A/N: Well, here is almost five years of very intermittent writing! Thank you for sticking with it, and thanks again to my beloved Becs for getting me over line on it. Massive thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. x

Chapter 12
We'll fight like girls for our place at the table

Nicola does as everyone requests and sees a nice, discreet psychiatrist. Nicola grudgingly admits to Katie over dinner one night that it is, indeed, helping.

One night a few weeks later, after washing the dishes out of desire to do something normal, Nicola balls up the tea towel and tosses it onto the bench, before turning to her husband. Malcolm is struck by a memory nights they spent like this in his old house.

"I think I've worked out what will help." Malcolm nods her on expectantly. "I'm going to start a scholarship for her."

"I think that's a really nice idea, pet." He lets a beat pass before he adds wryly. "How's the Chancellor feel about it?"

"I told Margery we're already in deficit and an extra two hundred thousand pounds a year won't kill us. Particularly two hundred thousand pounds to support female police officers."

Malcolm grins at her. She's thought this through better than he'd expected, and he's proud of her. "That's mah girl." For the first time in weeks, his wife has a spark of purpose back in her eyes, and Malcolm is extremely glad to witness its return.

Nicola throws herself into the little project, spending more time on it than strictly necessary for someone in her position. Gilly manages the other staff carefully, and eviscerates any Member of Parliament who even vaguely suggests that Nicola isn't doing her job. Nicola makes the announcement at the passing out of two hundred new officers at Hendon. Only a third of them are women, and while all the officers, new graduates and ranking officers alike, applaud Nicola respectfully, the women in the audience clap a more vigorously. One of the senior officers who trained the recruits chances a whistle, and will surely cop a bit of a dressing-down for it later.

Malcolm has taken the unusual step of accompanying his wife to the event. She finds his gaze in the audience and he nods to her, eyes saying well done, pet, while his mouth is unable to.

She returns to his side to watch the end of the ceremony. He squeezes her fingers, his grasp hard and reassuring around her fingers.

The following week, Nicola makes a statement in the Commons, re-announcing the initiative just as Malcolm would have suggested to her.

He watches her on the television from Number 10, peering over his glasses with his feet on the coffee table.

"Mister Speaker, I rise advise the House of a new Government initiative, the Erica Patterson Memorial Scholarship for Women in Policing. Many in this place know of the debt I owe to Sergeant Erica Patterson. Erica was stationed as one of my Protection Command officers. She was with me during the Novo-Ogaryovo bombing. Erica did not come home. Without her service, her dedication, her professionalism, and her unshakeable loyalty, I wouldn't have the privilege of standing at this dispatch box addressing you today.

"Here in the United Kingdom we are lucky enough to have one of the most highly skilled police forces in the world. However, despite the many excellent advances the Metropolitan Police have taken to increase diversity in the force, to create inclusive working environments, representation of women in senior or highly specialised positions is still lacking. At the last census, only twenty percent of Sergeants were women. In ranks above Sergeant, the statistics tell much the same story.

"I hope the appointment of our first female Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police helps improve opportunities for women in policing in this country. But hoping alone does not create cultural change. The Erica Patterson Memorial Scholarship will be an annual pool of two hundred thousand pounds, which will can be used for support services and professional development opportunities for women of any rank seeking to advance their career. It will support women to take the challenging steps between ranks, to climb the ladder from Constable to Sergeant, Inspector, Superintendent, Commander, and Commissioner. I hope that this scholarship will assist the Metropolitan Police to identify the next cohort of female leaders in the organisation, and help the dedicated, passionate, and highly skilled women of the Metropolitan Police to break every glass ceiling in sight, using any and every tool available to them."

There is a polite murmur of "hear, hear!" from the Government MPs, and some of the Coalition, too – but only the few who understand alienating women is electorally unwise.

"I would also like to take this opportunity to thank all the SO1 officers in my protective detail, but two in particular who are very important to me. Unfortunately, I can't name them for security reasons – see, I do listen to the safety briefings." She quips, and a gentle laugh ripples throughout the Commons. Malcolm watches Nicola look up. He knows she's finding Inspector Fred Foster and Sergeant Kate Warren in the gallery. The watery smile she gives them is entirely too fond, and Malcolm thinks they'll probably be taken off her soon. She's much too attached. But, then again, Nicola is a creature of attachment, and the cycle will repeat if the Met does give her new SO1 officers.

Directly to Fred and Kate, Nicola says "It's a unique relationship you develop with your Protective Service Officers, and I have always been extremely lucky to work with the best in the business. They have always made sure I get to come home to my family, often putting themselves at significant risk to do so. But whatever the situation, they are there, cool, calm, and in control. Thank you both for everything, particularly for the excellent patch up job on my wrist," she holds up her still-cast-clad-arm for emphasis, "the defence of my honour as well as my physical safety, and the tactful lies about how much oxygen there may be in closed rooms." Another laugh ripples out across the cavernous building. Malcolm cannot see from the angle of the cameras, but both Fred and Kate have nodded supportively at her. Fred, despite being a man-mountain, has the hint of tears welling in his normally impenetrable eyes.

Earlier in the week, Malcolm helped Nicola select an outrageously expensive bottle of scotch for Fred and an equally expensive bottle of rare gin for Kate – having deduced their preferred spirits from another of her SO1 officers, who felt rather caught in the middle by the entire situation.

She has written them each a card that is exactly as heartfelt as one would expect from Nicola Murray. She has asked the Chief Commissioner to organise special commendations for them, and a posthumous one for Erica. She has gone above and beyond for the people who go above and beyond for her, in classic Nicola Murray fashion. When he was her Communications Director, Malcolm found these little shows of humanity infuriating. Unfortunately, they are also a significant part of what made him fall in love with her.

After gathering herself for a moment, Nicola begins her closing remark "To Maureen and Dave Patterson, I'd like to say thank you for raising such an extraordinary daughter. Erica's selflessness, her compassion, and her desire to help are qualities I know from experience she inherited from the two of you. I am so sorry that bringing me home safely meant that she was unable to come home to you. I know Erica loved her job, and it was a privilege to work with her. I hope this scholarship leaves a legacy she would be proud of."

Another, more sombre "hear, hear" bubbles across the House, and Nicola sinks into her seat. She drops her head in an attempt to hide the tear she covertly wipes from her eye. Margery Creighton, eminently competent Chancellor, places a hand on Nicola's back supportively. Nicola smiles at her ally. Dan Miller leans forward from the first row of the back bench and attempts to give her a handkerchief. Nicola turns to him with a smile and refuses the offer with all the dignity Malcolm has ever seen from her.

"Good girl." He murmurs at the screen. "Good fuckin' girl."

The children join them for dinner that night, after Nicola has made a fuss over her SO1 officers in her Parliamentary office. She seems lighter than she has in weeks, crossing to him and kissing his cheek, teasing his silver hair. Malcolm doesn't remember the last time she touched him with such languid ease. It's as if her every movement since she got home has been weighed by the stress of what might have happened. Malcolm settles a hand on her lower back, gazes into her eyes probingly. He doesn't say anything. He pecks her lips and lets her go, resolving to speak to her once the kids have buggered off or gone to bed.

They sit down to a takeaway curry at the big dining table. The children used to grizzle about eating in here, arguing that it was much too formal. Nicola once snapped at them about every Prime Minister who'd had children younger than them and still managed some dinners in the nice dining room. They'd behaved slightly better after that, although Josh had once – when he was significantly old enough to know better – run a remote control monster truck over the skirting board and marked the undoubtedly antique wallpaper in the process.

"You were really good today, Mum." Ben says, serving himself too much rice to avoid meeting her gaze. Nicola is somewhere between shocked and touched.

"Thank you, darling. I didn't think you'd be bothered watching."

Ben shrugs, still fussing with his food. "Saw it on Twitter. Graham Norton retweeted it."

Nicola and Malcolm share a glance. Both their eyebrows are raised with surprise. "Oh. Wow," is the best response Nicola can come up with.

"I thought you were brilliant, Mum." Katie agrees quietly. Ella nods, smiling at her mother. Ella doesn't like to think about the fact that her mother nearly didn't come home from a relatively routine trip to Russia, let alone talk about it. But her big sister is right. Her mother was impressive today.

"What are you lot talking about?" Josh asks, broad shoulders squared defensively. Malcolm is waiting for their briefly nice family dinner to become an outright shitfight, but Josh surprises him. "Mum's always good in Parliament."

"Thank you, darling." Nicola smiles, rising and kissing the top of her youngest's shaggy head. Neither Malcolm nor Nicola is aware of quite how much time he spends at uni watching her in PMQs. And on Question Time. And even on Loose Women. With a mum who's been in and out of Cabinet since he was five, watching her interviews has often been the easiest way to feel like he's caught up with her.

"You're such kiss-arse, Joshy." Ella snipes good naturedly.

Katie quickly jumps in before the squabbling becomes genuine, "I think it's fantastic that you're trying to bring more women up in the police. My friend Sandra joined last year and honestly, the way she gets treated is appalling. Some of them talk to her like she's the tea lady."

The conversation quickly turns to broader issues of gender equality, other professions where the gap is pretty poor, such as Nicola's own field. It's the most interesting and civil conversation she's had with all of her children in roughly eighteen months.

Later that night, when they're getting ready for bed, Malcolm comments cautiously. "Yeh seem a bit better, pet." She turns to him, fingers occupied with removing her earrings.

"I think, I just… I realised that if didn't live my life properly then Erica died for nothing. I felt like I owed it to her to get on with it."

Malcolm crosses to her and kisses her forehead tenderly. "I'm glad, pet."

Nicola rests her body against his, props her chin on his chest to look up at him.

"So, I was thinking."

"Hmm?"

"How about that week in Cumbria?"

Malcolm smiles at her, not because of the promise of spending an uninterrupted week with his wife, but because of the shift in her head it implies. He's extremely glad to see the glimmer of mischief in her eyes, the lazy affection he normally finds there. Malcolm bends and presses his lips to hers, the angle awkward but the kiss still delicious.

"Though' yeh'd never ask."