UNIT HQ, Now...
Kate and Simmons took the Doctor through to a conference room on one of the converted upper floors of the Tower of London.
A large, oval table formed the centrepiece of the room, from which a pleasant view of Tower Bridge was visible, stretching proudly across the river.
Although most of UNIT's operations at the Tower took place underground, away from the general public, there were several official meeting rooms above the surface. Kate tended to find that the world's top brass preferred a room with a view.
The Doctor slumped into a swivel chair, and waited for Kate and Simmons to sit down. However, they remained standing, hovering over his shoulder.
"Oh!" Simmons uttered, as her tablet pinged. "We've found the TARDIS, ma'am."
"Where?" Kate asked quietly, watching the Doctor, his back to them, fume silently.
"Earls Court Road."
"But that's miles away! Why did you leave it there?" Kate directed her question to the Doctor.
The Doctor half turned his head, his tired eyes betraying his meandering thoughts.
"I needed a walk. Needed some time to think," he answered simply.
"We'll have it brought in," Simmons offered.
"Make sure we get the right one," Kate added, before striding around to the other side of the table, so she could see the Doctor's face.
"I don't know how the boy managed to convince you to let him inside the TARDIS-" Kate began.
"He didn't convince me," the Doctor interrupted contemptuously, rubbing his eyebrows. He was radiating irritability.
"Well, be that as it may," Kate regained her composure, "The boy must have lied to you, otherwise you would not have let him step foot inside that time machine."
The Doctor looked at her for a moment, and then his gaze dropped to inspect the polished marble finish of the table.
"Perhaps."
"How long has it been since we spoke?" Kate queried.
"I don't know. A few weeks. Maybe more," the Doctor answered in frustration. "Look? Are you going to tell me what you know about him, or are we just going to sit here yammering all day?"
Kate nodded. "Most of what we know about the boy comes from our interviews."
"Hold on," the Doctor stopped her, stretching his hand out accusingly. "You interviewed him?"
"It's standard protocol," Kate replied, studying the Doctor's furled brows. "We screen your companions in the Black Archive."
"You do this with all my friends? How long have you been doing this?" The Doctor's tone was fierce.
"Since about… 2005, I believe," Simmons chipped in.
"It's for your safety as well as ours," Kate insisted.
The eyebrows bore down on Kate. "Do you think I am incapable of choosing my own friends?" the Doctor spoke coldly.
Kate leaned over the table, fingertips pressed against the surface of the table. The bad cop in a police drama.
"You're one of the most important people on the planet. You're the World President, for God's sake! It's in all of our best interests to make sure you're with friends who can be trusted. Imagine if one of them was an assassin…?"
The Doctor snorted. "Or, ooh, I don't know… a psychopath specifically engineered to kill me?"
He waved his hands, dismissing the subject.
"Fine. I don't want to hear any more about it," he grumbled. "And I want it on record that I don't approve."
Kate nodded slightly, her lips pursed.
"Are you going to show me this or not?" the Doctor uttered sharply.
"Yes." Kate backed away, grabbing a remote control from a jumble of computing equipment behind her.
The window overlooking the Thames faded to black, transforming into a computer screen.
Simmons flicked off the light switch, plunging the room into semi-darkness.
The Doctor stared intently at the images, as a recording of UNIT's interview of Charlie Drake played out on the screen.
They were looking down on a scene set in a cramped room, where three people were sitting around a table.
"This is UNIT psychiatrist Andrew Taylor," a thin-faced man with a receding hairline spoke. He pushed his fragile spectacles back up the bridge of his beak-like nose.
"Also present, UNIT head of science and operations, Kate Stewart," he added, looking across at Kate, who was sat next to him, flicking through a series of bound documents tucked away inside a musty brown folder.
He leaned closer to Charlie, who was sat across the table from the two of them. The lighting was so low, it looked like an interrogation. Charlie was clearly feeling the pressure; he was hunched up, as small as he could make himself, rubbing his arms nervously.
"Do you know why you're here?" the psychiatrist asked. His tone was level, precise. Extracting information without trying to be empathetic.
"No," Charlie answered quietly. His voice was trembling.
"It's nothing to be afraid of. We just want to ask you a few questions."
"About what?"
"About someone who is… of particular interest to us."
Charlie shrugged, trying to protest his innocence, even though he didn't have a clue why they were making him feel guilty.
"Who do you mean?"
"Have you met someone named 'The Doctor'?" the psychiatrist pressed.
"The Doc…? No, I don't think so."
Kate laid out a number of papers on the table. The psychiatrist slid them across to Charlie.
"Could you look through these photographs, and tell me if you recognise any of these men?"
The pages contained pictures of a dozen different people – which the Doctor recognised as his previous incarnations. The ones that UNIT knew about, anyway.
Charlie's gaze lingered on the last image – the Doctor's current face.
There was a very subtle micro-muscular response which suggested Charlie had seen this face before. The Doctor suspected that it was subconscious – he probably wasn't even aware of it if he did recognise him.
Which was odd, the Doctor mused, because at this point in Charlie's life, they were yet to meet for the first time.
"I don't know any of these people."
The psychiatrist raised an eyebrow.
"You're absolutely certain?"
"Yes!"
"Then this complicates matters," the psychiatrist muttered, glancing at Kate.
"Why?"
"Because it means you haven't met him yet," Kate said.
"Yet?" Charlie looked between the two UNIT officials, confused. "I don't understand?"
"It's not important," the psychiatrist
"No? I don't… who is he? Is he… is he… some kind of terrorist or… something?"
"No, no. Quite the opposite," Kate quickly corrected him.
"I'm just going to skip forward a few minutes," Kate intervened. "He didn't know anything about you. No hidden agenda or motives directed against you."
"Well that's nice to know," the Doctor muttered icily, his gaze still locked on the screen as the video sped through several minutes of Charlie shrugging and gesticulating frantically, whilst the psychiatrist barely moved at all.
"But there was this,"
"This isn't making any sense," Charlie moaned, practically burying himself in his arms.
Kate skipped forward a few more frames.
"…to ask you about your therapy sessions with Mrs Lyndley. Or rather, your reason for going to them," the psychiatrist continued. His tone remained unchanged, whilst Charlie was becoming more frustrated, anxious, and scared.
"Why?"
"I realise this is a difficult subject for you, but it is quite important. And we are a little concerned about it."
Charlie was visibly shaken.
"I… don't get why you're asking me this?"
"You started going to therapy session because of a recurring nightmare, yes?"
"Yeah, but…"
"Why did these nightmares start?"
"What's this got to do with anything? About aliens, or this… Doctor?"
Kate glanced at the psychiatrist, before making a decision, and speaking up again.
"All I can say is, at some point, you're going to meet the Doctor. And we need to be sure… we need to be sure that you're ready for that."
The Doctor broke away from the screen for a moment, glaring at Kate. She held his gaze, unapologetic. She was watching him, and his reaction to the video, even as he returned his attention to the footage.
"Do you know what triggered the nightmares?" the psychiatrist asked.
"I don't know."
"Why did they start?" the psychiatrist asked, a little more firmly.
"I…" Charlie shook his head, trying to shrink back into his chair.
"Charlie?" Back then, Kate was being considerably more human than this psychiatrist. What had changed? Why was she being so stern now?
"Why did they start?"
Charlie's eyes were locked on his hands, which he was rubbing in agitation.
"Nate…" Charlie breathed, barely audible.
The psychiatrist seemed unfazed. Evidently he already had this information. The Doctor would almost say that he was trying to force a confession out of the boy.
As much as he would hate to admit this, it was a confession the Doctor was hotly anticipating, for therein may lie the missing pieces to the puzzle that was Charlie Drake.
