Chapter Text
Once the sand from the beach – that gorgeous, horrible beach – has been washed from your skin, you return to the console room. She’s there, back against one of the crystal buttresses, one leg dangling off the step. You’re half surprised she’s not hidden beneath the floor, pretending to tinker.
You join her, mirroring her posture, and wait for her to speak first. It’s selfish, she’s done most of the talking today, but you crave her like this, finally opening up to you. You’ve been promised an explanation, everything , and you know you don’t have forever to hear it. For a Time Lord, the Doctor is always running out of time.
She shifts, bringing her knees to her chest, and you scoot closer to her. For a while, she just stares at you, the look in her eyes unfamiliar until you recognize it. It’s the same look your Nani gets sometimes, on the rare occasion she chooses to share a tidbit of her pre-Sheffield early adulthood. Mourning. Forlorn nostalgia, remembrance and sadness. You desperately want to soothe the ache she must be feeling right now, but you know it’s a future ache. You know that, one day, it’ll be caused by you, and it breaks your heart.
"In one of my last bodies, I fell in love, you know." She begins, her voice soft. She’s still looking at you, the same expression on her face.
"You mentioned having a wife, earlier." You nod, placing your hand on the floor between the two of you. An offering, not a request. She accepts, lacing her fingers between yours. It’s still nice, still a comfort.
"I did, yeah? But this isn’t about her." She sighs, fidgeting and squirming. You squeeze her hand, knowing it’ll help to ground her. You take a moment, letting the late realization that you weren’t the first, wouldn’t be the last, sink in. It doesn’t make you sad, like you’d expected.
“Her name was Rose. I fell for her in my first body after the Time War. Loved her through two bodies. It killed me, loving her.” She laughs, dry. “Literally. We’d gotten into one of my messes, trapped with no way out. I sent her home, made the TARDIS promise not to bring her back. Rose tore her open and absorbed the Time Vortex to find her way back to me. Would’ve killed her had I not taken it in myself. Did kill me.” The Doctor’s posture relaxes, and she sits with her legs crossed, facing you.
“Rose didn’t mind me changing faces, bodies. She took it in stride – quite right, too. I picked that body for her. Made myself a pretty man with great hair.” She’s going off on a tangent, but you let it happen. You’ve learned, through the years, that she communicates best between the lines. Says more in the pauses than in the words. You tug on her hand, and she follows, coming to rest beside you.
“I never got to tell her I loved her. Had the opportunity to, a thousand times over, but that body couldn’t form the words. Not even when I was in a pit with Satan – real, actual Satan – on an impossible planet with no TARDIS, no way up, no way out.” Her head comes to rest on your shoulder, and you soften your posture, relaxing as much into her as she is to you.
“She knew, though. I wished I could, but just like you... I knew it would hurt when we were separated, and we were, too. Not long after, even.” Your thumb strokes the Doctor’s hand, waiting for her to finish her story, for your turn to talk. She must be explaining to you why she can’t be with you, and you understand. You do, even though every cell in your body begs you to be selfish. Begs you to beg her to give it a chance, give you a chance, even if it’s only for a day, but you can’t do that to her.
“It were the cybermen and daleks that did it. It’s always them, always followin’ me and taking what’s meant to be mine.” She grits her teeth, and you feel her grip on her hand tighten. You can almost feel her anger, seething under her sunshine-demeanor.
“She didn’t die, then. Got trapped in an alternate universe, forever, no way to get her back without destroying both. Gods, did I want to... I became something ugly, horrible without her. Did what I wanted to; consequences be damned. I tried to change history, keep someone alive, but... Time is stronger than I am, always.” You want to hug her, this strong, incredibly fragile woman. Fragile like a bomb, tick-tick-ticking away. And so, you do, and she lets you. Her next sentences are spoken into your neck, barely more than a whisper.
“Rose was impossible, ripped a hole in the universe to come back to her Earth, back to me. A lot happened then. Too much to tell you, now. Another time, promise.” She pulls back but doesn’t go.
“I abandoned her with a human copy of myself in the other universe. Well, I say abandoned. I gave her what we wanted – A human life with me, with her family. Only... I didn’t ask her what she wanted. An’ I lost two friends that day. Spent the rest of my life making decisions I had no right to up until the end.” You give her a minute, wait to see if she’s got more to say, but she is still, quiet against you. You allow yourself time to gather your thoughts, trying to think of a response worthy enough of the story she’s just told you.
You reach for her temple, so slowly, knowing this may cross a boundary. You’re not stupid, you know this is how the Time Lords practice touch-telepathy, but you hope that the gesture will be a comfort and not an overstep. She breathes in a sharp gasp when your fingers make contact against her cool skin, and you leave your hand in place for your next sentence.
“It’s not your fault that she was lost, Doctor. You told us, once, that you couldn’t guarantee our safety, but you’d always take us home. Duty of care, yeah? An’ even when it were close, you’ve kept your word and got us home safe. Same as you did for Rose, yeah?” You wet your lips, apprehensive in your next words.
“It’s okay to be sad, and angry, and devastated, but it’s not your fault. We know the risks and we willingly take them. Being with you has changed my life, and I wouldn’t give that up for all the safety in the world. If Rose were anything like me, neither would she.” You let your hand fall back into your lap, wishing not for the first time that humans could be telepathic.
You’d do nearly anything to get into the Doctor’s mind and soothe away her worries, blanket them in your love. Smother them in it so deeply that she’s safe from them for years after you leave. You have enough love for her to last a million lifetimes, you think.
“I lied to her, Yaz. I said she could live the rest of her life with me, but I couldn’t live the rest of mine with her.” She pulls away from you, scooting backwards until she collides with crystal. Her head tilts backwards, and the TARDIS gives off a sad warble. Your hand reaches out to her before you can stop yourself, chasing her, but you force yourself to stay put and give her the distance she so clearly wants at the moment. You stare, eyes wide, and wait for her to elaborate.
“I did do, once. Stay put on Earth, I mean. Lived almost a whole life before they dragged me back and…” her words trail off in defeat before picking back up. “They took everything! My life, my agency, my bloody memories! Everything I had, they rewrote. Made me a child again, made me grow up alone again.” She curls into herself, arms wrapped so tightly around her torso that you can see her knuckles whiten with the strain.
You go to her, then, no longer willing to fight it. You sit behind her, pulling her in. She sags into you, her back to your front, and sobs. Tears prickle behind your own eyes, and you let them fall. You know the Doctor has only just scratched the surface of the trauma that has been inflicted upon her for all of her lives, yet you feel honored to have been let in even this far. You won’t force more from her, but you have an offer, an olive branch.
“Doctor,” you begin slowly, arms a steady pressure around her middle. “Let me share your burden. You don’t need to tell me the stories,” you pause, giving your words a moment to sit between you.
“I give you consent to show me. I can… remember for you, if you’ll allow me. I know it won’t be the same, I can’t enter your mind like you can enter mind. I trust you.” Your chin comes to rest on her shoulder, and your next words are spoken so softly they’re barely legible to yourself.
“Will you trust me? With your memories, your past lives?” The Doctor shifts, turns, comes to her knees and rests between your own. You’re stricken by how beautiful she looks in this moment, feelings laid bare for you to see. She looks at you, reverence shining in her tear-filled eyes.
“Do you understand what you’re asking me? Offering me?” You think you do, and you’re not sure you mind if you don’t. You nod. You’re offering her access to your mind, into your psyche. Access to your thoughts and feelings, memories, wishes. You trust she won’t abuse the privilege, know she sees it as such. She won’t go too far. You know that as surely as you know the sun will rise again.
“I trust you. Go on.” It strikes you suddenly that this will be the most intimate you’ll have ever been with anyone. Will ever be with anyone. It excites you more than you’re willing to admit to even yourself. You wonder, briefly, if it will hurt. You get headaches from piloting the TARDIS – the Doctor had explained that it was from the ship trying to establish a psychic link with you, and you had decided it was worth it.
The TARDIS was a warm presence in the back of your head. You can feel her, even when you’re not piloting, and you wonder where the Doctor’s presence will sit. Will it stay, like her ship’s has?
You’re pulled from your thoughts when the Doctor clumsily stands, coming to a halt in front of you. Her arms dangle at her sides oddly, like she’s not sure what she’s meant to do with them. You look up at her, searching for a cue, something to tip you off to what she’s feeling, but all you can place is the reverence from before, and you hope the same is reflected in your own eyes.
She helps you to your feet and takes your hands. Places a gentle kiss to your cheek, your temple. Your body trills at the feeling of her lips on your skin, platonic as this moment is. You know, irrevocably, that the ghost of that feeling will stay with you forever.
--
She leads you up the steps to a section you’ve never ventured to before. The room is cavernous, like the console room, and lit in the same fire-warm hue. It’s brighter here, and books are scattered on every surface, some shelved and some lying open on desks, tables, footstools. A plush couch sits in front of the fire, blankets and papers strewn across it. The room looks lived in, cozy in its chaos, and you look to the Doctor for an explanation for where she’s brought you. It feels like a private place, a privilege you’ve been considered worthy enough to bestow.
“This is my personal library. Every book in here is a journal, a recount of every adventure I’ve been on. Every companion I’ve had, every companion I’ve lost. Every life I’ve saved, every life I’ve failed to save. My own, too, when I’ve had the chance. Every life I’ve lived, every secret I’ve kept is between these pages.” You hold your breath, the delicate gift you’ve been given hanging in the air between you. She hands you a book from the table nearest the couch, the pages love-worn from turning. Loose in their binding, heavy with ink. The cover used to be vibrant blue, you think, but the years have faded it into a dusty, blueish-grey. You don’t dare open it, but you stroke the spine.
Delicate circles form the title along the spine, and while you recognize some of the letters, you’re not proficient enough in the Doctor’s language to know what it says.
The Doctor sprawls on the couch, seemingly too exhausted to hold herself up any longer, and a warm nudge encourages you to push a little harder, remember more of the new alphabet you’d worked so hard to learn. You exhale softly once the patterns make sense. That’s your name on the spine. The warmth pushes you, a little more insistent now, to the table. You kneel in front of it, tracing the words on each cover.
Graham. Ryan. Grace. Prem. Dan.
One is odd from the others, open to a blank page in the very back. There’s only a few pages after it. You look to the Doctor, seeking her approval, before closing the book and studying the spine. This one is a number, and you squint at it to be sure your instinct is right. It reads Thirteen, and your fingers still.
You turn to face the Doctor again, and she’s shifted positions. She’s sitting upright now, elbows to knees, her head cradled in her hands. She’s looking at her boots, her hair a curtain blocking your view.
“She never gives me a journal longer than I can fill.” The statement is simple, to the point, and the sorrow it brings forth nearly pushes you to your knees. You sit beside her, your body subconsciously angling toward her, and she sits up, grabbing two of the journals. Hers, and yours.
“There’s only room enough for one more adventure, Yaz, and then this me dies. Yours has one page less, and I’m so scared of what that means.” She holds the two journals side by side, and it clicks. They’re the same size, your lives together almost equal in length. The realization is heavy as it settles onto your shoulders. She’s lived her whole life with you, and you’re not going to be with her when it ends. You take the journals from her, place them back on the table, and take her hand in yours.
You sit quietly together for a while, letting time slip by around you. Neither of you speaks, both of you stare at the flickering fire in front of you. You don’t let go of her hand, and she doesn’t try to reclaim it.
The silence stretches on for long enough that you think the Doctor has fallen asleep, but when you turn to face her, she speaks.
“I can’t tell you how I feel about you in words, Yasmin. That’d make it real, and if it’s real it just might destroy me once and for all.” She tugs on your arm, and you scoot closer, acceptance and curiosity swirling in your mind. This is as much confirmation as she’ll ever be able to give you, you think, and unlike the frustration and confusion you’d felt on the beach, a warm acceptance settles between you.
You rest your head on her shoulder, taking the comfort she’s offering you, and her fingers brush the hair from your face.
“If you’d let me, if you still consent to it, I’d like to show you.” Her fingers land at your temple, and you nod. Of course you consent. She shifts, patting her lap, and you look at her, puzzled. She guides your head into her lap, cradles it between her hands, fingers to your temples, and you melt into her and the couch.
Contact.