fic: SJA / TW crossover, "The Other" (1/5)
Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures / Torchwood
Rating: G (slightly more snogging than the average SJA: slightly less nudity and handjobs than the average Torchwood. It all balances out)
Words: 68 million. Alright, 32,000 - but it felt like 68m
Warnings: none
Pairings: ummm
Spoilers: Set between Seasons 1 and 2 of SJA, after Season 2 of Torchwood, and before the Doctor Who Season 4 finale. (Probably the second week in June, then?) Random spoilers for all three series up to those respective points, including references to Sarah Jane's Classic adventures.
a/n: This fic has only been part-beta'd: my thanks to several of you but especially lonelybrit for the constant encouragement along the way. Any dim mistakes, gawping plot holes etc, are all down to me. Please let me know if you spot a howler, and I'll knock it on the head with my mighty fist of incompetence.
Summary: " It started innocently enough... " This is simply the story of a very quiet weekend in the Whoniverse. No gore, no vomitty monsters, quite a lot of tea being consumed.
Part 1
It started innocently enough, with Luke coming home after school on a Friday and asking her if he could use his pocket money to go and buy chips.
"Of course you can! That's your money, Luke. You don't have to ask me what you can spend it on." Sarah Jane studied him. He'd requested second helpings a few times that week, and toast as well as his usual cereal for breakfast. Growth spurt, she thought, though he looked as skinny as ever. "Dinner won't be ready for a bit, but if you're feeling hungry now, you can always have a sandwich if you'd like?"
And Luke smiled at her, as guileless as ever. "Oh, the chips aren't for me. They're for the other."
A tiny alarm bell rang in the back of her head. "The 'other'? The other what?"
"The other one like me," Luke said, helping himself to a banana. "The other Archetype."
"""
A week ago, Mr Smith had woken her to inform her that there had been a small fire in the ruins of the Bubble Shock factory, triggered by a brief energy surge. And no, he couldn't say where the energy was from or why it had spiked, because the residual Baryon-9 radiation all over the site (a by-product of Bane power generators, he'd informed her, ponderously) meant that he usually blanked that location out of his standard monitoring sweeps.
For a computer, he'd managed to inject just the right note of bored irritation into that last response. As if he had time to keep an eye on every last corner of their own backyard! Had she forgotten he already had a whole galaxy to oversee?
UNIT had removed all traces of Bane technology from the ruined factory. They hadn't been able to do anything about the radiation, though their technicians had assured her that Baryon-9 was as persistent as limescale, and a hundred per cent less harmful. Still, an unexplained energy surge might have meant they'd missed something. Sarah Jane had sighed, and woken herself up enough to call up the ever-patient Colonel Wells at UNIT's Guildford base, who promised to send a team to check it out and let her know if there were any problems.
She'd turned over and fallen asleep. Colonel Wells had called her back on Saturday, to assure her that the fire was out and the UNIT team had checked around, but found no sign of anything unusual.
"Sergeant Miller thinks it was probably just loose wiring," he'd said reassuringly. Sarah Jane thought that Sergeant Miller wasn't a patch on any of his predecessors that she'd known, but UNIT were generally very courteous to her - Alistair's influence, perhaps? - and the fire was out, and the deadline for the Herald's article on corporate manslaughter was getting uncomfortably close. She'd thanked the Colonel and forgotten about it.
She wouldn't have mentioned it to Luke, even if she'd remembered. He'd mostly stopped asking those questions - how he'd come into existence, what she thought the Bane Mother might have done with him when she'd finished using him to refine the Bubble Shock - but only, she suspected, because she didn't have anything new to tell him. The curiosity was still there, ticking quietly away. In many ways, Luke really was exactly like every other child dealing with the transition towards adulthood, asking himself the big questions about who he was and what he was meant to be.
"So, what made you decide to go back there?" she asked Luke. They were driving back to the Bubble Shock factory, with a large portion of cod and chips (wrapped) and a bottle of Coke on the back seat.
"Jenny Ellison. She's in our class, and her dad's a fireman. At break on Monday she'd been talking about this fire he'd been called out to last Friday, how there were soldiers there too, from UNIT - she didn't know what UNIT was, but I did. I went by there after school on Monday, to... you know. Check it out."
The Clyde-ism made her smile. For Luke, UNIT equalled extra-terrestrial mysteries. No wonder he'd been curious. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have gone over together."
Luke shrugged apologetically. "It was on my way back from school, sort of. And I didn't want to disturb you if there was nothing to see."
"Spoken like a born reporter!" she said cheerfully, nudging his shoulder. 'On his way back' would have meant a two-mile detour between school and Bannerman Road. Of course, she'd prefer him not to go haring off to poke around in dangerous old ruins, but it was already something she had to struggle against: the urge to over-protect, to keep him close and safe from the world. And Luke had so much to learn. If she did that too much, he'd end up unable to set a foot outside the front door.
She was beginning to understand how it must have been - must still be - for the Doctor. Travelling with companions who might be bright or capable but who would always be oh, so hopelessly inexperienced and ignorant compared to him. If the Doctor hadn't let her spread her wings, take risks, then who knew how small and dull her life might have turned out?
"It's a good thing I found him when I did," Luke said. "He hadn't had anything to eat for ages. I had a Mars Bar in my bag, and an apple. And I saved my packed lunch for him on Tuesday, and Wednesday and Thursday. But I think he's still very hungry."
That explained the recent 'growth spurt' eating, at least. "You said he was hiding," Sarah Jane said as they reached the factory site. "How did you know to look for him?"
"I didn't," Luke frowned. "I was looking around and I just had this weird feeling, like my neck was tickling. Maybe it's because he's another Archetype? There's a cupboard at the end of one of the corridors. He was in there. He didn't want them to find him."
"Five days, though." They had to park the car on the side of the road and climb in under a loose bit of the mesh fence running all around the site. "Why didn't you tell me you'd found someone here?"
Luke turned to her, eyes earnest. "Mum, he's really scared. Someone hurt him, he doesn't want them to find him again. I remember what that was like, when I woke up the first time, and I met Maria and you. I was scared, just like him. I wanted to make sure he knew that he's safe with me." He brightened. "I think he'll be okay with you now, though. I knew I could trust you, right from the start."
"Well, you were right about that." She matched his smile, switching on the torch she'd tucked into her pocket as they reached a side door. "But I'm still not sure how you know he's another Archetype. Why would the Bane have made two of you?"
"I don't know," he replied. "But you'll see, when you talk to him. He's just like me, Mum - he knows lots of things, but he doesn't know any of the things he needs to. Like what his name is, or where he comes from. We need to go left, here... and then just along over there. Follow me!"
The floor was covered in puddles everywhere. The factory was a wrecked shell, now, with half the roof missing, and it had rained a lot in the last week. Some of the water might be from where the fire had been put out, Sarah Jane thought. She could smell traces of smoke and burnt rubber, and guessed they had to be close to where it had started.
They were heading towards what looked like a storage cupboard at the end of a long, dark corridor. Luke pressed a finger to his lips, then leaned forward and called out, "Hello! It's me, Luke."
No reply. Luke whispered over his shoulder, "Secret signal," and knocked gently on the cupboard door, the quick-slow-quick of Morse Code. S.O.S. After a moment, the door opened a few inches.
Luke waved at the crack. "How are you?" he asked. There was a whispered reply that Sarah Jane couldn't make out. Luke nodded, leaning down and pulling the door wider. "I know, but don't worry. I've brought you some chips, here." He offered the wrapped parcel, then gestured Sarah Jane to come closer.
"And I've brought my mum," Luke added brightly as she crouched down next to him.
Frantic scrabbling sounds came from inside the cupboard. It was far too dark to see anything. Luke held up his hands, pleading.
"No! It's okay, don't be scared, she won't hurt you! She's really nice, I told you about her, remember? She helped me, she'll help you too."
No response. Sarah Jane could hear harsh breathing in the darkness. Down by the cupboard door, she turned the torch slowly, to illuminate herself and Luke together.
"Luke's right. I found him here too, where the Bane used to be. I promise you I won't hurt you. I'm going to shine the light in now, so that you can see me better and I can see you too. I won't point it into your face."
Luke certainly believed he'd found another Archetype, though common sense told her that this was hardly likely. Even so, in her mind's eye she'd been expecting to find someone who at least looked like another Luke, a pale perfect boy in a white smock and slippers.
As she swept the beam slowly across the wet concrete floor, it caught on something shiny-dark against the matt blackness of the cupboard. A man's shoe, lying discarded on its side... No, not discarded. The torch made out a sock, the cuff of a trouser leg, and up and up, until she reached the face of - not a child, but a grown man, grimy and scruffily bearded. His eyes were slate-blue and bloodshot under a dark matted fringe, and he squinted miserably at her in the torchlight.
She sucked in a breath, said, "Ohh..." but remembered not to add the Luke! onto the end of it. Her son was already acutely tuned in to that sound of censure in other people's voices, the tell-tale hint that he'd got something wrong again. Every day was a social minefield for him, and he was always trying his hardest to blend in, to pass for ordinary.
Instead, Sarah Jane smiled briefly at the dishevelled man in the cupboard, huddled on what looked like a nest of dirty bubble-wrap, before she straightened up. Luke stood with her, watching expectantly. She'd been anticipating something like this from him, he was far too tender-hearted. She'd guessed it would be a lost puppy, though, or fledgling birds next spring. Not some stray down-and out taking refuge in the deserted factory where he'd been 'born'.
Luke was the distillation of thousands of random humans, though. So maybe his inherent sweet nature was a good thing for all of them, on the whole, all those random humans adding up to compassion rather than selfishness. Even if it did cause a few problems from time to time.
She put her hand on his shoulder. "Luke, listen. I don't think the man in there is like you - another Archetype, I mean. I think he's just, well, an ordinary adult. Someone who's living rough, um... homeless, you know?"
Luke looked confused. "But that's what I was. I didn't have a home, until you found me and let me live with you. Can you adopt him too?"
"Oh gosh... I don't really think so, no. We can probably find a shelter for him. Somewhere that's set up to look after people like him, who need help."
"But you have to talk to him!" Luke insisted. "I told you - he's like I was, he doesn't know who he is. Would a shelter be able to give him a name, like you did for me?"
She hated the thought of disappointing him. Of course, if you were the only one of your kind, the idea that you might have found another like you had to matter hugely. "The thing is, I'm pretty sure he already has a name. He might not have told you because he's in trouble with the police, or because - well, some people forget things because they're unwell, or because they've had too much to drink. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he assured her. "But please just talk to him, Mum."
"Alright, I will." No harm in talking... She crouched down again, breathing in as she did. She couldn't smell alcohol, though it was hard to tell: the air in the cupboard was close and smelled of damp cloth and sweat, smoke and metal. She shone the torch in again. Luke's 'Archetype' was huddled as far away from the door as he could get, knees against his chest, his breath whistling in and out of congested lungs. As she studied him he coughed, a nasty hacking sound, and put one arm up to cover his eyes.
"Light hurts," he mumbled, His voice was a cracked whisper, almost impossible to make out.
"Oh, yes, sorry." She pointed the torch down, trying to catch an angle that would give both of them some illumination. "You sound like you've got a bit of a bad cough. It's very cold in here, wet too. Why don't you come out of there, come with us? I'm pretty sure there's a Samaritans shelter near here. I've got a car, we can drive you there. They'll have food and medicine, and -"
He shook his head, wriggling even further back into the corner. "No! I can't, they'll find me."
"Who will find you?"
"Them. Whoever did this - Not mad, 's all wrong." His voice was terribly hoarse. Sarah Jane leaned forward, struggling to hear him.
"Alright, look - What's your name?"
He glanced at Luke, nervously, then back at her, shaking his head. "Can't remember. Told him that."
"Yes, you did. I just wondered if it had come back to you. How did you get here?"
"I don't remember!" His voice was nearly gone but she could hear the fear and desperation, even in that faltering rasp. Now that her eyes were getting used to the gloom, Sarah Jane could see that he was sweating.
"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to understand. Can you remember anything?"
He frowned, scratching at the grimy stubble on his chin, then shook his head again. "Fell out of the sky. Couldn't get my breath, everything hurt. Then more noise... I hid in here, thought they were coming for me."
"When did that happen? How long have you been here?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. Slept a bit."
"And that's definitely all you can remember?"
He was silent for a while, staring at the floor. When he spoke again, she had to lean forward to catch the faltering whisper.
"I bought five Danish again. Stupid, keep forgetting, they get upset and I need to, to be more..."
If he was a tramp, he was the oddest one she'd ever met. "But you can't remember who 'they' are?" she asked, as softly as she could, and the man shook his head and put his hands over his face.
She sighed. Looked at Luke, who was crouched down next to her, his expression anxious and eager all at once. Looked back at the stranger crouched in front of her. Under a week's worth of dirt, she could see that his fingernails had been neatly manicured. He was in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat whose dark pinstripes matched the rumpled material of his trousers. His hair was an unwashed mess but still short, trimmed close against the nape of his neck.
He was no more a down-and-out than he was another Archetype. He was a puzzle, and a problem, and even as she hated the inevitability of it, Sarah Jane heard herself saying, "Look, you really can't stay here. You'll have to come home with us."
The man looked up quickly, shaking his head. "No. It isn't safe."
"It's not safe for you to stay here. What if they come back, the people you were hiding from?" He'd probably just been scared by the UNIT recon team, but she didn't know for sure. Maybe someone really had been chasing him? He was right that something strange must have happened to him, at any rate. "Besides, this whole building's not safe - it's a wreck. I can't have Luke clambering about in here every day to bring you food!"
"Tell him he can't come here anymore."
"So I say to my son that we're just going to get up and leave you here, to starve to death, if you don't freeze to death first, or die of pneumonia?" She smiled at Luke, who was looking alarmed. "I don't think Luke would be very happy with me if I did that. In fact, he'd probably just ignore me and come straight back to look after you anyway. Is that what you want?"
"If you told me I couldn't come back, I wouldn't do it!" Luke protested. "But I wouldn't be happy either. It wouldn't be a good thing to leave him here."
"No, it wouldn't," Sarah Jane agreed. She held out a hand to the stranger. "What about just for tonight, hmm? I've got a spare bedroom, it's nice and warm. You could, oh, have a wash, get some decent rest. We'll pick up more chips on the way back - I think these ones will be cold by now. And I promise you, you'll be perfectly safe. It's just Luke and me, no-one else will know you're with us. I promise."
She didn't know if it was her reassurances, or the lure of food and a bed, or that he was too ill to put up much of a struggle, but after a while the man sighed, coughing, took her hand in a weak, clammy grip, and let himself be drawn out of the cupboard and led away with them.
***
They drove back to the chip shop, and Luke hurried back in for three more cod and chips while his strange new friend slouched down as low as he could get in the passenger seat. He didn't speak, just coughed feebly and stared at the door handle, as if he was thinking of making a run for it. Frankly, Sarah Jane doubted if he'd be able to make it as far as the end of the street.
When they got back, he mouthed "Bathroom?" and she gestured towards the downstairs loo, then pointed behind her. "And the kitchen's through here - come and find us when you're ready." After he'd shut the door, she hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to lock the front door... No. If he really wanted to get away from them, there wasn't much either she or Luke could do about it. Even so, she felt oddly relieved when he appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, as she was pouring mugs of tea.
Indoors, in decent light, he looked a bit less grizzled than she'd first thought, and tall, and very unsteady on his feet. His hands were scrubbed clean now, in stark white contrast to the rest of him. "Come on in, please, sit down. You look like you need to rest."
He mumbled something that was just too hoarse for her to make out. "Pardon?"
"He was asking if he could have a bath," Luke translated quickly. His hearing was exceptionally good, of course, though it might also have had something to do with him being used to his new friend's weak croak of a voice by now.
She smiled. "Of course you can, but something to eat first, yes?"
He nodded, sitting down meekly next to her. As she slavered ketchup on her plate, Sarah Jane was thinking ahead. What could he wear? Nothing she and Luke had could possibly fit him, but his own clothes were damp and filthy. The vivid lilac shirt might have been smart once, but now looked as if it had been mauled by a wild animal, with one sleeve torn from wrist to elbow and bloodstains down the side. There was a twist of stripy cloth tied around his forearm, like a crude bandage.
Luke bolted his food down - well, fish and chips was one of his favourites - but she was worried to see that the stranger was barely eating. After only a few chips he'd given up, sitting hunched at the table with his left hand cradled awkwardly in his lap. When he sipped the tea Luke had poured, it brought on a long coughing fit that sounded far from good. As it subsided, Sarah Jane said casually, "What happened to your arm?"
He glanced down at the striped material. "Um... caught it on something, I think. Stopped bleeding after I tied it up."
"Does it hurt?"
He shrugged, coughing again, but didn't speak.
Travelling with the Doctor for those few enchanted years had taught her so much - most of it completely useless back on Earth, of course. But Harry Sullivan had taken her through some basic first aid on a few quiet afternoons, probably to take his own mind off the fact that he was hurtling through time and space in a spaceship that looked like a tiny wooden police box, with a great big laughing madman at the helm.
She touched the makeshift bandage lightly. "Do you mind if I take a look?"
He held out his arm, not looking up from the plate of congealing chips. She untied the knotted ends and unwound the fabric. It turned out to be a tie, wrapped around a long, ragged tear in his forearm. Not too deep, but still bloody and raw. And she'd spent enough time with UNIT to be reasonably sure it was a bullet wound.
"Do me a favour, please, Luke? I need the first aid box in the bathroom. Could you - ?" He was out of his chair before she'd finished. Sarah Jane filled a bowl with hot water and a dash of Dettol, then studied the bloodstained tie in her hand. The purple stripes were decorated with a pattern of tiny crossed hockey sticks. "Is this yours?"
He glanced quickly up. "Mmm. Blood'll come out if I soak it in cold water. Did last time."
She glanced at the label: Prada. A tramp with a Prada tie. "It's very nice," Sarah Jane said casually. "Were you going somewhere special?"
He looked confused. "Just work things," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at his ruined shirt.
Luke was back with the first aid box. Sarah Jane rolled the remains of the lilac shirtsleeve up out of the way and got to work. The man flinched a few times as she cleaned the wound and sprayed antiseptic all over it, but he seemed on the point of falling asleep where he sat, his head nodding slowly as she finished pinning the bandage end in place.
"You must work somewhere quite smart, then?" No reaction. "An office, maybe?"
"Maybe. I - I'm not -." Another wave of coughing put an end to that sentence.
"You know, I really don't think you're very well at all," Sarah Jane said softly. "I should call a doctor. That injury, too. It looks clean enough now, but you probably need antibiotics. What do you think?"
"No, please!" He was half-out of his chair, the fear forcing his voice almost to breaking point. "No-one else! I just need to rest..."
"Okay, don't worry." He was so nervy, and there was so little she could do to help him like this. She rummaged in the first aid box - yes, there was an unopened box of Lemsip in there. It seemed a bit inadequate, given how pale and ill he looked, but it had to be better than nothing. "Here, drink one of these at least, yes? I'll just get some blankets, and you can have a nap on the sofa. It's very comfortable."
It had to be better than a wet concrete cupboard floor, at any rate. She left Luke making up a mug of Lemsip while watching their unexpected guest with undisguised fascination, and went upstairs to fetch a sheet and spare duvet.
When she came back, Luke greeted her at the kitchen door, finger pressed to his lips. Behind him, the man was sprawled across the table, face pillowed on his good forearm and breathing in a phlegmy rasp.
"He must be very tired," Luke whispered. "That looks uncomfortable. At least I got him to drink the Lemsip. Should we wake him?"
"Let's make a bed up for him first. We'll have to wake him then, though. I don't think you and I are going to manage to carry him from here to the living room, do you?"
They'd just finished laying out a bed of sorts on the sofa - actually, Sarah Jane thought, it looked rather cosy - when the doorbell rang. A moment later Maria and Clyde appeared at the window, grinning and waving.
Luke hurried off to answer the door before she could say anything to him. From the hallway, she could hear Maria saying, "Hey, are you okay? We were getting worried about you!" and Clyde adding, "Yeah, you shot off so fast this afternoon, you didn't even pick up your science assignment for half-term. We thought you must've caught that vomiting bug or something! You been puking?"
"No, I'm fine." So far in his short life, Luke had never as much as sneezed. She'd worried that his unique biology might have made him susceptible to every virus going the rounds at school, but in fact he seemed to be exceptionally resilient. "I had to take care of the other. I forgot about the assignment, oh, that's not good."
"Don't worry, I've got yours here," Maria said, swinging a carrier bag. "The other what? If it's aliens, you'd better not be keeping it all to yourself!" She walked into the living room, waving at Sarah Jane, then stopped short when she saw the sofa. "Oh, hi! Are you having a sleepover?"
Sarah Jane opened her mouth, but before she could speak Clyde pushed past Maria and hurried into the room.
"Listen, quick - someone's got into the house! There's a dosser crashed out in your kitchen!"
"What's a dosser?" Luke asked.
Clyde groaned. "You know, a vagrant, a street guy - listen mate, we'll do the Slang Twenty Questions later, alright? How'd he get in? Did you leave the back door open? Anyways," he turned to Sarah Jane, "We can shut this door and call the cops from in here, right?"
"There's no need for the police," Sarah Jane sighed, trying to think of something even slightly plausible. "That's a - friend. He's just dropped in to see me this evening."
"A friend? Well if you don't mind me saying, your friend needs a bath. He's minging. And his clothes are filthy. And why is he sleeping on your kitchen table?"
Maria stared disbelievingly at Clyde, then hurried out of the room. Resigned, Sarah Jane followed her, with Luke and Clyde close behind. Clyde caught at Maria's arm as she stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Don't get too close! Some of them can get nasty if you wake 'em up too quickly. He might lash out!"
"No he won't, he's alright," Luke said defensively.
"What, so he's your friend too?"
"I found him," Luke smiled proudly: Sarah Jane leaned her head against the door jamb. "In the Bubble Shock factory, where I was - made. He's another like me, or he might be. I think he is, but Mum's not sure. He's not feeling very well, though, so we brought him home tonight."
Maria grimaced. "Jenny Ellison. You went all quiet at school when she started talking about her dad and that fire. Well, even quieter than usual. I should have guessed you'd be curious. I'm sorry."
"Awww, Luke!" Clyde looked exasperated and fond all at once. He put his arm around Luke's shoulder. "Look, just because you found some strange guy sleeping rough in that place, doesn't mean that he comes from there. Not like you did. You're one of a kind, see? That's why we like you! Only one Luke Smith."
"Actually, there are over 145,000 entries for Luke Smith on Google," Luke replied, but he gave Clyde a small smile in response.
"Probably all your fansites. Anyway, thing is, you can't just let a total stranger into your house like this. Not with just the two of you in here. What if he's a nutter, or on the run?"
"I appreciate the chivalry, Clyde," Sarah Jane said, "But I've lived on my own for - a few years, you know, and I've seen things a lot scarier than this poor man. I really don't think he's any kind of threat at all. He's the one who's scared of us, as it happens."
"But he's right." The whispery voice came from behind her: their strange guest had woken up, pushing himself unsteadily away from the table. "You can't be sure - I don't even know who I am! What happens to you if they find me here? I need to go."
"See!" Clyde said triumphantly. Behind him, the man stood up fast, took a few stumbling steps and promptly keeled over.
Luke gave a yelp and rushed over, glaring at Clyde. "What did you do that for? He's not well!"
"I didn't know he'd faint!" But Clyde looked contrite. "Shall I call 999?"
"No, no," Sarah Jane said briskly. If Luke’s new friend woke up in a hospital bed in his current state, he'd probably end up jumping out of the window. "Just help me to get him into the living room."
Between the four of them, they managed to carry the man through to the makeshift bed on the sofa. While Sarah Jane dug a thermometer out of the first aid box, the children fussed quietly around him, putting cushions under his head and unlacing his shoes as he lay limp and still, breathing wheezily.
The thermometer read 101. Not good. When she looked up, Maria was holding out one of the man's shoes.
"Look at this! Only, don't look too closely, because I don't think he's had these off for a week and his feet smell worse than Dad's!"
The shoe was muddy and scuffed, but clearly good quality. She glanced at the inside sole. "Church's," Sarah Jane said, holding the shoe up to show Clyde and Luke. "These are £300 shoes he's wearing."
"So? He's a mugger with good taste," Clyde shrugged, ignoring Luke's cross glare.
"And a good eye - good enough to mug someone with exactly the same shoe size as him?" Sarah Jane shook her head. "His tie is Prada. And that shirt isn't High Street, the cotton's far too fine.
Clyde reached out to feel the sleeve cautiously. "Okay, so he's got expensive clothes. Hey, just a minute... maybe he's one of those rich guys who pretends to be poor? You know, like on the telly. We look after him now, he gives us fifty thousand pounds for being Good Samaritans, you know! Nice!"
"Maybe. Though he's taking the disguise a bit far, if he's making himself this unwell to pull it off."
Luke touched her arm. "I think he's waking up, Mum."
On the sofa, their new guest was staring wildly at Maria and Clyde as he pushed himself upright. He tried to speak, but all that came out was an unintelligible wheeze.
Time to take charge, Sarah Jane thought. She pushed the man gently but firmly back against the cushions.
"It's alright, listen to me. Everything is fine and everything is going to be fine, but you have to do as I say. You're not well, you need help and you're just going to have to stay here and let us help you. Do you understand?"
Thankfully, he didn't argue but sank obediently back, breathing with some difficulty. He looked distressed, his forehead slick with sweat, but she gave him a reassuring smile. "Good! Now, this is Maria and Clyde, they're our friends, you can trust them too. And I think we need a name for you. Just for now, until you remember your real one. Do you want to choose?"
He looked as confused as Luke had, months ago now in this same room, faced with the same question. After a while he coughed, shrugging as he shook his head
"What about Ian?" Maria said. "You look a bit like my uncle Ian - my Dad's brother. He's nice, lives over in Pimlico. He and Dad go to Chelsea matches when they're playing at home."
He blinked, and for a moment she thought he was about to cry. Instead he shrugged, nodding again, then closed his eyes and turned his face away to the back of the couch.
"Alright, Ian it is. Now, you just rest here for now..." Sarah Jane gestured everyone else out of the room, turning the main lights off. In the hallway, they all stood close, as Luke told Maria and Clyde about finding 'Ian' in the factory.
"So - we don't know anything about this guy, right? Who he is, how he got there, if he's telling the truth about not remembering anything -"
"He is - he doesn't!" Luke interrupted Clyde defensively, and Clyde held up his hands.
"Whoa Nelly! I'm just telling it how it is. You can't always go around taking everybody at face value, you know!"
"Yeah, but isn't everyone supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?" Maria pointed out.
"Look, you're both right." Behind Clyde, Sarah Jane could see Luke frowning unhappily. "We don't know, but for now I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt - at any rate, I don't think he's a threat to any of us, the state he's in now. Let's just see how he is tomorrow, after he's had the chance to rest. I'll ask Mr Smith to run some more checks, see if he can tell us anything about him."
"Yes - Mr Smith can tell us if he's another Archetype!" Luke exclaimed, clearly delighted. Behind him, Maria and Clyde were conferring quietly.
"OK, sorry about this but I have to get back," Maria said. "Dad's doing stir-fry tonight. But I'll come round first thing tomorrow!" She smiled at Luke. "I want to see if your Ian has remembered anything by then!"
As she left, Clyde was talking on his mobile. "Yeah... No... Yeah Mum, I will. Bye!" He tucked the phone away with a grin. "That's sorted! I've told her Luke was having a half-term sleepover tonight. You got a t-shirt I can borrow, mate?" At Sarah Jane's raised eyebrows he added hastily, "It's okay if I stay over, yeah? Only there's no way I'm leaving you two on your own here tonight with some total stranger. Even if he is Mr Eccentric Millionaire."
She had to smile. "That's very kind of you. Of course you can stay. But is your Mum going to be OK by herself?"
Clyde grinned. "It's Friday night - that's girls' night out. There's a new bar that's just opened on Station Road - Casino Royale. If I'm not at home, she doesn't have to worry about what time she gets back. Do her good to be young free and single for one night!"
She'd met Carla Langer for the first time a few weeks ago, and liked her immediately. Maybe it was what they had in common, each of them alone with a teenage son to care for. Part of it was just the quiet pleasure of seeing Clyde's covert but stubborn, protective love for his mother, and the way she could see echoes of the same unwavering affection in him for Luke.
"Right, I'm going to have a word with Mr Smith. I'll leave you two to see if you can get that ridiculous air-bed blown up again?"
Up in the loft, Mr Smith came to life with his usual absurd theatrical flourish, and ran a quick scan as she requested, with only the faintest trace of a huff in his artificial voice. The alien computer never liked being interrupted at night: perhaps it was when he played whatever the AI equivalent of Solitaire was, or caught up on old TV shows?
"Your guest is a human male. Apart from high levels of Baryon-9 contamination, a small firearms wound, mild dehydration and an unpleasant upper respiratory infection, he is normal and in reasonably good health."
"Not like Luke, then? An Archetype, I mean."
"As I said, he is a normal human male. Had there been anything remarkable about him, I would have remarked on it the first time."
It was a good thing she knew that computers couldn't really harrumph impatiently, Sarah Jane thought. "Sorry, of course you would. I just wondered because Luke found him at the Bubble-Shock factory. Would the Baryon-9 have come from there? He'd been there for several days."
"That would seem likely. You and Luke are also showing low and moderate levels of contamination."
Such a horrible word. "Is it harmful?"
"Baryon-9 does not occur naturally on this planet," Mr Smith intoned. "I cannot give you empirical information on the potential effects of protracted exposure for human subjects. However, Baryon-9 is highly unlikely to be have any permanent effect on human health."
"Alright, that's good - I think." She turned, then hesitated: it was an unpleasant suspicion, but still. "One last thing, please. Are there any recent reports of prisoners absconding, or patients going missing from any local mental institutions?"
It could only have been nanoseconds, but the tiny silence seemed to drag on uncomfortably. "I can find no records of any such occurrence in the last month, from any relevant establishments within a fifty mile radius. Shall I widen the parameters?"
She let out a sigh of relief. "No, thank you." Ian's fancy shoes had been wet and grubby, but under the dirt they'd looked brand new. Impossible to see how he could have walked more than a few miles in them, or been living rough for more than a couple of weeks.
Well, at least one mystery was solved. She found Luke in the kitchen, making up a jug of hot Ribena - he seemed to live on the sticky stuff.
"For Ian - he probably needs to drink more fluids, right?"
"Good idea," she said brightly. "There's some Solpadol in the first aid box, too. We'll get him to take a couple, if he hasn't fallen asleep again!"
"What did Mr Smith say?" Luke asked eagerly. "Did you ask him about Ian being another Archetype?"
"I did, and he definitely isn't. He's just an ordinary man. It was a coincidence that you found him, where you found him... I'm sorry, Luke."
"Oh." She watched as he sorted through the first aid box, taking care to put the boxes of plasters and tubes of antiseptic back in a neat order after he'd found the paracetamol. It was strange that she'd never felt the absence of children in her life until she had a son of her own. Now, she just wanted the world to be forbidden to disappoint him.
"You know, I was thinking about the Bubble-Shock factory - about Ian being there, and the fire, and you finding him. What do you think would have happened if you hadn't gone there last Monday, to check it out?"
"Happened to Ian?" Luke said. "I don't know. I suppose... someone else would have found him?"
"Ah, but who? And when? Maybe whoever did this to him, but they weren't exactly trying to help him in the first place. And no-one else would go to that place now - it could have been weeks, Luke. Months. And I don't think he'd have come out of that cupboard by himself, even if he was starving."
Luke looked thoughtful as he topped up the Ribena jug with cold water. Eventually, he said quietly, "You think he might have - died in there?"
"Yes, I really think he might have. So, he may not be an Archetype, but he's very lucky indeed that you are. Now, I'll take this through and make sure Ian's settled down for the night - and you'd better make sure Clyde hasn't managed to get himself trapped inside the duvet cover again. He nearly knocked himself out last time, remember!"
Luke nodded, giving her a quick hug as he went past. "Thanks. Goodnight, Mum."
"And could the two of you try not to stay up all night texting Maria, please!"
In the living room, Ian was asleep, breathing noisily. She left the Ribena and Solpadol on the small table next to him, then dimmed most of the lights and settled down in her favourite armchair with a couple of books, a notebook and her laptop, and tried to concentrate on finishing the corporate manslaughter article. The deadline was the end of that week.
Inevitably, though, it proved impossible to force her concentration to stick with the article. With a sigh, she gave up and started to check missing persons websites online. But all she knew about Ian was what he looked like, and an approximate time-frame. It was impossible to usefully narrow the search. She'd have to start checking local hospitals and shelters tomorrow. The children would be glad to help her, she knew, though they needed to find a way of doing it discreetly, in case Ian was right about being pursued.
She sent a short, non-committal email to Colonel Wells, asking only if he could send her the full UNIT report on the Bubble Shock fire last week, and dozed off to the sound of a total stranger sleeping fitfully ten feet away.
***
Part 2
Rating: G (slightly more snogging than the average SJA: slightly less nudity and handjobs than the average Torchwood. It all balances out)
Words: 68 million. Alright, 32,000 - but it felt like 68m
Warnings: none
Pairings: ummm
Spoilers: Set between Seasons 1 and 2 of SJA, after Season 2 of Torchwood, and before the Doctor Who Season 4 finale. (Probably the second week in June, then?) Random spoilers for all three series up to those respective points, including references to Sarah Jane's Classic adventures.
a/n: This fic has only been part-beta'd: my thanks to several of you but especially lonelybrit for the constant encouragement along the way. Any dim mistakes, gawping plot holes etc, are all down to me. Please let me know if you spot a howler, and I'll knock it on the head with my mighty fist of incompetence.
Summary: " It started innocently enough... " This is simply the story of a very quiet weekend in the Whoniverse. No gore, no vomitty monsters, quite a lot of tea being consumed.
Part 1
It started innocently enough, with Luke coming home after school on a Friday and asking her if he could use his pocket money to go and buy chips.
"Of course you can! That's your money, Luke. You don't have to ask me what you can spend it on." Sarah Jane studied him. He'd requested second helpings a few times that week, and toast as well as his usual cereal for breakfast. Growth spurt, she thought, though he looked as skinny as ever. "Dinner won't be ready for a bit, but if you're feeling hungry now, you can always have a sandwich if you'd like?"
And Luke smiled at her, as guileless as ever. "Oh, the chips aren't for me. They're for the other."
A tiny alarm bell rang in the back of her head. "The 'other'? The other what?"
"The other one like me," Luke said, helping himself to a banana. "The other Archetype."
"""
A week ago, Mr Smith had woken her to inform her that there had been a small fire in the ruins of the Bubble Shock factory, triggered by a brief energy surge. And no, he couldn't say where the energy was from or why it had spiked, because the residual Baryon-9 radiation all over the site (a by-product of Bane power generators, he'd informed her, ponderously) meant that he usually blanked that location out of his standard monitoring sweeps.
For a computer, he'd managed to inject just the right note of bored irritation into that last response. As if he had time to keep an eye on every last corner of their own backyard! Had she forgotten he already had a whole galaxy to oversee?
UNIT had removed all traces of Bane technology from the ruined factory. They hadn't been able to do anything about the radiation, though their technicians had assured her that Baryon-9 was as persistent as limescale, and a hundred per cent less harmful. Still, an unexplained energy surge might have meant they'd missed something. Sarah Jane had sighed, and woken herself up enough to call up the ever-patient Colonel Wells at UNIT's Guildford base, who promised to send a team to check it out and let her know if there were any problems.
She'd turned over and fallen asleep. Colonel Wells had called her back on Saturday, to assure her that the fire was out and the UNIT team had checked around, but found no sign of anything unusual.
"Sergeant Miller thinks it was probably just loose wiring," he'd said reassuringly. Sarah Jane thought that Sergeant Miller wasn't a patch on any of his predecessors that she'd known, but UNIT were generally very courteous to her - Alistair's influence, perhaps? - and the fire was out, and the deadline for the Herald's article on corporate manslaughter was getting uncomfortably close. She'd thanked the Colonel and forgotten about it.
She wouldn't have mentioned it to Luke, even if she'd remembered. He'd mostly stopped asking those questions - how he'd come into existence, what she thought the Bane Mother might have done with him when she'd finished using him to refine the Bubble Shock - but only, she suspected, because she didn't have anything new to tell him. The curiosity was still there, ticking quietly away. In many ways, Luke really was exactly like every other child dealing with the transition towards adulthood, asking himself the big questions about who he was and what he was meant to be.
"So, what made you decide to go back there?" she asked Luke. They were driving back to the Bubble Shock factory, with a large portion of cod and chips (wrapped) and a bottle of Coke on the back seat.
"Jenny Ellison. She's in our class, and her dad's a fireman. At break on Monday she'd been talking about this fire he'd been called out to last Friday, how there were soldiers there too, from UNIT - she didn't know what UNIT was, but I did. I went by there after school on Monday, to... you know. Check it out."
The Clyde-ism made her smile. For Luke, UNIT equalled extra-terrestrial mysteries. No wonder he'd been curious. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have gone over together."
Luke shrugged apologetically. "It was on my way back from school, sort of. And I didn't want to disturb you if there was nothing to see."
"Spoken like a born reporter!" she said cheerfully, nudging his shoulder. 'On his way back' would have meant a two-mile detour between school and Bannerman Road. Of course, she'd prefer him not to go haring off to poke around in dangerous old ruins, but it was already something she had to struggle against: the urge to over-protect, to keep him close and safe from the world. And Luke had so much to learn. If she did that too much, he'd end up unable to set a foot outside the front door.
She was beginning to understand how it must have been - must still be - for the Doctor. Travelling with companions who might be bright or capable but who would always be oh, so hopelessly inexperienced and ignorant compared to him. If the Doctor hadn't let her spread her wings, take risks, then who knew how small and dull her life might have turned out?
"It's a good thing I found him when I did," Luke said. "He hadn't had anything to eat for ages. I had a Mars Bar in my bag, and an apple. And I saved my packed lunch for him on Tuesday, and Wednesday and Thursday. But I think he's still very hungry."
That explained the recent 'growth spurt' eating, at least. "You said he was hiding," Sarah Jane said as they reached the factory site. "How did you know to look for him?"
"I didn't," Luke frowned. "I was looking around and I just had this weird feeling, like my neck was tickling. Maybe it's because he's another Archetype? There's a cupboard at the end of one of the corridors. He was in there. He didn't want them to find him."
"Five days, though." They had to park the car on the side of the road and climb in under a loose bit of the mesh fence running all around the site. "Why didn't you tell me you'd found someone here?"
Luke turned to her, eyes earnest. "Mum, he's really scared. Someone hurt him, he doesn't want them to find him again. I remember what that was like, when I woke up the first time, and I met Maria and you. I was scared, just like him. I wanted to make sure he knew that he's safe with me." He brightened. "I think he'll be okay with you now, though. I knew I could trust you, right from the start."
"Well, you were right about that." She matched his smile, switching on the torch she'd tucked into her pocket as they reached a side door. "But I'm still not sure how you know he's another Archetype. Why would the Bane have made two of you?"
"I don't know," he replied. "But you'll see, when you talk to him. He's just like me, Mum - he knows lots of things, but he doesn't know any of the things he needs to. Like what his name is, or where he comes from. We need to go left, here... and then just along over there. Follow me!"
The floor was covered in puddles everywhere. The factory was a wrecked shell, now, with half the roof missing, and it had rained a lot in the last week. Some of the water might be from where the fire had been put out, Sarah Jane thought. She could smell traces of smoke and burnt rubber, and guessed they had to be close to where it had started.
They were heading towards what looked like a storage cupboard at the end of a long, dark corridor. Luke pressed a finger to his lips, then leaned forward and called out, "Hello! It's me, Luke."
No reply. Luke whispered over his shoulder, "Secret signal," and knocked gently on the cupboard door, the quick-slow-quick of Morse Code. S.O.S. After a moment, the door opened a few inches.
Luke waved at the crack. "How are you?" he asked. There was a whispered reply that Sarah Jane couldn't make out. Luke nodded, leaning down and pulling the door wider. "I know, but don't worry. I've brought you some chips, here." He offered the wrapped parcel, then gestured Sarah Jane to come closer.
"And I've brought my mum," Luke added brightly as she crouched down next to him.
Frantic scrabbling sounds came from inside the cupboard. It was far too dark to see anything. Luke held up his hands, pleading.
"No! It's okay, don't be scared, she won't hurt you! She's really nice, I told you about her, remember? She helped me, she'll help you too."
No response. Sarah Jane could hear harsh breathing in the darkness. Down by the cupboard door, she turned the torch slowly, to illuminate herself and Luke together.
"Luke's right. I found him here too, where the Bane used to be. I promise you I won't hurt you. I'm going to shine the light in now, so that you can see me better and I can see you too. I won't point it into your face."
Luke certainly believed he'd found another Archetype, though common sense told her that this was hardly likely. Even so, in her mind's eye she'd been expecting to find someone who at least looked like another Luke, a pale perfect boy in a white smock and slippers.
As she swept the beam slowly across the wet concrete floor, it caught on something shiny-dark against the matt blackness of the cupboard. A man's shoe, lying discarded on its side... No, not discarded. The torch made out a sock, the cuff of a trouser leg, and up and up, until she reached the face of - not a child, but a grown man, grimy and scruffily bearded. His eyes were slate-blue and bloodshot under a dark matted fringe, and he squinted miserably at her in the torchlight.
She sucked in a breath, said, "Ohh..." but remembered not to add the Luke! onto the end of it. Her son was already acutely tuned in to that sound of censure in other people's voices, the tell-tale hint that he'd got something wrong again. Every day was a social minefield for him, and he was always trying his hardest to blend in, to pass for ordinary.
Instead, Sarah Jane smiled briefly at the dishevelled man in the cupboard, huddled on what looked like a nest of dirty bubble-wrap, before she straightened up. Luke stood with her, watching expectantly. She'd been anticipating something like this from him, he was far too tender-hearted. She'd guessed it would be a lost puppy, though, or fledgling birds next spring. Not some stray down-and out taking refuge in the deserted factory where he'd been 'born'.
Luke was the distillation of thousands of random humans, though. So maybe his inherent sweet nature was a good thing for all of them, on the whole, all those random humans adding up to compassion rather than selfishness. Even if it did cause a few problems from time to time.
She put her hand on his shoulder. "Luke, listen. I don't think the man in there is like you - another Archetype, I mean. I think he's just, well, an ordinary adult. Someone who's living rough, um... homeless, you know?"
Luke looked confused. "But that's what I was. I didn't have a home, until you found me and let me live with you. Can you adopt him too?"
"Oh gosh... I don't really think so, no. We can probably find a shelter for him. Somewhere that's set up to look after people like him, who need help."
"But you have to talk to him!" Luke insisted. "I told you - he's like I was, he doesn't know who he is. Would a shelter be able to give him a name, like you did for me?"
She hated the thought of disappointing him. Of course, if you were the only one of your kind, the idea that you might have found another like you had to matter hugely. "The thing is, I'm pretty sure he already has a name. He might not have told you because he's in trouble with the police, or because - well, some people forget things because they're unwell, or because they've had too much to drink. Do you understand?"
"Yes," he assured her. "But please just talk to him, Mum."
"Alright, I will." No harm in talking... She crouched down again, breathing in as she did. She couldn't smell alcohol, though it was hard to tell: the air in the cupboard was close and smelled of damp cloth and sweat, smoke and metal. She shone the torch in again. Luke's 'Archetype' was huddled as far away from the door as he could get, knees against his chest, his breath whistling in and out of congested lungs. As she studied him he coughed, a nasty hacking sound, and put one arm up to cover his eyes.
"Light hurts," he mumbled, His voice was a cracked whisper, almost impossible to make out.
"Oh, yes, sorry." She pointed the torch down, trying to catch an angle that would give both of them some illumination. "You sound like you've got a bit of a bad cough. It's very cold in here, wet too. Why don't you come out of there, come with us? I'm pretty sure there's a Samaritans shelter near here. I've got a car, we can drive you there. They'll have food and medicine, and -"
He shook his head, wriggling even further back into the corner. "No! I can't, they'll find me."
"Who will find you?"
"Them. Whoever did this - Not mad, 's all wrong." His voice was terribly hoarse. Sarah Jane leaned forward, struggling to hear him.
"Alright, look - What's your name?"
He glanced at Luke, nervously, then back at her, shaking his head. "Can't remember. Told him that."
"Yes, you did. I just wondered if it had come back to you. How did you get here?"
"I don't remember!" His voice was nearly gone but she could hear the fear and desperation, even in that faltering rasp. Now that her eyes were getting used to the gloom, Sarah Jane could see that he was sweating.
"I'm sorry. I'm just trying to understand. Can you remember anything?"
He frowned, scratching at the grimy stubble on his chin, then shook his head again. "Fell out of the sky. Couldn't get my breath, everything hurt. Then more noise... I hid in here, thought they were coming for me."
"When did that happen? How long have you been here?"
He shrugged. "Don't know. Slept a bit."
"And that's definitely all you can remember?"
He was silent for a while, staring at the floor. When he spoke again, she had to lean forward to catch the faltering whisper.
"I bought five Danish again. Stupid, keep forgetting, they get upset and I need to, to be more..."
If he was a tramp, he was the oddest one she'd ever met. "But you can't remember who 'they' are?" she asked, as softly as she could, and the man shook his head and put his hands over his face.
She sighed. Looked at Luke, who was crouched down next to her, his expression anxious and eager all at once. Looked back at the stranger crouched in front of her. Under a week's worth of dirt, she could see that his fingernails had been neatly manicured. He was in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat whose dark pinstripes matched the rumpled material of his trousers. His hair was an unwashed mess but still short, trimmed close against the nape of his neck.
He was no more a down-and-out than he was another Archetype. He was a puzzle, and a problem, and even as she hated the inevitability of it, Sarah Jane heard herself saying, "Look, you really can't stay here. You'll have to come home with us."
The man looked up quickly, shaking his head. "No. It isn't safe."
"It's not safe for you to stay here. What if they come back, the people you were hiding from?" He'd probably just been scared by the UNIT recon team, but she didn't know for sure. Maybe someone really had been chasing him? He was right that something strange must have happened to him, at any rate. "Besides, this whole building's not safe - it's a wreck. I can't have Luke clambering about in here every day to bring you food!"
"Tell him he can't come here anymore."
"So I say to my son that we're just going to get up and leave you here, to starve to death, if you don't freeze to death first, or die of pneumonia?" She smiled at Luke, who was looking alarmed. "I don't think Luke would be very happy with me if I did that. In fact, he'd probably just ignore me and come straight back to look after you anyway. Is that what you want?"
"If you told me I couldn't come back, I wouldn't do it!" Luke protested. "But I wouldn't be happy either. It wouldn't be a good thing to leave him here."
"No, it wouldn't," Sarah Jane agreed. She held out a hand to the stranger. "What about just for tonight, hmm? I've got a spare bedroom, it's nice and warm. You could, oh, have a wash, get some decent rest. We'll pick up more chips on the way back - I think these ones will be cold by now. And I promise you, you'll be perfectly safe. It's just Luke and me, no-one else will know you're with us. I promise."
She didn't know if it was her reassurances, or the lure of food and a bed, or that he was too ill to put up much of a struggle, but after a while the man sighed, coughing, took her hand in a weak, clammy grip, and let himself be drawn out of the cupboard and led away with them.
***
They drove back to the chip shop, and Luke hurried back in for three more cod and chips while his strange new friend slouched down as low as he could get in the passenger seat. He didn't speak, just coughed feebly and stared at the door handle, as if he was thinking of making a run for it. Frankly, Sarah Jane doubted if he'd be able to make it as far as the end of the street.
When they got back, he mouthed "Bathroom?" and she gestured towards the downstairs loo, then pointed behind her. "And the kitchen's through here - come and find us when you're ready." After he'd shut the door, she hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to lock the front door... No. If he really wanted to get away from them, there wasn't much either she or Luke could do about it. Even so, she felt oddly relieved when he appeared in the kitchen a few minutes later, as she was pouring mugs of tea.
Indoors, in decent light, he looked a bit less grizzled than she'd first thought, and tall, and very unsteady on his feet. His hands were scrubbed clean now, in stark white contrast to the rest of him. "Come on in, please, sit down. You look like you need to rest."
He mumbled something that was just too hoarse for her to make out. "Pardon?"
"He was asking if he could have a bath," Luke translated quickly. His hearing was exceptionally good, of course, though it might also have had something to do with him being used to his new friend's weak croak of a voice by now.
She smiled. "Of course you can, but something to eat first, yes?"
He nodded, sitting down meekly next to her. As she slavered ketchup on her plate, Sarah Jane was thinking ahead. What could he wear? Nothing she and Luke had could possibly fit him, but his own clothes were damp and filthy. The vivid lilac shirt might have been smart once, but now looked as if it had been mauled by a wild animal, with one sleeve torn from wrist to elbow and bloodstains down the side. There was a twist of stripy cloth tied around his forearm, like a crude bandage.
Luke bolted his food down - well, fish and chips was one of his favourites - but she was worried to see that the stranger was barely eating. After only a few chips he'd given up, sitting hunched at the table with his left hand cradled awkwardly in his lap. When he sipped the tea Luke had poured, it brought on a long coughing fit that sounded far from good. As it subsided, Sarah Jane said casually, "What happened to your arm?"
He glanced down at the striped material. "Um... caught it on something, I think. Stopped bleeding after I tied it up."
"Does it hurt?"
He shrugged, coughing again, but didn't speak.
Travelling with the Doctor for those few enchanted years had taught her so much - most of it completely useless back on Earth, of course. But Harry Sullivan had taken her through some basic first aid on a few quiet afternoons, probably to take his own mind off the fact that he was hurtling through time and space in a spaceship that looked like a tiny wooden police box, with a great big laughing madman at the helm.
She touched the makeshift bandage lightly. "Do you mind if I take a look?"
He held out his arm, not looking up from the plate of congealing chips. She untied the knotted ends and unwound the fabric. It turned out to be a tie, wrapped around a long, ragged tear in his forearm. Not too deep, but still bloody and raw. And she'd spent enough time with UNIT to be reasonably sure it was a bullet wound.
"Do me a favour, please, Luke? I need the first aid box in the bathroom. Could you - ?" He was out of his chair before she'd finished. Sarah Jane filled a bowl with hot water and a dash of Dettol, then studied the bloodstained tie in her hand. The purple stripes were decorated with a pattern of tiny crossed hockey sticks. "Is this yours?"
He glanced quickly up. "Mmm. Blood'll come out if I soak it in cold water. Did last time."
She glanced at the label: Prada. A tramp with a Prada tie. "It's very nice," Sarah Jane said casually. "Were you going somewhere special?"
He looked confused. "Just work things," he mumbled, gesturing vaguely at his ruined shirt.
Luke was back with the first aid box. Sarah Jane rolled the remains of the lilac shirtsleeve up out of the way and got to work. The man flinched a few times as she cleaned the wound and sprayed antiseptic all over it, but he seemed on the point of falling asleep where he sat, his head nodding slowly as she finished pinning the bandage end in place.
"You must work somewhere quite smart, then?" No reaction. "An office, maybe?"
"Maybe. I - I'm not -." Another wave of coughing put an end to that sentence.
"You know, I really don't think you're very well at all," Sarah Jane said softly. "I should call a doctor. That injury, too. It looks clean enough now, but you probably need antibiotics. What do you think?"
"No, please!" He was half-out of his chair, the fear forcing his voice almost to breaking point. "No-one else! I just need to rest..."
"Okay, don't worry." He was so nervy, and there was so little she could do to help him like this. She rummaged in the first aid box - yes, there was an unopened box of Lemsip in there. It seemed a bit inadequate, given how pale and ill he looked, but it had to be better than nothing. "Here, drink one of these at least, yes? I'll just get some blankets, and you can have a nap on the sofa. It's very comfortable."
It had to be better than a wet concrete cupboard floor, at any rate. She left Luke making up a mug of Lemsip while watching their unexpected guest with undisguised fascination, and went upstairs to fetch a sheet and spare duvet.
When she came back, Luke greeted her at the kitchen door, finger pressed to his lips. Behind him, the man was sprawled across the table, face pillowed on his good forearm and breathing in a phlegmy rasp.
"He must be very tired," Luke whispered. "That looks uncomfortable. At least I got him to drink the Lemsip. Should we wake him?"
"Let's make a bed up for him first. We'll have to wake him then, though. I don't think you and I are going to manage to carry him from here to the living room, do you?"
They'd just finished laying out a bed of sorts on the sofa - actually, Sarah Jane thought, it looked rather cosy - when the doorbell rang. A moment later Maria and Clyde appeared at the window, grinning and waving.
Luke hurried off to answer the door before she could say anything to him. From the hallway, she could hear Maria saying, "Hey, are you okay? We were getting worried about you!" and Clyde adding, "Yeah, you shot off so fast this afternoon, you didn't even pick up your science assignment for half-term. We thought you must've caught that vomiting bug or something! You been puking?"
"No, I'm fine." So far in his short life, Luke had never as much as sneezed. She'd worried that his unique biology might have made him susceptible to every virus going the rounds at school, but in fact he seemed to be exceptionally resilient. "I had to take care of the other. I forgot about the assignment, oh, that's not good."
"Don't worry, I've got yours here," Maria said, swinging a carrier bag. "The other what? If it's aliens, you'd better not be keeping it all to yourself!" She walked into the living room, waving at Sarah Jane, then stopped short when she saw the sofa. "Oh, hi! Are you having a sleepover?"
Sarah Jane opened her mouth, but before she could speak Clyde pushed past Maria and hurried into the room.
"Listen, quick - someone's got into the house! There's a dosser crashed out in your kitchen!"
"What's a dosser?" Luke asked.
Clyde groaned. "You know, a vagrant, a street guy - listen mate, we'll do the Slang Twenty Questions later, alright? How'd he get in? Did you leave the back door open? Anyways," he turned to Sarah Jane, "We can shut this door and call the cops from in here, right?"
"There's no need for the police," Sarah Jane sighed, trying to think of something even slightly plausible. "That's a - friend. He's just dropped in to see me this evening."
"A friend? Well if you don't mind me saying, your friend needs a bath. He's minging. And his clothes are filthy. And why is he sleeping on your kitchen table?"
Maria stared disbelievingly at Clyde, then hurried out of the room. Resigned, Sarah Jane followed her, with Luke and Clyde close behind. Clyde caught at Maria's arm as she stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Don't get too close! Some of them can get nasty if you wake 'em up too quickly. He might lash out!"
"No he won't, he's alright," Luke said defensively.
"What, so he's your friend too?"
"I found him," Luke smiled proudly: Sarah Jane leaned her head against the door jamb. "In the Bubble Shock factory, where I was - made. He's another like me, or he might be. I think he is, but Mum's not sure. He's not feeling very well, though, so we brought him home tonight."
Maria grimaced. "Jenny Ellison. You went all quiet at school when she started talking about her dad and that fire. Well, even quieter than usual. I should have guessed you'd be curious. I'm sorry."
"Awww, Luke!" Clyde looked exasperated and fond all at once. He put his arm around Luke's shoulder. "Look, just because you found some strange guy sleeping rough in that place, doesn't mean that he comes from there. Not like you did. You're one of a kind, see? That's why we like you! Only one Luke Smith."
"Actually, there are over 145,000 entries for Luke Smith on Google," Luke replied, but he gave Clyde a small smile in response.
"Probably all your fansites. Anyway, thing is, you can't just let a total stranger into your house like this. Not with just the two of you in here. What if he's a nutter, or on the run?"
"I appreciate the chivalry, Clyde," Sarah Jane said, "But I've lived on my own for - a few years, you know, and I've seen things a lot scarier than this poor man. I really don't think he's any kind of threat at all. He's the one who's scared of us, as it happens."
"But he's right." The whispery voice came from behind her: their strange guest had woken up, pushing himself unsteadily away from the table. "You can't be sure - I don't even know who I am! What happens to you if they find me here? I need to go."
"See!" Clyde said triumphantly. Behind him, the man stood up fast, took a few stumbling steps and promptly keeled over.
Luke gave a yelp and rushed over, glaring at Clyde. "What did you do that for? He's not well!"
"I didn't know he'd faint!" But Clyde looked contrite. "Shall I call 999?"
"No, no," Sarah Jane said briskly. If Luke’s new friend woke up in a hospital bed in his current state, he'd probably end up jumping out of the window. "Just help me to get him into the living room."
Between the four of them, they managed to carry the man through to the makeshift bed on the sofa. While Sarah Jane dug a thermometer out of the first aid box, the children fussed quietly around him, putting cushions under his head and unlacing his shoes as he lay limp and still, breathing wheezily.
The thermometer read 101. Not good. When she looked up, Maria was holding out one of the man's shoes.
"Look at this! Only, don't look too closely, because I don't think he's had these off for a week and his feet smell worse than Dad's!"
The shoe was muddy and scuffed, but clearly good quality. She glanced at the inside sole. "Church's," Sarah Jane said, holding the shoe up to show Clyde and Luke. "These are £300 shoes he's wearing."
"So? He's a mugger with good taste," Clyde shrugged, ignoring Luke's cross glare.
"And a good eye - good enough to mug someone with exactly the same shoe size as him?" Sarah Jane shook her head. "His tie is Prada. And that shirt isn't High Street, the cotton's far too fine.
Clyde reached out to feel the sleeve cautiously. "Okay, so he's got expensive clothes. Hey, just a minute... maybe he's one of those rich guys who pretends to be poor? You know, like on the telly. We look after him now, he gives us fifty thousand pounds for being Good Samaritans, you know! Nice!"
"Maybe. Though he's taking the disguise a bit far, if he's making himself this unwell to pull it off."
Luke touched her arm. "I think he's waking up, Mum."
On the sofa, their new guest was staring wildly at Maria and Clyde as he pushed himself upright. He tried to speak, but all that came out was an unintelligible wheeze.
Time to take charge, Sarah Jane thought. She pushed the man gently but firmly back against the cushions.
"It's alright, listen to me. Everything is fine and everything is going to be fine, but you have to do as I say. You're not well, you need help and you're just going to have to stay here and let us help you. Do you understand?"
Thankfully, he didn't argue but sank obediently back, breathing with some difficulty. He looked distressed, his forehead slick with sweat, but she gave him a reassuring smile. "Good! Now, this is Maria and Clyde, they're our friends, you can trust them too. And I think we need a name for you. Just for now, until you remember your real one. Do you want to choose?"
He looked as confused as Luke had, months ago now in this same room, faced with the same question. After a while he coughed, shrugging as he shook his head
"What about Ian?" Maria said. "You look a bit like my uncle Ian - my Dad's brother. He's nice, lives over in Pimlico. He and Dad go to Chelsea matches when they're playing at home."
He blinked, and for a moment she thought he was about to cry. Instead he shrugged, nodding again, then closed his eyes and turned his face away to the back of the couch.
"Alright, Ian it is. Now, you just rest here for now..." Sarah Jane gestured everyone else out of the room, turning the main lights off. In the hallway, they all stood close, as Luke told Maria and Clyde about finding 'Ian' in the factory.
"So - we don't know anything about this guy, right? Who he is, how he got there, if he's telling the truth about not remembering anything -"
"He is - he doesn't!" Luke interrupted Clyde defensively, and Clyde held up his hands.
"Whoa Nelly! I'm just telling it how it is. You can't always go around taking everybody at face value, you know!"
"Yeah, but isn't everyone supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?" Maria pointed out.
"Look, you're both right." Behind Clyde, Sarah Jane could see Luke frowning unhappily. "We don't know, but for now I think we can give him the benefit of the doubt - at any rate, I don't think he's a threat to any of us, the state he's in now. Let's just see how he is tomorrow, after he's had the chance to rest. I'll ask Mr Smith to run some more checks, see if he can tell us anything about him."
"Yes - Mr Smith can tell us if he's another Archetype!" Luke exclaimed, clearly delighted. Behind him, Maria and Clyde were conferring quietly.
"OK, sorry about this but I have to get back," Maria said. "Dad's doing stir-fry tonight. But I'll come round first thing tomorrow!" She smiled at Luke. "I want to see if your Ian has remembered anything by then!"
As she left, Clyde was talking on his mobile. "Yeah... No... Yeah Mum, I will. Bye!" He tucked the phone away with a grin. "That's sorted! I've told her Luke was having a half-term sleepover tonight. You got a t-shirt I can borrow, mate?" At Sarah Jane's raised eyebrows he added hastily, "It's okay if I stay over, yeah? Only there's no way I'm leaving you two on your own here tonight with some total stranger. Even if he is Mr Eccentric Millionaire."
She had to smile. "That's very kind of you. Of course you can stay. But is your Mum going to be OK by herself?"
Clyde grinned. "It's Friday night - that's girls' night out. There's a new bar that's just opened on Station Road - Casino Royale. If I'm not at home, she doesn't have to worry about what time she gets back. Do her good to be young free and single for one night!"
She'd met Carla Langer for the first time a few weeks ago, and liked her immediately. Maybe it was what they had in common, each of them alone with a teenage son to care for. Part of it was just the quiet pleasure of seeing Clyde's covert but stubborn, protective love for his mother, and the way she could see echoes of the same unwavering affection in him for Luke.
"Right, I'm going to have a word with Mr Smith. I'll leave you two to see if you can get that ridiculous air-bed blown up again?"
Up in the loft, Mr Smith came to life with his usual absurd theatrical flourish, and ran a quick scan as she requested, with only the faintest trace of a huff in his artificial voice. The alien computer never liked being interrupted at night: perhaps it was when he played whatever the AI equivalent of Solitaire was, or caught up on old TV shows?
"Your guest is a human male. Apart from high levels of Baryon-9 contamination, a small firearms wound, mild dehydration and an unpleasant upper respiratory infection, he is normal and in reasonably good health."
"Not like Luke, then? An Archetype, I mean."
"As I said, he is a normal human male. Had there been anything remarkable about him, I would have remarked on it the first time."
It was a good thing she knew that computers couldn't really harrumph impatiently, Sarah Jane thought. "Sorry, of course you would. I just wondered because Luke found him at the Bubble-Shock factory. Would the Baryon-9 have come from there? He'd been there for several days."
"That would seem likely. You and Luke are also showing low and moderate levels of contamination."
Such a horrible word. "Is it harmful?"
"Baryon-9 does not occur naturally on this planet," Mr Smith intoned. "I cannot give you empirical information on the potential effects of protracted exposure for human subjects. However, Baryon-9 is highly unlikely to be have any permanent effect on human health."
"Alright, that's good - I think." She turned, then hesitated: it was an unpleasant suspicion, but still. "One last thing, please. Are there any recent reports of prisoners absconding, or patients going missing from any local mental institutions?"
It could only have been nanoseconds, but the tiny silence seemed to drag on uncomfortably. "I can find no records of any such occurrence in the last month, from any relevant establishments within a fifty mile radius. Shall I widen the parameters?"
She let out a sigh of relief. "No, thank you." Ian's fancy shoes had been wet and grubby, but under the dirt they'd looked brand new. Impossible to see how he could have walked more than a few miles in them, or been living rough for more than a couple of weeks.
Well, at least one mystery was solved. She found Luke in the kitchen, making up a jug of hot Ribena - he seemed to live on the sticky stuff.
"For Ian - he probably needs to drink more fluids, right?"
"Good idea," she said brightly. "There's some Solpadol in the first aid box, too. We'll get him to take a couple, if he hasn't fallen asleep again!"
"What did Mr Smith say?" Luke asked eagerly. "Did you ask him about Ian being another Archetype?"
"I did, and he definitely isn't. He's just an ordinary man. It was a coincidence that you found him, where you found him... I'm sorry, Luke."
"Oh." She watched as he sorted through the first aid box, taking care to put the boxes of plasters and tubes of antiseptic back in a neat order after he'd found the paracetamol. It was strange that she'd never felt the absence of children in her life until she had a son of her own. Now, she just wanted the world to be forbidden to disappoint him.
"You know, I was thinking about the Bubble-Shock factory - about Ian being there, and the fire, and you finding him. What do you think would have happened if you hadn't gone there last Monday, to check it out?"
"Happened to Ian?" Luke said. "I don't know. I suppose... someone else would have found him?"
"Ah, but who? And when? Maybe whoever did this to him, but they weren't exactly trying to help him in the first place. And no-one else would go to that place now - it could have been weeks, Luke. Months. And I don't think he'd have come out of that cupboard by himself, even if he was starving."
Luke looked thoughtful as he topped up the Ribena jug with cold water. Eventually, he said quietly, "You think he might have - died in there?"
"Yes, I really think he might have. So, he may not be an Archetype, but he's very lucky indeed that you are. Now, I'll take this through and make sure Ian's settled down for the night - and you'd better make sure Clyde hasn't managed to get himself trapped inside the duvet cover again. He nearly knocked himself out last time, remember!"
Luke nodded, giving her a quick hug as he went past. "Thanks. Goodnight, Mum."
"And could the two of you try not to stay up all night texting Maria, please!"
In the living room, Ian was asleep, breathing noisily. She left the Ribena and Solpadol on the small table next to him, then dimmed most of the lights and settled down in her favourite armchair with a couple of books, a notebook and her laptop, and tried to concentrate on finishing the corporate manslaughter article. The deadline was the end of that week.
Inevitably, though, it proved impossible to force her concentration to stick with the article. With a sigh, she gave up and started to check missing persons websites online. But all she knew about Ian was what he looked like, and an approximate time-frame. It was impossible to usefully narrow the search. She'd have to start checking local hospitals and shelters tomorrow. The children would be glad to help her, she knew, though they needed to find a way of doing it discreetly, in case Ian was right about being pursued.
She sent a short, non-committal email to Colonel Wells, asking only if he could send her the full UNIT report on the Bubble Shock fire last week, and dozed off to the sound of a total stranger sleeping fitfully ten feet away.
***
Part 2