#bollockingunit

A trip into Switzerland was more stressful than a lot of people would let on, Kate decided. For one: this particular instance was much more rushed than what any tourist would likely experience, let alone regular—though still frantic—people wasting the scenery and cosmopolitan culture of a Geneva outing on something as dull as business. She had gotten the call in the dead of night, waking up not only herself, but the rest of her family as well as they sat around the television set in the family room, passed out in their respective spots as they attempted to stay up and see the votes results as they started to come in. Malcolm had jolted completely upright from his spot using her lap as a pillow, Conall had fallen off the arm chair, and Fiona roused from being slumped over on the coffee table, napping nearly atop her laptop computer. Their stomachs dropped when they saw the caller ID: Geneva.

Fuck.

There was no time to vocalize any foul language, however—she had answered immediately. “Fuck, lov—!” Malcolm got her free hand covering his mouth—shut the fuck up.

“Stewart speaking.”

“I take it you’ve been watching the reports.” She had froze for just a tic too long. “Report to HQ at oh-nine-hundred hours. Local time.”

No introduction, no explanation, no anything; just orders.

Shit in a shovel—she had been summoned to UNIT’s Geneva HQ.

Thus started a panicked rush to get everything in place for her to head over to Switzerland for maybe one day, maybe four—who the fuck knew? She was bleary-eyed and completely knackered after no more additional sleep by the time Malcolm drove them back into the elevated carpark for the Mainframe before the sun rose, an email coming through on her mobile as they reached the roof.

“What the absolute hell is going on?” It was Bambera, and she did not have to be there in person to let it be known that she was livid.

A bit of attempting a slight bit of damage control later (because most people, yes, would understandably flip the fuck out if their boss arrived to work sixteen hours early after a potentially life-changing national vote), Kate stepped onto a plane, accompanied by a small detail. Malcolm had wanted to come along, be there for her when she needed to duck into a cupboard and get some frustration out, yet she forbade it—who else would she trust to run the show if she was detained for a week or more? Instead it was her son, along with Aparajita, an Osgood, Ji-Yu, and Dr. Shaw; with most of her departments and the Tripartite being represented, she was at least confident with the image she was presenting. Kate Stewart was taking this summons very seriously.

For two: there were not necessarily that many people that could go and say they were being dragged to Switzerland to be bollocked, of all things.

“I don’t like this, Mum,” Gordon frowned. He was in his dress kit, looking as though he was about ready to pass out in fear. UNIT Headquarters was positively swarming with soldiers, many armed to the teeth, making it clear that it was not just a bunch of international diplomats and scientists at-play. Ji-Yu and Osgood had wandered off in the crowd, leaving the four to linger by the lobby wall while waiting for them to catch up. “This is not sitting well.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Aparajita scowled. She was texting furiously on her mobile, trying to give direction to Shaw the Lesser from a distance so that the tit didn’t commit suicide-by-Tucker. “If this summons were any clearer, we would have been told to bring a belt or cane of our choosing with which to beat us.”

“It’s not that bad,” Gordon claimed. He looked at Kate, whose deadpan expression was all he needed. “It is that bad, isn’t it?”

“It’s very, very bad,” Dr. Shaw affirmed. “In my experience, it should be the grand retirements you get called to the central command for, not because some children got pissy over having the same passports as the French.” She leaned against the wall and shrugged as indifferently as possible. “We’re not here for cake and party crackers, that’s for certain.”

Stomach dropping, Kate could feel the stares of the other higher-ranking UNIT members wandering around, going about their business. It was likely that they were going to all reconvene later, after her admonishment for something that she had no control over whatsoever, and pick up the pieces that she was about to be forced to drop. All thirty-one other Mainframe Heads were likely off in a conference room somewhere, starting a betting pool over the what, when, where, and how of her eventual demise. Even amongst Old Guard, not many had as much riding on the meeting as she did… shit,  even Gordon had a chance of escaping this alive, career intact after a transfer, but her…? Everything she ever was or would be depended on it.

“Sorry about that,” Ji-Yu said as she and Osgood approached the group again. “I saw one of my old classmates from uni and needed to introduce Osgood to him—whiz at quantum mechanics. He’s working over in Tanja at the moment; they're here to answer for the Referendum as well.”

“Something tells me that Tanja’s fate and ours are going to be two completely different things,” Kate reminded her. She then took a calming breath—they could do this. “Are we ready?”

“If I were any more ready, I’d’ve taken up nicotine patches in lieu of smoking,” Aparajita quipped. Kate rolled her eyes and began the walk over towards their designated bollocking-session. It was too early, too soon after the vote, and too knee-jerk a reaction, in her opinion. Let the chips finish falling before allowing the gulls to come over and raid the bounty.

The conference room they were ushered into was hushed and grim, a distinct difference from the last time Kate was there. The only other summons she had for this particular chamber, it was for her appointment to head Mainframe UK. Now… it was grim, with a distinct chill in the air that had been absent before. A collection of forty-three varying policy-makers and career soldiers were already there, preparing for the session in their tiered seating, some staring as the newcomers walked into the room. The group from Mainframe UK sat down at the tables opposite their jury and judges, prepared for the worst.

“Everyone seems so serious,” Kate said, her tone attempting to lighten the mood slightly. General Bambera, who was at the front of the group, frowned grimly.

“Everyone merely knows the implications that have been raised with the recent vote,” she replied. She glanced to her right, where a sour-faced man was shuffling through some papers. “Mister Secretary?”

“Brigadier-Director Stewart, we cannot overlook this situation we have staring back at us from the United Kingdom,” he stated. “Polling numbers are coming in that are tipping the scale towards a Leave vote. The best-case scenario is going to be that there is a referendum of the referendum, nullifying and making this whole fuss moot before any motion was officially filed.”

“…and none of us here are fool enough to think that would ever be the case,” Kate said calmly. So much for bureaucratic rigmarole to slosh through first before getting to the meat and potatoes of the occasion. “You make it sound as though I directly told people to vote Leave in order to spite everything we've fought so hard to build… to spite everything my father poured his soul into in lieu of paying attention to me as a child.”

“You don’t need to tell me your family history,” the Secretary said. “You Lethbridge-Stewarts are sneaky, popping up when I least expect them.” His attention turned towards Gordon, whom he considered carefully. “Another one? You are like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“My son is not the concern here, but the situation we have found ourselves in,” Kate said, attempting to railroad the conversation back. “You summoned me because you have a plan, or a request for a plan, or something for us over at Mainframe UK. I have complied, arrived at short-notice, and brought along representatives from much of my staff. What do you have, Mister Secretary?”

“What I have is your husband’s file,” the Secretary said, voice nearly menacing. He picked up the manila folder and jabbed it towards her before bringing it back towards him and opening it up. “Worked in Whitehall for years—three different Prime Ministers—and he seemingly operated independently of them… almost giving some orders of his own.”

“The Government is different now… the Opposition is different… he would not have the same impact as before.”

“That does not change the fact that he is a former Whitehall insider with access to many of the people who are either making decisions, or the people who have access to the people making decisions,” a woman in a back row added. “Why is Lieutenant-Colonel Tucker not here?”

“He is my second-in-command,” Kate said. “Mainframe personnel recognize him as a competent and capable substitute in my absence. He has handled multiple emergencies in my stead when I have not been available.”

“…and where were you during these emergencies?”

“We thought she was dead at least one of the times, so it’s not like she was ignoring her duty,” Aparajita said firmly. The woman looked at her, brow furrowing.

“…and who are you…?”

“Khan—I’ve been working as Tucker’s assistant for the past six years, three years with his predecessor prior to that. I know what he is capable of in a way that Director Stewart is unable to grasp due to the nature of her relationships with him. He is precisely where he belongs right now, and not because he has had to fill in for our Director’s inequities. If she has any then they are left at home. I am here because I am his second-in-command; I might not be the correct person to handle the Mainframe in her entirety, but I am more than qualified to be his additional eyes and ears in front of a council of stuffed shirts and washed-up crossing guards.”

Their jury took note, a few murmuring with one another. Few of them appreciated Aparajita’s sharp tongue, though they could not argue against her defense of her bosses, not with how clear and confidently she spoke.

“Do the rest of you echo this sentiment?” the woman asked.

“Mister Tucker is a bit unorthodox, but a professional all the same,” Osgood replied. “His leadership skills are invaluable when Director Stewart is unavailable.”

“Agreed,” Gordon echoed.

“I’ve been under the command of many different men and women,” Ji-Yu added, “and Tucker and Stewart are two of the best. Whatever brought them to the decision for him to remain at the Mainframe is sound enough reasoning for me.”

“Solid logic as any,” Bambera said.

“You also are predisposed to say so,” the Secretary replied. He frowned at the guests, though exhaled in irritation. “What about you, Dr. Shaw? Do you have a glowing review of this literal felon as well?”

“A felon…?” The scientist feigned shock and leaned forward so she could look down the table at Kate. “Living a bit on the wild side, are we?”

“Not now, Dr. Shaw…”

“Tucker is the reason I’m back at the Mainframe,” the older woman said, returning her attention to the council before them. “If you have an issue with his leadership roles, then you should have thought of that before authorizing his hiring into a role that involved… well, precisely that.”

A couple snickers came from the interrogators and the Secretary scowled. “Then I guess, as of this moment, we have little choice for the time being but to deal with the matter at-hand best we can; it still does not change the fact we need to deploy Tucker to Whitehall in order to influence policy, lest we need to upgrade the Ireland Auxiliary to the area’s Mainframe."

“Tucker has been in active political games against most of the people currently within Whitehall,” Kate reminded them. She kept a mask of calm, not wanting to betray the fact she was absolutely mortified at the idea of UNIT pulling the entire Mainframe out of the UK, where they were needed. It was not as though Ireland was without want, but their auxiliary more than handled the island, where as the Mainframe itself… it was simply imperative it stayed put for more reasons than her vanity. “I doubt they’d be willing to have a friendly chat with him when the last time they spoke, he threatened to eviscerate them and spread their entrails across several ridings should a policy go awry.”

“I thought you said he was a professional,” another military woman said. “Professionals don’t threaten violence like that.”

“Have you ever tried getting a politician to get their head out of their own arse for long enough to function properly?” Kate posited. “It occasionally takes some strong language and vivid details in regards to the consequences, let alone making it clear there might be consequences at all. Threats can be the same as love letters in that line of work.”

“As someone who used to deal with some of their lot as their incompetence was ripening,” Dr. Shaw added, “the Brigadier-Director is being kind in her assessment.”

“So then he cannot aide UNIT in gaining favorable positions within Brexit negotiations?”

“We’ll be lucky if he can make it in past the Number 10 cat, let alone to anyone with a position that can lead to policy molding,” Kate said. “The crowd in power has no fealty to, nor fear of, him like other Governments did.”

“Pity.” The Secretary closed the file folder in irritation. “Then why, pray tell, did we authorize commuting a decades-long prison sentence, allowing him to walk free with the assumption that he would help keep the British government in line?”

“Sir,” Aparajita interrupted, “that was done under a coalition government, completely different than the one we currently have in place. Demographics within the British Government and Opposition have shifted and the political landscape is no longer like it was when Mister Tucker was released.”

“She is correct,” Kate added. “To think that he has the same effect in a different environment is to completely ignore the politicking that got us a Leave vote to begin with.”

“They have a point,” an American shrugged. “It’d be like siccing him on whomever gets to move into the White House next year; you can do it, sure, but I don’t know how well it’ll work.”

“The Yank has spoken,” an Indian man joked. A couple others snickered in response.

“I’m all for cussing more, but I’m just saying,” the American replied. “Why didn’t we summon Tucker as well, if you wanted to grill him so hard?”

“I shouldn’t need to request individuals when it’s clear the highest in command persons are needed,” the Secretary said. “Do you have a plan in place, Stewart? You clearly have had time to think about the possible outcomes.”

“We were prepared to formulate plans starting today, adjusting as the climate changed,” Kate said. “We have the barebones already, and are merely preparing to add the details, since we don’t know how negotiations with the EU are going to be approached.”

“Then you have three months to report back on your contingency plans,” the Secretary ordered. “We need you to be as thorough as possible.”

“What happens if there is not enough to go on that would constitute the makings of a plan?” Gordon wondered.

“You better come additionally prepared,” the Secretary decided. “Now leave, and hope that we don’t need to put in a few thousand transfer notices in a few months.”

“Yes, sir.”

Kate stood and, without making sure the others were following, left the conference room. She went down corridors until she found an empty hall, slipping in to give herself a moment. When she turned back towards the door, she saw that her coworkers had followed, and that Ji-Yu was working on locking the door behind them.

“Jesus fuck,” she shivered. Kate’s whole body began to shake and she started to feel weak-kneed. Gordon sat her down in one of the chairs and watched as she began to crumble. “This is not going to be pretty.”

“No one ever said it was going to be pretty, whether the Referendum passed or not,” Aparajita said.

“It’s ascended past ‘not pretty’ and gone straight towards ‘total disaster’,” Ji-Yu frowned.

“That’s putting it nicely,” Osgood said through clenched teeth.

“Just SHUT UP!” Kate snapped, raising her voice. “We get the bloody point!”

“Mum, please…”

“We are both on-duty—it’s Brigadier-Director,” she fired back. “I am not about to lay down and let everything that our predecessors fought and bled for to just die, just because a bunch of racist, Thatcherite cunts were able to find a scapegoat for the fact that half the bloody world is no longer ours to exploit at their leisure! We’re not perfect, but that doesn’t mean we deserve to eliminate all that hard work!”

“…but Granddad…”

“…is not here right now!” Her fingers could not stop twitching as her world was crashing down all around her. “He’s not here, and at the first available opportunity, those fucking wankers are ready to piss on his grave and dismantle everything he and the rest of the Old Guard did! The only reason UNIT as a whole exists in the form it does is because of them! Because of him! Fuck!” She let the tears flow from her eyes as she sunk down to fold her arms on the table, resting her forehead on them. Every bit of her felt wobbly and angry, like she needed to be sick all over the mockingly-standardized office rug beneath her. “They’re pathetic.”

The others all glanced at one another, not entirely certain how to approach not only their Director, but their mother, friend, and reminder of those already gone. She was grieving all over again, making her nerves more raw and exposed than they'd seen in a long time, if ever, especially since she was very clearly channeling her husband. A chill washed over Kate and she visibly shivered. “Let’s get out of here before I get sick.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Gordon agreed. “How about it ladies? Osgood? I think we all could use a bit of a rest before heading back to the mainframe.”

“I think, maybe, that would be best,” Aparajita agreed. She offered Kate a hand up as she stood, noticing how truly shaky she was. “Don’t those cunts know how we’ve been operating with relative ease as of late? It's not like we’ve fallen into one of our turnover bouts.”

“Tanja’s in one, from what I hear,” Ji-Yu offered. “Maybe that’ll help us in the end.”

“We need all the advantage we can get,” Aparajita said.

She passed the Brigadier-Director over to Gordon and the group carefully went on their way towards the barracks, where they were able to rest in peace. They were careful to avoid running into anyone, or talking to old acquaintances and transferees, and were able to snatch up a trio of short-term visitors’ suites all next to one another. It was only bunks and some chairs and a table, but it was enough room for them to plop themselves down two to a room. Gordon made a sweep of the suite Kate and him were sharing and found it to his satisfaction before sinking onto his own bunk.

“Is Fiona with Conall?” he asked, trying to come up with something different—something normal—to talk about. His mother had already laid down and was staring at the ceiling. “Mum…?”

“Yeah; she’s with him.”

“Wasn’t she supposed to be at work today?”

“No.”

The young man frowned—whether it was his boss or his mum, this wasn't going to do. “You’re scaring me.” She allowed her head to fall to the side, looking at him dully. “Don’t make me bring Granddad into this again.”

“Fuck… I don’t need this… not from them, not from the council, not from you…”

“Then who from?”

Not wanting to answer that, Kate rolled over, facing the drab grey wall of the barracks, blocking him out instead. Her mind was going at hundreds of miles per hour, and all of them were shit.

“I guess I’ll get some sleep as well—the flight back’s going to need me in decent shape,” Gordon said. He laid down and ignored his mum; he was going to try again later.

Except, what he didn’t know, was that she was fighting back tears, allowing herself a more private moment. What she wanted was to simply fuck off back to Mainframe UK and get her husband in a panic room for a few hours before regrouping, but she couldn’t. Not for a few hours at the least… but those few hours were going to be hellish in the meantime.

Once she heard her son snoring quietly, Kate reached into her pocket and brought out her personal mobile, unlocking the screen and pulling up a photo of her father. More a photo of a photo, she had snapped the image from an album last time she went to visit Benton and his wife, having found the ghost of miscellaneous members of the Old Guard to be intriguing. The Elder Osgood was there, carrying a bunch of drinks over to the table at the pub, where her father was sitting along with Benton, the Doctor, Yates, and a few others from back in the 1970’s. Benton had told her it was one of the photos Jo Grant had taken during their many exploits; for her, it was a rare glimpse of the man who seemed so aloof and absent, who she only really began to understand once she began working with him. To see him mid-drink wasn’t anything new, but in such a relaxed setting while so young… it was an odd, completely foreign thing to her.

After a moment, she swiped through her pictures until she found a different photo: one of Gordon and Fiona as children, possibly around 2003 based on the length of her son’s hair. Another few photos and there was her older two with her father, with her mother, with their other siblings, at this house and that place, and she thought about everything she and her father had missed because of UNIT… all to be washed away if the council didn’t think it worth working with the UK anymore to stay where they were.

She came across a photo of Malcolm and Conall, the latter sitting atop the former’s shoulder as they watched television. Shoulder—Malcolm’s left shoulder, specifically, like a bloody parrot—why of all the places? He hadn’t sat like that before or since, meaning she was a bit glad that she had captured the moment when she did. Another picture and she found Fiona, Gordon, and Kanda at Marco’s wedding, another with the kids along with Lex and Euan… and no matter what she found, it tugged at her heart because it was all now at risk.

The mobile buzzed and Kate checked the messages—Malcolm.

‘Is there a verdict?’

She hesitated, thumbs over the keyboard.

‘We have until September to come up with multiple survival plans,’ she replied. She paused again, thinking about how to word the next part. ‘They want to force my hand.’

Minutes passed.

‘What do those fucking suits think they can force?’

‘Deploying you.’

More time passed, during which Kate began to stare at more photos. A new message came up just as she was staring at a picture of Malcolm at the bunyip farm down in the Australian bush.

‘To Whitehall, I presume?’

‘We told them it wouldn’t work.’

Another pause.

‘Do you need me to call you?’

‘What I need is YOU, here, but instead I’m in a fucking jail cell of a suite with my son sleeping on the other side of the room and a sense of dread so intense I’m getting a headache.’

Moments later and her mobile began to buzz as a call attempted to come through. It was Malcolm, though she didn’t answer. Kate knew that she didn’t need Gordon accidentally listening in on the two of them, nor did she want to risk talking about anything else. All she wanted to do was get some sleep at that point, because it was about as much as she could fucking stand. She had just barely drifted off when the mobile in her hand buzzed, jolting her back awake.

It was a voicemail… from Malcolm… that was twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds, fuck. So much for her inbox space. She popped an earbud in the ear that was resting against her pillow and plugged in the headphones, wanting to be safe.

“Kate? Yeah? I know you can’t talk, so I thought I’d do the talking for you. Just put the message on pause for a moment and make sure it’s clear before listening to the rest, okay? Yeah? You good? I don’t exactly want to talk dirty to you if my fucking stepson is your security detail within ear’s shot…”

“Mam… Mam, Mam, Mam… Mam…”

“What, Conall?”

“Hi.”

Kate watched as the toddler before her grinned and zoomed out of the office, presumably heading towards the family room. He had long reached the point where once he was first put down on the floor, he would likely not stop until the evening—not even mealtimes were safe—and today was no exception. Conall’s energy levels terrified Fiona on the regular, made Lex and Euan marvel, and made Gordon and Kanda worried about the status of their own house for the future, as their own baby was just beginning to show on her thin frame.

A thud happened in the other room and Conall shouted “’kay”, which made Kate roll her eyes and investigate what was going on. She took her laptop computer with her and brought it to the sitting room, where her youngest son was scrambling to get back to his feet after losing his balance running. Settling down on the armchair, she decided that it was probably best to keep an eye on him from there. She had plenty of monitoring to do while the referendum vote was going on that day, and she didn’t want the child’s high energy levels to pose too much an unseen distraction.

The referendum; it was still early in the day, and the exit polls were reporting that there wouldn’t be much of a change in her work environment, but she wasn’t going to stop watching until the end results were in. It was bad enough she was attempting to monitor intergalactic presence at the Olympics later in the summer, but to have this piling shit on top… it was enough to make her want to hole up in her house and not come out for months.

Not even an hour passed and her mobile rang—the only other person who seemed both capable and unsurprised by the child zooming about before her, having not stopped for a moment since she came out to sit with him.

“Is this you telling me I should’ve gone in today?”

“This is me saying no one can focus long enough to pick their fucking arses despite the fact we’re all supposed to being going into a semi-siege mode,” Malcolm replied.

“It can’t be that bad…”

“We’re going fucking bananas here, love,” he said. “The Zygons are saying they got some testy individuals in their numbers and if we’re not careful, we might have another Insurgency on our hands before we’re all able to go into another lockdown.”

“If Jamie’s not allow to start a revolution, then the Zygons aren’t either.”

“Fuck—Jamie’d be the one supplying the cunts with insider info and shit like that.” Malcolm groaned, clearly done with the entire situation. “I’m glad we both went to vote early, because I just want to work the rest of the day from home. At least you have Conall there to dull the pain.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘dull’ or he might explode and regenerate into a teenager,” she frowned. Kate watched as the toddler in-question climbed up on the couch, grabbing the throw pillows and chucking them over the side onto the floor. The lad then crawled back down and began dragging one of the pillows towards his play area. He then returned for the other, then went for the seat cushions, dissecting the couch almost completely. “It looks like your son is getting scarily good at remembering how to construct a fort.”

“Only because your daughter taught him.”

“She’s yours too now, remember. Don’t put your name on what you don’t want to claim.”

The call was silent for a moment, the couple able to hear the other’s smile, until Malcolm hissed.

“Fuck—Cal’s calling.”

“Let me know the damage. Love you.”

“Same, love. Ta.”

The call ended and Kate placed her mobile in her pocket and watched Conall as he set the seat cushions on their sides and used the throw pillows as the ceiling. He then crawled into the fort with a toy car in each hand, making sputtering noises as he moved them along the rug.

“Mam! Beep, beep!”

“Yes: beep, beep.”

She turned on the television to the news—it probably wasn’t good for her looming anxiety, but that was a risk she did not have the privilege of passing on.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Switching lines, Malcolm stepped into the lift from outside his office, riding it down to the atrium level. “Tories in a Lorry Sceptic Services.”

“That’s not fucking funny today,” Cal snipped. “It was funny yesterday, and might be funny tomorrow, but not today of all fucking days.”

“You know how I joke in times of duress,” Malcolm reminded him. He exited the lift and corridor, hoping the sounds of the hustle and bustle around him would deter his old friend from staying on the phone for too long. “Now what the fuck you want? I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Can’t I check in on one of my favorite UN inroads? Today is a big day, after all.”

“For the last time: we’re not taking a peek at the results—we’re indebted to the Time Cunt enough already.”

“How dare you!” Cal gasped. “That was far from my reason for calling!”

“Then surprise me,” Malcolm said. He flipped a V to some tits who were pushing a large cart with an impossibly-big computer console, having to duck out of their way at the last moment. Glenn was right behind them, prompting him to scowl. “What’s with the hardware older than you?!”

“Got to be prepared in case we’re cut off!” Glenn retorted, not even breaking stride.

“If the EU circumcises its Britannia-shaped foreskin, would you blame them?” He then went back to Cal and the mobile. “It’s a fucking shitshow—you know that more than most. I’m the most level-headed one here and even I’m ready to gouge my eyes and ears out.”

“I’m ready to jump fucking ship.”

“Too much working for the Enemy for comfort?”

“The Enemy, I can handle; it’s flat-out self-immolating cunts that is what I have a problem with. They’ve poured so much petrol—leaded petrol, by the way—on themselves that it’s splashing on the rest of us that want to live… and live decently at that. We’re getting caught up in their temper tantrum in a way I haven’t seen in a long fucking time. Reminds me of before I went up to uni—you know it’s bad when rooming with Jamie was the sane option compared to these arse-faced, sociopolitical abortions.” He exhaled heavily, his irritation clear. “Listen: if there is a chance I can no longer handle being one of the sane embedded in this asylum, think there’s a shot for me over there with the two of you? Get Gizmo and the Nuggets back together? Now we can be a set of fucking signal bars.”

“Let’s watch how the shit piles before we figure out how to scoop it up off the pavement,” Malcolm said. He stopped and watched a bunch of people from R&D pulling their own cart full of supplies through the complex, visible on the other end of the atrium, as another set of normally-calm-ish scientists being gripped by reluctant panic. “At least UNIT is UN, not EU.”

“Exactly—if anything, I’d like to be a bit more secure in my old age—Emily’s in secondary and is definitely the sort to go to uni… I’d like to support that, as long as it won't bankrupt me morally.”

“It sounds like it’s hard fucking work not having additional sources to pull money from in order to support a nip’s goals.”

“Yeah, yeah; at least I don’t have to deal with some impotent cannoli-fucker trying to lay paternal claim on my daughter despite bare-fucking-minimum parenting otherwise. Doesn’t that cunt know there’s a statute of limitations?”

“He’s used to conveniently buying extended warranties just as the terms run out.” Something then caught Malcolm’s eye: a singular Scarfy, being unusually-calm for her otherwise-nervous self. “Hey, I think I sense a bollocking coming on; someone needs to blend in or risk causing more panic. Text me if something cataclysmic happens, like Lizzie actually standing up to the government.”

“That would be the day—fuck you later.”

“Keep it oiled for me.” Malcolm ended the call and slipped his mobile in his jacket pocket just as he was within earshot of Scarfy. “What the fuck do you think you’re up to?”

“My job,” Scarfy replied dully. Yeah, okay, it was extra fucking suspicious. She scribbled on her tablet with a stylus in an effort to dissuade him from paying her much heed. “Unlike the rest of the mainframe, I feel like actually doing mine today.”

“…and you aren’t concerned at all? About anything?”

“Not entirely; my work will get done no matter where lines in the sand get drawn.”

“You really believe that?” He watched as she adjusted her glasses, which led him to scoff. “I just want to know why you’re the only person in this entire compound who isn’t shitting themselves—literally or metaphorically—and it better be a good one.”

“The exit polling’s doing fine,” Scarfy said, idly as possible. “You’re getting yourself worked up over nothing.”

“Exit polls aren’t worth shite and you know that,” he replied, “or if you don’t, then Nella does, and the two of you need to have a wee chat about how people lie a lot more than we all care to admit.”

“You’re a pessimist.”

“Then you must be the fucking alien one, because it should be plain to anyone with a functioning brain stem that we’re in a nation with so much endemic xenophobia that it’s a miracle any of us go holidaying anywhere further than a cunting Caravan Club in fucking Essex.”

“Again: you’re a pessimist.”

“I like to use the term ‘realist’,” he corrected. It was difficult—so fucking difficult—for him to not raise his voice and bring further attention to them that it made him want to get it the fuck over with and pop a blood vessel. “Now don’t you have some molecunt to administer space-heroin to and watch as he shrivels in upon himself? Some twisted experiment to do with the other Scarfy, holed up where no one else can see you being so calm and collected they know you’re the alien whether it’s the truth or not? Away from people attempting to crack the code that is Petronella Osgood and Which One is Already Dead?”

Scarfy finally made eye contact with him, her expression one of anger. The two were locked in a staring contest for a moment, before she blinked and shook her head, confused.

“Were you just attempting to enter my psyche?” she wondered aloud.

“Was I? Maybe I’m just a fucking X-Man, evolving right before your eyes. Should I just shave my head bald and get a gay German boyfriend? Maybe I can turn into a blue poof, poofing around in and out of this dimension, or would the one who makes bombs be good enough? I could even grow some tits and levitate if that’s what you want.”

“That’s not funny.”

“…and what is going to be even less funny is if you draw attention to yourself by being the only one not about to have an anxiety attack over the status of our mainframe’s ability to protect—let alone whether or not our fucking careers are all going to be in shatters—so you better get going.”

Scarfy took one more look at Malcolm and left, heading off to wherever it was she was going to avoid him, and he felt that his micro-mission was generally done. Her skulking around during a time of mainframe-wise panic and uncertainty was truly one of the last things they all needed, and he was willing to stand by that fact. After checking in with Aparajita, he decided to duck out—Gordon was in that night and would be able to handle any sort final reaction be it panic or party. The Mainframe was not the best place for him to be at that present moment, and the fact that he was able to acknowledge that made him realize how far he’d come as he stewed in his own thoughts on the drive home.

Fuck… he kept the radio off as he drove, instead opting for some music off a miniature mp3 player that Fiona had curated for him. It was honestly one of the best birthday presents he’d ever gotten. Such a simple thing, and yet it was just as powerful as when Wee Lex had gifted him her drawings to pin in his office. It sustained his sanity during the commute, allowing him to melt all the cock-and-blow at work so that he could think about how to braise the pork chops that night for him and his wife. All said and done, it was an almost-satisfying drive, as fucking preposterous a notion as it was, with him pulling up next to the house just as a song was ending.

Well, the building seemed intact, so the bairn didn’t win today’s round.

Going in through the kitchen door, Malcolm found Kate already started on that night’s dinner, chopping veg while a children’s show could be heard in the living room. Her hands seemed to be shaking as she made larger chunks of the veg than normal.

“You’re home early,” she noted.

“I was going to cook dinner.”

“I need to keep my mind off shit.”

“Slicing your fingertips off isn’t the answer.”

She put down the knife and looked at him, the weight of the day clearly hanging on her. “I would think out of all people, you’d know how difficult it is to do anything today.”

“It’s a bunch of cunts proving they’re exactly that. You can block all that out if you need to; in fact, that’s why I’m here.”

“You know how anxious this is making me, Malcolm,” she scowled. “This could be the end of many things that has essentially bled my family dry.”

“…and I know you: you’ll make it work,” he replied. “I thought that’s part of why you and your da gained traction for the scientific aspect of things… in order to survive. It’ll work.”

“You’ve met politicians—they think that science is just a subject to bunk off in their elitist public schools, a grade they didn’t need because they knew all they were going to do was bop around from imaginary job to imaginary job, being a waste of space until they can get elected to a riding where they can be a black hole of bad policies and even worse execution. That is what we’re dealing with.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Malcolm felt Conall run into his legs and looked down to see the boy clamoring to stand up before stomping away in giggles. “Those Thatcher-lites couldn’t even grasp what the fuck UNIT even does, let alone how important it is to the overall planet.”

“…and that’s why this is so dangerous. They get rid of anything they don’t understand.”

“…which is where you have the advantage, as you know that’s how they fucking are, and I know that’s how they fucking are, and we can prep for them and how to not only avoid the fucking guillotine, but dismantle it should it come to that. Those cunts are a lot of fucking things, but predictable is thankfully one of them.”

“How low will they sink, though? What is truly in their sights?”

He pondered that, knowing it was a loaded pair of questions. Kate was no fool—she had been fighting against all the shite nearly as long as he had. Different circumstances, sure, but she knew sides that he didn’t, simply based on where it was she stood and how she fit into the whole show differently from him to start. Malcolm looked at the veins of color in the countertop and scowled. “I will be damned if this gets the best of us.”

“Just damned?”

“Alright; I’ll be taken up the arse with an unlubricated horse cock, with one of those tinny voice boxes rammed down my throat so that the only thing I can do is ask for more.”

“I don’t think that’s how those voice boxes work.”

“You know what I mean.” Malcolm went over and stood behind Kate, wrapping his arms around her waist as he leaned into her returning embrace best she could from her position. “All I want is to survive this. We’ll survive this. Our parents raised people who can survive.” He kissed the back of her head and hugged her a bit tighter. “Did you want to keep going with dinner or keep going with Conall? Or neither?”

“What if I wanted to take both?”

“I would have to respectfully lock you in our room and not let you out until dinnertime.”

“Then I’ll take our son.” She turned in his grasp and gently kissed him; oh, it felt fucking good, sucking each other’s lips lazily as they propped themselves up with the counter. “We’ll be in the sitting room if you need us.”

“Sure thing, love.”

Malcolm indulgently watched Kate walk away before turning to the veg she oh-so-unceremoniously mutilated before he had a chance to stop her. After a bit of consideration, he decided that the effort was not worth it and he was just going to overcook and blend the shit together for Conall to attempt to eat instead, getting a couple other potatoes and carrots out of the cupboard for the adults.

With the meat slowly cooking and veg properly washed and chopped and waiting for boiling, Malcolm wandered through the house and found his wife and son. She was sitting on the floor, with him in her lap, and they were looking at a book. It was one of those that used only a few dozen words, with Conall stumbling over the story aloud.

“Da! Da! I read!” the boy said excitedly.

“Would you look at that,” he said, half-impressed and half-fearful. Lex had been beginning to speak at his age, yeah, but reading was a different thing entirely. “Are you sure you just haven’t heard this story before?” Conall crinkled his nose and Malcolm could see Clara in the lad, wariness joining the emotion medley. “I thought I’ve read this one with you.”

“No! Ecks!” Ah, yes, Lex had given him that book.

“Jury’s still out on which it is,” Kate said. She glanced up at the television, which was on a silent newscast, lines of closed captioning scrolling all over the screen. The device turned off and she glared at her husband. “I was watching that.”

“None of this shite until after dinner, please,” he requested. “I’d like it if you were able to digest a bit first without your stomach being in fucking knots. Punch out for an hour or three.”

“The infamous Malcolm Tucker, who was married to his job for decades, is telling me to punch out?” she teased, feigning shock. “I should call Jamie now and tell him that the department lead position is his for the taking.”

“The wee fuck can have it eventually, but not now,” he lobbed back. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“…such as…?”

“Making sure my wife’s career doesn’t turn her into a nutter, for one.”

“That’s a tall order.” He sat down on the couch and put his legs up onto the empty cushions, which prompted Conall to crawl into his lap—still clutching the book in one chubby hand—and stand on him, his balance wobbly.

“Da read?” the boy asked. “Da read me!”

“Conall, son, Mam was reading to you. Isn’t she any good anymore?”

“Da read,” the boy insisted. He pushed the paper and cardboard object into Malcolm’s face. “Read! Read!”

“What do you say?”

“Peas!”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Peas!”

After all was said and done, there was little that Malcolm Tucker had to worry about in regards of the wedding of his stepson to his niece’s best friend. Despite certain important-to-the-event people having almost come to a complete stop to look for him and Jamie during their accidental time shift, everything was set up and functioning in time for the bride to walk down the aisle per schedule and make it look as though everything had been planned as such.

Thusly, the ceremony and the reception was a big success overall. With the bride’s mother behaving herself and plenty of food and drinks and a playlist longer than Jamie was tall, there was little to stop the celebration from going well into the night. It was “a real banger”, as some of the guests were describing it, and it made the party-throwers feel all the better about their slapdash and last-minute efforts. Malcolm even knew that he was off his wife’s Shit List when she rested her head on his shoulder while they were dancing late in the evening, the song slow enough to allow most to merely shuffle in-place instead of actually dancing…

…though to be fair, the subsequent make-up sex with Kate later that night didn’t hurt either… but who was keeping track?

The rest of April passed in a bizarre, semi-tense haze. With referendum campaigning hanging over their heads outside Mainframe UK, those in UNIT who had to worry about the near-constant badgering from this official and that group were glad there was a place where they could run and hide in their work. An international status to their organization meant that they had options, and as May rolled around, it allowed for some sense of normalcy to hang in their air, even one soured by looming uncertainty. As it was manifesting differently for everyone, it only made sense that some were handling it better than others.

“Who the fuck do you invite to a child’s birthday party when none of your friends have wee nips anymore?”

Aparajita glanced over at Malcolm from her spot on the couch in his office. He was on his computer, his brow furrowed as he was scrolling through something (it was news; she knew in her bones it was one news site or another), while she had camped out with her laptop and mobile for a change in scenery and the chance to slouch more severely. Although she had been able to hear him muttering the question to himself several times already, it was the first time that day he had asked her personally.

“You know I’m the wrong person to ask this question, yeah?” she reminded him. He half-shrugged, still too engrossed with his computer to commit to the entire motion. “Why don’t you ask Husak? Her son’s a teenager now, isn’t he?”

“That doesn’t mean she has the answers,” he replied. “Neither does Hart in regards to his boys, and they’re much closer in age to mine.”

“Just invite the kids over and have some cake,” she suggested. “Maybe get Miss Oswald over there too. I’m sure she’d love to see Conall on his birthday.”

“…if she’s feeling up to it, anyhow.”

“I’m sure she would be. Oswald’s not the kind of person to just completely drop out of her child’s life—she’ll be there whether you ask her or not.”

“Don’t know if that’s a relief or a threat, but I’ll take it,” he replied. It was then that he heard footfalls in the corridor and the door opened—Kate. “Love, what are we doing for Conall’s birthday?”

“I was thinking along the lines of just inviting the kids over, Oswald as well, and just doing cake and ice cream,” she replied, plopping a stack of folders on his desk, as Themba was on holiday and couldn’t do it otherwise. She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow at her husband. “Our son would need to have proper friends before we begin to consider anything else.”

“Fuck—I’m not ready for him to have friends,” Malcolm cursed. “That means other small children running around the house and that is not acceptable.”

“Tell that to November,” Aparajita chimed in from the couch. She could feel the daggers that her boss was trying to glare into her, which only made her smirk. “Hey, all I know is that Kanda and I follow one another online and her last selfie looked just off enough for me to know that she’s starting to fill out a little before the bump officially arrives.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Kate said, letting out a sigh. It was difficult to not laugh at her husband, as the expression on his face was a mixture of disgust and horror, both at the affirmation of there soon being another child guaranteed to be running around their house and the reminder that said child was going to come from his daughter-in-law—whom he had known as a child herself. “I’m having an intern fetch us lunch, come on.”

“It’s a shame I have to leave my own office to get some fucking respect around here,” he grumbled. Aparajita flipped him her middle finger as Malcolm was gently pulled out of the office by his wife. They went into the lift and up to Kate’s office, which already had sandwiches and tea waiting for them. “That was fast.”

“I waited a bit before coming down to get you,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. “Now I see that the timing was perfect.” Kate saw that instead of sitting next to her, Malcolm was headed towards the glass wall, looking down over the atrium. “What’s the matter? You seem distracted.”

“I guess I don’t want to think too much about anything right now,” he admitted quietly. He scanned over the inhabitants of the atrium, watching as many attempted to juggle eating lunch while watching over their own work stations. “Every time I begin to think about something good, I get reminded of the shit that’s going on, and how now that I’m in UNIT, I’m virtually powerless to try to steer it all towards something a little less shit.”

“You’re not powerless—you could always strong-arm some old Whitehall acquaintances,” she mentioned. Kate took a bite of sandwich in an attempt to hint that lunch was still on. “You could call Cal or Nicola or… who was that MP you and Jamie were laughing about at the wedding?”

“Julius,” Malcolm replied. He lingered by the wall for a moment before joining his wife on the sofa, downing half of his tea in one go. “I just want to concentrate on Conall’s birthday, or even how by this time next year there’ll be two of them underfoot, without my mind wandering to that fucking cesspool I was lucky enough to escape.”

“Give it two years… then they’ll both be running around.”

“…a thought that both is terrifying and good to think about.” He munched pensively on a bit of sandwich, staring ahead of him at a speck of air without much focus.

“Hey.” She patted his knee, redirecting his attention. “Don’t worry your pretty head—we’ve got this.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. I think we can handle a first birthday, keeping the planet safe, and maneuvering around whatever June brings. Now if your mother was also coming for a visit, then that would be a different story…”

“Fuck—I don’t need Mam complicating things—don’t scare me like that.”

“Then relax. I’m not saying that you should forget everything else, but reminding you that it could always be worse. You could still be in politics at the moment, and where would that leave us, hmm…?”

“Not in a good place.”

“Exactly.” She kissed him on the cheek and smiled knowingly. “Would you like to talk about the logistics of our son’s birthday before or after we finish off dessert?”

“There is dessert?”

“…in the panic room.”

After; after dessert was good.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Finally, May 14th was upon the Stewart-Tuckers. Being a Saturday, most of the rest of the family would be able to attend the party without issue, which meant Kate decided it was going to be late in the afternoon, closer to an early dinner. With Malcolm and Gordon putting in an early day at the Mainframe, Fiona off getting the cake and other supplies, and Kanda coming along with Lex and Euan later, it was just Kate alone in the house with Conall as a familiar-sounding motorbike came rolling up the drive. She left the child in his play area and went towards the kitchen, seeing as her visitor was placing a brightly-wrapped box and her helmet on the counter next to the door.

“Ah, Clara, there you are,” Kate beamed. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

“Of course,” she replied. The two women hugged one another tightly—it had been too long, despite the inherent risks that came with her presence. “Why would I miss as big a day as today?”

“Which is why I’m glad Wednesdays are the troublesome days,” Kate said. Clara’s face fell and she avoided eye contact, sending a red flag in Kate’s brain. “It’s getting to be more than Wednesdays now, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Clara claimed. “That rush, that feeling you get when you’re with him… in the TARDIS… with literally everything at your fingertips… it’s indescribable. I almost can’t get enough anymore.”

“Many before you have dealt with that…”

“…and many after me shall, and not everyone can handle it.” Clara exhaled heavily and forced herself to smile again. “Enough of that. Where’s the birthday boy?”

“Right this way.” Kate led Clara through the house to the sitting room, where Conall was playing in his enclosure, the plastic fencing threatening to fall as he bounced up against it in excitement.

“Muh! Muh!” he gasped. He stomped his feet as Clara approached, his giggling shriek high and light.

“Yes my darling—Mummy’s back,” Clara cooed. She picked him up and held him close, rocking him back and forth. “How have you been behaving for Mam and Dad?”

“Mam,” Conall replied, pointing at Kate.

“He’s been very good,” Kate elaborated with a laugh. “He’s starting to learn actual words, which shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does.”

“Were Gordon and Fiona quieter babies?” Clara wondered.

“No… it’s more like Malcolm needs to start watching what he says around Conall, or he shall be the one marching his arse down to playgroup, ready to apologize for inadvertently giving the entire class a new, and rather rude, favorite word.” Clara stifled a laugh—it was disturbingly easy to see, knowing how colorful Malcolm’s phraseology could get. “How about if we put together some tea? There’s a bit of time yet before the other guests show up, and I expect Fiona to still be out for a while…”

“Sounds lovely.”

Clara carried Conall as she followed Kate back to the kitchen, where the toddler was allowed to wander around while his mums put together tea. The boy got a baby-biscuit to gnaw on and some tea-tinged milk in a sippy cup while the women got proper biscuits and cuppas. Clara let him sit in her lap in lieu of the high chair, which made Kate shake her head.

“…what…?” Clara frowned. “What’s with that look?”

“What are you going to do when you walk in and he doesn’t remember?” she asked. “We’ve been lucky so far—what’ll happen when his being a child catches up to us?”

“Let’s deal with that once it happens,” Clara insisted. She stroked Conall’s hair—so fluffy and soft—as the boy relished the attention she was giving him. “I just want to enjoy this moment.”

“…that makes at least one of us…”

Kate and Clara both tensed and turned their attention to the door at the sound of the new voice. There, standing with her fists on her hips, was the Master, looking mildly vexed and bemused both at the scene before her.

“How’d you get here?!” Kate hissed as she reflexively stood. The Master read the room for half a moment before stepping forward.

“Now isn’t this rude? Not inviting the prettiest of the fairy godmothers makes it so that curses befall one’s children.”

“Don’t you dare,” Kate warned, stepping in between Conall and the Master. Clara held the boy close, making certain that he didn’t try to slip away and wander off.

“Dare I what?” the Master asked, her lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, the nipper. Don’t worry—your wee bairn is safe from me. I don’t like children, even if they are the Doctor’s child.”

“What makes you assume that?” Kate asked. “It only makes sense to protect a child if you can, even a lowly Human child… especially a lowly Human child with no way of defending itself.” The Master examined her fingernails for a moment, making certain none of them had chipped during the journey over.

“It’s all simple Time Lord nonsense, really,” she explained. “I’ve run into the Doctor’s genetic signature so many times now that it’s painfully obvious… especially when it’s being fussed over by the very person I all but shoved in his arms, hoping he’d get a leg up and have some fun for once.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Clara asked.

“Hmm… I guess not.” The Master sat down at the table and helped herself to some tea. “I take it you’re the only two who are aware of the entire situation as it is?”

“Us and a select number of people,” Kate said. She and Clara both remained standing, ready to move against the Master at a moment’s notice. “As far as most people know, he is a child my husband and I adopted… just an unassuming Human child.”

“…and what does the Doctor think about all this?” After waiting for a reply and getting nothing, the Master feigned shock. “You mean, the father does not know? He had to of known, with the whole puffing up like some flesh-balloon and all… unless… yes… you kept him away somehow, didn’t you? It had to of been months…”

“That is our business, not yours,” Clara stated. The Master tutted, wagging her finger in disapproval.

“Anything that involves that sap and his progeny most certainly involves me, as I have a special interest in the Doctor and those who are connected to him. I do have to say: when I played matchmaker with the two of you, I didn’t think I actually found someone who could knock gametes and spawn with him.”

“…what do you mean…?” Clara wondered cautiously. “Isn’t that a risk that people take?”

“Not Time Lords, and certainly not Time Lords with any being who is not a native of Gallifrey,” the Master shrugged. She sipped her tea and delicately picked up a biscuit. “You might be Gallifreyanoid, but you are genetically nowhere near our kind. It should be extremely difficult for a Time Lord to sync their fertile period with that of another species, and even then the genetic variance should be enough to eliminate most of that particular risk, rendering the couple functionally barren. This sort of union producing offspring is, frankly put, a big oopsie-doodle of a taboo for a very good reason.”

“…and what, might I ask, is the punishment for this taboo?” Kate asked firmly. The Master put down her cup and folded her hands atop the table.

“If there were one thing I was to ever say that you should believe completely and truly, it is this: I don’t know and I don’t plan on finding out soon,” she explained. “This happens so rarely that the punishment is not common knowledge, even amongst proper Time Lords, and I want to watch which direction this goes in before I start accusing my old school mate of heresy. Your secret is safe with me… for now.”

“So… you’re really going to keep our secret?” Clara frowned critically. “Why should you? What motivates that silence?”

“I just told you: I would be accusing my old school mate of heresy of the highest order and who knows what’ll happen to him? If he regenerates because of me, I want to be the one to pull the trigger, not a firing squad.” She looked at Conall and paused in thought. “Besides, I’d likely be the one who’d have to dispose of the nip and I do so dislike children. They’re moist where they shouldn’t be and smell rude at the worst times.” The Master cringed in disgust and continued munching her biscuit. “I babysat once—if it hadn’t’ve been so gross I would have sat on the baby.”

“You’re twisted,” Clara stated.

“I can’t help that I’m completely and utterly… bananas,” the Master said casually. “What I can help, however, is by keeping that pants-soiling secret of yours a secret… I swear by the bond the child’s father and I share… that is, until I need it to be not so.”

“…and when might that be?” Kate asked. “This child is here because this is the safest place for him to be not only for his own well-being, but for the planet and galaxy as well. You know as well as we do how existing can be dangerous.”

“True…” The Master finished off her cuppa and stood, her eyes not straying from Conall. “One day I’ll introduce our dearest Doctor to this wee scamp. Until then… know I’m watching you.”

“That’s it…?” Kate wondered. “No other warnings?”

“If this was a plant done on-purpose, then there would be someone watching from afar anyhow to make sure nothing went kersplat on the pavement; since it won’t be done officially due to the nature of this child’s existence, then unofficially will have to do.” The Master sauntered over towards the door and half-turned, looking back at Kate and Clara over her shoulder. “If you do anything… anything at all that I don’t like, then just know that you’ve been warned.”

A shimmering haze surrounded her and in a flash, the Master was gone—a vortex manipulator.

“Sweet fuck…” Kate half-whispered. She looked at Clara and watched her sink to the floor, Conall still in her arms. The boy was looking back and forth between his two mums, wondering what was going on. “Are you alright?”

“She knows…” Clara choked out. “Oh God… she knows…”

“Mam…?” Conall squeaked, looking at Kate. His eyes got wide as Clara’s, the boy looking as though he was going to cry.

“I don’t know how she was able to track us down, but she’ll have a more difficult time of it next go-around,” Kate swore. She knelt down next to Clara and Conall, realizing how badly the former was shaking. “She won’t hurt us. I promise.”

“She’s a Time Lady… and much better at all that stuff than the Doctor,” Clara said. “He’s admitted as such to me. If she wants something, she’ll get it.”

“…and I’m telling you that I won’t let her spook us that easily,” Kate said. Okay, sure, it was partially a lie, considering how they both were very afraid right then and there, but she knew it was possible to not allow the Master to have the upper hand in her game of wits. Clara twitched as the door opened—instinctively pulling Conall close to her chest again—and they looked at the new intruder: Fiona.

“What the hell is going on here?” the young woman asked. She put down the cake box on the counter and looked at the table, counting the used cups. “Did Dad come home for a bit? His car’s not in the drive…”

“I’d take that every day compared to what just happened,” Kate said. She helped Clara up as Fiona got Conall. “We just got a social visit from a Time Lord.”

“Oh fuck—the one who murders or the one we’re afraid will murder or an entirely new one altogether?”

“The Master,” Kate said. She watched as her daughter went pale—despite not being part of UNIT, she knew just enough to be aware of how much of a fucking clusterbomb that was. “She figured Conall out.”

“…how…?”

“We don’t understand why or how, but we understand that she does,” Kate said. More things began to crash into her mind, the huge implications behind the Master’s visit being too large to have crossed her mind all at once. “Get me my mobile—I need to call Malcolm.”

“Your mobile’s here on the table…”

“No, the work one. I need this encrypted and off the normal telecommunications grid and I don’t know if my legs will hold out.”

“Right.” Fiona left the room for a moment and returned with her mother’s mobile. When she returned, Clara was sitting at the table with Conall, while Kate was shakily continuing tea. “Hey, I got this—just call Dad.”

“Thanks.” Kate fumbled with her mobile, but was able to put a call through. It rang ominously; each passing tone through the speaker couldn’t pass soon enough.

“Shag-a-Scot Sex Services, how many I direct your call?”

“Malcolm, where are you?”

“Still at work—need me to pick something up before I fuck off for the day?”

“Where is Gordon? Bismuth? Dr. Shaw? Fuck… I’m going to need the Osgoods and Ji-Yu too… eventually…”

The line was silent for a moment, her husband clearly digesting her tone and words. “What happened?”

“The Master was here, and she knows about Conall; figured him out with one glance.”

“…fuck.” Another pause. “Do you need me to warn them while I’m still here?”

“Please… and do it discreetly. Don’t explain Conall to R&D and Tech quite yet, but just let them know we’re going to need to adjust the shields here, as it did nothing to keep a vortex manipulator out. Make sure you’re behind closed doors too—we need none of this getting out. It’s why I’m telling you now over the phone and letting you spread the word compared to repeating myself on here and further risk being accidentally overheard.”

“Consider it done.”

The call ended and Kate placed her mobile on the table, staring at it cautiously. A fresh cuppa and some biscuits had been placed before her, which allowed for a steeling sip.

“There goes our dessert-before-dinner party,” Fiona frowned. She made a face at Conall, which caused the toddler to giggle. “You bogey; don’t go attracting space-psychos on us now. That’s precisely why you’re here: to prevent that.” Conall babbled at her importantly, seemingly irritated with his sister. “Don’t you sass me—I know how to hide your biscuits.”

“Why can’t we be left alone?” Clara wondered. She continued stroking Conall’s hair as she looked over at Kate with tears stubbornly welling in her eyes. “All we’re doing is trying to do well by a child—why must the Time Lords always butt in and threaten with their rules and taboos and feel as though it’s their place to threaten the rest of time and space into submission?”

“Let’s face it: they’d be terrible lords and ladies if at least some of them didn’t,” Fiona offered. Seeing how shaken Clara and her mother still were, she knew that the only way the birthday party was going to get off the ground was going to be if she took charge.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t just take a train into Edinburgh and go from there,” Jamie scowled. He was walking with Malcolm as they went to the carpark, glad at least to be out of the crowded Glasgow train station. After way too long on the rails—even if it was business class—the taller man wasn’t exactly in the mood for his mate’s griping.

“Yeah, except now we get you out of the house and away from the wife and kids and it can just be a couple of blokes again for the night after I’m all done making sure all the shit’s mopped up that Kate wants me to see to,” Malcolm reasoned. “Business first, then we can pick up some of the greasiest curries you’ve ever encountered and a wee case of IRN BRUs and just bull-fucking-shit into the night.”

“Just what the fuck are you here to oversee then, anyhow?” Jamie wondered. They got to his car and, after tossing Malcolm’s bag into the boot, they both got in, except the visitor was the one driving. Jamie watched as his friend put coordinates into his satnav, watching where it was about to guide them. “The fuck, we’re going out to bloody Sterling?”

“Just Falkirk; keep your knickers on, you fucking prat,” Malcolm scoffed. “Here I thought you’d be ready to be free from the domestic life for a wee bit, but as it stands you’re just being a shit.”

“You’re the one being a shit, kidnapping me in my own fucking car…”

“You’re fifty-fucking-one years old—I don’t think anyone’d want to kidnap you unless they were really desperate. Maybe blind. Possibly both. Is it still even kidnapping? Man-napping? You think you’re being man-napped?”

“Cunt.”

“I only asked you a question.”

“Yeah, and you’re a posh cunt, hijacking my car for your dirty work while afterwards we go to your wife’s second house that also so happens to be as much in the country as the one you normally live in.”

“The entire fucking time we worked in London your family lived up in Motherwell, and you’re giving me shit for having two houses? No… for my wife having two houses? They’re both inherited from her folks anyhow—my house is done and long-sold, so we’d almost have to live in something she owned.” As Malcolm continued to drive, the silence that was emanating from Jamie was fucking irritating. “Why the fuck are you sulking?”

“I just am, alright? Leave me the fuck alone.”

“You’re being a cranky little bitch—why are you being such a cranky little bitch the precise moment I get up here?”

“I’m not a cranky little bitch.”

“Then don’t fucking call me a posh cunt until you’ve seen what it is I dragged my arse all the way up here for,” Malcolm said. “You’re fucking testy.”

“I’m testy because you won’t even tell me what we’re going to see between now and beer—I’m getting myself some beer, yeh teetotalling tit.”

“We got a call about an incident in a park out this way and someone from my department needs to see in case there’s damage that needs cleaning up,” Malcolm explained. “I decided to go because the ones I would trust with this are all either on assignment or aren’t up for it.”

“So it’s something that doesn’t involve a Human,” Jamie realized. He grew quiet in a different way, introspective instead of irritated. “Now you’ve got me. Why didn’t you just say that before?”

“…because it’s still a sensitive situation and we don’t know who’s listening,” Malcolm reminded him. “Now… let’s talk about better things for the time being, like how fucking excited is Penny for grad school?”

That cheered Jamie up and got him chattering away, the younger man talking almost nonstop until their destination. The front drive of the rural nature park was under police lockdown, which required Malcolm to flash his UNIT badge in order for the car to be let in, much to the patrol officer’s chagrin. All it did was make Malcolm breathe a sigh of relief—word regarding what had happened did not spread particularly far. He had to give it to the department he was dealing with… they weren’t sloppy by any means.

Before long, the car was parked and the two men were walking down a path that was leading to the incident. There was another police barrier, which required another use of the UNIT badge, and before long Malcolm and Jamie were being escorted through the park towards what they instantly recognized as a forensics scene.

“A Human thought they were mugging another Human late last night,” Malcolm explained. “After the knife was drawn and the victim killed, did they realize it wasn’t another Human, which actually led them to inadvertently turning themselves in.”

“Fucking hell, Malc, you never told me ‘bout this shite.”

“It’s unfortunately part of the gig,” he replied. Both men attempted to not gag as the stench of rotting Zygon corpse wafted through the air, getting stronger as they walked closer. They finally made it to where the Scotland Yard bloke was taking notes, treading carefully as to not get in the way of any of the forensics people. Jamie even crossed himself—it wasn’t Human, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to respect it.

“Are you the two here from UNIT?” DCI Anonymous asked, not looking up from his pad.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Malcolm frowned. He took a quick look around, trying to get some details down in the short amount of time they had. “Got any leads we can go on for the adoring public?”

“Since it’s a stabbing in a mugging-gone-wrong, that opens things up: if you don’t want to go the murdered-in-fancy-dress route, then I recommend it was some sort of animal rights activist who went a bit too far, as those currently fit the manner of death,” the other man replied. “You know the type.”

“The ones who don’t know the difference between humane use and needless slaughter?”

“Asking what measure is a person when the answer is not found where they think.” The man gave the two a glance, pensive. “Don’t I know you?”

“We’re the Cunts in Black—‘course not.”

“Then maybe I’m mistaking you with someone else—you look less UN and more UK government.”

“Second acts are a funny thing,” Malcolm shrugged. He motioned towards the former Zygon and nodded. “How much do you need before my men can clean this up and repatriate the body to the family?”

“Another couple more hours here, then we'll clean up and do some lab testing. I’d say a week, unless Glasburgh truly wants to get involved, since they are the ones with more knowledge on what to do here than my scared-as-shit coroners that don't technically exist. Do they want to get involved?”

“I’ll communicate your interest,” Malcolm said. He took a business card from his pocket and offered it to Scotland Yard. “In case you need anything.”

“Thank you.”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Malcolm left the scene, Jamie not far behind. The friends left the wood and went directly to the carpark. Not a single curious hiker was there—the original plan worked thanks to Malcolm’s in.

“Fuck… that was something else…” Jamie marveled as they buckled into the car. “Didn’t know you need to enact scenes from inter-fucking-galactic Midsomer.”

“Not often, but sometimes yeah,” Malcolm said. He pulled out of the carpark and went back towards Glasgow. “Remember that shite where there were those metal fucks popping out of graves?”

“Yeah—was visiting Auntie Harriet when that happened. The bird never looked better than with the new coat of chrome.”

“We had to deal with plenty of remains then—Zygon, Silurian, and Human—and it wasn’t fun. Some of ‘em were only half-done too.”

“Fuck… and who’s the you at Glasburgh? They actually competent enough to spin this properly?”

Malcolm thought about that for a moment. “There is no equivalent of me in Glasburgh—my office covers the whole mainframe jurisdiction. We might ask little things of Glasburgh, but mostly it’s my office. Why?”

“Sounds a bit colonial, don’t’cha think?”

“Long as Humans exist, we are the colonizers no matter what, just ask a Silurian,” Malcolm replied. “Then Zygons…”

“You know precisely what I fucking meant,” Jamie scowled. “I’m talking the Clearances and the source of a steaming load of Bristol’s old wealth and the Crusades and the fucking nostalgic wank over an Empire that only did one good thing: haggis pakoras.”

“I can think of a lot more things than just haggis pakoras.”

“Name one good fucking thing,” Jamie barked, “and nothing food-related because that’s cheating when you’re talking about an island that had to go exotic to get some fucking tatties in a pot.”

“The need to be accepting of other cultures has made it so that the Kirk’s no longer breathing down our fucking necks for every little thing.”

“Easy for you to say—you’re living outside jurisdiction and don’t Believe—one mention of St. Blaise’s  around the wrong set and it’s like I’m trying to start a do-over of Glorious Cunting Revolution, just in reverse.”

“What about that woman Cal was seeing there for a bit? You know… the one he was with before Veronica. Dad from Southern Rhodesia and mam from south Bombay?”

“Neither of those two are called that these days, you tit.”

“…and you know that as much he loves Veronica and she keeps him from going absolutely off the deep end, he’d go back to Sanjana in a heartbeat and she’d keep him just as stable.”

“Wasn’t even gonna fucking argue that point.” Jamie stared out the window at the passing scenery and furrowed his brow. “Let me know when something opens up, will yeh?”

“Of course,” Malcolm promised. “Now get on your mobile and look up curry dives near Tranent; just the nastiest fucking shit you can conjure. If it’s gonna be like old times, then it’s really gonna be like old times.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

After a night full of questionable curry and Jamie sobbing into his beer over his children being “so fucking grown”, Malcolm got on a train back to London, ready to cause havoc upon his arrival. He was able to send off the finalized report to Aparajita by the time he passed into England and had a decent enough time for being on a train. The car was lightly populated, which meant that he could snarl into his mobile with ease, and by the time he reached the station in London—where Kate was waiting to pick him up—he had three such successful calls and even gotten a nap in.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked, giving him a kiss as he approached.

“Good a time as any wherein I have to look at a corpse,” he grumbled. “You sure Gordon and Kanda don’t mind taking Conall for the weekend?”

“I’m sure—Fiona needs a bit of time off too, you know,” she replied. They went out towards the car and began to head towards Mainframe UK, as work awaited them both. “Was it bad?”

“The only bad part was the fact I was looking at the aftermath of a fucking mugging,” he shrugged. “Gave the guy in charge my card; seemed like he had things under control.”

“Not a peep going around regarding the victim?”

“Nope, doesn’t seem like it. Unless one of the molemen found something online in regards to internet rumors, then there’s nothing we’ve got to worry about.” He let the admission sit through a couple lights—at least some good fucking news out of all of this. “How about you? There wasn’t too much to handle as far as Zygon leadership, was there?”

“The particular Zygon in-question enjoying keeping to himself and was not very active in any cultural activities,” Kate recounted. “He will be missed, certainly, but the distance he kept between himself and others will only mitigate things in that regard.”

“So… he was going native…? Didn’t give off that vibe to me…”

“No; he merely kept to himself—enjoyed the calm, terrestrial life. He was old—too many years on a spaceship and wandering through this and that made him absolutely crave solid ground and nature, even if it was something he was completely alien to and vice versa.”

“Then at least he went out in a place I’m sure he loved, considering it was a nature park.”

“Whether he loved it or not, he’s still dead, and it’s a decent test of the Tripartite, being that the crime was Human-on-Zygon.”

“…the cunt thought he was robbing another Human though…”

“…still, a test is a test, and so far we’re passing brilliantly, despite the reason for it.” She pulled into an elevated carpark and went to the spot reserved specifically for her. “How about you? How are you doing? You did just get back from seeing a dead body.”

“Not exactly an experience I want to relive, but the sort of one I’ll probably have again. I mean… fuck… look at where we work.”

“I know.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips before unbuckling her seatbelt. “Let’s just get in and see how the tides have settled since we were last on duty, hmm?”

Nodding in agreement, Malcolm followed Kate out of the carpark and across the street to where the mainframe’s front was located. After going in the after-hours doors, they went down into the bowels of their work, finding that things were relatively calm for the sort of time they’d been having the past few weeks.

“Two days and no one’s mutinied; good,” Malcolm noted as they rode the lift to Kate’s office. They passed Themba on the way in, the Zygon having already left them tea and sandwiches before leaving for the night. Both Humans gave their thanks before the lift doors shut again, leaving the two of them on their own.

Despite it only being early evening, the entire mainframe seemed hushed, almost at a standstill, and despite the fact that Kate knew better, she could feel it down in her very bones as she surveyed the atrium below.

“Bloody fucking good sandwich,” Malcolm said around his food. He glanced at Kate and saw the grim expression. “You alright, love?”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” she admitted. “I mean, I know we’ll do something and it’ll work out fine in the end, but it’s the part about getting there that’s worrying me.” She turned towards her husband and watched as he swallowed the large chunk of food in his mouth… then it hit her. “Wow… you’re good to have around in more ways than one.”

“I don’t know if that one’s referring to my dashing good looks, my talent in bed, or my talent in regards to my chosen craft,” he said before taking a sip of his cuppa. “Or is it my charm? Is it my Scottish charm that had you absolutely enamored before the current discovery?”

“You’re an incredibly good sounding board—not only that, you’ve been so for a long time now.”

“…well, yeah. That’s what I did when I was in politics, and that’s what I’m technically paid to do now. The only difference is that now I’m an additional bit of sounding board because I happened to get hitched to the one who needs the ear to sort things out with.”

Nodding, Kate sat down at her desk as Malcolm brought her a sandwich and cup of tea from the tray. She was glad it was there, for she didn’t even realize how hungry she was until she looked at it. “I don’t think I ate since I gave Conall his lunch, and that wasn’t much at all.”

“I wouldn’t blame you—mushed peas and carrots don’t exactly look that appetizing.”

“Well, then, distract me,” she requested. “Get my mind off the fact the sandwich alone might not do it for my dinner.”

“Jamie likes your mam’s,” he offered. “Thinks it’s a nice place; wants us to move there soon as we can.”

“We’d have to retire first.”

“That’s what I told him, but he won’t have it. I think he’s after the wean—with the Kens going off to uni in the Fall, I think he needs a hobby.”

“He can adopt his own galaxy-endangering tykebomb,” she quipped. He laughed at that.

“Yeah—the git’s gonna have to wait until he starts getting passed grandkids,” he theorized. “Percy might come through soon enough—seeing a girl from what I hear and it’s going well.”

“How well is that?”

“Not pushing, ‘cause they’re still just turning twenty-one this year, but her parents are absolutely over the fucking moon.”

“…shit… turning twenty-one? I thought Penny was going to grad school.”

“She was on an accelerated course and sat exams early—Penny sucked up all the schooling might Percy should’ve had. At least Kennethia and Kendall shared more evenly in that regard.” He considered using the topic as a segue, and decided what the fucking hell. “You know? I’ve been thinking.”

“Not very subtly.”

Ouch, yeah. “We need to get a branch of my office up there that I can leave alone if need be—this trip’s made it much clearer.”

“Why this specific trip, compared to all the others you’ve taken up there?”

“…because the less-wee of my best mates is bored as fuck with his firm, is about to go mad from the loneliness of empty nesting that’s looming closer and closer into becoming reality, and he doesn’t want to uproot Jeanette and move in order to shake things up. I think it’ll solve the problems on both ends.”

“No.”

Malcolm scoffed at that, attempting to lighten the mood. “The lad’s a twenty minute walk from Glasburgh Central. He knows Motherwell and Wishaw like he knows his own cock. The bastard figured out which family attending his parish is fucking Trion for fuck’s sake… he’d be more than a decent asset.”

“That would be favoritism.”

“…as was the decision to hire me in the first place,” he mentioned. “Look, you got me hired in here by Glenn’s word, and that involved a lot more hassle than what would be to get Jamie a position as my Glasburgh lieutenant. I’d like to at least attempt to have your approval before I run it by Moore.”

Kate leaned back in her chair, pondering the proposal. “How big of a staff do you think he’d need?”

“One or two, plus an assistant,” he shrugged. “Just enough to delegate, but not too few so that the department shuts down should he go feral on us.”

“Does he often ‘go feral’ in a work context?”

“Depends on the situation, but only when really necessary.” Malcolm took a few steps towards the window and looked down upon the atrium, seeing the molemen below. “Jamie’s my friend, yeah, but what’s much more important is that I trust him and the decisions he makes. He’s not perfect, but his record’s pretty fucking stellar otherwise.”

“…anything else…?”

“Think of all the money we’d save on sending people up there just to wrap their heads around some info in regards to what the public’s allowed to know regarding a situation,” he reasoned. “Shit… I lost Sanchez for over a week that way.”

“Over a week? When?”

“Last year when I had to send her to Morar; part of this job is pretending to be an investigative journalist and that was her degree. Anyhow, with all this Brexit shit, we’re bound to need more of a reach, with an ear on local matters, and setting up an annex to my office won’t be a bad thing.”

Kate stared long and hard at her husband, coworker, friend, and confidant, giving his words thought. She could see how much he was sweating it, worried about what she would say.

“I’m only allowing you to spin me because I love you,” she finally said. Malcolm pumped his fist in victory—he could go on to the next stage. “If Jamie screws this up, it’s your neck on the chopping block.”

“I love you too,” he replied with a grin. He leaned down and gave her a full-on kiss, bracing himself against the window and hoping that at least one of the molemen below saw. A piece of him still was wary of the act, but the rest of his being was electrified—the thrill of being married to one of the most powerful women he’d ever met, the ability to show that he was hers… it was something he knew was definitely a more recent development.

“We actually have work to do tonight,” she warned him, chuckling against his lips. “Are we going to take care of your prick now or later?”

“It’s your call.”

She then put her hand on his face and gently pushed him away. “Later.”

“Well fuck me sideways and call me Mary—they’re actually gonna try to do it.”

Malcolm furrowed his brow and looked at his mobile momentarily. He was in the middle of making sandwiches for himself, Fiona—the lass wrapped up in feeding Conall his lunch on the other side of the room—and Kate—who was on her way back from an odd fuck of a shift at that moment—and did not appreciate Jamie’s hard veer away from the previous topic.

“Who is going to try what? We were talking about Wee George trying to actually make money off of shinty.”

“Dropping out of the European Union, mate—it’s all over the fucking news.”

Malcolm dropped his voice and turned towards the window, pretending to be interested in something outside. “Shit; so the vote’s planned? No more tabling?”

“It’s what it looks like—fuck. They can’t do this to me, not when Kendall wants to study in Dresden and Kennethia in Nice and Penny wants to attend grad school in Dublin and I still want to go visit all of them without needing to pass any fucking checkpoints like it’s the Cold Cunting War.”

“You know they’re just doing that to get away from you.”

“I don’t care what the fuck they’re doing it for! This bullshit could complicate things! I’d be a shite da if I wanted something that would complicate things like that for no discernable fucking reason!” Jamie then paused for a moment, which Malcolm took as not a good sign. “Wait a tic… how the fuck did you not know this? You always know shit like this before it drops.”

“Well, considering people have been bitching for a bit, it’s not surprising that someone upstairs is finally calling bluffs,” Malcolm replied. “Besides, I’m out of that part of the game now. I literally work for the United Fucking Nations whether they admit it or not—UK politicos have been steering the fuck clear of me more than usual. That, plus I don’t have to turn on the TV anymore… there isn’t even one in the kitchen or in-sight of it. Most days it’s best I don’t.”

“Must be nice.” Jamie paused, then cussed unintelligibly. “Fuck... I got a client calling; pick this up again later?”

“Don’t work too hard and make me look bone-fucking-idle.”

“Cheers.”

The call ended and Malcolm placed his mobile on the counter, stunned. What he thought was going to be a decent pissing match before lunch ended up being a bone-chiller. Fuck… who had the iron-cast balls to call something like that? What he’d told Jamie was right: he’d been out of the game for too fucking long indeed.

“What was that, Dad?” Fiona asked idly. Malcolm looked over his shoulder and saw she was still concentrating on showing her baby brother how to properly consume his soup-infused rice to mixed results. “You went quiet there all of a sudden.”

“I… uh…”

“Wee George isn’t in trouble again, is he? I know he’s Uncle Jamie’s nephew, but that idiot’s bad news…”

“No, no—it has nothing to do with Wee George.” He paused, watching his kids, and decided he was going to fact-check first. Ten seconds and a news app was open on his mobile, and guess what was all over the front fucking headlines. “Fuck… he’s not just having me on.”

“…about what…?”

“That fucking bullshit about leaving the EU… I knew I should’ve been paying attention…”

“Oh that? It’s just a bunch of hot gas and has been for years and is going to actually take years to get further than we are now, you know that. The Act isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

“It will when someone actually drops a steaming referendum atop the shit pile.”

Fiona’s face went pale. “Wait, what?! Already?!” She left Conall with the rice bowl and went to Malcolm’s side, looking at his mobile as well. “Jesus fucking Christ—Nona and Nonno are going to fucking flip their shit.”

“They won’t be the first or the last,” he scowled. “I already know your mam’s gonna be fucking livid when she gets home. This is not going to go down well.”

“What would it mean for you two…? I mean, you are UN, right? Should that not make any difference…?”

Malcolm exhaled heavily and locked his mobile screen, feeling a headache coming on. “Yeah, it shouldn’t, but this could throw a major hitch into daily operations. Our survival as a mainframe depends on the free movement back and forth of people, which would be more of a hassle if Britain’s out of the European Union. Shit… it’s not like we don’t have literal illegal aliens hanging out in the fucking mainframe as is.”

“I thought there were plenty of cross-jurisdiction mainframes,” she mentioned.

“There are, but that’s not our problem right now. What is our problem is how we’re going to operate smoothly with more barriers in our way or if we’re going to be abandoned with what’s left of Gibraltar after it’s forcefully severed from Tanja.”

“…you make it sound like you think it’ll pass in the poorest manner possible…”

“I didn’t even think they were brain-dead enough to levy the referendum; whomever pulled the trigger on this must be either off their fucking gourd or thinking they’re calling a bluff that doesn’t need attention.”

“They passed an Act and are actually acting upon it for once…”

“Just because they passed a fucking kidney stone doesn’t mean it’s actually going to be anything from enforced to enforced well. I should know.” It was then that Kate arrived home, her car coming up the drive and parking near the kitchen door. “Oh fuck—that’s not a good look. Love, I take it you heard the news?” He watched as Kate stormed into the kitchen, absolutely fuming.

“What contacts do you have that I can use to pressure this into redaction?” she snapped.

“None of my remaining contacts even warned me about the announcement,” he claimed. “I’m just as much in the fucking dark as you are. I only knew anything was going on because Jamie and I were having a chat and he saw it on the news.”

“I’ve already had three calls and ten panicked text threads over it, and that was after I left Outer London.” Kate ran a hand through her hair in frustration, which her husband found sexier than he was going to admit at that moment, and she spied the half-made sandwiches. “Which is mine?”

“Oh, fuck—I was in the middle of that when Jamie saw the news,” Malcolm realized. He hurriedly slapped the remainder of the sandwiches together and presented his wife hers. “Crisps alright with it?”

“Sure; Fiona? Can you please make a pot of tea? I get the feeling I’m going to be doing damage control for a while.”

“Sure thing, Mum,” Fiona said as Kate disappeared into the house. She then turned her attention to Malcolm. “Dad, I’ll take Conall today. All I was going to do was some laundry and maybe bake a pie. I think Giggles over there can handle that.” She jammed her thumb in Conall’s direction, who was somehow wearing more rice than he was seemingly left with. “I got him—you go and join Mum in keeping everyone calm.”

“Thanks.” Malcolm kissed both Fiona and Conall on the forehead before taking his lunch with him over towards the home office. Kate was already there, tapping furiously on the computer as she munched on her sandwich. “No one’s fucking listening, are they?”

“I swear, if I wasn’t already nearly home when I heard the news, I would’ve just turned right around and gone back,” she grumbled. She saw Malcolm plop himself down on the couch and open his laptop, sandwich next to him. “I thought you had Conall today.”

“Fiona didn’t have much planned, so she volunteered,” he replied. “I just want to know what sort of direction you want me to spin this.”

“No spinning, not now,” she ordered. “Just get with Nora and the two of you concoct what you’re going to send out to staff later today. I’m going to handle making sure none of our contracts blow up in our faces.”

“I understand my part, but isn’t what you’re doing something that should wait until after the shit can’t be scraped off the plate? Just use this time to prepare for the drop?”

“If we don’t start reinforcing things now, chances are the shit won’t even land on the plate and go straight to the table,” she reasoned. “We need both approaches, honestly, and the only way we’re going to get to whatever endgame there is, is honestly by going as hard as we can.” She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, using the moment to stretch. “Get ready to ride into work later.”

“We were supposed to have tonight and tomorrow off… together…”

“We can sleep in one of the panic rooms tonight,” she said as a condolence. “Now come on; let’s make sure that everything stays afloat while the others around us cock it up.”

“Permission to have an overdramatic phone call in Italian?” Fiona asked as she came in, two mugs of tea and the remainder of the pot with her. She set the tray down on the table next to Malcolm as he tapped away at an email to Aparajita and brought her mother her mug.

“Tell Antonio and Francesca I say hello and wish they’re well,” Kate requested. At that her daughter whipped out her mobile, scrolling through her contacts as she searched for her grandparents’ number. Once she did, she left the office and called them, going straight into rapid Italian as she walked back to where Conall presumably was detained. “They are likely to try to get her and Marco permanent visas if they think the need will arise—too much of globalists to consider taking all of this nonsense lying down.”

“It just makes me feel better about our daughter’s options,” Malcolm said. He noticed his mobile buzzing next to his plate and picked it up—HR. “Well, let the games begin.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

To say that there was panic in Mainframe UK was an understatement.

It wasn’t mass fucking chaos or total anarchy—naw, nothing that drastic and cartoonish. Instead, everyone was incredibly tense as the Stewart-Tuckers went into work that evening, an uneasy air having settled over everyone and everything. Aparajita met them at the lift that led to their offices, a grim expression on her face.

“They’re taking it rather well, aren’t they?” she frowned, gesturing in the direction of the atrium. “It’s positively hushed in there compared to before.”

“Did everyone do what I said?” Malcolm asked. His PA then produced two folders, one for her boss and one for his boss.

“We’ve got a decent poll of the mainframe and it seems like everyone’s in to work on either staying or somehow our people getting immunity from any additional travel and living restrictions that might arise,” she explained. “Even the ones who would normally align with a Leave ideology understand that our positions would be put in potential jeopardy if we were out of the European Union.”

“You aren’t bullying people, are you?” Kate wondered. “They are entitled to their own opinion, even stupid ones.”

“Yeah, they are, but I heard people tell me, in their own words without prompting, that even though they think the EU is a piece of shit, they’d rather be in it than out for the sake of UNIT.”

“So you can teach an old Tory new tricks,” Malcolm muttered. He then handed back the folder and walked away from the lift. “I got to see if Cullen’s in—wouldn’t answer my texts or calls all day. Be up in a tic.”

“Why do you need to see him?”

“…to make sure that he’s not keeping any secrets.” He turned his attention to Kate, who was way too wired on caffeine to do anything but scowl. “My place or yours?”

“Mine—don’t dawdle, because I might not make it for very long.”

“Noted.”

Quickly making his way through the mainframe, Malcolm was able to find Glenn with relative ease. The older man was sitting up in his office, looking as though he was nursing down an entire vat of coffee.

“What do you want…?” Glenn asked. “I just got up twenty minutes ago; haven’t even checked your messages.”

“Have you at least heard the news?”

“What news? That I have to rewire all of Security, again, just because of our easing off the power grid?”

“I’m talking bigger than that—much bigger.” Malcolm took out his mobile and pulled up the news feed, showing it to Glenn. The other man’s jaw dropped in complete shock.

“Fuck… that’s a wakeup call…”

“…in more ways than one. I just need to ask you something.”

Glenn looked at Malcolm cautiously, “…about…?”

“This: did you know anything about this decision? How close they were to sealing the deal? What they said to make Her Highness not sic her pack of rabid corgis on them? What did you know about this before now?”

“Fucking Hell, Malcolm, just as much as you, apparently,” Glenn replied. “If I talk to my contacts from the old days, it’s certainly not about shit like this.”

Malcolm sank into a chair and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. He covered his hands with his face, allowing them to slowly slide off and flop to his side. Fuck.

“It sucks not being in the loop, isn’t it?” Glenn offered. “You were in the thick of it for all those years, and now this comes out of seemingly nowhere for you. It must be rough.”

“I don’t need your fucking pity,” Malcolm groaned. “What I want to know is how the fuck they were able to work hard enough to get this fucking thing off the ground before the decade ran out. You know as well as I do that they can’t pick their own arse without having five meetings and a press conference about it first.”

“Not that I want either to happen, but at least we’d only be leaving the European Union, not the United Nations; it could always be worse.”

“Yeah, and you know that’s the next step, and what the fuck are they going to do in the meantime?” The office went silent, the clock on the wall the only thing audible for a few long, heavy moments. “It feels like everything we ever worked for is just being shat upon while we’re being told to bend over for more.”

“I still can’t wholly believe this is happening,” Glenn said. He was now browsing through his own mobile, presumably at a news feed. “You’ve been discussing this with the other, more outwardly-involved department heads, yeah?”

“All fucking day.”

“Okay then, so, realistically speaking, if we leave the EU, then what does that mean for UNIT?”

“It means a couple more hurdles, is all,” Malcolm scowled. “Don’t get me wrong, because I am all sorts of fucking worried in regards to this getting in the way of our personal and professional lives, but Kate is of the persuasion that Geneva won’t let us falter like that. We have too much to do, and the UN status hasn’t changed, though I have my doubts.”

“We can barely get the UN to admit we’re a part of it on a good day—why would they want to keep us here if that’s the case?”

“…because, it’s easier than boarding us up and holding a rummage sale to clean house.” Malcolm saw that Glenn was far from convinced—probably making the same face he made at Kate earlier in the day when she explained her reasoning to him, but he couldn’t let that be known. “Just relax—when have we known those shits to actually follow through on their threats?"

“Several times,” Glenn deadpanned. ”You lost your job the one time and began showing up at DoSaC in civvies like a lost puppy.”

“Now that one Jones couldn’t help,” Malcolm defended. “It wasn’t her fault Steve Fleming is such a flaming prick.”

“You sure do defend her a lot for someone who gave you the sack before,” Glenn noted. “Anyone else might think the two of you were shagging.”

“Harriet Jones, Prime Minister,” Malcolm said, briefly mimicking his old boss's accent, “was merely a competent individual with clear goals and the balls to reach them. One of the biggest disappointments of that life is not being able to secure her position after she figured out how to bring me back on. I can’t even remember anything that Saxon prick did, though at least now I know that’s on purpose.”

“So then no last-minute shagging admission?”

“Fuck naw.” He raised an eyebrow as Glenn squirmed. “What?”

“Olly owes me twenty quid, the posh git, and now I can’t even collect because he’s too far out of the game to track.”

“You had a bet on whether or not I was shagging Jones?”

“Well… wouldn’t you?”

Malcolm considered that, then nodded. “If I was looking in, possibly, but still… Jones… any urge there used to be was long gone by that point and you fucking know it.”

“True enough… though it’s not like we weren't entirely wrong about you shagging the boss. We just didn’t know which boss it was.” He saw that the other man was glaring now, but it was worth it. “Kate counts; you weren’t married to start.”

“I should lock you in a vault with nothing but a razor and two bottles of bleach.”

“You’re cross because I’m right.”

“I’m cross because that’s oversimplifying a lot of fucking nuance.”

“Shagging is shagging, Malcolm.”

“I love Kate—I only had respect for Harriet.”

“Considering she was one of the few people we ever saw you not cuss out in a fiery rage? It looked like you might’ve been shagging… or had a crush on her at the very least.”

“Did it seem like I was shagging our other bosses?”

“No, but you swore a lot more at them; it was almost like you were bound by law to never even euphemize around her.”

“…and you mistake my being considerate in regards to a competent lawmaker’s request as shagging? You are fucking dense—competence calls for concessions, and that was what happened. Nothing more.” They were quiet again, both of them allowing their minds to go back to a different time. “Doesn’t mean I don’t miss her.”

“What was the official reason they gave? Burglary gone bad?”

“Yeah; she’s back in Flydale North, where everyone else insisted she belonged,” Malcolm said quietly. He knew he was amongst only a small handful of people who were aware of the truth, and that it was unlikely that Glenn was also in-the-know, but it was just a fact that as long as certain people and things knew she was alive, the more attention she’d bring. Glenn thought she was buried, yet Malcolm knew it was only her political career that was dead as she retired into a peaceful life. “She wouldn’t have let this go.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Glenn agreed. “Now unless you have any other news for me, you might want to get a move on—if the situation is as dire as you say it is, then something tells me that Director Stewart has not slept today, whereas I have, and she will need much more attention.”

“Sounds good,” Malcolm nodded. He stood and made for the office door, turning around once he got there. “Just make sure that if anyone in your department begins pitching a fit, let them know that we’re aware and actively figuring something out during our conscious hours.”

“There was never any doubt,” Glenn said. He waved his hand to shoo his visitor out, which was met with little resistance. Malcolm left, wandering the still-tense and quiet mainframe with ease.

After dropping off his overcoat at his office, Malcolm went up the lift to Kate’s, finding that she wasn’t there at her desk. He stepped back out into the corridor, where a large painting of his deceased father-in-law was hanging on the wall and shook his head.

“We’re in for it now, Your Mustachedness,” he said quietly. “I’m helping Tiger, and we’re doing the best we can. Just know that, okay?”

“Malcolm, come to bed,” Kate whined from inside the office. He poked his head in to see her standing in the doorway to the panic room, already in her pajamas, looking extremely sexy in her rumpled state. “You can pretend to be in a Harry Potter book in the morning.”

“You heard that…?” he winced.

“I think it’s sweet,” she replied. She closed the door as he came inside the panic room and kicked off his shoes. After helping him out of his jacket, she draped it on the back of her desk chair and began pulling him towards the bed. “They both would have liked you, you know.”

“We can’t know that.”

“I think so.” Kate hummed as she settled down on the mattress, watching as Malcolm took off his trousers and shirt, also hanging them up with care. “Mum would’ve liked you before her dementia hit for certain and Dad, if anything, would recognize how far you’re willing to go. He still would have loved having you around.”

“Good to know,” he replied. He then got into bed, allowing himself to become enveloped in a very sleepy set of arms. “Now all we have to do is get through this giant cockup.”

“We’ll do it,” she said, voice drifting off. “How do you put it? We cannot be fucked?”

“Yeah,” he grinned as the lights dimmed. “We are absolutely unfuckable.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

A/N: So, this is the part where I say that because of a variety of things (the shortened version of hindsight we currently have in mid-2020, my status as an American, the fact that I began writing this story as a whole only around when Conall was born in-universe, how this is an AU for a combo real-life AU and soft sci-fi AU, etc.), this entire subplot is likely going to be weird as hell and exhaustingly long. I had followed things fairly closely in real-time and am still doing specific research on the events/timeline/whatnot in order to make this go somewhat as it did without focusing on some of the more depressing bits. That being said, there are actually even weirder layers to the politics of this, as the fact UNIT also exists in this continuum would subsequently color characters’ opinions given its reach and role in planetary safety. Fans of TTOI are more than allowed their own theories as to how certain characters would have aligned to most real-world events** (I personally think that very few would have actually wanted a Leave vote unless pressured by constituents, as the show (thank fuck) took place in a pre-referendum world), but for the purposes of this fic we’re going to see some characters take stances that may or may not align with their regular characterization. Same goes for DW, even though with the nature of the show, it could actually write off the entire debacle and keep the UK in the EU if that’s what it really wanted.

Another thing to note is that, yes, clearly, in this AU, Malcolm Tucker worked for Harriet Jones when she was Prime Minister. I kind of touch on it in The Life That Never Was, but that’s neither here nor there at this point. Just know that he was definitely her guard dog and enforcer. She put him to good use and he was loyal in return, and she was the one in charge when the Steve Fleming Incident happened. The lead-in to the unseen election at the end of s3 would correlate to Harold Saxon getting to be PM and then afterwards events led to Nicola being Leader of the Opposition and all the s4 stuff happened as usual.