Fic: Wider World (Doctor Who)
Sep. 14th, 2005 12:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hathycolTitle: Wider World
Author: Hathor
Rating: Alas! No more than a G.
Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Doctor Who. I wish that I did.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calapine, who wanted Harriet Jones as Prime Minister and the Brigadier. I hope that I provided. Also, this is written on my laptop. Possibly I am too proud of this fact.
James Naylor is entirely fictitious – there’s a joke about the Civil Service I could make here and am choosing not to – but he did for narrative purposes. For those who recognise the name, well done – evidently you did A-Level history too.
Apologies for the late posting. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
Harriet Jones - still of Flydale North, but only the inhabitants remembered that fact anymore - was having a very long day. To begin with, she had ministers clamouring over all the best positions, a husband plaintively asking if it was all over now, a new set of furniture and the media asking if she was the next Margaret Thatcher.
Oh yes, and she’d won the general election last night. Except she hadn’t had time to sleep yet.
Number 10 Downing Street had changed somewhat since her earlier days in politics. That probably had something to do with the fact that she’d helped to engineer its destruction. Initially, she had kept rather quiet over her own part in this occurrence, but the party had insisted on propelling her to rather more glory than she’d wanted. Unwilling to publicly declare that the honour truly belonged to a time-travelling alien and a young blonde woman from inner city London – for who would have believed a tale that big? – she had reluctantly taken some of the honour as the truth came out. Not the whole truth, of course, but the public were made aware that yes, aliens did exist, and yes, they had spent those memorable few days trying to blow up the earth. Harriet became the centre point for a party reeling from the destruction of almost all of its higher echelons, and all of a sudden she had been voted leader and won a hastily called general election.
It was all rather more than your average backbencher expected, to be honest. Oh, they certainly dreamed of it, but Harriet would have been cheerful as a Junior Minister.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Harriet lifted her head from her hands to peer blearily at the – no, wait, her - head of the Cabinet Office. A soft-spoken man by the name of James Naylor, he seemed thoroughly used to the changes of Prime Ministers throughout his thirty years in the service. “Yes, Mr Naylor?”
“The staff and I were wondering –“ at this, he gestured out of the door – “if you would like to join our tea club. Although it would be your turn to buy the cakes, if you take the position of the last fellow.” He smiled benevolently. “We’re willing to let you off, what with the circumstances.”
Harriet stared for a moment. “Is that the only way to get a guaranteed cup of tea?” she asked cautiously.
“At the moment, yes. We don’t have any of the keen work experience undergraduates in,” he added conspiratorially. “We get them to make tea for the entire staff. They never realise.”
“Ah,” said Harriet, and blinked. “In which case, I’m off to the bakers to buy… how many cream cakes?”
“Thirty-four,” Naylor replied promptly.
“Thirty-four cream cakes. If my husband asks, tell him I’m buying him an apple turnover. That should keep him quiet for a while.”
With that, Harriet walked out of the newly refurbished office and tried to ignore the bodyguards that now followed nearly her every movement.
~~
She didn’t buy the cakes herself, in the end. She sent someone into the local bakers with an order and sat and watched from the inside of the car. She made a point of using her own money to do so, and was careful to make sure that the apple turnover wasn’t squashed in the transit. Strangely, it helped to stay domestic; Harriet had a nagging feeling that she’d panic if allowed to dwell.
Naylor swiftly took her goods off her on her return to the office with a murmur of thanks and a promise to send a cup of tea through shortly.
“... and there’s someone waiting in the office for you, by the way,” he added.
“Really? Who?” asked Harriet guardedly. She’d been careful to have no appointments for the next few days, and it seemed that the new Prime Minister of Britain, once the requisite phone calls had been made to dignitaries and the papers had been dealt with, had a surprisingly empty schedule. She had a rather bad feeling it might be Paul Snow, the man who thought he would be the next Foreign Minister but was to end up as the Minister for Transport.
“You might be better meeting him yourself,” Naylor said, with a hint of a smile.
As such, it was with a sense of trepidation that Harriet opened the shiny and new door to her office. However, Harriet was well used to such situations from early days as an MP, when the local vicar tended to creep up in a similar manner. When she saw an aging gentleman sat on the chair in front of her desk, she announced her presence with a slight cough.
“Excuse me?” she tried, and put her hand out. Her visitor stood smoothly up and turned to face her, taking her hand in a firm but gentle manner. “Harriet Jones,” she said as they shook hands.
“Brigadier Alastair Gordon Leftbridge-Stewart,” the gentleman said with an easy smile and a voice that echoed of times past and an obvious military background. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Prime Minister.”
“And the same,” Harriet said formally, whilst frantically wondering why he was here and more importantly, when this long promised tea would turn up. This was all definitely not what she had expected a Prime Minister to do with his or her time. The military, thus far, had regarded her with sense of caution, and had no reason to send one of them to visit… she thought.
“No, it’s not,” said the Brigadier bluntly. “You’ve only just been voted in, you probably have far better things to do, and Naylor, if I know him, hasn’t told you why I’m here. I do apologise for that, by the way.”
Harriet couldn’t help it. She stared for a moment before laughing. “I suppose there’s some truth in that,” she admitted, and moved to her own side of the desk before sitting down.
“Well, I’ll make this as brief and painless as possible. You’ll remember UNIT, naturally?”
Harriet nodded. “Of course.” UNIT had been quietly persistent in questioning her after Downing Street had been blown up. It was only afterwards she learnt just how many of them had died in the Slitheen attack.
“I used to work for them. Actually, I used to be in command of it, although that was quite some time ago. Now they just wheel me out to introduce the cause to new Prime Ministers, even if this one has already discovered them.” The Brigadier smiled. “You’re quite unusual. They talk about you with terms of high praise, you know.”
“Gosh.” Harriet found herself blushing. “Really?”
“You single-handedly managed to fight off an alien invasion, or so some of the election propaganda would have us believe,” the Brigadier said with a shrewd smile.
“I did tell your people it wasn’t all me,” she protested. “No one else would believe me.”
“No one would believe quite a lot of what goes on in this country,” the Brigadier said bluntly. “They speak of America as though it’s the hotspot for invasion, but no one ever remembers the night the Yeti invaded.” He said the last part sadly and Harriet stared in confusion.
“I don’t think I ever heard of a Yeti invading England,” she said carefully.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” the Brigadier said frankly. “And that, Mrs Jones –“
“Please, Harriet,” she said, instinctively polite and middle-class and cursing herself for it.
“- Harriet, then, is why I am here on behalf of UNIT. Also, I rather have an idea you might listen. Unlike the other one,” the Brigadier added with a note of sadness. “You need to work with the United Nations about what goes on out in the wider world.”
“Well, I was going to listen to the United Nations, of course –“ tried Harriet, rather feeling that she should try and defend the policies she had so carefully worked on for the past few months.
“No, you need to work with them,” the Brigadier said forcefully. “I have lived through four decades of Prime Ministers not taking the threat seriously, and I have seen four decades of good people struggle against various invasions, and yet you are the first one to actually help in that struggle where we failed. If you’d like to be a truly successful Prime Minister, then look beyond this small country and think worldwide.”
As he had been saying this, the Brigadier’s voce had grown to a crescendo, still firm despite what Harriet guessed was his advanced age. The words weren’t mere rhetoric, though, and actually sounded rather familiar.
“I’ve heard something like that before,” said Harriet thoughtfully, trying to place the ideas.
The Brigadier smiled. “That might be because I think you’ve met UNIT’s Unpaid Scientific Advisor. Something of a forceful fellow, tends to make an imprint on a person.”
Harriet cocked her head to one side. “No… I don’t believe I have,” she said, trying to sort through in her head the polite scientists who had taken turns to question her in the aftermath of the attempted attack. “What does he look like?”
The Brigadier suddenly smiled widely. “Ah. Now that is the question. You might remember the name if nothing else. In all unofficial papers, we called him the Doctor…”
Harriet went very still. “You’ve met him too?”
“Several versions.”
“And he told you to say all of that? To me?”
“Well,” the Brigadier said thoughtfully. “He rather hinted that I should tell all your predecessors that. You’re the first one he mentioned by name, though. I think it amused him that I was still the one introducing UNIT’s purpose to the recently-elected.”
“Me? By name? Oh, no, he wouldn’t remember me…”
“The Doctor,” said the Brigadier, looking into her eye in a way that might have been unnerving to others, “has a remarkably good memory when he needs to.”
~~
When Naylor came in with a cup of tea a moment later, the Brigadier excused himself, leaving Harriet staring thoughtfully into space.
“Prime Minister?” tried Naylor tactfully after a moment. “Mr Paul Snow is waiting outside, and wants to discuss the new Cabinet with you…”
“Tell him he’ll have to wait for a moment,” Harriet said, still staring into space. If you’d like to be a truly successful Prime Minister, then look beyond this small country and think worldwide.
“Prime Minister, excuse me for saying so, but he appears rather persistent and he’s potentially vital in securing support in certain areas of Parliament-“
“He’ll only need to wait a moment,” said Harriet, looking upwards at Naylor. “I need to make an appointment with our UN representative. Find the details for me, would you?” As Naylor went to leave the room, she suddenly remembered something. “And I bought thirty-four cream cakes. I know there’s one out there for me somewhere.”
x-posted to personal journal and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
new_who
Author: Hathor
Rating: Alas! No more than a G.
Disclaimer: I Do Not Own Doctor Who. I wish that I did.
Notes: Written for
calapine, who wanted Harriet Jones as Prime Minister and the Brigadier. I hope that I provided. Also, this is written on my laptop. Possibly I am too proud of this fact.James Naylor is entirely fictitious – there’s a joke about the Civil Service I could make here and am choosing not to – but he did for narrative purposes. For those who recognise the name, well done – evidently you did A-Level history too.
Apologies for the late posting. Any mistakes are entirely my own.
Harriet Jones - still of Flydale North, but only the inhabitants remembered that fact anymore - was having a very long day. To begin with, she had ministers clamouring over all the best positions, a husband plaintively asking if it was all over now, a new set of furniture and the media asking if she was the next Margaret Thatcher.
Oh yes, and she’d won the general election last night. Except she hadn’t had time to sleep yet.
Number 10 Downing Street had changed somewhat since her earlier days in politics. That probably had something to do with the fact that she’d helped to engineer its destruction. Initially, she had kept rather quiet over her own part in this occurrence, but the party had insisted on propelling her to rather more glory than she’d wanted. Unwilling to publicly declare that the honour truly belonged to a time-travelling alien and a young blonde woman from inner city London – for who would have believed a tale that big? – she had reluctantly taken some of the honour as the truth came out. Not the whole truth, of course, but the public were made aware that yes, aliens did exist, and yes, they had spent those memorable few days trying to blow up the earth. Harriet became the centre point for a party reeling from the destruction of almost all of its higher echelons, and all of a sudden she had been voted leader and won a hastily called general election.
It was all rather more than your average backbencher expected, to be honest. Oh, they certainly dreamed of it, but Harriet would have been cheerful as a Junior Minister.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Harriet lifted her head from her hands to peer blearily at the – no, wait, her - head of the Cabinet Office. A soft-spoken man by the name of James Naylor, he seemed thoroughly used to the changes of Prime Ministers throughout his thirty years in the service. “Yes, Mr Naylor?”
“The staff and I were wondering –“ at this, he gestured out of the door – “if you would like to join our tea club. Although it would be your turn to buy the cakes, if you take the position of the last fellow.” He smiled benevolently. “We’re willing to let you off, what with the circumstances.”
Harriet stared for a moment. “Is that the only way to get a guaranteed cup of tea?” she asked cautiously.
“At the moment, yes. We don’t have any of the keen work experience undergraduates in,” he added conspiratorially. “We get them to make tea for the entire staff. They never realise.”
“Ah,” said Harriet, and blinked. “In which case, I’m off to the bakers to buy… how many cream cakes?”
“Thirty-four,” Naylor replied promptly.
“Thirty-four cream cakes. If my husband asks, tell him I’m buying him an apple turnover. That should keep him quiet for a while.”
With that, Harriet walked out of the newly refurbished office and tried to ignore the bodyguards that now followed nearly her every movement.
~~
She didn’t buy the cakes herself, in the end. She sent someone into the local bakers with an order and sat and watched from the inside of the car. She made a point of using her own money to do so, and was careful to make sure that the apple turnover wasn’t squashed in the transit. Strangely, it helped to stay domestic; Harriet had a nagging feeling that she’d panic if allowed to dwell.
Naylor swiftly took her goods off her on her return to the office with a murmur of thanks and a promise to send a cup of tea through shortly.
“... and there’s someone waiting in the office for you, by the way,” he added.
“Really? Who?” asked Harriet guardedly. She’d been careful to have no appointments for the next few days, and it seemed that the new Prime Minister of Britain, once the requisite phone calls had been made to dignitaries and the papers had been dealt with, had a surprisingly empty schedule. She had a rather bad feeling it might be Paul Snow, the man who thought he would be the next Foreign Minister but was to end up as the Minister for Transport.
“You might be better meeting him yourself,” Naylor said, with a hint of a smile.
As such, it was with a sense of trepidation that Harriet opened the shiny and new door to her office. However, Harriet was well used to such situations from early days as an MP, when the local vicar tended to creep up in a similar manner. When she saw an aging gentleman sat on the chair in front of her desk, she announced her presence with a slight cough.
“Excuse me?” she tried, and put her hand out. Her visitor stood smoothly up and turned to face her, taking her hand in a firm but gentle manner. “Harriet Jones,” she said as they shook hands.
“Brigadier Alastair Gordon Leftbridge-Stewart,” the gentleman said with an easy smile and a voice that echoed of times past and an obvious military background. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Prime Minister.”
“And the same,” Harriet said formally, whilst frantically wondering why he was here and more importantly, when this long promised tea would turn up. This was all definitely not what she had expected a Prime Minister to do with his or her time. The military, thus far, had regarded her with sense of caution, and had no reason to send one of them to visit… she thought.
“No, it’s not,” said the Brigadier bluntly. “You’ve only just been voted in, you probably have far better things to do, and Naylor, if I know him, hasn’t told you why I’m here. I do apologise for that, by the way.”
Harriet couldn’t help it. She stared for a moment before laughing. “I suppose there’s some truth in that,” she admitted, and moved to her own side of the desk before sitting down.
“Well, I’ll make this as brief and painless as possible. You’ll remember UNIT, naturally?”
Harriet nodded. “Of course.” UNIT had been quietly persistent in questioning her after Downing Street had been blown up. It was only afterwards she learnt just how many of them had died in the Slitheen attack.
“I used to work for them. Actually, I used to be in command of it, although that was quite some time ago. Now they just wheel me out to introduce the cause to new Prime Ministers, even if this one has already discovered them.” The Brigadier smiled. “You’re quite unusual. They talk about you with terms of high praise, you know.”
“Gosh.” Harriet found herself blushing. “Really?”
“You single-handedly managed to fight off an alien invasion, or so some of the election propaganda would have us believe,” the Brigadier said with a shrewd smile.
“I did tell your people it wasn’t all me,” she protested. “No one else would believe me.”
“No one would believe quite a lot of what goes on in this country,” the Brigadier said bluntly. “They speak of America as though it’s the hotspot for invasion, but no one ever remembers the night the Yeti invaded.” He said the last part sadly and Harriet stared in confusion.
“I don’t think I ever heard of a Yeti invading England,” she said carefully.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” the Brigadier said frankly. “And that, Mrs Jones –“
“Please, Harriet,” she said, instinctively polite and middle-class and cursing herself for it.
“- Harriet, then, is why I am here on behalf of UNIT. Also, I rather have an idea you might listen. Unlike the other one,” the Brigadier added with a note of sadness. “You need to work with the United Nations about what goes on out in the wider world.”
“Well, I was going to listen to the United Nations, of course –“ tried Harriet, rather feeling that she should try and defend the policies she had so carefully worked on for the past few months.
“No, you need to work with them,” the Brigadier said forcefully. “I have lived through four decades of Prime Ministers not taking the threat seriously, and I have seen four decades of good people struggle against various invasions, and yet you are the first one to actually help in that struggle where we failed. If you’d like to be a truly successful Prime Minister, then look beyond this small country and think worldwide.”
As he had been saying this, the Brigadier’s voce had grown to a crescendo, still firm despite what Harriet guessed was his advanced age. The words weren’t mere rhetoric, though, and actually sounded rather familiar.
“I’ve heard something like that before,” said Harriet thoughtfully, trying to place the ideas.
The Brigadier smiled. “That might be because I think you’ve met UNIT’s Unpaid Scientific Advisor. Something of a forceful fellow, tends to make an imprint on a person.”
Harriet cocked her head to one side. “No… I don’t believe I have,” she said, trying to sort through in her head the polite scientists who had taken turns to question her in the aftermath of the attempted attack. “What does he look like?”
The Brigadier suddenly smiled widely. “Ah. Now that is the question. You might remember the name if nothing else. In all unofficial papers, we called him the Doctor…”
Harriet went very still. “You’ve met him too?”
“Several versions.”
“And he told you to say all of that? To me?”
“Well,” the Brigadier said thoughtfully. “He rather hinted that I should tell all your predecessors that. You’re the first one he mentioned by name, though. I think it amused him that I was still the one introducing UNIT’s purpose to the recently-elected.”
“Me? By name? Oh, no, he wouldn’t remember me…”
“The Doctor,” said the Brigadier, looking into her eye in a way that might have been unnerving to others, “has a remarkably good memory when he needs to.”
~~
When Naylor came in with a cup of tea a moment later, the Brigadier excused himself, leaving Harriet staring thoughtfully into space.
“Prime Minister?” tried Naylor tactfully after a moment. “Mr Paul Snow is waiting outside, and wants to discuss the new Cabinet with you…”
“Tell him he’ll have to wait for a moment,” Harriet said, still staring into space. If you’d like to be a truly successful Prime Minister, then look beyond this small country and think worldwide.
“Prime Minister, excuse me for saying so, but he appears rather persistent and he’s potentially vital in securing support in certain areas of Parliament-“
“He’ll only need to wait a moment,” said Harriet, looking upwards at Naylor. “I need to make an appointment with our UN representative. Find the details for me, would you?” As Naylor went to leave the room, she suddenly remembered something. “And I bought thirty-four cream cakes. I know there’s one out there for me somewhere.”
x-posted to personal journal and
new_who
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 11:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 11:24 am (UTC)There should be more Harriet fic!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 11:32 am (UTC)SO LATE DOING EVERYTHING.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 11:54 am (UTC)But it's "Lethbridge", not "Leftbridge". I'll stop now.
It also passes my personal test, which is nice.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 12:00 pm (UTC)I love the Brigadier in this, and of course Harriet.
Wonderful story.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 01:36 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked!
no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 05:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-17 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-18 04:02 pm (UTC)Gina