Chapter Text
Solitary confinement is the time-out corner for really bad people. There might as well have been a sign on the Doctor’s cell wall that said ‘ think about what you’ve done’. She might, she’d love to, in fact, if she knew what exactly she did.
Fugitive: The Doctor, they said, before transporting her to this dank, dingy room that always maintained a temperature just cool enough to be uncomfortable. Not enough space to walk more than a few paces in one direction then the other, let alone run and work out the aches in unworked legs. Fugitive. That had few hints in and of itself that the Doctor only spent the first two weeks trying to unpack. After that, she cared a lot less.
Think about what you’ve done, was the vibe she got when she first arrived. No one came to check on her, no one brought her food or water, like a misguided parent denying their child dinner until the child confessed they shattered the vase, not their sibling. “What do you want from me?” She wondered aloud, and for two weeks, she did what her imprisoners wanted. She thought about what she’d done, where she’d been, who she’d been with, spent her days retelling stories she’s already lived and reliving stories she’s already told, all to herself, all in the quiet, in the dark that was just as frightening when she closed her eyes as it was when she opened them. It did little more than help to pass the time at first, and when she’d reminisced through every notable adventure and thrill in her unreliable memory, she moved on to bigger things, deeper things that left her with fingers digging into her temples to calm the storm. After a long while, long enough that her hands had acquired a malnourished tremor and her legs nearly lost their will to stand, the Judoon finally started bringing her food and water once a day. Good enough. She’d live at least.
She’s not cut out for solitary confinement, the Doctor had decided after a few more weeks. Her head is a frighteningly vast sea of unkind memories and cruel intrusive thoughts, and of course, they caught up with her in the end.
The Doctor has been locked up for one hundred and twenty-three days. Not a sight to see, not a sound nor a stimulus bar her own breathing and the building whispers in her subconscious — and at one point she swears… she swears she feels the Master connect with her. That telepathic nudge through the side door of her senses like the ping of a text message, a sense of unease, a chill that somehow sends a miniscule pulse of warmth through otherwise numb veins. It’s a distinct feeling, and it feels like him.
But when she reaches back, reaches out, stumbles through the mess that is her own mind, tripping over nightmares and good memories and bad ones -- there’s nothing. There’s no one.
She’s alone.
That’s not the only time he makes a delusive appearance.
They say hallucinations are a universal sign you’re going crazy, so the Doctor tells herself that these are not, in fact, hallucinations. Just… very very vivid echoes of the past dancing about in her very own cell before her very own eyes. Perfectly normal. She’s perfectly sane.
She sees the Citadel most of the time, in ruins and ablaze, and she sees herself; detonator in hand, a little Ashad figurine pinned to the front. She sees the Master, begging for the sweet release of oblivion that he’ll only ever accept by her hand. If the universe is ever to be rid of his immorality, his corrupted hearts and shattered conscience, it’ll have to be her finger that pulls the trigger.
Of course, she didn’t pull the trigger that day. Maybe it was weakness, maybe it was strength. Maybe it was the first step of realization towards a new life, a life in the right direction, a life where she makes the right choices. Leaving Ko Sharmus with that responsibility was wrong, horribly, terribly wrong, but she’ll take that fatal mistake in her stride, hold it tight, learn from it. Because she doesn’t plan to make anymore.
He really thought he’d broken her that day. The Master thought he’d stripped the Doctor down to nothing, deprived her of everything she ever was and ever will be, and he’d smiled something so sickening at his thought-to-be victory. It was an elating satisfaction to prove him wrong.
“You think you've broken me? You'll have to try harder than that. You've given me a gift of myself. You think that could destroy me? You think that makes me lesser? It makes me more. I contain multitudes, more than I ever thought or knew. You want me to be scared of it because you're scared of everything — but I am so much more than you.”
So who is she? If she’s so much more, containing so many multitudes, who is this suddenly foreign version of herself that’s been formed out of deceit?
The Doctor. That’s it. She’s just the Doctor, and that will never change.
The thing is, she wants to do better. She wants to do more.
She can do better, she knows she can do better. She can hold the universe in her palms and mould it how she pleases — if anyone has that jurisdiction, it’s her. She can manipulate time itself without batting an eye and leave it at her mercy, to do her will.
Been there, done that, she tells herself one night, laying on her back with feet propped up against the wall and gaze resting on the stars. There have been multiple times she took the title of Time Lord as it was, abused it to its core, and nearly brought the universe to the ground. She learned from that, re learned against her will what she can and cannot do. She won’t revert, she won’t become that dangerous, frightening man she once was that bent the laws of time until they snapped in half.
She’s been to a lot of places, met a lot of people, made a lot of mistakes, and learned a lot of things.
And the Doctor believes, with every fiber of her being and broken piece of her hearts, that she can do better. She can do good. She can recapture her role as healer of the universe and never lose a single patient, because she’s not just a doctor, she’s the Doctor.
The title means more to her than it ever has because it is, in a way, all she has now. The little suitcase in her hand as she stands before an open road, her only possession as she steps forward into a new world.
Is it a new world? It feels a bit new, but the Doctor knows that it’s exactly the same. Silly old universe, the more I save it, the more it needs saving. An ongoing, never ending reality, but she doesn’t mind. Not now, especially not from this cell she very well may be trapped in until the end of time. She itches not only to move but to assist, to aid, to save.
One morning she opens her eyes, arms curled around her middle and forehead pressed into the rocky floor and decides that no , it isn’t the world that feels new, it’s her. In a weird, non-regenerative sort of way. She contains so much. So many multitudes and versions of herself at her disposal, an infinite supply of hope and experience she doesn’t even remember the half of. An infinite supply of Doctor.
She can be whoever she wants to be. And she chooses to be good.
By the time she’s rescued, she’s long since ceased ticking off the passage of time and has no current recollection of how long it’s been. She just knows she hasn’t moved in… a while.
Her eyes don’t open until she feels a pressure on her upper arms, considerate hands tugging at her shoulders and careful voices asking her if she can sit up. Two people, there are two people in her cell besides herself. Two voices, one floaty and concerned, one deep and commanding. The hovering figures are blurred and distorted, unsharpened and entirely indistinct, but there’s a scrap of familiarity in the sheer sense of their presence that lets the Doctor know she doesn’t have to be frightened. Whoever they are, she’s safe with them.
The lower voice says something with the inflection of an order, but luckily it doesn’t seem to be directed at herself. Eyelids fluttering and drooping, the Doctor allows herself to be shifted upright. Her head falls towards her chest but someone catches it, a soft hand on her cheek saving her from a sore neck, and the Doctor furrows her brow in an attempt to sharpen the features of the face drifting in and out of her line of sight.
“Yaz?”
She’s not sure, she’s really not sure at first, but she watches a frown morph into a smile and feels another hand come to rest on her other cheek.
“It’s me, Doctor. Jack’s here too.” Definitely Yaz. Only Yaz speaks with such tenderness, such a soft uncertainty… wait a second. Jack?
“Hang in there, Doc.” Jack’s smile just barely penetrates her dulled senses. “Long time no see.”
Her only response is a wistful hum of acknowledgement, a tiny smile gracing cracked lips as Jack hoists her into his arms.
The Doctor wakes up three days later in the TARDIS medbay.
It’s instantly familiar, instantly flooding her with a sense of home, even though the medical bay was always furthest from the sort. There are an awful lot of wonky memories tied up with this room, losses and almost losses, difficult conversations when someone she cares about plays a bit too loose with their own wellbeing.
But it’s the TARDIS. Her TARDIS, her home. She’s home, and her awakening is welcomed with an affectionate ping in the back of her mind that brings an easy smile to the corner of her lips. Home has never felt quite so comforting, and this bed has definitely never been quite this comfortable.
“Doctor?” Yaz’s quiet voice prompts her to lift her head.
“Yaz.” She’s a bit slow to prop herself up on her elbows, kicking off a blanket around her knees and squinting against the already dimming lights of the medbay. Yaz is standing wide eyed in the doorway. “Hello.”
She takes long, eager strides to the Doctor’s bedside but stops inches away. There’s a fatigued slump to her shoulders overshadowed by a spark of life in her eyes, and a breath of relief that tapers into a laugh. “You’re okay.”
“‘Course I’m okay.” The Doctor shifts until her legs are swinging off the bed, socked feet landing with a soft thump on the floor. She spares a quick glance around for her boots to find them sitting side by side on the floor to her left. Further inspection reveals she’s wearing an entirely different shirt and trousers than she was previously, and her coat is draped over an office chair across the room.
“Yeah, sorry.” Yaz recaptures her attention, wearing an uncertain frown and an embarrassed wince. “Sort of… made a judgement call.”
Her senses are slow at coming to, but the next dot she connects is the fact that her hair doesn’t weigh a thick and heavy mess around her shoulders anymore. It’s neat and… washed?
“That too.” Yaz almost looks nervous, a bit of red creeping up her neck and bathing her cheeks. “Sorry, you just looked so uncomfortable, wasn’t sure what else to do for you and—”
“—Yaz, it’s alright. Really.” The Doctor flattens the creases in her shirt and gives it a pointedly approving look. “Us Time Lords…” The title is bitter on her tongue now, tastes a bit like a lie, and she still hasn’t decided whether or not she can consider it to be one. She keeps her eyes down, and gulps away the taste. “Not really concerned with modesty. Well, not in the way humans are at least.”
There’s a beat of silence filled to the brim with uncertainty, unspoken questions, and eventually the sound of Yaz shuffling over to sit at the Doctor’s side.
There’s a spark in her chest not unlike electricity with Yaz so close, shoulders nearly touching, the sounds of quiet breaths mingling with one another and filling the room with something content. Like the positive ends of two magnets, the Doctor feels their souls pressing for closeness but denied it’s embrace, senses reaching out to each other, straining and yearning and oh, what’s the word for this?
Oh, of course.
She missed Yaz.
“How long?” Yaz asks with those kind eyes that she missed so much. Those kind eyes that shine even when they’re sad, even when they’re scared.
“Don’t you know?” The Doctor tilts her head curiously.
“It’s been about two weeks for us.” Yaz speaks carefully, and the Doctor feels like she’s being analyzed. “But it’s been a lot longer for you, hasn’t it? Your hair’s longer.” She smiles, but it’s wobbly and frail. “And you just look…”
“Older?”
“I was gonna say tired.” Yaz doesn’t laugh, and her smile loses itself in deep concentration. “But… you do a bit. It’s your eyes, really. Like you’ve… seen a lot. Well, a lot more.”
The Doctor doesn’t say anything, but her gaze doesn’t waver.
“But you were stuck in that room the whole time, weren’t you?” Yaz asks in a quiet voice, fearful of itself.
A small sigh, accepting and stabilizing. “Yeah.”
“How long, Doctor?”
She swallows, looking at her hands so she doesn’t have to relive her experience facing the arrows of sympathy head on. She cowers beneath them instead, the pointed ends of pity stabbing at the back of her head but never piercing her skull. “Three years. Give or take.”
Three years. Three years of a single daily dose of nutrients (if she was lucky), a bucket of what looked and smelled like mop water provided biweekly, and a chance to stretch her legs for more than five long strides, never. A chance to switch out her repeated dull visual surroundings for something even slightly more colorful, never. The stars outside her window were her sanity’s saving grace, for a while. She’s not sure what to thank for salvaging it when the stars began to mock her.
Three years. She did a lot of things in those three years. She told herself stories, made up new ones, counted every star in her line of sight and determined which corner of the universe she was in down to the star system. It didn’t help much, but at least she knew.
Three years to miss her fam, and she never stopped missing them. Even on the days that she was so sure her mind was expiring, that this was it, this was the regeneration to be slain by boredom itself — she thought about them. What they were getting up to, how their lives were progressing, how they probably thought she was dead. Oh yeah.
“I didn’t die, by the way. On Gallifrey.”
“You don’t say.” Finally, Yaz laughs a bit, but it’s watery and tinged. When the Doctor looks up, she sees the beginnings of unshed tears.
“Long story.” She flattens her lips apologetically.
“I’ll let you tell me later.”
And the Doctor just smiles, thankful.
Yaz shifts a bit, her own gaze falling to her hands. “So… three years? Alone?”
Three years. Alone.
Three years to think. She got up to a lot of that.
“It’s alright, I’m back now.” The Doctor’s attempt at an encouraging smile must fall flat, because Yaz’s quietly distraught expression is still.
“Are you alright?”
The Doctor licks her lips, picks an uninteresting object across the room to stare at, and she thinks. She really thinks about the question, because she was wondering the same thing.
“I am.” She says it confidently, with an easy smile that sticks the landing this time. Physically, she’s wiped. Boredom really is a tricky oppressor; it pinned her to the spot but sapped her energy away like she’d been running nonstop. She would have much preferred to run, and she plans to do a lot of it after a couple more naps and a handful of light jogs. She’s not an idiot, she’s been physically underworked for three years, and unnamed resilient alien entity or not, she’ll need to take it slow. She’ll bounce back though, she always does.
Mentally, despite it all, she’s soaring. Maybe a bit too fast, there are still lots of dots to be connected and thoughts to be strung, but she’s alright. She knows who she is, and knows her place both within the universe and outside of it.
She’s the Doctor, and she will be good.
“I’m alright, Yaz.” She repeats sincerely, hearts singing a song she can’t place.
Yaz’s shoulder touches her own, and her deprived senses struggling to wake up suddenly blaze to life, all of them centered, all of them focused.
“How does a hug sound after three years alone?”
The Doctor chuckles quietly, and finds herself already swaying in Yaz’s direction. “Amazing.”
Yaz’s arms mould around her back and the Doctor leans against her, arms finding solace against her shoulder blades, and lets out a long breath. She was funny about touch for a bit, never really had enough opportunities to decide if she liked it or not, but three years without the option had something to say about that.
Yaz sits with her like that for a couple minutes. It’s quiet, it’s easy, and it’s grounding. The scattered pieces of the Doctor’s exhausted subconscious knit together more easily, flow with something closer to coherence, and she’s soon pulling away.
“Where are Graham and Ryan?”
“Home.” Yaz settles her hands back in her lap. “Jack said it’d be quicker just the two of us.”
Jack?
“Jack!” The Doctor smacks her palm into her forehead. “Stupid Doctor, you forgot about Jack!” She whirls on Yaz then with an intensity that visibly catches her off guard. “Where is he? How’d you find him?”
“He found us.” Yaz is quick to clarify, and her eyes brighten like she’s been eager to share the information. “Said he’d heard from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone else, ” She pauses for a breath. “That the Judoon had you in maximum security. Graham and Ryan didn’t believe it at first — suppose that’s why he chose me to come along.”
The Doctor’s spiralling thoughts halt in their tracks and she finds herself smiling, then bumps Yaz’s shoulder with her own. “But you believed him.”
“I’ve spent the past two weeks coming up with impossible ways you could have survived.” Yaz binks a couple times, like she’s perplexed she even has to say it. “Of course I believed him.”
The Doctor’s lips part to respond, but she’s not sure what to say to that. She dips her head in understanding instead. Fair enough.
“Oh, and he’s in the console room.” Yaz adds after a beat. “Haven’t had the chance to tell him you’re awake yet.”
“I need to talk to him.” She presses her palms into the edge of the bed, channeling and focusing all her energy into her current excuse for legs. They buckle and wobble like a baby deer as soon as she moves to stand, but Yaz is a sturdy presence at her shoulder, steadying and stable. The Doctor gratefully takes hold of her arm. “Grab my coat for me?”
Yaz breaks away for long enough to retrieve her coat and hand it over. It’s clean, clearly washed, and smells like that same cosmic detergent the TARDIS has used for years instead of dirt and sweat. As soon as she slips her arms into her sleeves, she feels remarkably more like herself.
She’s a bit more stable after that, stumbling towards the medbay exit but refraining from waving away Yaz’s worried dithering, accepting the steadying hand on her arm for what it is. She’s never keen on assistance, but this is Yaz. Yaz doesn’t judge her, Yaz doesn’t gain a weakened perspective from seeing the Doctor anything but strong, Yaz simply cares too much to stand idle. It’s an admirable trait, and the Doctor won’t be the one to dampen it.
When they reach the entrance to the console room that dims its lights automatically upon her arrival, the Doctor pauses. “You mind giving us a minute?”
“‘Course not.” Yaz lets go of her arm with an understanding tilt of her head. “I’ll be in the kitchen, gonna give Ryan a call and let them know you’re alright.”
“Thanks, Yaz.” She smiles slightly and watches her go, turning back towards the console room with loosely clenched fists.
She thought she’d be nervous to see him. Last time Jack made an appearance it was one of warning, an attempt to steer her in a direction that would result in the best case scenario of the universe’s sour fate. He made a strong, educated suggestion that she ignored. He’s bound to be at least a little bit peeved.
But when she descends the stairs to the console room, a hand holding herself steady against the railing, she feels little besides glee at the sight of him. He’s fiddling with something on the console — she dreads to think what — braced in a contemplative, bowed over stance and brow pinched in deep concentration. It’s very Doctor-y, she thinks. Jack’s coatless ensemble fits the vibe of the console room perfectly as ever.
“Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty! ” He lights up when he notices her, that cheesy, goofy smile spreading across his face and crinkling the space around his eyes. “I was wondering why it got dark in here.”
“Eyes are a bit sensitive. It’s just the TARDIS being considerate.” Boots forgotten, she pads softly across the console room with arms crossed loosely over her chest. “What’re you doin’?”
“Monitoring Judoon communications. They know you’re missing but haven’t been able to track you. Just the way we like it.” He flicks a switch on the console and the lively monitor powers down. “Well?”
The Doctor tilts her head. “Well what?”
“I just rescued you from a maximum security prison. Maximum security Judoon prison. Had to jump through a lot of hoops and snog a guard to get you out of there -- a thank you or something would be nice.”
“You snogged a Judoon? ”
“They’re not as bad at it as you’d think.” Jack crosses his arms and leans back against the console with that familiar sly smirk. “Got the job done, didn’t it?”
“Couple years late, but who’s counting?”
Jack grimaces then, arms falling back to his sides. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright.” She knows how time travel can be, knows how easy it is to over and undershoot if even a single coordinate is misplaced or a fragment is out of position. “But I have to say it — that’s what you get for using cheap time travel.”
“Hey, last I checked my ride was way more accurate than yours.” He jabs his index finger in her direction. “Still waiting on that thank you.”
“Thank you, Jack.” She says it sincerely, because she really does owe it to him for her freedom from claustrophobia and darkness that no longer looms over her like a murderous shadow. “Really.”
“Any time.” He brightens, smiling knowingly. “I mean it.”
And then there’s a pause. Thick and expectant, a mutual waiting game, unmoving gazes fixed strictly on one another.
“Go on, out with it.” The Doctor leans back into the console at his side.
Jack mulls over the demand, and seems to struggle over the right way to say it. There is no right way. “You gave the Cyberman what it wanted.”
“I made a judgement call.” The Doctor combats, echoing Yaz’s earlier words, but she doesn’t feel that stir of fight or flight in her chest she often does during intimate confrontation. “It was a sticky situation, Jack. There were no options that weren’t bad ones.”
“You realize you could have stopped the war before it even started, right?”
“Not if in doing so I erased two hundred years of vital history.” She hardens, a faint surge of anxiety reaching her fingers and curling them around the console’s edge. “It was the only way — the only shot I had at keeping the universe safe. In all it’s time periods.”
“A lot of people died, you know.” He says it with a slight bite, like he’s been waiting a long time for the opportunity. She doesn’t blame him for being upset with her, but if anyone should have some semblance of understanding for her controversial actions, it’s him.
“I know.” She says levelly.
“I had friends that fought in that war.” He points his haunted gaze forward, away from her. “And they all died, because it was a Cyber war, and there was never gonna be any other ending.”
The Doctor doesn’t take that lightly, spares a moment to let the information sink in. “Did you?”
“What, fight or die?”
“Both.”
Jack shoves his hands into his front pockets, shifting against the console and crossing his feet at the ankles. “Yeah, I did. Quite a few times.”
She knows that dying never becomes any less traumatic for him, no matter how many times it occurs, and to be left to watch your comrades helplessly succumb to the forces of a seemingly preventable war is a whole other story.
“Do you blame me?” She asks it like a question that must never be asked, hesitant and quiet and sour near the back of her tongue.
Jack seems to think it over for a moment, thoughtful gaze falling to his boots. “Should I?”
Should he? Should she ? She didn’t have any other choice, did she? There are some points in time which she simply cannot see, that are entirely inaccessible due to blocked pathways or hidden entrances. She didn’t know what would happen if she didn’t give the lone Cyberman the Cyberium. Maybe Ashad was bluffing when he said he’d destroy the earth, or maybe earth’s timeline really would have ended in 1817.
She did her best, right? But her best wasn’t good enough — she was never good enough , and she plans to make some regarding changes. She doesn’t have to repeat history, each mistake is a mistake to be learned from, after all, and she’s made a lot of them. Shouldn’t she have learned everything by now?
“Maybe you should.” She half decides, still a bit stuck on the question, but she can come back to it later. She’s fairly certain now, that given the opportunity, she could have come up with a better solution. One that would have saved everyone -- Shelley, 1817 earth, and every life the Cybermen stripped away after the decision she made. The wrong decision, she concludes. She told herself that any decision would be the wrong one, in that position, but maybe it was just her being slow, or being incapable. She’s not incapable, she’s the Doctor, she was the universe’s only chance, and while she succeeded in the end, the false starts leading up to her victory were at a cost. She could have done better.
It’s so lonely in the stratosphere, perched on top of the tallest mountain in the universe, left to make every impossible decision alone. But she is -- she really is the only person fit for the job, and she’s always had a decent work ethic. It’s time to do more. It’s time to do better.
Jack suddenly springs up off the console, putting his back to the heavy conversation and switching the monitor on for one final check before switching it back off. “We’re in orbit around earth, by the way. Figured it was a safe enough spot while you napped.”
“I wasn’t napping, I was recovering.” She bucks up, lifting herself off the console as well, and Jack flashes her an amused look.
“Call it what you want.” His hands return to his pockets after adjusting the suspender straps at his shoulders. “But it looks like you could use another.”
“I’ll be a bit wonky for a bit, it’s alright.” She slips around into position on the other side of the console. “Might see if Graham’s sofa is up for a temporary resident.”
As Jack opens his mouth to respond, Yaz sounds her return with quick feet hurrying down the stairs and her mobile phone’s microphone pressed against her shoulder.
“Doctor, Graham says if you’re not in his front room in two minutes you’re gettin’ an earful.” She says it with half a grin, equally amused as it is nervous. “He and Ryan are a bit offended you haven’t been to see them already. I know you’ve got a time machine but I really wouldn’t risk it.”
The Doctor can’t help a tired chuckle at that, hands gliding over the controls with practiced ease unhindered by three years deprived of the experience. “Well, lets not keep them waiting any longer.”
That temporary residence on Graham’s sofa ends up being a week long.
Four days were spent kicking back with the fam, tolerating their fussing for a couple of them but putting her foot down on the third. She was fine, and she’d keep telling them that, after answering all the questions they knew she didn’t want them to ask but couldn’t keep from spilling out. What was it like? Were you scared? Weren’t you bored? So bored, so bored. She tried her best to make light of every hardship, stick a quick joke on the end whenever something she said made all three of them plain sad, and it worked approximately half the time. She made them laugh a lot, but sometimes she just couldn’t. Sometimes the weight was a bit too much for them; thinking they’d lost her for two weeks only to discover her devastating three years in solitary confinement. They danced around her for those first few days in uncertainty, like the wrong word or a misstep could snatch her away from them once again. It never did, even when Ryan danced right on her toe, and it really hurt.
Two days were spent fending off a Dalek invasion, and that was when the fam finally seemed to relax, oddly enough. She proved herself capable, proved herself to be fine by keeping everyone — and she can say that with certainty — everyone alive. The Dalek fleet found themselves trapped in orbit for those two days, stuck banging at Earth’s doors, never granted entry. They were a primitive fleet, technologically unadvanced in comparison to their much more inevitable successors. Terrible defenses, and an even worse sense of humor when she put an ionic membrane around the entire planet. That shouldn’t be possible with a Dalek, let alone constructing a field of that size sturdy enough to keep anything out, but they never did manage to break through. She was fairly certain she owed that mostly to whatever force sent a shoddy fleet from the beginning of its time — it really was a Level 1 as far as difficulties go — but the Doctor defeated the Daleks without a single life lost. A victory of the sorts would go to anyone’s head, and it definitely goes to hers.
The final day is spent saying goodbye.
“Hey Doc, mind if Ryan and I talk to you for a second?”
She’s taking her last swig of tea when Graham appears in the doorway between the kitchen and the front room, wearing a smile on his lips but a clear ache in his eyes. Something’s up.
“‘Course.” She tilts her cup upside-down to down the last drops, wiping her mouth on her coat sleeve as she pushes her chair away from the kitchen table and stands. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, just —” His gaze falls away from hers for an instant, eventually settling for cocking his head in the direction of the sofa.
The Doctor follows him with a nervous energy vibrating her bones, scratching her palms with chewed fingernails when she sees Ryan perched uncomfortably on the edge of Graham’s armchair. He looks about as anxious as she feels, not meeting her eye when she walks in, and seriously… what’s so bad that—
“ Ouch. ” Graham stumbles over a discarded piece of an unfinished contraption she left unattended, knocking his knee on the coffee table in consequence.
She sort of… set up camp in his front room. The Doctor arrived seven days ago with a shy smile to a followed-through promise of an earful when she arrived five minutes later than ordered. Graham was spilling out a readied reprimand before he’d even opened his front door, griping and moaning about how she’d just “-left us to think you were dead, Doc, for two weeks. Two weeks! That’s really bloody rude, you know that? I think you do know that, and I expect an explanation, then an apology, then — blimey, come here.” Then he hugged her, so urgently, so confidently. Very unlike him. He pulled away before she could even physically react, left tense and mentally overstimulated, staring at Ryan over Graham’s shoulder for some sort of guidance. He was no help though, slack jawed and similarly stunned for entirely different reasons.
She was constantly back and forth between their flat and the TARDIS, finding it much easier to be productive with the supplies of her ship in arm’s reach but much harder to focus any time she was alone. As calming as the TARDIS can be, she much preferred Ryan and Graham’s company over her own solitude, and Yaz’s on the frequent occasion she stayed over. Yaz spent most of her time with the three of them that week, and any questions regarding how the police station felt about the time off were quickly diverted.
“Sorry.” The Doctor wrinkles her nose, kicking the offending item off to the side where it can’t do any more damage. “I’ll have all this picked up by the time Yaz gets back. Anywhere in particular you’d like to go? You lot can take turns picking — or — oh, we could go to 43rd century Thobos. Ryan, you in particular would love that one. Biggest and most advanced arcade grounds in the universe, takes up almost the entire planet, and — you lot have virtual reality by now, don’t you? Bit like that, but also not like that ‘cause it’s about twenty times cooler. Free roaming, high definition quality that’s somehow more realistic than actual reality and—”
She stops herself, or rather the look on Ryan’s face does. He doesn’t look excited, or even interested, really, and she knows him better than to believe that he’s truly not.
“What?”
He and Graham share a look, and whatever’s about to be laid out on the table has evidently already been discussed behind closed doors.
“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about.” Graham eases onto the sofa, and the Doctor follows suit when he cocks his head towards the empty space next to him.
“You know how I told you I’m trying to go to Sheffield College?” Ryan bends forward with elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on his hands that twist together with unease.
“Oh, you can do better than that, Ryan.” She smiles easily. “I’m sure I can lend you a hand. Earth’s concept of engineering is remarkably basic, only the fundamentals — ooh, I could teach you how to hotwire a space hopper. Sheffield College won’t cover that, I’m fairly certain.”
There’s a small stretch of silence that leaves her with the impression she’s said the wrong thing.
“Thing is, Doc,” Graham sighs quietly. “Ryan’s really wanted this for… a while, actually.”
“And I think I’ve got a good shot at getting in.” Ryan lifts his head, hope lightening his features. “And I know I’d be good at it.”
Oh. She sees where this is going now.
Graham looks at Ryan with a small nod, encouraging and prompting, and Ryan lets out a heavy breath.
“I love traveling with you lot. Loved — traveling with you lot. But after a while I sort of… stopped feeling like I belong out there.”
The Doctor blinks her confusion, tilting her head and listening intently. She doesn’t quite understand.
“I’ve got this mate. Tibo. Dunno if you remember meeting him.” Ryan sits up a little straighter. “He doesn’t do well on his own. Needs friends around at least once in a while to keep him afloat because his brain just… hates him. None of the other guys seem to really get it, and that’s all the more reason that I just…” His gaze falters again. “Feel like this is where I’m needed. Like this is my place in the universe, not out there. Even if an arcade planet sounds really fun.”
Her nod is slight, slowed by the beginnings of grief, but she respects that self-appointed duty more than she knows how to convey.
“Plus,” Graham adds, regret coating his voice. “I’m not exactly getting any younger.”
“And whenever Ryan goes,” The Doctor forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You go.”
“Yeah.” Graham returns her smile with one equally weighted, apologetic and impossibly sad.
“That’s alright.” She nods again, just to seal her words. That’s alright, that’s respectable, she gets it — she really does. Any family she forms across the universe is always gonna be short lived, but she grew especially attached to this one. Somehow more so after all the time they spent apart. Absence makes the hearts grow fonder, after all.
She’s gonna miss them.
“And it’s not like this is gonna be some goodbye forever nonsense.” Ryan recaptures her attention, holding her eye steadily to make sure she’s listening to every word. “We still want you to come ‘round, and maybe — maybe, just every now and then we’ll come along for a quick trip.”
This isn’t goodbye forever . She’ll see them again.
The Doctor smiles again, a bit lighter this time, a bit more genuine. “So I can take you to 43rd century Thobos someday?”
“You’d better.” A pleased grin stretches across Ryan’s face and his shoulders lose their tension.
An unidentifiable boulder of dread suddenly plummets heavy in the pit of her stomach, widening her eyes, straightening her spine. “What about—”
“—I’m back!” The front door clicks open to an exasperated looking Yaz, overnight bag slung over her shoulder. “Sorry, Sonya was nagging me about dinner. Mum and dad are out of town and she likes to pretend she doesn’t know how to cook…” Once she’s stepped into the inside atmosphere fully, closing the door behind her in slow motion, Yaz’s carefree expression quickly slips to match the tension. “Did you tell her?”
So Yaz knew already. Have they been discussing this all week?
“Yeah, we did.” Graham grins something reassuring, and only slightly pinched with the tail end of the conversation.
Yaz finds the Doctor’s eye, inquisitive and analytical. “You okay?”
“‘Course I am.” The Doctor lifts her chin a fraction, just to seal her statement. “Ryan explained everything, but...” And she trails off, because she’s actually not quite sure she’s okay — it depends… it depends on…
“Do you still want me to come with you?” Yaz splutters, at the exact same instant the Doctor spills, “Do you still want to come with me?”
They both gape at each other in a similar form of awe, mouths hanging open and beseeching gazes entangling, frozen.
“Of course.” They both say, once again, at the same time, and matching huffs of immeasurable relief are not far behind.
Yaz is coming with her, and the boys will always be here when she comes back. The Doctor relaxes to the point where her shoulders sag with the weight of it, and she spares herself a nanosecond of reassurance. She won’t be alone.
“Suppose I should clear up.” The Doctor stands from the sofa, already bustling around the front room and scooping up scattered supplies and failed experiments. “Yaz, you ready to go?”
“Definitely. Here—” She drops her bag in a corner and steps forward. “Me and Ryan can help.”
“Actually,” Graham lifts a finger. “Can you two give me and the Doc a moment?”
What now? The Doctor dumps her armful in Ryan’s outstretched hands, hovering her own nearby and wiggling her fingers. “Careful with that, Ryan, don’t touch the wirey bits.”
He shoots her a nervous look and nods his strict understanding, and soon he and Yaz are striding out of the flat and towards the TARDIS with the Doctor’s mess of equipment piled high in their arms.
As soon as the door shuts behind them, the Doctor sits back down. “What’s up?”
Shallow lines of concern crease Graham’s brow, and he narrows his eyes as if to see through her own. “You alright, love?”
She can’t suppress a short, frustrated sigh. “You lot keep asking that.”
“I know you’re technically alright.” His hands fall to his lap. “You’re still you, and all. Strong as ever. No stupid alien prison is gonna be the thing to cause your downfall, I know that.”
The Doctor blinks, and waits, because what’s the big deal then?
“But you also don’t know how to sit still longer than a couple minutes, and you were locked in the same room on the same asteroid for over a thousand days.” He’s frowning now. “And you’ve seemed a bit off since you got out. Can’t put my finger on it, but…” He trails off with a slow exhale, and the Doctor looks away. “Just want to make sure your head’s gonna be alright after all that.”
“I’m fine, Graham. Really. Time doesn’t pass the same for my lot.”
“Yeah, I know. It passes a lot slower.” He hardens a fraction. “Which is why I’m worried.”
“You don’t need to be.” She’s fine. She’s more than fine, she’s excited. To get back out amongst the stars, to prove herself to herself by rooting around for the right decisions until she can reach them. They’re out there, she knows they’re out there, she just has to be good enough to find them.
Graham doesn’t appear any less skeptical, but he lets the topic slide with a shallow dip of his head. When the Doctor goes to stand, Graham holds out his hand. “One more thing.”
She sits back down, only a little bit impatient, but Graham’s adopted a much softer tone that she doesn’t feel the need to escape.
“Just… want to say thank you, I suppose.” He begins sincerely, just a little bit sad. “After Grace died, without all the travelling I would’ve been in a right state. And I know I told you this ages back, but just so you know, Doc, you really did me a lot of good. Travelling the universe really should be a worldwide method of grief counselling. I’d vouch for it.”
The Doctor replaces the blank space a reply should occupy with a soft laugh. She doesn’t know what to say.
“Ryan, too.” He goes on. “Not much of a sap, that lad, so I doubt you’ll ever hear this from him directly, but you helped him find his place.” The Doctor lifts her gaze to meet his, and Graham’s eyes are shining. “He seemed a bit lost when I first met him. His mum dying and dad ducking out really left him… troubled. He was never completely happy, struggled a lot in school, never really opened up to me or his nan about anything. But he’s changed a lot, since we met you. You, Doc, not just the travelling, made him more confident, more certain — helped him realize that he does, actually, have a place in the world. And I’ll personally be eternally grateful for that. He’s a lot better off, after knowing you. We all are.”
A bow of fondness glides over the strings of her aching hearts, making them sing.
Graham and Ryan get a happy ending. Her friends so rarely end up with one of those.
“Thank you for telling me that.” She whispers, eyes stinging and throat constricting. If she says anymore she just might burst at the seams, so the Doctor holds her tongue, and Graham very briefly wraps an arm around her shoulders in a side hug. He gives her a fond pat on the back that she doesn’t shrink away from, then stands from the sofa as soon as Ryan and Yaz return.
“Think that’s everything.” If Yaz senses any additional shift in the atmosphere, she doesn’t say anything, scooping up her bag with one hand and a left behind coil of glowing cables in the other. “You ready to go?”
The Doctor sniffs once, braces her palms against her knees and rises confidently. “Sure am.”
They say their goodbyes, short and bittersweet. Graham gets a hug, Ryan gets a slightly longer one, then Yaz steps into position to do the same.
The Doctor pats down her pockets to make sure she’s not leaving anything else behind before turning towards the door, her and Yaz side by side, an open road of new and good and better beckoning them onward.
“You look after her.” She hears Graham say from behind her, and turns around to shoot him a reassuring eye.
“Always.”
“I was talking to Yaz, actually.”
Yaz turns around, visibly pleased, smiling broadly. “Always.”
The Doctor rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment, holding the front door open for Yaz to step through and closing it with a quiet click behind them.
She takes a deep breath of sunlight and freshly cut grass, and barely there, unseen and looked over by everyone, is a flicker of something remarkably fierce in her eyes. Dangerous, almost, if she were still the type of person to let something of the sort consume her.
She won’t be dangerous. She won’t be frightening. She won’t be frightened.
She’ll be good. She’ll do good.
She’ll do better than ever before.