He'd taken her hand and told her to run.

It had all started with that hand. That warm solidity holding on to her, saving her, giving her a reason. Those hands were all she could think of for so long. He'd jumped into her life, saved it by giving her his hand, and they'd never looked back.

She'd never looked back.

The hand was rough and calloused, like a mans hand should be. Well worked and strong, but she knew that with her, it would always be nothing but gentle.

Unlike the hand attached to the arm that he had ripped from the Auton. Smooth and glossy, yet an immense danger.

She decided then and there, for this man, she'd take the rough over the smooth any day.