Title: Some Sort of Normality
Author: tromana
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sarah/Harry, the Brigadier
Spoilers: None
Summary: Every Friday, around 7pm, he appeared on her doorstep with a bottle of wine.
Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. But I am a part of canon. No, really.
Warnings: Character death
Some Sort of Normality
Every Friday, around 7pm, when he can be fairly certain that Sarah Jane has shut down her computer and finished her week's work, Harry turned up on her doorstep. Dressed in his finery, he handed her a bottle of red wine, not the expensive stuff, but not too cheap either, and she let him in with a smile. More often than not, he kissed her chastely on the lips before she had a chance to open it, before even she had told him what meal she had lavishly prepared for them.
Harry was the only guest Sarah entertained on a regular basis. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart appeared from time to time, usually asking her to pull a few strings to hush up yet another alien invasion in the Home Counties. Usually, she managed successfully, others ended up having the victims labelled as quacks, idiots or simply trouble-makers.
With Harry around, they rarely talked about their history; they rarely had time. It seemed as though they had a general rule of thumb not to mention the Doctor, to dwell on the past. Food often got left, being thrown out as waste and the wine neglected, placed in the store cupboard for a day, when maybe, they'd prefer to drink.
When Sarah had been left in Scotland, deserted after a couple of years of scrapes and japes with the Doctor, she was at a loss as to how to get home. Harry, as stoic as ever, came to the rescue and drove her home in a silent journey, back to the burst pipes and telephone bills. Her flat was as tiny as she'd remembered it, with smiling faces beaming out of photograph frames. Friends from another time, another world. How can she slip back into time's pages as if nothing had ever happened? These people would never understand what she had been through, what she had just lost.
She let Harry into her confidence, and a few of the men from UNIT. Work associates remained just that, associates. Even for a journalist, her theories were seen as being a little outlandish, but that was just a sign of her expanded horizons, not just the enquiring mind she had been born with. She treasured her nights with Harry. Just enough to keep them both sane, but infrequent enough to satisfy their self-imposed boundaries.
They never married, though the Brigadier often insisted that they should. Good, honest man, the Brigadier was. Sarah was too independent, to flighty. Harry frequently repeated that if he stayed with her for too long, he felt he would be caging her up instead of letting her spirit fly free.
When Sarah moved the short hop from Croydon to Ealing, Harry was the first around to help with the unpacking and settling in. The house on Bannerman Road was big, imposing, with more than enough space for a freelance journalist who wanted to start working from home. She would be free of the judgemental whisperings of the pretty young things of the office and finally able to concentrate on the jobs that interested her most. And if he wanted to, more than enough space for Harry to join her.
When Harry told her his fateful news, Sarah had to choke back the tears of horror. This was Harry, the man who faced Daleks, fought Sontarans, cancer was not something that came into the question. It was something that happened to other people in other lives, not to them. She watched fearfully as he battled on, growing gaunt and losing a horrific amount of weight. She clutched at his hand as the poisons were injected into his frail body in the vain hope that there would be a miracle and he'd be cured.
When he was certain that he had only a month to live, he insisted that Sarah didn't see him again. She managed to choke an 'I love you' in farewell, to which he replied with the same. For the next six weeks, she practically sat by the telephone waiting for the call she did not want to hear. When it eventually came through, she felt incredibly old for the very first time.
The funeral was quiet, nothing ostentatious. Sarah had half hoped to see the Doctor there, but he never showed up. Virtually alone at the graveside, she whispered her goodbyes before accepting the Brigadier's lift home. Her normality crushed once more, this time Sarah had to rebuild on her own. There was still work to be done.
end