DOCTOR WHO: The Gates of Downing Street
Title: The Gates of Downing Street
Characters/Pairing: Harriet Jones and the Master, mention of the Doctor
Word Count: 746
Rating: PG
Summary: Harriet meets someone in front of Downing Street, and is reminded of herself.
Notes: Started for whoniverse1000, but someone got there ahead of me. Also written for itsproductivity.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all characters belong to the BBC, and I'm not making any money from this.
Harriet Jones never did stay at 10 Downing Street. It wasn't rebuilt, after all, until after she handed in her resignation, and in a way, she was glad for that. It had been fixed in her mind as the place she met the Doctor- her Doctor- and Rose, terrifying and exhilarating and unique, the perfect moment of climbing out of the rubble and realizing they were still alive.
She wasn't sure she could bear to wear that down with day-to-day life.
Even so, she took a walk past the newly rebuilt building the day before the election. It seemed strange to her that it looked just the same as ever, the gates and the brick and the black door that had always seemed strangely imposing to her, like it was never destroyed at all. Stranger was the man standing in front of the gates, studying the building with an expression Harriet couldn't quite parse.
"I would have thought you'd have other things to do today," she said, approaching him, and added as he turned to face her, "Harriet Jones, former prime minister." It was the first time she had said that, and came easier than she had expected.
Harold Saxon smiled like a self-satisfied cat. "I know who you are." He didn't bother introducing himself, unsurprisingly. There wasn't a person in the country who didn't know his face. "I would have thought you'd have more interesting things to do today."
"You'd be surprised how little anyone wants to do with me these days. To be perfectly honest, I'm somewhat relieved." The street seemed oddly empty - no one on the sidewalk but the two of them, not a car driving by. She stopped thinking about it when she looked up and met Harold Saxon's eyes.
"I would imagine. It is a pleasure to meet you, though. I've heard... so many things about you." Harriet opened her mouth to say that she wasn't certain that was a compliment, but Saxon spoke first. It wasn't often someone managed to get words out ahead of her, and he spoke so calmly, not talking over her, just an even, strangely comforting rhythm to his speech, just beneath the level of perception. "I never thought it entirely fair, how quickly public opinion turned against you."
Harriet pressed her lips together, considered glancing away, down the street, and found she couldn't quite break his steady, intent gaze. "Thank you, but fair hardly matters in the court of public opinion."
"It seems it should when one man turns it against you."
Harriet stopped, and eyed the man, and just for the briefest moment thought she saw another man in his smile, an ancient and reckless and brand new, same old man. There's something not unfamiliar about Harold Saxon's smile. "How did you know?"
"Equal parts asking the right questions and knowing the Doctor a bit too well. He- was an old friend."
Harriet decided not to question the pause between "he" and "was". Decided not to comment that the Doctor tended to remain an old friend until the precise moment one violated his own very specific, unwritten morality, because surely Mr. Saxon knew that already. She did mention that she was going to lunch, and that he was welcome to come if he had the time, and they walked away from the residence he would soon live in and she never had, arm in arm.
The next day, the Toclafane contacted Harold Saxon, and Harriet Jones watched it on television.
The day after that, the Toclafane murdered the American president on a UNIT ship, and Harold Saxon was shot by his wife. Harriet Jones wanted to grieve - he had been a good man, so far as she could tell, pleasant to talk to, and she had liked him. Instead, she felt a little sick. Instead, she wondered if Harold Saxon was the sort of man the Doctor would have liked as prime minister, who welcomed aliens with open arms and a smile. She wondered if this was what happened to that sort of man.
She wondered what he had done to the Doctor or the Doctor done to him, to make him speak of the Doctor the way he did. She wondered if either of them either forgave the other.
She did not wonder if the Doctor would forgive her, but she did wonder if she'd ever have the chance to forgive him.
Characters/Pairing: Harriet Jones and the Master, mention of the Doctor
Word Count: 746
Rating: PG
Summary: Harriet meets someone in front of Downing Street, and is reminded of herself.
Notes: Started for whoniverse1000, but someone got there ahead of me. Also written for itsproductivity.
Disclaimer: Doctor Who and all characters belong to the BBC, and I'm not making any money from this.
Harriet Jones never did stay at 10 Downing Street. It wasn't rebuilt, after all, until after she handed in her resignation, and in a way, she was glad for that. It had been fixed in her mind as the place she met the Doctor- her Doctor- and Rose, terrifying and exhilarating and unique, the perfect moment of climbing out of the rubble and realizing they were still alive.
She wasn't sure she could bear to wear that down with day-to-day life.
Even so, she took a walk past the newly rebuilt building the day before the election. It seemed strange to her that it looked just the same as ever, the gates and the brick and the black door that had always seemed strangely imposing to her, like it was never destroyed at all. Stranger was the man standing in front of the gates, studying the building with an expression Harriet couldn't quite parse.
"I would have thought you'd have other things to do today," she said, approaching him, and added as he turned to face her, "Harriet Jones, former prime minister." It was the first time she had said that, and came easier than she had expected.
Harold Saxon smiled like a self-satisfied cat. "I know who you are." He didn't bother introducing himself, unsurprisingly. There wasn't a person in the country who didn't know his face. "I would have thought you'd have more interesting things to do today."
"You'd be surprised how little anyone wants to do with me these days. To be perfectly honest, I'm somewhat relieved." The street seemed oddly empty - no one on the sidewalk but the two of them, not a car driving by. She stopped thinking about it when she looked up and met Harold Saxon's eyes.
"I would imagine. It is a pleasure to meet you, though. I've heard... so many things about you." Harriet opened her mouth to say that she wasn't certain that was a compliment, but Saxon spoke first. It wasn't often someone managed to get words out ahead of her, and he spoke so calmly, not talking over her, just an even, strangely comforting rhythm to his speech, just beneath the level of perception. "I never thought it entirely fair, how quickly public opinion turned against you."
Harriet pressed her lips together, considered glancing away, down the street, and found she couldn't quite break his steady, intent gaze. "Thank you, but fair hardly matters in the court of public opinion."
"It seems it should when one man turns it against you."
Harriet stopped, and eyed the man, and just for the briefest moment thought she saw another man in his smile, an ancient and reckless and brand new, same old man. There's something not unfamiliar about Harold Saxon's smile. "How did you know?"
"Equal parts asking the right questions and knowing the Doctor a bit too well. He- was an old friend."
Harriet decided not to question the pause between "he" and "was". Decided not to comment that the Doctor tended to remain an old friend until the precise moment one violated his own very specific, unwritten morality, because surely Mr. Saxon knew that already. She did mention that she was going to lunch, and that he was welcome to come if he had the time, and they walked away from the residence he would soon live in and she never had, arm in arm.
The next day, the Toclafane contacted Harold Saxon, and Harriet Jones watched it on television.
The day after that, the Toclafane murdered the American president on a UNIT ship, and Harold Saxon was shot by his wife. Harriet Jones wanted to grieve - he had been a good man, so far as she could tell, pleasant to talk to, and she had liked him. Instead, she felt a little sick. Instead, she wondered if Harold Saxon was the sort of man the Doctor would have liked as prime minister, who welcomed aliens with open arms and a smile. She wondered if this was what happened to that sort of man.
She wondered what he had done to the Doctor or the Doctor done to him, to make him speak of the Doctor the way he did. She wondered if either of them either forgave the other.
She did not wonder if the Doctor would forgive her, but she did wonder if she'd ever have the chance to forgive him.