Music from the canceled T.V. show Firefly played throughout Penelope's suite as she stepped from the shower, completely content. It had been a perfectly relaxing Saturday. She'd slept until six, taken care of a few odds and ends for work, and then had a rare day for whims. Well, she'd had the salon appointment and the visit to the spa for a massage and a mud mask, but otherwise it had been a rare day for whims. It had only been improved by the knowledge that the Doctor Jones wouldn't be upsetting her schedule anymore.

Okay, he'd been persistent, had to give him that. And he'd certainly been clever about the way he did thing. But no. She had her own ideas about the Drast, and was fairly set on how she'd handle their offer. Because of this, she absolutely refused to listen to the ever so slight doubt that she'd done the wrong thing getting rid of the Doctor. Oh well.

Her music abruptly stopped. Penelope, still wrapped in her towel, went to her living room to start it up again. In the process she went past her kitchen.

Part of her wanted to call the police. The other, much larger part, gave into her first reaction.

In a single fluid motion, Penelope ripped off her wet towel and brought it down hard across the Doctor Jones' back like a whip. He let out a rather undignified yelp as he jumped sideways away from the stove where he'd been cooking. He turned to face Penelope but quickly averted his gaze when he saw she was now completely naked.

"What are you doing in my home?" she asked as calmly as if she'd been wearing her business clothes.

"I came to talk."

"How did you get in here?"

"Front door. Your security really isn't that good."

"In order to use my front door it takes two key codes and a retinal scan."

"Like I said: Not really that good. Could you put that back on?" the Doctor questioned, referring to Penelope's towel.

Penelope rewrapped herself, taking the excuse to think. She looked back at the Doctor, who was back in front of the stove.

"Dare I ask what you're cooking?"

"Isn't it typical for a business meeting to happen over a meal?"

"I asked what you were cooking, not why."

"Fish." He turned back around to face her, grinning as though he had invited her over rather than breaking into her house. "Now get dressed and we'll talk."

"You really aren't going to stop trying until you speak with me," Penelope stated.

The Doctor became serious. "No. I need your help to save the planet Penelope Starling."

Penelope was intrigued, but put on a face of resigned boredom. "Alright. You can have your say. But I want you to agree that when I refuse to help you, you will walk out my door and you will cease pestering me."

"If you turn me down, I will leave you alone. You have my word."

The Doctor was old; very, very old. He'd done a lot in his nine hundred plus years of travel. He'd faced planet eating creatures and world conquering aliens. He'd stared down the barrel of various forms of guns and the wrong end of multiple blade types. The Doctor had French-kissed Lady Death and survived too many times to count.

Business meetings put him on edge. No, he wasn't lacking in mental prowess, but business meetings were a bit different. He wasn't tricking someone; he was making an offer and hoping it would take. It wasn't unlike a marriage proposal, except that in this case the woman seemed perpetually annoyed at him.

Well, you were never too old to learn.

Penelope calmly walked into her dining room, wearing jeans and a black turtle neck sweater with elbow length sleeves, her short brown hair still damp but combed. She set a bowl of green apples on the table before sitting across from the Doctor. He raised an eyebrow at the bowl.

"You have a rather disturbing sense of humor Penny."

"My name is Penelope, Dr. Jones."

"And my name is the Doctor, not Dr. Jones." The Doctor pointed at her face. "You aren't wearing your glasses."

"No I'm not."

They stared at each other for a moment. "Any reason?"

"Yes."

Another moment. "And the reason is…"

"The glasses are part of the costume. The lenses are simply glass, but they add a layer of professionalism to my image." She folded her hands on the table in front of her steaming plate of mahi-mahi, white rice, and garlic mashed potatoes. "Now, what was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Oh, I've got a whole list, but I want to start with you."

"Pardon?"

"I'm figuring out why the Drast are so interested in you. I've got a few ideas, but I'm trying to put all the pieces together. Once I know why you're so important, I need your help to get to Mr. Snow and send the Drast back to their planet."

Penelope looked at the Doctor with cat-like eyes before smiling slightly. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt for the moment and not escort you a sanitarium. Where do you factor in this mess?"

"It's a hobby."

"What exactly does your hobby entail?"

The Doctor gave a half smile. "Protecting the planet."

"MI6? Or that other group, the one the UN created to defend the Earth from extra-terrestrials…UNIT, I believe it's called."

The Doctor stared at her for a second. "You are ridiculously well informed Penny."

"It serves my purpose, Dr. Jones."

"Your purpose?"

Penelope's invisible smile was almost taunting. "Yes. My purpose. Why are the Drast a concern to you?"

"They're trying to take over the planet and I need to stop them. I like Earth, very fond of it, and history demands that the human's still have control until…for a bit."

Penelope blinked, almost as if she'd recorded the sentence for later. "The Drast I've met don't seem to be trying to shoot people."

"That's not how the Drast work. They shape the economy until they completely control the planet."

"That would take decades, if not generations," Penelope said calmly. Both parties were completely ignoring their food as they talked. "I would have noticed if large, glowing bird men were encroaching on my world."

"They haven't gotten very far yet, which is why I need them out now."

The Doctor and Penelope regarded each other for a moment until Penelope spoke. "You aren't much of a business man Doctor."

"That's why I need your help Penelope."

"The reason I mention it, Dr. Jones, is because only an incompetent group of aliens, people, or anything else, would start an economic takeover in a country such as America. We don't offer a very good base for a monetary empire."

"What if they started somewhere else Penny?"

Penelope thought about that for a moment. "If they began in Japan, possibly Russia or in a pinch China, it's probable they would succeed."

"Say they started in Japan in 1999. How long would it take them to get up here?"

"Decades, if global economics stayed precisely where they were," Penelope answered immediately. "If I were the one attempting such a thing, I'd work my way up the map. There's no way they could be here yet."
"Then why are they?" the Doctor challenged.

Penelope must have been thinking the same thing, because her reply was prompt. "They're taking advantage of the dip in the stock market and decrease of the dollar to set up a second base funded by Japan. America is still a world super-power in many ways; take it and everything else opens to you."

"Are you going to accept their offer?"

"What offer?"

"The one where you can work directly for Mr. Snow."

Penelope smiled and the Doctor knew he'd stepped into something. "I assume that the jewelry you gave me had some kind of transmitter in it?"

"Yeah."

"It would seem your theory about Mr. Snow being an alien is true then. Imagine you being right."

"It happens rather frequently," the Doctor defended himself. "Why would they want you specifically?"

Penelope shrugged, but it wasn't an 'I-don't-know' shrug. "Any number of reasons. You've no doubt researched me; I've spent the last ten years building a name for myself. I am, frankly, the most well connected human in Earth's business world. If you wanted to stage an economic takeover, you'd want me helping you rather than find you out and throw you out."

"Could you do that?"

"If I had enough information and knew where to apply the right amount of leverage, it's very possible."

The Doctor nodded. "Of course; your Black Book of Favors."

"It's yellow, if you want to know the truth."

"Yellow?"

"I hate yellow; far too silly a color. The color reminds me to be judicious when calling in favors. I must congratulate you Doctor; you're the first person I've had to use two favors on in a day." She picked up her wine glass and gave him a mock toast before taking a sip. She looked oddly at her glass.

"This isn't wine."

"You didn't have any. Horrible stuff for you anyway, destroys the brain cells."

"That's why I don't keep any in the suite."

"I noticed that in the search. I also found your hidden stash of See's Toffe-ettes in the back of the freezer."

"Anything else I need to know about my home?"

"You have a wad of hundred dollar bills in the ceramic cat, you don't have a safe, and you're one of the few people who have actually read all the books on their shelf."

Penelope regarded the Doctor for a moment. "Who are you, Doctor? In all reality, who are you?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I need to know about the man with whom I might be making a business deal. I'm also debating whether to share something with you, but I need to know who you are first."

"I'm from a planet called Gallifrey. I'm nine hundred and eight years old. I travel around time and space in a small wooden Police Box that's bigger on the outside, saving planets and peoples but also trying—unsuccessfully—to not harm or kill anyone in the process. My name really is the Doctor. Nothing else, just the Doctor."

Penelope gave one of her cat-like blinks. "You're an old, brilliant alien who's a humanitarian and unsuccessful pacifist."

"You're good at turning a person into a single sentence."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting you, Penelope Starling."

A timer rang suddenly and the Doctor jumped up out of his seat and dashed to the kitchen. Penelope stood to see what he was doing.

With a clatter and a now-burnt hand, the Doctor produced a pie from the oven.

"You made a pie?"

"I used the frozen berries you had. That needs to sit for a bit before we can eat it."

For some reason, Penelope's calm gaze seemed a touch more human. She made a sound that might have been a laugh. "I'm not entirely certain whether you're the greatest simpleton I've ever met, or the only person I've truly found interesting."

She sat down at one of the counter seats and looked again at the Doctor. "What did you mean, it wasn't a compliment?"

"People are so much more than just a sentence, Penny," the Doctor said, sitting next to her. "Everyone's an amazing bundle of memories and potential and brilliance."

"You think that because of who I am I choose to ignore people."

"You use them. Everyone is weighed by how much they help you. Why is that?"

Penelope's smile was again secretive. "You're expecting me to tell you a story about a deprived childhood, one where I was beaten and learned that if I wanted anything I had to do it myself because no one would assist me." She shook her head. "Not true. My brother and I are quite close, and my niece and nephew adore me as much as I do them. My parents are incredibly proud of their youngest.

"In connection with my work, I strive to be the best I can be. I work better on my own, and I know that people never take to me. I won't force my company on anyone. I've also found that my life simply had no room for socializing unless absolutely necessary, such as when someone from a fellow company throws a party."

"You know what happens to people like you in stories."

Another sound that might have been a laugh. The Doctor was rather impressed with himself. He should have done this right at the beginning. "Doctor, I fully expect to be the lonely old spinster woman surrounded by cats when she's eighty nine. Though, I think I'd rather have dogs."

She paused and studied him again, somehow closer than she had the previous times. At last she stood and walked toward her door. The Doctor took the hint and followed her, stepping out into the hall.

He turned back when Penelope spoke. "Before you leave, Doctor, I will ask you this; whatever plans you might lay for next week, if you do anything on Monday I will have you shipped to Alaska in a wooden box. Are we clear?"

The Doctor looked at her sideways. "Would I still be breathing in this box?"

"Are we clear?"

"Very." He started to leave when Penelope again spoke up.

"The Drast didn't only want my help because of my contacts or the favors I have stored."

"Then why did they try to kidnap you when we first met?"

Penelope smiled again, more mischievous than secretive. "What they really need is for me to find Mr. Snow for them. They were bluffing when they offered me a chance to work with him. Mr. Snow is not a Drast, Doctor. I know the man."

She shut the door in his astonished face.

Penelope sat back on her couch to think. She'd drawn the Doctor into her confidence somewhat with that last statement. For better or for worse, she'd just chosen to ally herself with him rather than the Drast.

But who was he? His miniscule autobiography wasn't nearly enough for her.

"Nine hundred and eight," she mused to herself. "And with an obvious attachment to Earth."

Penelope stood and went to her bookshelf, her movements sure. Selecting a slender yellow book she reclaimed her seat, a cordless phone in her hand. Before opening the book, she punched in a number from memory.

"Garry McCarthy, Chief of Police? Yes, this is Penelope Starling again. I'm crossing off two more favors, but I need you to do something for me first. Head down to Wabash and Ontario and wait for the Doctor; he's still wearing the same outfit. Keep an eye on him for me. Second but first to do is impound a Police Public Call Box at the same place. It resembles a phone booth. Only release it to him when I give the all clear."

She hung up without waiting for a response. Opening the address book, she turned to the first page and entered the number. "Area 51? This is Penelope Starling, I need to speak with Director Streely." She waited few moments while her call was re-directed. "Mr. Streely, I want to call in my favor. I need any and all information you have on a man who goes by the name 'The Doctor.' I want it faxed to me immediately."

She hung up and flipped a few more pages before entering another number. "BBC? This is Penelope Starling. I need to speak to your Director General, George Entwistle." Again, a few seconds before she was re-directed. "Mr. Entwhistle, I realize this is an inconvenient time for you. However, I need to call in a favor. I've recently come across a man who calls himself 'the Doctor.' I want anything you have on him faxed to me immediately."

More pages turned. "CBS? This is Penelope Starling."

Penelope stayed up for several more hours. Her three fax machines and laser printer worked over time as she called in countless favors researching this crazy man who'd completely twisted her life.

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*