"I think I need a doctor," Missy slurred, blood pouring out of her mouth and nose. She stumbled forward and nearly pushed the Doctor over as he unlocked the Tardis door. The Doctor caught her, and she collapsed in his arms. Fuck. She's dying. She might not regenerate. Fuck. Missy clung to his jacket as he half-dragged, half-carried her inside the Tardis. Her body temperature is increasing exponentially. She's lost a liter of blood already. Maybe two. She's going to die. He set her gently down on the jump seat. The front of her dress was dripping with blood. Those fucking Daleks knew they were coming. The Doctor ran around the console at double speed. He didn't say anything. Missy clung to the leather seat, fading in and out of consciousness. The Tardis spun through the vortex, the engine groaning and wheezing. He was pushing her too hard. They were going too fast. Missy groaned in her sleep, muttering in a forgotten language.

But it was all for nothing. Golden energy burst from her body and lit up the console room. She's regenerating. Or at least, she's attempting to. She's lost too much blood. Missy sat up, and the energy disappeared. She was conscious, and the regeneration process had begun. She looked down at her hands and then back up at the Doctor. For once, her eyes only held fear. The Doctor recognized that look. Missy stood up and stumbled toward the console. The Doctor reached out and steadied her. She clung to him again. The bleeding had stopped. He felt her forehead, and her temperature was even worse than before. Even if she reaches the next body, her mind won't. She's cracked. He embraced her, and she hugged him back. Her nails were digging into his back. Then, she lifted her head and looked into the Doctor's eyes. "You let me down," she whispered. It hung in the air. He couldn't speak.

She let go of the embrace and backed away. The golden light was starting to radiate out of her body again. The disassociated look in her eyes disappeared, and that wicked smile returned. "I can let you down, too." hissed Missy, her eyes glowing. The Doctor collapsed into the jump chair, his legs unable to work anymore. Stop it before it's too late. Open the doors. Send her out into the vortex. Your oldest friend in the universe is dead. The light swirled around Missy as she giggled, then in a flash, it disappeared, and Missy was gone. She was someone else. At that moment, the Doctor regretted not opening the doors and shoving her into the vacuum. Missy had regenerated into Clara. She regenerated into a dead girl's face.

Missy twirled and examined her body. She was shorter now. Younger. And damn, did it feel good. The Doctor remained silent, his face stone and unyielding. Missy ran to the console and found the mirror. She leaned in and examined her face. Clara's face. "Alright, I get it now. It's the eyes. They're bedroom eyes." murmured the girl as she tested out her facial expressions. Happy. Sad. Angry. Pout. Flirt. She stood up and put the mirror back in its holder. Clara-, no, Missy twirled around the console and started driving. The engine wheezed back into motion and started moving again, but slower this time—no need to rush to the hospital anymore. Missy walked over to the Doctor, and he winced. Those big brown eyes were Clara's but weren't as bright. They didn't hold anything good. Only darkness. She stood in front of the Doctor, arms at her sides. The closer she got, the more he wanted to throw up.

"Don't be so mopey. I'm tired of hearing you cry over her. Here she is," said Missy. It was Clara's voice but without humanity. It sounded like a bad impression. She took the face of a dead human. That's against the ancient codes. They'll put her to death on Gallifrey. She unbuttoned the dress and turned around. Missy shed the purple cassock and turned her head over her shoulder. She motioned toward the lace on her back. "Help us with the corset, yeah?" she said casually. The Doctor stood up. He wandered to the console and awkwardly flipped a few switches and buttons. Missy folded her arms, and her face went sour. "So, no help with the corset then? Git," said Missy, her eyes avoiding the Doctor's. Missy stamped her feet and exited through a nearby door, walking off to somewhere unknown. The Doctor moved around the console, reaching the discarded dress on the floor. He picked it up and folded it gently. It was still warm. She was toying with him. Missy didn't need his help to undo her laces. She was a cat playing with her mouse.