Work Text:
Stupid thing’s probably broken. Or just out to get her.
The layout of the TARDIS hasn’t changed since Ryan, Graham, and Yaz first started traveling with the Doctor. Yaz has walked down the main hallway hundreds of times; she knows. First, a sort of lounge/living room type situation, with a small kitchen that miraculously keeps spitting out new and increasingly specific appliances – the giant rainbow doughnut maker was a highlight – and the newest video game consoles for Ryan, crime novels for Yaz – a few of which the Doctor snatches away as soon as she sees them because of “spoilers”, much to Yaz’s frustration – and a large stack of magazines, catered to whatever Graham’s interested in at that moment specifically. A workshop in the corner for the Doctor to tinker with, well, whatever, with a window – Yaz will never get over the window, where does it go? But the Doctor always just shrugs – for ventilation. The bathroom(s), which multiply as needed. The bedrooms down the hall, in order: Ryan, Graham, Yaz, the Doctor. Names written on the door in varying colors. It’s always been like this. And Yaz isn’t surprised that, after the door swings shut behind Ryan and Graham for the last time, their rooms don’t go away exactly but sort of fade into the wall, but for the life of her, she cannot understand why her room would just disappear.
Unless the stupid thing’s broken. Or otherwise out to get her.
After spending half an hour wandering down increasingly convoluted hallways, which yields no results except three separate swimming pools and a bowling alley, Yaz is forced to accept that her room’s gone. Mumbling about the annoyances of sentient ships that can, apparently, play favorites and hold grudges, she trudges back into the console room and slumps onto a stair.
“I don’t think the TARDIS likes me very much,” she says sheepishly to the Doctor.
“What makes you say that?” The Doctor shoves her goggles up out of her face with an enthusiasm that leaves her hair sticking out in all directions. Yaz’s heart trips just look at her. She doesn’t seem real. Like a dream Yaz has had more often than she’d care to admit. But that’s her, Yaz’s Doctor, wrinkling her nose in a way Yaz’s sleep mind could never adequately reproduce. “How could the TARDIS not like you?”
Yaz ducks her head. “My bedroom’s gone,” she says, forcing it to come out jokingly. “I can take a hint, you know,” she says, looking up at the stupidly smug spaceship.
“Oi,” the Doctor says, pointing at the console. “Stop teasing Yaz. It’s not appropriate.”
If Yaz strains to hear, there’s a sort of hum, but maybe it’s just in her head.
“Take my room,” the Doctor offers. “I don’t sleep much anyway. Besides, I always wanted to try sleeping standing up. Horses rave about it. Says it really gets them going in the morning.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” the Doctor says. “The TARDIS is just a bit mardy. Happens when you get to be that age.” She pats the console affectionately.
Yaz stands, brushing imaginary dirt off her jeans. She clears her throat. “I think I’ll head to bed, then.”
“Good night, Yaz!” The Doctor calls after her. Yaz waves over her shoulder and walks down the hallway, which seems to grow longer with every step.
“Now, what did I ever do to you?” Yaz mutters at the TARDIS. When she reaches the boys’ bedrooms, she tries the door handles for good measure. They don’t budge. Sighing, Yaz walks past the empty spot on the wall where her room used to be and hesitantly opens the door to the Doctor’s room. She isn’t sure what she expected – something messier, perhaps? Something that will reveal the inner workings of the Doctor’s mind? Instead, there’s a closed wardrobe and a collection of hats and jackets on a rack, most of which Yaz has never seen the Doctor wear. Yaz changes and brushes her teeth, the TARDIS silent around her. Half the time, she expects Ryan to bound across the hall, or Graham’s hearty laugh to emanate from the lounge. There’s only the gurgle of water leaving the drain. Yaz sighs.
The room is warm, and the sheets smell like the Doctor. Yaz settles into the bed, curling up on the pillow. She wants to take stock of the day – replay the little moments in her mind, the Doctor’s smile when Yaz announced she was staying – but exhaustion wins over, eyelids heavy for want of sleep. Tomorrow, Yaz thinks, you have the Doctor. No more waiting. No more sitting on the cold TARDIS floor while people live their lives outside.
It’s the last thought she has before she falls asleep.
Yaz walks into the console room the next morning to find the Doctor snoring against a pillar, fully upright. “Doctor,” she says quietly. The Doctor doesn’t budge. “Doctor?” Yaz taps her. The Doctor’s eyes fly open.
“Yaz!” She smoothes her hair back with her hands. “Definitely understand why horses are like that now. Though, come to think of it –” the Doctor tilts her head.
“D’you sleep well?”
“Excellent,” the Doctor says, striding over to the console. “I am hungry, though – pancakes?” She twirls around and claps her hands together. “Earth 300 years into the future discovers something that makes them taste extra buttery.” Yaz, instinctively, turns to trade a look with Ryan, then remembers he isn’t there. She turns back towards the Doctor, staring at Yaz expectantly.
Despite herself, she blushes. “That sounds great.”
#
The Doctor really must not need that much sleep, because Yaz never actually catches her sleeping after that and she’s a ball of energy, as usual. The Doctor takes Yaz to a strange world that shifts and turns in front of them as they walk and a planet full of elephant-sized cats that lick at Yaz’s hands affectionately when she feeds them. They spend a day in the TARDIS, lounging around – Yaz tries to teach the Doctor how to use a PlayStation until they both collapse on the couch in laughter.
“Thank you for staying,” the Doctor says suddenly, looking down at her hands.
Yaz’s heart lurches.
“I didn’t… I didn’t know if you would.”
“Of course,” Yaz says. “I didn’t know what to do without you.”
There’s something unreadable in the Doctor’s face, something tired and lonely. Yaz wants nothing more than to lean over and hug her, hold her until she doesn’t have that look on her face anymore and they can laugh about the Doctor mixing up the controls again. Yaz opens her mouth to say something, anything –
“I have a great idea for tomorrow,” the Doctor says, throwing the controller aside and striding towards the door. Yaz curses internally and jumps up to follow her. “Have you ever seen a planet that’s just blue?”
#
The planet is, indeed, just blue.
Not monochrome. The planet glimmers with infinite different colors, varying shades from midnight blue to the lightest hint of a pale cloudless sky.
“Just wait until sunset,” the Doctor says, mouth full of blue ice cream. “It’s absolutely beautiful. You’ve never seen anything like it. All blue, of course.”
“I can imagine,” Yaz says, eyes slipping over the ridge of the mountains at the edge of the horizon, the lush blue forest that separates it from them. Like a character in a rom-com, she almost says most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen while staring pathetically at the Doctor adjusting her scarf. Let’s not do that, Yaz, she says to herself.
“Shall we go, then?” The Doctor looks at her wrist. “Don’t want to miss the sunset.”
“Doctor, did you ever have a watch, or do you just look at your wrist for fun?” Yaz laughs.
“It’s a Time Lord thing,” the Doctor claims and holds out an arm for Yaz to take. “I’ve got that sixth sense.”
“I don’t believe you,” Yaz says, heart thudding in her chest as she loops her arm around the Doctor’s. The Doctor is warm despite the unmistakable autumn chill in the air. It smells like home in October – the earthy leaf smell, crisp coldness in the air that edges out the round summer air. If Yaz closed her eyes, she could be in Sheffield. Yaz will never stop marveling at the fact that there are, apparently, only so many smells in a universe – wet asphalt and heavy rain and the blend of everything only found during rush hour in a city.
They wind their way up a narrow path, cutting back and forth across a hillside. The Doctor walks with the confidence of a woman who’s been here dozens of times. Maybe she has? She hasn’t mentioned. Yaz thinks of asking, but then the Doctor would get evasive and they’re having such a lovely evening right now.
“Nearly there,” the Doctor says, striding purposefully across the top of the hillside. “There’s a little vantage point on the edge here. Not quite as nice as the ones over on the mountain, but much less touristy.”
They stop at a cliffside with a steel bar half-heartedly separating them from the drop. Yaz stares out at the forest, the turquoise lake lapping at the powdery blue sand. The sun’s rays, shooting out over the sky behind the mountains.
“It’s beautiful,” Yaz says, and for once, she’s not staring at the Doctor with those puppy eyes she knows she has.
The Doctor sits, dangling her legs over the edge of the cliff. Yaz, wordlessly, drops down next to her.
They sit like that in silence for the next half hour, watching the last rays of periwinkle disappear until the sky is a full midnight blue.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Yaz says, turning towards her companion.
The Doctor only snores in response.
“Doctor?” Yaz prods her lightly on the shoulder. The Doctor snores again. “Doctor, sunset’s over.” At this, the Doctor’s eyes flutter open. She yawns, rubbing her eyes. Yaz stares at her, a bit bemused. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” the Doctor says. “Lovely sunset, that.”
“Did you see any of it?”
“Loads.” The Doctor stands, stretching a bit. “Back to the TARDIS, then!”
Yaz follows her into the dark. Wordlessly, they loop their arms together, anchoring Yaz safely to the Doctor’s side.
#
“I’m not tired,” the Doctor claims. But her eyelids are clearly falling closed while she speaks, and she’s had to stifle more than one yawn since they got back to the TARDIS.
“Doctor, you can have your room back,” Yaz says. “I can sleep on the sofa, it’s a lovely sofa.” Or, Yaz thinks, the TARDIS could give me my room back and stop being dodgy. “Or you can sleep with me,” her traitor mouth autonomously spits out. She tries to ignore the blush probably creeping up her neck. Why did she say that? “Bed’s big enough.”
“Are you sure?” The Doctor looks faintly relieved, and Yaz feels bad for taking over her room for so long. “I really don’t need much sleep. Just a little every now and then. Like custard creams.”
“You definitely eat custard creams more than a little every now and then,” Yaz points out, not without affection. “And yes, I’m sure.”
“Not sure if I’m a cuddler in this body,” the Doctor says, quirking an eyebrow upward.
“Long as you don’t kick me,” Yaz says.
#
Yaz is already sleeping when the Doctor shuffles into the room. Yaz wakes up from the noise but doesn’t say anything, too tired to trust herself not to be embarrassing. “Did I wake you,” the Doctor mumbles as she clambers into bed next to Yaz.
Yaz allows herself a slight headshake no. “Good night, Doctor,” she whispers, turning away from her.
They lie apart for a while. Then Yaz must have fallen asleep. When she wakes, she is warm, the sort of cozy warmth you only are when you know you should be cold. The Doctor’s head is tucked next to Yaz’s shoulder. She looks strangely young like that, in a t-shirt with a rainbow graphic on it, without her suspenders and her coat. Face unwrinkled. Yaz stares at her for a while, hardly daring to breathe.
Then the Doctor reaches an arm out and slings it over Yaz’s waist.
There are a million things going on in Yaz at once. She could move. Should she move? Is this strange? Will they wake in the morning next to each other, the Doctor still holding onto Yaz, and never mention it again? She can’t bring herself to turn away, her heart thudding like mad in her chest. Instinctively, Yaz shifts closer to the Doctor, inhaling her smell, like clean laundry and caramel and something slightly burnt but not unpleasant. Slowly, her heart calms, and Yaz drifts back to sleep.
#
When she wakes up, Yaz is alone. The bed seems bigger than it was the night before, a chill where the Doctor’s head lay on the pillow. Yaz pulls a jumper over and pads down to the console room, which is empty at first glance. “Doctor?”
The Doctor slides out from under the console, grin bright as the noon sun. “Good morning, Yaz!” She stands up, adjusting her suspenders.
“Energy restored, I see?” Yaz smiles, leaning against a railing.
“Never slept better,” the Doctor says. “And you?”
“Like a log,” Yaz says.
“That’s good, then.” The Doctor pauses. A flash of something in her eyes. “You know, it’s, uh. Been a long time. Since I was that close to anyone.”
“Don’t worry,” Yaz says. Is she trying to apologize? “I slept really well.”
“Good.” The Doctor smiles, teeth poking out from between her lips. They stand like that for a moment, looking at each other across the console room. Yaz’s side tingles where the Doctor held her. “Off to the next destination, then,” the Doctor says, looking away and fiddling with the controls. “Do you have any wishes?”
Between them, the TARDIS hums.