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Something has changed about Yaz.
The Doctor can’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it’s that Yaz has aged, in the three years she was gone: twenty-two to twenty-five is quite the leap, for a human. Her face has changed slightly, maybe. She’s more self-assured.
But that doesn’t quite explain the way the Doctor is just mesmerized by her. The way she moves, when she pilots the TARDIS— the Doctor started teaching her after she saw the notes and string Yaz had tacked up in that other console room, trying to learn how to pilot while the Doctor was imprisoned, and Yaz took to it well. So well, in fact, that now she barely needs instruction: she stretches to reach two buttons at the same time, darts around the console almost as fast as the Doctor, and most importantly, hits the lever for two custard creams the minute they arrive.
“It’s a reward for a job well done,” she says, handing one to the Doctor, even when they’ve landed thousands of years away from where they said they were going.
And then again when they get into a sticky situation and Yaz talks her way out. The Doctor’s always been a good talker, but Yaz has a certain grace the Doctor has never managed: it’s very human of her, really. She can resolve conflicts with a few well-chosen words where the Doctor would’ve rambled for ages. And there’s a cool confidence in her eyes as she does it. She knows this is what she’s good at.
Maybe that’s why the Doctor can’t stop watching.
Even when they’re just hanging out in the TARDIS, playing card games or sitting in the library, the Doctor can’t keep her eyes off Yaz. Yaz might be reading, oblivious to the world around her, and the Doctor’s eyes will be drawn to her, no matter how hard she tries to focus on her own book, until Yaz looks up and asks, “What?” The Doctor never has a good response.
Maybe it’s just that she missed Yaz, even having only been gone for a few hours. She had felt so, so lost during those hours, and throughout it all, a part of her was thinking, I wish Yaz were here. Maybe it’s that somehow, while the Doctor wasn’t looking, Yaz has become incredibly important to her. She loves all her friends, of course, but it’s not often she gets so attached: she can count on three fingers the number of times she’s felt so deeply for someone in her last few bodies.
There aren’t a lot of people the Doctor would’ve made that hologram message for. At the time, she told herself she was making it because Yaz would get scared again if she got stranded somewhere and she didn’t have anything. She told herself she was making it so that Yaz wouldn’t think the Doctor had left her. But… if she was being honest with herself (which she was trying to make a point of, these days), she had made it as much for herself as for Yaz. So that if everything went wrong, she would know that this time, she’s said what she needed to say.
I hope you said, “I miss you too…”
She hasn’t asked, yet, whether Yaz said it back. She’s afraid to hear the answer, even though she’s sure it’s going to be yes. She’s been working her way through telling Yaz everything about herself: Tecteun, the timeless child, the lie of her childhood. Her lost memories. It’s the only time she can’t look at Yaz: she can’t see herself be seen.
But Yaz sees her all the same.
And the Doctor is still mesmerized by her. Little things, like how she does her hair— the Doctor doesn’t know how humans manage long hair, really. She can barely handle her bob, and that’s on good days. Or the way she looks at bits of the TARDIS, her once childlike wonder replaced with an appreciative awe. Yaz knows the TARDIS now, knows her way around the corridors, knows how to convince the TARDIS to shorten the distance between the gym and her bedroom when she needs a change of clothes, knows where she wants to go and where she probably shouldn’t. She’s completely at home.
At home.
The TARDIS is Yaz’s home now. The realization hits the Doctor like a truck, as does all the anxiety that comes with it. What if everything turns out badly? What if she loses Yaz? What if—
But after all Yaz has been through with the Doctor, because of the Doctor, she’s still here. So the Doctor tries to take deep breaths and enjoy their time together: the way Yaz smiles when she talks, the way she frowns when she’s thinking, all the microexpressions the Doctor would never notice on any other human.
The Doctor is at home, too— with the TARDIS, of course, but also with Yaz. Even when they’re stranded on a frigid planet, a mountain between them and the TARDIS, the Doctor looks at Yaz and it makes her feel warm inside.
Finally, she follows all her fascination with Yaz to its natural conclusion: she wants to be closer. They’re close, emotionally, but physically, there’s still a barrier between them. The Doctor isn’t naive; she knows she’s the one who put it up to begin with. But she doesn’t know how to tear it down. And Yaz will never make the first move, not after the Doctor has spent months keeping her distance.
She apologizes for it every single day now.
The Doctor wants to tear down the barrier. She wants to close the distance between her and Yaz. She wants the comfort of touch from her best friend— somehow, the words “best friend” feel so woefully inadequate to describe what Yaz is to her, but how else should she say it? She’s vaguely aware of human terms for partners, but she’s pretty sure she’d have to actually talk to Yaz to claim any of those. “Best friend” is easy for now.
Until one night, she and Yaz are lying on a grassy hill, looking at the stars. It’s been a long day, and Dan’s gone back to the TARDIS already, leaving the Doctor and Yaz alone together. It’s a cool late summer night, and as the Doctor points out star systems they’ve visited, she feels Yaz next to her starting to shiver. Without thinking, she takes off her coat and hands it to Yaz before quickly realizing her mistake: she’s cold now, with nothing to wear.
For some reason, that’s enough to break down the barrier. The Doctor inches closer until her side is touching Yaz, and Yaz readily takes the hint, extending an arm to wrap around the Doctor. The Doctor is afraid to even breathe. Every nerve in her body is standing on end. She can hardly believe her luck. She rests her head on Yaz’s shoulder and lets Yaz pull her closer.
This. This is what she wanted.
This is what she was hoping for, all those times she was staring at Yaz and couldn’t figure out why. This buoyant feeling rising in her stomach and chest. She’ll think about what it means later— what it means to be so attached to a human, what it means if the joy outweighs the fear, what it means that she finally feels like she can relax— but for now, she’s just enjoying the moment.
“Tell me more about the stars,” Yaz murmurs, her lips brushing the Doctor’s hair.
“Gladly,” the Doctor says, a small smile growing on her face.
Yes. This is what she wanted.