Work Text
“Urm.”Kate bolted upright at the sound of Osgood’s voice, blinking sleepily and trying to remember where she was. Work? No, this seemed much too nice for work, with all its impersonal corridors and windowless offices. Here there was carpet, and artwork, and… Osgood, sticking her head around the door with an apologetic smile. Right. She was at home. At home, because…
Shit. Fuck. Bugger.
Every time she dropped off to sleep, this happened. Every time, she managed to forget about the circumstances that had driven her back to her barely-lived-in home, sprawling and jumbled and full of uncomfortable reminders of the past. Every time, she woke up, and remembered, and suffered the same sense of crashing realisation that she was stuck here now, probably forever, with no one other than Osgood and the cats for company. Well. Two Osgoods, but given their identicality, they amounted to the same person. Sometimes one would turn into Clara Oswald, or Malcolm Turner, or someone else familiar for the sake of variety, but now that made her nothing but sad more often than not, so she’d placed a strict embargo on shape-shifting for the sake of her own sanity. “Ma’am?” Osgood sidled into the room with a mug of tea clutched in one hand, and a packet of biscuits in the other. Good god, was this what the best and brightest of UNIT had been reduced to? Nothing more than a domestic servant, fetching tea and biscuits? Not for the first time, she felt the urge to apologise, and then apologise again, and then keep apologising until one or other of them became unable to stand it, and they had a row. Rows were better than this. Rows were better than sitting around on their hands, unable to do a thing. Rows were better than being stuck in this house, full of memories of her ex-husband and her two grown children, neither of whom particularly wanted to spend time with their washed-up has-been of a mother, who was unable to harp on about anything other than blue boxes and Time Lords and Brexit.
Bloody Brexit.
“Ma’am?” Osgood said again, and she realised she’d drifted off into a world of her own. The mug of tea was set down beside her, and the biscuits placed in the centre of her desk as Osgood took a seat opposite her. “Sorry to interrupt you.” “It’s fine, I was just… strategising.” “Really? It looked a lot like a nap to me.” “And you look a lot like a human to me, so maybe apply some common human sense and not mention that,” she snapped, before groaning and leaning back in her chair. “Sorry. That was bitchy. Sorry. I’m just…” “Pissed off,” Osgood said frostily, and Kate felt a stab of guilt. “Yes, we know.” “This is all,” Kate said thoughtfully, ripping open the packet of biscuits and dunking one into her tea. Shoving the resulting soggy mess into her mouth, she continuing with her mouth full: “Completely shit. I feel like I’m under house arrest.” “I mean,” Osgood began nervously, taking a biscuit and nibbling pensively at the edges. “It is for the best that you’re here. Who knows how many hacked off aliens there are walking around London who could decide to take a pop at you now?”“I’d bloody welcome it,” Kate admitted, the thought a pleasant one. “Anything’s better than being stuck here while the bloody suits at Whitehall make a decision.”“Well, urm,” Osgood took a deep breath. “About the urm… suits. Myself and some of the others have been thinking-”“Others? What others?!” “You’re not the only person currently suspended, Kate,” Osgood said with frustration. “I know you seem to think you are, but there’s an entire workforce currently sat at home twiddling their thumbs, so stop feeling sorry for yourself.”There was a beat of silence after this little outburst, and then Osgood seemed to realise what she’d said, and started stammering an apology. Kate burst into laughter, beaming at the woman sat opposite her with pride.“There we go,” she said brightly, leaning over and patting her hand. “Knew you had it in you somewhere. Well done.” “I… what?” “You’ve been nothing but meek and mild with me for weeks, and it’s been driving me bananas. We didn’t spend all that time bolstering your confidence for this. Anyway, what have you all been thinking?” “Well, urm. Patreon.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Patreon.”“That’s literally just a collection of sounds.” Osgood huffed, taking off her glasses and polishing them on her sleeve. “It’s a website,” she explained patiently. “Usually used by artists, but people pay you money and in exchange they get things.” “Like Amazon?” “No, not like Amazon. They subscribe to you and in exchange they get… I don’t know, exclusive drawings or photos or videos or whatever. It’s mainly used by artists, like I said, so the content is geared towards that.” “What does this have to do with UNIT?” “Well,” Osgood leaned back in her chair a little, sticking her glasses back on and turning a delicate shade of pink. “We could… utilise it. Raise some money. Show the suits we can be self-sufficient.”Kate let out a yelp of bemusement at the very notion. “You have got to be joking.” “Not joking, no.”“What’s wrong with Kickstarter or GoFundMe or JustGiving?” “I feel like people might be a lot more receptive to our cause if they get something out of it. That’s just human nature, really, isn’t it? They don’t like doing things for free. If you incentivise them with goodies, however, they’re a lot more likely to part with their hard-earned cash. Especially if those goodies are related to an organisation as secretive as UNIT.” “This is true,” Kate concurred, ideas beginning to form. “So, in terms of goodies… what sort of things did you have in mind?”
The Unified Intelligence Taskforce is on Patreon!
We are an international organisation committed to defending Earth from extra-terrestrial attacks and invasions, as well as studying non-Earth life to gain a deeper understanding of worlds beyond our own. We’ve probably saved your life a lot more than you know. UK operations are currently suspended due to financial disputes, so every penny counts. Especially if you would like another uneventful Christmas Day.
Tiers:
£5 – receive a photograph of some of our hard-working employees doing their jobs! Options include soldiers, scientists, and researchers – please specify when purchasing.
£10 – receive a photograph from our files of an actual alien! Please note that photo quality and aliens pictured may vary.
£15 – receive a photograph of an alien and a photo of some of our staff!
£20 – receive a phone call from an actual alien! Just promise not to record it. (and we’ll know if you do.)
£25 – custom requests!
Kate squinted at the screen of her laptop. This had seemed such a good idea at the time, but now? Now she was less sure. There was an awful lot of interest in UNIT’s Patreon, and an awful lot of money seemed to have been raised. The only issue now was that she needed an alien to deliver the promised phone call. Well. That and the fact that an awful lot of people appeared to have paid £25 and requested less-than-clothed photos of, and she shuddered at the quote, ‘her hunkiest soldiers.’ That was a bridge she’d cross when she reached it.Osgood had seemed keen to volunteer her services on the phoning around front, before Kate had pointed out that it would involve talking to actual normal human beings about actual normal things, at which point the Zygon had blanched at the prospect and de-volunteered.There were, realistically, only three other options. Two of them, currently living in Shoreditch, were somewhat preoccupied by the arrival of a baby… well, she didn’t know what species it was, exactly, but it must now have reached the terrible twos. Toddler or no toddler, she somehow didn’t think Andra’ath Quill would be eager to talk to humans about trivial matters anyway, and Charlie Smith lacked the social awareness to not put his foot in it.So, one option remaining. One really, really risky option.Picking up her phone after many, many hours of bolstering her courage, some of which involved wine, she dialled the familiar number and listened to the line ring with apprehension. “Hello?” a bright voice enthused, and she felt her stomach drop. “TARDIS phone, the Doctor speaking.”“The…” she began, utterly confused. “The… but you’re… you’re a w-” “Oh!” she sensed the Time Lord’s grin. “Hi, Kate! Been meaning to get hold of you ever since that rude call centre lady told me you’d all been suspended temporarily. How are you holding up?” “Bored,” Kate said truthfully. “Home life doesn’t suit me.” “Please rest assured that I’m doing absolutely everything possible to sort this mess out.” “Does that involve halting Brexit?” “I’m a Time Lord, Kate, not a miracle worker.” “Well, there’s one thing you could do,” Kate took a deep breath, deciding to throw caution to the wind and hope that this version of the Doctor was slightly less misanthropic than the previous one. “I’ve set up this donations page online. Silly thing, really – Osgood suggested it. People pay money and they can get things in return – photos of aliens, that sort of thing. And urm, one of the things is… a phone call from an alien.” “I’m sorry, you did what?” “Set up… an online… donation… thing.” “And you promised people photos of aliens?” “They’re really bad quality! And it’s mostly boring things like Daleks and Cybermen; you know, things people have seen on telly!” There was a pause. “You could have used photos of me,” the Doctor said after a long moment, and Kate let out a long, relieved breath. “Very rude, Kate Stewart. I suppose you’d like me to ring all these people up now, wouldn’t you?”“Urm,” Kate said apologetically. “Yes. Please. If that’s alright.”“How many are there?” Kate told her. “Well,” the Doctor said brightly, apparently unfazed by the scale of the task at hand. Her attitude was a stark contrast to that of her predecessor, and for that Kate thanked her lucky stars. “Better crack on then, hadn’t I?” When Kate traipsed back upstairs to her study that evening, full of Indian food and buoyed by terrible TV, she found something unusual on her desk. About five inches long and perfectly cylindrical, it looked like a portable charger of some kind, with a button at one end, and there was an envelope attached. Picking it up, Kate slit it open with confusing, extracting a single navy-blue sheet of paper and reading the spindly silver handwriting that sloped across the page.
Kate,
Phone calls: made. All of them lovely people, and it was my pleasure to help out in any way I could. You should keep an eye on Caitlin Markham of Nottingham, by the way – I’m sure she’s an alien.
But you deserve so much better than this. You shouldn’t be selling photographs and phone calls to try to get by. This device is a Babylonian Credit Stick. I don’t know how much money you need to keep UNIT running, but I’ve modified it so that it will know – and it will always know. (It might also know when you need a cup of tea… I never know when to stop.)
You provide a valuable service, Kate. Always have, and always will. I can’t allow that to stop just because some of humanity can’t agree about politics. So, I hope this goes some way towards helping.
The Doctor x
PS – lunch sometime?
Kate clicked the button. And let out a yelp of shock. “Why do you need carpet in your office?” the planner asked sourly, scowling down at the samples Kate had spread out in front of him. “It’s a pragmatic military space.”“Yes, and it’s also bleak and depressing. So, carpet. I’m favouring the midnight blue. Reminds me of the Doctor, which I think is fitting.” Her phone beeped, and she looked down at it with a frown.“Speaking of which,” she said brightly. “I have a lunch date with a Time Lord. So, midnight blue it is. Make it happen, or else.” “Or else what?”“I work with alien weaponry, Nardole. What do you think?”