Fandom The Thick of It
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie
Genre Alternate Reality/Death/Drama
Rating PG (R for language)
Word Count 1299
Disclaimer The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC
Summary There was a morbid joke for years that Malcolm would die in the office. The thing no one could have anticipated was that it was Jamie who would.
Warning(s) major character death, potential spoilers for all series and specials of The Thick of It
Notes This came out of nowhere. Suddenly WORDS at some dumb hour of the night and I had to write it. Two ratings because I posted it places that have strict ratings guidelines.
Unintended
Malcolm heard the joke when people did not realize he was lurking just behind or beside them. He knew the kind of reputation he cultivated. Everyone said he would die on the job or in the office. Jamie never said it but Malcolm knew Jamie thought Malcolm would at least die before Jamie did. It was in the stares that were a little too long when someone important died or how Jamie might encourage Malcolm to go home an hour or two early than Malcolm might if left to his own devices. If asked, Malcolm would probably tell everyone he was immortal, but even Malcolm knew he would die before most of the people in the office.
It was the day after the prime minister resigned. Everyone was in a frenzy and working well into the night. Malcolm stared at the snack food vending machine. Everything sweet was gone. He made a put off noise and glanced to his left when he heard someone buy a bottle off another machine.
"You're going to rot your teeth," Jamie said. He struggled to get the water bottle's cap to come off. Once it did, he put tablets in his mouth and drank some water. "Surprised you don't have a fucking drawer full of that shit."
Malcolm rolled his eyes. "My teeth are fine." He moved over to the vending machine Jamie used and purchased a Fanta. He looked back at Jamie, studying him. He could see the headache pain more in Jamie's left eye than right eye. "I'd tell you to fuck off home, but we both know that'd be stupid."
Jamie snorted. "I'm as fine as your teeth are."
Malcolm opened his Fanta and took a sip. He checked to see if anyone else might arrive. The later the hour, the more popular the machines were. "Stand still," he said quietly and pressed his cold thumb just above Jamie's left eye. He rubbed the spot just a few times and then let his hand move away. "Better?"
Jamie nodded. "I'd ask you to do that again, but some cunt's probably about to come around the corner."
It was not twenty seconds later that Glen Cullen appeared around the corner. He looked at Malcolm and Jamie. "I guess all of us are working late tonight," Glen said.
Malcolm capped his Fanta and tipped the bottle towards Glen in a kind of part greeting-part farewell gesture before walking towards the entryway to the vending machines. "Always right on time," he said more to Jamie than Glen.
Jamie snorted at the reference.
"On time for what?" Glen asked.
"Nothing," Malcolm said. He and Jamie bid Glen goodnight and escaped back to where they were needed if they wanted to survive the prime minister's resignation.
The next day, Jamie and Malcolm met for lunch. It was time to strategize their next moves. Jamie picked at his sandwich. He had his left hand pressed against his left eye while leaning on the table. Malcolm was already half way through his own sandwich. Malcolm stopped talking about who was likely to be the prime minister's replacement and watched Jamie. Jamie's right eye was noticeably dilated. "Are you fucking on something?" Malcolm asked quietly, his accent suddenly thicker to help keep the question between both of them.
Jamie sat up and then leaned back against his chair. "It's this fucking migraine," he said. "I've had it all week. If I take anymore Paracetamol I'm going to become Paracetamol."
Malcolm's thumb slid against his forefinger. His eyebrows drew together and he frowned. "I've got some aspirin tablets."
Jamie shook his head. "Let's just focus on what we have to fucking do. I can fuck off once I know I'll have a job when everything settles."
Malcolm knew there were no other answers. The goal now was to survive and prove their worth. They had to become indispensable if they wanted to survive the transition. He paid for both of their lunches and walked back to the office with Jamie. Malcolm walked slower than he might normally and he kept one eye on Jamie. Jamie kept up with him without complaint.
Malcolm left his office late that night. Sam had already gone home half an hour ago. Malcolm walked down the steps, one of the last people left in the building. He slowed at the bottom of the stairs and then walked across the ground floor and sat down next to Jamie on a bench near one of the far walls.
Jamie had his elbows on his thighs, his hands pressing into his closed eyes. He made a low growl of pain deep in his throat.
"Talk to me," Malcolm said. He placed a hand on Jamie's back.
"Can't fucking walk without everything spinning, going to be sick," Jamie murmured. "This fucking migraine. Hurts like…. Can't fucking think." He made another involuntary pained noise. It sounded and looked worse than any headache Malcolm ever saw Jamie have.
Malcolm kept his hand put since he did not know how else to help. He began to wonder if he should take Jamie to the hospital or call 999. That was when Malcolm began to feel Jamie's shoulders twitch rhythmically. "Jamie," Malcolm said sharply. "Hey. Fuck."
Jamie did not answer. The twitching became more pronounced and he suddenly slumped forward down onto the floor on his side. His legs began to twitch as well.
Malcolm felt everything slow down. He dialled 999 and knelt beside Jamie. He did not know anything about first aid for a seizure. He followed the operator's instructions and moved the bench out of Jamie's way. Malcolm looked at his watch to time the seizure for the operator. It felt like everything was taking too long and Jamie was still twitching, his hips sometimes shifting at random.
Over a minute later, the convulsions stopped and Jamie's eyes closed. Malcolm let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. "It stopped. What do I do?" Malcolm asked the operator. Following instructions, Malcolm checked Jamie's pulse and pulled off his own coat, placing it over Jamie to help keep him warm. "He's still unconscious. Fuck."
Malcolm heard the ambulance sirens approach. He ran his fingers through Jamie's hair and then left his side to let the ambulance team into the building. Malcolm led them to Jamie with swift strides. "He's had a migraine for days. I found him doubled over on the bench," Malcolm said. "It went straight to fucking hell right after." He watched the medical team assess Jamie.
"…not breathing," one of the paramedics reported to the team. He began to preform CPR.
Malcolm felt something figuratively shoot through his brain, spine, and organs. He was watching and listening, but he was not completely processing what he saw or heard. Time elongated. Jamie still was not breathing. The paramedic kept up CPR, but Jamie did not breathe. Malcolm watched the paramedic give up on CPR, but Malcolm could not hear the paramedic decide that Jamie was dead as if his brain decided it no longer understood English. Malcolm did not even blink until one of the paramedics touched him on the arm to check on him.
The police arrived. Everyone had questions. What Malcolm said and did melted into a hazy memory. Malcolm would not get his coat back until a cause of death could be established. Someone mentioned brain aneurysms.
When Malcolm got home, he still felt numb from his head to his feet. He gripped his keys so tight that their teeth left imprints in his palm. He leaned back against the door and slid down it, his knees bent. The keys fell to the floor and his vision became blurred. Tears began to fall and, for the first time in decades, Malcolm sobbed.
The End