"So you had a little one with the halfbreed, did you?" Missy hasn't moved from her place on the piano bench for minutes, only now stretching herself out like a cat as she processes everything he's told her. "This is what I was trying to tell you. You spend too much time with the humans and you start acting like one."
"This is serious, Missy," the Doctor hisses, pacing the length of the Vault. "The council is after her."
"The trollop?"
"The baby."
Missy sighs. "Well, I don't know what you think I can do about it locked up in here."
He stops moving and stares at the floor with all the intensity of a man glaring down an offending newspaper article.
"Oh," she straightens up, raising to her feet. She presses a few of the piano keys and produces a horrendous noise worthy of auditory torture. "You want to let me out."
"No." The word lands on the floor with no bounce; Scots have a talent for taking the elasticity out of any phrase.
"You need to let me out," she corrects. "You have to if you want my help. And you do want my help."
He finally lifts his gaze, but only enough to look somewhere around her feet. "River doesn't know that I know."
"That's not a very healthy marriage practice."
"Missy—"
"Yes, yes, I know. You want me to promise not to stab you in the back, is that it? Oh, and you want me to limit my casualties as well. Don't tell me you don't want me to kill anyone, now, Doctor."
He stops again, frowning in what she can only assume is annoyance for her saying it before him. "...Yes. No killing."
She goes silent again like a predator in the mists of hunting. He holds his breath, sure she's about to refuse when she finally says, "One condition."
"I don't have time for conditions."
"Then make time for them."
His teeth grind audibly as he squares his jaw. Missy doesn't speak for a long time, waiting for him to meet her eyes so she can be sure he'll agree. He does so after a few minutes with as much resistance as someone might give to the prospect of beheading—and Missy knows seven times over exactly how much squirming that causes.
"I want to read the book."
"No," he says immediately and this time the word does bounce, right off Missy in fact.
"No book, no help. Those are my rules."
"My family is in danger, don't you get that?" he snaps.
Missy doesn't flinch, holding his gaze with a level calmness that speaks volumes. I was your family once.
They keep a locked gaze for a few moments until he realizes exactly how much she really does understand.
"The first half," he tries.
"All of it. Cover to cover," she chides patiently.
"The first half and I'll get you new books."
Missy sighs and sits back down at the piano, her back to him once more. She start playing something he can recognize as French but is too distracted to pin down further.
"Fine," he grits out.
"Fine what?" she prompts without stopping the music.
"Fine… cover to cover."
She holds out her hand, the other still on the ivories.
The Doctor stares. "Now?"
"Well, I don't trust you to give it to me after. What if I die without even getting to hold it? I promise not to read it until all is well and done, dear. You're going to have to have a little trust in me now. "
She can practically hear his teeth grinding. He reaches into his pocket and keeps his hand there for a long lonent before pulling the diary out. He holds the book, gripping it with white knuckles but offering it in her direction.
Missy steps down from the platform with the piano and pucks the book from his hands, pocketing it. "You don't believe me, do you?"
"Do you expect me to?" he bites.
"No. But you thrive on the unexpected, so here's a whopper for you." She takes his hand and pulls it to her body, placing his palm flat on her chest above her hearts. "I… promise. I promise not to read it until we're done."
He says nothing.