his_sarah_jane: (laugh)
"It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution" - Oscar Wilde

“You left me.”

Despite that hint of anger and frustration in her tone, she spoke with an icy calmness. Her once pretty face, now scarred with a line chasing down from left eyebrow to right cheek, held a sardonic sort of smile. Eyes that once sparkled with a joy and a thirst for life seemed empty now. There was still a deliberate gentleness to her touch, a reminder of the loving, eager, and adventurous girl she had once been.

Only five years prior.

“You left me,” she continued, running the tip of the knife blade along his neck. “It wasn’t South Croydon. Oh, it wasn’t even close. Wasn’t even Aberdeen, you see. After all, you do remember how the Kraals built that false Devesham, don’t you?”

She leaned closer to him. The knife fell back to her side as she blew gently on his ear. A small giggle escaped her as she remembered the events of so long ago. Then she whispered, “You do remember how easily we stopped them, then, using their own androids against them? We were brilliant, weren’t we?

They weren’t happy.”

Laughing with delight, she scampered away from him to fully take in his reaction. He was bound to the vertical table, feet and hands locked in place by heavy metal bands. His mouth was gagged and for once, oh for one of the few times since she had first met him, he couldn’t talk. It thrilled her, thrilled her so very much. His precious sonic screwdriver sat on a table not too far away, taunting him with its very presence.

But it was the eyes that got her the most. Those beautiful eyes were more haunted than she had ever seen them before. They were defeated.

Oh, it was beautiful.

“And you know what they did?” She skipped back over towards the table, running a hand lightly over his chest. Her fingers played with coat buttons and she laughed. “Experiments!

“Oh so many lovely little experiments, absolutely determined to perfect their virus! Never ever allowed to actually die, of course. I was the only human within miles.”

Her hand tightened on the hilt of the knife when an arm wrapped around her waist. She turned, breaking her gaze of him for the first time since her husband presented her with their anniversary gift. The blade pressed into the throat of the arm still holding on to her waist. Lips met despite the placement of the knife for a hot and heavy kiss.

“You see, Doctor,” she said afterwards, standing now apart from her husband. She played with the knife, using it to clean her nails as she spoke. “He rescued me. All those times, oh, all those many times you had me convinced that he wasn’t the villain. My darling Master. He saved me.

“And never even once abandoned me.”

She shook her head: once, twice, three times. Her eyes danced with anticipation. Her smile became predatory. “I understand now, Doctor. You… oh, you, the man that claimed to be my best friend, the man who left me to suffer… oh it’s you who is the true villain of this story.

“And,” Sarah Jane spoke with conviction. She raised the knife, held it still for a moment, and then let it fly through the air, straight towards the aorta joining his two hearts. “And, the villain always has to die.”

His final gasp was a death rattle more beautiful to her ears than any other noise she ever heard. She stood there, transfixed, as he failed to regenerate. That was that, then. A stray tear fell down her cheek. She brushed it away callously.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist again. This time, she did not flinch and only smiled when he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Are you all right, my dear?”

She laughed. “Oh, of course, darling. In fact, I feel absolutely wonderful!

“I confessed.”
his_sarah_jane: (her doctor)
What makes you smile or laugh no matter what?

The first time Sarah Jane tried a Jelly Baby, she had spit it out seconds later. Eric Jennings had offered it to her, sticky handed and gap toothed and horribly shy. It had been a love token, apparently, and eight year old Sarah had rejected it without knowing any better. When Eric began to cry, she insisted that it hadn’t been her fault. Jelly Babies were awful, full of fake sugary sweetness and pretend fruit taste.

If she wanted to eat a strawberry, she said, then she would’ve gone to the market to buy a bundle.

Thus, the first time the Doctor offered her a Jelly Baby, Sarah Jane was suspicious. The man in velvet she had gotten to know and care for had been gone for less than a week, replaced by this towering clown. She didn’t understand it. He suddenly became aloof and a stranger, wanting to leave Earth and UNIT behind.

No more humans, was that it? The thought stung. Sarah didn’t think she was ready to leave him yet.

She looked at the small brown paper bag in his hand. She could see the various child shaped candies, in those horrible neon colours. They hadn’t changed much since she was a child. They probably tasted just as disgusting, too. Sarah was hesitant. She didn’t know why he was offering her one. Right now, she thought, there was very little that she actually did no.

The bag was pushed closer to her. Sarah Jane looked up to see a hidden sort of pleading in his eyes. That desire to leave Earth apparently was not the same as a desire to leave humanity behind. He wanted her to come with him. And this was his way of asking.

Very hesitantly, Sarah reached into the bag and plucked out a sugar dusty green baby. She eyed it suspiciously before popping it into her mouth. It took effort to chew, to swallow and mask the still awful taste. But this time, she smiled.

His smile, bright and manic and absolutely barmy, made her smile even more.
his_sarah_jane: (sarah and ten)

“You be a good dog, K-9. I’m sure Sarah Jane will find you soon enough. She’s a bright girl, that one. You’ll love her.”

His brow furrowed as he turned on the sonic screwdriver to seal the box shut. The smile that had been on his face moments ago when chatting with the mechanical canine was now gone. In place, the Doctor’s lips were pursed close together, thoughtful and sad. He had purchased this unit off the stock only a few days ago and downloaded K-9’s personality file from the ship. He’d be the perfect companion for Sarah Jane. The companion he knew he could no longer provide.

It was dangerous, what he was doing. Messing about with time like this could lead to a multitude of paradoxes. The Doctor had to be careful. He couldn’t be caught. She wasn’t supposed to meet him until that date in the future, when suspicious circumstances at Deffry Vale School brought them together again. Timey wimey stuff and the like. Still, he had double checked. Lavinia Smith was out of town. Sarah Jane Smith was at the office. No one would catch him leaving a package in the attic for Sarah to find years later.

“Goodbye, old boy,” he whispered.

The Doctor stood there for a moment more in quiet contemplation. He knew that she’d someday find the box and K-9 would be reactivated, only to eventually fail her. Still. It was something. An apology of some sorts maybe, triggered by farewells to Martha and Jack, triggered by Astrid’s death.

Nostalgia never became him, except in those dark moments of time.

He nodded and turned, quietly closing the attic door behind him. Soon enough, she would find K-9. It wouldn’t be the same to her as having him about - “You were my life.”; the words echoed in his mind - but perhaps it would be a start.


Cut for length and slight sexual situations. )

[ooc: special thanks to [livejournal.com profile] telyn_timber for help in brainstorming and [livejournal.com profile] sarahs_attic for the beta’ing]
his_sarah_jane: (thoughtful)
What do you believe in?

I don’t know if I expected this sort of question when I agreed to this interview, to be honest. I know you’re trying to best understand the sort of experience we all had when we travelled with the Doctor. Maybe I should have. Working alongside UNIT and seeing aliens and such on Earth is one thing. Being out there, seeing the wonders of the universe first hand is something entirely different. Harry - oh, I’m sorry, Lieutenant Sullivan - has probably already attested to as much. Travelling with the Doctor changes who you are at the very core.

So, what do I believe in? When I was a child, that question was much easier to answer. Although Aunt Lavinia, being the scientist she so very much was, believed in a rational world, I found it so much easier to believe in God and Heaven. Maybe that’s the sort of thing that happens when you lose your parents at an early age. Five is far too young to become an orphan. You can’t even fully understand what had happened, the whys and hows of your mother and father never returning to you.

I needed something to cling to. I needed to believe that my parents wound up someplace beautiful. I needed to believe that my mum was up there watching me. I needed to believe that I had lost my parents for a reason. That, in essence, it was a part of God’s plan. Perhaps it was. I never would have met the Doctor if it weren’t for my aunt.

Now though? I’m not sure anymore. A part of me still wants to believe in the religion I had put my faith in as a child. But the world around me isn’t that simple anymore. I am not that simple anymore. I have faced death more times than I care to count. I’ve been responsible for the death of sentient beings. I’ve seen wonders and amazements galaxies removed from our little planet. And I’ve observed wonders and amazements on Earth, as well.

Perhaps there is some great deity – or deities – out there controlling everything. Or, perhaps, we’re all here due to some daft Timelord’s intervention. I think, when it comes down to it, I tend not to be sure of what to believe in anymore. My aunt was probably right about the rational world we live in. I don’t believe in God the same way I used to. Life, I like to think, dictates itself. It’s a spiraling whirlwind of flukes coming together in the most remarkable of ways.

I’m sorry, sir, but with the utmost respect, I cannot pinpoint my beliefs anymore. They vary with each passing day.

But a few things do remain constant. I believe in myself. I believe in any individual’s potential for greatness. And I believe in the most incredible of men: a runaway and his silly blue box.
his_sarah_jane: (writing)
If your life was a story how would you write the final chapter?

Epilogue: Twenty-Nine Days Later

In the end, he came too late. The sun slowly set behind the hill as he somberly stood in front of a tombstone. It was a rather unremarkable tombstone. He could not find it fit at all for this rather remarkable person. The words had already become subjected to weathering. Although faint, his old eyes could see the smoothing of the edges. In a hundred years, in a blink of an eye, they would be gone. He contemplated a world without her. The thought was haunting.

Usually so clever with words, today he found himself silent. Time was his friend. Time was his enemy. Time had once again stolen someone so dear to him. Even with all the wibbily wobbly timey wimey stuff, certain things were set in stone. He could not go back. She would never enter his life again, her smile and her voice bringing a joy to his two hearts. This was the final ending, the final goodbye.

He despised every moment of it.

“She thought of you, you know.”

The voice didn’t startle him. Any other individual would have jumped, as lost in memories as he was. But he never would. He barely even turned his sad eyes away from the tombstone to look at the gangly youth, a lad probably in his mid-twenties.

“We told her she shouldn’t go – Clyde and I did. Torchwood and UNIT working together; it was a crisis beyond anything any of us had seen before. But she didn’t listen. She said it was what you would do. She said she had to go protect those she loved.

“I don’t think this is a social miscalculation, talking to you. I think it’s what she would have wanted, for you to know that you were in her thoughts in the end.” The gangly lad tipped his red beret. “I’m glad I finally met you, though. Thank you for making her a part of my life.”

As suddenly as the stranger had appeared, he was alone again. The sky shone with stars now and the moonlight casted an eerie glow in the cemetery. Somewhere in the forest behind him, an owl hooted. She had a toy owl. It had been hundreds of years since he had seen it, but he remembered. She had offered it to him. He had told her to keep it. He should have kept it. He had never wanted to let go.

He never wanted to say goodbye, not to his granddaughter, not to his friends, not to any of the companions he collected over the centuries of police box travelling. Yet, in the end, time forced his hand. He lived. And for all but one, they died. The lonely god some had called him. In this moment it seemed truer than any other title. The lonely god was all alone and no amount of travelling could ever make up for that.

“You were right, that time. It had been goodbye.”

He had been too late. From afar, he had watched her die. Her youthful smile, impish and eager, had been silenced from the world. Tears were foreign to him. He could not find it in him to cry for her. She would not have wanted that.

The white rose he had been holding finally dropped on top of the mound, resting gently against the marble.
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah and ten)
Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare

From The Times
Januray 28, 2009
Universe mourns loss of saviour
One man’s life made all the difference and yet, no one can live forever.

Sarah Jane Smith

Most of the articles you will read in today’s papers will tell you this: the world is in danger. The world is, in fact, in more danger than it has ever been before. I would know. In my life, I have often been at the forefront of the brink of disaster. I have seen things few others on Earth had ever witnessed until yesterday. And I can tell you this: those articles you will read today do not lie.

But as UNIT and Torchwood control the panic here in Britain and as similar institutions also work to do so around the globe, I ask a moment of your time. One moment, that is all I ask. Because, amidst all those other articles you will read today, this one will tell you something different.

This one article, you see, tells a story. It is the story of a man – a most incredible man who sacrificed everything for a world that wasn’t even his own. He died yesterday. And he was my best friend. I couldn’t help him. However, I can do this. I can tell his story.

As the truth of extraterrestrial existence has become evident to the public once again, there is nothing left to hide. There is no one to censor my words, there is no one left to protect. You might still fancy this as fiction. It certainly wouldn’t be surprising. I wish more than anything it was. But I assure you, everything written here is the truth.

He was born a long time ago on a planet far away, a planet called Gallifrey. His youth was not like any you would imagine. He was very much a rebel and, at first chance, he ran away to see the stars. He had this machine, you see, called a TARDIS. Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. He used it to travel all over time and space, but again and again, his trips brought him to Earth.

I travelled with him for a time, when I was younger and far more reckless than I am now. I had known him for less than a year before I discovered his greatest secret. He had been mortally wounded in protecting his friends, and this planet, from a hostile force. I thought he would die. In fact, his last words still echo in my head to this day. “A tear...Sarah Jane?” he said. “No, don't cry. While there's life there's...”

And then, miracles of miracles, he lived. His species, it turned out, had a gift. When near death, they could choose to regenerate and take a new form. With a new face, he could continue to live for years and years to come. He could continue to travel and, more than anything, he could continue to protect this planet.

When I travelled with him, I never quite understood how he could be so transfixed with Earth when given all the wonders in the universe. It took me years to realise how precious life on Earth was. I dedicated myself to continue his work. I couldn’t go back to a normal life after what I had seen. That was the sort of thing he inspired in people: bravery, loyalty, a commitment to protect those in need. He never liked travelling alone, he almost never did.

Martha Jones, a UNIT liaison doctor and his current companion, was there when he died. While not available for interview, she did grant me a call.

7:55 pm, Tuesday, January 27, 2009, Piccadilly Circus: the man most commonly known as the Doctor was killed in a surprise attack. Two gun shots were fired nearly simultaneously, a fatal bullet in each of his two hearts. He never had a chance to react. Nor did he have the chance to regenerate.

The identity of the murderer still remains unknown, although Martha reported that the individual appeared in the form of a human male. Less than minutes after the event, television waves all over the planet were interrupted with an anonymous threat. We had been conquered by Cell 114.

Although seemingly unprofessional, I will leave the details of the message and subsequent events to other journalists to report. The intention of this article is not to warn you of the danger we face from the Sleepers, as they have thus been nicknamed. Instead, this article is written with the intent to honour the memory and the life of Earth’s greatest hero.

The Doctor could appear to be the most unassuming of men. He appeared absolutely ordinary at first sight, but he was anything but.

Unable to save his own planet, I beg of you: do not let his death be in vain. Remember the Doctor. And follow the lead brave souls like Martha Jones and all the other companions that came before her. “The fight will go on,” as Prime Minister Wilton announced on a BBC telecast early this evening. “We will not cave to the demands of Cell 114.”

No words could ever do the man the Doctor was justice. In the end, looking back upon my own words, I see this only as the vain attempt to convey a most remarkable individual that only a handful of people were ever blessed to meet.

I was reaching for stars in writing this article.

But in his life, he found them.
his_sarah_jane: (internal debate)
What are ten things that no one knows about you, and that you will not willingly tell anyone about?

15 February 1984

I don’t know why I am writing this. Perhaps it is to finally voice these secrets out in the open. Or, at least, as open as my journal ever shall be. I wish I could tell someone. I’ve never quite been one to keep secrets unless it was of the most absolute importance. Like UNIT, for example. Or the Doctor. But my life, I find, has always been rather akin to an open book. It took me years to learn not to wear emotion on my sleeve, after all.

This isn’t easy to write, though. I don’t know why I ever imagined it to be. I must have been daft, thinking I could – oh, bloody hell, Sarah Jane! Just write.

I underwent therapy when I was thirteen not only due to Andrea’s death but because, at that point, I couldn’t understand why I was still alive. It was a rather bad case of depression. My parents had died; Andrea was lost right in front of my own eyes… If you had asked me then, I would have told you that there was no point to life. But these events and the help I then received from Aunt Lavinia and Doctor Mack changed my life. Life is worth living, if just for the fact that you’re alive.

I miss him. I know it’s probably quite obvious, but there only is one person I ever would admit this thought to and I will never see him again. Even though he said he would come back to me, it’s been over a year. He never will. And I, well, I love him. He is the only man I ever will love. I know that it is absolutely foolish and unrequited, but I do not care.

I have considered, time after time, having a family. It is not a top prerogative of mine, and certainly not something I will waste time longing after, especially considering that the man I love most will ever return. But when I see other women with their children, especially women holding their daughters, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if it were me. I’d love to have a daughter of my own to raise. It will never happen.

I happen to have a secret love of romance novels. I know that they are silly and simple, but they can be so very entertaining. Still, I think too highly of myself to ever be able to admit to this like.

When I was learning to shoot, I accidentally shot Mrs Henderson’s cat. I will never be able to forget the yowl of pain the animal let out. It frightened me so horribly that for weeks I was unable to get a proper night’s sleep. I wasn’t supposed to be shooting the gun that day because Mr Allan was out of town and I had no proper supervision. I never told anyone.

There. That’s certainly a start. Five things that I’ve never told anyone before and, if I have my way, will take to the grave. I could quite easily reach a list of ten or more but, for now, I think this will have to do. It was hard enough admitting, even in writing, to such events and opinions. I don’t think I’m capable of any more right now.

In fact, I’m quite tempted to just burn this whole flipping entry right about now.
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah - reflective)

The stars sparkled around her. It was like magic: a truly breathtaking magic that Sarah Jane had never once bothered to appreciate before. In all her years, in all her travels she couldn’t believe that she had ever seen anything more magical than this. The moon glowed deep amber in the foreground and the trees clung with mildew that glittered in the glow. The owls and bats overhead made a peaceful chorus to the night.

The Doctor was right. Earth could be an adventure all itself. She had been all across those stars in her youth. Yet, this moment and this scenery were more glorious than anything she could ever have imagined or witnessed. And what made it even more perfect was the company she was with.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” a voice whispered into her ear as the man clutched her to his chest. “Thirty-five years. Did you ever think?”

“No,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she rested her head against his chest. His heart beat in quiet rhythm to hers and, like her own breath, his came out in small, cold puffs. A chill had settled upon them but it was disregarded for the serenity of the night.

“Do you like it?”

Sarah smiled. It was exactly what she had wished: an intermission from the ordinary (or not so ordinary) humdrum of their lives. But not once had she ever pictured anyplace like this – only, perhaps, a small hotel within London where they both could easily be contacted by their respective careers if necessary. Being alone in the solitude of the woods, renting this charming cabin for a week, far from the grasp of civilization was so much better. She was with him and him with her. Thirty-five years seemed magical when she looked back on it. It seemed as magical as this place before them now.

“I adore it.”

That was that then. There really wasn’t much need for words anymore. The night provided the music and the tempo as they embraced happily, lovingly. Magic radiated around them, lovely and blissful and forever memorable.
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah - reflective)
What makes your life complicated?

January 7, 2009
Earth Calendar
Ealing, England

I used to think that the most complicated part of my life came from my travels with the Doctor. Back then, I could never quite tell what time or even what planet we would wind up in on our next landing. Oh, don’t get me wrong. It was absolutely marvelous. I saw so much: alien sunsets, nebulas forming, ancient and future civilizations both of Earth and of other races. Travelling was an absolute joy, travelling with him more so. It quickly became something I never wanted to stop doing, even with all the complications: missing deadlines for work, losing touch with my aunt, never quite feeling that I fit in with the year I was currently residing…

Time travel is rather complicated, especially in its adverse affects. But as it turns out, that wasn’t the most complicated part of my life. That part came from going to a pub at the end of the universe and falling in love with a man who, in his Earth, is recently deceased. I know it sounds well nutters as Clyde would put it, but do remember this is coming from the woman who’s best friend was an alien and who’s human son is alien born. Simon is, well, he’s very much alive when he comes here, to my Ealing. And so far, I haven’t seen any hazardous repercussions in letting him do so.

We talk about second chances often. I am very much a firm believer in those, especially given some of the things that I have done within my own life. I know Simon has a shady past, that he’s responsible for murders and the like. I also believe that there are more circumstances surrounding his reasons than he’ll admit as of yet. I prefer to see people as what they are capable of doing now rather than as anything they might have done. And Simon, for all his worries, seems very intent on redeeming himself. The idea that his second chance is in making my life a bit better is so flattering, in some ways, I find it rather hard to resist.

I believe I love him for that. For that and the way that he has fallen in love with me. Even if he doesn’t realize it, he’s handsome and charming and very sincere. He’s not the sort to lie to me just to please me. And, above it all, I believe that he is a good man. And I’d love to see that realization reflect in his own eyes some day.

I just don’t know how to tell Luke. I have the most brilliant son in the world and as much as I originally didn’t want to be a mother, I love him dearly. But his proficiency in societal understanding is still very much left wanting, although I have to say Clyde and Maria have been a very big help in educating Luke. I never realized just how wonderful it could be to see a child blossom. Oh, I have gone horribly mumsie, haven’t I? I don’t want Luke to ever think I could ever replace him in any way. He’s just as special to me, after all. I simply have no idea as to how he would react.

I never thought that I would fall in love again. I also never thought that love would be this complex. I’m very grateful to have Simon in my life and I’d love nothing more than to be able to share him with those others I care about most. But how do you explain a phantom of a partner to the world?

I suppose you don’t.

I’ve helped to save the world repeatedly. And yet, I’m absolutely terrified of having my son meet my boyfriend. Oh. When did my life get this bloody mad?

[ooc: based on roleplay in [livejournal.com profile] mixed_muses]
his_sarah_jane: (sarah/james - the other one)
Those who restrain their desires do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained. -William Blake

“Absolutely insatiable, aren’t you?”

Sarah giggled as he flipped her in bed carefully; she smiled as he leaned down above her, teasing her lips with his own. His mouth continued their exploration downward, exploring her neck and breasts and finally, the small bulge of her stomach. Five months pregnant and Sarah Jane was starting to show. Not that she minded. She had read in one of her books that pregnancy could cause an increase in sexual awareness and desire. Between highly sensitive areas becoming even more so and finding every opportunity to have James Bond buried deep inside her, she was finally beginning to find the joys in being pregnant.

“I don’t see you complaining,” he murmured against her skin, continuing his way downward. “I can’t hear you complaining either.”

Sarah pushed her head back further against the pillow, fists clenching to the sheets when his head fell to far out of reach due to her stomach. She moaned his name, the one name constantly on her lips these days, when he finally plunged into her. For the third time that night, she came eagerly and willingly in his arms. The post-coital kisses and strokes that followed only increased her level of lust more.

She lay comfortably in his arms, hair forming a cushioning layer against his chest. Someone hadn’t shaved recently; the hint of beard scratched at her forehead. She giggled again before sighing and closing her eyes happily.

“I do think three times is enough, James,” she whispered lazily as she entwined their legs. “After all, I do have a husband waiting for me on the other side of that door. I should save some of this for him.”

“Darling, I don’t think your desire will ever be dampened enough to be restrained like that. He’s a lucky man.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow at that, leaning her head upward to look into his eyes. They were so like that of the James waiting for her, perhaps the only other similarity the two men shared aside from their over-similar souls. This man was tall and dark, with dark brown bangs that occasionally masked his face as he looked down at her. She craned her neck further to kiss his lips.

“You’re just as lucky,” she replied. “Although to be honest, I rather fancy myself to be the luckiest. Having one James Bond as my lover and friend just isn’t enough.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Didn’t I tell you that you weren’t cut out for monogamy?”

“I’m certainly happy that you were right.”

It still remained a rather awkward arrangement, despite all parties agreeing to it. She was only one woman and, despite them being the same man in most respects, each was possessive to want her simply to themselves. She found herself diving time between London and Milliways quite often. Each man was content not hearing about her activities with the other. If it meant she could live this way for however long was possible, Sarah Jane wouldn’t complain. Desire to travel had turned into desire to love. In either case, she had never known how to properly restrain her passion. She had a sinking feeling that she might never learn.

“Very happy,” she echoed, now resting her head back on his chest. Her arm draped across him and she sighed, content. “I love you.”

“Likewise, darling,” James murmured, placing another kiss on her brow.

He didn’t know what the rest of the day would bring but, like his lover, he was content to rest in each other’s arms. At least, if anything were to happen to him or his other self, Sarah would always have one of them. That was the one bit of the bargain the two men were able to agree upon.

His eyes closed as he placed his cheek against her head. She was asleep now, her breathing now at a gentle rhythm. James was in no hurry today. He could easily nap as well. Before drifting off to sleep, he whispered a promise that he could never find himself to say aloud before:

“You’ll always be loved.”

[ooc: based on [livejournal.com profile] mixed_muses continuity]
his_sarah_jane: (sarah/james - kissing)
Write about one of your sexual fantasies.

[ooc: Takes place in Milliways continuum, after this.]

That night, Sarah Jane’s sleep was a restless one. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep thinking about that daft conversation over and over again. It just…well, as much as she wouldn’t admit it (especially to James), the conversation had stuck with her. It wasn’t that Sarah Jane didn’t approve of sleeping around. It was only that, well, she didn’t. To her, sex ought to have some deeper meaning than just pleasure. At the very least, it should be something done with someone you care about, even in a friendly manner.

Sexually repressed? Certainly not! James Bond was simply off his rocker. She had done just right by Sam the other night. For once, Sarah could care less about the man from the films and books. All she could care about was how insulting her friend had been. And how much she wished she could prove him wrong.

That bloody git… she thought, pulling the pillow closer to her head and trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was sleeping in the room next to hers. I could certainly show him a thing or two about sex if he really wanted.

That was her last thought before falling into a rather uncomfortable sleep.

cut for sexual situations )
his_sarah_jane: (his girl friday)
"I wanted a perfect ending... Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity." --Gilda Radner

August 6
Milliways Calendar
Milliways: bar at the end of the universe

Delicious ambiguity. That certainly is my life now, isn’t it? I’m afraid I haven’t been a proper correspondent as late, writing more than the briefest description of my life between worlds. I do hope to change all that. As much as I enjoy writing articles, penning my own life brings with it such a deeper thrill. Especially considering just how unusual my life can get. I like to believe that it would all make a terrific story one day, someday far into the future when (if?) life has finally settled down.

Until then, it has rooted itself with uncertainties again. Life with the Doctor has always been like that to begin with. Perhaps in a way that bit of life has remained constant. I never know where he’s to bring me next. We’re supposed to be heading back towards London to meet with the Brigadier about that whole Loch Ness monster circumstance. Instead, we’ve been bouncing around from planet to planet, time to time. I suppose that’s what happens when one lives in a time machine: it doesn’t really quite matter how long you stay away as long as you wind up in the moment you intended.

Since we left Harry and the Brig, more than a couple weeks ago by now, we’ve seen nebulas being born, giant butterfly creatures, a species actually resembling dwarves of myth, and so much more. The Doctor’s been taking me on a wild adventure of time and space, and each morning I wake up not knowing where I’ll be next. Yet despite the adventure, it does become rather tiring at times, and some days I want nothing more than a long bath with a good romance novel.

But that is what I have Milliways for, isn’t it? It certainly provides the mundane simplicity of waking up each morning knowing that you’re still in the same place. Well, perhaps not as much as James’ world, but certainly a lot more so than life with the Doctor. Life is routine in Milliways, despite its weirdness. I wake up, go for a jog, spend the day working on an article or chatting with friends or reading a novel. At times it does get boring, at others it becomes a holiday from holiday.

As for life with James… That’s the problem, isn’t it? That’s where this ambiguity has come from. I believe also it’s where my desire to write again in this notebook has stemmed. It has been far too long since I’ve properly recorded my thoughts down on paper. Neither James and I seem much suited for domesticity on the long one. No matter how much we love each other, we need a degree of freedom that we I haven’t been allowing. We’ve been rushing from one bit to another. We needed to stop.

The engagement is off for now and as much as a part of me agrees with James’ reasoning, it hurts to write those words. As naïve as it may sound, I always wanted a happy ending: be it as a top journalist or with a husband that loves me or the family that was taken from me as a youth. I haven’t told anyone that, to be honest. It’s a secret I’ll take to the grave, need it not interfere with the life I have going right now. I still want this happy ending. I want it with James.

I’m not quite sure when exactly it was I fell in love with him. Maybe it was the first time he cried in front of me, although I was loath to acknowledge it at the time. I had the Doctor and I had my travels; I didn’t need a man to complicate my life. But he has. And I’ll be eternally grateful that he did.

Spending the nights without him has been the hardest part. I moved out of his London flat earlier this week, taking up a semi-permanent residence in Milliways again when not travelling with the Doctor. I had that room to myself back before we ever became something more than friends. Now though, it’s strange not having him in there with me. His pillow still smells like him, but the warm body I want to cuddle with, as daft and girlish as it may seem, isn’t there.

Yet, despite that, I think I’m rather enjoying this new freedom. I certainly believe I could get used to weekly dates. Weekly in name, not necessarily in fact. After all, I travel and he’s, well, he’s James and there will be weeks where neither is around. And perhaps this will teach us to tolerate absences in the future better than we have. Oh, alright: better than I have.

My life has never been a sure thing since meeting the Doctor, and I believe each passing day it gets more complicated, and more ambiguous. But there’s a thrill in not knowing what will happen next. In a way, I like not knowing what James has been up to so he can surprise me with stories when we do meet. And I him. I never wanted a stale relationship. I wanted it to be full of laughter and love.

I only hope that it’s something we can maintain. The thought of losing James frightens me more than anything, even more so than losing the Doctor. Again, I cannot say for certain when this happened. It just did.

Ambiguity, my name is Sarah Jane Smith. Please, make yourself at home. Just let me keep James.

[ooc: based on role play at [livejournal.com profile] milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (eyes closed and happy)
How did you lose your virginity?

She hadn’t meant to let things escalate this far.

When Sarah Jane had agreed to go with Vickie to Lily Roberts’ party, this was absolutely the last thing she had ever imagined happening. There were rules against this sort of things, rules she had thought up a year and a half ago before entering Nottingham University’s journalism program. Back then, on that very first day of orientation, Sarah Jane had decided that if she ever was going to get ahead in a still rather male dominated field, she had to keep her life strict. While the occasional foray with friends was acceptable at times, getting drunk certainly wasn’t. And making time for more than the occasional flirtation was very much at the bottom of that list.

But wasn’t that exactly what had happened tonight? She had allowed every single one of her self-prescribed rules to be broken in a moment of weakness. Maybe it was because for once she wanted to be like Vickie, carefree and able to feel truly confident among the boys. It hadn’t really been until university that men had really begun looking at her. But the self-doubts of her secondary school self still lingered at times.

That was until Andrew Lofts had smiled at her from across the flat’s common room, instantly causing every rule she had to vanish. Of course she knew who Andrew Lofts was; she’d be daft not to. He was one of the journalism department’s most promising students, and quite handsome as well. Sarah would have been lying to herself if she didn’t say she had always had a small crush on him since their media ethics class fall of her first year.

She still hadn’t meant to let things escalate this far.

One drink eventually led to another, and as they continued to talk, Sarah quickly learned that they had more than just journalism in common. His sense of humour was sometimes lacking, but he still smiled at some of his quips. And more than that, Andrew was a hockey enthusiast as well. It was only an hour after their first words to each other that they kissed.

Inhibition free, it was hard to say no when he suggested going back to his flat. It was even harder to say no as he laid her down on his bed, kissing her lips then chin then neck. It was hard to say no as she wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, and even harder when layers of clothing began to be removed. While Sarah Jane was certainly new at this, she could tell that Andrew wasn’t. Following his lead, though, only lasted so long before Sarah Jane found herself listening to her own intuitions instead.

It wasn’t until after the climax that Sarah realised just how much she had allowed things to escalate. She was crawled up beside him, half covered by a sheet and half covered by Andrew’s body, sheen of sweat still covering both their bodies. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, being held in a man’s arms like this, but it certainly wasn’t one Sarah was accustomed to feeling. Still, she could not help but think that perhaps it was one she could get used to and perhaps even adjust to her rules.

In the coming years, she’d let things escalate even further. And then, suddenly, they’d reach a screeching halt.


his_sarah_jane: (Default)
Sarah Jane Smith

April 2011

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