Work Text:
She looked at him. The Master. It was remarkable, being in the same timeline as he. Strange to see him from the outside. As she observed him, part of her couldn't help but admire him. There he was, making his way to the lifts, not having a care in the world about the explosions around them and not having an ounce of regret while she was riddled with them. How she wished she could feel that nonchalance once more. It was easier back then. The world was in black and white; the Doctor was good, and he was malicious. Simple as that. Damn the Doctor. Damn Clara. Damn all of those who had steered her on another path.
Missy's vision had changed over the past few years; her world had expanded, her motives had evolved. It frightened her: when she looked at the smoke, she no longer found it pretty. She used to burn down cities just to make beautiful grey shapes in the acrid skies. Missy knew she should feel elated in front of the chaos and the misery, yet, her mind inevitably gravitated towards the Doctor. He was in the middle of this; of course, he was. At the heart of danger would always be where he stood. And he needed her. Now more than ever. His pleading eyes had borne into hers with such despair.
Stand with me. It's all I ever wanted.
Me too.
She looked at the Master once more. The way he strolled with assurance and pride, springing his sonic to call the lift. How angry he was on the inside, a ball of fury and destruction. She recalled what it felt like to burn so intensely, so madly. To want nothing more than annihilate everything around him, everything that refused to obey. He was driven, obtuse. She knew he wouldn't change his mind. Not for anything. He would never stand with the Doctor. But Missy had chosen her side, and she was certain of herself. This time, she would prove to the Doctor that she was indeed, first and foremost, his friend. This time, she wouldn't be alone.
The Master did not fit into her world anymore. She had become so much more than him. He had to go. And she had to be the one to do it. She had known, ever since she had recognized his round face. It was her hand that would inflict the final blow, and the mere idea of that filled her with dread. He was her. She was him. She didn't want to come to that, but there was no other way. It was either her or him, but the two of them couldn't survive this.
What would you die for ? The Doctor had asked.
You , Missy thought. She would risk her life for him.
She would not leave here, dead or alive. Where I stand is where I fall , his voice echoed in her head.
Oh, but Missy was determined to win. She needed to survive; she couldn't let her down. The Doctor needed her. And there was someone else, out there, waiting for her—someone who had been part of her journey as much as the Doctor had.
The lift opened, and the Master made his way towards it, smiling. She remained behind, thinking of how to do it. How to kill her previous incarnation? She smiled as a memory formed in her mind. Another round face, impossibly brown eyes, the warmth of an embrace.
"Come here," Missy told the Master.
He turned around, obviously confused. Did he have any idea what she was about to do? Clearly not. He underestimated her, and that was his significant mistake. He thought she was on his side and couldn't conceive the idea that she wasn't. Silly fool.
"I'm sorry?"
"Come here, I said."
He was puzzled, frowning. Time was short; the cybermen could arrive any minute. Yet, she opened her arms to him, smiling and enticing him closer. A direct invitation. She tried to reproduce the behaviour of the woman in her memory. He looked at her, an odd smile on his face. He approached gradually but didn't hesitate. He held her. He was the one to initiate the touch, the one to slither his arms behind her back, bringing her closer. And Missy froze. His touch was unusually gentle, but no warmth, no love exuded from his embrace. This was unlike anything she had known before. There was no comfort, and this gesture meant very different things to either of them. For him, it was a way to settle their victory, for her, a way to seal her fate.
Sadness submerged her, but she held him tighter, the way she had been taught, to ease the pain that was to come.
Even monsters deserve a little bit of love, sometimes , a voice whispered in her head.
"Have you ever been hugged, Missy?" Clara suddenly asked, disturbing the silence.
Missy's fingers hit the wrong notes on the piano as she shuddered in disgust. Wincing, she turned to face the brunette standing in front of her glass cell. Hugging? Who did she think she was?
"Time-Lords do not hug." She coldly replied.
She rolled her eyes and focused back on the piano, making sure to turn her back to the other brunette: Clara Oswald and her bizarre questions. The more time they spent together, the more incongruous they became—the more personal too. How long had they been meeting in secret now? Months? When Clara Oswald had first visited her, she was seeking information about the Doctor's whereabouts, afraid of the aftermath of her departure. Weeks after weeks, she had returned, demanding stories, asking questions. Missy had done everything in her power to push her away, reminding her of her boyfriend's death, mocking her about her relationship with the Doctor. Clara Oswald always came back. Why? Missy had once asked her. Because that's what the Doctor would do , she had replied.
Eventually, Missy had caved. Especially since the Doctor had left her to rot in her cell for months without visiting. What troubles had he gotten himself into? In time, she had grown to appreciate Clara's company. And Missy feared that the young woman felt the same way too. She brought her supplies and clothes and made sure she could survive independently. She looked after her, filling the Doctor's shoes. Wasn't that poetic? Even though it was the reason they had to part ways, she kept on doing it. Sometimes, Clara stopped by to deliver some books or watch a movie with her. She stayed some nights, talking, the both of them cheating loneliness together. Lately, she had decided to help Missy turn good since the Doctor wasn't around. She tried to instruct her to be a better person with flashcards and flowcharts, assessing her constantly. Missy dealt with it reluctantly at first. But she knew it was her only way out of the vault. If she could prove to the Doctor that she had changed, she would see the sun shine again. So, Missy was trying. Not always succeeding, but she really was attempting to achieve that impossible goal. After all, Clara had helped the Doctor to be a good man. Why couldn't she do the same to her?
"Perhaps you should try it…" Clara said, breaking her train of thoughts.
There was a mischievous glimmer in her brown eyes. Oh no. Missy didn't appreciate that at all. Not killing humans was one thing, but hugging them was quite another. She rose from her seat and watched as the other woman made her way to the cell and opened it. She held the door open wide, relying on her not to run away. Even though she wanted nothing more than to get away from her prison, Missy took a step back.
"Come here," Clara said, opening her arms to her, smiling serenely.
Missy shook her head, putting distance between her and the Doctor's former companion until she had reached the confines of her jail. Whatever Clara had in mind, she wanted no part in this. She had agreed to be good — that didn't mean she was willing to push it as far as … hugging. The mere idea sickened her. It was such a human thing to do. Missy was not human, nor would she ever be.
"No, we are not doing this." She told Clara, jabbing her finger at her threateningly.
But Clara Oswald merely smiled. Was she enjoying herself? Cheeky girl. She should be terrified. She should be quivering in fear. How much she had changed since Skaro… It felt like she had done it all, seen it all. Like Death didn't frighten her anymore. Maybe it was because she had nothing to lose.
"Come here, I said," Clara repeated.
Missy didn't. She didn't move, remaining against the wall. And Clara approached slowly like she would have done with an untamed cornered animal. Carefully, she slid her arms around her torso, bringing her close. Missy trembled slightly, anger rising in her chest — How could she? Her hands, on her, burnt, hurting. Fists tightened, Missy had to restrain herself from strangling her. She wanted to squeeze the air out of her lungs, to watch the light in her eyes wither and die... Oh, but Clara couldn't die, and she knew that. She took advantage of her condition to do things no others had tried before. She had nerves. She was brave.
Clara held her tighter, closer, until her chin rested against her shoulder. Missy sighed. She couldn't escape the teacher's death grasp. She would have to suffer it. And Missy closed her eyes in annoyance, or so she tried to convince herself. Clara's arms were… oddly comforting. Her fingers stroked her back nicely, burning through her skin with her kindness.
"Even monsters deserve a little bit of love, sometimes," Clara whispered, clutching her tight.
Missy swallowed a lump down her throat. She had never hugged nor been hugged in this body before. She wanted to loathe it. She really did. And yet… it awoke unpleasant thoughts buried deep inside of her. No one had ever shown her such kindness. No one had ever made her feel cared for. And it was easy, so easy to let that feeling swipe away her anger. Easy to give in. A tear fell down her cheek, and Missy was grateful that Clara couldn't see that moment of weakness. She wanted to hate it. But she couldn't.
She felt safe.
She didn't feel lonely anymore.
A voice whispered in her head.
You want what every sentient creature wants, but you don't know it yet. You just want to be loved.
No. Not her. She had killed her, and yet, her voice echoed in her mind when she fell asleep every night. You're not evil. You're lost. I uncovered the reality of who you are. She refused to prove her right. Anger rising again, Missy pushed Clara away from her, hands trembling, chest heaving. Clara smiled, knowing that she had won, but took a step back, providing her with some space. The door was still open, but Missy didn't want to run. Missy wanted to wreck everything out of rage. Starting with Clara.
"Don't ever do that again." Missy threatened before sealing herself inside her prison.
Since that moment, part of her had always missed Clara's warmth. No matter how much she tried to resist it.
The blade pierced his skin, and as the first drop of blood dripped down her weapon, Missy felt free. By stabbing her past self, she was burying the part of her that had chosen evil over good. She was free of the madness of her past, free to be a new person. The slate was now clean; the coast was clear. Soon, the Master would turn into her and comprehend why she had done such a terrible deed. And the sadness was washed away by the possibility of a beautiful future. Although it hurt, she could already see the sun shining through the clouds. But before she went to the Doctor's side, Missy made sure to accompany her previous self to the lifts. She couldn't let him die here. Perhaps she should have.
He asked her. He wanted to know the reason for her betrayal. As if being the Master wasn't enough of a reason to do that. As if he wouldn't have done the same, first chance he got. And when she told him, his face twisted with anger. He looked at her with disgust and spite. Long gone was the strange attraction he had felt for her. Now, there was only hatred and deception.
"Missy! I will never stand with the Doctor!" He roared.
The rage in his voice. How it must wound him to see what he'd become. She spared him one last pitiful look. She'd been right. He would never change. He would rather die than join him, and in the end, it was what made them inherently different. She smiled at him before turning her back. Heavy smoke created a city of possibilities on the horizon, of endless journeys. On the horizon, in the middle of the battlefield, was where her friend would be. And Missy walked away from her previous self, towards her friend. Towards a more promising future.
"Yes, my dear, you will." She said out loud, both for him and herself.
A buzzing sound. A piercing pain. Her entire body was burning, aching, every cell melting under the intense ray. Her breath hitched, her body threatened to give up on her. She tried to move forward — one step closer to him. One step closer to the Doctor. She seized a branch, sought to remain upright — Missy collapsed on the ground. Her body hit the dirt painfully — her teeth shuddered. She was cold, so numb. She could feel herself dying, her body fighting in vain…
"Don't bother trying to regenerate. You got the full blast." The Master said.
This was it, then? The end of the Master? The end of her journey? And she laughed. And so did he. They laughed at the absurdity of the situation, at the poetic justice of their demise. Nothing had ever felt more right. Oh, but everything was wrong. She was dying, and so was he. She was dying — and the Doctor would never know. Her hearts broke inside her chest. He would never know. No one would. Not the Doctor, who had sacrificed years of his life. Not Clara… She fell further into the ground, both arms outstretched. It was so swift, so excruciating. If only she had more time…
She could still hear her other self laughing maniacally as she withered. Not long now… Eyes open, the sky was expanding above her, full of hopes and dreams. She was going to die on her own. She thought of Clara, who had perhaps found her cell empty, without a note nor a goodbye. Had she waited for her? Oh, Missy would have loved to travel with her, if only for a while. They had started to form a kinship, a bond. Maybe, with a little more time… they could have been friends. Companions even. Because they only had each other for a while, and that had changed her. Clara had made her a slightly better person. Would she have been proud? In her head, she would have. Perhaps it was good enough. It would have to be. Her hearts twisted in her chest. What wouldn't she give, right now, to feel Clara's arms around her, rocking her into her last moments? Missy sighed, drawing her last breath. As she felt herself drifting away, she tried to recall the way her arms felt around her, the tenderness of her touch. And a voice — her voice, weak, in her head whispered :
I just wanted to be loved.