Even if I ship this on my own for all of eternity I'm going to write this fanfic in hopes that maybe someone else's OTP is Eight/Sam, too. Please note I've only read up to 'Seeing I', I'm on 'Placebo Effect' now.

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1 – Holding Hands

It happens all the time, really. Holding hands with the Doctor shouldn't feel special or anything. They mainly do it during their many adventures whilst 'not getting involved' (pfft, yeah right!) in the affairs of other times, planets, places or species – or all four. His grip is usually tight, at times like that. Especially when they're running; sometimes she can feel her fingers cramping up and her palms beginning to sweat, and when they finally stop she has to massage the pain away. He always seems to be unaffected.

Tonight they have stopped off on some planet in the Lyra constellation. God knows what the name is; she stopped trying to remember planet names ages ago. There are too many to go to, too many to see. They all blur in to one big ball of confusing triple-lettered words and what on Earth is an 'A' pronounced like an 'L' for? Some of them are simple, but this one can't have been because – as I said – she can't remember it. But she wishes she could because it's beautiful.

It's an unspoilt planet inhabited by a born civilisation that have only just learnt to craft shelter, so there's not a skyscraper or flicker of electricity in sight. There had been a bit of trouble initially (of course, what do you expect when you park a 1920's Police Box in the middle of a cave man-ish settlement?) but the Doctor managed to sort it out, as usual. After nearly getting them killed. Let's just leave that bit out. Anyway, the landscape is unspoilt and beautiful – it's a mix between coral coloured grass (that's far too thick to be anything like Earth's) and sand the shade of 'duck egg blue,' as the Doctor had put it. She'd just rolled her eyes and asked him – very nicely, may I add? – To admire the view after they got out of being murdered.

There's also a peak of ragged-looking cliffs, over towards the east of the horizon. They would probably give you the loveliest view of the surrounding area. Just like the sand they are that pretty shade of blue, and my God do they take your breath away. The darker shades formed by the shadows of the moonlight are fascinating, as well. Sam gazes over at them now, comparing them with Earth's cliff faces – all brown with greyish water slapping against them. The sea is green here, just as it's meant to be. She's half tempted to ask if they could swap planets.

As time passes, the natives begin moving towards the shore where they set up three camp fires. The men eventually begin singing an exotic melody whilst dancing around the flames, and Sam loses herself amongst their alien symphony, finding it both relaxing and exciting. Her head falls to rest on the Doctor's shoulder; once upon a time ago she would have been far too nervous to attempt something like this, but the school girl crush died years ago now. Samantha Jones is not the seventeen-year-old teenager he knew before. She has grown since then – she knows who she is, now, and what she wants to do with her life. She knows how to take care of herself and how to appreciate the wonderful opportunity her Time Lord friend has given her. And she knows how to appreciate a good, old fashioned planet.

"What do you think it'll look like in a hundred years?" She asks idly.

"Oh, much different - they're not so intelligent now but their minds develop at ten times the rate yours do. Their evolution will be fast."

"Meaning the planet won't be so green, or blue, anymore?"

"Probably not, no..."

They lapse in to silence again, but she doesn't mind. He hasn't shrugged her off his shoulder and he seems to be relaxed – best grasp this opportunity whilst she has it, because it's not very often that he sits down and just watches things happen. Their songs change in length, pitch and emotion as the night progresses. Sometimes they are so sad she finds herself with a lump in her throat whilst others bring that excitable, giggly feeling to the pit of her stomach.

Eventually they come to what has to be a love song. Now, at this point she has made the connection – something in the way they sing makes you feel whatever they intent you to, so when she feels the urge to take the Doctor's hand and press herself closer to his side begin to rise she digs her nails in to her palm. Instead, she lets the emotion flow through her, enjoying how it brings a blush to her cheeks and a smile to her lips. Her heartbeat becomes just a little bit faster and her stomach is fluttering happily. She can smell that familiar sandalwood scent of his; it sends her head all fuzzy.

His hand lifts from the grass and reaches over, taking hers with it. She turns to look at them in surprise, watching as he interlocks his fingers with her own and rests them on his knee. This is nothing like that tight, sweaty clamp of their hands during running or fighting – this is gentle. His skin feels rough and calloused against hers but she doesn't mind; it's also cooler, but the song and his touch combined have her nerves at their peak, so despite the cold she is so tingle-y that she barely feels it. Not once does he turn from the natives show, but eventually he does rest his cheek atop her head.

And nothing – absolutely nothing – could wipe the stupid, loved up smile off her face.