#eightgrace

This was a mistake.

She knows that. She knew that. From the moment she met him, she was right, he's crazy. Telling the truth about every little thing, but crazy nonetheless in how he chases danger like he can't get enough. And then there's her, who got in a box with a man she barely knew and let him fly her halfway across the galaxy, shooting back and forth through time with the flick of a button. Her heart is pounding, and her mouth is dry, and she thinks she's going to fall over as she clutches onto one of the columns encircling the console and listen to the Doctor hum as he puts them back into flight.

"I'm sorry, Grace," he says. He moves like he belongs here, where she thinks she might always be out of place. "Someplace quieter next time, I promise." How is she supposed to feel safe here? Anywhere? When no matter where they go, there's always something in the shadows waiting to pounce, when there's aliens and cyborgs and creatures she doesn't dare put words to- "Grace?" He's stopped, voice soft. And she is shaking. She's back in med school, in the office of the one professor who bothered to know her name, trying not to cry even as he says the moment will pass, it happens to everyone, it happens to him, but all she can feel is the slow wash of humiliation at not being able to handle it.

The Doctor approaches slowly. He takes her hand from the column in both of his to lead her away.

Take me home. She knows she should ask it now, before this rush of clarity is gone and she thinks she's built for the stars again.

The Doctor brings her to the chair he keeps by the console and coaxes her down into it. She sinks into the comfortable cushion, the firm back, and swallows breaths down as soon as they will come. He doesn't let go of her hand as he settles down in front of her on his knees. He kisses each knuckle. In her head, she counts them, naming bones she hasn't had to memorize in years. Distal, middle, proximal. Distal, middle, proximal. The Doctor's lips on her skin and the little shushing sound he makes when he hears her try to choke down a deeper breath before she's ready. The TARDIS's air moving from some unknown source, alive and cool as it drifts over her skin.

The little voice begging her to go home gets quieter and quieter. The Doctor takes her other hand and begins a new journey of kisses without hesitation, like it isn't any trouble at all for him to sit with her.