She watches from the shadows, waiting, calculating. The people around her—humans, so disgustingly oblivious—carry on about their lives despite the crisis looming over their heads. At any other time, she would have stood by, laughing, but this time, it's so much different. The consequences are too great, and she feels them tugging at the timestream, stepping into place and taunting her. The consequences—screw the consequences!
She is not losing one of her own, not again.
The perception filter on her brooch allows her to easily maneuver through the crowd—she can see him, just over on the next street, standing in traffic and talking into a phone. Her blood boils as she comes closer (the freak is only a few feet away, how can he stand being so close?), but she turns off the filter as the man turns around.
She almost loses herself in his eyes, in the clear baby-blues that had looked up at her and laughed. But they're not laughing now; they're expectant, and he looks impatient.
"Ianto Jones?" He starts as she says his name, and tenses as if prepared for a confrontation. She notes that the freak hasn't stopped.
"Yes?" His voice is clipped; surreptitiously, his hand inches for his gun.
"This is a matter of great urgency—"
"Isn't everything?"
"Jones—Ianto… please." Her hearts clench as she does something she's done so few times, and puts a hand on his forearm. "I'm not telling you who I am—you won't believe me, not with that human brain—but take this."
He looks down at the ornate pocket watch that she shoves into his hand. He's skeptical, but lets her continue. (He's curious—it runs in the family.)
"Keep it with you—consider it an heirloom, if you will, to note the time of a passing event—and, well, be careful."
She says nothing further and walks away, activating the perception filter when she's a few meters off (to his credit, she hears no gasp of surprise, so maybe he's not completely humanized), then fits back into the shadows.
It's no matter if he won't respond to her nudges—she'll march in and do the work herself, timelines be damned, and it wouldn't be the first time she's sustained a paradox—but hopes he will, if only to avoid the Doctor getting involved.
The Mistress idly twirls a lock of hair and waits for time to pass.
.oOo.
Time Lords—or Ladies, as the case is—aren't all-powerful. They can't manipulate time, they can't change it. But they're in tune with the Vortex, can see as time passes and the way it could have gone.
Scenarios play through Missy's head, like previews on a cinema screen, narrowing down with every microsecond. Two remain, playing out in tandem.
"Action has been taken."
"Action has been taken."
Alarms and flashing lights.
Alarms and flashing lights.
"What have you done?"
"What have you done?"
(Panic sets in. She sees Ianto go pale and sway.)
"You are dying even now."
"You are dying even now."
"We've got to get you out of here…"
"…I can survive anything, but you can't."
(The images shift and overlap. Missy screws her eyes shut—it is not happening, she will have her way.)
"Too late…"
"…I breathed the air."
More shouts. Maybe the freak's not so bad.
Ianto falls.
(Missy breathes deeply. They don't have a mental connection, not with his humanity, but it doesn't hurt to try. She nudges at his weakening brain—comeoncomeoncomeon—as he and the freak exchange melodramatic goodbyes.)
"Please, don't."
"Please, don't."
(Missy prods further. She can't have failed, not—and the freak is crying, dying—just one more nudge, just open the watch…)
Ianto dies.
Ianto dies.
.oOo.
Ianto regenerates.
.oOo.
Missy can feel it, the golden force that rips the universe nearly in half. The backlash sends her stumbling, her hat falling off and her hair ripping out of its bun, but the disorder is fine. She can see bursts of regeneration energy escape out of the windows, then a column of fire—hatred-revenge-anger-power—rise from the room, taking the murderers with it.
Time rights itself right in front of her eyes.
It's been so long since she felt the presence of one of her own—too long, and the Doctor doesn't count, not really, despite what he sometimes thinks—but it's glorious. Her hearts soar, just for a second, until she hears a familiar sound.
Of course he's shown up. All forehead, eyebrows, and righteous anger at something he would have done without changing his expression. She doesn't even have time to say something scathing before he drags her into his TARDIS.
(Where is he taking her? Why is he making her go?—she doesn't want to leave!)
The door closes—she can feel the ship's hatred, but that's alright, because she's made her into a paradox machine and anyone would feel angry at that—and the Doctor looms over her, suppressing his anger.
"What did you do?" He demands, a finger pointed in her face.
It's easy to be flippant towards him, but what if he does something to Ianto? "I did what I saw fit to do," she sings out. "Doctor, Doctor, Doctor… I wouldn't have thought you'd abandon one of your own race—but wait—"
"You messed with time!"
"And I'd do it again!" Silly Doctor, she's not that insane (although she would have, if it came to that, but those are maternal instincts, and she wouldn't never fight them). She rises up on her toes so that their faces almost touch and whispers against his lips, "Tell me you wouldn't."
A pause.
"I thought so."
Disdainfully, she throws open the door and leaves, Doctor be damned. He doesn't follow her, to his credit, but she knows him, knows where he's going to go, so goes there herself.
.oOo.
The human Ianto Jones had a small but expensive flat overlooking Cardiff Bay. The newly-Time Lord Ianto Jones feels the same nostalgia for it that the human did, allowing the freak to take him "home".
Had she not seen the freak supporting Ianto as they walked, Missy knows she would have interfered. But she couldn't—still can't—not with both the freak and the Doctor in such close proximity.
It's easy to enter the flat and put several small observing devices into place. With that done, she moves into the shadows of the hallway outside the flat, the perception filter keeping her hidden as she watches the freak help Ianto inside.
They enter and stand in front of the door for a minute before Ianto locks it and heads for the sofa. The freak hovers at his side but doesn't say a word. Ianto sits, the freak hesitating before joining him.
"Jack?" Ianto twists his head. Misty notes how the freak's eyes widen. Surprise? "Jack, are… are we okay?"
He sounds hesitant, almost lost. (So much like a child that Missy wants to run in and hurt the freak who put doubt into Ianto's heart.) Jack smiles and nods. "Of course we are."
Hesitantly, they embrace each other. It's awkward at first—she can see it in their faces even if they can't—but they smooth over into familiarity and smile. (She's smiling, too, it's been so long since she's seen that sort of pure happiness.)
Still, she wonders— "Do you… no, never—Ianto, do I feel… am I odd to you, somehow? Different? W—wrong?"
Missy sees Ianto's smile freeze; she's been wondering, too, but the question doesn't seem to otherwise faze him. "No," he says without faltering, sealing the statement with a kiss that the freak rejoices at.
Missy doesn't see how that's possible, but it seems to work for him, and that… well, Missy would do anything for her son.
"Jack?" Ianto's voice is that of a tempter, but his eyes are wide with innocence. Missy isn't sure if she wants to see this, but if the freak does anything…
"Yes?"
"Take me to bed?"
"But—"
"Please."
"What about?.." The freak waves a hand at Ianto's chest.
"I told you," Ianto says with a smile, "I wasn't a Time Lord for long. Six years old, thrust into the watch before the War destroyed Gallifrey. Everything you see, Jack—it's me. I'm more Ianto Jones than I've ever been Time Lord."
That's that, and they stumble out of the room and down the hall—the freak hovers near Ianto, supporting him, with a hungry, lustful, odd look in his eyes—and out of the observing devices' range.
Missy stands in her corner, biting a thumbnail. There's nothing to see now that they're in the bedroom, so she has nothing to stay for. Besides, it would do no one any good if she leads the Doctor to Ianto, so she leaves the building.
True to her prediction, the Doctor's TARDIS is several streets over. As she walks closer, Missy wonders if he's left it and if he's found Ianto. She rocks back and forth on her heels in front of the ship, waiting to be invited in; if the Doctor doesn't open the door in five minutes, she's breaking in.
Thankfully, the door flies open not two minutes later, and Missy finds herself looking up at the Doctor's frustrated face. All eyebrows, this one, and forehead, not nearly as handsome as the last one but still… Missy's never been one to resist temptation, meeting him with a peck on the cheek before marching inside.
The Doctor follows her, eyebrows drawn together in anger and confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I want you to stop following me." This game of theirs spanned lifetimes and galaxies, but right now it's not just her involved. "I want… you to stop… following me."
"I'm not following you." He sneers. (It hurts.) "You're not as important as you think you are. Where is he?"
She plays dumb. "Where's who?"
"Your son." Those eyebrows are all anger now. She wonders what happened to the forgiveness.
"You know I had a daughter, Doctor." It's so easy to sound cruel and dismissive (it's a rare lucid moment, she knows, and she will use it to her advantage for as long as she can).
"I felt it." Longing, now.
What are you longing for, Doctor? Fixer? Destroyer? "Felt what?"
"He regenerated. I felt it. You felt it. If you've found another Time Lord—your son—against everything this universe dictates—"
"I didn't." She slumps her shoulders and looks down dejectedly. "He wasn't my son, he… there was just enough regeneration energy to bring him back, but he's not my son. And without the right body for the energy to go into… well, Doctor, you know what happens."
"He's gone." He looks broken. Mourning, for her family and the life he thinks she failed to save.
"So stop following me." She sighs and brushes a hand against his arm. Then life returns to her eyes and she clears her throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"
Missy doesn't look back as she leaves the Doctor's TARDIS, a bounce in her step, smiling at the I'm sorry he whispered as she left. As far as it goes, the visit is a successful one, and soon, she feels the ship leave the planet. No doubt that the Doctor's gone to mope somewhere.
.oOo.
The next morning sees Missy in a café, a cup of tea in front of her. It's small and porcelain, with a dainty flower design. Missy lifts the cup to her lips, drinking the kind-of-but-not-really sweet tea; all Time Lords like tea, and she is no exception.
From her seat, she can see Ianto's building. But her attention isn't on the building, it's on the young man approaching the table. She smiles at him as he sits down, waves down a server, and asks for a coffee.
She raises an eyebrow. "You didn't use to like coffee."
"Well, I like it now." He's defiant but courteous.
"It's been too long." She sighs.
"For you, maybe." His coffee arrives and he takes it with a familiar smile towards the server. "You've regenerated twice that I'm aware of. It's only been 26 Earth years for me."
"Ianto—"
"Not that I'm not thankful, of course." (She remembers that smile laughing up at her when he was small.) "Putting me away into the watch after I regenerated into a toddler—fucking Daleks, that incarnation was only 200 years old and I liked being a girl—that was a good move. Not a fan of you taking the watch, though."
(Her daughter, her beloved, beautiful daughter, hit by a Dalek—the Mistress was the Master, then—and dying in her arms, regenerating into a rosy-cheeked, blue-eyed boy.)
"I'm your mother—"
"Father."
"You were more polite as a girl." She pouts. This Ianto, for all his memories, seems so hostile. "Not that I don't love you, of course."
"Of course." Ianto nods, but his amicability has a cruel streak to it. (Like father, like daughter; like mother, like son.) "And I want you gone."
"Ianto—"
"I want you gone." Ianto puts down his drink and looks into her eyes. He's menacing, now, not only cruel but determined. "Off-planet. I don't care if you're my parent, you've caused me—not to mention Jack—enough grief."
(400 years together, on and off between incarnations—Ianto was always much more careful with his life; this one—the one talking to her now, not the one that died a day ago—was his fourth—until the Time War. The Chameleon Circuit, her Ianto dumped onto 21st century Earth, Professor Yana thrown to the end of the world.)
"Ianto—"
"So finish your tea and leave."
He stands up and walks away. It hurts.
It hurts knowing that her son's alive. That he's with the freak. That he's choosing humanity over her. That he's choosing the freak over her. That—knowing his past and who he truly is—he's denying it. "Six years old." Her son is a liar and a traitor (it hurts)—
Missy finishes her drink and stands up. Seconds later, she's walking down the street, the sound of her heels hitting the ground giving her the feeling of power she craves. As she teleports off-planet, she is confident in her son's future success on Earth.
(It still hurts, but she's never been one to dwell on feelings for too long.)
Thanks for reading! :D