This fic will cover the Goolding Enquiry, Malcolm's arrest and his subsequent trial and acquittal. Then chart Malcolm's relationship with Sam, and his struggle to find a new life and purpose. This is very much a fic of how I see Malcolm Tucker. I will spend a little time on Malcolm's background, as I see it. I realise it may not be everyone's interpretation but I hope some of you will see him the same way I do.
It will probably be in three or maybe four parts, depending on how it pans out.
This second part follows directly from the last paragraph of After the Party. This chapter was inspired by the John Legend song 'All of Me' give it a listen, the words are wonderful and it's very fitting!
BROKEN (part two)
The cab swung into Malcolm's street. A whole posse of press were camped on the pavement outside the house.
"Fuck!"
Malcolm lent forward to speak to the driver.
"Drive on, don't stop!"
Passing by his house, the cab continued on its way. Turning the corner, they headed for Sam's flat.
Still grasping her hand, from when they had kissed, he took a few deep breaths and puffed out his cheeks. Glancing at him, Sam wondered if he was about to vomit.
Reaching her place, they paid the cabby and hurried inside.
"Christ, shit...!" He stumbled, legs almost giving way.
The relief that flooded through Malcolm when the door closed behind him was palpable. He leaned heavily against the wall, hand at his neck, wrenching at his tie and collar button, heaving and retching, although nothing came up.
Sam took his arm and lead him into the living room. Pale and sweating, damp grey hair plastered against his head, he shook from head to foot as the reaction to the previous few weeks overtook him.
Shock is a mysterious thing, it creeps up and robs us of our self control.
Seating him, and taking his cold, clammy hand in hers...
"It's OK Malc, it's over, it's over!"
Hot, sweet tea cupped in his trembling fingers, he leaned back into the cushions, and let out a juddering sigh.
Leaving him for a few moments to take their cups to the kitchen, Sam returned to find him, on his side on the sofa, knees drawn up in the foetal position, head curled downwards, hands clasped over his body, fast asleep.
Stroking his fevered brow, pulling a blanket over him and tucking it around his legs, she left him to rest.
Malcolm slept for 18 hours straight. During that time he barely moved, he lay, inert, still curled like a small child, his breathing shallow. Lips pale. Sam sat, watching him for some time, noting the curve of his mouth, his Roman profile, impossibly long eyelashes, and the way his eyelids fluttered as he slept. Eventually retiring to bed, exhausted beyond her comprehension, she, too, fell into a dreamless slumber.
The week that followed was long and tough.
Malcolm did not leave the flat. He couldn't return home until the press had given up and gone away, so he became like a restless caged animal.
Shuffling around the rooms in borrowed sweat pants and T-shirt, he barely spoke and hardly ate. Sam had to coax him to take a shower. He couldn't be bothered to shave and soon resembled a haunted, vampire-like tramp. His nights were torture, he slept in Sam's spare bed, but she was woken frequently by him crying out in his dreams. Reaching his side, she would find him soaked with perspiration, almost delirious. He would clutch her hand until he relaxed back into sleep. He was always awake again before 5am.
Part of Sam wanted him to rage, rant and cry, letting the pain out of his system, but years of holding it in, locking it away behind his steel facade, didn't make that easy. He couldn't cry, couldn't let go. He was a dead husk, eyes dull and listless, jaw set, unable to feel emotion of any kind.
It was pointless trying to reason with him and Sam's instinct was to let him wallow, let him work it through. She was there for him, when he was ready, when the time was right, she would be whatever he needed, whatever he wanted.
Malcolm had not thought to be like this. Everything that had ever happened to him in the past, he had dealt with and moved on. This was different. In short, he was broken man. His job was a crutch, that he leaned on, and it was gone. It was his whole existence and now there was nothing left. In his mind he saw it as being similar to a drug addict having their supply suddenly cut off. For weeks he had been holding himself together, but the rug had been pulled from under his feet, and his bereavement was total.
He could not cope with anything other than simply existing, at the moment. Making it through each day and each night, and then the next and the next. His responses cauterised and numbed. He felt nothing but emptiness and shame.
Sam was almost always there, just being around, he found her calm presence comforting. She only left him for short periods, to shop for food, or other essentials.
At the end of the week, returning from one of these forays into the outside world, she found him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. The kettle was on and he was making tea.
This was a breakthrough...up until now he had seldom moved from the couch, without her persuasion. Putting down her carrier bags, she opened her arms to him and he stepped into her embrace with a grateful sigh.
Holding him close and rubbing his back gently with her splayed hand, she felt his shoulders begin to shake.
"Sam!"
His sobs washed over him like a breach in flood defences; starting quietly and building to a torrent of raw emotion. Clinging to her, saying her name, over and over, as she soothed and caressed him.
No words were really necessary, so she just let him weep.
"I'm a fucking Jessie," he whispered, voice thick and broken, "I'm weak. Look at me, the great Malcolm Tucker, how can you bear to be near me? Crying like a fucking baby, it's pathetic!"
"No Malc...this is strength. This is you being strong enough to show just what a real man you are. You should be proud. There is no shame in this, none at all. You are stronger than you know."
"You will get through this, it will get easier and if you want me, I'm here for you."
"Fuck knows why! Why you'd throw yourself away on a useless old fucker like me," he retorted, sniffing as his tears subsided.
" Because I love you, that's why, stupid!" She gently smoothed his wet face with her thumb,
" you are not useless, you are magnificent, you are more of a man now than you ever were before. You may not think so now, but you will again, I have complete faith in you."
Unable to reply, Malcolm buried his head against her neck and shoulder, drawing her as close as he possibly could.
His recovery had begun, but it would be a lengthy process.
Able, at last to return to his own house after that first week, Malcolm slowly began to take stock. Financially he was secure, at least for a while. Sam had resigned from her position, but had been reluctant to actively seek a new post, until she felt sure that her former boss was on a more even keel. Malcolm could afford to keep them both, at least for a while, and she was not without means herself. Besides, she was not ready to be separated from him, while he most needed her.
Their relationship had still not progressed beyond kissing and hugging but Sam was fine with that. She had not felt that Malcolm was capable of more in the first instance and had not wanted to push him before he was ready. He was wrung out, physically and emotionally, he needed time.
It was their first evening together in his home, he seemed more relaxed in his own environment, with his own things around him. For the first time, they sat together at the dining table and ate a proper meal and shared a bottle of wine. It was the most that Malcolm had eaten for well over a month.
Afterwards they curled up together on his large comfortable sofa, in companionable silence. Cheek resting on the top of her head, hands clasped around her, Malcolm dozed off.
Sam woke from a deep slumber...it was past midnight. Stretching and yawning, she tried to slip from his arms, to tidy the kitchen and think about going to bed.
"Sam?" Malcolm came to with a jolt... "Where are you going? Please...stay with me tonight, I don't want to sleep alone."
His eyes were red rimmed and swimming with unshed tears. She didn't answer, but took his hand, leading him upstairs as he stumbled blindly.
He sat on the edge of the bed, hesitant, unwilling to take the lead.
"Christ, Sam, it's been a fucking long time...I don't even know if I can do this!"
"Shhhhhhh!" She breathed, "don't think, just kiss me, you can manage that!"
His lips touched hers in the softest of kisses, tentative, gentle. She opened her mouth in response, and his tongue touched hers, exploring, tasting. She sighed and relaxed into him as his arms encircled her.
"God, you taste so good," he whispered, and ducked his head to continue down the line of her jaw and neck, testing with his mouth, the spots that made her gasp with pleasure.
Sam had imagined these moments so often in her thoughts, that she could barely believe it was actually happening.
Easing his T-shirt over his head, she stroked his chest and down his arms. Feeling the spare frame, taut muscle under lean body. He hissed his approval, as he found her mouth again, deepening the kiss, while his hand slid under her blouse, caressing her breasts.
Heat pooled between her legs, but she still held back a little, anxious not to rush him.
Cradling her, Malcolm gradually lowered her backwards onto the pillows and she could feel him, hard against her.
Everything, to Malcolm, seemed to melt away, as he touched this beautiful woman, who, for some mad, inexplicable reason, beyond his comprehension, loved him, wanted him. He floated on a haze of passion, sensations spiralling through him like corkscrews. His need urged him forward, and overcame his insecurity, he wanted her, desperately. To possess her, to make her his, to feel himself inside her, filling her, taking her. It was almost more than he could bear.
In normal circumstances he would have taken more time to discover what she liked, caress and tease her, touch her with his fingers, his mouth, but right now he could only focus on completion. Fumbling and awkward but reluctant to break contact, they helped each other out of their remaining clothes, relishing the feeling of skin against skin.
Sam reached down between their bodies and touched him...his hips bucked and he gasped, almost crying out, the feeling was so intense.
"Malcolm...I...I need..."
"Fuck, Sam, I'm not going to last...I'm so far gone I can barely hold myself together..."
With her hand to guide him, he entered her, pushing deep, the rush of love, and lust that he felt almost overwhelmed him. Waves of pleasure washed over his body, building with each stroke, he felt her raise her hips to meet him, as she moaned,
"Oh God...Malcolm!"
His name on her lips sent him over the edge, as she, in turn, came, beneath him. He cried aloud, a primal groan from deep in his throat, their bodies undulating as one.
He collapsed down onto her chest, his arms giving way. He went to pieces then, weeping and shaking, the magnitude of what had just happened and what it meant to him, hitting him with the force of a hammer blow.
Sam wrapped herself, legs and arms around him, holding him in place. Crooning to him, petting him, hushing him. He finally rolled on his side, breaking contact but still holding her, breathless, as his pounding heart calmed, and his heat subsided.
"I'm sorry," he grinned sheepishly, "I'm not usually that quick, I'll do better next time!"
Sam laughed and the sound made Malcolm's heart lurch.
"I'm glad there's going to be a next time!"
"I think you were pretty bloody wonderful!"
Pulling him close for a long, slow, post-coital kiss, she let out a sigh of bliss,
"I love you Malcolm Tucker and I don't care who knows it."
"I still don't have a fucking clue why," he smiled, "you could have anyone you wanted! You're fucking gorgeous and I'm a wreck!"
"But that's just it, I don't want anyone else," she replied, raising her head to look at him," the first time I met you, I felt we were perfectly suited. I felt we had an understanding, and that someday, we would be like this...I was sure then, and I'm sure now."
"I don't deserve you, I don't deserve anyone," he looked suddenly sad," I fucked up my marriage, I fucked up my life, I'm poison, I drive people away."
" Well, you're not driving me anywhere, I'm right where I want to be, Malcolm. By your side and that's where I'm staying, for as long as you'll have me!"
"Then I'll have you for always," Malcolm choked, "because I'm not fucking up again, this time I'm doing it right. I've got a lot of years to catch up on!"
