A/N: *slides back into the room* Thanks for the patience everyone! Writing a fic based on political satire gets a little... erm... depressing when big political stuff happens to align in the story and in real life. Here's hoping to getting back on track.

Fifty-Five

"Mam… Mam, Mam, Mam… Mam…"

"What, Conall?"

"Hi."

Kate watched as the toddler before her grinned and zoomed out of the office, presumably heading towards the family room. He had long reached the point where once he was first put down on the floor, he would likely not stop until the evening—not even mealtimes were safe—and today was no exception. Conall's energy levels terrified Fiona on the regular, made Lex and Euan marvel, and made Gordon and Kanda worried about the status of their own house for the future, as their own baby was just beginning to show on her thin frame.

A thud happened in the other room and Conall shouted "'kay", which made Kate roll her eyes and investigate what was going on. She took her laptop computer with her and brought it to the sitting room, where her youngest son was scrambling to get back to his feet after losing his balance running. Settling down on the armchair, she decided that it was probably best to keep an eye on him from there. She had plenty of monitoring to do while the referendum vote was going on that day, and she didn't want the child's high energy levels to pose too much an unseen distraction.

The referendum; it was still early in the day, and the exit polls were reporting that there wouldn't be much of a change in her work environment, but she wasn't going to stop watching until the end results were in. It was bad enough she was attempting to monitor intergalactic presence at the Olympics later in the summer, but to have this piling shit on top… it was enough to make her want to hole up in her house and not come out for months.

Not even an hour passed and her mobile rang—the only other person who seemed both capable and unsurprised by the child zooming about before her, having not stopped for a moment since she came out to sit with him.

"Is this you telling me I should've gone in today?"

"This is me saying no one can focus long enough to pick their fucking arses despite the fact we're all supposed to being going into a semi-siege mode," Malcolm replied.

"It can't be that bad…"

"We're going fucking bananas here, love," he said. "The Zygons are saying they got some testy individuals in their numbers and if we're not careful, we might have another Insurgency on our hands before we're all able to go into another lockdown."

"If Jamie's not allow to start a revolution, then the Zygons aren't either."

"Fuck—Jamie'd be the one supplying the cunts with insider info and shit like that." Malcolm groaned, clearly done with the entire situation. "I'm glad we both went to vote early, because I just want to work the rest of the day from home. At least you have Conall there to dull the pain."

"I wouldn't say 'dull' or he might explode and regenerate into a teenager," she frowned. Kate watched as the toddler in-question climbed up on the couch, grabbing the throw pillows and chucking them over the side onto the floor. The lad then crawled back down and began dragging one of the pillows towards his play area. He then returned for the other, then went for the seat cushions, dissecting the couch almost completely. "It looks like your son is getting scarily good at remembering how to construct a fort."

"Only because your daughter taught him."

"She's yours too now, remember. Don't put your name on what you don't want to claim."

The call was silent for a moment, the couple able to hear the other's smile, until Malcolm hissed.

"Fuck—Cal's calling."

"Let me know the damage. Love you."

"Same, love. Ta."

The call ended and Kate placed her mobile in her pocket and watched Conall as he set the seat cushions on their sides and used the throw pillows as the ceiling. He then crawled into the fort with a toy car in each hand, making sputtering noises as he moved them along the rug.

"Mam! Beep, beep!"

"Yes: beep, beep."

She turned on the television to the news—it probably wasn't good for her looming anxiety, but that was a risk she did not have the privilege of passing on.

Switching lines, Malcolm stepped into the lift from outside his office, riding it down to the atrium level. "Tories in a Lorry Sceptic Services."

"That's not fucking funny today," Cal snipped. "It was funny yesterday, and might be funny tomorrow, but not today of all fucking days."

"You know how I joke in times of duress," Malcolm reminded him. He exited the lift and corridor, hoping the sounds of the hustle and bustle around him would deter his old friend from staying on the phone for too long. "Now what the fuck you want? I'm a bit busy at the moment."

"Can't I check in on one of my favorite UN inroads? Today is a big day, after all."

"For the last time: we're not taking a peek at the results—we're indebted to the Time Cunt enough already."

"How dare you!" Cal gasped. "That was far from my reason for calling!"

"Then surprise me," Malcolm said. He flipped a V to some tits who were pushing a large cart with an impossibly-big computer console, having to duck out of their way at the last moment. Glenn was right behind them, prompting him to scowl. "What's with the hardware older than you?!"

"Got to be prepared in case we're cut off!" Glenn retorted, not even breaking stride.

"If the EU circumcises its Britannia-shaped foreskin, would you blame them?" He then went back to Cal and the mobile. "It's a fucking shitshow—you know that more than most. I'm the most level-headed one here and even I'm ready to gouge my eyes and ears out."

"I'm ready to jump fucking ship."

"Too much working for the Enemy for comfort?"

"The Enemy, I can handle; it's flat-out self-immolating cunts that is what I have a problem with. They've poured so much petrol—leaded petrol, by the way—on themselves that it's splashing on the rest of us that want to live… and live decently at that. We're getting caught up in their temper tantrum in a way I haven't seen in a long fucking time. Reminds me of before I went up to uni—you know it's bad when rooming with Jamie was the sane option compared to these arse-faced, sociopolitical abortions." He exhaled heavily, his irritation clear. "Listen: if there is a chance I can no longer handle being one of the sane embedded in this asylum, think there's a shot for me over there with the two of you? Get Gizmo and the Nuggets back together? Now we can be a set of fucking signal bars."

"Let's watch how the shit piles before we figure out how to scoop it up off the pavement," Malcolm said. He stopped and watched a bunch of people from R&D pulling their own cart full of supplies through the complex, visible on the other end of the atrium, as another set of normally-calm-ish scientists being gripped by reluctant panic. "At least UNIT is UN, not EU."

"Exactly—if anything, I'd like to be a bit more secure in my old age—Emily's in secondary and is definitely the sort to go to uni… I'd like to support that, as long as it won't bankrupt me morally."

"It sounds like it's hard fucking work not having additional sources to pull money from in order to support a nip's goals."

"Yeah, yeah; at least I don't have to deal with some impotent cannoli-fucker trying to lay paternal claim on my daughter despite bare-fucking-minimum parenting otherwise. Doesn't that cunt know there's a statute of limitations?"

"He's used to conveniently buying extended warranties just as the terms run out." Something then caught Malcolm's eye: a singular Scarfy, being unusually-calm for her otherwise-nervous self. "Hey, I think I sense a bollocking coming on; someone needs to blend in or risk causing more panic. Text me if something cataclysmic happens, like Lizzie actually standing up to the government."

"That would be the day—fuck you later."

"Keep it oiled for me." Malcolm ended the call and slipped his mobile in his jacket pocket just as he was within earshot of Scarfy. "What the fuck do you think you're up to?"

"My job," Scarfy replied dully. Yeah, okay, it was extra fucking suspicious. She scribbled on her tablet with a stylus in an effort to dissuade him from paying her much heed. "Unlike the rest of the mainframe, I feel like actually doing mine today."

"…and you aren't concerned at all? About anything?"

"Not entirely; my work will get done no matter where lines in the sand get drawn."

"You really believe that?" He watched as she adjusted her glasses, which led him to scoff. "I just want to know why you're the only person in this entire compound who isn't shitting themselves—literally or metaphorically—and it better be a good one."

"The exit polling's doing fine," Scarfy said, idly as possible. "You're getting yourself worked up over nothing."

"Exit polls aren't worth shite and you know that," he replied, "or if you don't, then Nella does, and the two of you need to have a wee chat about how people lie a lot more than we all care to admit."

"You're a pessimist."

"Then you must be the fucking alien one, because it should be plain to anyone with a functioning brain stem that we're in a nation with so much endemic xenophobia that it's a miracle any of us go holidaying anywhere further than a cunting Caravan Club in fucking Essex."

"Again: you're a pessimist."

"I like to use the term 'realist'," he corrected. It was difficult—so fucking difficult—for him to not raise his voice and bring further attention to them that it made him want to get it the fuck over with and pop a blood vessel. "Now don't you have some molecunt to administer space-heroin to and watch as he shrivels in upon himself? Some twisted experiment to do with the other Scarfy, holed up where no one else can see you being so calm and collected they know you're the alien whether it's the truth or not? Away from people attempting to crack the code that is Petronella Osgood and Which One is Already Dead?"

Scarfy finally made eye contact with him, her expression one of anger. The two were locked in a staring contest for a moment, before she blinked and shook her head, confused.

"Were you just attempting to enter my psyche?" she wondered aloud.

"Was I? Maybe I'm just a fucking X-Man, evolving right before your eyes. Should I just shave my head bald and get a gay German boyfriend? Maybe I can turn into a blue poof, poofing around in and out of this dimension, or would the one who makes bombs be good enough? I could even grow some tits and levitate if that's what you want."

"That's not funny."

"…and what is going to be even less funny is if you draw attention to yourself by being the only one not about to have an anxiety attack over the status of our mainframe's ability to protect—let alone whether or not our fucking careers are all going to be in shatters—so you better get going."

Scarfy took one more look at Malcolm and left, heading off to wherever it was she was going to avoid him, and he felt that his micro-mission was generally done. Her skulking around during a time of mainframe-wise panic and uncertainty was truly one of the last things they all needed, and he was willing to stand by that fact. After checking in with Aparajita, he decided to duck out—Gordon was in that night and would be able to handle any sort final reaction be it panic or party. The Mainframe was not the best place for him to be at that present moment, and the fact that he was able to acknowledge that made him realize how far he'd come as he stewed in his own thoughts on the drive home.

Fuck… he kept the radio off as he drove, instead opting for some music off a miniature mp3 player that Fiona had curated for him. It was honestly one of the best birthday presents he'd ever gotten. Such a simple thing, and yet it was just as powerful as when Wee Lex had gifted him her drawings to pin in his office. It sustained his sanity during the commute, allowing him to melt all the cock-and-blow at work so that he could think about how to braise the pork chops that night for him and his wife. All said and done, it was an almost-satisfying drive, as fucking preposterous a notion as it was, with him pulling up next to the house just as a song was ending.

Well, the building seemed intact, so the bairn didn't win today's round.

Going in through the kitchen door, Malcolm found Kate already started on that night's dinner, chopping veg while a children's show could be heard in the living room. Her hands seemed to be shaking as she made larger chunks of the veg than normal.

"You're home early," she noted.

"I was going to cook dinner."

"I need to keep my mind off shit."

"Slicing your fingertips off isn't the answer."

She put down the knife and looked at him, the weight of the day clearly hanging on her. "I would think out of all people, you'd know how difficult it is to do anything today."

"It's a bunch of cunts proving they're exactly that. You can block all that out if you need to; in fact, that's why I'm here."

"You know how anxious this is making me, Malcolm," she scowled. "This could be the end of many things that has essentially bled my family dry."

"…and I know you: you'll make it work," he replied. "I thought that's part of why you and your da gained traction for the scientific aspect of things… in order to survive. It'll work."

"You've met politicians—they think that science is just a subject to bunk off in their elitist public schools, a grade they didn't need because they knew all they were going to do was bop around from imaginary job to imaginary job, being a waste of space until they can get elected to a riding where they can be a black hole of bad policies and even worse execution. That is what we're dealing with."

"You think I don't know that?" Malcolm felt Conall run into his legs and looked down to see the boy clamoring to stand up before stomping away in giggles. "Those Thatcher-lites couldn't even grasp what the fuck UNIT even does, let alone how important it is to the overall planet."

"…and that's why this is so dangerous. They get rid of anything they don't understand."

"…which is where you have the advantage, as you know that's how they fucking are, and I know that's how they fucking are, and we can prep for them and how to not only avoid the fucking guillotine, but dismantle it should it come to that. Those cunts are a lot of fucking things, but predictable is thankfully one of them."

"How low will they sink, though? What is truly in their sights?"

He pondered that, knowing it was a loaded pair of questions. Kate was no fool—she had been fighting against all the shite nearly as long as he had. Different circumstances, sure, but she knew sides that he didn't, simply based on where it was she stood and how she fit into the whole show differently from him to start. Malcolm looked at the veins of color in the countertop and scowled. "I will be damned if this gets the best of us."

"Just damned?"

"Alright; I'll be taken up the arse with an unlubricated horse cock, with one of those tinny voice boxes rammed down my throat so that the only thing I can do is ask for more."

"I don't think that's how those voice boxes work."

"You know what I mean." Malcolm went over and stood behind Kate, wrapping his arms around her waist as he leaned into her returning embrace best she could from her position. "All I want is to survive this. We'll survive this. Our parents raised people who can survive." He kissed the back of her head and hugged her a bit tighter. "Did you want to keep going with dinner or keep going with Conall? Or neither?"

"What if I wanted to take both?"

"I would have to respectfully lock you in our room and not let you out until dinnertime."

"Then I'll take our son." She turned in his grasp and gently kissed him; oh, it felt fucking good, sucking each other's lips lazily as they propped themselves up with the counter. "We'll be in the sitting room if you need us."

"Sure thing, love."

Malcolm indulgently watched Kate walk away before turning to the veg she oh-so-unceremoniously mutilated before he had a chance to stop her. After a bit of consideration, he decided that the effort was not worth it and he was just going to overcook and blend the shit together for Conall to attempt to eat instead, getting a couple other potatoes and carrots out of the cupboard for the adults.

With the meat slowly cooking and veg properly washed and chopped and waiting for boiling, Malcolm wandered through the house and found his wife and son. She was sitting on the floor, with him in her lap, and they were looking at a book. It was one of those that used only a few dozen words, with Conall stumbling over the story aloud.

"Da! Da! I read!" the boy said excitedly.

"Would you look at that," he said, half-impressed and half-fearful. Lex had been beginning to speak at his age, yeah, but reading was a different thing entirely. "Are you sure you just haven't heard this story before?" Conall crinkled his nose and Malcolm could see Clara in the lad, wariness joining the emotion medley. "I thought I've read this one with you."

"No! Ecks!" Ah, yes, Lex had given him that book.

"Jury's still out on which it is," Kate said. She glanced up at the television, which was on a silent newscast, lines of closed captioning scrolling all over the screen. The device turned off and she glared at her husband. "I was watching that."

"None of this shite until after dinner, please," he requested. "I'd like it if you were able to digest a bit first without your stomach being in fucking knots. Punch out for an hour or three."

"The infamous Malcolm Tucker, who was married to his job for decades, is telling me to punch out?" she teased, feigning shock. "I should call Jamie now and tell him that the department lead position is his for the taking."

"The wee fuck can have it eventually, but not now," he lobbed back. "I've got better things to do."

"…such as…?"

"Making sure my wife's career doesn't turn her into a nutter, for one."

"That's a tall order." He sat down on the couch and put his legs up onto the empty cushions, which prompted Conall to crawl into his lap—still clutching the book in one chubby hand—and stand on him, his balance wobbly.

"Da read?" the boy asked. "Da read me!"

"Conall, son, Mam was reading to you. Isn't she any good anymore?"

"Da read," the boy insisted. He pushed the paper and cardboard object into Malcolm's face. "Read! Read!"

"What do you say?"

"Peas!"

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Please."

"Peas!"

"Close e-fucking-nough—get in here, lad." He allowed Conall to wedge himself between himself and the couch, snuggled in for the story. There was time enough to finish off before he needed to check on the pork chops. He glanced over at Kate real quick to see that her attention had already been drawn to her mobile, where he could see she was checking on early turnout reports and even more exit polls. Not drawing attention to it, he continued the book, simply knowing that the results couldn't come in fast enough.