Chapter Text
It’s been a week – give or take a couple of Earth days – since the Doctor, Yaz and Dan escaped the deadly time loop, and the remaining Daleks exploded, painting the night sky with every colour of rainbow. Since then the Doctor made sure to take her friends only on danger-free adventures, pointedly ignoring the TARDIS’ distress signals ("This is just for a bit", she promised the complaining time machine. "We need a break from constantly dying, y’know?"). They did, however, encounter a couple of Nimons (three of them, to be precise) on Crinoth and some rhino-looking creatures on Hera (the Doctor was relieved to find out that the only thing they had in common with the Judoon was the appearance; they only shot lasers from their eyes, and had no intention of taking her back to the space jail).
"So, gang, where to next?" she asks, as cheerfully as one can manage, having just escaped a giant carnivorous fish on Lumiere 32, where the Doctor took them to see the planet’s famous waterfalls.
"Actually, Doctor, it'd be grand if you dropped me off at my place, I'm too knackered for adventuring", Dan says, looking at her apologetically. "Thought maybe I'd nip out to check on my folks, they're probably worried. Haven’t seen ‘em since I fought the potato-looking aliens with me mam’s wok."
"Oh, right, probably a good call", the Doctor shrugs, putting her palms on the console. "Yaz, you wanna visit your family too?"
"Not just now", Yaz says. "Bit later, maybe. Besides, I know how you get when you're on your own, I'd have to put up with your mardy mood all day after that."
"Hey, I'm great on my own", she protests. "Love being on my own, me. I've got all the time and space to see. Also, it's not like I'm all alone, I have my TARDIS."
"Yeah, bet she's stellar at carrying a conversation", Dan chuckles, elbowing Yaz. The TARDIS hums approvingly, Dan's sarcasm lost to her. The Doctor rolls her eyes; centuries of travelling with humans, and her ghost monument still hasn't learned to pick up on their tone when they make fun of her.
"Oh and by the way, Doctor, you'll drop me off in my own time, not in the 16th century BC, yeah?" Dan asks, shrugging his jacket on.
The Doctor's eyes go wide in mock offence.
"It was only once! And you bonded with king Cecrops, quite a lovely lad, that one. Great tail."
"Yeah, scouse, you're in the habit of befriending blokes with tails", Yaz laughs, playfully shoving Dan.
"Oi! Karvanista doesn't have a tail, does he?"
The Doctor watches their banter with a melancholy smile. The two have become such good mates in the time they spent stuck in the 1900's. How many years has it been for them exactly? They never told her, and she never asked, too afraid to hear the answer.
However long it's been, it was enough for a few faint lines to find their way around Yaz's eyes, for her posture to become more confident. How much older she became in the half an hour the Doctor was away from her? Is she twenty six now? Twenty eight? Still so very young, but nonetheless a painful reminder of just how fleeting human life is.
"Doctor, are you gonna help me pilot the TARDIS or you'll just keep sulking in the corner there?" Yaz's voice pulls her out of her thoughts.
"I'm not sulking", she protests, pulling the lever, as Yaz presses the dematerialization button and punches in the Earth coordinates that she knows by heart still, despite the long absence. They work well together, she and Yaz. How long is it going to stay this way? the Doctor wonders, watching the grains of sand fall to the bottom of the hourglass that her TARDIS decided was a necessary addition to her new interior. As if sensing that she's being thought of, the time machine lands with a jolt, causing all three of them to stumble.
"Well then, that's my stop", Dan says, once he gets up from the TARDIS' floor, dusting himself off. "Least I hope it is, and not like the last time you promised to get me home and we ended up on Saturn's moon, Rhea, was it?"
The Doctor rolls her eyes.
"That was one time, the TARDIS just wasn't in the mood for Liverpool. I told her not to behave like that anymore."
"Right, cos she always listens to you", Dan chuckles, and the time machine lets out a noise of protest.
"Oi! Language!" the Doctor says sternly, and adds an apologetic "she seems to be going through a rebellious phase".
Dan and Yaz exchange a look, one they always get whenever the Doctor talks nonsense, and smile at each other. She feels a pang of something that might be jealousy, which is ridiculous, of course, but moments like this make her acutely aware of the time she’s missed when she was away from them, away from Yaz . Is it possible that Yaz has spent more time with Dan than with her? Is it possible that she has been away from the Doctor longer than she’s been with her?
As if reading her mind, Dan comes up to her and puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I’m off then. Sorry for making you wait for me here in Liverpool of all places, but you two have a lot to talk about while I’m gone."
The Doctor’s defence mode activates immediately.
"There’s nothing to talk about", she says to no one in particular, suddenly seeming very interested in the ceiling. Because here’s the thing: it’s been a week (give or take a couple of Earth days) since Dan scolded the Doctor for her purposeful obliviousness, as if she were a child, and not an alien thousands of years older than him. She responded to that by doing absolutely nothing about it, of course.
Dan huffs in frustration and walks to the exit. There's a soft click of the TARDIS doors as he leaves; looks like she landed in the right place and time, after all.
"Is there?" Yaz asks quietly after a few moments of loaded silence, filled only with the low hum of the TARDIS’ cooling engines. "Nothing to talk about?"
The Doctor lets out a tired sigh.
"Yaz…"
"So when you apologised for shutting me off, was it just so you’d what, keep doing that again?"
"It’s not that easy", the Doctor says with a growing irritation, still refusing to meet Yaz’s eye.
"I’m not asking you to tell me your whole life story. Just… let me in. Please. If you’re just gonna keep pushing me away, it’s better for me to leave. Is this what you want?"
The thought of her leaving is unbearable. But surely this would be better for Yaz, she would be safer back home, away from the Doctor. Tell her to get out , she thinks. Ask her to stay. The selfish part of her wins, and she whispers a barely perceptible: "No".
"Well then?" Yaz prompts.
"I… We’ll talk another time, Yaz". Not now, not now , she’s not ready. She doesn't think she'll ever be.
Yaz lets out a disbelieving laugh.
"Seriously? This again? Doctor, you promised we’d talk two weeks ago. You promised it again last week. Hell, I’ve had more fruitful conversations with your hologram. I spent four years waiting for something, anything , a sign that you were alive, that you would come back for me. Then you get back, apologise for keeping secrets from me, say that you want to tell me everything, and then just… don’t?" Her eyes shine with tears and fervour, her hair dishevelled from running her hands through it in frustration. "Don’t you think I deserve some honesty?"
The Doctor feels like a cornered animal. She doesn’t particularly enjoy being in this position at the best of times, and she certainly doesn’t feel good about it in her current emotional state.
"You don't understand what I'm going through!" she shouts, and winces at her own tone. She didn't mean to yell at Yaz, didn’t mean to throw the petty words in her face, as if Yaz were somehow at fault for her broken life. It's like she can't control herself anymore. The thought scares her. She doesn't want to end up like him : bitter, angry at everything and everyone, turning his fears into never ending rage.
"Well I wonder why!" Yaz shouts back, fire in her eyes. "Ah yes, it's cos you never tell me anything! You know, you constantly ask me to trust you, so why can't you trust me for once?"
The Doctor is angry, more so at herself than at Yaz. But what can she say? That the Time itself told her that her days are numbered? That the idea of being open and honest with someone she cares so much about terrifies her?
Usually her instinct tells her to flee when things get too real; steal a TARDIS and run away – that was her motto. But she can’t run away from herself. She knows that if she keeps on bottling it all up, soon it's going to blow up in her face. In fact, it's already starting to, if Yasmin's hurt expression is anything to go by. It's unfair to Yaz to hide this. Yaz who's been so loyal to her, who's waited for her – months, years – who's endured her mood swings and shouts. Loyal, patient, brilliant Yaz. Yaz, whose brown eyes look gold in the TARDIS' honey coloured light, and the Doctor feels like a fly trapped in the amber of her irises.
She takes a deep breath before saying – what? Another empty promise to tell Yaz everything? Or is she planning to actually fill her in on the impossible story that is her life? Instead, it's not her brain that makes the final decision. The Doctor, curse her hearts, leans in and kisses Yaz with a force she doesn't expect from herself. There's no gentleness, no desire either, it's just a hard collision of lips and teeth, a car crash with no survivors. It's frustration, which she can't express with words, it's the unstoppable force of her wish to be close to Yaz versus the immovable object: the need to push her away. Inside the Doctor's brain there's a panicked voice: stop, what are you even doing, quit it right now. She expects Yaz to break the kiss, to shout at her. Yaz lets out a tiny gasp, but doesn't pull back; instead, she puts a hand on her cheek and kisses back, changing the angle just so, and oh, now this is gentle, perhaps more so than the Doctor deserves, and that voice in her head promptly shuts up. Yasmin Khan, human, a former police officer from Sheffield, somehow knows exactly how to tame the alien known as the Doctor. The soft press of Yaz’s mouth is gentle but insistent, her hands cradling the Doctor’s face like she’s the most precious thing in the universe. Yaz kisses her like she's worth it.
The Doctor allows herself to relax for the first time in, well, awhile. And that does it: the exhaustion starts to kick in. The exhaustion from – oh, where does she even start – years in prison, finding out her entire life is a lie, almost dying, being split across dimensions, actually dying eight times in a row; all of it lay heavily on her, pulling her down, down, like being carried by a current. The Doctor curses her body for being so weak. She's a time lord – time lady? – or wait, not even that, nevermind, the point is, she's not a human, she should be able to withstand more than this, but apparently even timeless children aren't resilient enough. Her legs feel like jello; she is too knackered to even make a jelly baby joke, and that's saying something. She drops her head on Yaz's shoulder, always patient Yaz, whose hands immediately start stroking her hair, her back, her arms. "It's okay", Yaz keeps saying as she gently massages her scalp. "Shh, it's alright". It's not alright , the Doctor wants to yell, because none of it is alright, they should be on some adventure, having lunch in the Merengue Galaxy, having the goddamned beach talk – somewhere on Florana, wouldn't it be nice – she owes that to Yaz, she promised. But no sound comes out, she's too weak to even say anything, so Yaz fills the silence with sweet nothings, and maybe, just this once, the Doctor will let Yaz take care of her.
She wonders if it's possible to die from exhaustion. if she starts regenerating now, will Yaz freak out? Hopefully she doesn't find out anytime soon. Not before she's kissed Yaz once, twice, ten times more. Kissing Yaz – now that's a reason to live. Why have I deprived myself from it for so long , she muses. Because you didn't want to ruin her , helpfully supplies the voice inside her head. Because you always ruin everyone around you .
"Doctor", Yaz pulls her from the depths of her anxieties, looking her in the eyes with an expression that means trouble. "When was the last time you slept?"
"Yaz, you know I don't need sleep half as much as you lot do", the Doctor tries to deflect. "Spending a third of your life snoozin' when there's so much to see! Oh, have I ever told you about the sandmen?"
"Doctor".
"Kinda creepy looking chaps, they were made out of human sleep dust – you know, the stuff that you wipe out when you wake up – no, don't look at me like that, I'm serious –"
" Doctor ".
"Alright, alright, I think the last time I slept was in that Judoon prison. One good thing about that place at least, there wasn't much else to do, so I had time to get my head down for a kip. The bed wasn't too comfy though, but you get used to it after the first couple years".
Yaz looks horrified.
"First… How long have you even been in there?! And you got back months ago, you're telling me you've been awake this whole time? No wonder you're barely standing."
"I can stand perfectly well", the Doctor protests, promptly ignoring the first question, and to prove her point, she lets go of Yaz's shoulders, which would have resulted in her falling flat on her bum if Yaz hadn't caught her.
"I see," Yaz smirks, ‘told you so’ written all over her face. "Right, so, which shelf do you keep that bottle of brandy on?"
The Doctor raises her eyebrows, puzzled.
"Wait, I thought it was-"
"Haram, yes. It's not for me, Doctor, it's for you", Yaz explains patiently. "Didn't you say it helps you sleep better?"
"Oh", the Doctor says, touched. She mentioned it in passing years ago, back after their first proper trip, she is pleasantly surprised that Yaz paid attention to that at all.
"Should be in the kitchen, first shelf to the right, next to the one with the mercury supply, don't mix them up, no idea what happens if I take a sip of that stuff. Though maybe I'll get refuelled and won't need sleep for another ten months or so."
Yaz laughs – a clear, soft laugh that the Doctor is so fond of.
"Not even gonna ask why you keep your mercury supply in the kitchen, but I'd rather you had your beauty sleep. Just… Sit here, okay? I’ll be back in a mo."
"Wouldn’t dream of going anywhere", the Doctor says, looking up at Yaz through eyelashes with a dopey smile, getting an eyeroll and a fond headshake in return. As she closes her eyes and leans against the wall, the Doctor thinks that there’s nowhere she would rather be.
***
When the Doctor blinks awake, she’s enveloped by the warm, welcoming dimness and a familiar floral scent. Despite the nightmares, she feels quite well rested; maybe humans had a point when they collectively decided that they need a few hours of sleep every night, she thinks. She tries to recollect her dreams while her eyes adjust to the near darkness of the room. The Judoon prison, only instead of Jack coming to her rescue, there was the wickedly grinning Master, pointing the tissue compression eliminator at her. Swarm turning her into glittering dust. Tecteun’s haunting eyes. But none of this matters now, because she feels a grounding presence next to her, slow, steady breathing on her neck, an arm wrapped around her middle. Yaz.
The Doctor looks at the woman asleep on the mattress her time machine so helpfully provided to them – warm brown skin, t-shirt adorned with stars, her earrings – two hearts, TARDIS blue. She takes a moment to drink in the view; she hasn't seen so much of Yaz's skin exposed before, she realises with a start, and feels a blush creeping up her neck. This is a great privilege, she thinks, to be allowed to hold her, see her so relaxed and vulnerable. The Doctor takes a deep breath, and her senses are filled with Yaz's scent, her jasmine perfume, the cinnamon she insists on drinking her coffee with. She sighs. Gone, I'm so gone. Whoever responsible for her creation should've given her two brains instead of two hearts. Falling for a human, whose life is so fragile, so easy to break, and letting her feel – something – for the Doctor, should've been avoided at all costs. What an interesting figure of speech, 'falling in love’, she muses. She quite literally plummeted from the sky into love, unexpected, painful, breaking a few ribs on her way down.
Stupid old Doctor, she chides herself, now you've gone and done it again, caught a young woman in your web. In her defence, she did try to keep Yaz at arm's length, even let her mask slip in front of Yasmin for her to see the Doctor as she is: broken, anxious, hurting, not the fearless hero she'd tried to appear in front of her new friends when this face was fresh and the hopes high. But apparently this has done nothing to stop Yaz from getting close to her, like a moth to the flame, and the treacherous, selfish part of the Doctor's brain is pleased. After all, she's never claimed to be a good person.
"Bet you're thinking you shouldn't've done it", comes a soft voice from under the Doctor's chin. So, not asleep, then. "The kiss, that is."
"Not really", the Doctor answers, pulling away a little so she could look into Yaz's eyes. She sits upright, fidgeting with the blanket. "I don't regret kissing you. Though I do wish it happened under less… dreadful circumstances. I was horrible to you and I’m so, so sorry."
Yaz’s lips curve in a faint smile. "Apology accepted. You’ll do better next time, I hope."
The promise of next time sets the Doctor's hearts racing.
"Can it be… now?" she asks cautiously. What if Yaz meant it hypothetically, why would she want someone who refuses to open up and almost blacks out in the middle of a kiss, what if-
"Of course, silly", Yaz interrupts her spiralling thoughts, her eyes shining like distant stars.
The Doctor suddenly feels so young, and so nervous, but it’s not the kind of anxiety that keeps her up at night; this nervousness makes her body tingle pleasantly, and something warm and beautiful blooms in her chest.
"Yasmin Khan, can I kiss you?" she blurts out, her voice trembling, face flushing furiously. So much for a thousands of years old alien.
"Yes", Yaz smiles sheepishly, her gaze dropping to the Doctor’s mouth. "You may. But only if you promise me," she adds when the Doctor’s face is centimetres away from hers, putting her index finger to the Doctor’s lips.
"I promise."
" Promise me that we’ll talk. Maybe not today, but soon. Deal?"
Ah. The Doctor reflects on the Time’s premonition. How long has she got left? But however brief their time together is, Yaz deserves the truth. She takes a deep breath, before determinately saying:
"Deal."
Yaz’s face lights up like the sky with the first rays of morning sun and the Doctor thinks she’s never seen anything more beautiful. She can’t possibly wait any longer, so she cups Yaz’s jaw and leans in, very carefully, so unlike that first time. The moment Yaz’s soft lips meet hers, the last traces of her worries disappear. She can keep fretting about life and death later; for now there’s only Yaz’s hands caressing her face, Yaz’s warm skin under her fingertips, Yaz’s lips, parting slightly, the faintest taste of cinnamon on her tongue. The Doctor is suddenly hit with the realisation that Yaz is the first person this face has kissed, which she immediately tells her about once the two of them resurface for air.
"Well, I’m chuffed", Yasmin grins, placing a light kiss next to her earlobe. "If it helps, you’re the first alien I’ve snogged".
"What, not even a silurian?" the Doctor gasps in mock surprise.
"I was very tempted, but no. Not my type."
"And what is your type, Yasmin Khan?" Two can play this game.
"Oh, y’know, blonde, two hearts, talks a lot, but never about herself, that sort of thing." Yaz's hands sneak under the Doctor's shirt, and her skin gets immediately covered in goosebumps, her mouth goes dry. Interesting , she thinks. Her body seems to have a mind of its own when Yaz is in a close proximity to it. Not for the first time tonight she catches herself already mourning this feeling, which she will likely forget when her mind gets stuffed into a new body. Yaz looks ethereal in the dim glow of the TARDIS' orange and cobalt panels, and all the Doctor wants is to have her impossibly closer, until there's no distinction between the two of them. Yaz's lips travel from the base of her neck to her collarbone, and she is gentle, too gentle. Leave a mark on me , the Doctor wants to say. I want to keep it with me even after I regenerate. I want to remember you long after you're gone. She doesn't say any of this, just tries to commit to memory Yaz's every touch, the warmth of Yaz’s skin beneath her hands, the taste of her name on Yaz’s tongue. She desperately wants to be someone deserving of Yaz's gentleness. The truth is, the Doctor is not a good person. But she's going to try her damnedest to be one for Yaz.
"You’re thinking too loudly", Yaz chides. The Doctor has been around humans long enough to understand that she doesn’t mean it literally, but still finds herself hoping that Yaz didn't actually read her mind, or else that would be awkward. "Try to relax a little, will ya?"
"Last time I tried to relax, I almost collapsed", she complains half-jokingly. It’s a habit that she can’t get rid of, always being in her head, overthinking everything and nothing, always on alert.
"You had your nap, should be fine now. You really ought to look after yourself, Doctor. I know saving the universe is important and all, but you won’t be any help to it in your half-dead state."
The Doctor shifts uncomfortably; she’s not in the habit of having conversations about her own wellbeing. In the hopes of changing the topic, she attempts to be flirty.
"I can think of a better person to look after me", she winks awkwardly, which is really more of a blink.
"All right, casanova", Yaz smirks. Oh, so it worked, then. "I can maybe think of a few things to help you relax." She grabs fistfuls of the Doctor’s shirt and pushes her onto the mattress, capturing her mouth in another kiss, far less gentle this time, tugging on her lower lip with her teeth. Frankly, the Doctor is feeling the opposite of relaxed right now, but she can’t find it in herself to complain. With effort, Yaz takes off the Doctor’s shirt; her hands get stuck in the sleeves, and the Doctor is laughing at Yaz and the ridiculousness of the situation until Yaz nips at the exposed skin and she lets out an entirely different noise.
She can’t help but get lost in this woman, despite knowing damn well how wrong this is. It won’t last, it never lasts. And yet she finds herself wanting, and reaching for Yaz, like a flower to the sun, and isn’t it just so human, to crave the warmth of another. Her people don’t usually bother with something so pedestrian as feelings , and maybe this is why she ran away all these decades ago. Gallifrey can burn for all she cares, if it means she gets to be here, in the arms of the woman she loves. She desperately hopes that a millennia from now, she’ll still remember the burn of these lips on her skin, the intensely dark eyes, the sweet notes of jasmine perfume and the faint taste of cinnamon.
She makes a mental note to ask the Time, if she ever meets it — her? — again, if it's possible to be granted one small favour before she regenerates. She earned it, she’s owed that, just a little more time.