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Bleached light rained down from the streetlamps, subduing the star-speckled night with a fragile glow. The Doctor leaned against her ship, pressed down by the growing distance of Yaz's steps as she drifted away from the TARDIS and toward her flat. There was no use in trying to soothe that horrible ache in her chest. The Doctor greeted the solitude as she always did, by gulping it down and letting her arms sway and twist until Yaz was gone, so she could retreat into her ship, douse herself in thought, and light herself in motion.
In the distance, she spotted Yaz stealing a careful glance at her before disappearing into the lift. After a few minutes, she emerged and made her usual trek across the front balcony, past the uniform rank of sleeping windows, toward the illuminated door of flat 34. She unlocked it, then turned once more to wave goodbye.
The Doctor returned the gesture with a brittle smile, knowing full well Yaz couldn’t make it out from up there. Eyes lingered on her for an agonizing while, clinging as though the Doctor might disappear for good if they let go. Reluctant, yet ever so trusting, Yaz eventually released her grip, slipped into the place and time where she belonged, and shut the door behind her.
Now was the time to move, but the Doctor, against all instinct, stayed still.
The entirety of time and space at her fingertips, every brilliant sight that ever is and was and could be and will be, but the only place she seemed to want to be was right here, belted by air under this light-poisoned sky.
No, she thought. There was one place she’d like to be more than here, and she was looking right at it.
Something in her got older and louder the longer she stared at Yaz's door. For a dying moment, she let herself imagine a home outside of her four blue walls; one untouched by flame and ruin and deceit. Someplace, somewhere, warmed by something other than rubble.
Rotting floorboards began to creak in her skull, and the door in front of her warped — no longer Yaz’s but something else entirely. Someone else’s.
That marred house dangled above the Doctor, wailing with memories, decay dripping into the loam. Uprooted and broken. Scraps torn from everything and stitched together by nothing. The longer she looked, the louder it got, and louder, and louder, until lies turned to screams and threatened to shatter her again—
The Doctor tore herself away before it crumbled.
She shifted her gaze to her own door, running a curious hand along the wooden panel of the phone box, and wondered, almost dangerously:
Do you remember it? Any of those lives?
She wasn’t sure which answer would be worse, so she didn't ask. But the ship watched her for a moment, then dimmed its windows and answered anyway. The Doctor patted the blue grain, relieved that those whispers now lied somewhere deep in its veins, lost to the belly of time.
An image flooded her mind at the contact: the soft aqua interior of a control room that was both hers and not, held up by jagged lines and a sea of circles. Being inside almost felt like being underwater; she did remember that much. It might have even been peaceful had she not been drowning. But these walls, her walls, did drown somehow, in that soil beneath the lighthouse.
Follow the light.
She studied the worn TARDIS doors, robotic stroke by robotic stroke, wondering how many insides it had. Then, she let go and studied herself, staring down at her fingers, daring to wonder how many fists they’ve formed.
Break the glass.
Her jaw clenched. She tried to estimate it, all they’ve touched and held and made and taken. The blood they’ve spilled. The weight they’ve carried. Everything they’ve let go. But she couldn’t quantify what had been erased. It didn’t exist — she didn’t exist. Not like that. Not anymore.
You think you could have
been something else . . .
It shouldn’t be allowed, being stolen from yourself. So relentlessly and systematically. So carelessly and disposably.
someone else.
What’s worse is that she was almost thankful for it; merely haunted by the outlines instead of swallowed whole and spit back out by the truth of her. Fury hammered her blood like bullets through stone. The Doctor shook her head at the urge, then stuttered.
No— that wasn’t her—
White knuckles strangled the air. Lips twitched with a snarl.
. . . was it?
Be kind.
Acid burned her throat, but she screwed her eyes shut — shoved it down and locked the door and swallowed the key, locked the door and swallowed the key,
locked the door,
swallowed the key,
and then once more, just for good measure.
Vision sealed tight, eyelids like glass. The Doctor ricocheted off of them, right back to herself. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Only her and this oscillating void that was somehow her and somehow not, and she felt so big and so small and so tangled and gutted and fractured and tired and so horribly and completely temporary.
Nothing is forever.
“S’been a long day,” she whispered to no one in particular.
How long had it been? And how long would it be?
“Could use some air,” she added, the wind raw in her throat, voice sinking into the pavement. Blue wood purred against her skin, coaxing a weak smile from her cracked lips as she turned away. One leg in front of the other, she walked to the beat of two tired hearts, keeping time to a song she couldn’t remember the tune to. Not for the lives of her.
She hadn’t decided yet whether or not that was a good thing.
Still, she walked on.
__________________
She wasn’t quite sure how she ended up here. Aside from her feet ticking along the stone of the pavement, the journey was a blissful, almost-concerning blur.
Should she be worried? A small part of her had to laugh. What were a few more memories to the wind now? How she found herself across from this brick house was far from the most pressing of the lot.
The Doctor settled on a bench, eyes fixed on the structure just beyond the river of road. Chilled metal bit through her clothes, but the view, though dim, was more than enough to keep her warm. Soft light pulsed through one of the upstairs windows, breathing the only other sign of life in the stillness.
Video games, she reckoned. Ryan always did fancy them. She had the TARDIS build him an entire room for them once he mentioned it. Every game from every planet imaginable, but it never would have been enough. In the end, he was always meant to be here, while she could only ever be anywhere else.
She used to join him from time to time in the TARDIS. At first, it was largely to show him how all the systems functioned, and he would stare in wonder, gaze twinkling like a child on Christmas morning.
They’d play together, and she’d convincingly let him win — but only at first. Eventually, he caught up and zoomed right past her, lightyears ahead by the time she realized what had even happened.
“Whoa— that’s right! Ryan Sinclair: Defender of Zanacaro, Oracle of the Alors, Undefeated Champion of Infinity Chase! What’s next, Doc? Pyre Course? Nova Raid? Stormglide Relay? I could keep kickin’ your arse till the universe runs out!”
The sorest of winners sometimes, that boy. But he sure made her hearts smile.
She could feel him fading, even before those ten long months apart. Less down time between visits. Always the first to request a detour home. He stopped looking ahead and started glancing back. The entirety of time and space at his fingertips, every brilliant sight that ever is and was and could be and will be, but the only place he wanted to be was Earth. So human, that boy. So stubbornly, wonderfully human—
“Doctor?”
She almost didn’t register the new voice, so numb to the ones in her head by now. But it seeped in again, closer and louder, yet softer than the rest.
“Doctor?”
The Doctor looked up, blinking herself back to find Yaz hiking up the concrete. Something leapt inside her at the sight, but something else twisted her back. “Yaz? What’re you doing here?”
Yaz hugged her fuzzy coat close to her chest. “Couldn’t sleep. Looked out my window and saw the TARDIS was still around. I wanted to make sure you were okay, but you were gone.” She shifted awkwardly. “Got worried.”
“Didn’t mean to worry you,” the Doctor said, frowning.
“Just glad I found you.” Yaz offered a tender smile, then settled down beside her. “Came here first cos I thought you might’ve made your way over.”
“You know me well.” The Doctor’s muscles pinched with something resembling guilt. She studied Yaz for a long moment, clinging to her features, desperate to memorize every detail as if she were already fading. It wouldn’t be long now, she reckoned. They were always so certain it was forever, the traveling and the wonder of it all, but nothing was. Not even the Doctor.
Leaving was never a matter of if, just a matter of when. And she’d learned long ago not to dwell too much on the how.
The Doctor’s mind barred more thoughts with a screeching halt. She let herself soak in Yaz’s presence for just a little longer, her radiance impossibly bright in the shadows, then forced herself to let go. She steered her gaze back to the house and watched the life dance in Ryan’s window. It was a lovely sight, and it almost could have quieted her mind had it not been stained by the thought of an old man curled up in a half-empty bed just down the hall.
“How are they?” she asked.
“Good, last I heard,” Yaz answered. “Graham’s been baking a lot, and Ryan’s still set on being my brother-in-law.” She rolled her eyes with a half-hearted laugh, then sobered. “Been a minute since I saw ‘em, though. But I guess it hasn’t been that long for them.”
Guilt welled in the Doctor’s chest. Her teeth pierced the inside of her cheek, scolding herself for her own carelessness. “Exactly how long was it for you?” she asked, waiting for an answer, but one never came. She turned to find Yaz’s gaze cemented to the house like hers had been. “You said years, Yaz. How many?”
Yaz stared into the night for a long while, then whispered, “Four.”
Something inside the Doctor winced. The answer didn’t really matter, in the end. Her hearts already knew. Yaz’s eyes were different; older, and sharper, and they looked through things instead of at them now. They reminded the Doctor too much of her own. Her head tilted back, cursing the sky. Four years was not a minute. “Time never moves the same for us, does it?”
“No.” Yaz shook her head. Tears flickered like stars in her irises, and the Doctor knew, in spite of herself, there wasn’t anything to be done. Some things just couldn’t be fixed, no matter how badly she wanted to dive head first into her mechanical sanctum and try. Especially if what was broken had shattered in her hands and her hands alone.
There was no use in pretending. The Doctor could taste the key rotting in her stomach.
“I have to leave you someday, y’know,” she murmured, the words crackling on her tongue. “I’m never meant to stay for long.”
She was staring back at the bricks now, looking through them, when she felt Yaz turn to her.
“I know,” Yaz said softly. It was the gentleness in her voice that always delivered the worst blow. The Doctor couldn’t stand it, but she ached for it, and she already missed it.
“I’m not ready, Yaz.”
“Good, cos I’d be really cross if you were.”
Weak laughter spilled under the Doctor’s breath. The right thing to say so often escaped her. There were too many thoughts and voices and memories swirling around in her mind, and words seldom felt big enough to hold all they needed to. Humans always had a better way with them. Especially the good ones. Especially Yaz.
The Doctor sniffled, longing for the unreachable person just a few breaths away, her vision blurred into a mess of gloom and light.
In the darkness, a warm hand found hers.
Her body screamed at her to pull away, and had it been anyone else, she probably would have. But there was no strength left in her to force more space between them. Yaz was here, she was safe, and she felt a lot like what the Doctor imagined home might be. The image of a purple sofa flashed through her mind and filled her chest with candlelight. Against her better judgement, the Doctor allowed herself to sit down, just for a moment.
“I’m not the same person I was on Gallifrey, you know,” Yaz assured. “I didn’t live all those years without you just to fall apart now.” There was a confidence in her voice, a steadiness to her presence that she’d grown into, one the Doctor admired with reverence. Still looking ahead, Yaz gave her hand a squeeze. “Whatever happens, I’ll be okay.”
The Doctor’s muscles unwound. It was the permission she always needed: to let go, certain that life would continue without her and be lived well.
“Just promise me one thing,” Yaz added.
Their eyes finally met, clinging to each other through the shadows.
“Anything,” the Doctor vowed.
Yaz gave a sad smile and hugged her hand harder. “You take care of the next you, okay? Them, and all the others. Forwards and backwards and sideways and upside down. Promise me you’ll take care of them, because time is messy, and I don’t want you doing anything that could steal one more second of you away from me.”
The air around them turned sweet. The Doctor’s hearts skipped a beat, breaking through the last shred of resistance. “Only if you promise to look after my Yaz,” she whispered.
My Yaz. Her stomach sank, lungs stuttering as the thought left her. Those words had lived in her mind for so long, but they hadn’t ever been spoken, nor were they meant to be. They could be wrong, or too much, or not enough in the wake of everything they’d been through—
“Yours,” Yaz said softly.
It sounded a bit like a question and a lot like an answer.
Warmth bloomed under the Doctor’s skin, eclipsing the storm of panic with ease. “Can’t have a universe without her,” she added, squeezing Yaz’s hand in return, then released her grasp and held out her pinky. “Promise?”
Yaz linked their fingers together, her smile glowing in the night. “Promise.”
“It’s a deal, then. So long as we get a say in it, we’ll both be okay.”
“That’s all I want,” Yaz mumbled. Her voice was unspooling now, more frayed and weary than before. Her gaze fluttered, a yawn slipping past her lips. Whether or not she realized it, her head came to rest on the Doctor’s shoulder.
The Doctor indulged herself, leaning into it. “Me too.”
Yaz melted into her side, their pinkies still entwined in their promise. Her breathing fell into a steady rhythm as the light went out in Ryan’s window. Part of the Doctor felt abandoned, alone in the thick of night, but every time that feeling grew too loud, Yaz shifted a little in her sleep, as if to remind her she was still there,
still there,
still there.
She always shrank the universe in the loveliest way, stripped of all its intricacies and nuance. Just three hearts ticking in tandem. Whole forevers in every second. The two of them, together. Rare and delicate and miraculous.
Yasmin Khan was improbable, in her simplicity, in her verity. Not impossible; not a puzzle to be solved or a question to be answered. She did what she said and said what she meant. She was just her, just Yaz, and nothing the Doctor could do or say would ever make her fully understand how precious that was. How intrinsically enough she would always be. How deeply something as simple as resting beside her would be missed when the final time came.
She pictured her, sometimes. Willed herself across time and space to feel the phantom touch of Yaz’s arms wrapping around her in the dim prison light. Tally marks would scatter at the contact. Stale air dissipated. The stone walls crumbled. Yaz would never know how many times the mere thought of her had set the Doctor free.
For once, there was no need to will herself across the cosmos. There was only them, only here, and only now.
The Doctor let her eyes fall shut and drank it in.
Only them. She breathed. Only here. In. Only now. Out.
The black of her eyelids morphed into a brilliant dance of colour and light.
Only them. She breathed. Only here. In. Only now. Out.
The fluff on Yaz’s coat was softer than usual. Notes of herbal tea and laundry detergent filled the darkness.
Only them. She breathed. Only here. In. Only now. Out.
When her eyes cracked open again, the first whispers of morning were seeping in. She couldn’t have been out for long — and she wasn’t out, really. Just suspended in the in-between, lulled somewhere safe by the waves in Yaz’s ribs rolling softly against her.
The Doctor spent a moment watching the city flicker to life, then nudged Yaz awake.
“The sun is rising,” she whispered. “Thought you might want to see it.”
A drowsy smile lit Yaz’s face. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and turned them to the horizon, shifting slightly, just enough to see without parting from the Doctor’s shoulder. Darkness began to fade, giving way to soothing hues that swathed the sky in cool and warmth alike. A thin fog caressed everything around them while frost crackled and thawed. The Doctor and Yaz sat on the bench, tangled together, quiet witnesses to the passage.
“You could’ve fallen anywhere that night,” Yaz said, gaze tracing over the structures in the distance. “I’m glad you landed here.”
“Me too.” The thought was velvet in the Doctor’s mouth, like it had already crossed her mind a thousand times over. That was because it had.
“The first time I saw you, I thought you were mad.”
The Doctor smirked. “And now?”
Yaz rolled her eyes. “Still think you’re mad.”
“Fair enough,” the Doctor chuckled, wiggling their pinkies with a gentle squeeze. “I still think you’re charming.”
A shy smile pressed into her coat. Yaz was fighting it, and she was losing.
“You were my first friend, y’know. I knew so little then, but knowing you felt important,” she added, staring at the muted sun. “You know more than anyone that I don’t always hit the mark, but I got things very right, trusting you.”
Yaz tensed, swallowing hard. “You’re talking like you’re leaving.”
“I’m not,” the Doctor promised. “Not yet.”
She burrowed into her. “Talk to me like I’m still here, then.”
“Okay.” The Doctor released their fingers, turning something over in her mind. “I could go for some ice cream. What d’ya reckon?”
Yaz leaned back, blinking at her in that endearing, whiplashed way she always did. “It's winter and the sun’s not even up yet.”
The Doctor pretended to look around. “Does it matter?”
Another grin crept onto her face. “Not at all.”
“Come on.” The Doctor gently rose, dragging her along. “Any time, any place, any flavor. Pilot’s choice,” she said, watching Yaz expectantly.
“I’m piloting?”
Her brow ticked up. “Why not? I trust you.”
Yaz lost another battle with her lips. The Doctor could taste the delicious red on her cheeks and wondered if anywhere in creation served that flavor in a cone. They should try to find it sometime.
As they made their way down the sidewalk, she stole one last glance at the bench that held them in the unexpected hours of the night, committing it to memory as best she could, for as long as the universe would allow. It wasn’t a purple sofa, sure, but the sun was rising, and it would have to do.
With a deep breath, the Doctor took Yaz’s hand and turned her eyes back to the glowing sky, something inside of her singing still here, still here, still here.