Next chapter in on the 29th of March.
The Mistress breathes in and out, eyes closing briefly so she can't see her enclosure on the other side of the room from her.
"Are you okay?" Bill asks, voice gentle from beside her. She holds her elbow with both of her arms, "We can go back if you need to." The human reassures her, running her thumb over the Mistress' sleeve.
The Time Lady is quiet.
She wants to not be outside- to not be so far- but this is the furthest she's come for a long while without having a reason to. The doors are just behind her, so close that she could touch them if she wasn't afraid- if her hearts hadn't started beating faster and faster with every step she took past the landmarks that have been set up, perimeter-like around the outside of her enclosure.
She needs to be here. She needs to learn.
She needs to do this so they can leave as soon as everything's in place.
With missions like these everything has to be ready. She can't afford to be the faulty part of the system- not this time.
"Hey," the hand on her arm squeezes lightly and the Mistress bites her lip, trying to slow her breathing again, calm herself down.
"It's okay if you want to sit down." Bill says.
The Mistress nods, jaw tight, and maneuvres herself onto the tiled floor as if she felt her age like a human would.
The human follows, a hand moving to her back, rubbing up and down.
"Is that any better?" She asks, barely a whisper.
The Mistress nods again, swallowing.
When Bill arrives she is subdued.
"Hey." She greets the Mistress, voice quickly dying though the doors are already shut behind her and they are alone. The human stops, looking down as if she was an android on stand-by.
Missy frowns, still at first, uncertain.
She stands from the piano and goes to the glass, taking care to not make noise by letting the heels of her shoes hit the floor. She doesn't put her hand against it but considers it, hand twitching by her side.
"Are you alright?" The Time Lady asks, feeling impotent.
She hasn't seen Bill like this before.
The human looks up and smiles falsely, seemingly unaware of how unconvincing it is with the tears welling in her eyes already.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Just fine." She says, looking up but not meeting the Mistress' gaze as she starts walking again, up to the door.
The Mistress is silent.
"What's the code?" Bill asks.
The voice and hand tremble and she swallows, seeming pained by her inability to keep calm.
She wipes her face and sniffs.
The Time Lady puts a hand up against her side of the glass.
"Four, seven, six, three, two, zero, five." The Mistress replies, frowning.
Bill doesn't thank her but her lips move like she wants to as she presses the keys and the door clicks open again. As the Mistress opens the door and steps through Bill goes still again.
"What happened?" Missy asks.
The human breathes, in and out.
"Meredith got taken. They were coming to meet me and I saw the van just come up and- they just- they treated them like they weren't a person!" Bill sobs, hands going to her face as she curls in on herself.
The Mistress pulls her into her arms, holding her tight.
"I'm sorry that you had to see something like that." She murmurs, voice as soft as it can be. It's somewhat of an empty thing to say but it's the best she can come up with.
"You must have seen so much worse though. I can't even hold it together when someone is taken but-" Bill tries to turn the conversation but the Mistress just holds her tighter.
"It doesn't matter what I've seen. I'm sorry that you experienced that." She says firmly, pulling the human's head beneath her chin.
It still feels strange- to hold someone in this way for something which isn't just a tactical advantage.
"How does Bill seem to be doing?" The Doctor asks as he serves the Mistress what seems to be an assortment of fried vegetables and a burger of some description.
The Time Lady cocks her head, confused at the topic of conversation. Aside from being sparing now it usually seems to be some test of her morals and things that he thinks she should have learned or thought about.
This doesn't feel like that.
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" The Mistress ventures.
An expression of discomfort edges onto his face, blunted but there. It feels like a success and the Time Lady feels her hearts beat just a little faster as she focuses on keeping the smile off of her face.
"She doesn't seem to visit me as much as she used to." He admits eventually, shuffling around to his seat.
He tosses a few of the fried things into his mouth and the Mistress follows suit.
They're a change at least. Perhaps not something she wants to eat all the time but they're definitely a novelty.
"Oh." Missy says, considering how to answer. She looks away and takes her time with another vegetable stick thing- the humans have a specific name for them she thinks.
"She's seems alright." The Time Lady says, "Human." She adds, shrugging and wrinkling her nose as if there are one million other things that she's more concerned for right now.
It's chips, right? These are called chips?
The Doctor's mind is still shut to her but the Mistress can read in the brief glance she takes of his face that he is feeling uncertain about what he's going to say next.
"Good." He says eventually, evidently deciding against it.
Bill had bought a book with her the last time she had visited.
It's a small thing, battered and handwritten, a story which she recalled. Apparently the presence of fiction has been almost eradicated by the monks' control but for some reason Bill decided that something it would be valuable to spend her time on was writing out what she remembers of an old story for the Mistress because 'you must get bored down here all by yourself, right?'.
It's written on a small palm sized notebook which she can fit in her pocket and in very messy handwriting which makes the Time Lady think that they must have stopped enforcing writing training in school.
Still, as nice and thoughtful as the gesture is, the Mistress can't read it right now.
Her mind is flighty, unable to settle even as she tries the visualing exercises from The Academy on a whim and sits at the piano and tries to play just one song through.
It's not that she can't remember these things but her mind shoots off in different directions, unwilling to work with her today. She starts on one line which diverts at earliest convenience, following each new interesting thing brought up in association until she can't remember what she thought first and feels more than a little turned around in her own head.
She holds the book in her hands, forces her mind on the physicality and brings herself back for a moment to the vault and her glass room and she doesn't know how much time has passed but she comes out of herself with a start and stares at the ceiling.
When she looks up the door is slightly ajar and there's food on the table.
In the bottom of the bag there is a note which has a single word in it in a language only one other person would care to write in to her.
On that piece of paper is one word.
Sorry.
The Mistress doesn't show Bill this scrap of paper, tucked into the pocket of her blouse.
It's not that she doesn't trust the human but this is special to her and for her and it feels like it burns over her left heart as she remembers it, tinder lit by the pulsing in her chest, gladly incessant.
The circles inscribe themselves into her skin and she remembers a time long ago where their fingertips would brush gently in those patterns, spelling out on her skin their feelings for her.
It wasn't as much to them, they'd always been a tactile person despite their lack of desire to go with it, but they had always loved her, him at the time, and it had been more than enough to feel their loving touch even if they would go no further than that.
She walks these patterns now on the tiles, arm in arm with the human who only smiles, unaware of the words she spells out with her movement. It isn't the same as when she had walked with the Doctor and hadn't needed to say anything for him to understand but in a strange way this privacy works for her.
If she wants to speak she must use words and be certain of them, reciprocity isn't required.
There's something nice about not having to conform to expectations.
