Actions

Work Header

Missy in the Middle

Work Text:


 

They’re going to tear her in half…

***

They’re going to tear her in half.

They dance, the Master and the Mistress, his hand on the small of her back. A fun greater than any she'd had in decades. He spins her out and she looks back to him to see her excitement and joy mirrored on his face. There’s no harm in a little fun.

Then she feels it, a cold hand encircling her wrist, grip strong. She’s tugged. She stumbles away from the Master, losing his hand, and finds herself pulled flush against the Doctor’s body. She steadies herself, hand on his chest.

“Hello,” she says with a coy smile. She can’t bring herself to be mad at him.

He wastes no time, taking her in his arms and starting to waltz.

She likes it, this bolder side of him, the side that isn't afraid to take what he wants.

Jealousy.

There's a bounce in his step. Rhythmical. Upbeat. He holds her close, because he knows what will happen if he doesn't, but she's more than happy to stay pressed up against him, with those big tender eyes of his looking down at her, only at her.

She feels hands on her hips and she sees his eyes darken.

Hips, shifting to the beat, moving behind her, against her. They dance to a different song.

She's in the middle, offbeat to both of them, an irregular time signature.

She turns so she's side on to both of them. Equal. Her hands find theirs.

She looks from one to the other. Master. Then Doctor.

The Master realises what she wants a second before the Doctor does. He steps out, then back. It's a sign of his complete and utter trust in her. The Doctor moves a millisecond after. They're out of time again, too uneven.

The three of them move to the music. Missy leading in the middle.

She spins them out and they're finally in time. It feels like perfect symmetry.

When she pulls them back in, they end up closer to her than ever. Chests flush and breaths mingling. She feels like she should kiss one of them, but who first? She can't choose. To choose would mean losing the other.

Simultaneously, although of their own accord, the Doctor and the Master spin out again, each going in opposite directions. This time they don't spin back in.

She feels them, the pressure on her hands, the pull.

They're going to tear her in half.

***

They’re going to split her in two.

Standing between them, angry words fly over her head. They're coming from both sides.

“Think of all the people you’re hurting, for once!”

“Fuck you and your authoritarian morals!”

It hurts her to hear such hate thrown at her Doctor and her Master. It hurts her even more that they’re the ones doing it to each other. Caught in the middle, like a child of divorce, she wishes she could repair the broken bond. The Doctor has done it with her, so why not with her past self?

Doctor,” she pleads. “Master.”

She looks back and forth between the two, waiting for that sign that they’ll make this easier on her.

The Doctor is the first to pull away from her gaze. He turns and storms off.

She wants to go after him, but that means choosing. Then again, staying is choosing too. She’s caught in the middle with the impossible choice.

She’s almost glad when the Master makes the choice for her and walks away.

She’s alone. It’s a cold and empty feeling. She should go after one of them, because anything’s got to be better than this ache inside.

But she can’t go. That would be choosing.

So she stands alone, hearts pulling her in opposite directions.

They’re going to split her in two.

***

They’re going to rip her to shreds.

They ask her to choose.

Stand with me.

Would you really betray yourself?”

Pick one. Pick me.

She looks from one to the other and back again. It’s the impossible choice.

She can’t betray herself, but how can she let the Doctor down when he needs her?

She can’t. The possibilities just don’t compute.

She takes them by the hand, the Doctor and the Master.

She takes their hands and places each one on one of her hearts. There. Plenty to go around. It’s almost like Time Lords were meant to be shared this way. Two hearts to give to whomever she chooses and she’s given them to the Doctor and the Master. There’s no heart left for her, but that’s okay. She’s kept alive by the beating of their hearts. She hopes they’ll each share one with her. They will. Gladly. Take my heart, Missy, and be mine. She wishes they would share one with each other too. It’s a foolish wish.

“Missy.”

Missy.”

They both want her and they want her to choose. She can’t.

All she can do is hold their hands to her chest, heartbeats thumping and looking for company.

She feels them pulling away, each wanting to take her with them. She’s fragile, hearts held in glass cases. They’ll shatter.

They’re going to rip her to shreds.

***

They’re going to pull her apart.

Freezing, teeth chattering, the trio find themselves in a Mondasion snowstorm.

No TARDIS, no vortex manipulator. No way of getting out of there.

They should stay put and wait it out, the Master says.

They should walk until they find something, the Doctor says.

Two contrary suggestions. It’s up to her to make the decision.

They should find shelter and wait until the storm passes.

They search and Missy finds a cave.

“Just big enough for two,” says the Master. It’s implied that the Doctor should stay outside.

It’s more than big enough for the three of them. It’s big enough that the Master and the Doctor could both sit at opposite ends and sulk and she could run laps between them. While they might choose to do this, she does not.

They should build a fire, the Master says.

The Doctor disagrees.

She’s left to choose again.

No fire. You never know what it might attract.

The Doctor sets about fashioning some sort of a bed. It’s no more than a gentlemanly gesture of laying his jacket over the cold snow for her. She appreciates it and joins him on the ground.

The Master paces. To stop is to freeze and to freeze is to die. That’s for other people.

She sits next to the Doctor, as far as the jacket will allow. It still feels like a betrayal.

“We should share body heat,” the Doctor says, but the words come out broken by the chattering of his teeth. “The three of us.”

The Master hesitates before joining them without a word. To freeze is to die. Not today.

The three of them take off as much clothing as they can bear, using it to lay over themselves as a blanket. Three jackets: black, purple, black. She leaves her boots on. Frostbite isn’t sexy.

It doesn’t need to be said that Missy will be in the middle. The both leave room for her.

She lies there in the vast expanse between them feeling lonelier than ever. It’s so cold.

“Oh for goodness sakes, this isn’t going to work if you’re both a mile away,” she snaps.

Almost simultaneously, they move in. Close. Closer. They’re all around her, an assault of the senses.

The Doctor is the first one to touch her, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her close. She cuddles into his chest, tucking her head in away from the cold. She hopes he doesn’t lose his nose to frostbite. That would be a tragedy. He tucks his face into her hair. Better. She can relax now.

She feels the Master move in, slowly, almost as if he’s hesitant. She would reach out to him, pull him in and reassure him, but her hands are clutched in tiny fists in between her chest and the Doctor’s.

The Master’s body moulds against her back and if she didn’t know they were the same person she’d guess it from the way his body fits perfectly against hers. He wraps an arm around her waist and lets his hand cup her breast. She knows he’s smirking behind her. He’s a possessive one, the Master.

She lets out a soft sigh and snuggles in closer to the space between them. She doesn’t feel warm, but she feels loved and that’s almost the same thing. But even as she lies in their arms, she feels the pull. She feels it travel through her, cracking. She’s breaking into pieces and it’s not an even split. It’s a jagged line from head to toe. One heart on each side. She may shatter in the aftermath.

They’re going to pull her apart.

***

They’re going to break her into pieces.

It’s too much. So much. More than she can bear. She never wants it to end.

The Doctor in front and the Master behind her. In a twist that’s both unexpected and everything she wants, they’re both inside her.

She’s incapable of speech, mouth open and breathing irregular.

They don’t quite meet each other thrust for thrust. It’s not fast, but it’s erratic. Unrhythmical. Two different tempos. Two different speeds. Like a mash up of two songs that don’t match. Then there’s the anatomy of it all, the contrast. The long, slow strokes from the Doctor and the uneven thrusts from the Master than seem to stretch her every time.

It’s a surprise, when they hit that spot deep inside her. She never knows when to expect it or where. More importantly, she never knows who to expect it from. It’s maddening, the surprise. Desire driving her insane.

Her palm, flat on the Doctor’s chest, slips a little from his sweat. She has no purchase anywhere, held up by the men she’s sandwiched in between. It’s a total loss of control. She doesn’t hate it.

It’s like they have something to prove. It’s less of a team effort and more of a competition. The Doctor versus the Master. Either way she wins, but at what cost? There’s still no love between the two of them, the Doctor and the Master, except for her. She takes their aggression and it becomes something beautiful. A sharp cry. A blissful smile. A tender touch.

At first it’s perfect, the contrast, the unpredictability of it all. It’s bananas. But then it’s maddening, too much and not enough. She needs to show them the way.

With a hand the Master’s forearm, she’s able to slow him to match the Doctor’s pace. Then they’re together, synchronised. Like breathing, they pull out to the tip and push back in together. Her eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

She moves her hips to meet the Doctor and the Master has to press closer in response. Better. She thinks they’ve got it now.

They’re still at war, the Doctor and the Master. They’ve fought over her, but this time they fight together for her. The Master has his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder, bracing. When the Master leans in to mark the flesh around her collarbone, the Doctor presses a kiss to the Master’s neck. Tender, but so light the Master wonders if he imagined it.

It’s nice, she thinks, when they work together. She thinks maybe she could get used to this, but she knows there’s no way that having both of them in her at once will ever feel like anything less than a complete sensory assault.

For these moment, she feels whole. It’s a strange distant feeling she thinks she’s felt before but can’t remember when.

She knows it won’t last.

The Doctor reaches down to touch her clit and she knows she’s gone.

They’re going to break her into pieces.

They’re going to tear her in half.