The Doctor pauses, his fingers on the wooden door of the TARDIS, certain that the Master had been lying... but the small shred of hope that she hadn't been keeps him here, makes him pull the door open and search the old, abandoned sector of space for a sign of the home they'd once known.
But of course, it isn't there. The Doctor's hearts fall as he shuts the door again and stumbles back to the console, the rage building within until it's too much to bear. Rage at her for lying again, even about this most important thing, just for the chance to save her life. Rage at himself for believing her. Rage at her again, for just standing there so calmly even after they'd resolved to kill her. Rage at himself for not being the one to do it. By the time the old Time Lord snaps out of his cycle of self-loathing, his hands are bleeding and the console of his poor TARDIS is beaten and broken, sparking in several places. She stands by as calmly as ever, not even sounding the cloister bell as she starts to shift into hyperspace.
"Wait, where are you going? Where are you taking me?" The Doctor runs halfway around the control room to find a monitor he hasn't smashed yet, looking for a readout of their current heading. Transport in process, is all it reads. No good. Had he accidentally sent them somewhere, bashing on her controls like that? Or had she tried to run, or distract him in some way, a self-defense mechanism?
The engines come to a stop with a dull echoing thud. Still no data on the monitors, not even a visual feed from the exterior cameras. The Doctor hesitates yet again, this time completely in the dark about where they might have landed. At least, until there's a sound at the door.
knock knock knock knock
It's brisk and light, but certainly loud enough to be heard. The Doctor can feel his blood running cold, as it always does when he hears those four knocks.
knock knock knock knock
Again, the door shakes gently from the force of the knuckles rapping against it. "Helloooo? I know you're in there. Don't be rude." The voice is muffled, but it's most definitely her. "Are you going to let me in, or do I have to force you out?"
With a weary sigh, the Doctor pulls the door open to the sight of the Master, Mistress, whatever the hell she's called now. "You're not dead."
The maniacal Time Lady only giggles and nods emphatically. "And you're not surprised. How'd you like my little disappearing act? It's useful to set the Cybermen up with teleport beams now and then."
"Teleport. Right. Like at the bank, that's the second time that's fooled me now." The Doctor only sighs again and reaches up to run his fingers exasperatedly through his hair, but pauses when he catches sight of his battered hand again. "Listen, I was kind of in the middle of something. Was there something you needed?"
Frowning a bit, the Master takes the hand in her own and turns it to inspect the damage, then does the same with the other one. Her fingers seem so tiny against his palms now, yet that same dangerous power remains hidden beneath the surface. The Doctor tenses a bit as she runs her thumb over one of the more serious scrapes and brings it to her lips to suckle at the blood. "In the middle of something? Like looking for Gallifrey?" She winks knowingly and takes a few steps backward, tugging the Doctor out of his Tardis. "As for what I need, well. I'm pretty sure I made that clear."
The Doctor glances around at his surroundings, cold steel walls with a dull hum of engines running through them, a rather small room with no windows or viewscreens or even cameras, from what the Doctor can see. Just a large bed, a walk-in closet, and a bureau off to the side. But no, upon second inspection, it's not a bureau at all but a second Tardis, its chameleon circuit functioning just fine, parked next to his own blue box. He wouldn't have even noticed it if not for the faint presence he'd sensed in that direction, like a wary bodyguard keeping an eye on his charge. "Where are we?"
"My quarters aboard the Cyberman ship. I was a bit put off by the size, but apparently they don't have anything bigger. Not really experts in comfort." Missy plops down to have a seat on the bed and pouts playfully when the mattress, if it even is one, hardly gives at all. She pats the spot beside her in lieu of a chair, and the Doctor finds that the idea of relaxing for a spell doesn't sound too bad, even if it is in the company of his... mortal enemy? Archnemesis? Rival? Oldest friend? He's not even sure how to refer to her, names be damned.
"And how did I get here?" The Doctor sinks gingerly onto the bed, still a good foot or so from Missy's side.
"Oh, I had Gamma call your Tardis in," She gestures toward the bureau, who seems to be more focused on the police box now than on the two pilots. "He's such a good ship. Hard to get to, but worth it." She beams up at the Doctor then, all teeth and sparkling eyes. "Reminds me of somebody else I know." The expression comes off as more threatening than endearing, and the Doctor can't be sure whether that's intentional. "Did you ever give your Tardis a name, Doctor? If so, I can't seem to remember it. In any case, that's not important. Let's talk about why you're here."
The Doctor only stares, keeping his rage in check and his guard up. "And why am I here," he deadpans, tracking her every movement with his eyes.
"Wellll, since you didn't like your birthday present, I wanted to try again. See if this might be a little better. Less grandiose, I apologize, but... " She trails off slowly, leaning in closer to the Doctor. He stays stock-still, half of him wanting to recoil in disgust or hatred and the other half wanting to pull the other gallifreyan tight against him and hold her there. Alert as ever, Missy almost seems to be able to pick up on his intentions as she reaches her hand out to rest on his thigh. He stares at it. "I need my friend back, Doctor. Don't you?"
The Doctor reaches down and plucks her wrist between two fingers, intending to drop it back into her own lap, but somehow his own fingers are getting the best of him, and he's caressing her dainty little hand between his palms, now keenly aware of how rough they must feel despite their relative newness. "I... don't know what I need anymore. For the longest time, I thought I was alone, especially after you... died again." Her fingers curl slowly into his palm, dragging the tips of her nails against it. Anger? Reassurance? Possessiveness? Just a manual fixation, as in her previous body? The Doctor can't be sure. He frowns gently and continues, "But then I had hope, that Gallifrey might still be out there somewhere, and... even after so many centuries, so many lives spent running from it, and hating it, and trying to get out of that system, suddenly I'm... homesick. It's not a NEED, perse, but it would feel so good to not be alone anymore."
Missy slides her hand up to twine fingers with him and uses her other to tug on his chin, calling him out of his depressive spiral of self-loathing and loneliness. "Then accept my present," she persists.
"Master, er- Mistress..." The Doctor shakes his head briefly, "Listen, can't I just call you Koschei?"
That seems to bring a pause to her confident advances, her double-pulse increasing subtly in his grasp. "Only if I can call you Theta again," she purrs, leaning in to close the gap between them, claiming his lips before he has the chance to turn down her offer. He's rigid beneath her, still struggling with his inner morality and their mutual past for a good moment until she swipes her tongue across his lips and he can't help but let her in. It's a start, she muses to herself.
The Doctor finds himself getting lost in her all over again. It's so familiar, so easy, so hard to find reasons to object anymore. He whimpers softly as she presses in hungrily for more, parting his jaws a little as she claims his mouth, learning each of the new little crevices she'd never really had the chance to explore in the past. They'd been so young, so innocent then. Those angry eyebrows nearly seem to melt away as the Doctor pulls back with a soft sigh and what could almost be misconstrued as a fond little smile. "Come here, Kosch," the Doctor slides one hand down her arm to pull her in closer by the waist until she's settled in his lap, a knee on either side of him. "Talk to me," he pleads softly, nudging in to press his forehead against hers.
She seems to understand his intention, a pale imitation of the gallifreyan customs that neither one of them had really bothered to learn about. But it's an instinctual thing, and she reaches out with her mind to prod gently at his, and finds it unusually vulnerable. Whether this is his intention or whether it's a side effect of spending so much time without other telepaths to fill his head, it's hard to tell. But Missy takes the invitation and plunges in through the cracks in his defenses, and he winces beneath her with a soft gasp, his fingers shuddering in their grasp at her hips. "Easy," he whispers hoarsely, "I'm out of practice."
I'd noticed, she responds, echoing around in the corridors of his mind. It's a bit of a mess in here. Memories and theories and emotions seem to be strewn about, with no real organization to them anymore. No wonder the poor man was so confused.
Sorry, he answers sheepishly, getting back into the habit now with a deep breath against her nose. His hands roam across her back, keeping her steady on the edge of the bed as she runs her fingernails across his scalp, sending flashes of pleasure through the otherwise dim environment he'd presented her with. Mmm, d'you think I could... It scares him a little, letting her in here where she could do the most damage, and it scares him even more to see what her mind has warped into over the centuries. But she nods against him, almost pulling him back into her head while simultaneously keeping herself firmly rooted in the dusty expanse of shelves he'd shown her.
It's disorienting, to say the least. The Doctor hasn't even touched another's psyche since the time he had rifled through Reinette's memories. And now here is Koschei, practically dragging him through hers with those ever-present drums beating out patterns of four around the both of them, in time with her pulse. He can glimpse flashes of her past, their history together, their numerous struggles, though they don't seem so bad in here. Almost playful. Missy smiles and tips her head for another kiss, tickling at his tongue as he searches through the surface of what she lets him see. A hard nip to his lower lip brings him to attention, and he nearly jerks away in surprise. Don't get distracted, she reminds him, grinding slowly into his lap with her hips. That definitely grabs his attention, if the gasp and the falter in his thoughts are any indication.
You're really serious about this, aren't you? The Doctor seems incredulous, hovering in small circles at the surface of her mind. She doesn't answer in words, but her armor-plated defenses fall to the sides, exposing a swirling vortex of inner turmoil, not unlike the fabric of time itself. Somehow in the meantime, she's gotten his coat and shirt unbuttoned and has started teasing her fingernails along every contour of his chest. Dear lord, The Doctor's breath hitches as she hits a particularly sensitive spot, and he nearly goes into respiratory bypass as she assaults that same spot again and again with little flicks and scrapes and pinches.
Tentatively, cautiously, the Doctor edges closer to that opened layer of chaos as he slips his fingers up under the hem of Missy's blouse, massaging gently along her spine until he reaches her bra and squeezes the clasp open to clear the obstruction from his path. She giggles and nips at the tip of his nose, flitting down one aisle of his mind to see what she might find at the end. D'you like what you see? Taking a brief pause from her onslaught of his skin, she nimbly undoes her own buttons just as quickly as she'd taken care of his, shrugging out of her clothing until the two of them are as bare as they'd been on those red grasses as boys, alone from the prying eyes of Time Lord society.
The Doctor suddenly feels very self-conscious again, this new-yet-old body not exactly the most impressive now that it's on display like this. He glances toward the corner at the two parked Tardises who now seem to be very invested in the activities of their respective pilots. His old girl nudges encouragingly in his direction, which surprises the Doctor a little. Hadn't she suffered enough at the Master's hands, turned into that paradox machine? The bright hum at the back of his mind quells a little at that, but still still sings softly in support.
"She's more concerned about your happiness than my threat," Missy tilts her head toward the blue box, following their wordless conversation without missing a step. "Maybe she knows I can give you what she can't."
The Doctor's hearts pang suddenly at that, his memories twisting back toward that night when his Tardis had been forced into a flesh body. It wasn't right, or natural, and it had hurt her... but the clumsy advances she'd made on him had been a pleasant surprise. "Maybe we shouldn't leave them out," The Doctor smiles wryly and turns back to Missy, "They probably know us better now than we know each other anymore. What do you say, Kosch?"
Missy only shrugs, her defenses already down and open to whomever may wander in. Come on then, Sexy, the Doctor coaxes toward the massively powerful presence still hovering at the edges of his attention. She wastes no time, gleefully trickling in to fill the dark expanses within him until they're illuminated with a pleasant, blue observer.
Sexy? Missy raises one eyebrow, twirling around midst the two goody-two-shoes to further ensconce her grasp on them. That's what you named her? The Tardis only seems to laugh, a soft tinkling of yellow lights and the faint sound of a sonic screwdriver. You really have gotten desperate. Missy's never really done anything like this with Gamma before, and it shows. He remains aloof along the edges while his older counterpart slowly flows along the bond between the two Time Lords, thrilling at the chaotic core of the Master's intellect, so reminiscent of the Eye of Harmony.
The Doctor watches with a small sense of pride as the Tardis' endless supply of love starts to brighten the recesses of Koschei's headspace, like it had done to his own. Before he even takes notice of the physical world again, he's already pinned down to the uncomfortable bed with Missy hovering above him. The strength of her grip on his wrists, keeping them above his head, is not nearly as terrifying as the possessive gleam in her eyes. "Stay," she commands, lifting his hands to the headboard where he can hang on. Sufficiently satisfied with his self-inflicted bondage, Missy slowly crawls backward, pressing in closer against the Doctor as she goes with more sets of scratches and nips to each inch of his abdomen. The old man's pulse races, almost certain she won't hurt him now, but not willing to find out. And besides, it's... kind of nice.
Finally, with her bare bosom nestled against his thighs, Missy unfastens the elegant buttons on the front of the Doctor's ridiculous trousers and tugs his waistband down over his hips. "Jesus Rassilon," he mutters hoarsely to himself, his head falling back against the sorry excuse for a pillow as he can't bear to watch any longer. A firm palm grinding into the fabric of his pants draws forth a rapid string of scottish curses and various deities and he can't help but arch back up to meet her. More than amused, the Tardis seems to mimic the idea, rooting around in his memories for the raunchiest moments she can find- the times when another person had ever made his hearts race like this. Each flick of her influence only worsens the cluttered mess in the Doctor's head, tossing up kisses with Rose and Amy and River and even Jack until all the Doctor can even think about anymore is how good their mouths were.
And suddenly, there's one more mouth to add to the memories, though this time it's not upon his lips. Jerking out of his tortured reverie, the Doctor grips hard at the metal of the headboard, his injured hands protesting as he cranes his neck to bring the Master back into focus. She only slides more of him past her lips and meets his gaze with a playful wink and a hum. Relax, she assures him, you'll get nowhere if you keep tensing up like that. The Doctor feels like he's treading water, trying to keep his head above the surface when the darkness looms so deep below... tempting and terrifying all over again. How easy it would be to just give up and sink.
His voice is still gone, though the Doctor can't help but whine with desire as Missy drags her tongue along each ridge of his length and pulls away for a second, the air suddenly very cold where she'd left his skin wet. But a minute later that wonderful heat is back, squeezing down around him on all sides as she settles down atop his pelvis with a deep, satisfied groan. Time Lords may not have had sexual reproduction for millennia, but that doesn't make the union any less amazing. Had those stuffy old senators even known what they'd been missing?
As Missy's weight sinks down to claim him as her own, he can feel himself sinking into her in more ways than one... the struggle has ceased, and he's falling into that tangled abyss in her head as though it calls him in with a gravity of its own. Why didn't we do this sooner, the question echoes back and forth between them, neither sure which of them it came from, but it sounds like an accusation and a surrender and a betrayal and an admission of love, all at once. And it's not that she has this pretty new body, the Doctor realizes, it's just that he's so tired... and still so hopeful that there might be some shred left of what they had in common. And the humans all have each other and they don't need him. And who does he have, but her? It's always been her. Him. Whatever. Just the two of them and their Tardises, against the universe and against each other.
Minutes, hours, days later, the Time Lord has lost all sense of time while they've been occupied. But finally exhausted and spent, he collapses from where he'd been pounding into her, legs wrapped around his waist, and rolls onto his side with one arm still draped over her waist. Her fingers trail along his skin as they've done so often, catching and tugging on each little nick and scrape and swollen mark that she's left on nearly every surface of him. He can't help but do the same, though her skin remains as flawless as it had been when he'd arrived. "You should have tried biting," she sighs softly, cuddling in closer to wedge in under his chin, "It's like kissing except there's a winner." The Doctor is about to remark on her borrowing words from his memories, but she proves her point suddenly with a firm bite against his jugular, that same four beats pounding against her tongue as she gnaws and suckles with the clear intention to leave a mark.
"Wait, don't-" With a wince from the pain, the Doctor reaches under her chin to pull her away, "I still have to be seen in public, you know."
"Aww, Theta, always the charmer. You can't go back to your little human if I've claimed you, is that it?" She pouts and rolls away, sulking to the closet to find something fresh to wear.
"Something like that," He murmurs, less of an answer and more of a contemplation... But following Missy's lead, he gathers up his discarded outfit and heads for the Tardis to get back to looking decent again.
The Doctor's mind is distant and wandering as he says his goodbyes to Clara, but from what he can tell, hers is too. He catches himself about to reach for it, so easily has he fallen back into the habit with another telepath. But no, humans need their private little containers with their lies and secrets and... it's not as though he's any better, he scolds himself, telling her fantastic plans for a planet he never found. Though now they're almost half-truths, after all, the Master had promised to show him where she'd gotten her Tardis.