It was a small star, and the Doctor was the only one on it.
He enjoyed those rare moments of complete solitude, when it was just him and his memories and nothing else.
Until it wasn't.
He sensed her before he saw her, his sonic screwdriver tensing against his hand. He stood up slowly. "Hello? Who's there?"
"We meet again, Doctor."
"Missy?"
She stepped into his view, her face amused. The Doctor shoved his screwdriver into his jacket pocket. "How did you get here, Missy?"
She shrugged. "I have my ways."
He raised his eyebrows. She batted her eyelashes, and he frowned. "Is something wrong with your eyes, Missy?"
She scowled and and stopped batting her eyelashes. "Well, don't let me get in your way, Doctor. What were you doing before I came?"
"Enjoying my solitude." He sat down on a large rock.
"Well, don't let me stop you." She sat down next to him, her feet dangling over the edge.
"This sort of defeats the purpose, Missy."
She smiled sweetly. "I know."
She was quiet after that, and the Doctor took it as his opportunity to return to his thoughts. It wasn't so bad, he noted. It wasn't the same as being alone, but he was alone inside his head, and Missy's company, he supposed, was tolerable.
Until she started banging her feet, anyway.
The first bang came as a jolt, breaking him out of his mind. The rest were just annoying.
"Missy," he said, "what are you doing?"
"Swinging my feet." She batted her eyelashes again. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"
"Stop with your eyes. You're going to hurt yourself."
She sighed. "You've lost all your fun, Doctor."
"I'm plenty fun. I'm just being smart."
"No one ever got hurt blinking."
He laughed shortly. "No, never, Missy."
She sighed. "Always so serious."
"One cannot joke about Weeping Angels."
She banged harder, and the Doctor realized she was tapping a rhythm - one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four. He studied her face. She was serious. Her eyes were. . . he couldn't tell what they were. Sad, maybe. Empty and full at the same time.
The Doctor frowned. "Missy, are you still hearing the drumming?"
She stopped banging immediately. "No."
"No?"
"Not really." She started playing with her hands. The Doctor didn't think he had ever seen her uncomfortable before. "The real drumming isn't there anymore. It hasn't been there for a while. But. . . I still hear drumming."
"Fascinating." He reached for his screwdriver, but Missy shook her head.
"It's not like that."
"Like that?" His hand hovered in his jacket pocket, right above his screwdriver. "What do you mean, like that?"
"You can't. . . scan it."
"I can't scan it? I can scan everything, Missy."
She shrugged, "Scan away, then, Doctor. It's in my head."
He sighed, but he took his hand out of his jacket.