AU!Series 9: What We Deserve
Warnings: dark themes, violence, torture, m/f, f/f & m/f/f relationships, explicit scenes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did…damn you, Moffat!
Summary: Wherein the Doctor encounters a problem and Missy and Clara meet again
"You lied to me!" the Doctor snapped, glaring at the doors he'd just closed on awful, empty, black space. Nothing, always nothing. "You said-"
"I said you should go and look at Gallifrey's original co-ordinates," Missy replied, her face a mask of boredom as she inspected her fingernails. "I never said it was back there. Oh damn, chipped my nail polish."
The Doctor clenched his fists against an urge to throttle her, or grab hold of her again. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he turned to face her, his face a rictus of rage. "Explain."
"Now, now, no need to be rude darling," she replied, haughtily, finally looking up from her nails. "Though I do love it when you get all forceful. If you'd checked your scanner, you'd see that the area possesses extremely high temporal distortion and radiation. Now, we need to collect some data on that radiation so we can work out where we'll need to punch a hole to start our journey."
"Journey? Exactly how many holes did you punch?" he asked, incredulously.
"Nine, or so. Mostly parallel and alternate universes. Oddly enough, I kept landing on Earth," she mused, her eyes thoughtful. She then shrugged. "When I left, I didn't bother planning a return trip, you know. Despite what the High Council intended."
Despite seeing it for the ploy it was, the Doctor was intrigued despite himself. "Why did they send you? What happened to Rassilon?" he asked, folding his arms as he leant against the console.
Missy shrugged again. "After we were thrown into that pocket dimension, there was a coup. Romana was in charge again, last I knew. She couldn't very well leave, not with Gallifrey in such a mess, so they sent me after that debacle on Trenzalore. I suppose, after our last encounter, they thought you might be more inclined to listen to me than before."
The Doctor sighed. It was good to know that Rassilon was contained and Gallifrey back in safe hands, but the painful memory of watching the Master disappear into the Time War, sacrificing himself for him, niggled at his hearts. Even though the Doctor suspected it had been more vengeance than sacrifice, for Rassilon's manipulation of Missy's timeline.
"Why do we need the data on this radiation?" he asked, forcing himself to calm down and lock away his tumultuous feelings for the present. They had work to do.
"When you sent Gallifrey into that pocket universe, it left traces behind in every universe. Traces we can use as a homing signal," she finally deigned to explain. "Once I have the necessary data, I can construct an algorithm to calculate where and when we can create the necessary rifts to travel between the dimensions-"
"Oh, no. I'm not trusting you to do these calculations," he snapped. "We'd probably end up in a black hole."
"Please," Missy scoffed. "Need I remind you, I scored the highest marks in the history of the Academy for mathematics and temporal mechanics. If I recall correctly, you barely scraped through. So yes, you will trust me because I'm the only one on this ship who can ensure we don't end up in a black hole. Now, I presume you have a chalkboard I can work on?"
The Doctor laid a hand on the Tardis console, feeling her comforting hum in his mind, soothing him. This latest incarnation of his former friend and nemesis ruffled his feathers as he hadn't done in centuries. It was a distraction they couldn't afford.
He gestured over to the chalkboards on the upper gantry impatiently. "I've got a radiation spectrum analyser around here somewhere," he said. "I'll get the data, you start on the algorithms."
"Isn't this nice? Us working together again. Just like the old days," she called after him, and he forced himself not to stop and stare at her. Because there was a part of him, that even now, even after all she'd done; killing Osgood, killing Kate and all those people on the plane…that was happy. Happy she was there, happy she was with him, that he wasn't alone anymore. It was all very well and good knowing that Gallifrey existed somewhere, but having the physical reality of his success in saving Gallifrey standing beside him, making snide remarks and inappropriately flirtatious comments, was quite another.
Praying he wasn't making a mistake leaving her unguarded in his console room, he turned and left the room, feeling her approval radiating towards him like an intoxicating perfume. Her and her telepathy. Damn nuisance.
Clara wasn't sure how long it'd been before she emerged from her room. She hadn't been sure if it would still even be there. The Tardis and she had called a truce after she'd jumped into the Doctor's timeline to save his life, but she still wouldn't have put it past the old cow to delete it when she stopped travelling with him so frequently.
A burst of affection for the old cow had pierced the grief when she discovered otherwise. Her room was still there, with a few alterations.
The bed was larger, comfier, with an eiderdown duvet the same colour as the Tardis exterior. The walls had pulsed softly beneath her palm as she'd pressed it, and she was touched to see a pair of her old pyjamas awaiting her on a wing backed armchair, a mug of steaming hot chocolate on the table beside it.
She'd forced herself to drink it, rather risk a cracking headache from dehydration afterwards, but it was a near thing. Exactly five seconds after she'd put the mug back down on the table, the shaking had started and the tears finally came.
She'd swathed herself in her duvet, finally letting herself grieve as her Nan had said she should, finally mourning for Danny. She'd been so sure, so certain she could save him, that the Doctor would save him, that the anger and the certainty had kept her going. Then…in the graveyard, when she'd said those awful things to him, and he'd removed his mask to reveal himself, battered and pulped as he was, but still recognisably her Danny. She knew then. There was no chance, no hope left. She didn't need vague memories from her echo selves to know there was no coming back from Cyber conversion.
And even then, even locked forever inside a metal suit, he'd been so amazing. Taking the risk he would lose himself to the inhibitor, standing up to Missy, blowing up the clouds…still a soldier to his bones and a good man to his heart.
The Doctor had said that love was not an emotion but a promise. She'd never stop loving him and she would never say those words to anyone again. But after what felt like days, the tears finally dried up for good and she sat up from her ball of misery.
Her mind was clear again, and while she would always carry that grief inside her heart now, she felt in control again. And thirsty. And hungry.
She had to decide what to do. What was left for her now? Go home? Say goodbye to the Doctor?
If she went back, it was to an ordinary life. Her students, her family, her job. And the ghost of Danny. He would be everywhere, tearing her with every moment. No. That way lay madness. She'd probably end up on a psych ward within a year.
So what was the alternative? Stay with the Doctor, forever? But he had Missy onboard now, they were going to find Gallifrey. Could she remain in control while in the presence of the woman who'd ruined her life? Living with her, sharing air with her? Clara wasn't sure, but the utter antipathy which rose up inside her when she thought about going home, for good, made her want to throw up. It might be cowardly, even cruel, but she couldn't go home. No, all she could do now was…run.
Run and keep running. The idea was oddly attractive.
Clara slowly rose from her bed, brushing her lank hair from her tear-stained face. In the ensuite bathroom next door, she heard the shower come on, forcing a reluctant smile to her lips. "Thanks," she murmured to the air, as the Tardis gave a soft whirr in response. She stepped into the quickly fogging room, letting her pyjamas drop to the floor. The Tardis would take care of them.
She wiped down the mirror with one hand, staring at the haunted face looking back. She was a mess, whatever makeup she'd been wearing smudged beyond recognition, her hair oily and sticking up in tufts, her eyes glassy from crying for hours, her lips chapped and pitted where she'd bitten down on them in vain attempts to hold in her sobs. It was the face of a broken woman, a person who'd lost everything that mattered to her. Travelling with the Doctor had shown Clara far too many truths about herself. She was brave, compassionate, determined. But she also feared the other truths about herself that had been uncovered. She didn't want to think of them now.
She eyed the woman in the mirror defiantly, and her reflection's chin firmed and her eyes glinted. There was the girl who'd defied Death to save her best friend, a million times over, who'd fought to find a way back to him when he dumped her back home for her own safety, who'd begged for help from his people, who had changed his mind and the course of his own timeline.
It didn't escape her that if she hadn't intervened, then the Doctor would have destroyed Gallifrey and Missy along with it. She would never have created 3W and Danny would never have become a Cyberman. She wouldn't have lost him.
But even in her grief, Clara knew that no one life, no matter how precious, was worth the genocide of an entire species. Danny would have told her that, too.
With a deep breath, she turned away from her reflection and into the shower. As the hot water flowed over her, she let the breath out again, locking away her emotions as her mind whirled. Her choice was fast approaching. She had to decide what to do now.
Leave. Stay. Leave. Stay. Which one?
She imagined the life waiting for her back on Earth. The endless weeks, working, teaching, seeing countless scores of faces passing through her classroom, as fleeting as a second. The months of pity and condolences, filtering off into impatience and confusion as Clara could not move on. The worried phone calls from Dad. The snide remarks from Linda. The pitying gaze of Gran.
She just couldn't do it. As she mechanically washed her hair and body, she came to the realisation she just couldn't do it. She couldn't go home, not now. Maybe it was her who was the coward, then, not the Doctor. She didn't care. She didn't have the heart to care anymore.
As she towelled off, she wondered what to do for clothes. Her dress, tights and coat had disappeared while she was indisposed and she didn't fancy walking naked through the Tardis to the wardrobe. The question was answered for her when she walked out of the bathroom to find a new dress waiting for her on the bed. It was red and short, the hem ending just above the knees. It looked vaguely like something she'd worn in one of her echoes' lives. There were leggings to go with it and her boots waited for her by the bed. She went to a chest of drawers and found fresh underwear waiting for her. That teased another reluctant smile from her.
"Well, I guess I can't get too mad about choosing my underwear for me," she murmured to the ship. "Since we're all girls here. You old cow."
The murmur that came back was distinctly teasing and uncomplimentary, a comforting warmth washing over her. She got dressed quickly and made her way slowly to the kitchen. The Tardis was silent except for the odd murmur now and again, some of her corridors dark. It reminded Clara eerily of the time they'd been stuck in the Tardis with those zombie things, and she shivered, walking faster. She'd lost those memories at first, but her first foray on Trenzalore had restored them.
To her relief, the kitchen was devoid of Time Lords and Ladies, as she made herself tea and toast. It never ceased to amaze her exactly what the old cow was capable of, even in the bare aftermath of her grief. She was almost tempted to cook some eggs, but didn't want to push it. Her stomach was still queasy after three days of crying and no food. She felt vaguely annoyed that the Doctor apparently hadn't come to find her, even just to see if she was alright, but then again he probably had his hands full keeping an eye on Missy.
The Tardis made a sound of protest, and Clara got the impression he had come to her bedroom door but hadn't wanted to intrude on her mourning. She frowned, looking down at her tea contemplatively. Had she wanted him there, while she cried? Her best friend?
There was a part of her that, however unfairly, was glad he hadn't been there. She didn't want him to see her so broken and she didn't want him to be privy to whatever her anger and grief might have motivated her to say. She had enough regrets on her head without add hurting her best friend to the list.
She dawdled in the kitchen, knowing it for what it was. She couldn't skulk in the depths of the Tardis forever. She needed to talk to the Doctor, even if that meant facing Missy again so soon. She had to do it.
Her hands clenched on the rim of the sink, and she sighed. Taking her courage in her hands, reminding herself that in this at least she was no coward, she turned and left the kitchen.
She found her way unerringly to the console room, guessing that was where they'd be. She took a deep breath to steel her control on her emotions, but when she walked up the gantry stairs to the console, the room was seemingly empty.
There was equipment strewn across the floor, and a cable snaked its way from the console to a bulbous looking machine that was softly beeping. Clara took a few careful steps, looking around curiously.
Chalkboards ringed the upper gantry levels, obscuring the bookshelves. They were filled with flowing script and numbers that Clara's subconscious whispered was Gallifreyan translated to Earth alphabets. Probably quicker than drawing that circular lettering that usually filled the console scanner screen.
Clara carefully stepped up to one, raising her fingers to one letter, barely brushing the board. So beautifully crafted and cursive, more delicate than the Doctor's handwriting. She wondered if it was Missy's. It recalled to her mind that strange sound in her head, in the graveyard and as she'd gone into the Tardis. A sound like…singing. A single voice, ghostly, eerie and beautiful. It had sounded…sad. Freed from the pain it had inflicted, Clara could remember that much.
What was it?
Clara was so absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn't hear the sound of bootsteps lightly skipping up onto the main gantry. She didn't see the slow, sly smile stretch across red-painted lips, or the glint of anticipation in icy blue eyes.
She did hear the gently mocking, Scottish accents as they echoed in the silent room around her. "So the control freak comes out of her lair at last."
Clara's hand trembled as she lowered it from the board, and she clenched it into a fist in an attempt to control her emotions. They were burgeoning all over again just at the sound of her voice. She could do this, she would do this. She had no other viable choice.
"Where's the Doctor?" she asked, proud that her voice came out cold and controlled despite her inner turmoil. She turned to face her tormentor, locking her emotions away determinedly. She wouldn't collapse in front of her.
She hadn't changed in the three days since Clara had seen her last, she looked the same as before. The same Mary Poppins-esque getup, the same intricately arranged curls, the same cruelly beautiful, hypnotic features. The only difference was the bracelet missing from her left wrist.
It had been obliterated with Danny.
Clara swallowed hard at that realisation, pleased that she hadn't started crying again. She met Missy's gaze steadily, as the Time Lady regarded her intently.
"He's fetching some more equipment from a storeroom, my Clara," she finally replied, in her lilting, husky tones. It made Clara shiver, repulsed at herself.
"Let's get one thing straight," Clara snapped coldly. "I might have to breathe the same air as you, live in the same space as you. You might have some strange hold over the Doctor I don't understand. But I am not your anything!"
"Bravo, my dear," Missy replied, clapping her hands together delightedly, a girlish laugh emanating from her throat. "A bold statement, but an inaccurate one. You are mine just as much as the Doctor."
Clara finally felt her hold on her emotions snap, but it wasn't grief that fuelled her as she lunged at Missy, one hand reaching for her throat and tightening threateningly. It was rage. "Neither of us belong to you. I could have killed you back in that graveyard," she snarled, inwardly shocked at her own actions. She was shorter than Missy, and weaker as a human, and some part of her brain was screaming at her that Missy was allowing this for some twisted reason, but the rest of her wasn't listening.
"Yesss," Missy hissed, with a cruel smile, her voice unaffected by Clara's grip on her throat. "You could have. You wanted to, sooo badly, didn't you?"
Clara's mouth lifted in an identical vicious grin. "But I didn't," she retorted. "But don't think I won't, in the future, if you try to harm the Doctor. You've taken enough from me."
She immediately regretted that last statement as Missy's eyes glinted with a new cruelty. She released Missy slowly, restraining a shudder as she felt the coolness of her body underneath her own. Clara had always thought that it was warmth, heat, that was supposed to be seductive. Apparently, ice could attract just as much as fire.
Reeling from that realisation and feeling ready to be sick again, Clara turned away from Missy and walked away with her hands clenched. She needed to get away.
Apparently Missy wasn't going to let her get away so easily. "Incidentally, my Clara," she said deliberately. "I have no intention of harming the Doctor. And I took nothing from you, that you hadn't already lost."
Clara froze at that, as the Time Lady continued on with sadistic pleasure. "Danny Pink was killed in a car accident. I had nothing to do with that event. It was useful, it brought you to me much earlier than I'd anticipated. I had originally planned to tip off those silly apes, who like to kid themselves that they're Earth's protectors, and have them bring the Doctor in. Mr. Pink's upload to my Nethersphere was pure chance."
"You still turned him into a Cyberman," Clara replied, refusing to turn and see the scorn in the Time Lady's eyes. If she'd looked, she'd have seen not scorn but reluctant sympathy.
"I used the dead, my Clara. Those who had no more purpose, their timelines extinguished. Technically, I harmed no one," Missy explained softly, as if to a recalcitrant child.
"Except those turned into Cybermen against their will," Clara snapped, freezing as two cold hands, as strong as iron, closed around her arms. They held her firmly, no matter how she tried to break free.
"Hush, my darling," Missy whispered soothingly, her hands trailing down Clara's arms. She could feel her lips at her ear, her voice now turned as hypnotic as her eyes, the coolness of her body now plastered against her back. "My poor, poor Clara. You're only just discovering exactly how far you're willing to go for the ones you love. You've so much potential, for a human. I always knew I'd chosen well, but I never dreamed this."
"What d'you mean? You didn't choose me!" Clara gasped, wresting herself from her captor's grip and swinging to face her. The Mistress just smiled, positioned a step down on the gantry stairs, her icy eyes shining with madness and anticipation as she ran them over Clara.
"Oh yes, I did. I might even tell you about it some day," she replied softly. "If you're a good girl for your Mistress. But for now, consider this when you think on my actions, those of your precious Doctor and your former swain. You might find them revealing, and then ask yourself: what would you not do for the ones you love?"
"You're insane," Clara hissed derisively. Missy just shrugged.
"Sanity's overrated," she quipped. "Now run along. I'm glad we had this little girl-to-girl talk but I've got a lot of work to do."
And just like that, Missy turned her back on Clara, dismissing her from mind entirely. Clara felt an irrational surge of anger at her dismissal, but she walked away before she lost it entirely. She was shaking, she realised as she walked away, and her emotions were roiling within her. Despite herself, their confrontation had began to spark new questions in Clara's mind, something she suspected the Mistress had intended. But she couldn't help it.
Her thoughts whirling, Clara sought shelter as far away from the console room, and the woman who occupied it, as possible.
To be continued...