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It’s a cliche really, the heroine having to land a plane with no prior piloting experience and only her wits to guide her. Yaz has lost count of how many films she’s seen where the protagonist has to do just that. True, she’s done it once already - with a recorded message from a future Doctor, a baffled Ryan, and a panicking Graham - but that plane was largely automated and there was, another cliche, an app for that.
This is an old fashioned plane though, a little two seater with an old-school motor and a propeller on the front that’s currently on fire and is breaking apart as Yaz plummets down towards the ocean below. She’s just about managing to hold on to the throttle though, muscles straining as she struggles to keep it balanced. Her shoulders are killing, she really needs to focus more on lifting at the gym, and her foot is braced against the controls as she uses as much of her body weight as she can to keep the damn thing upright.
There’s land coming up ahead, sand bleached golden under the sun with trees stretching up into the sky that are just begging to have a plane crash straight into them. Yaz is reminded of that scene from Jurassic Park, the plane dangling precariously in a tree. There shouldn’t be any dinosaurs here though. Hopefully not. Probably not?
She’ll check before climbing out of the plane, you know, once it’s in the tree she’s inevitably about to crash into.
Fortunately, for the trees not for Yaz, the engine finally cuts out just before she hits so instead it’s a terrifying thirty foot drop though the air to slam into the sand with a thud that reverberates through Yaz’s bones and leaves her dazed on the floor of the cockpit, blackness creeping in around the corners of her eyes and something warm and wet trickling down her face.
She blinks and suddenly the sky is painted darker shades of orange and she’s out of the plane, sand coarse beneath her skin, heat warming her through and the Doctor by her side moodily poking a campfire with a stick. Her hair is curled around her neck the way it always is when she gets drenched, and she’s lost a shoe.
‘Hi,’ Yaz says, or at least that’s what she tries to say, instead she lets out a sort of strangled groan of pain that the Doctor fortunately interprets as a greeting nonetheless. Her head jerks up and she’s at Yaz’s side in an instant, hand pressed against her stomach gently.
‘Yaz? Yaz? Speak to me, Yaz.’
‘Is - is -’
‘Yes? Is what Yaz?’
Yaz swallows, tastes blood at the back of her throat, and breathes out shakily.
‘Is the plane okay?’
‘Uuuuh…’
The Doctor tilts her head, side eyeing the ruined plane further up the beach. One of the wings has fallen off, the back is all but destroyed, and it’s actively smoking. As Yaz watches, there’s a small explosion and it falls apart completely.
‘Oh, never mind,’ Yaz replies, closing her eyes again and taking a mental check of which limbs and parts of her body are still functioning. Brain? Just about processing. Heart? Thumping away, especially when the Doctor’s thumb is stroking over the skin of her abdomen like that. Lungs? Getting there, definitely getting there. She wriggles her toes and flexes her fingers, trying to feel each individual digit where it’s still joined to her limbs. Nothing feels broken at least. Bruised definitely, but not broken.
The Doctor's hand moves from her abdomen to her forehead, warm pressure seeping through Yaz’s skin and soothing her battered soul. She feels fabric, the Doctor's coat maybe, being adjusted over her and when she opens her eyes again the sky is darker still, stars beginning to peek through the sunset to twinkle beautifully above them, and the Doctor has fed another log onto the fire and is lying back on the sand, her head pressed against Yaz’s legs and her gaze fixed firmly out into space. Yaz reaches her hand down and strokes the Doctor's hair gently, feels the salt where it’s dried crusty into the strands. She watches the flames crackle and pop as they eat up the logs, and the ocean sings as it laps gently against the shore.
‘How’re we getting out of this one?’ Yaz asks, scratching lightly at the Doctor's scalp until she can practically hear her purring.
‘We’ll be rescued eventually,’ the Doctor replies, sounding drunk on the attention. ‘This is a major shipping lane, someone will see the smoke from the fire.’
‘We’ll need to find food and water,’ Yaz says, struggling upright onto her elbows.
‘You feel up for it?’ the Doctor asks cautiously, looking up at her with worry creasing her forehead.
‘Sure. Plus, better to do it now before the sun goes down. Can you help me up?’
The Doctor's arms around Yaz are warm and Yaz can smell the dried salt on her skin when she lifts her carefully up. Yaz stands for a moment, feels the breeze against her skin and her friend’s body firm against her own, and when she opens her eyes the Doctor's fingers are under her chin and worried green eyes are looking into her own.
‘You got it?’ the Doctor whispers, breath soft against her face.
‘I got it,’ Yaz replies, reluctantly untangling herself and peering behind them into the forest. The island hadn’t looked too big from the sky, although it hadn’t been the easiest to scope out when falling that quickly, but in the setting sun the trees look dark and Yaz can’t see through them. Although, wait, is that…?
‘Fireflies,’ the Doctor breathes beside her. ‘Or maybe not fireflies, maybe another kind of bioluminescent insect, but wow.’
‘There’s no dinosaurs here, are there?’ Yaz checks, remembering her earlier fear, and the Doctor bursts out laughing which answers that question, really.
Broken branches crunch under her boots as they step carefully into the forest and Yaz turns to the Doctor, remembering she’s missing a shoe, but her friend seems more interested in the sap running down the trees and before Yaz can stop her she’s gathered some on the tip of her finger and shoved it into her mouth.
‘Sweet,’ is her conclusion, licking her lips. Yaz looks disgusted.
The further they go the lighter it seems to get. Branches claw at her hair and whip at her arms but Yaz does her best to bat them out of the way. Behind her the Doctor darts from one thing to another, taking time to lick more trees, shove soil into her mouth, munch on some sand, and form a square with her fingers to try and work out where they are in relation to the stars. Yaz vaguely remembers being somewhere over South America, but her head aches and her thirst is stopping her from concentrating on what the plane’s navigation controls had shown before she’d crashed.
They come to a gap amongst the trees and Yaz almost cries at what she sees there. Water, beautiful clear water, a pond of the stuff being fed by a mini waterfall that disappears up into a stream flowing through the trees. She falls to her knees in front of it and scoops it into her hands, takes a first cautious sip. Clear, crisp, so fresh. She drinks greedily and when she’s done she looks up to find the Doctor peeling an orange and biting happily into the segments.
‘Where did you get that?’ Yaz splutters indignantly.
‘Orange tree!’ the Doctor grins, pointing upwards with juice-stained fingers. Yaz follows her gaze and can’t believe what she sees. Around the pond are orange trees heavy with fruit, it’s as though they’ve hit the deserted island jackpot. They stretch up into the sky, taller and larger than any orange trees Yaz has ever seen before, and for the first time Yaz realises that the pond is situated beneath a gap in the trees; only the gorgeous sunset spreading colours of deep blues and purples across the sky shining above them.
‘We’re gonna be the healthiest people to ever get marooned,’ Yaz whispers, standing to snap an orange from the tree. She peels it and bites into a segment. Flavour explodes in her mouth and juice drips down her chin. It tastes sweet and perfectly ripe and once they’ve both eaten their share they drop back beside the pond, orange-drunk as they gaze up at the darkening sky. The stars are more prominent now and the moonlight is reflecting off the crystal clear water. More of those possibly-fireflies have made their appearance too and when Yaz turns her head the Doctor's eyes are shining with their light.
‘Southern hemisphere,’ her friend says, squinting at the sky. ‘We’re either somewhere near Panama or the Falkland Islands.’
‘There’s a massive continent inbetween those,’ Yaz points out, and the Doctor rolls her eyes at her.
‘Your suggestions are also welcome, you were the one actually looking at the controls.’
‘I was a bit preoccupied with not crashing it at the time.’
‘You did a great job.’
‘... why do I feel like you’re being sarcastic…’
‘We should get some firewood to take back with us,’ the Doctor says suddenly, deciding to change the subject in case she reminds Yaz that she did, in fact, crash the plane. ‘We can use my coat as a blanket but it might get a bit chilly without a fire.’
‘Shame the plane blew up,’ Yaz says with a sigh, accepting the hand the Doctor holds out to her to get back to her feet. ‘That would have been a good shelter.’
They stuff their pockets full of oranges, take one last big gulp from the water, and head back towards the beach. The sun has fully set now yet their island isn’t dark, the little fireflies swoop around them and the moon shines off the ocean and illuminates their walk back to the beach. The plane has stopped smouldering at least, and Yaz sits on a log and tucks the Doctor's coat around her shoulders as her friend gets the fire going again; the flames flickering and logs crackling in the peaceful night air.
‘Remind me to bring marshmallows next time,’ the Doctor says, sitting beside Yaz and kicking off her one remaining boot to wriggle her toes in front of the fire. ‘Missed a trick there. That’s something you should always have with you, marshmallows.’
‘And some way of signalling the coast guard if you crash your plane on a deserted island,’ Yaz says moodily.
‘Not everyone’s perfect,’ the Doctor says cheerfully. ‘Learn from your mistakes, know for next time.’
‘Graham had the right idea with his sandwiches.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that.’
Yaz follows the Doctor's example and unlaces her boots to warm her feet by the fire. The ocean sings and the stars shine and if it wasn’t for the fact they were stranded in the middle of nowhere - but possibly somewhere near either Panama or the Falklands - this moment would be absolutely perfect.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been distant,’ the Doctor says with a sigh after a while. ‘It wasn’t intentional. Well it was but - I never meant to hurt you, Yaz. I was trying to keep you safe.’
‘Or keep yourself safe from having to talk about it?’ Yaz counters, watching her friend carefully through a curtain of blonde hair.
‘Both, I guess,’ the Doctor shrugs. ‘I’m not good with letting people in. It only ever tends to end in heartbreak later on.’
‘Why?’
The Doctor tips her head back and her hair falls so Yaz can see her face. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears but her smile is warm when she looks at Yaz.
‘Do you have any idea,’ the Doctor says quietly. ‘How old I am?’
Yaz tries to think of a response but can’t come up with anything. The truth is she doesn’t know, has no idea in fact, though she knows the answer is much older than she looks. She tries to put herself in the Doctor's shoes, tries to imagine telling her friends her secrets for them to just age and fade away, leaving her alone once more. Repeating and repeating and repeating, the TARDIS a revolving door of all the people her friend has lost. She’s lost Graham and Ryan already, even if they are safe at home, and Dan -
Yaz’s forehead crinkles.
And Dan.
‘Dance with me,’ Yaz says suddenly, standing up and leaving the Doctor's coat on the log as she holds out her hand.
The Doctor scronches her face in a bemused expression but she lets Yaz pull her up and they stand facing each other in front of the fire, the light shining on their faces, the sand coarse beneath their bare feet.
Yaz has no idea how to dance, it isn’t exactly something she learnt at police training, but she carefully tucks her chin on the Doctor's shoulder and wraps her arms around her friend’s waist and they start to sway together. It isn’t really dancing, not the high kicks and swirling skirts and quick footwork that Yaz has seen on TV, but it feels just as intimate and the Doctor's breath is warm against her neck. Yaz closes her eyes, focuses on the crackle of the fire and the warmth of the Doctor's hands on her back. She pushes her nose into blonde hair, moves her face so they’re pressed cheek to cheek, and opens her eyes to look out at the ocean.
‘You’re not really here, are you?’ she says after a moment. ‘I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?’
The Doctor turns her face to press her lips against Yaz’s cheek and Yaz closes her eyes again and clings to her tightly.
‘You weren’t with me in that plane,’ Yaz whispers, fingers gripping her t-shirt tightly. ‘You weren’t there. How did you get here if you weren’t with me?’
‘I’m always with you, Yasmin,’ the Doctor murmurs softly. ‘Even if you can’t see me, I’m always with you.’
‘I miss you so much.’
‘I know. Dan not good company?’
Yaz laughs. ‘He’s great company, but he doesn’t smack consoles with a mallet or blow things up at two in the morning. He’s far too quiet.’
‘Do you miss me or do you miss the chaos.’
‘I’m pretty sure crashing a plane into a deserted island counts as chaotic. I think I have that covered.’
Yaz pulls away and presses a hand against the Doctor's cheek. Her skin is warm, her eyes so soft, even the dark roots peeking through at her hairline look so real. The Doctor leans into the touch, her hands on Yaz’s waist tightening, and Yaz presses their foreheads together.
‘Am I going to see you again?’ she asks.
‘Sure you are,’ the Doctor replies with a soft smile. ‘You refuse to stay away from me.’
‘Wonder why that is,’ Yaz says, the corners of her eyes prickling with unshed tears.
‘I wonder,’ the Doctor echos, and when she closes the gap between them to kiss her Yaz doesn’t care that she isn’t really here, doesn’t care that this is a hallucination, doesn’t even care that she has no idea where she even is right now, because the Doctor's lips are warm against her own and her hands are threaded into Yaz’s hair and this must be what coming home feels like.
‘I love you,’ Yaz chokes out when they separate, and when the Doctor leans in again she hears her whisper against her skin:
‘I love you too.’
---
‘Yaz, you alright gel?’
‘You’re safe now.’
Cocooned in blankets, warm and dry, Yaz doesn’t want to open her eyes. She’s suddenly acutely aware of just how much everything aches. Her bones feel as though they’ve been smacked against a metal wall and her head is pounding inside her skull. There’s movement beneath her, the subtle rocking of a ship at sea, and when Yaz cracks open an eyelid she sees Dan and Jericho staring down at her with worry written across their faces.
‘Yaz,’ Dan breathes in relief. ‘Thank god for that I thought you was a goner!’
‘Thanks,’ Yaz manages to reply, wincing when she tries to sit up and feels something - several somethings - protesting at the movement. ‘Where did you find me?’
‘Floating at sea in the wreckage of your plane,’ Jericho says gravely. ‘You had a narrow escape. How are you feeling?’
‘Sore.’
‘I’m not surprised, you should see the state of the plane,’ Dan chortles. ‘Or at least you could have done, if it hadn’t sunk immediately after we got you out of it.’
‘We should get her some dinner,’ Jericho says, straightening his waistcoat. ‘I believe the galley is open now.’
‘Yeah, I’ll come with you,’ Dan replies. ‘You alright, Yaz? We’ll bring you back something tasty. Or we’ll try to, anyway.’
The two men stand but at the door Dan pauses, checks the coast is clear, then hurries back to Yaz’s side and presses something into her palm.
‘I’ve kept her safe for you,’ he whispers. ‘Thought you might need it.’
‘Thanks, Dan,’ Yaz replies quietly, and once he’s left the room she presses the button on top of the cylindrical device twice and watches the form of her long lost friend shine brightly in the centre of the room.
‘So this is an adaptive hologram.’