Andy Davidson stood at the edge of the pit, his trenchcoat flapping in the wind. Despite the darkness, and the rain, construction work was well underway in the hole that had been The Hub. He had vaguely been aware of what Torchwood Three did, but that was all gone. Blown into little pieces.

"Director?" said a voice behind him. He took a second to realize that was his job title now. He had acquired a lot of responsibility recently and he was only very slowly stepping up.

"Andy?" she said impatiently. "Your wife's on the phone."

He turned and straightened the flat police cap on his head, wiped some of the slickness from his cheeks. His driver, Victoria Cowie was gesturing to the big white police Land Rover. Unusually, it was only marked with the Welsh word 'HEDDLU'. Victoria was not bothered about that, but he could see she was irritated about something. She hid it as best she could, but he could tell.

"Alright, Vic," he said. "Tell her I'll be there in a second." He had a last look at the new foundations. Soon enough, there would be a new structure under the surface, the street market would come back, people would forget, but he would remember.

:::

"Where do they get all this bloody money from, Andy?" asked the First Minister. He tapped his thumb on his assistant's electronic pad and turned back to Andy. The Senedd chamber was almost empty. The clerks were chatting idly.

"I have a limited personnel budget, First Minister," said Andy. "Makes me feel important to an extent, I suppose. The buildings and the equipment are all provided by London. Somewhere like that." He pressed his braided cap against the side of his dress uniform. Although there were Special Branch officers standing marginally out of sight and Assembly security officers casually guarding the doors, he felt a bit out of place in the debating chamber. Politics was for the politicians. "But if you could find me some cash for a researcher, maybe a computer whizz?"

"Listen, Andy." The First Minister was shaking his head subconsciously. "I have little enough to spend on schools and recycling without it looking like I'm trying to run a police state. Think of my jurisdiction as a glorified parish council with aspirations to the Ryder Cup. The more of the cost of their nest of vipers you can keep off my books the better." He nodded warmly to the leader of Plaid Cymru as she marched from the chamber with her advisors. "Nos da."

"Surely you would have more say if you chip in to the payroll? You'll have more control if police officers start firing machine guns on your streets." He looked around at the rows of laptops, randomly open and closed, then up at the few remaining spectators in the visitors gallery. A couple of tourists were taking non-flash photographs, probably counter to instructions on the way in.

The First Minister's eyes locked onto Davidson's gaze. "No. I'm relying on you, my boy, to take care of that. As few bullets as possible, if you don't mind. They're your bloody streets now." He stared unblinking for a second then nodded away to the exit. "Off you go now. We'll chat again." He turned back to his assistant.

Andy fixed the hat formally on his head. "Sir," he replied, then left. As he worked his way to the parking garage, he felt, once again, that he was getting nowhere.

:::

"Should I drive you home?" said Victoria. She sat relaxed in the driver's seat. Her inflection implied he might change his earlier plans.

He placed the cap on his lap, looked down briefly as he buckled up and turned to her. "I have to go home sometime," he said. "Sorry, Vic."

She switched on the engine and checked for traffic in the wing mirror. There were no other vehicles in the secure parking lot. "Don't whine, Andy. If you've gotta go, you've gotta go." The Land Rover lurched into the security-only lane and accelerated on its way. "What did Dafydd say?" she queried. The Land Rover mounted the ramp to street level and emerged into the glare of street lamps.

He looked down at his lap. "Damn all. Wants to keep his nose clean. Probably more worried about the Greens voting him out."

Victoria tutted. "I could punch his bloody nose. He could keep the Nest above board. But just because it might cost him a penny or two, he'll leave it in the shadows." She let the Land Rover coast thru a set of red signals, her hand flipping on the blue warning lights briefly.

Andy sighed. "Don't call it that, Vic. It's… It's…"

"You don't know," she teased. "You're the boss. And you don't know what it's called."

"Of course I know." He fished his cellphone from his pocket and toyed with making a call. He decided a message to his wife would be easier.

"You won't say." Victoria started to laugh.

"Special Control. Tactical Control…" He was not concentrating on the conversation, just trying to struggle with interpretive text.

She remained silent for a few more minutes as they made their way past the rugby ground to the western suburbs. "When are you back on?" she asked.

"First thing in the morning," he said. "I'm never off-duty now. These bloody machines and musical chairs with the budget will take up every minute of my time."

"Oh," she said. "I have the weekend off. I thought about going round the coast for a couple of days."

He sighed and put the phone in his shirt pocket. "Where were you thinking of going? I'm in Cardiff during the days. But. You know…"

"God. Of course I know. But just say the words, Andy."

He bumbled again. "I could be away on business. You know. For an evening. Maybe overnight on Saturday? Bristol's not too far."

She sighed. "Don't kill yourself, Andy. A few hours off for a fumble might be a bit of a strain after all. And do we really have to go to England for a shag? Does everyone in Wales really know or give a shit who you are?" The Land Rover rattled to a stop as the wheels churned into the mud at the side of the road.