She makes it a week before she decides her next move.
Ryan and Graham are different. They move on. They go back to the way things were-not that they ever could, she knows. Not that they could ever just...forget what happened, forget what they've seen.
She muddles around for one week before she decides enough is enough. She muddles around for one week more before she gets a plan together, sets out...and realizes she has no idea what she's doing.
The Doctor is gone-just gone, no word, no explanation, no nothing. Gone.
Yaz misses her. A lot.
Because it's different without her. Different in little and big ways. Different in how when she walks into a room (that isn't the TARDIS, and that's another story, normal houses are boring) there's not the Doctor whizzing around the TARDIS' console, pushing buttons and pulling at creaking, groaning levers, mumbling to herself.
The Doctor, with her short blonde hair that's always falling into her hazel eyes, with her nose that wrinkles when she smiles big and bright. The Doctor with her secrets.
What Yaz would give to see her again, be in the TARDIS again, be somewhere else again. She'd give a lot, actually. Maybe too much. As if anything could actually match up to-
She stops, runs her hand over her face, and slumps down on the couch, shuffles her feet over the carpet. Leans back, groans.
Her phone buzzes. Another text from Sonya, maybe, or Ryan, but probably not Graham. She doesn't move to grab it, doesn't move at all.
The Doctor is gone and she's just sitting here, uselessly pining for someone that could be anywhere, any time. Literally. Or-
No. She won't think about that. She can't.
The Doctor's old, she knows that. So the Doctor's...had other companions, probably, maybe. Finding them...finding them would be impossible, right?
Right, yes, definitely. She definitely shouldn't spend any time whatsoever trying to research the Doctor and her old companions. That'll definitely...get...her nowhere…
Her phone buzzes again, but this time Yaz does look at it-looks at it long enough to mute it, tosses it under a pillow and grabs her laptop instead, sets to work with her computer in hand and her fingers flying across the keys.
Miles and miles and miles away there's a silver pot steaming hot, full to the brim with coffee that's foaming, freshly brewed. A girl with fierce red hair is working behind the counter of a bustling shop, tired and yawning as she pours her twentieth cup, half an hour gone by and her shift still not done.
She looks up. Is somewhere else, for a moment, a migraine building behind her eyes but she blinks it away, the pain dissipating, her heart stammering in her chest as she does her job, smiles and starts taking another order, another.
She blinks again. Something is wrong.
She meets with Ryan, eventually. Graham doesn't come. Ryan doesn't say why.
And they talk about things-small talk, how the weather's been, how their jobs are going. Getting them back was easy. Getting back everything else? Less so.
Yaz hates it. Hates all of it.
Hates how easy she slips into being just "Yaz" again.
And Ryan? Ryan doesn't seem to notice anything at all.
They get around to the subject of the Doctor eventually. All roads lead there in Yaz's mind. It's the last thing Ryan wants to talk about, apparently, because he's all small talk and clipped words until she sets the topic down and waits for his response.
She's tired of skirting around things.
"Maybe she's just...on vacation or something," Ryan says, "she did almost die, last time."
Yaz stares at him. "On vacation?" She repeats, "without us? She'd be bored, she wouldn't last a day!"
Ryan shrugs. Shrugs. Like he doesn't care. But he has to. This is the Doctor they're talking about.
"I think something's wrong," Yaz murmurs, pressing, "I think she's in trouble."
"You can't know that for sure though," says Ryan, "we've seen her get out of trouble before."
"It's not like her to just leave like this, abandon us." Yaz shoots back. "Abandon…"
He stares at her. She looks away, face going hot.
"She could be anywhere," she whispers.
Ryan frowns, tilts his head, nods. "She'll be back," he says, sipping his coffee. He focuses on his mug for a second, then looks back up at her, uneasy. "Yaz," he says, slowly.
She just stares at him.
"Don't be daft." He says it almost sternly, kindly, like he's worried about her.
And she's touched. Really and truly, she is. "I-Ryan,"
"Yaz," he pleads, "please-"
"I have to go." She stands up, grabs her cup and her jacket and her phone and she brings everything together in a frenzy, her jacket on wrong and her phone nearly slipping out of her hand as she rushes away, rushes out.
"At least get someone to help you," Ryan says.
Yaz's temper flares. "And you won't?"
He huffs, wrinkling in on himself, gaze shifting to the floor. "Someone has to keep watch here."
Coward, Yaz thinks, but it's not all venom. She'd die before she'd let something happen to Ryan or Graham. "Right," she says, bluster gone. She flips her jacket around, smooths out the wrinkles. "See you 'round."
"See you," he says, that sadness in his eyes again. He watches her go.
She waves at him one more time, just before rounding the corner, just in case.
"You okay, Ciara? You seem sort of...off."
She jumps, immediately freezes so that maybe it'll seem like her boss didn't just scare the crap at her, and looks up. Abigail Haven is a tall-ish woman, graying hair and bright green eyes. She looks like a boss-has the stern, practiced look to match her title-but she's kind too, patient.
Patient is good.
"I'm alright," she says, forcing a small smile. "Just tired is all."
"Kids these days," Abigail huffs, "staying up 'til all hours of the night. Why would you stay up late when you have a morning shift the next day?"
"Spite," Ciara answers, smile pulling into a bigger grin, genuine this time. "I'm fine, I promise."
Abigail chuckles, walks away and starts taking an order. The cafe really is busy today, Ciara thinks, everyone bustling in and out before heading back out into the city.
She's...she's stuck here, in these tiny four walls, with nothing to do but shuffle ice through plastic and steam through piping hot metal.
Seven hours left, she knows, and she glances at the clock between orders, counts the seconds down from fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six…
There's someone on her doorstep.
And normally, Yaz would be better about handling these things-she's a police officer, after all-but something about the woman on her doorstep scares Yaz. Her stance is solid, tight, as she leans against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing a suit of sorts, a thin thing that hugs her waist and all her curves. She's pretty, in a terrifying way-
"Are you Yasmin Khan?"
Oh. Oh.
"Maybe," Yaz says, slowly walking up to the door. "Who's asking?"
"Martha Jones." The woman steps forward, brushes a curl over one ear and holds out an official-looking badge. "I'm looking for-" she takes the badge away.
"Stop that," Yaz snaps, blinking, "the badge-show me the badge again."
"Sorry?"
"Easy thing, that-trying to trick me into believing you are who you say you are. Show me the badge."
The woman blinks.
"The badge," Yaz says, and the woman procures it, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
"You're smart," she says, "it's a bit outdated, but it's all right here."
"Martha Jones." Yaz reads, then frowns. 'With UNIT? I've never heard of-" Wait, no, that's wrong. The Doctor had mentioned a UNIT once, but back then she'd said it had vanished-gone broke, maybe, or just disappeared. "What is UNIT?" She asks.
"Military," Martha says, "we were protecting the world." Her lips twist. "Do you mind if I come inside?"
"Oh- course." Yaz fumbles through her pockets for her keys, grabs them, fumbles more when she has to reach up and unlock her door. She's nervous. This woman knows things and she's nervous because she's close, closer than she's been in weeks.
Why here-why now?
"So, you worked with UNIT." Yaz busies herself with tidying up, even as Martha stands chuckling behind her. "You're military?"
"I'm a doctor, actually, and no- I worked for UNIT, for a while. Before they went under." Her words are clipped, at the end. Sad.
Yaz winces. "Coffee?" She asks, finishing rearranging the pillows on the sofa. "Tea?"
"Coffee," Martha nods, smiles. "Thanks."
Yaz flicks on the lights, rummages through the cabinets, grimaces at the dust on absolutely everything. Dust on all her mugs-who'd want to drink from a dusty mug?
It'll be fine-she'll clean it up, Martha won't see, won't know-
"You know, I knew the Doctor, once," Martha says, and Yaz simultaneously stumbles, nearly dropping the mug and milk in her hand with a scream that's warbled and shriekling all at once.
"You what?"
"He was different then," she continues, "he was- well, a man, for starters. And he was…" She trails off. Confused, Yaz turns, the coffee pot bubbling away happily behind her, and finds Martha staring off into the distance, her expression caught between joy and deep sadness. "Point is, the Doctor is different now," she says, blinking, "and you're one of her companions."
Yaz's throat goes dry. "How did you-"
"UNIT was about more than just protecting the earth. It-we researched, protected humanity from alien invasions and assassinations and all sorts of things you don't even know about. And they tracked the Doctor-had been for years. And his companions."
"And they-you-knew about me?"
"And your friends," Martha nods. "Ryan and Graham."
She's-it's all a lot and if Yaz is honest she's not sure what to think.
The coffee finishes and Yaz pours two mugs, turns. "Milk? Sugar?"
"No, thanks."
Yaz fixes hers and passes Martha's mug into her waiting hands, sits down. Blows the steam across the cup and waits, staring into its murky depths. "I don't like this," she says. "Been in enough trouble already, don't like the idea of someone out there knowing who I am, where I've been."
"UNIT is gone," Martha says. "Their files are still around, though, and so are their systems."
"So?"
"So, three weeks ago the Doctor just...disappeared. The Doctor doesn't disappear. Something happened, Yasmin-"
"I go by Yaz, actually."
"-Yaz, and I need to know what."
Right, there it is. The unfortunate truth. "I don't know what happened to her," she says. "We… we got caught up in something. She dropped us off, went to go find her TARDIS. I haven't seen her since."
"The TARDIS?" Martha's eyes light up. "She left it-where is it?"
"Not a clue."
"Good, that's good," Martha mutters, setting her coffee mug down on the table. She pulls the bookbag at her hip forward, rummages through its contents until she comes up with a smallish laptop, opens it and starts typing.
"What are you doing?" Yaz asks.
"Tracking the TARDIS," Martha answers.
"Just like that?" Yaz grits her teeth, inches closer. "How?"
That earns her a look. "If I tell you, will you understand it?" Martha asks.
Yaz goes pink. "Probably not."
"Then it's not worth explaining." An irritated puff buzzes Martha's lips. "I barely understand it."
"Then how do you know-"
"Old friend taught me." Her computer whirs, dings softly as a program starts and runs, the screen turning gray, pink, blue as it sits there, humming contentedly. "We should get a ping… now!"
The laptop dings loudly, and even though Yaz is expecting it she jumps anyway-much to Martha's amusement.
"She parked the TARDIS in the middle of nowhere," Martha mumbles, "wonder why?"
"She probably had a reason," Yaz begins, defensive.
"But didn't tell anyone else, very 'Doctor' of her." Martha shoots back.
Yaz glares.
"Sorry," Martha winces, sitting back, her lips twisting into a puzzled frown. "It's just-it's been years since I've been in this. I thought I'd be more excited to see the Doctor again, but really… It's all sort of overwhelming."
"You were planning on coming with me?"
"I was." But now Martha's uneasy, Yaz can see it in her eyes. "It's not-you're the Doctor's companion now," she says, "I'm not part of the story."
There's a sourness to her words that Yaz can't place and she doesn't like it, doesn't like the way Martha's words ring of a bitterness unhealed, a pain untempered and a void unfulfilled.
"How long were you with the Doctor?" She asks. "Did you...end on good terms?"
But that just makes Martha scowl deeper. "Coordinates," she says, procuring a pen and paper from absolutely nowhere, scribbling something down just as fast. "The TARDIS should be here, Yaz. Find the Doctor, and Yaz-"
"Yes?"
"Make sure she's safe. And don't leave her again. Stay with her. Someone has to."
"Ask me again before you agree to cover Lila's double shifts," Abigail says, mumbling-cursing-under her breath as Ciara moves to grab a muffin crumb from underneath the table. "You're working too much, Ciara."
Ciara snorts. "No, I'm not."
"Every day this week, twelve hours." Abigail crosses the room so fast Ciara barely has time to blink. "I'm worried about you-"
"I'm an adult, Abigail-"
"And the daughter of my best friend." Abigail's eyes grow warm. "I care about you, Ciara. Can't you see that?"
"Dishes need washing," Ciara mumbles, stepping away from her, broom and dust-pan in hand.
Abigail nods, starts mumbling again.
There's a face in the window.
Ciara freezes when she sees it, bumps the broom against the wall and leans the broom and dust-pan there, unlocks the door. The alarm chimes, and even though Abigail looks, she doesn't say anything. The night air is cold.
But when Ciara looks again, the face is gone.
"I'll take out the trash," Ciara calls out, eyeing the garbage bags waiting by the door. "Be back in a sec."
"Okay."
"I know you're out here," Ciara whispers as soon as the door shuts. "You can come out."
"You're quick," a soft voice says. "Your boss didn't see me."
"We're closed," Ciara says, stepping around the corner. "We-wait, weren't you in the cafe earlier?" Soft brown hair, wavy, glasses black and thin-rimmed. Shorter than she is, and thinner. Her skin's brownish, but the lights overhead make her whole body look like she's glowing gold. "You're the pumpkin girl," she sighs, irritated. "D'you want something?"
"Pumpkin girl?" The girl's eyebrows knit together. "You remembered my order?"
"You ordered a pumpkin spice latte, iced, no whipped cream."
"What's wrong with that?"
"It's June."
The girl snorts. "You're- what's your name?"
"What do you want?" Ciara asks again, startled. "You can't just go around asking strangers random questions!"
"You really don't remember," the girl murmurs, "man, that's wild."
"Have we met before?"
The girl grins. "We've...met."
Cryptic. Ciara sighs. "Whatever. I'm taking out the trash."
"You ever think about things-wish things were different?"
The dumpster lid is skewed as Ciara reaches to open it, tugs the distended bag over the edge and pushes it into the void.
It smells.
"Things. What things?"
"Life," the stranger says. "Things. Wishing you were somewhere different-something more."
Ciara's heart skips a beat. "Doesn't everyone wish something like that, at some point?"
"Probably." The girl steps closer. There's something in her eyes-a sad something, wistful. "But they're not like us."
"I've never met you," Ciara says. "I don't know you."
"Not in this life." The stranger's lips curl into a tiny smirk. "But you and me? We go wayyy back. You know me."
"I've never met you," Ciara repeats, tensing. "I don't even know your name."
"Names," the girl chuckles. "Mine's the Ember. You can just call me Ember. The 'the' part will make sense later." she frowns. "Maybe. Probably. Anyway, come with me-"
"No."
"What?"
"I'm busy," Cira snorts, "and besides. It's like I told you. We've never met."
"What do I have to do to-damn, never mind. Are you sure you don't remember anything, nothing at all?"
"Bye."
The stranger groans. "Don't just-stop walking away! This is important!"
"Byeee!"
Leave it to the Doctor to drop her TARDIS in the middle of nowhere.
The device Martha left her-paper first, then she'd realized that probably wasn't helpful-dings softly as Yaz pads across the beaten mountain path. There are trees everywhere-big, massive ones, thicker and wider than Yaz could grasp.
It's pretty here, really. Isolated and sort of desolate, but gorgeous all the same.
And there, in the midst of it all, in a swathe of silver fog and greenery, is the TARDIS.
And it's pretty too.
There's a sound in her head when she walks up, a sort of soft clanging, a gentle sound that's summoning and expectant all at once.
It's the TARDIS. She's not sure how she knows, but she does, and she's not scared, exactly, but the instinct is...strange.
"Hello," she says, walking up to it, placing her hand on the wooden door. "Mind letting me in?"
Silence.
"Please," says Yaz. Talking to it feels strange. The TARDIS is, well, just a box, but she's seen enough to know that it's more than that, that it can hear and be and feel more than she'd first assumed. "Hey-please. Bit urgent here."
Still, just silence.
"The Doctor is missing," Yaz says, her voice shaking. "She's missing and I'm trying to get her back but I can't do it on my own. I need help. I need your help."
A creak. Might just be the wind, but maybe not.
"Please," Yaz pleads again, dropping the device in her hand so she can put both hands flat against the TARDIS' doors. She tilts her head against the wood, the cracked paint sharp in places, the whole of it warm and inviting and strong, full of energy and life and full of memory.
Yaz misses the Doctor.
She's always loved traveling, always loved seeing new places and meeting new people but the Doctor was different, traveling with her was different. She misses it. She misses the Doctor. The Doctor, she-
Love, says the TARDIS, kindly. Find the Doctor. Love the Doctor. Protect the Doctor.
And Yaz smiles. "Yeah," she says, "I think I can do that."
The doors open.
Everything is just like Yaz remembers it, but the whole console room is quieter now, empty of the energy the Doctor brings. The silence takes Yaz's heart and twists it around until she's crying, tears falling down her face as she as places her hands palms down on the console.
Find the Doctor, the TARDIS reminds her, gently, softly.
"Right," Yaz says, brushing the tears from her eyes. "D'you have any idea where to start?"
Judoon.
"Those- those rhino things from Gloucester? What do they want with the Doctor?"
Judoon.
"Right, you mentioned that." Yaz thumps the console. "Can you...fly yourself?"
Fly.
"I don't know how to fly you," Yaz snorts, "you're…"
An image appears in her head. Then another. Buttons and levers-that's all they are to Yaz but she pushes and pulls and the TARDIS moves, lifts on the ground and soars to-well, wherever they're going.
They fly. Together.
"I'll never say a mean thing about you again, that's a promise," Yaz says. "Even when you shake us up while flyin'-"
Not my fault.
"Right." Yaz grins. "The Doctor doesn't know how to fly you either?"
Her response is more of a feeling than a word. Amusement, a ripple of violet in Yaz's mind.
"Don't worry, I won't tell her you said that."
She knows.
Their landing is bumpy.
Landing.
Destination.
She's here.
"Where is here?" Yaz asks, and one of the smaller side screens flashes, words in a language Yaz can't understand.
Judoon prison. The TARDIS helps. Quick escape.
"A prison?" Yaz's stomach plummets. "I can't just-God, how am I supposed to break the Doctor out of a prison?"
Quick escape.
"Yeah, you keep saying that, but how-"
The doors open.
"I can't believe it."
It's-
"You actually did it."
"Doctor," Yaz breathes, crying again, hands clapping over her mouth. "How-"
"You landed right in my cell!" The Doctor exclaims, rushing inside, the doors slamming shut. She traces one hand over the wall, exuberant. "Yaz, you're amazing! How'd you do it? Who else is with you?"
"No one," Yaz says, then frowns. "Well, I had a little help."
"From who? Where are-"
"Old friend of yours." Yaz interrupts her, stepping forward, twisting her hands together with a smile. "Said her name was Martha."
"Martha Jones," says the Doctor, blinking. "Oh, I owe her a visit."
"I owe her a lot more than that," Yaz says. "I missed you, Doctor."
She can't read the light in the Doctor's eyes, can't place the expression on her face. It's torn, a mix of happiness and sadness, confusion and chaos. "I missed you too," she says, finally, touching the console. "Ready to go home?"
"Ready," Yaz says, bumping against the Doctor's shoulder.
"And on the way, you can tell me why Ryan and Graham aren't with you." The Doctor says. "Goin' to have a word with those boys."
Yaz winces. "About that-"
They take off.
Neither of them look back.
They really should have.
"I know you. You don't look the same, you don't even feel the same, but I know you're in there. I can sense it."
The girl is still behind her as Ciara opens the door, half a step inside.
"I'm the Ember, you're the Jade. We named ourselves after earth rocks-well, you did. You were always the clever one. I was the spark, the one with the temper."
"Jade's a terrible name, that's stupid-ow-" The Jade. The Jade. The Jade.
The name pounds in her head and sets her whole body trembling, her heart racing in her chest. Her palms go sweaty. She can feel the color drain from her face as she wobbles, heel of her hand moving to massage the sudden headache pounding behind her eyes.
"Ciara?" Abigail calls, concern in her voice. "Ciara, are you okay? Hey-hey!"
But the pain drowns out everything, blurs away the whole world. Ciara can see Abigail running toward her, see the cafe tilting, the ceiling flashing before her eyes as she collapses. Then the stranger, the girl, the Ember comes into view, catches her-she's fast, faster than she looks-and Ciara is just…
"Who are you? Get away from her!"
"She's coming with me," the Ember snarls, picking Ciara up, helping her walk. "Don't worry. I'll take care of her from here."
You can't take her! She's-she's supposed to work in the morning!"
"Then find someone else!" the Ember screams back. "Jade-Ciara, listen. You have to have-ah, here!"
The locket-she reaches up and curls a finger around the chain of Ciara's locket, grasps it, grabs Ciara's hand and places the locket into her palm.
"Can you hear it?" She asks. "Hear anything at all?"
There's nothing, for a moment, then, like a whisper, a heartbeat, somehow wrong and somehow right, all in the same moment.
A heartbeat. Two heartbeats.
"Heartbeats," Ciara whispers, her head lolling.
"Yes, that's it." The Ember says. "Good. Good good good. Oh, there's so much I wanna tell you but-"
The sound overtakes everything, fuels Ciara's headache until her head is absolutely screaming.
"You should rest now," the Ember says. "More to explain later."
Everything goes dark.
Ember opens the door to her TARDIS, props her old friend up safely on a chair. Relaxes, for the first time in a while.
"Found you," she says, grinning down at the sleeping Time Lord. "What did that woman call you again? Ciara. Ciara." The name tastes funny on her tongue. "Well, that's what I'll call you for now. Feels weird. You'll always be Jade to me."
She turns toward the console, pulls at the levers until the whole ship vibrates and starts to fly. Glances back down at Jade-at Ciara.
"Right," she says, humming, "One down, three more to go."