Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She’s sat in the garden now, the neighbour’s girl, Maria, giggling with the boy she now cared for so deeply, all three sipping on cold lemonade. Certainly none of that bubble shock. Sarah feels a little stiff and awkward, not used to being around children anymore. It still hurt too much.

“I like yours; Maria.” The archetype says, shifting in his seat. That breaks Sarah Jane from her spell, and she suddenly realised that they were talking about names. He wanted to be called Maria… how sweet. “Maybe not.” Maria chuckles into her drink, hiding it by taking a large sip and nearly choking herself in the process. “How about Jack? Josh? Nathan?” The archetype frowns, seeming unsure. A thought floods Sarah Jane’s mind, taking her back to a good 30 years ago.

Luke.

She had always fancied the name Luke, for son…

“Harry? Alistair? Luke?” Unconsciously, Sarah Jane stresses the last name, glancing his way, “I like Luke.” And that alone makes Sarah Jane beam. “I like Luke.” She responds back, raising her head to meet the pairs expectant eyes.

Something closes in her throat, but she makes an effort not to show it. A son. It sounded so foreign in her head; yet so, so right. “If you like Luke, I like Luke.” And then it seems settled.

Sarah Jane had a son. Luke Smith. A fine name indeed.

“That's the name I was always going to choose if ever I had kids. Except it never happened.” She finds herself speaking before she can stop herself, eyes glazed over for just one second, just one. Then she stops herself before she let’s herself think too much.

“But now it has. Luke Smith. You're a mum.” Is that pity in Maria’s voice? Pity, or reassurance? Or something in between? Either way, the girl meant well. “I am.” A mum to a teenager. Well, that would be a change of pace.

************

It was a few weeks later now, and as well as  Luke, she seemed to have adopted his motley crew of friends, too.

Maria Jackson, a girl just a curious as Sarah Jane was and if possible, even more meddlesome. However, Sarah Jane wasn’t  sure the Doctor would agree with that analysis; him and Harry Sullivan.

Maria had a good father, honest and kind. Alan, his name was. For quite a while now, she had been trying to build up the courage to ask Alan how everything seemed so natural between the father and daughter; how Sarah Jane could become like that with Luke. Luke cared for her deeply in his own way, she knew that… but every time he tried to progress their relationship further than cups of tea and the odd word of encouragement, Sarah Jane Smith faltered.

One example being earlier that day when he awkwardly asked whether he could call her mum. Awkwardly, she had brushed off the question, twisting her hands together.

Because what if she wasn’t good enough for that title? The boy was socially awkward and needed stability, not a mother who had chosen self-isolation for the past 20 years and had recently started to chase aliens around Britain as a hobby…

Though, if it weren’t for Sarah Jane, Luke wouldn’t need anything, because he wouldn’t exist anymore.

It was times like these when she missed the Doctor. Her bright, funny Doctor who always knew what to do in a crisis - or pretended to, at the very least - her constant support, her personal protector. He filled that role, always had, consciously or otherwise.

He reminded her so much of Luke, the dark hair, the wide eyes, the awkward spurting of scientific facts whenever he got nervous.

She was fond of them both now, it seemed. They could pass as family - The Doctor and Luke. Sarah Jane pushed that thought from her mind as quickly as it had emerged, scolding herself.

Silly thoughts.

But they were so very alike. Maybe the Doctor could help him settle in? Someone who could think like him, understand to a certain extent Luke’s feelings. Sarah Jane doubted anyone else would be able to. For all her mad adventures over the years, Sarah Jane was human. She had been raised by a human, around humans, and had been back with her people for many years now.

Luke had no one, not really.

Alan wouldn’t ever understand, Clyde’s dad wasn’t really around… Sarah Jane didn’t have that many options.

Clyde could teach him how to be a teenager, but it would take a lot of time and patience on both boys’ parts. Sarah Jane Smirh wasn’t quite sure what to make of Clyde Langer. He could be harsh and sarcastic, but there was a look about him that screamed to Sarah Jane that he just needed some love and attention. His mother seemed like a nice enough woman, but she couldn’t say she interacted with her much, she rarely, if ever,  did with the people on her street.

Until recently, at least.

Before she could think about the matter further, she raced upstairs into the attic. The children followed her eagerly, flopping backwards into the chairs while Sarah Jane sat at her desk, ducking down to the bottom drawer to get out her writing paper. Her pen was poised, and now all Sarah Jane Smith needed to find was the right words to say.

Dearest Doctor,

No.

Dear Doctor?

That was somehow worse.

Doctor?

There we go!

Doctor,

I’m sure this letter must come as a surprise to you. In truth, I’m surprised to be writing it myself - we’ve not exactly kept in close contact all these years, have we?

I was so very happy to see again last year, even though it was in less than ideal circumstances. I think I’d missed you more than I’d ever imagined, and I’m still annoyed at being left in Aberdeen instead of Croydon, but this is where you might be able to do me a favour:

A few weeks ago, I came into contact with some Bane. Well, more than some. They had produced this drink ‘Bubble Shock’, marketed towards children, in order to gain information on how to influence the human race.

In an effort to generate an information hive mind, they created an experiment to keep it all together. To cut a long story short, that experiment is now my son, Luke. Well, not exactly an experiment anymore. A regular teenage boy of sorts, except he’s a genius. No one else can get through to him the way he needs it, and I wondered whether you might be able to offer him your assistance?

I know this is a big ask, and I apologise for any inconvenience this letter may cause you.

My Warmest Regards,

Sarah Jane Smith.

Placing her pen down, she turns to watch her son and his friends, her gaze softening at their closeness. She didn’t have much hope that the Doctor would respond, he wasn’t the most prompt man in the universe… but there was no harm in trying - and she was sure they could manage it quite well on their own.

“Sarah Jane, are you writing to a toy boy?” Clyde chuckled, eyebrows raised comically. Even though she’s a little shocked by his impertinence, Sarah Jane can’t help but laugh. She watches earnestly as Luke’s eyebrows creased together, whispering to Maria about what he thought a “toy boat” might be, while Maria pressed a finger to his lips, gently correcting him, even though her eyes never left Sarah Jane’s face, clearly eager for an answer.

Maybe Sarah Jane could tease them.

Just a tiny bit.

“Yes, if you must know, Clyde. One of many.” She says, her tone neutral, although she fought to stop herself from laughing.

“Oh, Sarah Jane!” Maria clapped her hands together, like a child receiving a packet of sweets. Clyde’s mouth hung open, eyes blank. That surely wasn’t the response he was expecting; and Sarah Jane was all the more glad for it.

Luke, looked mildly perplexed, and in a sudden surge of affection, she rose to graze her fingers against her son’s cheek, letting them rest there for a moment before gently pulling away. Much to her surprise and quiet delight, there was no teasing. Unlike that unfortunate first morning of school, Maria simply smiled, possibly thinking of her own mother, and Clyde was still in shock over her earlier comment. Luke reminded her so much of the person she had loved and lost that it made her heart ache sometimes. Well, best not to dwell. That time in her life had long passed. “Sarah Jane?” Luke asked softly, his eyes full of worry.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Nothing at all.” She mumbled, a smile ghosting her lips. “Do you all want to stay for tea?” She asked, deflecting any concern.

“Oh yeah, can we have chicken pasta bake?” Clyde asked happily, jumping up from his beanbag so fast Maria nearly went flying.

“Clyde!” Maria shouted, before awkwardly looking up at Sarah Jane. “I’ll have to check with dad, but yeah, that should be fine.”

Once the children had gone downstairs, Sarah Jane walked towards the old cabinet that she kept under lock and key, blowing the dust gently off it.

She was just about to open the photo album, when she heard her name being called and dropped it in surprise. Tense, she left it there, not able to bring herself to open it.

“Coming.” She called out loudly, chewing on her lip as she left the attic.

In the days that followed, Sarah Jane didn’t expect any response from the Doctor. He was probably out on a mad adventure with some bratty blonde with an arse bigger than her brain. Sarah didn’t know if that thought made her feel better or worse; she supposed she should be happy for him, being able to move on from whatever they had in the 70s… It was virtually impossible for her to forget.

Sarah Jane was a dreadful cook, but even she could whip up a good pasta in under 15 minutes. She proudly presents it with a flourish, each plate -bar her own - piled high enough to feed small giants, let alone teenagers.

“Mum’s trying to make us into the perfect suits for the Slitheen.”

“Growing bodies, growing minds.” Sarah Jane deftly deflected, kissing his head. “Who made the recipe?” Maria asked, shoving the spoon into her mouth, groaning in appreciation. “This is delicious!” “Jamie Oliver, from the new cookbook-“

“Jamie Oliver?! I can’t stick him; pompous git. I’m still crushed that they banned Turkey Twizzlers.” Clyde whined, stabbing the fork; Clyde was clearly in a mood now. According to his mother, he had never been able to recover from the loss of his favourite school snack.

“Well, I thought he’s made wonderful suggestions. You know, when I was investigating a school with the doctor last year. Oh, Clyde, you wouldn’t have lasted a single lunch hour at some of the places I’ve been.”

“What, worse than this? That’s hard to imagine.”

“Tell us about it, Sarah Jane.” Maria politely butted in, voice thick with unfiltered interest.

“There was a school—Deffry Vale. Looked completely ordinary on the outside. Modern, glassy, efficient. But the kitchen? It was a front for something far worse than limp spaghetti or soggy chips.” Sarah Jane shuddered, pursing her lips.

“Let me guess—aliens in hairnets?”

“Close. Krillitanes. Enormous bat creatures masquerading as teachers and dinner ladies. Tall, elegant, terrifying. They’d infiltrated the school system. Feeding the students specially modified oil. Boosted brain function, enhanced learning. But it wasn’t education. It was exploitation.” “They were turning the kids into supercomputers.”

“Exactly. Using them to calculate the Skasis Paradigm.”  
“A what?” Now, if possible, Clyde looked even more perplexed than before. Luke patted his best friend’s hand, looking sympathetic. “A code. A code to help solve the mysteries of the universe.”
“Right, and what happened to the kids afterwards?”

“They were dying; right in front of our eyes, and no one seemed to care much… Well, or notice, at least. Apart from me, and the Doctor, of course. And, that woman.” She muttered, eyes trained to her plate. Sarah Jane hadn’t even realised that she’d said it out loud, not until she caught Luke giving her a funny look. “What?” She asked, dabbing her mouth with the napkin. “You were banging on about the love of your life again.” Clyde glanced at her sideways, a sorrowful look in his eyes. It made Sarah Jane feel embarrassed and uncomfortable and like she was about five again.

“Oh Clyde, it wasn’t like that. We were simply very friends. Best friends. He still is, in a way.” She was so quick to defend the Doctor that she had interrupted him. They all stared at her then, it was unlike Sarah to interrupt them, and so forcefully, too.

“A best friend that hadn’t spoken to you in nearly 30 years.”

“That’s not true, I saw him briefly in the early 80s.” Her jaw was tight, teeth clenched together. Maria noticed and came to her rescue. “Well, I think it’s great that you guys reconnected! Think about what it would’ve been like for us, Luke, Clyde. We’d hate being apart too.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“What a charming young man, Mr Langer.” Sarah Jane held her breath, struggling to maintain control of her emotions.

“Sarah Jane.” Clyde said suddenly, his tone shifting.                                          “What, Clyde?”
“When can we meet your daughter?” Her blood turned cold. Three pairs of eyes turned on her expectantly, expressions temporarily frozen in shock.
“Mum?” Luke looked hurt, and nearly as confused as Sarah Jane felt.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yeah, there was a photo of you and a little girl from yonks ago, in that book on the floor. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, so it can’t be a niece… and, they looked like you.”

“Why on Earth were you going through my things?” Sarah chose to focus on the fact Clyde had invaded her privacy; rather than the more important matter at hand. Sarah Jane did tend to have a bit of an avoidant personality.

Well, more than a bit.

“I wasn’t going through… it just happened to be there.” Clyde glanced at his best friend’s mum, eyes furrowed.

“Well, that’s none of your business. I think it would be best if you all leave now. Luke, bed.” She bit her lip, fighting off tears as she cleared the table.

“No thanks, I’ll stay at Maria’s.” Luke Smith got up, storming out of the kitchen.

“Luke, please-“

“I should go too.” Clyde and Maria stuttered together, unable to look her in the eyes. However, within minutes, Maria was trying to drag her outside. “Sarah Jane, you have got to see this.” Maria looked truly panicked, frantically trying to link up their arms.

“Maria, I’m not really in the mood.” The woman’s tears had already spilled, and she was now brushing them away with the sleeve of her blouse. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to go as far as the garden gate. Her knees began to buckle, vision going cloudy as she stared at the person in front of her.

Everyone was watching the girl standing in the middle of the road, blinking against the summer sun as though it were somehow foreign to her.

There, framed by the pale sky, is a little girl — no more than seven years old, frozen in place like she’s been dropped from another world.

She’s dressed strangely. A brown and pastel pink checkered pinafore dress hangs neatly down to her knees, worn over a white blouse with puffed sleeves and delicate frills at the collar. Her white socks are pulled right up to her shins, and her shiny black Mary Janes glint with every uncertain step she takes.

Her dark brown hair falls in soft, waist-length waves, thick and slightly tangled, a perfectly straight 1970s fringe shadowing her wide, searching hazel eyes. A slim black headband tries to hold it all in place — but the breeze keeps tugging little strands free.

Slung over her shoulders is a Madonna backpack, the old-school kind with pink trim and a faded image from the Like a Virgin era, utterly out of place in 2007.

She turns slowly, looking from house to house like she’s forgotten the number.

Clyde leans toward Luke. “That’s her, that’s the girl from the photo, but-“

The girl pauses at the pavement, looking terribly afraid. Usually, Sarah Jane would take charge in situations like this, but she looked as though she was going to vomit.

The child storms up to Luke with a seemingly renewed purpose, scuffing her shoes on the road. When she speaks, is fierce, clear — and yet, oddly formal.

“Excuse me… where am I? I can’t see my Mother.”

There’s silence. Luke’s mouth opens — but nothing comes out. Clyde just stares.

The girl tilts her head slightly, eyes narrowing with polite concern.

“…Are we still in London?” She looks to Clyde, mildly confused, glancing all around the place.

She could be a ghost. She could be a time traveler. She could be — no, that’s impossible.

She could be an alien.

And yet… the hair.

The eyes.

The voice.

They looked back at Sarah Jane, seeing the similarities in their face.

“Yeah, we’re in London. What’s wrong?” Clyde crouched down, so that he and the child were eye level. He reached out to pat her shoulder, but the child flinched, backing away. Instead, she gravitated towards Luke again, taking his awkward, clammy hand in her own.

“…Excuse me. Please… can you help me?”

Luke bends his head down a little, trying to make eye contact without scaring her off. “Of course. Are you hurt?”

She shakes her dark head quickly. “No. I’m… I just— I can’t find my mummy.” Her voice breaks slightly on the word mummy. If Sarah Jane could move, she’d run towards her and hug her until she couldn’t breathe.

Clyde shifts awkwardly. “What’s your name?”

She hesitates. Her mummy had always told her never to talk to strangers, after all. “Jemima Anne. Jemima Anne Elisabeth Smith.”

The two teens exchange looks. That name hits something to Clyde, who frowns, eyes fixed on her face.

Luke’s brows knit together once again. “Okay, Jemima Anne. What’s your mummy’s name?”
The little girl looks around again, lost and frightened. Her hands ball into tiny fists.

“…Sarah Jane Smith.”

Chapter Text

Luke paled, hand clenching over her shoulder almost painfully. Clyde still looks shell shocked, wondering what the hell was going on. Sarah Jane was far too old to have a child that age… but she didn’t look like she was born in 2000, either.

Meanwhile, Sarah was leant against the garden gate, knees pulled up to her chest. They would hurt tomorrow, but she wouldn’t care by then. All she cared about was the feeling of bile rising in her throat, the fact that she couldn’t breathe, and that her darling son was talking to her long lost, darling daughter. A darling daughter who went missing in 1984.

“Harry.” She gasped, taking care not to be seen over the gate. Maria was young and naive, and frightened. They all were so, incredibly frightened.
“W-what, Sarah Jane?”
“Harry. Harry Sullivan. I want Harry.” She murmured, scrabbling up from the ground, head lowered, so dizzy most would’ve assumed she was drunk.

Dialling the number into her Nokia, she waited impatiently for a response. After a minute or two, her dearest friend, Harry, picked up from his landline. His jolly voice flooded her ears and for a short moment she was overcome with a sense of peace. “Who is this?”

“Sarah.” She breathes after a moment, completely ignoring Maria’s presence apart from a brief squeeze of a hand.
“Old thing! How are you? It’s been too long; you really must pop by to see Isabelle and I-“ He stops the second he hears her somber tone, quiet breaths heard from the other line.

“Jemima Anne.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Harry softened, pressing the receiver closer to his ear. Jemima Anne, his vibrant, bright goddaughter had vanished 23 years before. She’d have just had her 30th birthday, if she was still around.

“What about her, old thing? Did something happen?” He asked gently, biting his lower lip in worry. Poor, sweet Sarah; she had always been a most wonderful friend to him, supporting him whenever she could. Even when he barged his way into travelling with her and the man - man? - she was secretly in love with. Even when she finally found someone apart from the doctor that she fancied and had found Harry snogging him under the streetlights later that evening.

She had always been there for him, and so decided to do the right, honourable thing and marry Sarah Jane when she turned up, pregnant on his doorstep a year later. It didn’t matter that the baby wasn’t his, this could be beneficial for the both of them - her child would have a father figure, Sarah Jane would have emotional and financial stability when she needed it most. She could stay at home, with the child, if she wished. Harry would’ve preferred that, believing a child needed it’s mother.

And if Sarah had desired it, he was sure he could’ve provided her with more children.

But Sarah Jane had politely rejected him, stating that if she were to ever marry, she’d want it to be to someone who could love her back in the way that she deserved… and while Harry Sullivan adored her and was a good man, he was also a raging homosexual.

But she also knew his pressing desire to get married was mostly out of societal expectations and his own traditional values; so, nearing the end of her pregnancy, Sarah set him up with her dear friend Isabelle - logical, practical, an infants school teacher with a kindly disposition - who held Harry’s values, and preferred the fairer sex. Essentially, they were made for each other, in a platonic sense. When they decided to have children, they used artificial insemination; as both were worried about adoption agencies prying into Harry’s life at unit, and obviously could not conceive a child in the traditional sense.

2 years after Sarah Jane’s daughter was born, Isabelle gave birth to a little boy, Ian. 18 months after that, Jane was born, named after Sarah Jane herself.

They had been close, Sarah and Harry’s children, before Jemima had gone missing. After that, Sarah Jane didn’t see so much of the Sullivans.

“Sarah?” Harry asked after a minute, alerting Sarah to the fact that she was here, in 2007, and that the years had flown past her before she realised. Now, Harry had grandchildren, and Sarah Jane Smith was all alone. Well, not anymore; not with her Luke - and presumably now, Jemima-Anne. Sarah Jane wondered whether the Doctor had returned the girl to her mother before she remembered that the Doctor had no clue that she had a daughter. Bore his daughter, in fact.

Or, it could be a cruel trick on her played by the universe, giving her her heart’s desire before taking it away again. Or, it could be an alien, a shapeshifter.

Before responding to Harry, Sarah Jane called out to Luke, exclaiming loudly for him to get away from that girl, rising so that she could be seen over the garden gate. Her Nokia fell to the floor, and Maria, still crouched, picked it up and began explaining to a progressively more confused Harry Sullivan; something about Sarah Jane’s child, the one from the picture, back, but not back. Even in her hazed state, it didn’t make any logical sense to her. She doubted it would’ve to Harry, either. But then the remembers Maria is just a little girl, barely 14, and she curses herself for letting a child handle an adult situation.

When Luke, Clyde and Jemima-Anne slowly turn their heads to gaze at her contorted face, Sarah Jane is struck by how alike her children are - even though Luke was adopted. Maybe that is why she had originally taken to him so; not to replace her child, but in an effort to remember her. An effort to remember what it was like to be given the pure; devoted love someone gives their mother.

Luke was what Jemima-Anne was meant to be called, if she had a son. All throughout her pregnancy, she had dreams of a tall, teenage boy, with dark hair and her eyes and a passion for science. A boy, a boy called Luke. It was only natural that any child within her would’ve given her a hint to what they would’ve been like in the future, given their Gallifrean blood.

Harry had been supporting her through her entire pregnancy, and he was certain it was a girl, whereas she was most sure it had been a boy. Her boy.

You couldn’t tell the gender of your baby, back then. It was always a most wonderful surprise, apparently - but not for Sarah Jane Smith. Not much about this pregnancy had been wonderful in general. She’d lied to the midwives, said Harry was her fiancé and they were to be married as soon as they could be, not because she was ashamed, no… but people can sometimes be nicer if they hear lies they know aren’t truths, rather than truths they don’t want to hear. Given how vulnerable she was, she didn’t want to go upsetting herself unnecessarily. But, she didn’t put Harry Sullivan on the birth certificate. Sarah Jane left it blank.

So, imagine her surprise when instead of the boy she had been dreaming of for months, she had a bouncing baby girl who looked like her spitting image, apart from hints of Aunt Lavinia. She had been there, Aunt Lavinia, holding her hand and kissing her flushed cheeks while she battled through her 17 hour labour. It hurt more than any torture she had faced while working alongside the Doctor. She had wished he was there beside her, feeding her jellybabies and praising his darling girl. But he wasn’t. He likely wouldn’t have been there as she laboured, either, it wasn’t the done thing. Harry was there in his own way, sat outside in the waiting room and smoking a cigar.

Sarah was pleased as punch to have a daughter, especially one that looked like her, though she couldn’t help but search her face for the Doctor’s. Any hint was welcome, but there was none - just a bundle of Sarah Jane and Lavinia.

“You’ve done so well, my love. I’m glad I never had to have children, after seeing what you’ve just went through - but I’m also glad because I doubt anyone could’ve lived up to you. Your mum and dad would be just as proud of you as I am.” Lavinia whispered soothingly into Sarah Jane’s sweaty hair. Her aunt wasn’t the most traditionally maternal, so that quiet confession meant a lot to Sarah Jane.

“Oh Aunt Lavinia-“ Sarah Jane’s chin wobbled, hazel eyes full of tears. Damn these Hormones.
“Come here girl, no tears. Your daughter is making more than enough for the three of us.” Lavinia awkwardly patted her niece’s shoulder, gently pushing the young woman back onto the pillows when she rose up, hearing her daughter’s sobs.

“What’s she like? Is she well?”
“I’m not sure. She’s certainly got a fine pair of lungs on her.” She shifted comfortably on the bed, squeezing her limp hand.
“What? You’ve not seen her? Everyone always wants to see the baby.” Sarah frowned, struggling upwards before she winced and admitted defeat.
“Yes, well. Let’s see Sarah Jane, would I be more interested in the appearance of your baby, or the health and recovery of the young woman I have raised single-handedly for the past 26 years?” She huffed, raising her eyebrows.

“Well, I only got a glimpse of her before she was taken to be cleaned.” Sarah pouted, closing her eyes.
“It’s late, Sarah Jane. It’s far too hot and you need your rest.”

“No, I want to name her first.” She muttered defiantly. “If you’re sure. Any ideas?”

“I don’t know, I thought she’d be a boy. I like the idea of her having a double name, like mine.” She said. “What’s the date?” “June 28th, Sarah Jane. What about June-Elizabeth? That’s pretty, practical.” The older woman sniffed in approval.

“No, Aunt Lavinia, that doesn’t flow at all! What about Elizabeth-Anne Smith?” She debated, but that didn’t seem to work well either.

“How about Jemima?” Harry Sullivan said, in his suit and tie. Both women jumped, not noticing his presence before. He stood there, a bottle of champagne under one arm, an empty flute in the other. Wordlessly, he moved to her bedside, popping open the bottle and pouring a generous glass, handing it to Sarah Jane.

“Well done, old thing. I’m sure she’ll be a very lucky little girl. I was right about it being a girl, after all.” He puffed out his chest proudly, taking a puff of his cigar. “Yes, Harry, do rub it in.” But Sarah couldn’t help but smile, sipping her champagne with great enthusiasm.

“How is Baby Smith?” He asked, grinning too. He already knew he was going to be her Godfather, and he knew he was going to spoil her rotten. Before she could reply, a nurse returned with the baby, who had settled. She was wrapped in a cheap pink blanket the looked scratchy, and Sarah Jane briefly frowned, but was overwhelmed by the need to see her baby.

As if reading her mind, Lavinia bought out Sarah Jane’s own baby blanket, a pretty pale green knitted one, patterned with cream coloured flowers. Sarah had forgotten about it, and reached for it instinctively. “I thought you’d prefer prefer her to have this.” The blonde woman whispered softly as Baby Smith was lowered into her mother’s arms, who cooed softly. “Right, we’ll try breastfeeding, and then we can teach you how to swaddle her. Do you have a name yet?” The nurse, a plump woman with a serious face, called Joan, rattled through her spiel. Sarah Jane glanced between Lavinia and Harry, who clearly were letting her decide. After a minute or two, she had a revelation.

“Jemima-Anne Elisabeth Smith. Jemima-Anne is her first name. Elisabeth with an S, for star. My little star.” She emphasised, kissing Jemima-Anne’s tiny nose.

She couldn’t say that she had the overwhelming love for her child that she had anticipated- and though this worried her a little, she was sure this would come with time. For now, she couldn’t deny she was a sweet thing, and that would do. “A gorgeous name for a gorgeous baby. Now, if you move Jemima into the crook of your arm…” The nurse started, before Sarah Jane immediately interrupted her. “Her name is Jemima-Anne.”

And now, in 2007, the same baby she had held all those years ago was there, who looked a little confused, but there was a hint of recognition in her face.

Jemima-Anne turned on her heel, making her way towards Sarah-Jane’s home, gaze unwavering. Her hand was still linked with Luke’s although more loosely, Clyde trailing behind, although the 7 year old would occasionally look back and make sure he was still there.

She stopped dead in front of the woman she hadn’t realised was her mother yet, eyes a little defiant, but apart from that, their expressions mirrored each other’s entirely.

“Am I diseased, Miss?” She asked slowly, brushing back the fringe that had fallen into her eyes.
“W-What? I- Jemi-“ Sarah Jane stuttered, for once lost for words.
“How do you know my name?”

Sarah Jane Smith fell silent, eyes falling to the floor.
“I don’t know why I’m not allowed to touch him. I’m clean as clean, look.” The child continued, letting go of Luke’s hand to show her spotless palms, then the sparkly hot pink nail polish that Sarah Jane remembered applying herself. That used to be Jemima’s favourite colour.

“I just- I don’t know quite what to say.” Sarah finished lamely, still a little breathless. Surprisingly, it was Clyde who stepped in. “Listen, kid, a lot of things have changed. I don’t know who you are exactly, or where you’ve been, or- or why you still look like you do… but it’s not 1984 anymore. It’s 2007, and Gordon Brown is the prime minister, and you’re in Ealing. My name’s Clyde, and I live down the road.” Clyde said in a rush, clearly a little frustrated by trying to stay calm. It reminded the others of when Luke first arrived and Clyde was trying to bond with him.

“It’s not 2007.” Jemima Anne giggled, clearly a little unnerved. “I just wandered off from the park and got lost. If it was 2007 I’d be like, really really old.”

“You’d only be 30.” Sarah Jane whispered quietly, voice slightly horse now. “Yes, that’s old, Miss. Hang on, how do you know how old I am?”

“Because I’m your mummy.” Sarah Jane finally made eye contact with her. She hadn’t changed at all. Well, maybe her hair was slightly more matted, and there was a red scratch on her left cheek, yes, but other than that she was unchanged. She suddenly had the urge to memorise each detail of her little face, just in case in the next second time would catch up with her and there’d be an adult woman stood in front of her.

She knew that would’ve been a rather selfish thought, but Sarah had already missed out on her girl once, and she didn’t want her to grow up quite literally in the blink of an eye. Thankfully, Jemima-Anne remained unchanged, although her expression was, and rapidly at that.

“I don’t believe you. That’s a cruel thing to say. Anyway, my mummy’s young.” She raised her eyebrows, though clearly scared, backing away onto the road. A car sped out into the road, heading straight towards her. It was driving all over the place, speeding up, slowing down… Drunk Driver, Sarah Jane realised. Before she realised what she was doing, the gate was flung open and she raced to grab her child.

She was pulled to Sarah’s chest, safe, out of harm’s way. Barely in time, but safe nevertheless. Jemima-Anne clung to her for a slit second, little body shaking, and as she looked up her hazel eyes were full of fright.

“Who are you?” She whispered quietly, loosening her grip, but not entirely. Like most Smith girls, she had a tendency for clinginess. Sarah had never appreciated it more than at that moment.

“Sarah Jane Smith. I was born in 1951, I’m an orphan, only child. I was raised by my Aunt Lavinia, who was a virologist. We lived with her when you were a child. My favourite flower is yellow daffodils, my favourite colours are burgundy and lilac, and I’m an investigative journalist. Your name is Jemima-Anne Elisabeth Smith. Unlike me, you have a hyphen in your name, and your middle name is Elisabeth, with an S, like a star. My nickname for you is my little star, and has been since the day you were born. Your favourite colours are hot pink and pale green, although you like all colours really. Your favourite flower is a Lily, and when you were 4, you made everyone call you Lily for an entire week. When you were little you wanted to be an explorer, though you were debating on your options. Your best friend is your Godfather’s son, Ian.” Sarah Jane replied earnest, probably saying too much to seem genuine, and yet, not enough. While she did look mightily impressed, she also seemed to be looking for something else.

“Impressive, but I need you to tell me our secret before I can believe you.” Jemima Anne said softly, letting go of her so that she could go back to 13 Bannerman Road, where the other three children were sat on the old garden bench, looking up at the pair expectantly. “What is it?”

“I need you to tell me something only we’d know. Well, me, you, and Uncle Harry. Tell me who my father is, Mummy.” She asked firmly, although she hesitated slightly before she asked the question, knowing the emotional implications. Sarah Jane Smith had never gotten over The Doctor. She’d never dated, never even kissed anyone else. It was rather something of an issue for Sarah Jane, as she had always desired a big family, to love and to cherish.

A little brother or sister for Jemima Anne, or maybe four little brothers or sisters, but Sarah Jane had always wanted a big family, particularly as she felt quite lonely growing up - not because of being an only child, although she was sure that was part of it - but because living with Aunt Lavinia, she mostly skipped the childhood phase and became a miniature adult.

Sarah couldn’t say she was especially fond of babies, as they always seemed a little rubbery to her, but she had loved her baby and loved them even more as they grew up into the people they would become.

But alas, she never could find a man or woman to love. It was impossible. In fact, she had found the idea utterly repulsive. When she had finally gotten herself in the right headspace to find someone, Jemima-Anne had gone missing, and that had love thrown completely out of the window. Instead, the woman had become consumed with the idea of finding her little girl, earnestly obsessed. People had told her Jemima-Anne was dead for years, but she had never believed them. Sarah Jane Smith knew that if her daughter really had passed, she knew she’d feel it within her heart, within her very soul. Just like she would when the Doctor… Well, blessed not to dwell on that… “Mima, you know I don’t-“

“Answer the question, please.” She restated, her Mary Janes stamping on the floor. Sarah would’ve found this adorable if the stakes weren’t so high. She looked back at her son, Luke. He looked hurt, the poor boy. It was no surprise, but she still wanted to hug him tightly and never let him go, reassure him that everything would be alright despite their discovery.

“The Doctor.” She whispered, eyes downcast, although she didn’t miss the smile on her lips.
“What was the Doctor? I didn’t hear you.”

“The Doctor is your father.” Sarah Jane said a fraction louder, not meeting anyone’s eyes. “The Doctor? The guy you travelled the universe with?” Maria asked in surprise, getting up to look at the girl properly, who seemed wary of her.

“Yes.” They answered together.

“And he left you, with her?” Clyde nearly shouted, his anger palpable. His dad had left years ago, Sarah remembered Carla mentioning it, and she knew she had to set the record straight before the children were under a misapprehension about her Doctor.

The Doctor.

“No, no, he uh- He didn’t know about my Mima. Though I doubt I could’ve gotten into contact with him even if I wanted to. I didn’t know when he would leave Gallifrey, if he ever would… If I wrote to him and the Time Lords found out about her, it could’ve been disastrous, as she’s one of a kind.” Sarah Jane gently explained, moving to squeeze his shoulder affectionately while still keeping an eye on her daughter.

“Cool! So, she’s like half alien?” Maria asked excitedly, mouth open and eyes bright with interest. Jemima-Anne shifted uneasily towards Luke, who seemed to be her chosen bodyguard - ironically - because oh, if they knew. “Little Star, this is Maria Jackson, our neighbour. Say hello.” She didn’t miss how she brightened at the use of her nickname, as if slowly adapting to the fact that this older woman was still her mother. It made her brighten, too, “Hello, Maria. Can we trust her, Miss?” She looked at Sarah, who, while hurt that she was still called “Miss” by her own flesh and blood, knew it would take time.

Instead, she simply answered with a shy nod. “Yes. And this is Luke, my son.” She told her slowly, brushing back her own fringe while the girl stared at her in wonder.

“You had another baby, after me?”

“No! I- I mean, no, I adopted him, a few weeks ago.” She smiled fondly at them.

Her darlings.

“But… he’s like me. I can sense it.” She put her tiny palm up to Luke’s chest curiously, while he just looked incredibly perplexed, even now. “Only one heart, though.” She sighed in disappointment, fiddling with the lace collar of her blouse.

“I was created by the Bane, as a human experiment, but Sar- Mum rescued me, and now I’m her son.” He explained, in a gentler voice than any of the others had ever heard him use before. He was never a loud boy anyway, but even so, the changed was noticed. It warmed everyone’s hearts, even Clyde’s, even though he pretended it didn’t. “That’s interesting. Does that make you my big brother or little brother?”

“Mum, what do you think?” Luke asked, a little overwhelmed, but pleasantly so. He assumed this was what big brothers felt. He rather liked it. “I think given the fact that he is getting rather big and you are still rather little, he’ll be your big brother.” Sarah smiled.

“I don’t want to make you scared, well, more than you already are, but, could I give you a hug?” She seemed desperate, hands twisting together. “Yes, Mummy.” She whispered, so quietly it was also inaudible. Her lips quivered into a frown. And she shuffled to the bench where Sarah Jane Smith sat, arms outstretched. Luke was by the right of her, one of Sarah Jane’s arms around his shoulders. This would take even longer to get used to, but he decided he didn’t mind sharing his mum when the girl seemed so fond of him. And it would make mum happy, which made him happy.

She was short, clearly inheriting her mother’s genes and not her father’s, and so struggled slightly when scrabbling to her mother’s left side, so that Sarah Jane could have one child either side of her. Though Jemima felt a little awkward at first, she soon settled against her chest, closing her eyes.

“You smell like her.” She said after a while, nuzzling into her. Maria and Clyde simply watched, waiting for the man called Harry to arrive. Usually, they would’ve left families alone during tender moments like these, but they were far too curious to meet Sarah Jane’s self appointed best friend then to leave now.

“You really are my mummy, aren’t you?” “Yes, I am, my little star.” Sarah soothed, running her hands through her daughter’s dark locks, identical to hers. Sometimes, it was like looking through a direct mirror to the past. “I missed you so much, mummy. I- I thought I’d only been missing a few days, but it was so dark, mummy. I was so, so scared.” She hiccuped, and Sarah realised that it was tears dampening her too. “I missed you too, love. I’m right here. You don’t need to be scared anymore.”