Chapter Four: The Doctor Always Cries at Weddings
Despite the fact that they had traveled across countless light years and through the space/time vortex itself and taking into account the time they had spent dressing for the occasion (and then trying to find their way back to the control room after Sarah Jane made a wrong turn at the kitchens) and even given the time it had taken the Doctor to empty and then refill his pockets at the security check at the gates (who just carries a bag of marbles around in his pocket, anyways?), they had arrived at the palace a whole half hour early.
The first five minutes passed in a blur.
The cavernous hall where they were currently seated was packed with several hundred guests, some humanoid, many not.
Royal blue flags, all embroidered with a line of golden stars belonging to a constellation Maria wasn't familiar with, billowed from the ceiling.
Guards in Romanesque armor stood at attention along the marbled walls.
Except for a giant gilded statue of a horned pig-bear at the front of the hall, it looked remarkably like any other royal wedding she'd ever seen on telly, if she squinted a bit.
The next five seemed to drag to compensate for the first.
Maria was trying not to stare. Trying and failing. On one side of her sat Sarah Jane and the orange skirt—on the other, a blue tinted person who seemed to be hovering, ever so slightly, in the air. He'd caught her staring once and smiled indulgently. Sarah Jane had caught her twice and squirmed uncomfortably both times.
The following ten were only marginally better.
Maria rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically as Sarah Jane and the Doctor began round four of do-you-remember-the-last-time-we-were-here? Occasionally one of them would pause to explain some point to her. The pig-bear was actually called Aggedor, a sort of minor deity. He'd died protecting Queen Thalira—the-last-time-they-were-here. The chief mineral export of Peladon was trisilicate. That's what all the fuss had been over—the-last-time-they-were-here.
Had it not been for Sarah Jane's fingers absently coiling into a strand of her hair as her arm rested on the back of the bench, Maria would have found it annoying.
The Doctor realized they had been being rude and naturally overcompensated.
No, she did not want to play I-Spy to pass the time. Nor did she care for the half-wrapped piece of gum he'd fished out of his pocket.
"He's just trying to make friends," Sarah Jane explained, leaning close so the Doctor wouldn't overhear. She didn't need to add "so please be nice." The little lines of worry around her smile said it for her.
"You chew that gum then."
Sarah Jane blinked at her and just as her smile started to fade, Maria grinned: "It had lint stuck to it."
"The green alien with the antenna."
"Nope." The Doctor popped that last syllable in a most irritating fashion.
"The green alien with the antenna sitting next to him."
"Wrong again."
Maria reluctantly scanned the hall one more time. There had to be over a hundred people wearing some shade of green in one form or another—be it robes, dresses, or strange head gear. She'd counted no less that 23 aliens who were themselves green, not to mention the bloody great floral arrangements hanging from every column.
She flopped back in her seat. "I give up."
"No. I know," Sarah Jane cut in. "The green alien with the antenna sitting next to the other green alien with the antenna who's sitting next to the first green alien with the antenna."
"That's my clever Sarah Jane!"
Maria took exception to both the possessive pronoun and the tone that implied her Sarah Jane was a puppy who'd just brought him the newspaper.
Those last ten minutes seemed to stretch on well past their allotted 600 seconds.
When the processional began with a startling burst of fanfare, they rose—well, the person next to Maria floated—all eyes turning towards the back of the grand hall.
Attendant after attendant made her way down the aisle. They were all gorgeous, exotic the way alien royalty should be. Each had long, coppery hair with a streak of white-blonde down the center. Six chanting priests followed in a cloud of yellow incense. A line of elaborately armored guards appeared next, with swords drawn.
When the Queen finally did appear, try as she might, Maria couldn't get a good look at her, covered in swathes of shimmering purple as she was.
As anxious as she was to see Thalira again after all these years, Sarah Jane couldn't focus on the spectacle in the aisle. Her attention was drawn instead to the figure at her side—the one she couldn't get close enough to, the one she couldn't seem to stop touching. Her hand inevitably bumped into the back of Maria's and dark eyes, wide with awe, drew away from the ceremony just long enough for Maria to glance down at their hands and to offer Sarah Jane a lopsided grin in understanding.
Maria loved her.
And despite all her intentions to the contrary, she loved Maria.
It was terrifying.
And she'd certainly never meant to let it happen, had sworn after the first time that there would not be a second. By 10 am the next morning, she'd already been proven a liar. Then two weeks. Fourteen days of strained phone calls—the ones filled with small talk, where they tried to pretend that nothing had happened were the worst—harsh ultimatums—if Maria insisted on pursuing this, then they just wouldn't be able to see each other at all, in any context—and tears, just as often hers as Maria's.
She'd taken all the photos of Maria down, put them away in a drawer—out of sight, out of mind. But to her horror she'd found she didn't need photos to be haunted. She'd slept in the guest room for a week, refused to even go into the attic for days. Even the bloody kettle reminded her of Maria.
Once she'd very nearly marched across the street to tell Alan what had happened, to admit everything, sure that his reaction—the anger, the disgust—would give her a proper perspective. A proper perspective was something that had grown more and more elusive every day that had passed without seeing Maria. It was wrong—had to be, she'd told herself. She was nearly 60; Maria was 18, still practically a child. And her son's best friend. But then Maria was her best friend too. Sarah Jane knew from experience that you shouldn't fall in love with your friends.
Yet all it had taken was one flimsy excuse of an emergency—she could have handled that situation at the NWU campus just fine on her own—and here they were, calling every night, splitting their weekends between Maria's apartment and her house. On the rare occasion when they didn't see each other on the weekend, one of them would inevitably make some excuse to show up during the week, some looming threat she needed help with, some book Maria just had to borrow for a paper.
And when—if—she did something to bollocks it up, it would be devastating. She'd never been any good at relationships, generally lost interest or more likely they did—she was too wrapped up in this story or that, too closed off and distant, cold.
And those never had the remarkable hurdle of a 40 year age difference—though once she'd thought a 700 year age difference didn't matter in the least.
That one wasn't her fault. And it had still hurt the worst.
She suspected this would hurt more.
But right now, watching Maria, it hurt even more to keep from saying something she'd inevitably regret.
She settled instead for lacing her fingers through Maria's and paying her a long overdue compliment: "Lovely—you look lovely."
Even if she hadn't understood half of it—especially the part about the caves and the sky gods—it was still a beautiful ceremony. And if the loud sniffle coming from the other side of Sarah Jane was any indication, The Doctor obviously thought so too.
Her first night after moving to Bannerman Road Maria had snuck into Sarah Jane's back garden and watched as her strange new neighbor helped a wayward Star Poet find its way home. Since then she'd met Bane, Slitheen, Graske, Gorgons, Uvodni, Sontarans, Menoptras, Gelth, Haemovores—and a Timelord. Yet somehow, none of them had been quite as alien as Ambassador Alpha Centauri.
As best Maria could tell, most of the Ambassador's body consisted of one enormous, blinking eyeball. The rest was made up of green skin and tentacles and what appeared to be fins, causing him to move across the floor in an awkward, halting gait. His high pitched voice seemed mismatched to his large body as he exchanged pleasantries with the Doctor.
Maria felt herself recoil a fraction as a tentacle shifted in her direction as way of greeting. She smiled and hoped no one else—especially not the ambassador himself—had noticed. But the blush of embarrassment was already creeping up her neck. She was relieved to feel Sarah Jane's hand at the small of her back, drawing her in closer.
"I had the same reaction the first time I met him," Sarah Jane whispered.
"And you, Sarah," Alpha Centauri shrilled, "are you still prone to the rash behavior of human females?"
"Oh, most definitely, Ambassador," Sarah Jane laughed, turning her attention back to her old friend, yet leaving her hand where it belonged, tracing small, comforting arcs against Maria's back.
At least they weren't being held at sword's point this time, Sarah Jane thought. Though waiting on an audience with the Queen was nerve-wracking nonetheless.
A sea of attendants rushed around the room, and as the guard announced their presence, Queen Thalira looked eagerly in their direction. Her smile faded and she looked puzzled as she recalled the guard and conferred quietly with him.
Sarah Jane's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the Doctor. "Doctor," she whispered, "exactly how much time has passed since we were last here—for them?"
He scratched his head and shrugged: "Five, six years."
Nothing like the 30 that had passed for herself. No wonder Thalira looked confused.
Thalira herself looked almost exactly as Sarah Jane remembered, all amber eyes and porcelain skin, though her bearing had most definitely changed. Before she had seemed as if she were playing dress-up in the robes and crown, but now she looked every bit the Queen, confident and regal.
"Her majesty will see you now," the guard reported.
At least there were no swords and no pits this time.
Thalira shrugged off their synchronous bows and rose from her throne to join them, clasping Sarah Jane's hand eagerly in hers.
"Oh, I was so hoping you would come, Sarah." She said "Sarah" as if it were exotic and hard to pronounce. She spared a glance at the Doctor. "And you too, of course, Doctor."
He raised a curious eyebrow at being recognized without question.
"I've been reading my father's journals," she explained. "Seems you tend to change faces, the way others change clothes. I've so often wished you would have accepted my offer to stay on in Peladon."
She smiled almost nervously, looking from the Doctor to Sarah Jane. "I feel I owe both of you a great debt. Especially you, Sarah."
"We didn't do anything, really," Sarah Jane said. "And look what you've done since then."
Thalira glowed under the compliment then looked past Sarah Jane and for the first time seemed to notice Maria.
"And who is this you've brought with you?"
"Maria," Maria introduced herself. "I'm Maria Jackson."
Obviously that didn't shed any light on the girl's identity for Thalira as she looked first to the Doctor and then to Sarah Jane for further explanation.
Sarah Jane took Maria's hand, exchanging a surprisingly shy smile with the her. "Maria's my"—best friend, lover, partner, girlfriend—"date," Sarah Jane explained.
Thalira's smile widened.
"Are you from Earth as well then, Maria?"
"Are you sure you didn't leave something off your comprehensive list of things you did the last time you were here?"
"I explained women's lib to her."
Maria's mouth formed a cheeky, "O," as in "Oh, if you say so."
"She is a bit of alright though, isn't she?"
"Sarah Jane!"
At dinner they shared a table with two elderly senators from neighboring planets and a diminutive ambassador from yet another who seemed to become fast friends with the Doctor. The four of them were all tucking in enthusiastically to the best this side of the galaxy had to offer in the way of cuisine and sampling even more earnestly from the drinks menu.
The two humans at the table approached the colorful dishes a bit more warily and with good reason.
Maria sipped at some gingery tasting wine, trying to wash away the lingering traces of a dish that managed to be both rubbery and crunchy at the same time, and listened to snatches of conversation at the table around her.
"The banana daiquiri—now there's a drink!"
"—stole the ship right there at the press conference—"
"—hardly compares to the pan-galactic—"
"—didn't vote for the man myself."
"—woke up on a freighter bound for Clom three days later, naked—"
"How is it that we just made love a few hours ago—"
"—should have his head, both of them—"
"—and already I'm near desperate for you again?"
Maria's eyes shot round the table.
No one was gapping in shock, no one looking morally affronted. They were all too engrossed in their own conversations to hear.
Maria grinned.
Of course, Sarah Jane had realized that before she'd said it.
Sarah Jane pushed her chair back and stood. "Excuse us, won't you?" Maria assumed she was the other half of that us and happily followed suit.
"Oi!"
Damn.
The Doctor brandished his fork, some pink puffy thing with a tail dangling precariously off the end: "See if you can find more of these lovely little prawn thingies, will you?"
Sarah Jane silently thanked god, Aggedor, or whoever else might be listening, that locks on Peladon were remarkably similar to locks on Earth—silently praised herself for still being able to whisper "Up you go" with some degree of command when faced with dark curls and darker eyes and talented fingers skimming beneath her shirt. But Maria obeyed, scooting up onto the edge of a marble counter, and raising her hips so Sarah Jane could strip leggings and knickers down in one.
Then all the command seemed to have seeped out of her. Even command of her own skin—breathe-move-blink—slowed as she watched Maria—took in the dress pooled around her hips, the pink flush painted across her cheeks and throat—Maria was almost too lovely to be real—swallowed as soft thighs fell open around her hips—lovely and ever so beautifully wet.
Sarah Jane slowly dropped to her knees, listened for the "oh, please, please, please" she knew would follow and bent her head to breathe across her.
Maria's hips jerked against the marble and Sarah Jane's breath caught. She never ceased to be amazed at the level of response she could draw from Maria's body, even without touching her.
And when she did touch her—a light kiss just where it would have the most effect—Maria's whole body reacted—her name gasped out in a stutter as her back arched, a tremor along her thigh, right down to her toes curling against Sarah Jane's back—so perfect, but a mere fraction of what could be pulled out of her—but not just yet. She teased her tongue 'round, stopping just short.
Sarah Jane almost smiled at the frustrated groan from above, did smile at the hissed "don't— tease me."
Maria's hand found Sarah Jane's hair, tangled into it to tilt her face up until their eyes met. "The way you look on your knees—if you could see—I'm so close just from watching you."
Her words had the desired effect: breath and tongue and teeth and lips again, bringing her closer.
"Oh—god—Sarah—keep—doing—that—"
Even preoccupied as she was, Sarah Jane knew Maria was being too loud. Maria was always too loud. But somehow, somewhere in the heady rush of the past few months, too loud had become just right. In her own house, there was no one else to hear and the echo of it kept her company weeks when they couldn't see each other. And in Maria's apartment where the sound seemed amplified by the small space, it made her clumsy and near desperate for more—it also made her careful to avoid Maria's neighbors in the hall. But here, here she didn't particularly fancy being overheard.
She tried unsuccessfully to reach Maria's mouth, to dampen her cries with her hand, but Maria was leaned too far away. Once she had come close, her fingers finally managing to slide across Maria lips when the girl had rocked forward to grasp at her head. Instead of quieting, Maria had pulled her finger into her mouth and nipped at it before falling back again, babbling something about blue towels.
Sarah Jane gave up—gave up and stood up without warning, leaning over Maria.
Maria's eyes had snapped open—"Sarah Jane?"—and she was already starting to whine—"but I want your mouth—"
Sarah Jane pressed a finger against Maria's lips—"shhh"—replaced her finger with her mouth, teasing her lips apart.
She felt Maria smile—"I taste"—oh, god—"good." Sarah Jane could feel the moan echoing through her own throat this time. "Almost as good as—"
Sarah Jane clamped her hand over Maria's mouth before they were both too far gone to care who overheard.
She let her fingers ghost along Maria's sex—"Don't you ever"—slid them inside until her palm was flush against her—"stop talking?"
She felt a quick, hot pulse of air against her other palm—could guess which word that had been—as she found a slow rhythm that soon had Maria writhing against her hand.
Lacking Maria's usual commentary, she had to translate the straining of fingers against cold marble—just like that—decipher the counterpoint rise of hips—harder—the silken tightening around her fingers—so close, I'm going to—
"Not a word." Sarah Jane dropped her hand from Maria's mouth, stilled the fingers inside her, leaving Maria grasping at her wrist to make her move again. A roll of her thumb and Maria gasped. "Not a sound."
She lowered herself to the floor again, lowered her head for one more taste—licked and savored and scraped her teeth across the hard knot of nerves—curved her fingers into just the right—and Maria was coming, hands clutched in her hair, hips jerking into her mouth and—
"Oh—Fuck—Sarah!"
Damn.
Maria blinked through damp lashes, smiled lazily up at Sarah Jane. Only to find her looking annoyed.
"Oh-fuck-Sarah?"
Coming from Sarah Jane's mouth in that flat tone, and so unlike anything she'd usually say, that set off both a giggle and a faint tremor where that mouth had last been.
But Sarah Jane wasn't laughing.
"Sorry."
Any lingering fear that the other woman might actually have been angry with her was dispelled as Sarah Jane's fingers circled her wrist and guided her hand beneath that orange skirt. Maria gasped across Sarah Jane's cheek—Sarah Jane bit her lip to choke back her own—as Maria's fingers found her hot and wet even through her knickers.
Maria was surprised when Sarah Jane didn't withdraw her own hand, but instead covered Maria's fingers with her own, moving them just where she needed—small, rough circles again and again—until her nails bit into Maria's hand and she buried her face against her neck to keep from crying out.
Maria smoothed a piece of hair behind Sarah Jane's ear and whispered: "At least I didn't say 'it's orange' again."
Maria wasn't sure if the trembling in Sarah Jane's back was more from the lingering effects of her fingers or from laughter.
"Oh, Maria—I do love you sometimes."
Maria's smile faded as Sarah Jane's hoarse words sunk in.
I do love you sometimes.
It was the sort of thing you jokingly say to a friend. It was the sort of thing Sarah Jane would have said before, probably had done.
It was not what you whisper to a lover—especially not to a lover whose heart was breaking to hear the real words.
And Sarah Jane obviously hadn't realized what she had said, hadn't even thought enough about it.
Maria answered quietly: "And sometimes I think you do."
Sarah Jane pulled away from her, smiled faintly before her eyes widened with confusion giving way to something very near panic as her own words repeated in her mind.
"You might even say it properly one day and mean it."
Maria slid down from the counter and smoothed down her dress. She brushed past Sarah Jane who was still just staring at her and tried to sort out her underthings. There was no way to get them back on in any dignified fashion.
"Maria, I didn't mean. . ."
She settled for speed rather than grace.
"I know." And Sarah Jane didn't even realize that was the problem.
"Just, please—not here."
Not here? Not here in what probably amounted to the ladies' here on Peladon? Or not here while she was having such a lovely trip with the Doctor?
It was all too much right now, right here, and it all came pouring out: "I also know that you wouldn't kiss me in front of the Doctor—even after everything that happened this morning, all he'd already seen—you wouldn't."
She wanted Sarah Jane to protest, to make some excuse. But Sarah Jane didn't reply—her silence confirming what Maria had suspected.
She wasn't even looking at her anymore, was backed up against the counter, staring down at the floor.
She looked guilty. Sarah Jane looked utterly ashamed.
Maria felt as if she had fallen and all the air had been knocked from her chest.
For the first time all of it felt wrong—and part of her hated Sarah Jane for that.
That part of her made sure Sarah Jane was looking at her as she left.
"But you seem to have no problem fucking me whenever you feel like it."
"There you are." The Doctor beamed up at Sarah Jane as she approached the table. "Did you find more of those prawn cakes?"
"You asked me once if I wanted to travel with you again." Her words came out in a rush. "Did you mean that?"
She sounded almost afraid to hear his answer. Not that she had any reason to be as his grin grew exponentially.
"Always," he promised.
He watched as she exhaled a shaky breath.
"Then I've changed my mind. The answer's 'yes.'"
His Sarah Jane always could manage to surprise him.
Half an hour ago she'd been staring all moon-eyed at her Earth-girl. He'd half expected the next wedding he attended would be theirs.
"What about—"
"We'll take Maria home. Today."
Ahh. So that explained the sudden need to hide away with him. He had to admit that he was more than a little disappointed.
He tried a different tact: "And Luke, what about him?"
"Luke will be fine. He has his own life now, doesn't really needed me any more."
"Now that's not true."
"Doctor, please."
Panic. Now that wasn't like his Sarah Jane at all.
"I'd love for you to come with me." And he really would, no matter what the reason. He pulled out the empty chair next to him. Sarah Jane sat down and gave him a weak smile. He draped his arm around the back of her chair and leaned closer. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"No."
Half an hour later and Maria's chair was still conspicuously empty.
The Doctor was telling Sarah Jane about the time he'd ended up in an all night poker game with the Face of Boe.
It was a good story but Sarah Jane's attention seemed divided between staring blankly at the empty seat across from her and scanning the crowd for any sign of Maria, not that she'd admit that's what she was doing, mind you.
"So then I said to the nun, 'That's not a kitten, it's a—"
"Where is she?"
He was glad she'd finally given up the pretense, but did she have to do it just when he was getting to the best part?
"Haven't seen her since the two of you slipped off earlier."
Sarah Jane flinched.
That sort of thing just wouldn't do.
"Annoying isn't it?" The Doctor propped his chin in his hand and regarded her thoughtfully. "When the people you came with wander off all on their own. No warning, just gone. Fallen down a great gapping hole, kidnapped by a pre-Renaissance cult, slowly suffocating in a room with no air, about to be sacrificed by the—"
Sarah Jane could have done without the list of her own less than heroic exploits, communicated this by smacking his arm until his elbow slid off the table. It certainly didn't make her feel any better about the fact that Maria was missing. But she did appreciate his effort to lighten her mood, even if it only made her worry more.
"She probably went back to the TARDIS," he offered.
The Doctor put his arm around Sarah Jane's shoulders, scrunched her up next to him as they walked. "How's a trip to Florana sound?"
"You're not still using that tired line?"
She was teasing. That was a good sign.
"Stick with what works, I always say."
Sarah Jane stopped suddenly and he nearly toppled over her.
"She's not here."
The Doctor surveyed the empty plaza where the TARDIS had landed. She was right. Maria was nowhere to be seen.
That wasn't such a good sign.
The Doctor squinted up at the sky. "Do you—"
"Funny, I thought—" Sarah Jane began—"the TARDIS used to be blue." What an odd thing to say as the color drained from everything around her.
But then her head seemed to be coming apart and maybe that explained it.
She was vaguely aware that the ground had disappeared beneath her and only mildly surprised when it collided full force along the length of her body a few seconds later. The colors returned in a bright prism behind her eyes before everything was swallowed by black.
To be continued . . .