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Chapter Text

"What’s this one do?"

The Doctor jabbed at the left stick, and Yaz watched her character on the screen respond at once, jerking around on the grass in an erratic almost- dance.

"Use your thumb, I think," Yaz said, nodding when the Doctor slipped her thumb down instead, though the jerking motions continued. "It moves your character."

Yaz bit against the inside her mouth, very nearly suggested, once again, that Ryan might be a more fitting choice for this middle of the night activity. But the Doctor had come to her, had chosen to wake her at nearly two, and she'd looked so sad and exhausted and hopeful that Yaz had thrown on her dressing gown and followed her down the hall at once.

"And this one?" she asked, her thumb settling heavily on the left stick, her character promptly taking the short jog into the closest mountain crevice.

“You gotta look at the screen, Doctor,” Yaz said.

The Doctor jerked her attention off her fingers, away from Yaz, shooting the screen and her character an almost apologetic smile. The movement stopped on screen, though her character remained nose-first in the mountainside.

"That one turns your camera around," Yaz said. "In case you want to look somewhere else."

The camera spun rapidly for a few moments, sky and dirt and sky again, and Yaz swallowed against rising nausea. The Doctor, at least, looked delighted with the ability to look in all directions as rapidly as she liked. She was probably envious, considering how she could implement it in reality, but Yaz was afraid to open her mouth to ask.

Finally, the spinning stopped and Yaz sent out a silent thank you to the universe.

“So what do I do, now?”

"You start down the path," Yaz said, watching as she started to work herself out of the mountain and back to the dirt path that led down into the woods.

"Like a good forest, me," she said, stopping short at a squirrel-like creature with a yellow bar in the distance. "This isn't a killing game is it?"

"You don't have to kill anything," Yaz said at once, thankful the Doctor hadn't plucked out one of Ryan's shooters instead of this one. "You can just build stuff. Go to that tree. There, and hit the bottom button. Right there at the front of your controller, and you'll chop the tree down."

The Doctor tilted the controller to look at the button, jabbed at a few times before the ax appeared and her character chopped down the tree with a few swift hits.

"Okay," she said, thinking back to the few slightly boring nights she'd kept Ryan company while he'd played, and felt thankful she could at least direct the Doctor in some aspects of the game. "You need to collect it. No, that button there."
She reached out, slipped the Doctor's finger over to the correct position, and felt her heart race at the look of delight that passed over the Doctor's often cloudy features.

“I could do that,” she bragged.

Yaz rolled her eyes, but flashed a fond grin at her and reached out to grab the other controller.

“Here, I’ll help you build your house,” she said. “It’ll go much faster with two.”

“Video games with Yaz,” the Doctor said, grinning her way before heading to the next tree, suddenly very able to control her movements.

By the time Ryan had peeked into the room, they'd built the first half of the house, and though Yaz yawned at the sudden reminder of the existence of time, though she knew there would be no stopping the Doctor's forward motion now that the boys were away, she wouldn't have missed the last few hours for the sleep she would have gotten. The Doctor had bumped into her shoulder several times, had held out the controller for Yaz to correct her position a few too many times for Yaz to believe that someone so tech adept could have actually forgotten...but it had all been so nice. And maybe it meant something, and maybe it meant nothing, but that didn't seem to matter much when the Doctor had tossed their controllers behind them, scooped up her hand tugged her to her feet, with a promise of a planet where they served only breakfast. She paused at the doorway, squeezed her hand and her eyes said 'thank you' even her mouth couldn't form the words.
Whatever this was, it was enough.

Chapter Text

“You sneezed.”

Yaz looked up, met the Doctor’s eye. Her brow was knotted up, her mouth a thin line, and she looked at Yaz now like she was trying to solve one of the universe's hardest problems. Or, more likely, as if that single sneeze from Yaz somehow foretold doom.

“It’s a thing humans do sometimes,” Yaz said, on a shrug. “I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

"Course I have," the Doctor agreed with a nod. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine, Yaz said. "Probably a bit of dust. Do you need the round or square one next?"

"Square," the Doctor said, hand already popping out to collect the tool. "There shouldn't be any dust in here though, the TARDIS has top-of-the-line air filtration."

She handed it over, shrugged a second time, and tried to wait out the Doctor's intense face searching. Eventually, the Doctor turned back to her work, loudly wiggling the square tool under the console.

"When we're done, we could always grab dinner on diner," the Doctor said.

Or, at least that's what Yaz thought she said. She was too busy slow exhaling, forcing air through her nose in an attempt to stave off a second –

“I knew it!” the Doctor popped back upright.

Yaz rubbed at the itch in her nostril instead of rolling her eyes at the Doctor's dramatics. They'd spent yesterday at a pollination party - the Doctor swore it was an actual thing, and not just something she'd made up to get them out of the TARDIS for a few hours - and if anything was making her sneeze it was probably the fields of bright yellow flowers. Apparently, the Doctor's super-large, super-genius brain, was failing to make its connecting flight.

“Doctor,” Yaz said, holding up her hand. “It’s probably just the-”

The Doctor had already launched herself to her feet, repairs seemingly forgotten. She reached out, grabbing Yaz's extended hand and hauling her to her feet as well. Yaz let out something too close to a yelp for her own comfort, which the Doctor seemed to read as a sign of distress. Which, she supposed, was fair, if for vastly different reasons.

“Don’t worry, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “I won’t let this get out of hand.”

"Let what get out of hand?" Yaz asked as the Doctor led her along, out of the console room and into the hall.

Her grip was tight, but the pulling was gentle, and Yaz was fairly sure if she put her foot down she could get the Doctor to stop, but she hardly wanted to yell at her friend for caring so much. She tried, instead, to work her mind around a different protest, something the Doctor might actually believe, at least enough to release her - and she liked the hand-holding, she really did, but it'd be a whole lot more enjoyable if she didn't feel like she was one tug away from a full body scan.

Instead of the med bay she'd been expecting, however, Yaz found herself staring at her own bedroom door. A relief, at least, however small. She glanced at the Doctor, raising an eyebrow.

“Doctor,” she started. “Listen, whatever you’re thinking, I’m fine. Really.”

The Doctor pointed at the door.

“Go lie down, I’ll be right back.”

Yaz sighed, loud enough for the Doctor to hear. Sure, she could argue further, but she didn't imagine there was a single thing she might be able to say to get the Doctor to budge on this - outside of hurting her dear friend deeply. This was obviously important to her, and it was amazing, in a sort of overwhelming way (which was like being with the Doctor in the first place, really) how much she wanted to look after Yaz. So she slipped into her room, toed off her shoes, and climbed up on the bed. She might be willing to lie down, but she refused to climb under the covers. Apart from the fact that she wasn't actually, you know, sick, it was somewhere around two in the afternoon internally, and she refused to give in any further than she already had.

Probably.

She stared at the wall, tapping her fingers against her thigh, wondering if the Doctor would actually come back, or, after having deposited Yaz into her room, she'd get distracted and forget. Which, Yaz supposed, could work in her favor. She'd give her a few more minutes and then –

Her train of thought came to a screeching halt when there was a knock on the door. A beat, and then it opened a crack and she could just make out one eye peeking in from the hall. Unnerving, that.

"Yaz," the Doctor said. "It's me. Can I come in?"

She wanted to say 'of course it's you' because even with Ryan and Graham on the TARDIS it was always going to be the Doctor, but she swallowed the words. The Doctor was being kind; she could at least be kind in return.

"Sure," Yaz agreed. "Course you can."

"Great," the Doctor said, pushing the door open.

She slipped into the room, both hands holding the handles of a lap tray of sorts. She held it up too high to see the top, but Yaz could make out steam coming from several places, and she wrinkled up her nose. It had better be tea, or soup, and not some sort of medication the Doctor mixed up in some TARDIS lab in an attempt to make her feel better. Yaz wasn't sure where she’d draw the line for what she would be willing to pretend for the Doctor, but it had to be somewhere about there.

"I told Ryan and Graham you were feeling poorly-"

"But I'm not," she muttered, even if it sounded feeble to her own ears.

“And they send their best,” the Doctor continued, as is she hadn’t heard her.

(The second Yaz got a moment, she’d shoot a text to Ryan. She might be willing to endure this for the Doctor, but she wasn’t going to have the entire TARDIS believing she was ill.)

The Doctor took a few steps to the bed, and carefully deposited the tray over Yaz’s lap.

“I made you soup. And tea. Well, the TARDIS helped with the soup,” she said, grinning and pushing damp hair away from her forehead. “I was short on time and haven’t actually had to cook anything in a while.”

Yaz groaned.

“Feeling worse?”

“Something like that,” Yaz muttered.

The Doctor was watching her, all puppy dog eyes, and expectation, so Yaz took a bite of the soup. It was fine, she supposed. As far as soup went. And it seemed to be enough to keep the Doctor's hands from searching out her sonic to give Yaz a quick scan.

“Want me to stay?”

Yaz nearly dropped her spoon when she jerked her head up to stare at the Doctor. Oh, no. Maybe she was actually getting sick. Okay, she could buy the Doctor getting her this food. She was just looking out for her friend. But the Doctor offering to put off repairs - even if a large amount of the time Yaz suspected repairs were code for keeping her hands busy and her head empty - came across as a definitive fever dream.

“Don’t you have other stuff to do?”

“You’re the most important thing I have to do,” the Doctor said.

Yaz was sure she blushed, and even the Doctor's head tilted the slightest, as if some part of her, the part that spent most of her time with modern-day humans, caught onto something there.

“I mean, of course, that nothing I have to do is as important as you.”

“Just- sit, please,” Yaz said, and she was sure she was the one doing the puppy dog eyes, but she had to get this to end before she actually combusted, either from laughing or embarrassment- her mind hadn’t settled on which direction to go just yet.

The Doctor looked at the bed, and then Yaz.

“In bed?”

It occurred to her that the Doctor might actually have been planning on standing there the entire time like some deranged sentry. She wasn’t having that.

“There’s room,” Yaz said, shifting the tray and herself to the far side of the bed.

She forced her attention onto finishing the soup and tea, pretending she didn’t notice the Doctor shifting her weight around and clenching and unclenching her fist. For a moment she thought the Doctor’s head had finally caught up to her mouth, and that she’d realized what she'd actually offered. Surely now she’d retreat until she was sure that Yaz had forgotten this conversation had ever happened.

Instead, Yaz felt the bed dip, and the Doctor wiggled until she was pressed up against Yaz’s arm and sprawled out her legs.

She looked relaxed enough, but Yaz could feel the tightness in the places they touched, tension practically rolling off the Doctor in waves. She shifted her tray to the bedside table, trying to think of a single thing to say. Maybe she could give the Doctor an out.

“Please get better, Yaz. I can’t- I don’t want to lose-”

Yaz’s breath got caught in her lungs. When she let herself look at the Doctor, she found her eyes straight ahead, boring a hole in Yaz’s wall.

“Doctor.”

She didn't want to pretend anymore, not when the Doctor sounded so sad. There was so much she didn't say, maybe would never say, but Yaz was certain in that moment that the Doctor had lost too many people, and that she blamed herself for each and every one of them. She reached out, fingers hovering over the Doctor's arm before she forced herself to touch it. When the Doctor looked at her, her eyes were misty and she blinked rapidly.

"I feel better already," Yaz said. "I think a bit more rest will do it. If you still wanna stay, we could, I dunno, watch a movie.”

The Doctor, ever the universe's fastest light switch, was suddenly grinning and animated.

"That's a great idea, Yaz!" she said, already fumbling for her sonic. "I'll just have to remodel your room a bit."

Chapter Text

“Will you please stop wiggling,” Yaz said, groaning and throwing an arm over her head.

“You can’t expect me to just sit here all night, Yaz,” the Doctor said.

Yaz rolled onto her side, and pushed herself up on her forearm to ensure Ryan and Graham were still asleep on the opposite bed. When she was satisfied, she turned her attention back to the Doctor.

“If you start moving around the room, you’ll wake them up,” she whispered. “Keep all of us up all night, is that what you want, Doctor?”

Although, that was already happening anyway, for her, what with the Doctor currently playing the role of fish out of water in their shared bed. And she understood, she really did. The Doctor didn't need as much sleep as the rest of them - she'd told them often enough by this point that Yaz knew better than to even approach the subject. But they had nothing else to do, and it was midnight. And Yaz just very much wanted (needed) the Doctor to just be still until dawn.

“Of course not,” the Doctor said. “Listen, Yaz. I could just pop out and take a look around. Best of both worlds.”

"You're the one that said we were being watched,” Yaz said, shifting up until she was seated and scrubbing a hand down over her face. When she imagined the potential complications of sharing a bed with the Doctor (and she had imagined them) this wasn't on the list. Looking back, it should have been number one. "You said if we went out right now we'd be spotted and it might alert the...Mongoose?"

(Okay, so that probably wasn't the correct name, but the Doctor had shouted it in a eureka moment hours ago, when Yaz had been trying to hold a door open, while Ryan and Graham slid under, and she just couldn't summon up the correct name from within her overcrowded, overtired brain.)

“Mingess,” the Doctor said. “And I did, but-”

“Was that a lie-”

“No, but-”

“Then we’re stuck here until they leave, which, by the sounds of it, will be when the sun comes up.”

“I…suppose,” the Doctor said.

“Then, please, stop wiggling.”

The Doctor nodded once, her eyes ahead, and Yaz honestly couldn’t tell if she was sulking or trying to obey, but she felt guilty all the same. She sighed.

“Is there something I can do to make this easier for you?”

“I’ll be fine, Yaz,” the Doctor said. “You need to sleep, go on.”

Yaz wiggled down once more, but laid her hand over the Doctor’s arm.

“Can you talk to me?” She asked. “Tell me about...dunno, anything. So I can fall back asleep.”

The Doctor looked down at her, first her hand, and then her face.

“Sure, Yaz,” she said.

“Only, can you lie down here,” she said. “So it’s a bit quieter.”

She might be reaching a bit far, but she had to do something, so she yawned, and attempted to look as guileless as possible, until at last, the Doctor wiggled down beside her. They were facing each other, in the middle of the bed, close enough to be cuddling, if either were inclined. Not that she was, of course.

“What would you like to hear about?” The Doctor whispered.

Yaz could already feel sleep tugging at her, but if she was right, and she thought she was, if she could pull this off, it would be good for everyone in the room.

“Tell me about your favorite moon.” Yaz whispered back. “Please.”

The Doctor started talking, off on a tangent and soon to be another, but Yaz didn’t last that long. The Doctor was so still, her voice so quiet, and…well, she never stood a chance.

She awoke to the first rays of light creeping in through a gap in their curtains. She blinked a few times, her mind trying to rationalize what she was seeing. The Doctor, hair fanned out her pillow, eyes closed, her breathing deep and slow. Yaz smiled. It was only when the rest of her brain kicked in that she realized she had fingers intertwined with hers, just at the first knuckle. Oh. Oh. Yaz swallowed, and carefully pulled them free, shifting away.

“Yaz?”The Doctor asked, clearing her throat softly as the bed shifted. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
Yaz nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to turn around.

The Doctor scooted to the end of the bed beside her, and gave her face a quick search before she drew her attention away again.

“Thanks for-” the Doctor said, shifting. “Helping me sleep.”

Yaz nodded. She wondered at what point the Doctor realized she’d been lured into a trap- probably at the start, actually. Yet she laid down anyway. That had to mean something. Right?

“I’ll wake-”

“Do you want-”

Yaz laughed softly.

“I’ll wake Ryan and Graham.” Yaz suggested.

“I’ll get the coffee,” the Doctor agreed, popping to her feet. “The usual?”

“Yeah,” Yaz agreed, and the Doctor shot her a grin before rushing out the door, leaving Yaz to sort herself out and save the day.

They were really starting to make a habit of this.

She hoped it never stopped.

Chapter Text

"You're actually properly sure this time?"

The Doctor sighed, her head popping up from where she'd been rummaging through the basket she'd dragged from beneath the console - or possibly conjured from thin air, it was hard to say with the TARDIS, really.

"Yes, Graham," she said, again, sparing him only a single long-suffering glance before dropping her attention back onto her task.

For a moment it was only the noise. Graham looked at Yaz, and Ryan, and then stepped in closer.

"Doctor?"

"Aha," the Doctor said, leaning back into her calves, her hand curled up tightly around something. "Slippery little things. Well, not literally, of course…mostly, I lost them."

Yaz grinned.

The Doctor dropped her palm to the floor and used it to shove herself back to her feet, her gray jacket swaying with the rush of movement. Nudging the basket back beneath the console - or into the nether - she spun around to give Graham her attention again.

"Don't be silly, Graham," she said, stepping toward him. "Unicorns don't eat people."

As quickly as she started, she stopped.

Yaz could just make out enough of her face from her current angle to see the expression that passed over it - for it to send a flutter of worry into her own stomach.

"Doctor?" she asked.

The Doctor cleared her throat and spun around to face her instead.

"At least not at Unicorn Park," she finally amended, grinning at Yaz as she closed the gap between them. "Perfectly safe trip, promise."

"Pretty sure that were on the Jurassic Park pamphlet, too, mate," Ryan grumbled.

The Doctor's face scrunched.

Yaz wanted to kiss her.

It was an all too familiar scenario, including the bit where she shoved her feelings down and the Doctor missed them entirely.

She drew to a stop in front of Yaz instead, leaning in to fill her space with the soft smell of oil, of tea, of what Yaz could only assume was the custard creams (no matter its persistence).

"The dinosaur movie?" the Doctor whispered.

"That'd be the one."

With a short nod, the Doctor rolled her weight back again and held her hand out in front of Yaz expectantly.

Yaz complied, opening her own below the Doctor's and trying not to flinch as surprisingly heavy objects slapped into her palm - then clinked into each other as it began to fill.

"It's money," the Doctor said, as she pulled away, and shoved her hand in her pocket (presumably to gather more).

"Right."

Yaz forced her eyes off the Doctor and onto the money.

They were coins.

Or, at least Yaz thought so. Small despite their weight, smooth and cold as glass. Yaz rolled one up to its edge and watched it catch light. Glitter. The colors were translucent, transitioning, a rainbow stretching across the surface.

Closing her fist around them, Yaz shoved them into her pocket and lifted her eyes back to the other side of the console room.

The Doctor was reaching for Ryan, dumping coins into his hand with a faint smile.

"Unicorns are largely herbivores," she said, as she moved on to Graham.

Neither of them seemed entirely convinced, but as Graham made the same assessment Yaz had moments ago, she could see the questions shift.

"Don't usually give us proper money…"

The Doctor's smile was weak. Telling.

Adorable.

"Thought it might be fun."

"Psychic paper won't work here, huh?" Ryan asked.

The wrinkle of the Doctor's nose answered seconds before she did.

"Not on the machines," the Doctor muttered, before straightening her shoulders. "Alright, fam. Enough questions, time to experience it for yourselves."

She rounded the console, winking at Yaz on the way to the door (delaying Yaz's plans of shoving herself up off the column and following after by several panic-filled seconds).

Yaz forced her eyes onto Graham and Ryan, who were busy shoving their coins into their pockets, starting after.

So she swallowed.

Moved.

The three of them trailed after her, watched as she threw open the door, and made a sweeping gesture for them to pass through first. They did, Yaz dropping down onto the candy floss pink grass.

She ran her eyes up at once, more than excited for what else she might find before her (she'd spent the minutes the Doctor had spent pitching the idea lost in her head, building a Unicorn Park ground up). Her excitement, however, fizzled more with each section of the space she took in.

The grass might be pink, but the rest of the world was painfully dull. The sky was a blue that was almost that of home, the distant mountain range looked muddy and matte. The park itself lacked any of the imagined sparkling waterfalls.

In fact, the only shimmering she could see from her current point of view was in the distance, locked behind fences and queues.

The smell of food - this, she realized, was at least as sickly sweet as she'd built up in her head - reached her on the breeze. Yaz bit the corner of her lip and glanced at Ryan and Graham.

They shared a look with each other, and then her, as the Doctor hopped out behind them and closed the door with a soft click.

If she noticed their initial disappointment, she ignored it (which, really, was just as likely as her being oblivious to it in the first place).

Sparing them only a glance, she started forward, and the three of them followed after.

They worked their way through the lines, through the application of wristbands that were gummy and smelled a bit like biscuits.

The group passed through shops, by rides and themed foods - the Doctor insisted upon blue and pink milkshakes for the group as they wandered - on and on…until, at last, they reached the shimmering that Yaz had spotted from the TARDIS.

Spread across the neatly trimmed grass were the promised unicorns. Yaz lost her breath. Six-year-old Yaz would have lost her mind. Twenty-something Yaz wasn't faring much better taking in the glittering and regal unicorns, the variety of pastel manes and tails shining and fluttering in the breeze.

It was - it took a moment for Yaz to realize - a petting zoo.

At least of sorts.

People filled the spaces between the animals, beside them. Across the field, unicorns were being petted, talked to, and fed (at least Yaz thought that was what was happening when they buried their faces into palms).

Yaz blew out a breath and glanced at the Doctor.

She was distracted, though. Hands on the fence, weight into her toes, and Yaz couldn't begin to imagine how many times she'd been here, but her face was that of wonder all the same.

She closed her mouth - couldn't steal the joy from the Doctor just yet.

Instead, she tried to force the heat from her cheeks by filling them with the last of her milkshake, before brushing by Ryan and Graham and dumping it into the trash.

"Doc?"

Yaz heard the Doctor drop back onto her heels, the sound of hinges groaning. When she turned around she found the Doctor holding it open for all of them, her eyes on Yaz alone.

Yaz gave her a smile on the way by and stepped into the field. They separated as they pushed deeper, Graham and Ryan starting for a free unicorn that stood at least a head taller than the rest.

Yaz kept walking, though.

Waiting until one felt right. At long last, she spotted a single one. Shimmering in the sun, an almost pink tint to its white to match the shade of its tail and mane.

"Hi," she whispered, moving in closer.

The unicorn responded at once. It nuzzled into her chest, almost carefully, then started on a search of her pockets, which left Yaz giggling, trying to avoid the horn (which thankfully was much more pokey than dangerous, it seemed).

"I don't have anything," she said, running her fingers over the side of the unicorn's face.

She lost her breath again.

Touching it was like skimming the surface of water. Like silk. Soft and ethereal.

"I think she likes you."

Yaz swallowed and looked up to find the Doctor stepping in closer. She dropped her palm to the neck of the unicorn.

"She's beautiful."

The Doctor's smile was as soft as the space beneath her hand. She took a small step back.

"I'll get us some food," she said, spinning away. "Wait here.”

Yaz did.

She rubbed at the unicorn's nose as she leaned to watch the Doctor retreat, heading for the dispensers at the far end pressed up against the gate. Yaz smiled and turned her attention onto Graham - who was fighting especially hard to keep their unicorn out of his pocket it seemed (she'd suggest he not take the sandwich) - before settling back.

From her right, something flickered in the corner of her eye.

"Hi."

Yaz almost jumped, let out a breath, and turned her attention in that direction. Beside her stood a woman, smiling wide and warm (Yaz couldn't help but return it). Her skin was pale, dotted with freckles, her hair long and as pink as the animal before Yaz.

"Hi."

"I'm Arisa," the woman said, stepping in closer. "I - I think she really likes you."

Yaz's smile grew.

"She's beautiful," she said, again.

Arisa nodded and reached for the unicorn.

"I was across - "

"Hiya, Yaz -" the Doctor said.

Yaz jerked her attention to the left just in time to catch the Doctor wobbling to a stop. Yaz blinked and glanced beyond her to the dispensers, running her eyes over the distance she must have traveled in seconds.

"Hi…"

"I've got food," the Doctor said, patting her pocket. She eyed Arisa and stepped in closer to Yaz. "Hi, I'm the Doctor."

"Arisa," Arisa said, taking a small step back. "I was just - I better get going."

"So soon?" the Doctor asked, pressing in beside Yaz, rubbing at the unicorn's head.

Yaz swallowed her frustration (her confusion). She watched Arisa watch them, eyes darting back and forth before she gave Yaz a small nod.

"Nice to meet you - " she muttered, before slipping by them and hurrying for the front gate.

Yaz watched her go for a moment, before turning her attention onto the Doctor…who was looking anywhere else.

"I told Graham not to bring the sandwich," the Doctor muttered, leaning to watch them. "Said unicorns loved pickles. You heard me."

"Yeah," Yaz agreed, reaching out and tugging on her sleeve. The Doctor's face tightened and she dropped back down. "Doctor…that were sort of rude."

"I only said hi…"

Yaz sighed. She had only said hi. Still…

"Sometimes, if I didn't know better," Yaz muttered. "I'd think you were jealous."

The Doctor froze.

Then Yaz did.

The breath caught in her lungs as the Doctor's fingers fell limply at her side. Yaz watched her swallow, the slow fall of her chest as she finally exhaled (Yaz forced herself to do the same).

"I'm not - not - " the Doctor said, before shaking her head and shoving her hand into her pocket. "Did you want some food?"

Yaz watched the moment chip. Then crumble, and she couldn't pretend there hadn't been something there (not this time) but she was no closer to identifying the 'something' than she'd ever been.

So she gave up.

Nodded.

Held out her hands.

"Thought you'd never ask."

The Doctor grinned, produced a handful of food, and transferred it into Yaz's hand. Yaz couldn't help the smile that pulled up at her lips. They were round, and crumbly, and reminded her more of breakfast cereal than anything, but the unicorn started snuffling, and the almost ache in Yaz faded with the giggle that rose up inside her to replace it.

Beside her, the Doctor started babbling again.

They swapped sentences and whose turn it was to feed the unicorn, time growing hazy around them.

Yaz tried not to overthink.

Tried not to remember that despite all this the Doctor ever returning her feelings still felt more like a dream than reality…

But as they stood in front of a mythical creature, the Doctor making promises to take her to the caramel river and the peaks of Candy Floss Mountain, it was hard to give up on hope…dream or not.

Chapter Text

Her stomach was in her throat.

At her knees, maybe.

It’d been perfect an hour ago. The idea. The dress. Now, though, it clung in all the wrong places, seemed to shimmer too much in the comparatively low lights of her room, and she’d stretched the time between her and the ball too thin to fix it.

Sighing, she ran her fingers along the cool material, watching as the colors rippled outward - gold pulling from the black, silver following in succession, sometimes seemingly all at once.

It was as stunning (confusing) as it was spontaneously wrong. Maybe she could just slip out, slip it off -

Something tapped at her door, so soft she nearly missed it. Yanking her hand away from her dress, she held herself tight and listened.

Another tap, more sure.

“Come in?”

There was a beat of silence, of nothingness that sealed her guess as to who it was even before the handle turned and the door inched open.

Blonde hair broke through first, seeming to tug the rest of the Doctor’s head and torso into view. The bottom half of her stayed firmly planted outside the door (whether the constant room weirdness was out of respect or from nervousness Yaz could never quite sort it out).

“Hiya, Yaz,” she said - the top half view of her tux was more than enough to flutter Yaz’s heart. “Bad- you look. No! I mean, you look great - It’s the news that is bad.”

Oh.

Yaz sighed and started for her closet.

(She was well versed in their plans being delayed (ruined) by distress signals, alien invasions, or an oddly frequent occurrence of an animal wandering the TARDIS’s halls that they just had to round up right away, Yaz.)

“Do I have time to change?”

“I - “ The door opened a little further, and Yaz paused mid-reach. “Why would you need to change?”

Yaz twisted to blink at her. The Doctor blinked back.

“I assumed - “ Yaz said, then shook her head - if she brought up an invasion the Doctor (or the TARDIS) might be inclined to supply one. “What kind of bad news?”

“Graham an’ Ryan - “ the Doctor said, shoving her hands into her pockets, eyes jumping to a point beyond Yaz’s shoulder. “They said that the jam pits wore them out and they weren’t up to the ball, and - they suggested we still go…”

Oh again.

Yaz smoothed a hand over the dress, her feelings on it shifting as quickly as the colors. The Doctor’s eyes dragged after her fingers, her cheeks taking on a tint Yaz so rarely saw.

Decision made, then.

A second later her hand and the Doctor’s attention broke free, as the Doctor cleared her throat and fell into motion with step backward.

“Do you still want to go…with me?”

Yaz knew she should ask for a minute - take thirty seconds to consider implications and outcomes, but her head jerked out a nod before her mouth could fumble out the suggestion.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.”

A relief-filled breath fell off the Doctor’s lips and she stepped back again, out into the hall.

“Wear - you should wear that,” she said (as if Yaz had any doubt left inside her) before turning and scurrying away once more.

Yaz listened to her footsteps fade, counting seconds and buying time. A minute. Two. She could waste a few more finding Ryan and Graham, she knew. But they were giving her something she wouldn’t ask for herself (that the Doctor wouldn’t carve out herself): time.

So when she took a step, it was toward the console room. She knew how many it took to reach it by heart, the way the sound seemed to open up as she grew nearer (probably intentionally, an alarm system for the Doctor when she was lost in work).

The Doctor was already at the console as she rounded the corner, already watching for her. She was leaning, hands in her pockets and if Yaz wasn’t already attracted (falling for her really) the picture she presented would have done the trick.

“I - “ the Doctor said, popping up off it, her hands breaking free. “Took the liberty of landing us already…”

Yaz nodded and took the small step up onto the platform. The Doctor’s eyes were on her…and then they weren’t. Her cheeks were a shade darker, her body turning away and rushing for the doors.

Yaz swallowed, let out a shaky breath, and followed her down, out into a jarring patch of darkness.

“Doctor?”

“Figured a closet might be easiest,” the Doctor said, the TARDIS door closing behind them, cutting off the feeble light entirely. “Sometimes the royal type tends to frown upon surprise guests.”

“And a time machine appearing on their dining table?”

“That too.”

Yaz wanted to smile as the Doctor shuffled around, but something was touching her. A lot. She willed it to be articles of clothing rather than alien appendages, but the moment the Doctor thumped into the door, and a hinge creaked a sliver of light into a chunk, she surged for it.

The Doctor wiggled out, and Yaz did the same (she’d check when they returned, but was too afraid to know the truth just yet) and closed the door behind them.

It was quieter than she’d expected, she realized, as she looked around. She could just hear - if she strained- faint music, voices, and the tink of glass, but wherever the Doctor had landed them was softer.

Halls stretched in both directions, the carpet beneath their feet richly colored, dark paneled walls with ensconced bulbs lighting their path.

“This way,” the Doctor said, turning and moving toward the noise.

Yaz followed after, taking in the pictures. They were painted (or some approximation of paint, as she had no idea where or when they were) figures that were humanoid at the very least.

A turn.

Then another.

Then the Doctor was digging into her jacket pocket a second before Yaz spotted a man at the front entrance. The noise was uproarious here, the music competing with the conversation, and Yaz’s chest filled with an unexpected burst of nervousness as the Doctor flipped open the psychic paper and stepped toward the man.

“Hi,” the Doctor said. Her smile was wide, her movements sure (enough confidence in her to rule any room, as always) as she flashed the paper and then flipped it closed once more. “I’m the Doctor, this is my honored guest, Yasmin Khan. We’re expected…late, even, right, Yaz?”

Yaz jerked back into herself with a nod. She stepped closer.

“Yes,” she said, with a smile to match the Doctor’s. “I imagine our absence has been noted…we should rectify that, right, Doctor?”

“Right.”

For a moment the Doctor’s eyes were only on her. For a moment, it was only them in the hall. (Sometimes she looked so proud, so…something that Yaz forgot to remember her own rules.) Then the man cleared his throat and took a step backward.

“Right this way.”

He turned, stepping into the room. The Doctor flashed her a grin, her hand catching Yaz’s as they followed after.

Yaz was infinitely grateful for the grip a second later when all the eyes in the room fell to them as it tumbled into silence, the band cutting off with a sharp grating noise.

“The Doctor,” the man said, stepping to the side. “And Yasmin Khan.”

No one reacted.

Yaz’s heart hammered, as she watched metaphorical gears turn, hundreds of heads trying to scramble their way to an answer: Who were they and how did they belong here?

Then, one by one, they moved on without it (it wouldn’t do to appear impolite to a distinguished guest, after all). Conversation trickled back in, the faint sound of an almost violin catching right after. When the ball had stirred back to life and its guests returned to their self-absorption with a few half-hearted smiles, the Doctor led her deeper into the room.

And then to its edges, her grip still tight, her eyes on the move. She was still looking (Yaz locked into a debate about whether or not asking what she was searching for would lead to danger or dungeon) when a staff member wandered by holding a tray full of fluted glasses.

“Ladies?”

The Doctor's eyes fell on them, and then she looked at Yaz.

“No punch?”

“I - “ the woman said, studying her own drink supply, then looking back at the Doctor. “I’m not sure - I can - “

“It’s fine,” Yaz said, leaning forward and gripping a glass.

She pulled it off and smiled at the woman. The Doctor took one as well, and the woman hurried away without another word.

Bubbles fizzled up from the drink, and while aspects of her life (and food choices) had gotten a lot harder since joining the TARDIS it was easy to let this one bubble in her hand without pulling it to her lips. The Doctor did the same, both clutching things they weren’t consuming, both seemingly frozen now that they were in the moment.

This, at least, was where the boy's presence would have been a welcome one. While she might not fancy either of them (she tried not to shudder at the thought) they would have been good for a spin around the dance floor, fumbling through a dance or two with laughter on their lips.

She’d signed up for fun and was currently hovering somewhere closer to skulking.

Yaz glanced at the Doctor. She was still, entirely. Far away, and it shouldn’t come as a surprise that she didn’t do this. For all her confidence, Yaz couldn’t miss the struggles…couldn’t imagine her dancing (let alone with Yaz) in the first place.

So why did her stomach still hurt, her chest still ache with feelings she told herself (on repeat) to get under control?

Biting back a sigh, Yaz dropped her glass off at the first empty tray that wandered their way. The Doctor’s grip only seemed to tighten on her own.

“I think I’ll look around…” she said.

Part of her wanted a reaction. To suggest she’d find a dance partner, to goad the Doctor (she’d certainly shown a spot of jealousy in their recent days) into action.

But mostly Yaz was annoyed that she had to consider it. Mostly Yaz was tired of having to consider it, so she waited for the Doctor’s nod - the way a warning was born in her eyes and died on her lips before it was passed on to Yaz - before she turned away.

She stalked the edge of the dance floor, giving the band a wide berth until she found an empty hall and took it. Down and down, peeking into libraries, and sitting rooms (cushions and books so inviting she avoided them for that very reason).

Air was what she really needed.

She needed to suck in a lungful and pretend it didn’t bother her that they’d come all this way, that the Doctor had wanted to come alone only to (as per usual) turn coward the moment there was a chance for something to break (not that Yaz was faring much better).

When she spotted the open double balcony doors, Yaz took her chance. She stepped into the bedroom (a guest room, surely) working her way across until she could press out onto the deep balcony.

The breeze whipped at her dress (enough to stir up colors) and her hair. The cold bit at her skin, but Yaz breathed it in anyway and tilted her head up toward the sky.

The stars were unfamiliar, but the expanse was Earth-dark. A too-small moon (then the second) caught her attention, and Yaz reminded herself of the pure magic of being here at all, of having what they had.

“There you are.”

Yaz jumped.

Her hands fell onto the railing, gripping it too tightly for a moment before she dared to turn and face the Doctor. Her breath - ever the traitor - fumbled out all at once.

She still looked amazing. The tux made for her, the buttons with just a fraction of strain when she moved that threatened to spill Yaz’s thoughts into dangerous territories.

“I needed some air.”

Doubly so now, but it didn’t feel wise to mention it.

The Doctor nodded, and Yaz turned. Back to the glimmer of water (a pond, she thought) at the back. She focused on it as the Doctor stepped out to join her, hands falling beside Yaz’s on the railing.

For a beat of time, her pink pressed into Yaz’s. Then, in a move that threatened Yaz’s knee stability, she curled hers over Yaz’s, inching her hand in closer.

Yaz tried to remember to breathe (the Doctor would surely notice something so obvious as fainting) as they stood side by side, pressed in close, another shift between them that Yaz didn’t understand.

The wind kicked up around them. Yaz shivered.

The Doctor’s hand broke away from her at once, her body following after.

“Are you cold?”

“No,” Yaz said. “I’m - it’s not - “

The Doctor was still moving though, slipping her jacket off her shoulders. Yaz could see her swallow in the moons light, in the soft almost amber runoff from the room beside them. She stepped in closer, fluttering the jacket out behind Yaz before settling it over her shoulders.

Yaz stumbled internally.

“You don’t dance?” she whispered, as the Doctor worked it up, her eyes on Yaz’s face.

The Doctor’s hand moved up off her jacket, off her shoulder, fingers brushing Yaz’s cheek.

“For you, I think… “

Her exhale was rough. Yaz’s heart stuttered as the Doctor’s words trailed off but her thumb took over, stroking over her cheek. She leaned in, and Yaz leaned in, her whole world tilting, the whole universe here, and -

From inside, something clattered.

There were voices, the feeling of the moment, and the Doctor’s hand slipping away. She cleared her throat and wiped her palm over her shirt.

“Right - “ she said. “I…would you like to go dancing? We can - “

Yaz nodded, her chest too full, her head too confused.

As they stepped into the room though, the Doctor's fingers dipped beneath the jacket, curled into her palm.

And, as always, there were more questions than answers where the Doctor was involved.

But as she squeezed her hand and they stepped closer and closer to the music, Yaz decided she didn’t need them all right now.

Right now, a hand in hers was more than enough.