The TARDIS lurched, a grinding screech echoing through the console room as if the universe itself had slammed on the brakes. The Thirteenth Doctor stumbled, grabbing the coral-edged console to steady herself, her blonde hair swinging wildly. “Oi, what’s that about?” she demanded, but the time rotor only pulsed weakly, like a heart skipping beats.
She’d been chasing a faint Gallifreyan distress signal, a ghostly whisper in the Vortex, expecting a quick poke around—maybe a lost Time Lord trinket, maybe nothing. Instead, she’d landed on a jagged asteroid orbiting a dying star, and now her ship was throwing a tantrum. The scanner flickered, revealing the problem: a Graviton Lock, a rare temporal snare gripping the TARDIS like cosmic quicksand. She was stuck, alone, on a barren rock in the middle of nowhere, and the TARDIS wasn’t going anywhere for 48 hours.
The Doctor’s sonic screwdriver whirred as she scanned the console, her brow furrowing. The Graviton Lock, born from the asteroid’s strange minerals and the collapsing star’s gravitational tantrum, had synced with the TARDIS’s artron energy, freezing it in space-time. Force a dematerialization now, and she risked shredding the TARDIS’s dimensional core—or worse, slingshotting herself into the star’s fiery maw.
The lock would dissolve in exactly 48 hours, her calculations confirmed, when the star’s pulse shifted the field. Until then, the TARDIS had to conserve every drop of energy to survive the strain, meaning no systems beyond basic life support. No tinkering, no exploring, no clever fixes. Just waiting. “Waiting?!” she huffed, pacing the console room. “I don’t do waiting.”
She darted outside, hoping for a loophole. The asteroid was a desolate slab of gray stone under a blood-red sky, the dying star glaring like an angry eye. No life, no tech, just the faint hum of the Graviton Lock’s energy field. She traced its source to the asteroid’s core with her sonic, but it was buried too deep—miles of solid rock, no way through without heavy gear.
Back in the TARDIS, she tried rerouting power, flipping switches with manic energy, but the console sparked in protest, a warning light flashing: ENERGY CRITICAL. “Alright, alright,” she muttered, hands raised in surrender. “You win, old girl. Low power it is.” But the thought of sitting still for two days made her skin itch—she was the Doctor, built for action, not idleness.
The clock was ticking, and not just for boredom’s sake. If the TARDIS couldn’t store enough energy to break free when the lock weakened, she’d be trapped—maybe forever, or until the star went supernova in a few centuries. Every unnecessary move, every light left on, drained the reserves.
The outcome hung on those 48 hours, a gamble she couldn’t control. She prowled the console room, muttering about Time Lord experiments and bad timing. The Gallifreyan signal—probably a relic from some long-dead project—mocked her from the scanner, but investigating it meant burning energy she didn’t have. “Patience,” she told herself, but the word tasted sour.
Finally, she sank into her brown armchair, tucked in a corner of the TARDIS’s cavernous interior. It was worn and cozy, a relic from some past regeneration’s quieter moments, but it felt like a cage now. Her legs jiggled restlessly, fingers drumming on the armrest. She stared at the dimmed console, its faint glow counting down the seconds.
Forty-eight hours of nothing but her thoughts, the TARDIS’s soft hum, and the gnawing uncertainty of whether they’d make it out. “Right,” she said, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You and me, old girl. Let’s not go mad before teatime.” But as the silence settled, her restlessness churned.
She leaned back, eyes flicking to the scanner’s countdown: 47 hours, 58 minutes.
Her mind started to drift, inexorably, toward the one thing she’d been trying to avoid. The real reason she’d taken off on this solo mission in the first place. She saw Yaz’s face, smiling at her with warmth and mischief, holding a camera and urging her on with playful encouragement.
Oh, Yaz.
Her grin like sunshine, her eyes full of daring and promise. She tried to stop thinking about it, but there it was—the image of herself in front of the lens, stripped to nothing but trousers and suspenders, breasts bare under Yaz’s gaze. Her chest tightened with a mix of embarrassment and a thrill she didn’t want to admit.
Yaz had started these conversations, nudging her gently but insistently into territories she’d long kept at bay. Sexuality. Desire. Embracing who she was, what she wanted—what did she want?
“Bit personal,” she’d mumbled at first, trying for flippant. But Yaz wouldn’t let up, teasing her with whispered possibilities until even the Doctor’s defenses wavered like holograms in the wind.
She remembered how it all began—Yaz, leaning against the TARDIS console one evening after a long day of adventures, casually suggesting they do something “a bit more daring.” The flirtatious tilt in her voice sent a jolt through the Doctor that she hadn’t quite known how to process. Then came Yaz’s bold idea: a photoshoot that turned cheeky as quickly as it did intimate.
Her cheeks flushed at the memory she was trying very hard not to have: Yaz laughing softly as she lost her shirt and shorts too, a gleam in her eyes as they stood together in that cozy little cottage near Durdle Door. Unexpectedly tender moments they both pretended were just for fun.
And then—she couldn’t help it—she remembered that moment, outside the cottage where Yaz stood there just in her pink panties, looking so vulnerable. She'd pulled her close, surprising them both, feeling her naked body against hers and Yaz’s warm lips in a kiss that was shockingly gentle and electric all at once.
She felt a heat building low inside her at the thought, an unwelcome arousal stirring despite herself. Not what she needed right now, especially when every minute counted toward escaping this stranded rock alive.
“Stop it,” she muttered aloud to no one but herself and the unlistening walls of the TARDIS. “Not helping!” She sprang from the chair as if bitten and grabbed up an old technical manual from a nearby shelf—the denser and less interesting the better—and buried herself in its dry diagrams and equations with desperate determination.
She read with fierce concentration, but the diagrams blurred into shapeless lines, her mind pulled inexorably back to Yaz, to skin on skin and breathless kisses. She felt the warmth pooling again, insistent and distracting. Her grip on the manual loosened as she shifted in the chair, tipping it slightly. Its weight pressed down between her legs. She gasped, a quiet sound of surprise escaping her lips as she unconsciously rocked her hips forward.
Her face was a war of emotions—frustration, desire, disbelief that she could be so undone by something as simple as her own thoughts. The logical part of her strained against it, but there was nothing logical about the pulse thrumming through her body. Her brow furrowed; her teeth caught at her lip.
“Fine,” she said aloud, throwing up her hands in helpless surrender that turned quickly to hurried action.
Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of her trousers and pants, shucking them off with an urgency that surprised even her. Freed from their confines, she sprawled back in the chair, completely naked now, feeling the cool air of the TARDIS against hot skin. Her hand moved to where she was most desperate for it, dipping between her legs as she sighed with relief at the first touch.
But then she saw it—the sonic screwdriver lying within easy reach on the console. She smirked to herself; no... surely not... But mischief sparked in her eyes as she snagged it and settled back into the chair.
It buzzed softly under her control, a gentle pulse vibrating against her clit that made her gasp again, louder this time. Her hips arched toward it instinctively. Her free hand clutched at the armrest as the rhythm built inside of her, quickening with every pulse until she could hardly stand it anymore.
With a throaty groan of abandon, she slid it inside herself. The sonic pulsed deep and steady within her vagina, its vibrations echoing through every nerve. Her body tensed with each wave of sensation until all thought dissolved into pure feeling. She imagined Yaz right there with her—the curve of Yaz’s smile as they kissed again and again—and cried out in a climax that shook through her like a starburst.
She sagged back into the chair in breathless aftermath, dazed and smiling lazily at the ceiling before flicking a glance at the scanner’s countdown.
47 hours and 48 minutes.
“Ohhhh,” she groaned, flopping an arm dramatically over her eyes. “This is going to be interminable!”
The sonic slipped from numb fingers onto the floor with a soft thunk as she lay there catching what little breath she needed to catch. The TARDIS hummed quietly around her like a cat well-pleased with itself despite their predicament.
“Fine,” she said again after a long pause that stretched toward eternity, even for a Time Lord. “Let’s see how you handle Day 2.” She pulled herself upright with a sigh and reached for something else to distract herself—a tatty old romance novel this time—and resolutely ignored how familiar names seemed to jump off its pages.
She wrapped herself snugly in one of Graham’s old jumpers from some past adventure and tucked back into the chair.
The writing was atrocious and she found her mind wandering again. Memories again, but this time, not her own…
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2 (with Amy Pond)
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