Running
Title: Running
Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures
Characters & Pairings: Sarah Jane/(older)Maria
Rating: Child-friendly
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is just for fun
I remember the first time that Sarah Jane took my hand. Her gentle fingers clamped around mine and she led me into a run. She was always running from something. From aliens, from life, and eventually from me.
I remember the lurch in my stomach, the one that had little to do with the impending danger, but more from the excitement of entering this woman’s world. I didn’t know then that in time I would come to crave that touch, that I would come to need it.
But back then, physical contact came unnaturally easy to us. I think it was something to do with the lack of it in Sarah Jane’s life until then. Mentally and emotionally she had kept to herself, not allowing anyone near. A physical solitude amplified this barrier, and so when it was broken down, she would cling to me like the air that she breathed. I wonder if she ever knew that I was doing the same.
I was only fourteen years old in those first months. I was head-strong and resilient, I was free-thinking and independent, even at that young age, and yet I would hold on to her for dear life, relishing every touch of compassion, every look of pride, every word of encouragement.
Her acceptance and her pride in me was a drug to my system. I had always done well in school, always earned my place in life, and so praise wasn’t a stranger to me, but Sarah Jane gave me something more. She was a teacher to me of course, but right from the moment she let me into her world, I became something more, something I had never before been to an adult. I became an equal.
She didn’t belittle me, she didn’t praise trivial accomplishments, but she asked me for advise, for help, for trust, and I gave it willingly. I was the person she trusted above all others. She was the woman I loved above all others. She still is. Even if that love has evolved over the years, it has remained a constant truth. It is the brilliance that pulls me through whatever darkness has fallen into my life.
The worst abyss of which was losing her. Moving away, leaving her behind. Something I don’t think she has ever fully forgiven me for. She has adapted, obviously. She has a new life now, she is a different person. She has taken all the love and warmth that developed when I knew her, and she has given that to new friends, new family.
And somewhere, deep within all of her experiences, I know that she still loves me too.
Then I came back. And everything was different. Life has treated me well, growing up has suited me. Finally my body has caught up with my mind and any childish naivety has been replaced with the experience that only my life with Sarah Jane could have opened me up to.
I walked back into Bannerman Road and Sarah Jane welcomed me back with open arms. Her eyes a little more weary than I remembered, her hair a little longer, her tiny figure still possessing a strength and a resilience that belay her age. She held me in her arms, and I swore I felt her tremble, the shudder of breath that caught in her throat, the swallow of emotion she still refused to physically acknowledge. A strength she considered to be a weakness in herself, but I knew her better than she realised. Maybe she had forgotten the connection we had once shared, but it was still fresh in my mind, still a warmth coursing through my veins.
Later I would tell her of my fear. The courage it had taken to return, the fear that it would never be the same. It was her that had told me that maybe that was for the best. That maybe change wasn’t such a bad thing. And yet it was her that had started to run when things did change.
I was back at her door, back in her life, re-framed in a heart that I had never truly left. But now I was lost and confused. All I had known was that I wanted to be back with her. Other than that, nothing in my life had made much sense, I had no plans, no goals, no job, no home. It was Sarah Jane that had suggested I go with her. Sky had left for university, Luke was off working in Russia, Clyde and Rani had their own life now, together. And so, with no-one at home, Sarah Jane had picked up her journalists pen and was following new stories wherever they may lead.
This latest one took her back to visit an old friend in Italy, a story involving a cover up at an archaeological dig and an artefact that was to mysteriously disappear. We were strolling along the coast, anxious to keep a low profile at the excavation until the critical moment. We filled our time with each other’s company, with stories from the lifetime we had spent apart, with stories from Sarah Jane’s time as an investigative journalist following her dismissal from Planet Three, with her time in Italy.
And it was in Italy now, that she cried. I held her sobbing in my arms as the night-time crept over us. Words formed from broken sentences, words like ‘regret’, ‘should have’ and ‘love,’ and the names Josh and Nat, names that Sarah Jane had kept to herself in all the time I had known her. Names that slowly began unlocking the part of her history I had never been privy to. I remained silent trying to piece the puzzle together, keeping my vigil over her until dawn broke over the horizon, illuminating the face of the woman sleeping peacefully in my arms.
For the rest of the trip, Sarah Jane didn’t talk very much. We journeyed into the city at last, taking a taxi ride through the streets and she reached out and held my hand in silence, squeezing it gently and I knew what she was trying to say, her sad, tired eyes pouring out a gratitude she couldn’t express. I squeezed back and smiled. Knowing that our relationship was changing, but not knowing where it was leading us to. Sarah Jane had let me into her life all those years ago, but now, she was letting me into her very existence. The trust weighed like led upon my shoulders, yet I carried it for her, wishing that in the silence I could communicate something more than my infantile words could ever say.
On the way back to England, Sarah Jane’s mood lightened she began talking again, smiling, even laughing. Little by little she talked more of Nat and Josh, about the sacrifices that had been made along the way, about the friendships formed, damaged and ultimately lost. But there were no tears in her eyes now. The guilt in her heart was a secret that we both kept unspoken, instead relishing in the happier memories of their friendship.
Back in England, we settled into a routine. I would source out the news-worthy stories for her, Sarah Jane would go of investigating on foot while I supported her from home, using my computer technology degree, occasionally my dad’s help and of course, MR. Smith, to support her wherever I could. I wired money into several false bank accounts, created false identities, bought the plane tickets. I learnt from Sarah Jane, who in turn had learnt from Nat, and somehow the whole process brought a sense of closure to Sarah Jane’s anguish over the loss of her friend.
We were hiking through the Pennines when it happened. It was a holiday for us. A congratulations on a job well done. Her hand was in mine as I helped her up a craggy rock-face, but she had come up with a little too much gusto, and fell straight into me. I struggled to keep upright, grabbing her instinctively to balance myself, and bringing our bodies closer together. It shouldn’t have been a problem. This proximity was nothing new. But there was something about being alone with this woman, in the middle of a deserted landscape, with her body pressed to mine, that made time and Earth stand still. I froze, motionless my eyes questioning hers, trying to read what she was thinking.
She had tried to laugh, but the sound faltered off and was swallowed by the mountain range. And then it happened. And it is a cliché, but I honestly don’t remember who initiated it, all I remember was the warmth surging through me as our lips met for that first time. The feeling of her soft hand running over my cheek, the hesitancy in my voice as I spoke her name. She rested her forehead against mine and sighed gently. I held her to me as if I might lose her to the wind no more than a gentle breeze across our skin. We must of stood like that for decades. At least that is how it had felt.
We made the rest of our trek in silence, her hand in mine, neither of us sure of what lay ahead of us as a couple. Myself, terrified of what lay ahead of us as individuals.
And that is when Sarah Jane started running from me.
One moment she would be lying in my arms, in the bed that we now shared, and the next she would be distant and cold. One day she would pull me to her and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and the next she would tell me to find somebody else. She was hurting, and I could feel it through the bond we had always shared, I could feel it as if it were my own, because her pain was my own, her grievance caused me agony.
And yet I could do nothing. I was the one in this past year that she had turned to, and yet now I was the one whom she turned from. She kissed my lips and let the tears nestle in her eyes. “I will always love you,” she had said. The first and last time she had ever used the word. “But I can’t.”
Fandom: Sarah Jane Adventures
Characters & Pairings: Sarah Jane/(older)Maria
Rating: Child-friendly
Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is just for fun
I remember the first time that Sarah Jane took my hand. Her gentle fingers clamped around mine and she led me into a run. She was always running from something. From aliens, from life, and eventually from me.
I remember the lurch in my stomach, the one that had little to do with the impending danger, but more from the excitement of entering this woman’s world. I didn’t know then that in time I would come to crave that touch, that I would come to need it.
But back then, physical contact came unnaturally easy to us. I think it was something to do with the lack of it in Sarah Jane’s life until then. Mentally and emotionally she had kept to herself, not allowing anyone near. A physical solitude amplified this barrier, and so when it was broken down, she would cling to me like the air that she breathed. I wonder if she ever knew that I was doing the same.
I was only fourteen years old in those first months. I was head-strong and resilient, I was free-thinking and independent, even at that young age, and yet I would hold on to her for dear life, relishing every touch of compassion, every look of pride, every word of encouragement.
Her acceptance and her pride in me was a drug to my system. I had always done well in school, always earned my place in life, and so praise wasn’t a stranger to me, but Sarah Jane gave me something more. She was a teacher to me of course, but right from the moment she let me into her world, I became something more, something I had never before been to an adult. I became an equal.
She didn’t belittle me, she didn’t praise trivial accomplishments, but she asked me for advise, for help, for trust, and I gave it willingly. I was the person she trusted above all others. She was the woman I loved above all others. She still is. Even if that love has evolved over the years, it has remained a constant truth. It is the brilliance that pulls me through whatever darkness has fallen into my life.
The worst abyss of which was losing her. Moving away, leaving her behind. Something I don’t think she has ever fully forgiven me for. She has adapted, obviously. She has a new life now, she is a different person. She has taken all the love and warmth that developed when I knew her, and she has given that to new friends, new family.
And somewhere, deep within all of her experiences, I know that she still loves me too.
Then I came back. And everything was different. Life has treated me well, growing up has suited me. Finally my body has caught up with my mind and any childish naivety has been replaced with the experience that only my life with Sarah Jane could have opened me up to.
I walked back into Bannerman Road and Sarah Jane welcomed me back with open arms. Her eyes a little more weary than I remembered, her hair a little longer, her tiny figure still possessing a strength and a resilience that belay her age. She held me in her arms, and I swore I felt her tremble, the shudder of breath that caught in her throat, the swallow of emotion she still refused to physically acknowledge. A strength she considered to be a weakness in herself, but I knew her better than she realised. Maybe she had forgotten the connection we had once shared, but it was still fresh in my mind, still a warmth coursing through my veins.
Later I would tell her of my fear. The courage it had taken to return, the fear that it would never be the same. It was her that had told me that maybe that was for the best. That maybe change wasn’t such a bad thing. And yet it was her that had started to run when things did change.
I was back at her door, back in her life, re-framed in a heart that I had never truly left. But now I was lost and confused. All I had known was that I wanted to be back with her. Other than that, nothing in my life had made much sense, I had no plans, no goals, no job, no home. It was Sarah Jane that had suggested I go with her. Sky had left for university, Luke was off working in Russia, Clyde and Rani had their own life now, together. And so, with no-one at home, Sarah Jane had picked up her journalists pen and was following new stories wherever they may lead.
This latest one took her back to visit an old friend in Italy, a story involving a cover up at an archaeological dig and an artefact that was to mysteriously disappear. We were strolling along the coast, anxious to keep a low profile at the excavation until the critical moment. We filled our time with each other’s company, with stories from the lifetime we had spent apart, with stories from Sarah Jane’s time as an investigative journalist following her dismissal from Planet Three, with her time in Italy.
And it was in Italy now, that she cried. I held her sobbing in my arms as the night-time crept over us. Words formed from broken sentences, words like ‘regret’, ‘should have’ and ‘love,’ and the names Josh and Nat, names that Sarah Jane had kept to herself in all the time I had known her. Names that slowly began unlocking the part of her history I had never been privy to. I remained silent trying to piece the puzzle together, keeping my vigil over her until dawn broke over the horizon, illuminating the face of the woman sleeping peacefully in my arms.
For the rest of the trip, Sarah Jane didn’t talk very much. We journeyed into the city at last, taking a taxi ride through the streets and she reached out and held my hand in silence, squeezing it gently and I knew what she was trying to say, her sad, tired eyes pouring out a gratitude she couldn’t express. I squeezed back and smiled. Knowing that our relationship was changing, but not knowing where it was leading us to. Sarah Jane had let me into her life all those years ago, but now, she was letting me into her very existence. The trust weighed like led upon my shoulders, yet I carried it for her, wishing that in the silence I could communicate something more than my infantile words could ever say.
On the way back to England, Sarah Jane’s mood lightened she began talking again, smiling, even laughing. Little by little she talked more of Nat and Josh, about the sacrifices that had been made along the way, about the friendships formed, damaged and ultimately lost. But there were no tears in her eyes now. The guilt in her heart was a secret that we both kept unspoken, instead relishing in the happier memories of their friendship.
Back in England, we settled into a routine. I would source out the news-worthy stories for her, Sarah Jane would go of investigating on foot while I supported her from home, using my computer technology degree, occasionally my dad’s help and of course, MR. Smith, to support her wherever I could. I wired money into several false bank accounts, created false identities, bought the plane tickets. I learnt from Sarah Jane, who in turn had learnt from Nat, and somehow the whole process brought a sense of closure to Sarah Jane’s anguish over the loss of her friend.
We were hiking through the Pennines when it happened. It was a holiday for us. A congratulations on a job well done. Her hand was in mine as I helped her up a craggy rock-face, but she had come up with a little too much gusto, and fell straight into me. I struggled to keep upright, grabbing her instinctively to balance myself, and bringing our bodies closer together. It shouldn’t have been a problem. This proximity was nothing new. But there was something about being alone with this woman, in the middle of a deserted landscape, with her body pressed to mine, that made time and Earth stand still. I froze, motionless my eyes questioning hers, trying to read what she was thinking.
She had tried to laugh, but the sound faltered off and was swallowed by the mountain range. And then it happened. And it is a cliché, but I honestly don’t remember who initiated it, all I remember was the warmth surging through me as our lips met for that first time. The feeling of her soft hand running over my cheek, the hesitancy in my voice as I spoke her name. She rested her forehead against mine and sighed gently. I held her to me as if I might lose her to the wind no more than a gentle breeze across our skin. We must of stood like that for decades. At least that is how it had felt.
We made the rest of our trek in silence, her hand in mine, neither of us sure of what lay ahead of us as a couple. Myself, terrified of what lay ahead of us as individuals.
And that is when Sarah Jane started running from me.
One moment she would be lying in my arms, in the bed that we now shared, and the next she would be distant and cold. One day she would pull me to her and whisper sweet nothings in my ear, and the next she would tell me to find somebody else. She was hurting, and I could feel it through the bond we had always shared, I could feel it as if it were my own, because her pain was my own, her grievance caused me agony.
And yet I could do nothing. I was the one in this past year that she had turned to, and yet now I was the one whom she turned from. She kissed my lips and let the tears nestle in her eyes. “I will always love you,” she had said. The first and last time she had ever used the word. “But I can’t.”