Title: These Blue Remembered Hills
Author: Liss/The Proverbial
Rating: PG-13 / (K+ or whatever it is now)
Notes: AU, post S4.
Distribution: Four Poster Bed (obvs!); anywhere else, please just let me know.

Personal Log: John Sheridan

OPERATION BOOM HAS COMMENCED. THE INFORMATION WE RECEIVED RECENTLY HAS INDICATED THAT OUR PREVIOUS SOURCES MAY HAVE BEEN MISTAKEN. WE'RE GOING ABOUT THIS QUIETLY. A LOT OF PEOPLE COULD GET EGG ON THEIR FACE AND WE DON'T WANT TO TIP THEM OFF. I JUST HOPE TO GOD WE FIND WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR.

End Log

Prologue

"I don't know how you do it!" exclaimed Louisa Hammond, as she watched her son's kindergarten teacher efficiently ice a batch of buns. "Honest to God, Sarah, if I had to deal with these little monsters day in, day out, you wouldn't catch me volunteering to make cake!" Sarah Travis, well aware that Louisa, chief of the cake-baking brigade of Calloway, Indiana, was merely flattering her, smiled and said nothing. Louisa continued, unabashed. "You know, I can't help but admire someone like you, someone who has such dedication to children. It's truly inspiring, Sarah, really."

"Why, thank you, Louisa," murmured Sarah, as she finished off the final bun. "There! Six dozen, you said?"

"Yes. Thank you so much! We do really appreciate it. You will be coming to the bake sale, won't you? Now, don't turn me down! It just wouldn't be the same without you!"

"I'm sure you'd manage," replied Sarah drily, as she started boxing up the buns. Her tone was lost on Louisa, who continued blithely.

"Oh, no! You do such wonderful work here! Well, thanks for the buns!" She picked up the cardboard carton carefully, and walked out. Sarah grinned after her.

"I am such a sucker," she commented to herself, then washed her hands, and readied herself for the day ahead.

Part I

…if I survive this without completely losing my mind, it will be a miracle of near biblical proportions…there goes my faith in the Almighty…

Sarah sat bolt upright, instantly awake, a mild sense of indignation burning in her breast that was swiftly and completely obliterated by the wary sense of disorientation that followed another dream. Once again, she couldn't remember what it was about, but she always knew when she had them. She would wake up suddenly, terrifyingly sure that her whole world was different and then… nothing. It was just her, boring old Sarah Travis, in her 'quaint' (real estate broker's word) apartment. But still she glistened with sweat and she raised a shaking hand to wipe her face, pushing back her hair as she did so. Rising, she crossed to the bathroom to splash her face then, eyes stinging, gazed at herself in the mirror. Her own face stared back. Exactly what she saw every day – same boring face, same eyes, same short hair. She pulled at a strand, and considered colouring it or growing it but, as usual, a shudder of discomfort passed through her and she shrugged, letting the hair fall. Her hair would remain short and dark and completely different from… From what?

"I'm going mad," she decided, abandoning the bathroom mirror and heading back to bed. She didn't believe it, not really. Mad was too interesting for her. But where had it come from, all of a sudden? These unsettling feeling of… of difference. She had always fitted in, always got on well with people. Her family, her friends at school and at college, her colleagues at her previous jobs in other elementary schools across the country. OK, she was a little shy and tended to blend into the background and, sure, she had a fatal inability to say 'no' to anyone, but never before had she felt, as she did now, that somehow she didn't belong.

"Completely mad." She needed to get out more. Socialise. Maybe she would go to the bake sale that afternoon. She fell asleep, and when she woke again, it was just before seven o'clock, and time to get up.

Sarah had wanted to teach kindergarten for as long as she could remember. She loved children, but found the older children intimidating and hard to manage. It was with the younger kids that she had found her niche, and she rejoiced in her job, her vocation. Teaching the children the foundations that could lead to such great things – what could be better? She knew some women yearned for powerful jobs, or jobs in the military, but that wasn't for her. Here, in this small town, teaching children their ABCs – that was what she loved.

Her day continued in its usual way. Not predictable: with a class of 25 four- and five-year olds, predictable was never an option! But there was a pleasing sense of familiarity from day to day, a rhythm that remained, no matter who was painting whom with bright red poster paint ("No, Tommy, I don't think Letitia likes that."). At half-two her charges were gone, and she was tidying up the classroom when Louisa Hammond once again appeared, this time with Tommy in tow.

"I'm sorry about the paint," Sarah apologised, stacking miniature chairs against the wall. She glanced at the boy, whose t-shirt was liberally smeared. "It'll wash out." Louisa waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, I don't pay no nevermind to that! Boys will be boys! Now, I just came to check that you're coming this afternoon. Four o'clock, in the park?"

"Sure. I mean, I'd love to." Louisa smiled brilliantly, and whisked Tommy away, leaving Sarah to poster paint and chairs. She made quick work of the tidying, and finished just as the rest of the school was leaving. She crossed the school yard briskly, steering (subtly, she hoped) a path around the rowdier element of the older kids. She had almost reached the gates when a yelp, quickly stifled, caught her attention. Looking back, she saw that a new kid who, judging by his clothing, had come from a big city or maybe even a colony, had been surrounded by the oldest of the boys. They were pushing him between them until, inevitably, he lost his balance and fell. They crowded in. Sarah stood hesitantly. She should intervene. They were children. She was an adult, and a teacher. It was her responsibility. Her feet wouldn't move.

"We don't want you Martian freaks here!"

"I bet you hang out with aliens!"

"Squit!"

"I suggest you boys go home, unless you want to explain to your parents how you got your asses kicked by the kindergarten teacher." She stood, arms akimbo, a flush of anger high on her cheeks. One of the boys sneered.

"Hey, this is none of you – " he started. He didn't finish.

"Move it!" she barked, and they moved. The boy from Mars scrambled to his feet and ran off in the opposite direction. Sarah stood there, her legs shaking.

"My, that was impressive," came a voice behind her. It was the principal, a stern grey-haired lady, who had been teaching at the school since the 2210s. "I didn't think you liked you dealing with the older kids?"

"I-I don't," replied Sarah, her arms around herself now. "I don't know what… Excuse me. I think I'm going to be sick." The school gates beckoned, and she followed. She was sick. No-one saw her.

To be continued. Feedback welcomed and cherished and called George.