Fic repost: Leaky Inductive Arguments
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neveralarchBrought to you by my semi-unexpected day off and my realization that it has been approximately forever since the last time I reposted fic.
Leaky Inductive Arguments
Doctor Who, Shalka Webcast
Rating: Teen
(fic about Russian Roulette - themes of suicide and general unhappiness)
Characters: Shalka!Doctor, Shalka!Master
Wordcount: 850ish
Summary: There are ways of dealing with loss. This is not a good one. (Set before the webcast.)
A/N: Originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XIII of the unanoning mission! Also, the first one of my reposts from the anonmemebration, very exciting.
The cylinder spun, the smooth tick-tack of it echoing in the silence. The Doctor brought the revolver to his head and fired.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
"You next," he said, and slid the thing across the table to the Master.
"Hm." The Master picked up the heavy wood and metal gun and ran his own plastic and metal hands along it, almost fondling the weapon. He played with it for a while before looking up at the Doctor. "Should I spin the cylinder again, or not?"
"Leave it." The Doctor rubbed at his face and wished for a drink.
"So the odds are worse than they were before," concluded the Master. "One out of five. How much do you actually want one of us to die?"
The Doctor waved the hand that wasn't massaging the bridge of his nose. "Get on with it."
"You know, in some versions of Russian Roulette they play with only one empty chamber." The Master raised his arm and set the gun at his head. His eyebrows quirked. "You could have tried that if you were so attached to death."
"It won't really kill either of us," muttered the Doctor. "I'd repair you. And I'd regenerate."
The Master made a face, and pulled the trigger on himself. Another click, and he turned the gun, offering it handle-first to the Doctor.
The Doctor took it and tried shooting himself again. It didn't work this time, either. He slid the gun back at the Master, feeling wretched.
"This isn't a healthy method of coping," said the Master.
"I haven't got any healthy methods of coping," said the Doctor. "Do you want me to forget her, like I have all the others?"
"Why not?" The Master shrugged. "You did all you could. She's gone. I hardly see how being fatally melodramatic will help."
The Doctor stared pointedly at the gun. The Master sighed, and took his shot. Nothing happened. No kick of an exploding cartridge, no spray of electronics.
"Last turn," said the Master, not moving the gun from its place at his temple. "Either you die or I will."
"Temporarily," said the Doctor.
"Russian Roulette is always a gamble," said the Master, ignoring the Doctor. "And a gamble means there's something to win. So let's see - if you get shot, then you get to change into someone else who might not care about her as much as you do. And if I get shot, then you get a nice little distraction as you try to repair the damage to my positronic brain."
The Doctor nodded along reluctantly, his eyes glued to where the muzzle of the gun was abnormally still against the Master's skin.
"But I never get to win," said the Master, and took away the gun at last. There was a little round mark where some residue from the gun had rubbed off on the side of his head. "Why should I continue to play?"
"What do you want?" asked the Doctor, his eyes still on the gun, watching the Master's hands toy restlessly with it.
"Never to do this again," said the Master, bluntly. "If I survive, then you put this behind you and get on with whatever errand the Council has for you next."
"Done," said the Doctor, not even thinking about it. If the Master survived, then the Doctor probably wouldn't be worrying about anything much for quite a while.
The gun was placed in his hand. The Doctor brought it up, fired, and failed to develop a hole in his head.
The Doctor held the gun limply in his hand for a moment, and thought of just pulling the trigger again. He was actually stiffening his wrist to do it when the Master reached out and took the revolver away.
"My turn," said the Master. He leveled the gun at the Doctor, pressed it tight against the middle of his forehead. The Doctor's eyes crossed briefly as he tried to look at the gun, and then he gave up and just looked in the Master's eyes, right into the cold mechanical eyes that he had designed.
"Do it," said the Doctor.
The Master pulled the trigger.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
The Doctor blinked in surprise as the Master dropped the gun and pushed back his chair.
"Six shots," said the Master, standing up. "We're finished."
"There was a bullet," said the Doctor, dully. "I loaded it before we began."
"I palmed it after the first shot," said the Master. He produced the cartridge from a pocket, held it between thumb and forefinger before concealing it again. "In any case, I've won. Please stop moping, as per our agreement."
The Doctor just stared at the table as the Master walked away. His hand touched the gun, but it was useless now and he was still aware enough to know that the Master would be hiding what little loose ammunition there might be on the TARDIS.
The phone was ringing.
He really did need a drink.
Leaky Inductive Arguments
Doctor Who, Shalka Webcast
Rating: Teen
(fic about Russian Roulette - themes of suicide and general unhappiness)
Characters: Shalka!Doctor, Shalka!Master
Wordcount: 850ish
Summary: There are ways of dealing with loss. This is not a good one. (Set before the webcast.)
A/N: Originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XIII of the unanoning mission! Also, the first one of my reposts from the anonmemebration, very exciting.
The cylinder spun, the smooth tick-tack of it echoing in the silence. The Doctor brought the revolver to his head and fired.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
"You next," he said, and slid the thing across the table to the Master.
"Hm." The Master picked up the heavy wood and metal gun and ran his own plastic and metal hands along it, almost fondling the weapon. He played with it for a while before looking up at the Doctor. "Should I spin the cylinder again, or not?"
"Leave it." The Doctor rubbed at his face and wished for a drink.
"So the odds are worse than they were before," concluded the Master. "One out of five. How much do you actually want one of us to die?"
The Doctor waved the hand that wasn't massaging the bridge of his nose. "Get on with it."
"You know, in some versions of Russian Roulette they play with only one empty chamber." The Master raised his arm and set the gun at his head. His eyebrows quirked. "You could have tried that if you were so attached to death."
"It won't really kill either of us," muttered the Doctor. "I'd repair you. And I'd regenerate."
The Master made a face, and pulled the trigger on himself. Another click, and he turned the gun, offering it handle-first to the Doctor.
The Doctor took it and tried shooting himself again. It didn't work this time, either. He slid the gun back at the Master, feeling wretched.
"This isn't a healthy method of coping," said the Master.
"I haven't got any healthy methods of coping," said the Doctor. "Do you want me to forget her, like I have all the others?"
"Why not?" The Master shrugged. "You did all you could. She's gone. I hardly see how being fatally melodramatic will help."
The Doctor stared pointedly at the gun. The Master sighed, and took his shot. Nothing happened. No kick of an exploding cartridge, no spray of electronics.
"Last turn," said the Master, not moving the gun from its place at his temple. "Either you die or I will."
"Temporarily," said the Doctor.
"Russian Roulette is always a gamble," said the Master, ignoring the Doctor. "And a gamble means there's something to win. So let's see - if you get shot, then you get to change into someone else who might not care about her as much as you do. And if I get shot, then you get a nice little distraction as you try to repair the damage to my positronic brain."
The Doctor nodded along reluctantly, his eyes glued to where the muzzle of the gun was abnormally still against the Master's skin.
"But I never get to win," said the Master, and took away the gun at last. There was a little round mark where some residue from the gun had rubbed off on the side of his head. "Why should I continue to play?"
"What do you want?" asked the Doctor, his eyes still on the gun, watching the Master's hands toy restlessly with it.
"Never to do this again," said the Master, bluntly. "If I survive, then you put this behind you and get on with whatever errand the Council has for you next."
"Done," said the Doctor, not even thinking about it. If the Master survived, then the Doctor probably wouldn't be worrying about anything much for quite a while.
The gun was placed in his hand. The Doctor brought it up, fired, and failed to develop a hole in his head.
The Doctor held the gun limply in his hand for a moment, and thought of just pulling the trigger again. He was actually stiffening his wrist to do it when the Master reached out and took the revolver away.
"My turn," said the Master. He leveled the gun at the Doctor, pressed it tight against the middle of his forehead. The Doctor's eyes crossed briefly as he tried to look at the gun, and then he gave up and just looked in the Master's eyes, right into the cold mechanical eyes that he had designed.
"Do it," said the Doctor.
The Master pulled the trigger.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.
The Doctor blinked in surprise as the Master dropped the gun and pushed back his chair.
"Six shots," said the Master, standing up. "We're finished."
"There was a bullet," said the Doctor, dully. "I loaded it before we began."
"I palmed it after the first shot," said the Master. He produced the cartridge from a pocket, held it between thumb and forefinger before concealing it again. "In any case, I've won. Please stop moping, as per our agreement."
The Doctor just stared at the table as the Master walked away. His hand touched the gun, but it was useless now and he was still aware enough to know that the Master would be hiding what little loose ammunition there might be on the TARDIS.
The phone was ringing.
He really did need a drink.
