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There's so much of the universe that Yasmin doesn't understand fully yet. Or the TARDIS for that matter.
She's been roaming alone through multiple rooms, discovering the crystal blue waters of pool and then the library's foyer. Dark walnut wood furnishings. Low lit lamps. At least five or six floors with spacious and railed balconies. Yasmin has visited before. She's wandered the shelves and flipped through books on the Shovoran dynasty, mathematics and applied sciences, computer games, Histories of the Dalek Imperium, parachuting, 1700s women's fashion, peppermint, lava lamps, Brave New World…
Yasmin gets a sense that the TARDIS is leading her somewhere. Or keeping her away from a certain area. That's always a possibility. She's been turned around at least twice now. When Yasmin tries to ask the TARDIS something, like the Doctor would — the TARDIS only hums to Yasmin, soft and enigmatic, and blinks the white-neon lights hidden in corridor's roundels.
A chaotic life. That's what she's living, but Yasmin wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Even if she barely understands the Doctor — Yasmin loves traveling with her, and with Ryan and Graham too. She could get used to this for a long, long time.
Now this corridor looks familiar. Yasmin heads for the doorway leading down to platform-stairs. She notices the smoke.
"Doctor!" she shouts. Yasmin waves the thinning, grey smoke out of her face, observing the control room. It's sweltering hot. The deep blue lights within the hexagon-shaped roundels are glowing rapidly, nearly strobing. They don't usually.
She doesn't see the Doctor anywhere until Yasmin glimpses a pair of legs and feet sticking out from under the console.
"Doctor, what's happening? Is something on fire?"
Yasmin jumps up onto the platform-dais, watching in sheer bewilderment as the other woman mumbles and squirms in the console's wide-open and smoking undercarriage. The Doctor is speaking in… a sort of coded language? Numerical equations?
Bright, hot sparks fly out. Yasmin jumps back, crying out "whoa!" as the Doctor jerks herself out.
"It's fine! No need to panic!" the Doctor insists, now speaking in English. She's all smudged up in dark soot, wearing a headlamp and goggles. Her lilac-blue coat missing. Her suspenders lowered from her shoulders and dangling freely at her hips. Yasmin wonders vaguely why the TARDIS wasn't translating the earlier stuff the Doctor was saying. "I've got my whojamawhatsits stuck!"
"You're whojamawWHAT—?"
"Whojamawhatsits!" The Doctor proclaims, grinning. It's just as bright as the sparks, and twice as lovely. Her upper lip stretches up as she suddenly looks away, confounded. "I don't remember what it's called otherwise. I'm still not all here. Not myself." Yasmin stares over the Doctor in amusement as the self-proclaimed Time Lord peeks back under the console. "It's the whirly bit on the circuit switchboard! Now if I could find a way to make it stabilise, and then—" she snaps her fingers loudly, "—we will be tip-top!"
"Do you need any help?" Yasmin offers. She tilts her head to gaze curiously underneath the console. Definitely overheated.
The Doctor turns her head to Yasmin, her lips parting open. "Could you?" she asks, smiling gratefully and pulling off her steamed-up goggles. Her hazel eyes widen. "I need a spare part over from my tool kit—but I left it by the entrance's stairs. And I really need to make sure nothing does catch on fire."
"Got it!" Yasmin says eagerly. She hops off the console's dais, gazing around.
The Doctor goes back to what she's doing, muttering to the TARDIS while it beeps accusingly at her, lying flat out on the mechanic's roller seat and vanishing. Over by the set of entrance hexagonal-steps, Yasmin discovers the tool kit.
"Got it!" she repeats, yelling to the Doctor.
There's a muffled yell back, and some clanging, and Yasmin glances towards her. For a moment, the Doctor reappears.
Sweat drips down the Doctor's flushed face. Her yellow hair wet and clumped. There's enough heat in the control room where Yasmin's underarms go moist. Off comes the Doctor's rainbow-striped, eggplant purple top and her long sleeve. She shucks it all off, gasping in relief. Her arms stretch up. No bra. Yasmin is pretty sure now that she wasn't wearing a bra this whole time.
Oh. Oh god. Yasmin can't pull her eyes away. Sweat glistens on the Doctor's neck and her pale collarbones. And, oh god, she shouldn't notice — not at all — but there's more sweat slicking between her breasts. "Phew!" the Doctor moans, fanning herself.
Yasmin's fingers immediately lose her grip on the tool kit. She winces, ignoring the noisy clatter, forcing herself to walk forward.
"Thanks, Yaz," the Doctor says. She's perking up, cheerful but slightly dismissive. "You've been loads of help. See ya."
She goes back under the TARDIS's console, naked from the waist up. Yasmin doesn't know what to do. She stands there, silent and embarassed, waiting for an answer that won't come. The Doctor's hand pops into view, clutching for a nob, twisting it. The spare part— whatever the hell this whojamawhatsits is — retrieved by the Doctor's other hand, and vanishes under the console.
In a few minutes, Yasmin realises the deep blue lights above her no longer flash.
"Fantastic!" the Doctor crows out, gleefully springing to her feet. She waves out the grey smoke. "That'll take care of several wire malfunctions! Oh, that's brilliant! Glad I thought of it!" She yanks over the scanner, fiddling with miniature controls and dials.
Yasmin tries to close her mouth. "Um…" she starts. "Don't you want to… cover up? Or something?"
The Doctor wipes off her hands, dirtied with soot and perspiration, to her trousers.
"Why is that?"
She follows Yasmin's eyes, looking down to herself bare-breasted, cocking an eyebrow.
"It's just my chest," the Doctor says offhandedly. "It's where I keep some of my organs. My hearts. You have one."
"Yes, but… I'm covered up…"
There's a hint of discomfort from Yasmin. She thinks it's fairly obvious. At least to her. You don't strip off your shirt like that and go round other people, exposing yourself. But the Doctor also isn't some ordinary person. Human societal expectations don't really apply, Yasmin thinks. Even if the Doctor looks like she's human. Her nipples definitely look human.
(Oh god, stop.)
The Doctor makes a low, intrigued hum. "So you are," she deadpans, wiping off her face with her purple top. Yasmin senses a lecture coming on. "Is the human race so insecure about their bodies that you can't show your own skin?"
Ah, there it is.
"Ryan doesn't have a problem with it. I've seen him," the Doctor adds, kneeling down to her toolkit. "He walks round in his towel."
Yasmin sighs. "That's different."
"His chest isn't covered up. I know you know that," she points out defiantly to a half-frowning Yasmin, rummaging. "Isn't that what you want me to do, Yaz?" In a way, the Doctor is right. Yasmin hadn't meant to body-shame the Doctor, but done it anyway.
"I... I guess," Yasmin admits. "I'm not used to seeing my mates going round… half-naked."
"Maybe you should." The Doctor tosses away a broken gear after yanking it out. "Maybe you'll feel better about yourself."
Yasmin huffs, mildly offended.
"Myself?"
"Your body isn't shameful… though it is a shame you would think like that…" the Doctor says helpfully. Or trying to be helpful. It sounds more like a criticism to Yasmin. No, wait, it's absolutely going to be criticism if it's from the Doctor.
"I don't think like that!" Yasmin protests, raising her voice.
She doesn't like the disbelieving and smug look from the other woman. Prove it. The Doctor moves around her, their eyes connecting. It's unspoken, sure, but Yasmin knows there's a prove it in there somewhere. Completely on impulse, Yasmin pulls off her fuzzy, pink wrap-blouse, narrowly avoiding bumping her elbow to a glow-crystal. Leaving on her sports bra.
"There!" Yasmin exclaims, gesturing out with both of her hands. "You happy?!"
The Doctor's face brightens. It's the kind of grin Yasmin sees so often but rarely directed on her. "See!" The Doctor rushes in, seizing Yasmin's wrists with gentle, playful intent. She beams like starshine. Like a cosmic, glittering nova. Yasmin feels her upper torso getting wiggled by the Doctor's hands, reddening. "Isn't this freeing, Yaz? Don't you feel better about yourself already?"
"Not really…"
Despite Yasmin's sarcasm, the Doctor only grins harder and clutches their fingers.
They hear Graham's high-pitched scream.
He's walked in on them, promptly slamming his hands over his face as soon as it registers that his two female-presenting companions are standing up on the platform. Holding hands. Topless. "Graham!" the Doctor yells, worried. "Are you alright?!"
"Blimey…" Graham mutters, backing himself against the entrance-stairs. "I didn't know you two were… I'm just gonna go!"
Yasmin slowly lets go of the Doctor's hands, folding her arms over her bra. He attempts to navigate his way out of the control room without seeing them, knocking painfully and facefirst into a hexagonal-cog wall. All of the commotion spurs Ryan to leap in from the hall.
"Are we crashing?" Ryan blurts out. He gawks at a humiliated Yasmin, and the Doctor still bare-breasted. "Oh my days…"
"Get out!" Yasmin shrieks.
"Ignore Yaz!" the Doctor says, interrupting. She touches Yasmin's shoulders from behind. The warm, bare contact gives Yasmin a pleasant but unexpected shiver. "She's learning an important lesson about accepting your body as it is! C'mon! You lot next!"
Ryan hesitates and then shrugs. "Alright, if you say so," he says, removing his jumper. The tan-coloured fabric crumples at his feet.
Graham peeks through his fingers.
"You too, Graham."
He does reluctantly, mumbling nonsensically, unbuttoning a light blue and white patterned shirt.
Yasmin avoids eye-contact, bracing her arms tighter over her chest. There's a nest of grey-white hairs on Graham's sternum. Graham has an overly pale complexion, unlike to the rest of them, and mottled in pink all-over with a scattering of moles. He's pudgy in the middle. Ryan has a taller, muscular build. He politely avoids looking at Yasmin or the Doctor, rocking back on his heels and shoving his hands into his jeans.
"Yeah… this is proper awkward…" Ryan confesses, breaking the silence.
"Exactly," Yasmin agrees forcefully.
"Why does it feel like a sauna in here?" Graham comments.
"Of course it is! You're all used to hiding yourselves from each other!" The Doctor plants her hands to her hips, appearing thrilled. "Look at you now… my fam. My gang. Brought together through a show of common unity. I'm very proud of you."
"We're not gonna hug… right, Doc?"
"Do you want to?" the Doctor asks, innocently serious.
A collective "NO!" echoes through the TARDIS control room. Ryan and Graham lower their heads, grabbing their clothes and hurrying out. Yasmin feels a burst of happiness as their backs disappear. That's enough of that.
She reaches for her wrap-blouse, meaning to slip it back on.
The Doctor's hand comes into view, grasping onto Yasmin's forearm. Yasmin furrows her brows, gazing up.
"You don't have to be ashamed of yourself," the Doctor tells her solemnly, gazing over Yasmin's pretty and brown features. Her hazel eyes soften. "Not ever, Yaz. The best part of you will always be how different you are. All of you."
"… M'not ashamed."
Her voice doesn't sound so convincing in Yasmin's ears. Not anymore.
The Doctor aims an incredulous but kind stare to her.
Yasmin tenses up further. "Humans get taught to be ashamed of their own naked bodies. Especially women," she explains, frustrated. "It starts from a very young age. And that's not fair… and I… I suppose I haven't let that go. I dunno if I can."
Her eyes go downcast. What feels like the back of a finger taps underneath Yasmin's chin, lifting her head.
"Yasmin Khan… you are very beautiful and very capable." The Doctor releases Yasmin's arm, nodding. "Remember that."
Perhaps it's the way the Doctor says this. She says this grinning with all of her teeth and looking over her like Yasmin contains every wondrous, sparkling aspect of the universe. The Doctor says things are beautiful, but she doesn't mean it like people do. Yasmin knows that. That's why hearing it is so special to her. The Doctor doesn't care about the unrealistic human standards of beauty.
"Aaah!" the Doctor groans, listening to the TARDIS beeping erratically. "Yes, yes! I know!"
She bounds back to the crystal-console, rebooting the systems to the handles and levers. Yasmin goes quiet, abandoning her pink wrap-blouse. "Were you having a go, Doctor...?" she hollers, smirking. "Or were you actually trying to flirt with me...?"
The Doctor's head peers around a column.
"Was it working?" she says, a tad mischievous. Fascinated, even,
Yasmin holds up her thumb and index finger so the Doctor can see it, motioning for the smallest indication of air between them. Her luminously dark eyes crinkle. Yasmin's mouth flattens. And for a reason unknown to her, that excites the Doctor greatly.
"Really!?" Under the floodlight, the Doctor has a rosy, shiny flush to her. "It was working—are you sure?" Yasmin watches her, stunned by this enthusiasm. "I always wanted to be a good flirter! Flirt? Flirtmen? Is that what you call it? I heard that said on Bukol but I may have been mistranslating." She's very close, darting back in front of Yasmin. For no reason. Still completely naked from the waist up. Yasmin can smell the cooling sweat on her, but it's not nearly as harsh as Yasmin imagined. "How was it? Should I do more often?"
Yasmin shakes her head. "No, I don't think you need to," she reassures the Doctor, going on her tiptoes to kiss her.
She hasn't kissed someone in a long time. Four or five years at least. Yasmin ignores her fear of messing this up. It's less of a kiss and more touch contact, she supposes. Lip-to-lip. The Doctor hasn't closed her eyes, stiffening up to Yasmin's mouth, but she has a dazed, half-lidded expression when Yasmin pulls away. As if she's mesmerised by Yasmin.
"Oh…" the Doctor concludes, processing this. "Ohh… hang on… I thought you told your mum we weren't seeing each other…"
An exasperated breath.
Yasmin rolls her eyes affectionately, cupping the Doctor's nape and bringing her down. She shifts her lips lightly against the Doctor's. "Shut it, alright," Yasmin murmurs, feeling the other woman grin against her and snort out what must be a laugh.
From the hallway, there comes loud, frantic arguing. Graham stumbles in, panting and waving an hand.
"Doc, I'm sorry—I'm so sorry to interrupt—but your loo has turned into a dimensional portal. I swear I just saw a bleedin' huge pterodactyl! A real one! Peekin' out of the door as it pleases! And I've really, really got to go!"
The Doctor hangs her mouth open, delighted and flushed with exhilaration. Something that Yasmin secretly admires.
"Brilliant!" she squeals, grabbing Yasmin's hand. "C'mon, Yaz! No time to lose!"
They're both — still — shirtless and Graham yells about needing to pee again, leaving the Doctor to yell about him using Deck 4. It seems like the chaos never ends while Yasmin lives on the TARDIS. She's prepared for anything now.
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