Right. I'm in the mood to write something completely clichéd and cheesy, totally lacking in any semblance of a plot. It comes as welcome relief between the chapters of a longer fic. And while I can make this work with Sarah Jane, for some reason in my mind it simply doesn't work with the Doctor (well, most of the time). So Alan Jackson is going to be my fallback for this story, which may well become a series of oneshots if anyone wants it to.

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This one takes place sometime after Alan Jackson finds out about the existence of aliens; I'm assuming for the purposes of this story that he was involved in several other events before leaving for America.

Injured

"So, no more invasions for a while?" Maria asked hopefully, her eyes on Mr Smith's screen as he charted the course of the latest aliens on their way out of the atmosphere.

"That is correct Maria; there is no more alien activity detected in the immediate vicinity at present."

"Well, I guess that's our cue to leave then," Alan said, throwing an arm around Maria's shoulder and beginning to steer her out of the attic.

Sarah Jane watched him carefully and spoke as he turned to leave.

"Actually, could I have a word, Alan?"

Alan caught the look she sent him and nodded.

"You go home Maria, I'll catch you up."

"I'll walk you home," Clyde offered in a fit of gallantry and he and Luke led the way down the stairs, Maria following them after a confused look between her father and Sarah Jane.

Alan closed the door and turned back to Sarah Jane.

"I'm fine, really," he said firmly, "it's just a graze."

Sarah Jane raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the arm of the sofa.

"Sit," she ordered him.

"But-"

"Sit down."

Alan knew when he was beaten. He perched on the arm of the sofa and waited while Sarah Jane pulled a huge first aid kit out of her desk drawer before turning back to him. Her eyes strayed to his chest and she looked suddenly awkward; it wasn't a look she often wore and Alan, to his surprise, found it rather endearing.

"You'll have to…" she trailed off. He decided to rescue her and obligingly lifted the hem of his t shirt, pulling it up before becoming stuck halfway, wincing in pain.

Sarah Jane took hold of the t shirt and lifted it up carefully before tugging it over his head and discarding it on the sofa, and then turned her attention to the ugly graze on Alan's ribs.

"It's fine, really," he tried to assure her, "it's not deep, it'll heal quickly enough."

"But it won't Alan, that's the thing. It's got alien bacteria in it, it needs cleaning with a proper antiseptic or you'll end up with a nasty infection."

"Oh." He answered; there wasn't much he could argue with there.

He watched Sarah Jane as she busied herself with the first aid kit; pulling out gauze and tape, then flicking through assorted bottles of various colours.

"Alien antiseptics?" he questioned, "is there anything you don't have in this attic?"

Sarah Jane chuckled and selected a tiny bottle full of bright blue liquid, lifting it to the light to read it carefully. She unscrewed the top and tipped a small amount onto a swab before turning back to him. That awkward look was back on her face again and as she scrutinised his chest he felt suddenly exposed himself.

"Can you move your arm for me?" she asked, and it struck him that despite her seeming capability to do pretty much anything she turned her hand to, the role of nurse really didn't suit her at all. He moved his arm back, leaning his weight on it and exposing his injured side to her. Sarah Jane took a step forward and stood between his legs.

"This might sting a bit," she admitted before pressing the swab to his injury. Alan sucked in a breath and she saw his knuckles whiten against the arm of the sofa. He reached up with his other hand and took hold of her shoulder to steady himself. In an effort to take his mind off the pain he watched her, cataloguing things about her appearance that he hadn't taken note of before. Her head was inclined, her brow furrowed as she concentrated on what she was doing, her face partially obscured by her thick hair. She was older than she looked, he knew that; but she really was rather pretty and her age suited her. Her hip pressed into his thigh as she leaned into him and he adjusted his leg to stop her losing her balance.

Sarah Jane gently wiped the graze once more and threw the swab away, replacing it with another. The stinging sensation had almost gone now and he no longer needed a distraction, but he couldn't stop looking regardless. She took some gauze and taped it to his side, straightening up with her head tilted, admiring her handiwork. His hand was still on her shoulder and he couldn't resist running his thumb back and forth over her collar bone.

"Better?" she asked, startling him out of his reverie. He dragged his eyes away from her neck and caught her looking at him, a mixture of confusion, amusement and something else entirely on her face.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Thank you."

She smiled at him and the effect of it took him quite by surprise; that odd sensation in his stomach he hadn't felt since he'd first met Chrissie suddenly catching him unawares. Sarah Jane couldn't quite seem to pull away from his gaze either but she recovered first, ducking her head and attempting to move away. She hadn't banked on Alan's quick reactions though; his hand tightened on her shoulder and he caught her hips between his knees. She glanced back up at him in shock and hesitated for a long, long moment before pressing her palms against his chest, staring resolutely at her fingers.

"I'm…older than you Alan. A lot older." She murmured.

He slid his hand down her arm and sat forward, winding his free arm round her waist and tugging her sharply in against him. He leaned into the curve of her neck, the place that had so fascinated him before, and inhaled her natural scent.

"I don't care." He whispered back.

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Well, what do you think? Worth continuing? Worth a second part? More oneshots? If anyone wants to give me an idea for a cliché please do, they are such fun to write!