Sarah Jane Smith was doing her level best to get stinking drunk. She'd started with Tullamore Dew; when that didn't give her the kick she wanted, she went for Jaegermeister. After another hour of smooth drinks, she decided that dancing around the issue wasn't the way to go, and went straight for the Everclear.
That, at least, produced a minor buzz. With a head far too clear for the alcohol in her system, she raised a finger and asked for another.
"Are you sure that's wise?" the bartender asked. He'd seen plenty of women drink themselves silly after the change, but nothing like this! "Face it, lass, the firewater just doesn't work anymore."
"Another!" she growled fiercely, and slammed another note on the table. "I felt something after the last one!"
"Get her a Guinness," a voice came from the back.
The bartender blinked. "Are you sure? She's been drinking the hardest stuff we have. What'll Guinness do for her?"
The man who'd made the suggestion walked up to the bar. The man was a portrait of severe angles; a thin face, hawklike nose, painfully short brown hair, and the most intense blue eyes Sarah had seen in twenty years. A leather bomber jacket swallowed his thin, whipsaw frame. He smiled guilelessly at both Sarah and the bartender. "Just trust me. I'll have one myself, thanks."
Sarah sniffed at the syrupy brew in front of her, then took a careful sip.
"Drink deep. It'll do you good." The gaunt man sat down next to her.
Smiling, remembering more pleasant days from early in her career, she tilted her head back and let the Guinness slide down her throat. As soon as it hit her stomach, she could tell something was different; this one just seemed to hang there in her stomach. She sat back and enjoyed the feeling as a small buzz entered her system - and stayed there.
"Feeling better?"
The question brought her back to reality, if not total sobriety. "A little." She looked down at herself, her bronze skin, breasts too perky to be middle-aged, clothes that didn't fit her quite right anymore. "Wish I was myself, though."
The gaunt man nodded slowly as he raised his glass. "Quite natural. Post-regeneration depression is a common malady..."
Sarah Jane had held the mug back to her lips when the words hit home. She spat Guinness across the bar; the mug smashed against the surface. "P... Post-regeneration depression?"
The gaunt man set down his mug, and gave an impossibly-pure smile. "Hello, Sarah Jane."
The words echoed across the years, to a much younger - much more innocent - Sarah Jane Smith. "D... Doctor?"
He nodded. "It's been a long time, Sarah Jane. How are you doing?"
Her face darkened. "Well, not bad, considering I'm NOT IN MY OWN BODY ANYMORE!" She noticed the eyes around her giving only minor interest; the men were used to such outbursts, and most of the women in the crowd had experienced their own frustrations. The women in the crowd were enough to calm her down; she knew it could have been much worse. "Sorry. It's been a bad week."
The Doctor nodded slowly. "It's going to get worse, you know."
"Oh, I know. It always does when you come around." She took another draught of her beer. "Had some weird Doctor conspiracy theorist going around trying to find info on you from me." She shuddered; the last thing she wanted to deal with was a Doctor fanboy. "He pointed out that, whenever you come around, death seems to follow. Well, it's pretty clear what sort of handbasket Earth is going to hell in this time..."
The Doctor set his mug on the bar. "Actually, Sarah Jane..."
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(Posted Fri, 25 Mar 2005 07:26)
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