Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Doctor?”

            The Doctor blinked, looked up to find that Yaz had padded into the console room. Or rather, a pair of slippered feet she knew belonged to Yaz were now just within her frame of vision from where she was jammed under the console with her sonic in one hand and a wrench in the other.

            “Pause,” she said.

            “What?” Yaz asked.

            “Oh, not you,” the Doctor said, glancing back to the wires she’d been fiddling with, tying them off properly before she turned to Yaz, because if she stopped now she’d get distracted and if she got distracted it might blow up, only a little bit but still, best to finish this now. “Audiobook. Told it to stop so I could hear you properly and not lose my place.”

            “Audiobook?” Yaz asked, and the Doctor could imagine the little furrow between her eyebrows.

            “Yep!” the Doctor replied. “Like to have one on sometimes while I’m tinkerin’, keep my brain and my hands busy at the same time. Although I don’t like to make too much noise while you’re sleeping, if I can help it anyway, so sometimes I’ll have the TARDIS play it just for me, y’know, in my head. Perks of telepathy and all that.”

            She shifted to look up at Yaz properly then, pushing her goggles off her face and up into her hair, and she couldn’t help but smile when she saw that Yaz had, once again, come into the console room in her pajamas. She did that, now and again—oftener now, the Doctor thought, than all those years ago when they’d started out. She’d said why once, wondering what the point of getting dressed and ready for the day was before she knew exactly—or as exactly as any of them could, with the kind of life they led—what said day would entail. She had a point; the Doctor, personally, liked to stick to her trusty striped shirts and culottes and coat, because that got her through anything, but Yaz preferred different outfits for different occasions, and usually needed more frostbite protection than the Doctor tended to.

            Still, there being a practical reason for seeing Yaz pad in wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a hoodie faded with too many washes and fuzzy blue slippers didn’t mean that the Doctor didn’t appreciate it every time. Yaz looked so soft like this, still a little sleepy, her hair hanging past her shoulders in waves, sometimes holding a cup of coffee for herself or two mugs of tea for the both of them. (Yaz refused to let her anywhere near coffee; it was probably for the best, she could admit, even if she pouted about it every time.)

The console room’s golden light seemed to cling to Yaz, on mornings like this, and she glowed like a cozy hearth fire, warm and welcoming, and the Doctor always wanted to give in, whenever she looked like this, to just finally give in and touch her, to wrap her up in her arms and never let go, to see if she was as soft as she looked—

            But no, she couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that without asking. Couldn’t subject Yaz to the heartbreak that would lead to, couldn’t bear the pain again herself—

            “Doctor?” Yaz asked, leaning forward a little bit to catch the Doctor’s eye.

            “Sorry!” the Doctor said with a jolt, smiling brightly. “Like I said, telepathic audiobook. Got stuck a second there, jumped back to the chapter about the mammoth species of bats on Kalpier Nine for a bit—but, that’s all sorted now, I’m all yours.”

            She smiled to cover the wince as those words slipped out of her mouth, at how very untrue they were, and how much she wished that weren’t the case.

            She wanted it to be true. But it wasn’t. Because she couldn’t.

            “So,” she said, shaking her thoughts away, getting to her feet and leaning against the console. Did that look cool? Probably. Maybe. Anyway, it didn’t matter, so long as she didn’t elbow that one button that would flip them upside-down because that definitely wouldn’t be a good time right now. “It’s morning again, I take it?”

            “Approximately morning, yeah,” Yaz said, smiling softly, a twinkle of mirth in her bright brown eyes. She’d pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands, her fingers fiddling absently with the thumb holes (thumb holes! Brilliant human invention, were thumb holes) as she watched the Doctor with that oh-so-familiar mix of curiosity and affection.

            The Doctor had been afraid she’d lose that expression, after their halting, awkward talk on a rocky beach in China. She’d been afraid she’d lose Yaz entirely, after that. But Yaz—brilliant, loyal, beautiful, stubborn Yasmin Khan—had stayed, and she still looked at the Doctor like she was worthy of all that affection. She wasn’t. But she didn’t dare contradict it any further.

“Where are we going today?” Yaz asked, glancing away from the Doctor to look around the console for any lit-up displays. “Or did you need a little while to finish whatever you were taking apart and putting back together again?”

“Oh, no, I think we should be good, for another dozen trips at least,” she said, slamming the panel she’d pried open shut with her foot, jumping back with a start as it sparked at her. She frowned down at the spot, puzzled; it shouldn’t have sparked like that, and was the TARDIS having a go at her again, and she could really do without all that thank you very much—

She was just about to have a stern word with her ship when her thoughts were interrupted by Yaz’ gentle chuckle.

“Really, though,” she said. “We’re all right?”

“’Course we’re all right. What do you reckon for today, hmm?”

“Should we wait for Dan to get up?” Yaz asked, raising an eyebrow.

Right, yes, Dan. Sometimes the Doctor forgot that they’d picked up a new traveling companion, and she felt terribly guilty every time she did, but it was only that she’d got rather used to it just being her and Yaz, for a while. Dan was a perfectly nice bloke, for all he seemed to have a talent for sticking his nose into other people’s feelings.

Just for that, the Doctor thought petulantly, he could skip out on the adventure-choosing that morning.

“Eh, he can get the next one,” the Doctor said with a shrug, suspecting that she’d pretend to forget she’d said that when the next one came around and she tried to give the choice to Yaz again, because she wanted Yaz to choose every time. Yaz would hold her to it, though. “Oh, we could go to that aquarium planet I mentioned! Or, how about the South Pole – oh, Yaz, should we go visit some penguins?”

She grinned brightly at the thought—penguins, one of the many reasons Earth was so brilliant and unique as a planet—and Yaz grinned back at her.

“Penguins,” she said with a nod. “All right. Could go for some penguins.”

“Brilliant!” the Doctor said, turning towards the console. “Let’s get—”

But she was interrupted by a cheerful ping from the console. That was odd. Not a sound she heard all that often. Distress signals were by far her most common form of contact, and they never sounded so polite coming in.

“What’s all this?” she muttered, pulling up the message. As soon as she did, her eyes went wide with delight. Oh, Yaz would love this. They definitely had to go there, right away. “Actually, Yaz, let’s rain check the penguins. Or, snow check? Anyway, take a look at this.”

She swung the display around so that Yaz could read it too. It was an invitation, of all things—an invitation to a very fancy exhibit opening at a space station art museum in the 62^nd century.

“I’ve heard of this place, never been before,” the Doctor said, rocking back on her heels as she spoke. “What do you think, should we check it out?”

She waited, somehow anxious, all of a sudden, watching Yaz’ face as she read the message, because she thought Yaz would enjoy this trip. She wanted Yaz to enjoy every trip, all the time, because she—because she couldn’t let herself be what Yaz wanted her to be, but she could still show her wonderful things, she could still do everything in her power to make her smile. It was the absolute least she could do.

“This sounds pretty cool,” Yaz said, meeting her eyes across the console with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

Dan emerged at last, already dressed in jeans and a jumper, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. The Doctor wondered idly if he was getting enough sleep, made a note to check with the ship that the temperature in his room was all right and everything. Just because he was nosy didn’t mean he should be uncomfortable while he was here. The Doctor wasn’t that petty, but the TARDIS certainly could be.

“C’mon, Scouse,” Yaz said, grinning. “I think we’re going to need a trip to the fancy section of the wardrobe today.”

            Trips to the fancy wardrobe always involved entirely too much time in the getting-ready portion, leaving the Doctor a bit antsy by the time they made it out the door, but forty minutes later they’d landed in an out-of-the way hallway at the top floor of the museum, and Yaz and Dan had emerged from the back of the TARDIS, ready to head out for the next adventure.

            “Right!” she said brightly, bouncing over towards the doors, too eager to show them—to show Yaz, in particular—what was just outside to pay much attention to what they’d picked out from the wardrobe now that they were ready. “Everyone ready?”

            Yaz nodded, and the Doctor threw open the TARDIS doors, stepping out first and smiling around at the sight in front of her. She heard the others step out behind her, heard Yaz’ soft little gasp of awe, her grin widening at the sound of it. She still didn’t look back, focusing instead on the marvel around them, because it merited a very good looking-at.

            They were on a space station, tall and cylindrical and rotating very slowly through the depths of space. But instead of the usual space station grey metal, everything was awash with color—the floors were wood parquet, including the stairs spiraling downwards in front of them; all the structural supports were warm bronze metal; and, most importantly, the windows were stained glass, set in geometric patterns and rosettes across every curve of the station, sending spots of colored light dancing across the floors. It felt a bit like being inside of a kaleidoscope, and it was just as stunning as the Doctor had heard it was.

            The Doctor charged towards the stairs, gesturing around her as she walked. The party they’d been invited to would be further down the stairs, in the main galleries, and there would be plenty of time to explain where they were exactly on the way down.

            “Welcome to Station aṣ-Ṣaḥābah,” the Doctor said as soon as she heard Yaz and Dan’s footsteps on the stairs behind her. “It’s been quite a number of things since it was built oh, about two hundred odd years ago by this point. A palace, a mosque, a library, a very odd research station studying hyperspace waves—and now it’s a museum, there’ll be some very interesting sculpture galleries a few floors down and some apparently excellent falafel.”

            “Sounds all right, then,” Dan said with an amused chuckle.

“But—and this is my favorite part,” the Doctor continued, waving her hands enthusiastically out in front of her as she walked, “the humans who built this, this far out in your timeline, they’d never been to Earth before. They just had books and photos and stories to go by, but they still wanted to give this an old Earth name, give some classic meaning to the newness. You humans love that, don’t you, s’why there’s so many New New Yorks… Anyway, they named this after one of the oldest mosques in Africa, and Masjid aṣ-Ṣaḥābah translates to—”

            “Mosque of the Companions,” Yaz cut in, and the Doctor could hear the smile in her voice.

            “Gold star for you, Yaz!” the Doctor said brightly.

            She turned to look at Yaz then, properly look at her for the first time since earlier that morning, and that was a mistake.

            The Doctor was very, very good at multitasking. Usually, she could have a conversation while solving three different, entirely unrelated problems and tinkering with machinery all at the same time. It was preferable, mostly, because it kept her from thinking about the things she did not want to think about, letting her shove those things somewhere deep into the back of her mind with chatter and busywork and saving the day. But looking at Yaz now halted everything else in her head, because stars she was beautiful, with her hair braided back in that particular favorite way of hers, the silky white suit she’d chosen now a brilliant explosion of rainbow colors from the stained glass, her face a perfect picture of awe as she took it all in, those lovely warm brown eyes of hers sparkling with excitement and interest, and it was almost overwhelming to look at her like this, at the impossible wonder and joy on her face, and wouldn’t it be nice, wouldn’t it be better if the Doctor just finally gave in and let herself reach out and hold her hand—

            And all of this filled her head so quickly, so completely, that she forgot, for about three seconds too long, that she was currently walking down a staircase, because the next thing she knew her foot missed the next step down and she pitched forward with a flailing, lurching roll, and the next thing she knew after that, she was flat on her back on the landing, Yaz and Dan shouting after her in concern.

            The colors swirling around them blurred and reformed as her vision cleared, and the first thing she saw was Yaz’ face again, this time concerned as she leaned over her, hands hovering close but not quite touching.

            “Doctor, are you all right?” she asked. “Are you hurt, did you hit your head?”

            Had she? No, she didn’t think so, for all she was feeling a bit dizzy now, recalibrating herself from where her head had been a minute ago to where she was now, with Yaz’ eyes darting back and forth across her face, still glowing with rainbow light cast by the stars.

            So lovely, she thought.

            “D-Doctor?” Yaz asked, her eyebrows shooting upwards, almost comically startled.

            Rassilon’s teeth, had she said that out loud?!

            “M’fine,” she said, swiftly plastering on her widest grin. “What a head rush, that! Like a personal rollercoaster, a bit, sort of, if you squint.”

She shook her head, shoving herself upwards so that she was sitting rather than sprawled. She meant to stand, but as soon as she did her sense of gravity protested loudly again, and she groaned, all her forced bravado proved swiftly for the lie it was. She would’ve hit the ground all over again were it not for Yaz catching her shoulders ever so gently, holding her just enough to steady her but not tight enough to keep her trapped.

            “You’re okay,” she said. “You’re all right, I’ve got you.”

            “Yes,” the Doctor breathed, not looking at her. “Yes, you do.”

            She shook her head again, blinking grumpily at that spinning sensation that refused to go away, and looked back over her shoulder to where Dan was hovering instead of towards Yaz. His expression was, somehow, impossibly smug, like he had engineered this himself instead of merely witnessing it, like the crash landing was the Doctor’s own fault and he was delighted by the outcome.

            “Shut up, Dan,” she mumbled grumpily.

            “I didn’t say anything!” he protested.

            “Well, you weren’t saying anything very loudly,” she snapped, stubbornly forcing herself to her feet.

            Yaz stepped back to let her get up without assistance, but she stayed close enough to catch her again when she wobbled almost immediately in her attempt to resume her charge back down the stairs as though nothing had happened. She felt strange, like she couldn’t catch up to where she’d been, couldn’t catch her breath, and Yaz’ hands on her shoulders were the only things holding her together.

            Give in, she thought. Give in, let her hold you up, let her—

            “I’m fine,” she said again, because if she said it enough times she could make it true. Usually worked. Mostly. “Thanks, Yaz.”

            “You sure?”

            “’Course I’m sure,” she insisted, even as she swayed on her feet. “Besides, the party’s on downstairs, did I mention how good the falafel is? You two shouldn’t miss out just because the stairs were being unreliable—”

            “Doctor, stop, it’s all right,” Yaz said. “We can sit for a minute while you get your head back on.”

            And the Doctor stopped, looked up at Yaz through the flop of hair still askew across her face, looked at those wonderful brown eyes full of all the care in the universe, at the way she so carefully touched her only as much as she had to, never enough to cling, never enough to push past all those walls the Doctor had spent infinite lifetimes building up—

            And she gave in.

            “All right,” she said, so softly she wasn’t sure Yaz heard her at first. “Probably a good idea.”

            Yaz blinked, like she was surprised that she’d agreed, and then nodded.

            “You go on ahead, Dan, all right?” she said, looking at him over the Doctor’s shoulder with an authoritative jab of her chin towards the downstairs, a glimpse into what their time at the turn of the twentieth century must have been like. “We’ll just be a minute.”

            The Doctor didn’t turn round to see Dan take Yaz’ order and head down the stairs, but given the fact that Yaz rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to her, she suspected his smug look from earlier had only increased.

            “You sure you didn’t hit your head or anything?” Yaz asked. “Do you want to go back up to the TARDIS for a second?”

            “No,” the Doctor said. “No, I’m—let’s just… let’s just sit here. Won’t take a minute. Catch my breath, is all.”

            “’Course,” Yaz said, a gentle hand at her elbow as they both sank down onto the floor of the landing, feet dropping onto the next set of stairs.

            The Doctor looked out at the windows, at the pinpricks of stars shining through and casting rainbow patterns back and forth across the space around them. She did not look at Yaz, and she was fairly certain Yaz was mirroring her and looking out around them, because she couldn’t feel those eyes on her, could only feel the soft rhythm of her heartbeat, her hand on the landing just centimeters from the Doctor’s own. The quiet tension between them was so familiar by now, practically comfortable in its well-worn patterns, that the Doctor could very easily have done just as she said, sat for a minute and then continued on like always.

            It was much longer than a minute before she could bring herself to finally shatter the silence.

            “Thank you,” she said quietly.

            “What for?” Yaz replied, matching her tone, low and soft, as though this place were still a mosque and they both needed to whisper.

            “For looking after me,” the Doctor answered.

            “Always,” Yaz said, genuinely and automatically.

            Because of course she did. Of course she would. Yasmin Khan, perhaps more than almost anyone she had ever met, just wanted, so badly, to help. She wanted, so badly, to be trusted enough to make things better. And the Doctor had spent so much time rewarding her by shutting her out.

            She’d promised to tell her everything. She still hadn’t, but stars, she wanted to.

            And perhaps it was the fall, or perhaps it was Yaz’ smile, or perhaps the Doctor was simply too tired and bruised already to care how much it was going to hurt when it all came crashing down, but she could feel her walls breaking, just a little bit, and instead of trying to plaster them back together, she reached out. Through.

            She shifted her hand at her side, just a little bit, so that her pinky finger hooked around Yaz’.

            And she heard, immediately, Yaz’ breath catch.

            “I’m not—Yaz, I’m no good at this,” she murmured.

            “At what?”

            “At—feelings. Feeling. In general.”

            “All right, now I’m sure you’ve got a concussion,” Yaz said, her tone light and joking.

            The Doctor finally turned to look at Yaz, and she could see so many things flitting across her face all at once, nearly too fast even for her to catalogue: her teasing, the first layer, the most obvious one, covering up for worry, so much worry, levels and variations and fractals of worry, and beneath all that—the tiniest flicker of hope, of eagerness, bright in her eyes, even though the Doctor could tell she was trying to quash it, trying not to let herself hope too much, for the Doctor’s sake.

            Yaz had spent too long trying to hide her feelings, hide herself, for the Doctor’s benefit. It wasn’t fair to Yaz, and whatever happened next, the Doctor didn’t want her to have to do that for another second.

            This was going to hurt. But it already had, and it already did, and it was just like Yaz had told her. She could try, for Yaz’ sake, to be courageous this time.

            “Yaz,” she said, her hearts pounding in her ears. “About—about what I said. On the beach.”

            Yaz frowned, one eyebrow furrowing down, and she didn’t say anything, didn’t push, didn’t move, but the Doctor could hear her heartbeat pick up, a wild racing harmony to complement her own.

            “I just… I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, all in a rush, like her head was still spinning from the fall and the words slipping out from between her teeth had been shaken up and scrambled along with the rest of her, “and I don’t want to hurt anymore, because it always does, but when I said sooner or later… it’s already happened, hasn’t it?”

            “Maybe,” Yaz replied, but the crease between her eyebrows didn’t go away and the Doctor was going to have to be rather a lot clearer about this than she had been, wasn’t she?

            “Yaz,” she whispered, restarting, trying again, leaning forward into the unavoidable gravitational pull that this brilliant young woman had over her, and she watched as her eyes went wide in the patches of rainbow light all around them, and she let herself smile the smallest bit. “Yaz, I think… I’d really like to do something stupid.”

            The Doctor waited, holding her breath and watching the light dance in Yaz’ eyes as she tried to piece together what the Doctor had said, and when she did, oh, the look on her face was brighter and more brilliant than every star in the sky outside these stained-glass windows. Her smile was full of relief and bafflement and hope and love, so much love that the Doctor’s hearts positively ached at the sight of it.

            “Are you sure?” Yaz asked.

            Not in the slightest.

            Just give in, Doctor, just for once, let yourself be happy.

            “Yes,” she answered, a little more shakily than she wanted to.

            “All right,” Yaz replied, understanding shining in her eyes, as she reached up and, ever so gently, brushed the Doctor’s scattered hair back behind her ear, her fingers lingering feather-light against her cheek, and even this tiniest of touches was more wonderful than the Doctor could stand. “If you’re sure… then I’d like that.”

            “Yasmin Khan,” the Doctor breathed, “you are so brilliant.”

            “You think so?”

            “I know it.”

            “Then show me,” Yaz said, a smile on her face and a little bit of a challenge in her voice, and oh, Yaz knew her so well, didn’t she, because when could she ever resist a challenge?

            The Doctor let herself, finally, give in, and she leaned down to meet Yaz halfway in a kiss. And for a minute, maybe even longer, the Doctor’s racing thoughts eased, fading to background noise in the face of the monumental joy that was kissing Yasmin Khan. She kept one hand on the landing, their pinky fingers still hooked together, and raised her other hand to cup Yaz’ cheek, and she’d been right, earlier, because Yaz was just as soft and wonderful to touch as she’d thought that morning and a thousand mornings before. Yaz carded her fingers gently through the Doctor’s hair, sending shivers racing through her, holding her closer, pulling her in.

            The gravity of this was unavoidable, inevitable, all-consuming. It would end, as gravity always did, in destruction. But at least for now, in the feeling of Yaz’ lips so perfectly pressed to hers, they had the harmony of gravity, the balance of stars as they hurtled together through space in the same orbit. And the Doctor knew, already, that she’d never get enough of this. Knew, already, she’d have to make her peace with that.

            And she realized that she would, when she didn’t know exactly how many seconds-minutes-hours later it was when they finally pulled apart and found she didn’t care, because how could she when Yaz was smiling at her like that, radiant and joyful and a little bit shy? This was worth getting her hearts broken for. It was. She’d make sure it was.

            She’d give anything in the universe to keep that smile on Yasmin Khan’s face forever.

            “All right?” Yaz asked.

            “All right?” the Doctor echoed. “Stars, Yaz, I should have done that years ago.”

            “It’s okay,” Yaz replied, and it wasn’t, it really wasn’t, but she was glad Yaz said it anyway. “You have plenty of time to make it up to me.”

            She pulled the Doctor in again for another kiss, soft and slow and gentle and perfect, and the Doctor let herself believe, just for now, just while Yaz’ lips were on hers and her hand was at her waist, that letting themselves have this was safe, that she could make herself everything Yaz needed, that she could be something so simple as happy.

            Looking at the light in Yaz’ eyes, it almost seemed true.

            “Do you think you’re steady enough for the stairs now?” Yaz asked, smirking a little bit.

            “Think so,” the Doctor said, feeling so unusually lighthearted she thought she could have cartwheeled the rest of the way down.

            “Good,” Yaz said. She got to her feet and pressed a kiss to the Doctor’s forehead before offering her hand and helping her up. “We’d better get downstairs if we don’t want Dan to eat all that falafel you mentioned.”

            “Usually there’s plenty to go round at things like this,” the Doctor said, and then, realizing she didn’t end up at art gallery openings all that frequently and maybe didn’t know for certain, turned to Yaz with a curious frown. “…do you think he could actually eat all of it?”

            “He really could, you have no idea,” Yaz said, laughing brightly. “C’mon, you can tell me more about this place, so long as you watch where you put your feet, all right?”

            “Safe and sound, this time,” the Doctor said, raising their joined hands to her lips and kissing Yaz’ fingers, reveling in the blush it chased up her cheeks, before letting her lead the way down to their next adventure.

Chapter Text

The Doctor didn’t let go of Yaz’ hand for the rest of the afternoon, and every time she glanced back at her, checking to see if perhaps she minded, her smile was so radiant she nearly lost track of her train of thought all over again.

            Happiness, it seemed, could have some hazards all its own.

            Dan raised an eyebrow at the sight of them appearing hand in hand, and the Doctor and Yaz both raised one back and said absolutely nothing further on the subject, so the rest of the day passed—well, not normally, exactly, because for one thing, there wasn’t a crisis leaping out at them and demanding fixing, for a change, and for another, Yaz’ hand was warm and secure in hers. The feeling of kissing her seemed superimposed over everything else, like the whole universe had shifted around them. The Doctor could feel the weight of it pressing down on her, but she studiously ignored it, setting it aside in favor of now.

            Living in the present, like she’d said. Being courageous, like Yaz had.

            The museum exhibits were interesting, but nothing really compared to being in a stained-glass kaleidoscope in space (and nothing at all compared to kissing Yaz) so after a while drifting around and pointing out different sculptures to each other, reading off the placards in hushed tones as the Doctor tried to impress with amusing anecdotes, and plenty of snagging plates of snacks from staff members passing by, the three of them made their way back to the TARDIS. Yaz’ grip on her hand tightened as they wound upstairs, and as soon as she led her back inside the console room, a smile spread across her face, as if to say see? Got you back safe.

            Because today’s mishap had been simple, all things considered. Because coming back safe was not something either of them could ever guarantee.

            She didn’t realize she’d stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Yaz, until she heard a soft chuckle from behind her and Dan edged around them both, heading for the stairs towards the bedroom corridor with a cheery wave.

“Have a good night, ladies,” he said, grinning brightly before disappearing.

            The Doctor stared after him, confused—it wasn’t really nighttime already, was it?—until she saw Yaz pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

            “He’s going to be insufferable now, I know it,” she said with a groan.

            “You know, I think you’re right,” the Doctor said, making herself laugh even as she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Dan really was a nice bloke; he’d handled the Daleks brilliantly, and she knew Yaz had been able to count on him when they’d been stuck in the past. That counted for a lot, in the Doctor’s book. But the throwing-her-own-feelings-in-her-face part? The seeing-straight-through-her part? She could do with rather less of that, thanks.

            Then again, if he hadn’t, would they be here, like this, now?

            Was that a good thing, or a bad thing?

            Yaz looked back at the Doctor then, and in some ways it was exactly the same as it had been a thousand times before, the two of them alone around the console and Yaz’ private smile for the Doctor’s eyes only. This time, though, Yaz looked just a little bit shy, a little bit nervous—hopefully the good kind of nervous. Because nothing had changed and also everything had, and she didn’t seem quite sure what was supposed to happen now.

            And for once, the Doctor had no idea. She didn’t do this, not very often, certainly not recently. She’d broken all her own rules, and now… now she had no clue where to go from here.

            “So,” Yaz said softly, because of course she asked the questions the Doctor couldn’t answer, was afraid to answer. “Where to next?”

            “Wherever you’d like to go,” she replied.

            She smiled and gestured at the console, as if to say all yours, and it was partly the truth, told slantwise, the only way she could ever seem to get to it, and partly stalling. Because it was catching up to her now, everything she’d been shoving aside all day, every reason why this was a bad idea, is and always has been and always will be a terrible idea, in every tense and time. Because the Doctor didn’t do this, didn’t want to most of the time with most people anyway, and those few times she did, those few people who drew her in, they always—she always lost them.

            Plenty of time to make it up to her, Yaz had said, and looking at her so confidently piloting the TARDIS on her own, biting her lip in concentration, a beautiful spark in her eyes, the Doctor wanted that to be true. She wanted plenty of time. She wanted so much time; she wanted, for once, just this once, to have enough time, to have some kind of forever with Yaz, to not ever have to look at her through different eyes, with a brain that would feel differently about her. Or, worse, to see the light in Yaz’ eyes go out, or see her trapped somewhere unreachable, or have her forget.

            There were so many ways this could go wrong. Infinite ways, and the Doctor had the imagination and the experience to supply each and every one. This could not, it could never, go right.

            But she wanted Yaz, so much it hurt, and even more than that she wanted to make Yaz happy, she wanted Yasmin Khan to be all right, and it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it was never ever fair—

            “Doctor?”

            The Doctor blinked at the sound of Yaz’ voice, and she realized she was gripping the edge of the console so hard her knuckles had gone white, and there was a strange ragged sound in the air that took her far too many seconds too long to recognize as her own breathing.

            Hmmm, she thought idly, as though her own body’s abject failure was something she was studying in somebody else. Panic attack? Probably. This is new. Interesting.

            “Doctor, it’s all right, you’re safe,” Yaz said, her voice calm and soft and soothing. “You’re in the TARDIS. I’ve parked us in the vortex somewhere for now, okay? You’re okay, I promise.”

            The Doctor tried to respond, tried to say that of course she was fine, she was always fine, but the only thing that came out of her mouth was a choking sound halfway between a gasp and a sob.

            “You’re okay,” Yaz said again, very gently taking the Doctor’s fingers in hers and rubbing soothing circles across the backs of her hands. The Doctor couldn’t look at her, but the touch was grounding. “Breathe, okay? Like this, you’ve got this.”

            The Doctor heard Yaz take in a deep breath, and she tried her best to mirror the motion, shaky as she was. She wondered, somewhere at the back of her mind as she tried to focus on pulling herself together, just why Yaz was so good at this, because this felt like far more than training. She would have to remember to ask. There was so much of Yaz she had never asked about, because when she had spent so much time shutting herself away, she had missed out on Yaz, too.

            Never enough time. Never clever enough to use it properly, or see before it was too late.

            “You’re okay, Doctor,” Yaz insisted. “Breathe. I’ve got you.”

            It took a few minutes of doing her best to copy Yaz’ breathing before she felt the world turn back on around her. The lights in the console room had dimmed a bit, more so than usual, and she could feel her ship thrum softly under her, low and concerned, because of course she was on the floor again, wasn’t she? Too much time on the floor, today. She made herself look up, at last, to Yaz, who was kneeling in front of her, watching her carefully with eyes so full of concern.

            “There you are,” she said with a gentle smile.

            “Hi,” the Doctor replied. Her voice was shaky, but at least she’d found it this time.

            “Hiya,” Yaz said, thumbs still circling the backs of her hands. “D’you think you can stand, Doctor? Only, I think you need a cup of tea immediately. Or I could go get one for you, if you’d rather stay here?”

            Standing didn’t seem like a good idea, but letting Yaz out of her sight for even a second now was a far worse one.

            “I’ll come with you,” she said.

            “Brilliant,” Yaz replied. “Up you get.”

            Yaz pulled the Doctor to her feet like it was easy, and she didn’t let go of her hand all the way to the kitchen, which the Doctor suspected the TARDIS had moved closer to them. She only let go once she’d sat the Doctor down in her usual chair at the kitchen table and turned to make tea, and she poured seven sugars into the Doctor’s favorite frog-patterned mug without her usual teasing. She made a cup for herself, too, but she didn’t touch it, fiddling with the handle as she sat in silence with the Doctor as she drank first one, then two cups, the warm liquid a balm against her scratchy throat. She felt wrung out, wretched, her thoughts still circling like sharks in her head, waiting to attack again, even as the storm had blown itself out. For now, at least.

            It had been a nice day. They’d had a nice day, and she’d wrecked it, because of course she had. She always did, in the end.

            “D’you want to talk about it?” Yaz asked gently, what felt like ages later.

            “Not really,” the Doctor murmured into her mug, even though she knew she should, even though she knew Yaz deserved better.

            Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yaz nod, then square her shoulders, steeling herself for something.

            “Doctor, I don’t want to push,” she said, her voice level and gentle, like she was trying not to scare her away, “but I need to ask this, and it’s important that you answer me, okay? Can you try to do that?”

            The Doctor nodded.

            “Did you kiss me because you wanted to, or because you were just trying to make me feel better, and that’s why you’re freaking out right now?”

            “I—what?” the Doctor asked, jerking her head up to look at Yaz, searching her face with alarm. “Yaz, that’s not—”

            “I only want to do this if you want to, Doctor,” Yaz insisted, kind but firm. “It’s not fair otherwise.”

            Suddenly the Doctor wanted to scream, or break something, because Yaz thought this was her fault, and she didn’t know a swear word strong enough in any of the languages she spoke to convey just how not all right this was.

            “I—Yaz, I—” she stammered. “It’s not you. It’s not—or it is you, I suppose, but it’s not—not your fault.”

            “Not doing much to convince me of that, Doctor,” Yaz said, her voice calm, teasing, but there were flickers of hurt in her eyes.

“It’s—hard to explain,” the Doctor whispered, every word feeling wrong on her tongue.

            “Take your time,” Yaz said, with all the patience in the universe. “I’m listening. I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Right,” the Doctor said, nodding, gripping her mug tightly in both hands.

            “Or we can… if you’d rather talk about it tomorrow, if you’re feeling more yourself then…”

            “I’d rather not talk about it at all,” she grumbled through gritted teeth, and of all the wrong words in her head, those were the most wrong, because she knew she needed to, knew she couldn’t leave Yaz in the dark again, not about this. Not when she thought she’d been the one to do something wrong.

            “Doctor,” Yaz insisted, setting a gentle hand on top of the Doctor’s own. “I don’t need to know everything. I know this is hard for you, but I don’t want to hurt you, and it seems like I’m going to without even realizing it if you don’t tell me a little.”

            “I’m sorry,” the Doctor said. “I’m sorry, Yaz, you’re right, and it’s… I want…”

            I want to tell you everything.

            I want you, more than anything.

            “It’s just… so much, Yaz,” she stammered finally. “I don’t know how to explain, I just—I just don’t know.”  

            Silence fell again for a long moment, and the Doctor tried, she really did, to come up with the right words, but while she could talk anyone’s ear off, she never could seem to find the meaningful words, the personal ones, not when she needed them. Not when it mattered.

            “You said, this morning,” Yaz began slowly, “you said you were telepathic.”

            “A bit. Sort of.”

            “Can you show me?”

            The Doctor tilted her head, looked up, frowned curiously at Yaz. She was watching her, holding herself still and steady, gauging her reaction.

            “What do you mean?”

            “If it’s hard for you to explain,” Yaz continued, “could you show me instead? Would that be easier?”

            “It’s not—it isn’t really something humans can do,” the Doctor said quietly. “It’s not—you’re not built for that, not exactly.”

            “Would it help you?”

            “Yaz, that’s not—”

            “Yes or no question, Doctor,” Yaz cut in. “Would it help you?”

            And there was so much fire in her eyes now, so much steel behind infinite reserves of patience, and the Doctor never forgot how strong Yaz was, not really; it was just that she was always so much more preoccupied by the ways that even the strongest person could break, given one wrong step, one stray bullet, one moment out of place. But Yaz proved to her every day, every second, just how capable she was. Strong enough to haul her to her feet like it was nothing; strong enough to survive in the past for years; strong enough, for all this time, to stay.

            Maybe, if she was going to let herself give in, she could let herself trust Yaz to catch her, too.

            “I understand, better than you think, you know,” Yaz added, softer now. “I know there are some things that are just too hard to say out loud. Lots of things, really. So would it help you, to show me instead?”

            “Maybe,” she answered, as close as she could get to yes.

            “Then do what you need to,” Yaz said, without even a moment’s hesitation, because Yaz was braver than she would ever be, in this or any of her lifetimes. “I trust you, Doctor.”

            “I don’t think I deserve that, Yaz,” the Doctor said, a sad, shaky smile on her lips. “Not after everything.”

            “Well tough, bighead, you’re stuck with me,” Yaz said lightly, her answering smile as sincere as the Doctor’s was sad. “Better get used to it, yeah?”

            “Yeah,” the Doctor echoed.

            Yaz pulled her chair around so she was sitting close in front of the Doctor rather than on opposite sides of the table, their knees slotting automatically together, even as Yaz was careful, even still, even now, not to touch her too much. She was close, far closer than they usually sat, but Yaz let her take the lead, and the Doctor was more grateful than words could say.

            Well, perhaps words really weren’t necessary right now.

            “What do you need?” Yaz asked.

            “Just… give me a second,” she answered.

            She shut her eyes and made herself breathe, made herself comb through her thoughts and fortify the walls in her head, because it was not a bad idea, this, in the grand scheme of things. Yaz seldom had bad ideas. But she was frazzled, frayed to bits, and she hadn’t been (only) making up excuses when she’d said humans weren’t built for this. She would have to be careful. She wanted Yaz to understand… she didn’t want to drown her.

            “Yaz,” she said softly, opening her eyes to meet Yaz’ gaze, deadly serious. “If this gets to be too much, all you have to do is pull away. All right?”

            “I’ll be fine, Doctor,” Yaz insisted, but the Doctor shook her head.

            “I’m not doing this if you won’t say you’ll stop me if you have to,” she said. “Please, Yaz.”

            “Okay,” Yaz replied, nodding. “Okay, then, I will. I promise.”

            “Good,” the Doctor said.

            She took another steadying breath, swallowed hard, watched Yaz watching her, studying every line and flicker in her face.

            “Close your eyes,” the Doctor whispered.

            Yaz did, immediately, and the Doctor let herself have one second, just one second, of reveling in just how beautiful she was before this all came crashing down, one way or another.

            She reached out, gently placing trembling fingers against Yaz’ temple before closing her eyes too.

            “Contact.”

            She felt Yaz’ gasp in her own chest as images began to flood between them. The Doctor kept a tight grip on them—this would be the abridged version, the highlight reel, and she wished she could redact it all even further than she was about to, because she didn’t want Yaz to have to live through what she’d seen. Because she didn’t think she could bear any of it all the way through again.

            But Yaz deserved the truth, after all this time.

So she showed her Gallifrey.

            Just bits and pieces, really, flashes of memory. The feel of the suns on her skin, the smell of the grass, so unlike anything she knew on any other world.

            The taste of ash and smoke coating her mouth when the Master burned it all down.

            She showed Yaz herself, all her faces in quick succession, and she could feel Yaz’ puzzled, delighted smile at the similarities between them all. And then she showed her the woman she’d known as Ruth, showed her what the Master had found, the screaming, desperate fury of the lies she’d been told, the memories that had been torn from her, the reason behind their wild search for Division. For the person who’d found her, tortured her, molded her into… what?

            She didn’t know who she’d been, what she’d done, and she never would, and she felt Yaz’ anger on her behalf, twining and twisting sharp and righteous around her own, and she made herself move on. She could stay stuck in this rage for days—she had, often. But she couldn’t drag Yaz down into that quagmire.

            Instead, in the parade of faces, she showed Yaz her friends. She showed her Jack, and Martha, and Donna, Amy and Rory, Sarah Jane and Ace and the Brigadier and so many others. So many bright, wonderful people she’d known. So many shining examples of the best of humanity. Her fondness for them was infinite, unending, even though they were gone from her life, even though her missing them eclipsed her affection, and it tugged at her hearts then, as it did every day, and now it tugged at Yaz’ too.

            And then she showed her Rose. And Clara. And River. And it hurt, even as she tried to wrangle her feelings into a manageable shape, as she tried not to overwhelm Yaz with the love and the heartache, the twisting thorns of regret tearing at them both now as the Doctor lost them all. This loss, this failure, this was what scared the Doctor, deeply and truly. This was what had left her a panicked mess on the console room floor after giving in to what she so badly wanted. This was the howling, miserable fear at the heart of her: that her hatred of being alone doomed the ones she loved, that she was trapped in this endless cycle of love and loss, that for her, there was no end and no way out and no alternative but grief.

            She could feel Yaz’ breathing, sharp and ragged in her own lungs, and she thought perhaps she might pull away, but Yaz clung on, because of course she did, because Yasmin Khan was very nearly the Doctor’s match in stubbornness.

            And the Doctor couldn’t let it end like this, couldn’t show Yaz only the misery, so instead she showed her the other thing she could never properly put words to. She showed her the love, endless stars and galaxies and supernovas of love, every bit of feeling she had for Yaz, everything she could never, ever say out loud. Just how beautiful she was, in the light of the fireworks on New Year’s Eve, or simply beneath a cloudy Sheffield sky. Just how impressive she was, piloting the TARDIS in a way almost no one else could, speaking kindly to the people they helped in a way that was so perfectly her own. Every little moment she’d noticed over the years, every tiny detail that had her falling in love again and again and again, she showed her.

            It was an apology, of sorts. It was a promise, of a different kind.

            And Yaz gasped, and she opened her eyes, and the Doctor thought she would pull away at last, but instead she surged forward, kissing the Doctor fiercely, desperately. Before, their kisses had been soft, gentle, but this was almost hungry as Yaz buried her fingers in the Doctor’s hair. As her own feelings flickered and mingled with the Doctor’s.

            She’d been careful not to step into Yaz’ mind any further than she’d needed to. She’d been careful only to show her what she had to, to explain, and nothing else. Looking in Yaz’ head, reading her thoughts without permission, she couldn’t do that. But Yaz was offering up these feelings, positively radiating so many conflicting emotions. Righteous fury, at what had been done to the Doctor. Curiosity, about her other selves, about her friends. Grief, an echo of the Doctor’s own. Gratitude, that the Doctor trusted her like this, with this.

            And love. So much love, reflected right back at her, as bright and warm as sunlight.

            The Doctor sighed, and she gave in, love curling around them both, thoughts and breaths intertwined until she forgot, almost, where she ended and Yaz began. And for a little while, time stopped around them. It should have been overwhelming, having someone else in her head like this, touch and feeling bleeding together until it was impossible to separate the two, but instead, all the Doctor could think was that she didn’t remember the last time she’d felt so safe.

            Eventually, Yaz pulled away from the kiss, but she stayed close, resting her forehead against the Doctor’s as she caught her breath. The Doctor dropped her hand, her thoughts reeling back into her own head where she couldn’t flood Yaz with them anymore, even as she couldn’t bear to pull away from Yaz’ touch now, from her fingers carding softly through her hair at the base of her neck.

            “Thank you,” Yaz whispered. “For letting me in.”

            “I’m sorry,” the Doctor replied, and she did shift then so she could see Yaz’ face, reaching out to brush the tears off her cheek with her thumb.

            Yaz just shook her head at that, and the Doctor knew she’d feel she had nothing to be sorry for, even though that seemed so terribly untrue.

            “You’re shaking,” Yaz said. “You must be exhausted. When was the last time you slept?”

            The Doctor opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again, furrowing her brow as she thought.

            “If you have to think that hard about it, it’s been too long,” Yaz said with a wobbly laugh. She got to her feet, placing their mugs in the sink to deal with later before turning back to the Doctor and extending her hand. “C’mon. You should rest.”

            “I’ll be fine, Yaz,” the Doctor said, offering up a twitch of a half-smile.

            “Doctor,” Yaz insisted, and when the Doctor looked up at her she saw her eyes were shining with tears again. “You just showed me very clearly why I can’t have you forever. Will you let me take care of you while I still can? Please?”

            Oh.

            She hadn’t expected this reaction. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, honestly; she’d never shown herself to anyone quite so frankly before. But of course Yasmin Khan would take all the heartbreak she’d had thrown at her and do everything in her power to help. It was what Yaz did best, after all.

            “All right,” the Doctor said, pushing herself to her feet and taking Yaz’ offered hand. “If you insist.”

            “I do,” Yaz replied with a waterlogged smile.

            She let Yaz take her by the hand, through the dimly-lit halls of her ship—their home—until they reached Yaz’ bedroom. On a different day, in other circumstances, the Doctor might’ve balked, now, shying away from this room and all its myriad implications with an awkward excuse. But Yaz was safe, and Yaz was right, because the Doctor was tired. So tired, of running, of fighting, of heartache.

            Yaz pulled her inside and shut the door behind them, letting go of the Doctor’s hand at last to go rummage around in her wardrobe. The Doctor looked around the room as she did; she’d been in here before, or, at the very least, she’d poked her head in, on occasion, looking for Yaz at the start of the day usually, especially when Ryan and Graham had still been here, back at the very beginning. The collection of pictures Yaz had on the wall had grown since then, and there was one that caught the Doctor’s eye straight away. A picture of the two of them, in front of a sunset on Auros Three. Ryan must’ve taken it, because the Doctor was pointing straight ahead at the sky, mouth open and eyes alight in an explanation of the atmospheric effects around them. And beside her, Yaz was looking not at the sky but at her, adoration clear in every line of her expression, even then, even years ago.

            She really had wasted so much time.

            Yaz appeared at her side again then, following her gaze to the picture, and instead of saying anything, she just knocked the Doctor’s shoulder with her own to get her attention.

            “Here,” she said, handing her a bundle of soft fabric. “Coat and boots off. Cozy pajamas on. Mandatory, okay?”

            Yaz pointed her to a desk chair in the corner where she could leave her things and disappeared again behind her, presumably to find her own pajamas. The Doctor shrugged out of her coat and kicked off her shoes quickly; her hands were still shaking enough to make the rest of it tricky, but the clothes Yaz had handed her (a pair of TARDIS-blue flannel pajama pants and a grey baseball t-shirt sporting an orange dragon atop a rainbow cascade of books, which was brilliant) were wonderfully soft.

            By the time she cautiously glanced over her shoulder, Yaz was already back in her hoodie from that morning, her hair loose over her shoulder, sitting cross-legged on her bed with the covers invitingly turned down. She smiled and patted the side of the mattress closer to where the Doctor stood.

            “You can sit,” she said, and then, her eyes going wide as she realized just how forward all of this was, just how unusual it was for them, she added, “If—if you want. If this is okay.”

            The Doctor sat, pulling one knee up to her chest, half-turned away from Yaz with her shoulders hunched up. The room was quiet and still; the Doctor wouldn’t have been surprised if the TARDIS had turned off every nonessential system for them, just so they could have a bit of peace tonight.

            “Doctor…” Yaz began softly, and the Doctor turned to look at her. She was biting her lip, like she was nervous about what she wanted to say. “Can I give you a hug?”

            The Doctor blinked, and then instead of answering she moved, flinging herself towards Yaz so forcefully it knocked both of them back onto the pillows. She clung to the younger woman, arms wrapped around her waist, nose tucked into the curve of her neck, and Yaz chuckled for a moment before her arms settled comfortingly around her shoulders.

            “Is this all right?” she asked, her fingers tracing soothing circles up and down her spine.

The Doctor nodded, her nose brushing against the soft fabric of Yaz’ hoodie. It smelled like laundry detergent, like Yaz’ faintly floral perfume, like the cozy warmth of another person. It was nice.

            “Thought you didn’t really like being touched,” Yaz said, casually, like whatever the answer was would be okay.

            “I don’t,” the Doctor replied. “It’s different when it’s you, Yaz. Everything’s different when it’s you.”

            They lay there together for a long while, neither of them moving except to breathe, except for Yaz’ hand to continue its pattern across the Doctor’s shoulder blades, and somehow the Doctor felt… quiet. Relaxed, even. She wasn’t used to it. She wasn’t used to standing still feeling like a good thing.

            All of this was so strange, so new. But… it was a good strange.

The Doctor’s eyes were closed, but she thought she sensed the ship turning down the lights in the room for them as Yaz eventually pulled the covers up over them both, kissing the top of the Doctor’s head.

            “Get some sleep,” she murmured softly.

            “Yaz,” the Doctor replied, surprising herself with how sleepy she sounded.

            “Mmm?” Yaz hummed, running her fingers through the Doctor’s hair.

            “Tomorrow,” she said. “You still up for visiting those penguins?”

            Yaz laughed, and the Doctor decided then that it was her favorite sound in the universe.

            “If I’m with you, Doctor,” she answered, “then I’m up for anything.”