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Judas, traitor, liar; these are the words that swirl through his head although he does his best to ignore them. Christ, there’re other words, much worse adjectives to describe him. He's never paid them much attention, why should he? It came with the territory. He is the all seeing eye of Downing Street, spin doctor extraordinaire. He's trampled on many a career path to ensure the longevity of his party and his power as the puppet master within government. But his latest kill is a bitter pill to swallow; and that has never happened to him before.
Nicola fucking Murray of all people has managed to crack through the deep crevice of his skull and squeeze out whatever morsel of a conscious he has hiding in his brain. Ever since her arrival at DoSaC she'd brought with her a special brand of chaos that Malcolm could barely maintain or contain. It was a sort of insanity that he hadn't come across before; because Nicola despite her faults and disorganisation actually cared about her job; but that didn't mean she was any good at it. Back at DoSaC he could overlook that minor detail about her, but as leader of the opposition she was a disaster waiting to happen. A disaster he had put a stop to two days ago.
And so here he was standing amongst broken promises and inevitable remorse , telling himself over and over again that what he's done is for the good of the party and that his cruel tirade in front of Dan Miller was justifiable; it is after all what he does best- tear down people so they understood how utterly unimportant they are in the grand scheme of things.
“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asks from nowhere, causing Malcolm to exhale sharply. He's been standing outside her front door for the past ten minutes, she must of seen him through a window or maybe her modest middle class house has one of those annoying cameras that alerts a phone when someone was outside the property. Yeah, someone as manic as Nicola would definitely have one of those.
“Malcolm, what are you doing here?" Nicola asks a second time, while he is still trying to figure out the answer himself.
"Malcom...” She tries again, his name coming out almost in a whine, “say something." The way she speaks is tentative and curious, sympathetic almost. Despite the fact he knows he doesn't deserve her sympathy.
Why the fuck is he here? That is something Malcolm himself isn't entirely sure of. Which is why for the first time in years he doesn’t quite know what to say. He had drank three glasses of brandy before calling his driver to pick him up and drop him off at her address; seeing Nicola in the flesh was very sobering though. Perhaps what Malcom needed the most was to resolve everything with the woman before him. She deserves that at least. It was more than just a professional relationship to him after all, given that they have been sleeping together on and off ever since Eastbourne. So maybe that’s why he feels that he owes her something, either way he needed the peace, he needed—
“What the fuck is wrong with you, why are you staring at me like that?” Nicola interrupts his thoughts impatiently with a hiss, her earlier gentleness gone and narrows her green eyes at him. Malcolm watches the lines etch into her expression, she looks exhausted. That's what this job did to someone. Still, there was something endearing about having a 5 foot 3 slipper clad Nicola glaring up at him on her doorstep.
As if reading his mind Nicola shifts, and straightens her spine to try and get more height. Not that it helps, she barely gets to his shoulders.
“Well first of all, I didn’t want to ring the door bell incase I woke up your demon seed or that useless husband of yours. So you’re welcome." Malcolm says, finding it easier to fall into one of his usual spiteful tirades than be honest. He glances briefly at the stairwell behind Nicola. She follows his gaze over her shoulder but only shrugs.
This is a mistake. He thinks, because the Nicola he knows would of been panicking by now. Or at least show some sort of emotion when it came to her family. This version of her is more like a ghost. He realises of course that it’s him who’s done this to her.
Of course it is. Seeing what he’s done to her in person is fucking scary. And a mistake, as was his entire affair with her.
Nicola's sullen expression gives away nothing however. “I thought you would know by now that James has taken himself and the children to his parents home in Edinburgh.” Her brow crinkles slightly as she speaks, as though she really expected Malcolm to still know everything about her life at all times.
And she wouldn’t be wrong about that. But Dan Miller is the focus of his attention now, not her, not anymore.
She is yesterday's news, and yet here he was on her doorstep at half past midnight.
“He's left you alone at a time like this?”
Nicolas furrowed brow looseness then rises and she crosses her arms in front of herself. “Go home Malcolm, I'm not in the mood for your mind games.”
“And there it is,” he announces dramatically, “there’s that's lack of fight in you that made me realise you were in way over your head,” Malcolm says causing Nicola's brow to rise even higher. Although he is careful to keep a neutral tone, his words carve a picture of betrayal into his belly.
“It’s late and I'm tired ,” Nicola says coolly, for once not taking the bait. “And besides it's not like you ever thought I --” But Nicola cuts herself off, realizing she doesn't have to explain herself to him anymore.
Old habits however, seemed to die very hard. Because just as quickly as she’s stopped speaking, she pipes up again. “I was always a running joke to you! To all of you, and now I’m gone so I ask again, why the hell are you here?”
Now it is his turn to ignore her...again, “I could of made you into a leader, Nicola, if you had any fire inside of you for it," he sighs and then smirks, not able to stop himself from twisting the knife a bit more. "You're the one who made yourself out to be an idiot, once the perception of you is fucked in the public eye there's not much I can do, you had to go." He says, but takes no satisfaction from the way her face drops.
Nicola quickly shakes it off though. Used to his vicious attacks on her character.
“Fair enough. And so you decided to ruin me but answer me this, did you have to pull me me apart so viscerally in front of Dan Miller like that?” Her voice breaks, and Malcom can see she’s fighting back tears. That was another one of her flaws, she is too emotional for her own good.
“I mean those things you said humiliated me and yet they flew off of your tongue naturally. I could of taken it from you privately but you had to show your new puppet just what a big man you are!” Nicola continues and takes a step forward to poke at his chest with her index finger. “I knew we weren’t Romeo and fucking Juliet but I had thought that a tiny part of you cared about my feelings considering you'd been in my bed not a week beforehand. I mean why couldn’t you of told me you wanted to get rid of me then? We could of talked about it like adults, maybe I would of, I don’t know, understood? At least the heads up would of been nice.” She says breathing heavily like she always does after one of her rants.
Malcolm shoots her a look like she must be joking. “Don't bring that into this,” he tells her simply. “What I said was nothing personal, it's just what I do. So fuck off with your melodramatic bullshit." He tries to sound like he believes his own words.
Nicola's eyes widen. “…Nothing personal?” She is astonished, and she is angry. But most of all she’s just plain sad. "You couldn't of been more personal if you tried!"
Malcolm at least has the decency to look ashamed, "I'm sorry, okay." He blurts out, “that’s why I came here. Not for a slanging match. I came to apologise.” It feels strange, but a weight also feels lifted from his bony shoulders.
His words seems to throw Nicola off guard for a second. He's sure as hell never apologised to anyone before and he’s positive that she's wondering wether or not she heard him correctly. Either way, when she starts to laugh he regrets ever speaking the words.
"What's so funny?" He asks sombrely, eyes narrowing.
She shakes her head and tries to stifle her giggling with a hand over her mouth before letting it drop down to her side after a few seconds. " I was just thinking about how an apology from you would of meant so much to the old me, the me that gave a shit about making a difference, the naive cabinet minister who had all these hopes and aspirations. All I ever wanted was for you to actually appreciate me." She stops speaking so she can laugh again, "but now I couldn't give a fuck. Not about the party, not about the people and not about you."
Her words sting him in a way he never thought possible. "Aye, I can't blame you there." He says as he crosses his arms, " I just wanted you to know, and now you do so I suppose there’s nothing left to say."
As if on que his blackberry beeps from his pocket and he pulls it out instinctively.
"No rest for the wicked." Nicola comments pointedly as he reads about how he's going to have to cover up another ministers drug scandal that the Daily Mail may of uncovered earlier that day.
He doesn't reply or acknowledge her until he hears a door slam shut. Malcolm looks up and Nicola is gone.
The resolution he so desperately sought out gone with her. He has half the mind to knock again, but he decides against it. "Goodbye, Nicola," he mutters to the door, then turns to walk away from the only person he regretted fucking over so harshly.
His shoulders slump but he still manages to quickly finish typing a reply into the blackberry before turning to leave.
He’s half way towards the front gate when he hears the front door open again. He stops abruptly and glances over his shoulder. Nicola isn’t there but the door is slightly ajar; it’s a silent invitation.
He knows he should just carry on and walk away from the shit storm that is Nicola Murray, but against his better judgement turns around and walks back towards the door.
When he gets to the threshold the hallway is dark, but he sees her silhouette just to the side of the open door, partly hidden behind it. He sighs deeply, he’s tired. Both physically and emotionally He’s running on fumes at this point, and by the look of her up close so is Nicola.
Her eyes are red rimmed, the lines around her lips are more prominent than he’s ever seen them, and he can see the little slithers of grey at the roots of her brunette hair. Fuck, they were both to old for this shit.
“Are you sure about this?” He asks, not elaborating further, she wasn’t as naive as people thought. No, there was a cunning streak that lurked within Nicola. He’d first seen it when he’d told her that after getting rid of the Headmaster at Ella’s school she could leave the place after a term. How quickly Nicola’s tears of guilt then had turned into a knowing look of understanding.
“Not really,” she says in the same tone she’d said she wouldn’t take the job in America a lifetime ago now. “But what else do I have to lose?”
He pauses at this and contemplates her words. Then leans his forehead down so he can rest it against hers, and cups either side of her head with his hands. Neither of them say anything, and Nicola pushes the door shut behind him. She pulls her head back and her fingers curl around his wrists moving his hands away from her face so she can silently lead him behind her upstairs.
Yeah, Malcolm thinks as he follows her, he regrets what he’s done to her. And he knows that in the morning he will betray her again by leaving before she wakes up.
So he can move on to his next kill.
Despite the feeling he gets in the pit of his stomach when it comes to Nicola.
There could be no exceptions when it came to politics.