A/N: Just something I wrote during a bit of free time at summer camp 10 days ago…on my birthday! Go me.
Anyway, I don't own it, any more than I did when I was 13 instead of 14.
Manipulate. Odd, really, how that word could sometimes, somehow, sound sinister.
Manipulative. An adjective, this one, again managing to sound so very sinister.
Sinister itself sounded evil, just because it was associated with and synonomous to evil.
But the Doctor never thought of himself as being sinister, evil. At the same time, his current form was manipulative, very much so.
Exhibit A- Ace and the whole debacle with Fenric. The Doctor knew, of course, that it had had to happen, but at the same time...knowing was not the same as seeing. It never had been, never would be.
He was always one step ahead, always plotting, always thinking. Never behind, never outwitted.
And sometime, he hated it. After all, what was the point of having friends if you had no concern for their feelings? Or rather, ignored the concern you did feel? If you only ever used them, manipulated them? And loathe though he was to admit it, wasn't that the very definition of sinister, in its own way?
There wasn't a point, really, when he thought about it like that. Because no matter how much he cared about them, trusted them, loved them, even, he would always sacrifice them. He would always hurt them, in more ways than one. Always would they fall to the elusive 'greater good'. And while he knew it was necessary, knew it had to be done, it was a cold comfort.
A not-so-subtle way of the universe telling him he was meant to be alone, the Doctor thought.
But then, he could hope. Always, always hope.
And at the end of the day, that was enough.
