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Yaz has been sitting in the TARDIS kitchen for what feels like an age. Of course it may only have been minutes, and it’s even harder to tell than usual. She knows it must be late, or rather early. The Doctor is surely about, somewhere. In the console room, probably, pottering about the way she usually does. Yaz is exhausted, she’s so tired, so tired and yet she cannot sleep. The lights in the kitchen are low and golden, the only sounds are the humming of the fridge and the regular background noise of the TARDIS. It’s somewhat comforting, to hear something as mundane as fridge noises when floating through deep space. Yaz has her back to the wall opposite the breakfast bar and counters, she feels the chill of it through her pyjama top. She feels chill in the palm of her hand, too, permeating to the bone. It’s painful, and yet she clutches at the ice cube, the only thing anchoring her to reality. The pain is sharp, and yet a little sweet. Her gaze is fixed on a low spot ahead of her: the leg of one of the tall stools surrounding the breakfast bar. The metal gleams in the dim light. The young woman rocks gently back and forth, almost imperceptibly, but enough to make her feel slightly dizzy. The ice cube has melted now, her skin cold and soggy, a small puddle on the floor under her hand. It takes an eternity, but she stands. Crosses the room to the freezer. She glues her eyes to the floor. She won’t look at the gas stove burners or the knife rack, because her head will get loud and she fears for what she might do on accident, on autopilot. The freezer is stiff to open, and she chips a nail doing it but eventually she has another ice cube in her clenched fist. The spot where she was sitting feels light years away now, and so she slumps in a ball against the freezer door, her head thunking against it as she does. It takes all her limited willpower not to repeat the action until her skin swells and something breaks. Yaz takes a deep breath, inhaling so far she thinks her lungs might burst. She hasn’t felt this way in a very long time, not since she was a teen and living with abuse every day, from people she had thought were her friends. She’s been through so much since then, and she’s tougher now, she’s not going to give in to this impulse without a fight. Her head is buzzing with a million broken thoughts, and she closes her eyes only to force them open again seconds later. She’s shaking, tremors and repressed sobs racking her body as she fights for control. She wonders if maybe she should scream. But she doesn’t want to be dramatic, doesn’t want to be a burden. In any case her lips feel like they’re cemented together. She’s spiraling deeper and deeper into the pit she worked so hard to climb out of all those years ago. Then there are footsteps, coming closer, and Yaz is really panicking now because no-one is supposed to see this, to see her like this. Especially not her. She feels her chest tighten and she can’t get a deep breath, and she’s really shaking now, her breath coming in short gasps that she tries to quieten. She’s doing her best to silence herself… “Yaz? What’re y’doing down there?” The accent is so similar to her own, and the woman who speaks is her home. Yaz’s vision is blurring as she feels a warm leg press against her own as the Doctor kneels beside her. Gentle hands peel open her fist to uncover the sliver that remains of her latest ice cube. Tilt her hand so it falls to the floor. The hand is then brought to the Doctor’s chest, to feel her breathing, to regulate. No words are spoken, and Yaz does not look at the alien, instead she stares at the floor, her attention flickering between the breathing pattern she’s attempting to mimic, and the rapid dual heartbeat beneath her fingers. In some distant part of her mind she registers that her hand must be chilling the other woman’s skin. “Yaz, please, try to match my breathing. You’re gonna pass out otherwise.” The tone is gentle but Yaz still can’t bring herself to meet the eyes of the speaker, doesn’t want to see pity aimed at her. Instead she follows the hand that rises and falls, and slowly her breathing begins to match it. Her palm is moved away from the Doctor’s chest, but the other woman doesn’t let go, instead opting to slowly stroke the back of Yaz’s hand. The tenderness of the gesture is what prompts Yaz to finally look into her eyes. The Doctor’s brow is furrowed, lip bleeding slightly where she’s bitten it. There is no pity in her eyes, only a kind of deep sadness. Yaz feels like she’s a little outside her body as she reaches up to stroke the lip gently, wiping away a tiny trail of blood, feeling a sharp intake of breath against the pad of her thumb. She quickly looks down at her own sock covered feet. “I’m sorry.” “Yaz you have nothing to be sorry about.” The harshness and strength of the Doctor's words prompts Yaz’s head to sink onto her knees. She hides her face because she’s heard this before, and so she cannot, will not accept this. “I shouldn’t be like this. I should be able to cope. I-I’ll understand if you want to…to send me away.” Her tone is resigned, because why would this incredible individual ever want to travel with her now she’s seen her break? “Never.” A tender hand lifts her chin, tilts her head so that brown eyes meet hazel. “Yaz I am so incredibly proud of you, please understand that. It’s not about what happened, it’s about what didn’t. I…I care about you. So much. And I would never send you away for being a wonderful, fallible, fragile human.” The Doctor’s eyes burn with passionate truth as she speaks, and Yaz can only gape. They stare at each other for seconds afterwards, before there is a mutual move, Yaz falling into this woman as the Doctor pulls her in. Her head is buried in golden locks, pressed against warm skin at the neck of her top, and she breathes deep, sobs a little as unstoppable tears roll down her face. If she could see the Doctor’s face, she would see an identical set of liquid paths gleaming on it. The Doctor’s arms are at her back, and now she is her anchor. They stay like that, and then, Yaz speaks softly, truthfully. “I’m really, really tired.” “Okay. That’s okay, Yaz.” It takes a while, but eventually the two make it to their feet, and then, holding on tight to each other, to a bedroom, and at long last, to sleep.