1980

It was too big.

The house. Their big house with lots of room.

It was too big.

Too big for just the two of them.

Sarah looked around the cluttered attic, where she had taken to hiding from her husband. Behind boxes of old files and books. Next to Sarah's crib. The crib that should have held their baby.

Sarah's hand ran gently across the bevelled wood, as she tried desperately not to picture sending a small child into the school playground, of arguments about bedtime, shrieking echoing through the halls. Too big, and too quiet. That was their house.

They had been married a year and a half when she began to suspect she was pregnant, that first time. That had been three years, and five miscarriages ago. Five babies she hadn't been able to keep safe.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she wondered how she could still have anything left to cry. They had been home from the hospital for a day and Harry hadn't stopped hovering. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Sarah reached into the crib to remove a small leather notebook, one she had started two years and ten months ago.

By her side, were two items, her hospital wristband, and the small black and white picture of their baby. Sarah flicked through the book slowly, pausing over each date, until she had reached the next free page. In beautiful cursive, she recorded the date, before gluing in the two items. She couldn't bear to have them near her, but she couldn't bear to let any record of their baby, any of their babies, go. This was her compromise. Their unborn baby, exploring the universe with his brothers and sisters.

Putting the book back, Sarah just sat, and listened. Listened to the silence. To the absence of cries, and laughter.

Harry was sitting at the table, waiting patiently next to a pot of tea, when she came back downstairs.

He took one look at her face, at the red rimmed eyes and the tear tracks down her face, and said one thing.

"No more," he pleaded. "Please Sarah, I can't lose you. This time, this time was far too close."

Sarah sat down, took a shuddering breath, and thought about how she didn't need a child to fulfil her life. Even though she couldn't help feeling like she had failed.

"No more," she agreed quietly.

…..

1981

"I know it isn't Metabilis three, or, I don't know, that Ark that you got zapped on," Harry grinned, dropping his hat onto his head and hoisting their suitcases into the car, "But it's a holiday. No story, no hypochondriac patients. Just you, and me, on holiday."

"Like a normal couple?" Sarah teased with a smile. Harry was pleased to see her smile again, she had been so withdrawn, thinking she had failed, for months now, and was only now, as summer rolled around starting to be her old self again. It was a relief to Harry, to have her back. He had been terrified he would lose her, that she would withdraw into herself so deeply, he wouldn't be able to bring her back like he did after the Doctor left.

"Why would we want to be normal, Old Thing," Harry called back jovially, leaping forward to hold the door open for his wife as Sarah finished locking up the door. Sarah shook her head fondly, but didn't comment, as she slipped into the front seat. Harry quickly walked around the car and jumped in.

After chatting about bills, whether Harry had cancelled the milk and Sarah had cancelled the paper, and who had the fun of buying Lavinia's shopping that week, Sarah suddenly asked:

"Why Britannia?"

"Why not?" Harry asked, hoping she would leave it at that. Sarah raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Ok, ok. We've both been to Scotland with the Doctor, and I spent far too much time along the south coast. And Ireland is currently a no British zone… so, I wanted to take you somewhere new, where there wouldn't be any memories. So, we could make our own. And it's so terribly easy to get to France on the ferry now."

Sarah smiled softly at him, her head to one side. Every now and then it would hit her how much she loved this man.

"Well," She declared, clapping her hands in excitement, "I can't wait!"

When they stopped off for a night in Paris on the way, Sarah wondered why she wasn't more surprised at Harry's little plan. Yes, she really did love him.

…

"I've accepted a job at Whitehall," Alistair announced at the end of dinner. Sarah stopped, her wine glass halfway to her lips. Alistair smirked at her speechlessness. Sarah's mouth formed words, but no words came out.

"The last time I had you speechless Miss Smith, I told you I was retiring," he said drily.

"Well," Sarah started, replacing her glass. "I just, can't imagine you not being busy all day, I suppose…"

"Well, time for a change," Alistair coughed.

"How did Liz take it?" Sarah asked curiously. She loved Alistair's fiery companion, enjoying feminist debates and ganging up on the menfolk.

"As you are likely picturing," Alistair admitted. "But ended up telling me I had to do whatever made me happy. So, I get to see Liz, and Katie more. Perfect choice. My next monumental challenge is to convince Fiona to move to London."

"I was about to ask how that would affect your relocation to be closer to Katie," Sarah phrased carefully. The last thing she wanted was for two of her finest friends to move far away from London. But Alistair and a Whitehall job just didn't seem to mesh in her head properly/

"No," Alistair said, "Liz and I will be finding a fix it house for me to play with on the edge of London, and I will likely end p in a paper pushing job. But, it's time to start anew I think. Hopefully Katie will be able to visit a lot more. And the schools here in London are much better than the ones in Cornwall, even Fiona admits that."

"Well, congratulations, I know you haven't really been enjoying your retirement all that much," Sarah raised her glass with a smile.

"How are you and Sullivan getting along, I'm sorry he wasn't able to make it for lunch," Alistair asked.

"No, he's been picking up extra shifts now that they've lost another doctor," Sarah sighed, "I feel like we hardly see each other, and if we do, its ships in the night. Still, they have a junior doctor starting soon, should take some of the pressure off hopefully. A Timothy Turner, newly graduated. And all my projects will be London centred, no more hopping off to Wales after a lead! I just miss him."

"Well, I'm sure everything will work out," Alistair said confidently, paying the bill before Sarah could reach for her purse. "No buts Mrs Sullivan, you can pay next time."

Sarah huffed disbelievingly, but years of friendship stopped her from putting up more than a superficial fight. She would, indeed, pay the next one. She stood up to put her coat on, her head suddenly swimming. Woozy, she put a hand out to steady herself, connecting with the solid wood of the table.

"Are you alright Sarah?" Alistair's voice cut through the haze worriedly. A glass of water was pushed into her hand.

"Yes, yes," Sarah brushed it off quickly, feeling the world turn back into focus again. "Must have stood up too quickly."

Alistair didn't look like he believed her, and Sarah didn't believe herself. She would be stopping by the pharmacy to pick up a home pregnancy test on the way back.

….

Harry Sullivan had had a rather marvellous day. The young doctor Turner had been idealistic and a breath of fresh air. He had been bought up the son of the only GP in a poverty stricken West End area so he understood the work, and he enjoyed it. He often mentioned his nurse mother as well. He had been polite, and refreshing to work with. Harry was very much looking forward to mentoring this young man into becoming a marvellous doctor.

And Sarah had been to lunch with Alistair, so he was at least expecting humming as he walked through the door, not the oppressive silence that greeted him.

"Sarah?" he called out. When he didn't hear a response, he looked through each room of the house. He found her in their bedroom, curled up on the bed, her boots still on with a pillow clutched to her abdomen. "Hello Old Thing." He said quietly, moving softly into the room to sit next to her, rubbing her lower back gently. "Do you want me to get you an aspirin? Or a hot water bottle?"

"I don't need them," Sarah said hoarsely, shifting so she was half on her back and facing Harry. "Harry, I'm late again."

Harry closed his eyes.

"And the others?" he asked quietly, continuing his ministrations on her lower back.

"Was ill yesterday, day before and the day before that," She listed, "And when I stood up earlier, I was instantly dizzy. I picked up a home test. Its in the bathroom, but I can't bring myself to look."

Harry nodded, and leant forward to press a kiss to his wife's head.

"Hey," he said gently, "If it's positive, we'll work through it, like we have before."

Then he stood up, and went to check the pregnancy test.

Positive.

Harry paused in the bathroom, allowing his eyes to fill up briefly as he pictured Sarah in their bed with an infant, of a little girl that looked like Sarah, but with a love of science, or a little boy, with his hair and her eyes. He hoped that this one would stick. More than anything. He didn't want to see her break again.

"We'll have to go to the surgery tomorrow, so we can run a blood test," Harry said softly, re-entering the room.

"I hate that I keep hoping," Sarah sobbed, through tightly closed eyes. "Every time, I pray that this one, this one will stick. How can I love something that I never really had? How can it hurt so much to lose it?"

"We will do everything we possibly can Sarah," Harry said gently, smoothing her hair back to press another kiss to her forehead. "And whatever happens, we have each other Sarah, and all I need is you."

Sarah had smiled at him, smiled through the tears as they both tried not to hope too desperately for something that might never happen.

…

1981

She was perfect.

Big brown eyes, and already with an abundance of brown hair to match. She had ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. She was perfect.

Harry had seen many babies before, but seeing Sarah propped up by pillows, their baby in her arms, he decided that he might possibly be the happiest he had ever been before.

"Allison Lauren Smith-Sullivan," was announced in the papers the next day, "Born 23rd April 1981 to parents Sarah-Jane Smith-Sullivan and Harry Sullivan."

She was their little miracle.

A/N I wasn't going to give them a baby, but I couldn't help it! 3 Also, the conversation Alistair is referencing is one he has with Liz Shaw in my other story Reasons for Retirement, focussing on those two.

Also, Kudos to whoever spots the other BBC reference in here first! :p