Chapter Text
“Think I liked the jumpsuit better.”
The Doctor’s mumbled words scatter through the wind, woven with the snowflakes that flutter around her hair. The small clouds crystallizing in front of her mouth with each inhale draw her eyebrows together in an unhappy frown.
Just her luck, returning to Sheffield on a cold winter morning.
She tugs awkwardly on the sleeves of her black jumper - borrowed from Ryan - and glares at the dark jeans he lent her. The material rolled around her ankles is still much longer than her signature trousers, she notices, adding the retrieval of her favorite clothes to her mental list of priorities after finding the TARDIS.
The image of her ship drifting through the time vortex, lost without a pilot darkens the Doctor's mood further.
Could be worse, she forcefully acknowledges, as she refuses to spiral into the familiar sense of gloom that’s been clinging to her every thought for almost 80 years. Could be Christmas. A shiver runs down her spine, a reflex reaction that has nothing to do with the cold. She could still be in prison, stuck in endless cycles of insipid food and restless nights.
Laying on her back on a cold slab of rock left the Doctor bored, but mostly unaffected, once she decided to stop mulling over the events that unfolded on Gallifrey. Between a redacted database and a raving lunatic, her chances of unraveling the mess of information she received were slim.
Unless she could somehow escape Judoons’ tight surveillance and wriggle her way off that doomed asteroid.
The Doctor had rolled the loose sleeves of a red prison jumpsuit around her elbows and focused her attention on building an escape plan.
For a few minutes, at least.
She had no trouble pushing away any reminiscence about her identity, but forgetting about Ryan, Graham and Yaz proved too big a distraction to overcome.
Her fam.
A group of people who blindly followed her in the midst of what could have been the last war conducted by the human race, only to land among the ashes of her own home. Despite the Time Lord's best effort to keep them at arms' length, her friends became more entangled in the twisty depth of her past than anyone she's ever traveled with.
Those were the thoughts that interrupted the few hours of sleep the Doctor could grapple every month, that drove her feet as she paced between four walls for years, that kept her from her usual sense of practicality which would have her out of prison in a matter of days.
The last images of Graham's confusion, of Ryan's resigned sadness and of Yaz's tearful incomprehension had burnt themselves onto the back of her eyelids. She wondered if the TARDIS had dropped them home as she was supposed to.
Did they slide back into their old lives, like slipping into a pair of worn-out sneakers found in the back of a closet? How much time had passed for them? Did they think about her?
In the darkest hours of the night, the Doctor would allow her mind to picture her friends' everyday routine. Graham was retired, sharing a happy home with his grandson and splitting his time between cooking lessons and crosswords puzzles. Ryan was a mechanic and rode his bike to work every day. Yaz was the most brilliant police officer in Sheffield, she was probably in charge of her entire department by now.
But before she could indulge in her daydreams for too long, an impending sense of doom would come crashing onto the Doctor. She had grown all too aware of the unstoppable passing of time, and of human lifespan. What if too much time had passed? What if Graham, Ryan and Yaz had died, and all that was left of them were those ridiculous pieces of rock where their surviving family members would carve their names?
The fear paralyzed the Doctor into inaction. She could feel the universe shifting around her, time passing by as it ebbed and flowed without her influence. It had been a long time since she was allowed the luxury of watching from an outside perspective, of letting events happen without nudging history in the proper direction.
The burden of responsibilities the Doctor carried for centuries faded from her shoulders, a small comfort against the haunting prospect of never seeing her fam again.
Or so she thought, until a voice pierced through the quiet atmosphere blanketing the cell, snapping hazel eyes away from all too familiar lines of cages. She blinked through a wave of shock as a well-known face peered back through the fence, her jaw going slack as the disheveled head of Jack Harkness grinned at her.
The fear of grief or the comfort of inaction faded into the background of her mind, a nagging thought she forced herself to ignore as she rushed after Jack through empty hallways.
The next few hours morphed into a blur of sprints, Daleks, short-lived reunions and a bitter reception from her friends that caught her flat-footed.
"Should have known. Never trust a Vortex Manipulator." The Doctor mumbles to herself, snapped out of her memory by the sight of Graham's flat. Hands on her hips, she shuffles her weight from one foot to the other as she considers the upcoming conversation.
"Guess ten months is a long time. I get it." She swallows and ignores the cold dread poking in the back of her head.
The Doctor doesn’t get it, not really. Even from a human perspective, ten months doesn’t seem too long.
And while detonating the Death Particle hasn't been her finest plan, she has enough self-awareness to admit it, she never chose to abandon her friends. She didn't choose to get arrested by Judoons materializing inside her ship - and she'd have to take a long look at the security system later, another thing on the TARDIS' list - or choose to get brought back by Jack and his faulty Vortex Manipulator.
With a long sigh, she grits her teeth together. If there is one thing all of her faces - however many there were - shared, it's a fierce hatred for feeling out of control. She's the Doctor. She controls chaos, chaos doesn't happen to her.
Squaring her shoulders, she glares at the cloudless sky.
Enough.
She allowed herself to be rattled by the Master's senseless destruction and by his constant innuendos about her past, despite knowing it was exactly what he wanted. She'd let him win for long enough.
The Doctor would get her fam back, find her TARDIS and search for the truth of her own life. She doesn't need a lunatic bragging about death and power to track down her origins. Clapping her hands together, she crosses the street to reach Graham's house with newfound determination.
***************
"Fam!" The Doctor greets, pushing the door opened.
Startled, Graham yelps from the kitchen as Ryan looks to the entrance from his spot on the couch. "You know people knock, usually?"
The blond hums, standing in front of him with her fists on her hips. "I'm not people, I'm the Doctor. And I've lost my TARDIS, again. Who's up for a little investigating?"
Biting back the first answer that comes to mind, Ryan inhales sharply and meets questioning hazel eyes with a small smile. "Do you need me?"
"What? Of course, what kind of ques-"
"No, think about it. Please." He interrupts, shuffling to his feet. "The TARDIS, do you need my help to find her? Because I'm here for you, but I think..." Ryan hesitates. "I reckon my friends and my dad, they need me more than you." He pauses, tone turning wistful. "Maybe Earth does too."
The Doctor blinks. The vague unease that's been dampening her thoughts since her earlier conversation with Ryan slowly seeps through her voice. "You're staying." She whispers, more a statement than a question.
"I think so." Ryan frowns, eyes flickering between the Doctor and a slack-jawed Graham. "I..." He nods to himself. "Yes. Traveling with you, it changed me. And maybe the new version of me can change things here. Pay it forward, you know?"
"Yeah." The Doctor looks over her shoulder to see Graham slowly rounding the kitchen island. "What about you?"
"I don't think..." The older man shares a long stare with Ryan, as they come to a silent understanding. "I'm very thankful for all the time we spent with you. Really, Doc. Thank you. But I'm his granddad. I can't let him change the world by himself."
"Suppose not." The Doctor swallows through a tight feeling at the back of her throat. She twists her fingers together, glancing between her two friends as she faces them. Shoving a burst of poignant sadness into a corner of mind, she straightens her back.
"All right. Listen up, you two." In a gesture that surprises both men, she throws one arm over their shoulders and drags them into a group hug. "You're both extraordinary. Ryan, you're going to do great things. It's people like you who change the world. Kind, compassionate people. Remember that, kindness and hope. Always hope."
The Doctor sighs, a small smile clinging to the corner of her lips as she turns to Graham. "You, listen to him. He's much smarter than you. And don't you dare forget you're family again."
"I don't think I could forget, he's always going to be in the house now." Ryan points out, purposefully lightening the tone. He never expected his decision would have to be the last time he crosses path with the Doctor, and yet there's a finality in the woman's words he doesn't like.
"Sorry, what?" Graham frowns, confused. "It's my house, where do you want me to go?"
"I'd thought you'd go with the Doctor." He shrugs. "Wanted the place to myself."
"So all your mates could move in?"
The rest of their banter escapes the Time Lord's attention, as she dips her head to stare at the floor. Graham catches the movement from the corner of his vision. He sighs, unsettled by the vivid sadness darkening emerald pupils.
Despite two groups of Daleks throwing themselves into a near civil war, the new lines of tension on the Doctor's face or the bags under her eyes didn't escape the older man. If he had to guess, he would say she had been stuck in prison for much longer than the ten months that went by on Earth. It was easier to see from up close, their sides pressed together as they still hold the group hug. The alien had lost some weight, even if she still carried herself with the same sense of aloof self-confidence.
Graham allows himself a split-second to disagree with the timing of Ryan's choice - the Doctor looks like she needs friends now more than ever - before scrambling for a way to help her.
"The TARDIS!" He cries out, snapping the blond away from the depth of her own brain. Ignoring Ryan's frown, he continues. "That's how you can find your ship!"
"What? Do you know where she is?"
"No, no that one. The TARDIS that brought us home. It's still here, right by that little bakery shop you like." Graham explains. "Can you use it to find yours?"
The Doctor blinks, thankful for the practical distraction. "Yeah, maybe. I'd need to..." She purses her lips. "Figure something out."
"But it's, erm..." Ryan stumbles, clearly unhappy with his granddad's suggestion. "Not available."
"What?" She frowns, confused.
"Yaz spends a lot of time there."
Green-brown eyes snap away from the ground, finding Ryan's face with sharp focus. "Does she?" The Doctor blinks, tension slowly seeping away from her voice. "Good. I should probabl-"
"Yes!" Graham interrupts with an emphatic nod. "Go. Talk to her. Please, talk to her."
The Doctor slips away from the hug with a tight smile. She stands between the kitchen corner and the living room, steeling herself. "This is goodbye, then?"
"Well, you can still visit, right?" Ryan clears his throat, surprised to hear the cracks in his voice.
"Yeah, Doc." Graham pats his grandson's shoulder. "Come over for a cuppa sometimes. You'll always have a place here."
"And I let you borrow my clothes, but I want them back. You're wearing my favorite shoes."
"Yeah, I'll..." The Doctor vaguely motions to the rest of the room, backtracking towards the entrance. "Do my best." She pauses for a last look over her shoulder, midway through the doorway.
"Goodbye boys."
A pair of awkward waves later, she's standing with her back to the garden gates, watching the street from the house's front steps.
***************
The regular noise of the rubber sole of her shoes hitting the pavement set the rhythm of the Doctor’s spiraling thoughts. Hands dug deep into her pockets, she tucks her chin down and allows her feet to guide her through Sheffield.
She bites her lower lip until the metallic taste of blood hits the tip of her tongue. "Of course Ryan is staying. You knew that. Said it yourself, you missed your time with him." Her words falls on deaf ears, in the middle of empty streets at the early hour of the morning. "Should have known about Graham too. They're family."
A bout of familiar self-hatred chokes her voice, as she considers whether Yaz will choose to stay on Earth with her friends.
"Why wouldn't she?" The question echoes loudly through the narrow space of an alley winding through closed shops, as the tight reign the Doctor holds over her emotions wavers. "Not like you've given her any reason to stay, did you? I'm sure she moved on, just like Ryan and Graham."
"Maybe you won't wait decades before breaking out of jail next time." Bitterness filling her hearts, she blinks at the sight of a TARDIS at the end of the street. "You, idiot."
The Doctor stops in front of the ship, palm pushing against the door of a quaint, ordinary house. A faint whir later, she crosses the threshold. She looks around, eyes widening at the sight of a flowchart, scattered items of clothing and colorful pieces of paper glued around the console.
Walking deeper into the control room, the Doctor leaves the door to close behind her as she circles the empty space. She tilts her head to read through the scrawled letters on the notes.
Numbers that seem random at first glance mix with disjointed words. Tilting her head, she makes up the words "DNA" and "Bio-lock”.
With a shrug, the Doctor gives up on decrypting pieces of paper and observes the space around her.
The sight of the disarrayed control room reminds the Time Lord of Graham's parting words. Her thoughts click together, making sense of the older man's insistence that she talks to Yaz.
The younger woman launched herself in a mission - a solo one, if the interior of the ship is any indication - to find the Doctor.
A ten month long mission, that turned fruitless. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, the Doctor can't help but smile, as she tracks the numbers Yaz scattered around the console. The countdown recreates every necessary step to launch the TARDIS into the time vortex, in a mostly correct order.
Yaz might have failed to track her down, but she came very close to teaching herself how to drive a TARDIS. The Doctor chuckles dryly. Of course, she did. Her friend’s keen sense of observation and sharp intelligence drew her in from their first meeting.
Peering through the list of theories glued to the glass panel behind her, the Doctor's short-lived good mood wobbles. She shuffles her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly uncomfortable.
The research exposed around her is the result of hours of hard work. Hours that Yaz spent wondering about her, instead of building her own life. Scratching the back of her neck, the Doctor scrambles for an explanation.
Could the control room be the results of Yaz's side-project? A place where she would reconvene a few hours a week on her off days, to get away from her stifling family? Maybe she would reminisce about old times with Ryan and Graham, remember their lost friend and go on with their lives as they left the TARDIS behind.
The Doctor backs away from the console, hands twisted together as bits of information not fitting with her guess zip through her brain. She ignores them, searching through the cluster scattered around the room.
Approaching a pile she noticed from the entrance, the Doctor crouches to poke at the pieces of clothing on the ground. With a silent sigh, she sits and leans against the wall, dragging thick fabric around her body to fight the sudden chills that run down her arms.
While resting her cheek against the dark material, the Doctor registers a hint of lingering, fruity scent. Yaz's shampoo. She narrows her eyes and takes a closer look at what’s wrapped around her.
A sleeping bag.
A sharp edge digging into her ribs distracts the Doctor from a pang of worried understanding. Reaching for the offending object, she frowns when her fingertips meet crackling plastic. She closes her hand into the wrapping and pulls, blinking at her finding for a frozen moment.
Custard creams.
The leftover of a half-eaten pack taunts the Doctor, the evidence that Yaz's research wasn't a side-project that filled her weekend. She missed her. And if Yaz's emotions were as painful as her own, - they were, the Time Lord had no doubts. Human emotions were always loud and bright - the younger woman's mood over the last day explained itself.
The Doctor swallows through a mix of guilt, regret and something sharper swelling inside her hearts since she left Ryan and Graham. Tilting her head back against the cold surface of a wall, she screws her eyes shut to fight the telling sting of tears.
Despite her best efforts, water trickles down her cheeks, leaving the Doctor alone to cry quietly on an empty TARDIS.