‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in these last three years,’ Sam murmured, ‘it’s that you can’t just keep running away.’

She reached out and took his hand.

Neither one of them moved for a long moment. For her it was like touching a naked power line – her heart was vibrating more than beating.

She held on, feeling each finger interlaced with his, memorising by touch each hint of the pattern of bones in the back of his hand. A red admiral flitted from her wrist, tentatively, to his.

‘Here. Look.’ She thrust the needle safely through her sleeve, reached out and touched him under the chin, raising his face, bringing his eyes to the butterflies.‘You’re still here. I’m still here.’

The Doctor stared milkily at the insects, whirling like a cloud of memories, just out of reach.

Then, without warning, he crumpled into a hug.

She felt her whole body tighten up, in a fight‐or‐fly spasm. But she held on to him nonetheless, arms sliding across his back, mouth murmuring things that weren’t quite words.

More of the butterflies were marching off her shoulders and arms and on to him. She could feel the feather touches in her own hair, the current they carried as they flitted back and forth between the two of them.

She could almost see the marble of his skin softening to flesh tones as she watched, as if he was drawing their colour straight into himself. His arms were tightening around her, as though acknowledging she was there, real and solid.

The butterflies were a whirlwind, scattered pieces of rainbow spiralling round them everywhere they looked.