Work Text:
“Hello!” the Doctor calls into the vault. The room is chilly, and his voice echoes, bouncing from wall to wall. “Missy, are you here?” He glances around uneasily.
Before the Doctor can get properly worried, Missy’s head pops up from behind the sofa. “Well of course I’m here, dear,” she says, rolling her eyes dramatically. “It’s not as if I’ve got anywhere else to be.”
“What are you doing back there?” the Doctor asks, trying to peer around at her from the doorway. He tries not to make a habit of going too far into the vault. The farther in he goes, the more likely it is that Missy will get him into some kind of trouble. But this time, his curiosity gets the better of him. He sets down the plastic bags he’s been carrying, and walks over to the couch, where Missy has again disappeared from view.
When he rounds the couch, he finds Missy sitting cross legged on the floor, surrounded by an array of thin plastic boxes on all sides. “DVDs?” says the Doctor, surprised. He isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
“Yes,” Missy says. “Nardole gave them to me. He’s always eager to give me presents, unlike someone I know.” She glares up at him meaningfully. “I think he thinks that if I keep myself occupied, I won’t have the time to be evil. The scary thing is, for the most part, it’s working. Look at all this.” She gestures across the room, and the Doctor sees what she’s been working on.
There is handwritten sheet music laying on the grand piano, and on an easel beside it, a half-finished painting of the Citadel on Gallifrey under an orange evening sky. On a table in the corner, there is a chess game set up, waiting to be played yet another time. The Doctor had won that particular set in a game of live chess, as a part of his losing opponent’s bargain to escape the impending thousand volt shock. The pieces were hand carved from jade, by one of the galaxy’s most well-renowned artists, and lined with flecks of platinum. He gave it to Missy on her anniversary of staying in the vault, figuring she would make better use of it than he could. He tactfully overlooks the detailed war plans she’s scribbled on old newspapers next to the board.
“So the activity of the day is a movie marathon?” the Doctor inquires, kneeling down beside her in the sea of DVD cases.
“Yes, but I don’t know what to watch. Have you heard of any of these before?”
The Doctor examines the cases. They all look very human. He finds it funny, the way they glorify cowboys and alien destroyers, and fear silly things like ghosts and dinosaurs. It’s a part of their culture he’ll never understand. He’s met some very friendly aliens, and very friendly dinosaurs, for that matter. These films are all quite ridiculous, but if Missy wants to watch them, so be it. Keeping her out of trouble, he reminds himself. “I don’t know much about films, sorry,” he tells her.
Missy sighs. “All right, then, I guess we’ll do this one first.”
“‘We?’” the Doctor sputters. “Who said anything about ‘we?’”
“Oh, won’t you stay this one time?” Missy pleads, her eyes growing wide.
“Did Clara teach you that, that thing with the eyes? Seriously, it’s unnatural. You should stop that.”
Missy ignores his comment. “I thought, I just...You hardly even bother to come in properly on a normal day. I guess I just thought that maybe...today was...different.” She sounds hopeful, and the Doctor swallows unsurely. Is she trying to play a trick on him, or does she really just want a friend? The Doctor’s hearts ache remembering how much fun they used to have just spending time together. He recognizes the loneliness in her eyes, mirroring his own. How much harm could come from him staying and keeping her company, just for one afternoon?
“All right, sure,” he agrees at last. “Let’s watch this”—he glances at the DVD she’s picked—“ Frozen thing.”
“Brilliant,” Missy beams, clasping the Doctor’s hands in her own. She stands up, pulling him with her.
The Doctor suddenly remembers his bags. “Oh, I forgot to mention. I brought you some clothes, they’re in a couple of bags by the door. So you can stop telling people I never bring you anything.”
Missy smirks. “Nice try. They’re Clara’s, aren’t they?”
“Well yes, she left some of her stuff in the Tardis, but—”
“That doesn’t count, then. You can’t just give me someone else’s things and say they’re a gift from you.”
The Doctor raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Wow, how...morally sound of you. Anyway, I’m the one who went and got them. I picked out the things I thought you might like. That should count for something.”
“Aw, that’s a bit sweet isn’t it?” Missy pouts her lips like she’s looking at an adorable puppy. “Honestly, though, I... appreciate it.” The appreciation doesn’t exactly roll off her tongue, but the Doctor accepts it nonetheless.
“I’ll set up the film,” the Doctor volunteers. “You go look through the clothes.”
Missy obliges, and the Doctor moves to stand in front of the TV. Too lazy to try and figure out how the DVD player is meant to work, he pulls out his sonic screwdriver and zaps it, opening the slot. He nods contentedly, slipping the disc out of its case and into the tray. With two more flicks of the screwdriver, the DVD inserts itself, and the television turns on. The Doctor collapses back onto the sofa, and considers phoning for some takeaway or something. Chinese sounds good. Or Mexican… He decides to consult Missy about it when she gets back.
The Doctor waits on the couch for around ten minutes until he hears Missy footsteps approaching him. He turns around and is immediately awestruck.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Missy asks, wrinkling her eyebrows. She stands in front of him, with the back of the couch separating them. She’s put on a light blue v-neck t-shirt that gently clings to her frame, and a pair of black yoga pants. He also notices the socks on her feet, which are adorned with a pattern of tacos. He remembers laughing softly as he threw them in the bag, thinking how she would probably never wear them, but it would be funny to have her find them. He wonders how many times Clara wore them without him noticing. They look nice on Missy though. They make her look...cute? No, that’s not the right word. The Doctor racks his brain but can’t find any term adequate to describe how she looks to him.
The Doctor can’t hold back a smile. Missy notices this. He doesn’t often smile in this body, but when he does, she feels something inside. This kind of warmth in her chest that makes her want to pull him closer. But she doesn’t. She stays there, standing in front of him, caught in his gaze.
“Of all the things in there, I didn’t really expect you to pick this,” the Doctor admits.
“Why wouldn’t I? There are some lovely outfits in there, don’t get me wrong. But after all this time, the only thing I really wanted was something more comfortable than that damned corset.” Ah, the Doctor remembers the corset. How it felt to hold her in his arms, with the corset holding her waist rigidly. She seems softer now. He wonders if now she’ll be more pliable, receptive to his touch, in that t-shirt that looks ever so soft.
“I like it,” is all the Doctor can manage to say. “The, uh, the film is ready.” He scoots all the way to the right side of the sofa, pressed up against the arm, thinking about leaving plenty of space for her like a gentleman would.
Missy smiles, finding his awkwardness endearing. She comes around to the front of the couch, enjoying the way her socks slip and slide on the floor. Then she sits down right beside the Doctor, so that they’re both on the same half of the couch.
“There’s more uh—” the Doctor starts.
“Shhh,” Missy quiets him, scooting closer. “Is this okay?”
The Doctor closes his mouth and nods quickly.
“Good.”
“Wait, before we start, do you want to order some takeaway? I was thinking Chinese, but I see that you might be in the mood for Mexican.” He chuckles to himself, gesturing at her feet, which she’s rested on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. She looks at him blankly. “Because, you know, tacos are—oh, never mind.”
“You’ve spent far too much time on Earth, darling,” Missy teases.
The Doctor takes that as an affirmation, saying, “Okay, I’ll phone for the tacos.” He reaches for the rotary telephone that sits on the side table next to him. It normally doesn’t work—Missy just wanted it to build things from the parts—but with a little jiggery pokery, he’s able to phone the nearest Mexican restaurant and place an order for tacos of every type they offer.
The moment he hangs up the phone, Missy hits play on the film. “I’ve been excited to watch this one for a while now, but I was waiting for the right time. Did you know, one of the characters in this is a snowman that walks and talks?”
The Doctor laughs. “I’ve met a few of those in my time,” he says.
“Really? That’s amazing.” She leans her head on the Doctor’s chest, tucking her taco-clad feet up under her.
The Doctor considers what to do with his hands, and finally settles on slipping one arm around her waist and threading the fingers of his other hand through her hair. She’d let it out of its tight twist when she went to change, and he realizes he’s never seen her with her hair down. It’s quite the mane, and the Doctor wonders whether that has anything to do with why she likes ponies. Despite its unruly appearance, however, it’s quite soft, and he enjoys stroking it and twisting it around his fingertips. Her sides are plush and he can feel her breathing steadily and it’s comfortable. With Missy, he’s comfortable. He hasn’t felt that with her in a long time.
As the film progresses, the Doctor doesn’t pay much attention to the animated nonsense. He is much more focused on watching Missy, who seems to cuddle closer to him every minute. She smiles with the little princesses playing together, gasps when the blonde one hurts the redhead by accident, and even looks overcome with sadness when the parents die at sea. For so long, the Doctor had forgotten that the Master could show any emotion besides anger and wrath, but seeing her like this brings memories rushing back to him. He thinks that maybe, for some amount of time, he can set aside all the things she’s done wrong, and let himself see that she is worthy of affection and sympathy.
The Doctor is content to close his eyes, the film’s soundtrack fading into background noise. Missy wriggles for a moment, settling further into his embrace. He listens to her breathe. With heightened senses, he feels her heartbeats resonating gently throughout her slight body. Everything he knows is overcome the rightness of how she feels, entangled with him.
Just as he’s about to drift off, holding Missy like his teddy bear, there is a sharp knock on the door. “ Verano Mexicano !” a man’s voice calls from the outside.
“Oh, that must be the food,” says the Doctor reluctantly. “I’ll get it.”
“No, no, you’re all settled in and comfy. I’ll get it,” Missy insists, pressing pause on the remote control.
The Doctor can’t find it in himself to protest. Missy isn’t meant to go anywhere near the door to the vault. But she seems to be pretty stable today. And he is awfully comfy. “All right, go ahead. Here are a few pounds.” He fishes around in his pocket and pulls out some British money. God knows where he got that. Over his shoulder, he sonics the vault door, opening a tiny slot that would allow Missy only enough access to pay for and retrieve the food.
Missy gets up from the sofa, and the Doctor momentarily mourns the loss of the feeling of her in his arms. He smiles to himself again when he catches sight of her taco socks. As she walks toward the door, he realizes she looks somehow looser than usual. He can’t tell if it’s solely the loss of her corset that makes her movements more free-flowing, or if she’s also feeling more comfortable being around him. He hopes it’s a combination of both, and also imagines spending more days with her in the future where she doesn’t feel the need to wear that blasted frilly exoskeleton.
The Doctor is jerked back to reality when he hears Missy bellow, “And stay out !” The delivery man scampers away with a flurry of footsteps. When Missy comes back holding the bag of food, the Doctor looks up at her, amused and awaiting an explanation. “I asked him if there was any salsa to go with the tacos, and he said no, there wasn’t any salsa to go with the tacos. Can you believe that? No salsa! I suppose I lost my temper a bit. But seriously, what kind of a Mexican restaurant doesn’t provide complimentary salsa?”
“Oh, Missy,” the Doctor sighs fondly. His best friend might just be the most bonkers person in the universe. Missy sets the bag down on the coffee table and curls back into the his open arms.
“You know,” the Doctor murmurs, “I was afraid you’d find a way to bolt the minute you saw the open slot in the door. But you stayed.”
“Doctor, my Doctor,” she says back to him. “It’s been so long since I last saw the outside world. But what is the point of running around out there, if not to chase you down? Today, I would rather stay here.”
He turns her head to face him. She’s not doing the thing with the eyes now, that manipulative, irresistible thing. Instead, she looks completely genuine. He finds it funny, how no matter what form the two of them find themselves in, the Master’s eyes always feel the same. Somehow, these are the same eyes he looked into on his first day at the Academy. These are the same eyes he looked into in the rage of so many battles. These are the same eyes he looked into as the Master’s past self died in his arms. Together, he and the Master change, and together they remain the same, the one constant he has in a life where everyone he loves slips through his grasp, no matter how hard he tries to hold on.
The Doctor smooths back Missy’s hair from her face. He draws her closer and plants a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. He feels her eyebrows twitch infinitesimally, unsure of what’s happening. “Today is different,” he whispers against her skin. “Today, we both stay.”