Chapter Text
From the first wry and sweetly uttered words proclaiming false innocence when you first tumbled upon her hidden prison, Missy, without a doubt become one of the most interesting people you had ever met.
With the exception of the Doctor, that was. But even then, you couldn’t quite explain the silent, powerful magnetism that drew you to her in a way that had you returning to visit her regularly enough that it had become something of a routine.
Even more surprisingly, she seemed to tolerate your presence in a manner that had you both wary and secretly giddy.
Nice certainly wasn’t the right word for how she treated you, but she certainly played nice by comparison when you saw the ways she spoke with others and contrasted it to the cautiously curious conversations the two of you had.
Missy was an enigma.
A funny, terrifying, and beautiful enigma wrapped into the form of Mary Poppin’s evil alternate ego.
But damn was she fun.
And she might have noticed the ways your lips quirked upward into a smile at her jokes and passive jabs at the Doctor, or the way your gazes met when your eyes glimmered with curiosity at the rare story she’d share of her past.
“My whole life doesn’t revolve around you, Doctor.”
You remember her chiming in annoyance at the Doctor.
And the more you listened, the more convinced you were that what she said was true.
Not that you’d trust her not to lie.
No, you figured that even if the stories were all lies, she was at the very least the kind of storyteller that had you mindlessly grinning at her theatrical retellings, resting your head on your hands as you leaned forward in your seat.
You couldn’t be sure that she liked you, given her open and frequently voiced distaste for humanity.
But at the very least, she didn’t seem want to kill you.
Regardless, she seemed to enjoy having an audience, and company not constantly berating her.
It came as a surprise when she even humored you about stories related to her past, you listened with genuine curiosity, watching as she’d place her hands on her hips and pace about her glass stage as if delivering a dramatic monologue to her audience of one.
The first time she opted to share, you approached it in a more back-and-forth, conversational manner, but the icy glare she shot you had your question dying in your throat. Moments like that reminded you of exactly who she was and what she was capable of.
You were quick to not repeat the mistake in front of the same woman who spoke of human deaths like swatting flies. She seemed pleased about that, and often shifted to this monologue-esque style of interaction when telling a story. Not that you minded, she had you engaged at every lilt of her Scottish intonations and occasional break for dramatic pause.
Somewhere along the line, her voice became oddly soothing to you. Despite the frequent awful things she said and flippantly colorful descriptions of even seemingly ordinary things.
You your embarrassment, you even caught yourself watching with a tilted head and soft dopey smile on your face. Her amused short laugh and the feeling of her gaze suddenly on you had your face flushing red with embarrassment under her scrutinization.
“Enjoying yourself, are you? Or did your little human brain scurry off to a daydream in the middle of my story?” Missy teased, her hands on her hips with a click of her tongue.
You were quick to shake your head, the thought of even being anywhere but present in her company sounding ridiculous in your head. You weren’t sure if you had felt that way around anyone before, to your silent dismay, but pushing those thoughts to the back of your head.
“Just listening,” you shot back dismissively, “You’re a good storyteller.”
You admitted honestly, shrugging to downplay the sentiment, but your eyes flashing to hers with a somewhat guilty smile.
Her eyes scanned over you for a moment in that way that made you feel both terrifyingly exposed and oddly thrilled.
“Hm. Well, don’t get too dreamy-eyed on me, pet.” She said, her body language easing as she seemed to accept your explanation. You kept your expression unchanged at her added endearment.
“Makes me feel like you’re not listening,” she added with an exaggeratedly sad expression, miming an invisible tear trailing down her cheek. Then she half-swung around, her skirts fanning with a flourish before taking a seat at the piano bench.
“Usually when people are properly listening to me, there’s a bit more fear than dopey grins,” her tone was sickly sweet as she paused to idly examine her nails, “Perhaps I’ve been too soft. I’ll have to let you in on some more grizzly details of my….intergalactic exploits.” She added in a thoughtful voice and a dramatic sigh.
You fought the urge to roll your eyes at the act, but shook your head instead, looking to her with a challenging look, but otherwise not moving from your position.
“Or maybe it’s just not you. I don’t mind a little scary.”
Her act dropped and she looked to you suddenly with a sharp but quietly curious look. You took the bait and continued.
“I mean—it probably takes takes a questionably sane human to come down here nearly daily and spend time with someone who could easily kill them if the mood struck, wouldn’t it?
“Well, you’re certainly either daft or insane. Haven’t quite decided which.”
“All I’m saying—is that maybe it’s not that you aren’t terrifying, but more that you stumbled upon someone just dumb or crazy enough to enjoy your sociopathic ramblings.”
You felt bold saying it, briefly fearing that you overstepped and let your tongue-and-cheek side out a little strong.
But, to your surprise, she suddenly threw her head back into a fit of laughter. The sound was infectious and you couldn’t help but let your own lips quirk back upward. She took her time regaining her composure, wiping away what might have been an actual stray tear of laugher.
“Oh. Well, At least you seem to possess some semblance of self-awareness lacking in most of your species.”
“Coming from you, I’ll take that as a complement,” you replied with an edge of wry amusement showing through.
“Don’t flatter yourself too much, pet. Just an observation.”
There it was again. You said nothing, but looked down and avoided her gaze as you felt her analyzing you.
You glanced at your phone and swore quietly at the time. You had spent far too long there.
Again.
You climbed to your feet, stretching the muscles the you hadn’t realized you had been tensing, and gathering your belongings.
“It’s late—I should get going,” you said, trying to dispel whatever effect she was having on you in your sudden urge to stay.
She turned away from you and hummed with a guarded indifference that you had come to recognize, but you hadn’t quite learned how to decipher.
The silence fell between the two of you until the sound of a shrill note on the piano jarred you enough to look up from your gathering of papers and notebooks. She didn’t look your way, but you caught the silhouette of her smile at your surprised jump. She comfortably fell into a melody that sounded vaguely familiar, but you didn’t know enough about classical music to bother a guess.
You thought she might continue to play without as much as a goodbye, as she often did in her attempt to make it clear that she didn’t enjoy your little visits as much as you did.
But maybe you were flattering yourself.
You needed to be a realist. Especially with her.
And especially with how uneasy your own muddled non-existent feelings where towards her.
You yawned, shaking the thoughts away as you realized just how tired and fatigued your muscles were from the long day of classes, staying up too late with Bill and the Doctor, and slipping away to sneak in some time with her behind their backs.
To your surprise ,as you turned to leave, she chimed out.
“Now, don’t be be roped into some silly adventure do-gooder adventure with the Doctor tomorrow.”
You looked back at her in surprise.
“You’re particularly boring when you’re tired. I can’t have you too tired to listen attentively next time,” the shift in her voice took you off guard. Back to her guarded, colder tone, but with a playful edge.
“I don’t like other people playing with my toys.”
She shot you a wink and you quickly turned away to leave while giving a short nod. Your face flushed at the gesture.
No.
You weren’t developing feelings for her.
You couldn’t.
That would be ridiculous, and incredibly stupid.
But the memory of the uneasy fluttering in your stomach when she smiled at you tugged at your subconscious, and had to admit you had never really enjoyed hearing the sound of your own name as much as you did falling from her lips.
Oh Shit.
You had feelings for her.
---
If she hadn’t yet noticed how you felt towards her, you particularly weren’t eager to let it slip out.
Sure, you heard an earful of the Doctor’s warnings and the exasperation in his tone every time he found you with her.
And as he reminded you that she was very, very dangerous, harbored a strong dislike of humans, and could be very manipulative when she wanted to be.
Part of you hoped that you didn’t fall into that category. But the self-preservation instinct in you reminded you that you might.
The thought that maybe she was using you to get to the Doctor sent an ache through your chest.
You didn’t want to be blindsided—to be naïve enough that you were sure you’d be the exception to her distaste for humanity.
You needed to be practical—despite the complete impracticality of dropping plans with classmates and friends to visit with the Time Lady.
You weren’t an exceptionally emotion-driven type.
But then again, you weren’t usually the crush type either.
So, you played it subtle.
Or at least tried to.
Your visits remained fairly regular, and she didn’t appear especially eager to scare you off, and maintained her expected level of pointed jabs, occasionally cruel, but often very funny commentary, and occasional insults that lacked the sentiment behind it to get to you.
Slowly, your visits evolved from story monologues, to listening to her play the piano, discussing books, even turning an old projector into a screen to show TV shows and films either you or her hadn’t seen.
And even her asking you the occasional question about yourself. It wasn’t until feeling quiet attentiveness in her gaze while waiting for your reply that you realized she was serious.
Despite his constant reminders not to fall for her tricks, you had absolutely developed a soft spot for the Time Lady.
She had a biting wit, a wicked sense of humor, and tales that kept you on the edge of your seat.
Sure, you weren’t entirely sure if they were all true. (Yet, you had a feeling most of them were, given what you knew about your other Time Lord friend).
Needless to say, you were smitten. You tried not to be obvious about it, though she was incredibly smart, so you didn’t doubt she must have picked up on it partly at the very least.
She seemed to at least like the company and audience enough to not try to trick you into your death. Which for her, seemed like at least a good start.
Much to her dismay and your delight, you could tell she was starting to openly enjoy you returning for visits so often. The way her eyes lit up and her lips curled into a smile instantly when you stepped across the threshold of the vault had you easily mirroring her expression.
By now, you were no longer phased as she swung open the glass of her “cell” and stepped out with a flourish. You responded by lifting your gifts of cheap wine into her line of sight.
You could have almost sworn she almost snorted a laugh as her head falling back in a fit of amusement. Your face warmed at seeming to get a genuine laugh out of her and you offered a cheeky grin in return as she shook her head in mock-exasperation and stepped toward to your usual comfy chair setup with a small table.
You tossed your rucksack down and set down the several containers of boxed wine. You knew Missy would complain about it the whole time, but drink it all anyway.
“Terrible. I don’t even know why I bother giving you recommendations,” she said, falling back onto the old cushioned loveseat.
“Because your last recommendation was the blood of a fresh virgin sacrifice.”
Missy seemed to once more get a kick out of her own joke and crinkled her nose with a teasing smile.
“—and when you finally did give an actual wine recommendation, every bottle you mentioned was at least a few hundred pounds out of my price range.”
Missy kicked her feet up onto the table with a light scoff, waving her hand in dismissal with a slight shake of her head.
“You don’t put a price tag on good taste.”
You shook your head, still half-smiling as you pulled out a couple of clear plastic cups that had her rolling her eyes again and shooting another look of disapproval that had you grinning again.
“You do on my budget.”
That earned a small huff of a laugh from Missy as she tutted in mock-disappointment at the spread.
“Besides, I don’t think bringing you breakable, sharp glass would be very advisable, given the wines I’ve brought you the past few visits.”
Missy chuckled at that.
“Now that’s true. But alas, I’ll overlook that this once, just to show I can be a both fair and firm overlord.” she shot a wink at you, reaching for her pseudo-glass. You did roll your eyes at that.
“How very gracious,” you deadpanned without missing a beat.
“You’ll have to open that atrocious thing,” Missy nodded towards the wine. You shot her a skeptical look, but leaned over and reached for it anyway.
“Being an intergalactic genius, I assumed you would know how to open boxed wine by now.”
Her lips twitched upward at the backhanded compliment.
“Wine wasn’t made for boxes, dear. It’s unnatural and one of humanity’s greatest atrocities,” She kicked her legs over the other side of the loveseat, reclining with a bored expression.
“—and why would I ever want to know such things when others do it for you. It’s bad enough that I’m reduced to slumming it with a plebe like you.”
That did strike a bit of a nerve, but you held it back and played along anyway as if it hadn’t.
“If it’s so much below you, then I’ll take myself and my plebian wine back to my flat to slum it alone in peace then,” your tone was light, but you couldn’t help but frown as you abruptly stood, reaching for your bag and the boxes.
Your head snapped up at her sudden grip on your arm. You blinked at the silent speed with which she had risen from the chair and now stood beside you. The glint in her eyes offered a stark reminder of exactly who she was.
“Don’t you dare,” her voice dropped to a low threat that almost sent a shiver down your spine, but instead you offered her a quietly challenging look, meeting the icy heat of her gaze with quiet defiance that said then play nice.
You released your grip on the box and her grasp loosened. You tossed your bag back towards your chair with a sigh.
“Fine.”
Then at least don’t act like you’d rather me leave.
The thought remained unsaid, but you hadn’t anticipated the heavy silence that fell between the two of you then. But you had grown painfully aware of her sudden closeness to you. Something akin to regret seemed to shift in her gaze. Your breath nearly caught as she raised a hand and let her fingers softly graze your jaw before, in a rare moment of hesitation on her part, she let her hand fall back to her side.
You knew that despite her half-hearted attempts to insult and belittle you, you saw exactly what she was actually trying to do.
She enjoyed your visiting time every bit as much as you did. Despite her efforts to get under your skin. You occasionally caught the slight look of pride hidden in her gaze when you stood your ground and didn’t flinch at the things she’d say just to elicit a reaction.
After a long pause, she looked back up to you and made a faux cat claw gesture with her hand.
“Rrrraaaoooww,”
you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculous sound and pantomime. Which, you were quite sure was the idea, as the added coldness dissipated once more. She plopped back onto her sofa with a huff.
“Now that we can put the claws back, pour me a glass before I change my mind.”
You shook your head softly, crouching down and opening the spout on the box before pausing and reaching back for your rucksack.
“Right away, your highness,” you added dryly.
From your bag, you pulled out a small bottle with the dim glinting reflection of foil at the top. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Missy’s brows raise, but said nothing as you unwrapped the foil and set the small corked bottle on the table.
“Alright, now this is bordering on overkill—what’s the occasion? I see you’ve brought the top shelf gutter wine for me, and you even bothered to bring those bloody red cups that make it feel like an American frat house in here. So, tell me. What’s gotten you so worked up?”
You turned back to her with barely concealed grin,
You hesitated. You shouldn’t be surprised she knew you well by now.
“It’s supposed to be a surprise,” you said and paused, hesitantly meeting her pressing gaze.
Missy smirked at that.
“And it’s not my surprise to give away.”
Missy leaned forward, with a teasing smile.
“Ohhh, so the Doctor! Come on, tell me. Don’t worry, I’ll act surprised.”
Her finger bopped softly on your nose before giving a dramatic look of surprise.
“See? It’ll be a little secret for just us girls.”
You had expected it would end up like this, and you had a very strong suspicion that the Doctor had expected you to tell her before he did. Maybe to get her warmed up to the idea.
“Well….yes, the Doctor spoke with me earlier today, ” you paused, furrowing your brow as a pang of guilt shot through you at the possibility that the Doctor hadn’t planned on you telling her. However, the weight of Missy’s pressing gaze left little room to back out of what you had started, so you spat it out.
“He was open to letting you out for an adventure in the TARDIS…..to see how you’d do. Responding to a distress call, or something.”
“—he wants me to play him?”
You hesitantly look up at her, truly unsure how she would react.
You knew their history was complicated to say the least.
But as far as specifics went, they were few and far between. Not knowing much about their history to begin with made it difficult for you to predict the reaction of an already unpredictable woman.
But her face lit up as a sly grin fell across her lips, her head falling back as she erupted into a thunderous laugh.
After a long moment, she regained her composure to lean forward in her seat, propping her chin up on her hand.
“He wants to give me a go at playing him? Hilarious. A bit like playing Doctor Who style probation, is it?”
“Ah….a bit? I suppose.”
To your relief she laughed at that, the tenseness in your shoulders easing as she visibly relaxed and her face light up, gears visibly turning in her head at the possibilities.
“Yes. Playing goody-good Doctor shouldn’t be too hard,” she turned back to you, leaning forward again in her seat, as if sharing something in confidence.
“Besides, I’d love to show him just how easy it is to do his job, just to rub it in his face for a laugh,” she added with another pondering expression, more thinking out loud than to you. Her eyes snapped back to yours after a moment, sparkling with mischief as she stood and slowly paced past you.
“S’ppose either way that’s better than 70 more years in the vault…”
You nodded, looking over the back of your chair and smiling softly as she seemed to come to life at the notion of seeing something other than this same room.
She turned and walked back towards you, hands resting proudly on her hips as she swayed with each step.
“—And am I to assume he’ll be supervising this little excursion?” slowed to a stop behind your chair.
“That was one of his conditions.”
“Supporting expendables and all?”
“Ah. I…you mean Nardole and Bill?
“—and you.”
You blinked in surprise, mildly offended.
“I can come if you like…. calling me an expendable isn’t exactly an assuring start.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, of course you’re coming.”
You nearly jumped at the feeling of her hands suddenly at your shoulders as she stood behind your chair. Her face dropped to hover over your shoulder, close enough to feel her breath against your cheek. You froze, but didn’t move away from her touch.
“Besides. The Doctor gets his companions, I should be allowed mine.”
Did she just…?
“So, don’t be so tense, pet,” her hands slid down the outside of your arms to rest on either side of you. Her lips moved closer to your ear as her voice lowered.
“Stick close, and don’t wander off, and you shouldn’t have too much to worry about,” She finished with a quick peck to the side of your cheek and straightened back up to full height.
“Now, the bubbly,” she said, extending her hand expectantly.
If was anyone else, you might have asked for a please before even moving, but somehow, knowing full well that she wouldn’t even if you had, you found the light order strangely endearing coming from her.
You reached forward and grabbed the mini-champagne, passing it and a glass to her. She gave you a sly wink and draped herself sideways over the arm of your chair as she readied the bottle as you held the glasses.
The cork shot-out from the mini-champagne with a pop! And you made a noise of complaint, but couldn’t help but laugh as the booze quickly fizzed over and splashed onto you. You held the glass as she poured until it was overflowing, causing more to slosh onto you from the too-full cup.
“Hey—rude,” you grumbled as she purposefully poured even more into the glass and nudged you so its contents splashed onto your shirt and by now had the jeans on your leg nearly soaked.
“That’s what you get for being clumsy,” she clicked her tongue in a mock-patronizing tone.
You reached to try to grab the bottle when she moved it away and held a finger up.
“Ah-ah, this is my gift, remember. I didn’t have to share.”
“But you didn’t share!—you could have had two glasses from that,” you offered indignantly.
“And yet, here you are, making a mess in my vault, covered in what would have been second glass. So, in a way, I did share didn’t I? See, I’m becoming more giving already.”
You shot her an unamused look that had her smiling slyly at you once more. You made a small sound of annoyance, but otherwise didn’t bother questioning her logic at this point, and poured yourself some of your boxed wine.
She raised a glass and stuck a pose pausing for dramatic effect.
“A toast,” she began, stopping to take a cheat sip of her own overflowing glass.
You found a smile forming on your lips as you raised your own glass.
“To what exactly?”
“To freedom, bitches.”
“—well, sort of,” you added quickly with a near snort of a laugh, ignoring the exasperated look she sent you.
You didn’t want her get any wrong ideas about the Doctor’s intentions, but held up your glass anyway.
“Ugh…fine. Then to sort of freedom, bitches!” She revised with as much enthusiasm as you clinked the plastic cups together.
“I’ll drink to that.”