Lycopene
No one ever bothered to record who threw the first tomato. But Sarah Jane Smith knew who had, and she knew that it was really meant for her.
It had been nearly two years since she'd made her way home from Aberdeen, the sharp sting of rejection intensifying a little more with every mile. She'd felt so out of step upon her return, the timing of which the Doctor had also managed to get wrong. Life had gone on without her; the events and personalities she was supposed to be reporting on had all changed. Everyone she knew had changed. Or not changed, in ways that were even more frustrating. The worst of it was dealing with the difference in herself and the difficulty in adjusting back to "real life", confined to her tiny corner of the universe. Not to mention having so few people with whom she could confide. Even with Harry, who'd actually been there, there were so many things she couldn't share.
"Ah, Sarah. Don't you forget me," the Doctor had said. And she hadn't. Couldn't. How could she when so many of her thoughts second-guessed the decisions she'd made? She remembered blue eyes staring at her with more dark intensity than she ever could have imagined; her heart pumping madly with adrenaline, or was it something else, hours after the narrowest of escapes; the celebratory fuzz of alien wine drenching these particular memories. Cool hands; long, slender fingers lifting the hem of her dress after the softest of murmured requests in that voice that always resonated right to her core. Gentle fumblings that still did manage to be - just right.
It had only been the one time, and they'd talked about it the next day and agreed - rather progressively, she'd told herself at the time - that they were best off the way things were. That while it was lovely, and what she might have been wanting for God knows how long (which she of course didn't mention), their friendship was simply too precious to risk. They'd gone on to their next adventure, but things had never quite gotten back to the way they were. But if Sarah Jane had really remembered that conversation accurately, she would have recalled that she, nervously, did the most of the talking, while the Doctor watched and listened. And quite courteously agreed.
She'd always wondered if she'd been wrong, and whether the call to Gallifrey had simply been a convenient excuse. But she'd certainly never forgotten.
On a rainy evening perfectly suited for finishing that article she'd promised her editor, she'd come upstairs with her basket of laundry to find the Doctor stirring her tomato sauce. As if he'd not been gone a day, he'd smiled brightly at her and said, "Ah, Sarah! There you are. Did you know that cooked tomatoes are a tremendous source of lycopene, a potent anti-oxidant? How very wonderful that you should be looking after your health this way."
At the sight of him, her heart had raced erratically, skipping over beats from its natural familiar rhythm. She had hardly known how to react. Relief had filled her veins that he was safe, that whatever he had returned to Gallifrey for seemed to have left him unscathed. Still in the incarnation she'd left. Still her Doctor. The last thought, the sheer possessiveness of it, had made her uncomfortable, and she'd irritably pushed it away.
"You managed to find my flat then?" she had finally snapped. He'd at least had the decency to look sheepish.
"Ah yes, sorry about all that. A digit here, a digit there," he'd stammered.
"And one ends up two years ahead of time and 400 miles away," she'd finished. "If it hadn't been for Harry convincing UNIT to pay for the flat, I'd not have had a home to return to. And it's taken me all this time to find a decent job." Finished ranting, she looked over at him. He'd continued to stir the sauce, eyes glancing sidelong at her from under his curls. The hesitancy in his gaze had given her pause.
The Doctor had spoken quietly. "I suppose then that you won't be wanting to come with me again. I'm pleased that life is going well for you, Sarah. You only deserve the best." He'd placed the spoon back on its rest, smiling a half-smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. After a moment he'd looked at her long and hard, as if to fix her in memory, then nodded and turned for the door.
Her heart had raced even faster then, the beats tumbling over themselves in the rush to provide blood to her body. This couldn't be happening. Not like this. How many times during the last two years had she looked over her shoulder, questioning something in her peripheral vision, or hesitated for a second over a long-term commitment. She'd been waiting for him, not even consciously, waiting to meet again like he'd promised. And she suddenly simultaneously hated herself for it, but yet couldn't resist.
"Doctor, wait!" Sarah had exclaimed. Slowly, he'd turned to face her. "I didn't say I wouldn't go, now did I?"
His familiar demented grin had blossomed slowly, spreading from ear to ear. She finally couldn't help but mirror it. A little voice in the back of her mind asked her what the hell she was doing, but she had ignored it.
From the moment she'd re-entered the TARDIS, all the feelings of being out of step that she'd experienced on her return to Croydon washed over her again. The pendulum had simply swung in the other direction. The Doctor seemed completely unaware of her disquietude; whisking her from adventure to adventure: an almost disastrous slide over a frozen waterfall on N'gra 4, running from bipedal thorned bushes on Chrrubb; the demented calligraphers of Enque who wanted their blood for their ultimate masterpiece; yet another failed attempt to find her a beach. It was as though he was trying to cram in the sights she'd missed over two years, attempting in some small way to make it up to her, yet they never really spoke about what his leaving her had done.
No matter where they went, it was as though they were a step behind themselves, awkwardly out of sync with one another. Every word they tried to speak was shadowed by other words left unspoken; every sight they saw was coloured by memories burned onto retinas.
And now here they were in a small town in the Spanish countryside, the TARDIS having taken them slightly off-course from a plan to witness the end of the Second World War, and landed a couple years off in a sleepy area.
Sarah pranced out of the wardrobe in an outfit that would have done any wartime girl proud: fitted high-waisted trousers with a matching tucked-in blouse with a tied bow at the neck. Her hair was pulled off her face in two French rolls and her lips coloured bright red. She'd thought about wearing a pair of boots, one could never be too prepared, but at the last minute she switched to a pair of pretty court shoes. Cocking her head and arching an eyebrow, she stood expectantly in front of the Doctor, who was dressed as usual. He didn't comment on her outfit - typical, scoffed Sarah - but smiled and said, "Now then, shall we be off?"
As it turned out, their arrival had been rather fortuitous. The villagers probably would never have figured out on their own that an alien life form was draining their cows of milk. The Doctor managed to hook up a force field to chase off the aliens, sending them back to their own planet where milk was a blackmarket commodity.
"D'you think the cows will get back to normal, Doctor?" asked Sarah, who didn't claim to be an expert but thought the cows looked more than a little traumatised.
"Of course they will!" the Doctor proclaimed. "Don't forget, to err is human; to forgive, bovine."
Sarah rolled her eyes and retorted, "You're just going to milk this for all it's worth, aren't you?"
"Now Sarah, nobody likes a cattle-tale." Scarce had the Doctor finished his last statement, that he turned around to find that his friend had disappeared. A split-second later, he heard her muffled scream. Muffled, he thought, how peculiar. And then he stepped into the same sinkhole into which Sarah had fallen. They slid through a tunnel of earth, through which the aliens had been transporting the milk, finally tumbling out the other end into a huge puddle.
The Doctor sprang to his feet, brushing off his coat and retrieving his hat from the puddle. "Well, Sarah. Now that that unpleasant business is taken care of, what would you say to a trip to Ibus 7?" He grinned and added, "I hear they've come up with a fruit that tastes just like jelly babies!"
Sarah sat despondently in the puddle and felt her heart doing a sad little dance. Who was she kidding? Just when there was a flicker of the way things were, it burnt out. Maybe she just needed to go home. "I don't think so," she said with a certain finality. This wasn't going to work. All that they once had, their beautiful glorious weave, was in tatters. She rose and walked towards the centre of the town.
He looked at her as if he wanted to say something. With his mouth at a loss for words for once, his long hands clenched and unclenched in frustration. As they walked along the cobblestone road of the town, they passed a huge pile of tomatoes, the unwitting victims of an overturned wagon. The Doctor picked up one of the tomatoes, and idly bounced it in his hand, considering its heft. Without a word, he suddenly threw it with such force and vehemence that Sarah Jane unconsciously took a step back.
Unfortunately, the tomato's trajectory directly coincided with the arrival of several town councillors. A hefty mustachioed man in a rather pompous suit was the first one hit. He stared in disbelief as the red juices trickled down his ample belly. One of his entourage, appalled by such a desecration, ran over to the pile and grabbed a juicy specimen. He launched it at the Doctor but his aim was such that it smashed right into Sarah, covering her face with tomato. That was all it took for several onlookers to join the fray - the mayor and his sycophants being widely hated in the town - and quickly the mountain of rotting fruit was in flight. Soon all the combatants were covered in pulverised tomato.
Sarah grabbed a pulpy specimen and whipped it at the Doctor's back. His eyes boggled and he stalked over to her. Behind his back he held two tomatoes, which upon reaching her he placed on top of her head and crushed.
"Ooh! I'll get you for that!" exclaimed Sarah, more full of delight than she'd been in ages. Her eyes sparkled as she launched another. For a moment she felt the sheer enchantment of the way things once were.
On and on the battle went, until the entire pile had been devastated. The combatants lay about the square, completely covered in bits and parts and juice. The fire brigade trundled up and began hosing down the cobblestones. Efficiently, the firemen drenched everything in their path, washing away all the debris.
Sarah yelped as the cold water hit her, the spray forcing her slight frame to the ground, washing all her earlier positive feelings about this sojourn straight into the gutter. She tried to stand, but one of the firemen aimed his hose directly at her chest, leering at her as she fell down again. Finally the fire wagon ran out of water, freeing Sarah, who stood and stalked back to the TARDIS.
The Doctor stared at Sarah's back as she walked ahead of him. He tried to keep his eyes from lingering on the way her trousers clung to her backside as she walked or the glimpse of her bra through the sodden fabric of her blouse. Tried not to notice just how the sight of her in general made him feel. She'd made it clear just how she thought things should be. Besides, he was a Time Lord, he was supposed to be above such instincts. Supposed to be. He laughed at himself. He used to be better at this.
It had been a long, long time since he'd felt the need for more than companionship. The day he had realized that he'd started looking at Sarah as more than just his best friend, it had actually taken him aback. The Doctor had suspected that Sarah had felt more than just friendship for him for some time. It was why he was so confused when after he'd finally been foolhardy enough to act on these new/old/rusty/gleaming feelings, the night she'd been so happy and radiant and so very...Sarah, the very next day she'd insisted they go back to the way things were. There were times he thought he'd never manage to understand humans.
He'd thought when he'd left her that she'd be better off without him. She'd go on and build herself a wonderful life. Meanwhile, he'd continued on without her, found himself a new companion, acquired himself a robot dog, but when eventually he found his mind supplying the questions that Sarah would have incessantly asked, he realized how just how much he wanted her to be there. It had been Leela's departure that cemented things. He'd realized that while he missed Leela, the way he missed all his friends when they left him, gone back to their lives - he simply yearned for Sarah Jane Smith.
The Doctor'd let the TARDIS float in the vortex for a while as he thought about things. And then he'd punched in the coordinates for South Croydon.
Now she was here, right beside him again, but things were off, out of phase. He wondered how much longer this - they - could go on. He certainly wasn't going to be the one to make her leave again but something wasn't working. The waves of playful banter, the natural ebb and flow they'd had between them was gone.
Sarah stomped into the TARDIS and began plucking at her drenched blouse. "Look at me. I'm soaked through to my skin and I have tomato...I have tomato where tomato should never, ever be." She looked over at the Doctor, who was vigourously squeezing tomato juice out of his scarf, and huffed, "I want to go home."
Playing with one of the controls, the Doctor merely responded, "You do." He'd known it would happen eventually; it always did. He wouldn't look at her.
His non-committal response only served to further fuel her frustration, thrusting her back into a instinctual pattern. "I'm going to go." Pack my goodies and go home. "Besides, you don't seem to care whether or not I'm here," she snapped.
For a split second, the Doctor's face hardened in anger, and for that same split second, she wondered just what he might do. His expression softened in the span of three heartbeats, though his response was still a shout. "Of course I care, you silly girl! Why did you think I came back?"
Sarah shook her head. "I'm beginning to wonder," she replied petulantly. The Doctor gave up on wringing out his sodden scarf, throwing it to the floor where it landed with a mushy plopping sound. He tossed his coat on top of it.
"Sarah, you know, I've not gone back for anyone before." She wasn't budging. What did she want to hear, he wondered? "Because I missed you and I didn't want to be without you any more?" Would you like a jelly baby? As if that would help.
"You've an awfully funny way of showing it." She was still mad, but she was softening.
"Sarah Jane." She whirled round to face him. "You don't really want to leave, do you?" His resonant voice was one notch away from hypnotic. Sarah bit her lip, unsure of what to do. This time it was her choice alone. The Doctor, bless his hearts, had managed to make his feelings on the matter clear. Her mind raced. Things had been so rocky and she just didn't know where she stood. She'd been fearless in the past, sneaking on to the TARDIS, racing after strange creatures, not a second thought about anything. And suddenly, it occurred to Sarah that perhaps she was only a step behind because she'd been holding herself back. Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she took a large step forward.
And found herself caught in the Doctor's arms for a moment. His broad hands easily spanned her tiny waist. He continually marvelled how such a tiny shell housed such a broad spirit. From under his curls, his eyes searched hers for intention.
"No," she admitted. "I want to stay." Her eyes met his for a long moment.
"Splendid!" His fingers danced along her cheek but he quickly thought better of it and tweaked her chin instead. "And where would you like to go?"
"Somewhere dry," she responded immediately. "Somewhere warm. Not a beach. Things never go well when you try to take me to a beach."
"Any other requests?"
She had plenty, really. None of which related to where the TARDIS should take them, however. "Not especially," Sarah replied. "But we should get these wet clothes off before we'll catch our death of cold," she murmured softly, with more than a hint of suggestion.
"People do not become ill from mere exposure to cold, Sarah Jane," the Doctor extemporated. "Plenty of research has demonstrated, on your planet even, that it is from exposure to viruses. The rhinovirus in particular, oh, a hardy little blighter. But multiple studies have shown that chilling makes one no more likely to succumb to a virus."
Affectionately exasperated, she laughed at him. "It's just an expression, Doctor!"
"The apparent preponderance of colds in the winter months on Earth is merely a reflection of your human tendency to huddle indoors, bringing you into unfortunate proximity to infectious mucous."
As the Doctor rambled on about the properties of various viruses and some thrilling research from the planet Dextromethorphan, Sarah simply peeled off her drenched ensemble, leaving herself naked before him. She wrinkled her brow in bemused confusion as he continued talking, paying her state of undress little notice. Her small hands set to work on the buttons of his pullover and standing on tiptoes, her warm eager lips came to claim his own.
"Oh." He finally paused. "Quite right."
Like with a flick of a switch, his attention focused completely on the tiny human in front of him. He grinned with the sort of manic delight that he normally reserved for those occasions when some being announced his impending demise. "Hello!" he said and watched as her face broke into a smile, the face-splitting kind that one simply can't manage to hold in any longer. "Sarah, your clothes seem to have disappeared," he said in a deep, warm tone that she'd never registered before in her mental catalogue of the Doctor's tones of voice. This new tone, she liked. It was dark and avid while at the same time imbued with as much affection as she'd ever heard from him.
"That they have, Doctor." She kissed him again, feeling him respond this time as she finished with his vest and started on his tie. "They were wet. I'm rather wet myself." She hadn't just said that, had she? That was worse than a line from a bad porn film. Oh well.
"Sarah?" he mumbled through the kiss. He needed to be certain...so prone to changing their minds, humans. The contractual nature of such acts on Gallifrey left no room for equivocacy. The feel of her lips on his and her warm body next to him weren't leaving much room for equivocacy either, as he fought to contain a moan.
She stopped kissing him long enough to answer, "In for a penny, in for a pound." Her hands had now found their way under his shirt, running over his cool skin, leaving tiny smoulders in their wake. He was beginning to feel rather warm. One hand tugged impatiently at the buttons of his damp shirt, while his other wrapped around Sarah Jane's back, pulling her closer. A muffled low sound emerged from her that only served to enflame him further. He ran his hand along her spine, over the curve of her backside and settled it on her hip, stroking the soft skin there. He dropped his hand long enough for her to push his braces off his shoulders, tugging his shirt from his trousers and yanking it to the floor.
Sarah gasped as the Doctor's hands settled on her breasts and she wobbled a little at the knees. Threading her fingers into his wild mop of curls, she anchored herself for a moment, catching her breath before the next kiss that would pull it again from her body. The rush of oxygen served as a catalyst for the fire of her desire. She shivered at the contrast of the Doctor's cold hands on her now-blazing skin.
He chuckled softly at her, crooking a finger into the hair escaping from its confining rolls. "My Sarah Jane," he said. "So very beautiful." And chuckled again as a soft blush came to crown the flush of passion already enthroned on her cheeks. His broad hands gently kneaded her breasts, thumbs running over already-hardened nipples.
Almost reluctantly, Sarah's hands left the Doctor's wild mane, smoothing over his unruly sideburns and over the faint splotches of colour in permanent residence on his own cheeks, before she kissed him again. He was no classic beauty, her Doctor, but somehow his features conspired to please her. Sarah's lips left the Doctor's, and danced across his neck, tracing the double gallop at this throat. Emboldened, her hands roamed down his body, sliding their way down to his trousers. They were loose enough to slip easily down his hips and pool at his ankles. Kicking them off, along with his pants, he fumbled with his shoes.
The Doctor's hands had themselves run along Sarah's body. Her squirms were most happily noted as he quite deliberately moved a hand between her legs to run amongst her curls. "My, my, Sarah. I shall have to feed you tomatoes more often." Her eyes blazed open to meet his, then shot quickly closed, reassured by the gentleness in his gaze and the pleasure generated by the gentle rubbing of his fingers.
Sarah's squirms intensified and the Doctor felt his own arousal follow suit. Suddenly, he found Sarah Jane's legs wrapped round his hips, her wetness along his length. It was all he could do not to thrust into her there and then, especially when a husky voice urged him to do just that very thing.
"Not here, Sarah." The console room was made for other things. No telling what buttons they might accidentally depress in their frenzy. Besides, this was Sarah, who warranted much nicer. The Doctor grabbed Sarah, whose legs remained obligingly around his midriff, and manuevered to the corridor, kissing her moans deep into the core of him. He counted left, right, 3, 4, 5 and hoped fervently to Rassilon that the room behind the door was what he expected and that the TARDIS hadn't gotten petty and jealous. Opening the door cautiously, he was relieved to find a simple room with a large bed.
By now, Sarah Jane felt nearly insensible with desire; her very nerve endings seemingly about to explode. As the Doctor deposited her on the unimaginably soft bed from high enough that she actually bounced a little, she had to laugh. She watched him, standing over her, study her for a moment. "Well, come on then," she said invitingly, stretching out a hand and threading her small fingers through his. He smiled fondly at her, then lowered his long body to cover her own.
Sighing as his hands ran over her body, as though he were mapping her peaks and valleys, she mimicked his actions, pulling a groan from him when her hand stroked his hard length. Craning her neck for the extra inch, Sarah kissed the Doctor with all the very enthusiasm that he loved most about her. Their tongues danced and caressed, mutually enflaming their passion. The Doctor murmured words against Sarah's skin which she did not know but yet somehow she understood their meaning. His hands ran down her body once more, gently parting her thighs as he settled on his knees between them.
He stopped his murmurs long enough to reverently whisper her name as he slid into her. They both groaned with pleasure as he buried himself in her wet core. The Doctor's wide, lissome hands reached round Sarah, pulling her hips up and to him. Both forgot to breathe momentarily, though that was really only of concern for one of them. Together they found their rhythm, moving gracefully in a push-pull dance that spanned galaxies. The dance built and spun, furling out and back in again, until finally with an arch of her hips and a squeeze of her innermost muscles, Sarah crashed straight through some anonymous nebula, pulling the Doctor in after her.
When their muscles finally ceased their involuntary quivers, the Doctor gingerly eased himself off Sarah Jane. Resting his weight on an elbow, he placed the other hand over her heart. "It's a little fast, I should think," he commented with a devious grin.
Shrugging, she responded, "A normal response, I'd say, Doctor."
"And what other sorts of responses might there be, Sarah Jane?"
"Rather a few. Perhaps you might like to catalogue them." The corners of her mouth twitched impishly.
His eyes widened impossibly and he grinned. "Oh, indeed! I should like that very much." He pulled Sarah to him then for a long kiss, the very likes of which were enough to cause one to forget the name of one's home planet.
Afterwards, as she listened to the lublub-dubdub of his heartbeats, she felt her own beating in counterpoint. It would break again someday, she knew, but for now she was content to let it find this rhythm it had been seeking. There would be plenty of time for heartbreak later.