Chapter Text
The Doctor and Yaz had been tiptoeing around each other ever since the Sea Devils— about three weeks, now. For all the Doctor had desperately wanted everything to stay the same, the dynamic between her and Yaz had inevitably, irrevocably, shifted. There was power, in naming something, and naming their feelings had created a universe in which those feelings could not be ignored.
No matter how hard the Doctor tried.
She was tired, was the thing. She’d been tired for years now, and now it threatened to overwhelm her. But what would even happen, if she became overwhelmed? It wasn’t like she could die. She would just continue. She had been continuing for so long already. It had been thousands of years, maybe more, of loving and losing and hurting and struggling, desperately, to find some kind of meaning in the vastness of the universe.
And now— she was just done. She couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t love one more person, only to have to grieve them for hundreds or thousands of years.
Even if she owed Yaz better.
So she kept her distance.
Dan kept finding her, prodding her, asking what was going on. She was sure he was doing the same to Yaz, pestering them both until they finally talked.
But the Doctor was stubborn, and so was Yaz. When the group split up, it invariably split so that Yaz would go with Dan and the Doctor would go off alone; when they were in the TARDIS, the Doctor stuck to the backup kitchens, the smaller library, all the places she never expected to find Yaz.
Until one day, running from several members of an underground Martian terrorist group, the Doctor heard an explosion behind her.
Behind her. In the direction of the capitol building, where she’d left Yaz trying to defuse a weapon.
Her heart already in her throat, she spun around, racing towards the explosion. Halfway there, Dan came up next to her— he’d gone in the other direction, trying to warn townspeople of the danger they were in, but of course the second Yaz’s safety was in question, the both of them came running. They raced, together, to the capitol building, now a pile of rubble.
“Yaz!” the Doctor cried out, desperate.
It was like a veil had lifted. The Doctor’s feelings, suppressed up to this point, were suddenly painfully visible. If Yaz died— she couldn’t even think about it. It felt like the entire universe was crumbling away.
“Yaz!” Dan called.
“Stay here,” the Doctor said to him. She didn’t wait for a response before charging into the rubble, stumbling over bits of metal and stone, calling Yaz’s name.
“Doctor!”
It was Yaz’s voice.
The Doctor ran faster.
“Doctor!” Yaz called again, and the Doctor dashed around a particularly large pile of debris to see—
She let out a breath.
Yaz was okay. She was alive, and breathing, and pushing herself to her feet.
The Doctor ran to her. One of her hands landed on Yaz’s shoulder, the other on Yaz’s waist, and she stared at Yaz’s face, cataloguing every feature. She looked— well, breathtaking was the best word, even and maybe especially with her face smudged with dirt and gunpowder and her hair falling out of its braid. She had a cut on her cheek and the sleeve of her jacket had ripped, and she was looking at the Doctor with wide, shell-shocked eyes.
For a moment, they stood like that, staring at each other in relief and revelation. And then the Doctor pulled Yaz into a hug, pressing Yaz close against her, just to remind her that Yaz was here and warm and tangible and alive.
“I was worried you were dead,” she mumbled into Yaz’s shoulder.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” But Yaz’s voice was shaking. She was clinging to the Doctor just as fiercely as the Doctor clung to her.
“Yaz, I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, remembering the fear that had swooped in her stomach when she first heard the explosion. “I should’ve done things differently.”
“You mean, differently from asking to enjoy what we have and then avoiding me every chance you get?” Yaz asked, her laugh coming out uneven.
The Doctor pulled away, her hands on Yaz’s tear-stained face, in her dusty hair. “Yeah. Different from that.”
“You should’ve,” Yaz said simply. But then her eyes softened, and she gave the Doctor a little smile. “Maybe we can talk when we get back to the TARDIS.”
The Doctor smiled back, tentative, timid. “Yeah. Maybe.” There was the seed of an idea, buried deep in the soil at the back of her mind.
They picked their way through the rubble and back to Dan, who hugged Yaz with abandon. And then the three of them made their way back to the TARDIS. The Doctor kept herself at Yaz’s side, giving nervous glances to the cut on her cheek. They stepped across the TARDIS’s threshold, and the Doctor’s hand was immediately on Yaz’s shoulder.
“We should get you cleaned up.”
Yaz nodded. The Doctor took her hand, an anchor for them both, and they walked through the corridors. Dan had (perhaps wisely) disappeared, and so it was just the Doctor and Yaz, exchanging nervous glances as they approached the infirmary.
The Doctor dropped Yaz’s hand when they got there. Yaz sat on the edge of the hospital bed, and the Doctor rifled through her stock of antiseptic and bandages. She’d accumulated a lot, over the years, but she wanted to make sure she found the exact best fit for Yaz right now. It was silly, maybe, but now her feelings had forced themselves to the surface, she couldn’t push them back down, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how important Yaz was, and how fragile humans were, and—
“Doctor?” Yaz’s voice came from behind her. “Are you all right?”
Oh. She’d been standing stock-still in front of the cabinet this whole time, staring at the potential options.
“Sorry,” she said over her shoulder. She grabbed a box of bandages, a roll of gauze, a bottle of water, and a few washcloths and went back to Yaz, dropping the supplies next to her on the bed. “Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Yaz said, looking down at her body. “I’ll miss this jacket, though.”
“It is a nice one,” the Doctor said, glancing at the ripped sleeve. “We’ll have to go looking for another.” She poured a bit of water onto one of the washcloths and started dabbing at the dirt on Yaz’s face, trying not to think too hard about how warm Yaz’s skin was beneath her hand, or how close together the two of them were.
“I think I got it at a charity shop,” Yaz said. “Don’t know where to look for another.” She kicked her leg. “Still. I’m lucky I was wearing it. Could’ve been hurt worse.”
“That’s the spirit.” The Doctor leaned back, eyeing the rip. “Have you got a cut under there? You know that qualifies as somewhere I can’t see.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Yaz took off the jacket, and the Doctor saw blood at the edges of the tear in her shirt. “Didn’t realize.”
The Doctor shook her head. “Should’ve asked specifically,” she said. She approached Yaz’s cheek again, this time with the bandage. She pressed it onto the wound, careful to keep her touch light. “D’you want me to do that one too?”
There was only a moment of hesitation. “Okay.”
The Doctor nodded. She leaned back again. “You know your hair is full of dust.”
“I’ll take a shower later.”
The Doctor held up the package of bandages. “The good news is, these are waterproof.”
Yaz smiled. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” The Doctor glanced at her arm and frowned. “I can’t do that one if you’ve got your shirt on.” She hesitated. “I could cut off the sleeve, I suppose. If you didn’t mind losing the shirt.”
“No, that’s okay.” All at once, Yaz pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her in just a navy blue sports bra. The Doctor suddenly registered that she'd never seen this much of Yaz before, never even seen the top part of her arms, and a second later realized why— Yaz had scars running up and down her upper arms, thin raised lines across her skin.
The Doctor didn’t say anything. If Yaz wanted to talk about it, she would— right now, she was looking determinedly away. The Doctor just took another washcloth and began wiping at the skin around the scratch— and it was just a scratch, nothing deep. Yaz really had been lucky.
Neither of them spoke as the Doctor cleaned off the wound and bandaged Yaz’s arm, taking her time, keeping her touch soft on Yaz’s skin: the room felt like it was filling with all the things they weren’t saying, all the things they needed to say. The tension was nigh unbearable. Soon, though, Yaz was all patched up, and the Doctor leaned away again, and the tension lessened ever so slightly.
“Thanks,” Yaz said. She pulled her shirt back over her head. There was an awkward silence where her eyes met the Doctor’s— everything they hadn’t said was still there in the room, after all.
“I assume you still want to take that shower,” the Doctor said. She rocked back on her heels, her hands deep in her jacket pockets. “Maybe you could meet me in the console room after?”
“Sure.” Yaz gave her a little smile, and the Doctor smiled back. Yaz stood, and for a moment she hovered by the Doctor as if she were going to say something else, but all she said was, “I’ll see you there.” And then she left, and the Doctor went back to the console room to wait.
Yaz appeared twenty minutes later, wearing a fresh long-sleeved T-shirt and with her hair in a damp braid. The Doctor smiled to see her.
“I’ll just launch us into a galaxy somewhere,” she said, approaching the console. “Nowhere better to not-be-dead than the middle of a galaxy.” She hit a few buttons and twisted a few dials: a routine operation, nothing particularly fancy. With a throw of a lever, she launched the TARDIS, stepping back as the familiar grinding filled her ears. She felt Yaz’s eyes on her, and when she turned her head, she saw an indecipherable expression on Yaz’s face. She met Yaz’s gaze, hoping whatever Yaz saw in her own expression would be reassuring.
The grinding sound died out. The Doctor and Yaz were left standing, staring at each other in silence.
And then the Doctor hit a couple buttons on the console.
“Come here,” she said. She walked over to the doors. Yaz followed, silent. The Doctor pushed the doors open, revealing the stars in front of them, bright against the dark, swirling amongst nebulae, all coming together to form the arm of a galaxy. The Doctor dropped down to the floor, letting her legs dangle in space.
Yaz sat next to her, gazing out at the universe, their arms barely brushing against each other. For a moment, they sat in silence, staring out into the darkness.
“How are you doing?” the Doctor asked, her voice quiet.
“I’m okay,” Yaz said. “I wasn’t actually that close to the bomb, you know. Figured out I wasn’t going to be able to defuse it, got a good head start.”
“That’s my girl.” The words flew out of the Doctor’s mouth before she had a chance to stop them. She froze, suddenly afraid it had been the wrong thing to say. In her peripheral vision, she saw Yaz turn to look at her.
“Yeah?” Yaz sounded— hopeful, maybe. Definitely not mad. The Doctor let out a breath.
“Yeah.” She angled herself to face Yaz and inched her hand to the side, hooking her pinky finger over Yaz’s, her eyes never leaving Yaz’s face. With a deep, shuddering breath, the Doctor added, bluntly, “I care about you. More than I want to.”
Yaz waited.
“I thought— if I avoided you— if I didn’t think about it— maybe it would hurt less later.” The Doctor looked back out at the stars. “I should’ve known better. I’ve wasted so much time.”
Yaz flipped her hand under the Doctor’s, lacing their fingers together.
“As long as we’re here,” she said, “we still have time.”
The Doctor signed. “I’m just— I’m tired, Yaz.”
“I know.” Yaz’s voice was so quiet, so gentle. Everything about her, really, was ready-made to get the Doctor falling head over heels.
And something about her steady support gave the Doctor the courage to say her next thought.
“I don’t think I want to be the Doctor anymore.”
She felt Yaz startle next to her. “You— what?”
The Doctor kept her gaze fixed resolutely in front of them.
“I’m tired,” she repeated, her voice somewhere between a breath and a sob. “I don’t want all this. I don’t want to be— whatever it is I am. Not if I’m the only one.” She gestured out at the universe. “All this is brilliant, but— I’ve seen so much of it. I’ve had such a big, complicated life. And now—” She looked at Yaz. “I just want it to be simple.”
“What are you saying?” Yaz was looking back at the Doctor, her eyes wide.
The Doctor kicked her legs. “Don’t know. Still working it out.”
She stared back out at the stars. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
“D’you remember Ruth?” the Doctor finally asked. Her skin prickled with the feeling of Yaz’s eyes on her. “In Gloucester?”
“Yeah. You said she was you.”
The Doctor nodded, still staring out at the stars. “She was. Me in the past, from a time that was taken from me.” She paused. “But she was also human, temporarily. It’s a thing the TARDIS can do, if I’m in danger. Makes me into another species. Takes my memories.”
Yaz didn’t reply: she just kept watching the Doctor, her gaze steady.
“I was thinking—” The Doctor swallowed. “I was thinking I might try that. Becoming human. I’ll find a way to keep my memories.”
“What would you do?” Yaz asked.
The Doctor shrugged. “Settle on Earth, probably.”
Yaz’s hand was warm in the Doctor’s. “What, on your own?”
“Don’t know yet.” The Doctor glanced sidelong at Yaz. “With you, if you wanted.” Not wanting to let the words hang in the air, she rushed on. “Or not. I’ve probably got old friends who’d help me figure things out. Wouldn’t be trying to do it right away, anyway.”
“I think—” Yaz hesitated. “I think I’d like that. You settling with me.”
The Doctor turned her head, looking at Yaz carefully. “Are you sure? It’s asking a lot of you. Settling down, giving up our travel. It’s okay if you don’t want that.”
There was a long moment before Yaz responded, and when she did, her words were slow, careful.
“I’ve never been able to look too far into the future,” she said. “Was always too busy trying to deal with whatever was happening in the present.” She paused. “I don’t think I ever actually thought I’d travel forever. But I also never thought far enough ahead to think what might happen after, or why I would stop.” Her grip on the Doctor’s hand strengthened, became firm. “Suppose what I’m saying is, if you’re thinking ahead like that, I’ll think with you.”
“Brilliant,” the Doctor breathed. She gave Yaz half a smile. “It’s not definite. I mean, I haven’t given it much thought yet. I’ll have to fiddle with the Chameleon Arch a bit if we’re going to do this. Got to make it work so I can keep my memories.”
“So is this—” Yaz’s eyebrows were drawn together as her eyes searched the Doctor’s face. “I mean, it sounds sort of like you’re rethinking the whole ‘attachment’ thing.”
The Doctor exhaled. “Yeah. I think I am.”
“Okay.” Yaz took a deep breath. “What does that mean for us?”
“Whatever we want it to,” the Doctor said. “It’s got to be a joint decision. I just— I don’t want to avoid you anymore. I want to be with you.”
“Me too.” Yaz was smiling, just a little.
“So probably, we should just get it all out in the open,” the Doctor said conversationally. She closed her eyes, rallying herself. Her next sentence came out on little more than a breath. “I like you, Yasmin Khan. More than I should.” She opened her eyes, holding Yaz’s gaze. “I didn’t want to. Tried not to, really. Didn’t want to have to endure another loss. But I was kidding myself, if I thought I could get out of it.”
“For what it’s worth,” Yaz said, “I don’t want you to lose me either.”
The Doctor puffed out a laugh. She was close enough to Yaz that she was sure Yaz could feel the warm air on her skin. “Right on.” She reached up a hand, pushing a loose strand of hair behind Yaz’s ear, her thumb lingering on Yaz’s cheek. “No losing Yaz,” she murmured.
“And Doctor—” Yaz’s voice was quiet, only centimeters away. She was fiddling with the hem of the Doctor’s sleeve with one hand, the universe reflected in her eyes, a playful smile on her lips. “Just so you know. I like you too.”
The Doctor smiled. And then Yaz was less than an inch away, tangibly there , and the Doctor let herself fall towards her, pulling her in. Their lips met, and suddenly the Doctor couldn’t fathom why she’d denied herself this simple pleasure for so long. Kissing Yaz was— well— it was brilliant, really. Warm, and soft, and everything the Doctor hadn’t dared to want. Sharing herself, so wholeheartedly, with another person— it was something the Doctor had thought she would never have, in this body, and something she had thought she could do without.
She’d been wrong on both counts.
She pulled away after only a few seconds, her eyes darting around Yaz’s face.
“All right?”
Yaz’s answering smile was more than adequate as a response. And then the smile bloomed into a laugh, and she said, “I’m getting you chapstick next time we’re on Earth, if we’re going to keep doing that.”
“Oi, are you saying I’m a bad kisser?”
Yaz’s laugh settled back into a smile, the sort of smile that made the Doctor feel like the only one in the universe. “Definitely not. Just got dry lips, that’s all.”
“Yeah, all right.” The Doctor let her hand drop from Yaz’s cheek to her waist, and she pulled Yaz into a tight hug. Yaz hugged her back, and they held each other, quietly, in front of the gaping universe.
Things were different, after that. The Doctor and Yaz were different. They’d always been a good team, of course: they’d always had each other’s backs. But after their conversation, it felt more certain. The Doctor was starting to assume that Yaz would always be there for her, and she knew Yaz was assuming the same. They talked more, spending hours together into the night, when usually they would have retreated to separate rooms. Dan could see it too: the Doctor saw his little smiles when the two of them entered the kitchen together in the mornings, or when they held hands just a little more often than was strictly necessary. It was getting easier and easier, being close to Yaz, and that terrified the Doctor. But she was forming a plan, something she could focus all her anxious energy into. Something that meant that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t be terrified forever.
And that was the other change. She and Yaz were talking about the future, explicitly, with no reservations. Yaz would sit in the console room, leaning against one of the crystals while the Doctor tinkered with the Chameleon Arch, and they’d talk.
“D’you want to live in Sheffield?” Yaz asked idly one night.
“Don’t know,” the Doctor said, fiddling with her (non-sonic) screwdriver. “Suppose I like Sheffield. We could still travel a bit. I mean, on Earth.”
“Can’t quite imagine you on an airplane.”
The Doctor looked up. “Oi, I’ve been on an airplane!” Turning her focus back to the Chameleon Arch, she added, “Granted, it was falling out of the sky at the time. Anyway, if I’m going to do the human thing, I’m going to do it all the way, aren’t I?”
Yaz laughed. “Suppose so.” After a pause, she said, “I only say Sheffield ‘cause everyone I know lives there. We could go somewhere else. Start a new life.”
The Doctor looked up again, staring Yaz right in the eye. “I’d say that’s up to you, then. It’s a new life for me no matter what.”
“Yeah, guess so.” Yaz frowned. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Could live in Liverpool with Dan,” the Doctor teased. They’d mentioned their plan to Dan, in vague terms— he’d seemed unaffected. Of course, he actually had a life outside the TARDIS.
“Fat chance.”
The Doctor laughed, mostly to herself.
“What are you going to do with the TARDIS?” Yaz asked.
“Haven’t decided yet.” The Doctor’s hands froze on the Chameleon Arch as she thought it through. “Might leave it with Jack. Ask him to stick it somewhere. ‘Course, if I don’t come back for it, it’ll just go dormant.”
“You mean if you die.”
“Suppose so.” The Doctor glanced at Yaz. “It’s part of the human thing, isn’t it?”
“For most of us, yeah.” Yaz looked the Doctor up and down. “Is it that thorough, what the TARDIS does? You won’t— regenerate, or whatever it is you’re supposed to do?”
“Regenerate, yeah.” The Doctor took a deep breath. “And no. I won’t. I don’t think.” She looked at Yaz. “This isn’t— it’s not certain, what it will do to me. It should make me into a regular human, just like you or Dan. But there’s always the possibility I honestly can’t die. In which case I imagine I’d regenerate. I just don’t know yet.” She turned her focus back to the Chameleon Arch in her hands, turning it over. “Suppose that’s the most human thing of all.”
“But it’s reversible, isn’t it?” Yaz asked.
The Doctor nodded, still focused on her work. “Completely. I can always change my mind.”
Yaz hummed acknowledgment.
It wasn’t long until the Doctor fixed the Chameleon Arch to the point that she was relatively sure she would be able to keep her memories if she used it. But she wasn’t ready to use it yet: she just tucked it away, waiting for the right moment.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she and Yaz were ready. Her best guess was that it was about two years— Dan was with them, off and on. And then, slowly, he started coming along less and less often until finally he stood across from the Doctor and Yaz in the console room, explaining he had to get back to his own life. It was the sort of thing that would’ve filled the Doctor with a crushing sadness, once upon a time. And she was sad, of course, but at least she was able to smile and say, “We’ll have to come see you. When we get back.”
“My door’s always open,” Dan promised. “That’s if no one’s shrunk it, of course.”
He hugged them both, and then he was out the door. The Doctor turned to Yaz, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her close.
“Might be almost time,” she murmured.
“Okay.” Yaz pressed a kiss to the side of the Doctor’s head. “We’ll get ready.”
There was a lot they needed to figure out. A combination of the TARDIS, psychic paper, and the Doctor’s sonic would get them the paperwork and the money they needed to get started, but there were so many choices involved even just when it came to finding a place to live.
“What’s the verdict on Sheffield?” the Doctor asked Yaz. They were sitting next to each other in the library, the Doctor taking notes in a little notebook, Yaz scrolling on her laptop.
“I think yes,” Yaz determined. “We can always move if we don’t like it. But it’ll be nice to see Ryan and Graham again.”
“Oh, Ryan and Graham!” The Doctor grinned. “Won’t they be surprised.”
Yaz laughed. “Maybe we ought to tell them what we’re doing before we show up for good.” They’d been visiting every so often, but they hadn’t so far said a word of their plan. Just in case it didn’t work out.
“And Jack,” the Doctor added. “If I’m going to leave my TARDIS with him, anyway. He ought to have a warning.”
They landed in Graham’s backyard (he’d expressly forbidden the Doctor from landing the TARDIS inside his house). By the time the Doctor and Yaz came out onto the grass, Ryan and Graham were already waiting just outside the doors.
“Doctor! Yaz!” Graham called. “It’s been too long.”
“Hiya!” Yaz ran forward, pulling Ryan and then Graham into a hug. The Doctor followed a little more cautiously, but Graham swept her into a hug anyway, enveloping her in his arms even as she remained awkward and stiff. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hugs, really: she just didn’t know how to react when it was anyone but Yaz. Even knowing how to react with Yaz was a somewhat recent development. But she let Graham hug her, then Ryan, trying her best not to flail.
“How long’s it been?” Ryan asked, once the greetings were done.
The Doctor and Yaz looked at each other.
“Four months?” Yaz asked.
“For both of us, this time,” the Doctor added. “No one got stranded in the 1900’s or anything.”
“You know, for most people that’s a given,” Graham said.
“You know us,” Yaz replied, grinning. “Never predictable.”
“You can say that again.” Graham stepped closer to the house. “Come in, you two.”
The Doctor and Yaz followed, stepping inside. Graham’s house always looked more or less the same: cozy living room, square kitchen table, a few magazines scattered around the place. It always felt a bit strange, to the Doctor, being in someone else’s home. Most of the time, she got her friends to come into her home.
She was going to have to get used to regular houses.
She and Yaz sat at the kitchen table with Ryan. Graham was at the stove, fiddling with a kettle: when he came to sit down, he brought a pack of biscuits with him.
“Not custard creams,” he apologized.
“Oh!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Jammie Dodgers! It’s been ages since I’ve had a good Jammie Dodger.” She shoved a whole one into her mouth, chewing vigorously.
“Now we’ve got her occupied,” Ryan joked, “what have you been up to, Yaz?”
“Nothing I haven’t done with her,” Yaz replied lightly.
“We’ve got news,” the Doctor said, struggling to speak around her mouthful of biscuit. She swallowed. “Might be good news, even.”
“A little worried if you don’t know for sure,” Graham said.
Yaz glanced sideways at the Doctor. “It’s good news.”
“Well, don’t keep us guessing,” Ryan said.
The Doctor shifted in her seat, leaning forward. “We’re moving to Sheffield.”
“You’re—” Graham narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean, moving?”
“Decided it was time for a change,” the Doctor said airily. “Thought I’d try being human for a bit.”
“Hang on,” Ryan said. “You can just… become human?”
The Doctor tilted her head to the side. “Sort of. Not really. There’s this thing the TARDIS does— I’ve just had to tweak it so I won’t lose all my memories. Hopefully.”
“It’s reversible,” Yaz added. “So if it does take her memories, I can give them back.”
Ryan looked from the Doctor to Yaz. “You’ve agreed to this?”
Yaz shrugged. “Wasn’t going to spend my whole life off in space, was I?”
Graham and Ryan exchanged a look.
“So it’s like retirement,” Graham said. “For the Doctor, anyway.”
“Sort of,” the Doctor decided. “Except I’ve still got to get a human job. I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to be. D’you think I could make it as a teacher?”
Ryan laughed. “You’d be a great teacher. All the kids would love you.”
“I’d have to go to university,” the Doctor said. “Is that right, Yaz?”
“Yeah,” Yaz said. “You could do it, though.” She smiled. “I think I’m finally going to do that EMT course.”
“Can’t give up on that adrenaline, can you?” Graham gave her a grandfatherly smile.
Yaz smiled back. “Never.”
“It’ll be nice having you around again,” Ryan said. “I’ve missed you two.”
“We’ve missed you too,” the Doctor replied. She nudged Yaz. “Glad we decided on Sheffield.”
The four of them spent the rest of the afternoon together, catching up. The Doctor and Yaz always had plenty of stories to tell, and Ryan and Graham had their own— Ryan was working as a mechanic now, but he kept using up his vacation days traveling with Graham, dealing with alien threats. The two of them seemed happy, living on Earth, working, resting, traveling. Hope bloomed in the Doctor’s chest: maybe she, too, could have some of this happiness. It was something she would hardly have dared think about, at one point.
There was something beautiful, the Doctor decided, in thinking about it now.
They said goodbye to Ryan and Graham just as the sun was going down, walking through the cool backyard air to the TARDIS. The Doctor’s hand found Yaz’s, and as they stepped inside, Yaz turned towards the Doctor, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.
“Glad we stopped by?” she asked.
The Doctor nodded. “Jack tomorrow,” she added.
Yaz squeezed her hand, and they walked further into the TARDIS.
At some point in the last couple years, Yaz and the Doctor had developed the habit of sleeping in the same room. Sometimes it was Yaz’s; more often, it was the Doctor’s, as cluttered as her room was. They would sit together on the Doctor’s bed, reading or watching a show or just sitting in comfortable silence, and when they fell asleep, it would be with the Doctor’s body pressed against Yaz's back, Yaz nestled into her negative space. Tonight was no exception: the Doctor laid in the darkness with her arm slung around Yaz’s waist, her face pressed against Yaz’s thick hair. Yaz’s hair always smelled like something— the Doctor couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Just conditioner, probably, but still, the Doctor couldn’t get enough of it.
“Is this what every night will be like?” Yaz asked quietly, her voice sleepy and quiet.
“I really, really hope so,” the Doctor replied.
She drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, they landed in Wales. Yaz stepped out onto the wide concrete square, looking around. “Is this Cardiff?”
“Yep,” the Doctor said. “Ever been?”
Yaz shook her head, and then she laughed. “All the places I’ve been, and I’ve never seen Cardiff.”
The Doctor took her hand, grinning. “Well, we’ve got loads of time to see this planet. Going to become experts, we are.”
Yaz’s eyes met the Doctor’s, her smile blinding. “Can’t wait.”
The Doctor held Yaz’s gaze for a few taut seconds, and then they were off, walking across the plaza.
“I’m not actually sure where he is these days,” the Doctor said. “But I’m reasonably sure that if I ask enough people enough questions, I’ll find him.”
“Yeah, all right.” Yaz had a familiar fond exasperation in her tone. The Doctor, as always, ignored it.
“Now,” she said as they approached what she’d once known as a secret entrance, “do you think Torchwood is still here?”
Yaz didn’t respond. Probably smart, the Doctor thought— the question had been somewhat rhetorical. She rapped three times on the door.
“Think they’ll hear?” she asked. “‘Course, they probably have special cameras. They probably already detected the TARDIS landing, even. If they’re still here.”
She would have gone on, but the door opened, and Gwen Cooper was staring out at her.
“Hi, Gwen!” the Doctor exclaimed. “Is Jack around? I’ve got to talk to him.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes, her inquisitive gaze skating from the Doctor to Yaz and then back to the Doctor.
“Doctor?” she asked.
“Yep,” the Doctor said. “Still me. D’you like the look?”
Gwen didn’t respond. She just said, “Stay here. I’ll get Jack.”
The door swung shut, and the Doctor stepped back, leaning against the wall next to the door. Yaz stood next to her, their arms pressed together, their hands still intertwined. It was only a few minutes before the door banged open and Jack jumped out.
“Doctor!” he called. Before she could react, his hands were on her face, and he planted a kiss fully on her lips.
She stumbled back, smiling. “Oi, not in front of my girlfriend!”
Jack looked between her and Yaz, eyes wide. “Girlfriend?”
Yaz and the Doctor spoke at the same time.
“Sort of—” Yaz said.
“Technically—”
They both laughed.
“Actually,” the Doctor said. “It’s kind of complicated. Is there anywhere we could sit and talk?”
“There’s a great bakery down this way,” Jack said, gesturing.
“Brilliant! Lead the way.”
Minutes later, they were sitting at a little round table just next to the street, sipping coffee and nibbling at croissants. Or, Yaz was nibbling. The Doctor had wasted no time in shoving hers into her mouth in big bites, and now her cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk. Yaz couldn't help but shake her head fondly at the display.
Jack, though, was eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.
“All right, out with it,” he said. “What's brought you here?”
The Doctor swallowed. “What, can't I just have a nice breakfast with my old friend?”
“You can,” Jack said. “In my experience you don't.”
“We do have a reason for being here,” Yaz said, before the Doctor could deflect any further. “Doctor?”
“Right,” the Doctor said. She leaned forward, suddenly all business. “Yaz and I are going to spend some time on Earth. We were wondering if you would take care of the TARDIS for us.”
Jack looked from the Doctor to Yaz. “What do you mean, spend time on Earth?”
The Doctor squinted in the sun, tilting her head to the side. “Suppose it's sort of like a retirement. Wouldn't you say, Yaz?”
“The Doctor's going to make herself human,” Yaz said, quickly and firmly.
There was a long and empty silence.
“You're—” Jack shook his head. “What?”
“Going to use the Chameleon Arch,” the Doctor said. “Like what the Master did, at the end of the universe. Only I'm going to keep my memories.”
Jack’s jaw was tense. “And then what?” he asked.
The Doctor glanced at Yaz. “We're going to start by settling in Sheffield. Not sure about after.”
“When you get old,” Jack clarified. “What are you going to do when—” He cut off.
“I don't know,” the Doctor said carefully. “I'll get old. I don't know what will happen after that. The human thing— it's reversible. But if I don't reverse it—” She swallowed. “I won't know until my time comes.”
“Right.” There was a long silence. “What happens with the TARDIS? If you don't come back for it?”
The Doctor shifted in her seat. “It’ll go inactive,” she said. “Eventually. Or you could use it, if you wanted to. I could show you the basics.”
“The TARDIS didn’t like me much, last I checked,” Jack said. He was leaning back in his chair, his expression impossible to read.
“I know,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry to even ask. And if you can’t do it, I’ll find somewhere else, or I’ll leave it on a street corner or something. Like I told Rose to do, on Satellite Five.”
Jack was silent for a long time. Finally, he said, “Park it in Cardiff. I’ll keep an eye on it.”
The Doctor nodded. “Thanks.”
“But Doctor…” He looked her right in the eye. “Don’t be a stranger, all right?”
“‘Course not. We’ll come visit.”
Jack looked at Yaz. “Hold her to that, will you?”
“‘Course I will,” Yaz said. “We’ll see you loads.”
“And you could come see us,” the Doctor added. “If you ever wanted.”
Jack took a sip of his coffee. “I’ll take you up on that.”
“We’ll have to get a place big enough for people to stay,” the Doctor mused. She sat straight up, eyes wide. “Oh! Yaz! Can we get one of those sofas that turns into a bed?”
“‘Course we can, Doctor.” Yaz was smiling at her. “Purple?”
“Any color would do,” the Doctor said. “Although I do quite like purple. It’ll have to match the decor. We’ll have to have decor .”
“You’re in for an interesting ride, there, Yaz,” Jack said.
“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?” the Doctor asked, mock affronted.
Yaz laughed. “I know,” she said, ignoring the Doctor’s protest. She took the Doctor’s hand, lacing their fingers together like they’d always belonged that way. “I can’t wait.”
The Doctor beamed.
By the time they got back to the TARDIS, it was dark out: they’d spent the whole day with Jack, exploring Torchwood, catching up. The Doctor and Yaz were yawning as they stumbled through the door. They went right to the Doctor’s room: it was a testament to how much things between them had changed, the Doctor realized, that they both took for granted that they’d end the day together.
“You know, you're going to have to change your name,” Yaz said, pulling her pajamas out of one of the Doctor’s dresser drawers. “No one’ll want to call you the Doctor unless you get a doctorate degree.”
“I could do that,” the Doctor said, pulling off her shirts both at once and tossing them to the side before stepping out of her trousers. “Have done before, technically. I used to teach. Don’t suppose they recognize degrees you got in another body.”
Yaz was unbuttoning her shirt. “Don't think so. Anyway, you'll still need a name for when we do your paperwork.” They were going to have the TARDIS forge an identity for the Doctor— it was the easiest way to integrate her into human society.
“Suppose I will.” The Doctor pulled on an oversized T-shirt. Technically, it was exactly the right size for four bodies ago, but now it made an excellent nightshirt. “I used to always go by John Smith.”
“That works if you want people to be confused about your gender,” Yaz said. She pulled her flannel pajama shirt over her bare shoulders. “They'll think you're a man.”
The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “I used to be,” she said. She flopped down on the bed. “Could be again someday, in theory. I've never understood the human obsession with gender.”
Yaz shrugged, buttoning her shirt. She stepped out of her jeans and into her pajama bottoms before saying, “Your choice. And you can always change it later. But you could get more creative than John Smith.”
“I'll think about it,” the Doctor said.
Yaz climbed onto the bed and crawled over to plant a kiss on the Doctor’s cheek. “You've got time,” she said.
The Doctor sat up to snake an arm around her waist and pull her close. Yaz’s head fell on the Doctor’s shoulder, and the Doctor pressed a kiss to Yaz’s hair.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“What for?” Yaz asked. She was fiddling idly with the fingers of the Doctor’s free hand, curled into the Doctor’s side.
“I don't know,” the Doctor said. “I can't know everything.”
Yaz laughed. “If you thank someone, you at least ought to have some idea why.”
“What if I'm a rebel?” the Doctor teased. She paused, then, more seriously, added, “I think I'm just glad you're here.”
Yaz nestled closer. “Me too.”
The Doctor smiled. She let her hand run through the loose strands of hair around Yaz’s face, her thumb trailing down the soft skin of her cheek. For a few moments, they sat in a comfortable silence.
“I'm tired,” Yaz finally said, moving down the mattress until she was lying down. The Doctor moved with her, curling around her, holding her. Part of her still felt uneasy about being this comfortable— but the nice thing about this level of comfort was that it far outweighed the unease. The Doctor smiled into Yaz’s hair as she drifted off to sleep.
It took them a few more weeks to get everything in place. The Doctor scoured through baby name books and online forums, picking out names she liked and narrowing down the list from a hundred options to fifty, then to ten, then to five, and finally just one— Penelope. She kept Smith, figuring it was easier than thinking of a different last name, and anyway, last names were supposed to denote a familial connection to other people, and the Doctor didn’t exactly have that kind of connection on Earth. Unless she counted Ryan or Graham, either of whom would likely have let her use their last names— but no, Smith was fine. It felt familiar to the Doctor, anyway, after so many years of using it to lie.
Once the Doctor had a name, they could find a flat in Sheffield— enroll the Doctor in university— enroll Yaz in her EMT class— and the Doctor had managed, through questionably legal and sonic-reliant means, to get them a decent savings. It was all starting to feel very real. The TARDIS was already spending most of its time parked around Sheffield while they scouted the area— it already felt more human than the Doctor had ever been able to be.
“Should we get a car?” she asked Yaz one day over lunch at a cafe. “People have cars, don’t they?.”
“We could,” Yaz said, setting down her sandwich. “The flat has parking. Can you drive?”
“‘Course I can,” the Doctor said. “You’ve seen me, haven’t you?”
Yaz frowned. “Have I?”
“Maybe not.” The Doctor stuck her hands in her pockets, rummaging through the bigger-on-the-inside space. “I’ve got a license around here somewhere.” Her right hand closed around a leather wallet. “Aha!” She pulled it out and flipped it open, shoving the card at Yaz.
Yaz took it and immediately raised her eyebrows. “This says you’re six foot four and born in the 1920’s.”
The Doctor frowned. “It’s as true as anything else on my papers.”
“No one’s going to believe that’s a picture of you,” Yaz said, peering at the white-haired man in the picture. “You’ll have to test for it.”
“Oh.” The Doctor took a bite of a chip, chewing slowly. “Is it hard?”
“Not if you know how to drive,” Yaz said, an edge to her words.
“ You can drive, though, can’t you?” the Doctor asked. “Do you want a car?”
“Sure,” Yaz decided. “Would be useful.” She handed the driver’s license back to the Doctor. “Put this into a museum or something. Seriously, how long have you had it?”
“I don’t have to answer that.” The Doctor stuffed the license back into the wallet and stuffed the wallet back into her pocket. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how long she’d had it— since her UNIT days, for sure, but how long had it been since then? Thousands of years, surely.
Yaz laughed. “If you say so.”
“Whatever,” the Doctor huffed. “What sort of car do you want?”
Yaz shrugged. “We’ll have to do our research. Maybe Ryan would help.”
“Oh, brilliant!” The Doctor grinned. “Love Ryan.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Ryan did help. He sat with the Doctor and Yaz, patiently explaining the benefits and drawbacks of new versus used, big versus small, all the different makes and features. The Doctor was rather bamboozled by it all— she could drive, sure, but she’d never driven in this decade. More surprisingly, though, Yaz was almost as confused as the Doctor: she stared at modern features like push-button ignition with completely blank eyes. In the end, they settled on a used hatchback, about ten years old, familiar to Yaz and easy enough for the Doctor to figure out— she assumed.
And that was it. The question of a car had been the last lingering issue.
“Are you ready?” the Doctor asked Yaz, the night after they sorted it out. They were lying face-to-face in the Doctor’s bed, the Doctor’s thumb brushing across Yaz’s cheek.
“Are you ?” Yaz asked.
The Doctor closed her eyes. “I think so,” she said. She swallowed. “Tomorrow. One last trip?”
Yaz nodded. She wrapped her arm around the Doctor, pulling her close, and the Doctor buried her face in Yaz’s chest, trying to pretend she wasn’t crying. It was hitting her, suddenly, that she was planning to leave the TARDIS, possibly forever— and she wanted to, she wanted to give up the stars, wanted to live a human life. But the TARDIS— leaving the TARDIS was different. The TARDIS had been there for her for thousands of years, maybe more, and— the Doctor clung to Yaz, breathing around the lump in her throat.
“You okay?” Yaz asked, her breath warm on the Doctor’s scalp.
“Yeah,” the Doctor said, but it came out strangled. “Sorry. I—” She cut off.
“It’s okay.” Yaz was stroking the Doctor’s hair, too tender with her touch. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We can go back on all of it. Anytime.”
“No, I want to,” the Doctor said, verging on a sob. “It’s just— I’ll miss the TARDIS.”
Yaz was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” she finally said. “You’ve had the TARDIS a long time, haven’t you?”
The Doctor nodded against Yaz’s chest.
“We can always go visit,” Yaz offered. “Go see Jack.”
The Doctor pulled Yaz even closer, her voice well and truly muffled now. “It’s not the same.”
“I thought that was the point,” Yaz said. “You wanted a change.”
The Doctor nodded again. “Doesn’t mean I have to like all of it.”
“No.” Yaz laughed softly. “You don’t.”
“What if it goes wrong?” The Doctor’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What if something happens? What if I can’t go back?”
“Then we’ll figure it out,” Yaz said. There was always something so solid, so certain about her, especially lately: it was one of the reasons the Doctor liked her so much. “It’s going to be okay, Doctor.”
“You don’t know for sure.” The Doctor could hear her petulance, but— well, nothing was certain, was it?
“I don’t,” Yaz said. “But I’m good at guessing.” Her hand was still in the Doctor’s hair, fingertips grazing the Doctor’s scalp. It was hard not to relax, with that going on. “Anyway, no one knows for sure. That’s part of the human thing.”
The Doctor let out a long breath. “Suppose so.”
“I’ll miss the TARDIS too,” Yaz added quietly. “We’ll have to give it a proper goodbye, okay?”
“Okay.”
The Doctor felt Yaz’s lips press against the top of her head. They were warm— everything about Yaz was always so warm.
“I’m here for you, Doctor,” she breathed.
The Doctor finally let the tension out of her muscles, relaxing fully into Yaz’s arms. “Thank you.”
“‘Course.” Yaz smiled— the Doctor felt it against the top of her head. “I'm excited to have a life with you.”
Finally, the Doctor managed a smile herself. She pulled her head back so she could look at Yaz’s soft expression in the near-darkness, and affection welled up in her chest.
“Me too,” she admitted.
Yaz lifted her hand to wipe at the tears on the Doctor’s cheek. “Where do you want to go?” she asked. “Tomorrow, I mean.”
“Don't know yet,” the Doctor said. “Any preferences?”
“Don't think so.” Yaz raised her eyebrows. “I'm just along for the ride. You're the one giving up thousands of years of travel.”
The Doctor grimaced. “Well, when you put it that way—”
Yaz laughed. “Let's just go somewhere you've got good memories of.”
“I’ve got loads of places like that,” the Doctor protested. “How am I supposed to just pick one?”
“Think about it,” Yaz said, still smiling. “You’ve got until tomorrow.”
“Right. Tomorrow. And then we’ll move day after?”
“If the Chameleon Arch works,” Yaz said.
“It’ll work,” the Doctor replied, with her usual cocky confidence. “I’m brilliant with that sort of thing.”
Yaz grinned. “All right, bighead.” She shifted forward to kiss the Doctor, first on the forehead, then on the lips. The Doctor smiled against her mouth.
“You’re brilliant too,” she murmured, pulling back.
Yaz always got the softest smile on her face when the Doctor said things like that. It made the Doctor’s hearts melt. She kissed Yaz again, and again, and hoped every night of her human life could be like this.
By the next morning, the Doctor knew where she wanted to go. She brought Yaz into the console room, holding her hand, something gentle and soft and sad in her chest. She set the coordinates by herself, and then she turned, ever so slightly, towards Yaz, who was sitting on the steps. That was all the hint Yaz needed to stand and make her way to the console, and without saying a word she and the Doctor launched the TARDIS together.
They emerged onto a cobblestoned street, packed with tourists. There was a magnificent church next to them, stone sculptures set into its side— but that wasn’t what the Doctor had come for.
“Where are we?” Yaz asked, looking around.
“Florence, Italy,” the Doctor said. “Was aiming for somewhere in the 1970’s.” She stuck out her tongue, tasting the air. “1982. Good enough.” She took Yaz’s hand. “Come on.”
Yaz followed the Doctor around to the back of the church. They wove in and out of the packs of tourists until they reached the Doctor’s destination.
It was a little gelato shop, full of people. The Doctor pulled Yaz into the line.
“Is this it?” Yaz asked, peering ahead at the cases displaying all the different flavors.
The Doctor nodded. “Used to come here all the time.” She squeezed Yaz’s hand. “Should’ve taken you earlier, really.”
Yaz bumped her shoulder against the Doctor’s. “That’s why we’re doing it now, yeah?”
The Doctor gave her a small smile.
They got up to the front of the line. The Doctor considered the flavors for a long time— she knew what she’d liked before, but she was in a different body now, with different tastes. Finally, she settled on a mix of coffee and mango, something Yaz wrinkled her nose at before ordering her own mix of dark chocolate and raspberry sorbetti.
“Let’s find someplace to sit,” the Doctor said. She and Yaz left the shop and walked back towards the church, where they managed to find half a bench that no one was sitting on— they sat, their sides pressed against each other, eating out of their paper cups and watching tourists mill about.
One of the Doctor’s favorite activities, really, was watching other people: the way they interacted with each other and the things around them was so interesting. Today was no exception. People were clumped with each other, staring at the sculptures and the church’s intricate ornamentation, talking about what they had just seen or what they were going to see later, walking from one place to another at varying speeds. It gave the Doctor a sense of overwhelming awe: all these people, with all their different lives, united by place and time, looking at art created by other people, now long-dead.
Yaz was looking at her. She looked back, tilting her head curiously. Yaz’s gaze was attentive.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
The Doctor looked back out at the people and the sculptures and the church. “I’m all right,” she said. She glanced back at Yaz. “Maybe we can come back here sometime. As proper tourists.”
Yaz smiled. “That sounds nice.”
“Even if I have to take an airplane,” the Doctor added.
“We could take the train,” Yaz replied. “Would take longer.”
The Doctor wrinkled her nose. “I really will miss my TARDIS.”
Yaz stuck her spoon in her sorbetto long enough to reach over and give the Doctor’s knee a reassuring squeeze. “I know. But we’ll have fun. The train is part of the adventure.”
“Suppose so.” The Doctor grinned. “Loads of adventures ahead of me.”
“That’s the spirit.”
They spent the rest of the day wandering around the city, taking in the sights. There was no alien conspiracy, no threat of apocalypse: just the Doctor, Yaz, and a day of peace.
It was dark when they got back to the TARDIS. They’d eaten a good meal, and now they were back in the Doctor’s room, crashing on her bed, still with the city streetlights in their eyes. They laid next to each other, on their backs, holding hands, the Doctor staring up at the ceiling, vaguely aware of Yaz’s eyes on her.
“Good last day?” Yaz asked.
“The best,” the Doctor said. She let her head fall to the side, meeting Yaz’s eyes. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“‘Course.” Yaz squeezed the Doctor’s hand. “Thanks for taking me.”
“I’d take you anywhere, Yasmin Khan.” The words were out of the Doctor’s mouth before she was even aware she’d thought them— but it was true.
“Funny thing to say the day before you give up time travel forever,” Yaz said, laughter in her eyes.
“Oi, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah.” Yaz smiled. “I do.”
The Doctor smiled back. She let go of Yaz’s hand to hold out her arm, and Yaz fit herself against the Doctor’s side, resting her head on the Doctor’s chest. The Doctor ran her hand through Yaz’s hair, trying not to think too hard about this night being the last. Yaz’s presence helped.
“It’s going to be weird to hear you with just one heartbeat,” she said softly.
The Doctor hummed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“You don’t spend as much time listening to your hearts as I do,” Yaz replied.
The Doctor felt a rush of affection. “You’ll get used to it.”
Yaz hummed. “Suppose so.”
The Doctor didn’t want to fall asleep. It was her last night with her TARDIS: she wanted to lie awake, listening to the ambient sounds, feeling her telepathic link. But she was exhausted, and there was Yaz, rubbing calming circles into her back, and eventually she fell asleep despite herself. She slept restlessly, anxiously, waking up a few times in the night to Yaz’s sleeping form next to her. But then she woke up as the TARDIS’s artificial sunlight was seeping into the room, and Yaz began to stir.
She rolled over to face the Doctor. She was always so pretty in the mornings— she was pretty all the time, of course, but especially so in the mornings, when she was still halfway asleep, her face completely relaxed. When she saw the Doctor, a smile spread on her face, and she nuzzled closer, fitting her head underneath the Doctor’s chin. The Doctor pressed a kiss to her hair, holding her with tense arms.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
“Morning,” Yaz said, her voice still slurred with sleep. “You ready for today?”
“As I’ll ever be.” The Doctor took a deep breath, taking in the clean smell of Yaz’s hair, and then she sat up, stretching. “Suppose we’d better get a shift on.”
Yaz groaned. “Suppose we’d better.”
Half an hour later, they were up and dressed. The plan for the day was to move into their flat, with the help of the TARDIS, and then Yaz would drive the car they’d gotten (which was currently parked in Ryan’s and Graham’s driveway) down to Cardiff, where she’d meet the Doctor in the TARDIS, at which point the Doctor would use the Chameleon Arch. They’d spend some time with Jack, and then drive home to their new flat in Sheffield.
It was all fairly straightforward. They’d packed most of their stuff ahead of time, at Yaz’s insistence, and Yaz was confident she could make the drive to Cardiff. But it was going to be a hard day, for the Doctor. The Chameleon Arch would be painful, and leaving the TARDIS behind would hurt a million times more.
But the Doctor wanted what came next. She wanted it so badly it hurt. She wanted so many more mornings with Yaz— wanted a human life, with lower stakes, with problems that involved running out of milk and disliking her coworkers and not the entire universe being threatened by a weapon created to hurt her specifically. Wanted a flat, and a purple sofa, and friends she could talk to about whatever she wanted.
So it would be worth it. She just had to get through this day.
They landed the TARDIS in the empty living room of the flat. They’d bought it, rather than try and rent— one of the benefits of the Doctor’s dubiously legal sonic escapades was that they had plenty of money for a down payment. They’d already put in a bed and two dressers, and Yaz had insisted on a microwave for the kitchen. The living room was sparse— the Doctor was still looking for exactly the right sofa— but Yaz had claimed her favorite armchair from the TARDIS library, with plush cushions upholstered in dark red velvet, and it sat by the window, waiting for the room to fill up.
Now, they brought in the littler things— boxes of clothes, their favorite books, the games the Doctor couldn't bear to leave behind. They made the bed, stocked the kitchen. Yaz had put up a couple shelves in the bedroom, and she and the Doctor filled them with trinkets from their travels: an alien bobblehead from Fravlor, a Greek lyre, a bit of sand from the allegedly-lucky beaches of Turona.
And then they were done. The flat was ready.
It was time.
“You'll be all right?” Yaz asked, standing in the doorway of the TARDIS.
The Doctor bit back her first response— the response that went, ‘Course I will, I’m always all right. She took a breath, and then she searched for the real answer.
“Yeah,” she said. “I will.”
Yaz met her eyes for another moment, and then she nodded. “Right. I’ll see you soon.”
The Doctor held her hand, just for a moment, her eyes never leaving Yaz. “Soon.”
“Right.” Yaz pulled her hand out of the Doctor’s grip. She leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the Doctor’s lips, and then she was out the door, leaving the Doctor alone with the TARDIS.
The Doctor stumbled back to the console, suddenly hyperaware of her telepathic link to the TARDIS. Emotions were zipping through, back and forth, too many to name, and she took a deep breath, trying to steady them.
“I’m sorry,” she said to the console. “I’ll miss you.”
A sense of comfort washed over her: comfort, laced with forgiveness. She wanted to cry. She didn’t.
“Right,” she muttered. “Can’t get too emotional. Got things to do.” She set the coordinates for Cardiff, a few hours later. Her hand lingered on the console, reluctant to act.
She took a deep breath. She wanted this. It was burning at her inside, how much she wanted it, eating away at her bone-deep exhaustion.
And if she really wanted this, she was going to have to launch the TARDIS.
She pressed down on the lever. The TARDIS whirred into motion, grinding away. The flight was perfect: there was no lurching back and forth, no unexpected noises, no sudden shifts. When the Doctor poked her head out the doors, she saw they’d landed on the concrete just outside Torchwood, and when she picked up a pebble off the ground and touched her tongue to it, it told her she’d landed exactly when she’d meant to.
She closed the doors. “Thank you,” she whispered to the TARDIS. She stepped back towards the console. Yaz would be here soon: for now, she just had to wait.
Ten minutes later, the TARDIS doors swung open, and Yaz stepped inside. She found the Doctor standing at the console, her head bowed: she stood by the doors, waiting, until the Doctor looked up.
“Hey,” she said. She was, as always, beautiful: she looked so fundamentally herself in her button down tucked into dark jeans, her hair braided back, her brown leather jacket slung over one arm. “Are you ready?”
The Doctor looked up at the central crystal, rising and falling, rising and falling, in its old reliable rhythm.
“I think so,” she said.
She hit a button. The Chameleon Arch descended from the ceiling: a menacing helmet, cobbled together with crystals and wires. She caught it, the metal cold against her hands.
“Yaz, will you—” She gulped. “Will you stay with me?”
“Of course, Doctor.” Yaz stepped towards the console. Carefully, gently, she took the helmet out of the Doctor’s hands. Her eyes met the Doctor’s.
The Doctor nodded.
Yaz raised the helmet to the Doctor’s head, and the Doctor squeezed her eyes shut. The metal dug into her scalp. Yaz’s hand found hers.
“Are you ready?” Yaz asked again.
“Yaz,” the Doctor said, her grip tightening on Yaz’s hand. She had to tell Yaz— had to make sure she understood— “If anything happens— I just want you to know—” She swallowed. The words wouldn’t come out.
“I know,” Yaz said. “You’re going to be okay. Okay?”
“Okay.” The Doctor took a shaky breath. “I’m ready.”
Eyes still closed, she heard the thunk of a switch on the console being thrown, felt Yaz’s other hand close around hers, and then everything went a screaming white, her every muscle on fire.