Jumping Hedges in the Afternoon - Part 3

[fickle_fics]

Grey hadn’t really had much chance to pay any attention to the interior of Malcolm’s house over the past couple of days. The day he’d supposedly resigned they’d gone straight upstairs and she’d spent the day after that in bed as if she could ignore reality and the knowledge that sooner or later Malcolm would be back at work, just as busy as normal. She could only do that for so long though. even when he rejoined her in bed after his various meetings. So finally she’d admitted defeat and agreed to getting out of bed, to not pulling him into it every time he wasn’t busy. Now Grey did have the time to take everything in she really wasn’t impressed.

“These cushions?” she said, holding one up in each hand - pastel, beaded. She’d have been less surprised if she’d found a load of women’s clothes in his size in the wardrobe, and also a fuck of a lot more in favour and turned on.

“What about them?” he asked from the kitchen where he was making coffee.

“Are they..?” She trailed off ‘a joke’ had been the end of that sentence but she thought better of it. She looked around it was all so white, so clean, so fucking normal, and okay she had no idea what to expect it just didn’t feel like Malcolm. “Is this really your house,” she said, tossing the cushions back down.

“No, darling. I killed the actual married couple that live here just to make it a bit easier for you to get into. Have you not noticed the smell yet? Yes it’s my fucking house, why do you ask?”

“It’s just so…bland. And those cushions.” She glanced at them again, her nose wrinkling in distaste. Pastel beaded cushion covers, they did not fit with the scariest man in the government!

“My ex chose them, okay?” he said just a little defensively. They weren’t that bad, were they?

“Because divorcing you wasn’t enough? She had to also punish you by making you live with them?”

“Are they that fucking terrible?”

“Yeah,” she said adamantly. “Yeah they’re fucking hideous, Malc, like I sort of want to turn to arson just to deal with them.”

Malcolm shook his head, walking out of the kitchen to join her in the living room. “If you feel that strongly about them fine I’ll get rid of them, Jesus I had no idea you had such passionate views on fucking soft furnishings!”

“Neither did I,” she admitted. “Until I saw those.”

“You don’t like the house.”

“It’s not what I expected..

“You’ve thought about it then?” he asked. “What my house might look like?”

“No, no not really, just…I dunno…it doesn’t feel like you.”

“And what do I feel like?” he asked, trying and failing. not to smirk.

“Somewhere with a dungeon full of junior ministers screaming for mercy?” she offered, resisting the urge to give in to his obvious innuendo;

“I’ve got a lockup near the docks for that.”

“Probably smarter, yeah. People are bit too likely to hear their pleas around here, aren’t they? Report it to the police and stuff.”

Malcolm smiled. They never really had all that much time to talk, which was all his fault, but fuck he’d forgotten how much fun it was, having these totally fucking stupid conversations with her. And she was funny, in the same twisted way he was, he’d almost forgotten that as well. “Exactly. And you know it’s not like I really spend much time here, or have any kind of time to think about changing anything. It doesn’t matter to me. I live at work, and the crashpad, you know that, this is just some property I own and very, very occasionally stay in when I’m on holiday.”

“So you haven’t changed anything,” she said.

“When the fuck would I’ve’d had the time to do that? I barely had the time to get divorced.”

“So this is all your ex. “ It was something they never really talked about - Malcolm’s ex wife. She knew he’d been married, she remembered seeing the ring on his finger before it had really occurred to her to care, but they didn’t talk about it, because Grey didn’t want to know and Malcolm didn’t seem inclined to talk about it, but right now she was horribly aware of the other woman, and her lack of any kind of interesting style or taste. Not that Grey could talk, she had one room in a shared house which resembled that of a student, she just knew what she really didn’t like and those cushions made her oddly uneasy.

“Why do I really feel like I shouldn’t’ve brought you here?” he asked. They could have just gone back to the crashpad. Why the fuck hadn’t he? There’d been no real reason to come here, not with Grey, to surround her with his ex wife’s things. Malcolm might not have been the most sensitive person but he realised now it was pretty bad.

“It’s fine,” she said and she actually meant it. “It makes sense. Jesus, it’s not like there’s anything at the crashpad that makes it seem like yours either, I guess I’m just used to that, because it’s always been like that and weirdly it feels more like you.”

“Completely empty and devoid of any personality?”

“Well…yeah. The lack of you makes sense there, because it’s not meant to be where you actually live.”

.“Not meant to be,” he agreed. But it was.

“I get it. You don’t care about that stuff, you don’t have time,” she shrugged as she took a step closer to him. Generally speaking he didn’t have time for anything, including her. She’d just never really thought that much about everything else in his life he neglected in favour of the party.

“Maybe you should take the opportunity to changes things now,” she suggested. “Or y’know at least set fire to a bunch of shit.”

“I could,” he agreed, closing the space between them and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against him as he dipped his head, “But I think I have better things to do with my time while you’re here.”

“Oh yeah?” she said.

They were back in bed again, she’d managed a couple of hours, she’d eaten and showered which were probably the most important things, but Malcolm still looked tired, unkempt, unshaven. Grey hated how much she liked it - the way he looked. She’d only ever seen him completely together, either suited or naked, but always clean shaven, always one hundred percent Malcolm F Tucker, the man in complete control of everything, the whole fucking country. It wasn’t so much that he looked tired, more that he looked…relaxed, like he didn’t need to keep up appearances and it looked good on him, the silver stubble that almost seemed to glisten in the sunlight that came in through the crack in the curtains.

She turned to face him, hooking her leg over his hip. “So are gonna grow a beard now? I think I might like it, it’d be like fucking a really skinny Santa.”

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her. “And that’d do it for you, would it?”

“I dunno, maybe. I like you like this though, bit rough around the edges.”

“You want me to let myself go,” he said, his voice low, gravelly, as he shifted closer, pushing his body against hers.

“I want you to be able to relax.”

He laughed. “It’s a nice fucking thought, but we both know that’s never gonna happen.”

“Sometimes it does,” she said, her hips tilting closer as she reached up to stroke his hair.

“A couple of hours at a time,” he clarified. “Not the same thing.”

“No,” she agreed. “Which is why it’s so much more noticeable now.”

Malcolm didn’t say anything for a moment. He wished he could just relax, even on his enforced ‘holiday’ he hadn’t been able to do that, he’d just used it as time to get together with people he might not have been able to otherwise, not all at once at least, it had been a time saving measure. Even on holiday the job had been all he’d thought about. “This isn’t me relaxing, darling,” he said.

“Then what is it?” she asked before she realised she didn’t really want to know the answer. And that she already did. It was him giving up.

“It doesn’t matter. But I’m glad you still want to fuck me, darling.”

“Nothing could stop me wanting to do that,” she said. It was fucked up, but that was pretty suited to everything about them, wasn’t it? There wasn’t a single healthy thing about their relationship she was sure.

“No?” he asked, twisting to face her.

“You want proof, sweetheart,” she asked, shifting closer, so she was pressed against him, her thumb stroking against the grain of his stubble.

“Yes please,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her.

And then his phone rang on the bedside table next to them.

“Ignore it,” Grey said against his lips as he was already pulling away.

He’d already reached for it as she let go of him, twisting away to stare up at the ceiling.

“Julius,” he said glancing at her as he answered it, getting out of bed as if he had to keep these things from her. As if she couldn’t already feel everything shifting back into place, to where it had been before his sacking. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes against tears. They’d had a couple of days, it was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

“I’ve got to go,” he said when he came back into the room, looking around for his clothes and pulling them on.

Grey didn’t say anything for a while, just lay there for a bit before she finally turned her head to look at him. “Told you they’d come crawling back,” she said, surprised by how steady her voice sounded.

“You did,” he agreed, leaning over to kiss her. “Hopefully it won’t take too long, okay? I’ll try not to wake you if it does.”

I’ll try not to wake you..

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Fuck Julius. Fuck the party and fuck Malcolm too. She wasn’t going to wait for him to come back, crawl into bed with her like he had done a hundred other times. She was done with that, she really was. And okay maybe that wasn’t what this was. Maybe this wasn’t Julius begging him to come back but she was pretty sure it was, and the way Malcolm had pretty much lept out of bed told her everything she needed to know. As much as she wished she could she couldn’t pretend this wasn’t happening. She couldn’t just roll over and go to sleep, not knowing everything was about to go back to exactly the same way it had been before.

She didn’t have anything here to pack, which she felt faintly annoyed about. It would have made a statement, proved a point. She’d done it once before of course, but he hadn’t been there to see it - her packed bag, so it hadn’t really counted. He’d just managed to notice the fact that the few things she’d had at his crashpad were gone. And now he would be here to see it all she had was her messenger bag, the one she took to work so she could carry her homemade lunch and the essentials of her life which really didn’t consist of much beyond some eyeliner and a very crumpled packet of emergency cigarettes. It wasn’t really going to make much of a point, there was nothing extra in it. She’d been using his spare toothbrush, wearing the same clothes she’d arrived in, washing with his toiletries which did nothing for her skin but admitting she even had a fucking skin care regimen felt like admitting too much about herself.

But she was leaving. That was the point. She’d made her mind up the moment Julius had called because she knew what it meant. As much as she loved Malcolm, and he loved her even, she knew how this was all going to go down. It was just like she’d said, they couldn’t cope without him, they were calling him back. This was a good thing, for Malcolm at least, for her it was the end of everything again, and it was even harder this time, because now she knew what she was willing to do for him, that when it came to it the moment it looked like he might need her she’d be there. Moving on would be impossible now. How could she when things might go to shit for him again? And she had to be there, she just did. She couldn’t let him go through things like this alone, she loved him too much for that, so much, she realised she was just going to spend her life waiting around for him, just in case. Fuck she hated herself for loving him that much.

Now she was just waiting for him to come home with the ‘good’ news.

Malcolm wasn’t quite as happy as Grey had expected when he got back. Or surprised to find her sitting on the stairs when he came in despite the fact it was almost midnight.

“Bunch of weasely fucking cunts. Apparently my fucking ‘resignation’ caused a problem for them!” He did the air quotes, just in case Grey was stupid enough to not know what he meant, or maybe it was merely a dramatic gesture, Malcolm did like using his hands after all.

“So…?” she asked letting the word trail off. He hadn’t told Julius to get fucked, she knew he hadn’t, it just wasn’t in him. Oh he might make if difficult, protest, make it seem like he was doing them some massive favour but he was going back to the party, he’d always been going back to the party it was just a matter of when.

“I’m just waiting to see what he does next, how he fixes this, possibly with a little help from yours truly.”

“So you’re going back,” she said with the kind of smile that hurt her face.

“Once he’s proven himself, which he will. So yes, I’m going back. Like you said they can’t cope without me, they came crawling back!”

It was a wonder she hadn’t burst into tears, but then that wasn’t really Grey’s style. And it wasn’t like this was a shock, she’d seen this coming the moment she’d pulled herself together enough to remind herself he was never going to resign. This whole thing had been nothing but a set up waiting to be fixed. And now it was.

Grey stood and looked at him. She was twenty six now, young, but smart enough to know she was probably too young to really know all that much about love, about forever and all that bullshit. She didn't believe in the idea of someone being the love of another person's life, because if something happened to that person then what? And what were the chances of ever meeting that person anyway? There were no soul mates or anything like that. It was all just a way of selling tacky pink shit, and fuck she hated all that romantic crap. Malcolm was not her soul mate, wasn't the love of her life. He was more than twice her age and sometimes late at night what that actually meant for them in terms of how long they could actually be together crept into her mind. Would she have to look after him? Cos she'd do that, Christ she was constantly waiting for a stroke or heart attack. Would she have to watch him die? The thing was that didn't even come down to age. That came down to this fucking job. She'd watched it age him already. Watched his hair turn from dark brown to almost completely grey. Watched him losing weight. It was going to kill him. And he was going to let it. He was going to stay there until it put him in his fucking grave. That she couldn't stand by and watch.

But this. God this was fucking killing her. Because she loved him, more than she'd ever loved anyone, more than she'd ever wanted to love anyone. More than she was aware she could love anyone and that was the real problem. It had changed her, her feelings for Malcolm. She put up with so much shit for him. Put herself through so much she really shouldn't have, compromised and hid and sat in on her own when she could have been out, in public with a man that could actually be seen with her. Christ, she'd become fucking pathetic because of him, for him. What he was was the greatest man she’d met, so far. And that was the key. So far. She’d been with Matt since uni, and then Malcolm. Jesus, she’d slept with five men in her entire life. She didn’t have a fucking clue what was out there for her. And she owed it to herself to find out, didn’t she? Just in case there was something else. She had to try, even if she didn’t believe it would work.

She couldn't do it any more, not knowing it was always going to be like this, and she knew it would.

"I need to leave. This was never us getting back together," she admitted. her tone hollow and blank. "I can't do this to myself. I can't spend my whole fucking life waiting for you to come home for a few hours, to wake me up with your hand between my legs. To wake up with you carrying me to bed because I've fallen asleep in front of the TV waiting again. I'm twenty fucking six! I should be living my life, getting drunk, dancing. I shouldn't be sitting in a darkened room waiting for someone to fit me in. Fuck not even fit me in, because you’d be there anyway . I’m really happy everything’s being sorted but…I can’t stick around for it."

Malcolm didn't know what to say. She was right, of course she was. And honestly he had no idea what he'd been thinking. Obviously she'd only been there while he'd been sacked, while he'd been in serious danger of doing something fucking stupid. She'd been there for him, for his safety. He hadn't even thought about what it was doing to her, what having him to herself for a few days had done before he'd been begged to come back. He had half expected so much time together to have put her off, but she’d seemed happy. Maybe it would have been better if she had realised what a total fucking wanker he was once you really got to know him.

“I’m just a distraction.” She scoffed at her own words. “Christ I’m not even that, I’m just...more convenient than a fucking prostitute.”

“You know it’s not like that,” he said quickly. He wished it was sometimes, it would’ve been so much easier if that was all it was - sex, but despite how little time they actually spent together it really wasn’t.

“Yeah I do,” she conceded. “But I’m not what I want to be.”

“And what the fuck’s that, darling?” he asked.

“I have no fucking idea anymore Just not…this. I think maybe we're both just cut out to be alone," she suggested. "Because I know for sure if I ever come close to feeling this way about someone else ever again I'm running the fuck away." She shook her head. "I can't deal with it. I'm not cut out for love. For loving someone this fucking much." She hated him so much she wanted to tear bits of flesh from his bones. Wanted to scream and howl and tear him apart for this.

But then she also really wanted to take everything back and drag him into bed and fuck him senseless.

Bastard!

“I should carry a fucking bell around with me. ‘Unclean, un-fucking-clean!” he said.

“You don’t think your personality already does that? It’s not like I didn’t know what I was getting into. It’s funny though, I’ve heard you’re okay with normal people, civilians. I heard someone use the word ‘charming; once..”

“But you don’t want charming, do you, darling? You’d hate it.” That was part of the problem, why it was so fucking hard to just let go. He didn’t have to pretend with her, didn’t have to hide his real personality, he could just be himself, and she actually seemed to like it. Love it even. Love him. He’d never understood why so really this was inevitable, wasn’t it? She had to come to her senses sooner or later.

She smiled faintly. He had a point there. Charming tended to equate with smarmy and fake in her head, it just didn’t work for her. It was the way he wasn’t careful about anything he said that she liked.

“We’ve been in a relationship for two fucking years,” he pointed out.

“A relationship? We’ve been hiding in your fucking crashpad and hotel rooms, I’m not totally sure what this is, but it’s not a relationship. My mum didn’t even know about you until we broke up! Nothing’s gonna change is it? And you know the real irony? If it did, if you chose me over the party you wouldn’t be the man I love.”

“Love, present tense?”

“Don’t fucking do that, Malc. You know I do. I just...I can’t be this fucking person anymore. I’m pathetic. I hate it, what I’ve become. I never saw myself becoming like this for anything, especially not some fucking man. And you really are some fucking man. Malcolm fucking Tucker. The greatest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.” She closed her eyes, because she had the horrible feeling she was going to cry, and that was only going to make things so much worse for the both of them.

When she finally felt in some kind of control over herself she opened them again. “It’s been great. Okay no, it hasn’t, it’s been fucking shit seeing you so depressed, so lost. But in a really fucked up way it was nice. Having you to myself for a bit, getting a sense of what it might’ve been like under different circumstances. It’s so fucking messed up that even having you here like this felt sort of better than only seeing you for a bit really late at night. Malcolm, this is...this isn’t right. I’m sorry, and I love you more than anyone. And honestly? I really can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone else, but I can’t be with you so what’s the point? I’m fucking destroying myself here.”

Malcolm didn’t know what to say, because she was right. This wasn’t the life she was supposed to be living. She was worth so much more than that but he’d dragged her down. He’d made the effort for maybe the first month and then it had just been like this ever since. And she’d stuck around. Two fucking years and she’d stuck around. And the thing was he still wanted her to stay. He was still selfish enough to not just let her walk away again. She’d come back. He hadn’t asked her to, she just had. It wasn’t his fault she was such a fucking masochist, was it?

“What if I try?” he offered. “I mean properly, really. No more coming home at midnight every night. No more working all the hours god sends even at weekends. Grey...I fucking love you!”

She stepped forward, touched his face. Malcolm, her wonderful, angry, passionate, Malcolm. She had no idea how she was doing this, how she was saying these things, it wasn’t like she didn’t mean them but…fuck, why was it like this? Why was it him she was so utterly and hopelessly in love with? Why not someone with a bit more free fucking time?
“Then you’ll end up resenting me, resent having to spend time with me. And it’ll just get messy again.”

“I could never resent that,” he assured her. “Never.”

“It wouldn’t last. I know you, Malc. And I thought I could handle it, I really did, and I could for a while but really this is my fault and I’m sorry, sorry we didn’t just keep it to a couple of incredible shags when I showed up on your doorstep. Sorry I wanted more, sorry I didn’t fucking listen to you when you told me exactly how it was gonna be. I’m sorry. I just...I just can’t anymore.”

She turned away. grabbing her bag and walking past him, down the stairs. It was safe outside now. No photographers cared about Malcolm anymore, certainly not enough to be hanging around at this time, a week was a long time in politics. So was three days. She could just walk out of here and go home, assuming she could convince her feet to keep moving in the right direction.