Yes, he's sorry. He really is. He knows that look of derision, that expression that would be a sneer if his other were taking more pleasure in it. It's the way the Master looks at him when he tells him to stop apologizing, he's a Time Lord, he has the right.
Except he doesn't. He doesn't, the Master doesn't, and this Doctor doesn't have it, either. And they should know that.
He doesn't get angry, though, or say anything at all about the matter, because he knows it's not the time. This is why he's here, this is why this Doctor needs help, but now is not the moment.
And this Doctor might be different to the Master, after all, because he regains control. It's visible as well as audible in the receding of the insistent drumming at the edge of the Doctor's mind.
The Doctor winces as he takes a look at his other's bruised hand. He almost apologizes again, but thinks better of it. He's as gentle as possible, wipes his hands on his trousers and almost doesn't touch the other's fingers as he examines them. He nods, "Yes, I think you're right, index and ring, and no." He shakes his head emphatically. "No, she really doesn't, she usually doesn't even acknowledge anyone I bring over. I think she was just lashing out; I tried to warn you, but - well." He's not sure why she reacted quite so violently; his other probably ended up being the victim of the TARDIS' wrath that had been building up all day, but maybe telling him that wouldn't be such a good idea. "You'd better get this fixed."
He almost wants to turn around and lead his other back to his own TARDIS infirmary, but then thinks better of it and pushes the door to his other's console room open fully, making a little 'after you' gesture.
no subject
Except he doesn't. He doesn't, the Master doesn't, and this Doctor doesn't have it, either. And they should know that.
He doesn't get angry, though, or say anything at all about the matter, because he knows it's not the time. This is why he's here, this is why this Doctor needs help, but now is not the moment.
And this Doctor might be different to the Master, after all, because he regains control. It's visible as well as audible in the receding of the insistent drumming at the edge of the Doctor's mind.
The Doctor winces as he takes a look at his other's bruised hand. He almost apologizes again, but thinks better of it. He's as gentle as possible, wipes his hands on his trousers and almost doesn't touch the other's fingers as he examines them. He nods, "Yes, I think you're right, index and ring, and no." He shakes his head emphatically. "No, she really doesn't, she usually doesn't even acknowledge anyone I bring over. I think she was just lashing out; I tried to warn you, but - well." He's not sure why she reacted quite so violently; his other probably ended up being the victim of the TARDIS' wrath that had been building up all day, but maybe telling him that wouldn't be such a good idea. "You'd better get this fixed."
He almost wants to turn around and lead his other back to his own TARDIS infirmary, but then thinks better of it and pushes the door to his other's console room open fully, making a little 'after you' gesture.