![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Doctor Who Fic: Not Quite As Planned - Chapter 13
Here's the next installment of this tale. A huge shout-out of gratitude to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sensiblecat for her amazing beta work in helping hammer things into much better shape!
Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3 Chap 4 Chap 5 Chap 6 Chap 7 Chap 8 Chap 9 Chap 10 Chap 11 Chap 12
"Good morning!" Donna called out as she breezed through the glass doors of the Archive.
She looked about the place in surprise when no cheery voice answered her and then sat herself down at her desk to stow her handbag in the lower drawer. This was the first time that she'd actually got to work before Ian, who seemed to live here most of the time. Well, she considered, maybe now that he had a few more places to actually sit down in his flat, he was taking advantage of it?
Booting the computer for the day, she moved over to the hot plate and picked up the glass carafe that functioned for the two of them as a kettle. She could at least get tea going before he got there…
But then, something on the very edge of her awareness made her look up and around. "Who's there?" she asked loudly, as if hoping that whatever visitor to the Archive would answer her. The feeling grew stronger: a feeling of sadness, worry. And then she heard the TARDIS coral's hum, which had grown loud enough to be heard all the way from the back of the cavernous room.
Curious now, Donna put the carafe down and made her way through the maze of shelving until she turned the corner that would bring her to the coral, and then stopped short. Lying curled on the floor next to the box was Ian, his coat tossed aside on the other side of the box as if thrown there in anger.
Donna hurried to his side, afraid to find him pale and cold and lifeless, only to discover that he'd apparently fallen asleep on the hard, concrete floor. Beside him, in the box, the little coral hummed sadly at her, with that soft presence in Donna's mind turning hopeful now and pleased to see her. "Ian?" she called softly, not entirely certain she should try to awaken him. In answer, he snuffled, rubbed his nose with the back of one hand, and then settled down again with his face pillowed on one hand.
"Oh, Ian! What have you done to yourself?" she whispered, quickly removing her sweater and folding it up. Very carefully she slid her hand under Ian's head so she could insert the sweater beneath him as a pillow, and then retrieved his long coat to drape over him like a blanket. Somehow, he managed not to rouse in the least with the movement. "Will he be all right?" she asked the coral worriedly, then immediately questioned her sanity at talking to an inanimate object until the pressure in her head communicated a feeling of satisfaction.
With little else to do until he awakened other than work on her afternoon reports, she walked back to the front of the Archive and finished making the pot of tea. If nothing else, she could take a mug back to Ian, so that he'd have it when he finally roused. She was cautious, placing the half-full mug far enough back that sleeping movements wouldn't tip it over, and then on second thought moving it to just inside the coral's sandbox. She crouched next to him, studying his face and wondering to herself if those were truly tear tracks down his cheek. Then, convinced that the best use of her time was to work through what she could of the next bunch of reports and somehow intercept any inquiries aimed at Ian until he could take them himself, she headed back to her desk.
She wondered, as she settled down with her notes on an energy converter from a Slitheen cargo ship, how long it would take him to regain consciousness.
One third of the way through the report, and after handling two phone calls from the excited head of the R&D Department regarding that gyroscopic extrapolator that told her how quickly other Torchwood departments were getting word of the incredible things stored down here, she looked up and saw a very crumpled-looking Ian coming towards her. Unshaven, with hair sticking up in all directions as if he'd shoved a finger in a light socket, he shuffled forward from the depths of the Archive shelving, clearly heading for the carafe of tea sitting on the hot plate.
"Finally decided to join us, eh?" she asked softly, just in case he had a raging hangover and owing him the decency not to make him feel any worse. "At least it's still a good morning to you."
"Good morning and thanks for the tea," he managed as he poured his mug full again and opened the miniature fridge to look for milk. "And I have your sweater here… somewhere…" he added, putting the milk carton down and turning the crumpled wad of material draped over one arm over and over about three times before he could extract her garment.
"Hey, c'mere and sit down before you fall over again," she told him, rising and then using his elbows to steer him into her chair. "What the hell happened to you to end up on the floor like that?" she queried, taking his tea from him, moving to fix it the way he liked it and then handing it back to him again.
Ian gazed up at her as if his heart were breaking. "Bad night, I guess," he told her in a subdued voice. He sighed heavily, and then took a long draught of his tea. "I… was invited to dinner with the Tylers, and ended up talking with Rose…"
"Arguing with her, you mean?" Donna remembered what he'd told her of his relationship with the Tyler heiress, and it was easy to assume that much the same had happened again.
"Not quite." He shook his head tiredly. "Well, maybe at first. Pete wanted to ask me about… weeelll… about the fact that I told him I'm starting to have a social life, and things kinda moved in the direction of talking about you – indirectly, that is…" he assured her with a comforting hand held out to her briefly. "Pete put a lid on any overt hostilities from Rose at the table, but she was waiting for me at my car when I got ready to leave. I was afraid she wanted a knock-down, drag-out, but it turned out we talked… really talked… for the first time in months. Only she wanted me to go back to the way things were… No, wait a minute… she didn't want that, but she just couldn't understand…" He blinked and looked up at her with a penetrating gaze. "I told her I had moved on, and that she had to move on too. Also told her a lot of things that have been kinda building…"
Donna nodded. "You unloaded on her, you mean."
His gaze turned sheepish before he looked down and away again. "Yeah. I suppose I did. I honestly didn't try to be deliberately cruel, but I think she has a far clearer idea now of some of my reasons for distancing myself."
"So what happened after you got away from her? Did you go out and get drunk to try to forget and just… land here?"
Ian looked right back up at her again, this time defensively. "I didn't! I wouldn't! Okay, so maybe I thought about it, but I didn't. I drove around for a while, trying to get my head straightened out again, decided I didn't want to go back to an empty flat, didn't want to deal with a hangover either, so ended up here with the TARDIS coral for company. It's just… Rose made me so angry with her thinking we could just go back to the way things were before, and it hurt to think that maybe, if I'd just waited long enough, but… I could see she was trying hard to understand… I thought about coming over and talking to you, but it was late and I didn't want to impose…"
"You idiot." Donna slugged his shoulder, and it wasn't just a friendly swat this time. "Why didn't you stop by? I would have listened to you, you know, maybe given you somewhere a little more comfortable to crash than this…" She gestured brusquely towards the back end of the Archive hall.
"Ow!" Ian rubbed petulantly where she had hit him and his expression was guilty. "I monopolized all of your time this weekend. I thought you'd enjoy an evening without my intruding for a change."
"Well, you thought wrong!" She towered over him, hand on her hips. "We're friends, aren't we? Isn't that what you told me?"
"Weeelll… yeah," he replied, looking away again.
"Friends help friends, don't they? They listen when the other needs to talk? Offer shoulders to lean on, and all that?"
"Yeah." He lifted his tea mug again; Donna wondered if he was hiding behind it. These were the kinds of things that he had been telling her that past weekend. Hadn't he been listening to himself, or did he think that common sense advice didn't apply to skinny half-aliens in suits like him?
"If you were so worried that you'd be intruding, you could have called me, you know…" She mimed holding a two-fingered telephone to her ear. "Asked me if I'd mind you showing up…"
Ian looked up at her as if she'd just related a great secret. "I suppose I could have at that, but…" He looked away. "Donna, I don't have your number."
Donna sighed. Blokes! Especially absent-minded professor-type blokes! "Blimey! You have your mobile on you, don't you?" She thrust out a hand when he nodded. "Hand it over."
Ian left his mug on her desk and patted himself on each of his many pockets until he finally dredged in his trousers to bring out the little silver device. Obediently, he gave it to her.
"For that matter, I'm going to make note of your number, for much the same reason," she continued while she poked busily at the buttons, repeating his number over in her mind so she could remember it until she could note it down.
"Really?" She looked up from her task to find him staring at her. "You'd call me now if you needed an ear or shoulder?"
Her eyes widened, and she instantly wondered if she'd stepped over an invisible barrier. "That's okay with you, isn't it?"
"That's more than okay with me," Ian replied, looking pleased for the first time that day. "Of course I'd want you to call me – especially if you were considering going pub-crawling again on a long weekend."
"Oi!" Donna could feel her face heating up fiercely. "I think I've learned my lesson on that one."
"Yeah, well…" He got his mobile back and studied the screen that held her name and number. "…I think maybe I've learned mine on this one too." He looked up into her face cautiously. "Am I forgiven?"
Donna put on a show of thinking through his question, although she knew full well that the smile that was sneaking onto her face was giving lie to it when Ian began grinning back at her. "Ooooh, I suppoooose…" she dragged out in a exasperated tone.
"You're one in a million, Donna!"
The exclamation made her once more blush, this time because she felt just as complimented as she did flustered, especially at the look of approval and maybe even something more in Ian's eye that she wasn't quite ready to see yet. Her only resort was to retreat behind bravado. "Well, we already know that you're one of a kind, Dumbo. So get your one of a kind carcass into a shower and make yourself presentable so we can at least get a little work accomplished this morning. Lunch will be on me – and don't argue with me after all this. You will not win."
oOoOo
"Admiral Bradley-Smythe to see you, sir…" Pete heard his secretary announce and then rose to put his hand out to the tall and burly uniformed officer.
Like so many of the other military men who had marched into his office, this Bradley-Smythe's chest was covered with a patch of colorful ribbons that told of his valor and justified his rank. "Tyler," the man stated while giving his iron grip another firm squeeze before settling back into a stiff posture. "I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice."
"What can I do for you, Admiral?" Pete gestured to the comfortable chair in front of his desk and then sat back down himself. It seemed he had a meeting like this every few months, and he couldn't help wondering what had sparked things this time.
"I'll get right to the point. I've heard you have a very valuable piece of alien technology stored here that our forces could make great use of, a… erm… 'gyroscopic extrapolator' I believe it was called," the man answered without moving to the chair. "As a matter of national security…"
"Sit down, Admiral, please," Pete said, waving the man at the chair in front of the desk while trying not so show dismay, "and tell me exactly where you have received your information."
The military officer considered for a long moment and then parked himself firmly in the leather and cushioned chair. "I'm with Naval Intelligence, and that's how I came up with the information. Now, about that device…"
How in the world had this Admiral heard of a device that even he had just learned of the evening before? Something was seriously amiss! "Just a moment." Pete put up a hand, silencing the Admiral, and pushed the button on his intercom. "Stacey, I want to see Julian from R&D before he heads off tonight." It was the responsibility of the man in charge of R&D to make certain information of this sort stayed safely secure. At the very least, Julian had a lot of explaining to do.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, then, Admiral, just what exactly have you heard; and more to the point, from whom did you hear it?" Pete was all business now. Torchwood had a leak, one it most definitely did not need right now.
Bradley-Smythe's brows lifted in not quite derision over eerily pale blue eyes. "Am I to take it that you didn't authorize this information to be passed along?"
"No, I did not. And that's why I really must ask who you received your information from."
"You expect me to just give you that information?"
Pete's eyes narrowed. "In much the same manner that you expected me to just hand you information on an alien device."
"Just who the hell do you think you are to be demanding things of me?" the Admiral bristled.
"I," Pete replied with deadly calm, "am the head of Torchwood, and answerable to the President and Parliament. I have quite sufficient reason to be wary of cooperating with the armed forces – especially after twenty civilian casualties in Leeds. Might I suggest that if you wish any answers from me, you answer my questions first." He folded his hands on his desk and looked his challenge right back into those eerily colored eyes.
It turned into an intense staring match while Pete sat there, silent and waiting. The Admiral eventually sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers on his chest. "Very well. I received my information from an assistant to one of our commanders, who told me that an acquaintance of his had received word of a report regarding something called a gyroscopic extrapolator. When I broached the topic with one of our mechanical engineers, he was most excited and vehement that it would be a boon to our guidance systems. It was his suggestion that I speak to you immediately."
"Have you no names to go with these assistants and commanders who brought the information to your attention?" Pete asked, his tone steely and uncompromising while seething internally. The more this military man spoke, the more obvious it was that someone in Torchwood was talking - to the wrong people! The sooner this was nipped in the bud, the better!
The Admiral took a deep, reluctant breath and then raised his chin in a stoic expression. "Commander Anthony Cushman's junior assistant, Sub-Lieutenant Gregory Shipton, is the man who spoke to me. Lieutenant Shipton didn't name his acquaintance, merely insinuated that whoever it was in some way was associated with your… firm and privy to the report in question."
"Well, as a man in a position of some authority, perhaps I can begin to make you understand my concern with how you acquired your knowledge of classified information. You see," Pete leaned forward, his hands no longer folded so his mien was more open, "the report regarding the item you named was put on my desk only yesterday, and passed along to our internal R&D Department just this morning. So, for someone to have access to that report and then pass along the information contained in it so quickly means that your Lieutenant Shipton's acquaintance is someone relatively high up in my organization; and that person is violating the non-disclosure terms of his or her employment contract." Pete's gaze bored into Bradley-Smythe's. "Tell me, Admiral, how would you be feeling if you discovered that one of your top-secret projects was suddenly open knowledge to someone with an agenda?"
The Admiral's pale eyes had grown wide again, and he folded his hands across his chest. "That would be treason."
"Just so," Pete agreed. "And not only do I have that concern, but it occurs to me that neither you nor I have any assurance that Lieutenant Shipton was the only person to whom this information was passed."
"My word!" Bradley-Smythe blanched. "You do have a rather large problem, Tyler."
Pete nodded somberly. "I do indeed. Our mandated mission is to receive and then examine the alien artifacts that come into our possession. Those with potential for practical use are forwarded along to our internal R&D Department, along with the expert recommendations of the man in charge of identifying these artifacts for us. For his report to..."
The Admiral bent forward, his eyes bright with interest. "I have heard rumor of this 'Doctor' that you have installed here at Torchwood, but until now, no one outside Torchwood has had any opportunity to speak with this man, to find out if he has anything of value to offer. He always seems to be otherwise occupied."
The Admiral's cold smile made Pete uneasy. For the past six months, he'd protected the Doctor from the military as best he could, stymieing their efforts to get their hands on him. It was unfortunate that this Bradley-Smythe was knowledgeable enough to put two and two together regarding the identity of the "expert" he'd mentioned.
"He's a busy man," Pete offered stiffly, "for obvious reasons."
"So it seems. But we're dealing with matters of utmost importance here. Don't you think it would be in the best interests of our world if I or my staff could have access to this person from time to time?"
Pete scowled. He was fairly certain the Doctor would want to have absolutely nothing to do with anyone in the military, if the tales Rose told of his dislike for violence and weaponry were any indication. "He is rather… opinionated when it comes you lot. I will ask, but I will not order him to talk to you. I hope you understand that I absolutely will not jeopardize the working relationship that has him willingly giving us the benefit of an encyclopedic knowledgebase regarding the artifacts warehoused here."
"But you will ask him if he would be willing to talk to us?" Bradley-Smythe pushed, not quite belligerent.
"I will… relay your request, yes," Pete affirmed cautiously. "But getting back to the topic of the item you were speaking of, I'm afraid any access or further information about it will have to wait, pending the decision of the director of our R&D Department on the suitability of having this technology made available outside of Torchwood at this point in time. After what happened in Leeds, I'm certain you can appreciate our caution and discretion. I will be sure to notify your office when a decision has been made."
"Surely, after the tragedy our world suffered less than ten years ago at the hands of those… Cybermen, you cannot help but agree that the Earth must have the best possible technology to defend herself," the Admiral argued heatedly. "This is no time for delicate stomachs, Tyler. I deeply regret that twenty people died, although a military tribunal held that they were collateral damage…"
Pete couldn't help riling at the military whitewashing of its own misdeeds. "Twenty innocent civilian deaths, Admiral, at a protest rally! That wasn't collateral damage to an alien invasion, that was a slaughter of British citizens! Torchwood and Parliament trusted the military not to use that weapon except in the most extreme emergencies. To use it for crowd control where the worst that was happening was a few songs and speeches…"
"We could argue Leeds for hours, Tyler, and get nowhere," Bradley-Smythe grumbled and then relented slightly. "Personally, off the record? I agree that there was no justification to haul out that cannon, and I can appreciate your caution now. But we've learned from that incident, and the fact remains that we need to be able to defend ourselves. I'm certain you're aware that since Leeds, there are new procedures in place that dictate when we can use any of the advanced equipment that comes as a result of alien tech housed at Torchwood. And the man responsible for Leeds was demoted, you know…"
Pete glowered. "There were procedures to follow before, Admiral. It has never been acceptable to employ lethal weaponry on unarmed people in a peaceful gathering on British soil. Obviously, procedures being in place and demotions after the fact are not guarantees that things would be any different the next time around."
"As I say, I can appreciate your caution," Bradley-Smythe admitted stiffly, "and your objection is noted. But getting back to the matter at hand… my experts could see that gyroscopic gizmo-gadget as a forward leap in the navigation system of tactical weaponry…"
"I told you that I will let you know the decision of our R&D folks, Admiral. They have just received the report, and I'd imagine it will take time for them to speak to our expert and all that." Pete rose and extended his hand. "Thank you for stopping by and expressing your interest in our work, however. I believe that I've answered your…"
"You've still told me nothing about when I can expect our people to examine the item!" Bradley-Smythe stated sharply, rising and yet not extending his hand back to Pete.
Pete withdrew his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Your people will see it when it is the appropriate time for you to see it, and that will have to suffice you for now," he said in a much lower than normal voice. "If you don't like my answer, I suggest you take it up with the President herself, under whose authority I operate, or perhaps the Secretary of Defense. Until I receive orders from my superiors, clearing you for discussion of the item in question, I'm afraid I can tell you nothing further. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do." Once more, he folded his hands on his desk and stared at the Admiral, letting his displeasure show that the man remained stubbornly motionless.
The moment the door had slammed closed behind the unhappy military man, Pete was back on the intercom. "Stacey, get Julian up here. NOW!"
sensiblecat for her amazing beta work in helping hammer things into much better shape!Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3 Chap 4 Chap 5 Chap 6 Chap 7 Chap 8 Chap 9 Chap 10 Chap 11 Chap 12
"Good morning!" Donna called out as she breezed through the glass doors of the Archive.
She looked about the place in surprise when no cheery voice answered her and then sat herself down at her desk to stow her handbag in the lower drawer. This was the first time that she'd actually got to work before Ian, who seemed to live here most of the time. Well, she considered, maybe now that he had a few more places to actually sit down in his flat, he was taking advantage of it?
Booting the computer for the day, she moved over to the hot plate and picked up the glass carafe that functioned for the two of them as a kettle. She could at least get tea going before he got there…
But then, something on the very edge of her awareness made her look up and around. "Who's there?" she asked loudly, as if hoping that whatever visitor to the Archive would answer her. The feeling grew stronger: a feeling of sadness, worry. And then she heard the TARDIS coral's hum, which had grown loud enough to be heard all the way from the back of the cavernous room.
Curious now, Donna put the carafe down and made her way through the maze of shelving until she turned the corner that would bring her to the coral, and then stopped short. Lying curled on the floor next to the box was Ian, his coat tossed aside on the other side of the box as if thrown there in anger.
Donna hurried to his side, afraid to find him pale and cold and lifeless, only to discover that he'd apparently fallen asleep on the hard, concrete floor. Beside him, in the box, the little coral hummed sadly at her, with that soft presence in Donna's mind turning hopeful now and pleased to see her. "Ian?" she called softly, not entirely certain she should try to awaken him. In answer, he snuffled, rubbed his nose with the back of one hand, and then settled down again with his face pillowed on one hand.
"Oh, Ian! What have you done to yourself?" she whispered, quickly removing her sweater and folding it up. Very carefully she slid her hand under Ian's head so she could insert the sweater beneath him as a pillow, and then retrieved his long coat to drape over him like a blanket. Somehow, he managed not to rouse in the least with the movement. "Will he be all right?" she asked the coral worriedly, then immediately questioned her sanity at talking to an inanimate object until the pressure in her head communicated a feeling of satisfaction.
With little else to do until he awakened other than work on her afternoon reports, she walked back to the front of the Archive and finished making the pot of tea. If nothing else, she could take a mug back to Ian, so that he'd have it when he finally roused. She was cautious, placing the half-full mug far enough back that sleeping movements wouldn't tip it over, and then on second thought moving it to just inside the coral's sandbox. She crouched next to him, studying his face and wondering to herself if those were truly tear tracks down his cheek. Then, convinced that the best use of her time was to work through what she could of the next bunch of reports and somehow intercept any inquiries aimed at Ian until he could take them himself, she headed back to her desk.
She wondered, as she settled down with her notes on an energy converter from a Slitheen cargo ship, how long it would take him to regain consciousness.
One third of the way through the report, and after handling two phone calls from the excited head of the R&D Department regarding that gyroscopic extrapolator that told her how quickly other Torchwood departments were getting word of the incredible things stored down here, she looked up and saw a very crumpled-looking Ian coming towards her. Unshaven, with hair sticking up in all directions as if he'd shoved a finger in a light socket, he shuffled forward from the depths of the Archive shelving, clearly heading for the carafe of tea sitting on the hot plate.
"Finally decided to join us, eh?" she asked softly, just in case he had a raging hangover and owing him the decency not to make him feel any worse. "At least it's still a good morning to you."
"Good morning and thanks for the tea," he managed as he poured his mug full again and opened the miniature fridge to look for milk. "And I have your sweater here… somewhere…" he added, putting the milk carton down and turning the crumpled wad of material draped over one arm over and over about three times before he could extract her garment.
"Hey, c'mere and sit down before you fall over again," she told him, rising and then using his elbows to steer him into her chair. "What the hell happened to you to end up on the floor like that?" she queried, taking his tea from him, moving to fix it the way he liked it and then handing it back to him again.
Ian gazed up at her as if his heart were breaking. "Bad night, I guess," he told her in a subdued voice. He sighed heavily, and then took a long draught of his tea. "I… was invited to dinner with the Tylers, and ended up talking with Rose…"
"Arguing with her, you mean?" Donna remembered what he'd told her of his relationship with the Tyler heiress, and it was easy to assume that much the same had happened again.
"Not quite." He shook his head tiredly. "Well, maybe at first. Pete wanted to ask me about… weeelll… about the fact that I told him I'm starting to have a social life, and things kinda moved in the direction of talking about you – indirectly, that is…" he assured her with a comforting hand held out to her briefly. "Pete put a lid on any overt hostilities from Rose at the table, but she was waiting for me at my car when I got ready to leave. I was afraid she wanted a knock-down, drag-out, but it turned out we talked… really talked… for the first time in months. Only she wanted me to go back to the way things were… No, wait a minute… she didn't want that, but she just couldn't understand…" He blinked and looked up at her with a penetrating gaze. "I told her I had moved on, and that she had to move on too. Also told her a lot of things that have been kinda building…"
Donna nodded. "You unloaded on her, you mean."
His gaze turned sheepish before he looked down and away again. "Yeah. I suppose I did. I honestly didn't try to be deliberately cruel, but I think she has a far clearer idea now of some of my reasons for distancing myself."
"So what happened after you got away from her? Did you go out and get drunk to try to forget and just… land here?"
Ian looked right back up at her again, this time defensively. "I didn't! I wouldn't! Okay, so maybe I thought about it, but I didn't. I drove around for a while, trying to get my head straightened out again, decided I didn't want to go back to an empty flat, didn't want to deal with a hangover either, so ended up here with the TARDIS coral for company. It's just… Rose made me so angry with her thinking we could just go back to the way things were before, and it hurt to think that maybe, if I'd just waited long enough, but… I could see she was trying hard to understand… I thought about coming over and talking to you, but it was late and I didn't want to impose…"
"You idiot." Donna slugged his shoulder, and it wasn't just a friendly swat this time. "Why didn't you stop by? I would have listened to you, you know, maybe given you somewhere a little more comfortable to crash than this…" She gestured brusquely towards the back end of the Archive hall.
"Ow!" Ian rubbed petulantly where she had hit him and his expression was guilty. "I monopolized all of your time this weekend. I thought you'd enjoy an evening without my intruding for a change."
"Well, you thought wrong!" She towered over him, hand on her hips. "We're friends, aren't we? Isn't that what you told me?"
"Weeelll… yeah," he replied, looking away again.
"Friends help friends, don't they? They listen when the other needs to talk? Offer shoulders to lean on, and all that?"
"Yeah." He lifted his tea mug again; Donna wondered if he was hiding behind it. These were the kinds of things that he had been telling her that past weekend. Hadn't he been listening to himself, or did he think that common sense advice didn't apply to skinny half-aliens in suits like him?
"If you were so worried that you'd be intruding, you could have called me, you know…" She mimed holding a two-fingered telephone to her ear. "Asked me if I'd mind you showing up…"
Ian looked up at her as if she'd just related a great secret. "I suppose I could have at that, but…" He looked away. "Donna, I don't have your number."
Donna sighed. Blokes! Especially absent-minded professor-type blokes! "Blimey! You have your mobile on you, don't you?" She thrust out a hand when he nodded. "Hand it over."
Ian left his mug on her desk and patted himself on each of his many pockets until he finally dredged in his trousers to bring out the little silver device. Obediently, he gave it to her.
"For that matter, I'm going to make note of your number, for much the same reason," she continued while she poked busily at the buttons, repeating his number over in her mind so she could remember it until she could note it down.
"Really?" She looked up from her task to find him staring at her. "You'd call me now if you needed an ear or shoulder?"
Her eyes widened, and she instantly wondered if she'd stepped over an invisible barrier. "That's okay with you, isn't it?"
"That's more than okay with me," Ian replied, looking pleased for the first time that day. "Of course I'd want you to call me – especially if you were considering going pub-crawling again on a long weekend."
"Oi!" Donna could feel her face heating up fiercely. "I think I've learned my lesson on that one."
"Yeah, well…" He got his mobile back and studied the screen that held her name and number. "…I think maybe I've learned mine on this one too." He looked up into her face cautiously. "Am I forgiven?"
Donna put on a show of thinking through his question, although she knew full well that the smile that was sneaking onto her face was giving lie to it when Ian began grinning back at her. "Ooooh, I suppoooose…" she dragged out in a exasperated tone.
"You're one in a million, Donna!"
The exclamation made her once more blush, this time because she felt just as complimented as she did flustered, especially at the look of approval and maybe even something more in Ian's eye that she wasn't quite ready to see yet. Her only resort was to retreat behind bravado. "Well, we already know that you're one of a kind, Dumbo. So get your one of a kind carcass into a shower and make yourself presentable so we can at least get a little work accomplished this morning. Lunch will be on me – and don't argue with me after all this. You will not win."
"Admiral Bradley-Smythe to see you, sir…" Pete heard his secretary announce and then rose to put his hand out to the tall and burly uniformed officer.
Like so many of the other military men who had marched into his office, this Bradley-Smythe's chest was covered with a patch of colorful ribbons that told of his valor and justified his rank. "Tyler," the man stated while giving his iron grip another firm squeeze before settling back into a stiff posture. "I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice."
"What can I do for you, Admiral?" Pete gestured to the comfortable chair in front of his desk and then sat back down himself. It seemed he had a meeting like this every few months, and he couldn't help wondering what had sparked things this time.
"I'll get right to the point. I've heard you have a very valuable piece of alien technology stored here that our forces could make great use of, a… erm… 'gyroscopic extrapolator' I believe it was called," the man answered without moving to the chair. "As a matter of national security…"
"Sit down, Admiral, please," Pete said, waving the man at the chair in front of the desk while trying not so show dismay, "and tell me exactly where you have received your information."
The military officer considered for a long moment and then parked himself firmly in the leather and cushioned chair. "I'm with Naval Intelligence, and that's how I came up with the information. Now, about that device…"
How in the world had this Admiral heard of a device that even he had just learned of the evening before? Something was seriously amiss! "Just a moment." Pete put up a hand, silencing the Admiral, and pushed the button on his intercom. "Stacey, I want to see Julian from R&D before he heads off tonight." It was the responsibility of the man in charge of R&D to make certain information of this sort stayed safely secure. At the very least, Julian had a lot of explaining to do.
"Yes, sir."
"Now, then, Admiral, just what exactly have you heard; and more to the point, from whom did you hear it?" Pete was all business now. Torchwood had a leak, one it most definitely did not need right now.
Bradley-Smythe's brows lifted in not quite derision over eerily pale blue eyes. "Am I to take it that you didn't authorize this information to be passed along?"
"No, I did not. And that's why I really must ask who you received your information from."
"You expect me to just give you that information?"
Pete's eyes narrowed. "In much the same manner that you expected me to just hand you information on an alien device."
"Just who the hell do you think you are to be demanding things of me?" the Admiral bristled.
"I," Pete replied with deadly calm, "am the head of Torchwood, and answerable to the President and Parliament. I have quite sufficient reason to be wary of cooperating with the armed forces – especially after twenty civilian casualties in Leeds. Might I suggest that if you wish any answers from me, you answer my questions first." He folded his hands on his desk and looked his challenge right back into those eerily colored eyes.
It turned into an intense staring match while Pete sat there, silent and waiting. The Admiral eventually sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers on his chest. "Very well. I received my information from an assistant to one of our commanders, who told me that an acquaintance of his had received word of a report regarding something called a gyroscopic extrapolator. When I broached the topic with one of our mechanical engineers, he was most excited and vehement that it would be a boon to our guidance systems. It was his suggestion that I speak to you immediately."
"Have you no names to go with these assistants and commanders who brought the information to your attention?" Pete asked, his tone steely and uncompromising while seething internally. The more this military man spoke, the more obvious it was that someone in Torchwood was talking - to the wrong people! The sooner this was nipped in the bud, the better!
The Admiral took a deep, reluctant breath and then raised his chin in a stoic expression. "Commander Anthony Cushman's junior assistant, Sub-Lieutenant Gregory Shipton, is the man who spoke to me. Lieutenant Shipton didn't name his acquaintance, merely insinuated that whoever it was in some way was associated with your… firm and privy to the report in question."
"Well, as a man in a position of some authority, perhaps I can begin to make you understand my concern with how you acquired your knowledge of classified information. You see," Pete leaned forward, his hands no longer folded so his mien was more open, "the report regarding the item you named was put on my desk only yesterday, and passed along to our internal R&D Department just this morning. So, for someone to have access to that report and then pass along the information contained in it so quickly means that your Lieutenant Shipton's acquaintance is someone relatively high up in my organization; and that person is violating the non-disclosure terms of his or her employment contract." Pete's gaze bored into Bradley-Smythe's. "Tell me, Admiral, how would you be feeling if you discovered that one of your top-secret projects was suddenly open knowledge to someone with an agenda?"
The Admiral's pale eyes had grown wide again, and he folded his hands across his chest. "That would be treason."
"Just so," Pete agreed. "And not only do I have that concern, but it occurs to me that neither you nor I have any assurance that Lieutenant Shipton was the only person to whom this information was passed."
"My word!" Bradley-Smythe blanched. "You do have a rather large problem, Tyler."
Pete nodded somberly. "I do indeed. Our mandated mission is to receive and then examine the alien artifacts that come into our possession. Those with potential for practical use are forwarded along to our internal R&D Department, along with the expert recommendations of the man in charge of identifying these artifacts for us. For his report to..."
The Admiral bent forward, his eyes bright with interest. "I have heard rumor of this 'Doctor' that you have installed here at Torchwood, but until now, no one outside Torchwood has had any opportunity to speak with this man, to find out if he has anything of value to offer. He always seems to be otherwise occupied."
The Admiral's cold smile made Pete uneasy. For the past six months, he'd protected the Doctor from the military as best he could, stymieing their efforts to get their hands on him. It was unfortunate that this Bradley-Smythe was knowledgeable enough to put two and two together regarding the identity of the "expert" he'd mentioned.
"He's a busy man," Pete offered stiffly, "for obvious reasons."
"So it seems. But we're dealing with matters of utmost importance here. Don't you think it would be in the best interests of our world if I or my staff could have access to this person from time to time?"
Pete scowled. He was fairly certain the Doctor would want to have absolutely nothing to do with anyone in the military, if the tales Rose told of his dislike for violence and weaponry were any indication. "He is rather… opinionated when it comes you lot. I will ask, but I will not order him to talk to you. I hope you understand that I absolutely will not jeopardize the working relationship that has him willingly giving us the benefit of an encyclopedic knowledgebase regarding the artifacts warehoused here."
"But you will ask him if he would be willing to talk to us?" Bradley-Smythe pushed, not quite belligerent.
"I will… relay your request, yes," Pete affirmed cautiously. "But getting back to the topic of the item you were speaking of, I'm afraid any access or further information about it will have to wait, pending the decision of the director of our R&D Department on the suitability of having this technology made available outside of Torchwood at this point in time. After what happened in Leeds, I'm certain you can appreciate our caution and discretion. I will be sure to notify your office when a decision has been made."
"Surely, after the tragedy our world suffered less than ten years ago at the hands of those… Cybermen, you cannot help but agree that the Earth must have the best possible technology to defend herself," the Admiral argued heatedly. "This is no time for delicate stomachs, Tyler. I deeply regret that twenty people died, although a military tribunal held that they were collateral damage…"
Pete couldn't help riling at the military whitewashing of its own misdeeds. "Twenty innocent civilian deaths, Admiral, at a protest rally! That wasn't collateral damage to an alien invasion, that was a slaughter of British citizens! Torchwood and Parliament trusted the military not to use that weapon except in the most extreme emergencies. To use it for crowd control where the worst that was happening was a few songs and speeches…"
"We could argue Leeds for hours, Tyler, and get nowhere," Bradley-Smythe grumbled and then relented slightly. "Personally, off the record? I agree that there was no justification to haul out that cannon, and I can appreciate your caution now. But we've learned from that incident, and the fact remains that we need to be able to defend ourselves. I'm certain you're aware that since Leeds, there are new procedures in place that dictate when we can use any of the advanced equipment that comes as a result of alien tech housed at Torchwood. And the man responsible for Leeds was demoted, you know…"
Pete glowered. "There were procedures to follow before, Admiral. It has never been acceptable to employ lethal weaponry on unarmed people in a peaceful gathering on British soil. Obviously, procedures being in place and demotions after the fact are not guarantees that things would be any different the next time around."
"As I say, I can appreciate your caution," Bradley-Smythe admitted stiffly, "and your objection is noted. But getting back to the matter at hand… my experts could see that gyroscopic gizmo-gadget as a forward leap in the navigation system of tactical weaponry…"
"I told you that I will let you know the decision of our R&D folks, Admiral. They have just received the report, and I'd imagine it will take time for them to speak to our expert and all that." Pete rose and extended his hand. "Thank you for stopping by and expressing your interest in our work, however. I believe that I've answered your…"
"You've still told me nothing about when I can expect our people to examine the item!" Bradley-Smythe stated sharply, rising and yet not extending his hand back to Pete.
Pete withdrew his hand and narrowed his eyes. "Your people will see it when it is the appropriate time for you to see it, and that will have to suffice you for now," he said in a much lower than normal voice. "If you don't like my answer, I suggest you take it up with the President herself, under whose authority I operate, or perhaps the Secretary of Defense. Until I receive orders from my superiors, clearing you for discussion of the item in question, I'm afraid I can tell you nothing further. Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do." Once more, he folded his hands on his desk and stared at the Admiral, letting his displeasure show that the man remained stubbornly motionless.
The moment the door had slammed closed behind the unhappy military man, Pete was back on the intercom. "Stacey, get Julian up here. NOW!"