It was a morning of good things.
Yaz woke well-rested, the Doctor - still asleep - snuggled into her side. She smiled. It would never get old, waking up like that. Even with the Doctor's cold toes, her tendency to hog the blankets and the nightmares Yaz so often had to calm her down from, she wouldn't change a thing about their arrangement. Physical contact was something she'd been lacking, back home with her family. None of her relatives were very big on cuddling, and Yaz had always coveted the touches she was allowed. But the Doctor. The Doctor was her own personal teddy bear.
And gazing into sleepy hazel eyes every morning was just icing on the cake.
She knew it wasn't normal, the amount of time she spent hugging and staring at and thinking of the Doctor. Was slowly realising that maybe, perhaps, it just might be something more than friendship between them. She shook the feelings away. It was far too early for a sexuality crisis.
Half an hour - and one impromptu pillow fight - later, she and the Doctor emerged from the bedroom. Slippered feet padded softly down the floor of the hall as they headed for the kitchen in search of breakfast. And a good cuppa, thought Yaz with a yawn.
It was in the kitchen that she found the second good thing that morning. Graham, it appeared, had risen long before them. He was stood in front of the stove, dressing gown sleeves rolled to the elbow, flipping pancakes.
Blueberry pancakes. My favourite.
The third thing came halfway through breakfast, in the form of the TARDIS dematerializing.
It had been two weeks now since the events on Solomon, and the chaos that followed. Things were still a little shaky, with nightmares running rampant most nights and the Doctor jumping at the smallest unexpected noise. But she was getting better, too, in other ways. She was slowly working up a proper appetite, her bruises and grazes fully healed. Twice now she'd managed a short bath on her own, though Yaz had had to sit in the open doorway the whole time. And it seemed, now, that the TARDIS had deemed her Time Lord well enough to fly.
On one condition, apparently. She was piloting.
Having raced all the way yo the console room, shark slippers skidding on the floor as she tried to both run and chew the last of her pancakes, the Doctor had been beyond dismayed to discover useless controls. groaned and danced around the console. She flicked and pressed and pulled everything Yaz could see.
"Wha's goin' on?"
A very sleepy, disoriented Ryan stumbled into the common room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His orange PJ's glowed brightly in the light of the columns. Yaz guessed that the dematerialization sequence had woken him up.
"The TARDIS is taking us someplace," responded the Doctor, squeaking as one button shot sparks when she pressed it. She continued, " and she won't tell me anything."
A strong glare was aimed at the central rotor, though glee was taking residence in her features at the prospect of adventure.
The ship stopped, then, throwing them down with a jolt. One of the monitors lit up, the display showing a date in Circular Gallifreyan.
December 22, 2011. Huh.
"No location," mused the Doctor, having risen to squint at the screen.
"Well, what does it say then?" Asked Graham, pulling himself upright, "Cuz I know them circles mean something."
"It's a date," Yaz said, pushing up off of the floor. She leant down to give Ryan a hand.
"December 22nd, 2011," she continued, "not too far back. I'd be 12."
They watched the Doctor hit a few keys. Frown. Hit a few more.
Then they heard a knock.
Someone's at the door.