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It was so difficult to look in a mirror.
It had been like that for a long time. Even before the Doctor's eventual disfigurement. He regretted avoiding situations where he had to stare at himself, now. He missed having a face. A real face, not some annoying, hideous mask of bone that was barely functional. It had been easy to avoid thinking about it, at least. Out of sight. Out of mind.
Ever since he'd begun living with the Mask, though, there had always been a mirror. After all, his darling did love gazing into them, and who could blame someone with such pretty porcelain for doing so? If he looked like that, the Doctor would like mirrors, too.
He didn't look like that, though. No, not at all. Each glance into the glass surface a grim reminder of his own inhumanity. Normally, he would simply move away as quickly as he could. Avert his eyes, close a door, return to whatever it was he was doing and pretend that hide-shrouded apparition simply wasn't there.
Not this day. Though. This day, Dýo had gone off to rehearse for an upcoming play and wouldn't be home for at least four hours and of course, knowing his love's desire for perfection, it would likely take far longer. That was what he wanted, though. He wanted no one to see his drab, ugly hide and lie through their teeth just to claim he was beautiful. He didn't want a soul to hear his quiet sobs, and enter to witness where he'd crumbled to that awful apparition, cleaning supplies still set neatly on the rim of the tub, his talon-like, monstrous nails gripping the sink counter, his form shaking as he leaned over the basin, with weakness pooling in the eyeholes of his mask and spilling down his beak. He wanted no intruder to attempt to reassure him as he pressed his hand against the hide over his chest, clutching the thick layer of skin hatefully.
He didn't want to look like this.
He didn't want to be like this.
The Doctor dared chance another look, staring into the puffy, blood-shot eyes of his reflection. A stupid, reckless idea formed. Then again, wasn't that just all of them? Perhaps... Perhaps he could change it? If only for now...
He drew his medical bag from where it was hidden within his robes, clicking it open and fetching a scalpel, hateful stare still locked onto his own reflection as if averting it to something else would make him change his mind. Just a bit of temporary pain, and he could look normal again. The Doctor liked pain, didn't he? He'd asked to be hurt so many times... Begged for it, even. The scalpel was lined up where the seam of his cowl connected with the flesh of his shoulder. He pressed the blade against it until he finally managed to force it under his hide.
The professional bit his tongue as the thick skin broke. Trace amounts of his discolored blood dribbled from the wound. He dragged the scalpel back along the seam until it was separated from his true flesh, doing the same with the other seam so the professional was able to bear his shoulders, the thin underskin slightly bloodied, but leaving him feeling just a little better.
He kept going. He had to. He had to be able to see himself as human again, if only for a moment, the cowl and hood finally separated, along with the bottom of his beak and the turtleneck-mimicking hide that kept said beak a part of him even when he separated it from its upper half. He admired himself, trying his best to ignore how his ash-gray skin still bothered him as he ran his hands along his broad, uneven shoulders and traced the normally-hidden curve of his neck, his shaking hand coming away dripping with inky black gore.
It was gruesome, really, and yet the Doctor felt more human than he had in years. He cast the cowl into the tub, figuring that he could dispose of it once he was done. He took a moment to get used to seeing his shoulders and such again, marveling at how hollow calami, broken and filed by friction just after the start of the rachises (that would have likely given him feathers were he able to stand keeping his hood down) mimicked hair as he looked at his adrenaline-blurred reflection.
Rather than being satisfied with his current state, the Doctor found himself itching to do the rest even though most of it wasn't in the mirror. He cut around the top of his waistband and under each arm to remove the upper half of his robes next, his tongue dry and hands shaking by the time his torso was finally exposed. A break then, and then he'd get back to it. What a wonderful surprise it would be for the Mask, to not have to lie about his looks for a little while after that eventual return home.
He openly admired himself in the mirror now. No more than a man with well-toned muscle dressed for masquerade, black blood hardly hindering his appearance, as it blended right in with his deep gray skin. Even still, he was sure that a bit of water washing off the blood would likely serve wonders to his own illusion, and resolved to bathe once he was done with his spur-of-the-moment decision.
The Doctor finally calmed, and wasted no time in picking up his scalpel once more, removing the somewhat more nerve-heavy portion of hide making up his 'skirt'. He discarded this chunk as well, and then was met with quite the dilemma.
His waistband and the top portion of his mask were the only things left and, while the former would certainly be better to remove first, it didn't have just a few seams connecting it to himself as the rest of his hide did. To be frank, the Doctor wasn't even sure there was skin beneath it. Still, he'd committed, at this point, and by no means wished to stop when he was so close to replacing those long shredded scraps of humanity he'd lost so many centuries ago. It would hurt more than the rest, of that he was certain, but he was a professional. A Doctor. The Cure. He fetched a roll of bandages and set them on the bloodied counter. If anyone could withstand a bit of pain, it would be him, right?
The sharp scalpel bit into the Doctor's flesh, rending skin from muscle and sending a constant sting through his very core with each strip brought away. The professional heard the front door shut, and tensed. No... No, not yet. He wasn't done. Wasn't ready... He ignored a call of his name some ways down the hallway, working quickly to slice off the rest of the waistband, and wrapping his now skinless midsection with the bandages, wincing as the rough linen pressed against exposed muscle.
Another call of his name. The Doctor locked the door He felt woozy. Sick, even. However he couldn't just leave himself like this. He still had that ugly, twisted mask obscuring his face. If he wanted to feel human again, surely it had to go.
Gripping his beak if only in a subconscious attempt to keep himself still, the professional began trying to slot the sharp blade beneath the chitinous cheekbone of his mask. A gentle brisk knock, and he jolted, dropping it to the ground with a loud clatter. He started looking for it, desperately searching for the tool that was making him himself again.
"Doctor? Are you in there?"
He knew better than to simply not respond. Goodness knew that would merely result in the Mask opening that door before the professional was done. "Mhm." He kept it simple. The shorter his response, the less likely Dýo was to catch the strain in his voice.
"You sound off... Are you okay?"
Shit. He nodded before recalling that his love couldn't see him. And hopefully wouldn't. Not yet. Not until he was deserving of all their kind compliments. "I'm... I'm fine."
"Stop sounding like you're going to cry and I might believe you," Dýo said, going quiet for a moment. The doorknob began to rattle, they were trying to get in. "May I come in for a sec, dove? You're freaking me out, here."
No. No no no they absolutely could not. Not now. Not now. It hit him how terrible this would look, with his blood dying the sink black and his sliced off robes piled in the similarly gore-filled tub. "No... No, I'm... I'm busy... bird things... Yes, I'm doing those."
Silence for a moment, "Doctor, this isn't funny. Let me in for a second. I just want to make sure you're okay."
He didn't know what he could say. It was clear that they weren't going to take 'no' for an answer if he continued trying to divert them. The Doctor tried pleading instead. He was so close. so close. He just needed a few more minutes. "Please don't come in."
"... Doc. Are you hurt in there?"
"..."
"Answer me, please."
"I'm fine."
The Mask was quiet again. The professional could hear the light thud of porcelain against the wood of the door like the single beat of a wardrum. The quiet dragged. Dragged on and on to the point that the Doctor was considering opening the door if only to ensure his partner hadn't cracked something.
"...You're a terrible liar. I'm coming in, okay?"
The professional did nothing to stop such, remaining where he was, resting on his knees in front of the sink beneath which he'd lost his scalpel as the door began to melt, corrosive ooze soaking through the wood and adding to the horrid mess that the room had already become.
Dýo climbed through the brand new hole in the door, staring at the bathtub, wide-eyed for a moment, then at the professional, then the tub again. "Doctor. What the fuck?"
He went to defend his actions. to explain that this was no more than a surprise for them so they wouldn't have to pretend his monstrous form looked nice anymore. "I-"
"Dove, you fucking skinned yourself. I don't- This isn't... Oh, gods, are you still bleeding? Come here."
They snatched up a soft washcloth and soaked it in the hydrogen peroxide the Doctor kept beneath the sink, kneeling down beside him and gingerly pressing it against his shoulder, clearing it of viscous black blood, then snagging the professional's bag and hunting down a roll of bandages. The professional caught their wrist as they went to apply it. This wasn't right... this wasn't... They weren't supposed to be upset.
"Just let me bandage you, tesoro. You're going to make yourself faint." The mask gently broke the Doctor's grip, and clumsy, somewhat shakily wrapped his shoulder. They were silent, for a while. Quietly patching the professional up after his... minor lapse in judgement. Dýo only really spoke up, in fact. when they realized that the now ink black bandaging around his middle was not, in fact, his waistband, and pulled it away, without much protest from the Doctor, to reveal the exposed muscle beneath. "Oh shit. Fucking hades. Fuck I- Doctor what the fuck were you thinking?!"
The surgeon did not respond, his eyes affixed upon the blood-spattered tile he was kneeling on. The mask grabbed him by the beak, forcing him to look upon their frown. "No. Hades, no. You are not going quiet on me right now. Why the fuck would you ever think this was okay? You're a godsdamn doctor, Olympus sake! Why did you- fucking- look at me! This isn't okay, doc!"
He winced, unable to stop himself from tearing up as Dýo's voice rose in volume. Pathetic. Why would he cry when they would never harm him? Perhaps it was the utter foolishness of his actions that was setting in, now, or, maybe, it was how the corrosive near their eyes had lessened in viscosity, and, now that he was being made to look at them directly rather than directing his attention somewhere that wouldn't make guilt tangle with his shame, the gravity of having made his partner cry had finally hit him. Why had he removed his hide? Just for his own gain? Just to feel nice for a few days until it started growing back again? Had it really mattered so much that he'd upset the one whom meant the most to him in the world for his own vanity?
"...I'm sorry." Such a shoddy start. How could that ever make up for it? The Mask had asked for why. He may as well tell them and simply get their disgust in his true character over with. "I... I just wanted to feel normal, again. For you to not have to... have to lie about how much you like to look at me. I should not have done it... I am so sorry for hurting you, but... But I didn't want to be ugly anymore."
"... Do you... Do you seriously think I'd ever lie about how lovely you are, dove? You really distrust me that much?"
A surge of panic lanced through the surgeon's chest. That hadn't come out right. Not at all, "No! No! I trust you!"
"Then...then...wh-y..." They choked on a sob, shifting off of their knees for stability, their face resting in their hands.
No... no he hadn't meant to. This wasn't right. They weren't supposed to cry. Why had he done it, then? Why had he done it? It had only upset them, so what else was their other than his own repulsive vanity?
"I don't know..." Such a lie. Such a lie. Such a damn lie. "I... I don't know... I'm sorry. I..." He leaned forward, biting his tongue as sharp pain lanced through his abdomen, his arms wrapping around his crying partner. "...I'm sorry."
He hated that he couldn't promise it wouldn't happen again.