Fandom The Thick of It
Character(s)/Pairing(s) Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie
Genre Alternate Reality/Drama/Hurt-Comfort/Medical/Slash
Rating PG-13 (R for language)
Word Count 7,392
Disclaimer The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC
Summary Fic request fill. As things adjust after the prime minister resigns, Jamie's constant migraine turns out to be a cerebral aneurysm, which affects the lives of those around him including Malcolm.
Warning(s) medical peril, paramedics, seizures, potential spoilers for all series and specials of The Thick of It
Notes I wrote a fic not long ago where Jamie died of a cerebral aneurysm. A reviewer requested I write a fic in which Jamie survives instead, and so I felt up to the challenge. I did lot of research for this fic (and the other one for that matter) so that I could incorporate reality instead of trying to guess at it. I'm not sure how accurate this will end up being, but once I decided where the damage must have occurred, I committed to the fic. This fic was hard. Two ratings because some places I post to want accurate ratings.
Everything Changes
When the prime minister resigned, there was a lot of reshuffling. Somehow, Malcolm slid right back where he was, but Jamie went to a job that kept him out of Malcolm's immediate sphere. While they could not gang up on people together outside of party functions, Malcolm and Jamie still saw each other regularly. Tonight they were at Jamie's house, which was just slightly smaller than Malcolm's was and decorated in dark earth tones.
"I can't believe you fucking hit him," Jamie said. He handed Malcolm a glass of wine and picked up his own glass, which he had filled not even half the amount he might normally pour for himself.
"I can't either," Malcolm admitted. The wine smelled fragrant and sweet. He sipped it and followed Jamie to the sofas where they had a view of the garden and the sky. "He's not pressing charges."
"Probably by an act of God," Jamie said. He frowned and settled down onto the smaller sofa in the room. Malcolm sat down on the other cushion. They existed quietly. It was late and everything out the window was dark. Jamie set his glass aside and rubbed his face. He pressed his fingers against his left eye and rubbed it gently.
"Another migraine?" Malcolm asked.
"Same one," Jamie said. "Fuck." He leaned forward and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to relieve the pressure in his head.
Malcolm reached out and ran his fingers up along the back of Jamie's neck. He could feel the strain and tension in Jamie's muscles. They had known each other for over two decades now. Jamie accepted the familiar touch as Malcolm's calloused fingers rubbed gently.
"Take something," Malcolm said.
"Can't," Jamie mumbled.
Malcolm frowned deeper. His fingers moved from Jamie's neck into his hair, rubbing his head carefully.
Jamie sat up after a while and Malcolm's hand slipped away. Jamie leaned back against the cushions and sighed. "Sorry. I can't fucking think." He frowned. "They're probably enjoying this. They split us up on fucking purpose."
"I know," Malcolm said. "Too terrified of their attack dogs together, but we're too beneficial to be put down."
"Were at least," Jamie said. "I've got a permanent migraine and you just bit someone." He stared off into the darkness of the garden.
Malcolm watched Jamie. Jamie's eyes were dilated despite the dim light. Malcolm wondered how much Jamie had gone over his pain killer allotment for a twenty-four hour cycle.
Jamie looked over at Malcolm. "Oh for fuck's sake, stop staring," he said. "My head isn't actually going to fucking explode."
Malcolm picked his wine glass back up and averted his eyes. "I'm not fucking expecting it to," he said. Malcolm sipped his wine and they fell back into companionable silence.
It was days later. Usually by now, Jamie would have sat down across from Malcolm at lunch and told him what they were doing for Malcolm's birthday. It was something they had always done since the early 90's. Malcolm would do the same on Jamie's birthday. Earlier in the year, he had taken Jamie to a concert of a band they had seen repeatedly together over the years. However, birthdays were the last thing on Malcolm's mind today. Everything started badly when Nicola Murray went on BBC Radio 5 against Peter Mannion on a late night show and grew increasingly worse as the day wore on from there. Nicola Murray and the Magical Ministry Tour was not Malcolm's only problem either. He was near Jamie's office finishing his portion of the clean up on the BBC Radio 5 mess when he took a detour to Jamie's office.
Jamie's secretary looked up from her desk and then waved Malcolm on through. Malcolm slipped into Jamie's office and closed the door behind him before saying anything. His eyes adjusted to the minimal lighting. He observed Jamie for a long time and then said, "For fuck's sake, go home."
Jamie looked up from where he had been squinting at the computer screen slowly typing an e-mail. His monitor seemed to be at the lowest brightness setting. "Fuck, Malcolm, I forgot what I was typing." Jamie rubbed his face and went back to squinting at the dim screen.
Malcolm frowned. "Have you seen a doctor?"
"Don't fucking start," Jamie said. He worked at reading over his e-mail response and then hit send. Jamie ran his hands through his hair. He looked at the clock. It was a reasonable hour to leave, though Jamie tended to work four more hours on a normal workday.
Malcolm leaned over the desk then grasping onto Jamie's tie. He tugged and Jamie rolled closer on his own volition. Malcolm let go of Jamie's tie and pressed his fingers just under Jamie's left eyebrow. He felt along the ridge, exploring, but he found no bumps or evidence of any inflammation. Jamie let him do this, instinctively moving into the touches when Malcolm applied pressure to the area. "Does it ever stop?" Malcolm asked. He let his hand move away.
Jamie opened his eyes and looked up at Malcolm, blinking as though his vision was blurry. "Sometimes." It looked like a lie, but it was hard to read Jamie in dim light. Jamie stopped blinking and held Malcolm's gaze. "Alright. I'll fuck off home." He got up from his desk.
Malcolm grabbed Jamie's coat off its hook and helped him into it. "Those cunts planning something," Malcolm said. "If you pass out now, you'll give them everything they want."
"I know," Jamie said. "Some kind of divide and fuck over." He fumbled with the buttons on his coat and then gave up with them. Jamie led Malcolm out of his office and let his secretary know he would be leaving. Malcolm walked with Jamie until Malcolm had to leave to take care of more pressing matters.
Malcolm's birthday began with a cake from Tom at a dumb hour of the night. Malcolm cut it in half and gave Sam the top half to take home. In a few days' time, Tom would be overseas. Jamie still had the migraine, but could not get to the doctor until after he returned from Tom's overseas trip. As Tom's trip began, Malcolm had more to deal with when the press began to suggest Nicola should challenge Tom for the position of party leader.
Malcolm was in his office with the television on, watching as the Nicola story died down. He rubbed his face and looked up at his door when Sam walked in with a well-timed snack. Malcolm took the muffin with a thank you from her and started to tear sections of it off to eat.
Sam looked at the television and frowned. "He looks very rough now," she said.
Malcolm looked up at the television. There was a shot of Tom and his team walking through Washington D.C. "Tom's a half-blind dog that nobody knows what to do with," he said.
"I mean Jamie," Sam said.
Malcolm looked at the television. After a few seconds, Jamie appeared towards the back of the group. He was keeping out of the camera as best as possible. He looked like he had not slept in days. Malcolm could tell the migraine might be getting worse. He frowned.
"Are you going to be all right?" Sam asked quietly after a moment.
"Yeah," Malcolm said. He waved her along so he could continue working.
It was the day Tom and his team came home from the trip overseas. They had been home for several hours now. Malcolm was out of the office for most of the morning. When he returned, he paused at Sam's desk for a quick check on things. "Any messages?"
Sam rattled the messages off quickly, pausing between them so they could each settle in Malcolm's memory. Once she was done with the messages, she ran her tongue along her lips and lowered her voice so only Malcolm could hear. "There's also a rumour that Jamie didn't come in this morning." She held Malcolm's gaze. "I heard that he didn't call in."
Malcolm frowned. "Thanks." He took care of what he could and on his lunch hour, he rang Jamie, purposefully dialling Jamie's home number instead of his mobile.
Jamie answered on the seventh ring. "What?" he mumbled in a thick, sleepy accent. There was a pause. "Jesus. Fuck." The sound of slipping, sliding, and then landing on the floor with a thud followed punctuated by a grunt of pain.
"Just stay home," Malcolm said. "Do you need anything?"
Jamie let out a long sigh. "A time machine?" He paused. "Bring me food? I'll…" Jamie abruptly stopped speaking.
Malcolm frowned. "Jamie?" There was no answer. "Jamie?" Still no answer. Malcolm looked at his mobile screen, but the call had not disconnected. "Fucking piece of shit," he mumbled and scowled at the phone.
"…pay you back. Use your key," Jamie said after twenty or thirty seconds of absolute silence.
Malcolm wondered what kind of glitch in the mobile network could have caused the delay. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He was not sure if Jamie was experiencing the same strange silence. "Alright. I'll be there shortly," Malcolm said. He was already heading on his way.
"I'll see you then," Jamie said distantly. "Bye." The call ended.
Malcolm brought sandwiches, crisps, and water. Malcolm and Jamie both had keys to each other's residences since the mid-nineties after Malcolm had over-worked himself to the point he slept for two days in a row. Malcolm let himself into Jamie's house and set the food down by the front door before locking it back up. "It's me," Malcolm called out. He received no response. Malcolm left the food by the door and walked around the ground floor of the home. Jamie was not in any of the rooms. Malcolm went upstairs.
Jamie was in the bedroom, sitting on the floor at his bedside. He was still dressed from his flight home, completely rumpled and smelling of sweat and sleep. He had his hands over his eyes and let out a small groan of pain when he heard Malcolm enter the room. There was a white, foamy vomit on the carpet near Jamie.
"Fuck," Malcolm said. He was not sure what to do or where to begin. He stepped cautiously around the vomit and knelt across from Jamie. "Talk to me." He ran his fingers through Jamie's hair, trying to coax him to look up so Malcolm could see his eyes.
"Can't think," Jamie murmured and kept his hands firmly over his eyes. "Can't…" he paused to think, "move." Another pause. "Hurts. Fuck, Malcolm, it hurts." Jamie whimpered.
Malcolm felt numb. He never heard Jamie whimper ever. Malcolm reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his mobile. "We're going to hospital." He dialled emergency services, not even waiting to hear affirmation or protest from Jamie. He coaxed Jamie's hands away and carefully eased Jamie's chin up so he could look at Jamie's eyes. Jamie's eyes were dilated despite the dim light in the room. Malcolm let go of Jamie's chin.
"Fucking hell, tell them to…" Jamie stopped speaking. His breathing became shallow and his whole body and brain seemed to be paused.
"No," Malcolm whispered. It was terrifying, watching Jamie just disconnect from himself. It reminded Malcolm of the pause during their earlier conversation.
Emergency services answered Malcolm's call. He heard the operator talking without registering what the operator said. Malcolm blinked. "I've got a forty-five-year-old man who's…fucked," he said. Malcolm knew that was a bad description. "He's had a migraine for days. He's been sick on the floor. He just stopped talking abruptly." Malcolm began to answer questions and followed instructions. He eased Jamie onto his side and made certain that the area was clear in case Jamie might begin to convulse. Malcolm took off his coat and put it over Jamie to help keep him warm.
"…hurry up," Jamie said quietly as though he said his full sentence with no pausing.
"What?" Malcolm asked.
"Tell them to hurry up," Jamie sad. He frowned and looked at Malcolm and then the coat as if he had no concept of time moving while his brain was on standby.
"They are," Malcolm sad. He remained kneeling at Jamie's side. He put a firm hand on Jamie's shoulder. He kept the mobile near his ear in case he had to respond to the operator. They could hear the ambulance sirens approach. "I have to let them inside," Malcolm said to Jamie. He ran the backs of his fingers along Jamie's cheek once and then left to head downstairs.
The paramedics assessed Jamie while Malcolm watched. Malcolm turned his phone off when it kept making noise. The party, for now, could wait.
Jamie mentioned a stiff neck and blurry vision. As the paramedics asked Jamie to smile to check for facial drooping, Jamie suddenly seemed to wilt. His hands began to twitch, which soon travelled to his arms, his torso, and his legs. The twitching was slow with the occasional shift of his joints. The paramedics worked quickly. They lifted Jamie into the stretcher and started carrying him down the stars. Malcolm was swift to follow them. He almost forgot to lock the door after they all left. Soon, the ambulance sped away to the hospital.
The seizure tapered off after a few minutes. Jamie let out a pained, exhausted groan. Malcolm filled in what information he knew, about the pain near Jamie's eye and the sensitivity to light. Once inside the hospital, staff whisked Jamie away for a CT-scan and Malcolm was left to wait. Malcolm rubbed his face and looked at his watch for the first time since leaving the office. It was well past his allotted time for lunch. Malcolm sighed and rang Sam.
"I'm going on holiday, starting now," Malcolm said. "Today, tomorrow, maybe longer." He paced about the waiting area. "Jesus, Sam…" It was not his place to tell her what happened, but his voice waivered and he took in a deep breath.
"He's going to be all right," Sam said quietly, not needing explanations. "Do what you have to do." Malcolm could hear her fingers moving across the keyboard, already constructing ways to shift meetings and clear his schedule.
"I know," Malcolm said, but he was not certain of anything. "Thank you," he said. They bid each other farewell and Malcolm turned his mobile back off. He ran his hands through his hair and sat. It was all he could do now.
The CT-scan showed blood leaking into Jamie's brain, likely from a ruptured aneurysm. He went into surgery. Sixty percent of patients who survived an aneurysm died of either cerebral vasospasm or the aneurysm bleeding again after surgery. The shortest Jamie would be in the hospital was two weeks, but it could be longer. It all depended on the size of the aneurysm. There was even a possibility that the doctors might put Jamie into a medically induced coma to help reduce the possibility of complications. Jamie was lucid enough to give his own consent for the impending surgery and consent for the staff to speak to Malcolm and Jamie's siblings about the situation.
Malcolm and Jamie were each other's emergency contact. They had been for over five years now. Malcolm had the number of one of Jamie's siblings on his mobile. He took a moment to digest everything the doctor told him. Malcolm dialled the number and waited. He heard the answering service on the other side of the line pick up and let out a sigh. Malcolm bowed his head and put his thumb and forefinger against his forehead. "This is Malcolm Tucker," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "Jamie is in the hospital. It's serious." He paused and then recited his mobile number and advised that the sibling ring him as soon as they could. Malcolm put his mobile on vibrate. Over the years, he met all of Jamie's siblings more than once over the decades. They were all older than both Malcolm and Jamie and retired.
Malcolm's mind wandered to the past, the present, and the future. This was not the first time he was in the waiting room while Jamie was in emergency surgery. The last time was an appendectomy ten years ago. Malcolm's mind went through the recent migraine, and the signs they both should have recognized. Malcolm went through the list of things he would have to do when he got a chance to go back to Jamie's house. He had left food by the door and there was the sick to clean up in Jamie's bedroom. Malcolm did not know what would happen next. His mind explored the more morbid possibilities.
A couple hours later, Malcolm spoke to one of Jamie's siblings who would pass the information along to the rest. It was now a few hours after that and an hour into Friday. One of Jamie's siblings, maybe more, would be on a train as soon as possible and in London in several hours. Malcolm ignored any business-related contact who tried to call him or text him. He had not checked his e-mails since he was in the office. Malcolm only remembered to eat when his stomach rumbled and he felt nauseous. The hospital food was tasteless.
When staff came to speak with Malcolm, Jamie was out of surgery and in the Intensive Care Unit. For now, Jamie appeared able to communicate with staff, but he was groggy and woozy from surgery and the pain medication. He would only be allowed a few minutes so Jamie could rest. There was hand sanitizer mounted on the wall near Jamie's room. Malcolm scrubbed his hands with it as per instruction and went into the room.
Jamie had his eyes closed and was hooked up to a variety of machines monitoring his heart rate and other vitals. Malcolm took everything in quietly. It was overwhelming. His eyes kept returning to the bandages on Jamie's head. Malcolm sat on the chair at Jamie's bedside. The heart monitor beeped steadily. Malcolm was quiet for a long while. He pulled the chair closer and ran his fingers along Jamie's hand, feeling Jamie's fingers twitch underneath his touch. Jamie's hand was warm and his fingers curled instinctively when Malcolm's hand grasped it. They stayed like that quietly until Malcolm had stayed as long as the staff would let him.
Malcolm went to Jamie's house instead of his own. He cleaned up the sick on the carpet and made the bed. He gathered the food that sat out for hours and threw it in the bins. Once he made certain that nothing was left on and there were no possible problems lurking, Malcolm went home to get what sleep he could.
The next day one of Jamie's brothers and one of Jamie's sisters arrived. They met with Malcolm for lunch and let him know the current situation. The next week to week and a half would be the most critical part of his recovery when the chances of the aneurysm reopening and killing Jamie was highest. The doctors said the damage so far was likely towards the back of Jamie's brain. How that affected him might not be evident immediately. Jamie's siblings thanked Malcolm for all he did for their littlest brother.
Malcolm visited Jamie towards the end of visiting hours and stayed until visiting hours ended. Frequently, Jamie was not awake when Malcolm visited. When Malcolm arrived on Sunday night, Jamie had his eyes closed, sometimes letting out pained noises. The surgery and aneurysm caused severe headaches. Jamie took a deep breath and his fingers flexed, reaching out stiffly, weakly.
Malcolm ran his fingers along Jamie's palm. Jamie's fingers loosely curved around Malcolm's hand and Malcolm took a firm grip on Jamie's hand in turn. Jamie's eyes opened and he looked at Malcolm. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his eyes moved to the curl in the middle of Malcolm's forehead and the way his fleece collar flared at his neck. Jamie breathed deeply, and looked like he was deliberately trying to smell all the scents in the air. "Malcolm…?" Jamie asked after a long moment, his voice very quiet, uncertain.
"Yeah," Malcolm said. His own eyebrows furrowed and he watched Jamie search his face.
Jamie closed his eyes again and then opened them with a grimace. "I don't…" his voice trailed.
"Don't what?" Malcolm asked, careful to keep his voice quiet, calm.
"…Nothing," Jamie murmured tiredly. He closed his eyes again and then opened them, his gaze returning to Malcolm's face, roaming along the contours. He let out a long, tired sigh.
"Sleep," Malcolm said. His grip loosened a little.
"Hurts," Jamie mumbled. "…Fuck," he hissed. His fingers curled tighter around Malcolm's hand, though the grip was very weak.
Malcolm frowned. "Is it worse than it was?" He knew that Jamie would have headaches. The doctors said they could be severe at times. He also knew they were looking for signs of re-bleeding as well.
"I don't know," Jamie whimpered. He took a deep breath. His eyes watered and he made another pained noise.
Malcolm stood up and leaned over Jamie to press the call button for a nurse. The nurse examined Jamie and assessed what kind of pain and its location. The nurse looked for signs of other symptoms that might indicate a major problem, but found nothing. The pain was from surgery and expected.
On Monday, Malcolm did not go in to work. He used the day to realign himself after the stress of the weekend. Of course, work could not leave him alone. He took their call only because it had been a while since anyone had called him and it could be a political emergency, but it was not.
When Malcolm got back to work, he fit time with Jamie into his schedule, slipping away to see Jamie at the end of visiting hours before returning to work. A long weekend away put Malcolm at a disadvantage, but he did not call attention to it or acknowledge it. Around the time Jamie hit the seven-day mark without re-bleeding, the next election was called. Malcolm's schedule began to overflow. He knew Tom would lose the election, but he never said so aloud or even hinted at it. Malcolm had to remain relevant. His visits to Jamie became more varied, but there was always a slice of time somewhere he could slip away. Jamie slowly improved, though the intense headaches persisted.
The election season had barely started when Malcolm scrubbed his hands with sanitizer and entered Jamie's room at a reasonable hour. Jamie's eyes were closed as always. When Malcolm moved the chair so he could fit his legs between the chair and Jamie's hospital bed, he watched Jamie inhale deeply. Jamie's eyes opened. They moved from Malcolm's face to his hair to the way the suit fit Malcolm's shoulders.
"Malcolm…?" It was always a question. Every greeting the same, always uncertain.
"It's me," Malcolm said. "I can't stay long."
Jamie reached out weakly and when Malcolm's fingers touched Jamie's, Jamie seemed to look less confused as if Malcolm's touch was Malcolm in his head rather than Malcolm's facial wrinkles and fashion. "You didn't have to," Jamie said tiredly.
"I know," Malcolm said. It helped to see Jamie. There was less mystery and more assurance. Malcolm did not like the unknown. He cultivated his entire career around knowing things. Knowing that Jamie was not comatose kept one less worry out of the election.
"Fuck…" Jamie whispered. His eyebrows drew together and he closed his eyes. He gripped Malcolm's hand as tight as he could, but his grip was still considerably weak. The headaches were still severe and would likely stay that way for some time. "I want it to end," he said. "Make it fucking stop."
Malcolm's jaw flexed. He looked at the pain medication drip. It was open as much as the drip would allow. He ran his thumb along Jamie's hand in small circles. "It will stop," he said firmly. "Just not today."
Jamie let out a pained noise. He shivered.
Malcolm's finger paused and his body tensed. He observed Jamie, but it looked like it was a normal shiver and not a precursor to a seizure. He could still remember watching Jamie convulsing in the bedroom. Malcolm began to breathe again. "Cold?" Malcolm asked.
"Yeah," Jamie answered.
Malcolm let go of Jamie's hands and stood up so he could adjust the blankets so Jamie's arms and hands were underneath the covers. "I will see you tomorrow," Malcolm said.
"Okay," Jamie said. His eyes closed.
Malcolm left the room, scrubbing his hands with the sanitizer as per hospital instructions before letting a nurse know Jamie was cold. He then left the building.
It was two weeks later when everything at work unravelled. The election was fast approaching, and Malcolm was out, out literally with Sam on the pavement. Malcolm dusted his coat off, his shoulders heaving as he seethed with frustration and anger. Sam said nothing and put a hand on his arm. Malcolm's breathing slowed and he rubbed his face. "Those fucking cunts," he said. There was a pause. "Sorry." He always tried to speak to her with the respect she gave him.
Sam was still upset and her eyes were still red rimmed and puffy. Malcolm took a deep breath. He vowed to himself to return someway, somehow, but this was real life and Malcolm would not return to his position. Malcolm's time in the government was over and it was time to move along.
When Malcolm got to the hospital hours later, he was dressed casually and Jamie was no longer in the ICU. Malcolm arrived just as physical therapy finished. He waited outside the room and let out a quiet breath. When he went home earlier, he stripped out of his suit to strip away the negative emotions, but he had not fully thought anything through. No suit in the middle of an election would be strange. Malcolm rubbed his face. Maybe Jamie would not notice. Maybe Jamie would think it was Sunday. Malcolm was not sure if Jamie completely remembered the last time he visited most visits. He did not know if Jamie was aware that there was an election soon either.
Malcolm waited a few minutes after he watched the physical therapist leave and nurse check on Jamie. He let Jamie have some time alone and then he went into the room.
Jamie's eyes went from Malcolm's face to his hair and to his shoulders. His eyebrows drew together. His tongue ran along his teeth.
"It's me," Malcolm said. He touched Jamie's hand, running his fingers along it.
Jamie's wrist turned slowly and his fingers slid along Malcolm's palm in response. "I know." His face relaxed before tensing in pain. He bit his tongue, but a small, pained noise escaped. "Fuck." His hand fell away from Malcolm's hand.
Malcolm frowned. "What do you need?"
"You know what I fucking need," Jamie said. He closed his eyes tight.
"That I can actually fucking do," Malcolm said in a quiet voice. Malcolm tensed, remembering earlier that afternoon. He concentrated on relaxing his jaw. He did not want to tell Jamie about his own problems. Jamie had more than enough to deal with without knowing about the office drama.
Jamie opened his eyes. He looked up at Malcolm. He lifted his hand up, weakly beckoning Malcolm closer. Malcolm leaned down and Jamie's fingers loosely grasped Malcolm's fleece, encouraging him closer. Once Malcolm's ear was near Jamie's lips, Jamie whispered, "Don't look so fucking worried." He tried to tug Malcolm closer, and Malcolm moved accordingly. Jamie kissed Malcolm's ear because it was the closest thing he could. The last time Jamie had kissed his face was in Malcolm's sitting room when they had a chance to take a breath during the prime minister's resignation when neither of them knew what might happen. It was something Malcolm had always let Jamie do ever since the first time when Malcolm's stress was out of control when his parents died during elections in the mid-eighties. It was something between them that they never discussed.
Malcolm would have run his fingers through Jamie's hair with affection, but with the bandages still in place, he opted to press his lips to Jamie's temple.
Jamie closed his eyes. He did not open them again until Malcolm had straightened. His eyebrows furrowed and he bit his tongue again, trying to hold back a noise of pain.
"I'll let you rest," Malcolm said. He slid his fingers along Jamie's hand.
"I won't fuck it up," Jamie murmured. His eyes closed again.
Malcolm took a moment and then he left the room.
The government and the party no longer wanted Malcolm's influence. There was an overture for a television program, but Malcolm did not find work until a university reached out to him, wanting to utilize his experiences in their social sciences department. There were no guarantees that he would receive the temporary position, but it was something worth working towards.
Jamie was out of the ward after two weeks and in a rehabilitation hospital. Malcolm found his way to Jamie's room during visiting hours. Jamie's bed was aligned in such a way that he could sit up with support. He looked at Malcolm's hair and then his shoulders. "Malcolm," Jamie said and this time it was not a question nor completely uncertain.
Malcolm nodded. "You're improving," he said.
Jamie's eyes searched Malcolm's face. "I'm coping," Jamie said quietly. He closed his eyes and opened them again. "You don't fucking know," he murmured. It sounded like an observation, not an accusation.
Malcolm waited. He stood at the foot of Jamie's bed where Jamie could easily see him. Malcolm's eyebrows drew together and he gripped the board at the foot of Jamie's bed tightly.
"My eyes are fucked," Jamie said after a long moment. "I have seizures. I…can't…I don't know if your shirt is blue or brown or any colour but grey." Jamie took a breath. He closed his eyes a moment and opened them again. "I don't know faces." His eyebrows drew together and his eyes roamed along Malcolm's lips, nose, and eyes. His gaze returned to Malcolm's hair and then he looked away, his jaw tightening in frustration.
Malcolm was quiet. He watched Jamie. "What can I do?" Malcolm asked.
Jamie reached out for Malcolm's hand. When Malcolm moved to Jamie's bedside, Jamie's fingers slid slowly up Malcolm's palm. He took a deep breath. Jamie's grip tightened. It was stronger than in the ICU, but it was still weak by pre-migraine standards. "Go home." Jamie took another deep breath. "Stay home." Jamie's thumb ran along Malcolm's skin. He held Malcolm's gaze.
Malcolm held Jamie's gaze. The past weeks flooded Malcolm's memory. He could feel Jamie's hand still gripping onto his. It made Malcolm think it was more than just Jamie growing bored of Malcolm's company.
Jamie's nose wrinkled. "I'm tired of looking at you from a fucking bed." He closed his eyes and after a moment opened them again. "Go home." Jamie took a breath. "Not forever."
Malcolm let go of Jamie's hand. He ran his fingers along the top on Jamie's hand. "If you want me to go, I will go," Malcolm said.
Jamie watched Malcolm's fingers. His eyes moved up to Malcolm's face. "Go," he said. "Go before I fucking change my mind. I'll ring you."
Malcolm pulled his hand back. He slipped out of the room and walked down the hall. His shoulders slumped as he neared the door and he rubbed his face. He took a deep breath and left the building.
Jamie rang Malcolm once he was out of the rehabilitation hospital. The conversations were short with long pauses. Jamie rang every day just after one in the morning when things in the government would be slow. Malcolm still did not tell Jamie about his career change.
Malcolm settled deeper into his sofa, his legs stretched out, with the ugly pink cushion tucked under his arm. It was six months since the last time he saw Jamie in person. They had been on the phone only a minute and Jamie let out a tired sigh. "They're going to fucking sell my house," Jamie said.
"What?" Malcolm frowned.
"I can travel," Jamie said, "so we're fucking off to Scotland. I don't get any fucking say in this." He took a deep breath, his voice elevating. "It's the same fucking shit…" Jamie's voice trailed.
"What else are you going to do?" Malcolm asked. He kept his voice calm, quiet, trying to influence Jamie to keep from getting too stressed or too excited.
Jamie was quiet for a long time. "I'll go."
They lapsed into silence. Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. His eyes followed the shadows on the ceiling.
"I want to see you again," Jamie said.
They arranged to meet a park near Jamie's house that weekend. Jamie was already sitting on the bench when Malcolm arrived. Jamie had a cane at his side. He looked up when Malcolm's footsteps were in hearing distance. Jamie was thinner and paler. His hair was thin, barely growing out since all of it was shaved so the patches from surgery would be less noticeable. He looked at Malcolm's hair, shoulders, and hands.
"Hey," Malcolm said. He sat beside Jamie once he could tell Jamie recognized him.
"Hey." Jamie said. He had his hands in the pockets of his coat.
"We're like two old cunts," Malcolm said after a while. "Sitting on a fucking bench in the middle of the day."
"Well, at least one of us looks the part," Jamie said. He smirked.
"Fuck off," Malcolm said, but his voice was casual and the corners of his lips turned upwards.
The silence was comfortable. There were only people walking past them and the trees to watch. Jamie let out a low, long breath after a long while. He slowly removed his hands from his pockets.
"No one knows you're here, do they?" Malcolm asked.
"You know," Jamie said. He flexed his hands and ran one through his own hair. He let out a deep breath. "That's enough."
Malcolm watched Jamie and frowned.
Jamie met Malcolm's gaze and then rolled his eyes. "It's just a fucking tremor, it passed, and I lived." He sighed. "Don't look at me like that. If I can't go to the fucking park by myself, what's the point? If I can travel for eleven hours on a fucking train in a week, I can do this."
"And if you fuck up and end up in hospital, then what?" Malcolm asked.
"Then I end up in hospital," Jamie said. "I can't stay home forever. I can't make the adventure of the day being how many times I can walk up and down the stairs."
Malcolm frowned, not sure what to say to that. He could relate. Sitting around for months on end would have a similar effect on him. Malcolm's mobile rang. He looked at the mobile screen and glanced at Jamie. "It's your sister."
"We can head back in a minute," Jamie said. He frowned. "Surprised it's not some cunt from the office who can't wipe his own arse without you breathing down his neck." Jamie's eyes moved from Malcolm's mobile screen to Malcolm's face.
Malcolm ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. He sighed and put away his mobile. "I'm out," Malcolm said. "I've been out since just before the election. I'm teaching politics, but…" He shook his head. "It's boring and half the wee bastards don't give a fuck." He was not sure what he would do when his contract was up, but he would find something else.
"Both of us are fucked," Jamie said. He stretched his legs. "I should go back." He stood slowly with aid of his cane. His joints moved stiffly. He looked down at Malcolm and grinned at the change in perspective. "Are you coming?"
"Yeah," Malcolm said. He snorted and got up from the bench.
They walked down through the park at Jamie's pace. It was slow and measured. They talked sparingly, about small things that would not matter if people overheard them. Malcolm noticed when they got to the pelican crossing that Jamie's eyes focussed on the people around them rather than the lights. Jamie stopped because the people in front of them stopped.
They could hear police sirens approaching as the light was about to change. Jamie closed his eyes just before the flashing lights appeared. He did not open them again until the police car passed. He licked his lips and moved with the people around them.
Malcom followed. "That was different," he said so only Jamie could hear.
"Everything's different," Jamie said. After a while, Jamie's pace steadily slowed. By the time they reached his house, Jamie paused, leaning on his cane more noticeably than he had been at the beginning of their walk. He looked at Malcolm. Jamie's face was paler.
Malcolm ran a hand through the fuzz on Jamie's head gently; very careful with how and where he touched.
"Not the head," Jamie murmured.
Malcolm lowered his hand and rested it on Jamie's shoulder. "Let's go inside," he said in a quiet voice. "You rest. I'll handle your sister."
Jamie nodded and let Malcolm help him up the walk and into the residence.
The years passed. Malcolm and Jamie kept in contact. Malcolm hopped from job to job until he had an online political column. He could write the column from anywhere and he found his way back to Scotland.
Jamie's siblings passed him along between themselves. The seizures kept him from a steady job. Jamie strove to be as independent as possible and took the train to see Malcolm from time to time. It was only a couple hours travel.
Tonight, Malcolm and Jamie sat outside in Malcolm's garden. It was summer and the late afternoon was pleasant. Malcolm had a pad of yellow A3 paper on his thigh to outline his next column and twirled his pen between his fingers. He glanced over his glasses at Jamie. Jamie had his eyes closed, but did not appear to be sleeping. Jamie's curls hid the scars on his head and the changing light enhanced his wrinkles.
Jamie opened his eyes and looked over at Malcolm. "Is it a nice sunset?" Jamie never recovered his colour vision.
"Not really," Malcolm said. He set the A3 pad aside and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Jamie stood up and walked stiffly to the side of Malcolm's chair. He ran his fingers through Malcolm's hair, letting the curls grasp onto his fingers. "Thirty years," Jamie said.
"Still can't get you to fuck off," Malcolm said lightly. Malcolm could still remember going head to head with Jamie when they first met, their hair as big as their ambitions.
Jamie tugged on Malcolm's hair gently. "I can still kick your arse." His fingers slid down along Malcolm's ear before falling away.
Malcolm's gaze shifted. He stood up and stretched. He could see the way Jamie's eyes could not focus and Malcolm did not miss when Jamie's hands disappeared into Jamie's pockets, likely to hide tremors. Malcolm grabbed his A3 pad, pen, and glasses. He put a hand on Jamie's shoulder, guiding him back into the small house. His thumb slid along the back of Jamie's neck. "Sit. I'll cook something."
Jamie sat on one of the chairs near the back door and the kitchen. His shoulders were twitching, but he remained conscious. There was nothing either of them could do about the tremors. The anti-seizure medication did all that it could. Malcolm kept one eye on Jamie and began to gather ingredients for a stew. Jamie's tremors calmed down about the same time Malcolm finished cubing the beef left over from the previous night.
"Just stay," Malcolm said. He began to dice half of an onion. His hands were steady and he was able to watch Jamie from time to time without cutting his fingers.
"Tired of watching pass the parcel?" Jamie asked. He leaned back in his chair and pulled his hands from his pockets. He flexed his fingers slowly, watching each of them move.
"You're not a fucking parcel," Malcolm said. He began to cut carrots into long strands to dice. Celery soon followed.
Jamie let out a deep breath. His gaze shifted from his fingers to Malcolm's face. "My oldest sister had her hair in rollers one morning. I didn't recognize her. I thought I'd woken up in the wrong house. I panicked and ended up fucking everything up." He ran his tongue along his lips in thought. My niece let me sit her son. There was a storm – thunder, lightning, all that bullshit – and I woke up in the kitchen, bump on my head, numb all over. Kid was fucking nowhere. The seizure scared him so much he hid at the house across the road." Jamie shook his head and rubbed his face. "I'd probably set this place on fire."
"Are you stupid enough to light the gas alone?" Malcolm asked.
"No," Jamie said.
"Then it's not going to be a problem," Malcolm said. He began to peel the potatoes, careful to take only the skin away. Once the potatoes were skinned, Malcolm wiggled his knife to break the potatoes down into similarly sized cubes. "I can't make you do anything. The decision is yours." With everything for the stew ready, Malcolm put some oil in a pan and began to brown the onions, carrots, and celery. He could feel Jamie's eyes on his back.
Jamie said nothing, but he appeared to be thinking. Malcolm poured stock into the pot once the vegetables cooked down. He scraped the browned bits off the bottom and added the potatoes, bringing the liquid to a boil and reducing it to a simmer. Malcolm added salt and pepper and then left the potatoes to cook before adding anything else.
Malcolm sat down at the table across from Jamie. Jamie reached out across the table for Malcolm's hand. Malcolm took Jamie's hand. He ran his thumb along Jamie's skin.
"I'll stay," Jamie said. "Until it's time to leave, if that time ever comes."
Malcolm nodded. His grip tightened. "Alright."
Jamie let go of Malcolm's hand, stood up, and leaned over the table. Jamie reached out and let his fingers brush Malcolm's collar. Malcolm moved closer and when he was close enough, Jamie kissed Malcolm right where wrinkles were beginning to form at the corner of Malcolm's eye. Malcolm closed his eyes. Jamie kissed him again in centre of the wrinkle running next to Malcolm's lips. Jamie remained leaning on the table but moved back enough to look at Malcolm.
Malcolm opened his eyes and observed Jamie. "You always stop right there," he said.
"You never try to go farther," Jamie said. He moved his hands and arms briefly, but remained leaning on the table.
Malcolm stood up and leaned over the table, pressing his forehead to Jamie's, assessing how much longer Jamie could keep leaning on his arms. Malcolm kissed Jamie's temple, letting his lips linger. He kissed Jamie's eyelids and then he kissed Jamie's jaw. Malcolm kissed Jamie properly and Jamie kissed back. One of Jamie's hands rested against the back of Malcolm's neck. Malcolm grasped Jamie's shoulder and took a breath. Jamie initiated the second kiss, moving as close as the table might allow. Then Jamie broke the kiss and his hand slipped away from Malcolm's neck. He sat back in his chair and grinned.
Malcolm straightened. He looked down at Jamie and grinned in return. They both knew that nothing could or would ever be as it was before the headaches and before hospital. It did not mean that it had to be a constant doom either. Malcolm headed back to the cooker to thicken the stew before adding the beef. He could feel Jamie's eyes on him and he knew that the future would likely be different and difficult, but possibly what both of them needed.
The End