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The bed's too soft.
It's not like it's the TARDIS's fault. It's the same bed she had last time, the same room she loved when it was the four of them roaming the universe together. The TARDIS has even kept the same hair products she likes in the bathroom, which Yaz appreciates.
But every time she crawls into bed, sinking into that luxurious mattress, it's impossible to fall asleep. She rolls over approximately twenty times, trying to get comfortable. There's something about the room that makes her uneasy, somehow, although she has no idea why. It's too big. It's too small. It looks too much like an IKEA display. On the rare occasions that she does nod off for a few minutes, there's a panic in her chest when she wakes, looking around the room, no idea where she is, and searching for… something.
On the fifth sleepless night, she figures it out. She actually misses that skimpy, ratty sleeping bag on the floor of the other TARDIS. (The one currently full of daleks, collapsing in on itself in the Void. She's not bitter about that at all.) The bumpy metal grill under her isn't comfortable, per se, but the humming that vibrates through it is soothing, and when she opens her eyes, she can see the console, know that she's safe, that the Doctor's safe, that she's close by.
She doesn't want it to be a whole thing, so she still bids goodnight to the Doctor and goes to her room, but after an hour or two, once the Doctor has gone whistling off to the library or the swimming pool or the greenhouse, Yaz takes a pillow and blanket back to console room and curls up in a corner. It's a relief, to get a few solid hours of sleep on the floor before she has to sneak back to her room and pretend she was there all night. She manages a whole week like this, pleased with her stealthiness, before the Doctor ruins it.
"Why do ya sleep on the floor?" the Doctor asks abruptly as they pick their way through a jungle, trying to inch around anything that looks like it might be poisonous.
Yaz is so focused on avoiding the dark purple vines the Doctor warned her about that she doesn't even register the question at first. "What?"
"The TARDIS floor. You've been sleeping in the console room lately. Why?"
Yaz trips over a root, almost pitching into the undergrowth. So much for her stealthiness.
"I dunno," she tells the Doctor, watching where she puts her feet. "Got used to it, I suppose. When I was in the other one."
"I meant to ask, why'd you do that?" says the Doctor. "That TARDIS weren't far from your home, y'could've walked back at night easily."
Yaz shrugs. She doesn't know how to explain how much she'd needed to figure out the mechanics, to find the Doctor, nor how to explain the gripping fear that if she left the console room, the whole thing would vanish and her last link to the Doctor would be gone. She's not sure she wants to explain any of it, even if she could.
"Just did."
The Doctor doesn't push, probably because she has her own laundry list of things she doesn't want to share. But when they return to the TARDIS that night (with only a few rashes from the purple vines), she disappears into the bowels of the ship before Yaz has a chance to say goodnight.
She figures now that the jig is up, she might as well stop pretending, so Yaz gets her regular pillow and blanket and goes to sleep on the console floor without bothering to hide it. She doesn't care if it's inconvenient for the alien, the Doctor can step over her for all she cares. She's getting some proper sleep for once.
She's so out of it that Yaz almost doesn't wake up at all when gentle hands ease their way under her body and lift her into strong arms. If it weren't for the Doctor tripping on a spare wrench lying around, she might not have noticed at all.
"Wassit?" Yaz says sleepily, trying to get her bearings.
"Shhh."
The Doctor lays her down gently on something — it's soft and smooth beneath her — and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Yaz's ear. "Go back to sleep," she says.
Yaz almost obeys, she's so tired, but her curiosity is stronger and she forces her eyes to stay open. She’s lying on a double mattress on the floor of the console room, complete with sheets, pillows, and a comforter. The Doctor pulls the covers up to Yaz's chin, nudging her back down onto the mattress.
"Don't let me wake you," she says softly. "Sleep." She rises, turning away.
There's a tug at Yaz's heart, and she can't bear to see the Doctor walk away from her again. "Stay," she says, just managing to get the words out through her exhaustion. Her arm is heavy as she stretches it out, trying to reach for the Doctor.
The scuffed boots freeze on the grill, their owner hesitating, then after a long moment, they turn back. A hand squeezes hers. Yaz tugs on it a little, pulling the Doctor down onto the bed beside her. There's a pause as the Doctor sheds her coat and boots, but after a second, the covers lift and the other woman slides in next to her.
"Thank you," Yaz whispers.
She can hear the Doctor breathing, can feel the mattress shift as she turns to face Yaz, a finger tracing along her palm. "'Course."
Yaz falls asleep like that, their hands just barely touching, deep breathing in sync. It's the best sleep she's had since the night they came hurtling back through the cosmos to land in Sheffield without the Doctor.
When she wakes hours later, she's tangled in the Doctor's arms, the two of them slotted together like they've spent every night this way for years. Yaz can't help herself; she kisses the Doctor's nose, only centimeters away.
The Doctor mumbles in her sleep and pulls Yaz closer, bumping their noses together and nuzzling. She gently presses her lips to Yaz's, the barest ghost of a kiss, first once, then twice. It's lucky, Yaz notes somewhere in her brain, that she's so sleepy, because otherwise she'd be a blaze of nerves and excitement with the Doctor kissing her. But as it is, there's just a slow warmth spreading through her, making her sigh with pleasure. She presses back against the Doctor and kisses her back, easing their lips over each other.
"Yaz," whispers the Doctor, her voice still full of sleep. "Shouldn't…"
"I know," says Yaz. She can't be bothered to care whether this is a good idea or not, too wrapped up in the comfort of their closeness and the feel of the Doctor's skin against hers.
"Why'd you sleep in there, Yaz?" asks the Doctor. She presses a kiss to the corner of Yaz's mouth. "Why'd you stay?"
Yaz is too tired to have this conversation properly, too happy right now to go back to those ten lonely months of fear and pain. She doesn't think as the words leave her mouth. "I love you."
It's quiet as they lie in each other's arms, eyes closed, lips moving softly against skin. Yaz isn't even positive the Doctor is awake, let alone able to understand what she said.
"Yaz," mumbles the Doctor after a few minutes. "I'm not… I'm not good at love."
"S'okay," says Yaz.
"S'not. You deserve…" The Doctor trails off, sighing.
"What?" Yaz whispers after a minute. "What do I deserve?"
"Everything," says the Doctor. "The whole universe."
"Don't want the universe," says Yaz. "Just want you."
It’s enough to make the Doctor’s eyes flutter open. Yaz goes a little cross-eyed, trying to meet her gaze.
“I’ve tried this before,” says the Doctor, and the pain in her voice breaks Yaz’s heart. “I never mean to, but I fall in love and then… something always happens. Something bad always happens.” She looks at Yaz with those huge puppy dog eyes. “I don’t want something bad to happen to you.”
“I can take care of m’self.”
“The truth is that I’m a danger, Yaz. I’m a danger to everyone around me at any time, but even more so when they get close, learn more of me, give more of themselves… it just hurts twice as much. For me and for them.” The Doctor closes her eyes again, but doesn’t pull away.
“Does this not hurt?” asks Yaz quietly. The Doctor’s eyes flick open again to frown questioningly. “Keeping me at arm's length. Holding yourself back like y’have to because you have to act in my best interest —”
“I do have to act in your best —”
“— as though it weren’t something I’m capable of deciding for myself. As though I’m a child and you’re the powerful and ancient Time Lord who obviously knows better than I do what’s right for me and my own heart.”
That shuts said Time Lord up quite effectively. The Doctor closes her eyes and goes quiet for a moment before sighing. “I’m sorry, Yaz. That’s not what I meant. It’s not how I see you.” She knocks her forehead against Yaz’s softly.
“I can make my own choices,” whispers Yaz, nudging the Doctor to get her to open her eyes. “I decide what risks I take. If loving you is one of them? So is loving anyone. You just happen to come with more lasers and blast rays.”
The Doctor chuckles despite herself.
“I choose you,” says Yaz. “I chose you that first night you fell from the sky. And I’ll keep choosing you again and again for as long as I can.”
“You’re not understanding me,” says the Doctor. “I’m not worth it, Yaz. Trust me, I’ve spent a long enough time with meself to know. I’m not worth dyin’ for.”
“You’re worth loving, though.”
The Doctor groans in frustration. “Y’twisting me up in circles.”
“Or telling the truth,” says Yaz. “I understand you, Doctor; I just don’t agree with you. It is worth it to me to have this happiness with you, even if it’s more dangerous. That’s my choice, and y’can’t change that. You can only choose for yourself.”
The Doctor stares at her, and Yaz can see the conflict in her eyes. So much fear, so much longing, warring between what she wants and what she thinks she deserves. The minutes pass, and Yaz understands. She knows what no response really means. It never means yes.
She tries to swallow past the lump in her throat. Already, it feels like someone is opening her up and ripping out her insides. “It’s okay —”
But the Doctor cuts her off, pulling her body in tight and squeezing her as though she’ll never let go, as though Yaz might be carried off at any moment. “I want you,” she says in Yaz’s ear. “I want… I don’ even know what I want, but I want you. Please stay. With me.”
Yaz tries to pull back so she can see the Doctor’s face, but the other woman is hugging her too tightly. “You want to be with me?”
“Yes,” says the Doctor. She won’t stop holding her. “I’ll do everything I can to protect you. But I want you with me here, in the TARDIS. I want us to be together.”
She finally lets go, but it’s only so she can kiss Yaz properly this time. She tastes like tea and biscuits and honey and hope. The sweetness fills Yaz up until she’s bursting with it, like it might overflow at any second. She pulls back, needing to see the Doctor’s face and confirm that yes, she really does mean it.
“Thank you,” whispers Yaz. “For choosing me too.”
The Doctor smiles. “Yasmin Kahn,” she says. “you’re always my choice.”