I assume this was how they ran into each other again, so that he would know where to send her that confession dial. I can't imagine that the Master has a fixed address, after all.
This was inspired by a photograph I saw of Michelle Gomez at a convention where she had drawn a version of Delgado!Master's moustache on. The version of the Master got switched up but yeah. I just love Ainley!Master's outfit, okay? He's a stylish evil alien, what can I say? ¯\_(ã)_/¯
The Doctor had ended up at a party in the 42nd century. He wasn’t exactly sure how he had gotten there, if he was honest with himself. The TARDIS had landed in the city; he was pretty certain it was Melbourne, but it was quite dark and he wasn’t really paying attention. It was definitely Earth. It was definitely the 42nd century. Where exactly he was though? Mystery.
Still, not one to argue with the old girl if she thought something was important, the Doctor had walked out into the night. Throwing his hands into his pockets, he had let his feet take him where they were going to take him.
He had to admit, it was an elegant affair. Disgusting, but elegant.
Humans, Silurians, Zygons, Ood and so many more mingled together. The banner over the door said that it was a fundraiser for the local member of parliament. There was a string quartet in the corner, playing softly. It was all wine, sycophants and sleek fashion. It was mumbled platitudes and backstabbing.
It was somewhere the Master would have thrived. And with that thought, and a deep sigh, the Doctor took another drink of his wine. It didn’t taste good. He didn’t actually like wine very much in this body. His Tenth had quite liked it, as had his Third. Now it just tasted like bad grapes. Nobody likes bad grapes.
It was the Mistress’ fault he was here, he decided, mid-gulp. She’d turned up again – as always – and screwed everything up. Since the cybermen incident, the Doctor had been alone. Clara had Danny back. He had lied. Missy had lied about Gallifrey. The cycle of lies and loss continued.
Which was just…wonderful…
Honestly, he fully expected to see Missy again, probably soon. The Mistress had managed to either kill herself or almost kill herself in ways far more permeant than a ‘cyberman bolt’ (as if he didn’t know a teleport beam when he saw one) for him to really fear for her. This was a person who had set themself on fire more than once and survived.
He just had a feeling that it was going to go back to how things had been before the war. Every so often, she was just going to pop up again, armed with a ridiculous plan, misplaced sexual energy and probably a terrible disguise, and try to kill him.
The Doctor blinked - forcing memories of silicone masks, fake moustaches stuck over real moustaches, and sexually charged sword fights away from the front of his mind. This was not a good train of thought.
He’d leave after he’d finished his drink, he decided. Best not to waste it, after all.
Life was not, however, kind to the Doctor.
He looked up from his glass, and there she was. The Mistress – healthy as ever – was on the other side of the room. A glass of wine in hand, she schmoozed the surrounding diplomats. Compliments were paid; rings were kissed; butt-holes were (metaphorically) licked. It was a totally normal political gathering.
There was, however, one glaring thing that was out of place.
There was no other way to describe it. Missy was cosplaying. Not only that, she was cosplaying as herself.
The Doctor absolutely recognised that velvet suit. The silver embroidery on the collar was one of a kind. The silhouette – well – nobody else would have come up with that. Puffed shoulders, wide-legged, short trousers, stopping mid-calf, lace up combat boots: it was all too much. The boots were not the same ones that she had worn back in the day. They had a significant platform on them, bringing her up to the height of the stolen body she had worn alongside the outfit. Missy was absolutely wearing a bald-cap with a short, black wig over the top of it. The stuck-on goatee really was the cherry on top of the most déjà vu inducing sundae the Doctor had ever seen.
Missy was listening to the Silurian diplomat – nodding along charismatically – when she looked up. Of course, they would lock eyes across the room. What else would have happened? There was no hiding from her now. The element of surprise, for both of them, was gone.
At least the Doctor got to see the blood drain from her face. She reached up to her lip, self-consciously, and stroked along the faux-hair. Aside from that, however, she covered up her shock on seeing him well. Her eyebrows quirked, amusedly, after a moment. A delighted smirk slashed its way across her face.
The Doctor took the final sip of his wine, and raised an eyebrow towards her.
At an appropriate moment in the conversation, Missy excused herself from the diplomat and made her way through the crowd towards him.
“Feeling nostalgic, are we?” The Doctor said, dryly, when she was withing talking range.
“Oh, my dear Doctor,” she smirked, channelling her previous form with ease. That version of the Master had really perfected the art of the leer. She was just as good at it now. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward, pressing into the Doctor’s personal space. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the party, obviously.” The Doctor lied with ease. “What are you doing here, Missy? Or should I call you Tremas?”
If she felt any shame over hearing the name of her stolen body, she did not show it. Rather, she brushed a tiny speck of lint off of the black velvet on her shoulder.
“I set up a meeting to purchase some things when I was in that Trakenite body. Never got a chance to complete the transaction.” She shrugged.
“Well, you’ve done good. I knew exactly who you were cosplaying as when I walked in.”
“It’s not cosplay! I’ve got a perception filter on.” Missy wiggled her hands around her face. She was deadly serious, but the poor-quality moustache (it was starting to peel off around the corners of her mouth) coupled with the intensity in her eyes was highly amusing. “They’re funny things, and I thought it would be better to use one on top of a costume. Make it more realistic.”
“Must be a good one – I didn’t notice it.”
“Master of Disguise!” She grinned, dramatically. The Doctor couldn’t help but smile. “What are you doing here, anyway? It’s not really your crowd.” She gestured around to the politicians and criminals around them.
“My TARDIS dropped me off.” He said, and she seemed to accept this answer. To be fair, the TARDIS did do that a lot. “What are you picking up?”
He did not expect her to answer that. If she was up to something – and, she always was – the Doctor didn’t expect her to be open with it. He was, however, in for a shock.
“It’s internal parts to fix my TCE.” Missy said, pulling one of the crystals she had built the tissue compression eliminator around out of the velvet pocket of her doublet. “I found my old one, felt like fixing it…so…”
“Nice…” The Doctor nodded, in surprise more than anything. It had been so long since he’d seen the damned TCE. He could have never seen it again and been happy. There was an odd nostalgia connected to the weapon though. Anything pre-war did feel a bit like the “good ol’ days” to him now.
“Yeah…” Missy smiled, wistfully, turning the crystal around in her hands a few times, looking at the light through the silver rock.
They slipped into silence, the party continuing around them.
The band moved onto the next piece, which was, it seemed, a dance number. Neither the Doctor or the Mistress moved to dance. The two of them stepped out of the way and watched as the rest of the room moved. The Silurian ambassador Missy had been talking to previously was dancing with an ice warrior general. They moved through the steps, between the other couples waltzing, with a military precision the two warriors thrived in.
If he stayed there any longer, the Doctor was going to either make a scene or start a fight and really, he wasn’t in the mood for either.
“Do you wanna take the evening off of being evil and come get a drink with me?”
For a moment, the Doctor thought that she was going to pretend not to have heard him. She continued looking at the crystal for a moment longer. Still, she smiled as she looked up. It was a real one, not the leer she had used before.
“Sure. I’ve not had a night off in a long time.”
The Doctor did not want to know what she had been doing during that time. It was a topic to walk around.
“Me neither. Shall we?” He gestured for her to go first towards the door.
“Doctor, you haven’t worked a day since you left UNIT, don’t lie.”
“General is a job.” He pointed out, but Missy just rolled her eyes. “And I worked in a shop for a bit.”
“How...? Never mind.” Missy shook her head, with exacerbated affection. “Tea?”
“Sounds good.”
They linked arms and, under the pretence of old friends, headed for the door.
They needed to talk about things. They needed to talk about many things. Those could come later, though. She wanted her friend back, and, well, at that moment, the Doctor wasn’t in a position to refuse.
Still, not one to argue with the old girl if she thought something was important, the Doctor had walked out into the night. Throwing his hands into his pockets, he had let his feet take him where they were going to take him.
He had to admit, it was an elegant affair. Disgusting, but elegant.
Humans, Silurians, Zygons, Ood and so many more mingled together. The banner over the door said that it was a fundraiser for the local member of parliament. There was a string quartet in the corner, playing softly. It was all wine, sycophants and sleek fashion. It was mumbled platitudes and backstabbing.
It was somewhere the Master would have thrived. And with that thought, and a deep sigh, the Doctor took another drink of his wine. It didn’t taste good. He didn’t actually like wine very much in this body. His Tenth had quite liked it, as had his Third. Now it just tasted like bad grapes. Nobody likes bad grapes.
It was the Mistress’ fault he was here, he decided, mid-gulp. She’d turned up again – as always – and screwed everything up. Since the cybermen incident, the Doctor had been alone. Clara had Danny back. He had lied. Missy had lied about Gallifrey. The cycle of lies and loss continued.
Which was just…wonderful…
Honestly, he fully expected to see Missy again, probably soon. The Mistress had managed to either kill herself or almost kill herself in ways far more permeant than a ‘cyberman bolt’ (as if he didn’t know a teleport beam when he saw one) for him to really fear for her. This was a person who had set themself on fire more than once and survived.
He just had a feeling that it was going to go back to how things had been before the war. Every so often, she was just going to pop up again, armed with a ridiculous plan, misplaced sexual energy and probably a terrible disguise, and try to kill him.
The Doctor blinked - forcing memories of silicone masks, fake moustaches stuck over real moustaches, and sexually charged sword fights away from the front of his mind. This was not a good train of thought.
He’d leave after he’d finished his drink, he decided. Best not to waste it, after all.
Life was not, however, kind to the Doctor.
He looked up from his glass, and there she was. The Mistress – healthy as ever – was on the other side of the room. A glass of wine in hand, she schmoozed the surrounding diplomats. Compliments were paid; rings were kissed; butt-holes were (metaphorically) licked. It was a totally normal political gathering.
There was, however, one glaring thing that was out of place.
There was no other way to describe it. Missy was cosplaying. Not only that, she was cosplaying as herself.
The Doctor absolutely recognised that velvet suit. The silver embroidery on the collar was one of a kind. The silhouette – well – nobody else would have come up with that. Puffed shoulders, wide-legged, short trousers, stopping mid-calf, lace up combat boots: it was all too much. The boots were not the same ones that she had worn back in the day. They had a significant platform on them, bringing her up to the height of the stolen body she had worn alongside the outfit. Missy was absolutely wearing a bald-cap with a short, black wig over the top of it. The stuck-on goatee really was the cherry on top of the most déjà vu inducing sundae the Doctor had ever seen.
Missy was listening to the Silurian diplomat – nodding along charismatically – when she looked up. Of course, they would lock eyes across the room. What else would have happened? There was no hiding from her now. The element of surprise, for both of them, was gone.
At least the Doctor got to see the blood drain from her face. She reached up to her lip, self-consciously, and stroked along the faux-hair. Aside from that, however, she covered up her shock on seeing him well. Her eyebrows quirked, amusedly, after a moment. A delighted smirk slashed its way across her face.
The Doctor took the final sip of his wine, and raised an eyebrow towards her.
At an appropriate moment in the conversation, Missy excused herself from the diplomat and made her way through the crowd towards him.
“Feeling nostalgic, are we?” The Doctor said, dryly, when she was withing talking range.
“Oh, my dear Doctor,” she smirked, channelling her previous form with ease. That version of the Master had really perfected the art of the leer. She was just as good at it now. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward, pressing into the Doctor’s personal space. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the party, obviously.” The Doctor lied with ease. “What are you doing here, Missy? Or should I call you Tremas?”
If she felt any shame over hearing the name of her stolen body, she did not show it. Rather, she brushed a tiny speck of lint off of the black velvet on her shoulder.
“I set up a meeting to purchase some things when I was in that Trakenite body. Never got a chance to complete the transaction.” She shrugged.
“Well, you’ve done good. I knew exactly who you were cosplaying as when I walked in.”
“It’s not cosplay! I’ve got a perception filter on.” Missy wiggled her hands around her face. She was deadly serious, but the poor-quality moustache (it was starting to peel off around the corners of her mouth) coupled with the intensity in her eyes was highly amusing. “They’re funny things, and I thought it would be better to use one on top of a costume. Make it more realistic.”
“Must be a good one – I didn’t notice it.”
“Master of Disguise!” She grinned, dramatically. The Doctor couldn’t help but smile. “What are you doing here, anyway? It’s not really your crowd.” She gestured around to the politicians and criminals around them.
“My TARDIS dropped me off.” He said, and she seemed to accept this answer. To be fair, the TARDIS did do that a lot. “What are you picking up?”
He did not expect her to answer that. If she was up to something – and, she always was – the Doctor didn’t expect her to be open with it. He was, however, in for a shock.
“It’s internal parts to fix my TCE.” Missy said, pulling one of the crystals she had built the tissue compression eliminator around out of the velvet pocket of her doublet. “I found my old one, felt like fixing it…so…”
“Nice…” The Doctor nodded, in surprise more than anything. It had been so long since he’d seen the damned TCE. He could have never seen it again and been happy. There was an odd nostalgia connected to the weapon though. Anything pre-war did feel a bit like the “good ol’ days” to him now.
“Yeah…” Missy smiled, wistfully, turning the crystal around in her hands a few times, looking at the light through the silver rock.
They slipped into silence, the party continuing around them.
The band moved onto the next piece, which was, it seemed, a dance number. Neither the Doctor or the Mistress moved to dance. The two of them stepped out of the way and watched as the rest of the room moved. The Silurian ambassador Missy had been talking to previously was dancing with an ice warrior general. They moved through the steps, between the other couples waltzing, with a military precision the two warriors thrived in.
If he stayed there any longer, the Doctor was going to either make a scene or start a fight and really, he wasn’t in the mood for either.
“Do you wanna take the evening off of being evil and come get a drink with me?”
For a moment, the Doctor thought that she was going to pretend not to have heard him. She continued looking at the crystal for a moment longer. Still, she smiled as she looked up. It was a real one, not the leer she had used before.
“Sure. I’ve not had a night off in a long time.”
The Doctor did not want to know what she had been doing during that time. It was a topic to walk around.
“Me neither. Shall we?” He gestured for her to go first towards the door.
“Doctor, you haven’t worked a day since you left UNIT, don’t lie.”
“General is a job.” He pointed out, but Missy just rolled her eyes. “And I worked in a shop for a bit.”
“How...? Never mind.” Missy shook her head, with exacerbated affection. “Tea?”
“Sounds good.”
They linked arms and, under the pretence of old friends, headed for the door.
They needed to talk about things. They needed to talk about many things. Those could come later, though. She wanted her friend back, and, well, at that moment, the Doctor wasn’t in a position to refuse.