Old Dreams, New Hope

© 2008 by Doctor Dasha

Disclaimer: Doctor Who belongs to the BBC.  This work of fan fiction is offered free of charge, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This story takes place sometime between “Invasion of the Bane” and “The Stolen Earth.” It is dedicated to my mom, who recently got me thinking about reunions...

      “Jo Grant-Jones, meet Sarah Jane Smith, another one of the Doctor's assistants” the Brigadier's wife said. A knot of apprehension tightened in Sarah's stomach as she stepped into the Lethbridge-Stewarts' home, but she forced herself to put on a friendly smile and offer Jo a “pleased to meet you.”

      At that, the petite Jo Grant-Jones rushed toward Sarah and exclaimed, “Oh, I love your coat!”

      Taken aback at Jo's unexpected enthusiasm, Sarah fingered the collar of her purple trench coat. “Thank you,” she said. “It's rather new, but it's already become a favorite of mine.”

      “It's awesome!” enthused Jo. Sarah noted that in the few moments since their introduction, Jo Grant-Jones had spoken entirely in exclamations. She was like a dynamo, or an energetic little pixie. Sarah felt the knot in her stomach relax as she realized there was no malice or jealousy in Jo's behavior. Unlike Rose Tyler, Jo was not in the least upset to meet “another one of the Doctor's assistants.” That was one less thing for Sarah to worry about. Now, if only the Brigadier would tell Sarah that he had found the information she needed, then she could really relax...

      Unaware of Sarah's thoughts, Jo chattered on, the purple coat still on her mind. “I used to love fashion so much! Before my husband and I left England, I wore all the latest looks. But in the Amazon we mostly wore pith helmets and things like that. Practical things. Now that I'm back, I'll have to get a whole new wardrobe. The miniskirts that I had when I worked with the Doctor must be well out of fashion by now.”

      Before Sarah could reply, a woman with a warm smile and a strawberry-blond bob stepped forward and jumped into the conversation. “Oh, I used to wear those short skirts too, when I worked with the Doctor! It was the times.” Turning to Sarah she asked, “Did you wear them too?”

      “Well, I was more of a trousers girl myself,” Sarah admitted. “Of course, back then, the trousers were all bell-bottomed, mind you.”

      “Oh, I used to wear those too,” Jo squealed in delight. “And rings on every finger!”

      “Yeah, me too! I had so many rings!” Sarah laughed, getting into the spirit of the conversation. And to the newcomer with the bob she added, “By the way, my name's Sarah Jane Smith.”

      “I'm Liz Shaw,” the redhead replied. “I used to be the scientific adviser to UNIT, before a certain alien wrested the position from me.”

      “Liz Shaw? Doctor Elizabeth Shaw from Cambridge?” Sarah asked incredulously.

      “Oh, you know my work? Are you a scientist too?” inquired Liz.

      “No, an investigative journalist,” said Sarah. “But a few of my scientist-friends have mentioned your name. I've written about Paul Hunter's energy research, and I'm thinking of writing an article about Jay Feldorn's work with dark matter. Paul and Jay both spoke highly of you. I'd actually been hoping to meet you one day.”

      “Paul and Jay! They are into some pretty...unusual stuff. Let me give you my card, we'll have to talk more later.” With a gleam of interest in her eye, Liz slipped a business card into Sarah's hand.

      “Oh, I must give both of you my number, too,” Jo said. “Now that I'm back in England to stay, I need some proper, up-to-date clothes. You two simply must take me around to all the shops and help me pick some things out.”

      “Well, this is lovely,” sighed matronly Doris Lethbridge-Stewart, who had been standing quietly to the side, watching the exchange. “When Alistair said he wanted to have a UNIT reunion, I was afraid it would mean a load of old soldiers telling battle stories over beer in our lounge. But this is turning out to be rather a hen party, isn't it? I mean, with the talk of fashion, and the “Oh, you know so-and-so.””

      “Oh, soldiers aren't so bad, are they, Brigadier?” Jo smiled as Doris's husband strolled into the entryway.

      “Certainly not, Mrs. Grant-Jones,” the white-haired, proud-faced man agreed amiably. “And I daresay that Benton and Yates will be delighted to see such a fine-looking company of women.”

      Mentally assessing their outfits, Sarah had to agree that three of them did look rather nice. Liz wore a shimmery, emerald green blouse with tiny ruffles on the sleeves and neckline, a high-waited black skirt, and strappy silver heels. Jo, despite her protestations that she knew nothing of current fashions, wore a peach A-line blouse with floral embroidery on the bodice, a dozen or so copper bangles on each wrist, sleek black leggings, and remarkably high-heeled black boots. Sarah, whose purple coat had been whisked into a closet by Doris, wore a raspberry-colored bodre top over slim-fitting black capris, which were edged at the bottom with black lace. Her shoes were raspberry-colored suede ballet flats with black piping trim.

      “Come into the lounge, everyone,” urged the Brigadier. “The men are waiting to see you all.”

      The group of women quickly filed out of the entryway to join the party, but Sarah hung back for a moment. Now was her chance to find out whether the Brigadier had the information that she wanted. “Brigadier,” she said in a low voice, “You mentioned John and Mike. But what about Harry? Were you able to get ahold of him?”

      “I'm sorry, Miss Smith,” the Brigadier said, placing a hand consolingly on her shoulder. “You know that I search for him periodically. I wish I could tell you something of his whereabouts. But I still can't trace him.”

      “That's all right,” Sarah said resignedly, a cloud passing over her pretty face. “I just can't stop hoping that one day he'll turn up again.”

      “And you never should give up hope,” the Brigadier said stoutly. “What do you think all those people are doing in my lounge now? They are here because they never give up hope, either.”

      “Did they all know Harry too?” Sarah said in surprise.

      “No, I didn't mean that. But I'd bet you anything that all of those people in my lounge, in the secret depths of their hearts, hope that someday they'll round a corner and come upon a certain police box once again. There are some dreams that never die. And who knows, maybe some of us will see the Doctor again. And maybe you'll see Harry Sullivan again, too.”

      “Thanks,” Sarah said, moved by the Brigadier's little speech. Misty-eyed, she threw her arms around the old soldier in a quick hug, then quickly regained her composure and accompanied him into the lounge to join the party.

      A chorus of fond hellos rang out from Benton, Yates, and the few other old UNIT soldiers seated on the Lethbridge-Stewarts' plushy couches and overstuffed armchairs. Sarah smiled and greeted them each in turn as she seated herself on a chair near the fireplace and accepted one of the champagne flutes that Doris was passing around.

      “Now, I've been wondering,” Doris asked, surveying the group, “just how many companions did this Doctor chap have?”

      “Well, I remember quite a few of them,” the Brigadier reminisced. “Besides those of us gathered in this room, there were Victoria, Jamie, Zoe, Ace, Nyssa, Tegan, Turlough, and probably many others as well.”

      “Brigadier, did you just say “Tegan and Turlough?”” Sarah asked haltingly.

      “Yes, I did. Why do you ask? You look as though someone has just walked over your grave.”

      “It's probably daft,” Sarah continued slowly, hesitant to reveal her secret to the party-goers. “I sometimes have this...recurring dream. I dream that I've been on Gallifrey, and many of the incarnations of the Doctor are there. And so are people named Tegan and Turlough. Only, when I wake up and try to remember the details of the dream, it all gets so fuzzy.”

      The Brigadier's face was frozen in shock. In a low voice, he managed to exclaim, “I've had the same dream! I can't remember the details either. The more I try to remember, the harder it gets. But I do remember that a woman named Susan was also there, and she called the Doctor--”

     “Grandfather,” Sarah interrupted. “She called him Grandfather.”

      “Yes. Yes, that's right. It's the same dream.” Lethbridge-Stewart gasped. Turning to the rest of the group, he asked, “Have any of you lot had this dream?”

      The room fell silent as everyone shook their heads. But after a moment Jo broke in, sounding quiet and thoughtful for the first time that evening, revealing a new side of her personality to Sarah. “Remember that time when three versions of the Doctor were here on Earth?” Liz looked as baffled by this question as Sarah felt, but the UNIT men all nodded their heads knowingly. Jo continued, “Well, you know, that was a real emergency. The Time Lords only allowed the three Doctors to meet because they needed a lot of help to stop Omega. It was like they were breaking the rules of Time when they allowed the three Doctors to meet. So maybe something like that happened again, and you two,” she indicated the Brigadier and Sarah, “were there to see it. But maybe, because all the laws of Time, or whatever, got bent, you can't really wrap your brains around it. Maybe that's the explanation for your dream.”

      “It's possible that Jo's right,” Benton agreed. “With the Doctor, anything could happen.” Then, with a twinkle in his eye, he asked the group, “Do you think he's still out there? Still traveling in that daft old Tardis and fighting off alien baddies?”

      “He certainly is!” Sarah exclaimed. With fondness, she recounted, “I saw him, not long ago. And we fought off “alien baddies” together, just like old times.” Everyone's eyes were glued to Sarah, and she could see, from the intensity of their expressions, that this was indeed why they were all gathered here tonight. They were all hoping for some news of their beloved Doctor. The Brigadier had been right—all these people were filled with hope. Obligingly, Sarah told the rest of her story to her eager audience. She finished with the words, “And I'm sure he's still out there, somewhere. He and Rose and Mickey are all fighting evil and saving worlds...and maybe someday you'll all have the chance to see him again, too. I hope that you will.”

      Sarah found herself at the center of intense conversation as the party continued and the UNIT crew asked her more questions about her recent adventure with the Doctor. But gradually, as happens at parties, side conversations broke off from the main conversation, and people began to mix. From time to time, various party-goers approached Sarah and thanked her for her story. Each time she said to them sincerely, “I'm so glad that I was able to bring you news of the Doctor. We'll never forget him, will we!” And each time, she felt proud to have brought a glow of hope to the old UNIT members' faces.

      After a time, though, Sarah needed a break. When the Lethbridge-Stewarts led the group out into the garden to show off their carefully-tended roses, Sarah sat down on a stone bench, a bit apart from the group. Though she felt nothing but affection for these old soldiers and friendly women, she also felt a world apart from them. They had all gotten what they wanted that night. They had gotten news of their long-lost friend, the Doctor. But Sarah was still waiting for news of a certain important friend of hers.

      Sarah's gloomy thoughts were interrupted when Mike Yates sat down next to her, folding his tall, lean body onto the low garden bench. Sarah hadn't had much of a chance to speak with Mike yet, so she smiled warmly at her old friend, saying, “What's up, Mike?”

      “I wanted to ask you something,” he began. “Do you remember that time I brought you out the the Tibetan retreat center?”

      “How could I forget!” Sarah laughed. “Those giant spiders were dreadful!”

      “Yes, well, that part was rather memorable, wasn't it? But what I wanted to tell you was that I've kept up with the meditation.”

      Not quite sure where Mike was headed with this, Sarah cautiously remarked, “Well, yes, meditation and that new-age stuff has come right back in style, hasn't it? I imagine you're in good company, as there are so many meditation centers about now.”

      “Yes, I belong to a couple of groups,” Mike went on. “But lately I've been having a sort of vision when I meditate. Until tonight, I didn't think that anyone would believe me, so I haven't mentioned it to anyone yet.”

      “Oh, no! Don't tell me the spiders are coming back!” Sarah said in horror, remembering the events at the retreat center.

      “No, no, nothing like that,” Mike quickly reassured her. “It's just that my vision, well, it's like that dream that you and the Brigadier described. I mean, I don't see the Doctor, or Gallifrey, or anything like that. But the vision has that quality you described—fuzzy, like the more you try to remember it, the less clear it is.”

      Her curiosity now piqued, Sarah switched into investigative mode with practiced ease. “What do you see in your visions, Mike, if you don't see the Doctor or Gallifrey? Can you remember?”

      “I know there are details that I can't recall,” he said. “But one thing stands out for me. The face of a man. I don't recognize him, but I can describe him to you. His short hair is dark and curly. He has a bit of a baby-face, but his eyes are kind and intelligent. And he wears a stethoscope around his neck, so perhaps he's a doctor. Not the Doctor, but a doctor. And he always repeats a certain phrase to me, over and over.”

      With a great leap of her heart, Sarah realized that the man in Mike's vision fit Harry's description. “Mike, what does this man say to you in your dreams?” Sarah asked, holding her breath in hope.

      Mike answered, “He says, “Tell the old girl that I'll be back. Tell the old girl that I'll be back.” He just says that over and over again. Does it mean anything to you?”

      “Oh, yes!” Sarah exclaimed in joy. “Yes it does, Mike! It means a great deal to me!” And Sarah knew that she, like the Lethbridge-Stewarts' other guests, would leave the party later that night with a heart full of renewed hope.

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