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"Well." The Doctor looks at his wrist. He doesn't need to. He's a Time Lord. He knows what time it is. But this is how long he's been on Earth. He's started to pick up human habits. Talk about the time, look at your wrist. Even if you're not wearing a watch.
Although that's already starting to be an anachronism, isn't it? They've started keeping the time in their pockets again. He really ought to pay attention to such things. If he can be bothered.
"I need to get going," he says. "Places to be." Well, one place. It's only ever one place, now.
Honestly, he doesn't know what he's doing here to begin with. Not so much here on the park bench, specifically. It's a classic rendezvous point, isn't it? Where else are you going to meet a spy? The man even had a newspaper held up in front of his face when the Doctor sat down. Which is also a bit of an anachronism now, come to think of it, but still, it's nice to see people appreciating the classics.
What he doesn't understand is why the man insisted on meeting him in person at all. It's been a pleasant enough conversation. Agent O is refreshingly intelligent, especially after spending so much time around students. He's a good conversationalist. Gets all the Doctor's jokes. So he isn't complaining. Hell, even a trip to the park serves as a welcome distraction these days, an hour or so when he's not thinking about all the other trips he could be making.
Still. They haven't talked about anything substantial at all. They could have just kept on texting.
The Doctor is jerked out of his thoughts suddenly by the realization that O is giving him an odd look. A sort of knowing smile. "Hot date?" O says.
It takes a second for the words to even make sense in the Doctor's mind, but when they do, he laughs. "Definitely not."
"Oh, Doctor," says O. "I know that look. You have someone waiting for you, don't you? Probably someone sitting there, all alone with her thoughts, counting the moments until you return. Longing for you to be together again." His tone is light, playful even, but there seems to be something underneath it the Doctor doesn't quite understand. But when has he ever understood humans on this particular subject?
He snorts. "I doubt it."
O laughs. "Ah, so there is someone. Lucky woman! Or lucky man. One wouldn't want to assume."
One would certainly be wrong to assume, in this case. "Woman," he says. "Unless she's gone and done something very, very stupid."
"Well. Even the most powerful and intelligent of us sometimes do very stupid things," says O. "But even so." He leans forward a little, his eyes intent on the Doctor's face. "I'm certain she doesn't deserve you."
Is this human flirting with him? Is that what this is? It's so hard to tell, sometimes, when humans are flirting. Should he flirt back? Does he want to?
He almost does. That's what things have come to.
Instead, he sighs. "Some days, I think we probably deserve each other," he says, and stands.
O looks at him for a moment, his face unreadable. Then he smiles, rises, and holds out his hand. "Thank you for coming, Doctor. It's been a most productive conversation."
"If you say so," the Doctor says, and shakes his hand.
For a moment, as their palms touch, he thinks he feels... or almost feels... something...?
But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. He's imagining things now. Marvelous.
Still, it takes him a moment to force himself to let go of O's hand.
He can feel O's smile on his back for a very long time as he walks away.
**
When he hands Missy her food, her hands linger on his a moment too long. As they usually do. She stands a little too close to him, as she usually does. Smiles a little too intimately.
It's an old game between them. He knows all the moves to it.
But the truth is, Missy seems a little different today. She has for a while, if he stops to think about it. A little quieter, a little more contemplative. A little more sincere. As if her barriers are beginning to give, just the smallest, most tentative amount. As if they might be ready to give a little more under his touch.
He shouldn't trust it, of course. Doesn't trust it.
But they've been very nearly alone here for so very long. And the Doctor can never resist touching things, not when something interesting might happen if he does.
Missy senses his mood. Sees his thoughts. She's always been able to, even with every psychic barrier in place. She knows him entirely too well.
"Oh," she says, and her hand comes up to stroke his face.
When he kisses her, it somehow feels inevitable.
**
Elsewhere, the Master leans back, closes his eyes, and talks to himself, in words his former self will have to wait a lifetime to hear.
"Enjoy yourself," he says. "You weak, self-murdering traitor. Enjoy yourself while you can."
Alone on a bench in a park, on a world very far from home, he raises a hand to his lips and loses himself in memory.