Entry tags:

story: tardis

Title: A Truthy TARDIS Crew's Christmas (4/5)
Rating: PG-13
Series: The Colbert Report, Doctor Who
Spoilers: Anything DW/TW/SJA is fair game.
Summary: Jack and Stephen have a moment by a fireplace, Sarah Jane and Maria have a moment in the kitchen, and several understandings are reached.

Jack has just told this story. Maria refers to this snowfall.

Beta by the joyful stellar_dust. Table of contents, and footnotes, here.


A Truthy TARDIS Crew's Christmas
Part Four


13 Bannerman Road: December 23.





⇔

December 24.

Sarah Jane could see no Earthly reason for the tension around the breakfast table that morning. It was the day before Christmas, there was snow in the forecast, and she had made waffles.

And yet, Stephen and Jon were keeping an almost tangible distance between them, Jon kept shooting dark looks at Jack, Maria seemed to have developed an aversion to Stephen, and poor Luke was wearing that nervous look he got when he knew something was wrong but didn't have the first idea what to do about it.

It was almost a relief to shoo them all out so she could do the washing up.

She was just starting on the waffle iron when the kitchen door swung open. "Want a hand?"

"Please," said Sarah Jane gratefully. Of all the friends in her life, which admittedly consisted mostly of her young neighbors and their parents, she enjoyed Maria's company second only to that of her son.

They scrubbed dishes in easy silence for a while. A few flakes of white began to drift down outside the window.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," said Maria with barely concealed wonder. "Is it like last October when the Aridian ship came through the atmosphere, and Mr. Smith had to fake all those news reports about freak Arctic air currents?"

"If it's anything we need to look into, he'll alert us," replied Sarah Jane. "But so far, it seems to be just ordinary weather."

By her side, Maria grinned. "No aliens? What are the odds of that?"

They fell back into silence. Someone put on carols in the living room, and their muffled but festive melodies filled the background. Handing the last of the plates to Maria, Sarah Jane cleaned the soap from her hands.

"Is anything else on your mind?" she asked.

Maria sighed. "A bit."

Setting the rinsed dishes one by one in the drying rack, Sarah Jane waited for her companion to continue.

"I can't figure out Stephen," Maria admitted at last.

That drew a rueful laugh from Sarah Jane. "No surprise there. Took me months to sort him out, and I actually visited a physical manifestation of his mind for a while."

"Oh, good, it's not just me!" Maria's lips quirked into a small smile. "When you said he was coming over, I got Mr. Smith to find some examples of his show, to see what it was like. But he's completely different in person. Not as angry, more sort of . . . twitchy."

"That's a good way to describe it."

"Did he ever fancy you?"

At the bluntness of the question, Sarah Jane nearly dropped the last plate. "What, Stephen? Not a chance."

Now Maria really did smile, sweet and bright. "I mostly stopped worrying when he threw himself at Jack, but I just thought I'd ask."

"Oh, there's nothing between those two," replied Sarah Jane, still a bit flustered by . . . by the turn the conversation had taken. Yes, that must be it. Nothing to do with that smile. "Besides, Jack's far too old for him."

"What does that matter?" demanded Maria with sudden vehemence. "If you love someone, it doesn't make any difference what age they are!"

For the first time all morning, Sarah Jane stopped what she was doing and actually looked at Maria. The girl's hands were gripping the countertop, a few dark curls falling from her ponytail to curl around her face, eyes fixed on Sarah Jane with a look of nervous determination.

"Before you say anything else," began Sarah Jane slowly, "please, think carefully . . . ."

"You've never dismissed me as just a kid before," said Maria. "Don't start now."

Realizing that they were still hip to hip, Sarah Jane took a half step away. "You're very mature, Maria, and I trust you. But this is a bit different."

"I'm legal now. I looked it up."

Sarah Jane felt her face go red. "Even so, the age difference—"

"Jack's boyfriend is twenty-six."

"Nineteen-hundred-year-olds don't have a lot of people their age to choose from. It's different for me."

"You're one to talk! What was on with you and the Doctor, then?"

"I . . . ." She trailed off, at a loss.

Taking a deep breath (had her sweater always been that tight?), Maria took a small step towards Sarah Jane: just enough to bring them into contact again.

"Tell me you could never see me that way," she said quietly, voice trembling just a little. "Tell me you can't imagine me as anything but a friend, and I swear, I'll never bring it up again."

Sarah Jane found herself mute.

She was, after all, a journalist: sworn to the truth, not the truthiness.

The fearful, searching light in Maria's eyes began to shift into a look of nervous hope. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and Sarah Jane found herself turning hers to complement it, as they leaned slowly in . . . .

"Hey, are there any more of those gingerbrohmygod."

The pair sprang apart to see a horrified Stephen in the doorway.


⇔

When Jack had started going on about one of his secret-agent adventures, Jon tried to ignore the way Stephen hung on to every word. After all, Luke was listening closely too; and it wasn't long before Jon got caught up in the story himself. Stephen's interest had nothing to do with what Jon had overheard last night.

But as the plot made a turn, Jack had added, "Stephen, you've heard this bit. You want to go see if there are any cookies left?"

Without hesitation Stephen had leapt up to check, crushing Jon's heart just a little in the process. Any time he, Jon, asked Stephen to do something, it was like pulling teeth.

He was still bristling not a minute later, when there was a gasp and a slam and Stephen came racing down the hallway, passing the door and charging up the stairs.

Jon was about to follow him when a harried-looking Sarah Jane appeared in the doorway. "Jack, can I borrow you for a minute?"

"No problem," said Jack, getting to his feet. "Be right back, guys."

"What's going on?" asked Jon, half rising.

"Don't worry about it," replied Sarah Jane briskly. And then they were gone.

Privately seething, Jon fell back into his chair. It took him a moment to notice that Luke was regarding him with solemn, curious eyes.

"What are you looking at?" demanded Jon. It came out sharper than he had intended.

"I'm just trying to work out which one you're in love with," replied Luke matter-of-factly.


⇔

They were halfway up the stairs when a door slammed above them, shaking the whole house. "What did you do?" asked Jack in a disbelieving undertone.

Sarah Jane bit her lip. "I was about to let Maria kiss me."

Jack let out a low whistle. "Took you long enough!"

"What?"

"She's too sharp to be a conventional trophy wife, but you wouldn't want one of those anyway. Besides, the smart ones are more fun in the long run. If you ever need any ideas, though, I've got a couple of books I could lend . . . ."

"I'm sure we'll manage!" hissed Sarah Jane, cheeks flaming, as they reached the guest room.

Jack's roguish grin faded as he tapped on the door. "Stephen? Can we come in?"

The reply was slow in coming. "You can."

Throwing Sarah Jane an apologetic look, Jack pushed open the door and slipped in.


⇔

Stephen was leaning on the windowsill, looking out at the snow that was now falling thick and fast, as Jack came up behind him.

"All right, there?"

"I'm not the one you should worry about," snapped Stephen, clenching his fists. "All this time I've been keeping my distance from Jon to protect Sarah Jane's son, and now it turns out she's . . . she's preying on her teenage neighbor!"

"Oh, come on, that's hardly fair," protested Jack. "As I understand it, it was Maria's idea."

"Doesn't matter! Sarah Jane should know better. Kids that age are fragile! They don't understand—"

"They're not you, Stephen!"

Turning from the snow to face Jack, Stephen found him looking almost exasperated.

"They're not little Steve Col-bert," he repeated. "They're twenty-first-century kids. Probably understand as much about sex as you do. And if Maria wants to put that knowledge into practice, why shouldn't Sarah Jane let her? They'll enjoy it. Plus, it'll be really, really hot."




⇔

Shortly after the other adults went charging up the stairs, Maria came back into the front room, looking surprisingly furious. Jon decided not to ask.

By the time Stephen came back down the stairs, he was fairly aching with curiosity. But Jack and Sarah Jane were with him, and of course Luke and K-9 were already in the room. So he waited for a chance to catch Stephen's attention and slip away unnoticed.

"Would you look at that weather!" exclaimed Jack, with the enthusiasm of one who is deliberately changing the subject. "Haven't had this much snow before Christmas in a hundred years. What do you say we all go outside and make snowmen?"

"Oh, we can do more than that," declared Stephen. "I always make snow eagles."

"We could make a snow K-9," suggested Luke. (The dog wiggled his ears with what Jon had come to realize was pleasure. Or at least, the robot equivalent of pleasure.)

"It does sound like fun," said Maria, without much enthusiasm.

"The rest of you go on," Sarah Jane urged them. "Maria and I need to talk for a minute. We'll be with you soon."

"Are you coming, Jon?" asked Jack, as he, Stephen, and Luke headed for the hall.

With an effort, Jon forced a smile. "There's nowhere I'd rather be."


⇔

Families up and down the street came out to marvel at the weather, but no household made better use of it than number 13. By early afternoon, with the sun sinking low in the sky, a full-fledged crowd of icy figures had blossomed in the backyard, marching alongside the hedges and leaning over the walls. More than a few were missing limbs, casualties of the snowball fight that had broken out at some point along the way.

As the action was dying down, Jack suggested that someone go inside first and make hot chocolate, so it would be waiting when the rest of the group came in. Stephen immediately offered himself. Before anyone else had a chance to volunteer, Jon followed.

Stephen bustled about the kitchen like he visited them all the time. Jon, who knew better, watched dumbfounded as Stephen retrieved a kettle, mixed and heated the cocoa, and somehow found a tray without dumping the contents of half the shelves on the floor in the process.

He was trying to figure out how to open a conversation when Stephen addressed him. "Which mug do you want, Jon?"

"Huh? I don't know."

"I'll just take a bunch, then, and you can pick one later." Stephen piled half a dozen mugs on the tray next to the steaming pot. "Now, there have to be mini marshmallows in here somewhere . . . ."

Jon grabbed his arm as he tried to squeeze past. "Stephen, hang on a second and talk to me!"

Stephen frowned at him. "About what?"

The dusting of white on Stephen's head was melting rapidly, so Jon took the opportunity to smooth some of the wet hair back into place. Even at this innocuous gesture, Stephen's eyes flicked to the door and the window before he submitted to the grooming.

"Why are you doing this?" Jon asked.

"Doing what? Making cocoa?"

"Well . . . yes!"

"Because it's delicious. And because Jack's right, it's nice to have a hot drink waiting when you've been out in the cold. What do you have against cocoa, Jon?"

"It's not about the cocoa! It's about the way you volunteered to make it! You never volunteer to do anything, unless Jack Harkness asks, and then you're first in line!"

Stephen opened his mouth to speak, then cocked his head and focused on a point in the distance. "Huh?"

He wasn't addressing Jon. It was like he was talking on an invisible cell phone. Or . . .

"No," said Stephen. "Don't be ridiculous."

"You gonna let me in on this conversation?" asked Jon bitterly.

"It's nothing important. The Wørd thinks you're jealous."