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A man with a face of teeth, flesh moths, alien scorpions and viruses that breed in plastic are not the worst things Yasmin Khan has had to endure on this particular day. No. Tonight, it’s the drunks of Sheffield.
Pulling her car into the underground car park of her flat block just as the sun is coming up, she wants nothing more than her bed. Whether that’s her bed in her flat, or the one on the TARDIS, she’s not quite sure. But the sight of the familiar blue box parked in the shadows of the bland concrete expanse is enough to pull her tired face into a soft smile. Looks like that decision is made.
Picking up her stab-vest from the passenger seat, her upper lip curls in disgust as the alcohol-soaked fabric sends unpleasant tendrils of odour into the air. She locks her car and slowly makes her way over to the blue police-box, thankfully avoiding coming across any other people. People don’t tend to frequent the car park at half-past seven on cold Sunday mornings in October.
Upon reaching the time ship, she hears the lock click open and the door creaks open slightly to grant her entrance. She smiles up at the ship in gratitude, giving the wooden frame a cursory pat before slipping inside. The warm orangey-yellow glow and quiet hum of the console room washes over her in a wave of calm.
Strangely enough, the Doctor isn’t anywhere to be seen. Although, less strangely, Yaz can hear her muttering to herself somewhere. There’s a small flash coming from somewhere on the other side of the console and a yelp, leading Yaz to the conclusion that the Time Lord is tinkering. Yet again.
In an attempt to save the ship and her thief from each other, she rounds the console, trying to figure out where exactly the noise came from. Sure enough, one of the floor panels has been pulled up and is resting hap-hazardly to one side. Peering down into the hole, Yaz can see the top of a mop of blonde hair, exposed arms, and several frayed wires.
“Hey, Doctor.” Yaz smiles when the Doctor jumps and peers up, scrunching up her face in confusion.
“Yaz? I thought you were on the night shift.” She lifts her goggles from her eyes and plants them on top of her head, smudging her face with oil in the process.
“I was, but now it’s morning.” She crouches down and reaches an arm down towards the blonde. “Need a hand up?”
“Please.” The Doctor grasps Yaz’s hand and pulls herself up with the help of her strong companion. When she’s out of the floor, Yaz can see that she’s abandoned her usual coat and two shirts for a plain white vest-top and her braces are hanging down from her hips rather than sitting over her shoulders. Her face is streaked with oil, hair pulled into a messy sort of half ponytail, half bun. The definition in her arms is evident, muscles rippling in her strong shoulders as she rolls them. Yaz swallows thickly.
She shakes herself out of her blatant staring and straightens up, wincing when she stretches out her legs.
“You okay, Yaz?”
She nods. “Yeah, just a bit of a pulled muscle.”
“How did you get a pulled muscle?”
“Weekend night shift in the city centre. Angry drunks don’t tend to be too keen on being arrested by someone half their size.” She shrugs. She’s come home in worse states.
“Mind if I sonic ya, just to be sure?”
Yaz rolls her eyes but concedes, touched by her friend’s concern for her wellbeing. Maybe she really is becoming less socially awkward, her empathy a far cry from when she had first come for tea at Yaz’s and rambled about purple sofas for far longer than was normal.
“Yup, pulled hamstring,” the Doctor concludes, squinting at her sonic for another second. “I’m prescribing a hot shower and a warm bed.”
She grins at Yaz. “Actually, why did you come here? Why didn’t you go back to your flat?”
Yaz shrugs nonchalantly. “Sonya doesn’t stay quiet when I’m trying to sleep. You were closer.” And because I wanted to spend time with you, she adds in her own head.
“Oh. Right.” If she isn’t mistaken, the Time Lord looks a little disappointed. Yaz just chalks it up to wishful thinking.
“Well, off you go then. Leave your clothes in the pink hamper in your bathroom. No, the yellow one. The TARDIS will wash them for you. ‘Cause they stink.”
Yaz rolls her eyes. So much for less socially awkward. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“Of course,” the Time Lord replies, her smile reaching her eyes. “Only the best for Yasmin Khan.”
Yaz smiles to herself as she walks away. Maybe one day she’ll tell her friend how she really feels about her.