[REMIX] Sugar, Sugar (You Can Have My Private Number)
Title: Sugar, Sugar (You Can Have My Private Number)
Rating: PG-13
Length: 7,600 words approx
Fandom: Doctor Who/The Sarah Jane Adventures
Pairings: Harry Sullivan/Martha Jones, Harry Sullivan/Sarah Jane Smith
Challenge: Remix ... Redux 8: Magic Eight Ball
First posted: 19th May 2010, in Remix Redux 2010
Summary: When you travel in time and space, there are people you meet who are out of their proper place, and other people you need to know haven't gone anywhere. Because who would believe you when you tell them about it, unless they know what it's like themselves?
Notes: A remix of Sugar, Sugar by livii. Thanks to meddow for betaing.
Harry had always felt he could be just a little slow on the uptake sometimes. This one was a real biggie, though. He'd been on the Terra Nova for quite a while before her words came back to him and the penny finally dropped.
I'm from the future, she'd said.
I travel in time and space only we're stranded here, but my companion, he thinks he's got his machine fixed, she'd said.
The Doctor hasn't taken me to the films yet, she'd even ruddy well said that. (And she'd been right about Bowie too, but that one felt a bit like cheating now.)
Harry Sullivan prided himself on being an amiable sort of chap, but just at the moment he couldn't help but think unkind thoughts about young Martha Jones. If she'd only gone into a bit more detail about her 'companion' and his 'machine', he might have made the connection before stepping into the Doctor's blue box. In which case, he wouldn't now be stuck trying to fight off some kind of giant alien wasp thingies on a space station thousands of years into the future (his brain still wanted to curl up and whimper at that thought).
Or at the very least, he might not have touched those Karmic Oscillators (or whatever the Doctor called them) and landed them here. At least Martha had always been amused by his clumsiness, though not the last time he'd seen her ...
"You next, Harry," said the Doctor, bringing Harry back to the terrifying present -- er, future -- er, whatever, this sort of thing seemed to be old hat to Sarah, and Harry was prepared to bet every penny he owned that Martha had been used to it too. He abandoned pleasant recollections and settled himself onto the transporter.
He only hoped the Doctor had fixed this machine as well as he had the TARDIS.
***
"You called."
Harry had wondered for a long time what she'd look like if he saw her again. Would she still be recognisable as the woman he met in 1969? That was the bally trouble with time travel -- it might be yesterday for her, or it might be even longer than it had been for him. But now that Martha Jones was actually standing in front of him again after all these years, it was still a jolt to see that she hadn't changed a bit.
He looked more closely, and realised that actually no, she had. The face, the figure -- they were as he remembered them. The eyes -- they weren't. They told of weariness, and of horror, and of stories she didn't know how to tell. "Of course I did, old girl," he replied with a smile, trying to hide his uneasiness. He had a pretty good idea of the kind of things she might have seen if she'd been travelling with the Doctor. "Been wanting to give it a try ever since I got one of these gadgets."
She smiled weakly back at him. "I didn't get that particular gadget myself until a couple of years ago. No, hang on -- it would only have been a few weeks for you."
"You did want me to call?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh yes. Oh, Harry, I definitely wanted you to call. I was waiting for your caller ID, in fact. You promised me you would as soon as you got the chance."
"I did?"
"You certainly did, Harry Sullivan. Believe me." She met his gaze and it made him catch his breath; what he suddenly saw in her eyes made her seem older than he was, almost older than the Doctor.
***
"Harry!"
Sarah looked extremely surprised to see him turn up at the door of 13 Bannerman Road, although at least she didn't seem to find it an unpleasant surprise.
"Well, I was passing, old thing, and I thought I'd drop by for a bit of a chat. Can I come in?" He tried to make it sound light, but there must have been some sort of catch in his voice, because she nodded and led him through to the living room without so much as a comment on his use of the term old thing.
"It's good to see you again, Harry," she said, turning to him with a big smile. "Are you still with UNIT? How's Margaret?"
"Ah. Yes. That." He shuffled his feet. "Mostly UNIT. Get shuffled around a bit and all that, seconded to NATO for a while. Bit of stuff going on in Peru -- a lost city of the Incas not quite so lost as all that. Or as Inca. UNIT's still doing the same sorts of things. Quietened down a lot since you were there, though. Still very hush-hush. That's sort of why I wanted to talk to you."
Sarah's attention sharpened immediately. "What's the matter, Harry? What's going on?"
"Nothing special -- I just ... well, I needed someone to talk to who knows what it's like coping with it all," he said with difficulty. "I don't want to bother you or anything but --"
"Sit down, Harry," said Sarah.
Harry sat with alacrity. When she got that note of steel in her voice, it wasn't wise to argue.
"You should know perfectly well that you're not bothering me. You've helped me before, you'd help me again if I needed you. Now start talking."
He did.
***
"This is the most dumbass idea I ever heard, Harry."
"We've got nothing else left to try, and this sounds like it might work," he said robustly, trying to give the people around him as much encouragement as he could. "Might as well have a go, what?"
The former American consul's mouth twitched. "I actually never knew you Limeys still talked like that."
"I suppose they don't much nowadays," he said, going rather red-faced. "I'd like to get back to find out if it's only me left though. Come on everyone, trust me -- I know this is going to work. Are you with me?"
The incongruous mix of faces -- Peruvian, English, American, and several others stranded here -- looked up at him, then around at each other. People translated his words for those who spoke only Spanish or Quechua, and slowly, one by one, they began to nod in agreement. Harry's complete and obvious confidence and undoubted status as leader had won them over. It felt a bit like cheating -- they couldn't possibly know as much as he did about what was going on and might not like it if they did -- but this quite definitely was not a game of cricket.
"I say, who's still got a working watch?" he asked them, and a little man who'd once been Lima's answer to Alan Sugar offered him one. Harry looked at it and blinked in shock. "Less than a minute to go now -- is everyone ready?"
He held up ten fingers and began putting them down one by one, counting down the seconds to launch hour.
***
Nipping into a china shop to buy a birthday present for his gran turned out to have rather unexpected results.
Not the crash of broken pottery and the damage to his hand, unfortunately -- given his occasional tendency to clumsiness, they were things he really should have expected, and avoided by the simple process of sending her a box of chocolates instead. But as he watched the girl behind the counter expertly tape his fingers, he was fascinated. He had to admit he'd never expected to find someone with medical skills working in a china shop.
He couldn't quite place her -- this Martha Jones didn't act like she was from round here, but her accent wasn't West Indian or American or anything like that. And that little medical kit she had was definitely better than anything he expected to find when he went back to HMS Kent.
"I say, where did you learn how to do that?" he asked. "And where did you get that kit -- there are some lovely bits of equipment in there."
"Just some odds and ends," she replied, firmly pushing the kit to one side out of the way and fixing the last bit of tape, "and I've trained to be a doctor, though I haven't passed my exams yet."
That made sense. She must be working in the shop to supplement her grant. "Imagine that!" Harry said, "a girl of your age! I've been through training as well, though in the Navy I mostly work on sailors." He frowned as Martha laughed.
"Sorry," she said, "couldn't help it. And yes, a girl of my age! Well, things are a bit different where I'm from. Here, come on, I'll fetch the broom and you can take out the trash with the broken bits."
Harry stood up gingerly as Martha walked off, hoping devoutly that he hadn't offended her. One wasn't rude to women. And he had to be honest with himself -- he definitely didn't want to offend a woman as attractive as this one was.
***
"By the way, Harry, who's this mysterious Martha Jones then?" Sarah's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"What?" Harry turned rather red. "Where did you hear about her, old girl?"
Sarah punched him on the shoulder. "Stop calling me old girl! I'm not past it yet."
"Definitely not," agreed Harry fervently.
"As for where I heard of her --" Sarah grinned at him "-- you should learn to keep your voice down, Harry Sullivan. It was when you were chatting to the Doctor after that android business, what was it you said, hang on -- 'I always meant to ask you this, Doctor, but did you ever meet a Martha Jones?' Then you blushed, just like you did this time. I always meant to ask you about her."
Harry hesitated. He didn't especially want to discuss Martha with Sarah, but at least she wouldn't bat an eye at the idea of someone who claimed to be a time traveller from the future ... "Why do you want to know?"
"Because you thought the Doctor might know her. And if she's around now, and if she knew him after we did, we might find out ... what happened to him."
"Oh. Good point." Harry still wasn't quite sure exactly why the Doctor and Sarah had parted company, but it seemed to involve some sort of summons from his own people. Since the Time Lords, on past form, seemed to think that dumping them all in the middle of an ancient war without so much as a by-your-leave was perfectly acceptable behaviour, said summons might well not have been all that healthy for the poor chap. He did some rapid mental arithmetic, although his brain still didn't quite believe the results it came up with. "I'm not sure she's even been born yet, you know. Best not to ask, eh? Might do nasty things to the timeline and all that."
"I suppose so. It's just ..." Sarah trailed off and gave a helpless shrug, and Harry watched her in sympathy. It couldn't be easy for her, trying to settle back into her old life. She'd liked travelling in the TARDIS far more than he had.
"You were a lot braver than me, Sarah," he said with a grin. "If I have to fight aliens, I prefer to do it on good old Earth in the 1970s. I'm surprised you came back to talk to me."
"Oh, rubbish," she scoffed. "And anyway ... who else would understand?"
"The Brigadier? Mr Benton?"
She gave him a sad, tender smile. "Wouldn't be the same." They'd always got on pretty well really, but still -- he was flattered that he'd been the one she sought out after hitch-hiking back from Aberdeen. "I suppose I'll have to get used to just reporting on everyday things again."
"You could come and join us at UNIT," Harry said tentatively. "Be a shame to let all that experience go to waste, what?"
"Don't be silly, Harry, you can't really see me in a uniform, can you?" She placed a finger on his lips before he could say anything. "And I know what you're thinking, and I didn't mean that! But it's not a bad idea, I could do a lot more freelance ..."
"We're here any time you need us, you know, old thing," said Harry.
"Stop call -- oh, never mind, let me demonstrate how old I'm not, since you don't seem to have got the idea first time." She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down on top of her again. "Kiss me, Harry Sullivan. Oh."
***
When Harry woke up, he wasn't really surprised to find himself unaccompanied by anything other than a note on the pillow.
Got to go now, OLD BOY! Places to go, aliens to see. But remember this:
Baby, baby, baby, you can have my private number ... !
We know you haven't called me up before. You know when to use it. I'll know it's you calling if you do.
He didn't recognise the number at all, but he supposed that was the point. Harry smiled and got out of bed to reach for his wallet. That note was going straight into his safety deposit box. It was a very intriguing note, and although he couldn't bring himself to take it at face value he most definitely wanted to meet the writer again. Best keep it safe and sound, no matter how long it was before he tried to call her.
***
Harry felt rather pleased with himself. Martha Jones couldn't be earning that much in the shop, so going back to pay for the broken china to stop her getting into trouble for it had seemed like the only decent thing to do -- but one thing had led to another, and that had led to him successfully asking her out on a date, and thanks to her quick improvisation with a story he hadn't even had to shell out one pound seventeen and ninepence for the teapots.
"Should be a good cultural experience," she said when he asked diffidently if she'd like to go to the pictures. "The Doctor hasn't taken me to the films yet."
"Another doctor?" Harry asked. "How many do you know?" He still couldn't place her. Was she some sort of special student, staying with a doctor and learning the ropes? The local fleapit was only showing one film but at least it had a medical theme, although he had an uneasy feeling that Carry On Again Doctor might not exactly count as a cultural experience.
"Long story," Martha replied, laughing. "Come on, let me get my coat." Harry rushed to help, which seemed to surprise her. "Oh, thank you, that's very kind. I'm not used to that sort of chivalry." Harry paused to frown as he helped her slip on her coat. Whoever this Doctor of hers was, the chap seemed a bit lacking in good manners. "No worries," Martha said, smiling, and she then she astonished him by reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"I say, that's a bit bold," Harry said, feeling a little hot under the collar. He wasn't used to girls being quite so straightforwardly interested, although he reckoned he could definitely get used to it.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Martha said. "To the cinema!"
***
"Sarah!"
"Hello, Harry. You know, I was passing, so I thought -- why not call round for a bit of a chat? Can I come in?"
"Of course, of course, always good to see you," he said, remembering his manners and waving her into the hall. He nearly added old thing but bit it back just in time; frankly, it wouldn't be tactful. She looked awful, positively drained, in fact -- for the first time ever since he'd known her, she actually did look old. Which couldn't be right, because she was practically the same age as he was, and he didn't feel old at all.
She pushed the door open with her left hand as he escorted her into the living room, and with a start he noticed that she wore no rings there.
Ah.
That might explain quite a lot.
He'd had an invite, and he'd sent a present, but ... well, it didn't seem quite diplomatic to turn up. Didn't want to embarrass this Dalton chappie, what? He knew she'd understand. "So, how's things, then?" he asked, trying to hide his uneasiness. There must have been something in his voice, though, because he could tell she'd noticed.
"Oh, nothing much happening, Harry. The occasional alien dropping by uninvited as usual. It's just that ... just ..."
She sank onto the sofa and broke down in unrestrained tears.
Harry, startled, sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, feeling deeply uncomfortable. It took something major for Sarah Jane Smith to break down this badly, of the order of seeing someone she loved ... killed. Oh, dash it all.
It took a while to get the full story of the events at the wedding and the very unpleasant-sounding alien playing tricks with the timeline. "Sorry to bother you with my troubles," she said, finally running down and managing a weak smile. "I just needed someone I could talk to about losing Peter. Someone human. It wouldn't be fair to lay my troubles on the youngsters, and you of all people know what it's like."
"It's no bother and you know it's no bother," he said firmly. "We help each other out. Even the Doctor turned up to lend a hand, what?"
That turned out to be the wrong thing to say. The smile disappeared from her face. "He said 'don't forget me', Harry," she told him bleakly. "We might be about to lose him for good this time. I didn't think I'd ever have to say that. Doesn't it make you feel very -- old?"
"Nonsense," said Harry robustly. "Listen to me, Sarah Jane Smith, we're not old! You've got all those teenagers keeping you young, and let me tell you, I can still cut a dash with bright young things just like I did in my Navy days!"
Sarah snorted. "I'm sure you can." It earned him another smile, at least. "It's not like the Doctor to be so pessimistic, though, is it?"
Harry considered this. True, it was odd, but then he'd obviously been through a lot. "Just between us, I've got pals left in UNIT who tell me things occasionally -- the old boy still seems to keep turning up when you don't expect him, just like he always did. Maybe he hasn't quite recovered from spending a year in a cage yet."
"What?"
"Er, long story. Someone else's, really. You asked about her before, actually. And you told me when I could talk to her."
Sarah looked baffled for a moment, then comprehension dawned. "Oh! Finally! If I ask again, will it still do nasty things to the timeline?"
"I don't think it will any more," he said, blushing. "Still a long story, though. Leave it till later, eh? You don't want to talk about me."
"OK." That simple answer told of great weariness; it wasn't like Sarah to be so incurious. But just like the Doctor, he was sure she'd bounce back.
"Anything I can do, old gi -- er, Sarah?"
She bit her lip to keep herself from laughing as his face turned red again, and opened her arms to him. "Yes, there is. Hold me, Harry Sullivan."
***
Harry Sullivan had fought for the preservation of the human race in the face of alien-induced disaster before now -- or after it, depending on how you looked at things, although he wasn't sure the distinction mattered any more. Current events didn't seem to bear any relation to a future in which humans built space arks in the outer solar system and flew off in spaceships to colonise Andromeda.
There were worse places than Lima on this new Earth -- a radiation pit in Europe, for example -- but any hopes they'd be able to use the stuff in the old alien base out in the jungle to fight back had been quickly dashed. One of the Master's first actions had been to drop a very large bomb on it.
He sometimes felt he'd have been better off had he been standing underneath it when it exploded. At least he wouldn't have this waking nightmare every day as he scrabbled to stay fed, and dodged the Toclafane, and watched his entire world being torn to shreds around him. It was trying even Harry's optimism to the very limit.
He really needed to see something to give him a bit of hope, to offer a way to strike back, even just see a familiar old face who had survived. So when the rumours reached him, at first he couldn't believe them.
They said she walked the earth, telling stories, speaking Spanish and Quechua and any other language she needed with equal fluency, and always staying one jump ahead of the Master's forces.
They said she alone knew how to kill the Master, was working on a terrible weapon that could destroy even a Time Lord.
They said she was going to save the world.
They said her name was Martha Jones, and when he heard that Harry believed every word they said.
He didn't dare hope to meet her personally, but one night she passed through Lima and he saw her --tired, clothes stained, but still exactly the same as he remembered her, and when she talked about her trust in the Doctor and their travels in the future Harry finally began to understand.
He hung around at the back of the crowd and let her speak without distraction, because she had far more important things to worry about than some old sailor she'd stepped out with decades ago -- no, hang on, maybe it was only a few months ago for her. But after she sank down in a corner to rest he couldn't bear not to approach her.
"Hello, old girl," he said diffidently
It didn't register with her for a moment, and then her eyes opened wide as she took in his appearance and worked out who he was. "Harry?" she whispered. With shock, he saw that she wasn't quite the same as he remembered her. This Martha had seen horror upon horror upon horror, and it showed in her eyes. "Harry Sullivan? From 1969? What are you doing here?"
"Got stuck at Lima airport," he said with his best attempt at a smile. "I was in transit when it all kicked off, so you know -- thought I'd stick around and see if I could help out --" He wasn't expecting her to leap up, all tiredness forgotten, and hug him so tightly it squeezed half the breath out of his lungs, but he didn't mind in the least. It suddenly dawned on him that she needed to see an old friend even more than he did.
They talked in low voices long into the night after everyone else had settled down to sleep. "Did you remember this?" he asked. "When I met you?"
She shook her head. "It's after that."
"Seems like another world to the one we knew." He dropped his voice even further. "We've both seen bits of the future, right? I don't remember the Doctor ever mentioning it went like this."
"You travelled with him too?" She looked gobsmacked by this revelation, and Harry remembered that there were a lot of things the Doctor never bothered to mention. "You know what it's like, then. But -- maybe -- this never happened."
Harry studied her closely. She'd just simultaneously confirmed his best hope and left him very, very chilled. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"I'm not sure. It's all a paradox, isn't it? But maybe we can fix this. Put it back the way it was. Literally the way it was."
"Oh." It was quite a concept, this idea of wiping out a part of your life and starting over, and Harry felt somewhat humbled that she trusted him with it despite what was, after all, a very brief relationship. "How far back?"
"I don't know." Martha shivered. "It might rewind back the year, but ... even if it works, Harry, for all I know it might just stay the way it is now and we'd have to start over from scratch. That's the trouble, I can't tell. I'm not the Doctor."
"But you care for him," said Harry awkwardly
"Yeah." She shook her head ruefully. "Dumb, dumb, dumb, eh? He's never been interested."
Harry frowned. He'd always suspected he was a bit of a consolation prize, not that he had any cause for complaint, or indeed any actual complaints. "I don't think you're the only one in that boat, old girl." It sounded odd saying that now he was past sixty, and she still nearly the same age.
"I know -- what?" She looked up, a smile on her face. Her saw her eyes flick to his left hand, where he didn't wear rings any more. "Harry! I always did wonder if you might be a bit gay."
"Not me," he said, feeling himself turn very red. "A friend of mine who trav -- actually, the Doctor's probably not mentioned her to you either, so never mind. But believe me, you were definitely far more my type than he was."
"You never did call me afterwards though, did you?" she said, a welcome hint of mischief in her eyes that he remembered from 1969. He chuckled.
"Believe it or not, I was going to call you immediately after the election when I got back. So there."
"Oh yeah, you say so now," she said teasingly. "That's what blokes always say afterwards, isn't it?" The light-hearted conversation seemed to be doing her good.
Harry put his hand over his heart in mock-solemnity. "Suppose I promise, on my word of honour, to call you as soon as this is all over, whatever happens. How's that?"
"You might not remember you promised, though. Ha! Got you there, Harry Sullivan!"
"Doesn't matter," he said, waving a hand airily. "A gentleman always keeps his promises to a lady, even if he doesn't remember making them."
"I'll hold you to that, Harry Sullivan. I'll be waiting for your call." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
"I say, that's a bit bold, isn't it?" he said, fighting to keep a straight face, and she laughed.
"Shut up and hold me, Harry. I'm shipping out tomorrow and I need the sleep -- but just the once, I'd like to wake up with you."
Rumours spread quickly. Very soon Harry discovered that half of Lima were treating him with awed deference, as the man who without question was the natural leader of their group. It was all a bit embarrassing, but people couldn't help but revere such a close friend of the legendary Martha Jones.
***
Bambera looked at him in exasperation. "Sullivan, you've been working thirty hours flat out now, and you'd only just stepped off the plane from Peru when we called you in! I appreciate you staying on to make sure the problem's completely solved, but you must be exhausted, man."
Harry had to admit she had a point. He was so tired he could barely raise the energy to protest. "Didn't have much choice, ma'am. Couldn't let the side down, could I?"
"No, I suppose not." As they both knew, no-one else among UNIT's medical personnel had been through quite the same -- well, training as he had, inadvertent as it was. Unfortunately, that meant he always seemed to be the man sent to do hush-hush things at Porton Down, or called in to look at strange cases.
"I don't suppose we can keep the tissue partitioner?" he asked hopefully. This one had only been solved with the help of a lovely little gadget on loan from some organisation even more top secret than UNIT.
"Sorry, Sullivan. We have to send it back to Cardiff as soon as we're finished with it. 'Empire security' or some such nonsense."
Harry nodded in understanding. He had a pretty good idea what that meant; they occasionally got to borrow bits of alien kit as a special favour, but that was all. Old Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart had once hinted that the arrangement was their quid pro quo in apology for setting up the Thinktank as a front organisation -- and then failing to notice that it had gone spectacularly rogue. "Worth a try, ma'am."
"Indeed. Well, now you've tried, go home. Your wife must be wondering where you've got to."
"Ah, right." Harry could feel himself going rather red. Bambera didn't know him as well as her predecessor. "Margaret and myself, we've ... parted, ma'am. Not easy being involved with someone like me, always flying off to odd places doing things I can't tell her about. I can't even tell her that I can't tell her, what? Naturally she gets suspicious. Probably thinks I have a girl in every port." He hastily added, "Not that I do, I've never -- I mean, I wouldn't --"
"I believe you, Sullivan." Bambera sounded genuinely sorry for him. "Are you all right?"
"Can't complain, ma'am. We had a good ten years. It's just -- well, a bit grim at the moment."
"Have you got anyone you can talk to about it? The official UNIT counsellor isn't cleared for what you know."
"A few friends from the old days ... I don't like to -- for some reason I always seem to be the one they want to talk to."
"Indeed," said Bambera. "Well, perhaps you should try it the other way round and see what happens. By the way, Sullivan, that's an order."
***
An evening at the pictures led to a meal in a decent little restaurant Harry knew, and then at Martha's suggestion to a night out at the local dancehall. Harry regarded this request with some trepidation, but he definitely wasn't going to say no; he simply resolved to be on his very best behaviour and by the end of the evening was congratulating himself on his success. He hadn't accidentally trodden on her feet more than, oh, three or four times all night.
Naturally, the DJ played the current No 1, that silly but extremely catchy tune by the cartoon band, and they jived away enthusiastically -- well to be strictly accurate, Martha jived enthusiastically and Harry jigged a bit on the spot and tried not to clobber any innocent bystanders with his elbows. "Takes me back to when I was a kid, this one!" she shouted over the music, laughing.
They stepped off the dancefloor hand in hand, which for some reason drew sour looks from some of the other patrons, and tried not to laugh when someone earnestly requested the song about the astronaut. "Even I wouldn't try to dance to that one!" she cried.
"Weird fellow that singer. Total one-hit wonder, I bet," replied Harry with a grin.
"You wait and see!" said Martha, putting out her tongue at him. "Let me tell you, he'll be a big star in a few years' time."
Finally, the DJ put on some slow numbers to close out the evening, and they ended up dancing cheek to cheek, to the strains of William Bell and Judy Clay. The lyrics sounded regrettably appropriate, given that Harry was beginning to seriously rue being recalled to duty so soon. "Do I get your private number, Martha Jones?" he asked with a hopeful grin as the last bars faded.
She came right back at him. "Do I get to see your digs? I always wondered where sailor boys hung out when they were on leave."
"It's not exactly luxurious," he said, frowning.
Martha laughed. "Neither is my place. You don't make much money in a china shop, you know. Especially someone like me in London in 1969. So do I or don't I?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated manner, and he burst out laughing too.
"If a lady wants something, how can a gentleman refuse her?" he said with a lordly gesture, admittedly putting on the swank a bit.
"I'll hold you to that," she said mysteriously. It wasn't until they'd tiptoed up the stairs past his landlady's flat and shut the door behind them that he realised what she meant.
"Martha," Harry said, "Martha, I don't know."
"Come on," Martha replied, kissing him again. "It'll be fun. I swear."
"Martha," Harry said again, "I'm shipping out tomorrow." Every hormone he possessed was screaming at him to just shut up and stop shooting himself in the foot, but it simply didn't seem right to carry on and not tell her, damn it. He was mentally kicking himself for this when Martha laughed.
"Aren't boys supposed to use that line when they're trying to talk a girl into sex, not the other way around? And besides, there's something I've really, really got to tell you. I might be shipping out tomorrow -- I could ship out at any moment. And I'll never be coming back."
Harry contemplated her -- really contemplated her this time, as a mystery rather than just an engaging and very attractive young woman. There had always been something slightly detached about Martha Jones, as if she didn't quite belong where she was and knew she was just passing through. "You're really not from here, are you?" he said slowly. "I mean, I've thought so, the things you say and do, but really and truly."
"No," Martha said, leaning in to kiss him again, "definitely not." This time, the hormones won the argument.
"Where, then? You can tell me," Harry said a few minutes later, resisting the urge to add I'm a doctor. "I rather think we're at the honesty stage of the relationship, if you ask me." He ran a finger across her nipple as he did so; she might tell all if he caught her a little off-balance -- and even if she didn't it still felt dashed good.
Martha laughed and gently nudged his hip to where she wanted it to be. He groaned and almost didn't listen to the answer. "I'm from the future," she said. "I travel in time and space only we're stranded here, but my companion, he thinks he's got his machine fixed. Oh, that's lovely, there," she added as Harry traced his fingers along the underside of her breast. He paused for a moment to try to clear his head.
From the future?
She must be joking, naturally -- but she sounded absolutely serious. Of course, he might be about to make love to a madwoman, but she'd always had an air of such complete sanity that in the circumstances it was frankly unsettling. "How far in the future?" Harry asked as he propped himself up on top of her. "If we're going with such a patently ridiculous idea, of course."
"We're into the two thousands now," Martha said, "oh, please, I want you, I really want you, Harry." She shimmied her hips and he groaned again, and slid inside her. To be honest with himself, by this point he couldn't care much if she thought she was the Queen of Sheba. The only thing that worried him even slightly was walking out of her life the following morning.
"Tomorrow," he said again, moving somewhat anxiously against her. Both of them were starting to breathe heavily. "I'm so -- sorry, Martha --"
"Shush," she said, "just -- hold on and fuck me -- oh, don't blush -- I told you -- I'm from the future --"
"Absolutely disgraceful," Harry said with a grin, a trifle shocked but also shockingly turned on. "I should have you -- keelhauled for that language, miss -- Martha --"
"Easy, tiger," she said, kissing him again. "You said tomorrow -- Don't rush it -- The future -- will come -- when it comes. Oh."
***
Once before, Harry had heard Martha Jones tell him a completely unbelievable tale. This time, he believed her immediately, much as his mind wanted to reel away and gibber at the concept.
"The Master?" He grasped at the one bit he could completely understand. "You stopped him single-handed?"
"No, Harry," said Martha gently. "You did. Or rather, we all did; the human race and the Doctor together. I wasn't important. You do believe me, don't you?" She looked as if she might not be able to bear it if he didn't.
"About the Master and an invasion and time going back and forth and all that? Of course I believe you," he said robustly. "And whatever you say, I think you're one of the most important people in the world. You might not know this, but I used to work for UNIT. A chappie called John Benton told me all about the Master. And --" Harry had saved this revelation till last "-- I know what it's like too. I travelled with the Doctor myself for a bit."
"I know," she said, with a hint of smile now.
"You do?" Harry felt a bit put out. "I say, how do you know? The old fellow doesn't usually tell people stuff like that."
"You told me, Harry."
"I did?" he said again, extremely confused. Then it dawned on him. "You met me? During ... during that year? What was I doing?" It was chilling to think that Martha had talked to some other version of himself, who had said and done things he couldn't remember a bally thing about.
"Nothing bad," she said, to his considerable relief. She noticed, and the smile became broader. "You were stuck in Lima. In fact, you really boosted my will to go on, telling me that you knew a different future as well -- just when I was starting to think I was a madwoman. You probably thought I was, back in 1969."
"Never," said Harry solemnly. "Er -- did I promise to call you when we met, then?" he added hastily before she could explore that idea any further. "How did I expect to remember?"
Martha reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He didn't blush much this time. "You're a gentleman, Harry Sullivan. A gentleman always keeps his promises to a lady, even if he doesn't remember making them."
"That's not fair," he said with a grin. "You could tell me I said anything and I wouldn't be able to contradict you."
"I could, couldn't I?" The spark was beginning to return to her eyes now. "But then, you always treated me like a lady, which is more than some people did, so it wouldn't be sporting -- dash it, what, old boy?"
"Hey now, I know the Doctor can be a bit thoughtless, but to be fair he is alien, isn't he? His hearts are in the right place though."
"I didn't mean him, actually -- although yeah, you're right, even when we were living together in a dingy bedsit in Putney I had to look elsewhere for something to cheer me up," she said with a grimace. "And then what do you know, this lovely boy walks into my shop, clumsy as an oaf but a thoroughly decent chap, and at least he obviously fancies me. And let me tell you, Harry, you were one of the few people back in 1969 who didn't take one glance at the colour of my skin and either look down their noses or shy away. I appreciated that. I really appreciated that."
"Oh I say," said Harry unhappily. "I never thought ... I should have realised. Glad I could help cheer you up then."
"You definitely did that," she said with a chuckle. "In fact, you seem to make a habit of it, Harry. This is three times now."
"Third time's the charm, eh?" He looked at her, really looked at her, at the woman she was now, not the woman out of time in his past. She'd grown since then, and he'd grown ... old, really, but it didn't feel that way when he talked to her. "Are you going off again in the TARDIS, then?" he asked eventually. Harry preferred to deal with aliens on his own home ground if he could, but if others didn't that was fine with him.
"No." She sounded resolute and a little surprised, as if she hadn't known that was going to be her answer until she heard herself say it.
"Oh!" Harry hadn't expected that reply either. "Um, why not? I got the impression that you, er, cared for him quite a lot," he continued, feeling extremely awkward.
"Yes," she said simply. "But like you say, he is alien, isn't he? He can be a wonderful compassionate bloke and he can be a complete pain in the arse, and I know he cares about me, but he's never going to care for me, not that way, and -- and I need to get out, Harry. I need to be here on Earth, in my own time and with my own family, and I want to find the people who don't know they helped me and thank them, and the people who don't know they harmed me and forgive them. And I want to be able to really call myself a doctor and I still haven't passed my bloody exams yet!"
Harry grinned. "I say, you're taking your time over that, aren't you? It's been nearly forty years since the first time you told me and you still haven't sat them! Doesn't look good on a employment application form, you know."
Martha stuck out her tongue at him. "Oh well, I'll just have to find someone accident-prone who needs medical assistance, won't I, and practice on them while I'm waiting to get a job. Even if I can't put most of the things I've done on my CV!"
"I could put in a word for you if you wanted to join UNIT, you know," said Harry hesitantly. "With all the -- well, 'special training' you've had, and a recommendation from an impeccable source like me, you'd walk straight in."
Martha giggled. "I bet you're only saying that because you think I'd look good in a uniform!" Then she sobered as the thought seemed to take her fancy. "Actually, you're right, that's not a bad idea at all. I can't forget what I've seen and done. That's the trouble, my family were all there on the Valiant and they can't either. In our line there aren't many people you can really talk to, except the ones who've been through it and know what it's like."
"I know," said Harry. "Believe me, I know. Good luck Martha Jones. Whatever you decide to do."
"No worries," Martha said, smiling, and she ignored his proffered handshake, reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing him -- to his astonishment not on the cheek, but on the lips, the ardent goodbye kiss of an old lover with fond memories and no regrets. This time Harry didn't blush at all. He felt like a young sailor again.
***
The first thing Harry did after he woke up in his hotel bedroom in Lima was to check his email on the latest smart phone gadget he'd acquired. He was surprised to find a spam message had got through -- surely the UNIT filters would catch anything with a title like 'Important information you requested'?
Then he took a look at the sender's address and did a double-take.
From: Sarah Jane Smith
Subject: Important information you requested
Harry,
Mr Smith informs me that the phone number you asked us to watch for has been allocated. To one Martha Jones, no less! I bet you're not surprised either.
One of these days you'd better explain to me who Martha Jones is and why you couldn't do this through your own official channels, because I'm dying to know and if you don't tell me sometime soon I'll set my dog on you. :)
Lots of love
Sarah Jane
Harry smiled and did some rapid mental arithmetic. How long should he give it before ringing -- a few months perhaps? He was going to be stuck here for a while anyway (consulting gigs had their perks, but this one seemed to be turning into practically a full-time job for the old UNIT hands like himself and Alistair). In fact, by the time he got back home they'd probably have a new Prime Minister. That nice bloke Saxon seemed sure to get in. A fresh face, cross-party new politics -- the Doctor would like him.
If he was right about Martha Jones -- and he was pretty sure he was -- she'd been travelling in the TARDIS for some time when he'd met her, so he definitely shouldn't try to call her before they got stuck in 1969. After all, her note implied that he hadn't, so if he did it by mistake it would do nasty things to the timeline. Or would it? That was the trouble, he couldn't tell. Where was the Doctor when you actually wanted the chap to explain something?
He came to a decision. He'd ring her as soon as he got home.
It was a very intriguing number that Martha Jones had left him, and he'd kept it safe and sound for thirty-odd years. He could stand to wait a little bit longer before he used it.
Harry went down to breakfast whistling old songs to himself.
Additional Notes:
Cultural Experience Stuff: Carry On Again, Doctor hit the cinemas on 2nd December 1969, which was handy for this (whatever happened to that bloke who starred in the first Carry On film, eh?). The three songs mentioned were of course Sugar, Sugar by The Archies (eight weeks at No 1 between 25th October and 20th December 1969), Space Oddity by David Bowie (top 5 in autumn 1969, his next hit wasn't until 1972), and Private Number by William Bell and Judy Clay (OK, that was No 8 in late 1968, but the DJ in this remix liked it so much he kept playing it, so there).
Plenty of choices of fic to remix for this one, but the situation implied by Martha's note at the end of the original fic just seemed to leap out and say EXPAND ME. And of course being me I couldn't resist throwing in stuff from all over the shop as far as Whoniverse canon goes -- it does seem likely that Sarah and Harry would have kept in touch, though. Fortunately, that went down well with the original author!
Rating: PG-13
Length: 7,600 words approx
Fandom: Doctor Who/The Sarah Jane Adventures
Pairings: Harry Sullivan/Martha Jones, Harry Sullivan/Sarah Jane Smith
Challenge: Remix ... Redux 8: Magic Eight Ball
First posted: 19th May 2010, in Remix Redux 2010
Summary: When you travel in time and space, there are people you meet who are out of their proper place, and other people you need to know haven't gone anywhere. Because who would believe you when you tell them about it, unless they know what it's like themselves?
Notes: A remix of Sugar, Sugar by livii. Thanks to meddow for betaing.
Harry had always felt he could be just a little slow on the uptake sometimes. This one was a real biggie, though. He'd been on the Terra Nova for quite a while before her words came back to him and the penny finally dropped.
I'm from the future, she'd said.
I travel in time and space only we're stranded here, but my companion, he thinks he's got his machine fixed, she'd said.
The Doctor hasn't taken me to the films yet, she'd even ruddy well said that. (And she'd been right about Bowie too, but that one felt a bit like cheating now.)
Harry Sullivan prided himself on being an amiable sort of chap, but just at the moment he couldn't help but think unkind thoughts about young Martha Jones. If she'd only gone into a bit more detail about her 'companion' and his 'machine', he might have made the connection before stepping into the Doctor's blue box. In which case, he wouldn't now be stuck trying to fight off some kind of giant alien wasp thingies on a space station thousands of years into the future (his brain still wanted to curl up and whimper at that thought).
Or at the very least, he might not have touched those Karmic Oscillators (or whatever the Doctor called them) and landed them here. At least Martha had always been amused by his clumsiness, though not the last time he'd seen her ...
"You next, Harry," said the Doctor, bringing Harry back to the terrifying present -- er, future -- er, whatever, this sort of thing seemed to be old hat to Sarah, and Harry was prepared to bet every penny he owned that Martha had been used to it too. He abandoned pleasant recollections and settled himself onto the transporter.
He only hoped the Doctor had fixed this machine as well as he had the TARDIS.
***
"You called."
Harry had wondered for a long time what she'd look like if he saw her again. Would she still be recognisable as the woman he met in 1969? That was the bally trouble with time travel -- it might be yesterday for her, or it might be even longer than it had been for him. But now that Martha Jones was actually standing in front of him again after all these years, it was still a jolt to see that she hadn't changed a bit.
He looked more closely, and realised that actually no, she had. The face, the figure -- they were as he remembered them. The eyes -- they weren't. They told of weariness, and of horror, and of stories she didn't know how to tell. "Of course I did, old girl," he replied with a smile, trying to hide his uneasiness. He had a pretty good idea of the kind of things she might have seen if she'd been travelling with the Doctor. "Been wanting to give it a try ever since I got one of these gadgets."
She smiled weakly back at him. "I didn't get that particular gadget myself until a couple of years ago. No, hang on -- it would only have been a few weeks for you."
"You did want me to call?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh yes. Oh, Harry, I definitely wanted you to call. I was waiting for your caller ID, in fact. You promised me you would as soon as you got the chance."
"I did?"
"You certainly did, Harry Sullivan. Believe me." She met his gaze and it made him catch his breath; what he suddenly saw in her eyes made her seem older than he was, almost older than the Doctor.
***
"Harry!"
Sarah looked extremely surprised to see him turn up at the door of 13 Bannerman Road, although at least she didn't seem to find it an unpleasant surprise.
"Well, I was passing, old thing, and I thought I'd drop by for a bit of a chat. Can I come in?" He tried to make it sound light, but there must have been some sort of catch in his voice, because she nodded and led him through to the living room without so much as a comment on his use of the term old thing.
"It's good to see you again, Harry," she said, turning to him with a big smile. "Are you still with UNIT? How's Margaret?"
"Ah. Yes. That." He shuffled his feet. "Mostly UNIT. Get shuffled around a bit and all that, seconded to NATO for a while. Bit of stuff going on in Peru -- a lost city of the Incas not quite so lost as all that. Or as Inca. UNIT's still doing the same sorts of things. Quietened down a lot since you were there, though. Still very hush-hush. That's sort of why I wanted to talk to you."
Sarah's attention sharpened immediately. "What's the matter, Harry? What's going on?"
"Nothing special -- I just ... well, I needed someone to talk to who knows what it's like coping with it all," he said with difficulty. "I don't want to bother you or anything but --"
"Sit down, Harry," said Sarah.
Harry sat with alacrity. When she got that note of steel in her voice, it wasn't wise to argue.
"You should know perfectly well that you're not bothering me. You've helped me before, you'd help me again if I needed you. Now start talking."
He did.
***
"This is the most dumbass idea I ever heard, Harry."
"We've got nothing else left to try, and this sounds like it might work," he said robustly, trying to give the people around him as much encouragement as he could. "Might as well have a go, what?"
The former American consul's mouth twitched. "I actually never knew you Limeys still talked like that."
"I suppose they don't much nowadays," he said, going rather red-faced. "I'd like to get back to find out if it's only me left though. Come on everyone, trust me -- I know this is going to work. Are you with me?"
The incongruous mix of faces -- Peruvian, English, American, and several others stranded here -- looked up at him, then around at each other. People translated his words for those who spoke only Spanish or Quechua, and slowly, one by one, they began to nod in agreement. Harry's complete and obvious confidence and undoubted status as leader had won them over. It felt a bit like cheating -- they couldn't possibly know as much as he did about what was going on and might not like it if they did -- but this quite definitely was not a game of cricket.
"I say, who's still got a working watch?" he asked them, and a little man who'd once been Lima's answer to Alan Sugar offered him one. Harry looked at it and blinked in shock. "Less than a minute to go now -- is everyone ready?"
He held up ten fingers and began putting them down one by one, counting down the seconds to launch hour.
***
Nipping into a china shop to buy a birthday present for his gran turned out to have rather unexpected results.
Not the crash of broken pottery and the damage to his hand, unfortunately -- given his occasional tendency to clumsiness, they were things he really should have expected, and avoided by the simple process of sending her a box of chocolates instead. But as he watched the girl behind the counter expertly tape his fingers, he was fascinated. He had to admit he'd never expected to find someone with medical skills working in a china shop.
He couldn't quite place her -- this Martha Jones didn't act like she was from round here, but her accent wasn't West Indian or American or anything like that. And that little medical kit she had was definitely better than anything he expected to find when he went back to HMS Kent.
"I say, where did you learn how to do that?" he asked. "And where did you get that kit -- there are some lovely bits of equipment in there."
"Just some odds and ends," she replied, firmly pushing the kit to one side out of the way and fixing the last bit of tape, "and I've trained to be a doctor, though I haven't passed my exams yet."
That made sense. She must be working in the shop to supplement her grant. "Imagine that!" Harry said, "a girl of your age! I've been through training as well, though in the Navy I mostly work on sailors." He frowned as Martha laughed.
"Sorry," she said, "couldn't help it. And yes, a girl of my age! Well, things are a bit different where I'm from. Here, come on, I'll fetch the broom and you can take out the trash with the broken bits."
Harry stood up gingerly as Martha walked off, hoping devoutly that he hadn't offended her. One wasn't rude to women. And he had to be honest with himself -- he definitely didn't want to offend a woman as attractive as this one was.
***
"By the way, Harry, who's this mysterious Martha Jones then?" Sarah's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"What?" Harry turned rather red. "Where did you hear about her, old girl?"
Sarah punched him on the shoulder. "Stop calling me old girl! I'm not past it yet."
"Definitely not," agreed Harry fervently.
"As for where I heard of her --" Sarah grinned at him "-- you should learn to keep your voice down, Harry Sullivan. It was when you were chatting to the Doctor after that android business, what was it you said, hang on -- 'I always meant to ask you this, Doctor, but did you ever meet a Martha Jones?' Then you blushed, just like you did this time. I always meant to ask you about her."
Harry hesitated. He didn't especially want to discuss Martha with Sarah, but at least she wouldn't bat an eye at the idea of someone who claimed to be a time traveller from the future ... "Why do you want to know?"
"Because you thought the Doctor might know her. And if she's around now, and if she knew him after we did, we might find out ... what happened to him."
"Oh. Good point." Harry still wasn't quite sure exactly why the Doctor and Sarah had parted company, but it seemed to involve some sort of summons from his own people. Since the Time Lords, on past form, seemed to think that dumping them all in the middle of an ancient war without so much as a by-your-leave was perfectly acceptable behaviour, said summons might well not have been all that healthy for the poor chap. He did some rapid mental arithmetic, although his brain still didn't quite believe the results it came up with. "I'm not sure she's even been born yet, you know. Best not to ask, eh? Might do nasty things to the timeline and all that."
"I suppose so. It's just ..." Sarah trailed off and gave a helpless shrug, and Harry watched her in sympathy. It couldn't be easy for her, trying to settle back into her old life. She'd liked travelling in the TARDIS far more than he had.
"You were a lot braver than me, Sarah," he said with a grin. "If I have to fight aliens, I prefer to do it on good old Earth in the 1970s. I'm surprised you came back to talk to me."
"Oh, rubbish," she scoffed. "And anyway ... who else would understand?"
"The Brigadier? Mr Benton?"
She gave him a sad, tender smile. "Wouldn't be the same." They'd always got on pretty well really, but still -- he was flattered that he'd been the one she sought out after hitch-hiking back from Aberdeen. "I suppose I'll have to get used to just reporting on everyday things again."
"You could come and join us at UNIT," Harry said tentatively. "Be a shame to let all that experience go to waste, what?"
"Don't be silly, Harry, you can't really see me in a uniform, can you?" She placed a finger on his lips before he could say anything. "And I know what you're thinking, and I didn't mean that! But it's not a bad idea, I could do a lot more freelance ..."
"We're here any time you need us, you know, old thing," said Harry.
"Stop call -- oh, never mind, let me demonstrate how old I'm not, since you don't seem to have got the idea first time." She put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him down on top of her again. "Kiss me, Harry Sullivan. Oh."
***
When Harry woke up, he wasn't really surprised to find himself unaccompanied by anything other than a note on the pillow.
Got to go now, OLD BOY! Places to go, aliens to see. But remember this:
Baby, baby, baby, you can have my private number ... !
We know you haven't called me up before. You know when to use it. I'll know it's you calling if you do.
He didn't recognise the number at all, but he supposed that was the point. Harry smiled and got out of bed to reach for his wallet. That note was going straight into his safety deposit box. It was a very intriguing note, and although he couldn't bring himself to take it at face value he most definitely wanted to meet the writer again. Best keep it safe and sound, no matter how long it was before he tried to call her.
***
Harry felt rather pleased with himself. Martha Jones couldn't be earning that much in the shop, so going back to pay for the broken china to stop her getting into trouble for it had seemed like the only decent thing to do -- but one thing had led to another, and that had led to him successfully asking her out on a date, and thanks to her quick improvisation with a story he hadn't even had to shell out one pound seventeen and ninepence for the teapots.
"Should be a good cultural experience," she said when he asked diffidently if she'd like to go to the pictures. "The Doctor hasn't taken me to the films yet."
"Another doctor?" Harry asked. "How many do you know?" He still couldn't place her. Was she some sort of special student, staying with a doctor and learning the ropes? The local fleapit was only showing one film but at least it had a medical theme, although he had an uneasy feeling that Carry On Again Doctor might not exactly count as a cultural experience.
"Long story," Martha replied, laughing. "Come on, let me get my coat." Harry rushed to help, which seemed to surprise her. "Oh, thank you, that's very kind. I'm not used to that sort of chivalry." Harry paused to frown as he helped her slip on her coat. Whoever this Doctor of hers was, the chap seemed a bit lacking in good manners. "No worries," Martha said, smiling, and she then she astonished him by reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"I say, that's a bit bold," Harry said, feeling a little hot under the collar. He wasn't used to girls being quite so straightforwardly interested, although he reckoned he could definitely get used to it.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Martha said. "To the cinema!"
***
"Sarah!"
"Hello, Harry. You know, I was passing, so I thought -- why not call round for a bit of a chat? Can I come in?"
"Of course, of course, always good to see you," he said, remembering his manners and waving her into the hall. He nearly added old thing but bit it back just in time; frankly, it wouldn't be tactful. She looked awful, positively drained, in fact -- for the first time ever since he'd known her, she actually did look old. Which couldn't be right, because she was practically the same age as he was, and he didn't feel old at all.
She pushed the door open with her left hand as he escorted her into the living room, and with a start he noticed that she wore no rings there.
Ah.
That might explain quite a lot.
He'd had an invite, and he'd sent a present, but ... well, it didn't seem quite diplomatic to turn up. Didn't want to embarrass this Dalton chappie, what? He knew she'd understand. "So, how's things, then?" he asked, trying to hide his uneasiness. There must have been something in his voice, though, because he could tell she'd noticed.
"Oh, nothing much happening, Harry. The occasional alien dropping by uninvited as usual. It's just that ... just ..."
She sank onto the sofa and broke down in unrestrained tears.
Harry, startled, sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders, feeling deeply uncomfortable. It took something major for Sarah Jane Smith to break down this badly, of the order of seeing someone she loved ... killed. Oh, dash it all.
It took a while to get the full story of the events at the wedding and the very unpleasant-sounding alien playing tricks with the timeline. "Sorry to bother you with my troubles," she said, finally running down and managing a weak smile. "I just needed someone I could talk to about losing Peter. Someone human. It wouldn't be fair to lay my troubles on the youngsters, and you of all people know what it's like."
"It's no bother and you know it's no bother," he said firmly. "We help each other out. Even the Doctor turned up to lend a hand, what?"
That turned out to be the wrong thing to say. The smile disappeared from her face. "He said 'don't forget me', Harry," she told him bleakly. "We might be about to lose him for good this time. I didn't think I'd ever have to say that. Doesn't it make you feel very -- old?"
"Nonsense," said Harry robustly. "Listen to me, Sarah Jane Smith, we're not old! You've got all those teenagers keeping you young, and let me tell you, I can still cut a dash with bright young things just like I did in my Navy days!"
Sarah snorted. "I'm sure you can." It earned him another smile, at least. "It's not like the Doctor to be so pessimistic, though, is it?"
Harry considered this. True, it was odd, but then he'd obviously been through a lot. "Just between us, I've got pals left in UNIT who tell me things occasionally -- the old boy still seems to keep turning up when you don't expect him, just like he always did. Maybe he hasn't quite recovered from spending a year in a cage yet."
"What?"
"Er, long story. Someone else's, really. You asked about her before, actually. And you told me when I could talk to her."
Sarah looked baffled for a moment, then comprehension dawned. "Oh! Finally! If I ask again, will it still do nasty things to the timeline?"
"I don't think it will any more," he said, blushing. "Still a long story, though. Leave it till later, eh? You don't want to talk about me."
"OK." That simple answer told of great weariness; it wasn't like Sarah to be so incurious. But just like the Doctor, he was sure she'd bounce back.
"Anything I can do, old gi -- er, Sarah?"
She bit her lip to keep herself from laughing as his face turned red again, and opened her arms to him. "Yes, there is. Hold me, Harry Sullivan."
***
Harry Sullivan had fought for the preservation of the human race in the face of alien-induced disaster before now -- or after it, depending on how you looked at things, although he wasn't sure the distinction mattered any more. Current events didn't seem to bear any relation to a future in which humans built space arks in the outer solar system and flew off in spaceships to colonise Andromeda.
There were worse places than Lima on this new Earth -- a radiation pit in Europe, for example -- but any hopes they'd be able to use the stuff in the old alien base out in the jungle to fight back had been quickly dashed. One of the Master's first actions had been to drop a very large bomb on it.
He sometimes felt he'd have been better off had he been standing underneath it when it exploded. At least he wouldn't have this waking nightmare every day as he scrabbled to stay fed, and dodged the Toclafane, and watched his entire world being torn to shreds around him. It was trying even Harry's optimism to the very limit.
He really needed to see something to give him a bit of hope, to offer a way to strike back, even just see a familiar old face who had survived. So when the rumours reached him, at first he couldn't believe them.
They said she walked the earth, telling stories, speaking Spanish and Quechua and any other language she needed with equal fluency, and always staying one jump ahead of the Master's forces.
They said she alone knew how to kill the Master, was working on a terrible weapon that could destroy even a Time Lord.
They said she was going to save the world.
They said her name was Martha Jones, and when he heard that Harry believed every word they said.
He didn't dare hope to meet her personally, but one night she passed through Lima and he saw her --tired, clothes stained, but still exactly the same as he remembered her, and when she talked about her trust in the Doctor and their travels in the future Harry finally began to understand.
He hung around at the back of the crowd and let her speak without distraction, because she had far more important things to worry about than some old sailor she'd stepped out with decades ago -- no, hang on, maybe it was only a few months ago for her. But after she sank down in a corner to rest he couldn't bear not to approach her.
"Hello, old girl," he said diffidently
It didn't register with her for a moment, and then her eyes opened wide as she took in his appearance and worked out who he was. "Harry?" she whispered. With shock, he saw that she wasn't quite the same as he remembered her. This Martha had seen horror upon horror upon horror, and it showed in her eyes. "Harry Sullivan? From 1969? What are you doing here?"
"Got stuck at Lima airport," he said with his best attempt at a smile. "I was in transit when it all kicked off, so you know -- thought I'd stick around and see if I could help out --" He wasn't expecting her to leap up, all tiredness forgotten, and hug him so tightly it squeezed half the breath out of his lungs, but he didn't mind in the least. It suddenly dawned on him that she needed to see an old friend even more than he did.
They talked in low voices long into the night after everyone else had settled down to sleep. "Did you remember this?" he asked. "When I met you?"
She shook her head. "It's after that."
"Seems like another world to the one we knew." He dropped his voice even further. "We've both seen bits of the future, right? I don't remember the Doctor ever mentioning it went like this."
"You travelled with him too?" She looked gobsmacked by this revelation, and Harry remembered that there were a lot of things the Doctor never bothered to mention. "You know what it's like, then. But -- maybe -- this never happened."
Harry studied her closely. She'd just simultaneously confirmed his best hope and left him very, very chilled. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"I'm not sure. It's all a paradox, isn't it? But maybe we can fix this. Put it back the way it was. Literally the way it was."
"Oh." It was quite a concept, this idea of wiping out a part of your life and starting over, and Harry felt somewhat humbled that she trusted him with it despite what was, after all, a very brief relationship. "How far back?"
"I don't know." Martha shivered. "It might rewind back the year, but ... even if it works, Harry, for all I know it might just stay the way it is now and we'd have to start over from scratch. That's the trouble, I can't tell. I'm not the Doctor."
"But you care for him," said Harry awkwardly
"Yeah." She shook her head ruefully. "Dumb, dumb, dumb, eh? He's never been interested."
Harry frowned. He'd always suspected he was a bit of a consolation prize, not that he had any cause for complaint, or indeed any actual complaints. "I don't think you're the only one in that boat, old girl." It sounded odd saying that now he was past sixty, and she still nearly the same age.
"I know -- what?" She looked up, a smile on her face. Her saw her eyes flick to his left hand, where he didn't wear rings any more. "Harry! I always did wonder if you might be a bit gay."
"Not me," he said, feeling himself turn very red. "A friend of mine who trav -- actually, the Doctor's probably not mentioned her to you either, so never mind. But believe me, you were definitely far more my type than he was."
"You never did call me afterwards though, did you?" she said, a welcome hint of mischief in her eyes that he remembered from 1969. He chuckled.
"Believe it or not, I was going to call you immediately after the election when I got back. So there."
"Oh yeah, you say so now," she said teasingly. "That's what blokes always say afterwards, isn't it?" The light-hearted conversation seemed to be doing her good.
Harry put his hand over his heart in mock-solemnity. "Suppose I promise, on my word of honour, to call you as soon as this is all over, whatever happens. How's that?"
"You might not remember you promised, though. Ha! Got you there, Harry Sullivan!"
"Doesn't matter," he said, waving a hand airily. "A gentleman always keeps his promises to a lady, even if he doesn't remember making them."
"I'll hold you to that, Harry Sullivan. I'll be waiting for your call." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.
"I say, that's a bit bold, isn't it?" he said, fighting to keep a straight face, and she laughed.
"Shut up and hold me, Harry. I'm shipping out tomorrow and I need the sleep -- but just the once, I'd like to wake up with you."
Rumours spread quickly. Very soon Harry discovered that half of Lima were treating him with awed deference, as the man who without question was the natural leader of their group. It was all a bit embarrassing, but people couldn't help but revere such a close friend of the legendary Martha Jones.
***
Bambera looked at him in exasperation. "Sullivan, you've been working thirty hours flat out now, and you'd only just stepped off the plane from Peru when we called you in! I appreciate you staying on to make sure the problem's completely solved, but you must be exhausted, man."
Harry had to admit she had a point. He was so tired he could barely raise the energy to protest. "Didn't have much choice, ma'am. Couldn't let the side down, could I?"
"No, I suppose not." As they both knew, no-one else among UNIT's medical personnel had been through quite the same -- well, training as he had, inadvertent as it was. Unfortunately, that meant he always seemed to be the man sent to do hush-hush things at Porton Down, or called in to look at strange cases.
"I don't suppose we can keep the tissue partitioner?" he asked hopefully. This one had only been solved with the help of a lovely little gadget on loan from some organisation even more top secret than UNIT.
"Sorry, Sullivan. We have to send it back to Cardiff as soon as we're finished with it. 'Empire security' or some such nonsense."
Harry nodded in understanding. He had a pretty good idea what that meant; they occasionally got to borrow bits of alien kit as a special favour, but that was all. Old Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart had once hinted that the arrangement was their quid pro quo in apology for setting up the Thinktank as a front organisation -- and then failing to notice that it had gone spectacularly rogue. "Worth a try, ma'am."
"Indeed. Well, now you've tried, go home. Your wife must be wondering where you've got to."
"Ah, right." Harry could feel himself going rather red. Bambera didn't know him as well as her predecessor. "Margaret and myself, we've ... parted, ma'am. Not easy being involved with someone like me, always flying off to odd places doing things I can't tell her about. I can't even tell her that I can't tell her, what? Naturally she gets suspicious. Probably thinks I have a girl in every port." He hastily added, "Not that I do, I've never -- I mean, I wouldn't --"
"I believe you, Sullivan." Bambera sounded genuinely sorry for him. "Are you all right?"
"Can't complain, ma'am. We had a good ten years. It's just -- well, a bit grim at the moment."
"Have you got anyone you can talk to about it? The official UNIT counsellor isn't cleared for what you know."
"A few friends from the old days ... I don't like to -- for some reason I always seem to be the one they want to talk to."
"Indeed," said Bambera. "Well, perhaps you should try it the other way round and see what happens. By the way, Sullivan, that's an order."
***
An evening at the pictures led to a meal in a decent little restaurant Harry knew, and then at Martha's suggestion to a night out at the local dancehall. Harry regarded this request with some trepidation, but he definitely wasn't going to say no; he simply resolved to be on his very best behaviour and by the end of the evening was congratulating himself on his success. He hadn't accidentally trodden on her feet more than, oh, three or four times all night.
Naturally, the DJ played the current No 1, that silly but extremely catchy tune by the cartoon band, and they jived away enthusiastically -- well to be strictly accurate, Martha jived enthusiastically and Harry jigged a bit on the spot and tried not to clobber any innocent bystanders with his elbows. "Takes me back to when I was a kid, this one!" she shouted over the music, laughing.
They stepped off the dancefloor hand in hand, which for some reason drew sour looks from some of the other patrons, and tried not to laugh when someone earnestly requested the song about the astronaut. "Even I wouldn't try to dance to that one!" she cried.
"Weird fellow that singer. Total one-hit wonder, I bet," replied Harry with a grin.
"You wait and see!" said Martha, putting out her tongue at him. "Let me tell you, he'll be a big star in a few years' time."
Finally, the DJ put on some slow numbers to close out the evening, and they ended up dancing cheek to cheek, to the strains of William Bell and Judy Clay. The lyrics sounded regrettably appropriate, given that Harry was beginning to seriously rue being recalled to duty so soon. "Do I get your private number, Martha Jones?" he asked with a hopeful grin as the last bars faded.
She came right back at him. "Do I get to see your digs? I always wondered where sailor boys hung out when they were on leave."
"It's not exactly luxurious," he said, frowning.
Martha laughed. "Neither is my place. You don't make much money in a china shop, you know. Especially someone like me in London in 1969. So do I or don't I?" She fluttered her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated manner, and he burst out laughing too.
"If a lady wants something, how can a gentleman refuse her?" he said with a lordly gesture, admittedly putting on the swank a bit.
"I'll hold you to that," she said mysteriously. It wasn't until they'd tiptoed up the stairs past his landlady's flat and shut the door behind them that he realised what she meant.
"Martha," Harry said, "Martha, I don't know."
"Come on," Martha replied, kissing him again. "It'll be fun. I swear."
"Martha," Harry said again, "I'm shipping out tomorrow." Every hormone he possessed was screaming at him to just shut up and stop shooting himself in the foot, but it simply didn't seem right to carry on and not tell her, damn it. He was mentally kicking himself for this when Martha laughed.
"Aren't boys supposed to use that line when they're trying to talk a girl into sex, not the other way around? And besides, there's something I've really, really got to tell you. I might be shipping out tomorrow -- I could ship out at any moment. And I'll never be coming back."
Harry contemplated her -- really contemplated her this time, as a mystery rather than just an engaging and very attractive young woman. There had always been something slightly detached about Martha Jones, as if she didn't quite belong where she was and knew she was just passing through. "You're really not from here, are you?" he said slowly. "I mean, I've thought so, the things you say and do, but really and truly."
"No," Martha said, leaning in to kiss him again, "definitely not." This time, the hormones won the argument.
"Where, then? You can tell me," Harry said a few minutes later, resisting the urge to add I'm a doctor. "I rather think we're at the honesty stage of the relationship, if you ask me." He ran a finger across her nipple as he did so; she might tell all if he caught her a little off-balance -- and even if she didn't it still felt dashed good.
Martha laughed and gently nudged his hip to where she wanted it to be. He groaned and almost didn't listen to the answer. "I'm from the future," she said. "I travel in time and space only we're stranded here, but my companion, he thinks he's got his machine fixed. Oh, that's lovely, there," she added as Harry traced his fingers along the underside of her breast. He paused for a moment to try to clear his head.
From the future?
She must be joking, naturally -- but she sounded absolutely serious. Of course, he might be about to make love to a madwoman, but she'd always had an air of such complete sanity that in the circumstances it was frankly unsettling. "How far in the future?" Harry asked as he propped himself up on top of her. "If we're going with such a patently ridiculous idea, of course."
"We're into the two thousands now," Martha said, "oh, please, I want you, I really want you, Harry." She shimmied her hips and he groaned again, and slid inside her. To be honest with himself, by this point he couldn't care much if she thought she was the Queen of Sheba. The only thing that worried him even slightly was walking out of her life the following morning.
"Tomorrow," he said again, moving somewhat anxiously against her. Both of them were starting to breathe heavily. "I'm so -- sorry, Martha --"
"Shush," she said, "just -- hold on and fuck me -- oh, don't blush -- I told you -- I'm from the future --"
"Absolutely disgraceful," Harry said with a grin, a trifle shocked but also shockingly turned on. "I should have you -- keelhauled for that language, miss -- Martha --"
"Easy, tiger," she said, kissing him again. "You said tomorrow -- Don't rush it -- The future -- will come -- when it comes. Oh."
***
Once before, Harry had heard Martha Jones tell him a completely unbelievable tale. This time, he believed her immediately, much as his mind wanted to reel away and gibber at the concept.
"The Master?" He grasped at the one bit he could completely understand. "You stopped him single-handed?"
"No, Harry," said Martha gently. "You did. Or rather, we all did; the human race and the Doctor together. I wasn't important. You do believe me, don't you?" She looked as if she might not be able to bear it if he didn't.
"About the Master and an invasion and time going back and forth and all that? Of course I believe you," he said robustly. "And whatever you say, I think you're one of the most important people in the world. You might not know this, but I used to work for UNIT. A chappie called John Benton told me all about the Master. And --" Harry had saved this revelation till last "-- I know what it's like too. I travelled with the Doctor myself for a bit."
"I know," she said, with a hint of smile now.
"You do?" Harry felt a bit put out. "I say, how do you know? The old fellow doesn't usually tell people stuff like that."
"You told me, Harry."
"I did?" he said again, extremely confused. Then it dawned on him. "You met me? During ... during that year? What was I doing?" It was chilling to think that Martha had talked to some other version of himself, who had said and done things he couldn't remember a bally thing about.
"Nothing bad," she said, to his considerable relief. She noticed, and the smile became broader. "You were stuck in Lima. In fact, you really boosted my will to go on, telling me that you knew a different future as well -- just when I was starting to think I was a madwoman. You probably thought I was, back in 1969."
"Never," said Harry solemnly. "Er -- did I promise to call you when we met, then?" he added hastily before she could explore that idea any further. "How did I expect to remember?"
Martha reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He didn't blush much this time. "You're a gentleman, Harry Sullivan. A gentleman always keeps his promises to a lady, even if he doesn't remember making them."
"That's not fair," he said with a grin. "You could tell me I said anything and I wouldn't be able to contradict you."
"I could, couldn't I?" The spark was beginning to return to her eyes now. "But then, you always treated me like a lady, which is more than some people did, so it wouldn't be sporting -- dash it, what, old boy?"
"Hey now, I know the Doctor can be a bit thoughtless, but to be fair he is alien, isn't he? His hearts are in the right place though."
"I didn't mean him, actually -- although yeah, you're right, even when we were living together in a dingy bedsit in Putney I had to look elsewhere for something to cheer me up," she said with a grimace. "And then what do you know, this lovely boy walks into my shop, clumsy as an oaf but a thoroughly decent chap, and at least he obviously fancies me. And let me tell you, Harry, you were one of the few people back in 1969 who didn't take one glance at the colour of my skin and either look down their noses or shy away. I appreciated that. I really appreciated that."
"Oh I say," said Harry unhappily. "I never thought ... I should have realised. Glad I could help cheer you up then."
"You definitely did that," she said with a chuckle. "In fact, you seem to make a habit of it, Harry. This is three times now."
"Third time's the charm, eh?" He looked at her, really looked at her, at the woman she was now, not the woman out of time in his past. She'd grown since then, and he'd grown ... old, really, but it didn't feel that way when he talked to her. "Are you going off again in the TARDIS, then?" he asked eventually. Harry preferred to deal with aliens on his own home ground if he could, but if others didn't that was fine with him.
"No." She sounded resolute and a little surprised, as if she hadn't known that was going to be her answer until she heard herself say it.
"Oh!" Harry hadn't expected that reply either. "Um, why not? I got the impression that you, er, cared for him quite a lot," he continued, feeling extremely awkward.
"Yes," she said simply. "But like you say, he is alien, isn't he? He can be a wonderful compassionate bloke and he can be a complete pain in the arse, and I know he cares about me, but he's never going to care for me, not that way, and -- and I need to get out, Harry. I need to be here on Earth, in my own time and with my own family, and I want to find the people who don't know they helped me and thank them, and the people who don't know they harmed me and forgive them. And I want to be able to really call myself a doctor and I still haven't passed my bloody exams yet!"
Harry grinned. "I say, you're taking your time over that, aren't you? It's been nearly forty years since the first time you told me and you still haven't sat them! Doesn't look good on a employment application form, you know."
Martha stuck out her tongue at him. "Oh well, I'll just have to find someone accident-prone who needs medical assistance, won't I, and practice on them while I'm waiting to get a job. Even if I can't put most of the things I've done on my CV!"
"I could put in a word for you if you wanted to join UNIT, you know," said Harry hesitantly. "With all the -- well, 'special training' you've had, and a recommendation from an impeccable source like me, you'd walk straight in."
Martha giggled. "I bet you're only saying that because you think I'd look good in a uniform!" Then she sobered as the thought seemed to take her fancy. "Actually, you're right, that's not a bad idea at all. I can't forget what I've seen and done. That's the trouble, my family were all there on the Valiant and they can't either. In our line there aren't many people you can really talk to, except the ones who've been through it and know what it's like."
"I know," said Harry. "Believe me, I know. Good luck Martha Jones. Whatever you decide to do."
"No worries," Martha said, smiling, and she ignored his proffered handshake, reaching up on her tiptoes and kissing him -- to his astonishment not on the cheek, but on the lips, the ardent goodbye kiss of an old lover with fond memories and no regrets. This time Harry didn't blush at all. He felt like a young sailor again.
***
The first thing Harry did after he woke up in his hotel bedroom in Lima was to check his email on the latest smart phone gadget he'd acquired. He was surprised to find a spam message had got through -- surely the UNIT filters would catch anything with a title like 'Important information you requested'?
Then he took a look at the sender's address and did a double-take.
From: Sarah Jane Smith
Subject: Important information you requested
Harry,
Mr Smith informs me that the phone number you asked us to watch for has been allocated. To one Martha Jones, no less! I bet you're not surprised either.
One of these days you'd better explain to me who Martha Jones is and why you couldn't do this through your own official channels, because I'm dying to know and if you don't tell me sometime soon I'll set my dog on you. :)
Lots of love
Sarah Jane
Harry smiled and did some rapid mental arithmetic. How long should he give it before ringing -- a few months perhaps? He was going to be stuck here for a while anyway (consulting gigs had their perks, but this one seemed to be turning into practically a full-time job for the old UNIT hands like himself and Alistair). In fact, by the time he got back home they'd probably have a new Prime Minister. That nice bloke Saxon seemed sure to get in. A fresh face, cross-party new politics -- the Doctor would like him.
If he was right about Martha Jones -- and he was pretty sure he was -- she'd been travelling in the TARDIS for some time when he'd met her, so he definitely shouldn't try to call her before they got stuck in 1969. After all, her note implied that he hadn't, so if he did it by mistake it would do nasty things to the timeline. Or would it? That was the trouble, he couldn't tell. Where was the Doctor when you actually wanted the chap to explain something?
He came to a decision. He'd ring her as soon as he got home.
It was a very intriguing number that Martha Jones had left him, and he'd kept it safe and sound for thirty-odd years. He could stand to wait a little bit longer before he used it.
Harry went down to breakfast whistling old songs to himself.
Additional Notes:
Cultural Experience Stuff: Carry On Again, Doctor hit the cinemas on 2nd December 1969, which was handy for this (whatever happened to that bloke who starred in the first Carry On film, eh?). The three songs mentioned were of course Sugar, Sugar by The Archies (eight weeks at No 1 between 25th October and 20th December 1969), Space Oddity by David Bowie (top 5 in autumn 1969, his next hit wasn't until 1972), and Private Number by William Bell and Judy Clay (OK, that was No 8 in late 1968, but the DJ in this remix liked it so much he kept playing it, so there).
Plenty of choices of fic to remix for this one, but the situation implied by Martha's note at the end of the original fic just seemed to leap out and say EXPAND ME. And of course being me I couldn't resist throwing in stuff from all over the shop as far as Whoniverse canon goes -- it does seem likely that Sarah and Harry would have kept in touch, though. Fortunately, that went down well with the original author!