A Doctor Who fic
Some day I will be able to write a real story with a plot and not just a short string of vaguely connected dialogues between characters and introspection. But, it is not this day.
Title: Priority
Pairing: Three/Brigadier
Rating: G
Word Count: 2710
Time Setting: Between "Inferno" and "Terror of the Autons"
Summary: Left without an assistant, the Doctor finds himself seeking out and welcoming the Brigadier's company.
A/N: G-rated slash, not very sexy, I know. It may not even come off too much as slash, you just have to squint in the right places. I greatly restrained myself and mention the swagger stick only twice.
Lethbridge-Stewart glanced at the paper, then back up at Liz Shaw. “I take it you've already spoken to the Doctor?”
“He wasn't exactly happy about it, but he said he understood.”
The Brigadier stood and came around the desk to take Liz's hand. “Very well, Miss Shaw. You've been a great help to us, but I know you've been itching to leave us the moment I brought you in.”
Not even as a pleasantry could Liz deny it. She smiled. “It's been an...experience, Brigadier. And do try to keep the Doctor out of too much trouble.”
“One can only try. Good-bye, Miss Shaw, and good luck.”
Liz left, closing the door behind her. Her heels clicking down the hall faded. The Brigadier sighed. He knew he ought to check on his Scientific Adviser, make sure he wasn't sulking too much.
The Doctor was standing at his work bench fidgeting with God knew what. He was muttering to himself rapidly, or possibly singing under his breath. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “I've just seen Miss Shaw off,” The Brigadier said by way of greeting, standing next to the Doctor.
The Doctor made a short “Hmmph” noise, but made no further comment.
“I know Miss Shaw's assistance was one of your requirements for staying on. I hope her departure doesn't mean-”
“Don't worry, Brigadier, I won't be leaving you. Yet,” he added softy, but still intentionally loud enough for the Brigadier to hear.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Of course this means I'm going to need - Please don't touch that!” The Doctor snatched away a small cylinder Lethbridge-Stewart was idly pushing along the counter with a finger. The Doctor glared at him around the jeweler's glass shoved firmly in his right eye. “Of course,” the Doctor repeated, “this means I'm going to need a new assistant.”
“Miss Shaw was good enough to give me a few names that she felt may be useful; and more than likely to pass our security checks. In the mean time, if you really need someone I could always have Corporal Bell help out once in while.”
“Oh no!” The Doctor let the jeweler's glass drop into his hand. “Not that I doubt Corporal Bell's competence, but the poor woman has far enough to do being your glorified secretary and pretending it's progress in your military's attempt at equality. I think I can manage well enough on my own for a few days.”
With that, the Doctor turned back to the gadget he was tinkering with when the Brigadier entered. The conversation was thus terminated. The Brigadier was once again left feeling excessively out of place in the Doctor's laboratory. Despite the facilities being in UNIT HQ and therefore technically still part of his command, it was entirely the Doctor's domain. And after only a three minute conversation, the Doctor managed to make him feel like a guest who has well overstayed his welcome.
Lethbridge-Stewart tapped his pen against the top most sheet of paper among a desk full of reports, memos, and notices. Ah, the thrills as head of a top secret organization.
“Brigadier!”
But for all the means of relief from the boredom, he would have preferred something other than an irate alien who had no concept of knocking. The Brigadier put his pen down and folded his hands on top the desk. “Is there something can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I should think so. It's been over a week since you've said you were going to find me a new assistant!” The Doctor made himself comfortable perching on the desk's edge across from the where the Brigadier was sitting. It was such a ridiculous posture for a grown man. It bothered the Brigadier every time. He had half a mind to take his swagger stick and nudge the man off.
“You do understand,” he said patiently, “that I do have several other priorities that must come first. And with the ever lurking threat of budget cuts, it will not help my position by hiring an assistant for a member of staff who doesn't entirely exist according to official records.”
“Ah yes, I see that budgetary priorities are going towards,” before the Brigadier could stop him, the Doctor slid one of the papers closer for a better look, “the acquisition of new uniforms for all military personnel.”
“It's been requested by the Ministry of Defense that we adopt the same uniforms as the Regular Army.” The Brigadier made it very clear in his tone that he too was less than convinced of its urgency. “Something about being less conspicuous, and more recognizable as an authority when dealing with civilians.”
“Can't trust a soldier in beige?” The Doctor laughed, and the Brigadier grabbed the paper back. “Still, I suppose it will be for the best. I imagine you're very dashing in green.” The Doctor stood. “Once you're done worrying over your men's fashion, do try to hurrying along finding me an assistant. Talking to myself so much is worrisome. It's the first sign of madness they say.”
“Are you sure it's the first sign you should be worrying about, Doctor?”
The Doctor stopped, already halfway out the door. He narrowed his eyes at the smirking Brigadier. “Hm, yes, very good.” And he shut the door behind him.
The distraction over, the Brigadier found himself wishing it had lasted a little longer. After all, he reasoned, deal with ill-tempered aliens was his main job, not signing off on Corporal Lacey's request for leave to visit his sister and her new born baby. He scribbled his signature and sighed.
The Doctor spent the entire day with the door to his lab locked. He even considered unplugging the phone, but that would have been extremely irresponsible if some sort of extraterrestrial incident occurred. He did get one call, from Lethbridge-Stewart, on behalf on the tea lady who was concerned when he didn't answer her knocks. He assured him he was just fine and merely trying to avoid meaningless interruptions such as the one he was engaging in at that very moment.
He was on his back, under the console (securely back inside the TARDIS), screwdriver clenched in his teeth. Simply trying to fix the dematerialization circuit was proving fruitless. The notion came to him that there ought to be some way to do some rewiring and bypass the need of the circuit all together. The concept would have been easy to try and carry out if he could just remember what some of those important-looking wires were actually for. Out of frustration, he grabbed a group of them and just pulled. He instantly regretted it. Standing, he patted the console. “Sorry, old girl. I didn't mean it.”
Humans had an interesting concept: you will remember something better once you've stopped thinking about it for a while. The Doctor stepped outside the TARDIS, surprised to find that it was dark already. He looked at his watch. It had been dark for some time, it was almost 1 A.M. He had considered taking a walk around the grounds to clear his head. But it was dark already, and raining, he noticed on the windows. Plus, he'd be stopped every five steps by armed guards wanting to see identification.
He decided to wander the halls instead. The late hour guaranteed he was undisturbed, any personnel left were huddled away taking the late-night shifts at phones and radars. Most would have found the usually busy halls being now quiet and still rather creepy. The Doctor found it pleasant. Every beast needs its rest, even the largest jungle cat seems harmless and peaceful when sleeping.
The Doctor wasn't overly surprised when he found himself just outside Lethbridge-Stewart's office. Most of the time he left his lab it was to stalk this way to issue his latest complaint to the Brigadier. He was a little surprised to see light coming out under the door. He opened the door and found the Brigadier slumped over his desk, asleep. It wasn't the first time the Doctor's found him such, and it made him feel guilty. For all his disagreements with the man, he did find himself starting to respect him, if grudgingly. He had the greater weight of the world on his shoulders, much more than any other man, or any other soldier. His devotion and loyalty to the task was admirable.
In the end, they both had the same cause: protecting people, saving the planet. They just couldn't agree on the methods or who exactly were defined as “people”. The Silurian incident would still gnaw at him, and it wasn't until that moment did he consider that the Brigadier could be dealing with that same feeling.
The Doctor wondered if he should wake him up, or let his sleep go uninterrupted.
The Doctor sat in an empty chair and contemplated the man before him. He knew he actually owed him a lot. He didn't know where'd he be if it wasn't UNIT that gotten a hold his TARDIS, or if the Brigadier hadn't come to the hospital looking for an old friend. Lethbridge-Stewart may definitely be a product of his training, but he also showed a far more open mind than most officers the Doctor had the misfortune to meet. The Brigadier has had to defend the Doctor's presence constantly, claiming him to be a “personal responsibility”, meaning each time the Doctor was rude to a civil servant, meddled in major projects, and used his unorthodox methods against regulations could all cast the Brigadier in as much bad light as the Doctor himself. It was touching, really.
Not that he could ever admit that. If he ever allowed himself to even think that he may like it here, to form meaningful relationships with anyone; it'd be like admitting defeat. He'd be giving up if he let himself get too comfy on this one world in this one time.
He got up and leaned over the desk to turn off the lamp. Hand on the switch he glanced down, and something caught his eye. Beneath the Brigadier's hand was a sheet of paper with a list of names on it. Each one was preceded with a “Dr.” and ended with “PhD.” The ones he read between the Brigadier's fingers were all crossed off with the word “DECLINED” written in neat, red printing underneath.
The Doctor turned the light off and left as quietly as he could.
When dealing with the TARDIS was getting too complicated, the Doctor found working on Bessie helped relieve some of that frustration, lessen his feeling of uselessness. Having the car made him feel less confined. Without his preferred mode of transportation, she was the next best means to get away from it all. Modifying her with anachronistic technology, well that was just to show off.
The positioning was awkward, getting under the dashboard to hook up the new controls. He didn't see or hear the Brigadier come in the garage. The tapping on the bonnet startled him, and he almost broke the connectors putting them together too hard. He sat up and glared at the Brigadier. “Kindly, refrain from doing that again! You'll leave a scuff mark, or dent her using that thing.” The Doctor nodded toward the swagger stick now tucked firmly under the Brigadier's arm.
The Brigadier ignored the Doctor's irate mood. “Thought I'd find you here.”
The Doctor fixed the dashboard cover back on. “Why, is there something the matter?”
“No, no. I just found it to be good protocol to keep tabs on some of my more restless staff.”
The Doctor was glad the Brigadier so accurately voiced the exact reason why he was making plans for the rest of the day. “I thought I'd test out a few of my new upgrades, take her out to the country. Anything really to get me away from four walls for a while.”
“At least take a radio with you for once. I don't like the idea of you being out of contact should something happen; here or to you.”
The Doctor slipped his coat on. “It's a nice day, Brigadier, why don't you come with me?”
The Brigadier scoffed. “I can't just drop everything, shirk my responsibilities to go for a joyride in the country.”
The Doctor was honestly crestfallen. “No, you can't. And that's just the problem, isn't it?” He got in Bessie and drove off. He knew he left the Brigadier standing there, eyebrows drawn together in confusion from yet another cryptic remark.
It was darker than usual in the Doctor's lab. The only lights on were the two lamps on the work bench. The Doctor sat on stool, leaning over the counter clearly writing something down. The Brigadier was loathed to interrupt him, but just then the pencil was put down, and the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Everything all right?"
"Yes, yes. It's just that...oh, you wouldn't understand a word of it anyway." If he was still grousing over his broken transport, the Brigadier was more than certain he was right. The Doctor swiveled the stool to face him. Immediately his eyebrows raised comically. "Well, I see you've gotten your new uniforms finally."
"You would have noticed sooner if you chose to crawl out from your cave once in a while."
The Doctor smiled and came toward him. "Doctor?" The Brigadier asked, when the other man hadn't said anything, but started tugging on the sleeves of the new uniform, adjusting the shoulders.
"Hmm? Yes, just a moment," the Doctor muttered. He rubbed his chin and started walking around him. If the Brigadier was the sort of man who blushed, he just might have done under such intent scrutiny. Luckily, he was not. The Doctor finished his fussing, taking a lapel in each hand and straightening those as well. His hands lingered there however. "I was right," he said softly, "very dashing in green."
Lethbridge-Stewart looked into the Doctor's eyes and recognized the sincerity there. It wasn't just another glib remark. The Doctor still hadn't let go, and they were standing very close to each other. The Brigadier wasn't quite sure if he was a man who didn't blush anymore. He drew in a long shaky breath and closed his eyes.
Then opened them again as he felt the Doctor release him and take a step back. "Yes, I suppose it'll do," The Doctor said. He turned and went back to his notepad, leaving the Brigadier standing in the middle of the room trying to collect himself from...from...whatever the bloody hell that was. He cleared his throat, letting the moment completely evaporate.
"I'm sure the Ministry will be relieved to know they've had their uniforms approved by a man who wears velvet and frills."
The Doctor's pencil stopped. "Good night, Brigadier."
The Brigadier was starting to get concerned with the lack of suspect security breaches, threatening paranormal anomalies, and alien invasion. Not that he'd ever be the sort of person to desire that sort of dangerous circumstance just to relieve his own boredom. Too often he had seen such calms before the storm. It worried him because it meant any day now something big was going to happen, something bad. Then he'd be spending the next year or so dealing with this particular big, bad thing; or a seemingly unending series of Dooms Day catastrophes.
Now he was being told over the phone that some political dodo was forcing him to take on his inexperienced niece. His arguments that UNIT was no place for a barely trained girl didn't fall on deaf ears. He was just reminded of this particular civil servant's power, and what it could mean to UNIT's already vulnerable budget if his favorite niece's dearest wish was denied.
The Brigadier noticed a paper airplane left on his desk. Letting the man on the other end of the line continue describing the blackmail, he unfolded the plane with curiosity. He smoothed it out flat on the desk to read the message on it. It was the Doctor's latest reminder of his lack of assistant. The Brigadier smiled, and returned his attention back the phone conversation. “Actually, I believe I may have a place for this girl after all.”
Title: Priority
Pairing: Three/Brigadier
Rating: G
Word Count: 2710
Time Setting: Between "Inferno" and "Terror of the Autons"
Summary: Left without an assistant, the Doctor finds himself seeking out and welcoming the Brigadier's company.
A/N: G-rated slash, not very sexy, I know. It may not even come off too much as slash, you just have to squint in the right places. I greatly restrained myself and mention the swagger stick only twice.
Lethbridge-Stewart glanced at the paper, then back up at Liz Shaw. “I take it you've already spoken to the Doctor?”
“He wasn't exactly happy about it, but he said he understood.”
The Brigadier stood and came around the desk to take Liz's hand. “Very well, Miss Shaw. You've been a great help to us, but I know you've been itching to leave us the moment I brought you in.”
Not even as a pleasantry could Liz deny it. She smiled. “It's been an...experience, Brigadier. And do try to keep the Doctor out of too much trouble.”
“One can only try. Good-bye, Miss Shaw, and good luck.”
Liz left, closing the door behind her. Her heels clicking down the hall faded. The Brigadier sighed. He knew he ought to check on his Scientific Adviser, make sure he wasn't sulking too much.
The Doctor was standing at his work bench fidgeting with God knew what. He was muttering to himself rapidly, or possibly singing under his breath. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. “I've just seen Miss Shaw off,” The Brigadier said by way of greeting, standing next to the Doctor.
The Doctor made a short “Hmmph” noise, but made no further comment.
“I know Miss Shaw's assistance was one of your requirements for staying on. I hope her departure doesn't mean-”
“Don't worry, Brigadier, I won't be leaving you. Yet,” he added softy, but still intentionally loud enough for the Brigadier to hear.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Of course this means I'm going to need - Please don't touch that!” The Doctor snatched away a small cylinder Lethbridge-Stewart was idly pushing along the counter with a finger. The Doctor glared at him around the jeweler's glass shoved firmly in his right eye. “Of course,” the Doctor repeated, “this means I'm going to need a new assistant.”
“Miss Shaw was good enough to give me a few names that she felt may be useful; and more than likely to pass our security checks. In the mean time, if you really need someone I could always have Corporal Bell help out once in while.”
“Oh no!” The Doctor let the jeweler's glass drop into his hand. “Not that I doubt Corporal Bell's competence, but the poor woman has far enough to do being your glorified secretary and pretending it's progress in your military's attempt at equality. I think I can manage well enough on my own for a few days.”
With that, the Doctor turned back to the gadget he was tinkering with when the Brigadier entered. The conversation was thus terminated. The Brigadier was once again left feeling excessively out of place in the Doctor's laboratory. Despite the facilities being in UNIT HQ and therefore technically still part of his command, it was entirely the Doctor's domain. And after only a three minute conversation, the Doctor managed to make him feel like a guest who has well overstayed his welcome.
Lethbridge-Stewart tapped his pen against the top most sheet of paper among a desk full of reports, memos, and notices. Ah, the thrills as head of a top secret organization.
“Brigadier!”
But for all the means of relief from the boredom, he would have preferred something other than an irate alien who had no concept of knocking. The Brigadier put his pen down and folded his hands on top the desk. “Is there something can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I should think so. It's been over a week since you've said you were going to find me a new assistant!” The Doctor made himself comfortable perching on the desk's edge across from the where the Brigadier was sitting. It was such a ridiculous posture for a grown man. It bothered the Brigadier every time. He had half a mind to take his swagger stick and nudge the man off.
“You do understand,” he said patiently, “that I do have several other priorities that must come first. And with the ever lurking threat of budget cuts, it will not help my position by hiring an assistant for a member of staff who doesn't entirely exist according to official records.”
“Ah yes, I see that budgetary priorities are going towards,” before the Brigadier could stop him, the Doctor slid one of the papers closer for a better look, “the acquisition of new uniforms for all military personnel.”
“It's been requested by the Ministry of Defense that we adopt the same uniforms as the Regular Army.” The Brigadier made it very clear in his tone that he too was less than convinced of its urgency. “Something about being less conspicuous, and more recognizable as an authority when dealing with civilians.”
“Can't trust a soldier in beige?” The Doctor laughed, and the Brigadier grabbed the paper back. “Still, I suppose it will be for the best. I imagine you're very dashing in green.” The Doctor stood. “Once you're done worrying over your men's fashion, do try to hurrying along finding me an assistant. Talking to myself so much is worrisome. It's the first sign of madness they say.”
“Are you sure it's the first sign you should be worrying about, Doctor?”
The Doctor stopped, already halfway out the door. He narrowed his eyes at the smirking Brigadier. “Hm, yes, very good.” And he shut the door behind him.
The distraction over, the Brigadier found himself wishing it had lasted a little longer. After all, he reasoned, deal with ill-tempered aliens was his main job, not signing off on Corporal Lacey's request for leave to visit his sister and her new born baby. He scribbled his signature and sighed.
The Doctor spent the entire day with the door to his lab locked. He even considered unplugging the phone, but that would have been extremely irresponsible if some sort of extraterrestrial incident occurred. He did get one call, from Lethbridge-Stewart, on behalf on the tea lady who was concerned when he didn't answer her knocks. He assured him he was just fine and merely trying to avoid meaningless interruptions such as the one he was engaging in at that very moment.
He was on his back, under the console (securely back inside the TARDIS), screwdriver clenched in his teeth. Simply trying to fix the dematerialization circuit was proving fruitless. The notion came to him that there ought to be some way to do some rewiring and bypass the need of the circuit all together. The concept would have been easy to try and carry out if he could just remember what some of those important-looking wires were actually for. Out of frustration, he grabbed a group of them and just pulled. He instantly regretted it. Standing, he patted the console. “Sorry, old girl. I didn't mean it.”
Humans had an interesting concept: you will remember something better once you've stopped thinking about it for a while. The Doctor stepped outside the TARDIS, surprised to find that it was dark already. He looked at his watch. It had been dark for some time, it was almost 1 A.M. He had considered taking a walk around the grounds to clear his head. But it was dark already, and raining, he noticed on the windows. Plus, he'd be stopped every five steps by armed guards wanting to see identification.
He decided to wander the halls instead. The late hour guaranteed he was undisturbed, any personnel left were huddled away taking the late-night shifts at phones and radars. Most would have found the usually busy halls being now quiet and still rather creepy. The Doctor found it pleasant. Every beast needs its rest, even the largest jungle cat seems harmless and peaceful when sleeping.
The Doctor wasn't overly surprised when he found himself just outside Lethbridge-Stewart's office. Most of the time he left his lab it was to stalk this way to issue his latest complaint to the Brigadier. He was a little surprised to see light coming out under the door. He opened the door and found the Brigadier slumped over his desk, asleep. It wasn't the first time the Doctor's found him such, and it made him feel guilty. For all his disagreements with the man, he did find himself starting to respect him, if grudgingly. He had the greater weight of the world on his shoulders, much more than any other man, or any other soldier. His devotion and loyalty to the task was admirable.
In the end, they both had the same cause: protecting people, saving the planet. They just couldn't agree on the methods or who exactly were defined as “people”. The Silurian incident would still gnaw at him, and it wasn't until that moment did he consider that the Brigadier could be dealing with that same feeling.
The Doctor wondered if he should wake him up, or let his sleep go uninterrupted.
The Doctor sat in an empty chair and contemplated the man before him. He knew he actually owed him a lot. He didn't know where'd he be if it wasn't UNIT that gotten a hold his TARDIS, or if the Brigadier hadn't come to the hospital looking for an old friend. Lethbridge-Stewart may definitely be a product of his training, but he also showed a far more open mind than most officers the Doctor had the misfortune to meet. The Brigadier has had to defend the Doctor's presence constantly, claiming him to be a “personal responsibility”, meaning each time the Doctor was rude to a civil servant, meddled in major projects, and used his unorthodox methods against regulations could all cast the Brigadier in as much bad light as the Doctor himself. It was touching, really.
Not that he could ever admit that. If he ever allowed himself to even think that he may like it here, to form meaningful relationships with anyone; it'd be like admitting defeat. He'd be giving up if he let himself get too comfy on this one world in this one time.
He got up and leaned over the desk to turn off the lamp. Hand on the switch he glanced down, and something caught his eye. Beneath the Brigadier's hand was a sheet of paper with a list of names on it. Each one was preceded with a “Dr.” and ended with “PhD.” The ones he read between the Brigadier's fingers were all crossed off with the word “DECLINED” written in neat, red printing underneath.
The Doctor turned the light off and left as quietly as he could.
When dealing with the TARDIS was getting too complicated, the Doctor found working on Bessie helped relieve some of that frustration, lessen his feeling of uselessness. Having the car made him feel less confined. Without his preferred mode of transportation, she was the next best means to get away from it all. Modifying her with anachronistic technology, well that was just to show off.
The positioning was awkward, getting under the dashboard to hook up the new controls. He didn't see or hear the Brigadier come in the garage. The tapping on the bonnet startled him, and he almost broke the connectors putting them together too hard. He sat up and glared at the Brigadier. “Kindly, refrain from doing that again! You'll leave a scuff mark, or dent her using that thing.” The Doctor nodded toward the swagger stick now tucked firmly under the Brigadier's arm.
The Brigadier ignored the Doctor's irate mood. “Thought I'd find you here.”
The Doctor fixed the dashboard cover back on. “Why, is there something the matter?”
“No, no. I just found it to be good protocol to keep tabs on some of my more restless staff.”
The Doctor was glad the Brigadier so accurately voiced the exact reason why he was making plans for the rest of the day. “I thought I'd test out a few of my new upgrades, take her out to the country. Anything really to get me away from four walls for a while.”
“At least take a radio with you for once. I don't like the idea of you being out of contact should something happen; here or to you.”
The Doctor slipped his coat on. “It's a nice day, Brigadier, why don't you come with me?”
The Brigadier scoffed. “I can't just drop everything, shirk my responsibilities to go for a joyride in the country.”
The Doctor was honestly crestfallen. “No, you can't. And that's just the problem, isn't it?” He got in Bessie and drove off. He knew he left the Brigadier standing there, eyebrows drawn together in confusion from yet another cryptic remark.
It was darker than usual in the Doctor's lab. The only lights on were the two lamps on the work bench. The Doctor sat on stool, leaning over the counter clearly writing something down. The Brigadier was loathed to interrupt him, but just then the pencil was put down, and the Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Everything all right?"
"Yes, yes. It's just that...oh, you wouldn't understand a word of it anyway." If he was still grousing over his broken transport, the Brigadier was more than certain he was right. The Doctor swiveled the stool to face him. Immediately his eyebrows raised comically. "Well, I see you've gotten your new uniforms finally."
"You would have noticed sooner if you chose to crawl out from your cave once in a while."
The Doctor smiled and came toward him. "Doctor?" The Brigadier asked, when the other man hadn't said anything, but started tugging on the sleeves of the new uniform, adjusting the shoulders.
"Hmm? Yes, just a moment," the Doctor muttered. He rubbed his chin and started walking around him. If the Brigadier was the sort of man who blushed, he just might have done under such intent scrutiny. Luckily, he was not. The Doctor finished his fussing, taking a lapel in each hand and straightening those as well. His hands lingered there however. "I was right," he said softly, "very dashing in green."
Lethbridge-Stewart looked into the Doctor's eyes and recognized the sincerity there. It wasn't just another glib remark. The Doctor still hadn't let go, and they were standing very close to each other. The Brigadier wasn't quite sure if he was a man who didn't blush anymore. He drew in a long shaky breath and closed his eyes.
Then opened them again as he felt the Doctor release him and take a step back. "Yes, I suppose it'll do," The Doctor said. He turned and went back to his notepad, leaving the Brigadier standing in the middle of the room trying to collect himself from...from...whatever the bloody hell that was. He cleared his throat, letting the moment completely evaporate.
"I'm sure the Ministry will be relieved to know they've had their uniforms approved by a man who wears velvet and frills."
The Doctor's pencil stopped. "Good night, Brigadier."
The Brigadier was starting to get concerned with the lack of suspect security breaches, threatening paranormal anomalies, and alien invasion. Not that he'd ever be the sort of person to desire that sort of dangerous circumstance just to relieve his own boredom. Too often he had seen such calms before the storm. It worried him because it meant any day now something big was going to happen, something bad. Then he'd be spending the next year or so dealing with this particular big, bad thing; or a seemingly unending series of Dooms Day catastrophes.
Now he was being told over the phone that some political dodo was forcing him to take on his inexperienced niece. His arguments that UNIT was no place for a barely trained girl didn't fall on deaf ears. He was just reminded of this particular civil servant's power, and what it could mean to UNIT's already vulnerable budget if his favorite niece's dearest wish was denied.
The Brigadier noticed a paper airplane left on his desk. Letting the man on the other end of the line continue describing the blackmail, he unfolded the plane with curiosity. He smoothed it out flat on the desk to read the message on it. It was the Doctor's latest reminder of his lack of assistant. The Brigadier smiled, and returned his attention back the phone conversation. “Actually, I believe I may have a place for this girl after all.”