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"That went well."
The door slams hard enough to rattle the frame. Gordon’s gone, storming out like a thundercloud, and for a second Ed just sits there, pulse hammering, trying not to swear out loud.
He pushes his chair back and follows him down the corridor. He finds Gordon already pacing outside, muttering under his breath, fists clenching and unclenching.
"Gordon—"
"Don’t Gordon me," he snaps, turning on Ed with that glare that could strip paint. "You saw it. You heard it. Peter spent twenty bloody minutes needling me, and then when I call him on it, he flounces out like he’s the injured party."
Ed folds his arms, trying to steady himself. "I did hear it. And I also saw you throw paper at him. Not exactly Prime Ministerial, was it?”
Gordon’s nostrils flare. "You’ve no idea what it’s like, Ed. He’s always at me. Always. Because he knows he’s safe — he knows you and Tony will rush to coddle him the second I snap."
There it is. Always Tony. Always back to Tony.
"Peter looks up to Tony, yes," Ed says, sharper than intended. "He always has. Everyone knows it. But you can’t keep acting like that’s a betrayal of you personally."
"It is personal!" Gordon roars, voice echoing off the walls. "You think I don’t see it? The way Peter fawns over him, runs to him like a favourite son? I’ve given my life to this movement, and still I’m second-best next to him. And Peter knows it, so he rubs it in my face every chance he gets."
Ed bites down on his frustration. "Gordon, Tony’s not in the room anymore. You are. You’re meant to be the one setting the tone. And yet, every time Peter so much as smirks at you, you blow up. You hand him the victory."
Gordon shakes his head, bitterness carved into every line of his face. "You don’t understand. He’ll never respect me. Not while Tony’s in the picture. Not while people like him are better."
Ed’s voice hardens. "Maybe not. But that doesn’t give you license to torch every meeting. You want to resent Peter for preferring Tony? Fine. But stop making it our problem."
For a long moment, Gordon just stares at him, chest heaving. Then he mutters, low and ragged, "I won’t forgive him. Not for choosing Tony over me. Not ever."
Ed exhales, defeated. "Then don’t forgive him. Just stop dragging the rest of us into your feud. Because I’m done cleaning up after the two of you."
He turns and leaves Gordon to stew, heading back to the conference room.
Alastair is waiting, leaning against the table, watching him with that dry look that says he already knows the answer.
"Well, if it isn't the favourite emissary from planet fuck?"
Ed drops into his chair. "He’s still hung up on Peter worshipping Tony. Says he’ll never forgive him."
Alastair snorts. "Course he won’t. And what did you say?"
"That I’m sick of playing referee," Ed mutters.
Alastair smirks. "Good. Now go deal with Peter. Gordon won’t change — but Peter might, if you push him hard enough."
Ed pinches the bridge of his nose. "Brilliant. So I get to referee and babysit. My dream job."
Alastair shrugs. "You wanted the job, mate, you chose to be a sPAD."
Ed glares at him, but deep down knows he’s right — again.
Alastair leans forward. "If you want to fix it, you’ve only got one shot. Force them together. Give them something they have to work on jointly. A project where they rely on each other, not you."
Ed stares at him. "Are you serious? Gordon? Sitting down to cooperate with Peter? He’d rather chew glass."
Alastair shrugs. "Doesn’t matter what he’d rather. It’s the only thing that might work. You either make them see they need each other, or they’ll keep tearing lumps out of you instead."
Ed rubs his temples. "Great. So the plan is to lock them in a box and hope they don’t strangle each other. Wonderful. Exactly the kind of practical politics I dreamed of."
Alastair smirks. "It’s a plan. Better than nothing."
Ed leans back, groaning. "A plan Gordon will never accept."
And yet, deep down, he knows it might be the only way.
While Tony, Peter, and Gordon’s quarrel spiralled into another round of bellowing, Ed hunched in his chair, eyes fixed on the table grain. Alastair leaned toward him, voice low and deliberate. “Heard something the other day… our lot have quite a collection of names for you.”
Ed stiffened.
“Not just Mr. Bean,” Alastair went on, almost conversational. “Milipede. North London Geek. Wallace without Gromit. Oh, and my personal favourite — the awkward virgin.” He delivered it with a dry little smile, as if he’d just remarked on the weather.
The words punched through Ed’s composure. His ears burned, shame crawling hot over his skin. He could picture it: the smirks, the whispered laughter in corridors, Ed reduced to some pathetic caricature. His jaw tightened, his hands clenched around his notepad. Alastair’s gaze lingered, assessing the impact like a cat watching a trapped mouse.
Something snapped. “Better a so-called awkward virgin than a bloody attack dog who thinks cheap insults are strategy,” Ed hissed back, louder than intended. For a moment, even over the din of Gordon and Peter’s shouting, the crack of his retort drew startled glances. Alastair only arched an eyebrow, faint amusement flickering, but Ed’s pulse thundered in his ears. The nicknames still echoed in his skull — cruel, childish, unforgettable — but at least, for once, he’d bared his teeth.
Alastair leaned a little closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” he said, voice low enough that the arguing ministers barely registered it, “there are ways to make the awkward virgin nickname die. A little show of confidence here, a well-timed retort there… and suddenly, they have nothing to cling to.”
Ed felt heat rise to his cheeks, partly from the sting of the nickname, partly from the way Alastair’s gaze lingered. “Oh, really?” he said, leaning back just enough to meet the smirk with one of his own, sharper, teasing. “And I suppose you’re volunteering to… instruct me personally?”
Alastair’s grin widened. “Naturally. It would be a shame to let all that potential go to waste.”
Ed leaned a fraction closer, letting the teasing tilt into something electric. “Well, if you’re offering, I might just take you up on that. Provided the teacher is very… persuasive.”
Alastair chuckled, letting the tension hang between them. “Persuasive is my speciality.” The corner of his mouth quirked as Ed’s pulse quickened, realising the private moment had shifted from strategy to something altogether more intimate. An idea he very much liked
Ed’s chest thudded in his own ears as Alastair’s smirk held him captive. Impulsively, he closed the small distance between them, gripping Alastair’s shoulders lightly. Alastair didn’t pull away; in fact, he leaned in, meeting Ed halfway. Their lips met in a brief, fiery kiss, electric and surprisingly grounding, a sharp contrast to the chaos of Tony, Peter, and Gordon still bickering down the hall.
When they finally parted, Ed’s forehead rested against Alastair’s for a heartbeat, both of them breathing a little faster. Alastair’s grin softened into something warmer. “Well,” he murmured, voice teasing, “that’s one way to make a nickname die.”
Ed let out a shaky laugh, still catching his breath. “I think that’s enough ‘training’ for one afternoon,” he said, half-serious, half-smiling. But the spark between them lingered, a private victory in the middle of the Cabinet chaos.
They barely had time to catch their breath when the shouting escalated again from the conference room. Tony, Peter, and Gordon’s argument had reached a new decibel level, the words tumbling over one another like a storm. Ed straightened, reluctantly pulling back from Alastair, though his hand lingered just a fraction longer than necessary.
Alastair’s eyes followed him, a silent question and a teasing challenge all at once. “We’ll have to finish our… lesson later,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.
Ed grimaced at the chaos echoing through the corridor. “Later,” he agreed, though the word carried more promise than reassurance. He adjusted his tie and squared his shoulders, turning back toward the conference room. The fight in there was still raging: Peter gesticulating wildly, Tony trying desperately to mediate, and Gordon looking ready to combust at any moment.
Alastair fell into step beside him, calm as ever, a counterbalance to the storm. “Remember,” he said quietly, just loud enough for Ed to hear, “whatever happens in there, don’t let them see it shakes you.”
Ed shot him a side glance, tension and adrenaline mixing with the warmth from their earlier kiss. “I’ll try,” he said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. He felt steadier with Alastair at his side, a small island of certainty in the middle of Cabinet chaos — though he knew once they stepped through that door, it would be back to shouting, insults, and political manoeuvring.
And yet, even amid the madness, that private spark lingered, a silent promise that some battles — the personal ones—could be won too.
Ed stepped back into the conference room, bracing himself for the storm. Tony waved his hands, half exasperated, half amused. Peter’s voice was rising, Gordon’s jaw was locked like steel. Ed opened his mouth, trying to assert control: “Enough! We need—”
Peter cut him off mid-sentence. “You think telling me to calm down is going to work?” he snapped. Tony smirked. “Yes, Ed, do enlighten us on how to behave. I’m sure the Cabinet will bow to your wisdom any minute now.”
Ed’s cheeks burned. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. He had no leverage here — his words, sharp though they were, bounced off them like harmless ping-pong balls. He could plead, reason, even scowl, but nothing made them pause.
Then Alastair moved. Calm, deliberate, and slightly amused, he leaned forward, letting his presence fill the room. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice low, smooth, and commanding. “Really. This isn’t a playground. And frankly, I’m not impressed by either of you right now.”
Tony froze, caught off guard. Peter blinked, mid-gesture. Gordon, though still simmering, relaxed fractionally. Ed felt a flicker of relief — Alastair didn’t raise his voice, didn’t threaten, but the weight behind the words was undeniable.
Alastair’s eyes flicked to Ed for a moment, and that tiny touch of warmth, that silent acknowledgement, steadied him like a lifeline. “Do continue if you must, but in turns,” Alastair added smoothly. “And Ed, do try to keep them in check.”
Ed allowed himself a small, grateful smile, knowing full well it was Alastair, not him, who had enforced any semblance of order. His own voice had power over no one here — but Alastair’s? That was absolute. And as the ministers reluctantly stopped shouting, Ed felt that same spark of private reassurance, a reminder that even in chaos, Alastair had his back.
Ed cleared his throat, trying again. “Look, we need a solution here. We can’t just keep—”
Peter interrupted again, waving a dismissive hand. “Ed, with all due respect… you’re not really in a position to enforce anything, are you?”
Ed felt the heat rise in his face. Tony smirked, arms crossed. “Exactly. Maybe sit down and take notes while the adults talk.”
Frustration coiled tight in Ed’s chest. He opened his mouth, then closed it, realising the futility. This is pointless. Nothing he could say would stop them.
Alastair, however, leaned lightly on the edge of the table, voice calm, low, and impossibly authoritative. “Gentlemen,” he said, letting the words hang in the room like a blade. “This ends. Now.”
Both Peter and Tony froze, caught by the unspoken power in that single command. Even Gordon’s simmering anger paused, the tension in the room shifting palpably. Ed exhaled quietly, relief washing over him, though he knew the credit wasn’t his.
Alastair’s eyes flicked to him for a heartbeat, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, a silent “well done for surviving that.” Ed felt a shiver of warmth run through him — a reminder that, in a room where he had no power at all, Alastair’s presence was a tether, keeping him grounded.
He straightened, letting the relief settle just long enough to steal a glance at Alastair, catching that flicker of mischievous amusement again. Even while the ministers were subdued, Ed felt the private charge of their connection, electric under the surface of Cabinet chaos.
The shouting gradually died down. Peter muttered something under his breath and slumped back into his chair. Tony rubbed his temples, and Gordon still looked like he might erupt, but at least the worst of the storm had passed. Ed sank back into his chair, chest still hammering from adrenaline and frustration.
Alastair leaned casually against the table beside him, a smirk softening into something warmer. “See? They can behave when someone actually knows what they’re doing,” he murmured, eyes glinting with teasing satisfaction.
Ed let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “I think… I could get used to having you on my side,” he said, half-laughing, half-serious, feeling a flush creeping up his neck.
Alastair’s gaze lingered on him a beat too long, and Ed felt that familiar electric pull. “Oh, I’m always on your side,” Alastair said softly, leaning closer. The tension between them shifted, quiet but unmistakable — the lingering warmth of earlier touches, the shared thrill of surviving chaos together.
Ed caught his breath and smiled faintly, a private acknowledgement passing between them. The room was settling into order, but somewhere in the quiet corner where only they existed, something new had taken hold. A spark. A promise.
And for the first time that afternoon, Ed felt a little like he could finally exhale — knowing that whatever the Cabinet hurled at him tomorrow, he wouldn’t face it alone.
By the time the last echoes of argument had faded, Ed and Alastair lingered by the door, the rest of the ministers drifting off into scattered conversations and phone calls. Alastair’s hand brushed against Ed’s as they moved to leave, casual, almost accidental — but Ed felt the spark, unmistakable. He met Alastair’s eyes, and for a brief moment, the weight of the afternoon fell away. No words were needed; the tension, the teasing, the shared triumph over chaos, spoke volumes.
Outside, the corridor was quiet, and Ed realised he didn’t want the evening to end. Alastair’s smirk softened into something warmer, a private invitation he didn’t need to voice. Ed inclined his head slightly, letting his fingers linger on Alastair’s, and together they stepped into the hall, leaving the Cabinet storm behind. Whatever came next, for tonight, it was just them — a small, stolen world of their own, where the chaos of politics couldn’t touch them.
.