Title: Conflicting Emotions
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: one-sided Master/Doctor & past Jack/Doctor
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1, fanfic50
Prompt: 2, Hate
Warnings: previous non-con
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the lovely Tenth Doctor, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

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The Doctor sighed as he leaned against the console of the Tardis, his brow furrowed in thought. His lover had put a question to him that he'd had a hard time answering, a question that he was still turning over in his mind and looking for the answer to.

Did he hate the Master? At one time, he would have said yes with utter and complete sincerity, but now, he wasn't so sure. He certainly didn't have any special affection for the man, but there were things that drew them together.

He didn't love the Master. He never had. Jack had insinuated that his enmity towards the other man sprang from love; he'd asked the Doctor point-blank if their association on Gallifrey, through their childhood years and their time at the Academy, had ever been an intimate one.

He'd denied those words hotly, with every negative phrase he could think of. Jack had simply stood there with his brows raised, looking as though he questioned every word the Doctor said, until the Time Lord had turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Really, he couldn't blame Jack for asking the question. The way that the Master seemed to be so single-mindedly focused on him made it seem as though there must have been something between them other than enmity, though there hadn't been -- well, not on the Doctor's side.

Had he ever hidden any tender feelings for the Master? Not that he could recall, but then, the days when they had been friends had been so long ago. He could barely remember a time when the Master hadn't been mad, or in the process of becoming so.

When they were children, they'd been friends, but it had been an uneasy friendship at best. That had continued into their days at the Academy, when they'd been teenagers -- but that friendship had ended quickly, with less than an hour in the Doctor's room.

He could still remember how shocked he'd been when the Master had locked the door and then lunged at him, the lust he'd apparently felt for him coming to the surface. He'd protested, struggled, tried to cry out, but he'd been overpowered at every turn.

That was the first time they'd been physically intimate, but it wasn't a time that the Doctor wanted to keep in his memories. He'd been terrified of what the Master was doing to him, even though he knew what was going to happen. It hadn't been a good initiation.

If only the other man -- or boy, as they'd been at the time -- had been gentle and understanding! But that wasn't in the Master's emotional makeup, even so long ago. No, that dominant streak, that compulsive need to control the Doctor in any way he could, was given free rein.

The experience hadn't turned him against the idea of being with a man. It had certainly made him wary, but he'd been able to realize that not all men were like the Master, even though his next few encouters with men had been difficult because of what the Master had done to him.

After that day, he'd stayed as far away from the Master as he could. He'd had to acknowledge the other man's presence, but the uneasy friendship was gone. He had been careful not to be in the same room alone with the Master, which hadn't been too hard to do.

But any pity that he might have felt for his one-time friend had been destroyed with that one act of control. Any softer feelings that he might have had left from their days as friends when they were children was swept away, to be replaced by emotions that he couldn't easily define.

Did he hate the Master? He couldn't answer that question with an unequivocal yes. The emotions that he felt were much more complicated than putting them into simple "love" and "hate" categories; there was too much baggage associated with them.

He couldn't simply put all of those conflicting emotions into little boxes and compartmentalize them, no matter how much Jack might think he should do so. Those emotions went back too many centuries, and they weren't as simple as they might seem to an outsider.

It had come as a shock to hear Jack that he hated the Master. The stormy look in his lover's eyes, the way that Jack had pounded his fist against his open palm -- those gestures had been unlike the man he knew, and they'd been a little frightening.

Jack had such hatred in his eyes when he spoke the Master's name; even his voice went cold and hard. He didn't look or sound like the man who the Doctor had fallen in love with, the man he slept with every night, the man he'd given his hearts to.

No, when he spoke so coldly and looked so formidable, he reminded the Doctor of no one so much as .... the Master. He hadn't dared to point that fact out to Jack; he hadn't wanted his lover to take those words in the wrong way, and turn away from him.

It had shaken him to realize that Jack felt so strongly about him. He'd known that the immortal cared for him, but he'd made it clear that he was ready to do away with the Master for good, just to keep him from plaguing the Doctor and wreaking havoc in his life.

He didn't want his lover to give in to that kind of hate -- and he didn't want to feel it himself. That was why he'd hesitated to reply when Jack had fired off that question about whether or not he hated his enemy. He didn't want to lower himself to that level.

If he gave himself over to that kind of hatred, then he would be no better than the Master. And he didn't want to sink into that same morass that had claimed the man who had once been his friend, so long ago that he could barely remember that friendship.

He'd been so careful over all of the centuries not to let himself give in to that dark side of his soul that he knew was there, waiting in the shadows to claim him if he gave it the chance. He wasn't going to become what the Master was. He wouldn't let that darkness overtake him.

And he wouldn't let that hatred overtake Jack, either. If his lover let that emotion consume him, then he would be no better than the Master -- and the Doctor wasn't going to let the man he loved fall into that sort of a trap. Jack was far too good for that.

He really couldn't be annoyed at Jack for his question about loving the Master. Love and hate were but two sides of the same coin, after all. Even though he'd never loved the Master, he could understand why Jack might come to that conclusion.

After all, it seemed as though the Master might have some kind of unrequited love for him, as twisted and warped as that love would ultimately be. It was a shame that the renegade Time Lord had never learned how to embrace love in its purest form, the Doctor thought.

It made him sad to realize that his enemy would never turn towards the better side of who he was. No, the Master had long ago left that part of himself behind; there was no hope that he could ever be redeemed. He'd let himself sink far too deeply into his own psychosis.

Neither he nor Jack would do that, he vowed to himself. They wouldn't let the kind of hatred that had become such a part of who the Master was control them. They were both better than that; neither of them would ever become the kind of man the Master was.

Sighing softly, he turned to go back to the bedroom, hoping that he could explain all of his conflicting emotions to Jack in a way that made sense. He hoped that Jack was in the mood to listen -- and that his boyfriend would agree with everything that he had to say.

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