She was going to be late. The bus slowly creaked to a stop and Esther Katusi ran the rest of the way to the office, fighting a biting wind that had not been forecasted. Her flats made soft thumps against the sidewalk as she struggled to pull out her ID badge from her work bag. After giving the card to the officer to inspect, she went into the building and waited for the elevator. As the mundane office work day whizzed about her, she pinned the badge to her shirt and had failed to see one very important thing on her way in.

Party. Work. Party… Work… Nope, definitely party. Rex Matheson tried to rub his head to get rid of the hangover. Gun safely hidden away in his clothes, he came to work through the other entrance, flashing the badge and revealing the company-issued gun.

CIA. Central Intelligence Agency. To Rex, it was a way of money. He could be a doctor or a lawyer, or anything else than gave him a good income and he wouldn't care. Of course, this was the best pick. He just had to follow instinct, despite the good amount of knowledge he already had. Rules? There were none for Rex. So far, instinct had not failed him. If it had worked for his whole life, it wasn't about to decide to take a break now.

Still, rubbing his eye and effectively closing his eye, he turned to corner for the elevators and nearly bumped into a dark-brown haired woman. The woman gave a small shout of surprise as Rex tumbled back, immediately composing himself and trying to erase any sign of a hangover. "Oh, Es…" he mumbled.

"Hello hangover," she muttered back.

"Why ya here early?" Rex was down from Texas. The southern drawl was evident in his voice even if he hadn't been home for a few years.

"I'm late. You're the only one who doesn't care about the time."

The elevator gave a sharp ring to signal that it had arrived. The two stepped inside, riding to their respective floors.

"Martha Jones," the commanding general said, stepping into her medical lab. "The guest is here. I am sure you will be of good service to him."

The doctor set down her pen and looked up from her paperwork. She had a professional smile as she linked her hands together on her desk. "Of course," she said back, waiting for the general to leave before coming down herself.

"Dr. Martha Jones," the guest greeted.

"Brigadier," Martha smiled, shaking his hand. "I trust your flight was alright?"

"Can't say it's the better than the Doctor's flying."

"I know what you mean," she laughed.

"Have you seen the state of this? What has the world come to?"

"Ever since Jack left-"

"You can't bear the weight on one man Martha. You of all people should know that. Now I've never met this captain, but I've heard and from what I've heard he's just like the Doctor."

"Well if the Doctor actually came then maybe the world would be a better place," Martha argued stiffly as she began to lead him down corridors.

"You are a lovely girl Jones, and smart. Sometimes I wonder about your trust in the Doctor."

"You sound like you know all about him."

"No, not really but maybe a bit more. I've seen him many times, many different incarnations. I haven't seen him for years but I remember the last time. Had the weirdest clothes on. Told me he was fighting a war and that he knew how to end it. So I asked him what was wrong and he just said, 'I'm not as good as you think I am.'"

"Time Lords are dead," Martha whispered.

"I just laughed. I told him, 'Well neither am I.' Haven't seen him yet."

"None of us have," the doctor laughed.

"All those times when something happened in the past, back when this place…" the Brigadier waved his cane around at the rooms, "was just starting and they kept asking me where the Doctor was when they wanted him. 1965. I remember that day well."

"Back then, with all those Daleks in the sky and the Doctor wasn't there… I thought he had really left us. Harriet was right. The day when we needed him the most, he wasn't going to be there."

"Mrs. Jones," the Brigadier said, stopping Martha with his cane. She turned to look at him, looking very professional with her white lab coat and down, brushed straight and stiff. The files in her hand, up at her chest added to the attire. "Let me ask you," the former companion asked the other former companion. "Why are you a doctor?"

"I want to help people."

"But not everyone can be saved."

Martha laughed bitterly. "When I came here, I thought I could make them better. You know how the Doctor is. No guns, no irrationality. Look at the world now. I can't go up to my office without being eyed, much less get a coffee from the shop downstairs. It's like I'm the one with the gun now."

The Brigadier placed a hand on Martha's right shoulder. "The world won't be ending for a few trillion years. No need to worry."

"Well…" Martha said, slowly drifting from her thoughts and directing herself to the times she had with the Doctor. "I was there."

The Brigadier laughed and Martha led him on his way to the general's office.

Esther was at her computer that was constantly receiving reports. Looking down from the screen and to the papers on her desk and back up again, she grew aware of the person in the corner of the room doing nothing and idling. It looked a little odd, but maybe the young woman was just waiting for someone to give her files.

The watch analyst didn't know the other woman and she thought nothing of it. The CIA was big; you couldn't know everyone. When Esther looked up again, finally scanning the room, the woman was gone, probably off to do some work. Then she collected her paperwork in her hands and paper clipped it tight. Standing up and taking the papers with her, a small silver chain slipped to the ground. Esther caught it last minute and inspected it. A necklace with a small pendant on it. Lovely etching onto the silver. Shrugging, she slipped it into her skirt pocket and proceeded to hand in the paperwork.

"Miss Katusi," the boss of the division greeted as she knocked on his glass office door. Her motioned for her to come in. "I was just about to call you."

"I have my paperwork sir," Esther responded.

"Set it down." The neat stack of papers graced themselves on the dark Espresso finish of the desk in the room. "You have a new assignment."

"I'm sorry sir?"

"Sit. You have a secret assignment, active until otherwise stated. You're one of the best analysts we have. Smart, quick, logical, always thinking."

"No really. I'm not," Esther blushed.

The graying hair from her boss blended in with his suit jacket stained with what seemed like cigarette ashes. "You will be doing some top secret, investigative work."

"Oh. Well I-"

"Don't worry, we have a field agent that will work with you."

"Who?"

"Matheson."

"Oh," Esther replied, a bit surprised.

"Effective immediately. You will be sent to Britain tomorrow."

"Britain?" Esther questioned. "What are we investigating sir?"

"Torchwood. We're going after Torchwood."

Martha was with the Brigadier in General Roth's room when she was told the news. "But they can't! I mean why?" the doctor cried.

"It's been cold case. CIA think they can crack it," Roth answered.

"It's not Torchwood's fault! It's the government's fault, and as a former British citizen, I am not saying that lightly."

"Dr. Jones-"

"I could even say that it's our fault," Martha continued.

"Dr. Jones-"

"What?" she snapped. The Brigadier touched her arm. Martha hadn't even noticed that she had begun to lean into the general's face.

"Dr. Jones, should I remember that you take your orders from us, from UNIT, and not from Torchwood."

"I don't take orders from Torchwood, sir," Martha responded leaning back.

"Good, doctor."

"Been three years to the day," she added quietly. Only the Brigadier could hear her as he strained his old ears. "Torchwood's gone."

NOES! MARTHA OOC-NESS IS KILLING ME! What do y'all think?
To any Classic DW fans: is the Brig too OOC?