Work Text:
THE SNUGGLY FLEECE.
Monday.
Sam Cassidy sat at her desk.
Staring dumbly at the wall opposite. Unseeing.
Still in shock and unsure of what had just happened.
Shouting. Fisticuffs.
Malcolm rampaging.
Then suddenly there were people all around her.
Her normally calm and serene mien evaporated in an instant.
She was frightened.
Tears came from she knew not where, as her chair was surrounded and she was physically jostled.
He came from out of nowhere. Sweeping in. Like a besuited superhero.
Immediately rushing to her side.
"What are you fucking doing? You leave her a-fucking-lone......."
Briefly their eyes met.
In the three or more years Sam had worked with Malcolm Tucker, he'd never once looked at her like that.
Not once.
Such pain, but so much more than that......despair.....longing.....fear.
Never, in all that time, had she ever wanted him to hold her more than she did in that moment.
The intensity shocked her to the core.
Then it was over.
In an instant.
He was away.
Down the corridor.
Striding briskly. Coat flying.
"YOU WILL FUCKING SEE ME AGAIN!"
The words echoed and were swallowed by the walls.
Gone.
oOo
So here she sat.
In the eerie silence that followed.
It was as if she were in a disaster movie. Awakened from a deep coma, to find that she was the only person remaining alive. Stumbling out into the daylight. Everyone else vanished.
No voices, no excited chatter. No buzz or ring of phones or Blackberry's. Not a sound of a TV monitor, nor a chink of cup on saucer.
Just a dead and empty void.
Tumbleweed blowing through the deserted colosseum.
Her face was wet with tears she was barely conscious of. Leaking out from under her eyelashes unbidden and unattended.
Gone.
A man who had been a pre-eminent part of her life over these last three or more years.
The force of nature that was Malcolm Tucker.
He'd made himself essential to her. Without a word ever really being said.
A rare gesture, a look, a touch.
Yet she cleaved to him. Almost without acknowledging it. Most especially to herself.
Storing up even the smallest poignant moment between them, clinging to it, filing it away in the cupboard of her mind, to feast upon in the lonely wee small hours, when the working day was long over.
Lying alone in her bed, tossing and turning and thinking of him, and wondering if maybe he was thinking of her.
Sam's head swam. Somehow it was as if there'd been an explosion inside it, rendering her deaf and mute.
With a sudden whoosh it all returned.
Painful.
Sounds loud and harsh. Crowding in on her. Whoops. Hollers. Mocking laughter. A hubbub of crushing racket that hurt her ears.
It seemed to hit her like a wave. A cacophony of unintelligible words.
Metallic noises, reminiscent of cymbals clashing, or the frantic sawing of a badly played violin.
Reaching her hand blindly out to the side, her fingers closed over her mobile. She gripped it tight, pulling it towards her without glancing down from the fixed point on the wall where her eyes were still focused.
Rising numbly, she took her handbag, coat and scarf, and stumbled out, along the same corridor Malcolm strode only moments earlier.
Bursting out into the light of day, sucking in lungfuls of air gratefully.
Where to go? What to do?
She was unsure, but passed through the security cordon at the gates of Number Ten and out into the real world.
The hustling, bustling street of Whitehall.
Where everyone walked with blinkered purpose, barely noticing anything around them, where life continued in blissful oblivion to the events she'd just witnessed.
oOo
Into a black cab.
Her fingers trembled as she scrolled for his number and rang it.
Predictably it went straight to voicemail.
"You have reached Malcolm Tucker, he cannot take your call right now, please leave a message after the tone......"
"Malcolm? It's me. Call me.......please......"
She hung up.
"Where to, love?"
The cabby's voice reached her as if from the end of a long tunnel.
"Highgate Hill." She replied, without even thinking.
Remembering nothing of the journey. Staring unseeing out of the fogged up window. Watching the rivulets of condensation run down the glass.
Leaning her forehead against the coolness of it, closing her eyes.
If only she could shut out the sight of him......walking out of her office.....the hunch of his shoulders, the curve of his back in his long overcoat. His precious Paul Smith scarf round his neck.
That last look, as he turned in the doorway, his eyes fierce and wet, filled with a burning ache she struggled to recognise.......fuck!
As the taxi swung into his street, she could see the press pack.
A scrummage.
Was he even there? She didn't know.
Would he return to his home? Go to ground? Hide himself away?
Not sure.
"Don't stop here.....please drive on......" She instructed the driver.
Alighting on the next corner, she drew out her phone again.
Redialled.
"You have reached Malcolm Tucker........"
She hung up.
What on earth was she doing here?
He wouldn't want to see her. Or anybody for that matter.
Standing alone on the pavement, she tried the phone once more.
"You have reached Malcolm Tucker......."
After several more attempts, she gave up.
What was it she even wanted? For him to welcome her in? Declare his undying love for her? His devotion? Hold her? Kiss her? Take her to bed?
None of that was ever going to happen. She was his PA, perhaps a friend, nothing more.
She walked disconsolately to the nearest bus stop. Returned home.
oOo
Letting herself into her own flat she threw down her keys, and immediately checked the answerphone.....the red light was flashing.....her heart skipped.
Thank god!
"You have.....one.....message......."
"Hi Sam.....it's Mum......just ringing to let you know about the weekend.......I'm hoping you'll stay over......"
The disappointment.
She didn't even listen to the end, because it wasn't what she wanted to hear.
What she needed was the familiar growl of that Scots burr.....even a 'fuck' or three.......but it wasn't to be.
With a sigh, she went to the kitchen. Flinging down her bag, kicking off her shoes.
Leaning against the counter whilst the kettle boiled.
What was she to do now? Was she even still employed?
Technically not, since Malcolm was her boss, and he was out of a job. Therefore it followed that so was she.
Couldn't bring herself to consider her future now.
She made tea. Idly dunking the teabag without conscious thought. On auto pilot.
Adding the milk, sipping.
Desolate. Unsettled. Tearful.
Really, she should eat, but she wasn't hungry.
That evening she waited in vain for a call that never came.
oOo
The blaring alarm had been a blessèd relief.
'Beep. Beep......Beep. Beep.'
She hit the button hard.
"Shut up!" She hissed.
Since she'd lain awake all night she felt exhausted. Her mind a turmoil of thoughts.
Up. Shower. Dress. Normal routine, on this most abnormal of days.
Standing on the packed tube, as per usual.
Arriving in Whitehall at her allotted time. Showing her gate pass.
Had to be there. No choice.
Walking in, heading to her own desk. Usually bustling. It was as if there'd been a death.
Everyone speaking in hushed whispers.
Fleming was in Malcolm's office. Seated where He should be seated. Swinging triumphantly in the chair, his hands caressing the leather arms like they were a pet cat.
"Sammy! What are you doing here?" He simpered, coming round to the side of her desk.
"Just came to clear my papers, drawers, and sort out a few things......" She carefully avoided him, backing away.
"I'd be happy to take you on.....I could do with a good PA........and I'm sure you and I would get on swimmingly......." His pupils glittered darkly.
"No thank you!" The reply curt, a firm rebuttal.
"He's finished. Fucked. He won't be back.....you know that?" The predatory smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I know nothing. And until I do, I'll make no decisions." She retorted.
"Please yourself!" He snapped, the pretence at niceness gone, he turned and left her to it.
"I will." Her petulant parting shot.
Pathetic! Was that the best she could come up with? Odious man.
oOo
Sam lasted until the Wednesday.
The temptation to go back to His house was just too great.
Feeling like some kind of stalker.
Press pack gone. Street empty. Although she glanced about her thoroughly, just to be sure.
She walked up the front path and rung the doorbell. Heart hammering in her chest.
Nothing.
She waited.
No sound from within.
She rung again. Heard the bell echo down the empty hallway.
Kneeling, she peered through the letterbox.
She could see uncollected post on the doormat. All was silent.
Maybe he simply wasn't home. Perhaps he'd gone away somewhere.
Reaching for her mobile she rung his number yet again.
"The mobile you have called is switched off, please try again later......."
"FUCK!" She said aloud.
From her bag she drew a pen and a scrap of paper. Scrawled a hasty note....
"Malcolm. It's been three days. I called by to see if you were ok. Please call me. Sam x"
Posted it through. Listened as it dropped on the mat along with the rest.
oOo
On the Friday she returned again to Highgate.
Couldn't keep away. Why had he still not contacted her?
She'd heard nothing.
Ringing the doorbell, knocking. Rapping her knuckles against the wood.
No answer.
Backing up to half way down the front path she looked up at the house.
Positive she saw the curtain in the top left window momentarily moved aside.
She rang again. Called through the letterbox.
"Malcolm! I know you're there! Please answer the door......."
Hot, angry tears scalded.
"Please......" She begged.
Only silence answered her pleas.
It was with a heavy heart that she walked away. Turning back a couple of times as she did so, scanning the upstair windows, but no more movement did she see.
oOo
Rattling around in her flat. Nothing to do. Turned down invitations from friends.
She'd cleaned everything to within an inch of its life.
Ought to be trawling the 'situations vacant' or enrolling with an agency.
Couldn't face it.
Now she was reduced to sitting, still in her pyjamas in the middle of the afternoon, comfort eating takeaway pizza, vegged out on the sofa, watching old episodes of Miss Marple.
Later, and to stave off stupor and impending mindnumbing boredom, she trawled the newspapers online.
Looking for anything that might be relevant. Some snippet she could glean to make sense of all this mess.
Suddenly an article jumped out at her.
In The Times.
A long lens photo of Nicholson and Fleming in the park. The caption beneath read.....
"Care to do another draft, Sir Whitewash?"
That made her sit up and take notice.
Grabbing her phone she tried his number one more time.....
"We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."
"For fucks sake Malcolm......what the hell is going on?" She spoke aloud into the empty air.
oOo
The weekend passed in a blur.
Sam's only consolation was that the family birthday she was attending kept her busy.
Worst thing of all was that she just bloody missed him so much.
A palpable ache.
Found herself thinking about him constantly.
Arriving home on the Sunday evening, she found a note pushed under her door. Her hands shook as she opened and read it.
"Dear Sam. Sorry I've been unable to have any contact with you. It had to be this way. If you still wish to be employed as my PA please be at Number Ten on Wednesday 8.30am. You have security clearance. I'll talk to you then. Malcolm. x"
It begged more questions than it answered. But at least it was something.
The fact he'd obviously called by and she'd missed him was a point of great distress, but there was little she could do about that now.
Something had clearly been happening behind the scenes, but more importantly he appeared to either have secured another job, or his old job, or something, because he'd be back at Downing Street and made the point of asking her to return too. Making it quite clear he wanted her to come back.
Wild horses wouldn't keep her away from Number Ten on Wednesday.
That night Samantha Cassidy cried herself to sleep......again.
oOo
The corridors teemed with people. Milling about. Like so many headless chickens.
Excited chatter.
Something was evidently 'going down'. Shit hitting the proverbial fan.
Sam made her way to her old desk.
There was no sign of Malcolm.
Then, she heard his voice.
It came from his own office.....or at least from the office that had previously been his.
"Sammmm! No pissy biscuits!"
Almost choked her with emotion.
Leaving her bag and coat, she hurried through the corridor and knocked quietly before entering.
There he was.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Sitting, with his feet up on the desk in front of him. Long legs crossed. A report in his hands, which he'd been apparently perusing in great depth.
He looked tired but triumphant.
Dressed in chinos. A check shirt under a pale snuggly fleece, the neck unzipped.
The other door just closing behind the retreating back of Sir Julius Nicholson.
"Malcolm?"
He glanced up at the sound of her voice, his face changing at the sight of her. The sharp glare softening, a tentative smile.
His expression caught between contrition and expectation.
"Here she is!" His eyes lit up.
"Glad you're here." He continued quietly. "No time to talk now......too much going on.....but I'm glad you came back."
"I tried to call.......several times......." Was all she could manage. " I went to your house......"
Malcolm blushed heavily.
"I know." He replied simply.
"I......." The words refused to come, she felt flustered and confused, and goodness knows what else. Tears not far away.
"As I say......can't do this now Sam, okay?.......Listen, I'll be needing a suit later.....would you be able to rustle one up?"
She backed away, nodding, her fingers feeling behind her for the door handle.
"Yeah. Sure. Leave it to me."
"Thanks!" There was another sudden knock, almost at her back, which startled her.
"Just a frigging moment!" He yelled, then gave her an almost pleading look.
"You're still on Team Tucker, Sam.....yeah?" He said, his voice dropping low.
"Do you need to ask?" She answered, attempting a smile.
"Sorry I'm such a cunt!" He replied quietly.
"OKAY! COME THE FUCK IN!" He called out, and the door opened, almost hitting her, to admit Nicola Murray.
oOo
It was late.
Almost everyone had gone home. Leaving in dribs and drabs, talking animatedly about the day's events. Off to a bar for a drink, or three.
Sam was utterly exhausted.
Still sitting at her desk. She'd been snowed under all afternoon.
Calls, texts, emails. Running backwards and forwards with notes. Fetching and carrying.
After leaving Malcolm briefly with Nicola, he'd then gone straight upstairs to speak to Tom. Sam had seen him come down.
Looking smug.
Followed by a cackling entourage, fawning around him, worshipping at the altar that was Malcolm Tucker.
She'd also been witness to the tremendous row with Steve Fleming.......
"Choo fucking choo......"
Almost spat her tea all over her computer with undisguised mirth.
Well, that was that then.
Justice had been served. Karma.
Nicholson was propelling himself from one office to another like a puppet master, his bald head shining, pulling strings in the background, as he always seemed to.
She gathered from the overheard conversations, that Malcolm had done what Malcolm does best.
Spin.
He'd persuaded Tom to call an election. You didn't get much more spinny than that!
The press went completely bonkers. Outside on Downing Street there was a bank of reporters and cameras. Camped along the opposite curb. Waiting eagerly for a statement.
Number Ten resembled a mosh pit.
Sam rushed through, handed Malcolm his suit, and he winked at her.
Just that.
Subtle.
She gave him a little encouraging smile.
Then he was off to get changed.
She stood at his side as he gave his pre-election troop rallying speech, moments later.
"........LET'S SET FIRE TO TEARS!"
Sam thought her chest would burst.
oOo
Now, all was deathly quiet.
A hush descended.
Calm. Like the aftermath of a great disaster, before the shock set in.
A lull.
The eye of the storm sitting above her and surrounding her.
Lights dimmed.
A cleaner in a blue overall was hoovering somewhere. Head phones screwed into her ears. Sullen. Diffident.
Sam didn't know where Malcolm was.
They hadn't had a single moment, so they'd not spoken at all.
At least not alone.
Only a couple of cursory exchanges in a room full of people. She never felt further removed from him than right now.
As if they were strangers. Yet she longed for him.
Her face crumpled suddenly. Head bowed, and held in her hands.
Fuck!
The last ten days had been the worst of her life. Magnified two fold, because.....well, there was nothing whatever between them. He was completely oblivious to her feelings for him.
No relationship existed beyond work.
She had no hold on him, no demands to make. No reason to call him, or for him to phone her, outside of the office. They'd never shared more than the odd text, a look here and there, a touch.
Lately he'd kept her resolutely out of the loop, telling her nothing.
Not returned her calls, nor answered his door. Cut her off.
All she'd had was that scribbled note.
And she immediately dropped everything, came running.
What a bloody fool she was!
To think she meant anything more to him than just someone who sorted his diary, kept him in coffee and muffins. Collected his dry cleaning for him. Answered his emails.
Thank god she was alone here. Everyone gone.
There was no one to hear her pathetic sobs!
It was almost nine.
She simply didn't want to go home. To sit in her flat. By herself. Brooding.
Hadn't eaten since breakfast. Should have been hungry.
Wasn't.
Shutting down her computer, clicking off her desk lamp. Throwing away the empty cans and paper cups. Stacking her files and paperwork.
Sam wandered through into Malcolm's empty office.
It was like a bomb had gone off there.
Sniffing back her tears, she wiped her face on the back of her hand and set to tidying up.
Carried the numerous cups through to the pantry, to wash them up in the sink.
Slung on the chair in the corner were Malcolm's discarded clothes.
Where he'd dumped them in his hurry after changing.
Trousers, shirt, fleece.
Without really thinking, she picked them up in a bundle. Took them back through into the office, meaning to fold them neatly and leave them for him, on the couch there.
Sinking down onto the plush seat wearily.
The fleece held between her fingers.
Burying her face into the soft woolly fabric.
It smelled of him.
Delicious.
Closing her eyes.
Sobbing anew. Holding the garment to her cheek. Breathing in its scent.
Overwhelmed with.....with what? Sadness? Longing? Love?........Everything.
So very tired.
Curling her legs up at her side, she lay down.
No one would know she was there, certainly no one would care.
Sanctuary.
She clutched the fleece to her like a teddy bear. It's warmth surrounding her, the smell that was essentially Malcolm, filling her nostrils.
Her tears eventually faltered and ceased, swollen eyes gradually falling shut.
Overcome with emotion and weariness.
She slept deeply.
oOo
The gentle touch of fingers against her face woke her with a start.
"Sam?"
Only the green desk lamp was switched on.
The office in a muted twilight. Blinds drawn.
The silence heavy. Corridors outside deserted.
Many such evenings they'd both been here, working far into the night, together, but never like this.
He was kneeling on the floor beside the couch, a cup of tea in one hand, his face close, peering down at her.
It took a few moments to register his presence, and realise her situation.
She tried to sit up quickly but her neck and back were stiff.
"What are you still doing here? I thought you went home hours ago?" His voice was soft, no more than a rumble in his throat.
Unfolding her legs, raising herself.
He sat down beside her. Proffered her the mug.
Her fingers still held tightly to the fleece, and she looked down at her own hands, as if caught stealing the Crown Jewels.
Her eyes flicked up slowly to meet his. Taking the cup from him without comment. Cradling it in both palms. Sipping from it carefully.
"I only came back to collect the stuff I'd left behind.....I got dragged off.......couldn't say no.....had to show my face......"
Guilt flooded her and she blushed furiously. Tears reforming.
"Malcolm......I'm sorry........I........."
"Why are you apologising for Christ's sake? I fucked off and left you.....hardly said a word.......caught up in it all......I'm a selfish cunt, I told you......."
She began to cry, softly. Big fat tears rolling down her cheeks and off the end of her chin. Placing the empty teacup down before cuddling the fleece again, although she seemed unaware of her actions.
"You didn't contact me Malcolm.....didn't call or anything.......all week....I was so worried......" She choked out.
"My dear girl!" He answered with a resigned sigh. "I couldn't! Don't you see? I had to protect you."
Looking into his face, she could see his lip was trembling, his own eyes red rimmed and bloodshot with tiredness.
"From what?" She snapped angrily. "I'm not a bloody child!"
His hands closed over hers, where they lay in her lap.
"From the press, from all the others here.....if they got wind that you knew anything, they'd have been all over you. Couldn't let that happen Sam. Not to you. The less you knew the better."
"But......oh fuck it all Malcolm!" Her frustration was clear.
"Sam?" He said quietly. "Don't! Please! Please.....don't be angry. Cut me some slack here! This whole week.....I've gone from despair to redemption, agony to ecstasy.....it's been fucking awful.......I thought I was done for.....and if you'd been with me on this you'd have been done for too. By association. They'd have forced you out.....what else could I do?"
"You could have just let me know you were okay........." She raised her eyes to look at him.
"No! I couldn't. My phone was hacked. I realised it when my voicemail messages had been picked up before I'd listened to them myself......."
Sam put her hand over her mouth in horror.
"The bastards!"
"......it was a risk even going round to yours Sunday to leave the note. I was constantly being followed. By Hewitt, by the Mail, and by some wank stain from The Sun. I had to be very careful.....especially once they knew something was up. My mate Pat was accosted in the street. The fuckers tailed me in a car to the BBC offices, when I went there for an interview.........then I met up with Nicholson......luckily it was here......so they only knew I was coming to the building, but not why or who I was seeing.......it's been a crazy fucking nightmare!"
"I'm so sorry Malcolm.......I didn't mean to snap......it's been a very long ten days......." She sniffed and blew her nose. "I'm so tired.....I should go home......"
"Why the fuck didn't you?" He asked, standing up and crossing to the window. Sliding his fingers between the slats of the blind and peering out.
"I dunno. Didn't want to.....didn't want to be by myself.......couldn't face it somehow, was lost.....I felt safer here. That's why I stayed. Don't really want to go now, if I'm honest."
Still with his pullover in her hands she stood up and came to his side.
He turned and looked down at her, his eyes travelling to the article of his own clothing, then back to her face.
"Were you cold?" He asked kindly.
"I guess......" She shivered involuntarily. Turning her to face him, he took his warm jumper out of her trembling hands and put it over her head, feeling for the armholes and helping her push into them. She pulled the woolly fabric down around her and he zipped up the neck.
"Better?" He enquired, his hands tracing down each of her arms, lingering there.
She nodded, hugging herself. Keeping her gaze cast down to her shoes, she couldn't look at him, couldn't trust herself. Her whole being screamed to be held, close and tight. But he made no move to do so.
"I'll call a cab......take you home........" His voice was thick and full of emotion, a little catch in his throat as he spoke. "........unless.......?"
Her eyes snapped upwards hopefully.
"Unless what?" She questioned, hardly daring to breathe.
"Well......I mean.....I haven't eaten.....all fucking day......have you eaten?"
She shook her head to the negative.
"It's just that......well....being at home all last week, I had time to shop......got a fridge full of grub......if you're hungry? We could maybe.......? At mine.......?" He tailed off as though just saying the words made it seem like a very bad idea to him.
"I'd like that, Malcolm." She declared, then dared a shy glance up at him. "I really don't want to be alone right now......and the thought of being dropped off.....watching you drive away......"
Her words petered out, she faltered, quailing under the intensity of his stare.
"Listen.....I wouldn't want you to think I'm......well.....you know......that I've got ideas.....oh fuck......you know what I'm trying to say......don't you Sam?" He stepped away from her as he spoke, his hands going up and running abstractly through his hair, tugging at it.
"You're trying to tell me that I'm quite safe, Malcolm......that you're a perfect gentleman.....that you're not going to jump on me or be inappropriate in some way.......that you're not going to try anything I wouldn't be comfortable with........" She smiled, then reached out, touching his fingers with the tips of her own.
"........I trust you........." She added gently.
Malcolm blushed thoroughly.
"But do I trust myself.........?!" He muttered.
To cover his obvious embarrassment he took his phone from his inside jacket pocket. Hitting the speed dial and speaking rapidly into it, while he paced the floor nervously.
After a few moments during which Sam stood, impassively, watching him with vague amusement, he clicked off the handset and turned back to face her.
"Cab'll be here in a mo......let's get going......before I change my mind......it'll be there on the street outside the security cordon. You sure about this?" His eyes implored. Staring out from under his furrowed brows, creased with concern, but also with a thinly disguised excitement.
"Quite sure." She responded simply, picking up her handbag.
oOo
The taxi ride was a blur.
Side by side on the back seat.
Malcolm offered Sam his open palm. She laid her hand in his and his long fingers closed around her smaller ones gently.
Giving a huge sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder lightly.
He let her.
Up the front path, door unlocked, he stood back, allowing her to enter first, and she felt the warmth of his touch on her back as he ushered her inside.
Switching on the light, he crunched over the morning's post which lay uncollected on the door mat.
Stooping he picked up the letters.
"Do go through." He said politely, gesturing down the hallway.
The house was warm and dark. All the curtains and blinds already drawn.
Malcolm went briskly through the rooms, flicking on lamps and wall lights.
The place was homely, not the stark bachelor type pad Sam somehow envisaged.
She followed him dumbly into the kitchen, perching herself on a stool at the counter.
The first thing he did was fling off his suit jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair, loosening his tie gratefully.
Malcolm then regarded Sam with a worried look, his head cocked to one side like a curious bird. Hands splayed out on the work top in front of him.
She looked like a little waif. An orphan.
Still wearing his stupid fleece. Which swamped her.
The sleeves came over her tiny hands. The body was more like a short furry dress.
How forlorn she looked.
He'd never seen her like this before.
Always so poised and confident, animated, almost shining.
It was a shock to see her thus. As if someone had turned a dimmer switch, or muted her.
"Right!" He said firmly, clapping his hands together suddenly and making her jump. "Food! What do you fancy?"
Their eyes met. She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally.
"Or how about a drink first?" He continued, still trying to keep the mood light, but failing miserably.
"Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.
"Tea." She replied dully. "Please."
He turned, and set to, filling the kettle, opening cupboards for cups, drawers for teaspoons. Milk from the fridge.
Sam sat, silently, watching him.
"I have some lasagne.....should be enough for two.....it only requires reheating....."
Turning back to see if his suggestion met with her approval he discovered her in tears again.
"Oh Sam!" He murmured, moving to where she sat. "Don't! I hate seeing you like this....and it's all my fucking fault."
She raised her damp eyes to meet his.
"Please Malcolm.....can I have a hug?" She asked in a tiny voice.
His reply was to hold both arms out to her.
She hopped down from the stool, stepped into them, melting against the warm softness of him.
Breathing in his scent, her pale face pressed to his chest, her shoulders heaving.
She could feel his hand rubbing her back gently, hear his heart pounding beneath his ribs.
When he spoke his voice seemed to resonate right into her ear from his diaphragm.
"Please forgive me Sam? I swear....I was only thinking of you when I shut you out.....because I care.......I know it seems like I don't but I do.....I realise it must have been tough for you.....this last few days.....I DO know.......but.....oh fuck me! I'm such a cunt!"
He drew her closer, holding her very tight, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.
They remained thus for several minutes, until he finally kissed the top of her head, pulled back slightly, wiping her face with his thumbs, looking down at her and trying a little smile.
"How about we eat? Might make you feel better......."
"Yeah. Okay." She moved back, not raising her eyes. "And I do forgive you. Of course I do. Thank you......Malcolm."
"What the fuck for?" He asked quickly.
"For everything. For the hug, for being kind....for caring......bringing me here.....it was what I needed.....I'm sorry to be such a misery......it isn't what you should be putting up with right now, not at all."
He spoke as he resumed his circling of the kitchen, distractedly, opening the fridge, switching on the oven, procuring plates, cutlery, passing her a hot cup of tea.
"Oh fuck that! It's the least I can do. Make amends. I'm fucking lucky I have someone like you.....who's bothered whether I'm alive or dead......you're about the only one I can trust in this bloody cesspit of a job."
oOo
They ate together companionably at the table.
Sitting in close proximity.
It was now passed eleven.
They talked. As never before.
He told her all that had happened since the moment of walking out of Number Ten less than a fortnight before. Sam listened quietly, commenting only rarely, concentrating on taking it all in. It was quite a story. His bizarre conversation with Pat, the disastrous BBC interview, his discussion over a curry with Julius. His return.
She could hardly make head nor tail of it all, so distracted was she by his closeness.
Malcolm eventually gave a wide yawn, then looked sheepishly at her.
"How are we going to approach this?" He enquired, his face suddenly bashful and shy, the confidence of the previous hour ebbing away.
"Approach what?" The food had made her feel a little more alive, sustenance was what her body needed. Now she felt a tingle of expectation, a little thrill of excitement, but she was about to be disappointed.
"Sleeping arrangements." He responded, sitting back in the chair, his gaze fixed resolutely on his own feet.
"Um........I hadn't considered......" Sam blushed furiously.
"Only, I have a spare bed......but it's covered with a load of crap, as is the room itself.......so you can have mine.......I'll take the couch......."
Her eyes widened.
"NO!" She replied, aghast.
"I'm not going to kick you out of your own bed! In your own home. I won't hear of it! I'll sleep on the sofa.....I'll be absolutely fine!"
Malcolm huffed crossly.
But she was adamant.
"All I need is a pillow and a blanket.....I'm so tired, I could sleep on a bed of nails!" She smiled at him then.....and Malcolm swallowed thickly......fuck......that smile......it lit up the whole place!
Moments later, after he'd shown her the bathroom, given her a fresh towel and a toothbrush, he then busied himself laying a sheet, pillow and duvet on the large comfortable couch, tucking it under the seat cushions, plumping them up, trying to make it as nice a bed as possible.
Turning, he found her standing behind him, she was now wearing nothing but knickers and his fleece. Her hair clipped up in a bun, freshly showered.
He tactfully averted his gaze from her rather lovely bare legs.
"Feel terribly bad about this......." He admitted, ".....and......fuck me.....you're not gonna sleep in that fucking fleece are you? I can give you a decent T shirt.....?"
"I'm fine Malcolm.......go to bed.......I'll see you in the morning.......and thank you again.....so much! I really appreciate what you've done, you having me here......you've no idea how much......."
She moved closer to him, her hands placed flat on his chest, up on tip toes, she bought her lips to his and let them linger there for just a few seconds. Malcolm thought his heart and head would explode.
The kiss was not a chaste peck, nor was it a full blown snog, but it served to make Malcolm Tucker breathe more rapidly, his pupils darken, tongue darting out, tracing the taste of her on his mouth, before she backed off and it was lost.
"Goodnight Malcolm." She whispered.
oOo
A faint orange glow from the street lamps outside served to make eerie shadows on the wall.
Each car that passed cast a beam of dim light which swept across the room, only vaguely muted by the thickness of the curtains.
Despite her weariness and the extreme comfort of her makeshift bed, Sam did not go to sleep.
At least not straight away.
She lay. Listening.
At first she could hear Malcolm upstairs moving about. The shower running. The toilet flushing. His footstep overhead in the room above. It comforted her to hear him. At least she was not entirely alone.
After a while all fell silent.
But other sounds seemed greatly magnified.
A fox yammering out in the street somewhere, the sound of waste bins being rifled. The insistent bark of a dog.
In the hallway the mesmeric ticking of the pendulum clock on the wall. A metronome measuring the beat of the night.
The hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
Clicks and knocks as the central heating switched off and the house cooled.
Sam must have dozed, these noises becoming a warm and fuzzy background which eventually lulled her off.
A voice.
Not loud, but sharp. Oddly, close to her head. As if someone called out, but in her dreams.
Her eyes popped open. Ears tuning in to the sound.
Was it coming from upstairs?
She sat up. Alert now. Wide awake.
Swinging her legs round she rose and wandered through the unfamiliar house, still listening intently. Stubbing a toe on a table leg she didn't know was there in the dark.
The pain failed to register, as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the banister knob.
Creeping up to the top landing, gliding silently along, not a creak, no squeaky boards, reaching his bedroom door, which was ajar, she cocked an ear and waited.
A low moaning sound.
It drew her.
Was it someone crying? It sounded so.
Making up her mind, she tiptoed in, across the carpet towards the large bed.
The light from his digital bedside clock cast a weird greenish glow, but her eyes were accustomed to the dark by now, so she could see him.
Malcolm was lying on his back. Sleeping soundly. Making virtually no noise at all......and yet she could still hear weeping.
Sitting herself down on the edge of the mattress, she reached for him.
"Malcolm!" She whispered.
He felt warm to the touch.
Her hand gripped his bare shoulder gently.
He woke with such a start, flinging out his arm defensively, luckily missing her or he would have knocked her clean off the bed and onto the floor........but she sat dormant beside him, inert and unresponsive.
"FUCK!" He cried.
"Sam? What the fuck are you doing?" He hissed. "You frightened the crap out of me!"
Sitting forwards, placing his head in his hands, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Shit! Shit.......Sam.......?"
She was giving little mewing sobs. Plaintive, like a baby when it first wakes, realising it's hungry but hasn't built up to full wailing mode.
Motionless. As if turned to stone. Ramrod straight. He reached out and took her hand. It was icy cold.
"Fucking hell, Sam.....you're freezing......what the fuck is wrong?.....Sam?"
As he received no response whatever he moved closer to peer at her, passing a hand in front of her face in the dim light.
She didn't flinch or blink. Didn't react in any way.
"Fuck me!" He breathed, more to himself than to her. "Fast asleep is it?"
Now he was scared to wake her. Worried she'd be frightened or confused, or both. He decided his best bet was to try to pilot her gently back downstairs and tuck her into her sofa bed.
Her rigid stillness unnerved him. Eyes wide open but unseeing, glazed, like a zombie.
Her body frozen stiff, almost corpse like.
"Sam, love?" He whispered.
With a sudden sharp intake of breath she seemed to come to life. Her vision clearing, one hand clutching at her chest.
As if a switch had been turned on.
Her shoulders sagged and she shivered, shaking her head slightly.
"What?" She muttered. "What is this place? I'm lost! I can't find my way. Help me!"
"Sam? It's me. You're quite safe........it's me.....Malcolm!"
"Malcolm?......Malcolm?.........oh, thank god!" She sighed with relief. "I was so worried.....I hadn't heard from you. No.....wait.......that's not right.......where the hell am I ? Have I been dreaming?
"You could say that! Scared the fucking shit out of me! I thought I was being haunted!"
Gradually she seemed to regain her clarity. Realising she was in his bedroom.
"Oh Jesus!" She hissed. "What on Earth? I'm so sorry.......I...I....didn't mean to......please forgive me........I'm......oh shit!"
Trembling, she rubbed at her head, perplexed, her fingers combing distractedly through her hair.
"Shall I fetch you a drink? Some water maybe?" He asked kindly.
"No! No water. I'm okay.......now.......I think......" She puffed, blowing air out through her pursed lips as she slowly regained her normal breathing pattern, trying to recover herself, as she stuttered with acute embarrassment.
She made to rise, meaning to return to her cozy couch.
"As long as you're sure........" Then he seemed to reach a decision. ".......listen Sam..........you don't have to go......" He said quietly.
".........you could stay!"
She paused, looking back at him, her eyes glittered in the eerie light from the illuminated clock.
He grabbed her wrist lightly.
"Stay with me Sam!............"
"........Christ on a bike woman, you're absolutely chilled to the fucking bone ....."
She hesitated.
"Malcolm? I......." Pulled her arm away.
He let her go. Sank back. His voice rough, no more than a whisper, he repeated his entreat.
"Please Sam?.…......Don't go."
"Okay. If you want me to......I'll stay.....but I'm so cold Malcolm.......please will you hold me?"
Leaning across the mattress, he wrapped himself around her, his head buried into the material of his own fleece.
"Fucking need you." He hissed, muffled against her breast.
There were no words. Nothing much needed to be said.
She raised his head upwards, her finger under his chin, bringing her own head down to meet him half way.
Their mouths found each other's. Latched on.
A long, warm and deep exploration. Tentative at first, but gaining in intensity as they both realised that neither party was going to back down. The flick of his tongue, seeking, testing.
The soft feel of bare skin. His smell. The touch of him against her.
"Oh Malcolm!" She whispered. "I've wanted this.....you......so much....."
"Take this fucking thing off......" He tugged at the woollen fleece insistently. She giggled, and dragged it off over her head, throwing it aside.
Laying her back gently against his pillows, he cradled her, at once comforting and tender, protective, he refastened his lips firmly against hers. Their naked chests now pressed together. His hand stroked down across her breasts. Fondling her.
It was really happening. Sam was lying in Malcolm's bed. In his arms. Surrounded by the warmth of his body. Giving her the solace she'd desperately craved. Offering succour.
He was kissing her, touching her and her heart soared with a sense of almost euphoric happiness.
So many nights she'd dreamed this very dream.
Wished she could be with him thus.
"Don't leave." He murmured, his hand moving down her torso, stroking her soothingly, reaching the waistband of her lacy underwear.
"I won't......"
"Fuck, Sam.....you're so beautiful....is this really what you want?" His voice was a rasp, hoarse with suppressed desire and emotion.
Her need was just as deep. She relished his every caress.
"Touch me." She begged him. "Please Malcolm......"
"You're sure?......I won't do anything unless you say Sam......tell me to stop and I will......"
He sought only to reassure, assuage any fear, but she had none whatever.
"No.....do it......" She gasped. "......I want you......I love you......."
The final words made him catch his breath......"Oh fuck!" He sobbed.
Sliding his hand inside her knickers, pushing them aside, her body arched against him at that first sensation.
She could feel the hardness of him, through the cotton shorts he wore.
Firm and big. Pushing against her core. Reaching down she palmed him as his fingers slipped inside her for the first time.
"Sweet Jesus!" She whispered.
"Is it okay to make love to you Sam......? Will you allow me......? Last chance to stop this......if it's not what you want......please tell me......I would never push you......or do anything to hurt you...."
She panted her reply to the affirmative, as he continued to apply gentle pressure, fluttering against her most sensitive spot, bringing her closer and closer, but not enough to tip her over.
"Oh god! Malcolm....." She whispered suddenly. ".......I'm not on the goddam pill......I don't have any contraception here.....my bag is downstairs...."
"It's okay....I have condoms in the drawer.....by the bed......if they haven't gone out of date! It's been a fucking long while for me Sam.......a fucking long while!"
He reached over to one side, as she pushed back his pyjamas, taking him out, stroking the length of him.
Looking down at himself, prick standing proudly erect, throbbing, her hand around him, he suddenly had an urgent need to be inside her.
Fumbling with the packet, all fingers and thumbs, cursing his awkwardness. His inept clumsiness as he tried vainly to hurry.
Would she change her mind?
He hoped not, he was so far gone.....hadn't he imagined this moment? Admonished himself severely for thinking of his much younger PA in this way? It was like all his most secret fantasies coming true.
Groaning now with arousal and the feel of her fingers, she seemed to know just where to touch him to drive him mad.
"Fuck! Sam.....stop.......I'll come all over the sheets, before I ever get this fucking stupid thing on......"
"Hush! Malcolm! Let me....." She closed her hands over his, taking the foil from him, opening it with consummate ease, sliding it down over his erection, rolling it to the base of his shaft with a deft touch which left him gasping and shaking with desire.
"Fuck Sam.....I want you so bad......have wanted you......for such a long time........"
"Me too........I thought I would die when you cut me off without a word, I missed you so much......ached for you........"
"I'm such an idiot......I never knew......"
"........love me Malcolm......take me, surround me.......make me come......I'm begging you......please."
Positioning himself above her, he let her feel him, testing her readiness before pushing gently inside her with a choked sigh.
They moved rhythmically together. Her legs wide, his thrusts timed to meet hers. Their mouths locked together in tune with their bodies.
Her moans of obvious pleasure spurring him on.
The heat between them so intense, he could feel her body responding to him, sense her building to her climax, her hands grasping his arse cheeks firmly, urging him deeper, until she peaked with an ecstatic cry.
The sensation of warm rippling against his ultra sensitive cock tipped him over in her wake, he came hard.
Throbbing and groaning out his lust until it was over, and he pulled out, rolling off her. His heart pounding like thunder against his chest wall. A film of perspiration from the effort. Mouth open, panting. Lightheaded. Sated and euphoric.
"Oh fuck Sam!" He breathed.
oOo
They slept the sleep of the dead.
Curled together.
Never stirring.
At six his alarm sounded.
He opened his eyes, the joy of not waking alone for the first time in so long hit him, turning his head to the side, expecting to see her face on the pillow next to him.........
Except she wasn't there.....
Had he dreamed it all?
Surely she hadn't returned to the couch?
Malcolm sat up, reaching for his discarded shorts.
The drawer to his bedside cabinet was open. An empty foil on the floor, along with a used rubber wrapped in tissue paper.
So not a dream then.
The house was eerily silent.
Then he noticed the note.
On the pillow next to where his head had lain.
A yellow 'post it' from a pad he kept by the phone in the hall.
A large heart in red felt pen and the words.....
"Sorry....."
Malcolm's heart sank momentarily.....she'd regretted it......done a runner......oh bollocking bollocks!
Then he read on......
"......for sneaking off. But you looked so peaceful I didn't have the heart to wake you to say goodbye.
Thank you for everything....for being you. Go to the kitchen. All ready and waiting! Your Sam xxxx"
His Sam?
Fuck, but he liked the sound of that. It made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Padding downstairs, a thumping in his chest, he peered into his lounge, found her bedlinen neatly folded on the arm of the sofa, with another note.
"Kitchen!" With two little hearts this time.
How did she guess he'd go in there first?
"What the fuck are you playing at....." He said aloud.
She was nowhere to be seen.
"Sam? Love?" He called.....more in hope than expectation.
Wandering into his kitchen.
A trail of more yellow 'post it' notes met his gaze.
He followed them......his eyes scanning the cupboards and surfaces, a wide grin sweeping across his face as he did so........
"Good Morning my handsome man!! xxx"
It was fixed firmly to the main door, an arrow underneath pointing left.
He proceeded with a look of surprise. His focus alighting next onto the counter, where a second note had been placed next to a bowl of mixed fruit which had been chopped and prepared.
"Breakfast! Eat this......with these......!! xxx"
A second arrow pointed left again, he moved to the hob top.
Sitting on the plate warmer was a stack of fresh pancakes.
Also, on the hob itself, a freshly brewed pot of coffee.....with another little message......and more little red hearts.....
"Sorry I had to leave extra early.....but I REALLY couldn't come into work in the same clothes and you needed your sleep!! xxx"
Yet another arrow, this time indicating a clean coffee cup and spoon.
Stuck to the side of the cup......
"I also needed to wash and blow dry my crazy bed hair properly!! xxxx"
Below were several smiley faces......
Malcolm found himself laughing, as he poured himself a brew, savouring the delicious nutty aroma.
From here the 'post it's' were affixed to any surface available and formed a little series....
"I'll see you at work at eight! And thank you so very much.....xxx"
"Btw. Did I mention? I love you. xxxx"
Lots of little red hearts........
"Fucking hell Sam, I love you too!" He breathed to himself, still with a ridiculous smile on his face.
"Hope that's okay with you? xxxx"
"Okay?" He puffed out his cheeks, speaking aloud. "So fucking okay......you daft woman.......majorly okay.......okay with stonking great knobs on!"
It wasn't until he turned to sit down at the table with the food she'd prepared for him, that he saw the final two missives........
"Oh.....and I still have your snuggly fleece.......xxxx"
Underneath line of laughing faces with tears in the corners of both eyes......
"It's mine now.....you're never getting it back......Soz! xxxx"
Fin.