From the Journal of Sarah Jane

Write a conversation between your character and another using only dialogue. However, both characters are doing something and it must be obvious from the dialogue what it is.

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

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

“I really don’t believe you.”

“And why’s that?”

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

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

“…oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

“Because you… you shifting that way and…














stop it, Doctor! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“That!”

“This?”

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

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

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

“Your move.”

“What?”

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

“Sarah-”

“Doctor.”










“Your move, I’m afraid.”

“My-







Ow! Bloody hell, that hurt!”

“Two point five minutes exactly, Sarah Jane.”

“Cheat.”

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

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

“Honestly.”

001. "Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes." Oscar Wilde

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

And she made her choice that day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Deals were meant to be broken.

Life could never be one grand adventure.

Experience taught you to avoid new mistakes.

Betrayal would always hurt.

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

Deals could never be broken.

Life had become one grand adventure.

Experience taught you nothing.

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

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

[ooc: based upon a prompt by savagestime. Master and fic used with permission.]

What or who do you think made you the way you are today?

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

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

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

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

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

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

My aunt, Lavinia Smith.

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

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

My aunt, Lavinia Smith.

The loss of my mum and dad.

Being unable to save Andrea. Watching her die.

Lois Lane DAFT!

Sigrid Schultz.

Field hockey.

Writing my first essay Oh, who am I kidding?

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

Me?

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

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

That honour falls fully and completely to me.

It is I who, in the end, chose the lessons to abide by, picked the people to learn from. No one in the whole of Earth exists who would have made the same decisions I made if put in my shoes. I can’t claim to have chosen wisely, nor can I claim that I’ve stuck with those decisions I made. But, as a whole, it was my actions and my choices that led me to be writing this essay today.

109. He isn't stupid, his brain is full. - Overheard in NY.com (random)

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

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazzzzzzzt?”

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

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

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

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

She could never quite properly pronounce its name.

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

“Zzzzzzzzztuuuuuupeeeeeed.”

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

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

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

Communication by scarf? Honestly?

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

“Zzzzzzzzztuuuuuupeeeeeed.”

You know how when you're listening to music playing from another room? And you're singing along because it's a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can't hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway... then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again you're still in exact same time with it. That's what it's like.
- Music From Another Room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guilty.”

***

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

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

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

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

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

“Sarah Jane?”

Alien sex pollen

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

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

They were unaware. He was not.

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

The night glittered with magic.

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

***

“Are you feeling better now?”

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

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

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

“I’m fine, Doctor.”

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

Bloody man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dancing stopped.

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

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

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

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

“Go on and kiss the girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

[ooc: merlin_doctor and Sawyer borrowed with permission of mun. song lyrics in italics from Broadway’s “The Little Mermaid.”]

105. TEN things you would leave to your loved ones (and who they are) when you die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

10. [Twood Hub] You took me in when I had been left behind, gave me a new career that eventually led me back to the one I adore, and introduced me to the man I love. I don’t know how to ever repay you, Jack, for everything that you’ve done. It’s been some life working for you. Thank you. In my flat, I have a thickly bound first edition copy of the Sherlock Holmes adventures. We went back to visit Arthur years after our first encounter and he presented it to me as a thank you for the inspiration. Enjoy, will you?

005.What is the best prank you ever pulled on someone or someone played on you?

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh.”

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

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

“What’s that again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Susie Ann gasped. “Autotrons!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The screen went black.

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

Luke blinked. “Get what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But Do-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, so unfortunately so.

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

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

“Alastair?”

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

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

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

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

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

None of them did.

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

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

[ooc: Again, credit goes where credit is due. The idea of Doctor What is not mine but telyn_timber’s. But because she is awesome and doesn’t want to write this up herself, I’m doing it for her. Think of it as a graduation gift or part of belated birthday gift (that I will get you some day) or something of that. ♥]

Five times you said yes and meant no.

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

“Sarah, love?”

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

“Was it another bad dream?”

She shakes her head. Andrew looks at her doubtfully.

“Is everything okay?”

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“It certainly will.”


“I'm not listening.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Yes, Doctor, I very much do.”


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

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

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

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

It’s not there.

He’s not there.

He’s not there.

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

He’s gone.

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