Chapter Text
The elections were fast approaching, and it was time for him to take a personal look at the latest candidate dominating the opinion polls, in line to become the next Prime Minister. On the surface, the man seemed perfectly average, though serviceable: relatively attractive physically speaking, with moderate opinions, well spoken, but with little distinctive flair. Good political instincts, though. His one remarkable point was his wife, who might have even been responsible for no small share of his popularity.
Intelligence gathered on the candidate suggested, however, that the upcoming politician had a hidden side, but the incidents had all been hushed up in a very professional manner (though not by his services), and no tangible evidence seemed to remain. While not ideal, this was hardly a deal-breaker or the first time. Some ill-advised online activity lingered, but at least the candidate knew how to use a VPN.
He needed, however, to judge the candidate, and by extension his wife, for himself – many men cracked under pressure, and he needed to ensure that no breakdowns were liable to occur.
A small-scale soirée at the couple’s residence had been arranged to allow for a more intimate discussion. He arrived perfectly on time, bringing the appropriate bottle of wine as a gift. There were only a handful of guests besides himself, allowing him to closely observe his hosts and their interactions. (Given that they were in a familiar environment, they were more likely to let their guard down.)
During the evening, he finds himself scrutinising her much more closely than the candidate himself, who in comparison seems dull and predictable. He had not expected her charm – it was one thing to know that she was quite well-liked and popular and another thing entirely to experience her charisma at first hand, to be exposed at such a close range to her warmth. (The candidate, in comparison, comes across as wooden and forced.)
He recalls that she, the candidate’s wife, is from a lower middle-class background, though even he would be hard-pressed to tell from her manners or accent (she has cut all family ties). She had been a brilliant scholarship student at Oxbridge, made all the right connections and gone on to become a surprisingly young ombudsman. She had married well, to the aspiring politician, though in Mycroft’s mind the match was entirely to her husband’s benefit. He also suspects that her political views are decidedly more left-leaning than her husband's. She had then attained much public acclaim (or, in certain circles, notoriety) by defending low-income tenants against rich and powerful but unscrupulous landlords.
She is elegant if rather conservatively dressed – he suspects that it is a conscious effort to conform to expectations, rather than a personal preference (her earrings provide a hint of her real taste). While she displays a willingness to compromise on minor points, she is vocal about what she thinks is right; she is a vegan, which will no doubt raise eyebrows (though she does not expect the same of her guests) – when he asks her why, she speaks passionately of animal rights.
It is, overall, an excellent act from both of them: an adoring husband with a confident and successful wife. Her face is a carefully crafted mask of fond attachment, but he notices an involuntary micro-expression of disgust when he kisses her cheek. It is clearly not mere disdain for an unwanted public display of affection, but something rather more visceral. When her husband lightly places a hand on her neck in a possessive gesture (after she laughs at one of Mycroft’s quips), he is certain he sees her flinch.
Later during the evening, he softly follows her to the kitchen, with the pretence of offering to help her with the drinks. Her startle is entirely too genuine when she suddenly finds him towering over her at the counter. He apologises and proposes his assistance; when she hands him the tray, he observes finger-shaped bruises under the long sleeves that she has pulled up.
He is greatly troubled by the evening for more reasons than one. He had not expected to like her. What is more troubling, he thinks that she also likes him. This is quite surprising – people simply do not like his pedantic manners, icy exterior and oftentimes scathing wit.
Just to make sure that his suspicions are correct, he needs to meet her again in private.
He ambushes her one night as she is leaving her office (she does not seem surprised), and they have a quiet drink and a talk.
He (rather bluntly) asks her how things are between herself and her husband.
She avoids both his eyes and making a direct reply: “He’s been under a lot of pressure lately. And our relations have been difficult.” (It is not a lie, he can tell.)
He suggests in a wholly uncharacteristic fit of compassion that he can protect her and take her somewhere safe. A look of shame crosses her face, but she does not pretend she does not understand his meaning. She, unsurprisingly, refuses his offer.
He lets the silence weigh on her, but she is surprisingly resistant. At length, he asks her how she feels about the prospect of her husband becoming the next PM.
“Such a man should not gain real power,” she replies, looking straight into his eyes and carefully measuring every word. The hatred burning in her eyes surprises him; he had expected fear or some other more submissive emotion.
When they part, he tells her that he hopes to be her friend in case she needs anything. She expresses her gratitude, and the genuine smile that she directs at him thaws something long frozen in his heart.
After that, he makes his decision. She had been her husband’s best asset (warm, charming, sympathetic) – if he no longer has her support, other candidates are preferable.