Tumblr Drabble Series: Every Miner Needs A Canary
Disclaimer: Yeah, I own nada. Otherwise Twisswald and Missfle would be canon.
Warnings: Well…one of the main characters is Missy so that should give you a clue. Oh heck, fine I'll spell it out. Explicit content, slightly creepy behaviour, some violence, and morally ambiguous relationships that I do not endorse but are ridiculously fun to write about.
A/N: So I've decided to do all 49 of those prompts for that Tumblr drabble challenge, all Missfle, with some other pairings mentioned or implied but Missy x Clara is the main pairing. Some will be canon-compliant, others AU etc, some long, some short, some smutty, some angst-y, some funny, some romantic as the fancy takes me. But all Missfle.
So another AU this time, inspired by that hilarious and awesome trailer for Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Oddly I can see our mad duo as a pair of Regency-Lady-Zombie-Killers. And I thought I'd try Missy's point of view this time.
Prompt #9: 'Don't you ever do that again!'
Missy had been having a perfectly good day. As good days went, it had to be one of the best in her memory.
It started the same as any other day. Awaken early at Oakdown House; take great delight in teasing her young paramour and student from her own slumber, possibly leading to some invigorating bedridden activities, before picking off a few stray Undead, all before breakfast.
So obviously, something had to come along to ruin it all. Being summoned by the local militia to sort out an encroaching horde of Undead around Stargrove Priory, initially didn't seem like it. Missy was well-versed in disposing of those shambling, useless creatures, and her little puppy was learning fast. The owners of Stargrove Priory, a retired Army Brigadier and his daughter Miss Lethbridge-Stewart, were also a force to be reckoned with, ordinarily perfectly capable of dealing with their own Undead infestation.
Missy just knew it had to go wrong. Too much had been going well, something was bound to eventually. She was a staunch pragmatist who firmly believed in being prepared for such unsavoury circumstances.
She just hadn't prepared for this.
She'd never meant to care for the girl. At first, she'd been mildly impressed by her savage will to survive, unskilled and untrained as she was, when she first encountered her in London, tagging along after the Paternoster Gang out of boredom. Then she'd been amused by the girl's spirit and staunch refusal to bow down in the presence of her superiors. She had almost contemplated sending her away to an old friend and once-enemy, one she knew would both clash and combine with the energy and spirit of her charge nicely. But in the end, Missy was a jealous, selfish sort; she hadn't been able to resist taking the girl as both student and companion, just to see for herself what she might become, what she might coax out of her. Along the way, she had turned into quite the warrior and strategist, a consummate actress who could charm her way through the most elite circles of society without effort, and the most delightful and surprising lover Missy had ever taken.
But she'd never thought she cared for the girl.
There were a number of reasons. Firstly, the girl was an incorrigible romantic at heart with perpetual hope in the goodness of everyone, despite her rough start in life and the horror of her previous existence. Secondly, the girl was irritatingly self-assured and impudent in her own morality, never letting Missy manipulate too far or twist too much; she often argued back and insisted on a course of action, regardless of Missy's own disapprobation on the matter. And thirdly, the girl was quite impossible brave and compassionate. She could never bear to leave anyone behind who could be saved, even at threat to her own life.
All of the above ran as an endless litany through Missy's mind, as she paced outside the physician's tent. Behind them, Stargrove Priory was a smoking ruin, lately annihilated in a storm of gunpowder and fire, to prevent any possibility of the scourge spreading further. All had been going to plan, once they discovered the nest of Undead lurking in the ancient catacombs that spread underneath the 16th century house, once an escape route for hunted Catholic priests during the Reformation although the entrance to the house had long been blocked. Plans had then been made to evacuate the Priory between themselves, the Brigadier and Miss Lethbridge-Stewart.
It wasn't until Miss Lethbridge-Stewart, a famous bluestocking and renowned Undead hunter like her father, had suddenly realised that her companion Miss Osgood had been left inside, as the fuses were lit, the silly girl having rushed back inside to find the remedy she used to relieve her congested lungs, that everything truly began to go to the dogs.
Of course her incorrigibly brave and half-wittedly selfless lover had felt the urge to rush back too. Of course she'd used Missy's own emotions against her to make her let go. And of course, her impossible girl had come back safe, if not entirely sound.
Which was why Missy was stuck outside the physician's tent to start with.
Miss Lethbridge-Stewart and the Brigadier waited with her, but were intelligent enough not to open their mouths. Missy didn't want brainless platitudes, she wanted her Clara. In pristine condition and back safely in their bed at Oakdown Hall, before sunset, to be precise.
If it weren't for the fact that most of the Undead were currently little more than twitching ashes, she'd have vented her rage and helplessness on them. She did not like feeling helpless. Particularly not over an insignificant girl who would probably join the ranks of the Undead before the year was out.
She growled under her breath as the thought made her grow cold with anguished terror.
Finally, finally, the physician emerged from the depths of the tent and smiled at Missy and Miss Lethbridge-Stewart, wiping his bloodied hands on a towel. Missy sincerely hoped that was Osgood's blood and not Clara's.
"I've managed to stop the bleeding, Missy Osgood should be fine," he told Miss Lethbridge-Stewart and the Brigadier, before glancing towards Missy. "Miss Oswald is also on the mend. A mere cut, easily stitched, possibly some concussion. She should be excused any duties for a few days. You may see them now-"
Missy was already striding into the tent, squinting in the dim light of the lantern.
Osgood lay stretched out on a cot, her stomach tightly bandaged. Clara, on the other hand, sat on a small stool, her face still streaked in blood. There was a bloody gash extending the length of her eyebrow, neatly stitched, marring her smooth skin. Just the sight of it made Missy's blood boil.
Clara made to stand, her mouth opening to speak. Missy quickly decided she really didn't want to hear anything her paramour cared to say. Clara had almost killed herself out of sheer noble stupidity, and she had terrified Missy, and didn't she understand that words were utterly superfluous and useless now?
As her mind raced, Missy strode across the tent, ignoring Miss Osgood's surprised squeak and the physician's exasperated exhortations to be careful, and the Brigadier's amused eyes boring into her back. They could all go hang, for all she cared.
Clara looked stunned, as Missy's hands encircled her waist and entrapped her against the stake holding the canvas around them aloft. Missy had no idea what she looked like to her young protégée, but she had no doubt she looked a sight, with gunpowder marking her cheek and her curls annoyingly askew, her long purple riding coat flapping against her legs.
She set her lips to Clara's, desperate to make sure she still felt warm and strong and so, so alive, free of the taint of the Scourge, to know that she hadn't lost her and she was still alive. So, so alive.
Clara, for her part, felt no reticence as she pressed herself eagerly into her Mistress's arms, burying her cold hands in Missy's hair. Despite her need to stay furious at her impossible girl for needlessly frightening her, something in Clara's kiss felt so conciliatory that she felt herself soften. She mentally sighed; she was going soft. Or just getting old.
Missy wasn't sure which one horrified her more.
Behind them, Osgood was still babbling away in shock, the physician muttering about propriety and concussions, while behind them all, the Brigadier and his daughter watched with quiet amusement.
Missy pressed Clara back against the stake, her greedy mouth reaffirming all that her senses had accepted but her mind was struggling to take in. All she could remember was the blood and the smoke and the flames, the dying screams of the Undead, the terrified whinnying of horses. And Clara, atop her mount, Osgood clinging to her waist, emerging from the noisome fog. Clara, bloodied. Clara, alive.
Clara finally forced their lips to part, sucking in air hungrily. She cocked one brow, and winced as she realised it was the injured one. "Are you trying to kill me by suffocation now?" she inquired archly, her quip rather ruined by the breathiness of her voice.
Missy wasn't in the mood for smart words. "Don't you ever do that again!" she snarled darkly. Clara snorted.
"What, save peoples' lives?" she retorted, with all the air of an old argument. "It's a habit."
"A habit I intend to break, for both our sakes," Missy said firmly, with all the promise of a fight in her icy eyes, vitality returning as her mind slowly accepted that Clara was safe and well. "Now, come. The physician prescribed bed rest, so bed rest you shall have."
She clamped one hand around Clara's waist, ignoring the physician's protests as she drew her out of the tent, and towards their waiting mounts. She spotted the insufferably twinkling gleam in the Brigadier's eyes. "Not a word, Lethbridge-Stewart," she growled under her breath, as they passed.
"Indubitably, Lady Saxon," he concurred. "Incidentally, I shall inform Captain Harkness of your absence from duty for a few days."
Missy barely paused to convey her reluctant thanks. As they neared the horses, Clara tugged at her arm, the hem of her riding coat splattered with mud and gore. It caught Missy's eye, making her feel cold again but she refused to succumb. Not now, not with Clara so obviously annoyed and ruffled by her highhandedness.
"That was rude," she declared haughtily. "We should at least report to Jack."
"You, my dear, will not be setting foot outside our bed for the next week," Missy informed her coolly, but her gaze was anything but. Even in the slowly dimming light of the afternoon, she could see the blush on her Clara's cheeks.
"I don't think that was what the physician meant by bed rest," Clara replied sarcastically.
"Then he's an unimaginative dunce," Missy remarked silkily. "Now, come!"
Clara rolled her eyes, but did as she was bid, following after her all-too fractious and possessive Mistress. Really, she was too adorable sometimes.
Prompt #10: 'Teach me how to play?'
A/N: For the interested, or just plain geeky like me, Oakdown is the House to which the Master/Missy belongs on Gallifrey, Stargrove is the name of the house used as the priory in 'The Pyramids of Mars' an excellent Fourth Doctor story, and of course the site of the priory is later used as UNIT HQ in the Multi-Doctor story 'The Three Doctors'.
Who else is excited for the next episode? Also those scripts released on the BBC archive, some of those Missy lines!? There'd better be deleted scenes on the series boxset, or I'm hunting Moffat down. At least we know why Michelle was doing her mad little 'Time War' dance in the Missy and Clara video...
To be continued…
