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The metal of the TARDIS’ corridors is warm and welcoming under Yasmin’s bare feet as she walks, one hand trailing softly on the wall beside her. It’s that strange liminal time between late night and early morning; if she had slept, perhaps it would it would feel like a new day, but she had not slept. The night had found her restless and adrift and alone and lonely, long hours spent tossing and turning. Finally, in the frustrating absence of sleep, she walks.
Yaz isn’t quite sure where she’s going. The wall under her hand is slowly morphing from smooth and silky to something rougher, more organic. She traces the lines and grains and grooves almost in a trance, letting the texture sink into her hands and bones and memory, and keeps walking, trusting her feet to carry her someplace restful.
Somehow Yaz isn’t surprised she ends up in the control room. Faint slivers of light shine a soft silver, lending the rough crystal surrounding her a dreamlike luminescence. She sighs, letting her eyes drift shut as she feels the soft hum of alien machinery thrum in her bones. The TARDIS is so far from home that it’s not even a speck in the distance, but Yaz feels calm here, calmer than she’s felt the entire sleepless night. She sinks to the floor with a smile.
Thud. “Oh, bugger it!”
Yaz’s eyes fly open as she is suddenly wrenched out of her almost meditative state. “Doctor? You alright?” she calls out as she stands and weaves her way to the source of the noise. Yaz can’t see anything out of place in the dim light, but a faint rattling joined by a metallic jingle is a dead giveaway of the Doctor’s location. “What are you doing all the way up there?”
The Doctor waves her hand dismissively, almost dropping her – is that a wrench? – in the process. “I’m fine, Yaz, just doing some maintenance!” She’s perched on one of the crystal arms surrounding the console, sans jacket and with the addition of a toolbelt. The Doctor has made a valiant attempt at tucking her hair behind her ears, but appears to have fallen victim to a coup. Yaz can barely see her face.
“Maintenance at this time of night?” Yaz asks, glancing at her phone to confirm that it is, in fact, the middle of the night. Morning. Close enough.
The Doctor looks up from whatever it is she’s doing with a bunch of wires and circuitry and weird glowing objects. She tries to blow her hair out of her eyes with a frustrated huff. It doesn’t work. Yaz finds that far too cute. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” the Doctor asks, shoving the – spanner maybe? – back in her belt as she shimmies down to ground level.
“Are you actually part monkey?” Yaz asks, trying to keep a straight face. The Doctor just flashes her a bright smile. “I can’t sleep,” she says with a sigh.
The Doctor lands with a thunk. “I know that feeling,” she says. “Come on then.” Suddenly she takes Yaz’s hand, pulling her towards the corridor. “I think we both need a cuppa.”
They walk in comfortable silence to the kitchen. The Doctor doesn’t let go of her hand.
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Dawn finds them lying on dew-damp grass, empty mugs forgotten beside them. They’ve been watching the stars fade out of view one by one for what feels like both a second and an eternity. Yaz has never seen the Doctor this still for so long.
“I used to love stargazing when I was little,” Yaz says, “used to make up all these constellations and stories. Dreamed of visiting them some day. Then I found out how far away they really are.”
The Doctor turns onto her side, head resting on one arm. Yaz can feel her breath on her cheek. Her chest suddenly feels tight. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” the Doctor says with a soft smile. “That’s the magic of the TARDIS. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.” Yaz can’t help but smile back, abruptly filled with warm fondness for this amazing, beautiful woman who’d fallen into her life.
Shit, she thinks. Fuck it. “Doctor, can I ask you something?”
“Hmm?”
“You remember with the giant spiders? You met my mum, and she asked if we were together?”
“Not going to forget giant mutant spiders in a hurry, no. Or your mum. Can’t believe that tosspot fired her for doing her job!”
Yaz hums in agreement, falling quiet for a moment. Then, “why did you ask me for the answer? Why not just say no?” Why did you look so disappointed, she doesn’t ask.
The Doctor is silent.
Yaz turns to face her. They’re almost nose to nose, now. “Do you wish I’d said yes?” she whispers, the words catching in her throat. She feels her pulse beating in her fingers. The Doctor doesn’t reply. She rolls onto her back, and then she’s on her feet. Yaz thought she felt something touch her cheek, too briefly to be certain.
“You should try and get some sleep,” the Doctor says. There’s a clink of porcelain as she scoops up the discarded mugs. Yaz can’t see her face, but she sounds- sad, maybe? Lonely? She has no idea if she’s reading the situation right, but she’d never know unless she tried.
“I- if I could hit rewind, I’d- well, I think I’d change my answer,” she finally manages, forcing the recalcitrant words out.
Yaz stands as the Doctor turns to face her, and she takes her free hand in her own, threading their fingers together. She feels a gentle squeeze, and smiles.
Their kiss is soft and warm as the early morning light.