Liz yawned as she walked into the Brigadier's office at UNIT HQ. It had been a long and eventful day, but at last everything seemed to be in order. The alien Ambassadors had been taken to an underground room near the rocket launch pad and given enough radioactive isotopes to keep them comfortable, the Recovery rocket was being fuelled for a launch at noon the next day, and the capsule was being winched into place.

All she wanted to do now was grab a shower and sleep for a week – just as soon as she'd dropped her rough notes about the communication device onto the desk in the corner.

Only the night-duty guards had been posted, and the offices she passed were deserted and dark, save for the ever-present light in the communications room. Liz was surprised to find the Brigadier still at his own desk and, as he looked up from the papers he was writing on, she noticed with a small shock that there were bruises on his face. So much had been going on earlier when he'd rescued herself and the Doctor that she hadn't even noticed - but now her own inner Doctor took over. "Brigadier, you're hurt," she said, "Let me see". Stepping closer to him, she put a hand on his head and turned his face slightly so that she could check how much his cheek had swollen. His hair was damp under her fingers, he smelled of soap, and Liz noticed that he'd shaved and his uniform was pristine - he'd obviously taken the time to shower and change before writing his reports. For some reason she found that thought oddly distracting, and she tried to remember how long it had been since she'd slept properly.

"I'm just bruised," he said, moving his head away and rubbing at a spot on his upper right arm while he flexed the fingers of his right hand, "I've had worse, believe me."

"All the same, you ought to put some ice on that," she said, straightening up, before going across to the other desk and throwing her notebook onto it, "It's close enough to your eye that you might have trouble opening it in the morning."

He smiled and sat back in his chair. "I think I'll probably have trouble opening both my eyes in the morning. We've all had a tiring few days."

She pointed at the papers on his desk. "Then can't you leave those till tomorrow? I only stopped by myself to drop off this paperwork."

"Miss Shaw, earlier today I arrested a senior officer, and before that I knocked the daylights out of two Military Policemen who were trying to arrest me," he said. He waved his pen at the papers on the desk and added, "This is just the preliminary round."

He was full of surprises, thought Liz. On the drive back from the Space Centre, Sergeant Benton had already regaled her with a punch by punch account of the Brigadier's fight with one of the thugs at the hideout. Now there were two MPs to add to his hand-to-hand combat tally. She tried to reconcile the immaculate, self-contained soldier in front of her with the images the reports conjured, and shook her head. "Just how much trouble are you in?" she asked.

"Nothing I can't get out of," he said, giving her a sudden smile. He glanced back at the papers on his desk, shoved them away and stood up. "You're right though, it's been a long day."

He stepped toward her and Liz found herself looking up into his eyes. "I'm sorry it took us so long to find you," he said, "We tried every lead we had, but with Carrington throwing up smokescreens every step of the way..."

"I know," she said, "It's alright, Alistair - really." She found she'd put a hand on his arm to reassure him, and pulled it away quickly, folding her own arms in front of her and keeping her gaze away from his face as she added, "They didn't hurt me."

"No," he said, his voice soft, "But they might have. I'm just glad I don't have to blame myself for anything worse than the delay in finding you."

"It wasn't your fault." She made the mistake of looking up at him again, and she knew they were too close, much too close, but she couldn't move away - couldn't move at all, except to close her eyes when he finally kissed her. As she slid her arms around his neck and felt the strength of his arms around her, she tried to tell herself that this was just a post-trauma reaction, a need to affirm in the most primal way possible that they were both alive and well, and they really ought to know better.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except that she wanted him – and it was pretty damned obvious from the way his erection was pressing against her hip that he wanted her too. He tugged up the hem of her dress with one hand and she pressed closer against him as she felt his fingers slide inside her panties, heard him moan against her mouth as he set about exploring the soft flesh beneath.

Without breaking the kiss, he gently manoeuvred her backwards, and the part of her mind that was still capable of rational thought realised they were heading for the door into the small office annex that he sometimes used to snatch a few hours' sleep during lulls in emergencies. As he kicked the door shut behind them, Liz tugged at his jacket, pushed it off his shoulders, pulled off his tie and began on the shirt buttons, while he unfastened the belt around her waist and unhooked the fastening at the back of her dress. She pulled away from him, just far enough to draw the garment over her head while he discarded his shirt, then he kissed her again, possessively, greedily, and her fingers clutched at his shoulders as he lifted her effortlessly onto the metal-framed single bed. He sat on the edge, and ran one hand slowly down her body from throat to thighs, before unzipping her boots and dropping them to the floor. Her tights followed, and he stood up for a moment to strip off the last of his own clothing before climbing onto the bed and kneeling between her legs to gaze down at her. Liz put her arms up over her head and let him look, admiring his body in return.

He leaned forward, covering her mouth with his for a moment, before trailing little butterfly kisses over her lips, jaw, throat, down to the edge of her bra. His hands were busy again too, sliding the straps from her shoulders, coaxing the material to peel away from her slowly, till finally his fingers found the fastening and her bra joined the rest of her clothes somewhere on the floor. As his mouth trailed over her skin, his moustache tickled exquisitely, and she tangled her fingers in his hair to guide him, caught between gasping and giggling as he reconnoitred her every curve.

Liz slid her hands over his shoulders and down his body, discovering hard muscle and warm skin, finding his bruises and kissing them, curling questing fingers around his erection and drawing a groan from him as she moved her hand against him. He rolled onto his side to allow her better access, kissing her throat and breasts as she fondled him, then gathered the back of her panties in his fist, pulling the crotch tight up against her and moving it back and forth. Liz let go of his cock to wrap her arms around him and pull his body against hers as she rubbed herself against him, wanting release, wanting him in her, wanting…

"Oh please…" she managed, between desperate kisses, "Please…"

She was pushed, gently, onto her back, and raised her hips to help him as he sat up and pulled at her panties. He hadn't finished teasing her yet though. Instead of pulling them all the way off, he slid them down only as far as her knees, then lifted her legs so that they rested on one of his shoulders, and leaned forward. He brushed the backs of his fingers against her wet folds, bent his head to flick his tongue there, taking her to the brink as she writhed and whimpered, almost sobbing with need. He kissed his way along the backs of her thighs, his hands following to pull her panties off at last, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he guided himself into her and leaned down to claim her mouth again.

"Alistair…"

And then she was moving with him, and everything was heat and rhythm, hot breath and bare skin, and a final, merciful explosion of release that left her shaking, exhausted and utterly, blissfully content. "Stay in me," she whispered, savouring his weight and warmth as he lowered himself into her arms. She kissed his face where the bruises were, and stroked his hair, and smiled.

When she woke, she was alone under a couple of army blankets. By the dim light of the single unshaded bulb that had lit their way to the bed, she could see that her clothes had been neatly folded and draped over a chair at the foot of the bed. Liz had no idea what time it was, but she supposed that she really ought to follow Alistair's example and vacate the premises.

Pulling on her clothes, she tiptoed to the door and peeked out. No sign of anyone. The clock on the wall told her it was 2.36am – far too late to consider going back to her flat. She would have to make do with her own emergency quarters on the first floor. She had a change of clothes there for the morning, and in the meantime – she smiled – she really ought to take that shower.

It was 8am when Liz approached the Brigadier's office next morning. She hoped that she didn't look any different than she had yesterday, or the day before that, but as she greeted Sergeant Benton she felt sure that something about her face, her whole demeanour, would spell out in neon capital letters exactly what she'd done with Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart last night.

"Morning, Miss." Benton's greeting sounded no different than usual, and Liz hoped that his appraising glance was directed at her dress and not the beacon she was sure her face had become. "The Doc's in there already, you're to go right in."

"Thanks, John."

Alistair – the Brigadier, she reminded herself as she said 'good morning' to the Doctor and sat down – was on the phone, and to Liz's astonishment, he was speaking French. "Oui, Général," he said, "Tout est en ordre. Je comprends que des entretiens avec les ambassadeurs se sont poursuivies toute la nuit. Ils seront de retour à leur vaisseau spatial cet après-midi. Le décollage est prévu à midi GMT." He paused to listen, then said, "Je suis d'accord. Tout ce que la technologie de pointe, et qu'ils ne pouvaient pas envoyer un signal dans un langage reconnaissable! Oui, monsieur. Merci, je peux en avoir besoin quand la police militaire déposer leur dossiers. Au revoir."

Liz had passed her French O level, but he had been speaking too quickly for her to follow everything he'd said. The Doctor clearly had though. As the Brigadier replaced the receiver, the Doctor said, "Don't you think you're being a little harsh? I'm sure they must have had their reasons for not broadcasting their presence."

"It would have saved both themselves and us a great deal of trouble, Doctor. After all, they used a translation device to talk to you on their ship, didn't they? How difficult would it have been, when they first got to Mars, to send us a message?"

"Something along the lines of 'Hello, we're your new neighbours, do you think we might borrow a cup of radiation?' you mean?" said the Doctor. "Hmm, I can just imagine how that would have gone down with the authorities."

Liz giggled, and could see that the Brigadier was fighting a smile. He vanquished it. "Well, it's a moot point anyway," he said, "And at least we've managed to salvage the situation without starting an interstellar war."

"Indeed," said the Doctor, getting to his feet, "I suppose congratulations are in order for that at any rate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've a few things cooking in my laboratory that I need to check."

"Why do I have the feeling that he means that literally?" murmured the Brigadier, as the Doctor closed the door behind him.

"What 'cooking'?" said Liz.

"No. 'Things'."

She laughed. "Well, around here, anything's possible."

"Yes." He looked straight at her, and she stopped laughing. "I think you and I already proved that, didn't we?"

Liz went hot, and knew she was blushing. "Please don't say 'sorry'," she blurted, "Because I'm not."

He held her gaze, shook his head. "No, I'm not sorry," he said, "But… it can't happen again, Liz. It mustn't."

"Oh, I see." Her voice was hard and flat. "I was just a quick tumble when you needed one, was I? No harm done, let's all move on…"

"No!" She saw him glance toward the door, then he stood up, walked past her and moved to stand with his back against it to prevent anyone opening it. "Come here," he said, his voice gentle; then, when she didn't move, "Please?"

Slowly, reluctantly, she got to her feet and trailed across to stand in front of him, arms folded, head down.

"Liz." He put a hand under her chin and tilted her face up. "I care about you a good deal more than I should," he said, "But there are rules…"

"Oh, you and your bloody rules!" She jerked her chin away, spun around to face away from him.

"You don't understand! If anyone should ever find out what we did last night, you would lose your job with UNIT and go straight back to a job you enjoy at Cambridge," he said. "I, on the other hand, would be Court Martialled, and likely be dishonourably discharged."

"What?" She turned around to face him again, "Just for…?"

"Yes. Just for." He sighed. "I'm UNIT's commanding officer, Liz. I am not supposed to…"

"Screw the staff?" she provided.

He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I believe the phrase they use is 'fraternise with subordinates'," he said. "Unfortunately, it means the same thing." He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets before adding, "Then there's the other complication."

"Which is?"

"Technically, I'm still married."

"Well, yes," she said, "But I thought… I mean…" She wasn't sure quite how to phrase her argument, since she knew the 'D' word was a sore subject with him.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble my wife's lawyers would make for me, if they found out I'd – technically - cheated on her? I've only just got Fiona to agree to me seeing Kate on Sundays. God knows what would happen to that arrangement!" With a sigh, he took his hands out of his pockets and placed them on her shoulders, drawing her closer to him. She didn't pull away. "I would die for you," he said, and she knew it was true, "But risking my career and my daughter?" He shook his head. "I can't do that. I'm sorry. But I can't."

"I understand." Liz ran her fingers over his medal ribbons, then reached up to touch a hand to his cheek, just below where the bruises purpled the skin. She wanted so much to kiss him it hurt, but instead she forced herself to step away from him and squared her shoulders. "So, Brigadier, the Space Centre awaits. Shall we go?"

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