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Yaz’s heart sinks when she sees the Doctor thrown by the beam. She rolls to a stop, unmoving, and Yaz finds herself equally immobile. She’s rooted to the spot, horrified by the sight.
“Is she-“
Graham starts speaking but just as quickly stops. There’s silence around the console, but that, weirdly, is what snaps Yaz out of it. When others hesitate, she doesn’t. The Doctor is in danger. The Doctor isn’t moving. The Doctor needs help, and Yaz has only just got her back. She’s not ready to let her go yet. She’s not sure she’ll ever be ready to let her go.
“Be careful!” Ace cautions, but Yaz barely hears her; she runs, flinging open the TARDIS doors. Through the smoke and the rubble she sees the Doctor with her own two eyes, thrown aside like a ragdoll. The sight is somehow worse in real life and Yaz thinks she could be sick but she stumbles forward, willing her legs to move.
They cooperate, barely, and she makes it to the Doctor’s side in time to fall to her knees beside it.
“Doctor?”
Yaz reaches for her pulse with trembling fingers, relieved that there’s still one there. To the Master, she pays the merest of glances - she’s seen enough of him to last a lifetime, and, satisfied that he’s out for the count, Yaz focuses on the Doctor. She’s her priority. She always has been.
Carefully, Yaz pulls the Doctor’s limp arm towards her, relieved to note that it’s not broken. She has no idea what the damage is but it can’t be good because the Doctor doesn’t stir, even when Yaz has to move her more fully. She’s carried someone before during training, but when she sees the soot-smeared skin of the Doctor’s face, Yaz decides a fireman’s lift is out of the question. She needs to see her face. She needs to know she’s still breathing.
On burning legs, Yaz tugs the Doctor to her chest and pushes upright, bearing the Doctor in her arms. She’s lighter than Yaz thought she would be; skinnier, too, which feels strange. The Doctor shouldn’t feel this fragile, and yet…
Yaz pauses to check that she’s still breathing. There’s the lightest of breaths against her neck and she takes strength from that reassurance, one that the Doctor provides without even knowing it. The walk back to the TARDIS is short, but with each step Yaz is alert and aware. She will protect the Doctor, no matter what.
There’s silence when she returns: a sea of worried faces gather around the Doctor as Yaz lays her on the floor. She rouses, much to Yaz’s relief, but it’s fleeting and when she falls unconscious once more, she doesn’t stir for hours. Graham finds her a pillow - Yaz wishes they’d kept the mattress out, really, but a pillow is better than nothing - and then the quiet becomes unnerving. She wishes the Doctor was there to talk to her, to explain that everything will be ok. But she’s still. She sleeps for longer than Yaz has ever known her to, to the point where it feels like they’re invading her privacy simply by being present while she rests. It doesn’t feel like a natural rest, at all.
Stopping off in Croydon takes very little time and Graham applauds her TARDIS piloting skills, but Yaz knows he’s masking his worry. He’s trying to make her feel better. She wishes it worked, but she pretends it does, if only so that he doesn’t feel bad for leaving her alone.
And then, when the doors close, she is alone.
But not for long.
It’s as if the Doctor has been waiting for the others to depart because moments after they do, she blinks awake. Yaz rushes to her side, steadying her as she instantly lurches to her feet.
“Take it easy,” she urges. “You got knocked about.”
When the Doctor blinks, it’s slower than usual. As if she’s gathering her energy. Yaz’s worries intensify.
“Are you okay?”
The Doctor blinks again, then inspects herself, patting herself down and staring at her hands. Yaz is relieved to note there’s no sign of serious injury, but something isn’t right. She knows that much.
“I’m okay. Yaz, you…you saved my life. Again.”
Yaz isn’t sure she has. In fact, she’s very worried that they’re living on borrowed time.
“I do what I can,” she says, echoing the Doctor’s words from many years ago. That afternoon, spent outside Graham’s house after Grace’s funeral, feels like a lifetime ago. “But I don’t think I can fix this, Doctor. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
The Doctor exhales shakily. Then, ever so slowly, she nods.
“I…I’m sorry, Yaz.”
The tears are hot as they land on Yaz’s cheek, but she can’t look away. If they’re running out of time, she needs to make the most of it.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she says. “Can I at least get you cleaned up? If…”
Yaz has seen what regeneration looks like. If that’s what’s about to happen, she wants the Doctor to look her best. She wants her Doctor to look as Yaz remembers her.
“I’d like that,” the Doctor nods, and Yaz sees tears brimming in her eyes, too.
“We make a right pair,” she jokes, but it’s a bad idea because the forced laughter just causes more tears to fall. “Come on.”
They’re quiet as they walk through the TARDIS corridors, hand in hand. Yaz thinks about what she needs to say. There are things she’d like the Doctor to know, if…
“Here we are,” she announces, heading that thought off before it can take residence. “My room.”
If they have time together, no matter how little, she doesn’t want it to be polluted with thoughts of what’s to come. The Doctor wanted to live in the present and that’s what Yaz is going to do.
The Doctor is quiet as Yaz runs the tap and pulls out a flannel from one of the bathroom cabinets. She doesn’t say a word as Yaz directs her to the side of the bath, and she sits on it without protest. But her eyes are sharp and they track Yaz as she moves, finally kneeling in front of her to clean her face. It all feels so domestic, which is a slap in the face. They could never have this. Not really.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what my Nani said,” Yaz starts, as she tends to the Doctor’s skin. “About courage. And stupidity.”
The Doctor smiles, a half-baked thing but her old self shines through, and that gives Yaz strength.
“And I realised that I don’t care if it’s stupid. Because if I don’t tell you how I feel, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my days.” Yaz focuses on a patch of skin by the Doctor’s jaw. “I don’t want to live with regret, Doctor. And if I have anything to say about it, I have a few years left.”
Cautiously, she meets the Doctor’s eye. She’s not sure if it’s insensitive to talk about life when her Doctor is about to die. But the Doctor’s smile is growing. She’s nodding.
“Yasmin Khan, you are far from stupid.”
She reaches for Yaz’s hand, guiding it away from her face and touching Yaz’s cheek instead. Mirroring her.
“You are brave. You saved my life, and I’ll never forget it.”
“You saved mine, too, Doctor. More than you’ll ever know.”
The tears are fully flowing now, Yaz realises, because the Doctor has to wipe some away with her thumb.
“I’ve loved every second with you, Yaz.”
“And I…I’ve loved you. I love you,” Yaz corrects herself. “I always will.”
She kisses her, then; she simply cannot let the Doctor pass without knowing first-hand just how much Yaz cares for her. And when it’s reciprocated Yaz can forget, if only for a minute, what’s to come. She will live in that minute for as long as she’s able. Reluctantly, they part. The sands of time slip through the hourglass far quicker than Yaz would like, but she has no regrets. Not now.
The Doctor rests their foreheads together and Yaz feels her breathe. Such a simple thing, breathing, and something she takes for granted. She focuses on the breath she takes. They can share this moment and it will sustain them both through what’s to come. The Doctor finally speaks, and Yaz savours every word.
“I wish I’d thought of that,” she quips, and Yaz laughs, despite herself. She sees the Doctor smile through her tears, and she kisses her again. One last time. “I’ll always love you, too.”