This chapter is dedicated to 'Tis the Fairy for being interested in my fic. I hope that you feel all of your generous words turn out to be accurate descriptions of this chapter as well.

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It was as though her brief contact with Malcolm Tucker, the government's Director of Communications, had infected the opposition's Natalie with some highly contagious disease. All morning people had been giving her pitying looks or avoiding her like she could simply drop dead at any time, and there was nothing else that could have triggered this behavioural pattern in the members of the opposition team. When she had arrived at work and switched on her laptop to work on Peter's blog update Natalie had expected to be given a respite from the strained atmosphere of the flat; Emma's weird looks, Phil's raised eyebrows and Ollie's mildly offensive sexual references. Instead it felt like her flatmates had started a trend for what was a vogue way to act in opposition HQ.

Her goal for this morning was to slander DoSaC without sounding belligerent as she pointed out what a farce their latest initiative was. The content of the comments made by semi literates and pseudo intellectual political fanatics wasn't exactly a motivation to go softly and gently, but working towards a raise was. Emma was great fun and good at what she did but her neurotic tendencies were amplified by their close proximity and to salvage their friendship Natalie knew that they would need to move away from one another- the university stage of their lives was over. As for Phil it wouldn't matter if she never saw him again. He was like the mouldy cheese at the back of the fridge- for a time you ignored the smell and accepted it was there, but she had to clean it out now. The blog finished Natalie stood and carried her laptop through to Peter's office.

"Peter, how's this?" She deposited the small computer on his desk and rolled her eyes- nobody shared gossip with Peter, and he was about as clued in to interactions between the people around him as he was to the Top 40 chart yet even he was avoiding her eyes.

"Looks to be good, but... are you sure you haven't slipped anything in there that a certain Malcolm Tucker hasn't suggested?" Regardless of how depressing and stressful it could become, Natalie did love her job which was the only reason she didn't tell Peter Mannion MP, her boss, to go and stick his blog up his arse.

"Are you sure a certain Malcolm hasn't slipped something into her like the comments on your blog have suggested?" The mouldering Wensleydale peered around the doorway just long enough to sour the air. Phil wasn't her boss and so Natalie wasn't obliged to put a reign on her tongue when addressing him. She followed his sanctimonious face around the door and grabbed hold of his tie to prevent him from wriggling free as she confronted him.

"What the fuck has gotten into you, you wanker?" The open plan office went deathly quiet as people pretended not to listen to the unfolding drama. "At least I'm capable of writing the fucking blog without being sent death threats." Phil held up his hands, his smirk creating an impression of anything but innocence.

"I'm not saying anything anybody hasn't already said this morning." She glared at him, wanting nothing more than to pick up the stapler on a nearby desk and decorate his face.

"You're taking the piss." But even as she whispered the words Natalie knew that Phil was right from the way a low buzz of chatter started up. "For fuck's sake." Inhaling deeply she returned to Peter's desk, pretending that the past minute or so hadn't happened and that she had just arrived in his office. "Peter, this isn't the spy who fucked me- not that there was any fucking involved- I am good at what I do. It's the same kind of stuff I write every five bloody days for your bloody blog and will keep on writing. And even if I did decide to fuck him, who's to say that I'm retarded enough to open my mouth- I'm a professional. I care about this job and this party. I'm not paid to write your blog and I'm certainly not paid enough to listen to this." She picked up her computer and returned to the cubicle that was supposed to be her own little vista of privacy.

"Hi, Natalie?"

"What?" It was Helen, the secretary who had never said a cross word to anyone in the time she had worked for the department. Immediately Natalie felt guilty. "I'm sorry. This is just going to be a long day."

"The materials you asked for from the shadow home office are here, and so are the reports from the immigration specialists." She deposited the folders onto Natalie's workspace before making a hasty exit. Natalie pushed off against the makeshift wall in order to shout after her retreating back and resolved to keep her cool.

"Thanks... Helen. Thank you." Rolling back over to investigate the new information that would help her to shape ideas for the immigration policy, Natalie was horrified when she read the red biro scrawl glaring up from an attached post-it; CC Malcolm Tucker. She ripped it off and, conscious of the numerous pairs of eyes on her back, taped the offending note to the wall of her cubicle.

"Now you don't need to rifle through my bin to see what it says." She crammed the files into her bag- there was no reason that she couldn't read them elsewhere- and shouldered it. Emma emerged from the board room just in time to catch sight of her friend leaving and ran after her.

"Natalie! Are you alright?" It was strange seeing Natalie, the composed one who never lost her head no matter what political crisis arose, so obviously distressed about something. However Malcolm Tucker had hurt her... Emma was going to do fuck all to him in reality, but a girl could dream. "What's he done?"

"Peter? Only question my judgement and ability to do this job. Don't even get me started on Phil."

"No, Malcolm. Ollie told me that you disappeared with him during the reception, and that you were dancing with him." Emma put a supportive hand on her arm. "Did anything happen between you two? We don't need to talk about it here- we can go for a coffee now."

"I'm sorry, have I stepped into some parallel universe where in the workplace we forego actual work in order to speculate? Nothing happened. He was planning to use me to get some information, but he owned up when I caught him out. Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to do some work. Elsewhere."

"Malcolm Tucker doesn't confess, Nat, not even if you get photographic evidence of his hand in the cookie jar. Something isn't right."

"Yeah, the way any contact with one of their lot contaminates me and not you. You're in a relationship with Ollie and information changes sides like water under a bridge, but the minute I bump into Malcolm Tucker at a party there's a scandal." There was no comeback from that point and so Emma could only watch in silence as Natalie left HQ. Stewart joined her by the window and after a brief time Natalie appeared beneath them amongst the pedestrians of Westminster.

"Thought shower with me- d'you think we're good enough to use her against Tucker?" Emma turned her head away.

Oblivious to the scrutiny she was under, Natalie navigated the pulmonary arteries of London until she reached the Starbucks she favoured. The food was wonderful and it was a far enough walk from HQ that there was little to no risk of having to spend her breaks listening to the fatuous remarks made by her colleagues. The rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other was the perfect way to calm down, and a cappuccino would give her the boost she needed to start working again. After putting in her order, Natalie went to sit on the squashy red sofa at the back and began to lay out her things. For the next couple of hours she analysed the pros and cons of previous Tory and Labour policies, listing them for easy reference.

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"So remind me... why am I supposed to be wearing this obscenity?" Nicola stood in front of the full length mirror Terri had sourced for this very purpose- to view the outfits she would wear at important events and evaluate the image they sent out. The fashion consultant from hell, Malcolm Tucker sat perched on her desk stroking his chin.

"For several reasons; one, because I fucking say so, two I'll rip you a new one if you don't and three you're trying to look commanding and accessible, someone the public can trust not to fuck this up and someone that looks like a human being." Nicola didn't think that many people would be able to relate to someone wearing a beige two piece suit, or expect them to say anything that wasn't completely monotonous.

"Isn't it a bit... brown?" Her only answer was the slam of the door to her office. Nicola sighed.

Malcolm had briefed her on what to say, how to say it and even what to wear so now he had to go and stop another leak from springing up elsewhere. He pulled his blackberry from his pocket and dialled Sam. "Get me a car, would you." Just as the call finished Ollie stepped into his path looking like a small child waiting to be given a telling off. Malcolm ignored him and continued walking towards the elevator; if whatever Ollie was going to say was important then he could grow the balls to say it or fuck off. Then again, it was doubtful that DoSaC could fix anything without his assistance. In fact they'd probably make things worse. This department was the one stop fuck up shop.

"Malcolm. Can I ask you a question?" It was an obvious effort of will that Ollie followed him into the enclosed space and ignored the furious look on his face.

"Of course you can ask me a question, in the same way I can stick your balls between the elevator doors and watch you writhe in agony before continuing on my merry fucking way. What is it?" Ollie hesitated, mulling over the dilemma of which was easier to look at, the real Malcolm or his reflection.

"Emma phoned me. She's really worried." The frown gracing Malcolm's real and reflected features quite clearly implied that the remainder of what Ollie had to say would have to be very fucking good news if he didn't want to be maimed. "Remember Natalie? What did you do to her last night?"

"What did I do to her?" His voice was quiet and each word was enunciated with care. "Nothing."

"Right... only she's in Starbucks now because she's been driven out of the Deathstar by the other Storm troopers." Malcolm's sudden look of curiosity contradicted his denial- nothing interested Malcolm Tucker if it couldn't be used to his advantage. The elevator doors slid open and Malcolm strode into the foyer without a backwards glance. Ollie wondered how he was going to keep this from Emma. Then again, whatever plan Malcolm had formulated could take days, weeks or even months to come into fruition so he didn't need to worry just yet about the results of it. Already his thoughts had wandered back to antagonising Glenn.

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It had taken a matter of minutes to reach the coffee shop by car and in that time Malcolm had formulated a plan of action, so it was with perfect ease that he ordered a coffee before he feigned surprise at the sight of Natalie pouring over a thick booklet. Although not as dressed up as she was last night, her tailored waist coat and shirt looked good on her, giving Malcolm reason to believe that cultivating this source of information wouldn't be as painful a process as it could have been.

"Natalie? Is that you there?" She looked up from the document, eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she saw him. "How are you?" He sat on the couch opposite to her, scanning the sea of paperwork littering the wooden table.

"I'm... fucking awful. You're right; I should have suffered in silence and danced with Phil."

"I've done wonders for your social life then. I did ask if you were sure you wanted to risk it." Malcolm's teasing smirk did nothing to improve upon her mood.

"Yeah, but I didn't know you were a leper as well as a psycho."

"I'm wounded, sweetheart. I am fucking devastated to hear you say that." Natalie shook her head and drank deeply from the cappuccino. Their conversation was interrupted as a Starbucks employee came over to deliver the coffee and Natalie cleared a space for the steaming mug. Malcolm glanced scornfully at the ample volume of whipped cream spilling from the top of the beverage before him. There was chocolate powder sprinkled in excess all over it, and a helping of marshmallows sticking out of the cream. It was the chocolate flake sticking out of the top that pushed Malcolm over the edge.

"Excuse me." The young blonde in the apron returned to the side of the table, her ready-to-serve smile in place. Malcolm read the name from her badge before continuing. "Excuse me, Avril, but I ordered coffee. Black coffee." Clearly not realising the danger she was in, the girl adopted a patronising tone and addressed Malcolm as though he were a halfwit.

"That is a coffee." She gave a slight giggle when he continued to stare. Malcolm continued as though she hadn't spoken, wearing what was commonly referred to as his bollocking face.

"I'm sorry darling; it's just that I thought Starbucks sold coffee. That looks like a cross between fucking hot chocolate and a birthday cake baked by a spastic. It looks like My Little Pony took a shit." Natalie looked resolutely out of the window, hand over her mouth, and tried not to laugh at Malcolm's crude but accurate description of the toppings.

"Maybe you should speak to the manager."

"Or maybe you should get me another coffee- an actual coffee; plain, black, no milk, no sugar and no fucking sweeties, d'you understand me?" Malcolm's voice had risen and the other people in the shop were looking at him with a curious blend of awe and disgust. Avril appeared to be close to tears. "If you bring me anything like this again I will grind your bones like coffee beans and use your fucking entrails to decorate hot drinks."

"Malcolm, don't." He turned and shot Natalie a withering look before recalling the purpose of being in Starbucks with her. "Can you just go away please?"

"Excellent idea. Both of you out now before I call the police." In place of Avril stood a stocky older woman with a no-nonsense demeanour and a face like thunder.

"What? No, I'm not with him. He just appeared." The manager raised a sceptical eyebrow and Natalie was mortified; once again she was being associated with Malcolm Tucker and it had cost her a place of comfort. Starbucks had become her home away from home.

"He was with her," Sobbed Avril, "He came in and they were talking like friends."

"Friends?! I met him fucking yesterday." And already he's fucked up my life was the internal parenthesis. Seeing that she was fighting a losing battle, Natalie packed the assortment of paperwork into her bag and stormed from the small property. She marched along the pavement without any idea as to where she was going, trying valiantly not to cry.

"Natalie?" She stopped and when she located the source of the voice her face fell.

"Why are you following me? Fuck off Malcolm." It was astonishing that he could successfully command almost anyone in the world to fuck off and they would, yet he was incapable of following the orders he so often gave.

"You forgot this." He manoeuvred through the flow of pedestrians between them and held up her phone. Natalie took it and slipped the device into her pocket, wondering why he had bothered to come after her. "Listen, I'm really sorry."

"Why are you here? Once I might believe, but there is no way that the Malcolm Tucker would ignore two opportunities to dig up dirt on the opposition." The streets were busy and Natalie wanted to go somewhere quiet to work out a plan.

"I'm not here for information. Let me take you for lunch and we'll talk about this some more, yeah?" There was nowhere else Natalie could think of to go, and she felt a tiny hint of curiosity about Malcolm's true intent towards her. Even if he wasn't going to tell her straight off then with a bit of effort his true motive could perhaps be discerned.

"Fine. If I stay with you I might get hit by a car or struck by lightning."

"Is it that bad?" Malcolm looked both incredulous and apologetic at once, and she didn't know what to make of it. They crossed the street in silence and Malcolm led the way towards a small seafood restaurant. As they were shown to a table Natalie began to doubt the wisdom of agreeing to lunch with the Director of Communications. Associating with him, however briefly, had cost her the respect of her colleagues and the virtually stress free safe haven that was Starbucks, and then there was the matter of him being a byword for espionage. Her phone beeped, announcing that she had a new text. Natalie's mouth pursed as she read the words, and she heard Emma's strident voice as though her friend was sitting directly across from her as opposed to Malcolm. She looked up and watched as he checked his own blackberry, not looking quite as calculated as he did tired. But looks could be deceiving.

"Who was texting you?" Natalie bit her lip and tugged at a strand of her hair, displaying the classic signs of someone hiding juicy information.

"I don't know if I should tell you." Malcolm kept his composure and tried to be casual.

"Of course you can. I promise I won't tell anybody."

"Then I can tell you; it was Emma apologising for telling Ollie that I was in Starbucks. She called you a devious bastard and told me that I should get a taxi back to the safety of HQ." She laughed as Malcolm attempted to conceal his disappointment. "Did you think I'd be that easy? I'm not going to tell you anything that you could use against us." The waiter came to take their orders.

"I really am sorry Natalie; I didn't think that last night would have caused so much trouble for you." It was almost true, as well. As the opposition went he hated her the least out of any he had encountered so far. She was even less easy to despise than Nicola Murray.

"Yeah." He could see by the way her attention was returning to the Blackberry in her hands that Natalie wasn't buying it, and he couldn't blame her for that. It was time to up the game and inject just a little more honesty because that was what she seemed to respond to best.

"I'm serious. This, it becomes your fucking life and if you can't keep the pieces together you might as well be the fucking vegetable patient in the hospital, no sniffling visitors pretending to care and the only variation in your daily routine is shitting yourself every few hours. Better to be euthanized."

"You just called yourself a cunt and told me to kill myself. Tell me, do you always say things like that to women?" Although tempted, Malcolm refrained from giving a particularly offensive response.

"I said if you couldn't hack it you might as well. They wouldn't have given you to Mannion's PR to do if you weren't halfway decent."

"As far as he's concerned I'm damaged goods now. My judgement counts for less than nothing back at the ranch, and seeing as I came out for lunch with you after that I can see why. Rumours are everywhere! The stuff I had delivered this morning had a malicious little post it stuck on suggesting that a carbon copy should be sent to you." Natalie's voice wavered and she was glad to see the food arriving as it gave her an opportunity to compose herself without looking up at Malcolm Tucker.

"Thank you." He gave the waitress a genuine smile, expressing pleasure in the fact that his machinations were working already as opposed to the service he had been provided with. He had pulled a couple of strings to have the post it written, slipped a few choice words into the ears of those liable to share them and already the impact of his actions had proven to be fruitful. The most delicious part of it was that Natalie, as she sipped at her mineral water and began cutting at her salmon, was utterly ignorant of what he was doing. Watching a plan fold out as anticipated was one of the best feelings Malcolm had ever known. Several minutes had passed and Natalie no longer appeared to be on the brink of some kind of crisis, so he decided to try and rejuvenate conversation.

"Is the fish okay?" Natalie nodded.

"Cooked to perfection, just like poor Nicola will be after tomorrow's conference." Malcolm couldn't prevent the muscles around his mouth from slackening. It was a given than Nicola was going to fuck up somehow, spectacularly, but only he was supposed to know that and the more people other than him that knew what to look out for, the more difficult damage control would be.

"Not at all- she's going to be fine." Natalie raised an arched eyebrow but didn't press the subject.

"Maybe it would be better if we just didn't talk about work."

"Why don't we have a little fucking gossip then, talk about every insignificant detail of our lives."

"Point taken." They didn't speak again until the main course was finished, each thinking furiously. It would be a shame to use the prime candidate of the rainy day files they had on Mannion, especially with another fuck up รก la DoSaC just around the corner, but this plan of his would almost definitely work. Malcolm dropped his napkin on the table and asked the question he knew hadn't left Natalie's mind all morning.

"What are you going to do about Mannion then?" She grimaced slightly.

"What's it to you Malcolm?" He was grudgingly impressed by her restraint- most people would be begging him to use his influence to fix the problem. He ordered them two coffees as the waitress collected the used plates.

"Me? Oh, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I hadn't." He rolled his eyes and dropped the sarcastic tone. "Sweet fuck all, darling."

"Then why ask?"

"Because I can help you. Ask Mannion if claiming the expenses for his wife's birthday present was an accident." Natalie's eyes widened. There was no way to tell if Malcolm was being serious- nobody knew what was genuine, but everybody knew that his machinations were always calculated with the utmost care. She watched as he pulled a slim manila envelope from his briefcase and slid it across the table.

"Blackmail Peter?!" Malcolm stared incredulously at the obvious distaste she had for his solution. "I'm supposed to help him, not Blackmail him." He watched intently as she pulled the documents free and read them, the cogs in her mind so obviously turning.

"Fine, have it your way and throw everything down the shitter. Let Mannion find some excuse to fire you, become that mediocre, boring vegetable- I think it's a cabbage because it's that fucking uninteresting- and who knows? Maybe a career outside of politics could be fulfilling after all." By the time he had finished speaking Malcolm knew that she had come around to his way of thinking by the determined look towards the incriminating files.

"You're just going to let me take this; something you could use to your own advantage?" She wasn't daft, even if she had balked at an underhanded way of saving her own arse.

"I'm not asking you for anything. Besides, it's Mannion- that was just one, teeny tiny fuck up fish in an ocean." He saw the corner or her mouth twitch. Natalie was thankful that she didn't have to reply when the coffee arrived. After his first drink from the mug, on which he must have scalded himself, Malcolm looked more relaxed than she could recall seeing him previously.

"Better?" There was an almost predatory gleam in his eyes as he answered.

"Oh yes."

****

Natalie Ward slid from the taxi with an envelope clasped in one hand, her bag in the other, and strode purposefully into the opposition building. By the time she had made it up the flights of stairs she was certain that she could blackmail Peter Mannion into letting the whole incident with Malcolm fade into the background. Just thinking about it felt like kicking a dog; bumbling Peter who couldn't even stand up to Stewart being blackmailed of all things, and by her! Natalie knew that this time yesterday she couldn't have imagined doing anything of the sort, but this time yesterday she hadn't met Malcolm Tucker.

Upon her reappearance on their floor of the building she ignored the whispers of fellow employees and made her way directly into Peter's office, dumping her bag on top of her desk en route. A strange calm overtook her as she entered his office and shut the door behind her with an audible click.

"Hello Natalie, I've read the blog and it was perfectly serviceable but I'm afraid-" Peter cleared his throat, shuffling in his seat before continuing.

"Did your wife like the necklace?" He blinked owlishly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I should say so Peter- four hundred and twenty nine pounds worth of taxpayers' money." Natalie withdrew the sheet of paper from the envelope, holding it just out of his grasp. Mannion's face turned ashen and she could see concern rising.

"E-Everyone does it."

"Everyone isn't in with a chance of helping to run the country after the next general election. If I had to leave this office it isn't the kind of thing I could forget about because it really is interesting."

"What do you want?" Smiling at Peter, Natalie took the seat opposite to his.

"These things aren't that important, are they Peter? Some might call it irrelevant- almost as irrelevant as one Malcolm Tucker." He inhaled sharply.

"But how do I know I can trust that you aren't working for him?"

"Faith. Have a little faith. I'm going to finish working on the policies Stewart wanted outlined." Helpless, Mannion watched as she left the office. As she sat down at the desk she both loved and despised, Natalie felt the strangest urge to laugh.

"Shouldn't you be clearing your desk?" Phil peered around the corner of her cubicle looking more than slightly confused. Instead of preparing to leave, Natalie was settled in front of her computer and typing ideas that would appeal to traditional Tories and another for the new, Compassionate Conservatives.

"Why on earth would I do that?" Perplexed, Phil returned to his own cubicle. Malcolm had saved her job, which was wonderful, but she knew that he wanted something more.

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