Author's Note: I have had this written for no less than 2 months. I can finally post it because I finally finished "Life in Your Own Living Room."

Chapter One: Unexpected Visitors, Terrestrial and Not So Much

There was a time—oh, a mere couple of decades, really, she'd argue—that Sarah Jane Smith had listened constantly for the distinctive metallic whirl that accompanied the arrival of the Tardis.

She'd find herself driving down a familiar street on some errand when she'd hear something just beyond what should be there—a charge of decibels that didn't seem to belong to Mick Jagger. But a sharp glance down a deserted alley way always only revealed liter blown from a perfectly ordinary London breeze and not from a rather extraordinary time traveling police box.

Other times she would wake suddenly during the night, sure that she had been jolted from that recurring dream, the one where the giant robot kept offering her jelly babies, by a certain other-worldly sound, only to discover that it was the neighbor's cat in her shed again.

Given her previous vigilance, it is remarkably strange that when the Tardis did indeed land in the back garden of 13 Bannerman Road, the metallic whirls and clanks—and even the crunching and splintering of her arbor as it was flattened by the big blue police call box—went unnoticed.

The entire scope of Sarah Jane's attention was currently devoted to a more terrestrial visitor, one whose presence was nonetheless filling her vision with spikes and spirals of light.

The length and breadth of Maria Jackson's own universe converged within the breath and bone, skin and wet of a body that no amount of physics or astronomy lectures could convince her was any less than celestial—perfect, elegant legs draped over her own, tightening steadily around her hips, the occasional, quick jerk of a knee against her ribs in counterpoint to the tense and release of muscle in Sarah Jane's lower back playing out beneath her fingers. A carefully coordinated flick of her thumb with the just-so-curve-and-thrust of her fingers and Sarah Jane's chest arched into her own--

"Alright in there, Sarah Jane?"

A not-quite-ginger head popped through the door, followed by a too-skinny body in a blue pinstripe suit.

The Doctor looked at the women in the bed.

One of them was his best friend, Sarah Jane Smith.

"Hello, Sarah Jane!"

The other was not.

"Hello, strange naked girl in Sarah Jane's bed," he trailed off. His head cocked as he thought about it, still staring obliviously at the two women currently scrambling to untangle the bed sheet and duck for cover.

Suddenly the Doctor slapped his hand over his face to cover his eyes. "Sarah Jane, there's a . . ." He peeked out between his fingers. "A lovely naked girl in your bed."

One look at the expression on Sarah Jane's face and he snapped his fingers shut again.

"I mean besides you," he corrected. "Another one. Two of you, four of them . . ." He tilted his head and banged at his ear as if he were trying to water out of it. "Sorry, the maths get away from me sometimes."

The Doctor hazarded another peek towards the bed. Sarah Jane seemed to be safely behind a sheet now and the other girl was safely behind Sarah Jane, so the Doctor thought he could safely stop hiding behind his hand.

His mouth screwed up as if he'd just bitten into a green persimmon. "I'm being rude, aren't I?" he offered.

Sarah Jane nodded mutely. She must have blacked out earlier—that was the only explanation. This was all just a strange, horrible dream, probably brought on by a combination of years of exposure to Artron energy and the skill with which Maria had been touching her.

Clearing the length of the room in a few quick paces, The Doctor held out his hand enthusiastically in greeting and stepped towards the bed. "It's nice to meet you, lovely naked girl. I'm the Doctor."

Maria made no move to shake his hand; her hand was too busy tightening possessively against Sarah Jane's thigh.

The Doctor looked down at Maria's hand.

Sarah Jane looked down at Maria's hand.

Maria even looked down at her own hand to see what all the fuss was about.

"Ahh, you're right. Probably shouldn't shake hands just yet . . ." He tucked his previously proffered hand into his pocket and rocked awkwardly back on the heels of his red trainers. After all, he had caught a quick glimpse of just where her hand had been when he popped through the door.

Sarah Jane's mouth moved as if she were about to say something, probably something unpleasant, yet nothing seemed to be forthcoming.

Maria buried her face into Sarah Jane's neck, inhaling the familiar scent of lavender cream, and reminded herself to breathe. This was certainly not how she had imagined meeting the Doctor for the first time. Her visions ran more along the lines of his arriving to save the day from the latest alien threat only to be informed that she and Sarah Jane had already handled it, disposed of the baddies and saved the Earth again. These little fantasies more often than not ended in a long, knee-melting kiss—between her and Sarah Jane that is, not her and the Doctor, and certainly not the Doctor and Sarah Jane.

"Doc-tor," Sarah Jane finally managed.

"Yes, Sarah Jane?"

"Get out. Now. Please."

"I'll just wait outside then, shall I?" He jabbed a finger into the corner of his eye and squinted. "Probably something good on telly. What year is this again? 2012. No, nothing good on telly really. Well," he shrugged, "not until Catherine Tate takes over from Billie Piper on that naughty show." Sarah Jane looked on in disbelief as the Doctor geared himself up for a good ramble, all the while still standing in her doorway. "I'll make myself a cup of tea . . . check the chrono-modulator on the Tardis . . . take the dog for a walk." At that his face broke out in an enormous grin. "Say, where is K-9--"

"Out!"

He left.

Sarah Jane slumped back against Maria and flinched as the door thudded closed behind the Doctor. She squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself a brief moment to bask in her own mortification.

When she finally turned to face Maria, she saw that the girl had gone positively . . . blotchy, her skin seemingly caught between draining of blood from shock and blushing furiously from embarrassment.

She brushed her fingers through the sweat damped curls clinging to Maria's face, replacing the dark strands with her lips, writing an apology across her cheek. "Let me just go sort him out."

Maria nodded and watched Sarah Jane climb from the bed, still using the sheet as an impromptu toga, as she tried to sort her pajamas out from the tangled heap of the duvet that had fallen off the foot of the bed.

"So . . . that's . . . the Doctor?"

"That's him."

Sarah Jane released a frustrated sigh.

How much of the irritation in that sound was actually aimed at the doctor and how much was the result of the fact that she was standing on the part of the duvet that she was currently trying to pull up was left for Maria to worry over.

The sheet fell and Sarah Jane's still-flushed skin quickly disappeared beneath her pajamas.

"Were you expecting him?"

Sure, spoken out loud, the question seemed silly given the scene that had just taken place, but Maria couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that had settled into her stomach. Sarah Jane hadn't been expecting her last night either. She hadn't called to let Sarah Jane know to expect her until she was already standing at her door.

Sarah Jane's wry smile seemed to agree that it was indeed a silly question. "Expecting that?"

Still, Maria was not entirely reassured. She remembered all those times when Sarah Jane seemed to come alive while she talked about the Doctor, hazel eyes shining with the light of alien sunsets and newly-born constellations. The Doctor was all those things and she was just Bannerman Road.