Thick of It And Then There Was You

In what little time he had during his day, he enjoyed watching her at work.

Quiet, demure, patient, gentle; Sam was like something from a fairytale, if Malcolm had ever once believed in such things. The way in which she glided so silently from room to room, leaving behind a wake of organized thoughts, color coded folders and dated piles where once chaos had reigned, it truly was almost magical. Or maybe it was just magic to him. In a world where no one could sneeze and not fuck it up, the mere idea of someone being able to rifle through his office day in and day out and make things better than they were before often left him in awe, and if there was one thing Sam was good at doing, it was cleaning up the mess that was Malcolm Tucker; and she had her work cut out for her.

Samantha Cassidy, or Sam as she had introduced herself as upon her interview with him years before, was also his polar opposite in almost every sense of existence: where he was hot headed, she was tempered, where he shouted, she laughed, nodded, whispered, where he frowned, she smiled. How they got along so well was one of the few things Malcolm Tucker had literally no understanding of, but get along they did, and he was happy for it.

He hoped for what it was worth that she was too.

He was certain she was, must be, because whenever they caught each other's eye she smiled at him – more than a simple and humble respectful employee to employer type of smile too. Next to a marriage that had ended on about as many bad notes as most of his colleague relations, Sam was one of the few people in his life he could honestly claim had known him the longest (was it strange that those claims could only be made of a wife _and_ a personal assistant?). She was a friend, or the closest thing to it that men like Malcolm Tucker got – and she was always so damned nice.

Not that she didn't have a spine of steel! He'd seen Sam set men straight using words and gestures that he only hoped she'd known about before they'd met. It had made him glad knowing that she wasn't going to take shit from people, MP's or no. In the beginning he didn't want to have to hire on another person he'd have to worry about. Granted, he worried about her anyway, but not in the way he worried about his peers: doing their jobs, not allowing themselves to be caught up in the affairs of things that needn't concern them, making asinine, fucked up mistakes that he'd have to explain away and fix and take the blame for. No, when it came to Sam, the work was always done – above and beyond – and then some. What he worried about was working her too hard, too long, too late, or that one day one of the men she rightfully told off would go too far and the person making the mistake would be him, taking action in her defense because he'd be damned if he let anyone take advantage of her.

Malcolm Tucker was many things through and through – but he would never justify that, especially not with Sam. She did too much, and she did most of it better than half of the people Malcolm Tucker was suppose to be able to call his equals. The thought of someone disrespecting her was enough to send him into a blind tirade of slurred and colorful profanities (and it had on occasion), God help the person he ever caught trying anything worse.

If he gave it any thought, Malcolm would wonder why he wasn't really sure he felt the way he did about her.

Maybe it was because she was the only person he could ever recall who always greeted him with a sincere smile when he came in in the mornings. The only person who asked him how he was, how is nights or weekends were, his holidays (the few he had) and was always genuinely interested in what he had to say. She was the only person who had ever reminded him that he hadn't eaten for ten hours (she was also one of the few people still there for ten or more hours with him – even after being told to go home). He often joked with her about how she was singlehandedly responsible for upholding the British government – because if he didn't have her he'd have burned out long ago and with him would have gone the entire regime.

He had rather enjoyed how flush her face had gotten even as she laughed at that notion, though truth-be-told a small part of him hadn't been joking. She really had held him together in his worst moments. She gave him something to focus on, even if it was as simple as "don't strangle this hack because if you do Sam might be out of a job".

After a while it became a surprise how much he considered her in his daily routines, not in the sense that she was a thought but in that she was a necessity. He was even more surprised when he realized that it was an honest to God deeply routed fear that she would one day hand him her two week notice and just like that he'd be left without a dependable work partner…and a warm face to get him through his day – another person to laugh at his odd jokes and appreciate the poetic nature of his take downs and insults. Over time his closeness with Sam became less of a surprise, and more of just a natural occurrence. Phone calls in the middle of the night, her talking him through disasters and fuck ups and helping him gather his thoughts, him telling her that she could do better than whatever fuck she was currently dating, her telling him he was right, him telling her she was right…it became a strange one sided dependency, and damned if she didn't know it.

Yet she was still happy to help, happy to do what was asked of her. Once when it was an unusually quiet afternoon he looked up from his desk, right at her and said: "Next time I renew your contract it's just going to be a lifetime deal, okay?"

She flashed him one of her typical, amused smiles and returned, "I think a ring usually follows that type of commitment."

Malcolm laughed, always refreshed that she had a rebuttal for whatever he threw at her (only in private though, never in front of others – except maybe Jamie), and nodded. "You're right, I'll go shopping tonight then." They both laughed and continued on their day from then, but the joke had pinned a rather taboo thought in the back of Malcolm Tucker's head.

Maybe the reason he talked to her the way he did, thought of her with such high regard, was up late at the office or on the phone with her so often was more than being coworkers, more than being friends. He never thought he'd have the time to fall in love again, but he supposed that was the poetic nature of the emotion. Sometimes it just happened, and despite it being 'falling' sometimes the transition was so subtle you didn't realize it had happened until you find yourself fearful of being without the person in question.

He jumped when his phone rang that night, alone in his flat, and seeing Sam's name come up on the I.D. (it was one of the few names that didn't have an insult or derogative nickname attached to it) he picked up almost instantly, his heart quickening as he noted the time of night, hoping that she was okay.

"Sam?" He hoped his voice sounded normal, not worried or strained.

"Malcolm, hi! Sorry to phone you so late…"

He waited for a few seconds, when she didn't continue, he pushed. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," she breathed, "I just wanted to apologize for earlier today."

He frowned, trying to figure out a reason she would need to apologize. When he honestly came up with nothing, he allowed his confusion to show.

"Apologize for what?"

"Oh," Sam seemed rather surprised, "well…the ring comment. I've been sitting here pulling my hair out over how inappropriate that was."

Malcolm laughed even as she said it.

"This is just your subtle way of reminding me to pick one up, isn't it?"

He felt a little guilty at the sound of stress in her voice as she argued it, but he assured her that he had been incredibly amused and was not in any way upset, offended, or made uncomfortable by what she said – and to go to fucking bed and fucking forget about it.

When she finally laughed, he felt better. "Goodnight Malcolm,"

"Night love,"

And that was that.

The next morning as he made his walk into the office he became annoyed with the amount of dings his phone was making. Today was clearly going to be shit, as it had apparently already hit the fan before he'd even walked in the door. As he tackled pulling the contraption out of his coat pocket, he noted that it was instead a calendar reminder, not a text or an email.

His blood went cold as he read the reminder saying "Sam's Birthday".

He yelled his usual, favorite profanity much louder than normal, and immediately struggled with how he was going to make up for this calendar oversight. He called her, mulling over what he was going to say, and was almost relieved when she didn't pick up.

"Sam, hi, look I'm running a little late – if you could just field my calls until I'm in…" he trailed off, wondering suddenly if she'd taken the day off. Hanging up, he felt even shittier about the prospect than he had moments ago. Was she going to be in today? Had Sam ever worked on her birthday before? He couldn't remember, and he was growing angrier with himself as the seconds ticked by. He stood still, unusually dumbfounded when his phone rang back, his own office name showing up on the I.D.

"Tucker," he replied, hoping to mar the strain in his voice. He was both thrilled and oddly disappointed that it was Sam's voice he heard.

"Malcolm, just got your message, sorry, I was on the phone with - "

He cut her off.

"Why didn't you take today off?"

Sam seemed thrown by his question. But as the seconds ticked by he could swear he almost felt the devious grin on her face grow.

"Well I wasn't going to miss your presentation of that ring."

Malcolm cracked a smile, laughed a little even.

"Yeah yeah, all right. I'm going to be a bit late, okay? Can you - "

"Already on it." She cut him off.

Of course she was.

"Thanks love,"

"Mmmhm. See you soon."

He hung up and paced around until he found a flower shop, buying a bouquet of roses and a card, then rushed to Downing, determined not to let anything get in his way.

Sam would likely be at his 8:30 meeting taking down notes for him to later review – full of scribbles and side notes that ended up being more informative and amusing than the subject matter itself, so that gave him just enough time to set up the flowers and write something not completely idiotic in the card. He noted with some frustration the awkward looks from his peers at the roses, but made a beeline to his office wearing the angriest face he could muster – which ensured that no one was going to stop him.

He checked Sam's desk and noted with relief that she wasn't there, found a glass vase left over from his previous office owner's stash of things he had never had the balls to come and pick up, dropped some water in it and the flowers and took the next five minutes to stare at the card.

He fucking hated this.

Give Malcolm Tucker any political scandal in the world and he could rewrite it to best suit his needs, but give him a birthday card and he was as useless as…well, a marzipan dildo, really. Anything he could think to add was either callous or creepy sounding, but a generic "Happy Birthday" just wasn't enough.

Checking the clock he noted with growing anxiety that it was 8:55. Sam would be back in just under ten minutes and he still didn't have anything better than what the fucking cunts at the store would have already written in there for him.

Malcolm sighed and scratched his temple, reasoning with himself that when in doubt the truth was probably best.

He sat down, grabbed a pen and scrawled in his own very shoddy handwriting: "To a PA and a friend who has made one of the most hellish occupations on earth a little easier to handle. I don't have the skill with words to express how grateful I am to have you on this constantly rocking ship – but if it ever goes down there's no one else I'd rather be standing on the shite deck with."

Yeah…that was awful. But it was 9:01 and his time had run out. He popped the card and the flowers on her desk and bolted out the door to handle his first fiasco of the day.

xxx

It had all gone by so fast with so many shit storms narrowly avoided that Malcolm hadn't had time to check his phone, which was usually bad in and of itself because that was how he was generally alerted to _new_ shit storms.

It was half past five when he finally had a second, and after sifting through countless emails and texts, found the one he really wanted to read the most. It was actually a small string of texts, mixed in with work related bits here and there, such as:

'_Stewart is harping on about needing to speak with you, told him you were out saving Britain – think that eased his frustrations.'_

'_Nicola needs help wiping. As does Ollie. Seems they've been wiping each other and now DoSac's walls are painted with shite. S x' _

'_Ran into Marcus from the home office at top of stairs after meeting – regret to inform you that there were too many witnesses to push him down a flight or two. Apologies.'_

As he peeled through a variety of other messages, a few from Ollie, one from Nicola, and a few others from equally incompetent nobs, he saw:

'_Blimey Malcolm, flowers were gorgeous – was almost moved to tears by the card.'_

Later followed by:

'_You do know that this is only going to intensify any rumors of us sleeping together, yeah?'_

That stopped him in his tracks. He tucked the collection of folders he had been juggling beneath his arm and started a reply as he returned to Downing.

'_There's rumors about that?'_

Within seconds there was a ding, signifying a reply.

'_Going on for years, you didn't know?'_

He tried to formulate a response to that, but she beat him too it, granted it was not the reply he had been expecting.

'_You probably haven't eaten, yeah? Fancy late night office dinner again?'_

'_Don't you have plans?'_

'_Chinese?'_

That was a Sam way of evading answering the question – a technique she only employed whenever he asked her about whether or not she wanted to have the latest ex whacked; or a flat mate (when she'd had one); or a leery neighbor; or anyone for that matter. In hindsight, it was probably best she took that route – because if she'd said yes he might have actually done it, but why she wouldn't have plans tonight confused him. Sam had friends, family, surely she'd want to be anywhere other than work.

'_How about Italian? I'm buying.'_

'_Well of course you are : ).'_

He smiled and headed back to Downing, making sure to stop at one of their favorite restaurants, with a quickening to his pace, though he didn't really notice it.

xxx

Sam had her shoes off and her feet tucked up underneath her as they watched the evening news on the couch in his office. Their discussions ranged from the weather, the ineptitude of DoSac, weekend plans, Wonky Ron's latest BBC interview, upcoming concerts they wanted to see but would never have the time, by-elections, and of course, work.

Malcolm had his tie and suit jacket off and tossed to the floor, the top most button of his shirt undone as he forked through some fettuccini and grabbed another bite of bruschetta. Their conversations flickered back and forth more amicably then most he had these days, and for as stressful as days like this were, he always loved having the evening to wind down with her. It was nice getting to talk to someone that didn't make him want or need to insult their intellect at any given moment.

"So those backbencher files," Sam started, but Malcolm raised a hand to cut her off. He had been done working ten minutes ago, and preferred to let those wait until Monday.

"We'll figure it out," he answered her perplexed gaze casually. "I'm not worried about it right now."

"All right."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. Malcolm quietly considered her out of the corner of his eye, how even here in this manner she seemed so professional and _right_. He wondered what she was like outside of the office, what she wore, what she did, and he felt that perhaps the excuse of a relaxed evening, an impending weekend, and her birthday, he might have the right to ask.

"So no plans or anything, huh?"

Sam smiled, almost knowingly as she opened a diet coke.

"I wouldn't say that," she said, her eyes slyly glancing over at him. Malcolm wasn't sure what she was hinting at, or if she was hinting at anything at all, but the way her eyes danced over to him with that grin made his pulse quicken and his throat dry up just a little bit.

He smiled and laughed somewhat boyishly.

"I'd just think you'd been out with friends or something."

Sam sat back, twirling noodles around her fork.

"Who say's I'm not now?"

Malcolm smiled again. _Right_, he thought. They were friends, weren't they? Hearing it out loud was oddly comforting, like a gentle reassurance that he wasn't completely alone in this hell.

"More interesting friends," he corrected, grinning back at her.

Sam thoroughly shook her head as she smiled. If she was attempting to give an air of disappointment she was doing a fucking poor job of it, but he was pretty sure that wasn't her angle. Sam didn't play on deceit, she was up front and open. That was one of the many things he loved about her.

"I don't have any other interesting friends Malcolm, just some dolts from uni who would make Ollie look like he was worthy of a Nobel prize."

Malcolm cocked his head, his gaze flickering momentarily toward the telly with no real interest in what was playing.

"That's fucking sad,"

"Tell me about it."

Sam asked him to hand her the bottle of wine she'd been given from someone (she wouldn't say who); she started to open it and grabbed for two glasses out of one of his many cupboards. Silently and deftly she filled both cups, handing him one before taking a seat next to him – a little closer than she had been before, he noted.

They passed the rest of the night downing the wine and complaining about certain aspects of their lives, which eventually somehow led them to kissing – Malcolm couldn't really piece it all together, but Sam hadn't pushed him away and he was very, very glad for it because it was the first thing he could ever recall ever wanting so badly for a very long time.

Articles of clothing were unbuttoned and unzipped where necessary, some even sent flying completely in the passion of the moment, and for the first time he could recall Malcolm felt completely out of his depth, but Sam was so completely relaxed and in control, so he allowed her to take the lead and coaxed only where necessary, which wasn't often.

He found himself incredibly turned on by how confident she was, another aspect of Sam that would forever amaze him even if they never revisited this. It seemed she was quite good at deception after all – or perhaps that was too harsh of a judgment, maybe he'd just never seen this side of her because she'd never needed to display it. Now, he liked it, and knew he would want to see it all the time from now on.

There was no doubt in his mind now, he was truly an idiot in love. She was beautiful and strong and delicate all at once, a modern traditional woman, and even as he thrilled at the touch of her skin on his and her tongue in his mouth he knew his brain wasn't making a fucking lick of sense, but he didn't care. This was glorious. She was glorious, and she deserved so much better than anything he could ever give her, but he still wanted her and everything she had. Malcolm wanted nothing more than to make her laugh and see her smile forever. It was too much to ask, especially for a man like him, but as he drank it in he knew there was never going to be anything as pure as this and it scared him to think he might have to let it go.

When they were done, wound down, still covered in sweat and panting out the remainders of their ecstasy, Malcolm couldn't help but stare at her with renewed vision. The corner of her mouth twisted up in her characteristic grin, though her hair was now a bit messier given their recent activities.

"What?" she asked as casually as if she'd just caught him staring from over his desk, though the grin did betray a hint of something more.

He took a long, shaky breath and smiled, genuinely.

"You're amazing, you know that?"

Now the heat rose in her cheeks, and it likewise rose in him in every facet of his being. He loved that, the smile that followed and crinkled her heart shaped face, so soft and full of compassion and quiet, resolute strength.

He loved _her_.

Fuck, he was in trouble.

"You're not so bad yourself," she teased and raised her head up to kiss his nose. "Doing okay?"

His eyes trailed down the sight of her beneath him, wound up in his arms and so utterly his. He sniffled, smiled and tucked his head into the nape of her neck enjoying the smell of their mingled sweat and her perfume.

"Fantastic."

Slowly her arms curled up around his, and she sidled the curves of her figure into his. Somehow it seemed like a perfect fit.

"Good."

His eyes were closed, but he could feel Sam's smile and her gaze as it danced over his face.

"And you?"

"Great."

Almost instinctively their arms curled tighter around each other. Malcolm kissed the crook of Sam's chin just beneath her ear and delighted in the soft resistance of her flesh and how her chuckle was almost a tender coo, music to his ears and a thrill to his heart.

Malcolm realized that he always wanted her this happy, and he wanted to be the one to give that to her.

"So I think I'm in love with you," he whispered – only half teasing. Sam knew him well enough to pick up on it immediately. She wasn't going to make it easy though.

"Well that was fast."

He laughed at her, and they kissed again. He could feel the warmth of her smile even as their lips met.

Malcolm humored himself with the thought that maybe he should have gotten that ring after all.


End file.
