Cathryn (formerly catslash) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
remindmeofthe) wrote2009-12-10 07:19 pm
remindmeofthe) wrote2009-12-10 07:19 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: "Fixes What's Broke," TToI, PG-13, Nicola/Malcolm
The final version to post to communities. Or, well, community. Substantially rewritten from the rough, including a different ending.
TITLE: "Fixes What's Broke"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catslash)
RATING: PG-13 for, of course, swearing
SUMMARY: Nicola Murray awakens at the tail end of a series of interesting decisions. Nicola/Malcolm; takes place not too long after 3x07.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1200.
NOTES: I am from the States; I've done my best with the British English in here, but if I've made any glaring errors, or even not-so-glaring, please let me know so I can fix them. Thanks!
NOTE THE SECOND: The title is borrowed from the political satire musical The Fix, by Dana Rowe and John Dempsey; the song is, appropriately, titled "Spin." It is my opinion that TToI fans should look the soundtrack up.
DISCLAIMER: The Thick of It was created by Armando Iannucci and belongs to the BBC. I take no credit and make no money.
I'm still not sure this is ready for public consumption, but it's likely to get jossed (Iannuccied?) to hell and back when the finale airs Saturday, so I wanted to get it posted before then.
SPOILERS for 3x07.
It's the shrilling of Nicola's mobile that wakes her, but she spends several seconds blinking at unfamiliar walls before the sound even registers.
Where . . . ? Oh fuck.
. . . that's got to be James.
"Oh, fuck."
She's alone in Malcolm's bed, at least, thank fuck for small favors, no doubt he's fucked off somewhere and expects her to be gone when he gets back - well, no problems there - but her mobile is still ringing, and she grabs and answers it without checking the ID.
"Hello?"
"Nicola."
"Terri?" She isn't late into the bargain, is she? No, it's still early. But Terri certainly sounds - well. Terri-y enough. Nicola pulls the sheet up over herself, as if Terri can somehow see her through the phone. "What's going on?"
"There have been some photos released, Nicola."
Nicola has always been given to understand that a phrase like that is supposed to send ice down your spine. Instead, she can feel the ice crawling up, starting at the small of her back and making its way to her lungs and heart.
"Photos?" she says faintly.
"I'm sending you one now."
As Nicola waits for the photo message to come through, she realizes distantly that something sounds different. At first she thinks it's roaring in her ears or something - isn't that also customary, when you wake up in the wrong bed after a long and bewildering day and a series of really interesting decisions involving a man you're fairly sure you never looked at quite that way before? - but then it clicks: the shower was running, and now it's turned off.
God, he's still in the flat. She was really looking forward to that clean getaway.
On the other hand, at least she's broken her marital vows with a man she can count on not to get clingy.
A nervous giggle erupts, only to be swallowed as the photo pops up on her mobile's screen. As incriminating photos go, it's not much. She's seen worse. But with the tide turning the way it has been, and the press latching on to and blowing up every little thing to do with Malcolm they can find . . . it's enough.
It's her with Malcolm as he unlocks the door to what is unmistakeably this building. She's laughing and looking anxious, and he's glancing at her with - ah. Yes.
Suddenly Nicola remembers, with a little flutter in her stomach (and lower), exactly what made her decide to get into that car with him. She can feel her face heating up as she lifts the mobile back up to her ear with a shaking hand.
"Terri -"
"Get a story ready, Nicola, I'm not even in the office yet and I don't know if Fleming has seen this but when he does . . ."
"Right." Nicola ends the call. She looks at the photo again and feels the ice finally hit her brain, and that's when the shock starts to break up.
". . . MALCOLM!" The shout comes just as he walks into the room, tying the sash on a dark terrycloth dressing gown. She tosses the mobile at him, not bothering to see if he's managed to catch it before she leaps out of bed to gather her clothes, dragging the sheet with her.
"They caught us, Malcolm, we're on camera, there are pictures, it must be all over the place by now, god it was stupid to come back to your flat, we should have got a room somewhere like normal people - well, don't you have anything to say? What am I going to do?" She looks up, clothing bundled haphazardly in her arms. He's studying the mobile screen.
"That's not bad," he says. "You photograph better when you're hoping like hell you've turned invisible and all the neighbors are asleep in their beds."
She gapes at him. "What? Is that it? This is going to destroy me, and it sure as shit isn't going to do you any favors if you ever want to get back in, and all you can do is compliment how I look when I'm doing the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life?"
He doesn't even look up from the display. His face is the blankest she's ever seen it. "Not my job anymore."
Nicola crosses the room toward him - or lunges, more like, tripping over the sheet as she goes - and snatches the mobile out of his hand.
"So, what, you're experimenting? Let's see what it's like to make the mess for someone else to clean up? . . . oh my god. You did this on purpose! I knew coming back to yours was too stupid! This is about that stupid phone call, isn't it? I wouldn't back you up, so you fuck me in every way you can manage as part of your grand exit will you say something and stop staring at me like that!"
He looks at her. "Either have a shower or get back in bed. The smoldering remains of your career will still be waiting for you in a few hours."
She thinks in passing of telling him that he can get fucked by himself this time around, thank you very much, but she can't seem to muster it up. She's one of the few who seems able to shout back at Malcolm when he's worked himself into a merry rage, but with him like this, quiet and a little hollow and not even swearing for fuck's sake, she just hasn't got the heart for it.
Well, she'll just have to snap him out of it first.
Her mobile starts to ring; this time, she does check the number, and gets an idea. It's not a subtle idea, but then she doesn't have time for subtlety.
"That'll be Fleming," she remarks. "I suppose I'll have to ask him what to do instead." She glances up at Malcolm.
The look of derision her ploy is getting is almost - almost - comforting in its familiarity. "Oh fuck off with your two-bit psychology."
Right, then. Nicola presses a button and starts to raise the mobile to answer, but before she can so much as draw breath for a greeting that would no doubt be cut off mid-syllable anyway, Malcolm grabs the mobile, hits the End button, and throws it at the bed.
"I could go to the toilet, take an enormous fucking dump, fish it out, and bring it to you to sort through, and what you'd have when you were finished would be a better fucking plan than anything Steve fucking Fleming could vomit up on his best day! Now go and take a fucking shower before I change my mind."
She gets as far as the door before he adds,
"And Nicola, don't ever fucking try to manipulate me again. That was a sad fucking display and I'm ashamed to have been in the same room with it."
Nicola just smiles to herself and goes off to shower.
TITLE: "Fixes What's Broke"
AUTHOR: Cathryn (
catslash)RATING: PG-13 for, of course, swearing
SUMMARY: Nicola Murray awakens at the tail end of a series of interesting decisions. Nicola/Malcolm; takes place not too long after 3x07.
WORD COUNT: Approximately 1200.
NOTES: I am from the States; I've done my best with the British English in here, but if I've made any glaring errors, or even not-so-glaring, please let me know so I can fix them. Thanks!
NOTE THE SECOND: The title is borrowed from the political satire musical The Fix, by Dana Rowe and John Dempsey; the song is, appropriately, titled "Spin." It is my opinion that TToI fans should look the soundtrack up.
DISCLAIMER: The Thick of It was created by Armando Iannucci and belongs to the BBC. I take no credit and make no money.
I'm still not sure this is ready for public consumption, but it's likely to get jossed (Iannuccied?) to hell and back when the finale airs Saturday, so I wanted to get it posted before then.
SPOILERS for 3x07.
It's the shrilling of Nicola's mobile that wakes her, but she spends several seconds blinking at unfamiliar walls before the sound even registers.
Where . . . ? Oh fuck.
. . . that's got to be James.
"Oh, fuck."
She's alone in Malcolm's bed, at least, thank fuck for small favors, no doubt he's fucked off somewhere and expects her to be gone when he gets back - well, no problems there - but her mobile is still ringing, and she grabs and answers it without checking the ID.
"Hello?"
"Nicola."
"Terri?" She isn't late into the bargain, is she? No, it's still early. But Terri certainly sounds - well. Terri-y enough. Nicola pulls the sheet up over herself, as if Terri can somehow see her through the phone. "What's going on?"
"There have been some photos released, Nicola."
Nicola has always been given to understand that a phrase like that is supposed to send ice down your spine. Instead, she can feel the ice crawling up, starting at the small of her back and making its way to her lungs and heart.
"Photos?" she says faintly.
"I'm sending you one now."
As Nicola waits for the photo message to come through, she realizes distantly that something sounds different. At first she thinks it's roaring in her ears or something - isn't that also customary, when you wake up in the wrong bed after a long and bewildering day and a series of really interesting decisions involving a man you're fairly sure you never looked at quite that way before? - but then it clicks: the shower was running, and now it's turned off.
God, he's still in the flat. She was really looking forward to that clean getaway.
On the other hand, at least she's broken her marital vows with a man she can count on not to get clingy.
A nervous giggle erupts, only to be swallowed as the photo pops up on her mobile's screen. As incriminating photos go, it's not much. She's seen worse. But with the tide turning the way it has been, and the press latching on to and blowing up every little thing to do with Malcolm they can find . . . it's enough.
It's her with Malcolm as he unlocks the door to what is unmistakeably this building. She's laughing and looking anxious, and he's glancing at her with - ah. Yes.
Suddenly Nicola remembers, with a little flutter in her stomach (and lower), exactly what made her decide to get into that car with him. She can feel her face heating up as she lifts the mobile back up to her ear with a shaking hand.
"Terri -"
"Get a story ready, Nicola, I'm not even in the office yet and I don't know if Fleming has seen this but when he does . . ."
"Right." Nicola ends the call. She looks at the photo again and feels the ice finally hit her brain, and that's when the shock starts to break up.
". . . MALCOLM!" The shout comes just as he walks into the room, tying the sash on a dark terrycloth dressing gown. She tosses the mobile at him, not bothering to see if he's managed to catch it before she leaps out of bed to gather her clothes, dragging the sheet with her.
"They caught us, Malcolm, we're on camera, there are pictures, it must be all over the place by now, god it was stupid to come back to your flat, we should have got a room somewhere like normal people - well, don't you have anything to say? What am I going to do?" She looks up, clothing bundled haphazardly in her arms. He's studying the mobile screen.
"That's not bad," he says. "You photograph better when you're hoping like hell you've turned invisible and all the neighbors are asleep in their beds."
She gapes at him. "What? Is that it? This is going to destroy me, and it sure as shit isn't going to do you any favors if you ever want to get back in, and all you can do is compliment how I look when I'm doing the stupidest thing I've ever done in my life?"
He doesn't even look up from the display. His face is the blankest she's ever seen it. "Not my job anymore."
Nicola crosses the room toward him - or lunges, more like, tripping over the sheet as she goes - and snatches the mobile out of his hand.
"So, what, you're experimenting? Let's see what it's like to make the mess for someone else to clean up? . . . oh my god. You did this on purpose! I knew coming back to yours was too stupid! This is about that stupid phone call, isn't it? I wouldn't back you up, so you fuck me in every way you can manage as part of your grand exit will you say something and stop staring at me like that!"
He looks at her. "Either have a shower or get back in bed. The smoldering remains of your career will still be waiting for you in a few hours."
She thinks in passing of telling him that he can get fucked by himself this time around, thank you very much, but she can't seem to muster it up. She's one of the few who seems able to shout back at Malcolm when he's worked himself into a merry rage, but with him like this, quiet and a little hollow and not even swearing for fuck's sake, she just hasn't got the heart for it.
Well, she'll just have to snap him out of it first.
Her mobile starts to ring; this time, she does check the number, and gets an idea. It's not a subtle idea, but then she doesn't have time for subtlety.
"That'll be Fleming," she remarks. "I suppose I'll have to ask him what to do instead." She glances up at Malcolm.
The look of derision her ploy is getting is almost - almost - comforting in its familiarity. "Oh fuck off with your two-bit psychology."
Right, then. Nicola presses a button and starts to raise the mobile to answer, but before she can so much as draw breath for a greeting that would no doubt be cut off mid-syllable anyway, Malcolm grabs the mobile, hits the End button, and throws it at the bed.
"I could go to the toilet, take an enormous fucking dump, fish it out, and bring it to you to sort through, and what you'd have when you were finished would be a better fucking plan than anything Steve fucking Fleming could vomit up on his best day! Now go and take a fucking shower before I change my mind."
She gets as far as the door before he adds,
"And Nicola, don't ever fucking try to manipulate me again. That was a sad fucking display and I'm ashamed to have been in the same room with it."
Nicola just smiles to herself and goes off to shower.