#doctoryaz

The last playlist was for canon Doctor/Jack. This is for reading and writing fics where they actually get together

The Doctor and Donna

Doctor/River

Doctor/Clara

Doctor/Yaz

Yaz didn't expect the knock on her door.

For one thing, it was late at night. She'd just gotten home from a busy shift, and she was sort of looking forward to sprawling out on her sofa with a takeaway and some truly awful television. She was glad she'd gone for the EMT course, but wow, did Sheffield have some exhausting emergencies. 

For another thing, no one just… knocked on her door. They texted ahead of time to ask if they could come by. Especially at this time of night. 

The knock came again. Yaz sighed. Probably one of her neighbors was locked out or something. Well, if that was the case, she was the right person to ask, after that lockpicking demo Houdini had given her, and then all the practice she'd gotten. She made her way to the door—

—and opened it to a total stranger. Middle aged white man, by all appearances, and not one of her neighbors, or at least, she would've remembered if one of her neighbors had hair like that and went around matching their trousers to their waistcoat. Or went around wearing a waistcoat at all, for that matter—

Hang on. That fashion sense—something felt familiar. 

This wasn't a stranger. 

Yaz's heart leapt into her throat. 

She could see it in the way they held themself, the way they were rocking back on their heels, the way their silence hung brightly in front of them as they waited for her to make the first move. She opened her mouth, only to realize she had no idea what to say—

What came out was, “It's midnight.”

“Oh. Sorry. Lost track of—”

“Yeah, I know.” Yaz raised her eyebrows. “So are you going to come in, or what?”

“Oh! Right! Yes! Coming in!” Their accent had changed, Yaz noted. She wasn't sure why she'd expected it to stay the same. Now she thought about it, she wondered why the change hadn't been more drastic—they'd been Scottish before, she was pretty sure, and then Northern, and now London, but why did they seem limited to just the one island when there was a whole world full of Anglophone accents out there? 

She shook her head. It didn't matter. She stepped away from the doorframe, and they followed her into the kitchen. 

“Nice place,” they remarked, looking around. Yaz followed their gaze. There was nothing particularly special about her kitchen—it had come with the flat, and featured the nondescript wooden cupboards and white counters. She’d hung up some string lights, and she kept the place clean, but mostly it looked like any other kitchen in any other rented flat.

“Nice enough,” she said. She nodded at the electric kettle, which was blowing steam in the corner. “I was just making a cup of tea. D’you want one?”

“Oh, sure.” 

Yaz glanced over at them. Their eye was still moving around the space, taking everything in—yes, definitely familiar. And the way they slouched against one of the counters, head tilted back… Yaz felt a pang of bittersweet affection, so intense and sudden she had to look away.

“What sort of tea?” she asked. “Matcha? Chamomile? Peppermint? Earl Grey?” She glanced back. “Bit late for caffeine, if you’re constrained to linear time—” 

“No, yes, that’s a good point.” They nodded. “Better be chamomile, then.”

“Right.” Yaz opened her tea drawer, plucked out two chamomile teabags, dropped them into the mugs, filled the mugs with hot water. She picked them both up and turned, holding one out as an offering—they took it, turning a critical eye to the galaxy-print mug.

“This is nice,” they said.

“Thanks,” Yaz said. “Gift from Sonya.”

“Right, right. How is Sonya?”

“Same as always.” Yaz smiled. “Still a menace.”

They laughed. “Sorry to hear it.” 

Yaz raised her eyebrows. “So. What have you been up to?” 

“Er—” Their eyes darted around the room, and yes, that was familiar too, the way they looked at their surroundings like a cornered prey animal, as if it was their house and Yaz was the one who'd knocked on the door late at night. “Could we maybe sit down?”

“‘Course.” Yaz led them to the little table in the corner of the room. They sat across from her, and Yaz eyed them as they sipped slowly from the galaxy-print mug. “You're different,” she said. 

They tilted their head to the side, attentive, but they didn’t say anything. They just looked at her, brows drawn together, waiting to hear what she would say next. 

Yaz swallowed. “I mean—” What did she mean? “You never used to be able to sit still like that.” She nodded at their arms, crossed at their chest, and their feet, planted firmly on the ground, and their eyes, trained entirely on Yaz. “How long has it been?”

“Oh, not so long. Few weeks, maybe?”

Yaz’s eyebrows shot up. “A few weeks?”

“Yes, I know, I should’ve come sooner—”

“Doctor,” Yaz said. “It’s been over a year.”

They went quiet at that. 

“I’ve been here, worried about you, for over a year.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Yaz’s eyes widened. It wasn’t just that they’d apologized—the Doctor had done that plenty. But the way they said it—slowly, carefully, with mavity and weight behind it—even though she'd begged and pled for this, Yaz had never, ever thought she'd actually get it. Especially not a full year after she’d walked out of the TARDIS forever. 

“I shouldn't have kicked you out.” They took a deep breath. “I should've told you what was going on. I—” They were studying their hand, tilting it back and forth in front of them. “I wasn't ready yet. It's not an excuse, I just—” They shook their head. “I'm sorry,” they said again, and they looked just enough like a kicked puppy that Yaz couldn't help but smile. 

“I've missed you,” she said.

“I've missed you too.”

“You've really hurt me.” Yaz found herself fiddling with the string on her teabag, her fingers twisting so that it twined around them, staring at the thin lines the tea-stained thread left in her skin. “UNIT had to find me a therapist who wouldn't tell me I was delusional.”

They grimaced. “I've got one too. Also from UNIT. Not the same one, I hope.”

“I’d assume not,” Yaz said. “Being your therapist is probably a full-time job on its own, actually. No time for other clients.”

They laughed. “Quite right. That's part of why I'm here, actually.” They hesitated. “Well—not here, here. Although—that too. But I mean—on Earth, here.”

“What, so you can do therapy?” Yaz tried to imagine it. How did their sessions even go? 

“Sort of.” They paused. “I had—maybe you could call it an out-of-body experience?”

Yaz raised her eyebrows. 

“Or—an in-body experience, but with another body, also mine, next to me.” They shake their head. “It's a long story. I'll tell it, if you like, but—” They took a deep breath. “What I came here to say is, I'm sorry I hurt you.”

Yaz suppressed a gasp. 

The Doctor had never looked at her like this, had never met her eyes with so few reservations, so few barriers. 

“Therapy’s working, then?” she joked, and then she winced, because this was no time for that sort of joke. “Sorry. I mean—” She returned their eye contact and exhaled, dispelling all her self-consciousness and worry so that she could mean it, totally and completely, when she said, “Thank you.”

She saw the moment they heard it, the moment the tension went out of their shoulders, the moment they sighed in relief. After a long inhale, they added, “Can I—I mean—do you still want to hear everything? Can I tell you?” 

Yaz looked at them. It had been over a year since she’d seen them last—over a year since Let’s not say goodbye, since Can we just live in the present?, since I want to tell you everything. She’d done a lot, in that year. Spent time learning how to be on her own, how to be herself, how to live an interesting life even if the Doctor wasn’t there. And she’d come to terms with the fact that she wouldn’t know, could never know, what it was that had the Doctor racing from adventure to adventure, chasing after total strangers, putting herself and Yaz in constant danger.

But—here they were. The Doctor. Every cell in their body had changed, and they’d still come back for Yaz.

She swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”

“You remember,” the Doctor began, “when we went to Gallifrey?”

Yaz nodded. She remembered only too well: the strange, shining portal; running into a jarringly unfamiliar TARDIS; the Doctor’s tear-stained face.

“The Master showed me something from Time Lord history.” The Doctor set down their mug. “Something—about me, as it turned out.”

Yaz waited.

“They lied to me.” The Doctor’s voice was low and rough. “They said I was one of them.”

“And you're not?”

The Doctor shook their head. “They—this woman—she found me.”

“Found you?”

“As a kid. Found me, took me in.” They took a deep breath. “Did you know, there wasn't always such a thing as a Time Lord? It's a rank, not a species. Got a bit muddled, later on, but—” A long pause. “I was the first.” The way they said it—Yaz could hear the tears in their voice. They sounded so childlike, so helpless—and they continued—“They didn't have regeneration before me. I fell—died—came back—” They looked up at Yaz. “My adopted mother was a scientist.”

The words hung in the air for a long moment. 

“She—” Yaz began, unsure how to ask the question. 

“She experimented on me. Killed me, over and over again. Figured out how to use my regeneration energy on herself. Made me work for her military organization. And then, when she was done with me, she wiped my memory and made me do my childhood over again.”

Yaz’s hands were trembling on her mug. She set it down. “That's awful.” 

“I met her.” 

“What, recently?”

“When I got turned into an angel.” When Yaz had spent four years traveling the world, trying to get back to the Doctor. “They took me to her. She was—she was destroying the universe because of me.”

Yaz frowned. “What's the logic there?”

“She thought I was a threat to her organization,” the Doctor said. “I don't—it doesn't make sense. I'm not sure it's supposed to make sense.” They paused. “She was trying to start over. With another universe. Because I had ruined her plans for the first one.”

“That's—” Yaz stopped short. There weren't words to describe what that was. 

“It’s not an excuse,” the Doctor said. “For how I treated you, I mean.”

Yaz tilted her head to the side. “Isn’t it? I mean—I spent years trying to figure out what could’ve happened that you were reacting like that. Trying to figure out what—in any universe—could justify the way you were acting.” She shook her head. “This—I mean—it blows all my old theories out of the water.”

“Oh? What theories were those?”

“Thought you might’ve stolen something. Or had something stolen from you. Or else you were just sad that Gallifrey was destroyed. Or maybe there was something with you and the Master I didn’t know about.”

“You weren’t far off, then,” the Doctor said. “Something was stolen from me, and I’ve stolen plenty. And I’ll always be sad about Gallifrey, and the Master.” Suddenly, in the dim light of the kitchen at midnight, Yaz could see every exhausted line in the Doctor’s face, the weariness in their eyes. They were thousands of years old. It was easy to forget, when they looked like any other human, but now it was impossible to overlook—Yaz could feel the full weight of all those years seeping through the Doctor’s expression. “It’s just that there’s more. So much more. And I never would’ve known if the Master hadn’t told me.”

“Doctor,” Yaz breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you go apologizing to me,” the Doctor said. “Not when I came here to apologize to you.”

Yaz smiled. “It’s not like apology is a limited resource. I think there’s enough to go around.”

“Suppose you’re right.” The Doctor looked at her, their hand absently tracing the rim of their mug. “You seem to be doing all right for yourself?”

“Could be worse.” Yaz shrugged. “Place is nice. I’ve got a good job. Some days I forget my family thinks I’m four years younger than I actually am.” She fiddled with her teabag. “Feels like a dream, sometimes. The time I spent with you. If I didn’t have the others, maybe I’d believe it was one.” 

“The others—Ryan and Graham?”

“Them too,” Yaz said. She looked at the Doctor. “Hang on, has no one told you?”

“Told me what?”

“Tegan and Ace started a support group,” Yaz said. “For all your old friends.” 

The Doctor’s mouth dropped open. “Hang on. Is Mel involved? Mel Bush?”

Yaz nodded.

“And she didn’t tell me?” They looked so hurt, Yaz had to laugh.

“I think you not knowing about it is sort of the point,” she said. 

“Still. I will be having words with Mel.” 

“Was wondering why I hadn’t heard from her in a couple weeks. Thought it was just that she was busy with UNIT.”

“Well, in fairness, UNIT was taking up a good deal of her time.” 

Yaz hesitated. “Was that—I mean, when the whole world went totally unreasonable, and me and Ryan and Ace were on Sheffield cleanup duty? Ace said UNIT was involved. She kept passing on messages from Kate.”

“You’re not working with them, then?”

Yaz shook her head. “Kate offered. All felt a bit too military for me. There’s a reason I quit the police.” She paused. “But, you know, something comes up, I help where I can. Didn’t love being the only sane EMT in Sheffield, mind.” 

“Oh, you're an EMT now?”

“Why did you think I was up so late?” Yaz smiled. “Evening shift. Just passed the training a couple months ago.”

The Doctor smiled back, their eyes bright and warm. “Yasmin Khan,” they said. “Look at you. Still saving lives.”

“Doctor,” Yaz parroted. “Look at you. Slowing down.”

“Oh, don't worry. I'm still traveling. Same as ever. Just taking breaks in between.” They hesitated. “You could join me, one of these days. Quick trip. Can almost guarantee it won't be dangerous.”

Yaz had spent a whole year coming to terms with the fact that she would never travel with the Doctor again. It had taken her months to really, truly, accept that as fact. Getting in the TARDIS again could undo all that progress—but she looked at the Doctor, so different but so very unchanged, and a soft, warm feeling expanded in her chest at the thought of traveling with them again. 

“I’d like that,” she said. And then her brain caught up to her mouth, and she added, “Only one trip at a time, and you'll have to get me back to the time and place we left. I've got a job I like now, and I don't fancy losing it ‘cause my alien friend from outer space keeps taking me on adventures.”

The Doctor’s eyes were loaded with affection. “Quite right.” 

“Text me beforehand, too,” Yaz added. “None of this materializing out of nowhere business.” 

“Your number’s the same?” the Doctor checked.

Yaz nodded.

“All right, then. I’ll text you.” They paused. “I’m getting better at all this scheduling business, you know. Living as a human, and all that. Actually, you should come by my house sometime. Should’ve offered that before the time travel.” 

“You have a house?” 

“Oi, what’s so surprising about that?” the Doctor asked. “It’s in London. Decent size place, all for me, only I’ve got some friends—family, sort of—who’re always around. The TARDIS is nice, but it’s hardly got a mailing address.”

“Are people sending you letters?” Yaz asked.

“Mostly bills,” the Doctor mumbled. “Y’know. For the house.” 

“So, you need a house so you can have a mailing address, and you need the mailing address so you can get bills for the house?” Yaz was holding back laughter, and doing a terrible job of hiding it.

“I didn’t come here to be mocked,” the Doctor protested. “Thrown out, all right, that would’ve been fine. Expected it, really. But—mockery? That’s too far. Anyway, without a house, I wouldn’t have a garden, would I? And without a garden, no one would come round for tea, and I quite like having people come round for tea. I could have you come round for tea! Pick you up in the TARDIS, have you there and back in an afternoon—”

Yaz carefully did not mention the miles and miles of gardens she’d walked through on the TARDIS. “I’d be honored,” she said. “And maybe I can meet these friends of yours?”

The Doctor’s face lit up. “Yes! Brilliant! You’ll like my friends. They’ll love you. Well, you already know Mel, of course, but Donna—she’s sort of a special case. Didn’t remember me—couldn’t—until she could again—and she’s got this daughter, and—oh, you’ll love them. I love them.”

Yaz felt a rush of affection for the Doctor, her Doctor, that overeager alien sitting in her living room, drinking tea and talking a mile a minute, full of enthusiasm, full of love for the universe and everything in it, despite all this universe had taken from them. 

“I’m sure I will,” she said. She set down her mug on the table. “You know, it’s good to see you again. Wasn’t sure I would. Wasn’t sure I wanted to.”

“I wasn’t going to come,” the Doctor said. “Not yet, anyway. Except I told Donna about you—about everything—and she said if I didn’t at least try to apologize, she’d slap me across the face.”

“Good friend, that Donna.”

The Doctor beamed. “I know.” They took a deep breath, their smile settling into a more serious expression. “Really, though. Thank you for not slamming the door in my face.” 

“Anytime.” 

“And—” The Doctor hesitated. “I’ll go in a moment—don’t want to disrupt anything—

“It’s all right—”

“—but I had one more thing I wanted to say to you. If you’ll hear it.” They were fiddling with the teabag again, avoiding Yaz’s eyes in a way that made her a little nervous. She’d already heard the Doctor’s deepest secret—what else could they say?

“Of course I’ll hear it,” she said anyway.

The Doctor nodded. “Right. It’s just that—I seem to be more open, this time round, even without the rest and the therapy. And it occurs to me that there are loads of people I can never see again, never talk to. And most of those people, I never really told them what I wanted to tell them. Particularly, I never really told them how I—what they meant to me.”

Yaz found herself chewing on her lower lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Their eyes were glistening. “And it occurs to me, I suppose, that I never told you either, not really, not properly, and—well, I’m lucky you’re still here, aren’t I?”

Yaz waited. 

“So—” They swallowed. “In the name of healing, and being open, and all the people I’ve missed the chance to say it to—I just wanted to tell you that I really did love you, Yasmin Khan. Still do.”

Yaz felt tears in her eyes and an ache in her throat before she’d even fully processed what they’d said. She stood, and the Doctor stood too—she took two big steps to reach them and pulled them into a tight hug. Her head rested against their shoulder, and they dropped their forehead forward to rest against her hair. They were taller now, their arms a little longer, their hair prickly with gel for some reason, and it took Yaz a second to adjust to the unfamiliar familiarity of their cool skin and warm breath. 

“I think I’ll always love you,” she whispered, as close as she could come to a true confession, and she felt the contradiction of the Doctor’s back and shoulder muscles relaxing while their arms tightened around her. Yaz held on for another moment, partially basking in the peace the Doctor’s touch brought, partially horrified that she could fall back into this so easily, and then she pulled back. “I’ll see you soon? I have Thursday off—”

“Thursday, then,” the Doctor said. “I’ll text you.” 

“Right.” Yaz held their eyes for another long moment. Finally, she leaned up and pressed a kiss to the Doctor’s cheek. “I’ll see you Thursday. And you can introduce me to all your friends. And tell Mel we miss her at the support group, yeah?”

“‘Course.” The Doctor gave her a two-fingered salute, at which Yaz rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“Have a safe trip home,” she deadpanned, sure the TARDIS was parked around the corner or something, waiting to take the Doctor back to their brand new house.

“I will, thanks.” The Doctor grinned. “Did you know, UNIT’s kept my old car from when I was stuck on Earth in the ‘70’s?”

Yaz’s jaw dropped. “You drove here?”

“Told you I was settling down a bit, didn’t I?” 

“Then I wish a safe trip to everyone who has the misfortune of sharing the road with you,” Yaz teased. 

“Oi, I’m not that bad. Don’t want to risk damage to the car. She’s an antique.”

Yaz waved a hand. “Get out of here before I start making fun of you for calling your car she.”

“Her name’s Bessie,” the Doctor added, but they were already backing away from Yaz, towards the door. “I’ll text you when I get back to London, if that’ll help your peace of mind.”

“Sure,” Yaz said, shaking her head. “I’ll see you Thursday.” 

“See you.” The Doctor left, the door swinging shut behind them, and Yaz sank back down into her chair. 

She was going to have a lot to tell her therapist this week. 

And yet when she woke up, the next morning, to a text from the Doctor—Home safe!—she couldn’t help but smile.

...

END NOTES: you can pry the mavity bit from my cold dead hands.