The next chapter will have most of the reason I started writing this so I'm! Very excited! That should be out on the 20th of September.
The Mistress can't stop thinking about how close they'd been.
She tries to do other things.
She distracts herself with checking over the information they have, counting tiles, counting chairs.
She takes a long bath, redresses, plays piano, tries to nap, and still all she can think about is how close Bill was, the pattern of her irises, the warmth of her hands, of her breath.
Her hearts feel too big, heated as if the human was holding them in her palms.
No matter what she tries she can't help but finds herself reliving the memory of them being so close.
She feels the clamminess of Bill's hands in hers, the hush of her voice when they'd spoken, the slight smell of sweat, the darkness thickness of her hair, her pulse, sweet under her skin, the flushing of her cheeks, the way her breaths caught, how it had felt to cradle her face even through the woman's own palm, their foreheads, touching, the worn fabric she was wearing, the softness of the human's neck under her palm, the way she had licked her lips, the pressing need to move forwards, closer, closer.
She knows now that she wants to kiss her.
It's been a long time since she's felt that.
The depth of it is like a warm tidal wave, sweeping her mind up and away from the usual places it inhabits.
The Mistress does not allow herself to consider that it's more than a desire.
At least she lies to herself that she does not.
Bill, in any case, is a human. It's not like she'll be interested in Missy for long even if for the rest of her may-fly lifespan.
Bill is excited the next time she comes in, grinning widely as she opens the glass door and wraps her arms around the Mistress, squeezing her tight in a way which the Time Lady is half convinced will actually make her regenerate for a myriad of reasons.
"You won't guess what's happened!" She says, pulling back with her hands on Missy's shoulders.
"I'm sure I won't." The Time Lady says, trying to fight down the heat in her cheeks as her hands linger on the other woman. Then louder, after clearing her throat, "Tell me?"
The human pulls the somewhat clunky laptop from her bag and boots it, both of them still standing in the doorway to her enclosure.
"It's Sit. I've been talking to them for a few days. I hope you don't mind- it's just- this could be exactly what we need." She exclaims, a flush in her own cheeks for reasons that the Mistress can tell are unrelated to her.
The Time Lady takes the offered laptop and thoughts of the woman beside her are taken fully from her head, along with everything else, for the first time in what feels like weeks.
It feels light in her hands and she moves to a couch, sits, Bill right beside her, as if she hadn't read it all already.
It starts with the basics, things related to what they need to carry out their mission, and moves onto explanation, confirming the things which the Mistress had believed.
She can't help the smile which overtakes her face as her eyes dart over the text.
'SIT: Temporary clearance granted. What do you need?' and then a reply from Bill, 'are you sure?', a copy and blend of several lists which the Mistress has given her over the last few weeks and another question 'why do we need clearance?'.
There's charm in the simple questions the human asks, a directness which the Mistress doesn't see her use much.
And then from Sit; 'We can provide these things to you but you will have to get to us first. We're inside the Tower of London. We'll be able to see you coming. Make sure you aren't followed. What do you mean?'
'HOPE: Great, thanks! I'll come as soon as I can! I'll wear purple on my coat so you know it's me. I mean why do we need clearance? Like- most people wouldn't even know what to do with the things we've asked for.'
'SIT: Are there two of you?'
'HOPE: Yeah- you seem to know the other person. I'm Bill. There's no point hiding my name really.'
'SIT: I know you from the records before they were changed. You are a companion, correct?'
'HOPE: I guess you could put it like that?'
'SIT: You have clearance then. We are part of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. We were inside the Black Archives when everything changed. The existence of this place and where it is is wiped from the memories of those who leave here. There are memory burners every three hours for those in the space, we disabled them temporarily. The monks can't get in. We make sure that the public is not alerted to the existence of aliens and get rid of threats to the relative peace of the planet.'
'HOPE: That sounds… Big.'
'SIT: Bigger than you can imagine. Thanks for inspiring Sappho by the way. Made my degree worthwhile.'
'HOPE: That hasn't happened.'
'SIT: Yet.'
The Mistress looks up, an eyebrow raised.
"You're just glad that you're going to meet Sappho." She teases.
Bill just flushes, not looking at her.
"I'm going tomorrow. I've got travel." The human says.
"Stay safe." Missy tells her, a hand on her knee.
The next day is spent in fretting.
The Doctor, suspicious of how often Bill has been down with her lately, sits answering letters at a table facing her enclosure.
She feigns normality, digs back in her new self's old memories for it.
She wants to pace but all she does is play the piano, muffling the noise with the pedal. She doesn't really hear what she's playing but it's a distraction at least.
When the Doctor leaves she sighs in relief and lets her feet find a course across her small and cluttered room.
She worries about Bill being betrayed or not getting to the Archives or getting caught on the way back or hit by a car or imprisoned or not being able to carry everything for both of them or forgetting something or her laptop being stolen or one million other possibilities.
And then the doors click, opening again.
The Mistress is quick to sit down, standing as the Doctor enters the room containing hers and closes the doors.
There's a mug in each of his hands and a packet of biscuits.
She supposes it's supposed to be a peace offering.
The Time Lady lets him open the door to her cage and sits opposite him, drinking tea and eating biscuits.
He doesn't seem to comment on her reading the upside-down letters.
They don't say anything useful.
He gets back to work and she goes back to playing, door open.
The day passes and the Doctor leaves and the Mistress wishes that she could feel sad about that.
She misses him.
Bill arrives and the Mistress' hearts beat inside of her throat.
The woman is dressed in tight black, hidden beneath more worn clothes, slightly more gray, and her hair is scraped back against her head, secured low on the back of her neck.
She looks good.
The Mistress pretends that it's because she's excited to leave and not her own admiration for the human's body.
She carries two bags on her back, big, durable, full, and one in her hands, smaller, disposable.
She grins as she opens the door to the Mistress' glass cage and holds her close, breathing in deeply and out.
"I can't believe we're doing this." She says, releasing the Time Lady. They look at each other for a moment, quiet, shy suddenly.
"I got you some clothes- you can go change if you want." Bill tells her, letting go of her and offering her the bag not on her back. She doesn't look at the Mistress and the pulse jumps in her neck.
The Time Lady takes the bag and pauses, no words.
"I'll be back soon." She says instead, a placeholder.
She barely registers changing in the bathroom except in the sight of herself in the mirror, hair down, black cargo trousers, loose charcoal top with a few holes over a darker one, heavy, turtleneck, practical boots, fingerless gloves.
It's strange but it suits her, who she is now, shut away in the dark.
She doesn't feel as frivolous as her old clothes which she leaves on the floor in a heap.
The metal of the door handle is cold under her hand as she looks at it, turns back.
Missy crouches down to her coat, slips her hand into the pocket and gently, reverently, removes a black pencil sharpener.
She cradles it in her hand, feels the metal warm to her touch.
It slips easily and invisibly into a pocket on the overshirt she wears.