He should’ve never touched her.  Look at her, yes; wink at her, smile.  All fine and good.  Touching her . . . tactile stimulation . . . bad.  Very bad.  Very, very bad.  They’d run into each other, and he’d had a delayed reaction in letting go of her.  That should’ve been sign number one, but her curves melding into his hard planes for that brief moment had felt delightful.  And then she’d said she’d “found her”?  This human woman who had never seen a Plasmavore in her life, without the aid of computers or a sonic screwdriver or non-human detectors, had found an internal shape-shifter all on her own.  He would owe the TARDIS a wax when he got back; she was the one who’d pointed Martha Jones out to him, after all. 

When the Slab had burst through the door, precedence had called for him to grab her hand and run through the hall.  The majority of his Companions had been shorter, and in this regeneration, he towered over her by at least a foot.  And those shoes didn’t look conducive to fast running, either, but she was keeping up with him.  That almost distracted him from the fact her warm, slightly rough hand, though his palm seemed to fit in all the grooves and lines of hers, or hers in his, since her hand was so small, created tingles that had nothing to do with chemical synapses in his body brought about from their flight.  It had been awhile since he’d had a good old-fashioned run-for-your-life moment, though, and he found he’d missed it a little.  Indeed, once they got out this life-threatening situation, he had half a mind to take them to one of his favorite planets in the Tadpole galaxy, where ninety-five percent of the surface was swamp, except there were no mosquitoes and the vines would lower so people could sit.  It was a very hospitable planet with a nice breeze and fireflies and frogs that croaked in harmony, and they could sit on one of the vines while he inspected her hands, using the sonic screwdriver to see why hers particularly caused tingles.  Seeing if that palm reader on the Clairy planet was really worth its weight in spaeckles.  Almost broke the bank on that trip.

Stairs meant separation.  Oncoming Judoon meant him directing her in the opposite way.  Though he could’ve just pivoted and kept going, especially since he knew she saw the threat herself and he already knew she was a bright girl, habit had him grabbing her and putting her in front of him, making himself a shield between her and the alien threat for a few seconds before continuing their mad dash to safety.  And after all the running and weaving and dime-turning he’d made her do, she learned how to operate an X-ray machine in ten seconds so he could kill the Slab.

Be still his beating hearts.  He’d have to mop the TARDIS floors too.