The question should be, is it worth trying to do, not can it be done. -Allard Lowenstein
"Yes, Prime minister. I understand, Prime Minister." Emily bit her tongue for as long as it took to hang up the phone. "You're a bloody prat, Prime Minister."
She leaned back in her chair, one hand coming up to rub the tense spot on the side of her neck. Ten o'clock in the morning and she was already flagging; not too much of a surprise since she'd gotten all of tree hours of sleep last night. Nothing she could do about it now except make another trip to the coffee pot.
"Colonel." One of the new men - Watkins - saluted as she came out of the office and she acknowledged him with a brief nod as she walked past him. She'd told him once already that he didn't need to salute her in the office, but he was young and eager, still stuck on what the rule book said and the romance of being in the army. He'd learn soon enough.
"You look like you could use this more then I could." Three steps inside the break room door and a mug of coffee was thrust into her hands. The smell alone was enough the make the throbbing in her head ease a little.
"Do I really look that bad?" On her next day off - assuming she ever had another day off - she was going to Harrod's to buy a better brand of concealer. This one did sod all for hiding the dark marks under her eyes. "Please, don't answer that."
"You have the same look I used to see in the mirror after banging my head against too much red tape. Geneva?" Sir Alistair poured himself a new mug of coffee as he spoke.
"Downing Street." Despite the steam rising from the cup Emily took a gulp of the coffee. Given that it was halfway decent she knew Sir Alistair hadn't brewed this pot. The General was a man capable of many thing, but coffee making was not one of them. His tea, on the other hand, was a godsend. "The Prime Minister wanted am update on project Demeter. He seams to think I have nothing better to do then sit in my office filling him in on things he doesn't really understand. I thought when I assigned a new publicity officer I would have less of this pettyness to deal with, not more."
"I hope that's not why you accepted the promotion," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
"You know it isn't. But how do they expect me to get anything done if they want to speak to me every ten minutes; I have more important things to deal with. And when it's not the phone its the damn reports; in triplicate." She stopped herslef, taking a deep breath. He didn't need to listen to her whinging, but he was one of the few people she could relax around enough to be herself, not the show-no-cracks CO. Once there would have been jokes with Hoffman to release some of the tension. For a while there had been Robert to halve the load with her. Now there was only poor Sir Alistair who probably wished he had never said yes to coming back to UNIT, not with her bending his ear so often.
"I used to think of them as flies buzzing around a corpse. An annoyance, but not something that could ba avoided. Rather the same as I viewed reporters and yearly meetings in Geneva."
"I don't supposed you'd like to see Geneva again, would you?" She was due to go there in a few weeks.
"Not for a million pounds."
"It was worth a try." Her coffee was almost gone, and it was time to get back to work. There was a pile of paper on her desk, a debriefing in an hour and then there was the real work of planning tonight's mission. Half to herself she mused "Is it worth it, the pesks on top of all the rest?"
"I always thought it was. You'll have to come up with your own answer."
"Hmmm." Politicians, red tape, the highest death rate in the whole of the army, never knowing what was going to happen and not being able to tell anyone what UNIT was really all about. And yet here she was still, despite it all. Maybe her mother was right to question her sanity.
"Emily." Sir Alistair stopped her just as she was about to leave the break room.
"Yes?"
"Upon occasion it's alright to tell them to bog off." He laughed, a warm sound that reverberated off the walls. "I did, more then once."
Emily joined in the laughter. Whatever would she do without Sir Alistair? "Thank you. I needed that."
She leaned back in her chair, one hand coming up to rub the tense spot on the side of her neck. Ten o'clock in the morning and she was already flagging; not too much of a surprise since she'd gotten all of tree hours of sleep last night. Nothing she could do about it now except make another trip to the coffee pot.
"Colonel." One of the new men - Watkins - saluted as she came out of the office and she acknowledged him with a brief nod as she walked past him. She'd told him once already that he didn't need to salute her in the office, but he was young and eager, still stuck on what the rule book said and the romance of being in the army. He'd learn soon enough.
"You look like you could use this more then I could." Three steps inside the break room door and a mug of coffee was thrust into her hands. The smell alone was enough the make the throbbing in her head ease a little.
"Do I really look that bad?" On her next day off - assuming she ever had another day off - she was going to Harrod's to buy a better brand of concealer. This one did sod all for hiding the dark marks under her eyes. "Please, don't answer that."
"You have the same look I used to see in the mirror after banging my head against too much red tape. Geneva?" Sir Alistair poured himself a new mug of coffee as he spoke.
"Downing Street." Despite the steam rising from the cup Emily took a gulp of the coffee. Given that it was halfway decent she knew Sir Alistair hadn't brewed this pot. The General was a man capable of many thing, but coffee making was not one of them. His tea, on the other hand, was a godsend. "The Prime Minister wanted am update on project Demeter. He seams to think I have nothing better to do then sit in my office filling him in on things he doesn't really understand. I thought when I assigned a new publicity officer I would have less of this pettyness to deal with, not more."
"I hope that's not why you accepted the promotion," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
"You know it isn't. But how do they expect me to get anything done if they want to speak to me every ten minutes; I have more important things to deal with. And when it's not the phone its the damn reports; in triplicate." She stopped herslef, taking a deep breath. He didn't need to listen to her whinging, but he was one of the few people she could relax around enough to be herself, not the show-no-cracks CO. Once there would have been jokes with Hoffman to release some of the tension. For a while there had been Robert to halve the load with her. Now there was only poor Sir Alistair who probably wished he had never said yes to coming back to UNIT, not with her bending his ear so often.
"I used to think of them as flies buzzing around a corpse. An annoyance, but not something that could ba avoided. Rather the same as I viewed reporters and yearly meetings in Geneva."
"I don't supposed you'd like to see Geneva again, would you?" She was due to go there in a few weeks.
"Not for a million pounds."
"It was worth a try." Her coffee was almost gone, and it was time to get back to work. There was a pile of paper on her desk, a debriefing in an hour and then there was the real work of planning tonight's mission. Half to herself she mused "Is it worth it, the pesks on top of all the rest?"
"I always thought it was. You'll have to come up with your own answer."
"Hmmm." Politicians, red tape, the highest death rate in the whole of the army, never knowing what was going to happen and not being able to tell anyone what UNIT was really all about. And yet here she was still, despite it all. Maybe her mother was right to question her sanity.
"Emily." Sir Alistair stopped her just as she was about to leave the break room.
"Yes?"
"Upon occasion it's alright to tell them to bog off." He laughed, a warm sound that reverberated off the walls. "I did, more then once."
Emily joined in the laughter. Whatever would she do without Sir Alistair? "Thank you. I needed that."