Chapter Text
It's Christmas Eve, and the Doctor is still thinking about it. On the one hand, letting the Master go shopping for them would give her some proper alone time with Yaz, where she's not worried about the Master listening in from a few doors down. To be fair, she's only been without that for a few days now. But that is a few days, in her opinion, too many. On the other hand, letting the Master—famously impulsive and untrustworthy—do virtually anything on his own while he's their responsibility is probably a bad idea. On another hand, he did say he'd let her choose the planet. If she were to choose somewhere familiar, where it wouldn't be too hard to keep an eye on him if needed…
Oh, he'd hate it. But the Doctor's owed that satisfaction, isn't she?
She finds Yaz and the Master in the kitchen, the former pouring the latter a cup of tea. She spots two more cups further down the counter, and smiles.
"Morning, Doctor," Yaz says cheerily.
"Morning, Doctor," the Master echoes, similarly cheery, and also somehow a million other things at once.
"Nice to see you two getting along," the Doctor says, rocking on her heels. And then, trying to maintain the nonchalance in her voice, adds, "And speaking of which…"
Two pairs of huge brown eyes turn expectantly to her (she's had this dream before, she thinks) and she smiles best she can. "I think… it probably won't hurt to let the Master go gift-shopping for us, Yaz."
Yaz makes a face like she can't decide whether she wants to argue that; her smile is still present, but her brows furrow, head tilting just slightly to the left.
"I mean," the Doctor continues, hoping to end any arguments before they start, "he does sort of owe us. For letting him stay with us and crash our party and all. We've been taking care of him, so it's the least he can do." She moves to her cup of tea, which is still just short of scalding.
"You'd have done that for nothing in return, Doctor. That's what you've been doing," Yaz says flatly, which is… true.
"Well, yeah," the Doctor concedes, "but still! Don't you want to see what he'll get us?" She gives Yaz her best convincing, pleading pout, and though her companion has long since learned to see through even the Doctor's most persuasive faces, she still sighs and closes her eyes.
"Fine,"Yaz says. "But we pick the planet, yeah?"
"That was the agreement," the Master affirms, to his credit.
Grinning, the Doctor announces, "I've already thought of the perfect one."
The Master narrows his eyes at her, like he's worked it out already. He probably has. Still, he obliges her, in the patient tone of someone who knows they won't like the answer but is hoping to perhaps be pleasantly surprised. "And what planet would that be, dear?"
"Earth, of course! Dear," The Doctor adds as an afterthought. She doesn't bother trying to hide her pleased smile as the Master rolls his eyes and scoffs into his tea. Yaz, however, isn't as pleased.
"Are you sure this is a good idea, Doctor?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "The Master doesn't like Earth much, does he? Or anyone on it. Or anything on it. Should we really be letting someone who's tried to destroy the planet multiple times just… roam it unsupervised?"
"I know he hates Earth, but I love it. And I'm well known there! So if he gets up to anything, for some reason, I'll probably be the first to know. Plus, without all his schemes and gadgets, he's—" she cuts herself off, trying to choose her words wisely and kindly. He's not nothing, never nothing. He couldn't be nothing if he tried, and she's seen him try. "He can't do much harm," she corrects herself. "Most of his stuff's been destroyed, and he says he doesn't have a plan…"
"What if he's nicked something from the TARDIS?"
The Doctor turns to him. "Have you?"
The Master puts both hands up. "I've not been up to anything since I got here. Cross my hearts."
"See?" The Doctor says with a smile. She knows that the Master's word alone is rarely enough to go off of, but she can't bring herself to fight him. She's going to choose to believe he really is on her side until he leaves after Christmas. He's honoured their truce so far, and her constant suspicion is exhausting. She'll let herself have this, just for now.
Yaz sighs—she does that a lot, where the Master is concerned; the Doctor wishes she didn't find it so endearing—and moves her hands to her hips. "Fine. Sure. " She looks as if she'll say more, but then she, too, puts both her hands up. "He can get us a gift from Earth."
The Doctor grins, and the Master scowls again, and this time Yaz does look at least midly pleased at his discontent.
❄
"Don't try anything funny," the Doctor says, pointing a warning finger in the Master's face. "Unless it's actually funny. Otherwise, don't try it. If you do, not only will I know, but I will be very cross with you."
"I would never want to make you cross, " the Master says listlessly, already halfway to the door.
"And you don't have any of your usual toys, do you?"
"Whatever wasn't destroyed, you've confiscated," the Master says, but turns out his pockets anyway.
The Doctor, satisfied, nods and rushes to the door. "Right then. Earth, 2024! Have fun!" She opens the door, and she and the Master step out together, Yaz a couple steps behind.
"Now, Yaz," the Doctor says brightly. "Where to?"
Yaz looks down, suddenly finding her fingernails very interesting. "Um… I was thinking."
"About something good, I hope?" The Doctor tries to cycle through all the things Yaz could be thinking about. Her face is scrunched up pensively, her lips twisted in.. well, not a frown so much as a pout. It's very cute, and not especially sad, so it's probably nothing bad that's on her mind. But then, when Yaz is excited to share something, she usually has to bite back smiles, like the good news is threatening to spill out of her all at once. So this probably isn't a happy thought, either. Well, then. Perhaps it's only a thought, with no strong emotions attached to it. Or maybe she has mixed feelings about whatever she’s thinking? The Doctor does wish this face was better at these sorts of things. Actually, it’s not been a strong suit of most of her faces, come to think of it—
She becomes vaguely aware of Yaz calling her name, and judging by the look on her face (this one, the Doctor recognises well), it's not her first time doing so.
"I was saying," Yaz continues, "shouldn't we get a gift for the Master, too?"
The Doctor blinks, and then her face splits into a grin. "Grown on you, has he?"
Yaz huffs. "I just think—I know you said he owes us for letting him stay with us, but. Maybe doing something nice for him would… I don't know —"
"I think it's a great idea, Yaz," the Doctor says, because she does. "Although, do you think he'd actually keep whatever we give him?"
"Probably not," Yaz admits. "Was just a suggestion."
"No, I like it! It's Christmas, after all." The Master has enough stupid baubles, the Doctor knows. But it's been a while since she's given him anything stupid. He'll probably pretend to hate it. Or maybe actually hate it. But how he feels about their gesture is out of their hands, and the Doctor would like to do something nice for him while she can, while they're both still pretending.
"But what do you get someone who, er…" Yaz trails off, gesturing vaguely. The Doctor knows what she means, though. If the Master wanted any human present from Earth, there'd be very little stopping him from getting it. And he doesn't exactly have a Christmas wishlist either. What does one get for someone whose only true desires are intangible?
Still, the Doctor isn't deterred. "We'll find something!" She starts off, with no particular aim in mind, and Yaz follows. Neither of them speak for a while. "So," she says after the silence has stretched on longer than she's comfortable with. "Anywhere you want to stop while we're here?"
Yaz pauses and thinks. "Could go for some chips," she says after a moment.
"Brilliant! Chips it is!" the Doctor exclaims. "We'll look for gifts on the way!"
Unsurprisingly, the streets are incredibly crowded, with people scrambling to buy last minute gifts and food before the sun sets. The restaurant the pair end up in, though, doesn't seem that busy at all. The Doctor supposes all its normal patrons are out buying socks for their in-laws, or something. When they sit down and order their drinks and chips, Yaz has a far off look in her eye again. "I was at a restaurant with the Master, not long ago," she says reminiscently.
"Were you?" This news is genuinely surprising to the Doctor, although perhaps it shouldn't be. This must've happened while she wasn't around, so it could have only been while she was out gift shopping for Yaz. It's hard to imagine the Yaz and the Master from only a few days ago able to go more than a few minutes without tearing each other apart, much less long enough to enjoy a meal. "Was it any good?"
Yaz shrugs, suddenly looking a bit hesitant. "The food was pretty good. I don't think the Master enjoyed it much, though. The company, not the food. He didn't eat."
The Doctor feels her brows scrunch together. "Well," she says, with a false sort of mildness, "I don't imagine you enjoyed his company much either. Did you?"
"No," Yaz says with a half-laugh, like it's obvious. (It is obvious, in all honesty. She's done very little to hide her distaste for the Master, and who could blame her?)
"And here you are wanting to buy gifts for him! What changed?"
Yaz shrugs again. "Clearly, refusing to give him any grace isn't doing much. If what I do doesn't make a difference either way, I'd rather be kind."
The Doctor is about to comment that Yaz has most certainly given the Master grace, seemingly more grace than she's been comfortable with, when the full sentiment strikes her. Yaz's instinctive care for others is nothing new, but it still warms the Doctor's hearts to hear things like that. In fairness, if there's anyone who doesn't deserve grace, it's probably the Master, but this certainly does make things easier for the Doctor. "You've decided the maniacal face-stealer deserves kindness now, have you?" she asks jokingly.
"You seem to have done," Yaz says softly, and that… well, that makes a flurry of all sorts of weird emotions bloom in the Doctor's chest.
"Right, well," she says, and that's the end of that. "Let's talk about something other than the Master," she adds. "I miss when it was just the two of us." The Doctor doesn't bother masking the slightly whiny quality her tone has taken on; she doesn't think she'd be able to if she tried.
Fortunately, Yaz giggles (which is always the goal, really) and says, "Doctor, that was less than a week ago."
"And? It's been a long week!"
"And whose fault is that?"
The Doctor grins, and Yaz grins right back.
"Well, we're alone together now. In a manner of speaking," Yaz corrects, looking around the half-empty restaurant.
"Yaz," the Doctor says quietly, as a thought strikes her, "how long do you plan on travelling with me?"
Yaz looks a bit taken aback by the question. Her brown eyes widen nearly imperceptibly, lips parting slightly as she weighs out her words. "As long as I can," she says after a short moment, "as long as I possibly can." Another pause. "Why?"
The Doctor tries, generally, not to concern herself too much with time this time around. Well, as much as a time lord can. She tries her best to let things run their course without question, letting things end when they end and not saying goodbye. But, well, the Doctor's rarely been able to trust too much of a good thing. Whether she voices it or not, whether she even lets herself feel the mistrust or not, it's always there. There's a sort of dark and hidden vindication in losing people, if only because it's validating. She's always losing people, and therefore she's always right. This feeling, she rarely allows herself to acknowledge. Once it passes, she mostly jut feels empty, anyway.
But with Yaz, who's stayed with her past Ryan and Graham and Dan, and the Master, who has all of a sudden decided to grant her the kindness of pretending right alongside her, she can't help but wonder when this dream will end. How long will she mourn this time, before moving on to the next girl or blonde or blonde girl or bright-eyed human who reminds her of some other long gone bright-eyed human?
Then again, the Doctor's never been able to resist hope, either. Perhaps that's why she keeps letting her hearts break.
"Just wondering," she says brightly.
Yaz narrows her eyes, seeing right through the Doctor's chipper voice. With time lords, if they want to know something for certain, they'll simply psychic link. At least that the Doctor can defend against. This, Yaz's huge, dark eyes gazing at her, she has no idea how to deal with. Even after years, she sits defenseless and burning under her companion's scrutiny. Instinctively, she raises her mental shields, as if that will do anything, as if Yaz is really in her mind at all. Her face feels warm—she hopes it's not visible.
Eventually, Yaz says, "I'm not going to leave you, Doctor. Not on purpose, at least. And I don't plan on going and getting myself killed any time soon, either."
And she sounds so much like she believes it that the Doctor almost lets herself believe it too. "Yeah, I know," she says, in her most convincing voice, and Yaz seems satisfied.
"Good," she says with a smile. This, too, makes the Doctor feel warm. So it gets a bit easier to ignore the voice in the back of her head reminding her that's what everyone else said, too. Humans always think forever. Perhaps because so few of them have any idea what forever feels like.
The Doctor doesn't say any of this, of course. She can't. She merely smiles, and sighs softly with relief as their chips are brought out. They smell delicious, and she figures she can let that be enough of a distraction. She watches as Yaz starts to eat, and pries her eyes away from her mouth with some effort once she realises she's been staring. "Any ideas about what you want to get the Master, yet?" the Doctor asks, mostly to drag her mind away from the deep, affectionate abyss it's been inching steadily toward for the past several minutes.
One side of Yaz's mouth quirks up in a smile, halfway to the food in her hand. "I thought we weren't talking about the Master."
Oh, right. "Well, what do you want to talk about?"
"I dunno," Yaz says, her smile growing. "I suppose we can talk about him if you like."
"Are we each getting him a present, or one gift from the both of us?"
Yaz makes a face like that was a stupid question. "I don't like him that much, Doctor. Just the one is fine. Unless you want to get him two."
Does she? The Doctor considers how he might react to a gift from both of them and then an extra one from her. Just the imaginedv smug smirk is nearly enough to make her roll her eyes, so she shakes her head. "One is fine."
Yaz nods. "Do you have any ideas?"
"We could get him an ornament!"
"Does he have a tree?"
"I mean, you don't need a tree to have an ornament."
Yaz gives the Doctor a long look.
"Fine, no ornament."
Yaz takes a thoughtful sip of her drink. "Mm … what does he like to do?" she asks, sounding like this is the first time she's considered the question herself.
"Plot," the Doctor says dryly, "plan, think up new ways to hurt my loved ones and make himself look daft in the process."
"Hmmm," Yaz hums. She drums her fingers on the table, and the gesture is familiar, so the Doctor looks away. "What about a journal?"
"A journal…?" It's not a bad idea. No one could say for sure if he'd use it, but it might be nice to have a place to put all his plans. Then again, no one likes to be reminded of their failures. But also, seeing all his failures might inspire him to get better. But then, the Doctor realises sourly, she doesn't actually want him to get better at ruining her life, does she? Maybe instead, he'll turn over a new leaf and document his progress.
That's almost laughable.
But the possibilities held inside a blank book are nearly endless, and it couldn't hurt. It's not like the Doctor's got any other particularly strong ideas anyway. "I gave a diary to my wife, once," she says absently as the memory occurs to her.
"You never did tell me much about your wife," Yaz says in the tone of someone who is trying a bit too hard to sound conversational.
The Doctor opts to ignore her, saving that discussion for another day. "Journal it is, then," she says, stretching and standing and fishing in her pockets for cash as Yaz eats the last chip. "I'll pay."
"Did you forget change again?" Yaz asks, already reaching for her wallet.
The Doctor would love for Yaz to be wrong, but the moment of hesitant silence as the Doctor decides to triple check her pockets just in case is all the confirmation Yaz needs.
"Right," she says with a grin that's far too fond and makes the Doctor's hearts flutter, "I'll pay."
The Doctor at least has the decency to look sheepish as she moves to wait for Yaz outside.
It doesn't take them long to find the gift, now that they know what they're looking for. It's a beautiful journal, leather dyed a deep, rich purple, and the Master's always loved pretty things.
The Doctor promises to pay Yaz back once they return to the TARDIS, and Yaz laughs and insists on only taking half. The Doctor, then, is hit with a wave of affection so strong it nearly bowls her over. She allows herself, briefly, to imagine an existence where Yaz and the Master are with her forever, and she can love them as freely as she wishes. She quickly shuts that fantasy down, though, as it makes her so immediately emotional she gets dizzy.
On the way back to the TARDIS, she brushes her hand against Yaz's and hopes she gets the hint. Yaz laces her fingers through the Doctor's own. Gingerly, like she's worried she'll burn her, but eager in equal measure. They both keep their eyes ahead and don't acknowledge it in conversation.
The Doctor fights not to pull away after a few moments—she did initiate this, after all—and discovers that it's actually… sort of nice? Yaz's hand is warm and soft, despite the winter chill, and though the Doctor is so aware of every moment that they're touching, after several moments, the feeling isn't as suffocating.
And, if anything, the Doctor thoroughly enjoys the look on the Master's face when he spots them.
"Shall we go?" he asks, unsubtly staring at their intertwined hands. "These presents aren't going to wrap themselves."
“Yep! We’re ready,” the Doctor says with a smile, pushing open the TARDIS door. She and Yaz are still holding hands when they walk inside.