Disclaimer: I don't own the Sarah Jane Adventures, or the characters, or anything. Just the plot.
A/N: I wish I knew why Sarah Jane is so easy to make slashy. And for some indescribable reason, I rather liked Phyllis Trupp.
Summary: Tag to 'The Mona Lisa's Revenge' S03E09/10. "It's time I had a bit of fun." Phyllis Trupp is described as "open minded" and "willing to try-" what, exactly? FEMSLASH!
A Bit Of Fun
Sarah Jane hugged Luke into her side again, smiling happily, as their treasured group of friends made their way across the car park towards her lovely, distinctive little car. Rani and Clyde were recounting what had happened in the gallery, while Luke stayed close to his Mum, not caring about anything except that he had her back and that he was grateful for having her. Sarah Jane was smiling as she listened to her wonderful little group of kids, who were not such kids anymore, tell her how they'd saved the world this time, when she heard a call from behind her.
"Miss Smith! Miss Smith!" Startled, the four of them paused and looked back towards the museum, seeing a walking pillar of beige-ish colours making its way out of the doors and hurrying towards them. It was Miss Trupp, Lionel Hardy's assistant, and Sarah Jane frowned as the woman they'd seen shake the museum's curator off so mercilessly made her way over to them, her eyes bright and almost excited, briefly skipping either side of her to check for traffic. Her gaze was otherwise focussed pointedly on Sarah Jane, barely glancing at the children and guiltily, they realised she'd probably heard the joking but in hindsight rather cruel things they'd said about her when she'd been revealed in the painting.
"Miss Trupp, is something wrong?" Sarah Jane asked as she approached and stopped right in front of the older woman.
"No, no, not at all, I just wanted to-" she paused, and looked at the two boys, suddenly seemingly uncomfortable, then flicked a look at Rani and bit her lip slightly at the corner.
"Um, why don't you lot get in the car and I'll be along in a minute." The hint was not meant to be subtle, because Phyllis' had not been, but nevertheless, Miss Trupp looked grateful as Sarah Jane handed over her keys to her son and the three younger ones drifted away to the car, clearly not happy at being cut out of the conversation but not willing to go against Sarah Jane.
"I wanted to say thank you, for being so nice to me while I was in the painting. You were the only person who wasn't – whose comments weren't rather hurtful, even if they didn't mean to be." Phyllis continued once the kids were far enough away to not quite be able to listen. Sarah Jane nodded gently, understanding what the other woman had not said, and nodded politely.
"They wouldn't have known you could hear them, Miss Trupp,"
"It's Phyllis, please."
"Phyllis," Sarah Jane amended, wondering exactly why she had been given that privilege when she had no idea that she would ever see this woman again. "They would have had no idea it really was you in the painting, otherwise I know they wouldn't have said anything." It was understood without being said that Sarah was only defending the two boys and Rani, because they deserved any clemency she could persuade Miss Trupp to allocate. Mr Harding did not, and so on his morals, she remained tellingly silent.
"Still, I'm grateful for your kindness and thank you for arguing for my release. You had never met me before, and yet you were willing to go up against her to release me. That kind of compassion is something I can appreciate, Miss Smith. Especially as it was so lacking in other quarters." She finished darkly, her eyes darting back over her shoulder towards the museum, where Sarah Jane knew Mr Hardy was probably still looking for the woman in front of her, in the hopes of making amends. Although, thinking about it, Sarah Jane wasn't sure he deserved the effort.
"It's what I do, Phyllis. You don't need to thank me. And I wasn't even the one that freed you – that was Luke." Her proud smile spoke volumes about her estimation concerning her son.
"Still, I wanted to tell you I'm grateful. Goodbye, Miss Smith." Phyllis held out her hand, smiling brightly, and Sarah Jane took it, shaking it politely again, feeling a little uncomfortable as she wasn't used to having the people she or her friends saved remember what had happened, nor was she used to receiving thankfulness from them. A second later, she realised that Miss Trupp had in fact used the handshake to slip her a small piece of card, which now rested easily in her palm. Before she could ask, Phyllis had turned and hurried away, cheeks suddenly flamed with colour.
Frowning, Sarah Jane opened her hand upwards and took in the logo of a familiar coffee shop, not too far from the museum she remembered. Curious, clueless as to why this woman had left her with such a thing without any explanation, she held it up closer to her eyes and turned it over. There, on the back, was a mobile phone number, written in a hurry, by a shaking hand Sarah Jane would guess. Whether the shaking was down to nerves or something tremulously close to anticipation, she didn't know, and bemused, she looked up at the figure of the woman who had given her the card, now disappearing back into the museum, like a mouse back into its nest.
Feeling a delicious, not quite innocent smile make its way up her lips, curving them into a shape she couldn't remember them making in a long time, Sarah Jane tapped the card against her palm a few times, considering. It was an unusual proposition, one Sarah Jane was almost sure she should turn down. And yet, something about it intrigued her, made her curious. She had an attraction to complicated people, always, it was what usually made her relationships so difficult, but Phyllis would not enter that category. It would be very simple, Sarah Jane was sure of that – Phyllis Trupp was looking for something, something she was not about to find from an online dating agency. And Sarah Jane was considering answering the call.
.~*~. .~*~. .~*~. .~*~.
"I heard you got a promotion." A warm voice interrupted the musings of one Phyllis Trupp as she stared out of the window in a small, non-descript coffee house a couple of streets away from the National Gallery. Starting slightly, Phyllis' eyes refocused to find Sarah Jane Smith sliding onto the sofa opposite her, a gentle smile placed carefully across her expression, as if she already knew how nervous her appearance had made the other woman. Nodding a couple of times too often, Phyllis tightened her grip around her coffee mug and tried to return the smile she was being given.
"Yes. Finally. Lionel decided early retirement was more acceptable to him once the French started bandying the word 'lawsuit' around. He wasn't particularly keen on my appointment to his role, but he wasn't really in any kind of position to object." Phyllis, while taking a little triumphant pleasure in her words and the victory they entailed over the man who was, she now realised, such an arrogant unmitigated twit, began to feel she'd been talking for too long and closed her mouth, rather embarrassed.
"No more than he deserved, and I'm sure you're more than capable of filling his shoes. You've probably been doing most of his job for years, if I'm not much mistaken." Sarah Jane's eyes were a little dark, and a little too knowing for Phyllis to maintain their gaze for long. An agitated, sharp little flush highlighted the tops of the historian's cheeks – answer enough to Sarah Jane that she hadn't been mistaken.
"I'm looking forward to making a few changes. There are some exhibits that are almost pre-historic, Lionel only kept them out of sentimental value, no regard for appeal to the target audience. The drawing competition was so under-advertised, that could have been such a draw for a younger generation interested in the Arts and it passed so many by! We desperately need to revive public interest... I'm sorry, you probably don't want to hear about any of this." The pink tinge to Phyllis' skin spread a little further, an awkwardness that was blindingly obvious spreading through her posture.
"If you'd like to tell me, I've no objection to hearing it." Sarah replied easily, opening her own body language to try and set the other woman at ease.
"Truthfully, I wouldn't. My whole life isn't about work, it's just nerves, that's all. What I really wanted to say was thank you, again, for being so kind. And to ask – well, how any of what happened that was possible, because I just can't understand." For the first time, Phyllis caught a second of Miss Smith looking uncomfortable but the moment was smoothing away in an instant and the historian wondered for a second whether the other woman would explain at all. Then a decision was apparently made and Sarah lowered her voice slightly, but never took her eyes from the woman opposite her, serious and honest.
"The paint Leonardo used for the Mona Lisa was made from minerals that originated in a meteor. This particular meteor was from far across the galaxy and had certain properties which enabled her to do what she did." It took a few seconds for Phyllis to process what she was being told.
"Paint made from an alien meteor?" She clarified and Sarah nodded, patiently waiting for the facts to sink in. "And how did you know? How did you work that out?" Phyllis watched Sarah Jane blink, clearly unused to her words being accepted to quickly and with so little resistance. But why would Phyllis attempt to argue? Miss Smith clearly knew far more about the entire incident than she did.
"I – we – have encountered a meteor with similar properties before." The journalist answered quietly, a miniscule shudder passing over her which Phyllis considered asking about, then thought better of it. Just from the expression that overtook Miss Smith in that second, she could tell it was not the sort of question or answer for a first date. Then her own mind caught up with what her thoughts had just said and the flush re-established itself. €Once more, Phyllis resumed searching for conversation tips in her coffee cup, suddenly, painfully, aware of her lack of experience in this area.
"You – you deal with, um, things from out of space? Is that your job?" She managed to speak with only a couple of tremors, still not looking up until Sarah Jane spoke again.
"Good grief, no. Absolutely not. The official channels for that sort of thing go about dealing with visitors in a way I find extremely heavy handed. No, it's an interest, a life choice if you like, but I don't get paid a penny. I don't think I would want to. Officially, I'm a journalist." Phyllis raised an eyebrow, wondering about the story the other woman had quite obviously omitted from her explanation, the 'how' and the 'when' she'd gotten involved in her way of life, and just how much writing Sarah really did before her self-conscious tendencies trod rather sharply on her curiosity. Miss Smith obviously led a marvellous, interesting, challenging life, which made Phyllis wonder why she'd responded to her offer at all. Then she noticed Sarah didn't have a drink. Time for the truth.
"Would you like a coffee? It's the best quality you'll find this side of London." The historian almost tumbled her cup as she made to stand up.
"Oh, no thank you." For a second, Phyllis was crushed. "Peppermint tea for me, if you don't mind. I don't drink coffee really." For the first time that afternoon, the bobbed brunette really truly smiled at Sarah Jane. Then beat a hasty retreat to the counter to acquire another coffee for herself, along with the tea for her... date? Companion? Friend? At the moment, friend seemed the most comfortable option. Miss Smith was certainly lovely, and kind, honest too, from what they'd already talked about. Phyllis could tell she was making an effort to steer the conversation into easier territory, for which she was grateful.
But... what made the difference between a friendly conversation and something infinitely more complex and intriguing? Was Sarah Jane even aware Phyllis was contemplating their talk that way? From the research Miss Trupp had gathered on her coffee companion, Sarah had lived in the world, was most likely in a position of much more awareness and worldly whiles than Phyllis herself. And the last thing the historian knew she was any good at was hiding things. Yet... if Miss Smith wasn't thinking, wasn't even considering that element, then there was an embarrassingly high potential for Phyllis to make a completely and utter fool of herself.
The effort the historian had put into her appearance for this meeting betrayed perhaps her intentions more than anything else. As any reforming woman would tell you (or so Phyllis was to understand) the first place to start with a change in lifestyle was a new and improved wardrobe. Gone were the bulky cardigans and exorbitantly long skirts. In their place were colourful shirts, flatteringly cut slacks and even a daring venture into the world of heeled shoes. Her outfit, chosen so painstakingly for today, was a cheerful floral pattern on a summery mint green shirt, with a new, shockingly knee length skirt of a similar shade. Teamed up with a pair of semi-heeled strapped sandals that the shop assistant had assured her would become more comfortable in time, it was her most different and challenging outfit to date. A tiny voice she had not known her mind could produce was hoping Sarah Jane had noticed the change, and approved.
Disturbed from her thoughts by the arrival of their drinks, Miss Trupp tried not to let her unease run riot and returned to their table, handing Sarah her hot tea before taking her seat again, knocking the table slightly as she moved.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please excuse me. I'm just a bit – well, nervous. I don't do this very often, you see. Or, I didn't." Phyllis corrected herself, a little sternly, determined to follow through with her promise to herself and not let her past become her future.
"And what is 'this', Phyllis?" Sarah Jane asked casually over the top of her mug. A deer caught in some very intelligent, very knowing headlights, Phyllis froze, eyes flickering in every direction but the woman across the table.
"Oh, er, going out, having a coffee or tea with a..." she had to swallow quickly to wet her throat, "friend."
"A friend? Really? I had an idea you might possibly have something else in mind." The question was marginally subtle, hidden in a sub-text, tone deceptively light. And Phyllis suddenly understood the choice lay with her. Sarah Jane was allowing her to take complete control of their ultimate direction. Friends or friendlier, as the phrase went. If she'd been the woman she was two weeks ago, the decision would have been easy and she probably never would spoken to Sarah again, preferring to waste her emotions on an uninterested and unworthy man. As it was, in that instance, the choice was also clear. Because Phyllis was determined to grow, change and experience a thousand new chances. And she was certain Sarah Jane Smith could help her do that.
"Well, I... yes, I suppose I do. Have something more in depth in mind." Her voice was hushed and her shoulders hunched slightly, suddenly very conscious of every other single person in the coffee shop. But the message was clear and Phyllis allowed herself a moment to be reasonably proud of herself. It definitely improved her confidence when Sarah tipped her a small wink as if to say 'Congratulations' on making the first step to having her own life.
"Sounds marvellous." Sarah smiled, and somehow the effected innocence in the other woman's tone made Phyllis' hands quiver. The moment lingered for a moment, the historian unconscious of the dilation her pupils underwent in those seconds, but very conscious of the almost smirk wavering over Miss Smith's lips, before it was banished to the realms beyond the other woman's pleasant personality. "Now, Phyllis, what is your absolute favourite thing to do in the world?" And Miss Trupp could have grinned for gladness at the change of subject. Without a second of hesitation, she answered.
"Reading. I could read for every hour of every day and be completely happy." And for the first time, Phyllis heard and felt no trace of unrest or tension within her.
"What do you love reading especially?" Sarah asked, a little of her journalist instinct stepping in to navigate the unknown waters between the two women.
"The classics, primarily the Brontës, Jane Austen, Dickens, a little Conan Doyle here and there. The language is so glorious. I do occasionally dip into Shakespeare and Chaucer, and the like, as is necessary for a thorough understanding of literature, but the melodrama and theatricality make them hard to stick with in the long term. And then there are the research books for work, which can be very interesting when written by the right person." Phyllis barely felt the twinge of warning that she was, once again, revealing far too much and making the conversation slightly one sided. She needn't have worried; it pleased Sarah more than she could say to hear someone who had been such an introvert wax eloquent about her reading material.
"And what about the guilty pleasures? The ones you hide at the back of the bookcase and sneak on holiday?" Sarah chuckled at the surprised and almost scuppered-looking eyes of Miss Trupp. For a moment, a denial was imminent, Phyllis could feel it clambering up her throat, desperate to defend her reputation, but she stopped it. She had every reason to trust Sarah Jane, and no reason not to. So, she took a deep breath and, with an appropriate blush, nodded her guilt.
"My weakness is 'reformed' women who go from being stuck in a monotonous, grey relationship to being swept off her feet by a new, vivid, passionate romance. The ones who seize what they want and take back control. It's always the same story, I just can't seem to help myself." Phyllis admitted, amused by the way Sarah nodded along in agreement.
"And the steamier, the better, right?" Sarah Jane added, quietly. For a moment, Phyllis seemed askance, but the indignant look of shock faded far too rapidly to be taken seriously and they both shared a secretive giggle of common thrill. Conversation flowed easily after that, covering virtually the entire classic literature library, discussion of favourite scenes – Elizabeth and Mr Darcy's first collision versus Jane and Mr Rochester's emotional proposal – turning into a lengthened argument over each author's merits and faults. All too soon, one of them caught sight of the time and they both reluctantly agreed they had other places they needed to be.
Sliding on jackets and gathering up bags, they left the coffee shop together and hovered a moment outside of it, knowing there were still a couple of things still left to be said.
"Thank you." Phyllis began. "For understanding. And being kind, again. You made this afternoon very easy, and very pleasant." The historian smiled happily across at her tea-drinking date.
"I'm glad you asked me. And..." For a moment, Sarah seemed hesitant about continuing but, with a dip of her voice and a softening of her eyes, she spoke again. "I know what unrequited, unacknowledged adoration can do to even the most secure of people. It helps to have someone who can listen, and accept." Phyllis blinked, wondering how Sarah knew and resolving that she didn't need to know, just be grateful she did. Bowing her head, Phyllis' mouth twisted a little at the thought of Lionel Harding and all she'd wasted on him.
Surprisingly, and with a focus she hadn't known she had, her attention was redirected completely to a far more pleasing figure by Sarah Jane's mouth brushing along her cheek bone. Her lips were soft, and Phyllis felt the remnant of lipstick left barely on her skin. Unconsciously, Phyllis' eyes slipped closed and a shining smile took precedence over her expression.
"I'll see you soon Phyllis." Sarah whispered into her ear, a promising squeeze applied to her elbow before the warmth of her body slipped away into the flow of people on the street. Having opened her eyes, a thoroughly blushing Miss Trupp caught sight of the shoulder-length auburn hair and a flash of that leather jacket before the crowd disguised her from view. It was later, at home, Phyllis discovered a card tucked into her jacket pocket with a phone number and an 'x' in the corner. Her smile lit up the rest of her evening.