From the Journal of Sarah Jane

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.

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.

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.

Magic

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.

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 )

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.