good in people and places. He wanted to believe that even if the universe couldn't live in perfect harmony, that no one had to live in fear.

The Master didn't want a world like that to exist. He wanted to foster fear and hatred within the various races that populated the galaxy; and he wanted to be at the center of that spinning vortex, controlling the actions of all those around him. In short, he wanted to rule the world -- and he would stop at nothing to achieve that goal.

But he would always be here to stop that, the Doctor vowed, clenching his small fists at his sides. Outwardly fragile he might be, but that inner core of strength deep within him had always stood him in good stead when he needed it most -- and it always would.

There would always be a next time, until one of them vanquished the other for all time. The Doctor had no idea which one of them would be the ultimate victor; there were still too many things in the future that were cloudy, and he didn't want to look ahead that far.

He didn't want to see his own possible demise. It was enough to know that it was coming at some point, and that this life might not end in the way that he would choose.

It was a sobering thought, one that he didn't want to dwell on. His seeming fragility could at least cloak that inner strength that he always carried with him, which would give him a better disguise than any other that he could possibly use to hide what he truly was.

The Doctor reached for his clothes, feeling the need to cover his body and hide it from the rest of the world. It was better to keep that inner strength as a surprise weapon, if he ever needed to use it. He would try not to let that strength show in his face or his demeanor; maybe that would fool his enemies into thinking it wasn't there.

And if it didn't fool them, at least it might be able to buy him some more precious time -- time that he would be grateful for in the end.

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