[That anger is easy and, in fact, makes Chris feel a little better. Good. Let someone else be angry for him for a moment, he's...tired. He'll be angry again when this is done. Except, on the heels of that feeling is vulnerability. The Doctor is horrified and disgusted and Chris can tell it's deeper than even this, but knowing how much he's being seen is...hard.
For a brief moment, he's reminded of Scott saying how much easier communication with telepathy is...but Chris finds he feels the opposite. He's kept all his emotions and thoughts too close for too long to find comfort in this now.]
Do what you need.
[The clouded parts might be easy to notice, once looked for. It's like a blurring of memory done by time. One moment, Chris is swaggering up to a man in a suit, flirtation and enticement on his lips. The next he's face-fist against a wall, hands on him and in him with sharp suctions against his neck.
The 'kisses' are wrong. Changed, altered from the sharper truth of fangs and pleasure inherent in the venom they hold. A hop, skip, and jump have Grayson in Chris, his pace viscous and a hand around the cleric's neck to cut off his breathing, but it's colored rosy in Chris' mind. A pleasant encounter of giving himself over to a complete stranger with no safeword or conversation had and an impression left behind like a mental stamp over the memory: he'd wanted this. This had been good.]
[ This deep in, he can't miss that association, and amidst the fury there's a ripple of wry fondness; he and Scott have had all of one conversation so far, but it was a memorable one.
Then he's laser-focused on the task at hand, refusing to flinch from the glimpses of a much uglier truth. His rage is honed into - not a weapon, no, a tool. Sharp and subtle, driven and delicate. This is a man who knows how to stitch a wound closed, who knows how to burn infections away.
Unfortunately, no matter what he tries he can't break through to what really happened. He could push harder, for longer, and that would be fine with another Time Lord. He won't risk it with Chris, especially with no guarantee it would even work. ]
We need to stop.
[ He's already drawing away from the memory, though not Chris' mind. ]
[Chris waits, quiet even as his mind plays through the memory of it's own volition and still those doubts ring so loudly even if the memory seems fond. He wouldn't have agreed to the kinkier aspects, even if it wouldn't surprise him he'd consented to the sex...but even that seems lost. Aphrodisiacs never clouded his mind quite like that something was off and it itched and pulled and he wanted it sorted because if he can't trust his own mind what in every hell could he trust?
Which is why there's a sharp spike of panic and confusion.]
What? Why? Doctor, please.
[Even in his thoughts, he has a hard time stringing together the words he needs, like they flit just out of grasp, and maybe the Doctor can even feel the sensation of something closing in Chris' throat like it does when his emotions spin themselves too tightly together in a way he can't begin to untangle or process. He feels too deeply, too sharply, and it catches in him too easily.]
I need to know so I can fix it and- ['Hurt him' runs through his mind, 'stop him' and 'take him apart' run together.]
[ All of it - the desperation for a solution, the violent magnitude of emotion, the blurring of protective justice and vicious vengeance - resonates so deeply it almost overwhelms him. There are flashes - echoes - of older fury, grief, helplessness. The scent of dried blood and burning metal invades the scene, and the edges blur into different streets, different attacks, different losses.
There are screams in his mind that never quite stop, and he keeps them at bay whenever he connects with someone else. Those walls are crumbling, now.
He squeezes Chris's hands to steady both of them as he centres them in the present moment, focusing with everything he has left on what he can do, here and now, for someone who needs help. ]
Listen.
[ It's a command, one made with ferocious compassion. The screams that threatened to swallow them whole soften into a symphony and harmonise with his words. Still furious, but steadied with severe tranquillity. ]
You aren't wrong. Your mind has been tampered with. You were violated. We're going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another, just not like this.
[ What he doesn't say explicitly, but imbues in every syllable, is: You are not foolish. You are not alone. You deserved better.]
[There's so much just out of reach of him, like he can feel the Doctor trying to keep the worst of it back and what slips through, he can suddenly see why. If Chris felt like he was drowning in himself, The Doctor must be chained at the bottom of his own sea and had been for far far longer.
It feels like an echoing resonance of pain and anger and impotence and never enough, not in action, not in result, not in how far they needed to run-
But then there's hands squeezing his and Chris takes a shuddering breath in as his eyes sting. There's a resistance to the feeling, imbedded and strong, that keeps anything more than that stinging from taking hold.
'Listen' he commands, and Chris does. He listens as the cacophony turns it's tune and anger smoothes, not gone but changed into something that feels like it sits over the Doctor's shoulders like a mantle. Heavy, unmoving, but necessary. Something Chris leans into, like it's a blanket for warmth.]
Alright.
[He's not...as sure he deserved better, he's not sure he can make that call without knowing everything, but he knew the violation of his mind is enough to take even a fraction of that anger and light his own: hot, steady, but deeply fierce. No matter what else he might have invited in this, he didn't invite this. His mind was his own and no one had a right to put their fingers in it.
He's not alone...because the Doctor is right there and, looking at him, feeling him there in his mind: it's like having a stone wall to his back. Chris' next breath is more steady and he blinks away what tears had gathered to bun away the feeling of drowning. Compartmentalize. Focus.]
Breathe.
[It's something he told others panicking all the time. The first step was to remember to breathe.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: referenced dubcon
For a brief moment, he's reminded of Scott saying how much easier communication with telepathy is...but Chris finds he feels the opposite. He's kept all his emotions and thoughts too close for too long to find comfort in this now.]
Do what you need.
[The clouded parts might be easy to notice, once looked for. It's like a blurring of memory done by time. One moment, Chris is swaggering up to a man in a suit, flirtation and enticement on his lips. The next he's face-fist against a wall, hands on him and in him with sharp suctions against his neck.
The 'kisses' are wrong. Changed, altered from the sharper truth of fangs and pleasure inherent in the venom they hold. A hop, skip, and jump have Grayson in Chris, his pace viscous and a hand around the cleric's neck to cut off his breathing, but it's colored rosy in Chris' mind. A pleasant encounter of giving himself over to a complete stranger with no safeword or conversation had and an impression left behind like a mental stamp over the memory: he'd wanted this. This had been good.]
cw: referenced dubcon
Then he's laser-focused on the task at hand, refusing to flinch from the glimpses of a much uglier truth. His rage is honed into - not a weapon, no, a tool. Sharp and subtle, driven and delicate. This is a man who knows how to stitch a wound closed, who knows how to burn infections away.
Unfortunately, no matter what he tries he can't break through to what really happened. He could push harder, for longer, and that would be fine with another Time Lord. He won't risk it with Chris, especially with no guarantee it would even work. ]
We need to stop.
[ He's already drawing away from the memory, though not Chris' mind. ]
cw: referenced dubcon
Which is why there's a sharp spike of panic and confusion.]
What? Why? Doctor, please.
[Even in his thoughts, he has a hard time stringing together the words he needs, like they flit just out of grasp, and maybe the Doctor can even feel the sensation of something closing in Chris' throat like it does when his emotions spin themselves too tightly together in a way he can't begin to untangle or process. He feels too deeply, too sharply, and it catches in him too easily.]
I need to know so I can fix it and- ['Hurt him' runs through his mind, 'stop him' and 'take him apart' run together.]
Re: cw: referenced dubcon
There are screams in his mind that never quite stop, and he keeps them at bay whenever he connects with someone else. Those walls are crumbling, now.
He squeezes Chris's hands to steady both of them as he centres them in the present moment, focusing with everything he has left on what he can do, here and now, for someone who needs help. ]
Listen.
[ It's a command, one made with ferocious compassion. The screams that threatened to swallow them whole soften into a symphony and harmonise with his words. Still furious, but steadied with severe tranquillity. ]
You aren't wrong. Your mind has been tampered with. You were violated. We're going to get to the bottom of it, one way or another, just not like this.
[ What he doesn't say explicitly, but imbues in every syllable, is: You are not foolish. You are not alone. You deserved better. ]
no subject
It feels like an echoing resonance of pain and anger and impotence and never enough, not in action, not in result, not in how far they needed to run-
But then there's hands squeezing his and Chris takes a shuddering breath in as his eyes sting. There's a resistance to the feeling, imbedded and strong, that keeps anything more than that stinging from taking hold.
'Listen' he commands, and Chris does. He listens as the cacophony turns it's tune and anger smoothes, not gone but changed into something that feels like it sits over the Doctor's shoulders like a mantle. Heavy, unmoving, but necessary. Something Chris leans into, like it's a blanket for warmth.]
Alright.
[He's not...as sure he deserved better, he's not sure he can make that call without knowing everything, but he knew the violation of his mind is enough to take even a fraction of that anger and light his own: hot, steady, but deeply fierce. No matter what else he might have invited in this, he didn't invite this. His mind was his own and no one had a right to put their fingers in it.
He's not alone...because the Doctor is right there and, looking at him, feeling him there in his mind: it's like having a stone wall to his back. Chris' next breath is more steady and he blinks away what tears had gathered to bun away the feeling of drowning. Compartmentalize. Focus.]
Breathe.
[It's something he told others panicking all the time. The first step was to remember to breathe.]