“If you ever tell anyone this happened,” hissed Missy, “I’ll kill you.”

- -

Missy smiled, for once content without having just caused a massive number of deaths. She was sitting in a large green meadow spotted with pastel-coloured flowers, the two small suns overhead were emitting a pleasant warmth, and the Doctor was braiding her hair.

“Can you pass me those hairpins?” he asked, and she handed them to him. He lifted the braid onto the back of her scalp and started pinning it up into place.

“Don’t stab me with them,” said Missy, though she wasn’t worried. He was ever so gentle, especially for someone with such furious eyebrows.

“I’m doing my best,” he replied, muffled by the hairpins he was holding in his mouth. “You’ve got lovely hair,” he added. “It’s very soft.”

“Why haven’t we done this before?” she asked. “Recently, I mean?”

“Too busy trying to kill each other, I suppose,” he said, and they both laughed.

- -

“This is horrible,” said Missy, “I’m going to throw up.”

“It’s not that bad,” said the Doctor. He grinned at her. “Go on, say something nice.”

- -

“You shouldn’t really pick flowers on strange planets,” said the Doctor, lazily. He was leaning back in the grass now, watching Missy fashion little chains from the flowers she had collected. “They might be endangered.”

“No,” said Missy, inhaling the lightly-scented air, “they’re all over the place. They’re more likely to be weeds, in which case we’re doing the locals a favour.” She looked over at him. “You’re always telling me to help people, you should be proud of me.”

“They’re very pretty weeds.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Come here,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “I want to put these in your hair.” She held up her work. “It’s a flower crown.”

He moved over and knelt as she mock-solemnly put the crown on his head. “We should come back here sometimes,” he said, “just spend a bit of time with each other. Us and the flowers.”

Missy laughed. “Oh, Doctor, you really are stoned off your tits on this stuff, aren’t you?”

- -

“The pollen,” he told her, “is genetically-engineered.”

She perked up a bit at that. “Oh, is it sex pollen? Is it shag-or-die again?”

“It’s not sex pollen. It’s worse than that.” He paused. “Well, worse for you, certainly. There was a war, you see, and -”

She glared at him. “Skip the backstory and get to the point.”

“The pollen promotes the formation of social bonds, particularly those of mutual trust and support.”

Missy went pale. “Are you saying this is friendship pollen?” she asked, utterly disgusted.

The Doctor nodded.

- -

“We should get out of here before it turns into My Little Time Lord: Friendship is Magic.”

“Probably,” said the Doctor. “I’m getting an almost uncontrollable urge to ask you to paint my nails while we talk about boys.”

“I know you’re joking,” said Missy, “but my endorphin and dopamine levels just shot through the roof when you said that.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“Then shut up and let me hug you.”

- -

They lay next to each other under the starry sky, holding hands and chatting.

“I’m never going to forgive you for this, you know,” said Missy, amiably.

“I thought you were enjoying it.”

“I am, that’s what makes it so upsetting.” She squeezed his hand. “I like you.”

The Doctor smiled. “I like you too.”

“Dreadful, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly disconcerting.”

“It seems to be wearing off a bit,” she said, “I just thought about stabbing you. Both hearts, one after the other.” She poked his chest to demonstrate.

“I think the pollen count’s going down. We’ll probably be back to hating each other in about half an hour.”

“Good,” said Missy, “I love hating you.”

He nodded. “Same, but the other way round.”

“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek. “And I mean it about killing you if you ever breathe a word of this to anyone.”

“I don’t think anyone would believe me anyway. You’re incredibly evil, you know.”

Missy smiled proudly. “I know.”

And about hour later she tried to murder him, to the great relief of them both.