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Malcolm laughed just then. "Fuck yeah, I would be. Sam, too. She came with me to Off The Table. Just as ye'd be lost without Anthea, yerself. Ye know it's true."

He ran a hand over his clean-shaven cheek and eventually loosened his tie, comfortable at home after a long day at work.

"Speaking of the woman... Does she know what's going on? Ye can tell me. I'm just curious is all. I'm wondering just how many people know about this. I'm assuming she does. She fuckin' knows everything. Probably knew before ye did, mate. Let's be honest here."

His brow rose as he watched Mycroft, wishing he didn't notice the way the man's shoulders rose as he spoke or the relaxed way he exhaled. It was altogether distracting.

-----

His lips twitched again into a small smile, because he'd known as much. But the offer remained all the same, and it extended to simply more than an exchange of money. Information was often far more valuable to a man like Malcolm Tucker, and Mycroft could quietly make that work.

"Yes, of course. You're free to utilise any resource that you see fit, I implicitly trust your judgement."

He smiled a little.

"I know you'd be lost without your Pitbull."

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"Ye know me well, then. I dinnae need any money for helping ye. We're trying tae save the fuckin' country, mate. There's no need. Everything's fine. But thanks for the offer all the same, though."

Watching Mycroft now, the tea long since forgotten, he noted the way the man seemed to perk up a bit as he spoke. It bolstered his confidence. Maybe he felt less... overwhelmed by it all.

Mycroft was a different sort of man, one that Malcolm had always appreciated and looked to for guidance. It was sweet, in a way, to find that he was now leaning on Malcolm for assistance. There was no greater compliment.

"I'll call Jamie later. We'll be needing his help as well. That alright? Ye know he's my main fucker. Always helps me, no matter what."

-----

Well. He certainly wouldn't know that, it had been a long time since Mycroft had anything resembling a friend in his life. A true friend, at least. One he could implicitly trust to aid him simply because. Malcolm was something of an astounding anomaly. A unicorn, he believed normal people might say.

A small smile pulled at the edges of his mouth as Malcolm continued and he dipped his head slightly, smoothing his hand over a non existent crease in his pristine trousers.

"Back into the thick of it," he mused. "If there's anything you require of me in return, or in recompense, you only have to ask, of course. Though I know you'll scoff and chide me at the offer."

His gaze found Malcolm.

"Yes, I'm certain that we will."

There had been a particular inflection on the 'we'. Something curious and fascinated.

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Malcolm watched him for a moment, wondering just how to respond to such a confession. His head tilted and he rubbed at his neck with a tired hand.

"Ye might've lost control, mate, but ye've also got me. I'm no going anywhere. I'll help ye with this. Ye shouldnae be so shocked that I'm gonnae do this. Friends help each other, dinnae they?"

He shifted away to find the charger in his briefcase, needing to put his cell on to charge for a while. It was nearly dead. After he was finished, his eyes fell on Mycroft.

"The end result will be worth seeing my face in the papers again. And like I said before, it might bring Off The Table new business in the aftermath. My boss will live. Fuck him. A friend needs help, right?"

Something tugged at Malcolm's chest to see Mycroft in such a delicate, fragile state. It was foreign. For a moment, he thought about how deeply touching it was.

Patting his friend's back, he added, "Keep those photos safe, mate. Cannae let someone else see them. This is gonnae be difficult, but we'll manage."

-----

Once again Mycroft made a soft sound of confirmation in his throat, his gaze flickering over Malcolm's face.

"Yes," he agreed, to both the question about them working together and the observation that they were probably mad. It was a fair assessment after all, once that was endlessly intriguing for Mycroft.

"I find it curious," he began after a moment, considering everything that was happening and what was being both said and unsaid. "That you would even consider doing this."

There was more to that, but he couldn't quite bring his thoughts in line to consider it properly, especially when Malcolm continued.

"Perhaps I don't, but if not me, then who?" That was how it had been for so long and likely how it was going to remain for the foreseeable future. "Atlas lost control of his own fate when he made a choice. I find myself in the same situation."

As he spoke he eyed Malcolm, letting the little confession of care brush against him. It felt so incredibly... intimate. And he wasn't entirely sure what to do with that.

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Peter Capaldi as Derek Caldicot in Mrs Caldicot's Cabbage War (2002)

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:: you are carnage // malcolm x nicola // for @idontuselifts ::

"There are spaces

between my lines

that only you

can fill."

⸻

Malcom was currently stalking the halls of DoSAC. He needed to find the Glummy Mummy and give her a stern talking-to. The appalling radio interview that she had last night would haunt the party for days to come.

As he made his way to her office, he stepped inside and pointed to the door. Ollie and Glenn looked terrified to find him standing there.

"We need tae have a talk, minge-box," he began. "The sort of talk where daddy tells the weans mummy's never coming home because he murdered her and buried her in the backyard. I might just do that tae ye at this point. We seriously need tae talk about that radio appearance last night. Fuck off, Ollie, alright? Ye too, Glenn. Fuck off. Get back tae work, both of ye. Stop standing around in mummy's office."

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✤ I have so many replies to do here and for my other characters. They'll come either later or tomorrow. Don't mind me. Life has been a bit mad lately. ✤

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“They began by using him as a short-cut, a convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great brain of his, everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in an instant.“

Independent Mycroft Holmes of BBC Sherlock

Active since February, 2012

Crossover friendly with alternate versions of Sherlock Holmes and other fandoms

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⸻

"Oh, believe me, I will. We'll no doubt be working on this one together, aye? I'll do most of the work for ye, though. Yer busy enough as it is, mate. Let's not drown ye in more shite."

It was a life-changing decision—for many reasons—and Malcolm took a moment to exhale slowly. It was probably insane of him to do this. His eyes moved Mycroft's way as he carried over the teapot, milk, and sugar on a tray. He placed it down between them and plopped down into a chair.

"We're mad, ye know? One word from ye and here I am running right back tae help. My boss wonnae be happy. He'll just have tae fuckin' get over it. I'll be in the papers again. If anything, it'll only bring Off The Table some business. People will be curious."

His eyes, if only for a moment, roamed Mycroft. He seemed relaxed, comforted by the knowledge that someone else was going to be helping him in this endeavor. That was why Malcolm had said yes in the first place.

"Ye donnae need tae take the world on, ye know. It shouldnae be on yer shoulders alone. Ye arenae Atlas. That's why I'm helping ye. Because I care about ye and the party. Fuck everybody else."

-----

Mycroft was content for the moment to let Malcolm say what he needed to. In all honesty it confirmed how he'd felt about the whole thing. Sometimes the best thing to do with information was sit on it until the opportune moment.

His gaze followed as Malcolm moved to the kitchen to fix the tea and his brows rose in surprise as Malcolm agreed to come back. Despite the fact that Mycroft hadn't outright asked that of him, the man was finally free, he wouldn't expect him to come back, especially not after what they had done to him. And Mycroft didn't blame him one bit.

"Well, that went much better than I had anticipated," he mused lightly, exhaling a slow breath. It was also something of a relief, one less thing for him to deal with now that Malcolm had graciously agreed to sort it.

"Do as you need and wish, and of course should you need anything, please be sure to let me know."

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⸻

"This feels like an episode of a fuckin' crime drama," Malcolm murmured, eyes moving Mycroft's way. "What are ye planning tae do about this? Because I would... keep it close tae the chest for now. Dinnae say anything tae anybody. Ye can have her removed from office for less. This'll do the trick."

Malcolm's thoughts were everywhere. He rose to fetch the kettle once it began to boil and he spoke again as he poured hot water into a waiting teapot, prepped and steaming for them.

"I'll come back, just this once. If it'll help ye, I'll do it. On my spare time, yeah, I'll do it. This is important and I'm willing tae help ye, and them."

It was quite an emphatic declaration. Malcolm still cared. He had always cared about Labour, and things were no different this time around.

"Between ye and I, I think we can handle this situation. I'll talk tae Jamie as well. Ye know him. My terrier. He'll come if I call. He's always ready for a brawl. This'll be no different."

-----

"As suits you," Mycroft replied lightly before taking a seat at the table. Before he settled into his chair he unfastened the button on his suit jacket, smoothing out the fabric idly.

He game Malcolm the time he needed to look through the files and while he waited his phone found its way into his hand and he dealt with another small crisis.

"Mm," he hummed lightly at the question, lifting his gaze to look across the table at the very relaxed Malcolm as he read over the file. "That's correct, yes. Fourteen hours, if we need to be particularly specific."

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⸻

Blue eyes moved Mycroft's way as he spoke, his hands busy with kitchen appliances. He was listening intently whilst putting the kettle on and readying a teapot. Afterward, he unknotted his tie, slipping it into the discarded jacket pocket, and rolled up his sleeves to make himself more at home.

"I'd rather look now, actually. Ye've got me curious."

While the kettle was on the burner, he sat at the table to glance through the file Mycroft had brought. His eyebrows rose.

"Who took these photos, yer men, I'm assuming?"

-----

A low sound of agreement rumbled in Mycroft's throat at Malcolm's words and assessment. It was all very true, to be perfectly fair. He supposed if anyone could relate to his position at all it would indeed be someone like Malcolm, who had also given everything to a job and to people who had little regard for the man behind it all.

"Tea sounds absolutely superb right now," Mycroft replied softly as he followed Malcolm onto the house.

The quite and peace hit him instantly and he found himself releasing a slow breath, exhaling some of the tension that had gathered inside him throughout the day - and probably a lot longer than that. He took a moment to settle himself before he followed Malcolm through the house, knowing that the other man wouldn't mind.

"The usual rigmarole and problems," he replied as he pulled a file from the neat, clean briefcase he'd brought along with him. "You can peruse this at your leisure, of course, and let me know your take on it. There's no rush." He mused, watching Malcolm move around the kitchen in his shirt sleeves.

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⸻

In this, he wasn't particularly gentle nor was he patient with her. With everything else, just for tonight, he would be. But not like this, not with his head between her thighs, lost and desperate for it. He was demanding, wanting her crying out for him.

With her on the cusp of something wonderful, right there on the edge of her orgasm, he drew away for a gasping breath and murmured.

"Let go for me, luv. Come for me. I know ye wannae."

God, but she could be like this forever. his lips on her providing the perfect distraction from those cravings that she had been barely keeping at bay.

"Insane, and yet so fucking good." She admitted, trailing her hands over his back before coming back to his hair, back arching as his lips began to trail her body, tightening at every new sensation.

Relaxing was such a strange idea to her, she couldn't remember the last time that she fully relaxed but she allowed her head to fall back, teeth catching her lower lip as a moan of his name left her lips. This was pure bliss.

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⸻

"I've made a fuckin' living off of being an astute cunt for years, Mycroft. Lest ye forget that... And besides, it's only because I care, alright? Fuck me, but I do. Ye know I care."

He turned to glance at Mycroft over his shoulder as they wandered to his front door. He took note of the nice suit that was to be admired, of the knackered expression on Mycroft's face, and sighed beneath his breath as he fished out his keys from an overcoat pocket.

"C'mon, mate. Some tea will do ye a bit of good, yeah?"

Inside they went, after the door was unlocked and pushed open, and Malcolm's home welcomed them with peace and tranquility. He flicked on a few light-switches, slipped out of his jacket, and went into the kitchen area. It wasn't the first time Mycroft had been in his home, nor would it ever be the last, but it certainly felt like the most relaxed of every visit previously.

"What do ye need my advice on? I'll put the kettle on."

-----

Mycroft arched a brow at the questions, turning his head to glance at Malcolm for a moment before he turned his attention back to his hands, looking down at them where they were clasped over the handle of his umbrella. He was contemplating the best course of action, of how, exactly, he should respond.

"You're terribly astute," he accused lightly, before making the softest sound of agreement at the suggestion.

Gracefully, he climbed from the car, taking a moment to lazily stretch out his long limbs as he glanced around. He already knew perfectly well what the area looked like, could easily and effortlessly pick out anything that had changed even remotely slightly, but he wasn't concerned.

After a few short moments he was turning away to follow Malcolm toward his home.

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⸻

"Aye, and ye were wonderful. Poised and relaxed, too. A perfect picture of elegance and excellence, and that's not a compliment I give out very often."

He drew her into a gentle hug—one of thanks, of complete understanding, and apology. Life had gotten in the way. He was swamped with work. He hadn't had the time to reach out to her lately, and that was partially his own fault. He should have made the time. Since his untimely departure, things had been incredibly tough, both mentally (or emotionally) and physically. He sighed softly, leaning down and kissing her forehead, and continued.

"Ye doing alright, otherwise?"

⸻

Maria couldn't help but glance around her at the various states of complete shock that Malcolm Tucker was in the building.

"I thought you might tune in, I did learn from the best about how to conduct myself in such interviews, after all. Treated myself to a Fanta afterwards just like back in DoSaC."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and let him towards her rooms upstairs.

"Italian sounds great, Malcolm, thank you."

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[2/∞]: The best of Malcolm Tucker

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