You weren't really sure how you felt. You weren't overly happy, but you really weren't sad, either. You weren't afraid, but you weren't on top of the world with confidence, either. You were just... there. Floating through space in a little blue box with an inside infinitely bigger than the out.

You'd just returned from an adventure with the Doctor, and you'd never felt smaller. Not in a self-deprecating sort of way, but like... an ant on the pavement of the universe, just going about your life, making your little contribution to the universe that seemed so big on your level and was yet so infintesimal on the greater cosmic stage.

The Doctor stood at the TARDIS console, glancing between different instruments and screens, flicking dials and pressing buttons and generally trying not to crash in about the calmest way possible. He looked so strong and stoic and... and... well, some other 's' adjective. So different from the spirited (again with the 's' words!) man who ran around with a sassy remark on the tip of his tongue and a glitter in the eye that betrayed just how, in his own word, fantastic the universe was as he actively tried to save even the tiniest number of its inhabitants. He was so skilled at ferreting out the good, even when the bad seemed overwhelming.

A fond yet weary smile washed over your face, and you couldn't help yourself from slipping across the room, wrapping your arms around his ribcage, and burying your face against his back, between his shoulderblades.

It caught him off-guard, and you felt him tense for a moment as the wheels turned in his mind, reminding him that yes, there was another person on board and said person did care for him enough to hug him.

"Alright, {{user}}?" he asked, turning his head about as far as he could in an attempt to look at you.