Chapter Text
The kettle had just started to boil when somebody knocked on the door.
Sarah glanced up from the notes scattered across the kitchen table.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Benton stepped inside carrying a cardboard box.
She narrowed her eyes.
"What's that?"
"Biscuits."
"How many?"
"A few."
"Benton."
"A lot."
"Good."
He set the box on the counter.
Sarah immediately opened it.
"You're an excellent man."
"I've been told."
"By whom?"
"Mostly you."
"Well, they're right."
The kettle clicked off.
She reached for two mugs automatically.
Benton didn't seem surprised.
He never did.
Tea appeared.
Biscuits disappeared.
The world continued as it always had.
Sarah sat down opposite him.
"So."
"So."
"You've come here for a reason."
"I brought biscuits."
"You never bring biscuits without a reason."
Benton considered this.
"That's probably fair."
Sarah pointed triumphantly.
"Aha."
He ignored that.
"Sir's joining the colony expedition."
For a moment Sarah simply looked at him.
Not surprised.
Just thinking.
Then she reached for her tea.
"I wondered if he might."
Benton nodded.
The answer seemed to satisfy him.
"I take it he's already decided."
"Yes."
"When?"
"A few weeks ago."
"And nobody thought to tell me?"
"You weren't difficult to find."
"Charming."
"You would have found out eventually."
"I usually do."
That earned the faintest hint of a smile.
Sarah wrapped both hands around her mug.
Outside, rain tapped gently against the window.
London seemed determined to spend the entire month damp.
"How did he manage that?" she asked. "I thought they were looking for specialists."
"They were."
"Alistair teaches history."
"He does."
"Very well, from what I've heard."
"He does that as well."
Sarah waited.
Benton waited right back.
"Oh honestly."
"Former UNIT Brigadier."
"That wasn't on the application."
"No."
"Was it on the interviews?"
"Not exactly."
Sarah laughed.
"Oh God."
"There was some discussion regarding leadership experience."
"I'll bet there was."
"Crisis management featured heavily."
"Alien invasions?"
"Not by name."
"Pity."
"It was felt that might raise unnecessary questions."
Sarah shook her head into her tea.
"You cheated."
"We were selective."
"That's cheating with better public relations."
"I'll take your word for it."
The rain strengthened.
Somewhere upstairs a radio started playing.
The sound drifted faintly through the ceiling.
Sarah found herself smiling.
It wasn't difficult to picture.
Alistair sitting through endless interviews looking faintly exasperated while people attempted to discover whether he was suitable for a mission to another world.
Poor souls.
They never stood a chance.
"He misses it."
The words escaped before she thought about them.
Benton looked at her over the rim of his mug.
"Yes."
Not dramatic.
Not complicated.
Just true.
Sarah looked down at the table.
"Teaching's important."
"It is."
"And he's good at it."
"He is."
"But it's not enough."
"No."
That wasn't criticism.
If anything it sounded sympathetic.
Because Benton understood it too.
Some people weren't built to spend the rest of their lives looking backward.
They needed a horizon.
Something beyond the next hill.
Something impossible.
Sarah smiled faintly.
"He's going to love it."
"I think so."
"He's also going to complain continuously."
"Without question."
"He'll hate the paperwork."
"He already does."
"He hasn't even left yet."
"He anticipated it."
That pulled a laugh out of her.
Benton looked quietly pleased with himself.
The sneak.
She reached for another biscuit.
"The children will adore him."
"That was part of the argument."
Sarah blinked.
"What?"
"There are families going."
"Of course there are."
"They wanted experienced teachers."
The smile returned before she could stop it.
Of course.
Of all the things that had convinced them.
Not UNIT.
Not military command.
Not alien invasions.
Children.
Children had probably looked at him once and decided he was safe.
Which, if she was being honest, was generally how it worked.
"Well."
She reached for her tea.
"They've made a sensible choice."
"I thought so."
Neither of them said anything for a while.
Rain against glass.
Tea.
Biscuits.
An ordinary afternoon.
Somewhere on the other side of London, Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart was preparing to leave Earth.
Sarah stared out the window.
Another world.
Imagine that.
Benton reached for another biscuit.
"There are still civilian positions available."
Sarah looked at him.
Benton looked entirely innocent.
The liar.
"Oh, are there?"
"So I've heard."
"From a reliable source?"
"Reasonably reliable."
Sarah shook her head.
"You are impossible."
"I spent a long time working for the Brigadier."
"That's not an excuse."
"It explains a great deal."
And annoyingly, it did.
Sarah hated forms.
This particular form had reached a level of irritation usually reserved for tax offices, government departments, and people who insisted she needed an appointment before saving the world.
She sat at her kitchen table with a pencil tucked behind one ear and the application spread in front of her.
Occupation.
Journalist.
The word looked ridiculous.
Not inaccurate.
Just incomplete.
She wrote it down anyway.
Professional experience.
Journalism.
Investigative reporting.
Field research.
Interviewing.
Documentation.
Again, all true.
None of it felt remotely useful.
The expedition was going to another planet.
At no point had the form provided a section for:
Successfully negotiated with hostile alien species.
Repaired malfunctioning extraterrestrial technology.
Prevented invasions.
Survived things that should have killed me.
Worked alongside a Time Lord.
Repeatedly.
Sarah drummed her fingers against the table.
The application continued to be stubbornly unimpressed by reality.
Skills.
She stared at the box.
What exactly was she supposed to put?
Could operate a sonic lance after somebody explained which end was dangerous?
Could identify fourteen different forms of alien power systems?
Had once rebuilt a translator unit with parts scavenged from a crashed spacecraft using a hairpin?
None of that was useful here.
Or rather, it was incredibly useful.
It simply wasn't something the colony board would believe.
By the time she reached the medical section she was already annoyed.
The annoyance became outright irritation three pages later.
A question sat in the middle of the form.
Simple.
Clinical.
Apparently important.
Would you be willing to participate in long-term population sustainability planning?
Sarah stared at it.
Then she read it again.
Then she laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because otherwise she might have thrown the form across the room.
Population sustainability planning.
What a remarkable collection of words.
The colony wanted children.
Naturally.
New world.
Permanent settlement.
Generations rather than years.
It made sense.
What irritated her was the realization that this single box was probably more valuable to the selection committee than half the qualifications she'd spent her life accumulating.
Journalist.
Investigator.
Researcher.
Traveller.
None of that seemed especially interesting.
Potential mother?
Now that got attention.
Sarah sighed and reached for her tea.
It had gone cold.
Of course it had.
She stood, made another cup, returned to the table and looked at the application again.
The question hadn't improved while she was gone.
She ticked the box.
There.
Done.
The world continued turning.
The next page requested permission to access her medical records.
That earned another look.
The file was extensive.
Years of injuries.
Broken bones.
Concussions.
Incidents she still wasn't entirely sure how to explain.
Alien pathogens.
Radiation exposure.
A surprising number of situations that probably should have resulted in death.
Any sensible doctor would have taken one look at the paperwork and ordered her to spend the rest of her life sitting quietly somewhere safe.
Fortunately nobody had ever accused Sarah Jane Smith of being sensible.
She signed the release.
A week later she forgot about the application entirely.
There were interviews to conduct.
Deadlines to meet.
A strange story involving livestock disappearing outside Oxford.
Life carried on.
The acceptance letter arrived on a Tuesday.
Sarah opened it while standing in her kitchen.
She read it once.
Then a second time.
Then she sat down.
Accepted.
Just like that.
No dramatic interview.
No request for additional qualifications.
No demand that she justify her existence.
Accepted.
The letter congratulated her on being selected for the civilian contingent of the colony initiative.
It discussed preparation schedules.
Training requirements.
Medical assessments.
Departure timelines.
It was all very official.
Sarah read the first paragraph again.
Accepted.
Apparently they wanted her.
The thought sat oddly in her chest.
Not unpleasant.
Just unexpected.
She folded the letter carefully and set it on the table.
Outside, rain tapped softly against the window.
A new world.
A chance to build something from the beginning.
A chance to see what happened when humanity stepped beyond Earth and stayed there.
The corner of her mouth lifted.
Somewhere across London, Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart was probably filling out forms of his own.
Or more likely complaining about them.
Sarah smiled into her tea.
She wasn't going because of him.
That would be ridiculous.
There was an entire planet involved.
A new civilization.
History waiting to happen.
That was reason enough for anyone.
Still.
It was nice to know she would know somebody when she got there.
Sarah had spent three weeks trying to figure out how to tell Alistair she was joining the expedition.
It should not have been difficult.
Unfortunately every version sounded terrible.
The first version had sounded perfectly reasonable until she'd imagined hearing it from someone else.
Hello, I heard you're moving to another planet so I applied too.
That sounded less like friendship and more like the opening statement in a police report.
The second version had somehow been worse.
Good news. You'll know someone there.
No.
Absolutely not.
The third version had involved far too much explanation and had collapsed under its own weight before she'd reached the middle.
The problem was that she wasn't going because of him.
Not only because of him.
There was an entire planet involved.
An entire world.
New cultures.
New systems.
New stories.
The first permanent colony beyond Earth.
A journalist would be insane not to be interested.
That was the truth.
The fact that Alistair would also be there was merely...
A factor.
A very tall factor.
A factor with a moustache.
A factor who, she noted with some irritation, had neglected to mention he was leaving the planet.
Honestly.
She had heard it from Benton.
Benton.
The man had apparently informed half of London before Alistair had informed her.
The memory still annoyed her.
Not because Alistair owed her an explanation.
He didn't.
But after everything they'd been through together, discovering he was emigrating to another world through a third party seemed faintly ridiculous.
Sarah shoved another book into the storage case.
The lid protested.
She ignored it.
The colonization authority called it a standard personal allowance container.
Sarah privately considered it an insult.
How was anyone supposed to fit an entire life into something that size?
The books alone were causing problems.
Then there were the notebooks.
The files.
The photographs.
The collection of alien devices that had somehow accumulated over the years despite repeated promises to herself that she would stop bringing strange technology home.
A silver translator unit disappeared into a corner.
A damaged sensor array followed.
A device she was reasonably certain had once belonged to a Draconian vanished beneath a stack of clothing.
The case looked increasingly concerned.
Sarah closed the lid before it could object.
The extra allocation had helped.
A great deal.
Officially she still wasn't entirely sure why introducing one of the colony planners to K-9 had changed anything.
Unofficially she knew exactly why.
The interview panel had spent most of the meeting looking politely sceptical whenever she mentioned experience with non-human technology.
Then K-9 had corrected three errors in their environmental modelling and suggested improvements to their communications infrastructure.
After that, people had started taking notes.
Funny, that.
The colony representative currently wrestling her luggage toward the storage section offered a cheerful wave.
Sarah returned it.
The case vanished through the loading hatch.
Years of her life disappeared with it.
Odd.
The realization should probably have felt more significant.
Instead she mostly wondered whether she'd packed enough tea.
The embarkation hall stretched across the length of the terminal.
Families.
Scientists.
Engineers.
Teachers.
People saying goodbye.
People trying not to.
The familiar mixture of excitement and terror that appeared whenever humanity decided to do something spectacularly ambitious.
Sarah turned toward the gathering colonists.
Then stopped.
Even at a distance she recognized him immediately.
Of course she did.
The shape of him was familiar.
The straight posture.
The calm stillness.
The way people unconsciously organized themselves around him without realizing they were doing it.
Alistair stood with a small group of colonists near the boarding checkpoint.
Listening.
Observing.
Looking exactly as though he belonged there.
Sarah smiled despite herself.
There he was.
The man she'd spent weeks trying to have a conversation with.
The conversation had apparently solved itself.
Convenient.
She started across the hall.
Halfway there she abandoned every carefully constructed speech she'd come up with.
Good.
Most of them had been dreadful.
Alistair looked up.
Recognition appeared immediately.
Followed by surprise.
Genuine surprise.
Sarah enjoyed that far more than she probably should have.
She stopped in front of him.
"Hello."
"Sarah."
The surprise was still there.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
"You're looking well."
"Thank you."
A pause.
Then:
"What are you doing here?"
Sarah grinned.
There it was.
Weeks of worrying.
Weeks of planning.
Gone.
Just like that.
"I'm moving to another planet."
The expression that crossed his face was worth every second.
"You are."
"I am."
"I was not aware of that."
"No."
Sarah folded her arms.
"Funny, isn't it?"
A flicker of understanding appeared.
Then guilt.
Then something suspiciously like amusement.
The sneak.
"Ah."
"Quite."
"I see."
"You didn't mention you were leaving Earth."
His mouth twitched.
"I had intended to."
"Did you?"
"No."
"No."
For a moment they simply looked at one another.
Years of friendship settling comfortably into place.
No explanations required.
No dramatic revelations.
Just recognition.
Then Alistair glanced toward the loading bays.
"You've actually joined the expedition."
"I have."
"Why?"
Sarah considered the question.
A new world.
A fresh start.
History unfolding in real time.
Stories nobody had told yet.
Possibility.
All true.
Every word of it.
So she smiled.
"Honestly, Brigadier."
His eyebrows rose.
"You didn't think you were escaping me by moving to another planet, did you?"
Alistair recovered more quickly than she expected.
Then again, he always had.
The initial surprise faded into something warmer as the boarding line slowly shuffled forward.
"I confess," he said, "I did not expect to see you here."
"Nobody did."
"Not even yourself?"
"Especially not myself."
That earned a brief smile.
The queue moved another few feet.
Around them people carried bags, children, paperwork and varying degrees of nervousness.
One small boy was attempting to climb a luggage trolley while his mother negotiated with a colony official.
Sarah watched him for a moment.
The official looked doomed.
"How did they convince you?" she asked.
Alistair glanced toward the enormous transport vessel visible through the observation windows.
"I am not certain they did."
"No?"
"No."
He considered it.
"I think I convinced myself."
That sounded like him.
"Teaching has been good for me."
Sarah nodded.
She knew it had.
The years after UNIT had been difficult. More difficult than he admitted.
Command had defined so much of his life that losing it had left a space behind.
The school had helped.
Children generally did.
"They're lucky to have you."
"That is kind of you."
"It's also true."
His expression softened briefly.
"The difficulty is that I spent most of my adult life expecting the unexpected."
Sarah laughed.
"That should have been UNIT's motto."
"It may have been."
"No, UNIT's motto was generally screaming and running."
"Only on difficult days."
"Which were all of them."
"That is a fair assessment."
The queue moved again.
"I never travelled very much."
The comment seemed almost casual.
Sarah looked at him.
He continued watching the transport ship.
"The Doctor offered opportunities. Occasionally without warning."
"That's one way of putting it."
"I generally declined."
"You usually had a planet to defend."
"Yes."
A pause.
"I do not regret that."
Sarah believed him.
Alistair was not the sort of man who spent much time regretting necessary choices.
"But?"
"But I occasionally wonder what I missed."
The admission surprised her.
Not because it wasn't true.
Because he said it aloud.
"There is rather a lot of universe out there."
"There is."
"And after the business with Mawdryn..."
His mouth tightened slightly.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Sarah understood.
The timelines.
The years.
The strange ending of his military career.
The feeling of finding yourself somewhere unexpected.
"When the opportunity appeared," he continued, "it seemed unwise to ignore it."
Sarah smiled.
"That's a very dignified way of saying you wanted an adventure."
"Possibly."
"You missed the adventure."
"I may have missed the adventure."
"There we are."
The smile reached his eyes.
A small victory.
The line shuffled forward once more.
Then his attention returned to her.
"What about you?"
Sarah immediately wished he hadn't asked.
Not because she lacked an answer.
Because she had too many.
A new world.
A story no journalist had ever told.
History unfolding in real time.
Possibility.
All true.
Every one of them.
The problem was that none of them explained why she'd filled out the application three days after hearing from Benton.
And she still wasn't entirely sure she understood that herself.
She could hardly say:
I heard you were leaving and suddenly staying behind felt wrong.
That sounded absurd.
Possessive.
Unfair.
Particularly since she wasn't even certain that was what had happened.
Instead she said the first thing that came into her head.
"I think the only reason they accepted me is because I can still have children."
Silence.
Sarah blinked.
"Oh dear."
Alistair stared at her.
"Oh dear," she repeated.
"Sarah..."
"No, that came out completely wrong."
"It certainly sounded unusual."
"I meant the colony planners."
"Ah."
"The forms."
"Forms."
"The interviews."
She rubbed her forehead.
"At some point I became aware that my ability to reproduce appeared significantly more valuable to them than my actual qualifications."
Alistair was silent again.
Not awkwardly.
Thoughtfully.
Which was somehow worse.
Sarah pointed a finger at him.
"Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"I know that look."
"What look?"
"That one."
He considered her accusation.
"I believe I am simply thinking."
"That's what worries me."
Another few seconds passed.
Then Alistair said:
"That seems remarkably short-sighted."
Sarah blinked.
"What?"
"If they selected you primarily on that basis."
"They didn't say they did."
"No."
"But."
"But if they failed to recognize your other qualifications, then they are demonstrating a rather concerning lack of judgement."
The certainty in his voice made her laugh.
"There are easier ways to compliment somebody."
"I was not attempting to compliment you."
"You absolutely were."
"I was making an observation."
"Of course you were."
"Sarah."
She was still smiling.
The queue moved forward again.
Alistair picked up his bag.
"I would be considerably more interested in the woman who has repeatedly repaired alien technology than her potential contribution to future demographics."
The laugh escaped before she could stop it.
"There it is."
"There is what?"
"The compliment."
"I maintain that it was an assessment."
"Brigadier."
"Journalist."
For a moment they simply smiled at one another.
Then the line moved again and the future, impossibly large and waiting, moved with it.
The lounge was quieter than Sarah expected.
The colony ship held hundreds of people, yet the waiting area felt oddly detached from the noise of it. Beyond the observation windows, stars hung against blackness. Somewhere deeper in the vessel, technicians prepared cryogenic systems and ran final checks before departure.
Everything appeared calm.
Organized.
Professional.
Which was probably why she didn't trust it.
Sarah sat with a cup of tea she wasn't drinking.
Across from her, Alistair appeared perfectly at ease.
The man was preparing to spend years unconscious inside a metal box and looked as though he was waiting for a train.
Ridiculous.
"You seem distracted."
Sarah glanced up.
"I'm fine."
"Naturally."
"I am."
"Of course."
She frowned.
He waited.
Unfortunately, that worked.
"I don't like sleeper ships."
Alistair looked mildly surprised.
"I wasn't aware you'd ever been on one."
"I haven't."
That sounded absurd even to her.
"I've visited one."
"Ah."
"The Doctor and Harry took me."
His expression suggested that explained absolutely everything.
Which, admittedly, it did.
"It was infested."
"With what?"
"Wirrn."
Alistair blinked.
"Good Lord."
"Exactly."
The memory arrived with unpleasant clarity.
The vast silent ship.
The colonists sleeping peacefully while something alien moved through the darkness around them.
The realization that an entire civilization could disappear before anyone woke up.
"They were all asleep."
"That was rather the problem, I imagine."
"Nobody knew what was happening."
Sarah stared into her tea.
"They couldn't know."
A quiet understanding settled between them.
That was the thing she remembered most.
Not the monsters.
Not the danger.
The helplessness.
Hundreds of people sleeping through their own extinction.
The thought still made her skin crawl.
"I know this ship isn't that ship."
"Of course."
"I know there aren't any Wirrn."
"One would hope."
"I know the engineers know what they're doing."
"Again, one would hope."
Sarah smiled faintly.
The smile didn't last.
"K-9's in the hold."
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Alistair's eyebrows lifted.
"K-9."
"Yes."
"He'll be perfectly safe."
"I know."
"You made certain of that personally."
"I know."
Sarah sighed.
The problem wasn't K-9.
Not really.
The problem was that K-9 represented something familiar.
Reliable.
Comforting.
A small piece of home locked somewhere she couldn't reach.
"I don't like not being able to check on him."
Alistair nodded as though that made complete sense.
Which was kind of him.
It didn't make complete sense.
Not when she knew perfectly well that K-9 was probably safer than any human aboard the ship.
Not when she knew she wouldn't be able to reach him even if she wanted to.
Not when she knew she was being ridiculous.
"He'll still be there when we wake up."
"I know."
"He'll probably have found fault with the ship's computer systems."
"He definitely will."
"And he'll be very pleased to tell us about it."
Sarah laughed despite herself.
"Repeatedly."
"Without mercy."
"Every detail."
"Several times."
The knot in her stomach loosened slightly.
Only slightly.
Enough.
Alistair studied her for a moment.
Then:
"You're worried because once we're in the pods, there is nothing left to do."
Sarah opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Annoying man.
That was exactly it.
No running around corridors.
No fixing things.
No asking questions.
No helping.
No action at all.
Just trust.
Trust the ship.
Trust the engineers.
Trust the people who built it.
Trust that she'd wake up at the end.
Sarah Jane Smith had always preferred doing something.
Alistair nodded as though she'd confirmed his theory.
"Understandable."
That was all.
No lecture.
No attempt to convince her she was wrong.
Just understandable.
Somehow that helped more than reassurance would have.
Sarah picked up her tea.
Outside the window the stars waited.
Ahead of them was another world.
Behind them was Earth.
Somewhere deep in the ship K-9 was almost certainly irritating an engineer.
And sitting across from her was a man who understood why she was nervous without asking her to explain it.
That helped too.
Rather more than she wanted to admit.
The sleeper vault was larger than Sarah expected.
Rows upon rows of cabinets stretched away beneath soft lighting. Colony personnel moved quietly between them, checking names, answering questions, guiding people toward assigned chambers.
The atmosphere reminded her vaguely of a hospital.
She decided not to mention that.
"Miss Smith."
Sarah looked up.
The attendant checked a tablet.
"Cabinet B-214."
The attendant glanced at Alistair.
"Cabinet B-215."
Sarah stared.
The attendant smiled.
"Just through there."
Then they were gone.
Sarah looked at the numbers.
Then at Alistair.
Then back at the numbers.
"What a remarkable coincidence."
"Indeed."
"It couldn't possibly have been deliberate."
"Certainly not."
Sarah snorted.
The colony planners weren't subtle.
She'd noticed that much already.
Families grouped together.
Friends grouped together.
Married couples assigned adjacent chambers.
Apparently two middle-aged people who had spent most of the voyage talking to each other had attracted attention.
Not surprising.
Possibly annoying.
Possibly accurate.
Sarah decided not to think too hard about that.
The cabinets stood side by side.
Large enough for a person.
Not large enough for comfort.
The lids stood open.
Waiting.
Sarah disliked them immediately.
Alistair appeared similarly unimpressed.
That helped.
The technician launched into a final explanation involving safety procedures, emergency protocols and automatic wake systems.
Sarah nodded at appropriate intervals.
Alistair asked two sensible questions.
The technician left looking relieved.
Then there was silence.
The ship hummed softly around them.
People nearby were beginning to climb into their chambers.
One cabinet closed.
Then another.
And another.
Sarah folded her arms.
"Well."
"Well."
Neither moved.
Sarah looked at her cabinet.
Then at Alistair.
Alistair looked at his cabinet.
Then at Sarah.
A realization arrived.
"Oh honestly."
"What?"
"You want to make sure I get in."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"You appear to have reached the same conclusion."
Sarah laughed.
Of course.
Of course they had both arrived at exactly the same ridiculous position.
Neither one wanting to leave until the other was settled.
Years of friendship distilled into something absurdly predictable.
"This is ridiculous."
"It is."
"We're going to the same place."
"Yes."
"We'll wake up at the same time."
"Hopefully."
Sarah pointed at him.
"That wasn't helpful."
"My apologies."
"It wasn't even slightly reassuring."
"No."
Another cabinet closed nearby.
The sound echoed faintly through the vault.
Sarah sighed.
The problem was that she didn't actually want to climb into the thing.
Not because she was frightened.
Not exactly.
More because it felt final.
Earth was behind them.
The journey was beginning.
Once the lid closed there was no more time for second thoughts.
Not that she was having second thoughts.
Probably.
Alistair held out a hand.
The gesture was simple.
Matter-of-fact.
As though helping her into a cryogenic chamber was no different than helping her over a muddy ditch.
Sarah looked at the offered hand.
Then at him.
Then back at the hand.
"You know," she said, "if anybody had told me ten years ago this is how we'd spend an evening, I'd have laughed at them."
"Only ten?"
"Fair point."
She took his hand.
Warm.
Steady.
Familiar.
Alistair helped her step up into the cabinet.
The chamber wasn't uncomfortable.
That wasn't helping either.
Sarah settled onto the padded surface and looked up at him.
For a moment neither spoke.
The years sat quietly between them.
UNIT.
The Doctor.
Alien invasions.
Tea.
Arguments.
Friendship.
The ordinary accumulation of a life.
Then Sarah smiled.
"Well."
"Well."
"We seem to have made it this far."
"We have."
She nodded.
Satisfied.
Not with the chamber.
Never with the chamber.
With him.
With the simple fact that he was there.
That when she woke up on another world, he would be too.
No promises.
No declarations.
Just continuity.
Sarah's smile softened.
"I'll see you when I wake up."
Alistair returned it immediately.
"Yes."
Simple.
Certain.
As though there were never any doubt.
"I expect so."
The answer settled something she hadn't realized was unsettled.
Sarah relaxed back against the cabinet.
"Good."
Then she pointed toward the chamber beside hers.
"Now get in your own box, Brigadier."
For the first time that evening, Alistair laughed.
"Yes, Sarah."
The lid began to lower.
The last thing she saw was Alistair finally turning toward his own cabinet.
Exactly as she'd known he would.
Only after he was sure she was settled.