Chapter Text
Silence occupies too much space in the TARDIS these days. It stole aboard in China, becoming a fourth passenger, and consumes more and more of the ship’s oxygen supply as the days pass. Yaz isn’t used to it—even when it was just her and the Doctor, every moment had swelled with the Doctor’s chattering, the ship’s groans, her own laughs as they prepared to step out the doors and onto the next new world.
Now, though, the voice that fills the quiet is Dan’s. And that’s fine—his wonder at traveling with the Doctor is infectious—but it’s not the same. When he leaves the room, an awkward tension seeps into the air. So Yaz gravitates toward him, seeking him out whenever she can. He knows why, and his knowing looks have gotten annoying, but she doesn’t care.
“I’d like to go home for a few days,” he says into the lull between adventures, sucking the rest of the air out of the console room. When no one answers he shakes his head and disappears up the stairs.
Yaz drops onto a step with a sigh. The Doctor’s gaze burns into her when their eyes meet.
A few minutes later Dan stomps back down from the corridor, jacket draped over one arm—it’s the only possession he brought with him when he came aboard. He sits next to Yaz and knocks his shoulder against hers. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes when Yaz looks over, and she knows he’s thinking about Di.
“Quick break, yeah Sheffield?”
She doesn’t want him to go; feels the silence between herself and the Doctor like a wall waiting to slam down the moment he steps out the door. “Yeah, of course,” she says. “You deserve it. Say hi to Di for me.”
Dan grins, then glances back at the Doctor. His face falls. “Why don’t you do the same? Might be good to get out of here for a while. See your family.”
Homesickness hits Yaz like a blow to the chest. She used to pop back for a day or two every few weeks. But now it’s been years. It’s an immense thought; an unbearable weight that crashes down onto her shoulders.
She conjures up a smile from somewhere and drops it over her features, knowing it’s not convincing at all. “Yeah. I might.”
The TARDIS thumps as it lands, the vibrations of flight settling under the floor. The ship starts up a gentle hum that feels like apprehension. Contemplation.
“Here you go, Dan!” The Doctor’s voice is chipper, but when Yaz looks over she sees nothing but trepidation on her face.
Yaz’s entire body mirrors that feeling. She jumps up and offers Dan her hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
He accepts the help, then gives the Doctor a little nod. “See you in a few days, Doctor.”
The Doctor nods with a shallow smile, trying to look like she doesn’t despise goodbyes. Yaz notices the tightness around her eyes, the way her lips don’t quite rise far enough. In the continuum of Doctor smiles, this one resides somewhere between ‘trying to hide physical pain’ and ‘biting back a clever retort that will only land her in more trouble.’
Yaz tears her eyes away. She opens the door for Dan and then leans against the cool wood once they’re both outside. The little vibrations running through the ship are a comfortable tingle against her back.
“How long’s it been since you were home?” Dan asks.
“I’m not sure.” She’d been starting to lose track of time, even before they were stuck in 1901. While they were there, she had nothing to do but count the days until she made her way back to the Doctor. “More than three years.”
Three years. Not that long, and yet an unimaginable gulf. Is she even the same person she was three years ago?
“I feel like I know them, from your stories,” Dan says, putting his hand on her shoulder. “I know the Doctor can take you back to right after you last saw them, but if they knew… they’d miss you.”
“Yeah,” Yaz says through the tightness in her throat.
Dan squeezes her shoulder, then releases it and shrugs on his jacket. “Think about it, all right? See you in a few days.”
She nods and watches his back until he disappears around a corner.
It takes long minutes of staring down the empty street before she feels ready to go back inside. The Doctor’s eyes follow her as she crosses the console room. Neither of them speaks.
When it becomes clear Yaz isn’t going to break the silence, the Doctor clears her throat. “So, where to? There’s this festival on—”
“Actually, can you take me home?”
The Doctor’s eyes fall away from Yaz’s face. She inputs the coordinates for Sheffield. Clears them. Punches them in again. Killing time. Trying to think of something to say.
She finally settles on “I understand.”
From the look on her face, Yaz doubts that. “To visit for a few days,” she says. The thought of more than that… Well, just because things are weird right now doesn’t mean she wants to leave the Doctor for good. “It’s been…”
“A long time.” The Doctor finishes the navigation sequence. “I’m sorry Yaz, of course. You haven’t been home in—”
“Years. Yeah.” If she doesn’t do this now, she isn’t sure she ever will. It would be so easy to fall into the routine of no routine, with the Doctor. To lose another few years and become someone her family won’t recognize. If that hasn’t happened already.
The Doctor is watching her again. That gaze is too heavy, piled on top of the thoughts already running through her head. Yaz flees up the stairs. “I’ll just grab a few things.”
She jumps at a dark shape when she opens the door to her room, but it’s only her reflection staring back in the dim light. A new mirror takes up the entire back wall.
She’s long suspected the TARDIS’s telepathy extends beyond the Doctor. The confirmation of that is uncomfortable, but Yaz finds herself drawn to the mirror. When was the last time she’d taken more than a quick glance at herself while getting ready for the day?
The person who stares back looks grown. Far from the girl who used to feel so small standing behind the Doctor. She leans in for a closer look.
Did she have those laugh lines last time she was home? Those two gray hairs that keep popping up at her temple are relatively new. At first, she had pulled them out every time they appeared, but she doesn’t bother anymore.
No one will notice, will they?
She sighs. She can cheat time in so many ways aboard the TARDIS, but there’s no way to cheat aging.
Back in the console room, the Doctor’s gaze lingers on Yaz’s empty hands, but she doesn’t comment. She just says “Sheffield! Same day we were last here,” and waves a hand toward the door.
“Impressive,” Yaz says.
The Doctor beams. She escorts Yaz to the door; Yaz can feel a hand hovering near the small of her back, but it never touches her. Their goodbye is brief. Yaz hates them as much as the Doctor does, now. The Doctor’s arms rise as if she’s thinking about hugging Yaz before they drop to her sides again.
Yaz throws her a little wave. “Two or three days, yeah? Don’t be late.”
She almost doesn’t make it to the flat. Her feet carry her up half a flight of stairs and then she stops, heart pounding. The TARDIS is still there; she can catch it if she hurries. There’s plenty of time to try again in a few days or weeks. The Doctor’s face will light up when she walks back in, and they’ll go swanning off to whatever festival she’d been about to suggest.
No. Yaz is already here. She needs to follow through.
Her feet drag, but she makes it to the door and hesitates with her key hovering over the lock. Inside she hears the muffled sounds of banging in the kitchen and low music—her dad must have finally gotten his smart speaker working.
Okay. She’s Yasmin Khan. She’s helped save people, worlds, the universe itself. She can do this.
When she opens the door her dad calls from the kitchen, “Yaz, is that you? Can you set the table?”
Her eyes sting, and she has to blink away tears before she can answer. “Sure, coming.”
Sonya’s sitting at the table already, feet on the chair next to her, face buried in her phone. Her eyes flit up to watch Yaz walk by. She’s being unhelpful and annoying, and all Yaz wants to do is hug her.
She settles for hugging her dad instead, who probably won’t think it’s weird. He’s bent over a cutting board, his back to her. When her arms wrap around him, tears threaten again; he’s solid and warm against her, exactly like he feels in her memory.
Setting down the knife, he turns to her with a smile. “What was that for?”
“Nothing. Just been a long day.” A day that’s lasted years.
Turning her back on him is difficult, but she feels the need to hide her expression before it gives her away. She gathers what she needs and takes a deep breath before carrying it all to the table.
The familiar clank of keys on a hook next to the door makes Yaz’s head shoot up. If there’s one person who’s likely to catch any inconsistencies in her behavior, it’s her mum. Facing a weeping angel or a cyberman or any number of corrupt galactic rulers sounds less intimidating than keeping up this charade with her. But Yaz keeps her eyes on the table, her hands busy adjusting the placement of forks and knives.
“Sonya, put your feet down please,” her mum says as she walks by. “How was your day, Yaz?”
The past few days have blurred together—shot repeatedly by Daleks, thwarting Sea Devils, the Doctor’s sad smile as she made a wish and skimmed a stone. “Fine. Slow.” She forces the words past a lump in her throat, but no one seems to notice.
They’re all acting so normal. Yaz wants to shake them and ask “Can’t you see how different I am?” but she only sets down the last fork and escapes to her bedroom to collect herself.
This place, at least, feels familiar. Cream and yellow duvet, the fairy lights she’d strung up when she was sixteen, the shelf crowded with books and childhood treasures. Here and there, a souvenir from her travels aboard the TARDIS. A mix of her outgrown past and the present.
Sonya’s voice drifts in through the closed door. “Mum says come eat.” When Yaz opens the door she’s already heading toward the kitchen, somehow avoiding a discarded pair of shoes as she focuses on her phone.
Yaz sits in her usual spot between her mum and dad and almost finds herself able to relax. But then her dad asks, “Is the Doctor coming ‘round tonight?” and her heart leaps into her throat.
It’s been such a short time for her family, and they’ve already folded the Doctor into the fabric of their lives. Right now, though, she’s glad the Doctor isn’t here. She can’t bear the thought of how she would throw herself into the chair next to Yaz and get her dad started on conspiracy theories. Or the way she’d call her mum “Yaz’s mum” even though she’s been told a dozen times to call her Najia. Or how she’d try to draw Sonya out from her phone and into the conversation while Sonya rolls her eyes.
Yaz has taken too long to answer, and they’re all looking at her. “No, not tonight,” she says.
The evening gets easier as it goes on. Yaz falls back into the rhythms of conversation with her family and tries not to think of every answer to their questions as a lie. Eventually, tired but relaxed, she makes her way back to her bedroom.
When she lays down, sleep refuses to come. Tossing and turning all night has become normal for her lately, but it’s so strange to do it in her family’s flat that it feels as if something is wrong. She stares at the ceiling and swears she can feel the night accelerating and then slowing again.
Morning comes, but Yaz stays in a half-asleep daze for a long time, staring at the ceiling. Trying not to think of the Doctor. Did she skip ahead a few days to pick Yaz up right away? Is she off wandering the universe by herself? Did she park the TARDIS in the time vortex to have a mope?
Emerging from her bedroom, she tries on a smile she doesn’t feel. “Woah, Yaz, might want to take care of those bags under your eyes,” Sonya says. She’s back at the table, feet on the chair again, a steaming cup of tea in front of her.
“Mind your own business,” Yaz snaps, and the normality of the exchange breaks her heart a little bit.
It’s uncomfortable to have any sort of critical gaze on her; she has years to hide that feel etched into her skin. She turns away under the pretense of making tea.
Her mum enters the room, keys in hand, dressed for work. “Yaz, you’re going to be late for your shift.”
Panic strikes—her job. She has to clamp her mouth down around the laugh that almost escapes. Sheffield’s petty crimes and parking disputes haven't concerned her in years. None of it had felt fulfilling anymore, after traveling with the Doctor. The last time she was home she’d turned in her resignation and not thought about it since.
But she can’t explain that to her mum. Not now. Not without getting into everything else that she doesn’t want to talk about.
So she plays along. What’s one more lie?
“Completely lost track of the time,” she says, abandoning the bubbling kettle. Slipping on her boots, she heads for the door.
Her mum stares. “What?” Yaz asks, one hand on the knob.
“Your uniform?”
She fights the grimace that almost escapes—there’s no way she’s going to be able to keep up this deception, but then her brain supplies an answer. “Got an extra at the station. See you tonight.”
She closes the door so quickly she almost cuts herself off, and makes it down to the ground floor before her hands start to shake. There’s a dark, empty space under the stairs, and she ducks in and forces herself to breathe.
What is she going to do all day?
The question helps her focus. First, get out of the immediate area—that much she can settle on right away. Running into her parents or Sonya would collapse this whole tower of lies and half-truths.
So she walks. Through side streets and alleys at first, until she’s a dozen blocks from home. After that, she wanders. Yaz has been on alien planets and space stations, in the past and future of Earth, but today Sheffield is the strangest place of all. She feels lost; like she’s never seen these streets before.
The whole day slips by that way, and her feet are aching by the time she steps back into her family’s flat. She feels like she’s gotten away with something, and that fills her with a sense of satisfaction tinged with guilt.
The evening starts with the same formula as the night before. Setting the table, ignoring Sonya’s glances over her phone. Yaz prepares a few suitable but boring work anecdotes in her head.
Her mum arrives, dad finishes cooking, and they all sit down. Conversation flows easier. Yaz offers her anecdotes and they all share a laugh at her ex-partner’s expense.
When it’s over Yaz stands to—
—the plate slips out of her hands and shatters at her feet. The sink is full of soapy water; the dishwasher is open next to her. She stares at the broken glass on the floor, dumbfounded.
What happened?
“Yaz! Are you okay? Don’t just stand there, grab the broom. And watch your feet!” Her mum kneels and gathers the largest pieces of the plate in one hand.
Yaz sighs and follows her mum’s instructions. She’s exhausted after not getting any sleep and walking all day. Maybe she got lost in her own head? She hopes no one noticed.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur, and this time when Yaz falls into bed, sleep comes easily.
It’s a relief when she wakes before anyone else the next morning. The flat is quiet and still in that early morning way in which she feels like the only person in the world. Taking her time would be so relaxing right now, but if she hurries she can get out the door before anyone catches her.
Early morning traffic is a bustle she can lose herself in. People head to work, walk their dogs, and pull their children down the sidewalks by the hand. After the excitement of the last few years, it all seems so small.
There’s a figure in the crowd, taller than most of the people around him, whose gait Yaz would recognize anywhere. Ryan. She really should have contacted him and Graham last night, but what can she say to them? They’d all been so close when they traveled together. Now she feels as far removed from them as she does from her family.
But she should try, right? It would be nice to have someone she can speak freely to.
She weaves her way through the crowd until she’s on his heels. “Ryan!”
He pauses and she almost runs into him, but then he spins around and his eyes light up. “Yaz!” He gives her a tight hug before pulling back and looking her over. “How are you? Haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
Yaz laughs. It comes out almost hysterical, and she clamps her mouth shut.
Ryan frowns. “Only… it’s been longer, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Yaz says. A thousand thoughts fly through her head but she can’t put any of them into words.
“Why don’t we grab a coffee? There’s a place down the street.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’m sure you have to get to work,” Yaz says.
“Nope, I’m calling in sick, don’t try to change my mind.” He pulls out his phone and does just that.
They enter the coffee shop. The line is to the door, but it’s not like either of them has anywhere to be.
“How’s the Doctor? She around?” Ryan’s eyes are bright when he asks, and Yaz wonders if he misses traveling or just thinks of the Doctor as an old friend he hasn’t seen lately.
“No, she dropped me off for a few days.”
Something must show on her face because Ryan’s face falls. “Did something happen? I know how she can be.”
He does, but she doubts he’s thinking anything along the lines of the tangle she and the Doctor find themselves in. Then again, the look he gives her is a little too shrewd, and she wonders.
“It’s a very long story.”
It’s their turn at the register and Yaz is saved from having to say any more than that for now. They order their drinks and sit next to the window. Yaz watches people walk by outside. If any of them knew how big the universe was, what would they do? Would they choose the mundane, as Ryan had? Or would they run, like Yaz?
Ryan interrupts her thoughts. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know,” Yaz says. “I don’t know how or even where to begin. Let’s just say the Doctor continues to be herself. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I want too much now.”
“I doubt that. The problem’s always been that the Doctor gives and gives, but never the most important parts of herself.” Ryan takes a sip of his coffee and looks out the window. “It’s not your fault that’s not enough. And you don’t have to stick around forever waiting for her to change.”
Oh, she’s missed Ryan. Even though he doesn’t know the whole story, he gets it.
“So how long has it been?” he asks.
“I’m not even sure, exactly. A few years.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, you know, the universe almost ended.” Yaz grins, and Ryan grins back. “Got stuck in the early twentieth century for a while. But it all worked out, in the end.”
Ryan raises his eyebrow at that. His phone makes a noise and he glances at the screen. “Sonya’s worried about you. She doesn’t even know you quit your job.”
Yaz sighs. Things have to be dire if Sonya’s worried. Wait. Why is Ryan chatting with Sonya? “Are you two seeing each other?”
Ryan looks away. He picks at the cardboard sleeve on his cup with a fingernail. “We’re just talking.”
“How did you even get her number?”
He smiles, and she’s not sure he even knows he’s doing it. “We ran into each other—
—Yaz’s empty cup drops into the trash can. She waves goodbye to Ryan, who’s walking out the door.
Okay, something weird is going on. That wasn’t exhaustion; there’s too much caffeine in her system for that to be the case this time.
She looks around the coffee shop. No one else seems to have noticed anything. Maybe she should call the Doctor; she’d come running on nothing more concrete than Yaz’s feeling that something is wrong.
No. She doesn’t need to call the Doctor every time there’s a problem. Yaz is capable of looking into things herself. The last three years have taught her that much.
So she goes back to wandering. If there’s something strange happening in Sheffield, she needs to find it.
By mid-afternoon, she ends up in a warehouse district. There’s no other foot traffic here, and the place is quiet at this time of day. She picks her way along the cracked sidewalks, stepping over food wrappers and piles of broken glass.
A wavering bit of movement catches the corner of her eye. There’s something, on the other side of this building…
Yaz rounds the corner and has to shield her eyes from the sight in front of her. The whole block vibrates, and her stomach turns as she’s hit with motion sickness. She lowers her eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks again.
It’s like there are many copies of the same view, all sitting on top of each other, overlapping but not quite lined up. The edge of every building wavers and shimmers in the sun.
That definitely qualifies as something strange.
Yaz moves toward the closest building, shielding her eyes against the glare. A crushed beer can skitters away when she kicks it, and she jumps at the sudden noise. The building is an old warehouse like all the others, and one of the overhead doors at the loading dock is open a crack.
Heading for it, she—
—The inside of the warehouse is dark, but shafts of sunlight stream through the rows of windows all around. It’s empty except for a few crooked stacks of crates caked with dust. Yaz tries to wrap her mind around finding herself pushed forward in time.
Now that she’s inside the building, the shimmering, vibrating effect is no longer visible. She breathes a sigh of relief at that and feels the beginnings of a headache recede.
Voices echo from somewhere in the building. Yaz isn’t sure which direction they’re coming from. She ducks between two stacks of crates, hoping they’re enough to conceal her.
Two people appear in a distant doorway, carrying a large rectangular box between them. As they come closer, a shaft of sunlight through the windows catches on blonde hair and a familiar coat.
The Doctor. She’s come back too early or gone off on her own and somehow ended up back in Sheffield chasing aliens. But there’s someone with her, and unexpected jealousy flares within Yaz. An older woman, with dark hair and a worn leather jacket. The Doctor shuffles to the side and the stranger follows. They rotate the box until Yaz catches the woman’s face.
Brown eyes, full lips, full brows. A shining stud in her nose that Yaz has been thinking about getting. The face she studied in the mirror on the TARDIS not two days ago.
The person with the Doctor is Yaz.