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She came back to herself slowly. She was lying down, her coat tangled around her, her cheek resting against warm denim. There was a soft hand filtering through her hair, and slowly, she realized she was lying on a pair of legs.

She opened her eyes. She felt the ghost of a headache, lingering in her mind, shrinking away from the golden ambient light. 

“Doctor?” came a voice.

She turned her head. Brown eyes were floating above her, wide and worried. 

“Doctor, what do you remember?”

“Yaz,”  she breathed. “I— did it work?”

“You remember?” Yaz asked, her voice broken with relief. 

“I was— I was trying to become human,” the Doctor said. “Did it work?”

A careful hand drifted across the Doctor’s chest, just above her breasts. It rested briefly, tenderly, on her left side, and then her right.

“One heart,” Yaz said.

The Doctor pushed herself into a sitting position. She could feel it, one heart, beating in her chest: it felt slow, compared to the two-hearted hummingbird thrum she’d been accustomed to. “It worked,” she breathed. “Yaz, it worked.”

“You kept your memories?” Yaz checked.

“Yeah.” The Doctor took a deep breath, in and out, letting the air rush through her new lungs. “No respiratory bypass. That’ll take some getting used to.” She looked Yaz right in the eye. “ Don’t let me submerge myself in water. I’ll forget I can’t stay under as long.”

“Got it,” Yaz said. “No free diving.” 

“Exactly. At least not until I’ve gotten used to this.” She stood up. For a moment, she teetered. Yaz up and by her side in an instant, a steadying hand at her elbow. 

“You all right?”

“Fine,” the Doctor said. “Just— my time senses are gone. Connection to the TARDIS, too.” She waved a hand around her head. “It’s just me in here.”

“Remember,” Yaz said, “we can always turn you back. If you want.”

The Doctor shook her head. “No. I knew what I was giving up.” She closed her eyes. “Sort of nice. Quiet.” Her eyes snapped open. “‘Course, quiet isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’ll take some getting used to. But still.” She reached for Yaz’s hand and squeezed; Yaz’s eyes softened. “Exciting, isn’t it? A whole new world.” She frowned. “Well. Same world. New me, though. Or— sort of the same me. Considering. All depends how you define it.”

Yaz pressed a kiss to the side of her head. “I think it depends how you define it, Doctor.” She adjusted her hand in the Doctor’s, interlacing their fingers. She was watching the Doctor carefully, thoughtfully. “What do you think? Are you ready to go?”

“Almost.” The Doctor let go of her hand to step towards the console. It looked different, bordering on unfamiliar, without the familiar nudge of the TARDIS’s telepathic link in the back of her mind. She scanned the instruments until she found it: the watch, nestled in a little dip in the console. She reached in, closing her hand around the ridged metal, and then she turned. 

Yaz peered into her hand. “Is that—” 

“Yes.” The Doctor held it out in both her hands, an offering. “Will you— I mean— can you keep it for me?”

Yaz looked up at her with huge, shining eyes. “Doctor, are you sure?”

“I trust you.” The Doctor swallowed. “More than I trust myself, honestly. Something small like that? I’m fairly certain I’d lose it in a second.”

Yaz pushed a laugh past her tears. “Yeah. You would.” She took the watch from the Doctor, holding it in her hands for just a moment. Carefully, she tucked it into an inside pocket of her jacket, and then she stepped forward, taking both the Doctor’s hands. “Jack’s waiting outside.”

“Right.” The Doctor swallowed. She looked around at the TARDIS. “Goodbye,” she said. “I’ll miss you.”

The lights flashed gold, and the Doctor felt tears running down her face. She broke away from Yaz to run a hand along the console, just like she always had, only now there was no spark at the back of her mind in response. She’d had that spark almost as long as she could remember— longer, maybe. She closed her eyes, breathing in the vague smell of copper and engine oil and for some reason lavender that had always pervaded the console room. She took another deep breath— not as deep as she was used to— and opened her eyes. She hit the custard cream lever twice, plucked the biscuits out of the tray, and turned to Yaz.

“Want one?”

Yaz accepted the biscuit. Nibbling at its edge, she said, “You’re going to have to remember to buy these now, you know.”

The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “Oh, I’m going to have to make grocery lists, aren’t I?”

“Yep.” Yaz grinned. “I think this is going to be fun.” 

“D’you know, I think so too.” The Doctor took a big bite of her custard cream. “C’mon. I think it’s time to go.”

Yaz started walking, and the Doctor was about to join her, but then she realized— “Oh!” She ran back to the console and hit the custard cream dispenser again. “Forgot to get one for Jack.”

“All right, Doctor.” Yaz was laughing. “Come on.” 

“Oh, and— can you hold this?” The Doctor held out Jack’s custard cream, and Yaz took it, watching as the Doctor shrugged out of her coat. She dug around in her pockets, just in case there was anything in there she needed— but she’d put everything she needed in her bum bag, which was in the car (much to Yaz’s chagrin). Her sonic was in there, but she was leaving that, too— it wasn’t exactly a human gadget. Satisfied, she crossed to the staircase and hung the jacket carefully, delicately, on one of the railings. 

She turned back to face Yaz, standing across the room.

“Right,” she said. “Now I’m ready.”

“Okay.” Yaz held out her arm, and the Doctor looped her own arm through it. Together, they stepped out of the TARDIS and onto the earth.

Jack was standing outside, leaning against a wall as he waited. When the Doctor and Yaz came out of the TARDIS, he pushed off the wall.

“Hey, there, Doctor,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” the Doctor said. She plucked the custard cream out of Yaz’s hand and offered it to Jack. “Biscuit?”

“All right, then.” He took the biscuit and bit into it. “Did it work, then? Are you human?”

The Doctor nodded. “Human as they come,” she said. “Jettisoned a heart and everything.”

Jack laughed. “Now you’ll see how the rest of us live.”

“I really don’t know how I’m going to do it,” the Doctor said, grimacing. 

“Oh, you’ll manage.” Jack clapped her on the shoulder. “Now, can I interest you two in lunch before you go?”

“‘Course,” Yaz said. “I mean— Doctor?”

“Yes!” The Doctor grinned. “Got to get used to a whole new stomach, don’t I?” She let her tongue run along the ridge of her teeth. “Wonder if my taste buds have changed at all. At least I know the custard creams are still the same.”

They ate at the same cafe as before, with sandwiches and chips next to a Cardiff street. The Doctor sniffed at the sandwich before taking a bite, caught off guard by the lack of sensory input: she couldn’t tell what year it was, or where the bread had been made, or what, exactly, was in the mayonnaise. It was just a sandwich. A good sandwich, to be sure, but not particularly informative. She frowned. 

“Not much flavor in this.”

Yaz glanced at the sandwich. “I think there’s some condiments inside. Maybe some hot sauce?”

“Oh, I like hot sauce,” the Doctor said. 

“I’ll go look.” Yaz got up, and with an affectionate tap to the Doctor’s shoulder, she went into the cafe, leaving the Doctor alone with Jack. 

The Doctor looked down at her food, poking with one of her chips at the others. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual. “How’ve you been?”

“All right,” Jack said. “You know. Nothing as exciting as a full species change, but I keep on.”

“Suppose so.” The silence stretched out between them. “How’s Gwen?”

“Fine, fine.” Jack cleared his throat. “Getting older.”

“Right. People do that.” The Doctor nibbled at the edge of her chip, underwhelmed once again. 

“Some people,” Jack said. 

The Doctor frowned. “You age, don’t you?”

“Near as I can figure, yes. But it’s a slow process.” 

“Right.” The Doctor tried another bite of her chip. “This really could use some extra flavor.”

Just then, Yaz dropped down next to her, a pile of condiment and sauce packets spilling out of her hand and onto the table. “Here you go.”

“Oh! Extra flavor!” The Doctor snatched up a handful of packets. “Thanks, Yaz.”

“Anytime.” 

The Doctor picked out ketchup, mustard, and hot sauce and set to mixing them together at the edge of the plate while Yaz watched, wrinkling her nose.

“D’you expect that to taste good?” she asked.

The Doctor shrugged. “They’re good separately, aren’t they?”

“The hot sauce is an interesting innovation,” Jack said. 

“Thanks!” The Doctor lifted the bread off the top of her sandwich. She picked up a butterknife and dipped it into the condiment mixture, spreading it across the bread. Sniffing it didn’t give her much— but when she put the bread back on the sandwich and bit into it, she was practically jumping out of her chair. “ That’s more like it.” 

Jack walked them back to their car, which was parked just by Torchwood. 

“You’re sure I can’t drive?” the Doctor whined. “I brought my license just in case.”

“I told you,” Yaz said, already sliding into the driver seat. “There’s not a cop in Britain who’d believe that’s real.” She looked up at the Doctor, still standing by the door. “Besides, it’s decades expired by now.”

“Fine.” The Doctor circled the car and clambered into the passenger seat with a huff. “But I’m getting my license.”

“‘Course you are.” Yaz glanced at her. “Seatbelt on?”

“What?” The Doctor looked down at herself. “Oh. Sorry. Not used to this.”

“You don’t wear a seatbelt?” Yaz asked. 

“Usually if I’m in a car we’ve got bigger problems,” the Doctor said.

“Right.” Yaz turned in her seat, resting her arm on the back of the Doctor’s chair as leverage so she could twist her body around. “Think we’re good to go.” Carefully, with the same precision she’d always used at the TARDIS console, she put the car into reverse and backed out of the spot. 

The drive was long. Or, as Yaz put it, the Doctor’s standards for “long” and “short” had been ruined by hundreds to thousands of years of instantaneous travel. 

“But at least we know this thing won’t randomly pop us into a supervolcano,” she said, her eyes entirely on the road.

“That was one time ,” the Doctor griped. She let her head fall back against her headrest. “And at least it wasn’t boring .”

“Oh, Doctor.” Yaz reached for her hand, shaking her head affectionately. “There’s going to be a learning curve, isn’t there.” 

Their joined hands rested on Yaz’s knee. The Doctor looked over at Yaz, still smiling as she drove.

“And you’re stuck with me,” she said gleefully. 

Yaz glanced over, rolling her eyes. “I know.”

The Doctor hummed. “Stuck on Earth with Yaz. Brilliant.” 

Finally, they pulled into the parking garage by their flat. The Doctor got out of the car first, running around to open the driver side door for Yaz, and Yaz slid out, wrapping her arm around the Doctor’s waist. Together, they walked to the building and up the stairs to their place.

“Right,” the Doctor said, throwing open the door. “Welcome to our next adventure.” She stepped across the threshold, pulling a laughing Yaz with her. Yaz fell into her arms, and the Doctor couldn’t help but lift her up and try for a spin. The second she moved her foot, though, she lost her balance, and the two of them tumbled to the floor, completely entangled.

“Oh, no,” the Doctor breathed, flopping onto her back and flinging out one arm. “I’ve lost my balance. Going to have to practice, or something.”

“Welcome to being a human,” Yaz said. She curled against the Doctor’s side, head resting on the Doctor’s shoulder, fingers tracing the contours of her face. The Doctor closed her eyes, suppressing a shiver at the sensation. 

“Seems exhausting,” she said. “Being a human, I mean.”

“You signed up for it,” Yaz replied. The Doctor felt Yaz’s head lift off her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to see Yaz’s face hovering just above hers. “You get the good stuff and the annoying stuff.”

“Suppose so.” The Doctor curled her arm around Yaz, pulling her closer, and Yaz let her head fall back to the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“You know,” she said, “there’s a perfectly good bed about ten feet that way.” She waved a hand.

“I’m good here,” the Doctor said.

Yaz pressed her lips to the Doctor’s shoulder. “Just don’t complain to me when tomorrow you discover the concept of back pain.”

“Oi, I know about back pain,” the Doctor protested. “Remember when we were on that spaceship, with the Pting?”

“Tsuranga?” Yaz asked. 

“Yeah. Tsuranga. My back hurt for days after that. Rest of my body, too.”

Yaz’s head lifted again. “You never said.”

“Wasn’t relevant at the time.” The Doctor waved her free hand in the air. “Anyway, it was temporary. Pretty much forgot about it until now.”

“Oh, until you needed it to prove a point?” Yaz laughed. She darted forward to press a kiss to the Doctor’s lips, and then she settled back against the Doctor’s shoulder. Smiling to herself, the Doctor ran a hand through Yaz’s hair. She could feel the curve of Yaz’s smile against her skin, even through two shirts. So not all her sensitivity was lost, then. For a few moments, they were silent, sitting in the cavernous novelty of their human flat.

“So,” the Doctor said, staring up at the ceiling. “What do we do now?”

What they did, in the end, was order pizza, compensation for their empty kitchen. They ate sitting on the floor: they’d forgotten to bring in a table.

“Just part of the experience,” Yaz said, leaning back against the wall with her plate. They’d each brought their favorite dishes from the TARDIS: Yaz’s plate was a deep blue ceramic, and the Doctor’s was plastic, possibly meant for children, with an eyeburning rainbow design.

“We’ll have to go looking for a table and chairs tomorrow,” the Doctor said. “And a purple sofa.” She took a bite of her pizza and immediately held up the slice in front of her with a frown. “How do humans cope with such insensitive taste buds? Honestly.” 

“You might just need some stronger flavors,” Yaz said. She nodded at the pizza. “Next time we’ll try some different toppings.”

The Doctor narrowed her eyes at the pizza in her hand. “If you say so.”

“Olives,” Yaz offered. “Anchovies. Hot peppers. Loads of options.”

“Oh, I do like spicy,” the Doctor mused. She took another bite of her pizza. “This isn’t so bad, anyway. Just could be more .”

Yaz extended her leg to nudge the Doctor’s foot with her own. “Hey, we’ll experiment. We’ve got the rest of our lives to find you the perfect pizza.”

The Doctor grinned. “Can’t wait.”

It was strange, falling asleep not in the TARDIS. The Doctor had slept not in the TARDIS plenty of times, of course, but usually the TARDIS had still been in the vicinity, thrumming in the back of her mind— usually she’d known she would get back to it (or die trying). It had been thousands of years since she’d had a static home, but of course that meant her home had been everywhere, anywhere the TARDIS could stop. And now here she was, in a thousand-year-old T-shirt and boxer briefs, curled around Yaz in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar flat, in a halfway familiar city. The TARDIS’s ambient gurgling had been replaced with the sound of traffic outside the window; the automatic lighting had been replaced by a lamp and curtains. It felt frighteningly mundane, really, but something about it— about the soft sheets, maybe, or the cool air, or possibly just Yaz’s quiet breathing— felt like it could become home.

When the Doctor woke up the next morning to the sun filtering through the curtains and Yaz still in her arms, a strange peace settled over her. 

She’d made the right decision.

That first day was chaotic. Yaz insisted on going grocery shopping, first thing— the Doctor quite liked grocery shopping in theory, but in practice had absolutely no idea what foods were actually necessary to a human diet. Still, she liked finding the things on Yaz’s list: it was like a puzzle, to look through the shelves and find the right item. And Yaz didn’t try and stop her from putting six packs of custard creams into the cart.

Once they’d unloaded their groceries into the kitchen cupboards, Yaz got on her laptop and started looking for furniture. She found a secondhand table and chairs for relatively cheap, and she and the Doctor got in the car and drove to the seller only to realize that their car was too small.

“This never would’ve happened if you’d let me mess with this thing’s dimensions,” the Doctor said, settling back into the passenger seat.

“I told you,” Yaz said, buckling her seatbelt. “It’s part of being human.” She leaned over to press a kiss to the Doctor’s cheek. “Come on, maybe one of the charity shops around here will deliver.”

The rest of the day was dedicated to driving around, searching out tables and chairs and sofas. The Doctor still insisted that she hadn’t found her sofa yet, and Yaz was quietly indulgent. 

“Keep looking,” she said. “We’ll find it.”

They did find a decent table and chairs, and arranged to have them delivered the next day; that night, they ate on the floor again, albeit this time with food Yaz had cooked. 

“My parents want to come see the place,” she said. “I told them they could in the next few days. Before we get busy.” Both of them had enrolled in different courses, starting soon: the Doctor was going to university to become a schoolteacher, and Yaz was taking an EMT certification. They’d scheduled their move-in to be a week before either of their courses started.

“Brilliant,” the Doctor said. “Love your parents. Can’t wait.”

Yaz smiled. “I’ll tell them to drop in whenever, then.”

“Whenever” turned out to be the next afternoon. There was a knock at the door, and Yaz went to open it, and there were her parents, peering curiously into the space. The Doctor tried to be on her best behavior: she wasn’t exactly sure what Yaz’s parents knew about the whole situation, but she was fairly sure it wasn’t the truth, and she was aware that her entire relationship with Yaz looked pretty strange from the outside. So she forced herself to stand up straight, limbs still, hyperaware of her exact position in space as she followed Yaz and her parents around the flat. They wound up all sitting around the table, the Doctor trying very, very hard to sit with her legs together and flat on the ground.

“It’s nice to see you two settling down,” Yaz’s dad said. Or— he’d said to call him Hakim. The Doctor would have to remember that. “We were worried about you.”

“No need to worry,” Yaz said. She was different, with her parents here: she seemed restrained, somehow. She wasn’t smiling as easily, wasn’t relaxing into the chair in the way she usually did. “We’ve been managing just fine, haven’t we, Doctor?”

“Oh, yes, brilliantly,” the Doctor agreed, and cut herself off before she could launch into the story of the time she and Yaz managed to rescue themselves from a pit of boiling acid. “And, you know, it’s nice to be here now.”

“So, when’s the wedding?” Yaz’s mum ( Najia , she wanted to be called Najia, the Doctor had to remember) asked. 

Yaz stared. “ What ?”

“Well, you’ve settled down,” Najia said. “You’re getting jobs. Is it really that much of a jump to ask if marriage is in the future?”

“There’s a difference between asking if marriage is in the future and ‘when’s the wedding,’” Yaz said. She glanced at the Doctor. “Anyway, I don’t think we’ve thought that far ahead.”

Najia looked between them. “All right, then.” She raised her eyebrows at Yaz. “But your nan isn’t going to be around forever, you know.”

“Mum. Leave it.” Yaz’s words came through gritted teeth. 

“All right, all right.” Najia raised her hands in surrender. “Just thought I’d ask.”

The rest of the visit was awkward enough that even the Doctor noticed: Yaz seemed to be reading from a script with everything she said, answering questions in as few words as possible, and her parents reacted by pretending it wasn’t happening, continuing the small talk until finally everyone was out of things to say and Yaz’s parents (Najia and Hakim, the Doctor reminded herself) left. 

“Right,” Yaz said, getting up. “Almost time for tea, isn’t it?” Before the Doctor could say anything, she was in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans. The Doctor stayed at the table, going back over the visit in her mind, trying to untangle the web of Yaz’s family dynamic. It didn’t make sense to her. She thought back to all the families she’d known, over the years— they were always complicated. Of course, she would do best to ask Yaz, but Yaz didn’t seem entirely in the mood to be asked, considering.

The Doctor put the thought aside. Standing up, she moved into the kitchen. Yaz, busy chopping vegetables, looked up as she approached.

“D’you want help?” the Doctor asked. 

“No,” Yaz said. “That’s okay.” She wasn’t quite looking the Doctor in the eyes. “Thanks.”

The Doctor nodded. She moved back into the bedroom, where she pulled a book off the bookshelf at random and flopped down on the bed to read.

“Yaz?” It was after they’d eaten— the Doctor was sitting back against the headboard of their bed, Yaz curled quietly against her chest. The Doctor was holding a book in one hand, the other hand threading idly through Yaz’s loose hair.

Yaz looked up, shifting against the Doctor’s chest. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking about what your mum said.” The Doctor took a breath. “You know. About us. And getting married.”

“Oh.” Yaz made a face. “Sorry. My mum’s—”

“No, it’s all right.” The Doctor hesitated. “I just wanted to ask— did you want to get married?”

“Oh.” Yaz buried her face in the Doctor’s shirt. “Er— I don’t know. Didn’t think you would.”

The Doctor frowned. “Why not? I’ve been married before.”

“You’re just—” Yaz looked up again. “I don’t know. I just figured—” She cut off, her eyes darting away. The Doctor waited for her to recover. “You’re not like other people, are you? You’re older. You come from someplace completely different. I know you’re human now, but I didn’t know if that meant—” She waved a limp hand. “You know.”

“We had weddings on Gallifrey,” the Doctor said, her voice soft. “Sometimes.” She rested her book on the nightstand and bowed her head to press a kiss to Yaz’s hair. “Yaz, I— I want to spend my mortal life with you. That’s got to mean something . Hasn’t it?” She hadn’t really given marriage much thought before, but now the image of it had popped into her mind— her and Yaz all dressed up, seeing each other, standing together, committing to a lifetime— she was surprised to find herself wanting it. 

 “‘Course it means something,” Yaz said, fiddling with the Doctor’s free hand. She interlaced their fingers, her thumb running along the edge of the Doctor’s palm. “Means everything. But—” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to think we have to get married just because people expect us to. We can do it our own way.” 

Something clicked in the Doctor’s mind. “Yaz, do you— do you think I wouldn’t want to marry you?”

Yaz stilled, her hand tense against the Doctor’s. For a long moment, she was silent. “Do you?” she finally asked. 

“Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor said, before she could think better of it. “Are you proposing?”

Yaz shifted around until she was facing the Doctor, her hair falling over one shoulder. “No,” she said, the very beginnings of a smile on her lips. “But only because I want you to.”

The Doctor frowned. “What? Why?”

“‘Cause if we get married,” Yaz said, “I want it to be because you want it.”

“I do want it,” the Doctor breathed. She could see it: her and Yaz, living together, sharing space. Her eyes slid closed, and she smiled to herself. “Maybe when we’re a bit more settled?”

The Doctor felt the weight of Yaz relaxing against her chest again.

“Okay.”

“But watch out,” the Doctor added. “‘Cause I’m going to blow your socks off with my proposal.” Yaz started to lift her head, and the Doctor rushed to specify: “Not literally. Promise. Unless you want that. D’you want explosions?”

Yaz dropped her head back to the Doctor’s chest. “Definitely not.”

“Right. No explosions, then. Got it.”

“No explosions.” Yaz curled closer against the Doctor’s chest, and something warm bloomed in the Doctor’s stomach.

“Any other rules I should know about?” she asked. 

Yaz hummed. “Nothing too public,” she said. “Think that’s it. I trust you.”

“Right. No explosions, nothing public. Done.” The Doctor pressed another kiss to the top of Yaz’s head, and then she picked up her book, a small smile lingering on her face.

Of course, the next weeks didn’t leave much time to think about marriage. The Doctor started university: it had been two thousand years since she’d been a real student in a proper class, with classmates and homework and projects. Sheffield University wasn't as brutal as the Academy on Gallifrey, but it still took time to adjust. Her first day, the Doctor almost forgot she'd picked out a human name, and when the professor called for Penelope Smith, it took three repetitions before she jumped in her chair and called out, “Oh! That's me!” Not to mention that she kept having to stop half a second away from introducing herself as the Doctor before desperately trying to remember what she was supposed to be going by. 

“I don’t think anyone likes me,” she said to Yaz after the first week. They were lying in bed, the lights off, but the Doctor couldn't sleep. 

Yaz rolled over to face the Doctor, the outline of her face barely visible in the darkness. “Why wouldn't they like you?” she asked. 

“I'm still so awkward, aren't I?” The Doctor rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “I keep jumping into rambles at all the wrong times, or someone says something to me and I have absolutely no clue how to respond, or else I forget my own name and don't respond at all. It’s awful.”

“Oh, Doctor.” Yaz fumbled in the darkness until her hand reached the Doctor’s. “You're still getting used to being human. It'll get better.”

“Maybe.” The Doctor’s feet bumped against Yaz's under the covers. Her voice came out a whisper. “Yaz, what if I'm no good at being a human?”

Yaz pressed an off-center kiss to her mouth. “It's not something to be good at,” she said, her breath warm against the Doctor’s face. “It's just an experience that we get to have.”

“Well, what if I'm bad at having the experience?” the Doctor insisted. “What if I did all this, and I still can't fit in?”

“Loads of people are awkward,” Yaz said. “You don't always fit in right away. You've just got to find the people who appreciate you for who you are.” She trailed a hand across the Doctor’s temple, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Besides, it would be weird if you were perfect at the whole human thing after just a few days. You’ve got a lot of new rules to learn, don’t you? You’ll get less awkward as you go.”

“If you say so.” 

Yaz was close enough to the Doctor that when she laughed, the Doctor felt every breath. “I do,” she said. “I really do.” 

“Oh, Yaz,” the Doctor breathed. “What would I do without you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Yaz replied. 

The Doctor laughed. “Bighead.”

Yaz poked her in the side. “Oi, look who’s talking.” She shifted closer to the Doctor, curling into the shape of her body, and the Doctor tightened an arm around her. Even if everyone in her classes thought she was obnoxious, she thought, at least she would still have Yaz.

The days went on, and then the weeks, and then the months. The Doctor did get less awkward: she figured out when it was appropriate to talk in class, and she learned how to stop herself before she started going off on an incomprehensible tangent, and she started responding when people called her Penelope and not the Doctor , and she even joined a study group and made a few new friends. It was odd, having people who only knew her as Penelope, with no idea of her past: she would sit and listen as they talked about their days in secondary school, or their families, or where they’d come from, and she would think about how impossible it would be to give her own stories in return. She had a fabricated backstory, of course, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep it all straight in her head. And she didn’t really have anecdotes: she’d never skipped school to go hang out downtown, or gotten a terrible grade on a test and cried all the way home, or had a science experiment go horribly wrong. 

But she was pretty sure most of the people in her study group were younger than her human body appeared to be, anyway, and they didn’t seem to expect the same sort of stories from her. Instead, she found herself talking about Yaz: abridged stories of their adventures, little descriptions of their home life together. Yaz was, in a lot of ways, the most “normal” part of her life. Even if she had to answer questions like, “How did you meet?” with near-total lies.

Yaz, for her part, had finished her EMT course. The Doctor showed up at the informal graduation ceremony in a button-down and slacks, watching as Yaz accepted her certificate. After the ceremony, Yaz came and found her in the field of folding chairs that made up the audience, and the Doctor crushed her in a hug. 

“Knew you could do it,” she said.

“Oi, when was that even in question?” Yaz asked, but she was smiling as they pulled apart. “Suppose now I’ve got to get a job. Hope someplace around here wants me.”

“‘Course they will. You’re brilliant.” The Doctor grabbed her hand. “Now c’mon. I think I saw custard creams over with the snacks.”

Yaz’s smile grew. “Never change, Doctor.” 

She let the Doctor pull her over to the snack table. Halfway there, someone called out, “Hey, Yasmin! Yaz!” 

Yaz turned, the Doctor stopping with her. The person calling out was another graduate of the course, a tall woman with short black hair and tattoos winding up her exposed arms. 

“This the girlfriend you’re always on about?” the woman asked.

Yaz glanced at the Doctor. “Oh, right, this is Penelope.” She squeezed the Doctor’s hand. “Doctor, this is Lex. We sat next to each other for the whole course.”

“Brilliant to meet you, Lex,” the Doctor said, sticking out her hand. 

“You, too,” Lex said. “You’re one lucky woman, you know that? Whole course, Yaz wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Yaz was blushing. “Oi, I’m not that bad.”

“You kind of are,” Lex said, clapping Yaz on the shoulder. 

“ Really ?” the Doctor asked, a sly grin spreading on her face.

“Shut up, bighead.” Yaz tugged at her arm. “Let’s get you some custard creams, why don’t we? Nice talking to you, Lex.”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t shut up about me, would you?” the Doctor teased as they walked to the table.

“Keep that up, I’m taking the car home without you,” Yaz said.

The Doctor started to pop a custard cream into her mouth whole, then remembered that she couldn’t take the same risks with her food that she used to and forced herself to slow down to just take a big bite. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said.

Yaz sighed. “No. I wouldn’t.”

The Doctor’s grin only grew.

Winter was just beginning to arrive, snow dusted onto the city, when the Doctor finally found her purple sofa. She’d been looking, on and off, for the last few months: Yaz had taught her how to use a number of different websites, and she’d been half-haunting the local charity shops. But it wasn’t until, wandering around the university campus between classes, she saw a sign advertising a clean-out of one of the dorms that she found the sofa. The university, as far as she could tell, was letting students just take anything they could: people were already swarming, picking up chairs and tables and beanbags and whatever else they could find. And in the middle of the chaos sat a magnificently plush loveseat in a deep and royal purple. 

Immediately, the Doctor flung herself across the sofa, claiming it. She pulled out her phone, and in a flash had dialed Yaz. She didn’t think Yaz was at work right now— she’d been working morning shifts, and it was pretty late in the afternoon. And sure enough, Yaz picked up on the second ring.

“What’s up?”

“I’ve found our sofa,” the Doctor said. “Need you to bring the car.”

“Is it going to fit?” Yaz asked, her voice crackly over the phone line.

The Doctor scanned the sofa. “Not sure,” she said. “I think we can get it all in there. Only have to get it home from the university, don’t we?”

She could hear Yaz’s sigh. “All right, Doctor. I’m on my way.”

Yaz arrived fifteen minutes later, in her uniform trousers and T-shirt, pushing through the crowd to get to the Doctor. The Doctor saw her first. She sat up and waved, and then watched as Yaz’s focused expression broke into a smile.

“Doctor!” She walked over. “This is your sofa?”

The Doctor nodded. “Come sit. See how nice it feels.”

Yaz dropped down next to her and gave herself a few bounces. “You know, I’ll give you this one. This is a good sofa.”

“So, can we take it home?” the Doctor asked.

“We can try.” Yaz stood up. “C’mon, let’s get it outside.”

The sofa wasn’t as heavy as the Doctor had feared it might be. She stood at one end and Yaz at the other, and then a couple students came over and offered to help, so the four of them maneuvered the sofa out the door. Yaz had parked on the street nearby, and they set down the sofa on the snowy sidewalk so she could open the trunk of their car.

“I don’t know if this is going to fit,” Yaz said, eyeing the space in the back of the car.

“Sure it is,” the Doctor said. “If we get the seats down.” Before Yaz could say anything, she was crawling into the trunk, pushing the seat backs forward. “Maybe we can pull my seat forward, too,” she added, climbing back out. “My legs can get a bit crunched up. Or I can take the bus home.”

“Oh, no, you can’t,” Yaz said. “It’s your sofa. You’re going to see this thing through.”

Together, they muscled the sofa into the trunk. It was just barely short enough to squeeze into the car— but it stuck out of the trunk, even with both front seats pulled up as far as either of them could stand. 

“I miss dimensional engineering,” the Doctor grumbled. “If this was the TARDIS—” 

“Remember how you gave all that up on purpose?” Yaz asked, stepping back. She gave the sofa an appraising look. “You know, if we find something to tie this in with, I bet we could take it home like this. I’ll drive slowly.”

“Oh!” The Doctor jumped up. “I’m sure there’s rope around here somewhere.” She looked around. “Maybe inside?” 

Yaz nudged her with her foot. “You go look, then. I’ll stay here.”

The Doctor nodded. “Right.” She ran off, back into the dorm. “Does anybody have rope?” she asked, hoping the question would be received by the room at large. A couple people turned their heads.

“Rope?” one of them asked.

“You know,” the Doctor said. “Like what you could use for tying a sofa into the back of a car ‘cause we can’t get the trunk shut. Hypothetically.”

“Would old curtains work?” someone else suggested. “There’s loads of those. No one seems to want them.”

“Might do,” the Doctor said. “Not the least sturdy way I’ve tied something into a moving vehicle, I’ll say that for sure.” She considered for another moment. “Yes. I think curtains will do just fine.”

She exited the building a few minutes later, holding an assortment of long dark green curtains. “I got these!” she called out to Yaz.

“You think that’ll hold?” Yaz raised her eyebrows.

“Sure, if I braid them together.” The Doctor sat down on the curb, ignoring the cold and wet snow against her legs, her tongue poking out as she began twisting the fabric. It came together easily enough, and before long she had numb fingers and a braid long enough to wrap around the end of the sofa. She tied each end to one of the seats, and then she straightened up, grinning at Yaz over the roof of the car. “See? Result.”

“It’s only result if we actually get it home in one piece,” Yaz said, but she got into the driver seat. She glanced back at the sofa. “So much for the rear view mirror.”

“Oh, who needs to see behind them?” The Doctor slid into the car with a grin. “Much better to have a purple sofa.” 

Yaz rolled her eyes. “You hold on to it, then. I won’t have it sliding out as I drive.”

The Doctor wrapped one arm around the arm of the sofa, holding it as securely as she could, and Yaz began driving.

The drive back to their flat from the university should’ve taken seven and a half minutes— the Doctor had timed it, after she had realized how much information she was missing without her time senses— but today, it took almost half an hour, Yaz driving as slowly as she could manage. Still, the sofa got back in one piece, and they didn’t get stopped by police or anything, which had been the Doctor’s only real worry. It took some maneuvering, but she and Yaz managed to get the sofa into the flat, and finally the Doctor flopped down onto the sofa, sinking into the soft purple cushions.

“Thank you,” she said to Yaz. The words felt stilted, coming from her, but she had to make sure Yaz knew she knew how much she had been asking, calling up Yaz and asking her to show at the drop of a hat. “I know you’re probably tired from work. Means a lot to me, you dealing with me and my sofa.”

“Yeah, well, move over, or I won’t know if it was worth it.” Yaz knocked the Doctor’s feet to the side so she could sit down. Immediately, the Doctor thrust her feet back onto Yaz’s lap, and Yaz’s hands rested on her ankle. She looked over with a smile. “Everything you dreamed of?”

The Doctor sighed happily. “Yes.”

“Suppose it was worth it, then,” Yaz teased. 

The Doctor beamed. 

Winter proceeded. Dan invited them to his place for the first night of Hanukkah: they drove the two hours down to Liverpool, where he was now living with Di in a full size, not even a little bit shrunken, house. He had a very nice sofa himself, which of course meant the Doctor had to tell him all about the sofa she’d found. Halfway through the story, she caught Yaz looking at her, and she whipped her head to the side, making full eye contact. “What?”

“Nothing,” Yaz said. She let her head rest on the Doctor’s shoulder. “You’re cute, is all.”

Dan laughed. “Looks like you two are happy.”

“I’m happy,” the Doctor said. She poked at Yaz. “You happy?”

“Never happier,” Yaz said. 

On their way out, Dan hugged them each in turn. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said, mostly to Yaz.

“I won’t,” Yaz promised. “You come visit us in Sheffield one of these days, too.”

“Sure. I’d like to see your place.” Dan glanced sideways at the Doctor. “She taken over the decor yet?”

Yaz laughed. “Not yet.” 

“Glad you’re doing all right, there, Sheffield,” Dan said. 

“You too, Scouse.” Yaz smiled. “I’ll see you, all right?”

“You’d better.” 

Yaz took the Doctor’s hand, and they walked together back to their car.

Ryan and Graham had invited them over for Christmas Eve. They hadn’t planned on celebrating Christmas: neither of them was particularly inclined towards it, religiously speaking, and the Doctor tended to get twitchy around lit-up trees and Santa Clauses. Yaz had taken a shift at work, and the Doctor was planning to spend the day curled up on her very own sofa, watching the snow fall outside. But Christmas Eve with Ryan and Graham sounded nice enough. And it gave the Doctor the chance to run around finding everyone presents, a task she threw herself into with abandon. Finally, she and Yaz turned up on Ryan’s and Graham’s doorstep, each carrying a bag.

Graham opened the door. “Hey, look who it is!”

The Doctor waved with her free hand. “It’s us!” 

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Graham stepped back. “Come in!”

The Doctor and Yaz stepped inside, pulling off coats and hats as they did so. The house was warm, cheerfully lit. The Doctor spared a suspicious glance towards the Christmas tree in the corner.

“Can I have a look at that?” she asked.

“Don’t take it down or anything,” Graham said. 

“Won’t,” the Doctor said, already heading over. “Promise.” She wished she still had her sonic. She’d brought it with her, actually, but it didn’t work anymore: the interface had been telepathic, and she wasn’t telepathic anymore. She dove underneath the tree, pushing wrapped presents aside to get a good look at the trunk. It smelled like pine. It felt like pine. And— oh, sticky sap. That was going to be a pain to wash off. The Doctor almost stuck out her tongue for a taste, but then she remembered it was just going to taste bad and not tell her anything, and she kept her tongue resolutely inside her mouth. 

Behind her, she heard Ryan and Yaz greeting each other, and then footsteps, and then Ryan’s voice saying, “What’s she doing?”

“Think she’s had some bad Christmases,” Yaz said.

“Doesn’t explain why she’s underneath the tree.”

The Doctor pulled herself back out. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, getting to her feet. “I’m your present!” She started to launch herself at Ryan for a hug, but then she remembered all the sap she was likely covered in. “Good news,” she added. “Tree’s made of wood.”

Ryan frowned. “What was the other option?”

“Murderous robot,” the Doctor said. “Really, you’re lucky it’s wood.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Ryan smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too.” The Doctor looked around. “Place looks nice.” It was decorated for Christmas, with faux-pine garlands hung around the room, and lots of red and gold and green everywhere. 

“Most of it was my nan’s,” Ryan said. “She really went for that sort of thing.”

“Right,” the Doctor said. She tugged at the edges of her sleeves. “Nice that it still gets some use.”

“Yeah, you know.” Ryan shrugged. “It’s nice to feel like she’s with us, and all that.”

The Doctor nodded. There was an awkward silence, and then Yaz came up next to the Doctor, wrapping an arm around her waist. A second later, she pulled away, looking at her arm in confusion. 

“Doctor, are you covered in tree sap?”

“Sorry!” the Doctor exclaimed. “I forgot it was going to be sticky.”

“You know, most of us solve that problem by not diving under people’s Christmas trees,” Yaz said.

The Doctor frowned. “Look, until you’ve almost been killed by one—”

Yaz shook her head. “You know, I think I’ve got an extra T-shirt in the car, if you want it.”

“All right, fine.” The Doctor glanced at Ryan as Yaz stepped away. “Sorry. Still learning how to do the whole human thing.”

“Don’t know if this one’s a human thing,” Ryan said. “I mean, if I’d almost been killed by a Christmas tree, I’d be suspicious too.”

“ Thank you.” The Doctor crossed her arms. Yaz returned a second later with one of her long-sleeved black undershirts, and the Doctor went into the bathroom to put it on. It only took a second, but by the time she got out, Yaz and Ryan had gotten into an argument. 

“My sister ?” Yaz was shrieking. “And you didn’t tell me ?”

“Hey, I asked her if it was okay that you would be here, and she said yes,” Ryan protested. “I thought that meant she’d already talked to you!”

Yaz rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ryan.”

“Er— what’s happening?” the Doctor asked, looking between the two of them. 

Yaz turned to her. “Remember how Ryan said his girlfriend was coming tonight?”

“Yeah?” The Doctor frowned. And then it hit her. “Oh! You— you’re with—”

Ryan gave a sheepish nod. 

“And they didn’t tell me ,” Yaz added.

“I said sorry!” Ryan protested.

“Well!” the Doctor said. “This’ll be an entertaining night. Do you think Graham needs help in the kitchen?” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried into the back of the house. 

Graham was getting something out of the oven. The Doctor peered over the counter to see what it was: it looked like a turkey. 

“Don’t worry,” he said to the Doctor as he set it down on the countertop. “Got plenty of hot sauce for you.” They’d gone out for lunch a couple times since the Doctor became human, and the Doctor had practically drenched her food in hot sauce and salt. 

“Thanks,” she said. She nodded towards the stove, where a couple pans were bubbling. “You need any help?”

“Nah, that’s all right,” Graham said. “Suppose you could set the table, if you really wanted to.”

“Sure,” the Doctor said. And then she frowned. “Except you might have to tell me what all is supposed to go on it. I always lose track of the forks.”

“Only one fork each,” Graham assured her. “We’re not that fancy. C’mon, I’ll do one as an example.” He brought her into the dining room, where plates, cutlery, and napkins were stacked at the end of the table. The plates had little Christmas trees on them, the Doctor noted— it was rather cute. Graham laid out a plate, fork, knife, spoon, and napkin at one of the places. The Doctor watched like a hawk.  “Just like that,” he said.

“Just like that,” the Doctor repeated. She moved forward. “D’you know, Elizabeth the First had me set her table once? ‘Course, I messed it up horribly.” She tilted her head to the side. “Can’t have been that bad. She still married me.”

Graham laughed. “Have you told that one to Yaz?”

The Doctor shrugged. “Don’t know. Probably. Told her loads of my stories by now.”

Just then, Yaz came in, still looking a bit disgruntled. “What’s going on?”

“Was just telling Graham about the time I married Elizabeth the First,” the Doctor said.

Yaz made a face. “You can do better,” she said.

“Already have,” the Doctor replied cheerfully. 

Yaz didn’t have a response to that. She looked down, flustered.

“Did you and Ryan work it out?” the Doctor asked.

“Sort of.” Yaz shrugged. “It’s not like I can stop him dating my sister, can I?”

The Doctor hummed. “Could do. If you were really dedicated. Wouldn’t exactly be ethical.”

Yaz elbowed her. “Not looking for the technical answer on this one, Doctor.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Anyway,” Yaz said, “there are worse people my sister could get with. Worse people Ryan could get with, too, only don’t tell Sonya I said that.” She frowned. “And I didn’t bring her a present.”

“Do you usually do presents?” the Doctor asked.

“Not so much anymore,” Yaz admitted. “Used to, when we were kids. Mum and Dad didn’t want us to get jealous of our classmates. But, you know.” She waved a hand. “Not like I’ve been around much, these last few years.”

Just then, there was a knock on the door, and then the sound of it opening, and voices in the other room. A few moments later, Ryan came in, Sonya behind him. She stopped when she saw Yaz. They looked at each other for a long moment, communicating silently in the way only sisters could. 

“Yaz,” Sonya said, her voice icy.

“Sonya.” 

Sonya glanced towards the Doctor. “You didn’t tell me it was her you were living with.”

Yaz frowned. “Didn’t I?”

“You called her Penelope on the phone!” Sonya insisted. “How was I supposed to know that was your weird friend’s real name?”

“Er— well—” Yaz shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Sorry. I should’ve been clearer.” She raised her eyebrows. “Just like you should’ve been clearer you were dating my best mate.”

Sonya rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She sat down. “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”

“Then I don’t have to justify myself to you, either,” Yaz replied.

“Oh, this’ll be a fun dinner,” the Doctor said, a little too loudly. 

Graham and Ryan laughed.

“Shut up, Doctor,” Yaz said, but there wasn’t any malice in it. “C’mon, let’s sit. Graham, did you want help bringing the food over?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Graham said. “The presentation’s the fun part.”

“Right.” Yaz took the Doctor’s hand and pulled her around to the other side of the table. They sat next to each other, watching as Graham brought out an assortment of side dishes.

The meal went better than expected, really. The food was delicious— well seasoned, after the Doctor went at it with the hot sauce— and Yaz and Sonya kept any conflict to the sort of pointed barb the Doctor expected from sisters. Even better, she discovered that Sonya would take any story about time and space travel as a joke, and she and Yaz had fun spinning the last few years of adventure into epic tales, received as truth by Graham and Ryan, and with eye rolls and snide remarks from Sonya. 

“I’ll never understand you lot,” she finally said. “All this space stuff. Time travel . Do you really expect me to believe in time travel?”

“Could show you,” the Doctor said idly. “Except I left the time machine in Cardiff.”

Sonya scoffed. “Oh, it’s in Cardiff, is it? Next thing you’re going to be trying to tell me London is chock full of aliens.”

“Well—”

“You’re full of it. All of you.”

The Doctor grinned. “But isn’t it more fun that way?”

Sonya rolled her eyes. It was a familiar expression— the Doctor had seen it on Yaz’s face many a time. “Whatever.” She stabbed at her turkey with her fork and gave Ryan a sideways look. “You’re really lucky you’re hot.”

“You know what?” Ryan said. “I’ll take it.” He did look just that little bit happier as he went back to his food.

After the meal, and after a fairly irresponsible amount of pie, they all sat around in the living room. Ryan started pulling presents out from under the tree and tossing them around the room— he and Graham had each gotten something for each other, and for the Doctor, Yaz, and Sonya. The Doctor hadn’t had the forewarning about Sonya being there, so she only had anything for Ryan and Graham and Yaz— when she handed Yaz the bundle, clumsily wrapped in a starry-patterned paper.  Yaz looked up at her in surprise. 

“You got me something?”

“‘Course I did,” the Doctor said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Yaz smiled. “I got you something too.” She reached into her bag and passed the Doctor a neatly wrapped package. The Doctor stared.

“Oh, my God,” Sonya said, from the armchair where she was sitting on Ryan’s lap. “We get it. You’re sickeningly in love. Can we move on?”

Yaz tugged the bow off the Doctor’s gift and threw it at Sonya. “ I’m not the one trying to merge bodies with my partner, thanks.”

“Ooh, partner,” Sonya teased. “Like a cowboy. Ryan, d’you think you could make it as a cowboy?”

“Definitely not,” Ryan said. “Don’t think you want to see me try and ride a horse.”

“We did ride horses!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Didn’t we? Or was that with Dan?” She frowned. “No, I remember, ‘cause—”

“‘Cause I nearly fell off?” Ryan prompted.

“Right. Yeah.” The Doctor settled back against the sofa cushion, letting her arm fall behind Yaz. “But you got there in the end. No grievous injury.”

Ryan shrugged. “Guess so. Was fun to try once, anyway. Still. Don’t think I’d make it as a cowboy.”

“That’s all right,” Sonya said, settling more comfortably into his lap. “I like you now.”

“ Now who’s sickening?” Yaz grumbled.

“I thought we were opening presents,” Graham said.

“Oh!” The Doctor sat straight up. “Presents! Been ages since I’ve had a human Christmas, you know.”

“I thought that was because they kept nearly killing you,” Yaz said. 

“Oh, right.” The Doctor shrugged. “Still. A present never hurt anyone. Except that one time—”

“I know,” Yaz said. “With the poison, and the Slitheen. You said.”

“I’m really trusting all of you,” the Doctor added. “‘Course, if you can’t trust your friends, who can you trust?”

“Do you want to go first, then?” Ryan asked her.

“No, that’s all right,” the Doctor said. She nodded at him. “You go.” 

Ryan picked up one of the packages in front of him and began to pry it open, and the Doctor settled in. 

It was joyful, really, exchanging gifts like this. Ryan liked the hat she’d gotten him, and she laughed when she opened his gift to find a book titled, How to Be a Person in the World.

“Thought you’d need some help,” he joked.

“Oi, I’m doing just fine,” the Doctor said, but she flipped through the book anyway. She wasn’t sure she was going to read much of it, but it would be funny to have on the shelf, and that was what really mattered, wasn’t it?

Graham had knit everybody scarves— the Doctor’s was a deep blue. She slung it around her neck immediately, and then started feeling hot and had to take it off. Yaz laughed, her own deep red scarf folded up on her lap. Sonya had brought chocolates for Graham— “Why didn’t I think of that?” the Doctor muttered. Yaz elbowed her. 

And then it came around to the Doctor’s turn again, and she picked up the package Yaz had handed her. 

“It’s not much,” Yaz said, fidgeting with the edges of her sleeves. “Just didn’t want to leave you out, really.”

“I’m sure it’s brilliant,” the Doctor said, shooting her a grin. She tore at the paper, peeling it away to reveal— there were tears pricking at the edges of her eyes, she was sure of it. It was a picture frame, shaped like a custard cream, and in the frame was a selfie Yaz had taken of them on their last trip, both of them grinning at the camera and holding up their little cups of gelato. “Oh, Yaz,” she breathed, too caught off guard to feel self-conscious about the other people in the room. “It is brilliant.”

“You think so?” 

The Doctor looked up, meeting Yaz’s eyes. There was something uncertain there, a little nervous. “‘Course I do,” she said. For half a second, she considered kissing Yaz, full on the lips— but no, there were other people in the room, including Yaz’s sister, and she wasn’t sure Yaz would want that. Instead, she plucked her own gift to Yaz off the floor and tossed it at her. “Here, open mine.”

Yaz pried open the wrapping at one end and reached into the package, pulling out a soft knit jumper in a deep red. She held it up in front of her, her eyes shining.

“D’you like it?” the Doctor asked. “I just thought you might like one of your own. Y’know, ‘cause you keep stealing mine.”

There was a bark of laughter from the Sonya-and-Ryan side of the room. The Doctor stared.

“What?” 

Yaz rested a hand on her knee. “I love it, Doctor.” The Doctor turned her head back just in time to see Yaz’s grin. “But don’t think this means I’m going to stop stealing yours.”

The Doctor grinned back. “Oh, well. It was worth a shot.” 

“ Sickening, ” Sonya said.

Yaz stuck out her tongue. 

The Doctor had been thinking about what Yaz had said— about marriage, about a proposal. About her proposing. She’d been letting it sit, at the back of her mind, waiting until the perfect idea hit her.

Of course, when the perfect idea did hit her, it was time-sensitive, over the winter holidays, and she couldn’t even use the TARDIS to cheat. Luckily, Yaz had a day out with her sister planned: it was part of the whole “trying to be more in each other’s lives” thing they were getting into. It gave the Doctor a chance to slip out of the flat and take the bus downtown to a jeweler.

Which led to her next dilemma. What sort of ring? Yaz already wore rings all the time— usually they were silver, but she had a couple that were gold. Secretly, selfishly, the Doctor sort of thought the gold looked good on her, but this was about Yaz, and what Yaz would like. She stared at the jewelry counter. There were so many options: rings, and necklaces, and bracelets. The Doctor tried to narrow her focus to just the rings, but she wasn’t as good at focusing anymore, which was saying something, because it hadn’t exactly been her greatest skill before. But a task like this— that was important enough that her old self would’ve been able to zero in, and now she just couldn’t manage it.

“You all right, there?” The voice came from in front of her: a clerk had come in when she wasn’t looking.

The Doctor’s head shot up. “Yep! Peachy. Just fine. Why?” She eyed the clerk warily.

The clerk was young, with bright eyes and a practiced smile. She tapped the glass counter as she spoke, drumming out an erratic rhythm with her fingertips.“‘Cause I could help you, if you’re lost.”

“I’m not lost,” the Doctor said. “Always know where I am, me. Like right now, I’m in Sheffield, England, UK, Europe, Earth. How’s that for knowing where I am?”

“Very good,” the clerk said. “But I just meant with the jewelry.”

“Oh.” The Doctor looked down at the glass case. “Right. Suppose I am , then. Lost. Just a bit.”

“Can you tell me a bit about what you’re looking for?” 

“I need a ring.” The Doctor hesitated. “Not for me.”

“All right.” The clerk took out a ring of keys and began fiddling with the lock on the case. “Is this for a friend? Family member? Partner?” 

“Partner,” the Doctor said. “In every sense of the word.” 

The clerk smiled. “That’s sweet. How’d you two meet?”

“Oi, I didn’t know this was an interrogation.”

The case slid open, and the clerk straightened up, raising her hands in the air. “Just making small talk.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m a bit jumpy.”

The clerk raised her eyebrows. “I can see that.”

“Not really used to all this,” the Doctor added, gesturing around the store. “You know. Shopping. Being a person. All that.” She shook her head. “Anyway. We met on the train. Feels like it was centuries ago, now.”

“Oh, yeah? How long have you been together?”

The Doctor scrunched her nose. “Don’t know. It’s a bit complicated. Not really small talk. Very big talk, actually. Loads I would have to explain.”

The clerk eyed her for a moment. “Right. I’d best just ask you what sort of jewelry she likes, then.”

“Oh, I know this one!” The Doctor grinned. “She’s always wearing rings and earrings and such. Not necklaces, so much, although she’s got one or two she pulls out once in a while. And she’s got her nan’s watch— well, that was a day, with her nan’s watch. But she wears it all the time. Even though it’s broken.” She frowned. “Sorry. That’s not helpful. Bit prone to tangents, in this— anyway.” She looked down at the jewelry in the case. “She’d wear something like that,” she said, pointing to a thin silver band. “Except she probably already has one like that. Probably should go a bit fancier. But I’m not sure she’d want a stone. I don’t know. Maybe she would. What do you think?” She looked up at the clerk.

“You know her better than me,” the clerk said. “Do her other rings have stones?”

The Doctor considered. “Not the rings,” she said. “Some of the earrings, I think. But that’s different. And maybe it should have a stone. You know, to be special? I don’t know. Haven’t bought much jewelry.” She gestured at her ear cuff. “Yaz picked this out, actually. Ages ago. Before we even knew each other, really. Before I even knew myself. She’s got good taste.”

“Right.” The clerk bent down, pulling rings out of the case. She pulled a few different metals, a few with stones, a few without— but it didn’t matter, because that was when the Doctor saw it. The perfect ring.

“That one,” she said, pointing to the corner of the case. “What’s that one?”

The clerk brought it out. It was a dark copper and bright, warm gold, the two metals twisted together, and a line of blue stones running along the gold. 

“That’s just right,” the Doctor breathed. “It’s not going to be horribly expensive, is it?” She had some money, part of the savings they’d set themselves up with through semi-dubious and sonic-induced means, but that didn’t mean she could just go around spending thousands on jewelry. Even if it was the most important jewelry of her life.

“It’s very reasonable,” the clerk said. “The stones are lab-grown, and to be honest, we’ve been having trouble selling it.”

“Can’t imagine why,” the Doctor said. “It’s gorgeous.” She shrugged. “Still, my gain.”

“If you know her ring size,” the clerk said, “we can get it sized for her and everything.”

The Doctor faltered. “I— I didn’t think about the sizing.”

The clerk bent down, returning the other rings she pulled to the case. “That’s all right. You just bring it back here if it doesn’t fit, and we can resize it for you.” 

“Right. Okay. Thank you.” 

The door to the case slid shut, and the clerk looked up at the Doctor. “Do you want it engraved?”

“Engraved?” the Doctor asked.

“You know, we can put something on the inside. Words, a date, little hearts. Whatever you want. No charge.” 

“Oh!” The Doctor leaned over the counter, peering at the inside of the ring. “Can you put two hearts in there? Next to each other?”

“Of course. Wait here a moment.” The clerk took the ring and disappeared into a back room. The Doctor stood, waiting, afraid to move for fear of knocking over something precious. It was only a few minutes later that the clerk came back out, holding a small box. She opened it and pulled out the ring, passing it to the Doctor.

“It’s gorgeous,” the Doctor said. She brought it close to her face. The stones, all lined up— the way the two metals mixed together— and two little hearts, engraved on the inside of the band. Two hearts were all they had between them, these days. 

She handed the ring back to the clerk, who tucked it back into the box and wrapped it up in a paper bag before handing it back to the Doctor. The Doctor looked down at herself, trying to figure out which pocket she could put the package in so Yaz wouldn’t be sure to find it immediately— she finally settled on the pocket of her leather jacket, which already held enough in the way of wrapped sweets and scraps of paper that another lump would hardly make a difference. She paid and left the shop, and as she walked home, she couldn’t stop herself from sticking her hand in her pocket, turning the package over and over in her hands.

Yaz was in her armchair when the Doctor stepped through the front door, slipping off her leather jacket as casually as she could. 

“Hiya,” she said in Yaz’s direction. “Your family all right?”

“Doctor!” Yaz stood. “Where have you been?”

“Just fancied a walk.” The Doctor waved a hand, forcing the casual tone. “Everything all right?”

“I couldn’t get hold of you,” Yaz said. “I was worried.”

“Oh.” The Doctor took a deep breath, the ghost of a shove pressing against her chest. “ Oh . I’m sorry, Yaz. Must’ve forgotten to take my phone with me.” 

Yaz took the two steps closer to pull her into a hug, and the Doctor wrapped around her, Yaz melting against her body.

“Sorry,” Yaz said, her voice muffled. “I think I forget we’re not back on the TARDIS sometimes. Don’t need to worry so much.”

“Still plenty to worry about on Earth,” the Doctor said. She stopped herself just ini time to prevent a completely unhelpful ramble about all the dangers of being a regular human. “I should’ve brought my mobile, anyway.” She held Yaz tighter. “I’ll remember next time.”

“You’d better.” Yaz stepped back. “You know you’re freezing, right? Did you go out with just that jacket?”

The Doctor glanced towards the jacket. “Yeah? It’s not that cold. I walk fast. Keeps me warm.”

Yaz shook her head. “Not that warm. Come on, let’s get you a good cup of tea.” She wrapped an arm around the Doctor’s waist, leading her into the kitchen.

The Doctor managed to make it the three days to New Year without telling Yaz any of the plans that were buzzing just under her skin, bubbling up and threatening to spill out. All she said to Yaz was, “D’you want to do something? For New Year?” When Yaz asked what, she just smiled and said, “It’s a surprise.”

Really, the plans were fairly simple. Maybe too simple— the Doctor was a little nervous about that. But— well, they were due a simple New Year, really. So she gathered some supplies— food, candles (albeit the battery-operated kind), blankets— and when the day came, she instructed Yaz to dress warmly and drive them to the university.

“What are we doing here?” Yaz asked, looking at the Doctor in confusion. She was so gorgeous, bundled up in her knit scarf and hat pulled down around her ears. 

“C’mon,” the Doctor said, slinging her backpack over one shoulder and two folded lawn chairs over the other and reaching out for Yaz to take her hand. She led Yaz through the snow-covered campus, leaving crisp footprints in their wake, until finally they got to one of the taller buildings, a glass-windowed near-skyscraper. The Doctor took off a glove to fumble in her pockets, trying one, then the other, her hand brushing past the little velvet box, before she finally found the right one and pulled out a key. 

“Where did you get that?” Yaz asked, staring.

“One of the custodians owed me a favor,” the Doctor explained. “Well— d’you remember when we came back for— was it Eid Al-Adha? Would be a few years ago, now. And I was supposed to come celebrate with you, but then I offered to run to the store for your mum and didn’t come back for five hours?”

Yaz narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. Was proper embarrassing, that was.”

“Sorry,” the Doctor muttered, slipping the key into the lock. “I got into a whole thing. There was this man, and these aliens— you know how it goes. But the man was a custodian here, and he said if I ever needed a favor, I should ask him.”

“And he just… let you have the key?” Yaz asked, her eyebrows raised.

The Doctor nodded. She pushed the door open. “Can you blame him?” she asked. “I mean, considering my charisma and charm—”

Yaz rolled her eyes, pushing past the Doctor into the building. “Bighead.” She pulled off her own gloves and stuffed them into her pocket so she could take the Doctor’s hand. “So, your New Year’s plans were to break into a Sheffield University building with me?”

“That’s just the first step,” the Doctor promised. “C’mon. Step two is elevators.”

“I’m taking a lot on faith here,” Yaz said.

The Doctor grinned. “Tell you what. If it’s not worth it, you can yell at me for it for the rest of both our lives.”

Yaz laughed.

Five minutes later, they stepped out onto the roof. It was completely dark out already, the lights of the city glittering below, the moonlight carving out the shapes of the hills in the distance. The Doctor led Yaz to one edge of the roof, dropping the backpack, setting up the chairs. Yaz sat, and the Doctor did too, bending forward to rummage in the backpack. She pulled out a glass bottle— sparkling apple juice, neither she or Yaz was really interested in alcohol— and two cups, and then a bag packed with biscuits, sandwiches, fruit, chocolates, and then two thermoses filled with hot chocolate, because the apple juice was mostly for show, and they needed something hot if they were going to be sitting out on a roof in the middle of winter like this. 

She handed one of the thermoses to Yaz, dropped the bag and bottle and cups in the space between them, and then dove back into the backpack, pulling out another bag of tea lights, fake candles made of plastic: much less likely than the real thing to start a fire on the roof of a building they weren’t supposed to be in. The Doctor set them out around the two chairs, and then she sat back down, triumphant.

“See?” she said. “Never say I don’t have a plan.”

Yaz laughed. “What about that time we got captured by the Korigi?”

The Doctor shook her head. “Had a plan. Just wasn’t a very good one.”

Without getting up, Yaz managed to drag her chair against the ground until it brushed against the Doctor’s. She leaned over the fabric arms to rest her head against the Doctor’s shoulder, and the Doctor wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer, humming with content.

“So this is your plan?” Yaz asked. “Rooftop picnic?”

“There’s more to it than that,” the Doctor said. “But now you mention it, yeah, I am a bit peckish.”

Yaz reached under her chair and pulled out the bag. She looked into it, squinting in the near-darkness. “Doctor, there’s no way you needed to pack this much.”

“No fun if it’s not a feast,” the Doctor said. She reached across Yaz’s lap and plucked a pack of custard creams out of the bag. “Watch out on the sandwiches. Definitely put too much hot sauce on a couple. And one of them is pickle and marshmallow.” 

“You and your taste buds,” Yaz said, shaking her head fondly. She pulled out one of the sandwiches and unwrapped it from its plastic, lifting the top slice of bread. “Yep, definitely yours.” She passed it to the Doctor and pulled out another. This one was turkey and cheese— apparently satisfactory, considering that Yaz balanced it carefully on her lap and set the bag back down on the ground. 

“There’s about half an hour to midnight,” the Doctor said. “What do you say, Yasmin Khan? Good year?” 

Yaz looked at her, and the Doctor could see the shine in her eyes. “Best year,” she said quietly.

“Bet we can do better with the next one,” the Doctor said, taking a bite of her sandwich. It still managed to not quite be spicy enough— nothing could compensate for her old taste buds.

“Yeah? I’ll hold you to that.” Yaz sipped from her thermos, looking out at the city. “D’you know, I never thought I’d find Sheffield this beautiful?” She glanced at the Doctor. “I mean, you grow up here, it starts to feel sort of boring.”

“Here? Boring?” The Doctor shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

“‘Course you wouldn’t.” Yaz let her gloved hand cover the Doctor’s. “It’s part of why I like you so much.”

A warm glow bloomed in the Doctor’s stomach. She kicked her feet, totally content.

Fifteen minutes later, the food was reduced to scraps of plastic wrappers, and the Doctor and Yaz were leaning on each other, looking out at the city in beautiful silence.

“You know what we should do?” Yaz asked, her voice quiet.

The Doctor looked at her. “What?”

Yaz stood up. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, taking off her glove to tap at the screen. A couple seconds later, a slow ballad echoed from the speakers, tinny in the open space. Yaz held out a hand.

“Dance with me,” she said. “Give the year a good sendoff.”

The Doctor stood, taking Yaz’s hand, holding her close, stepping in time around the roof. Warmth flooded her, coursing beneath her skin, and she tried to keep track of time— she didn’t have her time senses anymore, but she still liked to think she had decent instincts.

The song ended, and flowed into another, and still the Doctor had Yaz close to her chest, cheeks pressed together, sharing warmth in the winter night.

And then that song ended, and the Doctor stepped back. She could’ve kept dancing forever— happily would’ve, except that if she had to wait another moment to propose to Yaz, she was going to jump out of her skin.

“You all right?” Yaz asked.

The Doctor smiled. It was a tight, nervous smile— not as free as the ones she’d gotten used to giving Yaz— but it would have to do for now. “Yaz,” she breathed. “Yasmin Khan. There’s something— something I wanted to do. Tonight.”

“Yeah?” 

The Doctor looked at Yaz. She was so beautiful, the shine in her eyes, her lips parted, her skin bathed in not-quite-candlelight. The Doctor pulled off her gloves, shoved them into the pocket of her trousers, and stuck her bare hand into her coat pocket, fumbling for the ring— and then she realized it was in the other pocket, and had to fumble there instead.

“Hang on,” she said. “Just a second.” Finally, her hand closed around the box, and she took a deep breath. “Right. I think people usually do it like this.” She got down on her knee, clumsy in her winter gear. She felt the cold hard concrete through her trousers, even though she’d worn leggings underneath specifically for this purpose. Yaz was still standing above her, and when she looked up, she saw gloved hands covering her mouth, the only visible part of her her still-shining eyes.

“Yaz,” the Doctor said again. “I meant it, when I said you were one of the best people I’d ever met. You’re brave, and strong, and caring, and kind, and— loads of things, really, but I won’t get sidetracked.”

Yaz’s laugh was halfway to a sob.

“I’ve traveled with a lot of people,” the Doctor said. “Loved a lot. Lost a lot. And—” Now she was halfway to sobbing, thinking about everyone she’d loved, thinking about everything Yaz was to her. “And I don’t want to lose you.” She forced the next words out of her mouth: she was still working on the emotional vulnerability piece, but— Yaz deserved to hear it. “I love you, Yasmin Khan. Be my wife?” A second too late, she remembered to open the ring box, displaying the copper and gold and sparkling blue, all mingling together.

For a moment, Yaz didn’t say anything, and the Doctor was worried she’d done everything wrong— but then she saw Yaz’s shoulders shake, and Yaz lowered her hands to reveal a smile on a tear-stained face, and she was nodding. 

“Yes,” she said. “Of course I will. Yes, Doctor.”

Relief flooded the Doctor’s body. She hadn’t thought Yaz would say no, but— she’d be lying if she said the possibility hadn’t occurred to her. “Oh, thank goodness.” She tried to get to her feet, but the second she moved her leg she wobbled, narrowly avoiding a fall. “Help me up?”

“Of course,” Yaz said again, the words spilling haphazard out of her mouth. She took the Doctor’s hand and pulled her to her feet, and then before the Doctor knew what was going on, Yaz was kissing her like she’d never been kissed before, relief and love and brilliant, shining joy all mixed up together.

“The ring might not be your size,” the Doctor said, breathless, trying her hardest to talk around the kiss. “And if you don’t like it there’s a return policy— we can get another one—”

“Doctor,” Yaz said, pulling back just barely, and the Doctor even loved the exasperation in her voice, especially when it came with so much affection in her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Right. Okay. Sorry.”

Yaz’s smile grew, and she kissed the Doctor again, slowly, sweetly, before pulling away, resting her forehead against the Doctor’s. “Will you put it on me?” she asked. “The ring?”

“‘Course I will.”

Yaz held out her hand, and the Doctor slid the ring onto it— and yes, it had been the perfect choice, even though Yaz usually wore silver. The colors seemed to glow against her skin, and when the Doctor looked up, she saw sheer adoration in Yaz’s eyes.

“D’you like it?” she asked, biting at the inside of her lip.

“I love it,” Yaz said. “I love you .”

The Doctor kissed her. 

“Does it fit?” she asked when she pulled back. “Do we need to take it back?”

Yaz looked at the ring on her hand, angling it this way and that, the stones catching the moonlight. “It fits perfectly,” she said, and the Doctor felt the awe in her voice. 

“Call it fate,” she said, and laughed. “Think it’s the kindest fate’s ever been to me.”

Yaz pulled her close again, drawing her into a hug, and the Doctor held her, sinking into her warmth. She opened her mouth, about to say something that probably would’ve been very sappy, but then light flashed over their heads, and there was a sound that seemed to shake the foundations of the building. 

The Doctor and Yaz jumped apart.

“Oh, right,” the Doctor said. “Forgot why I chose this place to begin with.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the fireworks. “Care to take in a show?”

“I’d love to.”

They didn’t bother with the lawn chairs. They laid right on the concrete, ignoring the cold against their backs— or, the Doctor ignored the cold against her back. Yaz avoided the problem all together by resting her head on the Doctor’s chest and keeping her legs bent. The Doctor didn’t mind: Yaz was warm, after all, warm and alive and here and her future wife, and the Doctor couldn’t imagine ever wanting her to be less close than she was right now. 

The fireworks flashed in the sky, booming out all over Sheffield. From here, it looked like they were right up close, light spilling onto their faces. And then there was a crescendo, a magnificent finale, and the light and sound died away, leaving just the Doctor and Yaz, cuddled together on a rooftop.

“Happy New Year, Yaz,” the Doctor whispered.

Yaz lifted her head. She pressed a slow kiss to the Doctor’s lips. “Happy New Year, Doctor.”

The Doctor couldn’t help the smile she felt growing on her face. 

“Suppose now we’ve got a wedding to plan.”

“Suppose we do.” Yaz rested herself on the Doctor’s chest again, and the Doctor couldn’t help but feel like she hadn’t been this content in years.