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The sound of pages turning was the only thing that broke the silence in the Vault. Normally, the generously sized space was filled with Missy's piano playing-- the excellent acoustics hadn't been intentional, per se, but when the Doctor had noticed them, the trip to Austria to acquire the beautiful instrument had seemed perfectly justified. It had felt wrong to leave her in there with nothing to occupy her time. Nardole had disapproved, said that a prison was what she deserved, and prisons certainly didn't have grand pianos. A few books, maybe, he'd suggested. The Doctor hadn't listened. He refused to think of the Vault as a prison. He had sworn to protect Missy for one thousand years, not to torture her. And worsening her mental state was hardly a good idea in the first place, was it?
So today, like almost every day, here he was: keeping her company. Once he'd run out of things to say, of stories of his adventures to relate, he'd open a book and read for an hour or two. Today it was an old, yellowed copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. When he'd sat down and opened it, she'd made some clever comment and giggled about the implications of him coming to visit her with an Oscar Wilde novel. He'd snarked back about how last he recalled, Oscar wouldn't have been a fan of her in her current state. Now, he was about two thirds of the way through the story, and his tea was cold, and his eyelids were heavy, weighed down by the events of the past few days.
He slid a bookmark between the pages-- a receipt for soda and chips-- and yawned as he uncurled himself from his chair. He swung his feet to the ground and stretched upward. He'd only made it a few steps forward when Missy yelped, "Hey!"-- nearly causing him to fall to the ground as his socks skidded across the smooth floor.
The Doctor turned around, eyebrows furrowed. Missy had launched herself upward from the couch, where he'd thought she'd been resting. "What?"
Missy's hair was flattened where she'd been laying against a cushion. She glared. "Where are you going?"
The Doctor blinked. "To the TARDIS? To get Nardole to take his shift and then go to bed?" He wiggled his hand at her. "Is that a trick question?"
"Uh, no." Missy said. She yanked at her dress where it had been wrinkled up. "You can't leave."
"And… why is that?"
"Because-- because I've rigged the door to explode if you open it." She tilted her chin back and smirked.
The Doctor glanced behind him at the door to the Vault, which appeared to be, as far as he could surmise, free of explosives. "But I opened it to come in and I didn't explode."
Missy frowned. "It's meant to explode on the second time around. Special programming."
"You don't have anything to program on. No tech anywhere in here, remember? No sonic, no computers, no nothing." He rapped his knuckles against the cover of his book. "I don't think you can blow me up with paper."
"Then you underestimate me."
The Doctor snorted. "I estimate you just fine." He pivoted and started walking back towards the door.
"No!"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, the Doctor stopped again. "Missy, I don't know if you've noticed, but not a single attempt to threaten me since you've come in here has succeeded. Last week you told me you'd poisoned my soup. It was paprika. And while I'm flattered that you remember the specific spices that I have a hatred of--"
There was a rustle of skirts, and Missy was suddenly a few paces behind him. "Well, this isn't like that. This time it's real. And I don't want you to blow up."
"I'm finding that a challenge to believe."
"I really don't. But, well, I'm quite angry with you."
"Oh? For what? Bringing you the wrong flavor of cookies?"
"For keeping me in a box," Missy snapped. "I'm very furious about it. And I thought I'd explode you to see if that took the edge off."
The Doctor sighed, turning to face her. "Right. Okay. Understandable. So, what, I touch the handle and it's all over in a ball of fire, then?"
Missy smiled. "Mm-hmm."
"Nice. Sneaky. Straight to the point. Probably painful. You get the drama of stepping over my crispy corpse as you make your evil escape."
"Exactly." She folded her arms smugly.
"And I presume you have a way to take care of Nardole once the alarm is triggered and he comes rushing down here?"
"Letter opener in my waistcoat pocket. Lifted it off of you a month ago while you sat next to me on the piano bench and sharpened it with a metal nail file."
"Ooh." The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "Brutal. You'll ruin your lovely dress with all the blood."
"I know a very talented dry cleaner."
"And I won't be able to regenerate if I'm in bits and pieces, right?"
Missy tapped her chin with one thin, elegantly polished fingernail. "That part I don't know about yet. I thought it'd be a nice surprise."
Thr Doctor lifted an eyebrow. "Well, you're thorough, as usual." He removed his book and mug from where he'd held them against his chest and placed them on the table nearest to him. "So just one question remains."
Missy spread out her hands. "Fire away, dearest."
"If you have such a wonderful plan and can't wait to escape," said the Doctor, leaning forward a little to shrink the distance between them, "then why don't you want me to open the door?"
Missy's eyes darted over the Doctor's shoulder to the door. She looked at the floor, then back up at him, meeting his eyes with a steely gaze. "You won't do it. You'll have to check first. Take every precaution. You can't take the chance that I'd escape just because you think you're calling my bluff. It would be safer to knock me out or tie me up, then try to disarm the bomb. I know how your clever plans operate."
"You are bluffing. It's impossible that there's a bomb on that door."
"I've fooled you plenty of times before."
"Not this time."
"Then why don't you try it, if you're so sure?" Missy was louder now, not just trading smooth threats anymore.
The Doctor glared. "Why don't you let me?"
"Fine!"
"Fine!" The Doctor whirled around, strode forward decisively, arm outstretched.
He was all but a few feet away from the door when Missy stopped him. She was between him and the door almost instantly, hands splayed outward to brace herself against his chest. "Stop! Stop." She laughed nervously. "Are you really that stupid? Come on, Doctor. At least try to save yourself before you--"
The Doctor kissed her. He seized Missy's face with both hands, stepping forward to simultaneously close the gap between their bodies and press her back against the smooth metal door with a thump. Missy was frozen at first, clenching the Doctor's shirt in both hands for stability, and then she slowly melted into the kiss, loosening her fists and moving her lips against the Doctor's in a pattern that came to her as easily as breathing, but never got old.
The Doctor pulled away gently, just enough to stop and look at her. "We didn't blow up."
"No," she whispered, swallowing and avoiding his eyes.
"There's no bomb in the door."
She could feel his heartbeats against her fingertips. "No." She tugged on his shirt and brought their mouths together again, letting her eyes drift closed and sinking into him.
The Doctor moved back a second time, holding Missy's face away from his. His eyebrows were drawn. "We need to talk about this."
"I don't think we do, actually. We were getting on just fine a second ago."
"No, Missy." He took a step back, but not before slipping his hand into hers. With his other hand, he pointed. "Sit. Couch. Talk."
Missy batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm sure you can come up with a better use for that mouth of yours."
The Doctor didn't take the bait. He tugged on her hand. "You quite literally have nowhere else to go."
Missy stared at him for a few seconds longer, and when he didn't back down, she sighed petulantly and followed the Doctor to the couch she'd been resting on just a few minutes ago. He sat with his legs folded, still grasping her hand.
"Well?" Missy demanded. "Spit it out."
The Doctor looked over at her, and his voice was soft. "I'm not going to leave you."
"I- what?" Missy stammered. "Who said anything about- I don't care!"
"If you don't want me to leave," he continued, "all you have to do is say so."
Missy scowled. "I said I don't care. I couldn't care less what you do. You've got me in here for the next millennium. What choice have I got?"
"You're not listening." The Doctor reached for her face again, less urgently this time. His fingertips brushed against the little wisps of hair that were too short to be pinned up. "You don't have to threaten me. You don't have to make up bombs and knives and poison. Tell me not to go. Tell me you want me to stay with you and I will. Tell me to kiss you," --he pressed his lips softly to hers for no more than a moment-- "and I will."
Missy's breath was caught in her chest. She stared at the Doctor with stinging eyes, and looked like she wanted to be angry. "You don't want to stay in here with me."
"I do."
"You're afraid of me."
"No. The paprika almost got me, but no."
A choked laugh emerged from her throat. "You wish I was dead."
"God, no. It kills me every time."
"You wish I was better." Missy's voice wobbled. "You wish I was good. I can't be good."
"You can."
"You're only humoring me out of obligation. I could never be your friend unless I was good."
"You are my friend." He kissed her again. "You can't change that. No one can. No one has."
The Doctor leaned his forehead against Missy's and she let him. She took a shuddering breath, and they said nothing for a while. He traced his thumb against her cheek gently.
"A thousand years is quite a long time," the Doctor murmured.
"Don't remind me."
"But we'll be together." He tilted his head back and looked at her. "Every day of it. Every minute, if that's what you want. You can scream at me and insult me and threaten to chop me into pieces as much as you like, but you don't need to. I'm right here. No one's going to hurt. No one's going to die. And no matter how scared you get, no matter how much you lash out, I won't ever go away. I promise you, Missy, you have my undivided attention."
Her voice was hoarse. "I don't deserve that."
"Maybe not. I don't care."
"You're so- so stupid."
"Mm. I know."
"So pathetic and emotional."
"Extremely so. A total sap."
"And a pushover."
"Undoubtedly."
"You got me a grand piano."
The Doctor grinned. "Only the best for you, my love. And you look so good when you're playing it."
Missy allowed a smile to slip onto her face. She reached up and traced the Doctor's bottom lip with one finger. "Exactly how much do you think we can fit into one thousand years?"
He laughed now, and kissed her once, twice, three times. "If we're going to find out," he mumbled against her mouth, "we'd better get a move on."
Missy kissed him back for a moment, then stopped the hand that was slipping underneath her collar. "Wait. No. I--"
The Doctor pulled his hand back and looked at her. "What?"
"Will you just--" She fiddled with a button on her waistcoat. "Get your book and read. Sit next to me."
A surprised smile. "Ask me."
"I just did."
"No. You didn't say it. We just talked about this." The Doctor leaned backwards.
Missy fought the urge to roll her eyes and make a snide comment. It took a second for her to realize what he meant. "Uh-- Doctor."
"Yes, Missy."
"Will you-- please. Stay with me?"
"Yes." He stood up, retrieving his book and returning to the couch. "Easy peasy." He flipped to his bookmark. "I'm at a good bit. Want to hear?"
Missy leaned her head against his shoulder. "Why not."
The Doctor's voice was easy to focus on, familiar and warm despite the number of times it had changed. He held her hand as he read, and held the book in the other. She turned the pages for him. And when the book was finished, he closed it, stood, returned it to the shelf. Missy froze for a moment, but he didn't even glance at the door. He came back to her, smiled, and stayed.