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The Brigadier had asked the Doctor to investigate the chemical make-up of some fluorescent blue goo that had appeared, without explanation, in the House of Commons.
MI6 was concerned that it was some kind of new bioweapon from the Soviets. The goo had thus been removed from the Commons by a team of PPE clad secret service agents. It was transported to UNIT in a lead lined box. MI6’s director – a man only known to the Brigadier as Arthur Jones, which he suspected was not the man’s real name – called the Brigadier at exactly 26 minutes past the hour, every hour, since the goo had come into UNIT’s control, asking for updates. The Commons was closed until the identity of the goo could be established, in fear that the unsuspecting MP for Ceredigion Preseli or some other out of the way constituency should accidently step in it and be the subject of an international incident. The atmosphere was tense, to say the least.
So, when the Brigadier entered the Doctor’s laboratory and saw that the goo was still mostly sitting inside the lead box, with a tiny portion of it left unattended on a microscope dish, while the Doctor was doing something that was absolutely not trying to figure out what the goo was, ‘not best pleased’ was somewhat of an understatement.
Apoplectic, for a long moment the Brigadier couldn’t even speak. He stood by the door, watching.
The Doctor was at the work bench, his back turned to the door. He had a large pot before him which was suspended over a Bunsen burner by two steel rods. With a large wooden spoon, the Doctor was stirring whatever was in the pot while whistling the tune of the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” contentedly.
“Do you mind telling me exactly what you are doing, Doctor?” The Brigadier said once he had found his voice. His voice had taken on a clipped, steely quality that would have cooled the blood of any of his men.
With a broad, beaming smile, the Doctor turned to the Brigadier.
“Oh, my good fellow, what perfect timing, its almost done. You and Jo can be the first to try it, at least when she’s found those mugs.”
He gestured vaguely towards the TARDIS. The doors were open, and the Brigadier could only assume he’d sent her hunting for crockery in there.
“What is almost done?”
The Doctor didn’t seem to notice the barely contained rage in the Brigadier’s voice. He replied with enthusiastic chatter.
“Ah well, I was looking on my TARDIS calendar earlier and I realised that the Gallifrey concurrent with Earth at this point in history is about to celebrate a double eclipse, and I have decided to mark the occasion! Eclipses are rather special on Gallifrey, you know. They were sacred in the Dark Times, and they’re still rather well celebrated festivals. Anyway this - ” he gestured to the pot, “is a drink Gallifreyan’s will serve during festivals. Unfortunately, it’s got a rather complicated name that you physically would be unable to pronounce… I say man, are you alright?”
The Doctor had finally met the Brigadier’s eyes. He regarded the steely expression and his clenched fists.
“As much as I find these…cultural lessons fascinating, Doctor,” the Brigadier said through gritted teeth, “I did, in fact, give you a job. A rather important job, involving the major incident I am currently dealing with. The one that could launch this Cold War into a hot one should things escalate. The one that is rather time sensitive. Have you given any further thought to that goo, Doctor?”
He pointed at the abandoned goo with one finger, his hand actually shaking with the effort it took not to explode at the Doctor.
The Doctor’s eyes followed where the Brigadier was pointing, then back up to his face. The Doctor scratched the back of his neck and shrugged sheepishly.
“That? Oh, my dear Brigadier, I am sorry! I should have called you! Its jelly. Blue raspberry jelly. Its American. They come in these little pots – about the size of a teacup – and it looks as if someone had one in a bag, and it’s fallen out and splattered everywhere. I would hazard a guess that whoever dropped it tried to sneak away so they wouldn’t have to clean it up. So sorry about the confusion, my good man.”
The Brigadier blinked.
“Jelly?” He repeated.
“Yes, jelly.”
“How long have you known that it was jelly?”
The Doctor’s eyes darted to the wall clock. When he glanced back to the Brigadier, he wore a guilty expression.
“Um…about two hours now. I am sorry Brigadier, I should have called you, it completely slipped my mind.”
The Brigadier closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, and pictured himself alone, fishing, on a loch, with no aliens to interrupt.
“Right.” The Brigadier said, finally, breathing out and unclenching his fists. “I have a call to make.”
He turned to leave.
“Do come back here once you’ve made it, Brigadier. You could absolutely do with a drink.” The Doctor said, gesturing to the pot with an apologetic smile.
The Brigadier said nothing, turned on his heel, and left the door clattering shut behind him.
About an hour later, the Brigadier, the Doctor and Jo were sat together on the laboratory sofa. Each of them had large, steaming mugs filled to the brim with the Doctor’s concoction.
It was a thick, creamy liquid, like a really high-quality hot chocolate. It was packed with all sorts of different spices – most of which the Brigadier had never tasted before. The most recognisable to him was the potent undercurrent of ginger which gave the drink an autumnal feel. It was a comforting, warming drink – perfect for the grey, rainy winter day they were experiencing.
“This is very good, Doctor.” The Brigadier said. The anger had left him, and a small, conciliatory smile played on his lips.
The Doctor nodded in thanks.
“I really am sorry for not calling you. Sorry if I’ve caused you any bother.”
The Brigadier sighed. There was no doubting the Doctor’s genuineness, and now the whole situation was sorted, the Brigadier found it very hard to feel anything at all about it. He held onto his mug, allowing the warmth to fill him and dispel any remaining irritation.
“Don’t worry Doctor. I just told them that you had run several different checks to confirm your suspicions, and they accepted that. But, for heaven’s sake, don’t do that again.”
The Doctor assured him, profusely, that he wouldn’t.
“I just can’t believe there is a real food that colour!” Jo Grant said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I don’t blame MI6 for being concerned, it looks unearthly!”
“The power of artificial colourings, Jo.” The Doctor shrugged.
The trio settled into a comfortable silence, sipping their drinks and listening to the rain on the laboratory windows, another crisis averted.