8 - upwards to infinity
Welcome to our eighth prompt post.
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
As ususal, here are a few things to keep in mind:
1) All fills for prompts of the earlier prompt posts go in the post the prompt was posted in. No re-posting or splitting up prompts and fills.
2) Self-prompt when you post unprompted fic. (This means posting what the fill is about in a first comment, like a real ( Read more... )
It was supposed to be fluffy but the angst just crept in somehow. But hey, it's got a (sort of) fluffy ending!
Christmas Is A Time For Giving
“Happy Christmas, Nick!”
Nick looked round from studying his overcrowded bookshelves as David bounded into his Cabinet office. “Happy Christmas to you, too,” he responded with a smile, and giving up his search for the policy document he’d wanted to reference, came round his crowded desk to meet his visitor. As soon as Nick reached him, David proffered a colourfully-wrapped, vaguely box-shaped parcel, a bright and oddly hopeful smile wreathing his patrician features.
“W-what’s this?”
Jovially, David responded, “What do you think? Your Christmas present, of course!”
“Oh.”
Nick bit his lip, clearly taken aback, and David’s face fell.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well - I, I’m sorry, David, we Liberal Democrats, we, we don’t get each other individual presents at Christmas. It can, you know…” Nick waved his hands in the air, the words tumbling out in his desire to explain, “Give rise to, to jealousy, and embarrassment, and… we just buy general, general presents for the, the - for everyone. To show our, our appreciation of all the hard work our people put in over the year. I brought in a couple of boxes of Quality Street only this morning, to… to, to share around…” he brightened as he looked towards the two bright purple tins, and hurried over to pick one, ignoring David’s exclamation,
“No, Nick, really, I didn’t expect - I only wanted -”
Oblivious, Nick carried on talking as he returned with his selection. “… I,I really should have discussed this with you… Never mind - here,” he held out one hexagonal purple monstrosity, still biting his lip apologetically, “Um, Happy Christmas, David. I’m sorry it’s not wrapped -”
For the first time since David had given him his present Nick looked straight at the other man, and hastily David controlled his features, fiercely trying to hide his acute disappointment as he accepted the heavy sweet tin.
“No, really, that’s fine,” he said heartily, “I love Quality Street - especially those green triangles! Thank you!”
Nick’s face lightened and he grinned. “I prefer those big purple toffee things with the nut in the middle,” he confided, and looked down at the parcel which David had given him, turning it over and over in curiosity.
David watched the strong, square hands flex and move and suddenly, piercing through his disappointment, came an abrupt shaft of pure, unadulterated lust. Dry-throated he looked away, trying to ignore the way all his blood was rushing south in a highly inappropriate manner. This was not about his completely unsuitable feelings for his deputy, he told himself, holding the Quality Street awkwardly in front of him with both hands and trying to use it as a shield. This was about Nick, and how depressed he’d been recently… All he’d wanted to do was to cheer Nick up a little after Miriam’s departure, and then his appalling public crucifixion in the media and in the Commons, and instead all he’d done was embarrass the poor man.
David sighed. Perhaps he should just leave? He’d cocked it up again, he reflected morosely. Instead of cheering Nick up he’d managed to make things worse! Bloody Lib Dems and their politically-correct gift-giving… He could only hope that George’s Christmas present to Danny didn’t elicit the same reaction - though George had seemed far more exercised over the precise wording on one of the Christmas cards he was sending out. David had no idea of the identity of the intended recipient, but he could only hope that whoever-it-was appreciated all the effort that George had put into composing his message.
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David shook his head at his thoughts. Damned woman - and Nick still wouldn’t hear a word said against her, insisted that it was his fault that Miriam had left, that he must have failed her somehow… Still. At least she let Nick see his boys regularly, and spend Christmas and holidays with them -
“I’ll open it now, shall I?” Nick was saying lightly, “Taking it all the way to Spain to open on Christmas Day seems a little…”
“…Futile?”
“… Unnecessary.” Nick amended, and leaning back against his desk he began to unroll the huge sheet of expensively-gilded wrapping paper which an over-enthusiastic David had used to envelop the present, until he revealed a small dark-blue leather box.
“Oh…” he murmured, studying the gold of the ‘Cartier’ embossed on the lid. “David, I…”
His words trailed off as he lifted the lid and saw the cufflinks nestled on the silk lining within. Two modernistic, abstract bird shapes, made of a rich yellow gold, with tiny topaz eyes that sparkled with life in the dim light from the window. Nick stared at them, entranced.
“Do - do you like them?”
Abruptly brought out of his fascination with the tiny golden birds, Nick looked up at an anxious David.
“I - yes, I think they’re beautiful,” he said, stunned. “Little Liberal Democrat birds - Liberal Democrat cufflinks, and so exquisitely made… how could I not like them?
“ …Though I’m sure that most of my party are convinced that I would prefer Tory trees, not Liberal Democrat birds,” he added suddenly, bitterness briefly ruling his voice before it smoothed again.
“But David -” Standing up from his desk, Nick carefully closed the box and held it out, looking extremely uncomfortable, his forehead crinkled in concern. “- I can’t possibly accept this. It’s too much. I mean - gosh, Cartier of Bond Street! I - no. It’s extremely, extremely generous of you, but no. I really appreciate the time and, and thought that you’ve put into this gift, but surely you can see that I can’t possibly accept it? Here.”
Stunned and silent, David automatically held out his hand in response to Nick’s firm tone and felt the small weight of his long-planned, eagerly-anticipated present land back in his palm.
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Locking the door of the bathroom firmly behind him, Dave sank down on the side of the bath, buried his head in his hands, and wept, rocking back and forth with the force of his emotions. He wept in humiliation and shame at his idiocy… In remorse for the hurt he had caused Nick… But most of all, he wept from loneliness, and the pain of the realization that no matter how he tried, no matter what gestures he made or invitations he extended, Nick Clegg would never, ever, allow him to become anything more than a vaguely congenial work colleague.
Not friends. Never ever friends…
… Least of all anything closer.
And somewhere in the most private, most closely-guarded part of David’s heart, a small, tentative, persistent hope - one that he was barely aware of himself - finally withered and died, leaving dull despair in its place.
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This is all I could possibly have wanted from my ramblings about coalition gifts and I look forward to the rest!
A cold but happy anon.
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And I'm happy that you like what I did with your prompt!
♥
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