Work Text:
When Julian Fawcett regained consciousness, there were two figures standing above him. He sat up, blinking, his eyes not yet adjusted to the fluorescent hospital lights. Slowly the faces came into focus. One he recognised, his wife Margot, sporting her usual grimace; the other, a middle aged man with a rather unfortunate moustache and a large leather briefcase, was a stranger to him.
“Good evening Mr Fawcett,” began the stranger, his voice clipped and direct, “I trust you are feeling better?”
“I’ve felt worse,” Julian responded. Honestly he was waking up feeling more refreshed than he usually did, with no hangover to speak of. That, more than his presence in a hospital bed, was really what struck him as unusual.
“What exactly am I doing here?” Julian asked. The question was directed more at his wife but the stranger swooped in with a response before she could open her mouth.
“You suffered from a heart attack Mr Fawcett, a rather serious heart attack. You’ve been in an induced coma for a week while you recovered.”
“Right..”
“I don't suppose you remember any of the events that occurred before you came to the hospital?”
Julian thought about it. He remembered being at some kind of party fundraiser at some nondescript country manor. He remembered the champagne, and then being invited to partake in some harder substances. He remembered Lindsay, her hot mouth on his, his hands under that ridiculously tight skirt…
“No, nothing at all.”
Margot rolled her eyes but said nothing.
“Perhaps these will jog your memory,” said the stranger, producing a stack of newspapers from his briefcase and unceremoniously depositing them on Julian’s lap.
Julian looked at the front page of the first and felt his stomach drop. Splashed across it in big bold letters, the headline read: “FAWCETT COMES UNDONE.” And just in case Julian was hoping the article was about a different Fawcett, they had made sure to include a huge photo of him underneath it, smiling his plastic politician grin. He flipped through the pile. “DISHONOURABLE MEMBER,” screamed one paper, “ALL MOUTH NO TROUSERS,” yelled another. “SEX & DRUGS IN SOCKS AT POLL”, and honestly that one didn’t even work as a play on words, fucking journalists, they shouldn’t even be paid!
“I’m assuming you get the picture now,” said the man, picking up the papers and leaving them on the bedside table.
“Um, yes I do.” For Julian once felt slightly sheepish.
Margot was refusing to look at him while the stranger gazed down at him impassively. Julian started to get annoyed at the man’s presence.
“Excuse, but who the hell are you?” Julian snapped at him, “I’ve just been through a serious medical procedure and I think my wife and I would like some time alone!”
Margot looked as though she wanted nothing less.
If the stranger was surprised by his tone, he didn't show it.
“Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier,” he said smoothly, holding out a hand for Julian to shake, “My name is Charles Billings.”
Julian realised he did in fact recognise that face after all. It was usually present at press events, half obscured in shadow, watching with a hawk-like stare.
“Of course! You’re the PM’s top press officer!” Billings nodded in assent as Julian continued, “Apologies for not recognising you of course, but that’s all in the past now! I suppose you must be here to mop up my mess.” Julian fixed him with what was hopefully a winning smile. Billings’ face remained unmoved.
“Indeed I am.”
“Well I’ve heard great things! I'm sure you’ll have this dealt with in no time and then we can all get on with our day!”
“I certainly hope so.”
Julian felt better already. If the Prime Minister had his top man on the job surely this meant he recognised the value that Julian brought to the party and was willing to fight the media to keep him on side. All in all, not a bad day.
“Of course you understand Mr Fawcett, that such stories are deeply poisonous to the party,” continued Billings. Julian nodded, doing his best to look contrite, “It paints an image of the Conservatives as the party of scandal and sleaze; nothing true of course but image is everything. The opposition may not be able to form a coherent argument against any of our policies but a story like this is an easy weapon to bludgeon us over the head with.”
“Of course Mr Billings and you must understand it was not my intention to dishonour the party. This is not at all representative of who I am and I can assure you this will never happen again. You have my word as both a father and a member of Her Majesty’s government.”
Margot, so far silent, let out a full cackle at that. Julian glared at her.
“You are correct Mr Fawcett, no such incidents will happen again,” Billing said, opening his briefcase and taking out a piece of paper. Julian smiled, once again his political charms had won a man over to his side, “That is why you will be resigning.”
Or maybe not.
“Resign?”
“From both your role as cabinet minister and as a MP.”
For the first time in his life, Julian was genuinely speechless. He looked desperately to his wife but Margot’s attention was focused solely on Billings. She didnt seem surprised at all by this revelation, knowing her it was probably her own fucking suggestion! Some bollocks about needing to spend more time with Rachel probably. Julian clenched his fists into the bedsheets.
“You can't do this!” he protested, “The Prime Minister-”
“The Prime Minister,” Billings’ cold voice cut in, “Appreciates all you have done for the party but he agrees, as do the rest of the cabinet, that now is the time for you to go.”
Julian felt the walls closing in around him.
“You can’t force me to resign! I- I’ll simply refuse to go!”
Billings looked as though he had anticipated this response. He handed the piece of paper over to Julian.
“This is your resignation letter. All you have to do is sign your name at the bottom. Of course, it is entirely possible for you to refuse but having to fire you would reflect poorly on the party and even more so on you. So if you ever hope to enter into public life again, this would be the best course of action.”
Julian skimmed over the letter, held in shaky hands. It was the usual rubbish about needing time to focus on himself and his family and a pathetic plea for privacy that no journalist in their right mind would ever heed. Julian took a breath and looked up at Billings.
“So who exactly are you planning to get in to replace me? They’re all as bad as me, worse even! This is the party of fucking sleaze, you’ll never find anyone better.”
Billings and Margot exchange a meaningful glance.
“Oh no,” Julian’s eyes darted between them, “Oh no, oh fucking no, you cannot be serious.”
“Mrs Fawcett has been a dedicated member of the Conservative Party for years. She is well connected-”
“She’s my fucking wife!”
“Ex-wife.”
“Pardon?”
“I said ex-wife,” Margot’s voice cut like glass as she stared down at him unblinkingly.
“Mrs Fawcett and her lawyer have been in contact with the party and she thought it best-”
“Shut up,” Julian snapped at Billings, before turning his attention to his wife, “Margot you cannot be serious.”
“Oh don’t look at me like that Julian, we’ve never been fucking happy!” Margot exclaimed, “You have no interest in our daughter and now you’ve been stupid enough to make your affairs public! How does it look for me if I stay married to you after this? It would be humiliating! At least this way one of us keeps our position in society!”
The problem was, Julian thought, that from Margot’s perspective this was a brilliant plan. A woman scorned, with a small child no less, stoically taking her place in the public eye out of a sense of duty. It was bound to play well. And from the perspective of the party, Margot had all the connections Julian did, she was a continuation of all his strengths without the poisonous reputation. It was genius.
Julian began to laugh. It was an ugly hysterical laugh that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside him, unable to be controlled. Margot and Billings looked equally concerned.
Julian wiped his eyes, wet with mirth, “Give me the fucking pen.”
“I’m sorry?” asked Billings. For the first time in this meeting, he looked slightly out of his depth.
“The pen, the pen you brought with you for me to sign this ridiculous fucking letter with! Give it to me!”
Billings took a pen from his suit pocket and handed it to Julian, who was still laughing. Julian signed it, far harder than necessary and then handed it back.
“There you go,” he spat, “I hope the pair of you are happy together. Though,” he laughed again, “I hope you don’t expect her to remain loyal. And that’s coming from me!”
Margot looked at him in disgust.
“I’ll have the divorce papers sent to the hospital for tomorrow,” she said, “Hopefully you can sign those with slightly less drama than you did the letter.”
Wrapping her fur coat tightly around her shoulders, she stalked out of the hospital room, high heels clacking on the linoleum floor. Billings followed behind her, like a little duckling struggled to keep up with its mother. Julian lent his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, partially out of tiredness and partially to avoid looking at the newspapers that remained on the table. What a fucking mess.