She was a little nervous. Much more than a little, actually, as she crossed the hallway to enter the great ballroom full of people. She blamed her anxiety to the fact that the PM himself would be there tonight. He probably already was.
It was her first official party since she had started to work at the Department of Transports and it was a ball. Of course it was a ball, there was even an orchestra playing! She loved to dance, but probably it wouldn't happen tonight and for a quick moment she resented her own fate for being alone. Again. But she quickly brushed the feeling back. She was an independent and strong woman who was on the control her own life, she thought, looking for her lost self-confidence while she kept walking.
There were too many familiar faces around while she made her way among the numerous guests. Besides the expected bigwigs from the government, she spotted some people of her own department, people whom she saw on a daily basis at her workplace and who waved or kindly smiled at her, but from whom she had no intention to approach. She hadn't made many friends at work, not that that annoyed her that much; on the contrary, some days the detachment made her work easy. She was pretty good at her job; she knew it and her boss had discovered it very soon, making her on of his advisors. That had annoyed some people at the department and some one had told her that she should be careful with the enemies she had done.
She almost smiled. Funny thing that she hadn't made a single friend at work but seemed to have gathered a handful of enemies. But it wasn't her fault that half of the people of her department didn't have a clue about what they are doing and the other half simply didn't care enough. Of course there were exceptions, thank God for them. So she was almost happy when she finally found Lucy Brown and George Campbell, maybe the only ones with a functional brain and guts enough to pull their sleeves up and do the hard work at the department. They weren't close enough for her count them among her friends, but they were good colleagues and certainly good company.
After a quick chat with them, which had included Lucy's gown, George's poorly choice of drink and the project they had been working on, she had left them with the excuse that she needed to find a friend, which wasn't a lie anyway. It took her a few more minutes to finally see the beaming face of Sam Cassidy and her friend's warm smile helped to soothe her while they walked towards each other.
"Finally!" Sam held her hand gently. "I thought you had given up!" "Why would I?"
"Well, I don't know," Sam gave her a teasing grin. "Sometimes you do strange things, Clara Oswald."
Clara rolled her eyes at her friend but there was a hint of an amused smile on her lips. She then grinned to the dark haired man standing just one step behind Sam. He was handsome and his green eyes sparkled from behind his glasses. Clara couldn't avoid the thought that he should seriously rethink about his glasses. It gave him an air of an older and decadent version of Harry Potter.
"Hi, Mark." He bowed his head in response, in his very particularly version of a gentlemanly gesture that elicited a chuckle from both women. "You look dapper," she added kissing him on the cheek.
"I am, am I not?" He seemed very proud of himself in his rented tux. "Despite the clear intention of this bowtie in suffocate me before the night ends, I think I'm actually looking pretty good in it."
Clara suppressed a grin when Sam had punched him lightly on the arm and scolded him with a good-humored spark in her eyes. "Don't be so smug, Mark."
He just grinned and pretended that his arm was hurting while Sam rolled her eyes at him. Clara watched them for a brief moment without avoid feeling a little envy for their clear happiness. Funny thing that she had been the one who had introduced them a couple months ago, her two best friends. Not that she felt anything but friendship for Mark, he wasn't her type anyway. But she was losing bit by bit the company of her two best friends, and she missed them. But of course she was happy for them, she truly was. Now that she had been thinking about it, it had been more than a couple months that they had started dating; it had been almost a year. God, her life was really pathetic, wasn't it?
Mark was a funny guy, that kind who always had a little joke about everything and she enjoyed herself chatting and laughing with them while she sipped the good champagne there were serving.
"So, did you see Tony anywhere?"
"You mean, Tony, your boss Tony?" Sam raised one eyebrow and it was obvious by the look on her face that she didn't believe that Clara really wanted to talk to her boss right now when they were in a party like that.
He is a completely twat, Clara! She had said to her one day while they were waiting at the coffee shop line, as they usually did every morning before they both went to their respective jobs.
Clara suspected that Sam's poor opinion about Tony Skinner was more largely influenced by Sam's boss' personal opinion about the Minister than for her own beliefs.
It was true that Tony Skinner had already put his foot in his mouth more than once and had caused some embarrassing situations for the government, that kind of situations in what Sam's boss was needed. And it was also true that sometimes he acted like a smug bastard. But most of the times he was ethic, well intentioned and truly committed to do a good work, which were enough reasons to make Clara forgave his not so iconic speeches and his eventual obnoxious behavior and kept working for him.
"Please, forget about your goofy boss! As hard as it seems to believe, there are indeed some interesting people you should meet in here."
"He is not goofy!" Clara chuckled. "You are starting to sound like your boss, Sam."
Mark's eyes opened in mock horror and Sam shook her head in amusement.
"I can assure you that goofy is not a word that belongs to Malcolm's vocabulary."
"Speaking of the devil." Mark moved his head slightly to their left and Clara saw him, a tall and slender man walking towards them, moving through the other guests as if he owned the place.
She knew him, of course she knew. Everybody knew who was Malcolm Tucker. Well, at least, everybody in that ballroom. They had already met before, more than once, although she doubted he would remember her. Which could be very comforting considering that two of their previous meetings had happened with Malcolm popping up at the Transports Department to scold Minister Skinner. If someone could call the menace that Malcolm's infuriated collection of threats and curses were as scolding. It seemed to be a too soft word for it.
But she wasn't scared of him; actually, he had impressed her. But not for the venous man she had already seen in action. She was impressed by the man behind the mask he seemed so carefully wear to succeed in that world of politics. A man that, as far as she knew, might not even exist, but of whom she had caught a glimpse some time ago, in a chance encounter at a bookstore.
They had bumped at each other at the bookstore's door and as a result she had dropped the coffee she had been precariously carrying in one of her hands. She had immediately recognized him (how couldn't she?) and hidden her surprise as soon as his eyes had laid on her. He had seemed to be embarrassed and had apologized, offering to buy her another coffee, which she had refused assuming her share of guilt at the accident. His boyish grin and warm eyes had disoriented her and she didn't know what to do of it at that time. She still didn't.
After one more apology, he had held the door open for her to get out and then it had happened. A quick moment when their eyes had locked and she could see something else inside of his. Something deep, something alluring and also frightening. But then the moment had gone and the door had slowly closed between them, leaving her with the odd feeling that there should be something else; that it wasn't supposed to happen like that.
Maybe it had been her imagination. Surely, what else? But then there was Sam who was devoted and loyal to him. Clara knew Sam too well to ignore that if she was still working with him it was only because she believed and trusted him; it was because maybe she could see the man behind the mask. If that man really existed.
And tonight, well, what could she say? The man definitely knew how to wear a tux. She tried not to look too much at him, tried to be discreet, but her knees seemed made of jelly when his slightly hoarse voice sounded just next to her.
"Sam! You are fucking gorgeous!"
Sam chuckled and Clara saw Mark tensing at her side, his hand protectively moving to the small of Sam's back by instinct. But of all people in that room, Sam was the only one that didn't need to be protected from Malcolm.
"Thank you, boss. You don't look bad yourself."
It had always amazed her that Sam was probably the only person in the entire government that was able to talk with the Dark Lord of Whitehall like he was an old and dear friend. And be treated by him like that as well. Maybe because they were real friends after all, as much as they could be, considering whom they were.
Malcolm showed her a grin too full of teeth that reminded Clara of a shark. "Me? I'm just one more penguin in the room."
"There are penguins and penguins, Malcolm." Sam teased him and he chuckled before he moved his eyes to Mark. The other man held his breath as if waiting for an attack. A shark attack. Clara couldn't blame him for that.
"So this is your plus one?" His teasing tone didn't help as he extended a friendly hand to the tense younger man. It didn't go unnoticed to Clara the unspoken ask in Sam's eyes for Malcolm to be nice with Mark. "Mike, is it?"
Clara almost smiled. The man was a legend. She was just waiting for the moment when he would ask Mark if he was good on Quidditch.
"Mark, sir." He finally shook Malcolm's hand with more force than necessary, but then he was trying to regain his confidence. He would feel better if he had seen his girlfriend rolling her eyes at Malcolm, whom, for his credit, pretended to be genuinely concerned with his lousy memory.
"Of course! Mark! I'm not good with names, you know." He looked at Sam with the corner of his eye and Clara was sure that Malcolm was fighting back a smile. A very smug one, if she would bet, the sexy bastard.
Then he looked at her. For a brief second there was a spark in the grey blue of his eyes and then, as fast as it had come, it had vanished. But his intense gaze didn't leave her. She didn't know what to do with that, so she preferred to ignore it, for good measures. Maybe he had remembered her. Maybe not. She couldn't tell and besides, the second option was safer, so she had grabbed it.
"Malcolm, this is my friend, Clara Oswald. She works for Minister Skinner. You two probably had already bumped into each other before."
Sam didn't know about the encounter at the coffee shop, Clara had never told her, but she couldn't be more right.
"Ah." He bowed his head slightly; the soft grin on his lips and his still intense gaze on her caught her breath. "I'm sorry for you, sweetheart."
There it was, the shark in action. She thought she had heard Sam huffing next to her. But she was too busy trying not to make a fool of herself in front of him to concentrate on other thing different than the man in front of her.
"Don't be. He is a very nice man," she managed to say. What she is doing? She shouldn't be discussing her boss like that. She shouldn't be discussing her boss at all, especially with Malcolm Tucker.
"Yeah. Fucking nice, indeed." His eyes were still on her and she felt her mouth dry and her cheeks burning. But he had poked her in her pride so she tilted her head and sustained his gaze.
"I don't use to work for people I don't respect, Mr. Tucker. But of course you don't know me, so you can think whatever you want, it's not something I am concerned about." Her eyes challenged him and she thought she had seen that spark again in the blue of his. Or are they grey?
She waited for his reply. Actually she could tell that the three of them waited for his reply, but for some unknown reason, Malcolm Tucker was silent. So she was forced to proceed to break the awkward silence.
"Anyway, I really doubt that he is the worst of your problems, Mr. Tucker."
He observed her for a moment longer probably thinking what he will do of her. His gaze was unsettling, but there was not any trace of anger or the usual sarcasm in them. Actually she thought that he was amused. Is that a smile on the corner of his lips?
"Not even close, Miss Oswald," he finally said and she heard Mark let out a low sigh of relief. Sam was smiling, a smug smile actually. Why, Clara just couldn't understand. As well as she couldn't understand why from all moments in time Sam choose just now to ask Mark to dance. As far as she knew, Mark didn't even like to dance. Which didn't stop him to happily drag Sam by her hand to the dance floor, as if he was running away from the damned ghosts of the seven hells. Maybe he was.
They both watched Sam and Mark dancing for what seemed to her a long and silent moment of relief.
"Would you like something to drink?" His voice was gentle and his eyes were warm. She hid her surprise, or at least, she thought she did it and when she was silent he added, quirking an eyebrow. "I mean, if I'm not bellow your standards."
"I would like it very much," she finally said with a small smile.
"I can be a real jerk. I'm sure Sam must have told you," he moved his arm to show her the way and they walked side by side to the bar.
"I know," she looked at him defiantly. "Your fame precedes you, Mr. Tucker. And maybe it would surprise you, but Sam have never told me a single bad word about you."
He smiled. "Sam is a good lass."
"She truly is."
They stopped at the bar counter and he looked at her seeming genuinely intrigued. "Had she never complained about my..."
"Colorful language?" She completed when he had hesitated.
"So that is how do you call it?" His grin was smug and for a crazy moment she wished she could kiss it out of his face. Fortunately, the bar attender came to interrupt them. Malcolm looked at her expectantly.
"Wine. Red."
"You heard the lady. Scotch, no ice for me."
They waited in silence for the bar attender and after he had brought them their drinks and left them alone again, Malcolm raised his glass in a silent toast that she mimicked.
"So, do you and Sam know each other for long?" He asked her after a long sip from his drink. Clara smiled. Again. Maybe she was smiling too much.
"Since university. We were flat mates."
"How did you end up with Skinner?" He twirled his glass, probably by force of habit. "He is a fucking twat, no matter how passionate or good intentioned he is as you said, and you know that as much as me."
"Maybe. But you know as much as me that he is doing a good job. Despite his 'twatness'." His grin was all the admission she needed for now. So, she drank her wine as much to hide a smile of her own than to avoid the intensity of his gaze upon her. But he was still waiting for her answer, so she went on after a moment. "I was looking for a job. Sam told me that there was an opportunity at Transports, I sent my resume, they called me for a interview and I passed," she shrugged before she added. "It pays good money anyway." She couldn't avoid the thought that maybe she had disappointed him because there was no political convictions or deeper motivations involved in her choice of job.
If he was, he didn't show it and simply chuckled before he lowered his eyes to contemplate the amber liquid in his glass. She took the opportunity to observe him, ignoring the fact that he was perfect aware of her scrutiny, despite not looking at her.
He was difficult to read, but that wasn't a surprise. Men like him needed to build thick walls around themselves to survive their daily battles. And Malcolm was no exception.
What really surprise her were her own reactions around him. She couldn't understand why he
affected her so much. Right, he was handsome, sexy and totally charming when he wanted to be. But she was not the one to be intimidated by handsome and self-confident men like him. On the contrary, she was usually completely self-assured herself around men. Too much for her own good, as Sam kept telling her.
It was not also the fame that preceded him that intimidated her. After all, the man in front of her had nothing or little in common with the aggressive and foul mouthed man she knew he was at work, from the man she had already witnessed on his full rage at her own department. He could even talk almost without cursing, which seemed to be almost a miracle. And the man in front of her tonight resembled too much the man she had a glimpse that day at the bookstore.
Maybe Sam was right in her perception about him. Maybe there was a different Malcolm Tucker hidden somewhere and from time to time, he could be seen through the cracks of his personal walls.
"What the fuck that cunt thinks he is doing?"
Or maybe not.
He placed his glass with too much force over the counter and it was a miracle it hadn't shattered.
"The fucking idiot is about to pull a fucking trigger and explode his bloody head in the middle of the room." He pulled his mobile from his trousers pocket, eyes fixed in some point at the dance floor and she followed his gaze to find Minister Hugh Abbott dancing with a woman, if that could be calling dancing. From where she was it seemed more intimate than it should be in a public place. And judging by the fury with Malcolm was talking to someone that she already pitied on his cellphone, that wasn't the only problem. The lady in the Minister's arms was probably not even his wife.
"Miss Oswald, can you do me a favor?" His voice was slightly altered, but his eyes were gentle.
She hesitated for a moment. "Try me, Mr. Tucker." And there it was again, the spark in his eyes. And again, it vanished quickly.
"Actually, it will be two favors."
"Two?" She raised her eyebrows and he nodded.
"First one, please, call me Malcolm. I feel like I'm a hundred years old every time you call me Mr. Tucker. And I'm not there yet." He smirked. "Although I'm not that far."
"Ok. I can do that. If you call me Clara," she knew that she was grinning again, but this time she couldn't avoid it.
"It's a deal." He extended his hand to her.
"It's a deal, then." She shook it. "Second one?" "This is a little more trickier."
She furrowed her brow at that and suddenly became completely aware that they were still holding hands. The warm of his touch on her skin was distracting enough for her to lose track of their conversation. They both lowered their eyes to their united hands and immediately pulled back as if they had been burnt. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to talk but a very tall man with flushed faces and disheveled curly hair joined them in a hurry interrupting him.
"Malcolm?"
"Fuck you, Ollie! Where the hell have you been? Why I'm always doing your job? Your fucking stupid boss is about to commit fucking suicide."
They both looked again to Abbott from whom Clara had nearly forgotten.
"Fuck." It was all what the Ollie guy had managed to say at first and Clara knew that that resumed the situation pretty well. "How did she get in here anyway?"
"I have no fucking idea. But I know how she will fucking leave." Malcolm looked at Clara with the corner of his eye before his gaze came full on Ollie again. "Right, fetus boy, follow us." With a gentle touch on her elbow Malcolm silently asked her to accompany him while Ollie trotted behind them. "Now, Clara the second favor." They stopped near the dance floor in the same moment the orchestra had started to play a song Clara recognized but couldn't remember the name or the lyrics. But with his fingers still lingering on her arm she doubted she would be able to remember anything any way. "Dance with me?"
Clara and Ollie looked at him in utterly surprise before he continued.
"Sorry for disappointing you, Ollie, love, but you are too fucking tall to go unnoticed." He then looked at Clara. "Look, the only way I can get Hugh fucking Abbot from the fucking trap he put himself in without dragging any more attention over him is if you and me change dance partners with them."
The penny finally dropped for Clara, but by the look at Ollie's face, he was still trying to catch up with Malcolm.
"So I have to dance Hugh Abbot back here to Ollie? While you will take care of Miss...?" "Angela Atkins. Daily Mail."
"Oh." Now she could see the whole picture. It was no wonder Malcolm was enraged.
"Smart girl," he almost smiled and she glared at him telling him that that was a wrong path. "Can you do it for me?" He finally said and the lows and deeps of his voice went straight to her belly. She realized that there were only a few things she was not able to do for him if he kept looking at her like that, but she wasn't the one to give in so easy. So she kept him waiting for the pure pleasure of watching his clever mind desperately working in a second plan just in case she refused.
"Ok." There was a look of satisfaction on his face at her answer but it didn't last as she pressed her forefinger on his chest before he could move, her eyes trained on him, defiantly. "But I'm not doing this for you, for the party, for the sake of the PM, or even for the poor fool of Hugh Abbot. I'm doing this, Malcolm, because I can't stand someone being stabbed at his back, no matter how much of an idiot he is."
Malcolm studied her face for a moment, his piercing eyes sending a chill down her spine before he added, his voice low and soft.
"I've got it, sweetheart." He then held her hand and she saw the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when his other arm encircled her waist. "Shall we?" She nodded and then in the next moment they were spinning on the dance floor.
Must for her surprise he was good dancer. A very good one, in fact. But she thought that maybe he was holding her closer that he should, but then, she hadn't offered any resistance to his
proximity. How could she? Actually, she liked his nearness, and she could feel her skin tingling, even under the fabric of her gown, in the places his fingers touched her back. She could smell the scent of his cologne, soft and masculine, and the way he conducted her on the dance floor made her feel like she was floating.
She was happy that she had chosen a pair of shoes with very high heels for tonight which reduced their height difference considerably when she raised her head to watch him. His eyes were focused on his target, cold and almost frightening. But then he surprised her again lowering his gaze to her. Their eyes met for a moment long enough to steal the air from her lungs.
"Right, we are almost there, sweetheart," his breath touched her face when he spoke. "You know what to do, right? Just one more thing before we part." He moved away from her just a little bit. "After you have dumped Abbot with fucking Ollie, just don't disappear, right? We still have to finish this."
"This?" She blinked blankly.
"Dancing." The corners of his lips twitched, his eyes warming. "Save one dance to me."
She didn't have time to answer him because he moved away from her to pat Hugh Abbot on his shoulder, interrupting his clumsy dance with the journalist. That shark grin was back again on his face.
"Hugh! Having fun, aren't you?" Malcolm was talking to Abbot but his eyes were menacingly fixed on the woman at his side. To her credit, the woman didn't even flinch. The same couldn't be said of Hugh who opened his mouth in a faint attempt to reply but Malcolm cut him immediately. "Hello, Miss Atkins. Nice to see you."
"I'm not sure if I can say the same, Mr. Tucker."
"Yeah. Probably not." His hand was still holding Hugh's shoulder and he looked at him for the first time since he had started talking. "Now, Hugh, if you will excuses us, Miss Atkins here has promised me a dance." Before Hugh could protest, he had already taken the other woman's hand and added, over her shoulder. "Be a gentleman and finishes the dance with my dear friend Clara, please?"
Hugh Abbot looked at Clara for the first time noticing her presence and she smiled brightly at him, reaching out for his hand. "Shall we, Minister?"
He seemed confused when she had taken his hand and had practically dragged him to Ollie's side. Ollie just nodded his thanks while he kept talking on the phone. By the look on his face, Clara was sure that was Malcolm on the other side. She had heard him mumbling something about putting Abbot in a taxi before he disappeared escorting the drunk Minister with an arm around his shoulder.
She looked around but couldn't see Malcolm anywhere, which was no surprise. He would probably disappear too for longer. It was disturbing that she could still feel a tingling on the spots where Malcolm's hand had been until moments later. She definitely needed a drink. And stop thinking.
Fortunately, Sam and Mark came to her once more. Or so she had thought.
"So, how it happens that you were dancing with my boss?" Sam was teasing her, she knew, but it didn't stop her to blush.
"I was helping him," she felt compelled to explain even knowing that she would only make things
worst. Maybe she should change the subject and let Sam find out Malcolm's version on Monday. "How? Teaching him how to dance?"
Clara sustained Sam's gaze for a moment before she rolled her eyes at her. Why was she determined to torture her? Mark smug smirk on her side was not helping either.
"That's something that he doesn't need help at all, you should know," Clara finally said and decided to change the subject, remembering her need to slow down her mind. "Can we get something to drink?"
- 0 – 0 -
It took exactly one hour and fourteen minutes to Malcolm show up again, not that she had been counting the time. And she was forced to push back a smile when she saw him, she didn't want to seem as if she had been really waiting for him. Even if he had been the one to ask her to do it. She had her dignity. Or had had. Once.
He stopped several times on his way, shaking hands and patting backs. But his eyes were constantly searching for her, which was as much unsettling as it was scaring. Then he just disappeared from her sight, covered by a group of people passing by and for a moment she thought that maybe he was not coming for her. But then, magically, he just materialized next to Mark.
"Mark, my lad," he patted Mark on his shoulder making him jump in surprise, "it is not fair that you are keeping for yourself the two most beautiful woman at this party."
Sam smiled and shot Clara a meaning glance that she choose to ignore, which was quite easy with Malcolm's eyes on her. She took the arm Malcolm had offered her and with an apology they both walked to the dance floor.
"Sorry for the delay," he said when they started to dance. "I had to make sure Abbot would go straight to home. Alone."
"Don't worry. I was enjoying myself."
"Hope you haven't find other dance partner." With a smirk, he twirled her and she let out and undignified giggle before she came back to the safety of his arms and regained her balance.
"Well, no one as good as you anyway."
When the music ended they walked side by side, her hand resting on the crook of his arm until they found a calmer place to seat since Mark and Sam couldn't be seen in anywhere. But Clara could bet that they were watching them right now, she was almost sure of it. He got them a couple of drinks from a passing waiter and handed her one of them. They stood in silence sipping from their drinks and pretending to watch around while their eyes danced around each other in a kind of hide and seek little game.
"So, this is part of your job?" He glanced at her over his glass.
"Babysitting fucking cunts to avoid hurricanes of piss over the government?" He tilted his head with an amused grin when she practically had grimaced at the image. "It should be on my fucking job description."
"Well, you must have a hell of a resume, Malcolm Tucker." He chuckled. "Yeah."
Their eyes met for a long and silent moment and she lost herself in the impossible color of his. The intensity of his gaze warmed her all in the right places in the most completely wrong moment. Maybe she had drunk too much, or maybe she was just tired, but she could swear that his gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips and that made her mouth impossibly dry. When he had parted his lips letting a puff of warm air out of them just after she had licked her dry ones, she decided that was time to go home before things got awkward or complicated. On her current condition, probably both. So before she could do something really, really stupid, she stood up. And he instantly followed her; unsure of what she was doing.
"Well, I have to go."
If he was disappointed with her decision, he didn't show it. Maybe he also feared what could happen if she stood there a little longer. Too much had already transpired between than in the last few minutes for him to ignore it. So he wisely just nodded.
"Sorry for involving you in all this mess."
"Don't be." She smiled at him, an honest one, her eyes locked on his for longer that it was proper for their own sake. "It was my pleasure."
He gave her a lopsided smile in acknowledgment.
"Good night, Malcolm Tucker."
"Night, Clara Oswald."
She had only walked a few steps when she felt a hand on her arm. His hand. She turned around slowly to face him.
"Any chance of you stopping by that bookstore again tomorrow?"
She raised her eyebrows. So he remembered her. Well, that was unexpected and embarassing. After a moment she finally found her voice again.
"Maybe."
He grinned and let go of her arm and she knew that his eyes were following her until she crossed the door.
