[AU (Future) Hub] Torchwood Hub Future Scenario - Ewan and Sarah - 2018

[his_sarah_jane]

My bags drop on the cold stone tiles of the House as the door closes behind her. The trip to Cardiff has been more than successful. In fact, it has surpassed anything my wildest dreams can come up with. Visiting old friends has been a breath of fresh air, as has returning to the place where, in effect, this all had started for me.

But Scotland is home now. Or, more to the point, Ewan and our family are my home. I love them all more than words could ever describe, and, as much as I still despises cliches, there really is nothing like being home. I take a deep breath of the musty air and smile to myself. My smile turns brighter when the Lady floats by. She's officially the first to welcome me back.

Placing a hand on my stomach, I nod in confirmation to her unasked question. Yes, I'm pregnant. Yes, there will be another child within the House in eight months. Yes, this time the pregnancy will last. The Lady has been my sole secret keeper - occasionally spying on me during those awful mid-mornings spent throwing up in the bathroom or when the fatigue got to be too much. I don't know how the ghost knew I was pregnant. It's just easier to accept.

The ghostly woman floats away, leaving me alone in the foyer. No one expects me to be home tonight. I wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow morning, but I couldn't wait. I have to surprise Ewan with the news. The twins ought to be asleep by now; it's 9 pm and those blessed little ones always managed to wear themselves out by half past six. I'll check in on them after, preferably with their father in tow.

Beaming, I abandon my bag and the hockey sticks at the door and take off in the direction of the Smith-Harrow apartment. I have my leman to surprise, after all. And I can't wait to see the look on his face when I tell him the news.

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[exiled-prof.livejournal.com]

"Look, I've had just about enough of this conversation."

I'm raising my voice at the Torchwood equivalent of a speaker 'phone, on a conference call with people who should know better. I'm in my study, which is a large alcove adjacent to the bedroom I share with Sarah Jane Smith, lover and mother of my children, bless her. I'm standing in my bare feet, in my silk pajamas - new and blue in a gift from Sarah last Christmas - and a ratty old bathrobe is a bright red tartan - long story for another time - and I was relaxing, until the call.

An annoying male voice says, "Professor Harrow, please be reasonable -"

And that's my cue to do the opposite.

"Get off the 'phone, you stupid git! I'll talk to Winnie, but not to you and I don't care that you're now the one in charge of UNIT, Mr. Fancy Pants."

"That's Dancy-Vance, and Brigadier to you," the male voice asserts.

"Professor?" That's Winifred Bambera, the Brigadier I know. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but I've encountered far worse. "Maybe now isn't a good time for this particular topic." I know she's being diplomatic, but it isn't going to work. Not today.

"Sorry, Winnie dear, there's not going to be a good time for this topic."

"Professor Harrow -"

"Oh, fuck off, Fancy Pants! I won't discuss it, and that's bloody final!"

And that's when I realize I'm not alone.

[exiled-prof.livejournal.com]

Ah, but she's a sexy wench.

I slide from the bed and stand in my bare feet. Then I meet her gaze as I undo the buttons of my pajama bottoms and slowly pull them open and down, letting the silk puddle at my feet.

"So, leman, will you kiss me everywhere now?" I sink slowly to my knees, completely naked and needy before her, the beginnings of my arousal clearly evident now that I'm free from the confines of my clothing.

I stare up at her with wide eyes and my arms spread at my sides, lick my lips, and say huskily, "Please?"