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The Vault hummed, its golden lighting catching the gleam of Missy’s restraints. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, draped in a deep plum Edwardian walking skirt and a fitted blouse with structured shoulders, the crisp fabric as sharp as her wit. The high collar framed her throat like a noose of propriety, a stark contrast to the wild glint in her eyes.
The forcefield shimmered around her like a soap bubble - transparent, impenetrable, utterly inconvenient. She had tested it, of course. Pressing a delicate gloved finger against the invisible barrier, feeling it repel her like a cat swatting at a glass door.
And now, she waited.
There was a rhythm to her days, a monotonous melody played out in routine: The Doctor would visit, sometimes with a book, sometimes with food, always with that smug air of self-righteousness. He would check on her, talk at her, then leave. The walls would remain silent until the next time.
She tilted her head at the sound of the vault door sliding open. Right on cue.
In he walked - tweed coat dusted with the day’s adventures, silver hair a brilliant mess, eyes carrying the weight of too many lifetimes. The Doctor. Her Doctor.
“You’re late,” Missy drawled, resting her chin on her hand.
“You’re in a vault,” he countered, setting down a thermos and two mismatched cups. “Time’s irrelevant in here.”
“Not to me. I count the seconds, darling. Every last one.” She tapped an invisible watch on her wrist and sighed dramatically. “Sixty-seven million and counting.”
He gave her a look, one of those unimpressed stares that was mostly for show.
“Tea?” he offered.
Missy quirked a brow. “Poisoned?”
“Only if you ask nicely.”
With a flick of his fingers, he poured her a cup, the rich scent of Earl Grey curling into the air. He nudged it toward the edge of the forcefield. The moment the cup crossed the threshold, the shimmering barrier repelled it back onto the table.
Missy smirked. “Oh, what a shame. Another of life’s simple pleasures taken from me. Imprisonment is such a bore.”
The Doctor sighed, setting his own cup down before settling into the chair across from her. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Semantics.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Then, Missy straightened slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“You know what I find fascinating?” she mused.
“Enlighten me.”
She leaned forward, hands steepled. “This forcefield.”
The Doctor took a sip of tea. “It’s there so you don’t scamper off and start murdering people.”
“Yes, yes, very clever, Doctor.” She rolled her eyes. “But it’s convenient, isn’t it? You can sit there, completely untouchable. I’m stuck here, and no matter how much I want to reach across and just-” she mimed grabbing his lapels, pulling him close, “-yank you forward, I can’t.”
His expression didn’t waver, but she could tell he was listening. He always listened.
“It’s a metaphor, really,” she continued. “Like an invisible wall, separating us, always keeping us apart. How very Shakespearean.”
The Doctor exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I am dramatic,” she shot back. “And don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
His silence was answer enough.
Missy drummed her fingers on her knee. “You ever get the feeling we’re being watched?”
The Doctor frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You know,” she gestured vaguely, “watched. Like there’s a great big audience out there, hanging onto every word we say. I can feel it.”
The Doctor set his cup down carefully. “Missy-”
She grinned, wide and conspiratorial. “They know what I mean.”
He studied her warily, not sure if this was another of her games or something else entirely. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Oh, I’m better than alright,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, the rich plum fabric shifting against her form. “I’ve cracked it, Doctor. I’ve figured it out.”
He didn’t humor her with a response, but she carried on anyway, voice light and teasing.
“Tell me, have you ever noticed how we always seem to be in just the right place for things to happen? That we always find ourselves in these… scenes?”
The Doctor’s fingers twitched. He hated when she got like this - when she spoke in riddles that felt just a little too sharp, a little too knowing.
Missy, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying herself.
“You ever wonder why we talk the way we do?” she mused. “Oh, we’re so witty, so quick, always perfectly timed. And the tension, Doctor-” she sighed, dramatically swooning. “Positively palpable.”
The Doctor rubbed his temples. “I’m regretting bringing you tea.”
Missy grinned. “Oh, don’t pretend you’re not fascinated. You always were a sucker for the meta-narrative.”
He rolled his eyes, but she saw the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“Besides,” she added, voice dipping lower, more intimate, “it explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
The Doctor met her gaze then, and something unspoken passed between them.
She smiled, slow and knowing. “We’re characters, my love. Stories written by unseen hands. Isn’t that delicious?”
He inhaled sharply, bracing himself against the absurdity of her words. “You’re impossible.”
“Oh, I know.”
Missy pressed a palm against the forcefield, her eyes twinkling. “And yet, here we are, stuck behind this invisible wall. Always close, never touching.”
The Doctor looked at her hand, at the barely-there shimmer of energy that separated them. He hesitated, then - just for a moment - he mirrored her, his own palm hovering millimeters from hers, the forcefield humming between them.
Missy’s voice was barely a whisper. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if we could break it?”
He swallowed. “I don’t.”
“Liar.”
Their eyes locked. The air between them was electric.
Missy smirked. “We’re so predictable.”
The Doctor let out a slow breath and, finally, drew his hand away. The moment broke like glass, fragile and fleeting.
He stood, smoothing out his coat. “You’ll drive yourself mad in here.”
Missy leaned back, watching him with an expression that was just a touch too knowing.
“Already there, sweetheart.”
He picked up his thermos, pausing at the door. “Try not to break reality while I’m gone.”
Missy waved a lazy hand. “No promises.”
The Vault door slid shut with a quiet hiss, leaving Missy alone once more. She stared at the empty space where he had been, then reached out again, pressing her palm against the invisible barrier.
She grinned.