Chapter Text
She’s glad it’s night time in Sheffield. The streets are quiet and still, the stars provide a low, easy light to navigate by and don’t put a strain on sensitive eyes. Cool, evening wind sends her hair billowing in all directions, her deteriorating coat waving and floating with the push, and the Doctor stops in place for a moment. Lets it’s chill bite mercifully against her skin, closes her eyes and sucks in a lung full through her nose.
She’s forgotten what proper air and non-artificial oxygen felt like. Smelled like, tasted like, even. The familiarity is unexpectedly consuming, and when Graham and Ryan’s flat comes into view, the sense of coming home that bubbles in her chest and lightens her hearts is almost overwhelming.
The Doctor can’t help but rattle a few practice lines around in her head as she nears, anticipation tingling her fingers and leaving her palms clammy. Miss me? No, of course they missed you. Hello! I’m not a ghost. Too insensitive? She’s usually quite witty, quite good with the dramatic surprises and one-liners to mark a good entrance.
Her legs are still a bit wonky, steps stuttering every once in a while, knees trying to give out here and there, but eagerness loans a bit of extra strength and soon she’s standing at the edge of Graham and Ryan’s front lawn.
There’s a red car parked outside, and the Doctor isn’t sure why the make and model are particularly familiar until she recalls a conversation with Ryan from ages back. He’d shown her a picture of this car once, and while she hadn’t really been listening to the quite unimpressive list of perks and features, she did remember picking up on the fact that it’s something he’s wanted for a long time. A goal of his, in his own personal life that she never paid enough attention to. Looks like he finally had the opportunity to achieve it.
She slips around behind the car and sees a Sheffield College 2021 bumper sticker on the back, and a proud smile spreads slowly across her face. Ryan’s doing quite well for himself, then.
Her hearing is already impressive, but 18 months of radio silence have left everything heightened, easier to tune into, and the sound of laughter coming from the flat fills her ears loudly.
The Doctor lifts her head to see Graham and Ryan sitting around the dinner table, laughing and snacking out of takeout boxes. The curtains are drawn to the side and the window is exposed, the warm light of their dining room standing stark against Sheffield night. The Doctor can see easy smiles through the glass and it’s nearly infectious, but there’s an unexpectedly painful tug on her hearts keeping her expression relatively still.
Yaz is there too, she realizes, but she’s positioned away and the Doctor can’t see her face. She looks alright though, happy, surely.
The Doctor doesn’t move from what’s now become a hiding place behind Ryan’s car.
They’re all chatting giddily amongst themselves, expressions relaxed and joyful as they talk about the weather, tell terrible jokes, or whatever it is humans typically do over dinner. She can’t quite stitch together what they’re saying, but whatever it is, they all three seem remarkably…
Okay.
Not that she expected anything less. Not that she hoped for anything less, of course. She’s been away for longer than the four of them were together. If any of them grieved for her in the first place, they’re doing okay now.
For some reason, that knowledge leaves her stomach in knots, and for a moment, she hates herself for it. Happiness looks good on them, and she would never wish anything else on the people closest to her.
The Doctor’s face slowly crumples and she moves to sit on the pavement, leaning against Ryan’s car, hidden from sight.
They’re okay.
She swallows thickly and tries to breathe away the sorrow accumulating in her chest, the beginnings of a grief of her own.
They’re okay right now, but if she goes blundering in she’ll just mess everything up. They deserve better than her.
Ryan’s settled, obviously. He’s probably got his NVQ by now, or nearly, or he’s doing something bigger and better. He’ll make a great mechanic, or whatever he decides to do, and the Doctor hopes he loves every second of it.
Graham, she knows, will be content as long as he has Ryan to look after, or at least to guide. She’s witnessed his ongoing battle with his wife’s death, and witnessed him win, more or less. At the very least, he’s gathered the tools he needs to carry on. Dragging him and Ryan back into the box would only be a disruption. They’re doing remarkable on their own.
And Yaz, oh, Yaz. So strong willed, so kind and compassionate, so amazing at absolutely everything she does. She’s probably a sergeant by now, or a lieutenant or something. Whatever she’s doing, the Doctor knows she’s doing it wonderfully. Yaz could thrive in any hardship, on any planet, in any time period. Impossibly resilient, she is - the Doctor will probably miss her the most.
Maybe she could just say a quick hello. Let them know she’s alive, then say her goodbyes.
No. No more goodbyes.
Slowly, she begins to accept the fact that she’ll never see them again. It’s for the best. They’re brilliant, absolutely brilliant, all of them. They’ll be fine. They’ll be more than fine. Herself, on the other hand...
Even slower, the Doctor stands, and begins with shuffling, disheartened steps away from the flat. Shoulders sagging, hearts heavy.
“Gonna miss you, fam.” She whispers, not looking back, and drops cold hands into her coat pockets.
At the sound of a door opening and muffled voices suddenly becoming much clearer, the Doctor tenses, then after a quick look around darts back to duck behind Ryan’s car.
“Thank you, both of you.” Yaz is saying, and the Doctor cups her hand around her eyes to peer through the car windows. She can’t resist snagging one more memory before she goes to find Jack.
“Any time, love. I mean it.” Graham steps forward to pull Yaz into a hug.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Ryan puts a hand on her shoulder once Graham lets her go. “Call us, come over all you like, or we can come to you if you don’t mind me and Sonya bein’ in the same room.” He smirks.
“Oh yeah,” Yaz takes a slight step back, head tilted thoughtfully. “How did she get your number?”
Ryan shrugs dramatically. “Absolutely no idea. Tryin’ not to think about it too much.”
Have they not seen each other in a while? Bit surprising, but it happens.
“See you soon, Yaz?” Graham’s question has the faintest hint of a challenge to it.
“See you soon.” Yaz agrees, lifting a hand to wave at the boys as they step back inside and shut the door behind them.
When Yaz turns around the Doctor instinctively ducks out of sight, waits a beat, then pulls herself back up to peer just over the top of the car.
The smile Yaz wore mere seconds ago has faded completely, and the Doctor watches with fearful interest as her face just sort of… crumbles.
It’s such a sudden contrast that she finds herself rooted in place, fingers flexing in their grip on Ryan’s car. Yaz’s arms come to wrap around herself as she lifts her chin up, stares daggers into the night sky and takes a strong breath in like she’s trying to compose herself. It hitches on the way out and comes out like a…
A cry.
Yaz is crying. Yaz is crying.
She presses the back of her hand to her mouth like she’s trying to stifle it, drops her head to her chest like she’s given up. Shoulders sagging weakly, slow steps as she turns to walk home and oh - oh this is harder than the Doctor thought it would be. She should have left sooner, when her final memory of them would have purely consisted of smiles and laughs and good. This isn’t good.
The Doctor has to plant her feet firmly to the ground when she’s overwhelmed with a rush of go to her, because she can’t walk away like this. Especially not without knowing why Yaz is crying.
She’s seen Yaz cry approximately four times, always reluctant tears and a visible attempt to hold them back. This is so, so different, and the Doctor can’t just leave her alone.
But she has to. She has to.
The Doctor turns to leave, tensed and more than a tiny bit scarred, Yaz’s muffled, barely audible sobs fading with the distance. With every step, there’s an equal force pushing her forwards and pulling her backwards, and she doesn’t make it far.
The Doctor flips a switch whether she means to or not, changes her mind, and doesn’t stop to rationalize.
Sod it. Maybe she can squeeze in more than one good memory.
The Doctor turns back, pace quickened with a newfound energy as she jogs across Graham and Ryan’s front lawn, trips over a potted plant in her boundless hurry. The commotion brings attention to her immediately, and as she’s clambering to her feet the front door opens to a frozen, wide eyed Graham O’Brien.
“Doc?” He blinks once, twice just in case.
“Hiya, Graham.” She says a little nervously, and yep, the look on his face was definitely worth the risk. She might change her mind later, but satisfaction wins the race against guilt, brightens her eyes with a smile as Graham laughs in sheer surprise. “Sorry about your plant, but -” She hastily turns around, Yaz barely visible in the far off distance, then rounding a corner and vanishing entirely. The Doctor looks back to Graham with twitching hands, mouth slightly agape. “I -” I don’t have time to explain.
“Go on, then.” He laughs out, joy shining in wide, red-rimmed eyes as he waves her away. “You’re about to make that girl’s bloody night.”
The Doctor’s eyes crinkle with thanks and she hurries away, paying specific mind to potted plants this time as Graham hollers to Ryan from behind her. She’ll get to them properly in a mo’.
She slows to a stop once rounding the corner, Yaz still a good few paces ahead but moving sluggishly, lifelessly, arms folded against the rush of wind. Her flat isn’t far now, and the Doctor swallows around a lump in her throat.
“Yaz!”
Yaz whirls around, puffy, teary eyes blown wide and the Doctor takes two uncertain steps forward.
Yaz takes a single, staggering step back and her hands fall to her sides.
A sharp breath of disbelief, and she chokes on the single word. “ Doctor? ”
The Doctor wants to smile, because her hearts are absolutely soaring, light and fluttering with relief, hope, and a pinch of longing, but there’s an undercurrent of aching empathy that pulses stronger than it has in a long time, because Yaz is crying. Yaz is crying, and it hurts more than seeing her again feels good.
“Yaz, what’s wrong?” She’s suddenly not sure what to do with her hands, hovering them steadily in front of her as if sudden movement might scare her off. They’re still a good few paces apart, but the Doctor can make out the questioning wrinkles at her brow, the confusion deepening her frown, and the crying has stopped, but the disbelief in her eyes largely outweighs the ghost of hope.
“Y… you’re…” Yaz’s face falls even more, and this is not how the Doctor pictured this moment going. The heels of her palms dig into her eyes and she groans something low, frustrated, and so so tired that feels like an insurmountable weight dropping onto the Doctor’s chest.
Yaz’s hands fall to her sides and she sniffs, refocuses on the Doctor, and a portion of the disbelief seems to have left her eyes.
“Please tell me that’s really you.”
It’s worrying, how soft her voice is, like she’s scared of the question, even more of the answer. The Doctor closes the distance by a couple more steps and when she’s within arm’s reach, extends a hand towards Yaz’s shoulder only to draw it back on a second thought.
“Yaz, it’s me.” It’s so human, the way Yaz’s tears end up being contagious, filling the Doctor’s eyes and weakening her voice. “Are you… what’s the matter?”
The final traces of suspicion slip away, and the confirmation leaves Yaz momentarily paralyzed. Her frown stays in place, lips parting but words dying in the works. The Doctor gingerly reaches for Yaz’s shoulder again, and finds herself being pulled into her arms so suddenly it nearly sends the both of them toppling over.
“Whoa -”
“- You’re here.” Yaz fists her hands in the back of the Doctor’s coat, holding her so close the Doctor can feel her heart pounding against her chest. It takes a moment to unravel her arms then she’s quick to curl them tight around Yaz’s waist, buries her face in the side of her neck, and takes a deep breath.
She became quite skilled at constructing people and places from nothing during imprisonment. The imitations felt so real at the time in contrast to the same shades of black every time her eyes reopened.
But this is so much better.
Yaz is crying silently into her coat, the Doctor can feel her shoulders hitching and chest heaving, and she should probably say something really encouraging right now, but can’t think of anything. She can’t think of anything at all to say actually. It’s like her head’s been turned upside down and emptied like a piggy bank.
So she ends up stealing Jack’s line instead. “Miss me that much?”
Yaz’s breath against her shoulder stills for a beat and then the Doctor’s being squeezed a little tighter, a little closer, and everything but the warmth of this moment becomes a little less important.
“ Yeah .”
The heartbreaking honesty is a splash of cold water and chills her to the bone, and the Doctor’s previous misconceptions go flying out the window.
Yaz is not okay.
“I’m back. I’m alright.” The Doctor reassures softly, and her hold on Yaz is no longer just a comfort now. She’s boiling with a need to keep her safe in whatever way it’s needed. Her arms around her become a shield, and close in a little more. “I’ve got you, Yaz.”
And she might not be able to let go this time.