Past comments about chocolate sauce aside...(wow, does that take me back)...
The Doctor's generally been an emotionally distant fellow, as a rule; obviously this stems from the original characterization of the first Doctor, who did soften a bit but whose age and concerns about propriety meant he kept companions at arms' length. Once Ace shows up and you've started writing about them, the relationship is clearly more of mentor/student, and by then the extent to which the Doctor cares for his friends is much more at the fore -- again, I'd chalk this up to evolving trends in TV and in society. It was much more acceptable by the 90s for men to be emotionally engaged, and even in the TV show it was clear that the Doctor, schemer and mask-donner that he always has been to some extent, cared deeply and felt strongly. He just buried it and hid it away.
I think the new series has largely corrected for this (arguably a little too far for old-school fans), and in particular Tennant has a gift for the angsty stare and immediate gear-shifting that clues us into the Doctor's real feelings versus the act he puts on. And increasingly, the companions he chooses tend to be able to see right through him. Donna won me over purely on that insight in her goodbye scene in Runaway Bride; that's clearly the hook that makes her worthy of the Doctor's efforts. She's not important, and not particularly clever, and certainly not well informed -- but when forced to confront her life choices, she gains some insight into the Doctor's as well.
You say that your heart goes pitter pat, not that you get all riled up sexually. That's because you've long seen the Doctor as the most wonderful friend you could have, and you always wrote him that way. But as a writer, and as someone who wants the Doctor to perhaps be more emotionally accessible, you have tended to use the "strip away the character's accoutrements and make them confront the emotional core of the issue" approach.
There's a certain feeling that you've been privileged to see the Doctor with his emotional transduction barriers disabled. The easiest way to get anyone to that point is to stress them physically, and it's something we can all relate to. So there's emotional resonance and physical sympathy both kicking in to produce the effect. And watching the Doctor (or anyone we care about) suffer through and rise above such challenges -- no matter how exaggerated or contrived by the story they might be -- gives people hope that they might do the same, as well as a model for perseverance.
It's just that whole catharsis thing, really. Not a fetish, just a human reaction wired deep in our pack-mentality brains.
If you find yourself dwelling on the pain/torture aspects for their own merit, THAT is when you need to worry. If you're punishing the characters -- perhaps punishing poor SylvDoc for betraying Ace's trust? -- then that's something quite different to the strutural crutch of removing all hte Doctor's support mechanisms and reducing him to his core.
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The Doctor's generally been an emotionally distant fellow, as a rule; obviously this stems from the original characterization of the first Doctor, who did soften a bit but whose age and concerns about propriety meant he kept companions at arms' length. Once Ace shows up and you've started writing about them, the relationship is clearly more of mentor/student, and by then the extent to which the Doctor cares for his friends is much more at the fore -- again, I'd chalk this up to evolving trends in TV and in society. It was much more acceptable by the 90s for men to be emotionally engaged, and even in the TV show it was clear that the Doctor, schemer and mask-donner that he always has been to some extent, cared deeply and felt strongly. He just buried it and hid it away.
I think the new series has largely corrected for this (arguably a little too far for old-school fans), and in particular Tennant has a gift for the angsty stare and immediate gear-shifting that clues us into the Doctor's real feelings versus the act he puts on. And increasingly, the companions he chooses tend to be able to see right through him. Donna won me over purely on that insight in her goodbye scene in Runaway Bride; that's clearly the hook that makes her worthy of the Doctor's efforts. She's not important, and not particularly clever, and certainly not well informed -- but when forced to confront her life choices, she gains some insight into the Doctor's as well.
You say that your heart goes pitter pat, not that you get all riled up sexually. That's because you've long seen the Doctor as the most wonderful friend you could have, and you always wrote him that way. But as a writer, and as someone who wants the Doctor to perhaps be more emotionally accessible, you have tended to use the "strip away the character's accoutrements and make them confront the emotional core of the issue" approach.
There's a certain feeling that you've been privileged to see the Doctor with his emotional transduction barriers disabled. The easiest way to get anyone to that point is to stress them physically, and it's something we can all relate to. So there's emotional resonance and physical sympathy both kicking in to produce the effect. And watching the Doctor (or anyone we care about) suffer through and rise above such challenges -- no matter how exaggerated or contrived by the story they might be -- gives people hope that they might do the same, as well as a model for perseverance.
It's just that whole catharsis thing, really. Not a fetish, just a human reaction wired deep in our pack-mentality brains.
If you find yourself dwelling on the pain/torture aspects for their own merit, THAT is when you need to worry. If you're punishing the characters -- perhaps punishing poor SylvDoc for betraying Ace's trust? -- then that's something quite different to the strutural crutch of removing all hte Doctor's support mechanisms and reducing him to his core.