"No."

Harry clenched his jaw as all the fear and worry and guilt of the past few days coalesced into a cold lump that settled in the pit of his stomach at her words. He wanted to shake her, to shake that idea out of her head, to shake the emptiness out of her eyes.

"No," he said again, more forcefully. He reached out, grasped her by the upper arms and stared into her eyes, searching, searching desperately for Sarah Jane. Damn you, Doctor, he thought. I told you not to hurt her. "He did not take any part of you with him. You are not gone. You are completely and entirely here. In front of me. All of you."

Her breath started coming in small hiccuping gasps and her eyes went out of focus. She shook her head.

"Stop that," he said fiercely. "Just stop it. Don't say it, don' t think it. Do you hear me?"

She looked up at him and nodded, a small, frightened nod. He saw the fear in her eyes and wanted to sink through the floor. He let go of her arms and gently placed his hands on her cheeks, holding her head so that she had to look at him. "Oh God, Sarah. I'm sorry. I just...I can't hear you say that. I can't let you believe it." He folded her into his arms, pressing his cheek to hers. She didn't respond, just let herself be held. "Honey, I know what it feels like," he said, his voice soft and rough. "You know I do. I know what it's like to feel that a part of you died with someone you love. The best part of you." He pulled back and looked deeply into her eyes. A faint glimmer of recognition appeared there, and she nodded. "You got me through that. Remember?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and after a second she nodded again. Then the lost look came back into her eyes. "But...it's not the same," she said softly.

He took a firm grip on his emotions, inhaled deeply, then exhaled and forced himself to relax. "Of course it's not," he said gently. "Of course it's not. That was me and Marilyn. This is you and the Doctor."

"But...this isn't just a feeling," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "It's real."

He looked into her eyes and, not for the first time in the years since he'd met the Doctor, felt totally out of his depth. Maybe it was real. Maybe this alien connection they had made was fundamentally different from the love that bound two human beings together, and maybe everything that made Sarah Jane Sarah Jane was gone with the Time Lord she loved. But everything in him rebelled against that thought.

"Maybe it is," he finally said. "But...maybe not. Please, sweetheart. Don't..." Don't what? he thought as he broke off. Don't believe what your heart is telling you? Don't say it out loud because it hurts me to hear it? Because it scares me so badly? He shook his head helplessly, closed his eyes, and searched his soul for answers. Only one came to him.

He opened his eyes and saw tears rolling down her cheeks. He reached out and gently rubbed them away. "We'll get through this," he said. Her eyes met his. "Somehow. We'll get through it."

* * *

"How did you get her to come?"

Harry took the retrieving dummy from Thor's mouth and gave it a good throw before answering. "Easy. I just said, 'Put your coat on, we're going to the park.'" Thor tore off at top speed after the dummy, Smoke loping along beside him.

Jen glanced over her shoulder at Sarah, who was sitting, hands folded in her lap, legs curled under her, on a park bench half a dozen yards behind them. "She always shakes her head when I ask her if she wants to come with Smoke and me."

"I've learned," Harry said flatly. "Don't ask. Tell." Jen raised her eyebrows at him. "If I ask her if she wants to do...well, almost anything..." he explained. "She just shakes her head. But if I tell her what to do, she does it. No complaints, no arguments, no discussion. Just...does it."

Jen laughed softly. "The perfect woman." Harry arched an eyebrow at her and she gave him a wry grin. "In some men's minds."

"Hmm," he responded. Thor came tearing back and sat, his hindquarters vibrating, until Harry took the dummy from him and threw it again. "Not mine."

"I know," she said gently. She stood by Harry's side and watched Thor and Smoke racing across the lawn, Thor in single-minded pursuit of the dummy, the longer-legged Smoke bounding alongside him, tongue lolling in a happy dog grin. "Harry..."

He looked over at her. She met his eyes for a second, then looked back at the dogs. "It's been weeks. She doesn't seem to be getting any better."

"She is," he said determinedly. "She...talks more. Does more things on her own."

Jen gave him a look. "Such as?"

"Oh..." He thought. Way too long.

"Umm hmm," Jen said, when he didn't go on. "Is she eating?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "When I tell her to," he added, throwing the dummy.

Jen glanced back at Sarah again. "You need to tell her more often."

Harry turned to look at Sarah too. Their eyes met, and Harry gave her a smile and a wave. She didn't respond. "She tries. But there's a limit. Even with me telling her. You know." Jen nodded. "At least she isn't losing any more weight."

"She doesn't have any more to lose," Jen said under her breath. "Harry, have you thought about..." Her voice softened. "...getting her some professional help?"

Harry silently look the dummy from Thor and threw it again, harder this time. Thor and Smoke ran.

"You're a doctor," Jen went on when he didn't respond. "You know. Sometimes..."

"I wish I could," he interrupted, answering her earlier question. "But..." He shook his head. "It's complicated." Complicated didn't begin to describe it, he thought, picturing himself trying to explain what was wrong with Sarah to a psychiatrist. Well, doc. She bonded with an alien and he flew off and came to some horrible end, no, don't know exactly what, but part of her went with him. A big part of her. The part that made her her. Did they cover that one in your training?

"Did she have a thing against shrinks or something?"

Harry felt his heart contract. "Please don't talk about her in the past tense."

Jen's face fell. "Sorry. I just meant..."

"I know," he said. "It just..." He looked down at Thor, sitting at his feet with the dummy in his mouth, and knelt next to the dog, putting an arm around him. Thor spit out the dummy long enough to give his master a quick lick on the cheek, then lunged for it again when Smoke made a feint at it. Harry gave up on that source of comfort with a rueful smile, stood up, took the dummy and threw it. "It just bothers me."

Jen nodded. "Won't do it again."

Harry turned to look at her, hearing the hurt in her voice. "Oh, Jen. I'm sorry. You've been such a good friend..."

"Uh-oh," she said, looking off into the distance.

"What?" He snapped to attention, following her gaze. "Oh damn." A Rottweiler was approaching Smoke and Thor, walking stiff-legged with his hackles fully erect. "Not him again."

"We'd better get down there," Jen said, starting in the direction of the dogs.

"Be right back, hon," Harry called over his shoulder to Sarah, then strode rapidly off after Jen.

Fortunately, the dogs were still busily posturing when Harry and Jen arrived and hostilities hadn't broken out. Harry grabbed Thor and Smoke by their collars and stood tall between them, staring at the Rottweiler with a look that said, "You want them, you come through me." The Rottie got the message and backed off. His owner showed up at that point, nonchalantly wandering in their direction with a thick leather lead bunched up in his hand. He was about five six and, soaking wet and after a heavy meal, probably outweighed his dog. Just.

Harry and Jen were in the middle of explaining to the Rottie's owner, not for the first time, why he mustn't let his dog terrorize other dogs and hearing, not for the first time, how dear Bootsie wasn't terrorizing anyone, he was just wanting to play, when Harry glanced over his shoulder to check on Sarah.

She was lying on her side on the bench, her head pillowed on one arm, and a policeman was standing in front of her, apparently having an earnest, if one-sided, discussion with her.

"Now what," Harry muttered. He handed Smoke to Jen and headed quickly back toward the bench with Thor in tow.

"Ma'am, you can't sleep here," he heard the officer say as he came within earshot. The note of exasperation in the young man's voice indicated it wasn't the first time he'd advised Sarah of this fact.

"Is there a problem, officer?" Harry asked.

"No, sir, and nothing to see. Just move along, please, sir."

"The lady is with me, son," he said firmly.

The officer turned and looked at him properly for the first time. "Oh. Is she then. Well, begging your pardon, sir, but she can't sleep here."

"She doesn't plan to. Do you Sarah?" Sarah shook her head. "Sit up, hon. This young man's worried about you." Harry reached out a hand to her. She took it and he helped her pull herself up to a sitting position. Harry raised his eyebrows at the officer.

"Sorry, sir. Ma'am." He touched the brim of his cap to Sarah. "I was concerned about you, ma'am. A lady like yourself shouldn't be sleeping on park benches."

"It hasn't quite come to that yet, officer," Harry assured him drily. "She has a home. And people who care about her."

"That's good, sir," he agreed, nodding. "So many of them don't."

"So many of...them?" Jen asked, walking up with Smoke just in time to catch the policeman's last statement.

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Them who?" she asked, frowning as if she were baffled.

"Oh, you know, ma'am." Jen shook her head. "People who are...different."

Jen and Harry both looked at Sarah, waiting for a reaction. Anger, sarcasm, amusement...any reaction would do. But all they saw was this new, quiet, passive Sarah, who sat on the bench as if awaiting instructions, indifferent to the officer's words.

* * *

The old man walked up to Sarah Jane's door. His hair was white, as was the beard he wore now instead of the mustache of his younger years. He was heavier than he'd been in those days, too, and used a silver-handled walking stick now--as much for fashion as stability, he told himself. His military bearing had not deserted him, however, and his lively brown eyes hadn't dimmed.

"Brigadier," Harry said with a smile when he opened the door to the older man's ring. He suddenly felt as if half the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders. "Good to see you, sir."

"Commodore," Brigadier Sir Alastair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart replied with a nod. "You're looking fit."

"As are you sir," Harry said, standing aside and inviting his old commanding officer in with a gesture.

"You always were a terrible liar, Sullivan," the Brigadier commented drily as he stepped into the house.

Harry ducked his head to hide his smile. He sobered rapidly when he thought about the reason he'd asked Lethbridge-Stewart to visit. "Thank you for coming sir."

"Why did you wait so long to call me?"

Harry was a bit nonplussed by the question. "Well, sir," he stammered. "I know how busy you are..."

"I'm retired, Sullivan."

"And you still stay busy," Harry added.

"If a member of my old team is in trouble, I am not busy," the Brigadier said emphatically. "Sarah Jane Smith may have been a civilian, but she was as much a part of UNIT as any one of us."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, taking the older man's coat and hanging it in the entryway closet. "No argument from me, sir."

The two men walked into the living room, where Sarah lay curled up on the couch, her eyes open and empty, staring at nothing.

"Sarah," Harry said gently. "Look who's here."

* * *

Hours later, after tea and a great deal of reminiscing, Harry saw the Brig out. Rather than getting in his car, the older man looked around Sarah's garden, spotted her gazebo, and walked slowly and deliberately over to it, nodding to Harry to follow. The Brigadier settled himself on one of the benches with a small, stifled groan, and Harry sat opposite him.

The Brig rested his hands on the silver handle of his cane and stared at them for a long moment before speaking.

"You could have warned me, Sullivan."

"I thought I did, sir."

The Brig's sharp brown eyes fixed themselves on Harry's downcast face for a moment. Then his features softened. "You did try," he acknowledged with a rueful nod. "I'll give you that. I just couldn't believe she was as bad as you said she was."

"And now, sir?" Harry asked quietly.

The Brigadier shook his head. "I still can't believe it. And I've seen it." He frowned at Harry. "Does she only eat when you tell her to?"

Harry compressed his lips unhappily. "Pretty much, sir."

"And only speaks when spoken to?"

Harry just nodded. The Brigadier shook his head again. "That fiesty, fiery little woman..." he said, then trailed off. After a moment, he raised his eyebrows at Harry. "My visit doesn't appear to have had the desired effect."

Harry took a deep breath before answering. "Maybe it will, sir. Maybe it just needs a bit of time to sink in."

"You're not giving up on her," the Brig said, making it a statement, not a question. Harry looked up, startled, and the Brig gave him a crooked smile. "Good man." Then he grew very serious. "You should have reported to UNIT about the Doctor, though, Sullivan."

Harry nodded. "I thought about it, sir. But...with no evidence, no confirmation. Just Sarah..." He trailed off.

"Yes, well, considering their history, I'm afraid I trust Miss Smith's...reaction. I fear we must acknowledge that the worst has happened and Earth no longer has her greatest protector." His eyes went out of focus. "Damn shame. Splendid chap. All of them." He looked up at Harry. "Was he still the little fellow with the umbrella?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Erm, no sir, he was tall and very slim, brown-haired, brown-eyed. Looked considerably younger than he did thirty years ago."

The Brigadier snorted a laugh. "Good trick. Wish we could all master it." Harry joined him in that rueful laugh, then they both sobered. "Was he travelling alone when it happened?" the Brigadier asked.

Harry's heart sank, not for the first time, as he thought about Martha. "No. He had a...a wonderful young lady travelling with him. A doctor in training. She was...devoted to him."

"No word of her, I suppose?"

Harry shook his head. "Even if she survived whatever happened to him, she's bound to be stranded somewhere. An alien planet. An alien time..." Harry hung his head, images of Martha Jones flashing through his mind's eye.

The Brigadier nodded silently. Then he pulled a notepad and pencil out of his pocket and started writing. After a few minutes, he looked over what he had written, ripped the page out of the notebook and handed it to Harry.

"What's this, sir?" Harry said, frowning at the page.

"A list of others who will remember Sarah Jane from the old days, with current contact information. The top two are John Benton and Mike Yates. I believe she was quite close to both of them. I know they were very fond of her," he added softly. He gave Harry a sharp look. "Time to rally the troops around one of our own, Sullivan."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Keep me informed of her progress. I will come back any time you think it might help." The old man pushed down on his cane and rose from the bench. Harry walked him to his car, held the door for him, and closed it behind him. The Brigadier rolled down the window. "Is she writing?" he asked.

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Writing, sir? She's barely speaking."

"Get her writing, Sullivan," the old man said emphatically. "That girl has ink in her veins. It's who she is." He nodded encouragingly at Harry. "Get her writing. She'll find herself." He started the car and pulled out with a wave.

Harry stood and watched him drive off, feeling stunned by the genius of the man. Get her writing. She'll find herself. Why hadn't he thought of that? He turned and nearly ran back into the house.

Sarah was on the couch, as usual. Harry sat in her desk chair and fired up her computer. Once it had booted, he opened a new Word document. "Sarah. Come here," he said.

She looked up and slowly brought her eyes into focus on him. Then she got up and came over, as requested. He stood up. "Sit," he said, and she sat in the chair he had just vacated. He swiveled it around so she was facing the blank screen. "Write," he said.

She stared at the monitor for long moments, before turning eyes as blank as the screen to him. "What?" she asked.

"Anything," he said. He leaned over her shoulder and maneuvered the mouse, clicking through the stored documents on the hard drive. He found a folder marked "WIP" and double clicked on it. "Are these your current projects?" he asked.

She stared blankly at the monitor for a moment, then blinked and brought her eyes into focus. She nodded. "Work on one of those," he suggested. He clicked on 'Views' and then on "Detail" in the drop-down menu so he could see the date of each document. Then he clicked on "Date Modified" to put them in order, to see what the last thing was she had worked on.

"Here," he said, double-clicking on the document with the most recent date. It opened, and he scanned the first few lines. His heart sank as he realized what it was--her thoughts about the Doctor and what it felt like, being bonded with him, both when he was present and after he had left. The date of the document suddenly jumped out at him--the day after the Doctor and Martha had left. The day the Time Lord had disappeared from Sarah's internal radar.

"Ah, let's find something else," he said quickly, moving the pointer to the little red x in the upper right hand corner of the document. Before he could click and close it, though, her hand came up and covered his, stopping him. Her eyes were fixed on the screen, reading the words she had written that dreadful day. Harry held his breath, watching her. As he feared, tears welled up in her eyes, but she kept reading through them, ignoring them as they rolled down her cheeks as if they were just a part of her, as natural as breathing. When her eyes reached the bottom of the page, the point where Harry's phone call had interrupted her, where the soul-searing pain had knocked her to the floor, she just kept staring at the last words for long moments. Then, her hands slowly moved to the keyboard and positioned themselves over the home keys. Harry bit his lip and waited. One key clicked. Then another. Slowly a word formed. Then a sentence. She paused so long after that sentence that he thought he'd lost her again, but he waited, waited with his heart hammering, breathing softly so as not to disturb her. Finally, another word. Then another.

Harry quietly moved away from the chair, a slow step at a time. She didn't seem to notice. He sat on the couch and picked up the book he had been reading to her before the Brigadier's visit. Keys kept clicking, still slowly, but steadily. He let the smile that had been building in his heart show on his face as he held the book, not looking at it, just watching the miracle happening at Sarah's desk.

She cried and she wrote, and she cried and she wrote. He fixed tuna sandwiches for dinner, and brought hers to her on a plate. "Hon, you need to eat," he reminded her as he set the plate down next to the keyboard. She nodded, picked up the sandwich, took a bite, then went back to her writing, chewing and swallowing as she typed. He didn't have to tell her to take the second bite. She was on autopilot now, having eaten many a meal while working. He smiled, remembering how he used to tease her about it. "You don't even know what you just ate," he'd laugh. She'd look at the empty plate and frown, trying to remember what it had held.

He didn't tease her now. He was afraid it would break the spell. He just kept surreptitiously putting more food on the plate and happily watching her empty it.