his_sarah_jane | [Milliways] OOM: James' Flat, London, 2006

Even though the icon above shows Sarah Jane sitting, that is in fact not what she is doing right now.

Sarah Jane? Is pacing.

Pacing because, while James has been at work for the last few hours, she's slowly been realising what a rash idea this was. She doesn't belong here; this isn't her world. There's no Metropolitan and certainly no journalist by the name of Sarah Jane Smith and she doesn't have any way of supporting herself here.

She's dependent as long as she's here, and dependent in a way that she isn't when living on the TARDIS because that doesn't involve money and day to day expenses. Less than a day in, and it is already starting to irk her.

Still, there is that gym membership he promised - they were going to deal with that during his lunch hour tomorrow, weren't they? And shopping and maybe a bit of redecorrating (as she refuses to live in a dull flat) and other things, she's sure of that.

It's all a matter of waiting for James to flipping get home soon. She's not going to start preparing dinner until he's there to share the task with her.

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"I want you to be happy," he replies, the grin finally emerging.

"Happy with you you mean," she teases, changing her direction to walk over to him. "Manipulative old man."

"Me? Manipulative?" he replies, stepping closer to her. "I would say tricky, yes, but not manipulative. Never manipulative."

"So you claim," Sarah replies in a skeptical tone.

She smiles and stops walking in the middle of the room, waiting for him to come to her. "If I recall, me moving in here was your idea. And yet, you haven't done a single thing to make me more comfortable in your flat aside from going off to work. I wouldn't even be surprised if you were expecting dinner on the table just now."

Shifty look. It's amazing how James can walk in a straight line without looking directly in front of him.

"...maybe I was."

When he comes close enough, Sarah Jane jabs a finger into his chest.

"I am never going to be your housewife, James. Or anyone elses."

"I know."

"You better," she answers, jabbing her finger into his chest again.

He chuckles, grabbing for her finger. "So you're a writer and not a housewife. What's for dinner?"

She blinks.

And stares at him, mouth ajar.

"Oh! How am I supposed to know?"

"Because you're a writer. You're supposed to be creative."

"With dinner?"

"With anything. But in this case, dinner."

Sarah Jane eyes him suspiciously and then glances towards the kitchen. There's a small smile on her face, a serious one that's playful nonetheless.

"I saw an apron in there. And you know where the fridgerator is and where you keep everything in the cabniets and what I think is for dinner, Mr Bond, is whatever you're going to prepare for us."

James folds his arms across his chest ant looks at her Very Seriously, "I am not a housewife."

Two can play at this game. Sarah mimics his movements, right down to the Very Serious look in his eyes. "And neither am I."

Showdown!

After a moment, "Carry out."

Sarah sticks her tongue out at him. "Oh! Lazy!"

"And?"

"And tomorrow night, you're cooking me dinner. We'll do carry out tonight, though," Sarah Jane decides, pulling her finger free from his grasp and walking towards the telephone. "Curry?"

"As long as it's not poisoned," he replies, taking a seat on the couch.

Sarah tsks softly under her breath as she grabs the menu to an Indian restuarant from the coffee table and begins to dial the number.

"It's not going to be poisoned."

"And that's what they all said about the curry in Milliways."

"But we're not--"

She stops talking when a voice on the other end of the line picks up and grins, quickly ordering a meal of her own choosing and giving them James' address.

That done, she places the phone and menu back on the table and walks over to sit on James' lap. "We're not in Milliways anymore, love. I'd venture as far to say that it's a whole different set of rules now."