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The Brigadier leant against his desk, putting his head in his hands, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, as if that would help him at all. He could still feel his body shake, and he doubted the images would leave his mind any time soon (if at all), but at least he was alone in his office to deal with it. At least nobody was around to see him like this.
Or so he had thought.
A hand landed on his shoulder,”My dear fellow, are you okay?”
Startled, the Brigadier’s breath hitched, quickly moving his hands grip to the desk. He looked up at the Doctor’s concerned expression, fighting the urge to shove the Doctor’s hand off of him and shout at the man.
Was he alright? No, not remotely.
He wished he could vent to the Doctor, tell him how he hadn’t not been sleeping well for weeks. How his mind was plagued with hazy images of a young lad in a forest clearing.
It was a nightmare, clearly, for he did not recognise the face of the child, nor the area he was in (even though it all felt so familiar), but a nightmare that had been bothering him to no end. Sometimes the boy was standing on an edge, sometimes he was crying, sometimes he spoke, but Alistair couldn’t remember what he said by the time he woke up (except the word ‘maha’, but he must have misremembered another word) - and sometimes… Sometimes the poor lad fell off the edge - God, the things the Brigadier's mind thought of, that image was seared into his mind.
How each nightmare woke him up with a gasp, only to find himself drenched in sweat, unsure of whether or not he was about to be sick.
How the lack of sleep only made everything else worse.
How running UNIT on a couple hours of sleep, for several weeks, was not something he would never recommend another person to do, because it had made him feel like he was at a wits end. Having to deal with ministers, and self centred, corrupt business people, and the piles and piles of paperworks, plans, calls - Dealing with aliens was probably the least excruciating part of his job, because at least the adrenaline and fear from being out in the field, forced his body to feel awake, and alert, instead of hazy round the edges.
And now, this very afternoon, he had just seen one of his men, Private Johnson.. fall off a cliff- he could still feel the lingering panic in his body, making him feel like a live wire.
But he couldn’t say any of that out loud, so he didn’t, and instead took another deep breath, before shrugging off the Doctor’s hand in as casual a way as he could.
The Doctor frowned at that, but did not try to lay a hand on him again. Instead, the Doctor sat on the desk, next to him, placing his hand mere centimetres away from the Brigadier’s. No touch, just the reminder that he was there.
“His family will have to be contacted, of course,” the Brigadier said instead,”lots of paperwork, as well. I’m not quite sure how we’ll explain this one-“
“Brigadier-“
“-Have you had your injuries checked by Doctor Sullivan yet?”
The Doctor's frown deepened,”Well, yes. Only minor scratches this time-“
The Brigadier nodded,”Good. I believe some of their technology was scavenged from the site. Perhaps you can take a look at it, see if there’s anything of note.”
“I shan’t help you develop weapons from alien technology,” The Doctor scoffed, but the anger seemed to leave him not even a few moments later,”You avoided my question Alistair..”
“We are currently at work, Doctor.” They weren’t really. It was coming up to 1700 hours, which was typically the end of work anyway, but after the day they had, he had allowed people’s shifts to end early, in order to recover. He supposed that included the Doctor.. And Himself.
The Doctor sighed,”Right.. So, my Briga-dear,“ The Brigadier glared at the Doctor, who seemed to ignore it,”You are avoiding the question.”
He so wished the Doctor would learn when to drop things, instead of continuously pushing for an answer. Then the Brigadier could quickly compose himself, and go back to working, instead of dwelling on his own issues.
No he wasn’t ok, not at all, but he did not have the luxury to deal with it. The Brigadier was brave, he was unfazed by the things they see, and he was unaffected by.. anything. (Alistair wasn’t though, Alistair was a pathetic and weak human.)
He looked down at the patterned floor and forced himself to answer, “I shall be okay eventually.”
“But you aren’t right now.”
The Brigadier sighed,”What is it you want, Doctor?”
“I wanted to check on you, and, well I suppose I was rather hoping you would be willing to open up.” The Doctor admitted, rubbing the back of his neck,”I.. We’re all rather worried about you.”
The Brigadier looked at the Doctor, eyes wide, alarmed,”What?” Had he been so obvious with his shock and anxieties, that everyone saw?
“You are allowed to not be alright, Alistair,” The Doctor said with a level of sincerity that the Brigadier rarely heard, and he decided that he could ignore the Doctor calling him by his name this time round.
“As the head of UNIT-”
“Oh don’t start on that,” the Doctor huffed,”You are human too. Just as human as everyone else in this building.”
“Apart from you.” The Brigadier pointed out.
“Apart from me.” The Doctor smiled, but dropped it only a moment later,”Look.. What happened to Private Johnson..” Even the Doctor, the person who could (and had) talked for England, couldn’t quite find the words for the situation.
Johnson’s death came out of nowhere, though, if the Brigadier let himself think about the situation more, he would be sure there were warning signs he had missed. They thought the enemy was eliminated, dead.
Of course the Doctor had tried to reason with it, but it wasn’t open to talks, only destruction, so they killed it.
He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that simple. It was never that simple.
“It wasn’t your fault.” The Doctor decided to say instead, but the Brigadier struggled to believe what he said.
Yes, he knew all his men knew the risks of the job when they first started working at UNIT. They knew they might die in the line of fire, protecting this planet from those who wish to destroy it.. But watching Private Johnson fall, he felt like a young boy all over again, frozen on the spot, unable to save him, no matter what he did-
The Brigadier frowned to himself. He wasn’t sure where that thought came from.
“You aren’t going to drop this topic, are you?” The Brigadier sighed.
“Do you want me to?”
“No.” The answer surprised himself, and one look at the Doctor told him that he too was surprised by the answer,”but Doctor, what i say must not be mentioned outside of this room. Do you understand?”
“Because god forbid your men see you as human,” the Doctor scoffed, but seemed to soften a moment later,”Alright, I shan't mention it to anyone else. You have my word.”
The Brigadier nodded. Even though the Doctor had a history of ignoring his orders, he felt this time round he could trust the man to do as he said. Surely the Doctor wouldn’t betray his trust in such a way, right? (He would never.)
Even then, it was difficult. To admit weakness to another person, felt like a failure on his part. He had failed to be the strong leader he was meant to be.
He took in a breath,”I have been having a .. recurring nightmare for weeks,” he wasn’t sure how to phrase any of it,”I suppose I've been rather on edge,” and sleep deprived, “and Private Johnson’s death felt eerily too similar.. His death was an avoidable one. I should have..” been able to save him this time.
There he goes again, thinking of the nightmare as if it were a real event that happened to him.
“Should have what?”
The Brigadier shook his head,”Doesn’t matter Doctor.”
The Doctor seemed to decide not to argue with him for once,”You said his death felt eerily similar. Do you mean it was similar to the nightmare?”
“I keep dreaming of a young boy in a forest clearing. Sometimes he’s crying, sometimes he’s talking, and sometimes..” He was shaking again, he could feel it, and no doubt the Doctor had noticed,”the poor lad falls off a cliff.” He could hear the Doctor let out a small gasp. He didn’t blame him, it was only a natural response when you are told such a thing, but the shame the Brigadier felt at that reaction.
“It has really affected you, has it?” The Doctor said, and the Brigadier nearly laughed at how silly the question was. Of course it had affected him. Why doesn't the Doctor experience a persistent nightmare, and witness a death just like the dream, and see if he thinks it’s an appropriate question to ask.
“It felt far too real, the nightmare that is,” the Brigadier forced himself to say, his throat nearly closing up, “I must’ve been a small boy also in the nightmare, it certainly didn’t seem like my current self was there.. And it all seemed familiar. I’ve never seen that boy in my whole life, nor do I recognise the place, but it felt like I did, like I should know them.”
“Could it have been a repressed memory?” The Doctor asked gently, but the Brigadier shook his head.
“It can’t have been.” He had no evidence to back up the statement, but surely, if it were a repressed memory from his childhood, he would at least recognise something, right? He would have at least recognised the boy.
The Brigadier sighed,”I am sorry you had to hear this. You did not wish to hear about this.”
“You seemed like you needed someone to talk to,” The Doctor replied, “I might give you a hard time, but that does not mean I don’t care for you, Alistair. In fact, I care for you rather a lot, and it pains me to see you suffering in silence.”
The Brigadier could feel himself tear up as he heard that, though he did not allow himself to cry (he doubts, after decades of practice, he could cry, even if he wanted to). He instead, hesitantly, placed his hand over the Doctor’s, giving it a slight squeeze, hoping the Doctor could feel his gratitude. The Doctor moved his hand to hold his properly, and squeezed back.
“Why don’t you stay the night in my TARDIS?” The Doctor suggested,”So you’re not alone during the night.”
“I might keep you awake.”
“Good thing Timelords don’t need as much sleep as humans do.” So that’s why the Doctor worked in his lab at ungodly hours, “I know how terrible it is to have a recurring nightmare, and how much worse it can be when you’re left alone to deal with it. I don’t wish for you to be alone.. Unless that’s what you want, of course.” oh, yes. Of course the Doctor would understand, after what the Timelords did to him. How could he have forgotten that?
Though his instinct was to decline the Doctor’s offer, the Brigadier thought about it for a second. He wasn’t so sure which option was better.
“I need some time to think about it,” He said, carefully, and he looked at his desk to the pile of papers stacked up,”I have a lot of work to do, unfortunately.. And Johnson’s family needs to be notified immediately.” He couldn’t quite stop his mind from playing through his death again.
The Doctor nodded,”I’ll make us both a cup of tea, and we will get this foul paperwork out of the way.”
The Brigadier raised an eyebrow, amused, “You, helping with paperwork?”
“I know. Don’t get used to it.” The Doctor grinned.
The Doctor moved his hand and stood himself up.
The Brigadier watched him walk to the door, and before the Doctor left, he opened his mouth,”Doctor, I-” The Doctor looked back at him, and suddenly he couldn’t say any of it.
'Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for noticing I wasn't well. Thank you for pestering me into talking. Thank you for actually listening. Thank you for not judging me. Thank you for not calling me weak. This means more to me than you will ever know. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know.'
The Brigadier cleared his throat,”A yorkshire tea for me. No sugar.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes,”Should’ve known you have no taste when it comes to tea.”
He left the room, and the Brigadier moved himself to his desk chair. Looking at the piles of paper on his desk, he grabbed the first one, before noticing ‘Private Johnson’ typed onto it.
The memory of him and his men, searching for Private Johnson’s body ran through his mind, and the pure frantic panic he felt inside when they couldn’t find his body at first. Then the images of trying to retrieve the young lad’s body, the same frantic panic felt, but with far less control. Hyperventilating, desperate, and scarred.
The Brigadier shook his head, as if that would rid his mind of such thoughts, then, with his shaky hand, he grabbed his pen, and he started to write.