his_sarah_jane: (snoopy reporter!)

She had never been good at queuing, especially as a child. Impatience had always gotten the better of Sarah Jane. She’d want to see around the corner if the line was particularly long. She’d want to be out of the store minutes before Aunt Lavinia actually reached the till lady to pay for the groceries. And perhaps, worst of all had been the queue to board the school bus when going away on class trips; she always wanted the window seat and spent most of that line worrying she might not get one.

But no line in Sarah’s years had ever been more nerve wracking than the one she currently waited on. If everything went her way, this investigation was to be her big break. A step away of writing articles on Women’s Lib for the Metropolitan and a step towards investigative journalism and more pertinent articles. Who’d have thought volunteering to house sit her aunt’s home on Bannerman Road during the other woman’s tour of American universities would lead to such an opportunity?

The nerves she forced down seemed endless. Pushing a strand of hair out of her face, she checked the documents again. She had the letter in hand, the one UNIT had sent requesting Dr Lavinia Smith’s presence at a safe house until they put an end to the rash of missing scientists. She had one of her aunt’s old IDs, where the photograph was faded enough to resemble Sarah and the birth date scratched enough to manipulate it into a more reasonable year.

There wasn’t much more needed, she had figured before leaving for the institution. However, the long wait (for only three bloody people) made her think otherwise. What could be taking so learn? Had she not brought enough documents, enough proof of being Lavinia Smith?

A soldier (lieutenant by the look of things) glanced in Sarah Jane’s direction, knocking the woman out of her reverie. She smiled and waved back, perhaps looking a little flirtatious. The man came over and nodded, taking off his beret before offering a hand.

“Doctor Sullivan at your service, ma’am,” he spoke as she shook his hand gingerly. “It’s the longest queue I’ve seen since we started this round up. Sorry about that.”

Sarah laughed. “Has this been going on for long?”

“Only a couple of days, since Britain’s top minds started to disappear. But rest assure, miss, we’ll find who’s in char-” He stopped talking, eyes looking beyond her to the front of the queue. “Looks like you’re up. Again, sorry about that wait. I’ll see you inside, eh, Miss-”

“Smith,” she answered, slipping in to what Sarah Jane considered the greatest acting role of her life. “Doctor Lavinia Smith.”

He tipped his cap at her again. Sarah was about to respond before another (less polite) soldier snapped something about absent minded scientists. She turned around to face this man with a scowl but quickly pushed it aside. She’d have to hold her temper if she was going to succeed in her investigation.

“Right,” she responded instead, shoving the documents into the man’s face. At the very least, she could be slightly temperamental. Didn’t these soldier types expect that from brains, after all? He gave her a look that she ignored, smiling pleasantly instead and babbling on about how she hoped not to have to say wrong given the important research she had been conducting back at UCL.

Time to get off the line.
his_sarah_jane: (excuse me?)
Write a conversation between your character and another using only dialogue. However, both characters are doing something and it must be obvious from the dialogue what it is.

“Doctor? Doctor, why don’t I believe you-”

“Nonsense, Sarah Jane. I assure you that I have the situation completely under control. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that I’ll have the situation mastered in, oh, two point five minutes.”

“I really don’t believe you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s you, Doctor! You’d probably think a situation is under control if we were being chased by… by a giant heard of rhinoceroses!”

“Which, I would remind you, we are not. Now, it’s not as if there’s anything dire about the current dilemma, is there?”

“…oh, I wouldn’t say that.”


“Because you… you shifting that way and…

stop it, Doctor! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”



“I really think that scarf ought to be considered a lethal weapon.

“Not to mention a form of cheating, Doctor!”

“Now, really, I must protest, Sarah. I’ve checked the rules over and there’s nothing in them about-”

“Your move.”


“Oh, you heard me! Spin, will you? And get that right hand on yellow.”



“Your move, I’m afraid.”


Ow! Bloody hell, that hurt!”

“Two point five minutes exactly, Sarah Jane.”


“Really. I must protest. A Time Lord’s body happens to be-”

“And a Time Lord’s scarf? Oh, honestly! ”

his_sarah_jane: (wtf mate)
You're EXPECTING! TEN names you would name your child.

I most certainly hope not! Aside from the fact I haven't properly dated a man in... well, in a far longer amount of time than I care to admit, can you honestly picture me as a parent? I wouldn't know the first thing about raising a child. I couldn't even get along with the lot when I was their age!

But, I suppose, if I had to pick names, there are a few that come to mind.

1. Alice
2. Elisabeth
3. Tabitha
4. Bronte
5. Rebecca

6. Trent
7. John
8. Edward
9. William
10. Luke
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah - reflective)
001. "Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes." Oscar Wilde

“So what will it be?” asked the devil, crouched before the healer, playing with a feather drenched in angel blood. “One last great adventure? Or a cold and lonely death?”

And she made her choice that day.

She had thought that experience would teach her better. For four years of her life, she had travelled with her healing man and seen the wonders of the universe. For all the years that followed, she had mimicked his actions upon her owns. She continued as a journalist, she continued as a hero the best she could. But on that day, with that offer, Sarah Jane ignored everything experience had taught her.

Instead, she had agreed to one last great adventure with her newest savior as her angel died in her arms. In the end, experience had taught that the need to live outweighed any rational thought. And oh, how she had wanted to live.

Sarah probably should have suspected her devil’s identity from the very start. She was nearly fifty now, after all, and had experienced more than most would in five lifetimes.

The signs were there, after all, after shortly after arriving on their first new planet. Technically, it wasn’t a planet – nor was it new to Sarah Jane. She had been there before, years ago, with the Doctor and Harry. Voga, the planet of gold, was as beautiful as she had remembered.

It was absolutely awful watching Harold, as her devil instead she call him, manipulate the Vogans. She hadn’t realized that he had fed coordinates to a band of Cybermen. Sarah hadn’t realized until it was too late, until the Vogans had been captured and Voga was about to be blown up as the Cybermen had hoped to do all those years ago.

“We can’t let this happen,” she insisted, looking at Harold with wide and angry eyes, feeling all the more like her young naïve self rather than a woman of experience. “This is a mistake, Harold. They’re innocent. The Cybermen trust you. We have to stop them.”

He looked at her for a long time that moment, his eyes cold and calculating and without the slightest hint of warmth. Those seconds seemed to last forever. Finally, her devil nodded. “I’ll make a deal with you, my dear. This won’t be one last great adventure. I’ve grown lonely in my old age. We’ll save the Vogans, but you’ll stay with me until death do us part.”

She had made her mistake once, agreeing to his deal. Less than a week later, Sarah Jane found herself making it again. “Agreed.”

And so, the Cybermen were destroyed. Unaware of the deception, the Vogans welcomed Sarah and Harold with open arms. When she saw him smile, Sarah Jane thought she should be afraid. It wasn’t a comforting smile at all.

Weeks and months passed and she never realised. He was a horrible man, truly the devil. Sarah Jane may have had her suspicious, but she never gave voice to any of them. Easier to think he was just a renegade. Easier to think that experience had taught her better.

But it was that first night in which he took her into his bed that she did figure it out, that something changed within her in the process. He had been taunting her all night within his stolen TARDIS. It was that night she accused him of stealing it from her healing man. Harold grew cold and sincere and nodded. A glint in his eyes caused Sarah Jane to take a few steps back. He followed.

“I know who you are,” she whispered as the connections formed in her brain. Sarah reached for the nearest weapon (it hurt, it hurt to think she might have to kill a man but she had to – he wasn’t even a man) and held the club gently in her hands. “You’re him. The Master, Koschei. I remember you. Don’t you dare think otherwise!”

There would only be one way to be free of this horrible deal. If she killed him, she could find a way to bring the TARDIS to the Doctor. She would finally be reunited with her healing man after all the long, sad years and, more than that, she would be free.

Sarah Jane raised her arm to swing at him and Harold grabbed her wrist mid arc. He held it there as he moved them backwards to pin her against the console. The Master tilted his head and looked at her for a moment before he crushed his lips violently against her own. She didn’t want to submit, oh, she was old for goodness sake and anything but attractive now. And yet, she couldn’t help but think if she allowed this, if he was fully distracted enough, she’d be able to kill him.

Experience had taught her men could be very vulnerable when it came to sex. She had to hope this extended to Time Lords, too.

Her aim was off as she jammed a letter opener into his back right before climax. He only laughed and told her he couldn’t think of a better desecration of the Doctor’s room than everything the two of them had just done as she came, lost and willing.

Deals were meant to be broken.

Life could never be one grand adventure.

Experience taught you to avoid new mistakes.

Betrayal would always hurt.

All of the sudden, none of those thoughts seemed true anymore. She had changed in that moment, given in to all her anger: anger at her angel for being so reckless, anger at her devil for proposing that life altering deal in the first place, anger at her healer for abandoning her, anger at herself for giving in. Sarah Jane Smith simply didn’t want to be anymore. She didn’t want to exist.

Deals could never be broken.

Life had become one grand adventure.

Experience taught you nothing.

And betrayal didn’t hurt. Not if you didn’t let it, not if your buried your true self so deeply that it would never exist again. She did such that night as she lost herself in his arms. Sarah Jane Smith, the intelligent, curious, persistent journalist who prided herself on her integrity, disappeared. She let herself become the perfect companion to Harold instead, taking glee in manipulating civilizations and in mayhem of all sorts, trying to kill him at all odd hours of the day, falling willingly into his embrace again and again.

Experience taught it was easier to face your fears if you found ways never to face them at all.

[ooc: based upon a prompt by [livejournal.com profile] savagestime. Master and fic used with permission.]
his_sarah_jane: (his girl friday)
"Submarine races? Don't tell me you actually fell for that one!"

From The Inquisitor
May 15, 2011
Submarine races do exist exist!
Inquisitor’s own John Smith gets up close and personal with mermaid.

Sarah Evans

Since the arrival of spring, the small town of Perros-Guirec in Brittany, France has been plagued with sightings of a more unusual kind. Amongst fishermen of the region, tales of mermaids and mermen have always been in trend. A trend to which those more landlocked would laugh at, taking the mickey out of anyone daft enough to fall of it.

Yet, in the past three weeks, supposed sightings have been happening so frequently that little doubt remains among the native Perros-Guirecans.

In a world where we were nearly defeated by robots, could it be possible that some sort of sub-marine sentient has been lurking in Earth’s oceans for centuries, just waiting to be discovered, providing substance to the sailors’ tales? Could an underwater civilisation, a lost Atlantis, lie under the waves unknown to those above?

It might seem a preposterous hoax at first, but after spending a few days along the Brittany shore, the hoax turned out to be anything but. With less than a day under our belts to investigate the local rumours, Inquisitor correspondent John Smith got up close and personal with one such creature.

The mermaid, later identified as Bubbles, greeted him less than one mile from town centre and quickly claimed him as her own. Sea foam green eyes on a face that surpassed any human’s with its beauty, strawberry-blonde hair, blue-tinted skin, and a green scaly tail, Bubbles washed ashore as if out of a storybook. She took one look at Smith and dragged him out to a rock some fifteen metres away.

There she proceeded to pick up English at an astonishing rate. Although she started by mimicking, Bubbles quickly became capable of putting together string of words to express her desires. Words were quickly followed by actions as Bubbles made her desire to mate clear.

Smith went along as the willing Prince Eric, touching her cheek and caressing her tail. It wasn’t until she attempted to drag him further into the ocean that he finally pulled away, deciding his heart was far too firmly rooted to the land.

Heartbroken, Bubbles kissed him goodbye. She was then noted to join a group of three more female merfolk, possibly sisters or relatives of some sort. When asked for a statement, Smith declined.

A full scale investigation is now underway, led by Dr Elizabeth Shaw of Torchwood notoriety. When asked for comments, Dr Shaw had little to say, citing that, “so far, only traces of a submarinian culture have been discovered.”

However, the search appears optimistic.

“I’ve been seeing them every day of my life,” local Brittany shrimp trawler Pierre Vioget claimed. “I’ve been seeing them ever since my first trip on the sea. Good luck, they are. Helped keep the sharks at bay that shipwreck of 2007.”

Working alongside the once-thought-mad fishers, Torchwood hopes to make a lot of progress in a relatively short amount of time.

“It’s the first time we’ve met another species since the coming of the Cybermen,” Dr Owen Harper, a new recruit for Torchwood, stated eagerly, “and with this one not planning on violent upgrades? We’re looking forward to a friendly and lasting relationship when their capital is found.”

With this positive frame of mind, perhaps Bubbles will find her Prince Eric after all. Like our readers, those of us at the Inquisitor can only wait and hope.

[ooc: based on this rp.]
his_sarah_jane: (writing)
What or who do you think made you the way you are today?

Sarah tapped her pencil against her desk, sighing as she stared at the question in front of her. It was a jumping off point, something her aunt had suggested in framing her personal statement for her university applications. However, if you were to ask the seventeen year old, it was a bloody pain in the arse. A waste of an afternoon that could be far better spent meeting up with some mates down at the park for a game of field hockey.

The question, though, seemed to glare up at her from the page. What or who do you think made you the way you are today? Why? It was a stupid question, as stupid as every other question Aunt Lavinia had suggested she answered.

“You’re the writer,” she had said. “I’m positive that it won’t take you long to think of something. But here’s a list of topics I clipped out of the daily paper. It may help.”

So far, none of the questions had helped. She was down to the last one. Her personal statement: five hundred words proving that Sarah Jane was capable of a university education, capable more so of entering a journalism program. And in the past two weeks, she had come up with nothing.

With a sigh, Sarah stopped tapping her pencil against the desk and braced her hand to write. Maybe words would flow better on her typewriter, but she had absolutely no desire to waste the ink.

“Who or what made me the way I am today?” Sarah read aloud, rolling her eyes as she did. “Who bloody well cares?”

My aunt, Lavinia Smith.

No. She didn’t like the sound of that. Sure, Aunt Lavinia imparted wisdom upon her niece while she was growing up. Sarah certainly knew that her feminist attitude had all to do with her aunt’s beliefs. But that wasn’t enough.

It seemed that this question was going to be a whole lot harder than it looked. Sarah let out a frustrated breath and returned to tapping her pencil a few seconds longer before scribbling down more ideas. Each was quickly scribbled out after the first.

My aunt, Lavinia Smith.

The loss of my mum and dad.

Being unable to save Andrea. Watching her die.

Lois Lane

Sigrid Schultz.

Field hockey.

Writing my first essay
Oh, who am I kidding?

My parents did technically make me. Daft answer to a daft question? Sounds perfect.


Sarah Jane stared at the last item on her list, underlining and then circling it with thought. It was a possibility alright. Who needed someone else to shape them? Who needed some bloody event you didn’t even want? Certainly not her. A small grin crossed her features as she nodded. For now, it had to be the best answer she came up with. With confidence, she began to write:

Most individuals would answer this question claiming a specific life-altering event or perhaps a role model in whom they placed the upmost degree of confidence and admiration within. It is, after all, what this question is begging for to be penned. Without a doubt, I have had my share of life altering events. I have known people in my life that have been role models without even realizing. But none of them, not a single course of action or a single word of advice, possess the influence to make me who I am today.

That honour falls fully and completely to me.

It is I who, in the end, chose the lessons to abide by, picked the people to learn from. No one in the whole of Earth exists who would have made the same decisions I made if put in my shoes. I can’t claim to have chosen wisely, nor can I claim that I’ve stuck with those decisions I made. But, as a whole, it was my actions and my choices that led me to be writing this essay today.
his_sarah_jane: (excuse me?)
"If you have something to tell me, then tell me, otherwise we can stop wasting each other's time."

Her hands remained positioned on hips as her right foot tapped up and down. She eyed him warily, almost doubtfully.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

All around them, gentry mingled in gorgeous dress, with fur shawls and long gowns and men in tuxes, not a single hair out of place. Chandeliers twinkled in the dim light and the occasional glow of mobiles make their users stand out.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

The blue satin material of her dress switched with the slightest movement of her hips as she continued to tap her foot impatiently. She stared at him, brown eyes anything but warm. For the fifth time tonight, he had tried to distract her from her mission. She needed this interview with Peter Tyler and she was determined to get it.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

A sigh. He had been babbling for the last five minutes straight. The smile plastered on her face couldn’t grow any faker as she nodded to those occasionally passing. Finally, her resolve broke. “Look, John, i If you have something to tell me, then tell me, otherwise we can stop wasting each other's time.”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes widened, glasses doing very little to conceal their shock. He held his neck erect, stiff against the bowtie and suit he wore. He blinked once and choked.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.


“I… er, that is to say-”


Tap, tap, tap, tap.

She shook her head when he stuttered again, far too busy staring at her than bothering to concede to her demands. She rolled her eyes at him and turned to walk away. A strong grip on her wrist stopped her. She turned around, ready to tell him off and yet, yet she couldn’t.


Her nervous and impatient tapping of her foot had returned. She had to get her proof that Peter Tyler had been elected the new head of Torchwood due to his affair with a Martian. Didn’t he realise that?


Tap, tap, tap.

“No more wasting time. Marry me.”


She stopped tapping, she nearly stopped breathing. This time it was her turn to look like a deer startled in the headlights. The look lasted seconds – no, eons – until she nodded. Even if he was just trying to protect the Tylers again, he looked too sincere to mean it for any other reason.

“Yeah,” she whispered softly, story forgotten. “You know, I think I will.”
his_sarah_jane: (aliens are your friends)
109. He isn't stupid, his brain is full. - Overheard in NY.com (random)

“He isn’t stupid,” Sarah Jane explained with a sigh, hand placed on her forehead for a brief second. Did it really come down to this? This rather weak explanation to the most current events? “He’s just… well, his brain is full.”


“His brain,” she repeated slowly, enunciating each word quickly in case the drone did not understand, “is simply very, very full.”

The creature buzzed in front of her and its antennas flickered in the direction of her companion. Another sigh escaped her as she turned to give the Doctor a look, hand on hips. He hadn’t moved from the boulder he had sat himself upon fifteen minutes earlier. The end of his scarf collapsed and stretched in his hands. The folds he made varied in position and duration as a small beetle-like creature watched on a nearby bolder.

Sarah turned back to look at the drone, placing her hands on her hips. While she would not quite describe its expression as sympathetic, if it had been more humanoid in shape, Sarah was certain that would be the case.

“You see,” she said a moment later. “The Doctor is a Timelord. Now, I don’t know if you’ve heard of these things, but Timelords – and ladies, to be proper – are individuals whose brains are very, very full with… oh! With stuff, I suppose. A whole lot of stuff, really. All of time and space and eternity. If you asked him, he’d give you a much more arrogant and complex answer, but I’m telling you... Bzzzzinzzzztrzzzzzzzzzzbzzzz—“

She could never quite properly pronounce its name.

“—that this is all it is. Not stupidity. Oh no. He may be a daft git at times, but he is far from stupid I assure you.” Sarah ran a hand through her hair. “It’s just… he thinks he can talk to it – him – whatever it is! That bug over there. He really, honestly thinks that—”


“No.” Even if, she had to admit, communicating via scarf did seem quite ridiculous. “Just… quite full of himself. Quite full of misplaced knowledge and barmy ideas and—”

“Zzzzzzzzztuuuuuupeeeeeed.” The drone bounced up and down in a ghostly like manner. It almost seemed as if it were laughing. Its antennas flickered in the Doctor’s direction again and then back to Sarah. “Zzzzzzzzztuuuuuupeeeeeed!”

What was it people said about fighting an uphill battle? As much as Sarah Jane wanted to argue (it was in her nature, of course), Bzzzzinzzzztrzzzzzzzzzzbzzzz did have a point. Rather this was some forgotten language lost to the stars and only known amongst Timelords or not, the whole matter did seem rather…well, stupid.

Communication by scarf? Honestly?

She sighed, giving in with a chuckle. “Oh, alright. It’s stupid. Absolutely bloody ridiculous. But, well, that’s the Doctor for you.”

his_sarah_jane: (i want to cry)
You find yourself receiving a letter that had been misdirected or lost in the mail for several years. Who is it from and what does it say? Show us the affect it has on your muse.

My dearest Sarah Jane, the birthday card read in a script so mused and crabby that it nearly required K-9’s help in translation. It had been an unexpected arrival and however the postal office had tracked her down to her small flat in South Croydon was beyond her. For all intents and purposes, this ought to have been sent to her aunt’s home in Ealing. It was, if Sarah recalled correctly, where she and her mum had spent her third birthday, her father being overseas for work that year.

She shook her head as she walked past the kitchen and into her bedroom. However it got here, she decided she was best not knowing, what given the note had arrived twenty-five years too late. Sarah sat on the bed as she continued to read, pulling off her shoes one at a time as she did.

Happy birthday, muffin. All of three years old today, aren’t you? My, your grandmum was right when she warned me they grow up fast. I turn my head for one second and you’re no longer that baby I held in my arms, kicking and screaming and eager to see the world. That part hasn’t changed (you better not be paying your mummy or aunt any trouble) and I hope it never will. Instead, you’ve grown taller, far more headstrong, but most of all: absolutely gorgeous.

I wish I could be there today. I heard from your Aunt Lavinia that a surprise had been planned. Your very first trip to London, was it? To the zoo to see the lions and elephants and owls? I told your mummy to buy a stuffed owl on my behalf and name it Nigel. Creativity, you know, runs in your family.

I hope your day was terrific. I am so sorry that I could not make it, muffin, my Sarah Jane. Next year, I promise, I’ll make sure that I have no sale pitch to make. And if I do? I’ll quit.

You mean the world to me, you and your mum. Have the happiest birthday you could imagine, Sarah.

Love, Daddy.

She turned the card over to look at the front of it again. The googly eyed owl with the funny smile stared back at her until it became blurry with tears. Did he know that he’d only have two more birthdays left to spend with her when he wrote this? Oh, of course not. Automobile accidents were never planned, after all.

With a sigh, Sarah collapsed on her bed and clutched the card close to her heart.
his_sarah_jane: (sarah and ten)
004.Gut feeling


[ooc: thank you to [livejournal.com profile] sarahs_attic for beta’ing help.]
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: (aiming the rifle)
You know how when you're listening to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway... then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again you're still in exact same time with it. That's what it's like.
- Music From Another Room.

“Give it to me,” you say with more force in your voice than you’ve ever used before. He doesn’t respond, only giving you a look. You repeat your words – “Oh, just give it to me, Doctor” - and this time, rather than waiting for an answer, you take the rifle from him.

There is so much activity around you, has been since the two of you had snuck out in those daft robes that absolutely envelope you. Maybe it’s for the best. After all, he had warned you about coming out of the TARDIS. You were supposed to stay hidden, safe in your room where she would protect you. But you had argued. The two of you were in this together and, for whatever reason he had been called back to Gallifrey (a lie), you were going to help him. The mind wipe was worth the risk, you had claimed, because you thought deep down you could never forget him. He’s rather like that song that won’t leave your head, you explain. Best friend, family: through thick and thin.

You could never leave him. And finally, he caves, warning you to stay close.

So you do. Despite the imminent danger, despite the fact that this is clearly all some ploy, you still get a thrill in meeting old professors and classmates. He had a life before you, just like you had one before him. It’s strange to actually see it come to life.

But now? Now things have gone horribly wrong. The crowd roars with confusion. The President has just been shot. And look, over there! The pair that had been crying wolf about an assassin had a gun! No one believes your innocence. The guards are coming up the catwalk, ready to arrest you. So a decision has to be made. And while the Doctor just stands there, professing his innocence, you make it. As much as it hurts your journalistic pride, he has always been better at putting the pieces together. If anyone can figure out who is behind this, it’ll be him.

“He’s innocent! It was me. He was trying to stop me!”

You take a step forward to the guards, holding up the gun. He calls your name behind you and it brings tears to your eyes. You turn around and smile softly at him. It’s apologetic. Completely and totally apologetic, completely and totally love struck.

“I’m sorry,” you say. That step you had taken is retracted as you close the gap between the two of you. You place a hand on his cheek, gently caressing it before placing your hand on top of the scarf, in between his two hearts. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Doctor, but it has to be me. They’ll listen to you, you know that. And you’ll rescue me. That same old song, remember? You always rescue me, Doctor.”


“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him, but this time, you’re not sure. These are the people he ran away from. The people who wiped Zoe and Jamie’s minds. You know you have everything to fear. So you pull on the scarf, bringing his head close to yours. His curls mesh with your fringe, the tip of his hat touching the crown of your head. You look at him, tempted to kiss him so much. You have never seen him look this lost, never seen him look this angry. “I promise you, Doctor. I’ll be fine. You’ll figure it out, get me released, and then we’ll go about travelling in the TARDIS as if this never happened.”

When his fingers touch her cheek, caring and tender, you know you need to pull away now. You can hear the shouts of the guards behind you. It’s now or never.

“I love you, Doctor,” you whisper. “It’s why I really couldn’t leave you after all.”

Then they grab you. The take the rifle away from you and hold your arms in vice-like grips. You steal one last look at him, your Doctor, before they lead you away down to the cells. In his sad blue eyes, you see your world. All the happiness, danger, joy and suffering the two of you have shared together. You smile at him and mouth those four little words again.

You spend less than a day in the cells before you discover the true identity of the assassin: Chancellor Goth. But he isn’t working alone and no matter how hard you try to find out the identity of his accomplice, it eludes you.

Even your rescue eludes you. Goth arranges for a secret trial, one the Doctor knows nothing about as he campaigns for your innocence.



Day forty-five since the villagers found you. Although your amnesia hasn’t gotten any better, your strength has returned. You’ve become a more productive member of society. You can help in the plants now. You’re slowly relearning how to read and write, relearning how to cook and plant, relearning how to question. But you have so many questions that remain unanswered. Assumptions do not work for you and you have no idea why.

Maybe in another year, the lack of a past won’t bother you anymore.

As you help gather fluteberries in a field, you hum a familiar tune. Your mind has been buzzing with those lately, although no one has been able to help you place them. It doesn’t matter. Your family accepts you for who you are: Allasa Nan, the foundling. And it really is nice to have a home. It really is. Still, sometimes when you look to the stars, you can’t help but wonder what you’re missing.

Soon enough, your basket is full of berries. As the dark begins to fall, you know it is time to return to the village. Your foster parents will be expecting you home for dinner by now. You begin the trek back when something catches your eye. It’s blue and boxy and looks very out of place in the fields. A shiver runs down your spine. You should head back, warn the elders.

Instead you stare. You continue to stare when a door opens up and a man steps through. He looks at you with a sort of awe. Slowly – no, not slowly – a manic grin spreads across his face. It’s a familiar grin, like those old tunes you can’t quite get out of your head.

“Sarah Jane?”
his_sarah_jane: (sarah and ten)
It's your birthday! If anything were possible, what would be your perfect way to celebrate?

The universes were ending and at the foot of a house which would someday belong to her, Sarah Jane sat watching the hustle and bustle of all the numerous TARDISes. At some point, she had lost count as to how many there were. The number kept changing every day, with more popping up. Not less, though, only ever more.

With most of space (and presumably time) gone, there was nowhere for any of them to travel. They were stuck. All of them were stuck.

And she still didn’t know half of them, Doctors and companions alike. Sometimes Sarah Jane wondered if she wanted to.

Either way, today had been much like every other. She had woken up in his TARDIS. Some days they would share breakfast together. Today was breakfast alone: jam on toast and a banana. Then a run about the neighborhood. Then time in the library, using the laptop and the Doctor’s extensive wealth of knowledge to do her share in researching a solution.

A normal day, just like every other. She hadn’t even been aware of the date until later that night when she glanced at the calendar in her room.

May 28th. Sarah Jane was, by all intents and purposes, another year older.

She hated it.

Today had been like any other day up until that point. In staring at the calendar, she felt a weight on her shoulders. What right did she have to think of something so absolutely ordinary and… and human… when the whole of the universe was at stake?

She had wandered outside. Staring at the house hadn’t helped (how many more years till that?). Watching some of the Doctors served only to remind her how the day could have been.

If he had still been here, even with the universes ending, she knew everything would be all right. He would have taken her to dinner. He would have surprised her with some small, quaint, yet utterly charming gift. Maybe she’d teach him a new trick or two with that scarf.

Despite it all, though, she would have had his smiling face watching her every moment.

It had been quite some while since she had last thought of him.

It had been quite some while since Sarah Jane had actually wanted to celebrate her birthday.

She sighed, blinking back tears as she stared up into the darkness above. There wasn’t much left to the night sky now. It was as lonely as she was. In some selfish way, that thought comforted her. Sarah bit on her lip, watching the few lone stars try to shine, enveloped in a never-ending struggle against the darkness.

Stars (for the most part) were not sentient. Yet, in her well of self pity, she wondered if one of them up there wished for someone to share their day with.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

A coin clattered on a step next to her, startling her more from her reverie than the voice did. It was indeed a penny, but not like any penny Sarah had ever seen exchanged on Earth. The coin glittered in the porch light. The symbols were angular and foreign. The TARDIS could translate them if she wanted her too. A strange face reflected back to her. Even the metal felt weird.

“Duchamp 331 standard.” The Doctor, her new Doctor, sat down next to her. He pulled his knees to his chest and flashed Sarah a small smile. “Dime a dozen, these pennies. All of ‘em absolutely worthless.”

Sarah Jane nodded, turning the penny over. A souvenir from a planet she might never see. It’s probably gone now and even if it comes back, presuming they all survive, he may not want to take her with him. A lovely birthday thought for a lovely birthday. She sighed.

“I won’t even ask how many you have tucked away in your pockets then.”

At least the quips still came easily enough today.

She tried a smile, a half hearted smile that really had no effort to it. Sarah wanted to pretend that everything was alright. Today really was just like any other day. And she was only tired, not upset. She knew though, without a doubt, that her smile was one the Doctor saw right through. Best friends knew how to do that sort of thing, after all.

He smiled back softly as he wrapped an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, pulling her to rest against his chest. Sarah closed her eyes. How long would this moment last? She felt safe in his arms, even being that independent woman who refused to make him coffee all those years ago. She didn’t want to move.

The Doctor did, though. It was the slightest of movements, a simple shift of Sarah to his right so that he could reach into a jacket pocket and pull out a wrapped box that in no way seemed capable of fitting in the pocket he had kept it in. Still, the movement had startled Sarah Jane. Her heart skipped a beat and fear washed through her. Was he leaving?


He ran a hand through his hair as he handed her the gift. She sat up straighter to look at him. The Doctor shrugged, reminding Sarah very much of that awkward lunch they had a while back. “I’ve never forgotten, Sarah Jane.”

She opened the box, eyes widening at the blue leather bound journal within. Sarah touched the edge carefully, tracing the indentations before looking upward. It reminded her of something else, something currently quite easily found on Bannerman Road. Wherever he had found it, it wasn’t on Earth. The leather was too fine and not quite proper in texture. The paper was too perfect.

Sarah Jane blinked and looked at him.

He smiled one of those knowing, arrogant smiles she couldn’t stand. It comforted her just the same. The Doctor reached over her to turn open the cover and tapped a finger on the page. Cursive letters slowly appeared.

“The words’ll only ever be visible when you want it to be,” he explained, interrupting Sarah before she had a chance to read the caption. “I found it while I was rummaging through the wardrobe. Blimey, you should see the stuff back there. Forgot I even had this. Think psychic paper but smarter. It’s a completely fail safe journal. Absolutely brilliant stuff, especially for a journalist.”

There was another quick smile followed by an awkward kiss on her forehead before he stood again. The touch of his lips against her skin lingered. Sarah looked up for a moment before her eyes fell downward, seizing the lieu in conversation as a chance to skim the letter.

We’ll laugh about this someday, you and I. Big, ole laugh right there in that swanky little joint on Orion’s Belt. Never did get you there, did I? Consider this—

--been a long time, I know. Haven’t even gotten a chance to tell you the half of it yet. Like that time on—

--I won’t ever forget, Sarah. I can’t ever forget. So every year I’ll—

--Don’t you ever forget me, Sarah Jane Sm—


“Doctor!” Sarah stood quickly, nearly dropping the box. Her hands clenched tightly around the now-closed journal. In the time she had spent searching through the words, he had already turned to head back to the TARDIS. “Doctor!”

He stopped and turned around, a hesitant look on his face. The oncoming storm. Her best friend. Tears in her eyes ignored, Sarah beamed at him. “No need to wait till all of this is over to celebrate, is there? I happen to know this great little restaurant a few blocks away. Oddly enough, it’s called The Restaurant…”

[ooc: based on events in [livejournal.com profile] relative_space. [livejournal.com profile] clever_wanderer borrowed with mun permission.]
his_sarah_jane: (sarah and eleven)
Alien sex pollen

The night glittered with gold. Willow trees swayed in the wind, percussion to a hidden orchestra of frog-like creatures and chirping insects. Moonlight danced along a lagoon. Little pixie like aliens fluttered about, fireflies in the darkness. One pixie, more curious than the rest, had strayed from the group. If this one little pixie were to be given a name, one would find the name of Puck, or Robin Goodfellow as it may be, quite fitting. Yet, Shakespeare had not yet penetrated this vast deepness of space.

Most mischievous of the lot, Puck enjoyed following visitors to Serenada. More than that, he enjoyed playing with those visitors. A trio walked past the lagoon, two bipedals and a hairy beast on all fours. Puck took delight in the golden pollen falling from the trees above and watched as it continued to saturate the clothing (and fur) of the travelers.

They were unaware. He was not.

Puck knew the words. Puck knew the potential the pollen of Serenada’s trees possessed: inhibitions released, desires met. And tonight was a night for mischief. He had always liked mischief.

The night glittered with magic.

In the background, aloof and away from all, a knowing police box stood and watched.


“Are you feeling better now?”

The Doctor looked at her. The height difference that had once so existed between them was now little more than normal. It made certain things easier. Studying her eyes, for one, or checking to ensure her ankle was all right. Even in the moonlight, the concern was evident in his cool, blue eyes.

Sarah Jane nodded, smiling softly. She kept her grip on Sawyer’s neck fur. He made a good a crutch as any. The wolf did not seem to mind one bit. He stayed pressed to her side, almost as if trying to make up for the fact she had fallen in the first place. “I am. After all, this planet is far too beautiful to give up for one sprained ankle.”

“So long as you can manage,” he answered softly. “The moment you can’t-”

“I’m fine, Doctor.”

Sarah sighed. She came to a sudden stop, falling to the ground with an undignified snort. Her fingers fiddled with the laces of her boots as she worked to undo them. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor stand next to Sawyer, both watching her with concern. Bloody ankle.

Bloody man.

If only you could know, the things I long to say.” The words came unbidden. Sarah Jane sang softly as she ran her fingers through ripples in the lagoon. She watched his reflection, unaware that anything could be amiss. “If only I could tell you, what I wish to convey.

“At least you’re enjoying Serenada.” The Doctor smiled crookedly before he slowly sat down behind her. “All of Orion’s splendor and none of its sadness.”

The dreams I can't declare, the needs I can't deny. You'd understand them all if only you would try. All my secrets, you would learn them. All my longings, you'd return them. If only you would notice how I ache behind my smile. I guess you never will, I guess it doesn't show. But if I never find a way to tell you so… Oh, what I would give, if only I knew how.

The music of the night swelled in crescendo with Sarah’s last few words. She turned to look at her friend. Already he was lost in the solitude of his own thoughts. It made her heart ache as she watched. There was so much, too much, that he had witnessed without her. Oh, how could she ever make it up to him?

Maybe by telling him the truth. It had been bothering her for some time now. Since he welcomed her home again and she had remembered just how wonderful it felt being wrapped in his arms. Sarah had never felt that comfortable around any other man. But how could she tell him? He’d only laugh.

But if I never find a way to tell you so…” Her voice was barely audible to her own ears. Then she took a deep breath and forced a grin on her face. “Doctor-”

“A dance, Sarah Jane.” She had been cut off. Somehow, in the few seconds that had passed by, he had risen to his feet and was now offering a hand to her. “Can’t you hear it? The sounds of the night? I’ve always wondered what it is about this planet that makes it so enchanting. It has to be the music, clearly so. So a dance. Please.”

He felt so hesitant, felt as if his hearts were leaping out of his chest as he waited for her answer. The Doctor had no jelly baby to offer, nor any tom foolery to make the moment what she might expect. She seemed so accepting of his new self, but at times he found himself doubting. When he felt her hand slide in to his, however, all doubt was erased. The Doctor smiled broadly and helped her to her feet.

He swept her into a waltz, holding her waist lightly as they began to dance along the water’s edge. Two smiling faces stared at each other. The reeds chimed in the wind as fairy light began to play around them.

Dancing is a language that is felt instead of heard,” the Doctor began. It was an explanation of each step, of the dances he had learned while a part of Arthur’s court. “You can whisper, sing, or shout without so much as a word. Tell your body what to do. See how much a single gesture can reveal. And every little step, every single step, is one step closer to saying what you feel.

Sarah followed his steps without hesitation. It took a little bit of effort to try not to take the lead. Quickly enough, though, she couldn’t tell who led or who followed. The dance became a partnership, a partnership that led them twirling and gliding along the lagoon.

And every little step, every single step,” Sarah whispered as they entered a small grotto, “is one step closer to being understood.

The dancing stopped.

A light breeze ruffled their clothing, twisting Sarah’s skirt around her ankles and creating playful ripples in the Doctor’s sleeves. She stared up into his eyes, brown gazing at blue, both sets lost to the world around them. At the edge of the lagoon, Sawyer howled. Moonlight snuck in through the cavern entrance, bathing them both in its glow. A ring of fireflies danced around them.

And a disembodied voice, somewhere among the winds, percussion, and strings of nature, began to sing:

Yes, you want her. Look at her, you know you do. Possible she want you, too, there is one way to ask her. It don't take a word, not a single word, go on and kiss the girl! Sha la la la la la, my oh my, look like the boy too shy, ain't gonna kiss the girl. Sha la la la la la, ain't that sad, ain't it a shame, too bad, he gonna miss the girl. Do what the music say, go on and kiss the girl. Go on and kiss the girl, you gotta kiss the girl, go on and kiss the girl…

The music seemed to soften and the world seemed to disappear as the Doctor leaned downward. Sarah Jane closed her eyes and tilted her head upward. Their lips met and time stopped.

Go on and kiss the girl.

Her lips parted to allow his tongue to enter. His arms wrapped around her waist and she placed hers around his neck to steady herself. All those words she had meant to say came spilling out in the kiss. To Sarah’s utter surprised, those sentiments were returned.

Clothes melted away as a new dance started. The Doctor gently lowered Sarah to the floor. She looked up at him as he knelt above her, looking for a sign. Sarah Jane nodded. Their lips met again. Limbs tangled and hearts beat loudly, all three. Sweat mixed and the music gave way to a different melody. Pants and groans and whispers of need.

And when he entered her, she finally admitted aloud that she loved him. The Doctor smiled and buried his head in her neck as they continued their dance. They continued until neither was left wanting, until both were spent.

He took her into his arms after, wrapping his shirt messily around them both. She settled her head against his chest and hummed contently. There would be no need to return to the TARDIS tonight. There would be no need for any more words tonight, either. Just blissful sleep. And the promise of a new day, started together rather than apart.

From the sidelines, on his perch atop the head of a very annoyed wolf, Puck clapped and laughed with high-pitched glee. The golden pollen worked every time. “He kissed the girl!”

[ooc: [livejournal.com profile] merlin_doctor and Sawyer borrowed with permission of mun. song lyrics in italics from Broadway’s “The Little Mermaid.”]
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: (writing)
105. TEN things you would leave to your loved ones (and who they are) when you die.

1. [Milliways] To my dearest James, I would leave all my possessions to do with as you please. I would hope more than anything that you would keep my wedding band and engagement ring to remember what we once had. However, I am praying that my life with you will be just as it is in the movies: long lives for the both of us, seeing Valerie grow and find a family of her own, and that happy ending we both deserve.

2. [Milliways] To Valerie, my darling daughter, I don’t care how old you are when I pass, but more than anything I want you to have the stuffed owl my father gave me. It’s one of my most treasured possessions, aside from you and your daddy, of course. I’d also want you to have my TARDIS key and remember that not everything you read in a fictional novel is, indeed, fictional.

3. [Milliways] Sam: my death was not James’ fault so don’t you dare go blaming him for it. If Valerie ever comes into bar, I’m trusting you to look after her. In fact, I’ll leave you my camera as a sign of good will. Use it well, eh?

4. [Canon] Doctor, take care of K-9, will you? He’s been an amazing friend all these years. Thank you for leaving him to me. Also, make sure Mr Smith doesn’t cause any havoc please.

5. [Canon] My aunt passed on to me her home and I want to pass it on to you, Luke. I never thought I would have a son, let alone one as brilliant as you have been. I know you will take care of all those daft alien gadgets I have lying around. You’ll always make me proud.

6. [Canon] Maria: I want you to take the alien communicator the Starpoet gave me. I hope it’ll aid you in your own adventures some day.

7. [Canon] I guess I didn’t make it, did I Harry? Tell my aunt that I was working as a journalistic correspondent for UNIT and died well. If I can trust anyone to do that job, it’s you. The Doctor’ll probably just leave my body where it is. I never pictured him for the sentimental type. See that my belongings in my South Croydon flat are taking care of? And keep the typewriter for yourself. It’s an antique, but still works quite well. She’s always served me well, at least.

8. [Twood Hub, future] Ewan, leman, I know you’ll outlive me. I know that you will find new loves after me. But I do hope that you won’t ever forget me. There are so many things I could leave you – most of my belongings as you (and our children) are the closest I have to family here. I would, however, specifically leave to you keep that necklace you gave me after the twins were conceived.

9. [Twood Hub] Gethin Jones, if my death is any way connected to you, I’m coming back and haunting you. That aside, you see, you’ve become one of my best mates here in Torchwood. So I want you to have that strange looking burnt golden plant sitting on my desk. It’s from Delta Upsilon Nine. I tried to leave it with the Doctor, but he insisted he was better off alone. Talk to it; you’ll be surprised.

10. [Twood Hub] You took me in when I had been left behind, gave me a new career that eventually led me back to the one I adore, and introduced me to the man I love. I don’t know how to ever repay you, Jack, for everything that you’ve done. It’s been some life working for you. Thank you. In my flat, I have a thickly bound first edition copy of the Sherlock Holmes adventures. We went back to visit Arthur years after our first encounter and he presented it to me as a thank you for the inspiration. Enjoy, will you?
his_sarah_jane: (his girl friday)
2. Mun (sort of): Muse, introduce your mun. Anyone can ask questions about your mun, as long as it's all in character.

Environmentally Minded Grad Student Faces Frustration Over Ticket Booking for Transportation to Cardiff
By: Sarah Jane Smith

An incoming second year Masters student at the Duke University’s Nicholas School of the Environment discovered that travelling by train is much easier when in the possession of a Britrail or Eurail pass today, Sunday June 1, 2008. Jenny, an American-European hybrid, has spent the last week travelling about the Netherlands with her parents and younger brother, who she claims isn’t necessarily all that easy to get along with. When making plans to visit a friend in Cardiff accompanied by her mother who would “possibly kill me if I accidentally (and miraculously) ran in to John Barrowman without her,” she found that trains are far more expensive when travelling without a pass.

“It was easy,” she explained. “Last year all I had to do was write in the day and hop on the train. Now? There are prices. And crazy expensive ones at that. Seventy-one pounds for a round trip for two? Riiight – way too much money.”

An alternative is currently being investigated: a round trip coach ticket in place, which is little more than half the cost of train fair. Yet, as the intrepid traveler resides in Amsterdam for the next twelve hours from the tri and is unable to get to Victoria Station to purchase said tickets, all may not bode well yet! Websites, specifically that of the National Express coach service, have been reported not to work when investigating purchasing options.

She does, however remain optimistic that this cause will not be lost. At the very least, Jenny (of no relation to the Doctor’s daughter, despite the creation of [livejournal.com profile] jen_anomaly) has every intention to put forth as much money as necessary so that she alone can visit Wales’ capital.

“It would be lovely to have Mom come, too. But I really want to see my friend. And more to that? I want to see that Torchwood door entrance I missed last year. Plus? Maybe I’ll finally do that statistics work I’ve been needing to do if I’m stuck on a bus or train for hours.”
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah - really frowny)
005.What is the best prank you ever pulled on someone or someone played on you?

Sarah Jane could hear explosions coming from downstairs. While explosions were not all that much of a strange occurrence within the house on Bannerman Road, the location was. Typically, she confined such activity to her attic. Luke and Clyde knew better than to try and muck up her living space. After all, the two boys learned the hard way – when a bottle of Racksonian goop somehow found its way all across her Persian rug.

Explosions radiating from downstairs had henceforth become a dangerous phenomenon for all involved.

With a frown, Sarah Jane pushed aside her laptop. The article for the Sunday Times could be put on hold for the time being. Aside from explosions and Clyde’s occasional whoop of joy, it seemed almost too quiet down there. Sometimes Sarah ridiculed when she got like this, playing the part of the nervous mum rather than the more competent woman she believes herself to be. And other times – well, apparently that sixth sense of trouble sharpened the longer you had children.

“I’m coming down,” she shouted when she reached the stairwell. Given the turn of the staircase between the first floor and ground, Sarah couldn’t quite see what was going on yet. But oh, she could warn them. “And if there’s any bit of slime on my floor again, Clyde, I’ll make sure to cancel that upcoming holiday to Cardiff. I’ll just take Maria instead.”

“’s alright, Sarah Jane! Absolutely no slime about. Right Luke?”


For whatever reason, she doubted that the return exchange actually made her feel any better. There was something going on down there. Sarah Jane didn’t waste a moment more. She sighed and hurried down the steps, crossed the living room when unable to spot any teenage boys, and found herself in the telly room.

It was inside this room that she found Luke and Clyde, the latter’s eyes glued to the television while the former kept looking back and forth between the screen and his friend. Luke seemed confused (a typically normal state for the four month old thirteen year old boy) and sounded out a steady stream of questions from the small look of annoyance on the other’s face.

“What’s that again?”

“It’s the GACTIC, remember? Generations and comparative times in cosmos?”

Oddly enough, the GACTIC that Clyde was referring to on the screen reminded Sarah Jane of another acronym. Rather than a little blue police box, though, the object - well, space ship Sarah assumed – was a little red phone booth, roughly the same size and the same and shape as her Doctor’s precious TARDIS. She watched as two characters circled about it: one a rather petite dirty blonde woman clutching the camera hung around her neck and the other a rather average looking bloke wearing a white lab coat and stethoscope. Her lips pursed into a frown as Luke and Clyde fell quiet, allowing her to more than easily hear the dialogue.

The woman pouted, giving the man a frustrated look. Whatever he had said while the boys were talking had annoyed her. She ran a hand through her blonde hair and the camera zoomed in so Sarah could easily see a pair of clever brown eyes. Then, it panned out again to allow the viewer to see the telephone booth and two individuals.

“I don’t understand why you keep having to circle about the GACTIC every time we step out, Edmund. Doctor What has taken you on more than enough trips by now, hasn’t he?” She tapped a foot, arms crossed around her chest and tangling with the white scarf tie she wore around a silly looking sailor blouse.

A rather familiar looking sailor blouse, come to think of it.

Edmund gestured back to the booth. He was dark skinned with curly brown hair and a demeanor that reminded Sarah Jane very much of either Harry Sullivan or Mickey Smith. “Because! It’s far bigger on the inside, Susie Ann. And I’m afraid that, no matter how many times Doctor What takes us inside, I’ll never understand the complexities of—“

He never had a chance to finish the sentence, though. A flash of bright light whitened the telly screen for a second and explosions started up again. Laser shots and sounds (of highly inaccurate look and noise, if you asked Sarah Jane) ricocheted across the grassy expanse the GACTIC now appeared to be parked on. Golden, robotic looking men stepped in to view – they were the individuals responsible for the sudden mayhem. Their voices sounded metallic (“Stop or you will be exterminated.”) and they had daft looking antennas sticking from where the ears would otherwise be.

Susie Ann gasped. “Autotrons!”

“Duck,” Edmund shouted, reaching in to his pocket for something. Wide eyed and panicked, and with poor, poor acting, he shook his head. Susie’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I’ve lost it! Goodness, I’ve lost the GACTIC key.”

“See? I told you that I should have held on to it. Can’t have a man do a woman’s job, as I always—“ Edmund reached for Susie Ann’s hand, pulling her to the ground when another volley of laser beams flew in their direction. She had been too busy preaching to bother with the danger at hand. Sarah Jane watched as Susie growled at him, her camera on the ground, cracked and broken.

But that wasn’t the worse of it. As Edmund and Susie Ann attempted to crawl behind the telephone booth for cover, another man came running in to the scene. He had wild, curly ginger hair and a horrendously brightly coloured scarf that left Sarah Jane in amazement. Like another man she once knew, his scarf was impossibly long and yet, he never tripped over it the entire run. Unlike that man though, the one on the screen was rather dashing, in a very geeky sort of way.

“Susie! Edmund!” The newcomer shouted as he pulled a pen out of his trench coat pocket. He aimed it in the direction of the golden Autotrons and it emitted a funny electronic beeping sound and bright green light. Suddenly, the Autotrons all dropped their weapons as not a single one appeared to work anymore.

The image on the screen switched over to the woman. She was beaming at the sound of the newcomer’s voice and stood, despite Edmund’s protests.

“Doctor,” she shouted back happily as she began the sprint over to him. “Oh, Doctor What! Of course you came! You always make it- ahhh!”

The piercing scream nearly gave Sarah Jane a headache. Yet, she continued to stare at the screen transfixed. Clyde leaned forward on the couch, elbows resting on knees and head resting on hands. Luke merely blinked a few times, but he remained just as engrossed as Susie dropped to the ground, clutching a bloody wound on her waist. A woman dressed in black smirked evilly in the corner of the screen, her presence unbeknownst to the other characters.

Doctor What fell to his knees besides the woman. He gently lifted the blonde head of hair on to his lap as he pushed part of his scarf on top of the injury to stop the bleeding. He was grief stricken as his brown eyes bore down on the women. He placed a light kiss to her forehead and brushed the fringe out of her eyes.

Then, he whirled his head about to glare at the man. “Edmund, you imbecile! You should have never let Susie Ann keep you out here. Well, what are you standing around for? You’re the doctor of medicine, are you not? Do something.”

“My kit is inside the GACTIS,” Edmund choked out. The panic on his face persisted, but unlike prior when it had been about the attack, it now clearly was about his friend’s life. “And I can’t find my key.”

Gravely, Doctor What aimed his sonic pen at the telephone booth door. After the return of the green light and beeps, the door swung opened. Edmund nodded, saluted, and dashed inside.

Susie blinked her eyes wearily, struggling for breath and wincing in pain when Doctor What pressed down harder on her wound. Sticky red liquid began to leak between his fingers. He frowned but never cried as he stared down at her. “My Susie Ann. Oh, I never should have let you come to Syxros with me.”

“Do… don’t blame yourself,” she replied in a small voice. Tears rolled down her face and she attempted a weak smile when he brushed them away. “Would’ve… pact with… alien robots. Would’ve made a… made a great story. And...” Susie Ann choked on her breath and gasped. “I love you, Doctor.”

Her eyes closed and she fell limp in his arms. Doctor What pulled her up in his arms and hunched over to rest his forehead against hers as he hugged her tightly. Anger was the only emotion readable on his face as he whispered back, “I love you, too, my Susie Ann.”

The screen went black.

“Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant,” Clyde shouted excitedly, throwing the telly remote on the couch as he jumped up in jubilation. He turned to beam at Luke. “Wicked, wasn’t it? I can’t wait until next week. The Mistress sure is going to get it, isn’t she?”

Luke blinked. “Get what?”

Revenge! You know Susie Ann will live, but even so, Doctor What isn’t going to stand for this at all.” It was about at this point where he remembered that Sarah Jane was in the room, still leaning against the door frame and staring at the telly screen as if she had just seem some ghost. Clyde blinked, but otherwise remained unphased. “Totally wicked, wasn’t it, Sarah Jane? It doesn’t beat any of our adventures – of course - but there’s definitely a reason why Doctor What is currently BBC’s highest rated program.”

Sarah Jane shook her head. Now that the television was actually off, she had a moment to think. Well, mostly a moment as it was rather difficult to contemplate what the bloody hell it was that she had just witnessed while Clyde babbled away. Doctor. Susie Ann. A flipping journalist travelling in a telephone booth with a sonic pen wielding man.

Oh. This had to be some sort of alien conspiracy. Absolutely no other way to explain it existed at all. At all. She shook her head and took a deep breath before her eyes narrowed on Clyde.

“What,” she said slowly and sternly, “was that?”

Doctor What,” Luke interrupted with a small smile on his face. “Clyde says it’s what everyone is watching these days and that it would be a social miscalculation if I didn’t watch it. We’re at the end of season three-“

Series, Luke,” Clyde corrected with a roll of his eyes. “It’s a series, not a season.”

“But Do-“

“Oi, trust me on this one, will you?” Luke shrugged and Clyde grinned, giving Sarah a look that very much meant there had been far more many mistakes uttered by her son today. “He got the rest of it right, though. Pilot was originally lost in a fire, but they replaced the kilt wearing companion with a plucky journalist babe and ever since, the new series has been a complete and utter hit! Even when Michael Owen left – that’s the original Doctor What – over type-casting shi- I mean barmy, it’s still wicked good.”

“Maria says that this new Doctor, Peter Williamson, is gorgeous. I don’t understand that.”

Girls,” Clyde echoed in agreement after a mock suffering sigh that got Luke grinning a little. “At least Sarah Jane here is too cool for something like that. Told you there was no slime about.”

Or, thought Sarah Jane, there was no slime of the non-metaphorical type about. She placed a hand to her head and collapsed on the couch Luke was sitting upon. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying for the longest of seconds to forget everything she had just observed. It was too late. The images were burned in her retinas, awful reminders of a life she had left behind.

“It really is good, Mum,” Luke chimed in a moment later. His voice was quiet and earnest. “I like Susie Ann Jones the best. She reminds me of you.”

“Except when she and Doctor What guest starred on Blazetimber and that whole bit with the scarf bondage an’-“

What?” Sarah Jane’s eyes were wide and furious. She sat straight up on the couch and stared at
Clyde with an expression of complete disbelief. “What scarf bondage?”

“Eh, don’t tell my folks, okay?” Apparently, a post-watershed show was completely proper to inform Sarah Jane about, though. The mumsy part of her wanted to be responsible. The absolutely outraged and shocked part, however, won out. Sarah nodded and Clyde continued. “Blazetimber’s a spinoff show they started last year, see, with Major Marc Birdie, that’s a lot like CSI with way more shagging. Susie Ann got infected with an alien parasite with a craving for orgasmic energy and seduced Doctor What and Major Marc. So…”

From the corner of her eye, Sarah Jane noticed Luke shift uncomfortably. Apparently Clyde had been busy filling Luke in about girls and relationships without her knowing again. Either way, she doubted that she could handle any more information. There were far too many coincidences cropping up for Sarah to feel comfortable. Perhaps, so far, the only misconception she couldn’t place was all this talk of sex and love.

“Please. Please stop, Clyde. I’ve heard just about enough.” Sarah stood from the couch, straightening her skirt as she did. This whole thing sounded ridiculously like an absolutely horrible prank. But she couldn’t think of anyone who would play such a joke. Clearly, a few more facts were needed. “Three series, you said?”

Clyde nodded, looking mildly perplexed at the sudden renewed interested.

“And, tell me, is there anything like UNIT in the show?”

“Now that you mentioned it, there is a Brigadier with a mustache that winds up being this alien organism and a crew of military men always mucking things up in their red berets. Suppose that is kind of like UNIT, isn’t it?”

So, so unfortunately so.

Without any more questions, Sarah Jane thanked both boys, asked them to keep the volume down during the next episode, and left. Perhaps she ought to question Mr Smith for information, but right now, Sarah needed to sit. More than that, she needed fresh air and a break from any sort of electronic device that wouldn’t let her contact Alastair. This was far worse than any Dalek, Slytheen, or sontaran she had ever faced.

This was an absolute ridiculous parody of her very own life broadcasted for the entire bloody world to see! The joke was far from amusing.


It didn’t take long for her to dial the number on her mobile, nor for him to pick up at home. After exchanging pleasantries, it also didn’t take long for Sarah to obtain the information she wanted. She never had been one to beat around the bush, after all.

But as she had learned before, sometimes the answers you looked for were not the answers you desired.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me! To convince the public how ridiculous it is that there is possibly no way for an alien to go about in a blue box and rescue the planet? This was Torchwood’s idea, wasn’t it?” Sarah sighed. “Have you ever even watched the show, Alastair? It’s absolutely horrible. Oh, I see how it can help, but still…

“My son’s friend is trying to talk him into watching. Yes, I’d like to think they’d both know better. And I will tell Luke that you send your love. Really, there’s nothing you can do? Certain of that?”

He was, much to Sarah Jane’s disappointment. Her pacing was starting to wear on her nerves, so finally, she took a seat on the patio swing. She craned her head upward to stare up at the twilight sky, watching as the first stars started to make their presence known. There was absolutely nothing that could be done except hoping that this fad would pass soon. However accidental, Doctor What remained an absolutely horrible prank in her opinion. She didn’t deserve to have her life plastered on the telly.

None of them did.

And yet, she supposed as a shooting star passed over the horizon, it could be far worse. At least the Doctor would never have any inkling of this atrocity.

Maybe he had been right about those ‘daft human television programs’ after all: nothing but rubbish.

[ooc: Again, credit goes where credit is due. The idea of Doctor What is not mine but [livejournal.com profile] telyn_timber’s. But because she is awesome and doesn’t want to write this up herself, I’m doing it for her. Think of it as a graduation gift or part of belated birthday gift (that I will get you some day) or something of that. ♥]
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: (pensive)
Five times you said yes and meant no.

It’s cold outside. That’s the first thing the four year old girl notices when she steps outside of the small Liverpool house. It’s cold for the month of May and she blames it entirely on the business trip her parents are going to have to make. Her birthday is next week. She’ll be five and grown up. Her daddy seems so proud. He promises to bring her back a surprise. Her mother laughs when she overhears the conversation:

“It’ll be brilliant, my little Sarah Jane,” Nigel Smith says, ruffling the girl’s hair. “You’ll absolutely adore it. But the only way you’ll be getting this surprise is if you promise to be a good girl for your aunt Lavinia.”

“I will!” Sarah smiles a gap toothed smile, attempting to look as innocent as possible. Her answer to her father is a yes. But both her parents know that it isn’t the truth. She’s too curious, too mischievous, too anything to be the proper good girl her father wants. Still, she says yes, even when she means no.

“Wonderful.” He smiles, wrapping an arm around Alice’s waist. “We’ll be back soon, alright, darling?”

That cold May day, the Smith parents and daughter exchange truths and lies in their farewells. Neither are ever meant to be kept.

She wakes up with a gasp. The room is dark and her breath is heavy. She pushes her fringe out from her eyes and takes another gasp. Blankets fall around her body. It had been that dream again, more memory than fantasy: saying goodbye to her parents as a child, her aunt telling her how they had died. Sarah Jane is twenty now, but fifteen years later and the memory of that day still haunts her.

The body next to hers stirs. She rubs her eyes, trying to act as if nothing is amiss. Andrew will never understand, not in a million years. His life is perfect. He expects hers to have been just as much: the perfect journalist and the perfect girlfriend, now the perfect fiancée. They’ve been sharing the flat in Nottingham since the end of her second year at university. He’s a light sleeper. She despises that.

“Sarah, love?”

A light sleeper and clearly awake now. Sarah sighs, sinking down into the sheets and trying to pretend that she’s still asleep. The trick doesn’t work; brown eyes bear down on her very soul.

“Was it another bad dream?”

She shakes her head. Andrew looks at her doubtfully.

“Is everything okay?”

“Oh, of course it is, Andrew.” This lie is starting to come so easily now. Everything is always all right around him. Nothing can ever be out of place. “Just a bit of a fright, that’s all.”

To make up for her failed engagement, Sarah Jane finds herself diving deep into her burgeoning career. It’s easy enough to do and soon enough, she’s relocated to South Croydon and started a promising job with Metropolitan paper. The prospects are exciting. She’s assigned a column – her very own column to do whatever she wants with. All of this is almost enough to make her forget about Andrew and forget about the way he compromised her values and forced her to finally say no, not everything is all right after all.

Then she makes a mistake. It’s a simple enough mistake. Dinner at the local pub further down on Hillview Road has been a normal occurrence while she’s still busy moving in to her new flat. What isn’t normal is the man that starts to talk to her from a nearby table. Gary Noble: a nice enough bloke and far from plain looking. She finds herself laughing again and even smiling. The meal passes quickly.

“It’s a nice night out,” Gary states as they stroll down the lane towards her flat. Their hands occasionally brush as they walk closely together. Originally, she had protested his offer to walk home. Now, she’s happy that she didn’t refuse. “The stars seem to be twinkling ahead. It’s lovely, and the company even lovelier.”

“Exaggerations won’t get you everywhere,” she retorts playfully. Sarah Jane’s eyes twinkle. Harmless flirtation – this she can handle. She comes to a stop in front of a door and smiles up at him. Their walk is over. From the way he looks her over, he knows that too.

Gary smiles and cups her cheek gently. “Will it get me an invitation up to your flat for a cuppa?”

Instantly, the scenario plays out in Sarah’s head. It wouldn’t be just a cuppa. It’s too soon to start anything. Her heart is still on the mend. But oh, he seems so very charming and he’s so very gorgeous and it could be… oh, well, couldn’t it just be a one night sort of thing? A fling, a shag, no complications in the morning.


No. No, no, no. She can’t handle another man this soon.

“It certainly will.”

“I'm not listening.”

Alien monsters, robber barons, a bloody invasion of London by dinosaurs. She had stumbled in over her head when investigating the disappearance of those scientists, disguising herself as her aunt in order to scoop those other curious reporters. Her previously simple world has been turned upside down. The stars in the night sky don’t look the same again. Even a simple passerbyer on the city sidewalk deserves a second glance.

And it’s all because she snuck in to that TARDIS of his when she wasn’t supposed to. Breaking the rules, it appears, has consequences after all. Sarah Jane absolutely refuses to do anything more of the sort. She wants her life to return to that mostly peaceful thing it was. No more aliens for her, thank you all the same.

“...and its seas are as warm milk and the sands as soft as swan's down,” the Doctor continues, leaning closer to her as he talks. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and his face is littered with happy wrinkles
“No, Doctor,” Sarah insists. Hands move from chest to ears, absolutely refusing to listen to this. Her mind has been made up. He isn’t going to win. She’s determined. There will be absolutely no more adventures for Sarah Jane Smith this point out. She wants a normal life, complete with an absolute guarantee that she won’t ever nearly escape death again.

“And the streams flow with water that are clearer than the clearest crystal...”

Sarah Jane shakes her head. Somehow, in some way, it does the trick. The Doctor sighs and takes a step back from her. He frowns, placing a hand to his chin. Then he shakes his own head. Disappointment flashes across his features.

“You’ll never find a beach like this on Earth. Now, Sarah Jane, you really don’t want a normal, humdrum life, do you?”

“Yes. Yes, Doctor, I very much do.”

No. No she doesn’t. She doesn’t want this life. She doesn’t want to be here on Earth. Humdrum, dull lives are for other people. They aren’t for people like her. People like her know death at an early age. It has to be their constant companion in some form or another. Excitement, adventure, pain and joy: all of it. She craves all of it in her life. Love and bliss and domesticity are for other people. Sarah Jane could have had that once.

Up until this point, she has been more than happy she said no.

It is a yes she never intended to say. She never intended to go home. She never intended to leave. All of it, every complaint and every scolding and every pout, all of it had been a rouse. All Sarah had wanted was his attention.

Tears in her eyes, she’s ready to run back to the TARDIS. He couldn’t have gone off yet. It’s too soon. He ought to be watching her leave, that forlorn alien look in his eyes. Sarah stops dead in her tracks. Her breath catches in her throat and she can’t take it anymore. Slowly she turns and starts to dash back. However will he get along without her? That sonic screwdriver is only good for so much, after all.

It’s not there.

He’s not there.

He’s not there.

Her goodies drop to the ground as Sarah chokes back a sob.

He’s gone.

All because she had said yes, she'll take her leave of him for now, when it very clearly had been a no.


his_sarah_jane: (Default)
Sarah Jane Smith

April 2011

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