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[eternalpragmatist]

timetravelingclara‌:

Her eyes widened as he snapped back. Definitely not the Doctor, then.

Malcolm Tucker.

She stared at her with the same intensity the Doctor had when he’d first regenerated, all that time ago in the TARDIS console room. He wasn’t wrong about the news, per se, it just tended to not always be Earth news.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “He’s… someone I used to travel with. You look a lot like him. Actually, if I’m honest, you could be twins.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed off a sardonic huff of laughter at her answer. “Lucky sod,” he muttered, more as an offhand statement than any sort of come-on. “Well I’m not him, darling.”

Already dismissing the conversation, he turned and began to walk away. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get on.”

[eternalpragmatist]

timetravelingclara‌:

Clara frowned and slowed, pausing for only a moment before falling back into step beside him. She looked him over again. Puffy grey hair? Check. Wrinkles? Check. Same sad eyes? Undetermined, given that he wouldn’t look her directly in her own. He certainly looked like the Doctor, but if he was saying he wasn’t…

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

She knew it was a silly question to ask someone that she herself had stopped, but she had to know if she was wrong. He certainly hadn’t slowed down when she’d asked but maybe he’d answer a direct question.

Just like that, he was angry. As if he hadn’t just made the front page. He stopped abruptly and turned to face her wearing a sharp grey suit, close-cropped hair, and a bollocking stare that could peel paint. “Are you takin’ the piss?”

Against all odds, her expression said she wasn’t. His posture relaxed somewhat but he didn’t lose the almost shark-like vigilance in his gaze. “Malcolm Tucker,” he answered carefully. “I’m guessing you don’t follow a lot of news.”

So, then, why was she standing there with him in the middle of the street in the first place? And why was he letting her? “Who’s this doctor, then?”

[eternalpragmatist]

timetravelingclara‌:

Clara hung outside the coffee house waiting for the Doctor to come back out. He was dressed down more than she was used to, practically looking like a human, but maybe things had changed a lot for him since the last time she’d seen him. She checked her watch and sighed, peeking up when she heard the jingle of the bell on the door ring.

“Doctor!” She beamed, falling into step beside him. “Slow down, its me.”

It was a bit odd that he didn’t even stall when he saw her, but again, she didn’t know what he’d been through since their last meeting.

Malcolm was finally out of the coffee shop and on the way to Number 10 when he heard a young woman call out, “Doctor!”. He was startled enough by the exclamation that he turned to look even though it didn’t pertain to him.

To his surprise, the lovely young thing fell in step beside him as if they were old friends. “Slow down, it’s me.” He eyed her distrustfully but was forced to concede that she didn’t look much like the press. He kept walking at the same speed, long legs easily covering ground.

“Can I help you, sweetheart? I’m no doctor. An’ I’ve gotta admit you don’t look familiar. Have we met?” He privately suspected he would very much have remembered a face like that.

[eternalpragmatist]

Just what he needed. Another fucking scandal. Once again, one of his ministers was across the front page like a pissing puppy and this time he had dragged Malcolm into it as well. He glowered at the newspaper which, of course, had his fucking face on it.

He’d already been dressed down by the party leadership and the minister in question would likely get the sack. Malcolm had only just managed to save his own skin by throwing the useless moron under the bus where he belonged.

He was uncomfortably aware of eyes on him as he stopped for his morning coffee. Christ, he hated being the story. He forcibly reminded himself to just keep his head down and it would pass. Last time he stuck his neck out for one of these Oxbridge twats, that was for certain.

[eternalpragmatist]

:Malcom Tucker; Moodboard:

[eternalpragmatist]

voicesasclearasday:

Dark eyes followed as he took to twisting the ring on his finger. His bitter smile would be met with a somewhat curious look. Another sad expression would settle over her as he explained. “…I’m sorry.” She murmured, though it was unclear whether he’d heard her.

It was his turn then, to ask. She opened her mouth to reply, but seemed to hesitate. She’d never spoken of Bipin to anyone else. Had never spoken about her past to anyone but her now ex-husband. She never thought she’d have to again. Save for Karishma, one day. She bit at her lips before finally pushing on. “He.. died. Helping me escape.” With another sigh, she leaned back in her seat and stared at the ceiling with an almost empty gaze. When she spoke, her tone was oddly casual, despite the crushing weight it still seemed to hold over her.  “I was a whore..before this.” She paused and shot him a bitter smirk, “My parents sold me off at the age of seventeen, when I refused to get married for the hundredth time. I assume whatever money they got for me was used to pay off my father’s gambling debts. I spent seven years on an island where women and girls were used as entertainment. I’ve been  raped, beaten, burned… And in the end, I ended up getting pregnant. Bipin was the one constant in my life, then. He saved me multiple times..and gods only know why.” “He joined a gang as a child. Trying to help his mother keep their home. Rose through the ranks and ended up as a guard on the island about a year after I was brought there. I hated him at first. Refused to trust him, Despite the horrified expression i occasionally caught on his face.I’d thought it was an act. And then one day, after a particularly brutal ‘client’…I could hardly move. He was sent to check in on me and decide if I was worth keeping around. He helped me into a corner and snuck in a few of the other girls to help patch me up while he kept an eye out. slipped me bits of meals when he could..eventually, we began to pass messages.We talked about finding a way to escape together.” A sad smile touched her lips as the thought, an image of the man she’d come to care for. It was gone just as quickly, replaced with guilt and remorse. “When I discovered I was pregnant… I became depressed. I stopped eating, I stopped trying to fight…Often times I considered simply killing myself. It’s not like I would have been the first. Women on that island died from any number of causes…It would have been so easy. But he stopped me. He came up with a plan and the next thing I knew I was hiding in a body bag, waiting to reach land. We were… supposed to meet at a hostel within three days. If I didn’t see him… I was told to get out. Find anywhere I could hide. I waited a week. He never showed.”

Malcolm had had no idea what he was getting into when he asked the question. The longer she spoke, the deeper he sank in his chair and the stiller and stiller he got. By the end, he was very nearly holding his breath.

He didn’t know what to do with any of this information, or why she would volunteer something so personal right away. He glanced toward the door by instinct but found no one listening in. For the most part the house had gone silent around them for the night.

“I’m sorry.” It seemed hollow comfort in the wake of all that but he didn’t know what to say. For the first time in a long time, Malcolm Tucker had been rendered speechless. Instead he got up gingerly and crossed the room, shutting the heavy hardwood door just to be safe. Then he returned to his seat and clasped his hands under his chin.

“I’m gonna be honest with you... That’s a lot to process.” There was a startled look in his eyes like a deer spooked by headlights and he seemed to focus on a spot behind her on the wall.

So this was his soulmate? At least he didn’t need to worry about being the fucked up one in the relationship, but this was insane. For one thing, what was he supposed to do, with his temper and his personal problems, around a woman so badly damaged? He’d only make things worse. And did she say something about a child? Fuck’s sake, he was out of his depth.

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll try an’ keep up.” He shook himself and tried to refocus. “This was...back in India, yeah? Where did you-- Where did you go after that?”

Ships In The Night (Soulmates!AU) || Asha

[eternalpragmatist]

voicesasclearasday:

the harsh words sent a chill down her spine, her eyes going wide in shock. He never had such a tone with her. That tone had always been reserved for the party members he dealt with on a daily basis.

He was beside her before she could even respond and she jumped, a sharp gasp leaving her lips as he grabbed at her wrist for a look at her mark. “Makeup. Fucking makeup? “  Falling back into old habits, she dropped her head, appearing to try and make herself as small as possible. “How long have you been hiding this from me?”  She didn’t answer. He released her then. Snatched his hand back as if she’d burnt him. Nervous and fearful despite herself, she drew her wrist protectively to her chest and took a few steps back. She might’ve tried to leave, but she knew from experience that running often made things worse. And so she waited. She knew exactly how this story went. He’d talk. He’d yell. If he was angry enough he’d hit her a few times. And then she could leave. Already she was planning her escape, thinking of other places to work. And then suddenly, she felt angry. This would not be her life again. She refused to be taken advantage of again. She refused to run away. To cower and hide. She let her hands fall to her side. The next time a spoke, he’d be met with a fiery gaze. His initial apology seemed to fall flat with her, though her eyes would soften just slightly at his admission. Neither did I. She thought, but she kept her silence. Again he apologized, his voice taking back the softer, kinder tone he usually had with her, though there appeared to be a hint of fear hiding behind it as well. Remorse sat plainly on his face. Despite this, Asha scrutinized him a while longer before allowing her anger to fade. “No. I’m fine.” She replied with a shake of her head. His next question drew a heavy sigh and she slowly made her way to one of the plush chairs scattered around his office before answering. “Since the incident with Ben. I didn’t think anything of it at first. I thought it was a mistake. Much like you, I didn’t think mine ever would. I was… certain I’d met the one meant for this–” She gestured at the mark, now clearly visible and glowing, “– years ago. Before they were even thought of.” She paused,mournful expression touching her features at the thought. A moment later, it was gone, hidden away once more. “And then I.. saw it again. A few weeks later when I was cleaning. I know that.. its not always so simple. You’ve heard the stories. One person’s mark glows, and the other’s doesn’t. I’ve never seen yours before, but I’ve seen your ring. I’ve no desire to break up a happy marriage simply because of a glowing mark.”

Despite her insistence, Malcolm could tell she wasn’t fine. He still regretted that but there was very little he could really do about it now. Instead, he followed her over to the chair and dropped into the one opposite. With one elbow propped on the armrest, he leaned his forehead on the palm of his hand and stared at her wearily.

At the mention of his ring, Malcolm lifted his other hand and glanced toward it, fidgeting with it as if he’d suddenly lost the composure to sit still. A bitter smile curled the corner of his mouth. “There’s no marriage to break up. And it hadn’t been happy for a long time anyway. ...Maybe it never was.” He shrugged. “No, we were together when the marks first came out. I didn’t think much of it. i guess she did. That or she just wanted an excuse.”

He didn’t know why he was telling her this. He didn’t talk about it, not even over a pint. It was in his past now. But hell, they were soulmates weren’t they? Isn’t that what this was supposed to mean? Whatever the fuck that meant in the first place was anybody’s guess. “She got one. An’ it wasn’t me. Off she went.” He mimicked a flying motion with his fingers. “I got mine to remind me...not to get fucking attached.” He was still looking at the ring as he said it and spinning it between his fingers.

Finally something seemed to occur to him and he looked up and pointed at her. “What about you? You said something about meeting yours before the marks. Why aren’t you with him now then?”

Ships In The Night (Soulmates!AU) || Asha

[eternalpragmatist]

#me being petty

[eternalpragmatist]

voicesasclearasday:

It’d been months since the night she and the infamous Malcolm Tucker had first crossed paths. Months since she’d only just barely caught sight of the fading blue glow from the mark on her wrist. The second he’d slipped out the door, she had nearly had a panic attack. But instead, she chose to brush it off. It was a fluke, nothing more. She’d simply imagined it. After all, her mark couldn’t possibly glow. She’d met her soulmate years ago. At least.. that’s what she’d believed. He’d been taken from her long before these little marks had even been thought of. But then she saw it again. Weeks later, another late night as she’d been dusting off shelves in his office, he’d stormed inside, once more screaming profanities into his mobile. She saw it then, again. That faint little glow on her wrist. She’d frozen, the duster clattering to the floor in her shock. Nervous eyes had shot to him, a shaking hand slapping over her wrist in an attempt to hide it… he’d never even glanced her way. With a shaky breath, she’d all but snatched the duster and gathered her things before hurrying from the room. She avoided him for several nights after that. And then, eventually, she would steal an occasional glance as they passed. At his wrist, when he wasn’t looking, at his face to see if he knew. Not once did she ever catch sight if his mark. It always seemed to be hidden from view. It was maddening. Still, whenever she caught his eye, nothing seemed different. Sure, he smiled at her every now and then, and sure it caused an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach– which she promptly ignored, but it revealed nothing as to whether he knew or not. And so she ignored it. Why bother? She told herself, After all its not as if his is reacting the same…if he even has one.. Finally, she seemed to relax, though she’d taken to covering her mark with make up as best she could. Even then the glow still faintly showed. She even occasionally talked with him. Things felt almost normal again. “What the fuck is this shite??” The harsh words had cut through the uncommonly peaceful silence, causing the poor woman to jump slightly. She still wasn’t quite used to the shouting. Unaware that they’d been directed towards her she had turned to him with a curious look, only to still at the sight of his wrist. At the clear look of horror he’d fixed her with. Silence once more filled the room, but this time it was almost suffocating. Instinctively, she turned away and hid her own wrist from view, careful not to look at him. In fact, she made a point to look at anything but him. “I.. I don’t know,” She said softly. A stupid response. A child’s response. But what else could she say? How could this possibly not end in disaster?

It was clear he’d alarmed her with his shouting. When she turned to look round, it was equally clear that she wasn’t as surprised to see this as he was. Instead it was more of a panic, maybe even guilt, that he saw for a fraction of a second in her eyes. Then she turned away, hiding her wrist from him.

“Oh, I think you might have some idea.” His tone was accusatory and shockingly cold. It was not how he talked to her. Ever. He wasn’t being rational but for the moment he was too irrational to notice. He stood up quickly and crossed the room on long strides, grabbing her wrist and turning it over.

There, dulled by a thin layer of makeup, was the same glowing blue mark. “Makeup. Fucking makeup? How long have you been hiding this from me?” It wasn’t until that very moment that he felt the tenseness in her muscles, that he finally looked at her properly and saw the fear in her eyes. Instantly he dropped her hand like he’d been burnt. 

His heart was still slamming against his rib-cage, fighting to get out, but he was beginning to remember himself now. He drew in a ragged breath and took a step back. “I’m sorry. No, I’m really sorry. I know that this is not your fault, right?” Long hands raked down over his face. ”I just... I never thought it would ever do that. I hoped that it never would.”

Malcolm eyed her warily, remorse still readily apparent on his face. He glanced down at her wrist. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I’m sorry, I-- I panicked.” Try as he might, he couldn’t look her fully in the face. His breathing was still labored and shaky but his voice was kinder now. “How long have you known?”

Ships In The Night (Soulmates!AU) || Asha

[eternalpragmatist]

thedoctorsimpossiblegirl:

There had been many instances where aliens had been suspected to be part of government dealings in the past, reptilians in disguise in America or even the Slitheen incident back home in the UK, being allied with UNIT meant looking in to such ideas and containing them as quickly as possible. Clara usually wasn’t the one to take assignments from them, she had been far too occupied with her own travels and attempting to get away from thoughts of the mess that was left of her life on Earth were enough to make the brunette wary to return but an interesting headline they had brought up caught her eye.

A man who looked identical to the Doctor in the government was not to be ignored, and certainly not when there was no coincidence whatsoever that someone bearing his exact likeness had wormed their way into a powerful and influential position. Either this was a duplicate or quite possibly the Doctor himself; no matter which way she chose to read into it Clara couldn’t avoid taking a better look at it. Recovering her resume hadn’t been hard and with Kate Lethbridge-Stewart giving her a helping hand it was sure to stand out. When it came to applying to a PA job, hopefully the letter of recommendation from the government department of international defence and unified intelligence (the name UNIT chose to go under through normal proceedings so the mundanes wouldn’t look too into it) would aid her in getting the position.

Waiting outside the man’s door had been nerve wracking, having to sit there fixing her knee-high pencil skirt and making sure her cherry crimson lipstick hadn’t smudged before giving herself a small moment to catch her breath. Clara hated interviews, but the brunette reminded herself that this was one was necessary and would be over soon enough.

Swiftly moving to get up as soon as the young woman heard she had been called inside Clara carefully opened the door and peered around the room before entering, standing tall with her shoulders squared as the Time traveller refused to be frightened by something as tiny as a job interview, not when she had been faced with far worse things in her life. She was Clara Oswald for goodness sake, who fought cybermen and shapeshifting aliens, saving the world was her day job and this would be a cake walk in comparison.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Tucker.” It was polite, easy and quick to say and pairing it with one of her award winning smiles should show that she wasn’t the type to be shy or that there was a nervous bone in her body. “I’m Clara Oswald, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah welcome Ms. Oswald. Thanks for coming.” He reached across the desk to shake her hand and then took his seat, gesturing for her to follow suit. Good-looking was the understatement of the century but Malc didn’t let it phase him. Unlike some of the less savory characters in Whitehall, he didn’t intend on paying her to be pretty. And anyway he only fucked up the tree.

Taking up his pen, he turned it over between his fingers and pinned her with an appraising look. There was a pause as he seemed to consider something. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I mean, I normally try to sugarcoat things for you civvies but if you’re applyin’ to work at Number 10, and for me of all people, you ought to know what that means.”

He glanced at her C.V. on his desk as if he hadn’t already memorized it. “You come very highly recommended, although I’m curious how a schoolteacher got wrapped up with a government defense agency. And one so highly classified at that...” He tapped the pen briefly against his lip and then pointed it at her. “That’s probably a very good story but I suspect you won’t be telling it. That Lethbridge-Stewart woman certainly didn’t seem keen to elaborate. Still, the referral checks out. That’s why you’re here.”

“Point is, I don’t care what you did for them or how many A levels you got at school, how many words per minute you can type... Any idiot can draft some emails and send some faxes. I want to know why you wanna do this. Why does it matter to you? And it had better matter to you because this job is gonna live in your head and lay fuckin’ eggs in your brain.” He shrugged as if remembering something and shot her a lopsided grin.. “Oh yeah, and I say ‘fuck’ a lot. I trust that’s something you can live with?”

A Case of Mistaken Identity

[eternalpragmatist]

Ships In The Night (Soulmates!AU) || Asha

Closed starter for @voicesasclearasday

It had been a few years since they’d come out with those little tattoos: the ones that were supposed to glow when you met your soulmate. Malcolm had thought they were rubbish and that the people getting them were fucking retarded. Then his wife had gotten one.

As the job had consumed more and more of his life, their marriage had taken the biggest hit. Not that it hadn’t been something of a marriage of convenience to begin with, but still, he’d thought they were alright. He never saw the signs until she came home with a night out with her girlfriends and told him they’d all gotten it done. So much for agreeing with him that the whole idea was mental.

She’d popped it out to show him and it hadn’t so much as blinked in his presence. Of course he’d felt vindicated in his belief that they didn’t work. What the fuck was a soulmate anyway? People didn’t really have those. How could they? His wife hadn’t seemed too convinced. 

The first affair they’d swept under the rug like good political families do. The second had made a blip in a third page column of the Mail. The rest he’d made too scared to cross him. Finally one day she’d waltzed up to him with some good-looking little fuckwit with that same ridiculous symbol glowing on his wrist. Somehow that had been legal grounds for divorce.

After that, Malcolm had gotten his own tattoo. Not looking for love, mind you. Nothing so sentimental. But as a permanent reminder that true love didn’t exist for men like him. If a woman ever got him so much as flustered, he’d just look at that mark, the same boring colour it had always been, and go back to his fucking life. He had real shit to do. Important shit. And he didn’t care if it never glowed. In fact, he hoped it didn’t.

Flash forward six years and Malcolm barely looked at the thing anymore. His suit stayed on, his sleeves stayed down, and he no longer needed to check it to remind himself. That sickly sweet feeling of butterflies happened to lesser men, not to the Master of Spin. If that nice young woman that cleaned the offices at Number 10 occasionally coaxed more of a smile out of him than most, well he was just being polite to a good employee. And anyway, she’d earned the privilege with that stunt she’d pulled on Ben Swain the first day they’d met.

Even so, they rarely spoke more than pleasantries. He was a busy man and she had work to do. Most of the time they were passing each other going opposite directions. The fact that he noticed that was indicative of nothing. 

Tonight he was in his office later than usual. It had been a hell of a day and he was still mopping up the blood from a couple of sacrificial lambs in the form of overweight, greying ministers reading prepared statements on the news. Tomorrow he’d have their replacements to blood in and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

He’d taken off his jacket and was sitting at his desk in shirtsleeves pouring over forms. Suddenly a blue glow caught his eye and cause him to jump. Something was shining through his sleeve. Frowning at the mark in confusion and disbelief, Malc rolled up his sleeve for a better look. There was that pale glow he’d only seen on his wife’s wrist and that other bloke holding her hand.

Of course the fucking thing was malfunctioning. Just his luck. There wasn’t even anybody-- Just then he looked up to find the housekeeper Asha in the room. As usual, she was so quiet he hadn’t even heard her come in. Pupils dilating and breath coming in short gasps, he stared at her in mingled shock and horror. He didn’t even try to hide the mark. It sat plainly visible on top of his desk. 

“What the fuck is this shite??”

[eternalpragmatist]

“You deserve better,” he whispers, staring at his hands. “That’s what you don’t get,” she says, and she's exasperated. “I don’t care if I deserve better, because I want you.“  He lifts his head. She takes his hand. “There is nothing better than you.”

H.L. // excerpt from a book I’ll never write #12 (via 451seconds)

[eternalpragmatist]

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Closed starter with @thedoctorsimpossiblegirl

His Blackberry hadn’t stopped ringing since nine that morning. Malcolm was currently fighting a Herculean battle with the urge to throw it against the wall. Instead he forced himself to take a deep breath in the attempt to shift down several gears. He also had an interview to worry about.

Of course, it would be nice if there was somebody else to deal with the interview. It was hard to fob something off on your PA, though, when they were the one you were replacing. And he wasn’t about to let some fucking moron from HR choose the person he relied on for nearly everything. He needed to look somebody in the eyes to decide whether or not they were gonna piss their pants in terror the first time he got a bit tense. 

No, he needed a fighter. And HR didn’t pick fighters. They picked warm bodies with adequate typing speed. Not fucking good enough. So when a knock came at the door, he reluctantly switched his phone to ‘priority only’ and took another deep breath.

“Come in.”

[eternalpragmatist]

The ring of belonging

[eternalpragmatist]

[eternalpragmatist]

voicesasclearasday:

It wasn’t long before Sam awoke with a jolt, tears streaming down her face; and it would only take a moment before she would remember just why she’d been crying. In an instant, it had all come rushing back. She’d dreamed about it– his suicide. Every horrible detail and every god-awful scenario. The images flashed through her mind again, causing the sickly feeling in her stomach to grow. They’d seemed so real…and suddenly she began to worry if they had been.

Fearfully, she jump up from her place on the couch and, despite her mounting terror, slowly made her way back up the stairs. Having reached his room, she paused before cautiously cracking the door to peek in.

A sigh of relief fell from her lips at the sight of him still in bed. He hadn’t even moved. She took a moment, resting her head on the edge of the door to gather her thoughts before closing it once more and making her way back downstairs.

Collapsing back onto the couch, the PA let out another sigh. She doubted she would sleep anymore tonight, not with the threat of those dreams still lingering over her. In an effort to distract herself and keep occupied, she flicked on a light and moved to the large bookcase on the side of the room. Better to read, than risk waking him with the tv, she’d thought. Finding a book, she then settled back into her place and hoped that it would serve as a good enough distraction. It wouldn’t. ———————————- By the time the sun had begun to rise, Sam was both frustrated and exhausted. She needed to do something to keep occupied. It was then she remembered she’d planned to make breakfast. Cooking. Cooking had always been a good distraction. Padding her way into the kitchen, she’d opened the fridge and was surprised to find just how full it was. She took a minute to poke around some more and, after finally taking stock of everything at her disposal, had opted for crepes. Setting out all she needed she immediately got to work. Some time later, she thought she might’ve heard stirrings from upstairs. Guessing that Malcolm had finally woken up, she set about making a plate for him as he made his way down the steps. At his muttered greeting, she nodded and offered him a tired, but kind smile. He didn’t even look at her. She let it fall and set the plate in front of him. “Wanted to.” She told him simply, “Besides, I couldn’t sleep. Needed to keep busy.” Setting up her own plate, she then moved towards the bar and took a seat beside him. “How’re you feeling…?”

"Thank you," he murmured. The plate she sat in front of him looked lovely and he regretted that it was probably going to taste like sawdust in his mouth. Couldn't be helped however. He had no appetite. Malcolm knew that she'd have questions. Sam was clever and inquisitive and he'd revealed things last night in his compromised state that he'd never intended to. There was no way she was going to let those things go. He was made doubly sure of that when she mentioned her trouble sleeping. God only knew what she'd kept herself awake imagining.. No doubt it was in large part the reason that she hadn't simply gone home. If only there were some way of convincing her that he didn't need to be babysat. That he didn't need any help. Trouble was, he was having a hard time even convincing himself anymore. As she settled herself beside him, Malcolm tensed up slightly in anticipation of the question he knew was coming. He stalled for time but trying a bite of the food. "This is really good! Y'know, I haven't had crepes in maybe a year..." He felt her anticipation of his answer to her real question and went silent for a moment. "I'm fine. Really, Sam. You haven't gotta worry about me, right?"

It’s Okay To Think About Ending | | Malcolm & Sam

[eternalpragmatist]

voicesasclearasday:

Her pulse quickened as long arms drew her close and gentle fingers curled slightly into the warmth of his shirt, enjoying the closeness. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to freeze time. To stay forever in that moment. To simply lay her head down over his chest and forget the outside world.

 Her fantasy was shattered almost immediately as he released his hold on her with another shame-filled apology. She simply nodded, dropping her gaze from his, and moved to stand, nervously brushing her hair behind her ear.

 ”…Right,“ she said, trying to hide the disappointment and shame from her voice, ” You should… get some rest.“ With that, she moved to the other side of the bed and pulled the covers back to properly tuck him in. Once she’d gotten him properly settled, she reached out to rest a light hand over one of his own. 

 "It’ll be okay, Malcolm, ” she promised, Giving his fingers a squeeze, “You’ll see. We’ll get you through this.” Forgetting herself for only a moment, she leaned forward and placed a kiss to his cheek. Only afterwards had she realized what she’d done, she’d only hoped that he would be too tired or drunk to remember it.

 Reluctantly, she released him, and made her way to the door, whispering a quiet ’ goodnight ’ before she closed it behind her. She fully intended to leave then, but his earlier admission seemed to ring in her head as she descended the stairs. casing a wave of discontent to consume her.

She couldn’t leave him. Not now. Job be damned, she wasn’t leaving until she knew that he was alright. Decision made, she locked the front door and made her way to the living room. Having slipped off her heels and coat before settling herself in on the couch, she managed to find a light blanket hanging just over the back. Throwing it over herself, she slowly began to drift of to sleep. With luck, she’d be up in time to make breakfast.

She tucked him in. Even in the state he was in, Malcolm found it hard to believe that Sam was tucking him in. He couldn't even remember anyone doing that for him as a child. Maybe his mother a very long time ago. Before everything had gone so badly wrong at home. It was hard to be sure. He let her do it and watched her in silence as she moved around the bed. It felt strangely nice to have someone fussing over him, though normally he wouldn't have allowed it. Her reassurance was met with a frown though his skin tingled where her hand covered his. It bothered him that she thought he needed help. He wasn't supposed to need help. He wasn't supposed to need anyone. Malcolm had spent most of his life convincing himself that he didn't need anything beyond the bare essentials to live. It had been it's own security in a way. Now to be faced with the estimation that this wasn't the case, and from someone whose judgement he trusted...it made him feel strangely vulnerable. To his utter disbelief, she kissed his cheek before she said goodnight. Covers up to his chin, strangely warm and at peace in his own bed for once, he stared after her in wonder as she left. It wasn't until the door shut behind her that he realized his eyes had grown damp. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered how someone like her could ever have come to care so much for someone like him. ----------------------------- The bottle he'd finished off the evening before had paid Malcolm back when he awoke with a headache the next morning. Still, he'd had worse. At least he could function and he didn't feel in any danger of a mad dash to the toilet. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he mentally berated himself, not for the first time, for turning out like his father after all. What a fucking mess. The smell of cooking wafted from downstairs and caused him to frown in confusion. Who could be... --Oh, no. No, no, no... He remembered the night before in agonizing detail and dreaded what he might find in the news today. But that would be the least of his worries if a certain someone had taken it upon herself to spend the night. Taking a few moments to wash his face, brush his teeth, and change out of yesterday's rumpled clothes, he made his way downstairs and peered fearfully around the corner. Sam was in his kitchen. Jesus-- fUCK. Pale skin colouring faintly in shame, he shuffled over to the adjoining bar counter and plopped onto a stool, examining the countertop and refusing to make eye contact. "--'Morning," he muttered. "You didn't have ta’ make breakfast..."

It’s Okay To Think About Ending | | Malcolm & Sam