12 - Coming full circle
Dearest Anons,
In five days (on May 8, 2011) this meme will have existed for a whole year.
It is an extraordinary achievement, your extraordinary achievement, to have kept this going well and alive for so long. With thousands of fics and comments, this meme is one of (if not the) most amazing thing I've ever come across. Not only the amount of fic ( Read more... )
In five days (on May 8, 2011) this meme will have existed for a whole year.
It is an extraordinary achievement, your extraordinary achievement, to have kept this going well and alive for so long. With thousands of fics and comments, this meme is one of (if not the) most amazing thing I've ever come across. Not only the amount of fic ( Read more... )
"I'll finish it, won't take long," Nick protested.
David raised a smirking, cynical eyebrow, and plucked the sheaves of paper from Nick's hands. As he scanned through them, flicking through the latter pages with cursory glances only, Nick hung his head, ducking away from the inevitable glare. It didn't come. David merely leaned forwards and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. "You don't have to do it now. You don't have to do it all, in fact. That's what researchers are for. You have them. They're good. You should use them."
"I just-" Don't want to stop. Don't want to think.
The words went unsaid. They always did.
David merely hummed a soft response, registering that he had paid some measure of attention, and swung into the spare chair. "Pass me the box. I'm sure I can do some of these."
"You can't-"
"I'm not going to tell," David drawled. "If it's something you need to know, do you really think I wouldn't brief you?"
"No."
For a long moment, Nick stared at the outstretched hand, but he then, reluctantly, allowed a smile to spread across his lips, and he began to rifle through the sheets to see what he could pass to David.
000
It was nicer, working with someone else. Someone he could bounce ideas off, could throw scrumpled pieces of paper at, just for reaction, to be chided by for wasting parliamentary-headed paper. When Nick's eyes began to droop closed, a mug of green tea was pressed into his hands, two biscuits placed on his desk, and a kiss nuzzled behind his ear.
Nick resisted sleep as fervently as possible, until he received an article on the Mail website via email from Danny. On first glance, he believed he was looking at a snowman, in a picture which transpired - once he'd blinked - to in actual fact contain the image of the Prime Minister. "Alright," he grunted. "Bed time." He let his pen drop with a clatter.
"Excellent. Go up. I'll be five minutes."
Had he the energy to argue, Nick might perhaps have summoned a complaint. As it stood, however, he quite liked the idea of being able to come down in the morning, and find the office immaculate, so he merely got to his feet and hastened to bed. His movements were slower than he'd have liked. An unfortunate combination of weariness and weight. The weight which caused the weariness.
As he got to the top of the stairs, the hand not supporting him on the rail of the banister moved downwards, smoothing under the swell of his stomach. The child within was restless, but he'd been stringently ignoring it. Not when David might notice, might try to - He gave a soft gasp he felt the familiar crack of his lip splitting, the dry, stretched layer so thin it was unable to cope any longer with Nick's worrying of it. At the tip of his tongue, Nick tasted the bitter tang of blood. He didn't mind. The brief flare of pain had dissolved the icy hold of guilt - if only momentarily.
Doing his level best not to shiver, Nick stripped and slipped beneath the covers. New sheets. Couldn't have used the old ones. Not a chance. With a tug, he secured the duvet around his shoulders, in an attempt for some sort of warmth, and squeezed his eyes closed. He knew it was just the combination of exhaustion, and unstable hormones flooding his body, a body so desperately unused to such chemicals it was recating far more violently than any female's. That knowledge didn't make anything better. Didn't stop tears spilling over closed eyes at inopportune moments, or the need to hastily scrub them away before David saw. David thought he was happy. David was happy in the knowledge that Nick was happy. Nick was happy. Most of the time, he just wasn't entirely content.
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"Because I want to sleep," came Nick's quiet response, after a thick swallow to banish the dryness in his mouth.
The other man, however, just shrugged, and closed the door behind himself, encasing them both in darkness. The sound of rustling fabric, and then a small body wriggled its way into the bed. "Then go to sleep." David buried in closer than Nick had expected him to, a hand landing on his stomach.
Nick gasped, "Please don't," at once, forgetting himself in his instant alarm.
There was a pause, before David gave a soft plea. "Nick - tell me what's wrong."
The hand drew back, and Nick suddenly found he could breathe again, though he could still feel the lingering warmth on his skin. "I'm just tired."
"Fine," came the abrupt reply.
Something within Nick - that something that always did - ached at the sight of David's grief. He couldn't explain away his reaction, couldn't, and waited, caught at the teetering edge of the constant battle he had with himself. Eventually, the slightly dominant side won out - self preservation. Only natural. Instinct since time began - and he silenced the unpleasant thoughts, only cursorily compensating the other side by reaching towards David, and linking his fingers through the smaller man's nearest hand.
A gentle squeeze from David indicated the forgiveness he didn't deserve.
000
The television flickered before Paddy's half-closed eyes. He was lost entirely in his thoughts, of the way their conversations had darted about, discussing anything but the fact that James was heavily pregnant with David's child. It had been surreal, as Simon steered the conversations to policy, strategy and biscuits, yet a paper lay on the coffee table.
The front page picture was as famous as David Cameron and Nick Clegg entering Downing Street for the first time - but with an entirely different David. David Laws and Nick, leaving the new Liberal Democrat Headquarters, in Great George's Street, hand in hand. The paper had clearly been held, far too frequently, indents of his fingers smudging the print at the edges, stared at for otherwise empty hours.
There was, no doubt, a more recent one, somewhere, of the Deputy Prime Minister, a hand on the rise of his stomach. If James wanted to torture himself, Paddy was fairly certain the image of the man who had replaced him, also carrying David's child, was sure to do the job.
"Darling?"
Paddy jumped at the voice of his wife. "Jane?"
The woman plucked the mug from Paddy's hands. "You've been staring at the wall for hours. Now, if you're going to mope, you're quite welcome to. And you don't have to tell me what's going on. but I'd recommend that it's time for sleep."
With a weary shake of his head, Paddy reached backwards to grasp the hand on his shoulder. His thumb stroked over the back of Jane's hand. "How do you feel about inviting James Lundie to dinner?"
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Loving it!
(Too busy for coherent comment, sorry, will come back soon.)
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