Chapter Text
The highest cupboards were where the kitchen’s most rarely-used inhabitants always ended up exiled. The waffle maker, impulsively bought on clearance and used maybe a handful of times since. The so-called “good” dishes all proper adults were supposed keep on hand for some reason. A few recipe books. Unfortunately, today Clara found herself needing those books. So of course she did what any sensible person does when faced with the prospect of having to dig around in a cabinet up higher than their own head, and put her knee up on the kitchen counter. She reached toward the cabinet to balance herself and pulled her other leg up so she could stand, opening the cabinet as she did so in a relatively graceless but functional maneuver. ‘What does grace matter when you live alone, anyway?’ she thought to herself as her eyes searched the pile for the appropriate book. And then she heard the footsteps. Her heart felt like it stopped as she twisted to face the direction of the sound. She was debating whether to call out, or climb down, or maybe both, when the culprit stepped into view. Both feet planted on the kitchen counter, back twisted out awkwardly, Clara froze at the sight of Missy walking casually through her flat.
“Oh dear,” Missy laughed as she entered the kitchen, taking in the spectacle in front of her. “Bad time?”
Clara blinked once, twice, and twisted herself even further to get a better look at the intruder. This was enough to cause her to lose her footing, landing right on the kitchen floor. ‘Oh, this is perfect ,’ she thought, skipping right over, for the moment, such questions as ‘why is Missy in my home?’ and ‘how did she get in here?’, and going straight for ‘what an embarrassing display I’m making!’
Missy closed what distance remained between them and offered Clara her hand. Clara knocked it away, pushing herself up and brushing herself off, and fixed the taller woman with her most defiant glare. It was time to get back to those questions she’d missed before. “What are you doing in my flat?” she spat. “Tell me how you got in here so I can make sure it never happens again, whatever it takes.”
“You know me, poppet. Had some free time, thought I’d stop in on a friend, see what was new.” She’d already stepped away from where Clara stood and was instead snooping around the place as she spoke. “Oh, now that’s cute!” She interrupted herself to pick up some knick-knack she found, then promptly tossed it vaguely in Clara’s direction, picking up another one to examine.
“That’s quite enough,” Clara said firmly, as she struggled to keep her own decorations from hitting the floor. “We’re not friends. We’ll never be friends, you tried to kill me. Now get out!”
“What kind of reception is that, Clara, dear? I try to kill all my friends. Don’t take it so personally. Besides, it obviously didn’t work.”
There was already a part of Clara’s brain whirring in the background, telling her that Missy had a point, probably. She didn’t give that part any consideration. She took a deep breath and sized up the current situation instead. Missy hadn’t broken into her flat with the express intention of killing her, that much was clear. First of all, she would have already been dead. Second of all, she did have to admit, that wouldn’t be any fun, and that wouldn’t have been Missy’s style. Did that mean Clara wasn't in immediate danger then? Not necessarily, but steps had to be taken in one direction or another, so Clara steeled herself and stepped towards the tornado blowing through her living room decor. “You are going to leave my flat, and you are not going to be coming back.” She spoke without a hint of the fear she was feeling, or at least she convinced herself that she did. “You’re not my friend. You’re not welcome here. Find some other cure for your boredom.” She was Clara Oswald, she told herself, and Time Lords would cower before her. Maybe. She hoped. Probably not, but maybe they’d get bored? What was she doing?
So unexpected was Clara’s declaration that Missy actually replaced the trinket she’d been handling in its place rather than tossing it over her shoulder. She turned to give the girl her full attention. She looked her up, down, up again. Examined her face, her posture, looking for the cracks in the armour. They were well hidden, certainly. What gave her away was the racing heart, but Missy couldn’t fault her for that one. She couldn’t have controlled it even if she wanted to, and she probably had no idea Missy would be able to notice it from that distance. “My, my, my,” she giggled. “Looks like the puppy’s growing teeth! Whatever am I going to do?” Missy gasped mockingly, holding the face for effect before rearranging herself into the perfect picture of seriousness. “Ah, well, suppose I’ll have to see myself out. Now let’s see, I came from over there,” she said while gesturing, “which means the door must be-” she did a little twirl, now facing the opposite direction from where she had pointed, “-this way! Ta for now! Until next time, take care, and all those tawdry pleasantries, et cetera.” She made her way to the front door, unlocked it, and let herself out. “And do give the Doctor my best, won’t you?” she added, before closing the door behind her.
Clara gave it a minute or so, holding her breath, waiting to see if the door was going to open again. When she could bear it no longer she let it rush out, all at once, sinking down to the floor. Before she realized what was happening she felt her body shudder, heard the sobs escape from her mouth, but it barely seemed to be her that was doing it. She wasn’t sure how much time she spent in that position, but eventually she felt herself get up off the floor. She felt her legs bring her through the flat to the front door, felt her hand reach out to lock it, then felt the legs working again, until they weren’t and she was sat somewhere. Her mind was fuzzy, full of racing thoughts. No, not quite thoughts. More like blurry pictures. Missy lay at the centre of most of it, but it wasn’t all her. It was Danny. It was the Daleks. It was Oswin. It was all jumbled together, floating from one thing to another with no regard for the present. It wasn’t that she never thought of these things. It’s just that for most of them, she was usually busy trying not to die when she was reminded of them. Now there was no threat to her life, no situation to capture her attention, only the immediate aftermath of a bright and burning reminder of some of the worst memories she had (along with some she didn't, not really), waltzing around in her home.
Underlying all that, below the surface, was the knowledge that it might never stop. Sure, she was constantly putting her life at risk, acquiring new traumatic experiences, but it wasn’t quite that. It was the knowledge that Missy could get to her. What was stopping her, if the fancy took her? Nothing at all, as she’d just demonstrated. Sure, this time nothing had happened. But that possibility, the idea that Missy could just show up where she wanted, when she wanted, do what she wanted. A seed had been planted in Clara’s head, a seed that told her her life was at the whims of a mad woman, and there was really nothing she could do about it. When Clara was again able to form coherent thoughts, she wondered if that had been Missy’s point all along. She was easy to chase away today, because all she’d wanted was to plant that seed of helpless, but next time, if there was a next time? That was anyone’s guess.
It wasn’t until Clara was getting ready for bed that night that she remembered what she had been doing before Missy’s intrusion. She groaned loudly as she thought of the school potluck tomorrow. She’d been looking for a recipe to bring! She briefly considered her options, but resigned herself to having to pick something up from the store on the way in. ‘How is it possible,’ she thought to herself, frustrated and exhausted, ‘that Missy is already ruining my tomorrow, and it hasn’t even come yet?”