Chapter Text
“Right, I have three different sets for you to choose from.”
Yaz is pilfering through her pyjamas, trying to keep herself busy and not think about the fact that the Doctor is in her bedroom. To spend the night. At her parents’ house. Making it through the rest of the evening after they kissed under the mistletoe had been challenge enough, but this…
“You’re sure I can’t just sleep in this?”
The Doctor plucks at her jumper, which she has proclaimed with genuine sincerity is her favourite Christmas jumper of all time. Yaz is certain she’s not just doing that to be polite, either, because she is so fond of the skiing penguins that she has already given most of them names. Yaz drops the bundle of soft cotton on the bed and ponders the prospect of this being her new normal; that the Doctor might become a regular feature in her bedroom, and that Yaz might need to convince her that sleeping in less restrictive clothing is much more enjoyable.
She rapidly brushes aside the alternative, which is no clothing at all, and rolls her eyes fondly as a subtle pout emerges. The Doctor has realised she’s not going to win this debate.
“You can wear it tomorrow, but you’ll get way too warm in bed with me,” Yaz sighs. It’s going to be warm enough as it is because she’s already flustered from the mere thought of it. She hastily removes her own jumper, a motion that’s accompanied by the crackle of static that always seems to be generated by novelty knitwear, and the Doctor’s pout dissolves when she sees Yaz’s head re-emerge.
“We missed a trick with Tesla,” she grins, reaching out to help flatten her hair, fingers gently combing through the strands. “We should have got him to show us his plasma ball.”
“His plasma what?” Yaz laughs. She feels light, as if she could float away. The familiarity with which the Doctor touches her is as heartening as the contact itself, especially when the Doctor tenderly touches her cheek.
An abrupt knock on the door startles them both and the Doctor removes her hand just in time for Najia to poke her head in.
“I brought you some water,” she explains, but Yaz sees straight through the ruse. Najia had given her a knowing smile when she and the Doctor had finally joined the rest of the family for Christmas Eve dinner, which had felt like the longest dinner of Yaz’s life. The rest of the evening had been just as challenging and Yaz knew she wasn’t the only one completely distracted because the Doctor had inspected every doorway she passed through for more mistletoe. Eventually, Yaz had to explain that it was her mum’s way of nudging them in the right direction, and that she could kiss Yaz whenever she wanted to (within reason). Finally, they’d been able to make their excuses and go to bed at a socially acceptable hour, but of course her mum had to check in on them before she went to bed herself.
“Goodnight, and sleep well. And remember my rules, Yaz,” Najia raises her eyebrow, the only point of the evening at which her she’s laid down the law. It’s the first time Yaz has actually been subject to these rules because she’s never brought anyone home before, but thankfully her mum spares her and closes the door before her cheeks can flush any further.
On one level, Yaz is mortified by what her mum is hinting at; on the other, she’s starting to get a bit overwhelmed by the novelty of the situation she’s now in. Thankfully, the Doctor pulls her out of her panic before she can overthink it.
“What rules? No bouncing on the bed? I may have broken that one already,” she admits, words running into one another in her excitement. Yaz had seen how much chocolate she’d eaten after dinner and she suspects that sleep is a long way off, but she’d desperately wanted some time alone to digest their kiss and now she’s got a handful of hyperactive Doctor thrown into the bargain.
She laughs, which helps cut through her embarrassment because she’s going to have to be blunt.
“Kind of. She means no..er…no funny business. No sex.”
Lips pursed, the Doctor nods solemnly and, without fanfare, starts stripping off her trousers. She’s wearing Christmas-themed boxers, Yaz notices, before she yelps and covers her eyes with her hand.
“Doctor! What are you doing?” She tries to keep her voice down because her mum won’t have gone far. Unfortunately, the Doctor didn’t get the memo.
“Getting into your pyjamas,” she announces to the room and, probably, to anyone lingering in the hallway. Yaz scrambles to provide context for any eavesdroppers.
“They’re technically yours for tonight, remember? Or you can keep them, if you like.”
The Doctor stops stripping as abruptly as she started and Yaz catches her breath, taking a risky peek through her fingers. The coast is still clear.
“Very nice choice, Yaz,” the Doctor compliments her taste in nightwear as she picks up the first item within reach, and Yaz decides this is the perfect time for her to get changed, too. She doesn’t want to risk seeing any more than she strictly should, and the Doctor seems completely oblivious to her audience.
“I’m just going to…” she mutters, grabbing her own pyjamas and excusing herself to brush her teeth. Within seconds of stepping into the hallway, Yaz immediately feels a change in temperature and she relishes the cooler air for a second, noting that her mother is nowhere to be seen. That’s something, at least.
Thoughts of the Doctor being right down the hall, alone, in her bedroom, mean that Yaz is thoroughly distracted as she brushes her teeth. They may only be sleeping next to one another tonight, but the idea of simply sharing a bed is nerve-wracking in any sense, Yaz thinks. It’s only when Sonya knocks and asks her to hurry up that Yaz realises she’s daydreaming; the Doctor has been left unattended in her childhood bedroom for too long and with a jolt, Yaz realises she’s probably started looking at whatever’s out on display. She has a tendency to be nosey.
Yaz’s suspicions prove correct when she returns and finds the Doctor still only half dressed – thankfully she’s switched her penguin jumper for a baggy t-shirt – and scrutinising the photographs Yaz still has up on her wall. They’re a mix of old photos from school, of family days out, and of her time training for the police. The events in those photos feel like a lifetime ago and Yaz isn’t sure she’d even recognise herself in them if it wasn’t for the physical similarities. She’s changed so much as a person since those photographs were taken that she finds, to her surprise, that she isn’t embarrassed by the Doctor’s silent attention to them. The Yaz in those photos is not the one standing here tonight.
“You look so young here,” the Doctor murmurs, carefully touching the corner of one with her finger as if she’s worried it’ll tear. She can be so gentle sometimes that it takes Yaz’s breath away. She’s also still in her boxers and Yaz valiantly tries not to stare at her pale arms and legs, bony ankles, and skinny feet. It’s more of her body than Yaz has ever seen before, and she longs to feel it next to her. Which it will be, imminently.
“Blast from the past,” she says instead, nerves rearing their head again.
“You don’t have any mementos like this on the TARDIS,” the Doctor comments. “Would you like to? She won’t mind if you want to put something up to remind you of home.”
It’s sweet that the thought even crosses the Doctor’s mind, but Yaz shakes her head. She doesn’t want to linger in the past anymore.
“It’s nice to leave it behind, sometimes. I like to keep things from where you and I travel, together,” Yaz explains. “And it’s nice to come home and see these, on their own, but they’re ancient history now.”
In her bedroom on the TARDIS are a few trinkets from their adventures but having such vivid memories of her actual home on board has never quite felt right to Yaz. It certainly wouldn’t now, and she realises that these past few years of travelling with the Doctor have created a distance that she’s never quite going to close. She’s never truly going to be able to return home in quite the same way, partly because she’s already moved on. The Doctor had been right from day one: Yaz has not returned as the same person.
Her mum doesn’t know any of this, of course, and had made their sleeping arrangements a non-issue by insisting they both sleep in Yaz’s bedroom. External influence at work once more, but Yaz makes a mental note to thank her mum for being so open-minded because she’s not sure she’d have worked up the nerve to ask. As it stands, the Doctor seems fairly content with the plan and with the consistent supply of custard creams; the dispenser on the TARDIS is still broken and, sadly, of lower priority in the list of repairs required after the Flux had wreaked havoc on the Doctor’s ship.
There’s a small plate of the biscuits on Yaz’s dresser, and she’s vetoed the Doctor eating them in bed, but she already knows she’ll turn a blind eye if she finds any crumbs. Indeed, a dent has been made in them while she was brushing her teeth and Yaz is amazed the Doctor still has an appetite after the volume of food her mum provided for dinner. It bodes well for tomorrow, when her dad will whip out his Christmas day curry and all the trimmings.
“Do you want to brush your teeth? I left a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.”
“Nah. Don’t need to.”
That’s a new one. While Yaz is aware that the Doctor is technically an alien, she does have teeth, very nice white teeth that presumably require looking after. She makes a puzzled sound as she flicks on her fairy lights and slides into bed, relieved to feel the familiar trappings of home as she rearranges the duvet around her.
“Not even after all that chocolate?”
“Perks of my biology.”
The Doctor quirks her eyebrow and her lips tick upwards in a gentle smirk, and Yaz wonders what else she might be referring to. Then she realises that the Doctor is flirting, and while she’d factored in a few minutes for the Doctor to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, there is no margin to buffer because then the Doctor’s turning off the bedside lamp and sliding into bed next to her. That feels a little strange, but nice, and the heat returns when Yaz feels her bare legs brush against her own. It’s a double bed, but suddenly feels small because there’s very little space between them, and Yaz can feel the coolness of the Doctor’s skin pressed against her own.
Any awkwardness Yaz might feel is replaced by concern.
“You’re chilly. Why didn’t you say something?” Yaz turns onto her side and starts to rub her arm on top of the duvet, tentatively bringing their legs closer together under the sheets. It’s strange, at first, but they soon get used to one another and before long Yaz is resisting the urge to fling her leg over the Doctor’s and bring them even closer together. Her mum has had the heating on all evening and Yaz is shocked to feel how cool the Doctor still is.
“This is how I usually am,” the Doctor shrugs, and Yaz realises she has much to learn.
“Oh.”
“But don’t stop, I can always be a bit warmer.”
They lie there for a while, Yaz half-heartedly trying to instil some warmth and resisting the urge to kiss her again while they adjust to the dark. Neither of them speak until the Doctor informs her, out of the blue, that it’s midnight.
“How do you know?”
The Doctor just looks at her, and Yaz acknowledges that was probably a daft question. For someone who travels in space and time, the Doctor surely has a well-honed internal clock.
“Merry Christmas, Yaz.”
Yaz still can’t quite believe this is happening. The whole evening has been a tad surreal, and now they’re starting their first Christmas together like this, cuddling under fairy lights. The longer they lie there, the harder it is for Yaz to stop thinking about their first kiss. It’s been on her mind all evening.
“Merry Christmas, Doctor. And I’m sorry about the whole mistletoe thing, I should have known my mum would interfere.”
It’s the first time they’ve alluded to the kiss, which Yaz is keen to revisit, but she doesn’t want to approach it too head on.
“Never be sorry for that, Yaz. Traditions are important to maintain.”
Even in the low light, Yaz can see the Doctor’s grin has a cheeky edge to it. She’s still flirting.
“Think we could make this a new Christmas tradition?” Yaz inches closer, sighing happily when the Doctor’s arm settles around her waist.
“The kissing? Technically kissing is considered to be a traditional greeting,” the Doctor muses. “We can just say hello to one another a lot.”
“I think those are more kisses on the cheek, rather than…”
“What you did in the hallway?”
“Did you not like it?”
“Oh, I did. I was hoping we could pick up where we left off, actually.”
With each exchange, Yaz can feel herself buzzing with endorphins and all sorts of chemicals the Doctor could probably explain to her, but right now, Yaz is content just to feel them. She feels them spike when the Doctor slides her hand up her back and rolls her onto it, giving Yaz all of three seconds to adjust to the change before she kisses her softly.
It’s nice. Yaz hasn’t kissed anyone like this in a while; she’s been painfully single, and now she has the Doctor here for Christmas in her bed. The wait was very much worth it, she thinks, those three painful years a distant memory as she loops her arms around the Doctor’s neck and holds her close, simply because she can. She can feel the Doctor’s bones and muscles as she holds herself a respectful distance away but after a brief period of adjustment, they slot together like they were made for one another; there isn’t much in the way of space left between them and within minutes a quiet kiss escalates into something a lot more heated.
Yaz almost forgets where they are until there’s a noise from down the hall. Someone has closed a door, somewhere, and it has the effect of dousing her in ice water. They aren’t alone; they’re at her parents’ house and they can’t take things any further, Yaz knows. The Doctor does, too, because she pulls away to let them breathe and shifts so that she’s no longer pressed quite so close.
She doesn’t go far, though; they resume their previous positions, facing one another while they catch their breath.
“Wow,” Yaz murmurs, dazed and eager for a repeat. “Do you think, when we’re back on the TARDIS, you could spend the night? Like this?”
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. Could I borrow this again?” the Doctor indicates Yaz’s old t-shirt that she’s wearing. “It smells like you.”
It strikes Yaz as a very human sentiment, but she delights in it. A little chink in the Doctor’s armour.
“You can keep it, yeah. Officially yours.”
Just like I am.
They lie peacefully for a little longer, and despite the lateness of the hour and the tiring day, Yaz finds herself reluctant to sleep. It’s nice just to lie next to the Doctor like this. Eventually, though, the Doctor speaks; Yaz would have put money on it being her to break the silence.
“Yaz?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s snowing.”
Unlike the Doctor’s internal clock, Yaz knows this is a very different skill. To be able to detect the weather without any visual clues is something that she feels is worthy of a question.
“How do you know that?”
“I can hear it.”
It must be strange to hear things in such detail, but whatever further questions Yaz might have remain unasked as the Doctor starts to tell her all about the one time she encountered telepathic snow, and another occasion on which she used the TARDIS to make it snow. The latter story seems to make her sad, though, and Yaz opts to cheer her up with another kiss.
“Do you want to go see?”
The Doctor’s childlike enthusiasm for all things snow-related is endearing but it’s late, and Yaz is reluctant to move. It’s peaceful outside and in the flat it’s warm and cosy. Yaz hasn’t experienced a Christmas this magical since she was a kid.
“Think you could sleep on it? We can see if it’s still there in the morning.”
“Alright. I think I prefer you to snow, anyway.”
Given the Doctor’s enthusiasm for snow, that is a compliment, Yaz knows. And given the fact that they’re sharing a bed for the first time, Yaz is amazed they do eventually fall asleep, caught as they are in a tangle of limbs and sneaking glances when they think the other isn’t looking.
Bedtime was Yaz’s favourite time of day when she was stuck in the past. It was her time alone, her moment of peace and quiet, her time to think without Dan or Jericho interrupting her train of thought. She’d think of happy things and daydream, unimpeded by the grinding, tiring reality of their daily lives. Inevitably, she’d think of the Doctor every night before she slept and hope she’d dream of her. She nearly always did, although the dreams themselves were a mixed bag. Tonight’s dream is a happy one – she and the Doctor are eating at the table, just like they did earlier that evening and like they will tomorrow. But something isn’t quite right. Her stomach feels tight, like she’s eaten too much, and it takes Yaz a second to realise that the sensation isn’t happening in her dream – it’s happening in the real world.
She wakes up, confused, then remembers she is with the Doctor. That wasn’t a dream, and she is immensely relieved to recall that this scenario isn’t a figment of her imagination. The pressure around her waist is from the Doctor’s arm as she holds her close, but Yaz’s relief is short-lived when it becomes apparent she’s in the grip of a nightmare.
“It’s alright, Doctor. I’m here,” she soothes, feeling the pleasant hum of her dream dissolve in the cold light of day. She wonders what the Doctor is dreaming of, because there are so many things to choose from. The fact she dreams at all is news to Yaz, although she knows that the Doctor does sleep, even if she denies she does it, because she’s found her conked out in the control room before. Seeing her sleep so close is a marvel, but Yaz doesn’t dwell on it because she recognises the signs of bad dreams. She’s had many of her own recently.
She strokes her face, hoping the touch will register; she holds her breath until it does and the creases around the Doctor’s eyes lessen. That’s consolation of a sort, and Yaz is relieved that she doesn’t wake because she thinks she needs the rest more than she’s letting on.
Grey light is peeking through the gaps in the curtains. It’s still early, but Yaz slept well and she’s wide awake, excited by the prospect of what the day holds. She wonders if the snow has settled but as she contemplates whether to try and go back to sleep, she hears the front door close and the muffled sound of her Nani’s voice.
That’s enough to drive her out of bed, as hard as it is to leave the Doctor alone. She’s not seen Umbreen in so long that an extra hour or so of sleep really shouldn’t make much difference, but Yaz can’t wait a second longer. She wraps her dressing gown around herself and, satisfied that the Doctor is sleeping more peacefully, lets her get the rest she needs.
“Nani? Is that you?”
Yaz keeps her voice quiet – although her parents are up, others are sleeping – and she breaks out into a grin when she sees her grandmother sitting at the dining table like she always does. She looks older and smaller than Yaz remembers, even though it’s technically not even been that long; she’s just forgotten what her Nani looks like, which hurts a little to recognise.
“Yasmin! Merry Christmas to my favourite granddaughter.”
Yaz laughs in genuine delight as she gives Umbreen a careful hug, which she returns with surprising strength.
“Don’t let mum hear that,” Yaz reminds her, to which Najia’s voice drifts down the hallway, informing them both that she can hear everything.
“I think she has bugs planted around this place,” Yaz sighs, and she flicks on the kettle without asking if her Nani would like some tea. That’s a given. There’s something about the routine of this that provides Yaz with immense comfort, and she takes great pleasure in making tea for her grandmother because it’s been so long since she’s done it.
“It sounds like she was a little worried about you,” Umbreen says, and Yaz remembers that this is where her mum gets it from. Khan women are incredibly perceptive, although she can’t really complain because she’s inherited that quality, too. “You seem unsettled, beti.”
Yaz is currently thinking of the Doctor, who’s still sleeping in her bed. She’s barely even sat down before her grandmother has picked up on something.
“Do I?”
“A little restless, maybe.”
She is. Yesterday, she’d been emotionally all over the shop at finally returning home. And now, she’s talking to her grandmother, who looks so different and yet exactly the same as Yaz remembers.
But before Yaz can reply, the Doctor herself emerges, looking sleep-soft and slightly fuzzy around the edges. Yaz wonders if she should have stayed with her, after all, because waking up alone is never nice. She resolves to make it up to her but in the meantime, they have a slightly more pressing problem; the Doctor’s eyes widen when she realises that Yaz isn’t alone, and Yaz realises, a little too late, that the Doctor has met Umbreen before. In 1947.
Yaz glances cautiously at her grandmother, who’s frowning at the Doctor like she isn’t sure who she’s looking at or if she can’t quite place where she’s seen her before. Presumably her mother filled her in on the drive from the nursing home, but Yaz holds her breath as she waits to see how this ‘introduction’ goes down.
“Good morning, dear. I’m Umbreen. My daughter told me we had a guest for Christmas.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye and Yaz forces herself to relax. Yes, Najia has probably told her Nani everything, but at least there’s not much in the way of recognition when she sees the Doctor. Yaz will have to ask the Doctor about the reasons for that later.
“Lovely to meet you, Umbreen. I’m the Doctor.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Umbreen smiles, and the twinkle in her eye grows so much that Yaz half expects her to wink at her. “Why don’t you join us for some tea?”
And just like that, the Doctor easily slots into their little group at the table. There are so many ways in which things could go pear-shaped, Yaz thinks, and yet nothing has. It’s a Christmas miracle.
“It’s so nice to have a new face with us this year. Hopefully you have some better jokes than my son-in-law.”
“I’ve got some great ones. I promise they’re not Ood.”
The Doctor grins, expectant; Yaz groans. She knows the expression the Doctor bears only too well, and it falls slightly when the Doctor realises nobody got the joke.
“Ood…rude? Get it?”
“I don’t think anyone else is going to get your references,” Yaz stage whispers. “I don’t think even I get half of them.”
Umbreen chuckles, and the sound lifts Yaz’s spirits even more. She’s missed spending Christmas morning with her grandmother.
“You’re definitely going to keep us on our toes, aren’t you, Doctor?”
True to Umbreen’s prediction, the Doctor ensures there is never a dull moment that Christmas day. She helps Hakim cook, manages to add a new setting to the lights on the Christmas tree, decorates the table in her own unique style (complete with far too many forks and obscure napkin origami), and munches her way through a packet of custard creams in the process, despite Yaz’s warning that there is a lot of food still to come.
When lunch is finally served, Najia – predictably – ensures that Yaz and the Doctor are sitting next to one another. It means that when the Doctor spends too much time laughing at Hakim’s dad jokes and not enough time eating, Yaz can give her a gentle nudge and encourage her to dig in before her food gets cold.
For his part, Hakim is pleased that there’s finally someone in attendance who enjoys his jokes, and Yaz begrudgingly has to admit that she’s missed them. Even when Najia calls for an end to the terrible one-liners, there’s a regular stream of laughter that punctuates the conversation, which flows surprisingly easily. No doubt there’ll be some disagreements later when it comes to choosing what movie to watch as they recover from over-eating, but for now, Yaz is pleased that the Doctor has managed to insert herself so easily into their family. She knows the Doctor describes herself as socially awkward but she really is on form, today.
Crackers are pulled around the table before dessert, and the Doctor’s high spirits take a dip when she comes away empty-handed.
“You’ll need a paper hat at least, Doctor,” Yaz grins, and she takes it upon herself to place one atop the Doctor’s head. Her ears stick out from underneath the red tissue and she looks at Yaz like she just won the lottery. It’s a simple gesture but it seems to mean so much more than that.
“Thank you, Yaz. I’m a big fan of a hat.”
But apparently they’ve forgotten they’re in company again, because Najia has to clear her throat to get their attention.
“I can’t believe I’m encouraging this, but no cracker would be complete without the jokes. Would you do the honours, Doctor?”
Yaz feels a swell of affection towards her mum for actively acknowledging and including the Doctor in proceedings, and she passes the slips of paper to the woman sitting next to her with an encouraging smile. The Doctor takes her duty very seriously but it’s hard to keep a straight face when she can’t stop cracking up at the puns she’s reading, and Yaz’s sides ache from infectious laughter by the time she reaches the final joke. She can’t remember the last time she laughed this hard, even though the jokes are predictably awful.
“What do you get if you cross Santa with a duck?”
“I don’t know, Doctor. What do you get?”
“A Christmas quacker! Oh, that’s my favourite. I’ll have to remember that one.”
With that, the Doctor carefully folds the paper and puts it in her pocket for safekeeping, and Yaz knows she is going to keep hold of that for a while to come. She’s seen the detritus she keeps in her coat pockets; her trouser pockets are deceptively large and while a Christmas joke is unlikely to come in handy, Yaz has seen what else she carries with her that serves no discernable purpose. Perhaps, one day, a joke might come in very handy indeed.
They manage dessert – there’s always room for it, the Doctor intones seriously, and Yaz is still amazed she can eat after all the biscuits she ingested for breakfast. Meanwhile, Hakim groans as he pats his stomach, effectively signifying the end of the meal. Sonya and Yaz start to clear the plates but Najia insists that the Doctor relax while they clean up. She’s their guest, after all.
“Mum, how about you work on that puzzle you started last week? I think the Doctor can help you where you got stuck.”
It takes her a moment to realise what her mum is referring to, but then Yaz remembers that the puzzle is Najia’s attempt to keep Umbreen’s mind busy. She’s getting older and puzzles keep her mind active. She enjoys them far more than crosswords, especially when it means she can quiz the Doctor about what she’s been doing recently. Yaz leaves them to it but she’s still in earshot as she and her sister tidy up with surprisingly little in the way of quabbling; apparently both of them are too busy listening in as the Doctor regales Umbreen with some thinly veiled analogies. Yaz hears mention of Gloucester, which, technically, was within the last year; and of Pendle Hill, which was even longer ago but time really has lost all sense of meaning. It’s hard to believe that so much has happened since, and Yaz gets swept up in memories as she washes the dishes.
Once the dishes are washed and stacked away, Yaz is more than ready to sit down and relax, even if that’s all she’s done all day. Christmas is always surprisingly tiring, although the Doctor is as energetic as ever and jumps at the opportunity to help Najia choose a board game for them to play together. While they decide, Umbreen abandons her puzzle to talk with Yaz.
“Your friend has been to a lot of places, hasn’t she?”
“She’s the most interesting person I know.” It’s an understatement, but Yaz isn’t one for hyperbole. She’d known from early on that the Doctor is the best person she’s ever met and she stands by that now, even after all they’ve been through. Umbreen nods her approval.
“I’m glad you’ve found someone like that, beti.”
Yaz ducks her head at the meaning implied by her words. She had been worried about how her Nani would take this newfound relationship.
“You’re not…I dunno, disappointed I’m not with someone else? Someone…male,” she trails off when she sees her Nani’s face – Umbreen has apparently taken umbrage at that particular sentiment.
“I may be old, Yasmin, but I’m not that old. I always knew you’d find the right person. All that matters is that you’re happy. Are you?”
The simplicity of the statement is enough to make Yaz emotional. It’s been an emotional couple of days, all told, being surrounded by her family again after such a prolonged absence. At least this is an easy question to answer.
“I am.”
“I can tell.”
Their moment is interrupted by Najia, who holds a box of Monopoly aloft. Yaz’s heart sinks.
“Not Monopoly!” she blurts. Past experience has taught her that playing that game with the Doctor is never fun because she cheats. Graham had removed the box from the TARDIS the last time they played. The sudden thought of him reminds Yaz that they really should pay the boys a visit now they’re back in Sheffield, but right now they have more pressing matters to attend to.
“I knew you were going to say that,” the Doctor grumbles. “How about charades?”
She’s already pulling down her suspenders, which Yaz knows is a sign she is going to take this game very seriously indeed. She does that whenever she doesn’t want her movement to be restricted.
Yaz is uncertain – the Doctor can be very enthusiastic and competitive, and her knowledge can be quite niche, but Najia is delighted by the suggestion.
“Great idea. And we have an even number so we can split into teams. You two are obviously pairing up,” Najia insists, as she points to Yaz and the Doctor. Yaz knows she is pushing them together at every opportunity but she can’t really complain, especially when they actually work very well together. It seems they’re good at reading one another – they’re much better at it than Yaz thought, and the Doctor is so expressive that it makes life a lot easier. Najia and Umbreen do fairly well, while Hakim and Sonya do terribly, largely due to Sonya’s apathy about family games. But midway through trying to guess Yaz’s clue – in which she mimes putting up and decorating a Christmas tree, which is surprisingly tiring - the Doctor abruptly stands up and looks out the window, pointing enthusiastically.
“Snow! Again! I knew I could smell it.”
If anyone finds the statement weird they don’t show it; perhaps the excitement of fresh snow is enough to override any questions they might have about the Doctor’s sense of smell.
“Can we?” she turns and asks Yaz, practically bouncing with energy. “Been a while since I’ve been out in it.”
“A walk might be a good idea,” Najia agrees, and Yaz is game, although Umbreen is a little less certain given her dodgy hip.
“You lot get out there and get some air,” Hakim suggests. “Umbreen and I will have some tea and hold down the fort.”
The Doctor bounds out into the open air the moment they reach the ground floor, turning her face to the sky and turning in circles until she’s dizzy. It’s cold out, but so refreshing that she doesn’t mind that her hair is rapidly matted with snowflakes. Later, it’ll turn wavy and resist her attempts to tame it, but the most important thing is that there is snow, and that she is in it. She can feel the flakes as they melt on her skin and she can feel the sting of the cold air as she breathes it in. Underfoot, the ground is already slippy due to the thin coating of white lining the pavement, but the Doctor pays little mind to that; her boots are sturdy and her stride true, and she turns to grin at the three Khan women who cautiously make their way out into the flurry, bundled up in scarves and hats and gloves.
Before Yaz can reach her, though, Najia does. She seems to be on a mission, one with a purpose the Doctor is yet to discover. She’s sure she’s about to find out.
“Come on, there’s a park just down the road.”
The Doctor shoots a look over her shoulder and Yaz returns it with a reassuring glance; she and Sonya are lingering behind, talking about something the Doctor can’t quite hear because the snow is providing a constant background hum and Najia is talking to her, too. All that food has slowed her senses down.
“It’s nice to spend time together like this,” Najia is saying. “I’ve missed having her home.”
The Doctor considers how she must feel; she had missed Yaz very much, herself, but her own relationship with Yaz is very different. She feels guilt niggling at her for the manner in which Najia and her daughter have been separated. It’s partly her fault, even if there isn’t much she could have done to prevent it. Even if Najia doesn’t know how long they’ve been separated for.
“I get the feeling her life is really starting to take off,” Najia continues. “She’s forging her own path. She always has done, but this year…something is different, I can feel it. She seems more mature than ever before. And I’m very proud of her.”
“You should be,” the Doctor says earnestly, wishing she could tell Najia about the amazing things that Yaz has done. She’s glad that Najia has picked up on the change, though. Yaz really has come into her own and the Doctor knows that very little of that is due to her; much of that is down to Yaz herself, and the person she is because of her parents. “She’s amazing, Najia. You really did make an awesome human.”
“I’m glad we agree,” Najia laughs, and then she slips a little and her arm shoots out for balance. Seconds later, she links it through the Doctor’s. After all, they are closer now than they have ever been. These references to past conversations and to their shared love for Yaz are reminders that they have shared interests and common ground.
“Are you not cold?” Najia asks. The Doctor is without her coat; she’d been too excited to get out into the snow to stop and put it on.
“I’m pretty impervious to the elements. And most things, really. Except standing on Lego. That always hurts.”
Najia laughs again but it’s the kind of laugh that suggests she’s getting used to the Doctor’s unusual responses.
“Yaz worries about you, though. And now you two are…”
“Seeing each other?” the Doctor hazards, sensing that she is to provide the appropriate wording and quoting Najia back at herself.
“Yes. Although I predicted this years ago, may I add!”
It’s the Doctor’s turn to laugh, then; when Najia had first asked them, the Doctor had no idea what she even meant by the term. Human sayings quickly became out of date, in her experience. Although she’s very glad that ‘courting’ is no longer a thing.
“I worry about you, too. Both of you.”
It wouldn’t strictly be the truth to tell Najia that she shouldn’t worry, because Yaz’s life has become infinitely more dangerous with the Doctor in it. It’s also become infinitely better, even if the Doctor does say so herself, because of the endless possibilities that their travels provide them with. Her own safety is less of a concern. She will always try to put Yaz first.
“I promise I’ll look after her, Najia,” she insists. “With every part of me.”
“I know you will. But promise me one thing? Please keep visiting? Yaz might have grown up and moved on, but her old mum would still like to see her every now and again. And you.”
The Doctor is still mulling over Najia’s words when they return to the flat, which feels so much warmer now that they’ve spent an extended period outdoors. Hakim is awaiting their return with hot chocolate and a film that, to her bafflement, the Doctor has not seen before.
“You’ve not seen Elf?” Yaz is gobsmacked as she takes a seat on the sofa and indicates that the Doctor should sit next to her. “How have you not…”
She shakes her head, bemused, and brazenly wraps the Doctor’s arm around her shoulder. A quick glance confirms that Najia has indeed seen what they’re up to, but she hides her smile behind her mug and the Doctor takes that as permission to settle in under the blanket Yaz has also draped over them.
“Buckle up, Doctor. You’re in for a ride.”
It is, the Doctor admits, an entertaining film but much more entertaining is the fact that Yaz falls asleep on her shoulder about twenty minutes after it starts. Carefully, she wraps her arm around her just a little tighter, making sure she’s secure.
Najia watches them out of the corner of her eye. She sees the way the Doctor looks down at Yaz in awe, and the way her thumb strokes her arm. It’s so gentle and a complete contrast to how she’s been all day – like a hyperactive kid who’s eaten too many sweets. Once she’s satisfied that the Doctor is preoccupied, she takes a photograph of the moment for posterity. It’s becoming abundantly clear that Yaz’s own life is a step removed from the one Najia knows. It was inevitable as her daughter grew up, although that doesn’t make it any easier to acknowledge; there are things that Yaz will no longer tell her mum, simply because it’s none of her business. While it’s a bittersweet moment, Najia consoles herself with the knowledge that at least Yaz has found someone who clearly thinks the world of her. She wouldn’t want anything less for her daughter.
Umbreen, like Yaz, dozes for much of the film and when it ends it’s time for her to leave. The Doctor wakes Yaz as Najia wakes her mother, gearing them up for the drive back to the home. The end of this day is always a little sad and for Yaz it’s even sadder, because it’s passed so quickly and she wants more time with her grandmother. She’s grateful for a moment alone as Najia puts on her coat and shoes; the Doctor busies herself elsewhere, aware that Yaz would like some time with her Nani by herself.
“Look after her, won’t you?” Umbreen says as Yaz pulls her into a hug. “What you have is so very rare.”
Yaz looks over at the Doctor, who is showing Sonya how to get past a stupidly hard level of Candy Crush, and smiles. And then she thinks of her Nani’s first love, and how it must have felt for her to lose Prem. She can’t imagine what it would be like to lose the Doctor like that; she already treasures what she and the Doctor have, and coming home has made her realise that time with the people she loves is so very important. She’ll never take it for granted again.
That night, bedtime crawls around a lot sooner than the night before; everyone is tired from a day of eating and socialising, even the Doctor, who seems to have finally come down from her sugar high. Najia’s supply of custard creams, while impressive, was not infinite. She sits on the edge of the bed while Yaz gets them some water and she looks nervous when Yaz returns, which instantly puts Yaz on edge. Only recently has the Doctor shown this kind of emotion around her but for her to be this nervous is unusual, especially after the day they’ve had. To all intents and purposes, Yaz considers their first Christmas together to be a roaring success.
“You ok?” she frowns, concerned. “You’re not having sugar withdrawals, are you?”
“No. Well, maybe. I’ve, er…I’ve got a little something for you.”
The Doctor holds out her fist and opens it: within is a tiny package, tightly wrapped with dinosaur wrapping paper and so much tape that Yaz can already tell she’s going to struggle to open it.
“I thought we weren’t doing presents?”
“It’s not really a present. Well, alright, perhaps by definition,” the Doctor amends, “but you’ll see what I mean when you open it.”
The Doctor fidgets as Yaz fights with the tape, finally succeeding after she digs out a pair of sharp scissors – it’s more tape than paper, and the item inside is (thankfully) solid.
“When? You mean if,” Yaz huffs, although it’s light-hearted and she nudges the Doctor with her shoulder as she takes a seat next to her on the bed to open the tiny parcel up. When she does, she gasps.
It’s a key. And not just any key: a TARDIS key.
“I thought I didn’t need a key,” she says, more for something to say than anything else. She can’t quite believe the Doctor has given her a key to her ship.
“True… but this is more symbolic. Now do you see what I mean about it not being a present?”
“Symbolic? Is this your way of asking me to move in?”
Yaz can barely suppress the excitement in her voice. It feels like she’s been the one chain-eating custard creams all day, not the Doctor. Technically she already has moved into the TARDIS, but this is a different kind of suggestion. It suggests that Yaz’s life going forwards might be spent more with the Doctor than it was before. The thought of that gives Yaz hope for the future and her chest feels full to bursting with it. It feels like she has been through the wars to get to this point, and that her patience has well and truly paid off.
“Yeah. I suppose it is,” the Doctor grins lopsidedly. “You have your home here, and I always want you to be able to come back to it. I just wanted you to know that you’ll always have a home with me, too.”
“I’ll think about it,” Yaz jokes, near tears, and thankfully the Doctor is in on it because her grin widens. “I do have one condition though,” Yaz continues, patting the bed between them. “That we do this more often.”
“That’s a deal. In fact, that’s the easiest deal I’ve ever made. Although I don’t need as much sleep as you do, Yasmin Khan.”
“You say that, but why did the TARDIS start leaving that mattress around the control room?” Yaz asks, eyebrow raised. “And don’t say it’s a landing pad.”
That shuts the Doctor up and Yaz drops a kiss on her cheek by way of apology, excusing herself to brush her teeth and get changed. This time, she doesn’t get so lost in thought and she returns only a few minutes later to find the Doctor snoring lightly, passed out in her beloved Christmas jumper on top of the duvet. Yaz watches her for a moment, affection blossoming with each passing second. She doesn’t have the heart to wake her and instead she slips into the bed as best she can, wrapping a tentative arm over her waist and holding her close. The Doctor turns into her in sleep and Yaz swears to do as her Nani said: to look after her, no matter what.
Her phone lights up and, tired though she is, Yaz is curious to see who’s messaged. She reaches for it slowly, careful not to disturb the Doctor, although she seems to be out for the count. Her mum has sent her something, which is strange, given that they’re in the same house, and Yaz opens it expecting a reminder about the house rules.
What she gets instead is a photograph of herself, fast asleep with her head resting on the Doctor’s shoulder as they watched the film that afternoon. She quickly gets over the fact that her mum took a picture of them without their knowledge – she’s going to have to talk to her about that – and the novelty of seeing what she looks like when she sleeps. Instead, she focuses on the way the Doctor is looking at her. The closest she can describe it is adoration. She’s never seen the Doctor look at her quite like that before and it makes her heart pound just a little harder. She’d never thought the Doctor ever would look at her like that. It’s been a long and, at times, frightening path to this point.
She looks at the caption underneath, and her mum’s message makes her feel even warmer and fuzzier inside.
Seeing you this happy is the best Christmas present I could ever ask for
“Yaz?”
The Doctor’s voice cuts through her thoughts. Apparently, she wasn’t as asleep as Yaz thought, or Yaz has woken her up. Even though it was her mum who took the photo, it feels like Yaz has been caught red-handed.
“What’s up?” she asks, trying to play it cool. Inside, her heart is still pounding as she re-lives the events and emotions that have led them here.
“How does Christmas day end?”
Another non-sequitur. Yaz laughs lightly as she tries to calm her racing pulse.
“You tell me, sleepyhead.”
“With the letter y.”
Yaz should have known to expect that, but it still takes her by such surprise that she bursts into relieved laughter, full of joy. Life really has thrown her some curveballs but there are some moments she treasures above all. This is one of them.
“Doctor?"
“Yes, Yaz?”
“I can’t wait for more of these terrible jokes next year.”