Author's Notes: It goes without saying that Maria is at least 18 in this story. This was written for the femslash08 ficathon for sadieflood.
The Proper Care and Handling of Clichés
The One Where They Take Care of a Baby
"What's this then?"
"Hmm?" Sarah Jane finished pouring herself a cup of tea then looked over at Maria. "Oh." She tried to hide her smile behind her mug. "You've just stuck your finger into the crown prince of Volatic IV."
Maria stared at the greenish stuff sliding down her finger. "But it's . . . goo."
"Shapeshifter, just a baby actually. That's his natural form when he sleeps."
Maria grimaced—the "ewww" written across her face needing no voice to be understood—as she tried to scrape as much of the slime off her finger and back onto the side of the container as possible. She wiped the rest on her jeans and mumbled an apology into the faceless blob.
"Mr. Smith picked up their distress signal, some problem with the transwarp engines," Sarah Jane explained. "They teleported Junior here down for safekeeping. Just until tomorrow morning. His family is sending another ship to pick him up."
"You're babysitting an alien prince in some Tupperware in your kitchen."
"I couldn't find a bucket."
She looked up to see Maria positively beaming at her. Sarah Jane smiled and laughed, fully recognizing how bonkers her life would seem to most people—but not to Maria.
"I've missed you, Sarah Jane."
Sarah Jane pulled Maria into her arms for a tight hug, the third such in the hour that Maria had been home. "I've missed you too. It's not the same, doing these things on my own." She pulled back just far enough to look in Maria's eyes and lay a hand on her cheek. "No one to share it all with."
"I thought we could go get some dinner, but . . . Sarah Jane?"
Sarah Jane's gaze flickered guiltily back to Maria's. She'd been caught staring at Maria's mouth, she realized.
Sarah Jane stepped back and, needing a distraction, she turned to their gooey visitor, only to find his bowl empty. "Where is he?"
"What?"
"He's gone."
"He's got to be around here somewhere," Maria reassured as she knelt down to look under the table. "What's his name?"
"What?" Sarah Jane asked, opening and slamming cabinets in her search. "Why?"
"So we know what to call him," Maria explained.
"No idea . . . but I've been calling him Fred." She sounded more than vaguely embarrassed by this admission.
"Fred?" Maria smiled again. "Where are you, Fred?"
Sarah Jane ignored Maria's obviously amused tone and irrationally looked underneath a large serving spoon in the cutlery drawer.
She could just imagine the intergalactic incident that would develop if she lost Fred—it wasn't pretty—and not just because the inhabitants of Volatic IV looked like gobs of viscous jello.
"You didn't get a pet lemur since the last time I was home, did you?"
"No."
"Then I found him."
Sarah Jane paused in her search through the forks to see Fred happily perched on Maria's shoulder, chattering away.
"Oh, naughty, Fred," Sarah Jane scolded, before her shoulders started to shake with laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all.
Exactly one hour and forty-three minutes later, Maria was standing in her dad's kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, staring distractedly across the street at Number 13, when The Kinks' "You Really Got Me" started to blare from her purse.
Flipping her phone open, Maria chirped, "Hello, Sarah Jane."
"Maria, I need--" a loud noise in the background, drowned out most of her words—"help!"
The last word was barely spoken before Maria bolted through her front door and across the street. Even from the drive she could hear the blaring sound. She fumbled with her key as she let herself into the house. The deafening noise grew louder as she approached the sitting room. "Sarah Jane! What's--"
Sarah Jane was perched atop a chair, hands over her ears, as some sort of giant caterpillar—obviously Fred—circled her, screeching unceasingly all the while.
It was without a doubt one of the cutest things Maria Jackson had ever seen.
"He won't stop making that noise!" Sarah Jane shouted over the din.
As if on cue, the noise stopped and a slobbery puppy bounded over to Maria, begging to be picked up. "Oh, hello, Fred, aren't you a cute little doggy."
"That's amazing." Sarah Jane was genuinely impressed as she climbed down from the chair.
Fred growled menacingly at her.
"That's not nice, Fred," Maria scolded, and lifted him up into her arms, where he happily proceeded to lick her face.
"The little bugger just doesn't like me."
"I'll stay over tonight"—"You should stay here tonight"—they said at the same time.
"Alan probably wouldn't like a shape shifting toddler running loose in his house," Sarah Jane joked to cover her unease.
"He still lets my mum come over."
Sarah Jane choked back a laugh—"True."
Maria spent the rest of the evening entertaining Fred in all his various forms while Sarah Jane watched from a safe distance.
Sometime past midnight Sarah Jane came down from the attic where she'd been making arrangements for Fred's pick up tomorrow to see that the only light on in the living room was from the tv—the title menu for the DVD was running--Labyrinth. Brilliant. All they needed was for Fred to turn into a goblin. Or worse, David Bowie.
Sarah Jane rounded the sofa to find Maria sound asleep, her arm curled around a Tupperware container of slime.
It was without a doubt one of the cutest things Sarah Jane Smith had ever seen.
Sarah Jane leaned down and brushed a bit of hair out of Maria's face, calling her name.
"Maria, love," she tried again. This elicited a disgruntled "mmmhh," followed by big brown eyes blinking tiredly up at her.
"Sarah Jane?" Maria looked around the room, disoriented.
"Come to bed."
A sleepy smile spread across Maria's face.
Sarah Jane couldn't quite keep her own smile from reaching her eyes.
"I've made up the guestroom."
Sarah Jane stood and offered Maria her hand, pulling her up from the couch, leading her up the stairs, while Maria clutched Fred's bowl.
Sarah Jane stood in the doorway and watched as Maria sat Fred on the bed then thought better of it and put him on the nightstand.
"Good-night, love," Sarah Jane called.
Maria yawned—"Love you too."
Later, lying awake in her own bed, Sarah Jane doubted that Maria—more than half asleep as she had been—even realized what she'd said. But those words kept Sarah Jane up most of the night just the same.
The One Where They Get Locked in a Closet
"What do you mean deadlock sealed? Why would a closet be deadlock sealed?"
"Well, it is—my sonic lipstick isn't working."
"This is--"
"I can't move—Ouch, that's my foot."
"Sorry."
"Why don't you sit down? See if that helps."
Maria carefully lowered herself down onto the cold concrete floor. However, instead of remedying the situation, it only managed to bring her face level with Sarah Jane's rather perfect bum, which just wasn't going to work.
"Sarah Jane, this isn't going to work."
"What?" Sarah Jane craned her neck to see Maria in the scant light coming in under the door. "What's wrong? Besides the obvious."
"Well," Maria began, gesturing carefully with her hand, trying not to cop an inadvertent feel as she made her point.
Sarah Jane cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed. "Sorry." She tried to shift forward but there wasn't any room to move.
"What if I turned 'round?" Somehow she managed to turn in the cramped space without kneeing Maria in the face—though it was a narrow miss.
Sarah Jane's relief was short lived when she looked down to see Maria in front of her, the girl's face now dangerously close to her—well, she didn't want to think about what this looked like—but the image was already there in blinding clarity.
Sarah Jane swallowed.
Maria bit her lip.
"I . . . maybe you should sit down too."
Sarah Jane looked down at the negligible space and shoved desperately at a box with the toe of her boot. "There isn't room."
"You'll have to sit on my lap. There's nowhere else." Maria cut off Sarah Jane before she could protest further, "And who knows how long we're going to be stuck in here." She curled her fingers into the pockets of Sarah Jane's jeans and tugged down.
Sarah Jane reluctantly gave in and struggled to kneel in the cramped quarters.
Her breasts slid past Maria's face on the way down, the button on her waistcoat accidentally grazing her cheek.
Sarah Jane tried to ignore the barely audible obscenity that passed Maria's lips.
Sarah Jane put her hands against the wall on either side of Maria's head to balance herself while she knelt uncomfortably on her knees, straddling Maria's thighs.
Sarah Jane struggled to find something to look at besides Maria—but given that the closet was mostly dark and all that she could see were some boxes—Sarah Jane found herself staring down into Maria's lovely eyes.
Maria's mouth had gone dry. She wet her lips.
Sarah Jane exhaled sharply.
Neither was sure who moved first but their foreheads were suddenly pressed together—their breath teasing against the other's lips.
"Say something unattractive," Maria rasped.
"Raxacoricofallapatorious."
She rose up the barest fraction of an inch until her lips brushed Sarah Jane's. "Didn't work," she whispered between kisses.
Light flooded the closet.
"Hello?"
Sarah Jane fell unceremoniously out of the closet as she launched herself away from Maria. She landed in an undignified heap at the feet of two of U.N.I.T.'s most celebrated doctors, her old friend Martha Jones and her very old friend Harry Sullivan.
"Sarah, old girl," Harry laughed. "Fancy meeting you here." He nodded towards Maria. "Miss Jackson."
Martha raised an amused eyebrow. "And just what were you two doing in this closet?"
Sarah Jane ignored the hand Harry offered and stiffly stood to brush herself off.
Maria, however, was still too stunned to protest when he helped her to her feet.
Sarah Jane decided misdirected anger was better than abject humiliation. "The door was deadlock sealed," she accused. "Some one locked us in."
"Really? It opened right up for us," Martha countered. "Besides, you both sort of work here. You have no excuse for skulking about in closets—except for the obvious."
"Don't you have a house where you could do this sort of thing? Probably has bigger closets and everything."
"Shut up, Harry. And stop calling me 'old girl.'"
The One Where Some Aliens Make Them Get Married
"Of all the insane, asinine customs . . ." Sarah Jane huffed as she stepped into a room that seemed to have sprung out of the seedier pages of 1001 Arabian Nights. Swathes of satin material, all deep purples, reds, and oranges, covered every available surface.
"Wait, I was supposed to carry you over the threshold."
Sarah Jane glanced back over her shoulder to see Maria standing outside the doorway, obviously putting on a good show of pouting.
"Don't be absurd."
"Well, that's a fine attitude to start a new marriage with."
"We are not married."
"The blue alien who kept shaking that big stick at us—and these ribbon things around our wrists—say otherwise."
"I assure you it's not legal on Earth. You remember Earth, right?" Sarah Jane asked testily. "Smallish, blue and green planet where wedding ceremonies typically do not involve being spit on by conjoined aliens."
"It's alright . . ." Maria flopped down on the bed, giving it a test bounce or two.
"They could have at least given us back our clothes," Sarah Jane complained, only half listening to Maria as she plucked disdainfully at the gauzy white dress flowing around her.
"It's understandable to be nervous on your wedding night."
Sarah Jane shot Maria an annoyed glare, one which she hoped would curtail Maria's interest in this awkward charade. The younger woman was sitting, head propped in her hands with her elbows on her knees, her own matching dress bunched up in her lap—looking the very picture of innocence.
"Very funny."
"I'll be gentle," Maria promised. Her face split in a cheeky grin.
Sarah Jane's stomach gave a strange little flip, one she chalked up to too many barely identifiable alien horderves at their "reception." And speaking of that reception . . .
"Exactly how much of that wine did you have to drink?"
Maria shrugged, but otherwise ignored the question.
Sarah Jane shook her head and sat down on the settee, sinking unpleasantly into the garish pillows. She began to unwork the series of buckles that ran the length of her boots. If they were stuck here for the night, she might as well make herself comfortable.
"I think you should probably stay home with the children. I mean, you're freelancing so you can work from home if you need to. I'm thinking at least three. Not counting Luke, of course. Do you think he'll mind calling me 'Mummy'?"
Maria's rambling monologue was temporarily halted by a pillow colliding with the side of her head—but only temporarily because the feathery projectile had lost most of its momentum as it crossed the room.
"You'll have to work out with my mum what you want to call her," Maria continued. "Just think how much fun Christmas is going to be this year with all of us together. One big, happy family."
Sarah Jane thought of Chrissie Jackson as her mother-in-law—and shuddered.
"I saw that!"
"If I smothered you with that pillow, would you stop talking?"
"Mmmm—very kinky. But will you put your boots back on if you're going to do that?"
Sarah Jane blinked and, despite herself, filed away that particular piece of information.
She didn't have long to dwell on what that implied about the rapidly changing nature of her relationship with her young companion as a deep moan pierced the room.
Sarah Jane gaped, open-mouthed and stared in fascinated horror as Maria thrashed about on the bed, beating her fists into the sheets and pushing her bare feet against the headboard, setting off a series of lurid thuds into the wall.
"What on Earth are you doing?!"
Maria paused, mid-thrash. "This is our honeymoon. The Vians expect us to enjoy ourselves," she explained matter-of-factly.
"Maria," Sarah Jane warned.
"Ahhh!"
"Stop it, Maria."
"Ohh. Oh, yes!"
"Don't--"
"S-sarah--"
The throaty hiss of her name momentarily stole Sarah Jane's breath.
"Mmmm—Sarah—uhhh—Sarah Jane!"
Blood pounded a deafening cadence in Sarah Jane's ears, pulsing in rhythm with a frenetic throb decidedly south of her stomach.
Sarah Jane took a helpless step towards the bed.
Fortunately, Maria's inspired performance was cut short at the very instance that Sarah Jane's resolve seemed to give way, as she dissolved into a fit of giggles—giggles that somehow gave Sarah Jane the wherewithal to warn, "Budge up and cut that out or you're going to be sleeping in the floor."
Maria righted herself and, still laughing, slid beneath the covers.
Sarah Jane's hand groped across the top of the bedside table until she found a small button that cast the room into darkness, hopefully covering the flush still burning across her throat before Maria noticed.
She took a deep breath and settled down into the bed, determined to think the most unarousing thoughts possible, maybe something about the Brig or Aunt Lavinia. She could mentally recite some dreadfully boring U.N.I.T. protocols. But thoughts of U.N.I.T. brought up thoughts of Maria in her uniform and—while that uniform was cute more than flattering—that image really did not fall under the unarousing thoughts heading. If she could just get through tonight, tomorrow they would work things out things out with the Vians and be on their way and all of this could be forgotten.
"Are you going to change your surname to Jackson? Or are you going to insist on being liberated and keep Smith? Maybe you could hyphenate."
"I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this so much."
There was a pause, a slight shift in the mattress; then Sarah Jane felt Maria's breath teasing across her cheek.
"You know," Maria began. "There's no reason we couldn't both enjoy ourselves."
Sarah Jane bit down on her lower lip. Hard.
"I have a headache." Her voice sounded strained, even to her own ears and not at all acerbic as she had intended, but Maria didn't seem to notice as she called her a spoilsport and rolled over onto her other side.
It was going to be a long night, thought Sarah Jane. A very long night.
The One Where They Have to Share a Tent
"It's gone."
"Tents don't just disappear," Sarah Jane declared, even as she looked down at the patch of flattened grass that was markedly devoid of Maria's tent.
"I'm too tired to walk into town and it's freezing out here."
"We still haven't found where that signal was coming from. We'll have to keep looking in the morning." Motioning towards her own tent, she offered, "Come on then."
Within minutes they were tucked away inside the nylon walls of Sarah Jane's tent, where they were marginally warmer and drier than they had been outside.
"Sarah Jane?"
Sarah Jane glanced up to see Maria sitting back on her heels, watching her.
"They didn't just take my tent."
Sarah Jane's brow furrowed in confusion until she followed Maria's gaze down to her sleeping bag.
Sarah Jane chewed at the corner of her lip. "Suppose we'll just have to share."
"We'll stay warmer that way, anyhow."
Sarah Jane shivered.
"And we are married, after all."
"Don't start that again."
The One with the Aphrodisiac
Maria Jackson really couldn't say why this particular moment felt like the right time to tangle her hand in Sarah Jane's hair and kiss her senseless. Maybe it was the way her skin had been, not exactly itching, but strangely alive for the past two hours, or that the attic felt particularly close today—the air heavy and sweet—or that when Sarah Jane leaned forward to collect yet another book from the stack at her feet, Maria could see the tops of her breasts in the shadows down the front of her dress. Maybe it was all of these things or none of them.
What was truly surprising was the fact that Sarah Jane was kissing her back and not pushing her away.
In fact, Sarah Jane seemed to be pulling her somewhere.
"Where are we go--" Maria began.
"My room. My bed."
Suddenly the only thing that mattered to Maria was having Sarah Jane as fast as physically possible.
She dropped down to the rug, pulling Sarah Jane down on top of her. "No. Here."
"But Mr. Smith is watching."
"Sarah Jane, please."
"I love that—the way you say my name."
Maria craned her head up to bite at Sarah Jane's earlobe--"Sarah Jane"—nipped at her throat--"Sarah."
"Sarah Jane," an eerily even voice called across the room.
"Not now!" Sarah Jane growled. Her dress was bunched up around her waist and she was making fast work of the buttons down Maria's top.
"Sarah Jane, I have completed my analysis of the alien spores as you requested."
She threw the nearest book within her reach at him.
"Judging by your increased respiratory and heart rates and the spikes in both blood pressure and hormone levels, not to mention your current state of undress and lack of inhibition, you appear to be under the influence of amorpolytemporium, an aphrodisiac renowned for its sudden and intense effects."
His words reached a hazy part of her brain as she was simultaneously trying to undo the zip on Maria's jeans with one hand while shoving aside the lace on Maria's bra with the other, clearing a path for her mouth.
An aphrodisiac. That meant this wasn't real. "No, no, no, no." She bent her head in defeat against Maria's throat. "No."
"As always my analysis is infallible."
Sarah Jane rose up on her elbows to focus on Maria—her clothes were in disarray, her hair a tangled mess, and most damning of all an angry red mark was spreading on the side of her breast—Maria looked well and truly debauched. Sarah Jane suddenly felt like crying. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have . . ."
"No, don't stop. Please, it doesn't matter."
With a surge of will power she had not been entirely sure she possessed, Sarah Jane stood up and stepped over Maria.
"Explain, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Smith launched into a thorough history of amorpolytemporium, an analysis which Sarah Jane admittedly only half heard as Maria's hands scaled the length of her leg, disappearing up under her dress, to slide over the smooth material of her tights. Sarah Jane swatted at Maria's hands. "No."
Maria retaliated by biting at Sarah Jane's hip. The sound Sarah Jane emitted was a strange hybrid of a sharp yelp and a protracted moan.
"Sarah Jane, you appear to be distracted once again."
"Sorry." She pulled Maria up by the elbow, watching her as reproachfully as she could muster. "How do we counteract the effects of the amor-what's-it?"
"Amorpolytemporium. The effects should wear off within 24 hours. Of course, with the release of a significant amount of both oxytocin and vasopressin, you should be free of the effects almost immediately."
"An orgasm?" Maria asked.
"Yes. However, several would be necessary to release sufficient amounts of the chemicals to counteract the spores."
The look in her eyes was positively feral as Maria walked Sarah Jane backwards until she was against the nearest available flat surface—which just happened to be Mr. Smith's consol. "You heard the man, err, computer. Several."
"Maria. Sarah Jane. I really must protest."
When their only response was the winding of Sarah Jane's legs around Maria's hips, Mr. Smith retreated into the wall with a blast of smoke that sent them flailing painfully into the floor.
Maria framed Sarah Jane's face with her hands, aiming to kiss her again but something in Sarah Jane's eyes just wasn't--.
"We can't do this."
This time Maria agreed. Albeit reluctantly.
Miraculously, they managed to get downstairs to the front door with minimal incident and very little bodily harm.
Maria's actual departure, however, proved more difficult, in no small part because she was leaning on the door and Sarah Jane was pressed firmly against her.
"If you stay here, we will do something that we'll both regret. Though right now it would be. . ." Sarah Jane trailed off. She ran her thumb across Maria's bottom lip. She stepped back. "Maria, please go home. I can't stop touching you. And this—like this—is wrong."
"If I go home right now, you have to promise that we'll talk about what's happening between us—and not just about tonight."
Sarah Jane understood. "For months."
"Years," Maria corrected.
"Tomorrow, when we're no longer," she struggled for the word, "affected, if you still want this. If you still want me--"
"I will." She didn't have to think about it—she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt—and beyond the influence of the damned amorpolytemporium as well.
"You will?" Sarah Jane asked. Maria nodded. "Good. Because I really . . ."
"I'm going." Maria slipped through the door, almost slamming it on Sarah Jane's hand.
Five minutes later, locked away in her bedroom, Sarah Jane decided that taking matters into her own hands, as it were, was the only rational thing to do.
Two minutes later, the phone rang.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, she fumbled for the phone on the bedside table, looked at the caller ID and sighed.
"Maria . . ."
"You didn't say I couldn't call you."
15 seconds later, Sarah Jane had one of the fastest orgasms, maybe not in the history of the universe, but certainly in her own personal history.
The One Where the God in the Machine is Actually the Doctor in the Tardis
The Doctor huffed out an exasperated sigh that echoed through the empty control room of the Tardis.
He rubbed his forehead roughly and shoved his glasses back into place.
He scratched his head and paced.
He just couldn't figure it out. And he was brilliant, so that was really saying something.
He'd tried everything. Nothing seemed to work.
Yesterday he'd even tried the sex spores and still nothing.
Maybe one of them had a medical condition he didn't know about.
All he was trying to do was to fix his best friend up with the lovely girl she was obviously in love with. Call him a sentimental old fool, but he'd lately come to realize the importance of grabbing hold of those important to you while you had the chance.
So to take his mind off lost friends and lovers, he traveled forward a few years—wouldn't want Sarah Jane to get arrested, now would he—and set to playing matchmaker.
Setting his plans into action had required help though.
The Vians still owed him from when he introduced their culture to the Banana daiquiri. They were more than happy to help. Always did love a good wedding, the Vians did.
The royal family of Volatic IV were only too happy to have him take the little prince off their hands for the night—kept muttering something about the terrible twos and thanking him.
He'd procured the amorpolytemporium from Jack. They'd had heaps of the stuff—though why the Torchwood team needed to keep quite so large a supply of that on hand was beyond him—and all he had to do was join them in a game of hide and seek. Funny, he didn't remember the game being played that way. He could have sworn you usually wore clothes. It was, after all, a children's game.
And, well, he owed Martha and Harry an even more interesting favor—something about the three doctors playing doctors and nurses.
Now that he thought about it, this little venture was actually doing wonders for his love life, even if it were doing nothing for best friend's.
Oh, and he'd taken care of the tent himself—least he could do for his Sarah Jane.
But nothing had worked.
Maybe if he just went and talked to Sarah Jane . . .
A few minutes later, he backed out of Sarah Jane's bedroom, hand clamped over his eyes, and beat a hasty retreat back to the Tardis.
He was brilliant.
Must have been the sex spores that finally did the trick.
But he was pretty sure those boots of Sarah Jane's were not meant to be worn in bed.