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: (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 ten)
3 am

Three a.m. meant a lot of things at Torchwood House. Three a.m. meant ghostly hauntings. Three a.m. meant late night feelings. Three a.m. meant that now was just a good a time as any for a shag. Three a.m. meant conference calls to California’s UNIT base, or the burgeoning Torchwood base in Australia. Three a.m. meant a lot of things.

And now, apparently, it also meant visits from the Doctor.

“So which one’s this then?” he asked as he joyfully strolled across the nursery towards Sarah Jane and the rocking chair. “Not a twin, cause last time I checked, they’d be a little too big. Owen? Alice?”

She shook her head as she looked from him to the TARDIS, now standing in a corner of the room. Her children slept through the strangest things, she knew. Alice was still asleep. And her two week old newborn, Mirren, was far too interested in her early morning feeding. At age thirty-eight, she still looked youthful enough to pass for younger. Keeping up with her alien lover and five children certainly helped with that, not to mention her freelance journalism career and her work with Torchwood. But the Doctor hadn’t aged a day since the last time they had met.

Since she had met the Doctor, there had never been a dull moment in Sarah’s life. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Mirren,” Sarah answered softly. Unlike her brothers and sisters, this child had blonde curls like her father. Right now, though, she was nursing away as hungry as any other of the Smith-Harrow children had been. “Mirrenanhar'roh, after her grandmother.”

The Doctor tilted his head, smiling softly. She couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind right now. His brown eyes were distant, probably filled with forgotten memories and some sort of longing she didn’t understand. For a brief moment, Sarah thought he may have been angry with her. She knew he hadn’t been all that happy when she told him that she was staying in Cardiff and not going back to 1980. By then, she had been stranded for two years. Friendships and relationships had been formed that she couldn’t stand to part with.

But since that day, he had long forgiven her. There had been visits – more visits, she realized, than she had had with her friends in Cardiff.

“And where’s Rose?” The silence needed to be broken before it drove her mad. “Didn’t lock her in the TARDIS, did you?”

“Nah,” the Doctor replied, snapping himself out of whatever daze he had been in. “Left her in Cardiff. Demanded a visit with Jack and Bron and who was I to deny her?

“She doesn’t look like you.”

Sarah Jane snorted. Mirren took that opportunity to yawn and move her head away from her mummy’s breast. The momentary exposure caused both friends to flush in embarrassment. The Doctor turned around before Sarah even had to order him to do so. She pulled her nightgown back up and stood, bouncing her daughter in her arms.

“She is mine, surprisingly enough,” Sarah whispered. She adjusted Mirren in her arms so the Doctor could better see her. “Owen’s just about had it playing midwife, as he calls it. And I’m getting old. It’s three a.m. and I’m absolutely exhausted. Didn’t used to be like that, you know.”

He held out a tentative and curious finger in front of the baby’s face, a small frown appearing when Mirren just blinked sleepily at him. Then, his face brightened and he shook his head quickly. “Oi, don’t say that, Sarah Jane. Look at you, living a life you’d never dream of. Mother of five extraordinary children, still writing, workin’ with Torchwood? Any other woman’d look near fifty now. ‘stead you don’t look a day over thirty”

“Doctor,” she interrupted with laughter. “I don’t look that young.”

“Coulda fooled me.” It was said with full sincerity. He glanced over at the clock on the wall and grinned. “How ‘bout it then? You put this little one to bed, write a note to that alien prince of yours, and the two of us go share a cuppa in nineteenth century Paris. I promise to have you home before dawn, Sarah Jane Smith.”

It sounded so lovely. Sarah Jane hadn’t been inside the TARDIS in so long, let alone on a trip through time. She smiled at the prospect. Paris, in the nineteenth century – they had never gone there before, had they?

She was ready to nod. Ready to put Mirren in bed and write that note. Running away with the Doctor, if just for a few hours, oh, the prospect was lovely. As she took a couple of steps towards the cot, the Lady passed through the room and smiled down at sleeping Alice. Suddenly, Sarah remembered where she was. It was 3 a.m., she was in her nightgown that was still damp from breast feeding her newborn. She was home, and had a sleeping lover in the next room waiting for her to come back to bed. Thirty-eight and a mum five times over. She wasn’t that young girl that could go running off with him anymore.

So she shook her head. It broke her heart to say no. In the shadowy room, she could watch his face go from brilliantly happy to lonely and morose within seconds. She was Wendy, all grown up, and he was Peter, still always a boy at heart.

“I can’t, Doctor.”

And five seconds later, that manic grin returned.

“Cuppa tea with the ghosts, then.”

“That,” Sarah answered slowly, “I can do.”

[ooc: based on possible future scenario in [livejournal.com profile] twood_hub]
his_sarah_jane: (excuse me?)

Chasing Weevils was quickly becoming Sarah Jane’s least favourite duty as a member of Torchwood Cardiff. It wasn’t the danger that bothered her, or the work out she usually inadvertently obtained in running through the city streets. It was the result of the chase that bothered her most: bringing yet another stray Weevil back to the Hub, to lock it up with the rest, confined and trapped for the rest of its lifespan. She knew it was better than alternative. But it didn’t stop the bother any less.

Two hours earlier, Toshiko had intercepted a series of communications between a pair of coppers. As it turned out, a woman had been mauled right outside of Duke Street Arcade. Witnesses, specifically a couple of American teenagers there on holiday, had described the assailant as “some sort of freak that escaped from the circus” headed off towards Bute Park.

By now, it was closer to night than dusk. Two hours of fruitless searching were beginning to wear on her. Every new joke cracked by Owen, every newbie related comment, was beginning to grate on her last nerve. The Weevil seemed to have very well vanished into the night. Walking about with a torch in one hand and Weevil spray in other (Sarah Jane absolutely refused to fire at it unless given no other choice), she was starting to feel rather ridiculous.

“Here, Weevil, Weevil, Weevil,” Owen cooed into the night, earning yet another eye roll from Sarah. It was no wonder they had been receiving stares lately. “That’s a good Weevil. Come play with me and the newbie, won’t you?”

Oh! For the last time!

“Owen Harper,” Sarah interrupted in a shrill and angry voice, stopping dead in her tracks and whirling around to face him. The torch in her hand shone light into his eyes. Owen scowled, but Sarah ignored it. “You’re not taking this seriously at all! This poor, frightened Weevil is out there, somewhere-“

“And now I know you’re bloody mad. Listen’ to me, sweetcheeks. I know this is only your fourth Weevil run, but these things ain’t anything to pity. They’d rather take a bite out of you than talk sense.”

In the pale moonlight, Sarah could see his eyes look her body up and down. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. He knew better than to call her anything but her proper name by now and within the last few minutes, not only had he called her ‘newbie,’ but ‘sweetcheeks’ as well! It was getting late. She was positively exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home to her flat and ring Ewan. Instead, she was stuck in Brote Park on the coldest night of the summer with someone who had once again become her least favourite individual in Torchwood.

“Actually,” he decided a moment later, smug smirk on his face. “I reckon they have the right idea.”

It took a moment for Sarah Jane to comprehend the words. Her mouth fell open and her brown eyes widened as he arms dropped back to her side. “I… oh, I can’t believe you! I’m not mad, you see. I’m absolutely furious with you!”

Owen held his hands out in defense, taking a step backwards. He sighed, shaking his head. “Jeez, lighten’ up, will you? Thought we’d gotten over this whole ‘massively hating’ thing.”

“We did,” she answered sternly. Despite her rather lame assurance that she didn’t despise him, her eyes were still narrowed and her posture still screamed anger. “But it certainly doesn’t change the fact that you’re still very much an insufferable arse!”

He winked, smug grin returning. “Admit it – you fancy that arse, don’t you? Now that the Professor’s gone, you can’t wait to see what I’m capable of. Admit it, Smith.”

“Oh! You-”

Once again, Sarah Jane found herself interrupted. This time, however, it wasn’t with words. Before she had a chance to react, Owen pummeled her to the ground. The two landed with a loud thud on the damp grass, her knee accidentally connecting with his hip and his elbow narrowly missing her shoulder. Her back instantly hurt and she groaned. Her eyes met his: he was above her, staring down at her with lips parted. Sarah’s own mouth opened. Before she had a chance to tell Owen off, though, she heard and felt the reason for the sudden tackle.

The attacking Weevil roared as it tripped over their bodies. It ungracefully crashed into a tree as it attempted to catch its balance. Stunned, Owen used the opportunity to reach for Sarah’s sidearm and fire a few rounds into the alien. It roared again.

“C’mon you ugly beast,” Owen muttered as he finally crawled off of Sarah, grabbing the anti-Weevil spray as he did. Bindings dangled in his other hand. “Janet’s been wanting company.”

Sarah Jane watched as Owen ambushed the alien, giving it a good blast of the spray before locking its wrists together. An ache echoed through her mid back as she tried to stand. She winced. And winced again when she realized how helpless she currently felt. Owen had stolen her weapon and was making pretty quick work off the Weevil. And here she was, the bloody newbie, suffering from a bruised back.

Less than five minutes later, the Weevil had been sufficiently bounded and sedated enough to tote back to the vehicle. Sarah called into the Hub, trying to keep the pain out of her voice when she told Toshiko that the situation had been handled. That done, she put up a weak smile. She didn’t want Owen to know he had accidentally injured her, more so for her sake than his.

He saw through her façade instantly. “Might want me to take a look at that when we get back to the Hub. Didn’t mean to, but I could’ve been the cause of a couple bruised ribs. The fall was-”

“Anything but graceful,” Sarah said softly, trying not to laugh. “It would have been far worse if your elbow had actually gotten in the way.”

Owen ran a hand through his hair, shrugging. “Yeah, well… ain’t mad, are you?”

Her smile broadened a little more and she moved closer, careful to circumvent the Weevil. She looked up at him curiously: his face was scratched and there was certainly some grass in his hair. Sarah Jane could only imagine the sort of state she must be in right about now. A breeze ruffled the leaves and Sarah shivered. Surprisingly, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

“No,” Sarah finally decided before standing on her toes to place a light kiss on the corner of his lips. “Not mad. Grateful.

[ooc: based upon [livejournal.com profile] twood_hub]
his_sarah_jane: (hmmph)
Sleeping on the couch.

She had stormed out of the bedroom that night, angry and in tears. Behind her, she could hear protests: words of anger followed by words of reconciliation followed by more words of anger. She had ignored them all. Absolutely furious, Sarah Jane Bond was. She had slammed the door behind her, loud enough to shake some of the books on a nearby shelf. Loud enough, also, to wake the sleeping five month old downstairs. Valerie’s cries had pierced Sarah’s heart. But as angry as she was, she couldn’t be bothered. James could deal with her. After all, Valerie was just as much his daughter as she was Sarah’s.

Tears had continued to blur her vision as she grabbed a blanket from a cupboard. She wiped at them feverishly as she stumbled down the stairs. Sarah couldn’t bring herself to sleep next to him that night. A part of her had wondered if she could ever bring herself to sleep next to him again. A man who accused her of such… of such things. A year: was that all this marriage had to it?

Upstairs, the baby still cried. She could hear two doors slam in short succession. Soon after, the crying stopped. For Valerie, anyway.

In the parlor by the front door to the townhouse, Sarah Jane made her bed on the couch. She pushed one of the day pillows against an arm. Then she collapsed on top of it, wrapping the blanket around her. As she stared at the quiet fireplace, her tears continued. The row hadn’t been their first. No, that very first one had been when they were only friends. Their second, or their first as a couple, had come a couple of months into their marriage. The pregnancy had stressed and stretched them much further than she thought.

Valerie had reconciled that one. Her birth had been a healing balm for the Smith-Bond family. Now, Sarah caught herself wondering if it was just the eye in the storm.

He had been in Milliways earlier. Somehow, someway, he had found out about a certain kiss that had occurred during the pub’s winter holiday season. It had been under the mistletoe. She was nearly nine months pregnant. His doppelganger, another James Bond from another universe, had been hard to resist. In the end, they had remained friends. Sarah Jane loved her husband far too much.

But said husband wouldn’t listen to her. She told him again and again that it meant nothing. That she had been angry with him at the time (he hadn’t been around, moving out to a hotel and spending his days avoiding her until their next row, which had nearly became violent). It had been before the slow healing process. It was a bloody, fucking kiss under the mistletoe.

And he was fucking jealous of something that meant nothing. Sarah Jane didn’t even know if she would ever see that James again. He had left to go back to his own world. Perhaps that was what allowed her husband entry to the pub again. Maybe all this was a big mistake.

She gave up her world for him.

She gave up the Doctor for him.

Anger still ate at her as she curled her knees to her chest and finally closed her eyes. The tears stained her cheeks as she began to drift off. The sleep was unpleasant, the couch only designed for short naps or lounging. Every now and then, she thought she had been awoken by Valerie’s shouts or a door closing.

When she awoke in the morning, Sarah Jane knew she could never sleep on that couch again. She’d bloody well move out first. That couch now held too many demons. All she wanted was to apologise. But Sarah knew herself to be too stubborn to actually do so. Instead, she found herself clutching the blanket tighter as she stared at the fireplace. Someone was awake. She could smell the freshly brewed tea from the kitchen. James wasn’t a huge fan. And, as it was weekend, there was no reason for May to be here.

At a loss, she did the only thing she could do. Sarah pulled herself from the bed, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as a cloak. The nightgown was warm enough but she needed the comfort. Quietly, she tiptoed down another flight of stairs to the kitchen.

He was awake, moving about the kitchen in his boxers. So was Valerie, happily sitting in her high chair and making a mess of her banana mush breakfast, more of it on her pajamas than in her mouth. The spoon in her grasp was flinging food everywhere. From her position, blending against the dining room wall, she could see bits fling on to James’ blond hair. He wiped a splatter from his cheek, leaving the kettle to attend to the girl. Carefully, he took the spoon from her and began feeding Valerie her breakfast.

It made Sarah smile despite how angry she still was at James. This was, she supposed, what a family was about. Regardless, she couldn’t find the will to move away from the wall. It was James who had the first word, fifteen minutes later. She could not tell how long he had noticed her standing there. When he had begun to approach, somehow balancing Valerie in one arm and a mug in the other hand, she found herself frozen to the spot. His blue eyes were indistinguishable.

She was more frightened than she had been for a while.

“We were going to wake you,” he spoke quietly, almost barely audible above Valerie’s happy squeals at seeing her mummy. “I’ve slept on that couch before. It isn’t a pleasant experience.”

“No,” Sarah Jane agreed, her face and emotions guarded. If this was just leading to another row… she didn’t know if she could handle that. “It isn’t.”

He held out the tea mug to her. It took her a beat to accept it, but she did. Sarah took a small sip and smiled again. Earl Grey, with just enough milk and sugar. After all this time of living together, he had finally gotten it right.

“Darling, I…” James ran a hand through his hair, frowning a little when coming across banana bits. He was just as lousy at apologies as she was. She knew that. “No more kissing men that aren’t me. Even if they are in some damned Milliways way – that doesn’t count, Sarah. Even if we weren’t…”

She could hear the hesitation in his voice. She could hear the underlying message and fear. What if she found an attractive, stable man that could offer her more of a life? What if she left him for that? All the what ifs that never got vocalized. But they were there, as much as those of her own. What if he grew bored of being a father and a husband? Then what?

It was a bloody ridiculous marriage they had found themselves in a year ago. Neither of them were ready, let alone with a child on the way.

Watching him awkwardly try to apologise, Sarah remembered just again how worth it this all was.

So she nodded and gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “No more kissing men if not work related. I understand, James.”

His expression turned from rueful and serious to perplexed within instants. Sarah raised an eyebrow and smiled impishly. “As I’m not exactly in the same line of career as you are, I doubt it’ll ever come up. Still, fair is fair.”

“Not in this case,” he answered, sweeping her into a one armed hug. Valerie reached for Sarah’s hair, eyes still alight with joy. “No,” James began before kissing her, “more,” kiss, “James’.”

“And no,” kiss, “more,” kiss, “couches,” Sarah Jane agreed, finally resting her forehead against his. “Not for years.”

[ooc: based on events in milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (sleeping)
Write about a lie your parents told you.

You remember it vividly. Despite all the thoughts and memories that rattle about in your head, this one always stands out. It’s a simple enough memory, and even if it ought to be as old and faded as a sepia folder, it remains strong. You don’t know whether you ought to despise it or treasure it. After all, it is the only real memory you have at them. But then, every time you remember, your heart gets stabbed with a knife all over again.

It’s worse than remembering the day he left you. And sometimes you wonder how anything could be worse than that.

Sometimes, you wake up breathing hard. You’ve been shot at, poisoned, and tortured. You’ve killed, you’ve had people die for you, and you’ve been unable to save someone else in time. You have all these memories that ought to haunt you. None of them ever do as this one does. Other nightmares never leave you waking with tears in your eyes. Other memories don’t cause you to shiver like this one does.

”It’ll only be a couple of days, darling.”

You roll over in your sleep, clutching the pillow tightly.

”Your mother deserves a break, don’t you think? And Aunt Lavinia is really looking forward to taking care of you for a while.”

The blankets start to fall as you kick them.

Arms wrap around her, tender and loving. A face nuzzles in her hair, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. She moves away, frustrated and sad.

You hug the pillow closer.

”Oh, don’t worry, my Sarah Jane. We’ll be back with plenty of time to spare for your birthday. It’s only a couple of days, not a couple of weeks.”

He smells like old cigars.

You can only remember that smell in your dreams. In your dreams, that smell reassures you. In reality, it makes the bile rise in the back of your throat.

”And we’ll throw an absolutely wonderful party! Your aunt will still be in town, after all. She promised not to head back to Ealing until after.”

As your eyes clench, a tear escapes.

He hands her a stuffed owl. It’s the best gift he ever gave her. She hugs it close, staring up at him.

“Take care of Owly. We’re counting on you.”

The years claimed Owly so long ago. It’s another stab at your heart.

”We’ll miss you every day, Sarah. But we’ll be back soon. I promise.”

The stabs are starting to come more quickly now. One tip of a knife slices into your heart. Then another, and another, and another. The tears come quickly too. You might be sobbing, but you’re still fast asleep.

”And you know your mother never lies, luv.”

But she does lie. She does and the memory of it hurts you so much. Your knees pull up to your chest. Your arms abandon the pillow to clutch around your legs. The fetal position brings little comfort. Nothing brings comforts on nights like this. You keep crying. But as the cries continue, you become closer and closer to waking up.

One night, he walked in on you crying like this. He didn’t understand at first, even as you explained the memory and the nightmare. He never had parents the way that you did. They were never taken from him the way yours had been taken from you. You wept in his arms as you told him the story. It had been so long since you spoke it aloud. But the pain is dulled by his arms.

Tonight there is no one to hold you. You cling to yourself and all those horrible memories of people leaving you. It starts with the first time. It’ll always be the hardest time.

Tonight, that lie is your only truth.
his_sarah_jane: (flirty - self assured)
Seduction. Have you ever seduced someone or has anyone ever seduced you?

The first time they tried, Sarah complained of pains. It was April 13th, James’ thirty-ninth birthday and she had wanted so desperately to make it a night for the two of them to remember. They had taken Valerie to her first fancy restaurant (although, at about six weeks old, Valerie was mostly interested). Gifts had been exchanged. And after weeks of a strict exercise regime, Sarah had finally felt comfortable enough with her body to slip into a negligee and give James a show.

They had gotten as far as his hand groping past the panties before her abdomen began to ache. The rest of the night had been spent cuddling instead, telling each other stories of each other’s past and, of course, a midnight feeding for Valerie. All and all, it had been enough to tire the couple into sleeping as long the next morning as they would have had they made love the night before.

The next time came two weeks later. It was early evening on a Sunday that had been spent hard at work. Valerie had been shuffled between offices. Working at home, both James and Sarah found no reason to keep her in her nursery. She slept often, and even awake, Valerie typically was a quiet child. So, 6 p.m. found the Smith-Bonds all in bed, with the two older ones both reading. But reading quickly led to other things. A kiss here, a caress there, the loosening of pajama bottoms and tops. Quickly, what had started as innocent flirting led to passionate embrace. But before proper intercourse could occur, a baby’s cry from the intercom pierced through the pants and moans. It was over before it really began.

Sarah Jane was certain though that tonight would be the night. Everything had been planned. Despite her recent streak of late night hunger, Valerie had been awfully restless today. Hopefully it meant that she’d sleep through most of the night. Or, at the very least, wouldn’t wake her parents with slumber. Although a part of her told her the thought was in vain, she couldn’t help but wish. It had been far too long since she had last properly made love to her husband. She was randy, lusting after a man her body and daughter hadn’t quite allowed her to have. The fact that she hadn’t been alone with that feeling did not help at all.

While James was out with Valerie (a daily trip around Holland Park to expose the baby girl to the outside world), Sarah prepared dinner. She had wanted to spoil him tonight, to show him just how much she still loved him. Perhaps their separation had brought them closer together. Perhaps it had been Valerie’s birth. Or perhaps it had simply been because they had been trying to make their relationship work. Either way, all the effort had paid off. Sarah Jane had never felt more grateful.

Despite her labours in the kitchen, dinner had been a common enough event. Valerie napped upstairs as Sarah and James enjoyed the Sheppard’s Pie. Conversation was typical: how Valerie was doing, upcoming doctor’s appointments, the odd going-ons at Milliways (James still hadn’t bothered going back), whether it was too soon to take a family vacation for Sarah’s birthday in June, hypothesizing as to what sort of mission James would be sent on next. It was nice, comfortable. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was pressing her luck. Valerie had slept through out dinner.

James eventually slipped out for a couple hours: a drink with Felix Leiter that had been planned as soon as James had found out his friend was in town. Sarah Jane went about her own tasks for the evening: nursing Valerie, showering, working a little bit more before finally preparing the bedroom for her husband’s arrival home. The lights were dimmed and candles in thin, glass containers were softly glowing around the bed. Satin sheets replaced comfortable cotton and the musky scent of perfume filled the room. Sensual music played softly in the background. Rose petals were carefully scattered on top of the bed.

Her intent was for James to come home and find her in the center of said petals. She had on the skimpiest black negligee she owned – a new one that she had purchased simply for this occasion. It made her feel confident and embarrassed all at the same time. Sarah Jane only hoped that it made James lustful when he walked in. He had called fifteen minutes ago to tell her he was dropping Leiter off at the hotel. The American had apparently drunk far too much. He would be home any moment and everything was perfect.

He’d walk in and be swept off his feet. Sarah would stand and walk forward towards him. A foot away, she would place a hand on his chest. Then, she would tilt her head up and kiss him as she tried to remain in charge of the seduction. Maybe she would get rough and push him on to the bed where she could lean above him and do things that would make him purr. Clothes would be lost and then, finally, both would get what they wanted. She almost longed for this moment, wanting nothing more than to be connected to him as close as humanly possible. Her eyes closed as Sarah Jane smiled happily.

It would be perfect.

Five minutes later and James Bond did indeed return to his townhouse in Notting Hill. He entered the building quietly (if Valerie was sleeping, he didn’t want to wake her). His first stop was at the nursery to check on his sleeping beauty. James leaned into the crib and kissed her on the forehead before gently brushing back blonde curls from her face. He moved Teddy closer to her and smiled. Now it was time to find his other girl. When a glance into Sarah’s office revealed lights off and an empty room, he smirked in anticipation. Sarah had been far too eager to get him out of the house tonight. She was planning something.

James loosened his tie as he walked into the room. His eyes quickly fell on Sarah, there in the center of the bed and glowing in the candle night. She was gorgeous, he thought. Absolutely ravishing. The tie dropped to the floor as he took another step forward. He sat at the edge of the bed, watching her for a few minutes more. Eventually, he caressed her cheek, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb. If he was disappointed, James certainly didn’t show it. He could see how hard she tried. Tonight, he found himself watching a sleeping beauty more beautiful than he could remember.

It was dull and domestic but he didn’t care. They had the rest of their lives for passionate and wild seductions. Until then, he was content to kick off his shoes and crawl into bed next to her. In the morning he would tell her that his next mission had come sooner than either expected – Leiter needed help with a case of his. For now, James would only wrap her in his arms and bury his face in her hair.

“Soon darling,” he whispered. “I promise that, Sarah.”

[ooc: based on milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (flirty)
070. TEN kisses.

1. Paul McCrimmon: He was my first ‘romantic kiss’. I was four and he was six and we lived next door to each other in Liverpool. He kissed me. And then I kicked him into the mud. Mum didn’t know whether to laugh or scold. Paul did, though: he laughed and, after standing, pushed me in to the mud as revenge.

2. Andrew Lofts: He was my first proper boyfriend and my first proper fiancée. Our first kiss was at a party my first year at uni. For a short time, it was the start of a terrific relationship. Sadly, I cannot say the same to its ending.

3. Harry Sullivan: Kisses with him have always been of the utmost platonic manner. We were never meant to be anything more than friends, even if I do expect him of carrying a short torch during our times travelling together.

4. If I could remember one thing from my childhood, it would be what hugs and kisses from my parents were like. I knew they loved me, I can remember that much. But the memory of their touch has been long lost in the past few years.

5. The Doctor (Four): It might be silly, but I prefer his hugs more than anything else. There is certainly something about being wrapped up in his arms, the way I always feel dwarfed and safe when he does. I know perfectly well that a woman does not need a man to feel safe. I am, after all, a steadfast believer in this idea. But there’s something about the Doctor, about his awkward kisses and warm hugs, which always seems to do the trick. (Theatrical Muse)

6. James Bond: Our first kiss took me by surprise. I didn’t suspect for a moment that James harbored feelings for me. I didn’t ever suspect that, when I cornered him in our shared flat to discover just why he was being so cold, he would kiss me in response. I never suspected how much I’d bloody enjoy that kiss or what it would lead to.

But my favorite kiss with him will always be the one he gave me after Valerie was born. It was brief – perhaps the briefest of all due to our mutual desire to watch our baby sleep – but it was promising. It was tender and loving and apologetic. It was beautiful. (Milliways.)

7. Valerie Bond: Holding and kissing your baby for the first time, knowing she’s real and yours – there’s nothing else like it. (Milliways.)

8. Simon Skinner: I don’t know if we quite knew what we were doing. I sometimes suspect that we still don’t know what we’re doing. It’s absolutely daft, considering our ages – we’re far too old to be having a fling like this. Even if it has become love, I still don’t know if it is wise. But, at the moment, I couldn’t imagine having anyone else fill his place in my life. (Mixed Muses.)

9. Sam Linnfer: Really isn’t what you’d expect. (Milliways.)

10. James Bond: It was Christmas time in Milliways and we got caught under the mistletoe together. For the record: it meant nothing. We’re only friends. I am married, after all. That doesn’t change the fact that, like my husband, he certainly knows what he’s doing when it comes to such matters. (Milliways.)

Muse: Sarah Jane Smith
Fandom: Doctor Who
his_sarah_jane: (i want to cry)
"There's enough sorrow in the world, isn't there, without trying to invent it." --E.M.Forster, A Room With A View.

She had thought that all of the bad parts of her life were over. She had thought that coming here, that giving up her old life – that all of that signified the start of something new. She had thought that things would be different this time. She didn’t think it could happen again. She didn’t think she was capable of losing anybody else.

But there it was, in black and white. She held the paper in her hand. She saw the look on Villiers’s face. He was always so transparent with emotions. Always. In the three years of being married to James, he was the only other MI-6er she had truly gotten to know. Perhaps it was because of their shared knowledge of Milliways. Or perhaps it was because he often times seemed the most human of the lot. Either way, he had been the one selected to tell her the news.

After three years of marriage, she was a widow. Despite his promise of being home in time for their daughter’s third birthday, he never would be home. He would never be home again.

She stared blankly as Villiers continued. She was certain that a good half of what he was saying was MI-6 propaganda. Not quite the same speech they gave all the widows (after all, a spy’s profession was secret), but something close. That he was a good man. That he had served his country and queen well. That he had been a loyal and valuable employee. That they were sad to see him go. The only part that possibly seemed real was his sympathy.

But Villier’s had never really lost anyone he loved. He didn’t understand how difficult it was. She had lost her parents, she had lost her best friend, and in a lot of ways, she had lost her world. But she had never expected to lose her husband, despite his career. It simply never happened in the films. James Bond always escaped, always lived, always got the girl in the end. How could he leave the girl behind? How could he leave her behind?

“Sarah?” Villiers placed a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. All her vocalizations were trapped in her head. The only nose she could utter was a broken heated sob. He was gone. Yet another person she loved had died before her and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Except for one thing. )

[based on events in [livejournal.com profile] milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (sleeping)
What event do you wish you could have been a "fly on the wall" for?

That night, Sarah Jane cried. Valerie was in the nursery. James had gone home for the night, leaving at the last possible minute. For the first time in nine months, she was truly alone. She had no roommate. She had no child growing inside of her anymore. She was alone in every possible way despite being in a hospital of hundreds.

“You should have seen him.”

The voice startled her. Sarah looked up, wiping her eyes. Her book falls off the bed on to the floor. The clatter startles her and she shakes her head quickly. There’s a nurse in the room now, carrying a meal tray. She recognizes her as the same light haired nurse from the afternoon. “Pardon?”

“Your husband,” she replied with a thick Scottish accent. The woman smiled kindly at Sarah as she placed the tray on a small bed side table. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen a man look upon his child with that much awe. He wouldn’t take her eyes off her – not until you walked into the room, that is.”

Sarah blinked again. She had, of course, seen the way James fussed over Valerie. The hospital staff nearly had to make him leave by force. They had alternated holding her for most of the afternoon (Sarah Jane, of course, getting extra time due to feedings). She hadn’t ever seen a man more careful or, she considered, more in love. It made her feel so warm and so safe and so incredibly happy. She couldn’t imagine there was more.

The nurse continued of her own free will.

“When I brought her out, he looked at her as if he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Oh, I swear: he couldn’t have been blinded by her. Even if it were the Queen standing there herself, he wouldn’t have noticed. That was love, Mrs Bond. Honestly.”

For a moment, she looked at the nurse as if she were mad. Queen and country came first, didn’t they? But if what this woman said was true, James had found something almost as equally important. And it was because of her. It did certainly explain the eager smile and his promise to return as soon as he could tomorrow. She knew that he loved them both – those sentiments had been repeated a lot that evening. But hearing it from a stranger seemed different. James was always so in control of his emotions. It seemed strange that someone could read him like that.

If only she could have seen it. If only she could have seen the way James’ eyes had lit up and the goofy smile that had broken across her face. But those bloody doctors had been too busy stitching her up. Some things, she thought, were totally worth her health. Being able to witness James meeting his daughter for the first time was one of those things. It wasn’t fair. She should have required her camera attend the whole event. That one picture of the three of them sitting on the bed -James’ arms wrapped around Sarah as she held tightly on to Valerie – suddenly did not seem like enough.

She wanted to relive every moment as a spectator. She wanted to fall in love with James and Valerie all over again.

Rationally, she knew that it wasn’t a wish that would come true. This woman’s words were the best she would ever have. As the nurse began the check on IV and vitals, she continued to babble about the afternoon.

It was music to Sarah Jane Bond’s ears.

[based on rp at milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (sarah/james - the other one)

It had become her favorite thing to do lately. There was something soothing about showing off her daughter to others. In holding the girl and reminding herself again and again that, despite all the hardships, she could almost feel calm. Despite the fact that she had her father’s colouring, Sarah found that taking care of her daughter was an amazing escape. She could forget and she could be happy.

Four weeks after the first time she had brought Valerie to the bar, Sarah Jane was back yet again. She’d come here at least twice a week, hoping to run into someone who hadn’t yet met Valerie Bond. In Sarah’s opinion, her daughter was absolutely perfect. Valerie had her mother’s nose and face, and even if those startling blue eyes hurt to look at times, Sarah was utterly in love.

Today really was no different than the others. After ‘work’ (still on maternity/medical leave, she did her writing at the house), she came to Milliways for dinner. With a mortgage still to pay, a cat to take care of, and a child to nurture, it was cheaper to eat on a tab than pay for actual groceries. With Valerie in her pram, she was able to sit at the bar tonight to enjoy her cheeseburger. As she ate, she gently rocked the pram and watched her daughter sleep. Sarah was rather preoccupied tonight. She didn’t even notice the gentleman sit down on the other side of Valerie.

“You have quite the beautiful child,” the man spoke with a gentle accent. “How old is she?”

Sarah Jane looked up from her meal, momentarily taken by surprise. He looked so very, very familiar. She blinked, frowning as she looked him over. When had he come back? “Simon?”


“Simon Skinner?” Sarah shook her head. She couldn’t understand why he looked so confused. “I know it’s been a while, but… well, aren’t you?”

“No,” he answered rather frankly. “The name’s Bond. James Bond.”

“No you’re not.”

The man laughed, giving her a look of amazed puzzlement. “I’m not?”

“You most certainly are not,” Sarah responded sharply. “I married the man, you see. And he left me and my daughter the moment this new life got too difficult for him. I know James Bond all too well and you’re not him.”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest as she stared at him, almost daring him to respond. She couldn’t believe this stranger or Simon, whoever he was, had the bloody cheek to come up to her and claim to be James Bond. After everything she had gone through (and Sarah was more than certain that by now, the whole bar proper knew her saga), this was far on the bottom of the list of things Sarah Jane wanted to deal with.

But she hadn’t expected the man’s reaction. He looked at her curiously before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an ID card. He slid it on the bar surface before reaching in to stroke Valerie’s hair. At first, Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she worried that he may harm her. She was ready to yell until she saw the look on his face. It was that of regret and sorrow. Almost as if he had lost someone important to him, too. Valerie’s only reaction to the new hand was a gentle and dreamy sigh. Semi-confident that her daughter was safe, Sarah Jane reached for the ID.

And then, she nearly fainted when she saw the name.

“Her name is Valerie,” she whispered, still in a sort of shock. It was shock accompanied by heart ache accompanied by a sort of odd, desperate hope. Sarah had absolutely no idea what to make of this encounter at all. “Valerie Charlotte Bond.”

The man - James - looked up at Sarah, moving his hand away from Valerie to pick up the card and slide it back in his wallet. The haunted look had been replaced by a more stoic one, but nothing nearly as stoic as she had ever seen on her James’ face. Still, staring at him was enough to bring tears to her eyes. It had seemed like so long since her last cry over this whole mess. Sarah felt ridiculous crying in front of a man she never met.

But, as he got up from his barstool to wrap her in a gentle hug, she found herself not caring at all. She suddenly felt something she hadn’t in months: a glimmer of hope that she only prayed wasn’t misplaced. It was glorious and painful all at the same time.

Eventually, they pulled apart. James reached for a napkin from the counter and gently wiped her eyes. She smiled awkwardly in return, feeling bashful and silly all at the same time.

“I’m Sarah Jane,” she whispered, unable to break gaze from his eyes. Sarah didn’t believe in love at first sight, but right now, she wondered if anything was really possible. “It’s… it’s rather nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replied softly. James nodded to her previously abandoned meal. “Is company at all welcomed?”

“I’d love it.”

[ooc: based on events in milliways bar. also, random trivia knowledge also inspiring prompt: timothy dalton bond = the fourth bond.]
his_sarah_jane: (life or death moment)

There’s a lot to be said about control. The dictionary defined it as an exercise in restraint or direction over. It meant keeping her tongue in check. It meant not jumping to conclusions. It meant behaving herself. Most prominently, though, was that it was something that Sarah never seemed to possess. She would try. Sarah Jane would try her hardest to act like a proper lady. For some reason or another, it never seemed to last for long.

Perhaps it started at age four when Tommy Kneeborn insulted her parents. Without even thinking, Sarah shoved Tommy into the mud and then punched him hard enough to make him cry. She had been properly punished for losing control that day. But the lesson hadn’t sunk in. In fact, it had mostly been forgotten. Sarah Jane had been four, after all, with many greater events to come in her life.

As years passed, she made it a habit to ignore nonsensical rules. This two was, in some ways, a rebellion against control. While she understood why some people had to be told what to do, she didn’t understand why everyone had to – especially when it made no sense. So, she would break curfew, she’d trespass when she ought not to, and play rather dirty in field hockey. But it all made sense to Sarah. And wasn’t that what was most important.

But then Andrea died, and for the few short months following that event, Sarah found herself reconsidering control. She realized that, sometimes, it was important. That if she had kept her calm and hadn’t given in, that maybe her friend would have lived. That maybe, if Sarah Jane had exercised that control her aunt always talked about, they never would have wound up on that pier. She had been a daft fool with her foot lose and fancy free life. For the rest of her thirteenth year, Sarah was the primmest and most proper student her academy had seen.

It didn’t last. Nothing ever lasted long in Sarah Jane’s life. She returned to her lifestyle of jumping in to events headfirst. There was her first big scoop, that romance with Andrew, and then there was that moment that changed her life. Sarah Jane clearly wasn’t thinking when she decided to stow away in the TARDIS, just as she hadn’t been thinking when she had snuck into the think tank under her aunt’s name. She had disobeyed those in control and had nearly paid for it with her life.

But the adventures that came, the tumulus life style that followed shoved all control over her own life out the window in a way Sarah never imagined. It was, in her opinion, the best thing that ever happened.
his_sarah_jane: (pensive)
What do you live for?

It was Valentine’s Day. Like every Valentine’s Day in the past, Sarah Jane found herself alone. Previously, it never came as a surprise. Sarah was never good at keeping relationships. The only Valentine’s Day she ever spent as half of a couple was back in university, when she was still with Andrew. This year, though, she had hoped it would be different. After a wonderful Christmas and an even better New Year’s with James, she had found herself almost looking forward to the next holiday.

Except today was that day. Lunch hour had been very much spent eying happy couples in O’Neill’s. When Susan received a bouquet of flowers from her fiancée, Sarah couldn’t help the twinge of resentment. Then, when the work day was done, she felt absolutely no need to go home. Like always, she took the tube to Holland Park. But instead of turning the corner towards home, she found herself wandering towards the nearby park instead.

The bench was cold. There was frost in the damp air, and she found herself shivering the moment she sat. Sarah knew she couldn’t stay out here for long. It wouldn’t be fair to Valerie. But she didn’t want to go back to that empty town house yet. Not on today.

Ever since their row two weeks ago, Sarah had found herself living more and more for her unborn daughter and less and less for herself. It was quite the contrary to the woman she was a year ago, before stumbling upon Milliways and before meeting James. Back then, she had lived primarily for herself and for life. She lived her life in memory of a dead friend who had, in death, showed her just again how flipping important it was to make every moment count. It was her little secret. She never discussed it. She never found the need as long as she remembered to value life itself.

And look where it had gotten her. She hadn’t listened to reason in coming to Milliways. She knew perfectly well what a place like this was capable of. Now, Sarah Jane had to live with the consequences. But those consequences seemed to be more than she can handle. For the first time since she was thirteen, life seemed too overwhelming, too difficult for her to deal with. Sarah couldn’t comprehend a future alone in a world and a time that wasn’t hers.

For a brief second after the fight, Sarah had wished for Valerie’s death. If she didn’t have this child, she could go back and pretend that nothing odd ever happened. The second after that, she felt repulsed. What sort of mother was she? The tears came with no one to comfort her. She whispered apologies to her baby again and again. And, after that, Sarah Jane shut down. She went by the motions and little else. Anything more seemed like a reminder of her loss.

She sat in the park, watching people – couples and families – go by. She had hoped to give Valerie everything she never had: the proper family, the home, the pets, at least one parent who would be by her side throughout the girl’s life. But without a husband and an extra income, that dream had shattered. Sarah couldn’t raise a daughter on a journalist’s income. And that truth hurt as much as losing James ever could.

Her world had shattered. Sarah Jane had been abandoned once again. She had been abandoned by the Doctor – who she was certain still wouldn’t properly speak to her. She had been abandoned by her husband – she had no right to hold him to a life he abhorred, after all. While she clung to hope that James would come back, she couldn’t find the energy to remain optimistic. In fact, the only person who hadn’t abandoned her, the only person she couldn’t help but wish would was her daughter. Valerie was helpless in all this. In less than three months, she would be born to a world that Sarah had never quite viewed as dark and dismal before.

With her life as mucked up as it was, Sarah could only find one thing left to live for. Valerie didn’t deserve any of Sarah Jane’s problems. It took a horrible fight for Sarah to realize just how much her life wasn’t her own anymore. She couldn’t be that carefree, reckless girl. She couldn’t live life only for herself and her own happiness. Valerie deserved more: she only deserved the best.

And Sarah Jane would try damn hard to give that to her.

[based on roleplay at [livejournal.com profile] milliways_bar]
his_sarah_jane: (her doctor)
Sometimes the appropriate response to reality is to go insane. (Philip K. Dick)

“Doctor, what are you doing?”

“I mean it Doctor! I bloody well want an explanation to all of this!”

“Yes, that means now. When do you think it means? Three years from now?”

“If you really think I’m wearing that, then you’re highly mistaken.”

“It’s hideous is what!”

“Of course I wouldn’t be caught dead in it!”

“Neither should you, for that matter.”

“Because it’s ugly!”

“No, I really don’t care if it’s all the rage on Pigovian Three. We’re on Earth.”

“Oh, where else do you think Jo and Cliff would throw a fancy dress party?”

“That’s not very funny, Doctor.”

“Quit it, will you!”


“That’s much better now, thank you. But there’s still the matter of that… that thing.”

“Yes, it’s a matter!”

“It’s hideous, Doctor! And I for one will not be caught in its counterpart.”

“Don’t you give me that look.”

“I. Am. Not. Wearing. It.”

“Why? Because it looks positively insane.”

“I don’t care if Phillip K Dick said that it’s the appropriate response to reality. It’s childish, Doc-”

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

“It doesn’t change the facts though. “

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Anything but that, alright?”

“Couldn’t you pick something a little more… well, flattering?”

“You have to admit it’s a tad silly.”


“No, not that one either. How about… oh, how about this one? We’d still be a matching set. Just… not quite as obviously out of place.”

“Doctor, it’s because you’re out of place at every single social event we’ve ever been to. I doubt this party will be any different.”

“Oh, put it on, will you?”

Thank you. Now, do you need help with the ties or can I go and change into this dress?”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

“Of course not, Doctor. If we were going to a party on Pigovian Three, I’m certain that you would have looked quite dashing in it.”
his_sarah_jane: (frowny)
Talk about something you lost.

They had told her not to wander off. But natured had called and there was absolutely no way she was going anywhere near that Byron. He’d certainly be the sort to catch her in a compromising position. The Dark Forest was a far better choice now that the trees were at bay. It was beautiful out here; peaceful. The foliage was comforting, the flower blossoms beautiful.

She stopped to touch one, wanting to pause and smell the flowers. Life was always so busy, so rushed. And if she was dreaming, for that mask that suddenly appeared instead of a blossom, could not be real. Everything seemed foggy. Everything seemed amazing.

“Who are you?

“I’m the spirit of the trees. I’m the light of your life.

I’m your father.”

Daddy? But oh, he was dead. He had died years ago in a car accident with her mother, didn’t he? But the man standing in front of her now had that face with the mask removed. He had his smile. It was just as she remembered. She tilted her head, eyelids half closed as she stared at him dreamily.

“I’m your father, Sarah.”

“You can’t be. He’s dead.”

But the world is full of magic. The world is full of surprise and joys. The Doctor had showed her that. He had taken her from planet to planet, time to time. Everything was amazing. Everything was magical. And whether she was in a dream or under a spell, did it really matter? This was her daddy. Her daddy was the Big Bad Wolf, playing with her and joking about as they used to. And more than that, they were going home. The Jolly Coachman was taking her home.

She wasn’t lost. She was found.


Shara was a lovely name, wasn’t it? It was as exquisite as a Lady in Tangerine. As the actress she was, the actress in the absolutely gorgeous shabby orange gown with white lace and a hole in the neck. Her face was done up with make up. Nothing at all like Incarnadine’s blood lips, but something much more befitting to the girl she was. Daddy had brought her here; he wanted her to do this.

She looked in the mirror and the face that looked back seemed that of a doll’s. For a moment, Shara thought she recognized the flicker of someone else. But that name - that horribly plain and simple one – seemed so far away. What was it again?

Sarah. It was Sarah. She was Sarah Jane Smith, wasn’t she? Not Shara, whoever she was. She was Sarah.

“Shara,” a voice whispered in her ear seductively, “show me how you look.”

Oh, she was a silly girl, wasn’t she? That’s why she had been brought here after all. All silly girls needed someone to look after them. And she should consider herself blessed that Daddy had done this much for her. The face in the mirror now seemed vague and distorted. It was cloudy and dreamy, just like her mind. But she was certain that she looked as dazzling as she felt. She was that exquisite Lady in Tangerine.

“How do you look?”

“A woman of many parts, milord.”


Shara Intangerine was determined to be a credit to the Theater of Transmogrification. Daddy had written her a play just so she can prove herself. A Stab and a Scream in the Dark on a Gothic Night by a Big Lake: a Drama with a Point. A rather clever name, if you asked her. It rolled off the tongue like a bittersweet gumdrop. It was her chance to become as popular as the Lady Incarnadine if Daddy deemed it so.

She believed she had done well. The blood dripped from her hands and she bowed to a roaring audience as she slipped off her mask. She bowed again, beaming and feeling absolutely radiant. The blood was sticky yet silky, coating her hands as she clutched the dagger still. The body on the floor wasn’t moving, but her father was. And he was smiling. He was proud.

Shara felt elated. The Doctor was dead at Mary Shelley’s hand and she had performed wonderfully. She’d be an actress yet, a woman of many parts who would leave a lasting impression on the world. And perhaps one day she’d be able to wear the ruby red lipstick of Incarnadine. All she had to do was honour thy father.

And even when she forgot to tell father of the two hearts, Incarnadine said she could pluck chords from the moonbeams anyway.

She’d get to be in the play tomorrow as well.


Mum wasn’t there though. Daddy had adored her last performance. Why wasn’t Mum there to see her for this one? She used to come to all her games and all her recitals and call her her little Sarah. Oh, no, that wasn’t correct. It was Shara, wasn’t it? Shara, the girl of many parts, the Lady in Tangerine.

Sarah was such a silly name. She didn’t know why she kept thinking it. It was daft, really. It made her giggle, much like Incarnadine told her to giggle at the strange little shadows. She was Shara and Father needed her. She’d make him proud again. Just see.

But the play went horribly wrong when a man from the audience jumped to Incarnadine, calling her by Beatrice instead by her proper title. She didn’t understand it. She didn’t understand when Daddy reached out and pulled off her crone mask in front of the audience. She didn’t understand…

Sarah. It came rushing back to her, the memories of a life properly lived. A life that wasn’t a dream: it was a life where her parents were dead and she was travelling. It was a life where, she remembered, she was Sarah Jane Smith. Shara was a figment. Shara was a façade.

Shara didn’t exist.

But when she heard a man shout the Doctor’s name, Sarah Jane didn’t have time to contemplate what had happened. All she knew was that she had to find him. She had to be Sarah. She had to help.


That night, with everything said and done, she let herself cry. They had done it in the end. They had stopped Persona and Managra and set everything back to proper in Europa. Or as proper as it could ever be. And in a big part, she had helped save the day. Sarah Jane had been true to herself then, facing her fears for the sake of the great good.

But she hadn’t been true to herself earlier in the day, or even in the day before that. She had allowed someone to manipulate her in a way she hadn’t ever thought possible. Persona had taken her self away from her: her memory and even, she supposed, her soul. The very thought of it scared her more than she had ever been scared before.

How could she allow herself to forget so easily?

Was her life really that horrible? Did she want her father, her parents, back that much? Were there really that many problems in being Sarah Jane Smith? The Doctor had told her that Persona’s magic was strong. He had said that anyone could have easily been sucked into it, even the strongest willed of the strong willed. Sarah didn’t believe that though. Everyone had a choice, even over something like this.

She had lost herself. How could anyone lose themselves like that?

It would be one of the few memories Sarah Jane would ever want gone from her life.

[ooc: Heavily based on parts of the novel “Mangara” by Stephen Marley. Therefore, quotes and pretty much three-quarters of this prompt? Are not my idea. I’m just writing it with more emphasis on Sarah’s pov.]
his_sarah_jane: (you arse!)
Which food would you never even try to taste? What food will you never eat again?

“Your four months now, darling,” Sarah Jane murmured to the baby girl in the high chair, trying her best to keep frustration out of her voice.

If her daughter noticed it, she didn’t give any indication. Instead, Valerie simply gurgled happily and reached her arms out towards Sarah. Her blue eyes shined happily, rather much reminding Sarah of a certain husband who wasn’t exactly around at the moment to help with this task. Work he said, even on a bank holiday, thus leaving her home alone with their child. Bloody spies, she decided, the lot of them. Sarah Jane was certain that, in the end, he simply didn’t want to be around for the mess she was certain would follow trying to feed Valerie semi-solid food for the first time.

“Four months,” she continued, leaning forward to plant a light kiss on top of pale blonde hair. “That means it’s time for something other than Mummy’s milk. Cauliflower cheese. Doesn’t it sound wonderful?”

Valerie shook her head as Sarah held the Cow and Gate jar in front of her. It didn’t look all that horrible in Sarah’s opinion. Certainly something she would never want to eat herself. But for baby food from the nearest Tesco, it did seem like the best choice to start out with. Even if it looked like a horrible grey-tan mixture, the baby on the outside of the jar seemed happy enough. A simple vegetarian meal seemed like the perfect place to start in Sarah’s opinion.

Apparently, Valerie had different ideas considering the way she currently used the bowl placed in front of her as a drum. At least it was a step up from ramming away on a keyboard again.

Sarah opened the jar, wrinkling her nose slightly at the odor that filled the room. Well, it didn’t smell all that horrible. Just a bit off was all. She walked over to the cabinet to grab another bowl. She knew from experience when to fight with Valerie and when not to. Sometimes she wished her daughter wasn’t so stubborn. But looking at the girl’s parents, Sarah Jane knew it was a rather vain wish to come true.

After a fourth of the jar was scooped in to the small bowl, she returned to Valerie’s high chair. The girl was still banging away at the bowl, smiling silly at her mother. It earned a slight grin from Sarah before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and wished for the best. The child’s spoon in her hand was decorated with little green men and moons very much like Valerie’s bowl was – something she had picked out as a joke. So far, it hadn’t been as distracting as she hoped.

“Well, I suppose we ought to start sooner or later,” Sarah told Valerie as she dug the spoon into the glob of mashed cauliflower mix to retrieve a small scoop. She wrinkled her nose once again at the smell and then held it by Valerie’s mouth. It was met with a frown and another head shake that led to more giggling from the baby and a sigh from its mother.

“Don’t you want to impress Daddy when he gets home with your new ability?”

As Valerie’s fist went flying into the spoon causing the mush to go flying into Sarah Jane’s hair, she realized that was a no. After the second and third and fourth attempt, there was still very little food on Valerie’s face. There was, however, tan-grey substance all over Sarah’s shirt and the table in front of them.

Valerie only giggled. Sarah Jane sighed, feeling almost defeated. This was impossible. In fact, the only way she could possibly think of in getting Valerie to eat something would be to try it herself. She feared the idea. The food already smelled horrible enough. She couldn’t imagine just how bad this cauliflower and cheddar cheese concoction would taste.

With a sigh, she dipped the spoon in to what remained in the bowl. She held it out towards Valerie (which was received by more shaking of the head) before turning the spoon around and slowly lifting it up to her own mouth. Thankful that James wasn’t around to witness this, Sarah Jane stuck the spoon in her mouth and swallowed.

It took everything in her power not to gag or grimace. Wasn’t the point of this suppose to be that of slowly weaning her child off of breast milk and towards an appreciation of actual food? This? Was absolutely, positively horrid. She never, ever wanted to taste anything like it again. When it came time for the fruity bean and beef hotpot jar she had in the cabinet, James would be in charge of trying to get Valerie to eat.

Never, ever again.

“See?” she said, nearly a full minute after trying to deal with the horrible aftertaste the baby food left in her mouth. “It was absolutely delicious. Now it’s your turn, Valerie.”

But all Valerie did when the spoon reached her mouth was shake her head and bang on her bowl some more. Sarah Jane sighed, truly defeated by a four month old this time. It was humiliating, but she didn’t care. After all, nothing could ever possibly be worse than having to sample baby food. She never ever wanted to do that again.

Poor James Bond had absolutely no idea what he was in for when he came home that evening to a jar of cauliflower cheese and a very innocent looking mother and daughter set. At the very least, making her husband share in her pain was as sweet as anything Sarah Jane had ever tasted.

his_sarah_jane: (adoration)
[Part 1]

The morning sun shone through the window, irking the still sleeping woman. She crawled up further against the man sprawled in bed with her. It was too early; she didn't want to wake yet. Not when, despite being in a 16th century hotel, she had had some of the best sleep she could remember. Not when she went to bed the prior night completely sated.

Sarah Jane yawned gently as she tried to find a new crook on his chest to hide against. Last night had been... completely and utterly romantic. The ball in the plaza and then witnessing the Doctor's flirtatious side first hand. Making love had never quite lived up to its name before.

You could see why, then, she was loathe to face the morning. It was rather difficult, considering just how content she felt laying in his arms
his_sarah_jane: (transgendered - oh noes)
You've woken up as the opposite sex this morning... now what?


The voice that resonated with anger throughout the TARDIS was far too deep for Sarah Jane’s liking. It was too deep and husky and masculine and far too appropriate for her current situation.

One moment, Sarah was sitting at her desk in the TARDIS busy at work with an explanation for Clorinda as to why she had been gone so long. Earlier that day (or whatever passed for such in this contraption), the Doctor had promised a speedy return to London over a plate of chips. It was the only way that he could actually get her to stop complaining about her so-called kidnapping through time and alien planets (which, in actuality, was mostly in jest). He had gone off to do some tinkering with the TARDIS’ console.

And now?

Now, Sarah Jane Smith would more properly be named Sawyer John Smith.

She ran a hand over her body for the second time since the change. Sure enough, her face felt different: the nose too big and stubble on her cheeks that wasn’t ever there before. Her breasts were magically flattened and harden and, perhaps worse of all, was that thing dangling between her legs. It didn’t take a mirror to clue her in.

“Doctor!” Sarah shouted again, unable to stay confined to her room any longer. Oh, she wanted to hide. But anger and a desperation to know what the bloody hell had just happened had won out. She stormed all the way to the console room, even if her foot stomps came up quiet; none of her shoes seemed to fit anymore. The flowery robe wrapped around this body was already awkward enough, thanks all the same.

“Doctor,” she repeated for the umpteenth time as she entered the room and saw a bushel of wavy grey hair above a velvet jacket still tinkering away with some gadget or another, “ I’m a flippin’--!”

Words stopped short when the Doctor did finally turn around. He, well…he wasn’t quite himself anymore. Unlike Sarah, he still remained in the clothes she had seen him in at lunch. Yet now, they were baggy, although not baggy enough to reveal a certain hump on his chest that hadn’t been there before. His face too was entirely different: the features, while still a bit on the elder side, were softened and not as sharp. To say a word, the Timelord now very much resembled a Timelady.

Sarah Jane blinked and blinked again as she stared at him. This had to be entirely in her imagination. There was no possible way that she was seeing straight. Or, for that matter, feeling straight either. This was impossible! And she had been well acquainted with impossible these past few months. This, she decided, was absolutely daft.

“You look rather like a former companion of mine, Sarah Jane,” he responded, acting almost as if nothing was amidst. “But the ears are much too big. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten a chance to see my new form yet. It does look proper, I hope.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t believe just how…how normal the Doctor was being over this. Didn’t he even realize that she wasn’t even a bloody girl anymore?
“Doctor. I. Am. A. Man.”

“And a rather strapping one if I do say so myself,” he replied, flashing what she supposed was a comforting grin. It was anything but. At her (his?) deepened frown, he (she?) continued. “I wouldn’t worry myself too much about it if I were you. The space-distortion the TARDIS is currently passing through will go by quickly enough.”

Sarah tilted her head. The lack of hair brushing against her shoulders felt even stranger than anything else. “Space-distortion?”

He nodded. “An abnormality caused by the proximal gravitational field of a black hole with a worm hole. I had been working on getting us back to London – as promised,” he added in with a waggle of not so bushy eyebrows. “Apparently I miscalculated.”

“Again,” she couldn’t help but chime in. “And now I’m a man, Doctor!”

“Only temporarily, might I add.”

“I don’t care!” Sarah stomped her foot, wincing in pain as it collided with the ground. Doing that without shoes or even slippers on had been a mistake. She scowled angrily at the TARDIS before fixing her glare on the Doctor. “I want to be a woman, Doctor.”

“Oh, Sarah Jane,” he responded, voice sounding far too motherly for her tastes. “You will be soon enough. Until then, enjoy yourself. It isn’t, after all, every day you wind up in another body.”

The wink is what got her most. As the words connected in her brain, Sarah Jane blinked. Once, twice, three times. All this had to be some sort of horrible dream, an absolutely dreadful one. After one more scowl, she turned around to flee back to her room.

She didn’t care how long or short this would last. She didn’t care about any of the opportunities that could accompany being in a man’s body. Sarah just wanted to pretend this utter embarrassment never happened.

Fast asleep, she never even noticed the shift back to her original body.
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah - sonic lipstick)
Congratulations! You've been granted one wish. What is it?

One wish, is that so? Even if I don’t really like to believe in wishes, it’s certainly something to think about. You see, in my experience, wishes don’t come true. They’re only the foolhardy hopes of little girls and young women too idealistic to see past the present. These sorts only understand that life can vary: that one moment it is wonderful and the next, absolutely dreadful. They are the type to wish each bad moment better and each brilliant moment forever.

I think that, perhaps, I once fell into this category. If you had offered me this opportunity at age five, I would have taken it in a heartbeat. I had one wish then and it’s one that’s rather lingered at times. All I wanted was one more day with my parents. I wanted them alive and well and a proper part of my life. Only a wish could fix that. I wished on every star I could. It never worked.

At age thirteen, vanity would have won out. Although by that point I was rather steadfast to the women’s lib movement, I couldn’t help but wish more boys would notice me. I always felt like the ugly duckling then. Too outspoken and too athletic and too intelligent and, I’ll admit, possibly too arrogant for boys to really care about. But I wanted it. I wanted that whole date thing and to be considered pretty rather than odd by my peers. I would have wished for my first kiss at age thirteen.

By my mid-twenties, I had a successful career going in journalism. But this was the point in time where I discovered that there was so much more to life than what you could see and write. I met the Doctor at this point and he should me a whole universe full of possibilities. I travelled through time, I helped to save the world, I met alien creatures and travelled to new and previously thought impossible worlds. I feel deeply and hopelessly in love. Life at that time, was more than brilliant. I would go as far as to say that it was more than incredible, really. I would have given anything for it to never end. But it did.

All things come to an end. And all the wishes in all the universes can’t ever change that.

For all the years following that time, I would wish to go back there. I would wish to see the Doctor again. I would wish that I never let him leave without a goodbye. Maybe even today, given your question, I would wish that. But then, I would stop and remember. I would remember a trip to Skaros and I would remember the Doctor reminding me of all the good that has come from the existence of the Daleks. He meant to say everything happened for a reason. Everything had its purpose in life, even endings.

So, I’m afraid to say, no. I cannot wish for any sort of change in my life any more than I could ever bring myself to wish that I had never existed. My days with the Doctor are over. It’s someone else’s turn now. And even with your rather wonderful-seeming offer of a wish, I cannot accept. I cannot take responsibility for the consequences of making that wish.

I will, however, give you something: my only true wish right now, the only one I would ever want to come true. And that, you see, is that Luke and Maria have a life more extraordinary than mine has been. At this point, with all I’ve seen, maybe it’s better that I share those feelings rather than cling to something that can never be.
his_sarah_jane: (older!sarah and ten)
"The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so thoroughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place."--The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, by Michael Chabon

It didn’t happen quickly. In fact, it took years for her to finally forget. By the time Sarah Jane Smith was eighty-nine years old she was certain that, like everyone else in this rather daft world, those books she had published at a younger age were nothing but fiction.

The aliens that did exist proved themselves to be nothing but radicals that had succeeded in conquering the human race. They weren’t at all easy to banish and ridiculous in their simplicity, like those described in her stories.

There was no Doctor, no awe inspiring alien, the last of his kind, the bumbling but dashing hero to save the day.

UNIT had never existed. If it had, it had been so buried in records that none of it seemed to matter any more.

A tin dog? Oh, that was ridiculous.

And a police box was nothing more than a police box. She had seen the newer models, those coffins standing on the street corners implemented in the year 2008 under Harold Saxon. She had been thankful that, at an old age, she had lived never to set foot inside one. Like all people in the know, she had heard the stories. But she had never printed them.

Freedom of press had been lost long ago.

She sat alongside the others crowded into the interment camp dorm, wondering when it would be her turn. Saxon seemed to be using his slaves at a quicker rate to continue to expand his empire. It was only a matter of time that he would catch her – one of the few surviving elderly – among the crowd that hid her. Maria had been steadfast, though, ever since the drones had killed her father.

Still, Sarah Jane forgot.

She forgot how she ever came to know the girl. Things like soda pop aliens and sonic lipstick were pure rubbish. A boy without a belly button – absolute barmy. She didn’t understand where Maria got these ideas. Perhaps the girl had read too many fictional works before the New Era. She didn’t know. She had never cared much.

The world was ending around them. It was shattered now, broken beyond repair – rather much like Sarah’s memories. Events that happened one day seemed to have happened years before. Memories of another time seemed to wink their way in and out of her mind. Her fictional works that had gotten her notoriety in the science fiction cult crowds mixed with her memories and her dreams. Sarah Jane Smith was, at age eighty-seven, nothing but a woman wishing she had lived another life.

She wished she had known a man such as the Doctor.

She wished she had traveled with him.

She wished that, for once, her dreams might have existed in more than just her--

--it was a thought never finished. At 3.55 am, Sunday, November 4, 2043, the last true memories of the Doctor were wiped from existence with the last of the elderly. In this broken world, he had vanished for good.

Elsewhere, one Harold Saxon, ruler of the known galaxy, delighted with the thought.


his_sarah_jane: (Default)
Sarah Jane Smith

April 2011

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