She'd gotten quite smug about her ability to save the Earth for Earthlings.  Aliens came, Alien's tried, Alien's lost.

Sarah Jane Smith won.

She was aware she was not the only one in the fight.  Torchwood had a tendency to be a bit rough, and she was fair certain that when things were entirely out of control that her old friend the Doctor came in for a sly rescue now and then.  Mostly however, the safety of Earthlings and the resources of their favorite (current) planet, fell to her shoulders.  And she was doing just fine, thank you.

This, however, didn't seem fair. That she should be snatched up into space.  And on her 43th birthday no less.  She should have gone out for a night on the town with Josh when he asked, and even now she might be sitting somewhere candle lit.  And on Earth.

Her friend had warned her she was taking too direct a tack, but maybe that had something to do with becoming a bit smug, something Josh had also pestered her about.  But for goodness sake, whomever these Alien's were, they were taking dancers of all people.  It didn't seem fair to start skimming helpless artists off the face of the Earth.  One minute Sarah Jane had been breaking in to Cymbyos' large office of operations, then she'd been overwhelmed by a green light that entirely blinded her.

Then she'd been here.  This dark spaceship (she was fairly certain that's what it was), with it's stuffy air, ancient creaking hull, and lifelessness.  It had taken her the better part of the day to get power to the long range communications.  Luckily, she'd had a brush with Zygons before and had some rudimentary knowledge.  She'd been sending out a distress call for most of the next day, left in the dark by the worn out batteries of her torch.  It was a terrible wait, but how her heart had leapt when she heard the sound of the TARDIS.

The TARDIS, and please, by all the Stars, her Doctor.

The TARDIS groaned and boomed to a landing.   She could feel it if not see it.  The door creaked open (on the opposite side that she'd chosen) and an unfamiliar, uncertain voice rang out.  The Doctor? Changed? Or someone else.  Sarah Jane found she did not care.

"Hello?! I'm here!" She made her way around to the front where golden light was spilling out.  There was an . . . .an Orchestral Composer standing there.  Small.  Finely boned, and with pale coiling hair. "Hello .?" She said again, less certain this time.