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If anyone had told Yaz that Time Lords only needed to bathe properly on rare occasion, she might have second-guessed her decision to travel with the Doctor. Not that she would or could backpedal, she thought, watching the Doctor happily dump a box of teabags into the rising water, humming to herself. Yaz shook her head to herself as, with no small satisfaction, the Doctor gave the water a stir with her arm, the sleeve of her coat bunched up on her bicep. It had taken long enough to get to this point, thought Yaz; at least the Doctor was indeed taking a bath. The TARDIS contained a number of bathrooms, each in varying states of opulence—one was merely a closet with a toilet, one was all silver and the size of an entire flat, and in another, all the appliances hovered several meters above the ground—and the Doctor had spent a long afternoon scurrying between the lot of them, leading Yaz by the hand as she selected the perfect place for bath day.
“What about this one?” the Doctor asked, revealing the next bathroom with a bathtub the size of a Jacuzzi. And before Yaz could speak, the Doctor would shake her head and say something about the ambiance, toilet proximity, or the lack of water pressure, and they’d be off to the next bathroom in the maze of halls beyond the TARDIS control room.
“You could just take over the swimming pool for a day,” Yaz suggested after rejected bathroom number forty-three, which featured a vast collection of rubber ducks.
“There’s an idea!” said the Doctor, but after a moment she shook her head. “No, but imagine draining all that. The pH would be wonky for years after, I’d have to reset it myself.” And before Yaz could ask what on earth the Doctor would be doing in a bath to garner that sort of cleaning, they’d arrived at bathroom number forty-four, which was tiled in red and white, and the Doctor rejected this one, too, saying she had no intention to play chess in the nude. (“Another life, perhaps.”)
It wasn’t until bathroom number fifty-seven that the Doctor declared herself satisfied with all aspects: the tub was indeed the size of a small swimming pool, toilets were partitioned off, the tiles were iridescent sea glass green, and there were benches along the perimeter in case she needed a break from the water.
“Are you intending to spend all day in the bath?” asked Yaz dubiously, her patience wearing thin after spending nearly five hours looking at tubs and toilets.
“Yep,” said the Doctor, trotting over to a rack to grab an armload of fluffy towels. “Bath day is an occasion. Can’t rely on my clothes to keep me clean all the time.” She started laying her charges around the perimeter of the bathtub until the ring around it might as well have been blue and white towel carpet.
“Your… clothes?”
“Yeah! Installed some laundry nanobots once we got out of the shop, they do a brilliant job with the colors.”
Yaz fought the overwhelming urge to bury her face in her palm. She compromised with herself by gripping her lower jaw between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re saying… you don’t… Doctor, you mean…”
“Yes! Clever things, those nanobots, never had clearer skin in all my lifetimes. Or brighter colors. Never have to do the wash again.”
“Doctor.” Yaz felt her face pucker, eyebrows pushing upward and closer together.
“What?” The Doctor met Yaz’s eyes with puzzlement. “Are laundry nanobots not socially acceptable? It’s not like I run around filthy all the time, they take care of me as well.”
“No, they’re fine, it’s just…” Yaz set her jaw, a poor mask for her incredulous disgust. “You’re saying you don’t bathe, Doctor.”
“Of course I bathe, tomorrow’s bath day, innit?”
Yaz closed her eyes and decided she wasn’t going to pursue the subject any further.
The Doctor prodded a teabag that floated to the top of the bath, the water dyed slightly tan as the faucets gushed. Just enough for aromatics. She nodded to herself, the scent of watered down Earl Grey wafting on the coattails of the steam that curled up from the tub. Lovely punch of bergamot. She grabbed a pool net from the opposite wall and fished out the teabags. From deep in the right pocket of her coat, she produced a rubber duck she’d taken from bathroom number forty-three, and gently set it afloat on the water. A carefully harvested lily pad from the aqua garden followed from her left pocket, as did another rubber duck, this time from bathroom fifty-three. She didn’t like the idea of the bathroom forty-three duck getting lonely, and watching them spin together on the water, she congratulated herself on cultivating another budding romance.
She tested the water with a waggle of her fingertips, judged it to be the perfect temperature, and pulled a tiny bottle from her sleeve, emptying its purple contents under the faucet. Foam sprang forth, and the Doctor, nodding to herself, rummaged even deeper in her pockets until she found a salt shaker, which she also dumped into the water. She’d heard somewhere that bath salts were important to a good cleanse, but couldn’t remember where. Probably on the Internet, one of those DIY videos. She grinned over at Yaz, who watched from her spot on a bench with a mixture of perplexity, muted horror, and amusement.
“I could’ve just got you a bath bomb from Lush, you realize,” said Yaz as the Doctor threw her coat on a hook by the towel rack.
“D’you think it needs one?” asked the Doctor, wide-eyed. A bath bomb, clever invention, of course she’d forgotten about them.
Yaz peered at the bath, bubbles now several inches thick and puffing over the edge like a soapy muffin. “Not now, it doesn’t.”
“Brilliant.” The Doctor turned the taps, halting the flow of water. “Are you getting in first, or shall I?”
Yaz froze, her eyes bugging out. “What?”
“Bath day on Gallifrey is a communal family event, what’d you think I spent so long selecting the biggest bathtub for?” She slid her bracers off her shoulders, and they hung around her hips, yellow stripes bright against the blue of her trousers. Some of her fondest memories from childhood were of splashing with her siblings in the suds of the family bath. She did her best to bury her disappointment that bath day hadn’t arisen while Graham and Ryan were aboard the TARDIS; it would have been a proper fam affair.
“Doctor…” Yaz blushed and covered her eyes. “I’m not getting in the bath with you.” She peeked out through her fingers.
The Doctor tried to hide the way her face fell. “Any particular reason? I made sure the bubbles were high enough in case you were bashful.” Her mind raced for an answer. Baths were a normal thing to share, weren’t they? It had to be the ducks; they were too promiscuous, what with their overt affair. She shot them a glare as Forty-three and Fifty-three floated abreast to the far side of the tub.
“It’s not…” started Yaz, and she exhaled. “Doctor, I haven’t taken a bath with anyone since Sonya and I were little. Like, four years old.” The Doctor bit her lip and Yaz continued, “It’s not that you did anything wrong, it’s a lovely bath, it’s just… bathing together isn’t a thing adults do much. Unless you’re together, you know?” She looked at her feet shyly.
Ah. Should have cleared all of bath day with Yaz, won’t make that mistake again, thought the Doctor. Might’ve picked a smaller tub. “Sorry, I’ll just…” she muttered, shuffling behind a screen to change.
“If it’s company you want, I’ll just turn my back until you’re in,” Yaz called. “Besides, I already showered today.”
The Doctor emerged in a fluffy blue bathrobe, bare feet pattering across the tile. Yaz faced the wall as she disrobed, climbed over the rim, and sank into the tea-scented froth. And kept sinking; the water was a touch deeper than she realized, and her toes didn’t brush the bottom until she was up to her chin, the mound of bubbles hiding everything from her sight. Just as well. She rolled forward in a somersault under the warm water, surfacing to bob to the edge, parting foam as she went.
She leaned over the rim to peer out at Yaz from between two glistening, ephemeral walls. “You sure you don’t want to come in? It’s lovely and warm.” It was polite to ask, anyway. The look on Yaz’s face betrayed something, but the Doctor couldn’t place a name to it right away. Anxiety wasn’t quite it, nor was Yaz angry at being asked. But then the Doctor saw the red rising in Yaz’s cheeks. Ah, so it was embarrassment.
“No, I’m alright,” Yaz half gasped.
“Suit yourself,” said the Doctor, pushing off from the edge to let the water carry her like an otter on her back to the middle of the tub. She let her lungs do most of the work; that gorgeous surface tension and her body’s merciful tendency toward buoyancy in action. Might do a couple of laps before scrubbing down, she thought, kicking her legs to reposition. Might as well take advantage of the space. She'd almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the sensations of a bath: the enveloping water, the sweet scent of soap, the gentle tides of her own making that splashed lazily against the sides of the tub. Bound to happen, given how rarely bath day comes 'round, she thought. But that rarity does make it all the sweeter. The Doctor waded over to where she thought the ducks had settled, herding foam aside the whole way. And there they were: Forty-three leaning against the rim of the tub while Fifty-three had drifted a bit away.
“Now come back you two,” said the Doctor as she corralled them into the circle of her arms. Fifty-three had something of a baleful gleam in its eyes, as though Forty-three had offended it. “You can still make this work. Still have the whole day ahead of us! You realize out of all the ducks in the TARDIS, you two have been selected to spend bath day together? Go on, make the most of it.” She gently pressed their bills together and thought she saw Fifty-three’s irritation lessen somewhat. “That’s more like it.” And she deposited them together on the lone lily pad.
Yaz couldn’t focus on her book. Mere feet away, the Doctor splashed and soaked and soaped and rinsed, seeming to have a grand time by herself with her rubber ducks, onto which she had scooped handfuls of bubbles. She now seemed to be officiating their wedding. Half kicking herself for not agreeing to bath day, half standing firm on her decision, Yaz buried her nose in the pages, her eye straying sideways every few minutes or so, which was making it most difficult to keep track of what Harry Potter was doing in the Quidditch final. Just checking the Doctor doesn’t drown herself, she excused, catching a glimpse of smooth, freckled skin in her periphery. Making sure she’s still having fun.
If she were being honest, Yaz would admit she’d been caught off guard by the Doctor’s invitation. Further speculation into her ask, and Yaz reasoned that the Doctor didn’t mean anything by it; it was just an alien tradition she’d wanted to share. But still, the nagging idea of the sudden intimacy of being naked in the same bath with the Doctor made Yaz’s insides writhe and her face grow hot, and she pushed away the sudden vivid image of trading the washcloth back and forth to scrub each other’s backs. Besides, she justified, the Doctor had upended an entire box of Earl Grey and a salt shaker into the water, plus god knows what was in that bubble mixture. Probably eat the skin clean off her body and then where would she be? And by now the water was probably tepid; it had indeed been hours, and the bubble coverage had thinned somewhat, though it still stood a few inches above the rim. Yaz could consistently see the Doctor’s head, anyway.
Still if you’d been forewarned, said the voice in the back of her mind, you shan’t have said no.
With a sigh, Yaz closed her book, hardcover snapping the pages together. Why bother reading if she wasn’t going to absorb it? But of course, as she set the book down, she looked up in time to see the Doctor mount both hands on the rim of the tub before hoisting herself out of the water, and Yaz had to clap her own hands over her eyes.
“Warn me next time you’re getting out!” she cried, blushing furiously into her fingers.
“Sorry!” the Doctor called back. The disturbed, lapping bath quieted as Yaz imagined the Doctor robing herself. Then the slapping of wet, approaching feet. “It got quiet, almost forgot I wasn’t on my own in here.”
“How are the ducks?” Yaz heard herself ask as the Doctor sat beside her on the bench. She lowered her hands, and saw the Doctor leaning against the wall behind them. Her wet hair hung in loose waves about her face, dripping dark patches onto the blue of the bathrobe. Somehow, Yaz felt a bit of heat wafting off the Doctor, as though she’d brought the bath with her.
“Happily married and on their honeymoon,” the Doctor reported, “Thought I’d give them a touch of privacy. Forty-three is a little on the shy side sometimes, and Fifty-three made the specific request they be left alone. Good spouse, them.” The Doctor grinned, and Yaz tried to appear attentive, though she could smell the homey, inviting tea on her skin. “There was a bit of drama just before the wedding with the in-laws calling in from their respective bathrooms with demands, but you know how it is. They wanted to elope and I couldn’t help myself. Did I mention I’m a romantic?”
“Once or twice,” said Yaz, feeling her blush recede somewhat. “Having fun?”
“Oh, loads,” said the Doctor. She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “Meant to apologize again about earlier as well. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Moment’s probably passed though, I’m always thinking of what I should have said too late.” Her eyes seemed sadder than usual as she rumpled her nose in her best apologetic expression, mouth pushing upward.
“No, it’s fine,” said Yaz. “I guess you surprised me a bit. Like I said, bathing together isn’t common among friends. Family, maybe.” Lovers, definitely. Yaz cleared her throat.
“We are family, though,” said the Doctor. Her head whipped back around at Yaz, water droplets flying. “Not that that means you have to do anything you don’t want,” she added quickly.
“Thank you,” said Yaz, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
The Doctor rose from their bench. “Offer does stand, in case you change your mind,” she said. “Water’s still warm—tub’s designed to maintain temperature.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Yaz through a new, small smile. “What’s next for Forty-three and Fifty-three, d’you think?”
“I think…” said the Doctor, tapping her lower lip with a fingertip. “I think they’ll hop in a TARDIS and travel the universe together, then probably do something else romantic, like retire to the south of France. Might be a storm along the way. Haven’t even touched the Jacuzzi buttons yet.” She beamed at Yaz, whose heart skipped a beat. “Fifty-three used to travel alone, you know. Wouldn’t get far without Forty-three. They’re desperately in love.” The way she said it made it sound so off-the-cuff, so casual. Yaz almost missed the subtle way the Doctor nodded toward her at the last word. And she turned back toward her bath, flourishing her sonic from her bathrobe pocket, starting the jets as Yaz covered her eyes again. On the water, the rubber ducks bobbed along together, carried by the roiling current into the whirling universe, which frothed to meet them.