milliways_bar | (no subject)

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She had thought that getting away from the flat would help make matters better.

It didn't.

At this moment, she doubted anything could make it all right again.

It's a tell that Sarah Jane is upset over something when, instead of sitting on the sofa by the fire, she's on the floor and leaning against it as she clutches her knees to her chest. Her eyes are open, alert, as she gazes into the flames.

Thinking.

Lots and lots of thinking.

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Sarah laughs dryly, noting the band-aid covered fingers with a frown that has nothing to do with her own situation. "I hope."

Is it horrible of her that she hopes so? She still doesn't know.

"Well, I hope so too," Seymour replies, with a more certain nod.

It'd still be nice if he knew what the situation was. He considers asking further as he watches her. He needs a moment or two to gather his courage - if he has any.

If he does ask, Sarah will tell him. She sees no reason to lie to Seymour. He's not the sort of person you willingly lie to.

"Thank you."

Seymour's fingers drum over the cover of his book. He really should ask. Friends ask. Friends....

"Some days are just low days. 'Cuz of the weather, sometimes. Clouds, or rain, or lotsa snow. Sometimes 'cuz of...other things."

...talk about the weather. Oy.

"It's beautiful here and beautiful in James' London, and no, Seymour, it isn't because of the weather."

It's an appreciated attempt at conversation though.

Atticus Finch would want him to ask. Then again, Atticus Finch can handle any situation, because he's awesome.

"It's nice on Skid Row, too. It's pretty warm, for almost winter. And I'm sorry it's not because of the weather. And if you want me to stop talking, I can."

"I don't mind," she answers honestly, looking at Seymour closely. There's a glint of her normal curiosity in her eyes. "Is this your way of trying to find out what's going on?"

"Yes," he says bluntly, with a degree of guilt because, as usual, he's mucking it up.

Sarah nods, a slight 'I knew it' in her wry grin. In a rather blunt manner herself, "I'm afraid that I might be pregnant. We're not a hundred percent sure yet, but current...um, situations seem to be implying as such."

It's not like Seymour was being terribly subtle about it.

He brightens. "Congrat--" he begins - it only sinks in a second later that she said 'afraid'. Then he goes back to slouching and looking anxious.

"Oh. ...And that's bad." He doesn't quite get why, but it's obvious that it is.

"I've only been seeing James for a little over two months now, you know," Sarah replies, trying to explain it to him. "And even if that wasn't the case, I'm not even sure if I want to have children some day."

She has, after all, never considered it before. Not even in the slightest.

Seymour moves his hand to adjust the brim of his cap before realizing he doesn't have his cap on. The anxiousness only increases at her second statement. How can a woman not want to have kids?

He'll focus on the part that's easier to understand, instead of the completely incomprehensible second half.

"Oh," he murmurs sympathetically. "So things're moving fast." He understands things moving quickly better than he did than when they last met.

"Very fast. I've moved in with him, and not just here. His coworkers are aware of who I am, and well, I'm in love with him. And I only met him three or so months ago."

Insanely fast. Wonderfully fast. Up until yesterday, she had absolutely no regrets. She loves James. She loves spending time with him and looking out for him and getting to know him.

"I'm used to being on my own, doing what I like. And while James respectects that," she continues, "a child would complicate everything."

Seymour strains his brain trying to imagine what Sarah's situation could be like. His imagination, frankly, isn't that great.

"You love him," he repeats after a moment. "Love can see you through a lot. Even...whatever complications there are."

Seymour drops his gaze, suddenly thinking about something else.

"Complications that might limit the freedom I still have," she points out. "As much as I don't really like leaving James, I do love travelling with the Doctor. And I'm trying to find the best between both worlds."

And if she really is pregnant, then it's clear that she can't do that anymore. And more than anything, Sarah Jane doesn't want to give up travelling. She would if she had to, but she really doesn't. The Doctor is her best friend after all.

Is this why Seymour got dropped on the steps of an orphanage, with only a blanket and a named pined onto it? Because his mother didn't want children? Because she wanted to travel?

Seymour feels empty; he takes a moment before he looks back at Sarah. "Children would complicate travelling," he allows. He's still concerned, but just a bit distant.

It's not hard to pick up on his sudden change of mood and Sarah's frown deepends as she looks him over. Now is the perfect opportunity to change the subject away from her and her situation and towards whatever is bothering Seymour right now.

"What is it?"

"It's...stupid stuff," he says, glancing away, with a jerky shrug. And it is. He'll never meet his mother - and he has a dad, now. He doesn't need her.

"You're going through something important."

Sarah shakes her head. "I'd still like to know."

She told him something he wanted to know. It wasn't pretty or easy, and he hasn't actually helped one damn bit (and she must've known he wouldn't be able to), but she told him anyway. He takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry - I can't remember - did I ever tell you I was an orphan?"

"I think I would remember something like that," Sarah murmurs, trying to remember. She would, wouldn't she? "I'm an orphan too."

And so is James for that matter. Another strike against them in her opinion if this doesn't turn out to be a false alarm.

Seymour looks briefly surprised - he likes to think he'd remember something like that, too - then sympathetic, then embarrassed. That news takes the wind out of his sails.

"I'm sorry. Then it's not like you don't-- so, nevermind. It was just me being a schmuck."

"Seymour, you should know by now that I don't drop conversations that easily."

It's hard for her too, part of her natural curiosity. She looks him over, and more than anything, she's confused.

"What is it?"

Seymour plays with the cover of his book, smiling ruefully when Sarah notes she doesn't drop conversations easily. The smile drops quickly.

"Mom dropped me off at an orphanage wrapped in a blanket with my name pinned on it. Just my name." He swallows; no 'I'm sorry', or 'I'll miss you'. "The real kick in the teeth is there aren't any Krelborns in New York. I checked the phone book."

Seymour flips the book over in his hands. Jem and Scout don't have a mother, but they have Atticus. They have family.

"Mothers should want their children. It's how things go."

Sarah nods, and suddenly she realises what it is she had said that had gotten Seymour to react like this. True, a baby would be a complication in her life. It would limit her freedom and the time she spent seeing the universe with the Doctor and all of that. But it woud because Sarah couldn't give up a child. Not considering both her and James' background.

"My parents died in an automobile accident when I was five," Sarah explains softly. "Aunt Lavinia raised me, but in some ways I wonder if it would have been easier if I never knew my parents to begin with. It hasn't been an easy thing to live with."

She sighs, leaning back against the sofa as she runs her hands up through her bangs and into tangles of brown hair. "That's the thing. If I am pregnant, I couldn't just give the child up. And neither could James, considering neither of us ever really had a chance to know our parents. And that's why it's such a complication, Seymour. Our lives would change in a way we're not necessarily ready for."