PoW: Chapter 2: twice five miles of fertile ground

[motleypatches]

The door opened. David strode forward. He shook Nick's hand. They waved then turned back toward the house. David stepped inside and felt Nick pat him on the back and turning to the crowd. The door closed behind them.

George, ushered through a secret door a while ago, was waiting for them inside.

David embraced him, his arms easily encircling his long lost friend. And if it was a little warmer and longer than necessary, they hadn't seen each other in a long time. "I'm so glad you are all right," he said, overcome. He could swear George shuddered a sigh against him.

The he stepped away and invited them both to dinner. Official business had been mostly concluded. For the next couple of hours, they could relax.

Then he saw Nick stepping close to George, took his hand, patted his back, and said something quietly and quickly under his breath. There was a peculiarity in the movement that made David pause, the way that Nick's hand wandered from shoulder to elbow as he spoke and how, George, who was not a small man, seemed to slightly lean into it, but before David finished the thought, Nick turned and smiled at him.

"I missed your cooking."

He looked gaunt again, but the expression softened his face and he looked as if he genuinely missed David's culinary efforts after dinning with the president of France. Shaking his head, David led them to the smaller dining room. The places had already been set. Nick and George took their seats opposite each other. There would only be three of them tonight.

He had uncorked a few bottles of the wine, amused by the conversation until he saw Nick was only eating half of what was on his plate.

"It is all for you, Nick," he reminded him. "We are not on rations. Austerity measures are not necessary here. Big Society's working." Nick gave him a particularly arch look. David admonished, "I can't believe you didn't lose the habit abroad. What must people think?"

"That we were on rations, but it was only seeing you that brought it all back- " Nick stopped, then looked down at his plates and forked a piece of the roasted tomato with unnecessary force.

David swallowed then looked over at George who had been at the trout with flattering gusto. "You weren't here for the worst. Most of the underground corridors were flooded and supplies were low. The hours meant we began to share meals, quite literally," he explained, "then when even forty-meters became too dangerous to walk, especially with the protesters at every turn, Nick stayed here. We thought often of you-"

"David-" Nick began, warningly.

"I don't mind, Nick," George said carefully, cutting another piece of the fish. "No one knew where I was."

Uneasily, David wondered if George thought he was being displaced. After all, when his Notting Hill home had been emptied, George finally moved next door. And after the ransacking of Westminster, when it seemed the entire cabinet and perhaps half of the house was constantly at Number Ten, he had moved in with him.

"And most people still don't know you're back," David said, apologetic. "I thought we could introduce you both, together, at the next session, showing that the coalition had been working together all this time as we each played our parts to help the country move through its troubles." The table was eerily silent. "But no more shop talk," David continued, trying to lighten the mood. "We are here to enjoy a nice meal together as good friends who haven't seen each other in a long time. "

"And it is good to be back," George said, "to be with those with whom we share understanding." He lifted his glass for a toast. The hour was late, the light dimmed, but David was certain that Nick had been the desired recipient of that remark. A shadow of a blush crossed over his face, but it was gone within a blink.

David looked at George again: the long hands, the pale milkmaid skin contrasting with the dark hair, and the boyish smile; George seemed to have lived time backwards while the rest of them aged; on some objective aesthetic level, he supposed that it was attractive, and perhaps even distractingly so for certain people. He just never expected that Nick to be susceptible as well. Is that why he tarried so long in Europe? A flush was beginning; he could feel the heat rushing from his neck to his face.

He realised the jealousy was irrational. Who was he jealous of? The thought, as light and as swift as a wing, was gone in an instant, but it disturbed him. Hastily, he swallowed the wine. It was far too fresh, he reflected.

Nick was saying something about how he missed British cakes and sweets, something about Jaffa cakes would now have to be homemade before productions can return.

David remembered that they still haven't had dessert.

-=-=

Still feeling drowned in a wave of deja-vu, George stood by the window. The lecterns from the afternoon were still in the garden.

A while ago, Nick had came over.

"You're still not sleeping," he had said, irritatingly solicitous.

"I will be fine," George had said, pressing his forehead against the cool glass. Nick wisely retreated.

Now he was roaming the Prime Minister's residence, the grace and favour about which he had read but had never expected to see. The Eden Project was the ultimate green dream and where it seemed that the Conservatives finally realised Big Society on the remnant of society.

George couldn't help but being impressed by David, but then, he always was, wasn't he? Until he realised that no one was coming for him- It was an unfair thought. No one knew. There were bigger problems. And yet, even that reflection couldn't suppress his frustration. He should tell them what happened, the whole story. They won't judge him. Even Nick knew, though that had been embarrassingly beyond his control. But somehow, telling one of his oldest friends what had happened terrified him.

He stopped outside David's door. He could see the light at the bottom of his door. Bracing himself, he lifted his hand to knock when he heard voices inside.

"It's not the right time." Nick sounded angry.

"It's never the right time." David, in his reasonable voice.

"Whatever happened. It's past. We have to move beyond it." Nick had lowered his voice, but George had become very good at hearing words through doors and walls.

"I wasn't the one who made the decision and you are not finishing the conversation."

"Only because you are not getting your way. What will George think when he learns? Your wife?"

"He won't mind."

Betrayed, George stepped away from the door. He wondered, trying to find his room and unable to find it.

He heard something crunch beneath his feet. He looked around and found himself in the kitchen. There was a shaft of moonlight that fell through the window onto the floor. Silver glinted amidst the gold. George shuddered. He picked up the light dross-like objects and slowly, the lingering sweetness of the dessert souring in his mouth, he laid the pieces flat.

Had it been David all along? This time, he pocketed the evidence.

-=-=

"I wasn't even sure if you were coming back." Nick wished he was dreaming, but David looked earnest. "After all, you had always been an ardent Europhile. What could have stopped you from staying. Everyone else we sent preferred to stay or came back emptied handed."

"I came back though," Nick said. "I put my name on the dotted line. We liberal-democrats, we keep our promise." But it sounded hollow even to himself. It wasn't what David was asking without asking and he knew he was being willfully obtuse. It was necessary, though. As he said, it was in the past. He made the decision the moment he saw his wife, though that seemed vagarious now, confronted with David and all what they had set to accomplish and had to survive instead.

"If William hadn't walked in, what would you have said?"

Nick opened his mouth then quickly closed it again. Unable to meet David's eyes, he focused on his neck instead, the stripe of skin exposed by the open collar. His mouth dry, he wet his lip before speaking. "I value your friendship, which had been unexpected, but one of the greatest in my life. I'm honoured to know and call you my friend."

David laughed, a note of wildness in it. "Fuck you, Nick Clegg."

Nick looked up in surprise and was caught by the strain on David's face.

"You would have been nothing without me. An obscure party leader with untenable goals, a great joke! I gave you the chance to make the changes you want."

"Likewise and with all due respect," Nick said tightly. "I am your Deputy Prime Minister, your coalition partner, not your-" He was shaking with barely suppressed rage and David Cameron was standing very close.

"Nick, you are a hypocrite," stated David.

And at that, Nick had nothing to say. He was. Anyone who aspired to political office must be, at some level, and grow used to the habit that the knowledge no longer skirted awareness, but David wanted something he couldn't even admit to himself. Nick had time to think when he realised that everything would be normal again. And everything would be. He had made a decision.

"Better a hypocrite who admit his own hypocrisies than an unashamed scoundrel," he retorted. Then, because David Cameron was his friend and because they had survived and shouldered the worst disasters in British history together, and more importantly, because perhaps a part of him had always been the boy who thought nothing of doing something inadvisable and even not allowed, he closed the space between them. One last time.

David, initially tense, relaxed into the kiss. Nick could hear the sigh into his mouth. "You are right, I would not have been here without you," he said against David's ear, his own body relishing the half-familiar warmth, "thank you," and he stepped away.

He left David blinking owlishly after him, silent. Nick didn't look back when he closed the door.

-=-=

The words were starting to blur in front of his eyes. They usually come easier than this, but David found himself unable to concentrate.

The agreement had been all he had hoped. The cargo ships were due to arrive next month. Security teams would have to be put in place but the leaders of other European nations were, for the first time since Britain declared national emergency, extending their goodwill. David Cameron had never underestimated the Bilderberg Group's influence, but to see it displayed still made him wary. Of course, George had been part of the group. It was likely he had a hand in it as well though he had not said much to the effect.

This fact should be mentioned in his speech, though perhaps without the conspiratorial notes or mentioning of Bilderberg or Murdoch which still had sinister associations in most people's minds. It wouldn't go over well and David Cameron would like to see his friend well-received, though he was certain George was harbouring a secret with Nick.

The jealousy was resurfacing. And even knowing it was irrational --George Osborne and Nick Clegg, to his knowledge, had neither the time nor inclination to be much in each other's company outside of their official associations-- David was still frustrated. The two people he should be trusting more than anyone else in the world he was now finding suspicious, even contemptible.

So much for the waiting, David though, and the writing, he thought wryly, putting down his pen. The sheer audacity of the man had left him dumbfounded. Well, he had made his position clear and David was not going to challenge it. At least, not at the moment. He could wait. He had a lot of practice.

There was knock at the door.

"Come in."

George Osborne entered, followed by Nick, who wasn't looking at him, but was pulling at George's elbow. "It's not what you think!"

"Was it you?" George demanded. David had never seen him so angry, his face red and twisted, his fists clenched.

"What?" David had no idea what he was talking about. Nick was looking frantic.

"Did you have me kidnapped?" George raised his hand, for a moment David thought he was going to hit him, but the hand opened as George threw something onto his desk. They fluttered in the air briefly before settling on top of his speech notes. "You could just have asked me to disappear. You know I would have done it. Of all people, you know I understand political expediency. Was it a mistake? Tell me it was a mistake? Tell me you didn't know what they did."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," David answered, trying to inject as much calmness into his face and voice as possible.

"Did you, David Cameron, have me kidnapped and eventually sold?"

"What!?" David leapt up from behind his desk. "Are you utterly mad?"

"Nick had to ransom me from Lord Peter Mandelson and he won't tell me the price of my release, which I'm certain had been substantial."

Warily, David turned to Nick. "Nick, what did you trade for George?"

Nick looked confused. His answer, however, left David briefly speechless. "You know I wouldn't trade anything that would compromise the nation."

"For the chancellor, maybe you should have," George added. "I was kept in a cell! David! There was no holiday! I was kidnapped, from Downing Street, dumped into the middle of nowhere, subject to a number of horrific ordeals which I care neither to recall or to outline for you, in detail. My last captor was Mandelson who kept me in a small room on a ship and periodically gassed me to unconsciousness; he said he bought me, so you can supposed that I have been passed around." George finished bitterly, "I didn't see a single soul for six months when I was quite suddenly released. Rather, ransomed"

And David felt so ill he opened his mouth but it seemed as if he had lost all the words. For a long time, they stood in that small office, the summer heat pressing against them.

"George, we dissolved the House of Lords. They had nearly all fled, en masse, at the first sign of class war. When the term of the Coalition ended but there was no call for dissolving the parliament, Scotland declared its independence, illegally, but Alexander went with them. The Northern cities that remained unflooded threatened to secede. The mobs marched on London, which was already growing lawless. I wanted you there with me, even selfishly. You're my oldest friend."

Then an idea dawned at once so impossible and ridiculous it was horrifying. "What did you promise Mandelson?"

"He merely asked me where Boris was, so I told him," Nick answered, nonplussed.

"So I suppose he's now after Boris as well," George said, already seem much calmer.

"He could take of himself. He's an American and they take very good care of their own citizens, even if they sounds English and is campaigning for governor of Hawaii from a volcano." He couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice, "Dormant, so far."

"But he know where we are."

"He shouldn't- Oh." They looked at David, who brought out a letter from Boris. He gave it to Nick first. It was long-winded and in Boris's usual style of questionable eloquence, but between the lines, it was clear he had worked out where the seat of government had relocated from the movement of the mobs. Sometimes, it was easy to forget he was a very intelligent man- camping on a volcano notwithstanding.

"Gentlemen, it seems we will be fighting a class war after all," David said brightly, the irony of the situation hitting him, "and we are on the side of the commons."

-=-=

Even the prospect of once again thrust into something he did not understand completely and suffering possibly even more bodily harm George couldn't help but thrill at David's words. It was in his blood. In a way, they were all bred for war. Their families had always been the victors. He wanted revenge.

"We can't declare war on British citizens," Nick cautioned. "We don't even know if they have an army or if there is any hostile intent."

"The Queen resides in a house just down the road. We would be putting down a rebellion," George pointed out. "And if an army's necessary, the lords, scattered across the world, would know how to secure one and yes, Nick, I am certain at least more than one member of the peer is involved." He narrowed his eyes. "Do you really think it is easy to kidnap someone from Number Ten? Also, I don't think they even much of an army to take this place. At this scale, Big Society relies more on secrecy than military preparedness to keep it secure."

"A veritable British Shangri-La," said Nick sotto voce, though George wasn't sure if he was mocking or not. He ignored it.

"The Queen is very old; the prognosis from her doctors is not favourable," David stressed. George continued looking at him until he understood. "You want me to fake a royal proclamation?" He was scandalized, George knew, but David head was bowed, his hand curled near the mouth. George grinned. He was considering it.

Nick worried at his lip. "It doesn't matter whether the authority is sanctioned by the monarchy. If they win, they would establish retrospective legitimacy. Both of the princes are with them."

"Though not the heir apparent," David said, coming around.

"Who is always disposable in wars," George answered. And "I don't believe the lords are not ruthless. I particularly don't believe that Peter Mandelson would mind."

"What do you suggest we do?"

"You will have to put off the speech you are writing," George said. "Unfortunately, you will have to be more Edward IV than Churchill for the meanwhile."

"David, might I have a word, in private?"

George glared at him, but Nick had decided on a tactical move, for he placed his hand on George's shoulder. George locked his muscles and resisted the impulse to lean into the touch. He succeeded in outward movement, but a line appeared on David's brow.

"George?" With an effort through sheer will, George wrenched himself away and found himself at the opposite side of the room from Nick Clegg. His heart was pounding, he was breathing through his mouth.

"Let us make a decision now," he counseled, but it was too late.

"It will only take a moment," David said, as he and Nick went to the inner office.

-=-=

Strictly speaking, it neither ethical nor, in fact, the gentlemanly thing to do. Had Nick Clegg been the man from eight years or even three years ago, he wouldn't have exposed George Osborne's weakness in such a...grotesque manner. Nonetheless, circumstances must be considered.

"You are not thinking," Nick warned. "I felt like I was listening to the ravings of two lunatics in there. How can you believe him?"

"Who should I trust then?" David asked witheringly. "You?"

Nick flinched, but pressed forward, insistent. "This is not about you and me, but about what is happening to the country." But David shook his head, he brought his hand up. Nick tilted his head away, but the movement stopped at his shoulder.

"This has always been about you and me," David said, his words oddly gentle compared to the grip he had on Nick's shoulder. "Look around you. There is no Britain except for us. This coalition government is our partnership, our legacy to history. The future of Britain depends on us and what we do here now."

"Declaring war on the peers of the realm? Look, I know you and George think over half of them are not true lords; nevertheless, the British people needs to know what is happening. If there is indeed a conspiracy-"

"They will know, Nick. We didn't dissolve the house or lords lightly. They abandoned the country. What right, I ask you Nick, what right do they have of setting up government through military pressure or in fact, pressure of any sort?" David was leaning closer and Nick was refusing to back down. This was what happened last time, Nick realised.

"This is not going to happen again," Nick said firmly.

"Again?"

Reluctant to admit what he was thinking, scattered as his mind became --David, inevitable proximity, the intense camaraderie of friendships-- Nick returned his thoughts to the war that David and George seemed intent on declaring for some purpose he couldn't discern. It irritated him, that after all of it, that despite George's absence, his own journey, they were still sharing some sort of secret tortuous Tory logic that he couldn't follow. And yet, David was still looking at him, quizzical, tamping down some question that Nick knew he really wanted to ask but was too well-bred or trained to say out aloud. The eyes were deceptive, as if Nick was the one who held the answers, that it was others who forced him into the situation and eventually, a populist and even an altruistic decision.

Well, if he was going to be the outsider, so be it.

He asked for the evidence and said, perhaps a little unfairly: “Surely you remember what happened to the last Prime Minister who declared war-" Before David could answer, he forged on, "Well, there is George Osborne in there, the Chancellor of the Exchequer who had been in charge of the finances of an empty treasury since the day he arrived in office. Friendship aside, you can't deny what he did. And now, even if he is correct regarding the involvement of the lords, how are you going to convince the house? A royal proclamation is merely the ceremonial final step."

David was silent, but his fingers relaxed. Nick didn't move. He would speak his mind. "I have no grudge against George Osborne, but he needs a doctor. He does not need to be planning political games and especially not the the political logistics of a war. You must know he wants revenge. On Peter Mandelson for whatever ordeal he suffered. As much as we might sympathize, that is a private agenda. You do not need to be a Prime Minister through another war. You already fought it and won."

Persuading David had always been so thoughtlessly easy from the earliest days of the Coalition that when David finally let go, Nick staggered forward. He felt stupid. The glass thin differences between them that he thought had disappeared along with the ice-shelves and the consequent disasters was suddenly an insurmountable glass wall. They could see each other through it, but no matter the depth of his convictions, he couldn't convince David of something he didn't already believe in. And David, clearly, didn't believe that he had already win.

"There will be another election," David said eventually.

Nick was almost disappointed. He let out the breath he had been holding as he listened.

"An incumbent government during war wins the election. A government that remained in power due to the exigencies of national crises and accused of wrongdoings just as the country is recovering will not fare so well. And you know that this coalition must remain for us to rebuild Britain."

"So you are saying that you don't trust the democratic process," Nick said, caustic, "and you don't care how you might achieve it. Fearmongering is a very low, David, very low. And then, of course, perhaps the threat was nothing at all in the end, so it seemed like you did something, instead of slipping the country deeper into a recession. " It was a game of rhetoric and irrational thinking.

"We did do something. We pulled the country out. I'm saying that they trusted us and our decisions."

And the worst thing of all, Nick thought, his hands against the soft cotton of David's shirt, was that he agreed. They were of a height. He wanted to be angry. But David's expression, so calm and mild, without triumph, it kept him from lashing out. He bit his tongue. He bit his lip. He saw David's eyes travel across his face.

"We.." David had won the argument. Now it was he who had nothing to say. Awkwardly, he patted Nick on the back.

"We should talk to George," Nick finished the thought. "I doubt he would like his whole experience broadcasted around the nation or the world."

"He still wants to be Prime Minister," David added. At Nick's surprised look, he continued, "He will be, one day."

When I'm not here, his face promised. Or so Nick thought by the intent in his eyes, until David leaned forward and kissed him, quite chastely, on the lips.

"I am not sorry," David said, "I waited for you and hoped it would be you who came back."

Nick, confused, reached to touch his lips, where the soft press of mouths had left the bruised skin tingling. "Who else would it be?"

"Someone I don't know. I thought you and George-" David laughed. Nick rolled his eyes. "But it was only because you had another secret. Will you stay?"

The question went beyond that. And, whether it was David who agreed with him or he who agreed with David, Nick, kiss or no kiss -- he supposed they were even now-- could not answer it like it deserved. In the light of the day, with the sun streaming through the windows, Nick realised that David looked older now. His skin was still deceptively smooth, but there was a new hardness that etched lines onto his brow and the corner of his eyes. They were all older. The young government was no longer young. Once, not so long ago, every day had only one tomorrow, but the days had blurred together into months then years. They had spent their years for the same purpose.

Nick suddenly realised David, standing before him, embodied a more substantial promise than any he had been offered in a long time.

"I've never been away," Nick answered.

-=-=

George Osborne was not back where they left him. The man had vanished, leaving chocolate wrappers on David's desk as the only evidence of him having ever been there. David stared at them blankly.

"I've gone for a walk," Nick read aloud, waving his blackberry.

"I hope no one sees him," David muttered. "He doesn't exactly have an adoring public at the moment. At any moment, for that matter."

"I think he also took your bike," Nick continued, frowning at the screen. "I didn't know he could ride a bike. He always looked rather uncomfortable in the photographs."

"I'm the enthusiast. He's there so I don't look alone and odd, but I suspect he's mostly uncomfortable with the shorts," David said darkly. "I want to look for both him and the bike. I hope he took to the lanes rather than the roads."

His own blackberry rang. He swore. There was a cabinet meeting after lunch. He would have to introduce Nick to the new members.

"They are mostly very young. We have to replace some, but you'll find the con-dem ratio is the same."

Nick chuckled. David was startled, then he realised it was because he hadn't heard the sound in a long time.

"I know. I do read the briefs, though how Lembit ever ended up on the list was surprising."

David shrugged. "He was popular after you left. The media love him. It showed that this government was remaining strong and keeping its promises regardless of the situation. The lib-dems didn't exactly have a big pool of people with government experience. And it helped that it had been a Welsh seat."

This interruption of work seemed out of place. It should be the most familiar thing between them. Instead, the entire experience seemed surreal. The last time David talked about seats and MPs they were sitting in office at Whitehall and the government of Westminister was still running like a very old albeit very well-oiled machine.

Nick must realise this as well. A shadow crossed his face. David wanted to go talk to him.

"I think I should take you to bed." The statement, calmly delivered, had the effect of making David nearly jump out of his skin.

"In the middle of the afternoon?" Nick didn't appear to be joking and David couldn't deny the hot streak of arousal at the look. "Before a cabinet meeting?" he asked weakly.

Nick shrugged, a strangely constrained movement given the cut of his suit. He began to take it off, laying it on the back of one of the chairs, his expression earnest.

"You are standing in front of a window," David said. His back was towards it. There was a field behind him, but if anyone had a binocular -- and he wasn't so deluded as to think that their Eden with its flimsy gates and reduced security was absent of journalists, bird-watchers, neighbourhood watches, generally the sort of people with too much on their hands, not to mention the new breed of political voyeurs -- that anything happening in this office would go on without remark.

CCTV cameras had nothing on human curiosity.

Nick was now untying his tie and David still hadn't moved from beyond his desk. He watched as Nick lay it across the shoulder of his jacket, the orange burning a blaze down the gray. His hands began to sweat.

When Nick's hand reached for his belt, David's brain finally caught on the reality of the situation. He closed the curtains and plunged them into shadow, lit only by the single lamp on his desk, the ghostly shimmer of the monitor and the white glare of Nick's shirt.

"This will not be comfortable," David said, coming around to settle his hand on the small buttons. He stepped out of his shoes. He heard the clink of belt buckles, then felt a smile against his face.

"It had never been comfortable," Nick said, the tips of his fingers between the gaps of David's shirt, "but always quite easy, if I remember correctly." He maneuvered them to the couch anyways and, as always, waited for David as he folded their trousers before remembering everything important and relearning the things he had forgotten in their long sojourn apart.

-=-=

George had no illusions about who he was. He was neither the most well-born, the wealthiest, nor the brightest boy of his class. But he was a baronet, he was wealthy, and he was bright. If knowing oneself was the route to wisdom, George would've been hailed as a sage and prophet. And he had been one in all the ways that it counted until he was summarily removed from the playing field.

However, at the moment, he wanted David Cameron to trust him without needing to consult or negotiate with Nick Clegg and he wasn't exactly sure whether Nick Clegg was on his side. The man had ransomed him, but kindness from him wasn't necessarily personal. George was fortunate that Mandelson was twisted enough to ask the whereabouts of Boris Johnson instead of demanding an outrageous sum.

According to him, George had been rightfully very expensive. Of course he was worth a government secret or two, but Nick Clegg had not looked at him in the eye until he, in a humiliating loss of logic and control, had demanded to know whether it was he who had "disappeared" him.

In retrospect, Nick Clegg had neither the resources nor the deviousness required for the coup. George had brooded upon a frightening list of enemies who wanted him gone. In truth, Nick hadn't even been on it until he overheard his conversation with David. A still rather inexplicable conversation. But, George was realistic, he had missed a lot of what happened in government while he had been away.

He didn't miss cycling, however. His joy in learning the Conservatives would be in power was also heightened by the happy fact that he would never have to be seen cycling beside David in his abominable shorts in order to seem closer to the people and concerned for the nation's health, back when these things still mattered.

Other things mattered now, of course. Other than Mandelson, there must've been others.

It probably also mattered that he wasn't exactly sure where he was. Orientation in the countryside had never been one of his strong points. Put him in the middle of a major metropolis and he would never fail to navigate back to the hotel, but the fields confused him. It all seemed so...endless. It probably didn't help that he hadn't slept and somehow, he had rode beyond the leafy overhang of old trees onto the smaller paths.

The ground was very dry and the sun was bearing overhead. George looked behind him and saw two paths diverging. He had chosen unawares. Convinced that this path must lead somewhere, he continued on until he espied a tree and something red beneath in the distance.

As he rode closer, he realised that there were people under the tree, so close together than their shadows had merged. Beneath them was a red picnic cloth. He got off his bike and kicked the stand.

George had to shield the eye from his face. The woman saw him first.

"George Osborne!" The voice sounded vaguely familiar, disbelief and disapproval rolled into one. His name, repeated the second time, was by an infinitely more familiar voice.

"John, John Bercow?" he called out. The figures untangled themselves and stood.

"It is you, chancellor, it's wonderful to see you," John said, shaking his hand rather too vigorously while his wife stood towering beside him, almost tall as George as himself, imperiously flaring her nostrils at him while smiling and extending her hand.

"Did you come back with Nick?" she asked;, hostility now mingling with curiosity now that he was closer and she had ascertained he was really the long-missing chancellor, in the flesh.

"We bumped into each other on our travels," George said stiffly, "and we found our way back here."

"Until you became lost from Number Ten," she observed shrewdly, politely not mentioning what George knew what was an inelegant presentation. George had no doubt she saw the bike. "I hope no one drove you away. It is a miracle to see you back, especially after the revolution."

"Would you care for a glass before you make the return journey?" asked Bercow. George was thirsty, hot, and tired. Even Sally Bercow's curiosity couldn't make him decline the invitation. Anyways, John was there. For some reason, he clung to the reason like a shield.

Unfortunately, while Sally had remained unexpectedly silent, he had clearly overestimated John's friendliness.

After the second glass, blessedly cool if nothing else, George fell asleep. When he woke up. He was in a darkness. Defeated, he merely turned and swallowed the whimper that nearly came out of his throat.

-=-=

A thousand things can happen in an hour, or just one very important thing.

Nick sat in Cabinet listening to the thousand things and thinking about the one very important thing that would herald everything to come.

As if presenting a present, David had shown him a cabinet full of friendly faces.

This parliament was looking forward to a holiday. And for the first time in three and half years, it would have summer recess. And Nick Clegg's arrival had just rang the bell, metaphorically speaking.

Feeling faintly duplicitous, with blossoming bruises on the skin of hips and on his collarbone, Nick Clegg reacquainted himself with the cogs of the surviving government knowing that the inevitable reshuffle would see most of them gone.

David was sitting across from him, unflappable and cool, but George's absence felt conspicuous on his right. Instead, though his place card remained, pushed almost to the center of the table, his seat was occupied by Cable, who had shaken his hand and looked at him up and down in a frighteningly paternal manner. They had entered separately, but when Cable narrowed his eyes at David, Nick couldn't shake the faint suspicion that Cable knew everything that went on with them but was so far deeming it too unimportant to take much action.

He wondered if Cable knew Osborne was back. He had been reckless with David, but that seemed to matter less. A well-pressed suit could conceal a myriad of sins. People saw what they wanted to see. The red marks on their skins could fade, an indiscreet photograph could be blamed on doctoring, but the secret return of the chancellor of the exchequer, last known to consort with unsound economic policies and one of the disappearing lords, could go very badly if ill-handled.

"If Britain is still following the policies of the chancellor-" The minister was very new. Nick strained his neck to look at her, matching the place-card to her duties.

A sudden hush fell across the table. Nick looked across at David and just had a terrible thought. Someone knew

They found John Bercow waiting outside the office, strolling the hallway with his hand in his pocket in his casual suit. David practically physically shoved both Nick and him in at the same time.

"We saw George Osborne," Bercow said without ceremony, his face in that perpetual half expression between a smirk and genuine delight.

"By we-"

"Sally and I were having a delightful picnic when Mr. Osborne appeared on your bicycle, looking lost and irritable like the proverbial Man from Porlock. We invited him for a drink. He passed out."

"Where is he now?"

"We thought it better to leave him there," Bercow said thoughtfully.

"You thought it better to leave him there," David's sounded tense. While other people's voice might go high, his went low. By the last word, he was almost inaudible. Bercow, to his credit, was not susceptible to such intimidation.

"It's a balmy night and we gave him a blanket, a note, and a torch. I thought it best not to alarm anyone. Doubtless you all have your reasons." Nick couldn't help but note that John said "I". Clearly, his wife had something different in mind. He wouldn't be surprised if George's sleeping face was on her twitterpage. "I would be most interested to hear them on Wednesday." He looked between them again, eyes twinkling. "Good night, gentlemen."

-=-=

He was still asleep when they found him, as Bercow indicated, under a blanket beneath a tree. He didn't wake when David shook him.

"He hadn't slept since I saw him," Nick said.

"Wake up, George," David said more loudly, "unless you really would like to spend the night outside, in a field, with sheep."

Perhaps it was the threat that did it, or the fact that David was now lightly slapping his face, but George opened his eyes and looked blearily at both of them, though David doubted that he saw much of anything. However, he managed to stand and they stumbled through the path to the car.

He fell asleep on the ride back and this time, it seemed he was determined not to wake up. Getting him up the stairs was a bit of trouble, but George seemed entirely oblivious to the hands manhandling him. He was much slighter than David remembered, and with his face relaxed with sleep, he looked ridiculously young. Had it really been twenty years?

They got him back to his room where David pulled off his shoes, more or less tucked him in, and turned off the lights before returning to his own room where he sat sleepless after a shower.

It had been a very strange day, David thought, hoping that Nick would come, then smiled at the thought. He couldn't sleep. There were grass stains on his trousers and there were spots on the inside of his knee which still felt tender.

Then he heard a thump from next door followed by a strange, small, hurt sound.

Wrapping a dressing gown around himself, He entered George's room and was greeted by an unexpected sight: George half-on, half-off the bed, blinking with his eyes wide and Nick kneeling beside him in his pajamas, rubbing absently at his shoulder.

"Where am I?" George asked.

"Number Ten," David said. "Not the one in London."

"Oh. Right," George hauled himself up to the bed then looked around himself, frowning. "I got you both out of bed."

David started.

"I was on my way to the kitchen when I heard you fall," Nick tried to explain, then looked down at the carpet. With the yellow lighting in the room, it was difficult to detect the light flush to his face, but David was standing at the proper angle and saw the tell-tale spots of colour on his cheeks. Strangely mollified, David turned to his friend on the bed, who was looking at him, more tense than smiling, though if he detected the lie, he gave no indication.

"Did I hit you?" George was asking Nick who was now standing and moving rapidly away while David found himself moving forward.

"You missed."

"I had a most curious sensation I was in utter darkness."

"You were," Nick agreed, standing beside him. "The lights were off." David winced. The last meeting hadn't endeared George to Nick at all. Rather the opposite in fact. The disappearance of George Osborne had been a well-kept secret. An open secret, nonetheless, a secret that even Nick didn't know the full circumstances because no one did and according it would've been frivolous and dangerous to speculate.

"No," George said, briefly covering his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes; it made him look rather the boy, still. "Before you found me, and yes, I did remember that bit. Do not ever threaten me with sheep again, David."

"So, about this darkness..." Frankly, David thought George had a nightmare and the kindest thing to do for him was give him a glass of milk and let him go to sleep again, perhaps with some sort soporific reading material. He was just going to say so when he realised George was examining his hand.

"Where's my watch?"

"Did you have one?" aked Nick doubtfully. Wordlessly, George extended his left arm. There was unmistakable shape of a watch, where a band on his wrist had remained pale compared to the rest of the arm, pink with a light sunburn after a day outside.

"I didn't see one."

"Someone took it?" Certain George was on the edge of hysteria, David finally realised the door open and hurriedly went to shut it, effectively now trapping all three of them in George's bedroom. Nick looked horrified at the motion, but he couldn't reach the door without passing David and David was not moving.

"Perhaps it slipped off," Nick said, clearly content to let the matter lay. George threw a contemptuous look at him.

"My watch do not slip off.”

"Well, perhaps someone took it. Do you know who it might be?" They couldn't suspect the Bercows of course, but the distress on George's face seemed out of proportion.

"I was asleep." He was actually fretting. "Anyone might have taken it."

"Or you might just have dropped it." Nick, it seemed, was determined to be contrary. David rubbed the bridge of his nose. The day's weariness had picked now, of all times, to threaten him.

"We'll try to find it tomorrow. It's too late to do anything now," he soothed. "We need to retrieve my bicycle anyways." He approached the bed and gave a cry when George's arm grabbed at him. It was likely he was aiming for his arm, but had missed.

"Mandelson wants a Labour coup," George said, his fingers clinging to his shirt. "We are going to give it to him."

David yanked himself away. "I thought you said-"

"He wants the Labour back in power, perhaps with himself in the leadership position. I think Sally Bercow knew even if she's not directly involved."

"Why?"

"He said something strange before he let me go. I didn't realise what he meant until I saw her this afternoon," George said. David told himself that he looked sane.

"He told me to mind my manners, otherwise when the revolution comes, we're going to be first against the wall'."

Nick raised an eyebrow. Mandelson's words could be taken half a dozen ways even from the man's own mouth never mind when there were connotations and insinuations in what George was saying. Mandelson's singular attention to "Boy George" had been a matter of remark even in the last election. Given what he knew now, David couldn't be sure that Mandelson's predilections did not colour that statement.

"Sally said it's good to see me after the revolution," George continued, as if it should meant something to them both.

"What revolution?" Nick was wary. "The one you and David seemed to insist is coming."

"It's a Labour plot, I knew it," George said, his eyes feverishly bright. "The Opposition's effort to break the Coalition even after the first flooding, the early negotiations, kidnapping, the lords, the chocolate coins-"

"The chocolate coins?" Abruptly, David remembered the wrappers on his desk.

"Mandelson left them in my trousers." George said, then clearly regretted the wording, his eyes sliding away.

To give him credit, Nick was stonily silently beside him, whether it was because he knew or because he thought it was simply the safest response to the man in front of him, David didn't know. "How did that come about?"

"He gave me a suit which I binned in Paris, then I saw those wrappers in the kitchen," George laughed dryly, "In fact, I stepped on them. You weren't very careful with the rubbish."

"But those arrived a week before I received Nick's letter," David said, "before Mandelson could reach Boris and somehow manage to find out from him where we are." He started pacing, the fatigue that was washing over him ebbing away.

"There is a lot of 'if's in that scenario," Nick said, then, shaking his head. "Too many."

"There are still spies," David said, his head hurting with the implications.

"And they want us to know that they're here, watching." George finished.

And David understood why George was so reluctant to sleep.

-=-=

Everything had to move quickly. The House met, of all places, in a barn, but it was a session where George must make an appearance, must come up with a reason for his absence that would sound plausible without exposing the truth. Nick Clegg's endorsement would go a long way. That is, if he was still willing. George couldn't shake the idea that Nick was regarding him with something like faint hostility. There was no immediate reason for it and George would be angry if it was pity, but David was there and so far, the hostility was faint enough that George could dismiss it.

David was in his office working on the statement, consuming an alarming quantity of coffee in the process. They would play devil's advocates later, plying each other with possible questions from the opposition. The idea of the lords as a threat could only be implied at the moment.

"John Bercow is still speaker," Nick said quietly.

George looked up from his notes. "I know."

"His wife, as you mentioned, is actively Labour."

"What does that have to do with anything?" George said, looking over the highlights again. "Are you certain Edward Miliband is not going to harp on about his brother again?"

"George, I know what you were negotiating with Europe in all the years of the coalition, since its very beginning," Nick said.

George removed the pen from his mouth.

"You don't know anything, Nick." He said. It was a gamble. Nick wanted something from him, that was all. If Nick knew, it meant he was harbouring secrets of his own. It was an intriguing idea, but George couldn't see how to pursue the reasoning at the moment. "You shouldn't distract him."

The door opened, David walked in, tie-less as his wont these days, the top button of his shirt open.

"Distract whom? I'm finished."

"No one," George said at the same time Nick said, "You."

David looked surprised, then amused, but as his glance fell on Nick there was something unreadable in the smile that gave George the impression of some momentous secret kept between the two of them. His heart lurched, but distrusting his own reactions, he ignored it and urged both of them to practise the statements to be given to the house.

He shouldn't worry, he stared at the wainscoting inside his room. And, when that didn't work, he concentrated on the thought of the Opposition and how much he was still needed in government. Even if Nick had reservations about his involvement with the group, he wouldn't jeopardize the coalition. All politicians were ambitious of influence and Nick, George knew, was ambitious as any for there to have been a coalition at all. That he rather return to Britain as DPM only further evidenced his loyalty to that fundamental part of himself, of all of them.

Millionaire businessmen or baronets desirous of comfortable lives had no need to remain at a benighted country away from their wives and children. George was blind neither to the virtues nor the self-interest involved in them all being here. Patriotism was a paltry word for their aims. Responsibility and leadership by a government unable to reveal its location for fear of those she governed spoke of participation of a certain type of men. Men with grand gestures, secret hearts, and courage to face the courts of the future rather than the present.

And this was also why George feared Mandelson more than he feared the House. He had already proven how easily he could convince George that imprisonment had been for his benefit. A well-timed political upset spin as altruism to a population that could imagine change as the panacea to all the problems of the past would be equally as easy. For the Conservatives, it would be the comeuppance of the oft repeated "Thirteen years," that they employed in the beginning of this government.

Already, George dreaded the hands of the clock, counting down to certain eventuality, a sort of political fatality that he did not have the humour to appreciate. His plans have not all be accomplished. There must be time. He finished dressing for Parliament, missing the familiar weight of his watch on his wrist, and headed toward the car.

-=-=
Chapter 3: this other Eden, demi-paradise (R-rated)