Author's note: Short chapter this time. I have a bit of an idea what do with this by now! Like, there'll be something resembling a plot. Probably. Also I decided on an actual title, which was inspired by the song "Flawed Design" by Stabilo. It doesn't really fit this particular AU, but I think it kinda suits with the whole Twelve/Missy situation in general, a bit, from what I've seen. I'm not at series 10 yet.

Chapter summary: Still nobody is happy, but we can't just let Missy run off unheeded.

The air outside was thick and uncomfortably still, the sky showing off an impressively sized collection of grey clouds, complete with a bit of grandiose drum rolls, and the Doctor vaguely wondered if he had an umbrella in his pockets somewhere.

He caught up to her a bit of a distance from the house, with grass stains on her hands and the stolen dressing gown, while she was just getting back to her feet and, it seemed, decided that her chances of making a successful escape were too slim to try it and not embarrass herself. Thankfully he was still behind enough that he didn't even get the opportunity to help her up, since no matter whether or not he attempted to do so, he was fairly certain that she'd resent his choice. Now, she simply turned towards him with an unaffected expression, primly plucking a few blades of grass from her sleeves.

It was probably a good thing that she's already lost the slippers previously to running off, he thought, or she'd have slipped on her way out and fallen down the stairs, and he highly doubted she'd appreciate at broken neck right at this moment.

Standing before him now, hair a mess, feet bare, and the sleeves of her dirty robe slipping down to hide her hands completely, it was impressive how formidable she looked even under the circumstances, like a queen thoroughly displeased with a subject who dared inconvenience her.

The Doctor stopped a few steps from her, and she sighed, pursing her lips. "I take it you're not going to make an exception and let me escape."

"You know I can't do that." In a rare instant of wisdom, he decided not to ask where she was planning to escape to. There wasn't really anywhere she could run, even if she did run surprisingly fast, considering her legs were significantly shorter than his.

"You could." She shrugged, watching him intently. "Nobody's stopping you. I'm not harming anyone."

This really, really wasn't going like he had planned. Not that he'd had planned it of course, or ever did plan much of anything, really, but with the Master, jumping in unprepared and hoping for the best had never quite worked out so far. And it didn't help that he had no idea, after their last encounters, where they stood. The Doctor felt like he was dealing with a half-feral cat, if said cat had a mind as sharp as his own and tended to hold personal grudges against him.

"You broke into someone's house."

"So did you. Anyway, nobody was home." The Master spread her arms, indicating the mostly empty space surrounding them and ignoring the sound of thunder rolling from not too far away. "In fact, it seems that no one is even in the general vicinity. What were you expecting me to do, sleep out in the field?"

No, of course not. What would he have done in her situation? He couldn't exactly blame her for taking the only option available, and it truly did look like she hadn't hurt anyone. Even though she likely would have, had someone been around. "I still can't –"

"Oh, but you can. You can leave and pretend you've never seen me, and I'll –"

"You'll what?" He closed the distance between them, forcing her to tilt her head back if she didn't want to stare at his chest. ""You'll sleep it off in there and then you'll start planning how to rule the world, if only for a lack of better options? Or you'll run around until you find someone you can use to kill off the planet, or to kill them for a Vortex manipulator, or whatever works best? Your TARDIS won't do you much good anymore, after all."

He felt a little pang on behalf of the capsule she had used, but the Master, like most of his people, had never understood why the Doctor would form such a close attachment to his old Type 40.

"I refuse to come with you." The Master didn't yet have full control over her new face, if the half-suppressed glare was any indication, though after a few moments her expression smoothed out. "Are you going to drag me to your TARDIS kicking and screaming? I'm defenceless. I'm innocent!"

If he didn't know her, he'd probably believe it, without question. "You're really not. Do you need to make this difficult?"

The answer was most likely yes, just on principle. He would do it of course, would pick her up and carry her if necessary, and she'd only end up even more ill-tempered and they both knew it. She looked at him with almost pity now and folded her arms, swaying a bit on the spot. He wouldn't have noticed if not for her close proximity, but now had to consciously stop his hand from reaching out to steady her. Did she have to be so stubborn?

She took a small, deliberate step backwards. "I'm not going to –" The Master interrupted herself with a tiny flinch and glared skywards. For a fraction of a second, the Doctor was thrown, until he felt it too – first just a few droplets of water on his skin, but their number was growing quite rapidly. Within not fifteen seconds, the sky had opened the flood gates. His jacket kept the worst of it off his torso, but he could feel his legs growing damp, and small rivulets were flowing down his face and neck and attempting to get beneath his collar.

When he looked back at the Master, he saw that the fabric of her sleeves was crumpled up like she had her hands balled into fists around it from the inside, her eyes closed and her jaw tight. She looked like she was a hairbreadth away from either screaming or attempting homicide with her bare hands, or maybe both. He took a step back.

The quiet sound of wet soil under his shoes was enough to snap her out of it. She blinked, twice, and then succeeded in banishing the murderous expression from her face. Her eyebrows rose in his direction.

"Your TARDIS is that way, I presume?"

It was hard to accept defeat gracefully at the best of times, and these circumstances did not remotely qualify as such. The Master gritted her teeth behind closed lips and held her head high while they walked. Her hair hung around her face in ugly, stringy strands. The stolen robe was plastered tightly to her body, which made it difficult not to wrap her arms protectively around herself in an attempt to preserve at least a bit more modesty. After only two steps, she could feel mud caking between her toes, and every time she lifted a foot, the ground tried to hold on to it before releasing it with a disgusting squelching noise.

She forced her body not to tense as a stab of pain shot through her and, a moment later, a sliver of residual energy floated away on an exhale. The Doctor was walking half a step behind her, maybe, with the rain blurring the world, he wouldn't see her gait faltering for a moment.

This wasn't defeat. Not yet, not any time soon. The TARDIS would provide a roof and an opportunity to rest, if the Doctor felt even the smallest bit like being charitable. At any rate, she would soon have worked out a proper plan, which ideally would involve sending the Doctor out an airlock in mid-flight, and then she would see what happened next.