Fic Post

[settiai]

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Rose/Sarah Jane

[carawj.livejournal.com]

"Sarah Jane! Sarah Jane Smith!"

Sarah was quite certain she'd never seen this young woman before in her life; not in the flesh, at least. Of course, everyone had heard of Pete Tyler's long lost daughter, who apparently turned up out of nowhere with his presumed-dead wife. It was all over the papers. Might have been worth investigating, if Sarah hadn't been tied up with following that report that there was a colony of Wirrn trying to breed just outside Aberdeen.

Except that the girl seemed not only to know her, but actually to be quite thrilled to see her. She was standing in front of Sarah, blocking the corridor, with an enormous grin on her face and looking much too young to be wearing that suit.

"You're Miss Tyler? I'm sorry, but, have we met?" Sarah held out her hand warily and the girl grabbed it, her smile widening even further.

"Rose. Call me Rose. I sort of, knew you. Once. A long way from here." She looked a bit lop-sided suddenly, twisting her fingers together nervously. "You won't remember me."

If nothing else, her life had taught her to think on her feet. Sarah came to a decision. "That would sound so much stranger if I didn't work for Torchwood. Look, you're the new girl Captain Benton said he'd hired, aren't you? I think you'd better come to my office for a cup of tea and you can explain what the hell is going on, ok?"

***

Sarah lay with Rose's head resting in the crook of her arm, and their legs tangled together.

"I always knew there was more out there," she found herself saying. "Way back, when I was just a journalist for the local rag, I knew there was meant to be more than that. More adventures. More life. I fell on the leads about Torchwood by accident, except it wasn't an accident, really, because I suppose I'd been looking for it, all along. And then, of course, I started working for them." She stopped and smiled wryly. "Listen to me, reminiscing. I sound about a hundred years old."

"Yeah," said Rose with a hint of laughter behind her words. "You're just a big cradle-snatcher, you are." Her fingers drifted down Sarah's side in a way that made her shiver.

"Don't mock an old woman," Sarah threw back, kissing the mess of blonde hair. She was quiet for a moment, feeling Rose breathe against her.

"Rose?"

"Mmm?"

"The other me. From your world. She got to see the stars, didn't she?"

A long minute of silence passed. "Yeah," said Rose, quietly. "She did. Stars and planets and aliens and all sorts."

"Well I've got the aliens covered, but I'd have loved to see the stars." Sarah knew she sounded a bit wistful. "Whole other worlds..." She tightened her arms around Rose, this girl who had even been born in one of those unimagined places.

"You will, Sarah Jane." There was a strength in Rose's voice that Sarah hadn't heard before. "We're both still gonna have lots of adventures. You'll see."

Requests: Ten/Martha/Donna, Five/Nyssa/Tegan, Sarah Jane/Romana II

Sarah Jane/Romana II

[nextian.livejournal.com]

Out of You and Me (non-canon compliant for SJA)

"Excuse me," the woman says, standing in the threshold. She is what Sarah Jane would normally describe as 'unassuming,' except for that her next question is, "I wonder if you could tell me who I am," which assumes a great deal. As it happens, most of what it assumes is true.

"You're Romana," Sarah Jane Smith says, and opens the door a bit wider for her. "Why don't you come in for tea and I'll give you the details I'm privy to. I'm afraid none of them include how to pronounce your name correctly."

~

"That sounds reasonable," Romana admits, watching the steam rise from the top of her cup. "It also sounds like something that man would decide was a good idea."

"Yes," says Sarah Jane, watching her assume: the size of the cottage, the dye in Sarah Jane's hair, the unquestioning faith at the door, and again wishes not quite so much of it was right. "Would you like your watch now?"

Romana smiles unexpectedly. "No."

Sarah Jane takes a long breath in.

"No," says Romana, again, "because from what you tell me, being a Time Lord is a great deal of waste, and from what that man--" Sarah revises this; those capitals were audible-- "That Man tells me, there aren't enough of them." She shrugs. "I'd rather be human. I have a very nice position, you know. UNIT. I'm surprised I haven't seen you around the office."

"I don't work with men with guns," Sarah Jane says, and Romana adds, off-handedly, "besides, I quite like being a lesbian, and from the way That Man looked at me I'm sure that wasn't the case."

Right, Sarah Jane doesn't say. Assume your way out the door. Instead she says, with a little smile into the tea, "What a coincidence."

~

Neither of them make crude jokes about going to see the bedroom; instead they unpack Romana's bags. For a few days, the Doctor said, just until she comes to her senses. They wait, and smile at each other, and size each other up piece by piece. Romana leans her chin over Sarah Jane's shoulder to help her with the crossword. Not all of her help is accurate.

~

Sarah Jane hands her the watch, and Romana kisses her, slow and certain, and tucks it back into Sarah Jane's hand. Later she will trace foreign alphabets onto Sarah Jane's skin. What has been lost will lie between them, and will be comfortable, familiar, invisible, assumed and therefore true.



Requests: Martha/William Shakespeare, Fitz Kreiner/Tenth Doctor, John Smith/Seventh Doctor

Martha/Shakespeare

[atraphoenix.livejournal.com]

Martha knows he has a wife. She knows that her presence here might even be interfering with history. But then he reaches out a hand and pulls her back down onto the bed, and she can’t protest.

She blooms – unfolds – like an exotic flower at his touch, and that’s what he calls her. An exotic flower. My Dark Lady. He tells her she is no rose, and doesn’t understand why she laughs so dryly at that, pushing him back against the wall and kissing him so fiercely that she can taste the metallic tang of blood from his lips against her own.

He writes sonnets on her skin with his tongue, and traces verses on her thigh with his fingertips.

Queen of Afric, now worshipped in a way the Doctor could never manage.

What had they told her about the Dark Lady when she was at school? She’d had little time – and even less patience – for English lessons. She only remembered the basics. His lover. Adored, exalted, worshiped. Stolen away by another man.

You look at him like you’re surprised he exists. He’s as much of a puzzle to you as he is to me.

She wishes she could explain it to him, but she can’t. He pins her to the mattress when she opens her mouth to try, and she is soon incapable of any real words.

He, on the other hand, is never silent. He is always telling her things. Describing her hair, her scent, her skin. Her touch. He drinks her in, and it’s a good job he reserves certain words and phrases just for her. Her old teacher would never have been able to cope with such language, even from Shakespeare himself.

He glorifies her darkness. Her otherness. She is his blackamoor lady, after all.

Which is odd, considering the terrible glances she attracts on the streets.

She is not a rose. She doesn’t have coral red lips or damasked cheeks.

(He tells her that too, and it takes Martha a while to identify the sonnet. When she does, she laughs delightedly, and kisses him with such tenderness that he finally falls silent. For a little while. When he regains his sense of speech he is more enthusiastic than ever.)

She is not Rose, either. She isn’t the companion the Doctor still longs for. She never will be.

The Doctor may never kiss you. Why not entertain a man who will?

Except he had kissed her, hadn’t he? The Doctor. Once. In another time and another place. A whole world away.

She was going to have to leave with him eventually.

Stolen away by another man.

She wishes she could explain.

She wishes a lot of things.

Next: Tenth Doctor/Arthur Dent, Corporal Bell/Liz Shaw, Jo Grant/Mike Yates, Liz Shaw/Sarah Jane Smith/Jo Grant