A little annoyed that there isn't a Christmas special this year, I wrote my own. Inspiration for a Thirteenth Doctor story didn't strike, unfortunately, so you get this instead. This isn't super shippy, but it can be - interpret it however you like. I hope I got the characterization right - I always have trouble writing the Master, especially as Missy. Merry/Happy Christmas!
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who!
The Doctor loved Christmas. Of course, he had met Jesus, whose birthday was actually mid-June, but that wasn't the point.
Christmas was more than just a birthday. It was joy, it was hope—it was halfway out of the darkness.
Aliens also seemed to love to attack the Earth on Christmas. Not that that was a good thing, per se, but it certainly would be an exciting thing.
So far, there had not been an alien invasion this Christmas, but the Doctor was certainly holding out hope. Well, not hope. Certainly not hope. Hopeful that a bunch of aliens would attempt to take over the Earth? Not him.
But this Christmas was the most boring one yet.
The Doctor stood in a crowded room, filled to the brim with professors that simply had nowhere else to go. Desperate not to be alone on Christmas, they had arranged a 'little party' that everyone who wasn't meeting with family or friends was encouraged to attend. The Doctor had no remaining family to speak with. Of his two friends, one was locked in a vault and likely plotting murder and the other was a cyborg named Nardole.
Nardole had told him that he needed to "enjoy himself—no, not go off-world, just socialize a bit."
The Doctor had pointed out that a Christmas party for lonely professors wasn't exactly what he would consider enjoyable, and that he was going to be spending Christmas with a friend. Though, Nardole wouldn't really count as a friend if he kept bothering him.
Nardole had then held up his own invitation to the Christmas party, and stated that the Doctor would be going.
Missy would likely detest Christmas and might actually be bothered enough today to kill him, so that had been that.
"…gave me the nicest chocolate!" One of the professors was saying, his hand tightly gripping a glass of wine as if he was afraid it might fall. "I think he was expecting a higher grade on his biochemistry test. I could've doubled it and he still would've failed." His friend laughed heartily.
The Doctor turned to Nardole to complain for the forty-seventh time, but he was gone. All around the room, people were chattering to each other and drinking. Strings of bright Christmas lights hung across the walls. They all seemed to glare together, the noise and light combining into an incomprehensible wall of input. It wasn't necessarily bad, but it made it hard to feel cheerful.
Sighing, the Doctor leaned against the wall, searching the room with his eyes to see whether anyone was watching him. No—the professors were busy getting inebriated and Nardole was off dancing with the pretty professor of Ancient Greek Mythology. Carefully, the Doctor took out his phone. It was an iPhone, anachronistic for the year 2001, but he had to have some way to keep in touch with the people he had given his phone number to. After all, one of them could always have an incredibly important crisis. Then the Doctor would have no choice but to help him—after all, he must protect the timeline, and the Vault would be in danger if Beethoven was killed by a Dalek army.
The Doctor navigated to a WhatsApp page. He felt a bit guilty—technically, it was 2001, and he hadn't met O yet. But the TARDIS could take care of the timeline differences and make sure his message arrived at the right time for O.
Looking around the room again, the Doctor made sure that no one was watching him, and then began to type.
Happy Christmas!|
The Doctor shook his head and deleted the text. He wasn't sure if O celebrated Christmas.
Happy holidays!|
Was it the holidays for O? Maybe not. If the message didn't arrive during the right month, it would seem weird. Though the Doctor supposed it would be easily explainable…no, best not to have to explain in the first place.
The Doctor's phone buzzed, and he nearly jumped. He quickly turned it to Do Not Disturb, and then navigated back the WhatsApp page.
You do realize that I can see if you're typing, right?
The Doctor frowned. He had not realized that.
I was wondering if it was Christmas for you and if you celebrate Christmas. If it is and you do, happy Christmas! If not, then happy regular dayn
Sorry, I meant happy regular day!
Moments later, O replied.
It is, and I do not. I didn't think you did either, as a matter of fact, given that you're a time travelling alien.
Am I being rude?
Happy Christmas to you.
The Doctor looked up. Nardole was still nowhere to be found.
No, you're definitely not being rude. It's a very fair question. I celebrate Christmas because you humans have the right idea. Every culture celebrates something around this time. That is, most cultures; Daleks don't exactly celebrate Christmas, though their culture mostly just consists of exterminating every non-Dalek. Even the Time Lords had a celebration similar to Christmas, though it was unimaginably pompous.
He checked the text over twice, and sent. O responded quickly.
Wow that was a long text!
The Doctor frowned. Was one not supposed to make texts long? In his previous incarnation, all of his texts had been short, with terrible grammar. But back then, his attention span had been about five seconds.
I'm sorry.
No need to apologize – you know I find everything you tell me about yourself fascinating, Doctor.
So, what is it that got you bored?
What do you mean, bored?
You haven't texted me in a while—only once since you said Clara left. I assume that if you're texting me, you must be bored out of your mind.
Do you remember how I said I'm teaching at a university? Nardole dragged me off to the Christmas party since I didn't have anyone else to spend Christmas with. I told him that I could spend it on my own, but he wouldn't listen.
"Sir, I hardly think using such an anachronistic object is advisable." The Doctor looked up to see the egghead—Nardole, Missy must be getting to him—hovering next to him.
"I'm busy," the Doctor said.
"Texting?" Nardole asked.
"Don't worry," the Doctor assured him. "It's not Beethoven this time. Or Winston Churchill."
"You must stop giving out your phone number to random historical figures!"
"This is an MI6 analyst from the late 2000s CE, so I hardly think that applies," the Doctor said.
"Oh."
"Precisely."
"What?"
"His name," the Doctor said, "is O. Or his codename, I suppose. Could be his actual name—are there humans named O? Is that something humans do?"
Nardole just shook his head. "Do you think that's wise?"
"Yes."
"You have to work with these people. You should be socializing with them."
"You're not my father," the Doctor said.
"But I do have full permission to kick your—"
"I am socializing," the Doctor insisted.
The Ancient Greek Mythology teacher was back. Nardole looked between the Doctor and her. Eventually, he threw up his hands and followed her away to dance to whichever ridiculous Christmas song was on now.
Turning back to his phone, the Doctor checked his messages.
Well, it's not like you spend a lot of time talking to other people. Nardole may have a point.
Doctor?
I guess you're making another one of your long texts.
Okay, probably not.
Goodbye.
Wait
Sorry, I had to fend off Nardole.
Oh, I was worried I had offended you.
Don't you have someone that you can spend Christmas with to please Nardole?
The Doctor rolled his eyes. Not O too.
I have exactly two friends.|
He frowned, then edited it.
I have exactly three friends. One of them is Nardole. The second one almost definitely wants to murder me.
After a second, O sent a laughing emoji.
Wait, that was a joke, right?
No.
Ah, well, that's unfortunate. Who is the third?
The third is you.
I'm flattered.
Are you sure that second friend wants to murder you? It is Christmas, after all.
She hates Christmas.
How would you know that?
She hates anything that doesn't involve murder.
Hence the murder plot, I assume.
Exactly.
Well, is she on another planet? Perhaps it isn't Christmas for her, there.
No, she's on Earth as well, at the moment.
Maybe you should visit her. Any friend of yours likely doesn't have many other friends (me included). What if she's lonely?
She doesn't get lonely.
Maybe she does. You should go and check on her.
I really don't think that's the best idea.
Suit yourself.
But I would go for a visit, if I were you.
The Doctor stared at his phone, frowning. It wasn't like Missy concocting murder plots had stopped him from visiting before. He doubted that she had ever heard of anything like 'the Christmas Spirit,' but it was unlikely that she even realized today was Christmas.
Looking around, the Doctor saw that Nardole was nowhere to be found. Well, that was annoying. Nardole was the only person he knew around here, and he had just gone and disappeared. After forcing the Doctor to come to this ridiculous gathering known as a 'Christmas party.'
Nardole would be very upset if he came back to find that the Doctor, too, had disappeared. That on its own was more than enough reason. The Doctor tucked his phone into one of his pockets and pushed his way through the crowd.
Outside, the air was cold and a thin blanket of snow covered the ground. The Doctor stayed on the paths—he loved making footprints in the snow, but he didn't want his shoes to get soggy right now. Music could still be heard from inside the building, lights from the open windows making the snow shine red and green and white.
The Doctor headed for the building that he had installed the Vault under, humming "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" under his breath. Eventually, he reached the basement, where he opened the doors and came to a stop outside the Vault.
The piano, normally quiet, began to play. The Doctor didn't think he had heard the song before, but it didn't sound like something Missy would compose.
"Hello," the Doctor said from outside the Vault. "I thought you might like a visit. I don't have any stories, unfortunately. Earth is rather boring when you're stuck there, though you already know that. Nardole forced me to go to a party. I left early, since he disappeared. I could tell you about that." The piano stopped, then started again, this time playing 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas.'
Well, that meant that Missy knew what day it was, and the likelihood of a murder attempt had just gone up. But he had told her that he was going to visit her, so visit her he would. And hopefully not get killed.
"I'm coming in." The gears in the Vault ground in synchrony as the door slowly unlocked. When they were finished, the Doctor carefully opened it and stepped inside the Vault.
Missy was sitting at the piano on the dais where the containment field normally was, but it wasn't up. "Where's my figgy pudding?" She asked, still playing the song.
"I don't actually know what that is," the Doctor admitted.
Missy stood up, one hand still on the keyboard. "It's Christmas, you know."
"Yes."
"I want a particle accelerator."
The Doctor shook his head. "Nardole would kill me."
"Ah, maybe next year," Missy shrugged. "So, what is it that got you bored?"
"Bored?" The Doctor asked. O had asked him the same thing—did he really only talk to the people he knew when he had nothing else to do?
"You never visit unless you're bored. Let me guess—humans are interesting when you can pick and choose, but you can't stand being thrown in a room full of them. Not that I can blame you. I could kill them, if you want?"
"You're supposed to be reforming," the Doctor said.
"It would be for the greater good, removing them from the cosmos."
"Missy."
"Suit yourself. So, why are you visiting?"
"I told you," said the Doctor. "Nardole forced me to go to a Christmas party and then disappeared."
"That's rude of him." Missy stepped down from the dais that held the piano. "Would you like to dance?"
"What?" The Doctor asked, confused.
"It's Christmas. Would you like to dance? Oh, don't look at me like that, it's only dancing." She stepped up to him, placing a hand on the Doctor's shoulder.
It was very likely that this was simply the next in a long line of complex murder attempts. But given that this was Missy, who was incredibly unpredictable, there was a tiny—but not insignificant—chance that she actually just wanted to dance.
"Do you remember Christmas on Gallifrey?" Missy asked, leading him through the steps of a dance to music that only she could hear. The Doctor focused his attention on not tripping over his own feet. He really should have listened to Nardole's advice and not entered the Vault in the first place.
"We didn't celebrate Christmas," the Doctor said.
"Close enough. You used to hate the ceremonies, so we would sneak out and climb up that mountain. Do you remember that hermit? He'd always say we were halfway out of the darkness. That it was a time for celebration, not paperwork and funny hats. You agreed."
"What is this really about?" The Doctor asked.
"You didn't get me a particle accelerator, and you obviously won't let me out to get one myself. Consider this my Christmas present."
"There isn't any music," the Doctor observed. He felt that this ought to feel ridiculous, but it didn't really.
"There can be," Missy said, raising her hand to his temple.
One of the Doctor's hands dropped to his side. This was wrong—he shouldn't be in the Vault, dancing with Missy. Nardole would kill him, and this was exactly the kind of thing that he shouldn't ever do, right up there with accepting half the universe or a cyberman army. "I'm sorry," he said, pulling away.
"What is it now?" Missy asked. A hand was still on the Doctor's shoulder.
"We—I shouldn't be doing this."
"It's just dancing—are you worried our egghead chaperone will be mad?"
"You hate Christmas," the Doctor said.
"Aren't good people supposed to like it?" Missy wondered. "I'm pretty sure that's in the list. 'Don't kill insignificant little humans, don't threaten to kill insignificant little humans, really don't kill insignificant little humans even if they're incredibly bothersome, like holidays like Christmas and New Years and whatever.'"
"Being good isn't a list," the Doctor said. He looked past Missy at the piano. The keys were already worn, their paint faded, but she had only had it for a few years. She must play it constantly—anything to escape the silence that surrounded her in the Vault. "You wanted to dance and it doesn't even seem to have been a plot to escape. I'd ask why you're so bored, but we both already know." Carefully, he took her hand off of his shoulder.
"You could give me a particle accelerator," Missy suggested. "I wouldn't be bored, then."
"You'd still be lonely."
"I don't get lonely," Missy hissed. "I don't."
The Doctor looked around the Vault. At first, they had spent a lot of time talking, but over time the Doctor realized that he had visited less and less. He wasn't sure why. Perhaps Missy thought he had just gotten bored. "I'll visit you again tomorrow," he promised. "Would you like Chinese food?"
Missy didn't answer, but she glided over to the piano, resting her hands against the ivory keys.
The Doctor waited for a moment, but she still didn't reply. "Happy Christmas, Missy," he said quietly.
She began to play on the piano. On the first day of Christmas…
Walking towards the door, the Doctor heard her whisper, nearly inaudible above the sound of the piano. "Happy Christmas, Doctor."
The Doctor stepped out of the Vault and closed the door behind him. He could still hear the music from within.
Opening up his phone, the Doctor sent a text to O.
You were right. She was lonely.
See? You may be an alien genius, Doctor, but leave the interactions with people to me.
I'm glad you had someone to talk to on Christmas.
Besides Nardole, that is.
If you want to fend of Nardole for New Years, you can come to MI6. We'll be having a New Year's party there—honestly, I'm not sure what C was thinking. But it would be pretty boring there by myself. Everyone thinks I'm strange for believing in aliens. I'll make sure C lets you in, if you come. If I can, that is. I think he's getting close to firing me.
You don't have to come if you don't want to.
I'm in another time, unfortunately.
The Doctor frowned at his phone, considering.
But if I do end up in 2015, I'll see if I can take you up on the offer.
You are in 2015, right?
Yes. For now, happy Christmas!
I thought you didn't celebrate Christmas.
I'm not religious. But there's something special about this time of the year. Halfway out of the darkness, right, Doctor?
The Doctor smiled. Inside the Vault, The Twelve Days of Christmas finished its final verse.