The Thick of It is fully owned by Armando Ianucci. This is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Sam checked the steaks, turned off the oven and lowered the heat under the asparagus as she heard the car from the service pull up to the curb. Malcolm was turning fifty tomorrow and Sam had put together a romantic surprise dinner. Sam decided to do dinner tonight because she knew he would most likely stay late at the office, if not work all night, on his birthday. There was a reshuffle in the works.

As it was, she'd already delayed cooking after a text from Malcolm let her know he'd be late home. She considered it good luck that it was only 21:00 now, rather than midnight. It wasn't always easy to be married to the director of communications for the Prime Minister.

Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she checked her hair in the reflection from the convection oven and then hurried to the front door. She was there with a bottle of San Pellegrino sparkling water chilling on ice on the foyer table when Malcolm came in.

"Happy birthday eve, Malcolm!" She said in greeting, leaning in for a hug. His eyes crinkled up in a surprised smile as he returned the embrace, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek as they separated.

Sam cracked open the San Pel, poured into two Champaign flutes and handed one to Malcolm.

"You're too kind, Luv." Malcolm's Scottish brogue always tickled Sam's ear when he said "Luv."

"I made filets mignon and asparagus. Have you already eaten? Are you too tired?" Sam brushed Malcolm's hair back as she noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked beyond done in. Sam silently castigated herself for not realising he would be too tired. He had been burning the candle at both ends for the better part of a month.

"No, no – not too tired, and no, I haven't eaten – I'm famished. It smells great. That was really nice of you, Sam. Is it ready now, or do I have time for a quick change?" Even his voice sounded tired. His beautiful blue eyes were dimmed and bloodshot. 'Oh, Malcolm,' Sam thought, 'I do love you.'

Sam patted his chest. "You go ahead. It will be ready when you come down."

Sam returned to the kitchen to put on the finishing touches as Malcolm trudged upstairs to change.

As Malcolm's PA at Number 10, Sam kept his diary and knew the many rigours of his job. This was their third reshuffle since the Labour party came to power, and Sam knew the routine, both at Number Ten and here at home for Malcolm.

As the PM worked through possible changes in cabinets and ministers, Malcolm used his considerable influence behind the scenes to fully vet all potential candidates, consider possible complications from a communications perspective and make recommendations to the PM. Although Julius Nicholson was adviser to the PM, as director of communications, Malcolm's recommendations carried a lot of weight. With a peerage to prove it, Nicholson represented the interests of constituents with wealth and privilege. Malcolm provided a connection to the foundations of the Labour party and served as a crucial counterpoint to the PM's innate tendency toward cronyism.

At times like this, Malcolm had a tendency to turn into an utter control freak. His focus on work was absolute, and more peripheral things like eating, sleeping, marital relations, tended to fall completely off the radar. Left to his own devices, Malcolm would work to the point of collapse.

The first time she saw him go through something like this was in the first year of their marriage. Malcolm was director of communications for the opposition during an election year. At forty years of age, he was new to the position and had a lot to prove. The party had some significant challenges to overcome to get back into Number Ten. As communications director, Malcolm had his work cut out for him in positioning the leader of the opposition as a viable candidate for PM.

Up to this point in their relationship, Malcolm had never shown any weakness or self-doubt, in public or in private. He always projected absolute confidence, seemed to know what was going to happen next and had a plan for every step of the way. In the relationship, Sam felt very protected and taken care of. Malcolm routinely put her feelings and needs ahead of anything else. While it didn't always feel like an equal partnership, she loved him deeply and appreciated the consideration and care he showed.

In the months leading up to election, Sam watched Malcolm fall apart and felt powerless to do anything about it. He stayed all night at the office, sometimes for days, lost his appetite, lived on caffeine, got increasingly grouchy and sweary with his charges. And he had a nightmare that changed the course of their relationship.

Before they were even married, Malcolm told Sam that he sometimes had nightmares, and that he came out of them swinging. He told her if she noticed he was having a bad dream to not touch him so he didn't accidentally hurt her.

One night a few weeks before the election, Sam was awakened by a noise. Malcolm moaned and writhed in his sleep, obviously in the grip of a dream. Sam sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, worried about how restless he was. Deep into the dream, Malcolm said a few unintelligible phrases and then started gasping as if he couldn't breathe.

Forgetting what he had told her, Sam put a hand to his chest to wake him. He flailed a fist and caught her hard on the cheekbone. Sam's cheek immediately went numb and her eye started watering. The impact woke him up and Malcolm sat up suddenly, bathed in sweat, panting uncontrollably. Sam reached out to comfort him, but he stumbled out of bed, into the bathroom, dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and was promptly sick.

Alarmed now, Sam followed him into the bathroom and knelt beside him, rubbing his back. He shied away, wedging himself between the toilet and the bath, trembling. He was deathly pale and his eyes were unfocussed, as if he wasn't yet fully awake.

Sam's heart broke for him. She just wanted to gather him up and hug him, but didn't want to startle him further. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. Finally, she sat back on her heels, still close, but not crowding him, and talked to him in the gentlest voice she could muster. Gradually the trembling abated, and he seemed to come to himself.

The moment he noticed her swollen cheek he burst into tears, gently cupping her cheek.

"Sam, I'm sorry, so sorry…I'm no good. No good. Sorry sorry…"

Crying too, Sam held him and whispered reassurances until he finally calmed down.

"Do you want to tell me about the dream? Will that help?"

"No. Sorry I can't. I just can't" Malcolm cleared his throat and straightened up. "What time is it? You've got to go back to sleep. I'm so sorry for waking you up."

"Nonsense. What about you? Are you okay? Do you think you can go back to sleep?"

"No. Not just yet. How's your face? We should get some ice on that or you'll have a nasty bruise."

Malcolm averted his eyes, but not before Sam saw them brimming with more tears.

"It's okay, Malc, you didn't know what you were doing. And you did warn me about waking you when you were in a nightmare, so it's just as much my fault."

"No, never say that, Luv. Please. Here, let's go to the kitchen and fix tea and I'll get some ice on that." Malcolm helped her up and kept a hand on her arm all the way downstairs and into the kitchen. He was still trembling.

Malcolm insisted on making the tea and gently iced her cheek. They ended up on the sofa for the rest of the night, twined together, sharing tea and cuddling until it was time to get ready for work.

Later that day, Sam made her first call to Malcolm's sister, Julia, who lived in London at the time. They had only met a few times leading up to the wedding, and while Sam had meant to reach out, the opportunity had not presented itself. She made a date to meet Julia for lunch. During that conversation and several others over the years, Sam learned about Malcolm's childhood and the environment he was raised in.

The first time she met Julia for lunch, Sam was nervous. It's not that Julia was at all imposing. Compared to her acerbic brother, Julia came across as mild and calm. Sam's nervousness was more about meeting with Julia without Malcolm's knowledge. And that's how she opened the conversation.

"You must be wondering why I asked for this lunch date. I mean, I've meant to get in touch, but things have been so hectic, and I know you're busy with the kids…"

Julia demurred. "Sam, I could've reached out, too. I just figured I would let you two have your space and eventually we'd get to know one another."

"To be honest, I'm a little nervous. It's just that Malcolm doesn't know about this at all. Something happened the other night, and I'm hoping you can help me get some insight. I would ask him, but I think you'll see why I felt it might be better to ask you."

"It's something about our childhood?"

"Yes, at least I think so. He had a nightmare. When he woke up it was like he was a totally different person, someone I'd never met before."

"Did he tell you about the dream?"

"No, he said he couldn't. He was sick from it, and trembling really badly. It took him a while to come out of it. I was scared for him. Do you remember him having dreams like that? Can you think of anything from growing up that might have contributed to it?"

Julia took a sip of her tea with a thoughtful expression before looking Sam directly in the eye.

"Did you ask him that?" When Sam didn't respond, she cut her eyes away, reaching again for her tea. "No, I suppose not. I know he can be a little unapproachable."

"He won't talk about his childhood at all. Not about friends, school, his parents, nothing. He adores you, of course, and sometimes tells stories of things you did together."

"No, Malcolm won't talk about his childhood, and I wouldn't ask him about it unless some day he brings it up, which he won't." Julia sighed and seemed to come to a decision.

"Things were awful at home. Whatever you're imagining, take that and double it. If he's not talking about it, I don't feel right talking about it, but at the same time I think there are some things you really need to know.

"You know Malcolm is five years older than me. We had a younger brother, Duncan, who died when he was two."

Sam's heart skipped a beat. She didn't know Malcolm had younger brother at all. "I didn't know that. How sad. How did he die?"

"So he didn't even tell you about Duncan? Well, I can't start there, but we'll get to that. Our parents never should have married. Dad had a lot of problems. He was a drunk, but I think the drinking was to compensate for other things that weren't right. Nowadays, they call people like him sociopaths. And Mother was just not dealing with reality most of the time. A lot of bad things went on in our flat and she chose to keep her head in the sand.

"As the oldest, Malcolm would always get between Dad and me, or Dad and Duncan and defuse the situation. He had a way of talking our father down from the ledge when he was at his worst. Sometimes he could talk his way out of a beating, and sometimes not. He had some kind of leverage that I never could figure out. It was like he knew a secret that our Dad didna want to come out.

"Sorry to tell you all of this, but you asked, and I think you needed to know. You're really good for Malc. I can see the way he just lights up when you're around. He doesna let people in very easily."

"Don't I know it. Here we've been married a year and there's so much I don't know. Thanks for sharing this with me, and I hope it isn't too painful to you to dredge up all this old hurt."

"The reason Malcolm won't drink is because of our father. I think he's always been afraid he'd turn into him if he let himself go in any way. He's got all this anger bottled up and nowhere to let it out. Won't go see a therapist, lord knows I've encouraged him enough, but he'll have none of it. He'd rather rewrite history and pretend it never happened."

"The ultimate spin doctor."

"Yes, that's right, my brother the spin doctor."

"And you have no idea what the secret was that Malcolm held over your father?"

"Dad had trouble holding jobs. He did maintenance and caretaking, mostly, if he was working. There was this shed in back of our flat with all of his supplies and equipment. Malcolm wouldna go anywhere near it. Would walk all the way around the block to avoid having to pass it to get home from school. Our father sat out there most nights he wasn't working, getting drunk. Malcolm would keep watch from the window in his room, looking for the crack of light under the door. That way he'd know Dad was out there, out of the flat.

"I think something very bad happened to Malcolm out there before I was born. And something very bad did happen to Duncan out there, and that brings us to your question about how he died."

Suddenly, Sam didn't want to know anymore. Her desire to get up and leave was almost overwhelming. She felt the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She forced herself to stay seated and ask the next question.

"What happened to Duncan?"

"Malcolm and I were at school. Malc was fourteen, and I was nine. When we got home from school a neighbor told us our parents were at hospital with Duncan. Dad wasn't working at the time and had been home alone with Duncan all day. He told the neighbor he found Duncan in the shed, unconscious. He said Duncan must have gotten into the cleaning supplies and drank something.

"Malc and I stayed up most of the night waiting for word or for someone to come home and tell us what was going on. It turned out Duncan was in a coma. He passed away early in the morning. Our Mum and dad came home and told us.

"When Malcolm heard the news he went off the rails. He tore into our bedroom and came back into the living room in a total rage with his shinty club. He beat our Dad within an inch of his life."

"Oh my God." Sam's mouth was completely dry. She couldn't reconcile what she'd just heard with the man she was married to.

"The police took Malcolm in, of course, but he was only locked up for two days. Right after it happened I called my grandmother and told her all about what was going on at home. She took me to the station and had me tell the police everything – the taunting, the threats, the abuse. Things that would make your stomach turn. By then they'd seen the bruises all over Malcolm.

"Malc and I stayed with our grandmother in Perth while they conducted an investigation. Our father went to gaol and stayed there until he died a few years back. We lived with our Mum in another city in Scotland until she met another abusive drunk and Malcolm ran away to London after the first fight. He was sixteen."

Lunch arrived and Sam made a point of turning the topic to Julia and her children, sensing that she wasn't the only one that had reached her limit on the darkness that was Malc and Julia's childhood. Later that evening, while Malcolm was still at work, Sam launched a covert Internet search of the local Glasgow newspapers around the time that Malcolm would have been fourteen. It took several nights of investigative forays and one call to a public library in Glasgow to obtain a series of articles covering the incident where Malcolm attacked his father and subsequent abuse investigation and trial of his father.

From that point forward, Sam understood at least a little what lay behind Malcolm's need to be in control. As a result, she was able to provide the safe harbor he so desperately needed at his most vulnerable moments. While Malcolm never mentioned his childhood, going to the lengths to change the subject if it came up, there was a silent understanding that he knew she knew something about the demons of his past and loved him even more because of them. But he never did open up and tell her anything about his childhood.

The nightmare came in cycles, usually when Malcolm was under stress. Sam was pretty sure it was the same dream most of the time. When it happened she wouldn't touch him, but would wait for him to waken on his own and then do what she could to help him calm down and get back to bed, if possible.

After ten years of marriage, Sam knew the best thing she could do when Malcolm was like this was be there to nurture him when he couldn't take care of himself and not take his distance personally. During events like reshuffle he just shut down and lost all sense of anything that wasn't about the matter at hand. At times like this he desperately needed a minder.

Sam glanced at the clock in the kitchen – 21:30. Malc should've been down by now. Unless…

Climbing the stairs and approaching the door, Sam was pretty sure she'd find him asleep. And there he was, feet on the floor, lying across the bed, as if he'd fallen asleep while sitting down and loosening his tie. She sighed to herself and knelt to take off his shoes. Poor Malc.

Malcolm didn't wake when she removed his shoes and tie or unbuckled his belt. Upon pulling the belt through its loops, Sam saw two new crudely punched holes in it. So he was losing weight again – she'd thought so.

Sam roused him enough to get into his pajamas and properly under the covers, then went back downstairs to wrap up the dinner they didn't eat and stick it in the fridge. Her new plan was to heat it up for breakfast tomorrow, still a nice birthday meal, and good to start the day with protein. But she was determined to make sure he got some calories tonight.

Twenty minutes later, she re-entered the bedroom with a tray holding tomato soup and grilled cheese. Setting the tray on the dresser, she sat on Malcolm's side of the bed and caressed his cheek. He woke and looked blearily at her.

"Hey birthday boy, I've fixed some soup and grilled cheese. Do you think you can sit up for dinner in bed? Come on now, I won't have you to bed with no supper no matter how tired you are." She cajoled him into sitting up, then placed the tray across his lap and crawled into bed next to him.

"Sam," he husked, "you really are too good to me."

"I know." Sam kissed his cheek, then took her bowl of soup and half a grilled cheese. Malcolm tasted the soup.

"Sam, I'm sorry about dinner."

"Don't you worry, it will keep. Now, tuck in before it gets cold."