Chapter Text
“She’s coming today, Yaz,” I heard the Doctor say one morning, although I didn’t really register what she was saying.
I have trouble registering anything these days. Everything blurs into one, like a smeared chalkboard.
It wasn’t like this before. Life with the Doctor was full of surprise. One day you’d meet Ptolemy or Gandhi or Grace O’Malley, and the next you’d be off exploring an alien planet where everyone speaks in rhyme. Everything day was a vivid and distinct adventure. Life popped off the page.
Now I mostly lie in bed. The Doctor does encourage me to get up every day, but walking to the toilet or the back patio leaves me gasping for breath. To make things easier, the Doctor got me a nursing robot. She told me his name was “Attender”, and it took me a long time to realise that was what the “@10D” printed on his central unit meant. @10D reminds me of a Transformer. He can twist and contort his body into a surprisingly comfortable chair to carry me around, or stretch himself up tall to reach high places. He has a gently musical voice with a Welsh valleys accent that reminds me of Rob Brydon. I didn’t expect him to be so comforting and empathetic, to be honest.
On good days, @10D takes me out to the patio, where I sit and watch the Doctor potter about in the garden, among the birds and butterflies. She’s rigged us up to be self-sufficient. There are large raised beds full of lettuce and carrots and potatoes, and tall trellises thick with vining beans and peas and squash. Smaller pots are full of herbs and garlic and kale and all sorts. A row of tall sunflowers stands on guard against the back fence. In one corner there’s a small greenhouse that @10D doesn’t fit into, completely crammed full with tomato plants, with a cold frame along one side. In the far corners there are fruit trees: one medium sized tree that grows bright red apples, and a smaller pear tree with beautiful flowers that turn into conference pears. I don’t think the Doctor gets the credit for the trees… but then, she is the Doctor, and for all I know at some point she nipped back to plant a pear tree in our garden long before we got here.
It’s not just plants, either. All the waste water from the roof drains into a series of water butts, which the Doctor uses to water the garden and give the birds something to drink. Yeah, I should have mentioned: we have three chickens and three ducks in a large pen out the front, alongside two beehives. We get enough honey from the bees to see us through, and the birds give us about four eggs a day, give or take, and the Doctor… well, let’s just say she spends a lot of time walking up and down the side path with a shovel. I’ve learned to live with the smell.
Inside is just as busy. The Doctor grows chilies on the windowsills and hangs little hydroponic bottles full of herbs down from the curtain rails. And while the floor has to be kept clear for @10D to get around, wherever there’s extra space you can be sure the Doctor is growing a potted plant. I can even help out with the indoor ones. Oh, the Doctor lets me help outdoors too, but I can tell that I’m not actually making things much easier for her. And while it brightens up the place, very little of it is for show. The Doctor is a surprisingly good cook. She serves up omelettes and stews and salads and soups, all exquisitely seasoned. There’s a lot of potato in everything – the Doctor is a regular Mark Watney – but I’m never bored and I’m definitely never hungry. Although I do wish she’d stop giving me so much celery.
The Doctor never really struck me as the settling down type. I knew she had a family, I just assumed it was a weird time family where everyone aged at different rates and took it in turns to raise their younger selves or something like that. But after my accident, she settled down to look after me. I suppose she felt guilty, because it was the sort of weird time accident that can only happen with the Doctor. I try to reassure her, but she always brushes me off. “I’m looking after you because that’s what mates do,” she said one time.
Suppose I should explain my accident. I am in two places at once. I constantly perceive two different parallel realities. They’re very similar, now, but different enough that it makes me feel dizzy and nauseated. My brain can’t handle the two divergent sets of information. On good days, I can go out to the garden with 10D, but usually I need to lie down again soon afterwards. On the bad days, I just lie in bed while the Doctor cuddles me.
It was on one of those bad days that our guest arrived. Rain pelted the roof of the cottage. The Doctor was stroking my arm gently as she spooned me. I loved it when she held me close to her, although she only seemed to do it when I felt sick.
“Not long now, Yaz,” said the Doctor. “She’ll be here soon.”
I didn’t really know what she meant by that. These days, I live my life in flashes. It’s not unusual for me to forget what the Doctor has told me, or just struggle to pay attention when she does say it. Attention takes so much effort, and I never really appreciated that until I got sick. I had a friend at school, Misha, who seemed to have much more trouble than anyone else at taking in dull information. Turned out that she had ADHD. I suppose she still has ADHD, it doesn’t go away. Well, back in 2021 she has ADHD. In 2674, or whatever the date is now, everyone I knew is dead, and their ADHD with them. In any case, I wouldn’t know whoever this was who was coming to visit, and so I decided not to try to worry about it.
The Doctor gently rubbed my shoulder to wake me up. “She’s nearly here, Yaz. I’m going to go out the front so she doesn’t miss us. Want to come too?”
“I’ll be there soon,” I said. I rested my eyes for a second and the Doctor was gone. @10D was in her place.
“Would you like some help getting up, Yaz?” he asked me.
“Please, @10D,” I said. He lifted me and placed me upon himself. I sat facing forwards, as if I was in a quadrupedal wheelchair. A small chip in my ankle apparently allowed me to control 10D through thought when I was sat on him, although the Doctor said his processing unit did a lot of the hard work of working out how to actually navigate around a crowded space. I do have a wheelchair, but it’s not as practical as 10D for getting around the house.
We ambled to the front door, which the Doctor had left open. She stood out in our driveway, next to the chicken run. The rain was really coming down and I was sure she was going to get soaked through, but she never really seemed to mind the rain, going out in the garden in all weather. The ducks were quacking in delight. Perhaps the Doctor had got them because they had that in common.
A tiny car pulled up, almost silently. The Doctor raised an arm in greeting without waving. Out stepped a round-faced young woman in a lab coat and scarf. She clutched a large bag in each hand. She grinned at the Doctor even as the rain came down.
“Osgood. Thanks for coming,” said the Doctor.