A.N.: Since my viewing of Emmerdale is severely limited by the fact that most of it aired several years ago and is not readily available online, all of the recent stuff in the Emmerdale storyline will be "loosely" based on the show, based on the understanding I have garnered from my limited viewing. I do apologize to any fans who may find this story grossly inaccurate in that respect.

This cross-over was just begging to happen and I've waited long enough to post it. Should be shortish and relatively straight-forward, assuming nothing runs away from me…

Takes place around 2013 in the Emmerdale timeline and around the end of Season 8 in Doctor Who canon.

Based partially on a prompt from Caitlin Jackson and dedicated to her. Thanks for being a fan of my Jebbie works!

A man and a box and…

Debbie Dingle was walking up the hill towards the green pavilion. As always, it was briskly cold and windy up in this part of the village.

The half-frozen ground crunched under her boots as she climbed, hard soil and crisp grass giving way beneath her heavy footsteps. Emmerdale stretched out behind her and around her, its tiny cottages barely making an impression on the wandering eye. It were as if the entire village were just trying to fade into the countryside, to draw as little attention to itself as physically possible.

Debbie looked up, the wind nipping painfully at her face as she looked up at the pavilion. She hadn't been back here in years… not since before…

She swallowed hard. When she'd left the house this morning, she hadn't had this destination in mind. But it seemed that today was a day of reflection, a day when she couldn't shove the past down any longer and instead it came bubbling back up to dominate her consciousness.

With hesitant steps, she climbed the few stairs to the porch. They creaked under her feet, when had they started to do that? She peered anxiously into the dim interior of the building, trying to make out any shapes within. She didn't know what she would actually do if anyone was there, probably leave and just wander aimlessly for several hours, her mind unable to fix on any meaningful thoughts. Debbie didn't want anyone to witness her here. This was a private matter. A moment where she felt like her thoughts were on full display no matter what she schooled her expression to read.

But thankfully, the pavilion was deserted. She sank down on a bench and pulled her knees in close to her chest, relishing in the solitude.

Why today? She wondered as she shivered on the old bench. What makes today special?

It wasn't an anniversary, or a birthday, or even a benchmark of an important event. Today was about as average and ordinary as a day in her life was. There was nothing about today that should reminder her of her.

And yet here I am…

Here she was sitting on the steps of a building that several years ago, had given her such happiness, excitement, and heartbreak. Just over there, they had had their first fight, a fight that had pushed them closer to friendship. Just inside, they'd spent a night huddled together once, exploring the unspoken attraction slowly coming over them. They'd had their first break-up just down the hill, and their first episode of forgiveness. They'd cuddled together on this very bench and talked about the most trivial and most important of things.

Debbie closed her eyes, squeezing her knees tighter. There were too many memories here, some of them good, most of them bad. And all of them, focused on one central point. The center of her universe.

Jasmine…

A great gust of wind ripped past her and she flinched. But it wasn't cold. It was warm and smelled of dust and fresh grass and… what was that noise? Like an engine taking deep, raspy breaths…

Her eyes snapped open. Debbie knew a lot of engines but none that sounded like this. Curious, she unfolded herself and walked to the steps but by the time she descended them, the breeze had faded and the sound with it. She peered out towards the road, looking for the car that had made the noise but there was nothing.

"Looks like the English countryside…" Debbie jumped at the unfamiliar voice. It was coming from the other side of the pavilion.

She wasn't keen on seeing anyone, after all, she had just been about to cry, but the mechanic in her wouldn't let her leave without first seeing whatever machine had made that interesting sound.

She hopped off the steps and rounded the pavilion, keeping quiet so that she could bolt if she had to.

"At least it's England," the voice continued in a distinctly Scottish accent, laced with ill-humor and disdain. "I was afraid we'd end up in Russia again. Or America…Lords help us if we'd had to go there."

It was a man speaking, that much Debbie could make out. She cautiously poked her head around the corner of the pavilion.

And practically fell over flat on her face in shock.

Sitting right on the lip of the hill, looking entirely out of place, was a ridiculous blue box. Debbie forgot herself entirely, stepping out from behind the pavilion to get a better look at the thing.

It was only slightly larger than the average telephone booth, about the size of a small shed. It was painted a faded blue and covered in the phrase "Police Public Call Box". Debbie had never seen anything like it.

There was a man hanging out of it, studying the landscape surrounding him with a mildly interested air and chatted incessantly to himself.

"Somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales around 2009… no wait…" He sniffed the air his nostrils wrinkling. "2013. And it's June. Thursday." One of his eyebrows arched inquisitively. "When was I here?"

He stepped out of the box and onto the hill. When he saw Debbie watching him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Hello." He said gruffly. "It's rude to stare."

She looked him up and down. He was rather old and rail-thin, with a rather pinched looking face and silver hair. He was dressed like a posh man from a city in a long, slightly outdated waistcoat and three-button jacket. His clothes were silky and black, making him look like he'd just come from prowling the streets of London after midnight rather than walking through Emmerdale on an overcast Thursday.

An outsider… Debbie decided. Not unwelcome certainly, but definitely uncommon.

"Sorry," She snapped back at him, echoing his rude tone. "I just never seen a man like you around 'ere hangin' out of a blue box."

The man didn't react to her tone. "Indeed not." He replied, looking her up and down with interest. Debbie was glad she wasn't wearing her garage overalls. For some reason, she felt like he would disapprove of her wearing them.

"Where's the car?" She asked, glancing around.

His eyebrows rose dangerously high. "Car?"

"I heard an engine. So go on then," she tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. "where is it? Sounded like it needed a right tune up."

"Why in the universe would you think there was a car?" The man asked her, as if it were the stupidest question she could have ever asked him.

Debbie shrugged. She was used to people treating her like she was stupid. You're nowhere near as stupid as you pretend…"Well I heard the engine rattling and…"

"Rattling?" The old man snapped at her. "She's breathing! She's been doing that for over two thousand years and never failed me!"

"What?" Debbie asked, confused. Who'd ever hear of an engine breathing? And did he just say two thousand years?

The man only slapped the side of the box in apparent relish and folded his arms. "car engine…" he grumbled.

"Well if there's no car then…" Debbie continued, trying to peer around the shed to see if he were lying. "were you back here this whole time?"

"Yes." He said quickly, pushing himself off of the box and moving to shoo her away.. "Didn't mean to have you run into us." He patted the blue box. "Don't mind us, we're just moving our… Police shed. Procedural matter, entirely normal." He gave Debbie a shove away from him but she stood her ground.

Debbie had never heard of such a thing as a 'police shed' but that was not what registered in her mind. "Us?"

The door of the box suddenly cracked open. "Doctor, are you sure this is going to work? I don't feel like it is." The voice was coming from inside the box.

The man addressed the dim interior of the shed. "You have got to start trusting me, Clara." He replied, "I know what I'm doing. Most of the time." He admitted with a wink to Debbie. She took a step back. Could this man possibly be bonkers?

The door opened a little further. "Why do I even need a disguise if we're not going to be interfering?" The girl inside said. She emerged from the box, her back to Debbie, dressed in an absurdly large overcoat, all her hair tucked up under a ridiculously frilly hat. "Why can't we just keep out of sight?"

The man, the one called 'Doctor' apparently, gave the girl in front of him a warm smile that completely transformed his face. "You never know who we're going to meet, speaking of which…" He gestured over her shoulder. "This is…" He looked over the girl's shoulder at Debbie. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

The girl in the coat and hat turned around. She smiled pleasantly.

"Hello."

Debbie felt like she'd just been hit by a bus.

It took Debbie a good minute to force her throat to make a sound. "Jas?" The ground seemed to be pitching under her feet.

The girl smiled obliviously. "Sorry?" She said again, her brow wrinkling slightly.

Debbie was finding it rather hard to breathe. "Jasmine…" She choked out.

The girl in front of her looked exactly like Jasmine Thomas. Sure she was older and wearing a ridiculous outfit (a disguise, the man had called it?) but Debbie knew it was her.

Who else could it be? She could not forget the shape of the eyes: perfectly symmetrical, not quite round but not flat enough to be almonds, the irises a beautiful deep brown. The stubborn nose that turned up slightly at its end that had always crushed pleasantly against her cheek when they had kissed. The lips: long and thin on top, fat and pouty on the bottom that tasted always of vanilla and satin. The thin, long cheeks that somehow still managed to retain the slightest amount of baby fat to make them rounded. The stubborn chin that had always fit perfectly against her own.

She was even more beautiful than she had been before prison.

Looking at her made Debbie's heart stop.

But seeing her had no apparent effect on the other girl.

The girl's brow had wrinkled completely and she was frowning at Debbie, though more in confusion than annoyance.

"Why are you looking at me like tha'?" She asked, in what was unmistakably Jasmine's voice.

Debbie tried to speak but her throat refused to make a sound. She took a half step forward as if to hug her but something stopped her.

Jasmine's eyes suddenly widened. "Hold on, did you…?" She stepped a little closer to Debbie, her familiar scent washing over the mechanic. "Did you know someone like me?" She whispered.

Debbie couldn't concentrate. She was here, she was out, she… "Jas…" What was she doing out? "Why didn't you tell me you were out?" Debbie asked, her voice shaking.

Jasmine laughed uncertainly. "I.. what? Out? I…"

Debbie could feel her emotions returning, everything bubbling within her and fighting for dominance: pain, anger, fear, relief, confusion. "I waited for you Jas! You told me not to but I couldn't help it."

Jasmine was starting to look scared. "I… I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about…" She said, backing up slightly. The movement upset her hat and her long brunette locks spilled over her shoulders.

Debbie felt tears gather in her eyes. "No… no don't do this Jasmine." She stepped closer, watching the other girl intently, her hands wanting to grab her face. "I know you said things would be different when you got out but don't do this. Don't act like we don't matter, don't act like you've forgotten it all." She knew she was crying in earnest now, she knew that man was watching all this but she couldn't bring herself to care. "Please…" She begged her former lover. "Jasmine, please…I couldn't bear it!"

The blank, slightly frightened look on Jasmine's face was all it took to break Debbie.

She stumbled away from her, away from the man with the box, away from the face that had haunted her dreams for years. She half-slid back down the grassy knoll in her desperation to get away. She knew they weren't chasing her, why would they? But she couldn't help but feel pursued, like her past had taken physical form and was coming after her. Chasing her down until she could only curl up in defeat and wail.

She'd promised herself she'd be strong. She'd promised Jasmine she would be strong. She'd sworn she'd never break again.

But she had.

So she ran.

Clara stood mutely on the spot as she watched the stranger run away.

"Doctor…" She called without turning around. "what just happened?"

The Doctor shifted and thrust his hands in his pockets. "Well, the good news is, I think we've come to the right place to find your ghost. The bad news is, I think we just found it."

Clara watched as the girl stumbled and nearly fell but still kept running, disappearing into the quaint town below. "She knew me…" Clara muttered. "knew it. Me. Does it make sense to call it me?"

"No." The Doctor replied flatly, shifting past her to open the door to the TARDIS.

"But…"
He turned around on the doorstep. "It was a piece of you." He placed a gentle hand on her cheek. "But it was not you."

Clara nodded but still was not entirely convinced. No matter how many times he said it, she still knew they were there. Her ghosts. Pieces of her, echoes of memories trapped forever in her mind to stop her from being overwhelmed by the lives each one had lived.

She glanced back toward the village but was unable to spot the girl again. The Doctor disappeared inside the TARDIS. After a second, Clara followed.

"Did you get her name?" She asked. The girl had struck a chord within her, something about the way she had looked at her…the way she'd said that name…Jasmine. Like she was seeing a ghost. Was that the name of her ghost? She tested the name out on her tongue: "Jasmine…"

The Doctor was adjusting several things on the console, the machine making quiet little whirring noises that Clara had come to associate with a sense of anticipation. "Debbie Dingle of Tug Ghyll residence." The Doctor called in response to her question.

Clara sidled up to the console, giving him a look. "How'd you get all that?"

"I took this off her." He casually held out a wallet.

When had he…? Clara decided not to worry about it.

He adjusted a few more things, the TARDIS whirring pleasantly now. Looking up, the Doctor grinned at her. "Want to find out who she is?"

Clara glared at him. "Do I have to wear this disguise?"