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We’re never going to get that moment at the beach where you tell me everything that happened to you, are we?
The Doctor’s been evading questions. For years now, practically since she was reborn. It’s gotten more difficult, lately: the questions are a result of attachment, and no matter how much she tries to evade attachment, it always finds her. In this case, it finds her in the form of one Yasmin Khan.
The Doctor promised Yaz she’d tell her everything. Yaz doesn’t even know how massive that promise is. How could she? The Doctor hasn’t told her.
And now they’re finally on the beach, enjoying a nice day out. The Doctor has directed all of her attention to building an intricate sand castle, complete with moat and drawbridge, while Yaz and Dan have been relaxing under an umbrella, drinking their mocktails and watching the ocean. It’s a beautiful day— the sky is perfectly violet, the sea idyllic.
It’s all a distraction. The Doctor knows she won’t be able to get away with pretending she just wants to build a castle from sentient sand. There’s a tension between her and Yaz, and she’s not doing either of them any favors by ignoring it. But still, she’s procrastinating. It’s easier to focus on carving just the right cobblestone pattern into the side of her castle, to pretend that this is the most important thing right now.
And it works, for most of the day. It’s not until late afternoon that she hears Yaz and Dan murmuring to each other, followed by Yaz standing up and tugging at the Doctor’s arm.
“C’mon, Doctor,” she says. “Let’s go for a walk.”
The Doctor closes her eyes. Takes a deep breath. Stands up. She looks Yaz in the face: her expression is stony, unrelenting.
“All right, then,” she says, trying for a breezy tone. She’s not sure it hits. They start walking, and the Doctor feels her avoidance take over. “Love a walk on the beach. Always have. You know, I went for a beach walk with Amelia Earhart, once. She was brilliant. Let me fly her plane and everything!”
Yaz cuts through the noise. “Doctor.”
The Doctor falls silent. She has to talk to Yaz. Has to force the words out of her mouth, even though she’d rather do literally anything else. It’s important. She wants to keep Yaz with her.
“You said you’d talk to me,” Yaz says.
“I know.”
They’re getting further and further from the resort— the beach is nearly empty here. It’s as good a place as any to have this conversation. Except—
“Sometimes, I want to say things, and I just can’t say them.” The Doctor kicks at the sand. “And you don’t understand why I can’t say them, which isn’t your fault, because how can you understand when I can’t tell you?” She pauses. “I really want to talk to you, Yaz.”
“Then talk.” Yaz’s tone is uncompromising. “Doctor, I want to understand. But right now, I can’t.”
“I know.”
They keep walking. The Doctor’s boots are filling with sand. A bit silly, in retrospect, to wear boots on the beach, but it’s not like she has any other shoes. Well, the TARDIS does, probably, but—
“You’re still not saying anything,” Yaz says.
—she’s getting sidetracked.
“I know,” she says again. “I don’t know why it’s so hard.” Well, she sort of does, but she doesn’t want to think about it.
Yaz stops walking. It takes a second for the Doctor to notice, but when she does, she whirls around. Yaz is standing, hair whipping in the wind, her face completely relaxed and open, the late afternoon sunbathing her in golden light. She is so, so beautiful, the Doctor thinks.
(She’s on another beach, watching someone just as beautiful slip out of her grasp for the second time.
She wouldn’t have lost Rose, if she had been less attached. Torchwood never would’ve existed, and the Cybermen never would’ve come across the gap between the universes.
She was happy, with Rose. That was her mistake.)
“I know it’s hard,” Yaz is saying. “I’m just asking you to try. Really try. We don’t have to talk about everything today, even. I just need some honesty.”
The Doctor nods. She takes a step closer to Yaz. Swallows the lump in her throat.
“I’m afraid to be honest,” she says, and it’s the truest thing she’s said to Yaz. “It never really goes well, when I’m honest. Might put you in danger.”
Yaz raises an eyebrow. “More danger than being dangled over a pit of boiling acid and not knowing why?
The Doctor presses her mouth into a line. “Point taken.” She hesitates. “I suppose— what I’m really worried about— I just don’t want to lose you.” She tries to stop there, but the next sentence pours out of her mouth before she has the chance to stop it. “I always seem to lose people, when I’m happy.”
Yaz’s mouth falls open. She sputters for a moment, then says, “You’re afraid to be honest with me… because it’ll make you too happy?” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“It’s not that being honest with you will make me happy,” the Doctor says. “Or, it might, but that’s not what I mean. It’s just that I’ve been trying—” She cuts off, collecting herself. It doesn’t work. She’s going to cry. “I’ve been trying not to get too attached. And the more I open myself up, the harder it’s going to be.” She closes her eyes, trying to stop the flow of tears, but when she speaks, it’s with raw emotion. “I don’t want to lose you to my mistakes.”
“And don’t I get a say?” Yaz asks. “You’ve been traveling with me for three years, Doctor. If you really didn’t want to get attached, if you didn’t want me to get attached, you shouldn’t even have come for tea that first time. And you said it ages ago, when we asked to come with you. You said we might not be safe. You said we’d come back different people. I’ve had seven years now to really, truly understand what you meant by that.”
The Doctor inhales sharply at the reminder of the four years Yaz spent in the 1900’s. Another thing that wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t gotten too attached.
But Yaz glosses over it, stepping closer. For a moment, the Doctor thinks Yaz is about to reach out and touch her, but Yaz just says, “Doctor, I was with you at the end of the universe, and I’m still here. You’re not losing me as easily as all that.”
(The Doctor is standing in the TARDIS, watching a barely-there hologram, silent tears tracking slowly down her cheeks.
Am I ever going to see you again?
You can’t.
Pain radiates in her chest.
She would do anything to stop this from happening again.)
Yaz is right. The Doctor knows it, deep down. She’s been trying to have her cake and eat it too: she’s been keeping Yaz at arm’s length without outright rejecting her. It’s not fair to Yaz. It’s not fair to the Doctor, either, but she’s beyond expecting fairness.
Yaz, though. Yaz deserves better.
So she takes a deep breath and says, “I’m sorry.” She’s given up stopping her tears: they’re rolling down her face whether she likes it or not. “I should never have done that to you.” She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for anymore. Everything, probably. “Thank you for staying with me, even though I haven’t been good to you.”
“Doctor, I love you. Of course I stayed.”
(Another beach. Another time.
I— I love you.
Quite right, too.
She wants to say more. She misses her chance.)
The minute the words escape Yaz’s lips, her eyes widen in a panic. Hastily, she adds, “I don’t mean— it’s just— getting to have you in my life is worth the trouble.” She seems to deflate a little. “Even if you don’t feel the same way.”
“What?” The Doctor tries to process everything Yaz has just said. She caught the love confession, and the quick backtrack— but what does Yaz mean, worth the trouble ? “Of course you’re worth the trouble. You’re no trouble at all, actually. Very low-maintenance companion. Gold star for that.” She’s rambling again, trying to cover while her thoughts race.
“That’s not what I mean.” Yaz is frustrated now: the Doctor’s seen her this way often enough to recognize it. But usually, the Doctor ignores it, finds a way to evade, slipping through Yaz’s questions like a particularly avoidant eel.
It’s time to stop running.
“What is it that you mean, then?” She tries to sound genuine. Sometimes she pretends not to understand things like this, but this time she really, actually isn’t getting it.
Yaz sighs. “I mean that being with another person takes effort. You need to be willing to face up to stuff. Not take the easy way out.” She fixes the Doctor with a pointed stare. “You’ve been taking the easy way out. You don’t think I’m worth the trouble of confronting your own emotions.”
The Doctor’s never properly cried in front of Yaz— that’s one of those things she’s kept bottled up inside. But seeing, now, how much she’s hurt Yaz… she can’t keep it in.
“Yaz, you are worth everything to me,” she sobs. “You’re brilliant. And you’re right. I’ve been taking the easy way out.” She sniffles, trying fruitlessly to stop her tears. “I’ve been trying to protect us both. You, because the people I get close to always seem to get hurt. And me, because I’ve known I would be grieving you from the moment I met you.” She looks up at the sky, violet streaked with orange and pink. “I’ve lived too long, Yaz. And there’s no end in sight.” She looks back at Yaz, who’s still standing there, looking at her with nothing but love in her eyes. Even through all the frustration, the years of separation, the arguments, Yaz still has love in her eyes. The Doctor can’t stand it. “But I shouldn’t be punishing you for that.”
“Shouldn’t be punishing yourself for it, either,” Yaz says. It sounds very reasonable, when she says it, but the Doctor can’t quite get her head around it. Has she been punishing herself?
(She’s standing on the beach. Her clone is there, and Rose Tyler.
But I spent all that time trying to find you. I’m not going back now.
But you’ve got to.
She tells herself it’s for the best. It’s necessary. She can’t have a clone of herself running around this universe. And Rose deserves someone she can grow old with.
She’s always been the kind of person who likes to rip the band-aid off. Get all the pain in at once. Even if Rose stays back today, the Doctor will lose her eventually. Leaving her behind feels like tearing out a part of her very soul, but it’s for the best. It’s necessary.)
Yaz steps forward, wrapping her arms around the Doctor, her embrace a forgiveness. The Doctor clings to her, burying her undignified tears in Yaz’s shirt.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’ve been so afraid.” She starts mumbling her thoughts into Yaz’s shoulder, trying not to filter anything out. “I want to be with you, Yaz. I want to tell you everything. I want to be attached to you. I want us to be able to have fun together. I want to make the most of the time we have left. I—”
Yaz stops her. “I know, Doctor. Let’s take it one step at a time, all right?”
The Doctor nods, getting a faceful of Yaz’s hair in the process. For a long moment, they stand there, holding each other in silence, Yaz rubbing slow circles on the Doctor’s back. Finally, the Doctor’s sobs subside: she’s still sniffling, but her tears are under control. She steps back, looking Yaz in the eyes.
“When I was on Gallifrey,” she begins, talking quickly, as if saying it fast will make it any easier, “the Master showed me a piece of Time Lord history that was meant to be a secret. He wanted it to hurt me, I think, and it worked.” She takes a deep breath. Every word feels like a risk. “The Time Lords lied to me. They stole my memories, and they lied to me. I never did trust them, to be fair, but—” Her voice cracks. “I never expected this.”
“What did they do?” Yaz’s voice is gentle, so much gentler than the Doctor deserves.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m not a Time Lord, Yaz. I’m— I don’t know what I am. They found me as a child, and they used me.” She hesitates. “I’ve told you before about how I can change my body. That’s not something Gallifreyans are born with.” She’s crying again. She ignores it, pushing through the tears to keep explaining. “I was born with it. I was born with it, and my adopted mother ran experiments on me until she figured out how to take it for herself.” She lets out a long breath. “And then I worked for her agency, and then they wiped my memory. That’s all I know. I don’t know what I did, what I’m responsible for. What was done to me. That’s what I’ve been looking for.” Miserably, she shoves her hands in her pockets. “There’s more, but that’s the important part.”
Yaz is staring in shock, her mouth hanging open. “Doctor, that’s horrible.” She pauses, then adds, “I get why you didn’t tell me. You still should’ve, mind, given I was putting my life on the line for you, but that’s— that’s major. To have your whole self thrown into question like that.”
“It’s not an excuse for treating you badly,” the Doctor says. For the first time since she regenerated, she’s allowing herself to really, truly feel : feel the horror of what was done to her, but also the horror of what she’s done to Yaz. “I wasted so much time keeping things from you, Yaz. I don’t want to do that again.” She hesitates. “I’m running out of time. Time itself told me that. No regeneration lasts forever. But the time I have left in this body— I’d like to spend it with you. If you want.”
“Really?” There’s a spark in Yaz’s eyes, the hint of a smile on her lips. The Doctor’s breath catches.
(She’s on that other beach again, facing her clone while Rose questions them both.
Yeah, and how was that sentence going to end?
Does it need saying?
It does. Of course it does. But it’ll hurt so much.)
“Really.” The Doctor hesitates. She’s wasted so much time with Yaz— she doesn’t want to run out. Not like before. She reaches out and takes one of Yaz’s hands, feeling the warmth against her palm. “I love you too, Yasmin Khan.” Instantly, she’s sure she shouldn’t have said it: fear hits her, filling up her chest. But then she watches carefully as Yaz’s face breaks into a smile, a beautiful, radiant smile, her eyes shining, and suddenly the Doctor’s sure she’s said the right thing for once.
Yaz uses their linked hands to pull the Doctor closer, and before the Doctor knows it, their faces are inches apart. Yaz’s eyes search the Doctor’s, and the Doctor holds her gaze. She’s never been this close to Yaz before: she has to suppress the urge to start another ramble. She forces herself to be present, to allow the thrill of being so close to course through her. Yaz reaches up to push a bit of the Doctor’s hair behind her ear, and then she leaves her hand there, right at the back of the Doctor’s head.
“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s all right,” she says, her breath warm where it meets the Doctor’s skin.
The Doctor doesn’t dare speak. She knows herself: she’ll just ruin the moment with another tangent off into nowhere, and then she’ll never get to be this close to Yaz again. So she just nods, wrapping her free arm around Yaz’s waist. Their lips meet seconds later, and the Doctor can’t for the life of her remember why she didn’t want this. Happiness swells in her chest, and she swats away the instinct to push it right back down. It doesn’t matter what will happen later: what matters is what’s happening right now. And right now, the Doctor is happier than she’s been in years.
They pull apart, still tentative, still uncertain. But the Doctor can’t suppress her giddy grin.
“Yasmin Khan,” she breathes. “You’re brilliant.”
And then she pulls Yaz into the biggest, tightest hug she can, because she can. Because human lives are so very fleeting, and when she finds someone who matters as much to her as Yaz does, she never, ever wants to let go.
( How long are you gonna stay with me?
Forever.
Nothing is forever. But some things are worth it all the same.)
They stay there on the beach for a while, sitting together on the sand, talking, Yaz’s head on the Doctor’s shoulder, the Doctor’s arm around Yaz’s waist. It isn’t until they look up and realize the sun is gone completely that the Doctor stands up, saying, “Dan’ll wonder where we’ve gotten off to.”
“I think he knows,” Yaz says, but she stands up anyway. They set off down the beach, hand in hand.
They’re not done working things out. The Doctor knows that. A trip to the beach can’t fix everything. But for the first time in a long time, she lets herself feel really, truly hopeful.