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: The Trio land in their second universe. The Time Lord and Lady get drunk and Clara must deal with a number of drunken revelations.
Missy had the rather irritating suspicion that little Miss Control Freak was trying to avoid her.
A ridiculous notion. As if a silly human was capable of evading her, the Mistress, perpetrator of chaos throughout the universe.
Some might have suggested that her irritation masked a concern for the young human woman. Missy would have laughed scornfully before blasting them in perdition with her disintegrator, if she still had it.
The fact was, however, that Missy was concerned. Things had been progressing so very nicely, in the library, when she had pulled away, both mentally and physically. Missy had only the barest millisecond, but she'd caught a faint echo of whatever had caused Clara such agony that she had collapsed. That singing, a haunting, solo voice. Hardly migraine-causing, in her estimation, but it had clearly been agonising for the human.
Anyone else might have written it off as a lingering side-effect of her grief, or a sign of looming insanity, but Missy had lived with the drums inside her head too long not to recognise it for what it was. A signal, a call.
But a call to what? Missy didn't know and she didn't appreciate not knowing. She also didn't appreciate her human avoiding her and making the whole tedious process that much more difficult. She was fairly certain the Tardis was helping Clara evade her too. Obsolete old bucket of rust.
The console hummed and whined censoriously under her fingertips as she narrowed her eyes at it. She let her mind vividly picture flying the Tardis into a supernova, snickering as the time machine whirred and groaned in a sulk. But she still wouldn't let her find Clara.
In the meantime, she pondered what to do. If the foolish girl wouldn't let her help her, then she had no choice but to force it upon her. Her Impossible Girl was no good to her if she became a dribbling wreck of a being, driven insane until she was no longer able to function. But to tell the Doctor of it might drive Clara from her in the meantime and destroy what little progress she had made with her. Whatever, her little game would be well and truly over if Clara descended into complete madness, and she would lose her Doctor to boot. He would never forgive her if his Impossible Girl was driven to lunacy and he discovered she'd known of it earlier.
She waited for him to return to the console room, mind racing as she calculated all the possible scenarios of confiding in her oldest friend and lover, testing each outcome meticulously to determine the risks and rewards. For all her love of showing off, she was a careful strategist. But no strategy was without risk.
So when she felt him step up to the gantry behind her, she waited with a small smile.
He was burdened with his toolbox, his coat flung aside on the gantry railing, his waistcoat open and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He often took the time to do vital maintenance work on the Tardis while they floated through the Void. They only had a few hours until they materialised in the next universe on their journey.
Missy had noticed a few interesting snippets of information after they had become lovers once more. No 1: While not a great lover of hugs, he could be perfectly tactile with other forms of physical affection. No 2: he loved her hair, especially when she wore it down. No 3: he had as much an affinity for neck kissing and biting as she had a liking for them, which was why she'd strategically rearranged her collar and blouse so her throat was bare to his perusal. The poor dear, he really was quite predictable.
The Tardis chose that exact moment to send a hail of sparks down on her head and she shrieked, in a manner most unbecoming of the Mistress of all evil, and jumped back with an evil glare at the reprobate tinpot. "Infernal machine!" she hissed.
The Doctor glanced at her and chuckled, setting down his toolbox with a sigh. "I told you, she doesn't like you," he muttered, as she turned to him with a sad expression he wasn't buying for an attosecond.
"But you like me, don't you?" she pouted childishly, as he sighed and shrugged. At her crestfallen expression as she turned away from him, he stepped close to her, loosely slinging his arms around her tiny waist and inhaling the perfume of her hair. He'd never tell her even if threatened with execution via Dalek, but he loved her hair down.
"Rassilon knows why," he sighed exasperatedly, pressing a kiss to her bared neck. She shivered, giving up her mock-insulted tension, and sank into his arms. Quickly glancing up to check Clara wasn't nearby, the Doctor kissed her again, trailing his lips up her throat yearningly. One of her hands crept up to just gently rake her nails over the nape of his neck, making him shiver this time. "Behave…" he breathed warningly.
"Never," she smirked wickedly up at him, baring her teeth in a feral grin. Despite everything in his brain that said he should run from that smile, run for his life, he was only drawn to it more. He leant down and kissed her, fierce and desirous, feeling her moan against his lips. She tasted of tea and home and something else, something vaguely familiar, a new note underneath the familiar flavour of his old friend.
It came to him in a flash, shocking him out of his infernal hormone-induced state of lust, as he stared down at her. A memory, of gangly limbs barely knowing what they were doing, bowties and fezzes and raging grief at a universe that didn't care, of scorching hot lips pressed against his, of a corseted waist and soft brown hair escaping from a bun, of fierce, defiant, tear-filled eyes and a family crying on Christmas Eve.
He knew where that new taste had come from, in the Mistress's mouth. He broke away from her with a growl, glaring at her angrily. "What have you been doing to Clara?" he snarled, as she looked at him innocently, her glorious hair mussed by their interrupted passion. "I can taste her when I kissed you!"
"Already had that delight, have you?" Missy purred, her wicked smile returning. "She does taste quite delicious."
"You leave her alone, you hear me?" he snapped, terrified at the thought of what Missy was doing to his Impossible Girl. "Whatever game you're playing, stop it now!"
"Oh, Doctor," Missy sighed, stepping close to him once more and wrapping him in the cocoon of her arms. He hissed in a sharp breath at the feel of her body against his. "What if she doesn't want to stop? Would you be jealous?"
He was paralysed as she tilted herself up on her toes to whisper in his ear. "Or would you like to watch, one day? Maybe even join in?"
He growled, taking her by the arms and shaking her threateningly, but Missy just laughed, tilting her head back. She laughed, mad and unhinged and exhilarated as ever by pushing his buttons, and before he could process the fact he found his body thrilling to that sound, they were kissing again. Hard and passionate, an argument carried out in physical actions rather than words. He let himself sink against her with a moan again, and she raked her nails through his scalp.
"Incidentally," she gasped, pulling back abruptly, her eyes almost black with arousal. "Before things get out of hand, there's something we need to discuss. About Clara."
"Cheeky lass. If things are getting out of hand, it's your fault…" he trailed off indignantly, as the last part of that sentence caught up with his brain. Or was it the other way around? He frowned direfully down at her, shocked to see there was no malicious calculation in her eyes at all, but something too foreign and so un Missy-ish to be believed. "What about Clara?"
So she told him. And he didn't like it one bit.
The clang of the Tardis engines as she landed awoke Clara from her long nap. In the days since her collapse and waking up in her bed, there'd not been much else to do since she'd taken to wandering around the Tardis. Using every ounce of skill and know-how, garnered from times she'd snuck out of the house when a teenager, in evading the one person she never wanted to see her weak.
She didn't mind the Doctor seeing her vulnerable. God knew, by now he'd seen her like that far too many times. It only brought them closer.
But Missy…Clara had not forgotten who she was. Despite their game, and her irritating passion for the woman, she had not forgotten who Missy was. She would never make the mistake of letting the Time Lady see a weakness she could exploit. At least, not willingly.
She'd been surprised not to find her waiting by her bedside, prepared to pounce, when she came to after fainting. She managed to escape when she heard the all-too familiar sound of high-heeled bootsteps in the corridor. She had a sneaking suspicion the Tardis had been giving her a little helping hand with that too.
The singing hadn't returned again, and Clara was grateful. It was pure agony practically every time, and she was relieved it seemed to be on a little hiatus. Her head was screwed up enough as it was.
But that clanging sound meant they'd landed somewhere, and she had to face her Time Lords sometime. She only hoped that Missy had the brain cells to keep it to herself and not involve the Doctor. He had enough to worry about.
A part of Clara felt bad about keeping the Doctor in the dark. Friends didn't lie to one another. Best friends certainly didn't. Did they?
But then Clara wasn't entirely sure what they were anymore. She'd been speaking the truth when she told a Cyberfied Danny he was the most important man in the world to her. But she had betrayed him, threatened to destroy his life if he didn't help her assuage her guilt and rage over Danny's death. He had hurt her, wounded her deeply, when he abandoned her to decide whether to kill the Moon or the Earth. But what did that leave them?
As Clara finished getting dressed, in sensible boots rather than heels this time, her favourite dress and a leather jacket, she forced such thoughts away. Whatever they were, he was the Doctor and she was his Impossible Girl. That had to be enough.
As she entered the console room, she was relieved to see the warm smile on the Doctor's aged face at the sight of her. For a moment, she didn't notice the presence of Missy in the background, leaning insouciantly against the railing, hair swept up and long coat back on. Clara met her gaze and swiftly looked away.
"We've landed," the Doctor announced unnecessarily. "Atmosphere's breathable. A bit chilly, probably early October, and we're on a continent that looks nothing like Europe. Let's go have a look!"
The Doctor bounded out the doors first, mindful of their last jaunt onto an alternate Earth. Clara went to follow, wanting to get away from Missy's intrusive glare, when a familiar cold hand clasped her arm.
"You've been avoiding me, my Clara," she hissed against her ear. Clara stiffened but refused to look back at her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was supposed to constantly seek out the company of the lunatic who tried to destroy my home," she replied, proud of the cool steadiness in her voice.
"You were more than enjoying my company in the library, sweetheart," came the reply, hushed and seductive, accompanied by the feeling of lips against her ear. Clara wrested her arm away and spun to face her, determined to grab the initiative before this got out of hand.
Again.
"Touched a nerve, did I?" she retorted, noting the annoyed tone in Missy's voice. The Time Lady forced a smile, bending her head to just brush her lips against Clara's. Damningly, Clara shuddered and her lips parted.
"Oh no, sweetheart," the Time Lady purred. "But I was concerned by the little…incident. I think you know what I mean."
Clara folded her arms, and if looks could kill, Missy would have used up her latest regenerative cycle within seconds. The Time Lady just chuckled.
"Shall I give you a little reminder? Crying, scrunching your face up in apparent agony whilst collapsing into my arms? Ring a bell?" she continued, folding her arms in mocking imitation of Clara.
"I didn't start crying," Clara muttered sullenly, before her tone turned cold. "Tell the Doctor and I'll kill you."
She patted her pocket, which permanently housed Missy's disintegrator, and smiled icily. To her internal dismay, Missy didn't waver, her smile only grew bigger as she leaned in.
"Oh, sweetheart," she purred. "You do like to keep things interesting. This'll be fun!"
She pressed her lips to Clara's in a brief, fiery but unsatisfying kiss before the human could think up a retort. She was gone just as quickly, leaving Clara aghast and unsettled as the Doctor called to her.
"Eh! What are you two doing, plotting world domination?! Get a move on!"
It was absolutely freezing outside, as Clara glanced at the Doctor incredulously. "A bit chilly?" she asked caustically, pulling her jacket tighter around herself.
"Humans," he scoffed in retort, the small smile at his mouth reassuring her he didn't mean it. Clara flicked him with her fingers as she passed him, pointedly ignoring Missy in the process. She didn't see a worried look replace the warmth in his eyes as he stared at her back.
Unlike the first alternate Earth they'd landed on, this one was pleasant in comparison. They were parked on a lonely moor, grass iced over in the cool air, barely any sign of civilisation for miles. Compared to the bleakness of the first Earth, this one looked like a paradise.
Until Clara spotted the group of figures galloping towards them on horseback. "Uh oh," she muttered, as the Doctor and Missy rushed to her side. "We've got company."
Despite it all, Clara couldn't help but smile when she felt the Doctor move, placing himself between danger and his companions. Considering what happened last time they ventured into an alternate Earth, it wasn't surprising. Surly and caustic he might be, but he was still very much her Doctor.
To her surprise, she felt Missy draw closer, almost edging in front of her slightly, almost…protectively. Now, that was unexpected. And clearly unconsciously done, on Missy's part, since her icy eyes were fixed with laser-beam intensity on the approaching horsemen.
Clara didn't feel any fear, watching the minute figures on horses drawing closer. She was with two immensely powerful alien beings, and she wasn't unarmed herself. The weight of Missy's disintegrator was heavy in her pocket.
"We should return to the Tardis," Missy hissed out the corner of her mouth. "Unless you fancy being the one stung by a toxic dart this time?"
"Not particularly, thank you," the Doctor muttered back. "C'mon! Where's your sense of adventure? They might be friendly…"
"Over 2000 years old, and you're still disgustingly optimistic," Missy snorted in disgust. Nevertheless, they stood and waited, Clara shivering from a mixture of anticipation and cold. But not fear. It'd been a long time since she'd really felt fear.
The horsemen reached them, and they all dismounted. They were dressed in animal furs and leathers, wicked-looking daggers at their sides, bows and quivers at their backs. They were all male, bearded and weather-beaten, and Clara wondered if they were a hunting party of some sort.
The leader, a towering redhead wearing what looked like a wolfskin draped over his shoulders, stepped forward. He pointed to them, then to the Tardis, and began speaking in a guttural language Clara had never heard before.
She frowned. Were the Tardis translation circuits malfunctioning?
She glanced to the Doctor, whose face was tight with concentration. "Give her a minute," he muttered out the corner of his mouth. "Alternate universe and all that. It'll take her a few minutes."
"It sounds like a combination of Gaelic, early Celtic and Latin but with absolutely none of the appropriate syntax or grammar," Missy added, not giving up her position beside Clara.
"Alternate universe," Clara breathed. "Language could have developed differently here."
Abruptly, the guttural words turned into coherent sentences. "We welcome you, my lord and ladies, emissaries of the Netherworld-"
"They must have seen the Tardis materialising," the Doctor said quietly, not relaxing one iota.
Clara's eyes widened as the entire group suddenly dropped to their knees, not daring to meet the gazes of the three travellers. "They think we're gods?"
Missy's lips curled into a devilish smirk, and the Doctor growled. "Don't you dare!" he hissed, but she ignored him.
"Oh, Doctor. Have a little fun, why don't you?" she purred, stepping forward and reaching her arms out, as if in benediction. "My children…"
The Doctor sighed in exasperation as Missy touched her hands to the humans' heads gently, like an earth mother greeting her children. "Trust you."
"We're stuck here for a week anyway," Missy turned back to them, pouting, as the men apparently fawned over her boots, awestruck. "I promise I won't let them sacrifice ickle Clara here."
"OI!" Clara snapped irritably. The Doctor sighed but the men were already looking to him with fearful looks.
"Fine," he muttered grouchily. "But no sacrifices! And no proclaiming you…Queen of the world or whatever."
Missy smiled beatifically, before turning back to her adoring, captive audience. "We desire rest and shelter in exchange for gracing us with your presence. Come!"
Clara rolled her eyes as the men practically jumped to attention, scrambling around to accommodate the undeniable command in Missy's soft tones. She was acting the loving, if slightly manic, mother goddess and it made Clara want to laugh hysterically.
Missy caught her eye and winked.
Clara's lips were twitching treacherously when three horses were brought forward, and her smile fell. A motorbike was one thing, but a horse…
The Doctor mounted as if born to the saddle, with a disapproving glare in Missy's direction. He noticed Clara, pale as milk and uncertain while one of the men brandished the reins at her eagerly. "Clara?"
"I can't ride. Seriously, I don't know how to ride one of those things," she hissed frantically, eyes wide with panic. The horse, a handsome bay, champed at its bit and whinnied impatiently, breath a mist in the cold air. Missy laughed.
"This one rides with me," she announced to the leader, before grabbing Clara's hand. "I can't believe you've never ridden before."
"Me and horses. Not a good mix," Clara gulped, as she was suddenly ten times closer to a horse than she'd ever wanted to be.
"What? Not even a donkey ride along Blackpool beach?" the Doctor asked incredulously, as she glared at him. He looked annoyingly amused at her discomfort, as she felt Missy draw close to her.
"I'll just walk, I think. Or run, I'm pretty fit at the moment," Clara was babbling like an idiot and she knew she was babbling. All the men were staring at her, and she imagined she wasn't acting very goddess-like. Well, screw that. She wasn't doing it.
Suddenly she was lifted into the air by two very strong, very slender hands. Caught off-guard, Clara grabbed the saddle as she was thrown up. It took all her strength not to fall straight off again over the other side, but she held on. Just.
With a spluttered curse, her eyes snapped to Missy, standing beside the horse and looking disgustingly triumphant and smug. With barely a bend of her knees, she pulled herself up too, settling herself in the saddle and apparently not caring her skirts rode up to her knees, exposing her boots. Clara felt awfully self-conscious in her shorter skirt and tights, and her thighs were already aching. Then Missy made everything a hundred times worse by slipping an arm around Clara's waist and pressing against her tightly. She controlled the horse expertly with one hand on the reins. "There. Not so hard, was it?" she purred in her ear, and Clara was torn between a desire to shove her off the horse and a desire to ignore her entirely. Shoving her off, while satisfying, would have meant she was left to control the animal on her own however, and that she wasn't sure she could handle.
She caught the Doctor's eye, and saw the ill-concealed amusement in his stormy eyes. She glared pointedly, and he snickered.
"Now, just relax, sweetheart," Missy continued to whisper in her ear, as the hunting party mounted and made ready to move off. "Otherwise your thighs are going to feel like jelly later. Pulverised jelly that's gone ten rounds with fifteen Mike Tysons and Muhammad Alis. Apiece."
"You try relaxing on a wild animal that could go nuts at any moment!" Clara snarled under her breath.
"I'm the Mistress," was all her reply. "I'm in full control of this animal. Now do stop squawking, sweetheart, and enjoy the ride."
To her slight surprise, Clara did.
Once she got the hang of the rhythm, of letting her hips sway with the movement of the horse, it actually became quite fun. Until Missy pushed the horse on into gallop just to terrify her. She was sure of it. The amused chuckle against her ear convinced her.
Clara found herself envying the Mistress's easy grace and skill with the horse, however. The way she moved with the stride of the horse spoke of an innate comfort that Clara didn't think she'd ever learn. As she glanced sideways at the Doctor, she noted that same ease, that same grace he largely lacked on the ground. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was perfectly graceful when he wasn't trying to run.
After riding on the moors for what felt like hours, they crested a small rise and down the other side, to a large village comprised of canvas and animal hide tents. Smoke trailed up from vents in the top of the tents, and Clara could smell cooking meat. She'd only eaten a banana when she woke up this morning, and her mouth was watering.
The hunting party cantered into a large clearing in the centre of the tents, and crowds of men, women and children, all dressed in the same furs and leathers, came to gawp at the newcomers.
Clara slid off the horse first, and instantly reconsidered her slightly favourable opinion about horse riding. She hated it!
Her thighs nearly buckled underneath her, and every muscle was starting to complain. Loudly and vigorously.
Missy hopped off beside her and caught her around the waist, giving her support as Clara tried to get her legs to work again. She glared at the animal beside them. "I hate you," she hissed. The horse swished its tail, unimpressed.
Missy chuckled. "You'll get used to it," she whispered, as the Doctor came to their side, brow furrowed in concern.
"Alright there, Clara?" he asked quietly. Clara nodded, just as the leader of the hunting party started shouting his mouth off about gods and messages from the heavens. Missy stepped forward, clearly in her element, as the Doctor and Clara exchanged uneasy glances.
Clara's unease was well-founded, as it turned out. She just never expected to have to deal with not one but twodrunk, off-their-heads Time Lords.
The villagers had put on quite the feast for the three of them, and after Clara had got over her slight guilt about pretending to be a goddess, she'd enjoyed herself. But apparently, not as much as the Doctor and Missy.
She'd been careful about the wine, only taking a few sips and not making it past two cups of the stuff. Missy had teased and taunted the Doctor, and had ended up in some kind of ritual drinking contest. Naturally, the Doctor had jumped to the challenge, slightly inebriated as he already was.
"Like bloody kids. Always trying to one-up each other," she muttered under her breath. She was currently fighting not to buckle under the combined weight of two Gallifreyans leaning on her. "Can't get drunk my foot!"
"'M not drunk!" someone slurred from under her arm. "Gallifreyan…whatsit. Better than you human lot!"
"Oh, honey. Yurrr so elo-elur-…." Missy dissolved into giggles, and the trio wobbled precariously.
"How much did you two drink exactly?" Clara huffed. "I lost count after the fifth barrel of mead."
"Twenty-something'…I think," the Time Lady slurred.
"Lightweight," the Doctor muttered, which apparently was enough to send them both into fits of giggles again. Clara was sore and tired, and the wine she'd drunk was making this all feel like way too much effort. If it weren't for the fact she'd probably wake up to two disorientated, newly regenerated Gallifreyans in the morning, she'd have dropped them and left them out in the cold.
The villagers weren't even any help. Most of them were either still drinking or paralytic in the feasting tent.
Clara grit her teeth and carried on.
Finally, their tent came into view and Clara heaved a sigh of relief. Inside, it was warm and cosy, a small closed lantern hanging from the central post, their feet protected from the frozen ground by furs. She hated fur but it seemed these people hadn't discovered synthetic fabrics quite yet.
Waiting for them was a large bed piled high with blankets and pillows. Brows raised, Clara didn't have time to ponder it, because at that exact moment the Doctor's feet got tangled up in the furs and he toppled, taking Clara and Missy with him. The Gallifreyans were giggling like children, and Clara really just wanted to go to bed.
"Naughty, naughty Imp'ssible Girlll!" the Doctor slurred, grabbing her arm and pulling her close to him. Even drunk, he was still gentle. "I…I know you not been telling me…stuff."
Clara went cold at that, and she glared at Missy, who just shrugged and cackled. She was going to kill her tomorrow.
"Look, Doctor…" she began wearily, but he waved his hand about floppily, nearing smacking Missy in the face at the same time.
"I taught yer too well," he continued, his Scottish burr becoming more pronounced with every word. "Too good at lyin'. Yer me perfect girl, me Impossible Girl, and I'm turnin' yer into…me."
"OOOH, dibs!" Missy decided to shriek out beside them, before retreating to her maniacal cackle. Clara tried to get up, but the Doctor's hold on her prevented it.
"I want yer, my Clara. Want yer both, me Mistress and me Impossible Girl," he continued to slur, and for one wild second, Clara thought he was going to try to kiss her.
Suddenly, he went cross-eyed and collapsed beside her. Clara blinked, and was greeted by a loud snore into the pillows beside her.
A slender hand suddenly started tracing up her waist, and she was abruptly face-to-face with Missy with an unhinged gleam in her eye and a wicked smirk. Her breath reeked of alcohol. "Lightweight," she snorted at the Doctor. "Pity. Think he was up for a threesome. So was I."
"There isn't going to be a threesome," Clara replied firmly, sitting up as much as she could. It was like trying to corral a classroom of five-year-olds, but with sex involved. She ignored the racing heart and the sudden rush of arousal at the mental image of them together, that she was not going into tonight. Not with sore thighs, a backache and now a headache blooming behind her eyes. "And I am going to kill you tomorrow."
"Promises, promises," Missy drawled, leaning in and shoving Clara back down onto the pillows. She crushed their mouths together forcefully, and Clara sighed. She gave in for a moment, before Missy broke away from her mouth to plant sloppy kisses down Clara's blouse until she reached her stomach.
Clara frowned as Missy stopped there, and then apparently became a dead weight. "Er, Missy? Missy?" she shook her gently, extricating one hand. Her reply was a loud, distinctly feminine snore this time. "Great. Just wonderful."
With a sigh, Clara kicked off her boots and tried her best to settle down for a night of being used as a mattress by one psychotic Time Lady with delusions of grandeur, and a headrest by a Time Lord with a hero complex. The Doctor's arm, curled underneath her back, shifted until his hand was gripping her shoulder, while Missy shifted atop her. Clara opened her legs to avoid a case of dead leg in the morning, and despite herself, relished the warm embrace she was cocooned in, as the Doctor's hand tightened around her shoulder and Missy's head burrowed into her stomach. Swearing she would deny all knowledge in the morning, and still carry out her promise to kill Missy, she buried one hand in Missy's dishevelled curls, and nuzzled into the Doctor.
There had been a lot of interesting revelations tonight. In vino, veritas, clearly. But Clara was far too tired to sort through them now. And surprisingly comfy and warm. No, tomorrow after she murdered Missy and made it look like an accident.
To be continued...