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The Doctor had watched throughout the day as they’d celebrated, her best friends throwing themselves into the joy of Christmas. She’d watched Ryan light up at a gift from Graham, seen the way Graham had wrapped the present he got in return around himself and snuggled into it (a blanket with frogs on that reminded him of Grace), smiled softly at the way Dan had gone tearful at a present from Yaz he refused to show anyone else.

Most of all, she had watched Yaz.

Graham had invited them all to spend Christmas with him and Ryan, and Yaz had thrown herself into every aspect of it, dragging an unresisting Doctor round three galactic marketplaces to do her shopping, showing up three weeks before to help decorate the tree, and laughing.

So much laughing. 

The Doctor can't remember seeing her laugh this much.

She’s seen her cry, she’s seen her scream, she’s seen her march, resolute, into battle.

But gods, this laughter. It’s like a drug. 

She finds herself watching from doorways, peering from behind a curtain of hair and sometimes just outright staring at the sight of Yaz laughing. Head thrown back, the graceful line of her neck lit by the tree lights in different colours, that dazzling smile of hers that paints the beauty of her soul on her face, the crinkle of her eyes with lines gathering around them from her years in the past.

The Doctor is drunk on all of it.

Part of her mind is writing love poetry, wrapping Yaz’s beauty up in words.

Part of her mind is turning those words into a eulogy, because what else could happen if they remain together?

The rest of her mind is so, so tired of fighting what her soul is begging for. 

Dan notices, of course. 

“You’re an idiot,” he mutters in her ear as he catches her watching Yaz from the sitting room door frame. “The prize bloody queen of idiots.”

“I know,” she says. “I just… don’t know what to do.”

She didn’t realise Ryan was behind them until he starts singing. “The Doctor an’ Yaz in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.”

“Ryan!” she hisses, mortified. 

“Oh, I weren’t teasing you,” he says. “I’m just tellin’ you what to do.” He thinks for a moment. “Though maybe not the tree bit. Just the kissing.”

“Who’s kissing?” Yaz asks, having approached them from the other side.

“Nobody,” the Doctor and Dan respond at once.

“Graham,” Ryan blurts at the same time.

“Wait, who’m I kissing?” Graham asks, having followed Yaz. “I feel like I’d remember that. Most action I’ve had lately is Jack calling me Silver Fox. Which, by the way, is my super spy code name. Have you seen Jack lately? Wait, what were we talking about?”

“Nothing,” the Doctor tells him with a little bite of desperation. “Hey, Yaz, fancy some quiet? I want some quiet. Let’s go on the roof!”

“The roof?” Yaz asks.

“Right, that were a daft idea. The garden. Come out to the garden with me?”

“Um, alright.” Yaz reaches past her to where her jacket is hanging on a hook in the hall, and the moment they’re close together leaves the Doctor feeling lightheaded.

Dan nudges her.

“Right. Yes. Outside. Let’s.”

Trying not to overthink it, she catches Yaz’s hand and pulls her outside. 

The December air wraps around her, calming some of her racing thoughts. She slumps back against the back wall of Graham's house and looks up at the stars. She can sense Yaz's eyes on her, all that beautiful curiosity boring into her, trying to work out what's going on, and then the young woman moves to stand next to her. 

“Why do you like Christmas so much?” the Doctor asks after a while. “You're not a Christian.”

Yaz snorts. “You can talk. You love Christmas an’ you're not even a human.”

“Fair point,” she concedes. “But humour me?”

Yaz thinks about it. “I guess that when I was little, it was something I was on the outside of, always wanting t'be part of. My family exchanged small presents on Christmas day, but we didn't decorate an’ we didn't sing carols or leave out stockings or any of that. Being able to be part of it feels… not holy, not like Ramadan or Eid. But special. Joyful. Precious in a different way.”

The Doctor nods, reaching blindly for Yaz's hand. 

Warm fingers close around hers. “Why are you so into Christmas?” Yaz asks. 

The Doctor takes a deep breath. “Christmas is… love, I suppose. The old meanings, the bright spark at the middle of winter and the concept of an all-powerful God creating a child out of himself and sending him to Earth to learn how to be human, to learn how to love his people better and for his people to love him. And then the modern meanings too; peace and goodwill to all. If you're doing it right, Christmas is about loving everybody. It's kindness and generosity, warmth and hope. Found family. Love… abides.”

“In the face of everything,” Yaz whispers.

The Doctor turns her head to find Yaz watching her. “Exactly.” She squeezes her hand, closing her eyes. “Stars Yaz, I've been so stupid.”

“Sure, but what about what specifically?” Yaz teases, her thumb stroking the back of the Doctor's hand. There's a fragile hope in her eyes like embers, and the Doctor takes a breath to blow them into flames.

“You.” She steps closer, lifting her free hand to brush along Yaz's cheek. Her skin is so soft. She steps closer still, letting her nose brush where her hand had been, her eyes drifting shut. “I've been so scared, Yaz. Scared of losing this life, scared of losing you, so scared that I've turned from everything I stand for. I just…” She flounders for a moment, and then Yaz's free hand is on the back of her neck, drawing her in. 

The first brush of their lips is sweet, questioning. Years of longing pour out of them, and the Doctor feels (lets) her mental barriers drop and gives Yaz a taste of how she feels through the touch of her lips and her mind. 

Yaz gasps, and as their kiss deepens, she can taste mingled tears as sweet as they are salty.

Dan pops his head out of the door. “Er… Graham wants to set fire to the Christmas puddin’ but if you just wanna carry on I'm sure he'll understand.”

They break apart, laughing. “Just give us a sec?” Yaz asks.

“Will do!” He disappears back inside.

"Can't believe we got Danned again," the Doctor snorts.

“What… um…” Yaz takes a steadying breath. “What does this… what do you want?”

“I want to find a way for us to be together,” the Doctor says. “Whatever it takes. Within reason, obviously.”

“Within reason,” Yaz echoes. She brushes the Doctor's hair out of her eyes and smiles at her. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas. Let's go stop Graham settin’ fire to the curtains.”