Yet another (different) introspective look into how Sarah Jane views the Doctor… seems to be what I'm most comfortable writing at the moment, so why not indulge it eh?

I find myself rather fascinated by how she would have dealt with the Doctor's changing faces over the years; also, in what seems to be becoming a bit of a habit of mine, I may write a parallel chapter from the Doctor's point of view – that is if anyone cares to read it!

I suppose this could be viewed as a follow on from my fic, 'Sharp', which deals with Sarah's first impressions of the third Doctor.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

A Perfect Match

He wasn't her type.

She wasn't altogether sure what her type actually was, but he most definitely wasn't it.

At first he'd been more of a fatherly figure, in appearance, in demeanour. He'd taken her under his wing and she'd felt affection for him, but nothing more than that, at least she didn't think so. There had perhaps been some flirtatious banter, but he certainly hadn't overstepped the thinly drawn line between them, and somehow at that time she would have found it difficult to believe he'd ever done so in the past with anyone else either. He was so proper, so gentleman-like…she simply couldn't think about him in that way.

And then everything had changed, and her Doctor wasn't her Doctor anymore - but he was, except he wasn't – it was so terribly confusing she had spent several sleepless nights after his 'death' desperately trying to make sense of it all, trying to grieve for a friend who hadn't even left her side, let alone this mortal coil. The ache of loss vying for attention with the relief and the happiness she felt at him still being, well, him.

Everything about him was thrown together. Those teeth, that hair… the limbs that were impossibly long, the eyes that were ridiculously wide… none of it should have worked, and yet somehow… somehow he was disconcertingly easy on the eye. His wardrobe wasn't much better and she had to wonder what had possessed him to take up wearing that ludicrous scarf even as she smiled at its increasing familiarity. Once or twice she had allowed herself to reminisce about her brief glimpse of him in the velvet and ruffles, but she had to concede that his new, eclectic style suited him far better in this body.

He wasn't the dapper gentleman he had once been, although he was not without his own charms. She found herself drawn to him despite her irritation with his arrogance and bluster. She was enchanted by his manic grin, even as the alarms bell went off in her head when he gave her that look – the one that meant sooner or later they'd be running for their lives (and probably enjoying every second of it, but still, she had to object on principle); caught up the excitement when he took her hand, her heart racing at the intoxication of adventure, and yes, at the feel of his touch too. She couldn't deny it anymore than she could grow a new body of her own.

He wasn't her type. But then, perhaps she didn't need a 'type' anymore. After all, she had him.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Short and sweet, I hope. Please do leave a review.