his_sarah_jane | [Mixed Muses] A Date with Simon

"Most people I encounter tend not to believe me," she answers quietly. "In fact, in all my years since I finished travelling, the only people who truly have without question have been a couple of children."

This is, of course, not taking into account those she knows at UNIT. She still considers these people friends from her travelling days.

"Traveling?"

Sarah Jane nods, meeting his gaze. "In my early twenties. I met this man, a rather remarkable man, you see. We spent years travelling across time and space together. Until the day I had to be left behind."

He had promised to come back. It took him almost thirty years to do so.

Simon regards her over his shoulder. "Oh," he drawls out. He looks away quickly, returning to his studies of her book. Better she doesn't see what he's thinking, eh?

The books on the shelf range from physics to chemistry to paranormal theory to articles published by UNIT scientists to certain novels she can't have on display anywhere else. Of particular interest might be an original print of Galileo Galilei's Sidereus Nuncius, something Sarah Jane stole once from the TARDIS library. It's one of her favorites, if just for the memories. Next to it is a first print of A Midsummer's Night Dream. Other rather famous first run novels can also be found on the shelves.

She stands by the drawer for a moment, letting old memories linger before walking over.

"You don't believe me, do you."

"I'm dead and spending part of my afterlife in a bar at the end of the universe. Why do you think I wouldn't believe you?"

"Because to most people, it's absolutely daft."

Beat.

"And you turned away from me."

"Perhaps I was responding to something else other than the strangeness of your story."

She raises an eyebrow, placing a hand on his arm to make her look at him.

"What?"

He does look at her, standing straight. "Nothing." A disarming smile. "How about that dinner?"

"I'd much rather have a proper answer to my question," she mutters thoughtfully. "But if you insist, we'd have to head downstairs."

"Don't worry about it," he says dismissively, headed towards the door. Emotions are ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. That was that. She didn't need to know.

Sarah Jane sighed, standing behind him for a few moments before hurrying along.

Soon enough, they were down the stairs and out the door. The rest of the house wasn't much to look at, just the typical home of a world-travelling journalist. All of the important things were hidden away upstairs in the attic.

Her car, also, wasn't much to look at. Small and green, it was good for chasing aliens and not much else.

Simon is not concerned with the impressiveness of the car. His wide smile might suggest that he's charmed by the car. In reality, he's just happy to be outside (of Milliways) and breathing.

"Well, this is it from the outside," Sarah Jane murmurs as they stand in front of the car. She gestures to the house behind her, of the old Victorian type. It's rather beautiful and well kept. "There's a garden in the back I could show you later if you'd like."

"I'd love to," he responds, staring happily at the exterior, imagining romantic strolls in the garden at night. He knows how silly his imagination is being, as silly as his emotions, but he can't help it. He's happy, elated, on cloud nine and other synonyms. He's outdoors on an Earth he can breathe in and smell. Milliways couldn't replicate the air and the scent of the Earth. It always felt a little fake to him no matter how realistic it seemed. But this was home, or a home. Closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, he could almost imagine a Sandford some distance away on this ground he stood on. If he only went far enough he could see it, smell it, breath it--

His face was turned up towards the sky. His grin turns bittersweet. He lowers his head, opening his eyes, staring down at the ground. He shakes his head. He's being silly, that's what.

He keeps his eyes on the ground, his smile fading into a thoughtful, mournful expression. Because he's a fake, that's what. The world is real, the air is real, but his breath is an artifice. He suddenly feels cheated. Why was he given a corporeal body? He would've had a better time living as a ghost. He wouldn't have felt any false sense of hope as a ghost: he'd know exactly what he was. Dead. Not pretending to be alive.

When Simon closes his eyes again, it's not to express bliss. Far from it.

Sarah Jane watches him quietly for a few moments before daring to walk over. She places an arm around his back, pulling him against her. She can't imagine what it is like, what he must be going through. But in some way, she promised to try and be there for him. And that is exactly what she intends to do.

Sarah doesn't say anything, only rests her head against his arm.

Lovely time to feel depressed, during a date. He wonders if he's in the mood to eat, now. He doesn't see the point for himself. Still, he can't cancel the date now that they're now, now that he feels a little blue. So he breathes deeply, raises his head, and looks towards Sarah.

"We aren't eating out here?" he asks, putting on that familiar mask of joviality.

She shakes her head, kissing his cheek gently. "I believe Indian was what was on the menu?"

"Ah, yes, of course." He turns towards her car, lifting his hand theatrically. "Lead me away in your chariot."

He's smiling, joking: but like this new body of his, it's all a fake, a show. Unlike this new body, it has a clear purpose: to entertain and disarm the other person. It's a common tactic of his, a mask he can slip into so easily that he can wear it flawlessly regardless how angry or sad he feels.

Sarah Jane looks at him, a tinge of doubt on her face. But if Simon doesn't want to discuss it, she won't press it.

Yet.

So she leads him back to the car, opening her door and sliding in.

The act doesn't end on the sidewalk. Simon takes it with him in the car, in the restaurant, ramping up the humor and the charm to conceal his true emotions. He makes a show of enjoying the food despite how uncomfortable he feels. The more doubtful Sarah Jane looks, the more he performs, hoping she'll be charmed by his smile and his jokes not to worry about him anymore. He's secretly relieved when they return to her house. It means he can stop acting soon. He can slip away from her in the bar and be by himself and breathe that fake breath he breathes while he lets him feel all the things he's suppressed tonight.

Sarah Jane tucks her arm in his as she silently leads him to the gardens. She remains quiet until they take a seat on the patio swing, nestled between green, fragrant bushes. She's done a good job of taking care of her aunt's garden during the years. It's rather cozy when it comes down to it.

For a moment, she remains awkward in the wooden seat as she debates what to do next. In the end, she cuddles up against him, pulling his arm around her back to rest on her hip.

Quietly, "What's wrong, Simon?"

Somehow, he has a harder time keeping up the act here. He turned his face away from Sarah the moment they stepped into the garden, discerning the plants and smelling them, breathing in their very real scent through his fake lungs. He blinked, his eyes suddenly wet. When she spoke, he could feel tears running down his cheek.

He says nothing.

The sounds of his breathing, growing steadier as a futile attempt to regain his composure, only encourage more tears.

As much as she'd like to be cuddled by him, she doesn't think now is the proper time. Sarah Jane moves his hand back to his lap before enveloping him in a tight hug. Gently, she moves his head so she can see the tears and, even more so gently, she places a light kiss on each of his eyelids. Then she moves to rest his head by the crook of her neck.

She'll hold him like this for as long as he needs with absolutely no complaints.

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