Setting: Just before the end of Aliens of London.
Summary: What about those people swept up in the Doctor’s trail? People have a nasty habit of dying when he’s around.
Author's Notes: Written for wildecate - enjoy!
Major Henri Ladouceur heard his death sentence over a glass of reasonable cognac, from a man with a maniacal grin.
“Hello! I’m the Doctor,” boomed the tall leather jacketed man bounding over and shaking the Major’s spare hand. “Isn’t this fabulous?”
Ever since Henri had joined UNIT, he’d heard the tales darkly whispered among the surviving personnel. Of the strange man known only as the Doctor, his scientific prowess and the death and destruction that followed in his wake. The only thing worse than this sudden, unexpected meeting would have been to come round a corner suddenly and find his infamous blue box.
He swallowed the cognac quickly, and smiled weakly. But by then the Doctor had bounced over to the far side of the Downing Street waiting room and was excitedly chatting to the observer from Switzerland.
The Doctor! Herald of a thousand strange occurrences, all expertly hushed up and tidied away by those who understood the human race wasn’t quite ready for such knowledge yet. Long time UNIT personnel would mutter darkly about his ever changing look (which had left Henri to suspect that the Doctor prefix was in fact a codename given to whichever mad scientist working for the British government was best suited for the current problem) but would still follow his orders without hesitation.
As one soldier had put it – “You knew there was one hell of a chance you wouldn’t make it out alive, or the bloke next to ya, but if you didn’t follow him, no-one was going to live.”
Somehow his glass was empty. Major Ladouceur was not a coward by any stretch of the imagination, and had risen to his rank by serving first his country and then the United Nations with flair, dash and élan. So why had this suddenly hit him so hard? Maybe it was because for the first time in years, he was having to confront his own mortality. Flipping open his cell phone, he quickly dialled his home number. “Marie… c’est moi.”
The conversation was short and intense, allowing him to say his goodbyes to his wife of nine years, and more importantly speak to his darling six year old daughter. He hoped this wouldn’t be the last time, but he had this feeling. A feeling similar to that of an oncoming storm; great natural forces coming to bear down on where he stood.
The Doctor truly was a herald of doom; a harbinger.
Just one last thing to do now. He gritted his teeth, and dialled another number. “Annabelle? It’s Henri – it’s over. Finished. I can no longer see you any more. Instead, I would appreciate it if you were to pack your things and leave the flat. I will, naturally, continue paying for it for the next month.”
He listened for a moment, then cut Annabelle off in mid-flow. “Non, non… I simply wish to spend more time with my family. Goodbye.”
Hanging up, he quickly switched the phone off. And unfortunately his glass was still empty. A Downing Street usher approached Major Ladouceur, and coughed politely. “The meeting is about to begin,” he said politely. “It’s time, sir.”
“Yes,” answered Major Ladouceur resignedly, “I guess my time is up.”
Following the assembled experts into the Downing Street conference room, Henri stood up straighter. Whatever happened, whatever threat was approaching them all, he was going to do his best to survive, to get back home to his family.
He was a soldier, and if there was one thing he knew, it was fighting. Just give him a plain, ordinary enemy in front of him, and he’d know what to do. Smiling, he clipped his pass on, and entered the room.