Work Text:
One of the drawbacks of being locked in a vault for decades with only minimal contact with the outside world was that Missy’s immune system was now, apparently, utterly useless! It should have taken a lot more than a simple human disease to make her feel this dreadful, but here she was sneezing, nose streaming and with coughs so awful that she was certain that her lungs were making serious attempts to actually leave her body. That wasn’t even the worst part though. The worst part was the utter exhaustion that came with it, and the way that her brain felt so sluggish and couldn’t even keep up with the most basic things.
It seemed that the Doctor or one of his two pets had unwittingly caught something and passed it on to her during one of their visits. They probably hadn't even got bloody ill! And to make matters worse, she couldn't even take readily available pain medication from this bloody stupid planet without it literally killing her! (Although, as she’d told the Doctor several times, semi-jokingly, it was getting to a point where perhaps that would be preferable to living with this. This might have been more alarming if she hasn't said it for the first time about five minutes after first noticing the cough!)
One of the worst parts was when she tried to sleep. She felt so exhausted, and yet every time she lay down, the second she got even a little bit comfortable, another coughing fit would hit, or she would get so blocked up she could only breathe through her mouth (which then, in turn, triggered more coughing fits). Even when that didn't happen, her pulse seemed to be racing, the sound of her own hearts pounding in her ears in a way that was all too familiar. This, coupled with the headaches that repeated coughing brought on, made memories that she’d really rather not think about right now resurface and what sleep she did get restless and troubled with bad dreams of her own past.
The Doctor was being surprisingly attentive and annoyingly sweet about the whole thing. Given his usual tendency to leave her alone in the vault for hours, and sometimes days or more at a time, she had sort of assumed that when he’d realised she was ill he’d dump a load of supplies for her and then shut her in until she felt better. Instead, he had spent more time with her over the past few days of sickness than ever. He bundled her up in blankets, brought her cups of tea, tissues, snacks and more, put on her favourite Earth movies (she pretended to be annoyed at this, but movie nights with him were, in fact, one of her favourite parts of being locked up here) and generally cared for her in a way that he never usually allowed himself to. He had even had a brand new recliner chair brought in for her to be more comfortable. (Benefits of a time machine, he said, he could go back and order it to be ready right now.) Nardole had been less than impressed when he found out, but the Doctor simply didn’t care!
“Fuck this shit!” Missy announced for about the five hundredth time after yet another coughing fit of deep, barking coughs that made her head pound. “Stupid damn humans spreading their stupid damn infectious diseases!”
“I wish there was more I could do.” The Doctor looked like he was genuinely at a loss. He didn't like when he couldn't help people. Well good. If she had to be miserable then he'd damn well better be miserable with her!
She glared at him. “Yeah, well you can take your pity and you can shove it up your arse!”
The Doctor raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“No pity, I promise. I just want to help.”
“Yeah? Well that's almost as bad.” She sighed. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate what he was doing. Hell, this sort of level of attention from him was everything she wanted. It wouldn’t be unheard of for her to pretend she felt worse than she did, just to try to get his attention. The trouble was that there was no need to pretend when she already felt like death, and it felt more like she was showing weakness – something she always hated.
“Why don’t you try and get a bit of sleep?”
“Why don’t you try and sleep when your lungs are trying to launch themselves from your chest!”
As if to prove her point, another bout of coughing took over her whole body.
“Are you sure you won’t let me have some aspirin?”
The Doctor gave her a look that she couldn’t help but see as pitying. They’d already had this conversation several times. “You know the answer to that.”
“Yes, yes, it would kill me, blah blah blah. You’re no fun!”
She almost missed the soft smile that came to the Doctor’s face. Almost. Well, that was something, she supposed.
“That’s me. Total spoil sport! Go on, you get some rest. I’m going out for supplies. Anything you want? By which I mean anything that won’t in some way damage you. Or me. Or anyone else.”
Missy couldn’t stop herself from laughing. This turned out to be a mistake, as it turned into yet another coughing fit.
“Fuck this shit?” the Doctor suggested helpfully when it subsided, and was rewarded with another short bark of laughter.
“Yeah. Exactly.” Missy took a long moment to consider his question, once again finding herself annoyed at how stupid her brain seemed to be. This must be what humans felt like all the time, she decided. Slow and stupid. “Tea. Toast. Those crisps I like. Explosives. Chocolates.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“What was that fourth one?”
Missy managed a small grin. She almost always inserted something into her lists that she knew he wouldn’t approve of just to see if he’d notice. He almost always did.
“Just checking you’re paying attention! Okay, fine, no explosives!”
The Doctor chuckled.
“I know, I know, I’m being a spoil sport again! I’ll see what I can do about the rest. Get some sleep if you can.”
When the Doctor returned a few hours later, Missy was finally dozing in her chair. He tried his best not to disturb her, but it wasn’t very long before her eyes opened, blinking a few times.
“I got you some presents,” he said when he noticed she was awake, holding up his shopping bags. Mostly it was the snacks that she’d asked for, plus a few extras that he’d thought she’d like. Nardole had, again, told him that he was being too soft on her – a criticism that the Doctor had said he’d ‘take into consideration’ before completely ignoring him and adding more of Missy’s favourite things! He showed her everything, and then – as though it was an afterthought, added,
“Oh, one last thing arrived today – you wouldn’t think it’d be so difficult to get hold of with a time machine to hand!” He handed a small bottle of pills to her. “Time Lord compatible pain medicine. You can take one every four hours. Might help you sleep.”
Missy could have kissed him. But he wouldn’t appreciate that, even as a thank you gesture. Especially not when she was so disgustingly ill. She opted for a soft, “Thank you, dear,” instead.
It took a while for the first pill to kick in, but the difference was noticeable. For the first time since she had come down with it, Missy began to feel that maybe she could get some decent sleep.
“I’ll leave you in peace then,” the Doctor said when she told him, making to get up.
Maybe it was her ill mind addling her brain, maybe it was the impact of the drugs (at least that’s how Missy would excuse it to herself later) – but something bypassed all of Missy’s usual restraint.
“Don’t go. Please?” She nodded towards her bed. “Sit with me?”
She was sure he would refuse, but to her surprise the Doctor smiled and nodded. Soon, Missy was curled up in bed, her head resting in the Doctor’s lap, fast asleep. The Doctor was not usually very good with extended periods of physical contact this time around, but if there was one thing he could never resist, it was caring for someone else – especially someone who he had such a deep bond with. He also wasn’t usually very good at sitting still. But there were a lot of things that he had given up to try to make things work with Missy, and if this was what she needed, he would cope.
Of course, he didn’t like to see her ill, and wanted her to recover as soon as possible, but he had to admit that it was nice to spend time with her without feeling like he had to in some way be doing something towards helping her be ‘good’. Without any of the pressure. It gave him hope that maybe one day they could truly be friends again. And seeing her here like this, so peaceful in his arms, that hope was so difficult to resist – and really, was it so bad for a few hours to imagine that it really was possible?