[ And it isn't for lack of trying to develop some kind of a taste for alcohol over the faces either. He just can't seem to do it.
With the two of them settled into place, just two impossible noodle men with legs for days, the Doctor passes some of the biscuits over in case Kovacs wants to have something a little more substantial than cigarette smoke for a snack. ]
Tea is soothing! And warm. And, as it happens, goes very well with biscuits.
[ considering that most of his intake has been cigarette smoke and whiskey, it's always good for him to actually eat some proper food from time to time. as much as biscuits can be considered "proper". at least it's something in his belly a little better than his usual vices.
snagging his cigarette with a hand, he uses the other to take the offered biscuits, spinning on in his fingers before placing it whole into his mouth, taking a moment to actually chew it before speaking up again. ]
Whiskey going down your throat is pretty warm too. Sometimes you just need that burn. [ about ninety percent of the time, with all that he's constantly dealing with. ]
The tea thing. Is that just a ... this-you thing or do you share the same kind of appetite across the board in all your bodies?
Ah. No, no. It's just a me-thing. Well. There are commonalities, I suppose. The face before this face could enjoy a good cuppa as much as he was able to. And I suppose the face before then, too. But then, there are very, very few who dislike tea.
[ It's why he's absolutely offended when he discovers someone like that. (Here's looking directly at you, Billy Butcher.)
He grabs a biscuit off the plate to enjoy too. ]
But new faces mean new mouths, and new mouths mean new tongues and new flavours. Thought I liked yogurt when I was still cooking. Turns out yogurt is the most disgusting thing in the world. Especially the yogurt with the fruit bits.
[ He makes a face to demonstrate just how much he didn't enjoy that experience. Poor little Amelia Pond had to deal with his very strange introductions at age seven. ]
[ what he goes through isn't exactly the same, not when he sees both this man and the other side by side where the blatant differences of their personalities seem to shine through. but kovacs can still somehow understand it all better than most, since he's had so many faces, so many alternate bodies to get himself accustomed to, over and over. ]
Deal with the same thing every time I change. Body's already equipped with its habits, its cravings. Why I always gotta have one of these in my hand.
[ he raises his lit cigarette, giving it a light tap to let a few of the dry ashes fall to the grass. ]
Synthesized sleeves are the worst of it, though — pretty much anything you put in your mouth tastes like sawdust. Natural body's always better. Price to pay for it not always being ethical.
Ah — well, that's interesting. So you, Kovacs, aren't much of a stick-smoking person, then?
[ He'll say it once and he'll say it again: they are gross, the smell of it and the look of it and the everything-about-it absolutely not to the Doctor's taste. Not that he'll tell him to stop, Kovacs can do what he likes, but there are better vices. Like cake-eating!
Truly though, the similarities are quite fascinating ... right up until he starts talking about synthesized sleeves, which. Yes. Another interesting new bit of information to learn on this day.
He fills two cups with a thermos full of tea and slides one of them in Kovacs' direction. ]
I suppose these made-up sleeves aren't very popular then, if it means spending a life missing arguably one of the best senses. [ It isn't really a question, more just a passing comment before he sips his tea and relishes in the taste of the bergamot. ] But I don't suppose this is what you've asked me here to talk about, is it?
Not really. [ it's not that he wouldn't smoke at all in a different body, but it's hardly a habit they'd see him taking on regularly. even in his time in taeum, wearing his own original body, he felt the cravings for them — even if his hands sometimes felt a little out of place, seeking out a pack in his pocket that wouldn't be there, as if the muscle memory had carried over with him. ]
Whiskey, though — that's all me. Any sleeve.
[ always the regular drinker, definitely having a preference for it over tea. still, he does reach over to accept the offered cup, since he's not entirely against it either, and considering he'd been the one to call the doctor out here, it doesn't seem productive to go on complaining about beverage choices.
but that does bring on the reminder that he'd called him out here for a reason, the question asked prompting him to suddenly fall silent for a minute, filling the space with a slow sip of the tea in his cup. ]
No, it isn't. [ a quiet comment before hushing again, eyes seeming more interested in the swirl of the liquid he's holding before he finally speaks up again. ] ... You've lived a long time. [ not a question. he knows he has. ] You remember all of it?
[ He might have had whiskey once, tried it you know, like he tries everything else once. He remembers distinctly not liking it, but he supposes he now knows what to get Kovacs for his next birthday. Or Christmas. Or some such occasion.
Anyway! Moving on. ]
Yes. Yes, I do. Every face I've been, everyone I've met, everything I've done — I remember it all. But I make a point to remember it all, otherwise it wouldn't be worth much going through it all.
[ The Doctor peers over the rim of his teacup before putting it down for a moment. ]
[ he's made sure to hold on to his old memories too; sometimes, when the switch to a new sleeve is fresh, the memories aren't entirely whole, needing to gradually work towards stitching themselves properly together again, but they're eventually all comprehensible again in time. and with stacks, memories have become more difficult to forget, on account of it being stored like data, able to pull it up from the mind like any sort of saved file.
but for the last few months, the process has changed, and being here means that things have stopped working the way he's used to them being.
though he stares intently at his tea cup, he doesn't go for another drink yet, distracted with thought. ]
And what if — what if you start to lose some of them? If it's beyond your control and some of the memories just ... disappear? Do you think ... do you think you can still maintain who you are, who you've become with time, or do you think when it goes missing, you'd begin to lose yourself too?
[ What started out as a fairly innocuous question starts to sound ... a little more concerning. The Doctor, in the midst of reaching for a biscuit, pauses and pulls back. ]
I think some bits will always be there, the bits that are stitched into the soul you carry throughout each of your sleeves, or in my case, my faces I suppose. Everyone starts with whoever they are, a bit like a baseline. But the rest —
[ There's no silliness in his demeanor this time, no rambles or cheerful anecdotes. He studies Kovacs carefully, making an attempt to suss out the reasoning for such a conversation topic. Well, one thing is certain — this conversation is something. ]
Are you all right, Kovacs? Did something happen? Is something happening?
[ when he'd come out here, there'd been intent for talking to the doctor, knowing some of the similarities in their experiences would be a sort of aid to the questions he has in his head. but it's only now that it's coming out, that the doctor is asking, that he finds himself hesitant to bring out the words.
of all the people on this station, the doctor should be one of the last to know about it, especially when he's a fraction of the reason he'd made his choice in the first place.
but at this point, he's said plenty, enough that someone wise enough like the doctor could put two and two together if given enough time to reason it out.
another silent moment, and then he speaks quietly, ]
A few months ago, I had to make a change to the deal that I came in with. Had my reasons for it — that doesn't matter. But I met with the orbs and they agreed to alter the deal.
[ a pause, as he swallows, fingers wrapping tighter around his cup. ]
[ Well, that does answer a couple of questions he'd had floating about in his noggin for months.
Changing his regret, speaking with the orbs; sometimes the Doctor even entertained the thought of reconsidering his being here in the first place because a fixed point like the one he regrets simply can't be changed, and no collection of bulbs of glowy light could have enough power to undo such a thing, surely.
But he's still here, isn't he? With even that slightest sliver of hope at the possibility, he's still here. ]
[ the most he can ask for is that the doctor doesn't question what the regret is, though with all the time they've all spent here, discussion of what they're all here for to change in the first place isn't something that actually comes up quite so often, almost like there's a faint understanding that it's a sensitive territory for each and every one of them.
but it still leaves him with another truth left to confess, enough information spilled out that there's little chance of reeling this back now. ]
Every month, I'm supposed to lose ... an important memory.
[ he's already told marta once before, but somehow it still feels weird to say it out loud, not because he regrets taking the deal, but from the disbelief that it had become the condition at all in the first place. ]
I never know what it is that I'm going to lose. I don't even know how big they're meant to be. But I've already lost months worth and I ... I don't even know what's missing. Or how much it might be ... changing me.
Whatever he'd been expecting to hear, it certainly isn't that. For all that he could predict so much in his lifetime, he simply couldn't predict that. It's an admittedly bone-chilling confession though, when knowledge and memory and remembering is so intrinsically important to time-travelers and long-lifers like Kovacs, and the Doctor, and well — he thinks of Andy too. ]
Have you come across something you should have known, had someone tell you, and you simply couldn't recall the memory?
[ he gives a small shake of his head, almost instinctively, though he immediately considers that the denial isn't true at all. in conversations, no, not yet, even if he's already expressed his concerns to marta about what it would mean for him to start losing memories of her, but there was— something else. ]
My sister.
[ he finally lifts his eyes, turning to the doctor. he attempts to keep composed, the way he often conditions himself to be, but there's a quiet concern in his stare, like a part of him is fighting the panic of all that he may be entitled to lose. ]
There's this journal I started to write in a little over a month ago. Just something to ... keep tabs of things I might want to keep on hand. But, the other day, I was looking through and there was something about my sister, back when I was training with the Envoys. A conversation we exchanged. [ he turns to the ground, a knit in his brow emphasizing his concern. ] I haven't seen my sister since we were kids. She wouldn't have been there. That's what I thought.
The Doctor scratches at his chin, all appetite lost now to the sombre confessions between them. He doesn't know many details about Kovacs' sister past the fact that he's had one and that they'd seen each other far more recently than he'd claimed. Conversation doesn't often steer towards that direction; after all, the Doctor didn't have any particular close relations of his own that he spoke of. (Of course, he hardly ever speaks of himself beyond his adventures at all if he could help it.)
But he remembers Kovacs speaking about the envoys, and how they'd at least trained together for some time, and the Doctor doesn't easily forget a detail like that. ]
To your earlier question, I stand by what I've said. You might forget some of the events but there are parts of you that make you you, even before you've started to move your way through the world. And it's those bits of you that I believe could never be erased.
But. [ And this is more for his own knowledge and concern. ] Do you know how long you're expected to lose your memories? Surely the orbs don't mean to take a memory from you for the rest of your life, especially given how long you could go on.
[ rei. he's not sure how much exactly how much he's talked about her to the people here (especially since he could easily be forgetting a number of conversations he can't taken into account), but he knows some should know about her, but only because he does remember the dream he'd had of her back in that castle, being with her as kids, something a few others had encountered, and he imagines her name might have popped up in conversation in passing.
whether he's told the doctor about her, he can't be sure. and if he did, what had he said?
he wants to believe he won't lose so much of himself, even as these memories slip away. but he knows the kind of man he was before he'd joined the envoys, before he'd met quell. would he become like he was while working for the protectorate? just a killer without remorse, pulling the trigger whether someone in charge pointed?
would he just be a slave to the orbs? (is that what they want?) ]
Not sure. I can bet it's probably for as long as I'm here, doing their bidding. But it's not like we have a deadline on that. Could be another year, could be a damn century. Maybe that's the point — drying me up for all I'm worth.
That would be rather orb-like of them, wouldn't it? After everything we've been through and all of the orbs we've come across so far ... it sounds rather like their brand of chaos.
[ Yes. And he's seen this kind of predator-meets-prey in his adventures as well — not quite in the same way, and usually with a little more fight from the prey's side ... but under the orbs power, it's hard not to feel so helpless.
Their very nature is to feed off of the turmoil and chaos and desperation that those they do deals with so often provide because the power they possess is supposedly unparalleled. The Doctor still isn't sure whether he believes they can undo their regrets, but he isn't without his own desperate hope either.
And so it begs another question, one he already knows the answer to but it's still worth asking. ]
I can place every bet they hardly give a shit about if any of us do get what we asked for. Long as they're dipping the scales one way or another, that's all they want.
[ kovacs is definitely not stupid enough to believe there's any good will from these offers, and considering that no one on the station itself has actually managed to successfully gain their deal, no one aside from the people they've taken the orbs from who lost more than they gained from the chaos that ensued on their respective planets, he might even have his doubts that any of this will actually result in something good coming out of it.
still, there's the chance, along with the fact that his being here is about more than why he came in the first place. there's too many people to look out for here for him to just walk out now.
the next question leaves him quiet for a second, exhaling a soft breath through his nose. ]
[ The Doctor nods as though satisfied with the answer, or because he can relate to some promise made, something so absolute that it binds with ones soul and no matter how much it might cost, it couldn't have gone any other way.
He doesn't ask for any more detail than that, not because he isn't almost comically curious to know just what it is Kovacs decided to ask for, but because it isn't his place. Some things can be badgered out of a person, some things just aren't as serious. But this ... well. This is.
He's old, he's seen so much, he can understand the nuance of that more than most. ]
[ it's the asking of that particular question that makes me realize he isn't entirely sure what actually brought him here in the first place, whether it was just telling the doctor about his situation or if there was something more he was looking for.
his eyes drift both with the allowance of that pensive thought and an excuse to look away like hs doesn't want to be realized for not actually having that in mind.
and then it comes to him. why it matters that he told the doctor above all else. ]
I need you ... to make sure I don't steer too far.
[ he turns his eyes back, slightly somber in his stare. ]
There was a time in my life, I did things blindly — made some dark choices. I'm not saying I'm a good man now, some things just stick with you. But I ... I at least like to think I can look out for some people. Make the right choices to keep them safe. Problem is, once I start losing more memories, I don't know how much I might stray from that. How I might ... dip back into being the guy who didn't know what path he was on. When that happens, I need you to set me right. Make sure I don't become someone that hurts the people I care about.
[ (Delicate) eyebrows lift ever-so-slightly when Kovacs begins to speak, and he watches him shift his gaze before their eyes meet.
It's certainly a lot to ask for, but the Doctor feels more honoured than anything. He understands what's being asked and why it means so much; of course he does, who better to understand a life of dark choices being made and the need to remember them all than a 2,000 year old alien with a shadowed past like him? To remember what makes a good man and what makes someone otherwise, and why he needs so many rules? He's never had anyone to steer him straight, and perhaps it's why he's always been as careful as he can be. (And why sometimes he isn't at all.)
He doesn't even have to say all that much, because the few words he picks say enough. They mean enough. The Doctor doesn't make promises lightly, and he'll always, always keep them once they're made.
He reaches out to cover one of Kovacs' hands with one of his, squeezing gently. Reassuringly, perhaps. ]
[ it isn't something he'd say to just anybody, and even here it feels like a lot to ask, but kovacs knows this is the right person to trust with this, someone who'd make the most sensible decision in trying times, someone who's lived well over a thousand years in making tough choices.
if he strays or if he becomes a liability, he can trust that the doctor can either set him right. or keep him from being a danger to everyone else. whichever comes first.
kovacs isn't the type to ask much of anyone, not for help, but he exhales deeply through his nose when the doctor squeezes his hand, giving a slow nod. ]
Thank you.
[ it's about all else he could say, enough carried in those words, before his other hand joins to squeeze the doctor's in turn. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ And it isn't for lack of trying to develop some kind of a taste for alcohol over the faces either. He just can't seem to do it.
With the two of them settled into place, just two impossible noodle men with legs for days, the Doctor passes some of the biscuits over in case Kovacs wants to have something a little more substantial than cigarette smoke for a snack. ]
Tea is soothing! And warm. And, as it happens, goes very well with biscuits.
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snagging his cigarette with a hand, he uses the other to take the offered biscuits, spinning on in his fingers before placing it whole into his mouth, taking a moment to actually chew it before speaking up again. ]
Whiskey going down your throat is pretty warm too. Sometimes you just need that burn. [ about ninety percent of the time, with all that he's constantly dealing with. ]
The tea thing. Is that just a ... this-you thing or do you share the same kind of appetite across the board in all your bodies?
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[ It's why he's absolutely offended when he discovers someone like that. (Here's looking directly at you, Billy Butcher.)
He grabs a biscuit off the plate to enjoy too. ]
But new faces mean new mouths, and new mouths mean new tongues and new flavours. Thought I liked yogurt when I was still cooking. Turns out yogurt is the most disgusting thing in the world. Especially the yogurt with the fruit bits.
[ He makes a face to demonstrate just how much he didn't enjoy that experience. Poor little Amelia Pond had to deal with his very strange introductions at age seven. ]
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Deal with the same thing every time I change. Body's already equipped with its habits, its cravings. Why I always gotta have one of these in my hand.
[ he raises his lit cigarette, giving it a light tap to let a few of the dry ashes fall to the grass. ]
Synthesized sleeves are the worst of it, though — pretty much anything you put in your mouth tastes like sawdust. Natural body's always better. Price to pay for it not always being ethical.
[ which is another entire conversation. ]
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[ He'll say it once and he'll say it again: they are gross, the smell of it and the look of it and the everything-about-it absolutely not to the Doctor's taste. Not that he'll tell him to stop, Kovacs can do what he likes, but there are better vices. Like cake-eating!
Truly though, the similarities are quite fascinating ... right up until he starts talking about synthesized sleeves, which. Yes. Another interesting new bit of information to learn on this day.
He fills two cups with a thermos full of tea and slides one of them in Kovacs' direction. ]
I suppose these made-up sleeves aren't very popular then, if it means spending a life missing arguably one of the best senses. [ It isn't really a question, more just a passing comment before he sips his tea and relishes in the taste of the bergamot. ] But I don't suppose this is what you've asked me here to talk about, is it?
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Whiskey, though — that's all me. Any sleeve.
[ always the regular drinker, definitely having a preference for it over tea. still, he does reach over to accept the offered cup, since he's not entirely against it either, and considering he'd been the one to call the doctor out here, it doesn't seem productive to go on complaining about beverage choices.
but that does bring on the reminder that he'd called him out here for a reason, the question asked prompting him to suddenly fall silent for a minute, filling the space with a slow sip of the tea in his cup. ]
No, it isn't. [ a quiet comment before hushing again, eyes seeming more interested in the swirl of the liquid he's holding before he finally speaks up again. ] ... You've lived a long time. [ not a question. he knows he has. ] You remember all of it?
no subject
Anyway! Moving on. ]
Yes. Yes, I do. Every face I've been, everyone I've met, everything I've done — I remember it all. But I make a point to remember it all, otherwise it wouldn't be worth much going through it all.
[ The Doctor peers over the rim of his teacup before putting it down for a moment. ]
An interesting question.
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but for the last few months, the process has changed, and being here means that things have stopped working the way he's used to them being.
though he stares intently at his tea cup, he doesn't go for another drink yet, distracted with thought. ]
And what if — what if you start to lose some of them? If it's beyond your control and some of the memories just ... disappear? Do you think ... do you think you can still maintain who you are, who you've become with time, or do you think when it goes missing, you'd begin to lose yourself too?
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I think some bits will always be there, the bits that are stitched into the soul you carry throughout each of your sleeves, or in my case, my faces I suppose. Everyone starts with whoever they are, a bit like a baseline. But the rest —
[ There's no silliness in his demeanor this time, no rambles or cheerful anecdotes. He studies Kovacs carefully, making an attempt to suss out the reasoning for such a conversation topic. Well, one thing is certain — this conversation is something. ]
Are you all right, Kovacs? Did something happen? Is something happening?
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of all the people on this station, the doctor should be one of the last to know about it, especially when he's a fraction of the reason he'd made his choice in the first place.
but at this point, he's said plenty, enough that someone wise enough like the doctor could put two and two together if given enough time to reason it out.
another silent moment, and then he speaks quietly, ]
A few months ago, I had to make a change to the deal that I came in with. Had my reasons for it — that doesn't matter. But I met with the orbs and they agreed to alter the deal.
[ a pause, as he swallows, fingers wrapping tighter around his cup. ]
With ... conditions.
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Changing his regret, speaking with the orbs; sometimes the Doctor even entertained the thought of reconsidering his being here in the first place because a fixed point like the one he regrets simply can't be changed, and no collection of bulbs of glowy light could have enough power to undo such a thing, surely.
But he's still here, isn't he? With even that slightest sliver of hope at the possibility, he's still here. ]
What were the conditions?
no subject
but it still leaves him with another truth left to confess, enough information spilled out that there's little chance of reeling this back now. ]
Every month, I'm supposed to lose ... an important memory.
[ he's already told marta once before, but somehow it still feels weird to say it out loud, not because he regrets taking the deal, but from the disbelief that it had become the condition at all in the first place. ]
I never know what it is that I'm going to lose. I don't even know how big they're meant to be. But I've already lost months worth and I ... I don't even know what's missing. Or how much it might be ... changing me.
no subject
[ The Doctor goes quiet for a moment.
Whatever he'd been expecting to hear, it certainly isn't that. For all that he could predict so much in his lifetime, he simply couldn't predict that. It's an admittedly bone-chilling confession though, when knowledge and memory and remembering is so intrinsically important to time-travelers and long-lifers like Kovacs, and the Doctor, and well — he thinks of Andy too. ]
Have you come across something you should have known, had someone tell you, and you simply couldn't recall the memory?
no subject
My sister.
[ he finally lifts his eyes, turning to the doctor. he attempts to keep composed, the way he often conditions himself to be, but there's a quiet concern in his stare, like a part of him is fighting the panic of all that he may be entitled to lose. ]
There's this journal I started to write in a little over a month ago. Just something to ... keep tabs of things I might want to keep on hand. But, the other day, I was looking through and there was something about my sister, back when I was training with the Envoys. A conversation we exchanged. [ he turns to the ground, a knit in his brow emphasizing his concern. ] I haven't seen my sister since we were kids. She wouldn't have been there. That's what I thought.
no subject
[ That is a bit concerning.
The Doctor scratches at his chin, all appetite lost now to the sombre confessions between them. He doesn't know many details about Kovacs' sister past the fact that he's had one and that they'd seen each other far more recently than he'd claimed. Conversation doesn't often steer towards that direction; after all, the Doctor didn't have any particular close relations of his own that he spoke of. (Of course, he hardly ever speaks of himself beyond his adventures at all if he could help it.)
But he remembers Kovacs speaking about the envoys, and how they'd at least trained together for some time, and the Doctor doesn't easily forget a detail like that. ]
To your earlier question, I stand by what I've said. You might forget some of the events but there are parts of you that make you you, even before you've started to move your way through the world. And it's those bits of you that I believe could never be erased.
But. [ And this is more for his own knowledge and concern. ] Do you know how long you're expected to lose your memories? Surely the orbs don't mean to take a memory from you for the rest of your life, especially given how long you could go on.
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whether he's told the doctor about her, he can't be sure. and if he did, what had he said?
he wants to believe he won't lose so much of himself, even as these memories slip away. but he knows the kind of man he was before he'd joined the envoys, before he'd met quell. would he become like he was while working for the protectorate? just a killer without remorse, pulling the trigger whether someone in charge pointed?
would he just be a slave to the orbs? (is that what they want?) ]
Not sure. I can bet it's probably for as long as I'm here, doing their bidding. But it's not like we have a deadline on that. Could be another year, could be a damn century. Maybe that's the point — drying me up for all I'm worth.
no subject
[ Yes. And he's seen this kind of predator-meets-prey in his adventures as well — not quite in the same way, and usually with a little more fight from the prey's side ... but under the orbs power, it's hard not to feel so helpless.
Their very nature is to feed off of the turmoil and chaos and desperation that those they do deals with so often provide because the power they possess is supposedly unparalleled. The Doctor still isn't sure whether he believes they can undo their regrets, but he isn't without his own desperate hope either.
And so it begs another question, one he already knows the answer to but it's still worth asking. ]
Was this revised arrangement worth it?
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[ kovacs is definitely not stupid enough to believe there's any good will from these offers, and considering that no one on the station itself has actually managed to successfully gain their deal, no one aside from the people they've taken the orbs from who lost more than they gained from the chaos that ensued on their respective planets, he might even have his doubts that any of this will actually result in something good coming out of it.
still, there's the chance, along with the fact that his being here is about more than why he came in the first place. there's too many people to look out for here for him to just walk out now.
the next question leaves him quiet for a second, exhaling a soft breath through his nose. ]
It's worth it. I can promise that much.
no subject
He doesn't ask for any more detail than that, not because he isn't almost comically curious to know just what it is Kovacs decided to ask for, but because it isn't his place. Some things can be badgered out of a person, some things just aren't as serious. But this ... well. This is.
He's old, he's seen so much, he can understand the nuance of that more than most. ]
So, then, Kovacs. How can I help?
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his eyes drift both with the allowance of that pensive thought and an excuse to look away like hs doesn't want to be realized for not actually having that in mind.
and then it comes to him. why it matters that he told the doctor above all else. ]
I need you ... to make sure I don't steer too far.
[ he turns his eyes back, slightly somber in his stare. ]
There was a time in my life, I did things blindly — made some dark choices. I'm not saying I'm a good man now, some things just stick with you. But I ... I at least like to think I can look out for some people. Make the right choices to keep them safe. Problem is, once I start losing more memories, I don't know how much I might stray from that. How I might ... dip back into being the guy who didn't know what path he was on. When that happens, I need you to set me right. Make sure I don't become someone that hurts the people I care about.
no subject
It's certainly a lot to ask for, but the Doctor feels more honoured than anything. He understands what's being asked and why it means so much; of course he does, who better to understand a life of dark choices being made and the need to remember them all than a 2,000 year old alien with a shadowed past like him? To remember what makes a good man and what makes someone otherwise, and why he needs so many rules? He's never had anyone to steer him straight, and perhaps it's why he's always been as careful as he can be. (And why sometimes he isn't at all.)
He doesn't even have to say all that much, because the few words he picks say enough. They mean enough. The Doctor doesn't make promises lightly, and he'll always, always keep them once they're made.
He reaches out to cover one of Kovacs' hands with one of his, squeezing gently. Reassuringly, perhaps. ]
Well then. My friend, you have my word.
[ Trust him, he says. He's the Doctor. ]
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if he strays or if he becomes a liability, he can trust that the doctor can either set him right. or keep him from being a danger to everyone else. whichever comes first.
kovacs isn't the type to ask much of anyone, not for help, but he exhales deeply through his nose when the doctor squeezes his hand, giving a slow nod. ]
Thank you.
[ it's about all else he could say, enough carried in those words, before his other hand joins to squeeze the doctor's in turn. ]