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She was here voluntarily. She reminded him of that often, although he suspected that the reminder was more for her own benefit than it was for his.
That it was of her own volition didn't make it easy, though. It didn't make the long hours, days, sometimes more, all alone in the vault with nothing but her own thoughts pass any quicker. And it certainly didn't stop her from succumbing to frustration. Anger. An all-encompassing instinct to lash out and make everyone else hurt as much as she did. The trouble there, of course, was that most of the time there was no one to lash out at. What could you take your anger out on in an empty vault with nothing more than the bare essentials? Your visitors, of course.
The egg-shaped cybernetic one was fun enough, she supposed, easily dismantled and he would merely give her a disapproving look before reassembling it. The cyborg was less impressed, but never mind! It would get over it!
She hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not seriously, at least. It had started off like any other of his visits. He was wary. He was always wary. But he was always civil to her too. Throwing her scraps of... could they be called affection? Perhaps, in his own gruff way. Some days she clung to them like a lifeline. Embarrassing, but true, although of course she would have flat out denied it if anyone had ever asked her about it. Today was not one of those days. She wasn’t even sure what it was that set her off. Yes, she’d been feeling the frustration, pacing, a wild beast caged. (She chose this. She chose this. She chose this.) But no more than usual.
He greeted her. Shut the vault door behind him. Lifted the central containment field.
A brush of skin on skin. That was the trigger point. The briefest of touches. Probably completely unintentional – this was him after all! But maybe that was why it bothered her so much. Or maybe there was no reason at all. Either way, she was on him in seconds, a snarling ball of rage.
She had no weapons, but since when had that ever stopped her? Anything could be turned into a weapon if you tried hard enough, and besides, she was strong. Her own hands, sharp nails, the heels on her boots, hairpins, anything and everything a new potential weapon turned against him, her captor.
The worst part was the resignation in his eyes. The understanding. Couldn’t he be at least a little bit angry? Fight back? Do her some damage too? Give her a satisfying struggle? She called him a coward and worse, taking out every last bit of anger, frustration. Why wouldn’t he just fucking die?! Why wouldn’t he just let her fucking die?! She’d chosen that before over imprisonment. Why hadn’t he let her choose it this time? Made her choose it this time? Was this really a price worth paying for her continued survival?
Maybe that was what brought her out of it. Or maybe her anger had just burned itself out. She had chosen to be here. Hadn’t she? Not a prisoner, not his captive, not really. She could have had that door open in seconds, any time she wanted. She’d already come up with a thousand ways to do it. And yet still she stayed, pacing, frustrated though she was. A willing participant. So why didn’t it feel that way in the heat of the moment? Why was it so difficult?
Seeing what she’d done to him was more painful than she’d ever imagined it could be. There were feelings that she didn’t recall having ever felt before as she looked at him and took in the blood. The flourishing bruises. The pain on his face. It was only later that she identified those feelings as guilt. Possibly for the first time in her lives. Which was rather embarrassing, really. Yes, she’d agreed to learn to be good , to do things his way. But she’d meant to learn the motions – a list of things that she could do, a set of instructions that she could choose to follow when she felt like it. When she wanted to show off to him that she could do things just as well as he could. When she wanted to prove a point. She wasn’t supposed to go soft. She wasn’t supposed to actually start feeling things for people. Not even him.
Silly of her really. Of course he would be the one to stir something in her. She should have seen that coming. Should have protected herself more. But here she was, tending to his wounds – wounds that she had inflicted on him, realising that she cared for him. Of course, she knew she cared about him, but in a way that let her taunt him, poke him, bite him, maybe even torture him a little. Not in a way that left her emotionally compromised when she attempted to kill him. She’d tried to kill him hundreds of times! It was practically how she said hello. But... that didn’t mean she wanted him dead. A walking contradiction. Until now she would have said seeing him like this was something she wanted – as long as he wasn’t actually dead. But she hated it. She hated herself for doing it.
“I’m sorry.”
The words crossed her lips before she even had a chance to process them. Damn. Damn. This was not supposed to happen. She was never supposed to show such weakness and apologise to him. But now she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She had to force herself to turn away, so that he didn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. Maybe she’d be lucky and he’d take it as a sign of coldness. That she was disgusted by him and couldn’t bear to look at him. He didn’t. Of course he didn’t. That would be far too easy!
When she managed to get herself under control – something which took an irritatingly long time, she turned back to him. Approached slowly. He didn’t even flinch as she laid a hand on his arm.
“Let me take a look at that,” she said quietly.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Are you okay now?”
Even now. Even after everything, why did he have to be so gentle? So kind? Just once, couldn’t he lose his temper too? Show some of that legendary fury? He’d done it before, when she’d put Clara in that Dalek. Why did he care more what she did to his pets than what she did to him? But of course he did. That was just who he was. Her infuriating, beloved Doctor.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
“It’s okay. I forgive you.”
A spike of anger hit her again – but this was a different sort of anger. Usually her anger burned so hot, made her want to lash out, cause pain, bite and rip and tear and burn. But looking at him now, there was nothing she wanted less.
“No. No don’t just brush it aside. Don’t act like it was nothing. I could have killed you. I would have killed you. Torn your hearts from your chest and held them bleeding in my hands. Look at the damage I did.”
He was so irritatingly calm, even as blood dripped from his open wounds.
“But you didn’t kill me. You stopped. I’ll heal. I always heal. But this is still new for you. I want to help you, Missy. That’s why we’re here.”
She closed her eyes in frustration, why did he always have to make things so damn difficult? But anger was what got them into this mess in the first place. She took a long, deep, calming breath.
“Fine. Help me then. But for Gallifrey’s sake let me help you too. Isn’t that what you want from me? Don’t you want me to care?! Stop being so stubborn, you daft idiot and let me clean you up at least! I know you must hate me, and that’s fine. I hate you too.” This was a lie and they both knew it. “But despite all appearances, I don’t actually want you dead right now. So, are you going to lie there bleeding out on my vault, or are you going to let me help ?!”
He relented, although she could tell it was an effort for him. Honestly, they were as bad as each other sometimes, although she’d never admit it!
She led him to the bed that he had furnished her with, pretending not to notice how heavily he was leaning on her.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” he said as she started to gently clean the blood from his wounds.
“Well, maybe you should. Maybe you should stop being so goddamn nice and tell me how terrible I am for hurting you. How a good person doesn’t try to rip their best friend to shreds.” She almost spat the word ‘good’ as though it had personally offended her. “How I’m an irredeemable piece of shit who’ll never be able to earn her way out of here . That’s what your little pet cyborg thinks. In fact, I think that’s what everyone else with half a brain cell would think.” She didn't have to add that sometimes – quite often in fact – that's how she felt too.
“Missy.”
His voice was terribly soothing. Horribly understanding. She didn’t meet his eyes, concentrating on tending to his wounds. He reached out, stopping her again as he took her hand in his own.
“Don’t...”
He ignored her, holding her hand almost tenderly between both of his, his eyes seeming to bore into her, but still she refused to look. She half-heartedly tried to pull her hand away, even her reluctance betraying her.
“I knew something like this might happen. I’ve been expecting it for a while – since you first dismantled Nardole, actually.”
“And you still lowered the forcefield because...?”
He sighed.
“Because without the opportunity to make mistakes, you’ll never really learn. And when you make them, you have the choice to try to put them right.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Unprompted too, I might add.”
“Yes, well...”
“You can change Missy. I know you can. But you have to want to.”
She fixed him with a glare.
“You’ve made your point, Doctor. Now can I please check you over. Then you can go back to skipping around surrounded by sunshine and rainbows, or whatever it is you do when you’re not lecturing me!”
But he still didn’t release her hand.
“I forgive you.”
There were those damnable words again. Ones that he gave her, seemingly freely, again and again.
“Have you considered,” she responded, her voice a deadly calm that was far, far away from what she felt inside, “that I might not want your forgiveness? You always seem so eager to give it. But I never asked for it. I. Don’t. Want. It.”
“Then why say you’re sorry?”
She finally met his eyes, unable to hide her confusion.
“What?”
“Why say you’re sorry, if you don’t want my forgiveness? Or are they just words you think you should say but don't mean?”
She shook her head.
“No, I...” She stopped, before carefully extracting her hand from his. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren't you? Just let me take care of you for once!”
He raised an eyebrow at her, winced as it pulled at one of the cuts on his face, and relented.
“Fine. Just think about it, okay? You can lie to me if you want, but don’t lie to yourself. Maybe it’s time you asked yourself why you’re here. You keep telling me you chose this. But why?”
She turned away, picking up the medical supplies, returning to cleaning his wounds.
“You know why.”
He nodded his agreement.
“I think I do, yes. The question is, do you? Really?”
“Of course I do.” Her response was almost reflex. But his question had hit a nerve. He was right. She hated it when he was right. And yet it seemed to be happening more and more.
They fell into an almost companionable silence, although that worried her – since when could the Doctor resist the opportunity to lecture her? Or, worse, be kind to her? And since when did she care? She wanted him to believe that she was changing. Not to actually change. Didn’t she? Because if she could play his game and get him to actually trust her it would be all the sweeter when she finally betrayed his trust... wouldn’t it? It certainly didn’t feel sweet now. It was a passing thing, she decided. A by-product of feeling trapped. Soon enough she would get over it and everything would be back to normal. Her murder attempts on him could return to their usual flirtatious traps that he’d see coming a mile off (although he sometimes pretended not to, which was awfully sweet of him, actually) and he could go back to acting superior and distant again. She knew where she stood with superior and distant, frustrating though it was.
It took some time to tend to all his wounds, gently cleaning and binding or covering the worst of them. All the while, she refused to look at him properly. If he could see her face, she was convinced he’d know how terrible she felt. How much she cared. And she hated that idea even more than she hated the fact that she cared in the first place.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
She ignored this. Of course she knew she didn’t have to. Except she did, didn’t she? He said it himself. If she wanted to show him that she was serious, she had to right her mistakes. How else was she supposed to do that? And... well, there was that small thing that she wanted to care for him. She wanted to tend to him, care for him, stop him from hurting. She wanted to make up for what she’d done. And that, too, was embarrassing.
She took her time, tending to each cut, each bruise with a tenderness that she rarely felt, let alone showed. When she had finally finished, with only minimal resistance from him, she sat back and gave him a stern look.
“Now, you get some rest. I will handcuff you to the bed if I have to.”
“Dare I ask where you got handcuffs from?”
Missy’s face finally broke into a grin, just for a second.
“Oh, my dearest Doctor, did you really think you could get me to divulge my secrets that easily?”
The Doctor chuckled.
“Okay, fair.” He paused, becoming more serious again for a moment. “Thank you, Missy.”
Her face fell, and she gave him a warning look – for once he took heed.
“Okay, okay, I’m resting, happy?” He lay back, glancing at her with just a touch of humour in his eyes. “Don’t murder me while I sleep, okay?”
There was no joking whatsoever when she replied softly, “I won’t.”
She pulled up a chair, and picked up a book – about the only thing that she had to do in here. Not a single word from its pages sunk in as she sat beside her old friend and listened to the cadence of his breathing as it slowed into the deep, regular patterns of sleep.
Only when she was certain that the Doctor was actually asleep, Missy leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and finally let a few of the tears that she’d been trying so hard to keep from the Doctor fall. It was, perhaps, a good thing that she could have some time to herself before he woke up to pull herself together again.
The Doctor refused to stay long once he woke up. He allowed her to give him a check over, but insisted that Nardole would worry like a mother hen if he didn’t show his face soon. She wondered how he would explain his injuries, but knowing the Doctor he’d probably just brush them off.
As he left the vault, he turned back to her.
“If there’s anything that would make it easier for you, being in here, tell Nardole. I’ll get him to order you some things. Maybe that will help avoid a repeat of this?”
She nodded, but she already knew there would be no repeat. She would undoubtedly do other things to hurt him, but not like this. She couldn’t stand dealing with the aftermath again. Couldn’t face the idea of being so damn emotional again. It definitely wasn’t that she couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him so badly again. Definitely not.
“I’ll think about it,” she said quietly. He nodded.
“Good. And Missy, don’t beat yourself up about it. I...”
“If you’re going to tell me you forgive me again, don’t bother. I got that bit. And I still don’t like it.”
“Well, it’s still true.”
“You’re a stubborn bastard – has anyone told you that?”
He had the audacity to laugh, although it was accompanied by a slight wince of pain.
“It has been mentioned, yes!”
“Good.”
It was always lonely in the vault when he left. And he always left her with far too much to think about. But she’d never felt so emotionally compromised before. Or so confused. It was just because it was him, she told herself. She was doing this because she wanted her friend back. Of course she would feel something when she hurt that same friend. She wasn’t going soft. She wasn’t weak. And any nagging voice in the back of her head that said otherwise could go to hell.