The only thing that makes River Song wake up early that morning, with super messy hair all over her face, is Missy poking her cheek. When she finally opens her eyes, everything hurts.
“I have to stop listening to you.” She groans.
“Where’s the fun in that?! You have to admit that was so much better than your… thing… with that trowel and… sand… what the hellis that thing you do, I don’t even know.”
Oh, time lords and their aversion to archaeologists. At 8 am. What a bliss.
River rolls her eyes to the insulting comment, regretting it right away.
Oh. Hungover. It’s been a while.
“Missy. Shhhh.” She groans, putting a finger at her mouth to make a point. “My head is aching too much to listen to your monologues right now.”
Missy murmurs something under her breath and giggles as she gets up the bed both of them happens to be sharing.
Wait.
What?!
She can almost see flashes of some of last night’s events through her mind.
Missy at her door. Girl’s night, she said. Vortex manipulator. Vegas. (”Seriously? What a cliche.”) A lot of drinks. Dancing. Loud music. Drinks. A good looking guy. More drinks. Blank. Laughs. Hotel.
She groans in frustration. She should’ve known better than to trust Missy again in a night out. Yes,again, because somehow that absolutely insane time lady was able to track her anywhere in time or space when she was bored just to have someone to party with. She could almost hear her words from last night over and over again, saying she wanted to “see how your people party in this boring planet. Well, they’re only 50% your people, the other half is my own people, which let me tell you, can throw a hell of a party. Next time we’re going to Gallifrey”.
And then she blocked the rest with drinking because even though Missy was fun and definitely the soul of the party, sometimes she wished she could just shut her up.
River was about to ask if her friend (? companion? colleague?) could gently explain what happened in the blank part of events when she saw it.
The gold ring on her left hand.
Oh, shit.
Holy fucking shit.
“MISSY??!!!!?????!!!!!???!!”
Brown hair and big blue eyes pops in the bathroom door.
“Well, you took your time. I thought it would take you forever to remember it. I’d be offended if you had forgot we just got married, but you were a bit out of your mind yesterday, soooo…”
“Missy.” She tries again. “What. Are you. Talking. About?”
The other woman looks like she’s trying so hard not to crack up that River has to contain the urge to not just make her regenarate right there. Of course, if that was still possible; God only knows how Missy wasn’t already dead and gone. But River was Rory’s daughter. She was not in position to say something like: “you should be dead by now”.
“Weeeeell… First things first: we came to Vegas. You called Jack Harkness because somehow I think you don’t trust me enough to allow us to be alone.” Ok, that explains the good looking man. “He left with a guy, by the way. What a nice friend you have, very very useful. Wow, I love how scottish I sound saying ‘very’. Thank you very much for not telling him I was THAT Master. I tried to kill him, you know. Would have been awkwaaaaaaaard.” She sings the last word.
“The conclusion, please!”
“Bad mood, are we? Please, do take an aspirin. Anyway, Las Vegas! I did my research and found out this is where people get married, right? In these chapels, and it’s no big deal? I don’t know, you tell me, your people, your weird behavior, I just thought it was going to be fun. Look, we’ve got matching rings!”
River looked at her in disbelief.
Missy was crazy. Absolutely insane. She already knew that. That’s why she enjoyed her presence so much. You know, just every now and then, when she wasn’t trying to kill everyone. But being around her sometimes was like dealing with a 6 year old.
However, psychopath, running into the danger itself, screaming for trouble. And asking for company. How could she resist that kind of company?
She sighs.
“Oh, honey. You had to let me drunk to marry me? You could’ve just asked.”
Missy raises her eyebrows at her. Not the kind of reaction she was expecting. She could almost feel her scottish accent floating around them when she asked:
“You’d have said yes?”
“Maybe.”
A suggestive smiled played on Missy’s red lips, traces of last night’s lipstick.
“Marrying your actual husband’s childhood best friend and enjoying it… Bad girl indeed. We’re going to be such a lovely couple.”