This is Colonel Emily Chaudhry.  I can't answer my phone at the moment.  If you have this number because I gave it to you then please leave a message at the sound of the beep.  If you're a reporter then my reply is 'no comment.'   If this is an emergency please hang up and call 999 or UNIT headquarters at +02086484726

::beeb::

You Are Sunny and Inspiring

When You Are Comfortable: You are quite quirky, and you enjoy doing things your own way. You are optimistic, and you've always got a good idea brewing. People find you to be positive and uplifting. You make people feel good about themselves. When You Are At Your Best: You are philosophical and opinionated. You have quite a few pet causes, and you're always adopting a new one. People see you as clever and smart. You now a lot, and you love to talk about a variety of subjects. When You Are in a Social Setting: You are a carefree, adventurous person. You love excitement, and you enjoy being in a changing, dynamic environment. People find you to be funny, generous, and competent. You're well spoken, and you know how to wow people with your words.

Opinionated, me?

"You love excitement, and you enjoy being in a changing, dynamic environment." Considering my job I'd say that's a good thing

OOC: The following contains spoilers for the BFA UNIT: The Wasting. Anything in Emily's journal could contain spoilers for the audios, really. I should post a general warning on her profile page. Also Brimmicombe-Wood, you should know, is played by David Tennant.



"Come to see the rat in his cage, Em?" The guard had barely closed the door when Brimmicombe-Wood began speaking. Keep your enemy off guard to keep the upper hand, he had taught her once.

"I came to see you." Though they were underground there was nothing dark or dower about the prison cells in UNIT's basement. If anything it was too white. Blinding. There was no hiding from anything here.

"Thought we'd have a chat and a cuppa, did you? Hate to break it to you but I'm all out of scones. You'll have to have your tea break with that washed up old General you're dragging around with you these days." It was almost disconcerting, how perfectly still he was standing, his face framed by two bars of the cell. His nose still showed the fading green of the bruise where she had broken it. It wasn't the only bruise that still remained. She didn't regret any of them.

"I have no delusions about who or what you are. Not anymore." If there had been any doubts left after his betrayal they would have been washed away in these past weeks. Hundreds of man hours had been logged reading through the files of the now defunct ICIS , among them the weekly reports from the man she had spent the last four and a half years of her life following. He had reported, in detail, each and every move they had made.Included in his reports was a psychological profile of her own strengths and weaknesses, making suggestions on how they could use her or, barring that, ruin her. Emily read the report in her newly acquired CO's office before sealing it in a box for storage in the archives. She'd been tempted to burn it.

"Poor little Em. Did I hurt your feelings?" He smiled for the first time - a cold, twisted smile that had her bracing not to show a reaction. She'd seen the smile before but it had always been distracted at aliens trying to take over the world or men trying to bring down the country. "Are you waiting for an apology?"

"Maybe I came here to say thank you. After all you did teach me so much." She turned and left then, not able to watch him any longer. On the outside he still looked like the man she had once thought of as a friend.

We put our lives on the line for you. We'd have follow you anywhere she had told him the last time they had seen each other. They had followed him. and some of them had lost their lives because of him. Never again. She would make sure Ross Brimmicombe-Wood never saw life from the other side of the prison bars again and then she would do everything in her power to make sure nothing like this ever happened to U.N.I.T. again. She had a responsibility to her country, Geneva, and U.N.I.T. More then that, though, she had a responsibility to the men. They trusted her and she would not betray that trust. Thanks to him she had learned her lesson.

'm not crazy. That's the second thing you have to understand. You might think I am when I start mentioning the things I see everyday, but it's all true. I have the files to prove it all, not that you'll ever see them.  Anyhow the aliens, invisible vampires, plastic flowers and deadly robots aren't what I came here to talk about.

The first thing you need to know, I should mention before I go any farther, is that you can't share what I tell you with anyone. I'm not talking simple patient-client confidentiality. I'm talking national security - sharing what I tell you could be deadly. Alright? Good.

So why am I here? I suppose because everyone needs someone to talk to. The only person I have is Sir Alistair, and I'm sure he's tired of my whinging. I'm the Commanding Officer at HQ, so I can't let the men see my cracks. My close friend Hoff died six months ago, a few hours before another friend of mine was blown to bits by a bomb that knocked me out for two weeks. UNIT has the highest death rate of any branch in Her Majesty's Army, don't you know?

You might say I could talk to my mother, right? Don't make me laugh. She's still trying to get me to marry a politician, quit my job and concentrate on the important things, like dinner parties and baby making. Dad's a 'stiff upper lip' sort. Retired Army.

So that's it. For lack of a better option here I am.

"Yes, Prime minister.  I understand, Prime Minister."  Emily bit her tongue for as long as it took to hang up the phone.  "You're a bloody prat, Prime Minister."

She leaned back in her chair, one hand coming up to rub the tense spot on the side of her neck.  Ten o'clock in the morning and she was already flagging; not too much of a surprise since she'd gotten all of tree hours of sleep last night.  Nothing she could do about it now except make another trip to the coffee pot.

"Colonel."  One of the new men - Watkins - saluted as she came out of the office and she acknowledged him with a brief nod as she walked past him.  She'd told him once already that he didn't need to salute her in the office, but he was young and eager, still stuck on what the rule book said and the romance of being in the army.  He'd learn soon enough. 

"You look like you could use this more then I could."  Three steps inside the break room door and a mug of coffee was thrust into her hands.  The smell alone was enough the make the throbbing in her head ease a little.

"Do I really look that bad?"  On her next day off - assuming she ever had another day off - she was going to Harrod's to buy a better brand of concealer.  This one did sod all for hiding the dark marks under her eyes.  "Please, don't answer that."

"You have the same look I used to see in the mirror after banging my head against too much red tape.  Geneva?"  Sir Alistair poured himself a new mug of coffee as he spoke. 

"Downing Street."  Despite the steam rising from the cup Emily took a gulp of the coffee.  Given that it was halfway decent she knew Sir Alistair hadn't brewed this pot.  The General was a man capable of many thing, but coffee making was not one of them.  His tea, on the other hand, was a godsend.  "The Prime Minister wanted am update on project Demeter.  He seams to think I have nothing better to do then sit in my office filling him in on things he doesn't really understand.  I thought when I assigned a new publicity officer I would have less of this pettyness to deal with, not more."

"I hope that's not why you accepted the promotion," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"You know it isn't.  But how do they expect me to get anything done if they want to speak to me every ten minutes; I have more important things to deal with.  And when it's not the phone its the damn reports; in triplicate."  She stopped herslef, taking a deep breath.  He didn't need to listen to her whinging, but he was one of the few people she could relax around enough to be herself, not the show-no-cracks CO.  Once there would have been jokes with Hoffman to release some of the tension.  For a while there had been Robert to halve the load with her.  Now there was only poor Sir Alistair who probably wished he had never said yes to coming back to UNIT, not with her bending his ear so often.

"I used to think of them as flies buzzing around a corpse.  An annoyance, but not something that could ba avoided.  Rather the same as I viewed reporters and yearly meetings in Geneva."

"I don't supposed you'd like to see Geneva again, would you?"  She was due to go there in a few weeks.

"Not for a million pounds."

"It was worth a try."  Her coffee was almost gone, and it was time to get back to work.  There was a pile of paper on her desk, a debriefing in an hour and then there was the real work of planning tonight's mission.  Half to herself she mused "Is it worth it, the pesks on top of all the rest?"

"I always thought it was.  You'll have to come up with your own answer."

"Hmmm."  Politicians, red tape, the highest death rate in the whole of the army, never knowing what was going to happen and not being able to tell anyone what UNIT was really all about.  And yet here she was still, despite it all.  Maybe her mother was right to question her sanity.

"Emily."  Sir Alistair stopped her just as she was about to leave the break room.

"Yes?"

"Upon occasion it's alright to tell them to bog off."  He laughed, a warm sound that reverberated off the walls.  "I did, more then once."

Emily joined in the laughter.  Whatever would she do without Sir Alistair?  "Thank you.  I needed that."