#sutheracey fic

[emospritelet]

Social Distancing - 3/3

Sorry it’s taken me so long to finish this - my smut muse abandoned me.

[AO3]

x

Sutherland stepped back, motioning to Sergeant Knight to hold the door open, and Lacey sauntered in, hips swinging. She had let down her hair, reddish-brown curls shining in the light of the lamps. It made him want to take a curl and wind it around his fingers, as he had done when they last spent the night together. He remembered how soft it was, how it had felt brushing his chest as she pillowed her head there. Her eyes scanned the room, lips pursed.

“Nice.” she said. “You could pretty much live in a place this big. I guess when you’re Prime Minister, you’re used to this kind of thing.”

“Frustration and jet lag make you stop noticing, after a while,” he said. “I suppose it’s comfortable enough.”

Sergeant Knight had closed the door, and turned back to face Sutherland, his dark eyes taking on that flat look that meant he was trying to be unobtrusive. Sutherland sighed.

“Sergeant, could you please join Sergeant Nolan outside?” he asked. “I’m sure Miss French isn’t here to kill me.”

“Not intentionally, no,” said Lacey cheerfully. “Might bang you to death, but what a way to go, am I right?”

Sergeant Knight closed his eyes momentarily. 

“Call if you need anything, sir,” he said, and slipped out of the door, closing it behind him.

“Poor Lance,” sighed Lacey. “I bet that door isn’t soundproof.”

“I should hope not.” Sutherland wavered, feeling a little unsure of himself, as seemed to be the way when he was around Lacey French. “May I offer you a drink?”

“As long as it’s a big one, sure.”

He crossed to the drinks cabinet, where cut crystal glasses sat, waiting to be filled.

“I - ah - there’s some whisky here. Rum… Gin and tonic?”

“I’ll have what you’re having.”

“Whisky, then.”

He set out two glasses, pouring a measure into each and feeling Lacey’s eyes on his back. It was a surprisingly pleasant sensation.

“How are you enjoying your time in the US?” he asked, turning to face her and holding out a glass. She shrugged, taking it.

“Too early to say. I like the food. And the work’s interesting.”

“But you’re going back to the UK in the autumn?”

“I think so. Don’t want to delay my studies too much, experience or not. This is mostly a networking opportunity, anyway.”

She took a sip of her whisky, eyeing him over the top of the glass.

“Well, you certainly made a memorable impression on me,” he remarked, and she grinned, her eyes gleaming.

“Planning on making another one before the evening’s out.”

Sutherland took a sip of his drink, trying to organise the thoughts that seemed to be swarming and multiplying in his brain and stealing his reason.

“Does your father know what happened at Christmas?” he asked, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“No. I can keep a secret. Besides, it’s none of his business what I do.”

“He may think otherwise.”

“He’s too busy schmoozing and attending dinners to notice, most of the time,” she said. “He asks me how my studies are going, but tends to avoid any discussion of personal crap. Which is fine by me.”

“How are your studies going?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Everything was fine until I had to do a damn group project for one of the modules. Why can’t anyone pull their fucking weight? Why do I end up working my ass off for a mediocre piece of crap when I could have aced the thing on my own?”

“Oh, believe me, I know that pain,” he remarked, taking a drink.

“Yeah, well…” She looked irritated. “Dragged my grade down a little. It’s a good thing I got this internship. Should give me some decent material to work with when I go back to class. I’m not settling for anything less than distinction.”

“I have every faith in you,” he said honestly, and she nodded, a sly smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, I do tend to get what I want, if I put the work in,” she said, and her eyes gleamed. Sutherland took a swallow of whisky, eyeing her as he lowered the glass.

“And what do you want tonight?”

Lacey pursed her lips, looking him up and down.

“I thought we could pick up where we left off,” she said. “We definitely hit the dozen orgasms, as I recall, but most of those were mine. I think you’re at least eight behind.”

“I wasn’t exactly keeping a count,” he remarked.

“Of course, if you want to focus on me again, I’m cool with that too,” she said, and winked. “How about it, Prime Minister? Want to take me to bed and make me scream?”

“You’re very direct, Miss French,” he observed, and she snorted.

“Good thing too, or you’d never get laid.”

He chuckled at that, setting down his glass.

“I expect you’re right about that.”

Lacey sipped at her own drink, smirking a little before setting her glass down next to his and stepping nearer. She let a finger run around the top of his waistband before hooking behind his belt buckle and tugging him close.

“For what it’s worth, seeing you in action today was kind of a turn-on,” she said, her voice a little lower, a little rougher.

“Was it now?” he murmured, as his hands found her waist.

“Mhmm.” She stepped closer, her breasts pushing against his chest. Her eyes were very blue, sparkling with mischief. “Especially when you yelled at that guy from Gilead.”

“Well, I didn’t like his offhand comment about casualties,” he said, his fingers stroking against the fabric of her dress. “Some of these corporate types need to be told in no uncertain terms to fuck off, and I’m more than happy to be the one to do it.”

“Very sexy of you.”

“Glad you think so.”

He couldn’t help grinning at her, and she was smiling back, the faint smell of whisky on her breath.

“So,” she said, twining her arms around his neck. “Do you want to traumatise poor Lance again, or shall we take this in the bedroom?”

Sutherland bent his head to kiss her, and Lacey moaned into his mouth, pressing herself against him as his tongue pushed into her. She tasted every bit as sweet as he remembered, with the smoky heat of whisky on her tongue. His hands slid down, cupping her rear through the dress she wore, and he tugged her against him, feeling his cock begin to harden as his tongue stroked against hers. Lacey let out a low noise of approval, her hands sliding down his chest and around his waist. She moved her hips, grinding against him and sending a burst of sensation through his body, and he broke the kiss with a gasp, his lips wet. 

Lacey murmured contentedly, nuzzling his nose with hers, fingers dancing over his lower back and making him shiver. She swept the hands around his sides, sliding them up his chest. Her fingertips ran over his nipples, making him jerk at her touch, and her eyes opened, fixing on his as a lazy smile curved her lips.

“So the kiss was just as good as I remember,” she whispered. “How’s your stamina? Jet-lag’s a bitch.”

“Good thing I’m used to it,” he growled, squeezing her rear. “Although my energy levels do seem to get a boost from your presence, Miss French.”

“Lucky me.” Lacey had a self-satisfied grin on her face. “I intend to take full advantage. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

Her hands slid down, one finger hooking around his belt, and she turned in his arms, breaking free and tugging him with her. Sutherland let her lead, aware that he was wearing a ridiculous grin. She seemed to waver as her eyes scanned the room for the bedroom door, but then she strode towards it, turning the handle and letting them in. The bedroom was cool and dimly-lit, only the lamps on the nightstands sending out a warm glow to make shadows stretch along the floor, and Lacey stepped around him and closed the door behind them.

“That should give us some privacy,” she said.

Sutherland grasped her upper arms, shoving her back against the door and making her squeak into his mouth in surprise as he kissed her. Her shock dissipated as a giggle bubbled out of her, and she kissed him back, her tongue stroking against his, her mouth sweet and smoky. He pressed himself against her, feeling his cock swell and harden in his pants, pushing at her groin, the pressure of her body exquisite. Lacey moaned, spreading her legs a little wider, and he ground against her as one foot curled around his calf.

His hands left her arms, sliding over the curves of her waist and hips before rising up to cup her breasts, and she let her leg slip to the floor again, pulling her mouth from his.

“Unzip me!” she whispered.

Sutherland grasped a shoulder and turned her to the wall, sweeping her hair aside so that he could kiss the nape of her neck, Lacey moaning as his mouth sucked at her skin. His hands moved over her hips, tugging up the skirt of her dress, fingers caressing the lace tops of her stockings and sliding over smooth, soft skin. Lacey gasped as his forefinger brushed against the edge of her panties, and he heard himself growl in response. Her skin was hot in the crease at the top of her thigh, and he let his fingers inch further, stroking between her legs and feeling warm lace already damp with her arousal.

Lacey sucked in a breath at his touch, and he bit down into her, a contented moan coming from her as he worked two fingers under the hem of her panties. Her skin was smooth and soft as silk, and his tongue swirled in circles over the back of her neck as his fingertips found heat and slick fluid between her folds. His breathing grew harder, fingers sliding over wet, tender skin, and Lacey moaned, pushing her rear back against him, rubbing against his cock.

“Fuck!” he gasped, and she let out a low chuckle.

“God, I hope so.”

Sutherland grinned, his hand sliding out. She made a discontented sound, but he pushed the skirt of her dress higher, up around her waist, and hooked his fingers under the waistband of the panties to pull them down over her hips, letting them fall at her feet. 

“Bed, is it?” he murmured, kissing her neck, and Lacey nodded.

“Hell, yes.”

“Do you have protection?”

“Always.”

He kissed her again, and took a step back, grasping the zipper at the back of her dress and drawing it down. She wriggled her arms out of the sleeves, letting it fall and leaving her in nothing but stockings and heels and a black lace bra. Sutherland stepped back again, eyes running over the taut curves of her buttocks and rising up the groove of her spine to where her chestnut curls tumbled over pale shoulders. God, she’s beautiful. Perfect.

She turned to face him, her lips full and glistening, her eyes darkened with desire. Reaching into the cups of her bra, she drew out three condoms, waving them at him with a glint in her eye.

“You know, you should really start carrying these yourself,” she said. “Never know when a horny intern is gonna jump on you.”

“I have to confess that even the remotest possibility of being jumped on by a horny intern never came up in planning for this trip,” he remarked, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“The whole point about being prepared is that you can deal with the unexpected,” she said. “Didn’t they teach you that in Prime Minister school?”

“Oh, I assure you I would definitely have remembered the lesson on horny interns.”

Lacey giggled, eyes sparkling, and reached behind her to unhook the bra, the condom packets crackling in her hands. He watched as she took the bra and tossed it aside, and she walked to the bed, hips swaying. Sutherland was trying to keep the grin from his face, and having difficulty doing so. After lengthy travel and a day that had been largely one frustration after another, she was like a balm for his soul.

“Shoes on or off?” she asked.

“Mine or yours?”

Lacey shot him an amused look, and kicked off her shoes, tossing the condoms onto the bed and beckoning him with a finger.

“Get over here and grope me, would you? It’s bloody freezing in here.”

“I can turn up the heat, if you like.”

“Counting on the both of us doing that naturally.” She ran her hands over his chest, fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt. “You smell good. I’d forgotten how good. You look good, too.”

“You look beautiful,” he said honestly, and Lacey smiled, her eyes sparkling.

“Getting all romantic on me, Prime Minister?”

“Is that bad?” he asked, and she smirked.

“No, but I thought we could leave it for the post-coital snuggle.”

“As you wish.”

Her fingers had gotten all the buttons open and dropped to his belt, drawing the length of leather through the buckle. Sutherland shrugged out of the shirt, the coolness of the room making him shiver slightly, and Lacey leaned in to suck on his nipple, tongue running over it and sending jolts of pleasure through him. He let his fingers push into her hair, soft curls slipping through them, and she raised her head, lunging to press her mouth to his, her lips soft and wet.

Sutherland pushed her backwards onto the bed, falling with her as the giggles burst out of her. He kissed down her neck, lips trailing over her skin and on down her chest to fasten over a hardened nipple. Lacey let out a contented hum, dragging her nails across his scalp and making him shudder in pleasure, goosebumps rippling over his skin. He kissed down over her belly, hands sliding down her thighs and tugging at her stockings, and he knelt up, drawing them down one at time and tugging them off at her feet.

“Well, your feet are like ice, so I guess at least we know you don’t have a fever,” he remarked.

“Told you,” she said, with a smirk. “You’re safe from me.”

“Doesn’t feel that way right now.”

Lacey grinned wickedly, lifting a foot to shove playfully at his chest..

“Whatever I have to dish out, big guy, I’m pretty sure you can take it.”

“Oh, I’ll fucking try,” he growled. 

He took off his pants, and Lacey watched avidly, dark hair falling over her face in shining curls as he pushed them over his hips with his underwear. She licked her lips, and he crawled up the bed, his body pushing between her legs until he was pressed up against her. Lacey flung an arm to the side, grasping around until she grabbed one of the condoms, and he pushed up onto his knees again to put it on. She twisted on the bed, getting to her knees and running her hands over his chest as he struggled with the packet before taking it off him. Sutherland put his arms around her neck, letting his head roll back with a sigh as she took him firmly in hand. Lacey squeezed, making him groan, and he looked up again, watching a grin curve her lips.

“Seems like you’re ready for me,” she whispered, and her eyes flicked up to meet his, their usual clear blue darker and deeper in the dim light. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” he said softly.

Her grin widened, and she rolled on the condom, leaning in to kiss him again before easing them onto their sides on the bed and rolling him onto his back. She wriggled until she was straddling him, the heat of her against his lower belly, and Sutherland let his eyes roam over her curves, pale skin turned warm in the lamplight. He patted her hips.

“Get up here,” he growled. “Let me taste how sweet you are.”

Lacey shifted, moving up the bed on hands and knees, her breasts brushing against his lips as he tugged her higher, until her knees were either side of his head, and the heat and scent of her bathed his face. He pressed a kiss to her, his nose brushing over her skin, and the tip of his tongue curled out, easing between the soft folds of flesh. Lacey moaned, fingers twisting in his hair, and he let out a low growl as he tasted her. He licked again, teasing her, tongue rubbing over the tiny pearl of her clit, and she gasped, rising up on her knees a little, pushing against his mouth.

He inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her arousal deep inside, his hands squeezing her rear as he devoured her, tongue swirling and stroking. Lacey moaned, rocking against his mouth, one hand leaving his hair to brace herself against the wall. He let her find a rhythm, moving his tongue in time, listening to her moans rise in pitch and feeling her thighs tremble against him. 

Lacey let out a cry as she came, her body twitching and bucking, and he could taste the salty sweetness of her spreading over his tongue as a deep groan rumbled through him. Her moans quietened, her movements slowing, and she sank back onto his chest, her breasts brushing against his nose as she moved down the bed and pushed herself upright with her hands on his belly. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips glistening, and he was aware that he had a self-satisfied grin on his face. Lacey raised her head, eyes catching his.

“Amazing,” she whispered. “But that’s another one for me. I’m building up a hell of a debt here.”

“What’s a few screaming orgasms between friends?” he said lazily, and Lacey chuckled.

“Is that what we are?”

“We’re not enemies,” he said, and she inclined her head.

“Very true,” she agreed. “Even so, I hate feeling indebted. I may have to spend an entire weekend just making you come.”

“That sounds - dreadful,” he said, in a deadpan tone, and she giggled.

“Okay,” she said breathlessly. “You ready?”

“Be gentle with me,” he said, and she let out a low and dirty chuckle.

“You don’t mean that.”

Sutherland shrugged, grinning.

“True enough.”

“I can be gentle later on, if you like.”

“Thanks. Have a feeling I’ll need it.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” she demanded, and he smirked.

“I’m a politician. Cautious by nature.”

“Hmm.” She lifted up, reaching between them to grasp his cock and squeeze. “Then buckle up.”

She guided him inside, sinking down onto him in one swift, smooth movement, and Sutherland threw his head back against the pillows, arching up into her with a low groan of pleasure. Lacey moaned, moving her hips in small, slow circles, grinding against him and sending waves of sensation through his body. Her fingers slid up his chest, thumbs rubbing over his nipples in time with her circling hips, and Sutherland closed his eyes, letting the heat of her body and the pleasure of her touch wash over him. His mouth and chin was still sticky with her fluids, her sweet musk drifting into his nose as he breathed deeply.

She was gradually increasing the circles that her hips made, rolling against him, letting his cock slide out almost to the tip before pushing back in, the feel of it making him want to shove her onto her back and thrust inside her hard and fast. Instead he let her set the pace, hands sliding up her thighs and feeling her firm muscles jump beneath her skin as she moved. He opened his eyes, watching the way her hips rolled, golden light gleaming on the curves of her body, her lips full and parted, glistening wet from the pass of her tongue. 

She opened her eyes, locking her gaze onto his, and Sutherland rose up into a sitting position, an arm going around her waist and holding her tight against him as his mouth found hers. Lacey rocked against him, moaning into his mouth as her pace quickened, heat and friction building between them, and he bucked his hips in time with her, thrusting into her, a wave of bliss rising up inside and making his skin tingle and hum. Lacey whimpered, arms around his neck, her pace quickening, and he pulled his mouth from hers with a loud groan as he came, his cock pulsing inside her. She let out a moaning cry, flesh tugging at him, gripping him tight, and he let his head roll back, groaning and thrusting as she pulled every drop from him.

He tried to catch his breath, his skin tingling and his heart thumping hard in his chest. Lacey was still moaning contentedly, and he slumped back a little on the bed, arm around her as she stilled, gasping for breath. Sutherland buried his face in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply and tasting salt on her skin as he kissed her gently.

“Whoa!” she gasped, and he smiled against her neck.

“That about covers it.”

Lacey sighed, and he loosened his grip, letting her lean back a little and grasp the base of the condom, holding it firmly in place as she pulled off him, lips curving in a slow, lazy grin. 

“Just as good as I remember,” she murmured. “Glad I brought more condoms.”

“How long are you giving me to recover?” he asked. “It might take a little while before we can do that again.”

Lacey pursed her lips.

“Oh, I have ideas on how to fill the time while we wait,” she said.

“So do I,” he growled.

He rolled them, pushing her onto her back and beginning to kiss his way down. It was going to be another gloriously long, exhausting night.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (1/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: So, this is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’, and whilst I’ve tried to make it as believable as possible, it’s not a super-accurate portrayal of the British medico-legal process. With that in mind, I really, really hope that you enjoy it. Many thanks to @ripperblackstaff for giving it the thumbs up.

======

Dead Man Walking

One

Lacey had always liked the morgue.

It was not out of any morbid fascination with death or fixation with corpses. The death seemed secondary to her. For her, the morgue was first and foremost a peaceful place. It was always cold, and when she was in there, it was always blissfully quiet. She knew it wasn’t always so quiet, with all the tools used to perform post-mortem exams, but she was never there when it was working. She was only ever there when it was quiet, when the dead were resting, safe in the pathologist’s hands until he let them go, on to the next leg of their journey.

Even from a young age, it had never held any fear for her. For as long as she could remember, her father had been bringing her to his place of work. She’d never been scared of death or dead bodies. It was just the next part of life.

She knew that she really shouldn’t be here, but she’d been doing her homework in her dad’s office ever since she’d started high school, and now that she was studying for her PhD, it was still the place that she focussed best. The cold kept her sharp, and the quiet helped her focus. Her dad and his colleagues had always turned a blind eye to her presence – as long as she stayed in the office, and as long as she left when they were performing autopsies in the main morgue, she was welcome, and they let her sneak in and out.

Lacey pulled her feet up under her, sitting cross-legged in her dad’s chair and listening to the squeak as she spun it back and forth, shifting her weight. She wondered when he was going to come back and turn her out. Beyond the glass double doors in the main morgue, the post-mortem table was set up with someone on it, covered in a sheet and ready to go.

It was nowhere near the first time she’d seen such a sight, but there was definitely something different about this one. They had been brought in with such hurry and ceremony. Lacey had been in the office when the body had come in, and she’d hid under the desk so as not to miss all the action – because it was most definitely high profile. First, Dad had been instructed to get going on it straight away. The police needed cause of death as quickly as possible, and Lacey wondered if she was looking at a murder victim.

Then, just as he’d been about to get started and he’d been shooing Lacey out of the office, he’d been called out by some very official looking people and it seemed like they’d been delaying him ever since, waiting for official consent from various different sources.

Lacey could have gone home hours ago, but something had kept her here, something aside from the atmosphere that made her so productive. She’d long since finished all her work, but she felt a certain protectiveness towards whoever it was under that sheet. With all the to-ing and fro-ing and hullaballoo going on around them, she felt that they needed someone to advocate for them and watch over them.

Lacey snorted to herself at the sentiment. Being the daughter of a forensic pathologist and being so comfortable around death, she had always been the odd one out at school, and in her teen years and all through university, she had tried as hard as possible to distance herself from the stereotype of the Goth Girl Obsessed With Death.

She’d never been obsessed with it, but as soon as people heard what her dad did for a living, they immediately assumed she was either traumatised because of it, or ought to be only dressing in black and talking to skulls and pet ravens. She’d worked hard to disabuse people of that notion and yet here she was, years later, sitting in her dad’s office at stupid o’clock in the morning because she wanted to guard a dead person’s dignity.

The operative word there, she felt, was person. They might be dead, but they were still someone, and likely someone important.

Lacey put her headphones on and closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. She always knew that she’d end up following in her father’s footsteps sooner or later. She’d flunked out of medical school after three years, decided that she wanted to get as far away from dead bodies as possible for a while, and then finally returned to her roots, knowing that she would never truly be able to get away from it, nor did she want to. It had taken her a long time to get to where she was, but her forensic chemistry doctorate was so close she could taste it, and…

Lacey’s eyes shot open as there was an almighty crash from the morgue.

The deceased was no longer on the post-mortem table. The deceased was now on the floor, tangled up in the sheet, coughing and gasping for breath. The crash had been Dad’s equipment trolley being thrown over as the now-very-much-alive man had woken up, sat up, found himself under a sheet in a morgue and no doubt panicked, ending with him falling off the table.

Lacey threw her headphones down onto the desk and rushed into the morgue.

“Are you all right?”

It was a ridiculous question to ask someone who’d been dead thirty seconds ago, but it was the only thing that came into her head.

“Wonderful.” The reply would have been an impressive snarl if it had not been so weak in voice and hadn’t been cut off with another coughing fit. “Fuck.”

Cautiously, Lacey moved around the table, and she stopped short on seeing the identity of the very-not-dead man who was tentatively getting to his feet. All she could do was stare.

The very-not-dead man stared back.

Finally, words returned.

“You’re the Prime Minister!” Lacey managed.

The Prime Minister nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re naked!”

“Yes.” He grabbed the sheet he’d previously been covered in and attempted to preserve what little was left of his dignity. Despite the utter absurdity of the situation making her think that perhaps she’d nodded off in the office after all, Lacey couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed by this, and feeling equally worried that she was not at all disappointed by the Prime Minister’s bare arse. “Now, could you please help the naked prime minister out by giving his clothes back and telling him why the fuck he’s in a morgue?”

“You’re dead,” Lacey said. “Well, you were dead until about two minutes ago. You’re lucky; if it hadn’t been for the intervention of the men in suits, Dad would have opened you up hours ago.”

“Dead… Men in suits… Dad… Fuck…” He rubbed his forehead with the hand not holding up the sheet.

“Yeah.” Lacey nodded. “Yeah, I’d say ‘fuck’ just about sums it up.”

He coughed again, thick and wet, and Lacey rushed forward to stop him falling over again.

“I think you’d better sit down.” There was nowhere in the morgue to sit down, so she helped him over to the office and got him into the chair she’d just vacated. It was rather slow progress, getting tangled up in the sheet at various intervals, but they made it, and Lacey stood back, trying to look like she knew what she was doing. Fake it till you make it had worked for her for this long. Might as well try and bluff the Prime Minister whilst she was at it.

She got him a glass of water and leaned against the desk as he sipped it.

“Who are you?” he asked eventually.

“Lacey French.” She held out a hand. “Almost a fully-qualified forensic chemist.”

The Prime Minister looked her up and down. “You don’t seem like the type to work in a morgue.”

“Well, I don’t, technically. My dad works here, he’s the pathologist. I just… use his office occasionally.”

“So, you’re supposed to be here about as much as I’m supposed to be here.” Sutherland snorted. “Well, that figures. Look, can you please find my fucking clothes?”

As entertaining as it would no doubt have been to continue the conversation whilst he was only wearing a sheet, Lacey could sympathise with the poor man’s plight, even if she was worried that if she left the room, he’d turn out to have been a hallucination.

She was also worried that if she left the room, she’d come back to find that the men in suits had spirited him away somewhere. She wasn’t almost a forensic scientist and the daughter of a pathologist for nothing. She had a sense about these things. There was something very suspicious going on, and she had the distinct feeling that if she wasn’t careful, the Prime Minister would end up on the table for real – and this time he wouldn’t be waking up again.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Just stay here.”

She left the office and rushed into the storage room next door where the deceased’s personal effects were kept. They weren’t usually kept very long – either they’d died here in the hospital and the family had already taken them, or they’d been sent to the labs for forensic testing. With all the kerfuffle surrounding Sutherland coming into the morgue and the delay in his post-mortem, Lacey hoped that his things would still be here, but she came up short.

Maybe Dad would know where they were – if she could find him. Maybe the men in suits had them. Maybe she ought to cut her losses and tell someone that the Prime Minister wasn’t actually dead.

Something stopped her from going ahead with that last option, though. The cold idea of murder was still sitting firmly at the front of her brain, and she didn’t really know who she ought to trust in this matter. Gut instinct was telling her that she ought to keep this discovery to herself.

Lacey left the storage room and ran along the corridors in search of her father. Hopefully he’d be in the staff canteen and the men in suits hadn’t done anything terrible to him to stop him from doing the post-mortem.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw him in there, and she walked over as calmly as possible, trying not to look like she was carrying the world’s biggest secret, namely that the Prime Minister was currently alive and sitting in the morgue office.

“Hi Dad.” She slid into the seat opposite him.

“Hello, Lace. Are you still here? I thought you’d have gone hours ago.”

“Yes, well, I was keeping the Prime Minister company.”

“Lace!” Moe leaned in close. “No one’s supposed to know it’s him! It hasn’t been announced to the general public yet! How did you know? Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking peeks under my sheets.”

“Dad, you’ve known me long enough to know I’d never do that. All the attention, the men in suits who look like undercover cops, the urgency and then the delay, the fact this is the nearest hospital to Chequers… It wasn’t too hard to put two and two together.”

“Right.” Moe shook his head. “I hope they give me the go ahead soon; I’ll have to find somewhere for him to stay overnight if they take any longer coming through with all the approvals they need. I clock off in an hour. It’s something to do with the Cabinet Office needing to give consent for the post-mortem. I don’t know, I’ve never come across anything like this before in thirty years of pathology.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry too much about him going off overnight,” Lacey murmured. “Look, Dad, what happened to his effects?”

“Interesting you should mention that. The police asked for them to go to forensics, so I sent them to forensics. The man in the grey suit who seems to think he owns the place was livid when I told him.”

“Right. Thanks.” Damn. Now she had a very alive and very naked Prime Minister on her hands for the foreseeable future.

“Wait, Lace, what’s going on?  Where are you going?”

Lacey didn’t stop to answer. She careened back out of the canteen towards the morgue, diving into a laundry cupboard on the way and grabbing a set of scrubs in what she thought ought to be the right size.

Sutherland was still waiting for her in the office when she returned. She’d been surprised not to bump into any of the men in suits on her way, but if they were more concerned with keeping her dad busy, then they might not have put a round-the-clock watch on the morgue.

The Prime Minister was supposed to be dead, after all, and no one else knew this. He wasn’t likely to be going anywhere.

She held out the scrubs to him. “Your clothes went to forensics.”

Sutherland sighed. “Fan-fucking-tastic. I suppose I should be grateful that they’re treating my death as suspicious.” He looked at her pointedly. “Do you mind?”

Lacey grinned. “Not at all.”

Sutherland sighed. “Ask a stupid question and you’ll get a stupid answer, I suppose. I thought forensic scientists were supposed to respect the dead?”

“I have the utmost respect for the dead, Mr Sutherland. I have less respect for the living.” Nonetheless, she turned her back to allow him to get dressed.

The scrubs turned out to be a bit big, but they were better than a sheet, and Sutherland looked around the small office before giving voice to the exact same thought that was going through Lacey’s own head.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?”

[timelordthirteen]

I'm sure there are more than 4 of us who care about the Sutheracey PWP. : ) Made up title prompt: The Aussies Invade 10 Downing Street

Okay, 5 people.  XD

Um... this would have to be something with twins Belle and Lacey living in the UK, being forced to attend the occasional tedious state functions with their ambassador father while on breaks from university, causing all manner of shenanigans like dressing the same at each event and pretending that there is only one of them, just to mess with the Prime Minister. All fun and games until one of the sisters starts to fall for the newly divorced PM...

[emospritelet]

Sutheracey with Lacey as the Australian ambassador's daughter : “So… apparently we’re in lockdown.” and “Please tell me there’s something edible in there”

I did that second prompt in the first chapter, so here’s the first prompt in the second chapter. I could probably use a third…

Prompt list here

[AO3]

x

Sutherland marched into the function room as though he was about to issue a declaration of war. Perhaps it might come close to that, with some of these fuckers, he thought. Coming up with an approach that everyone agrees to will be a nightmare.

“Prime Minister?”

Sutherland turned with a smile at the familiar voice.

“Madam President,” he said. “I’d like to say I’m delighted to be here, but I think we both know we’d rather be meeting in less urgent circumstances.”

President Regina Mills smiled. She was an attractive woman, with dark hair and full lips, an accomplished, decisive politician, and someone he considered a valuable ally. And the closest thing to a friend that he had amongst the world leaders, he supposed.

“Pleased to have you with us in this, Robert,” she said, and he nodded.

“Well, it’s a pandemic,” he said. “We’re all in this together, whether we like it or not.”

“True enough,” she agreed. “I just hope we can all find common purpose.”

“Limiting the number of casualties seems a good place to start,” he remarked, and she nodded, an anxious look in her eyes. He decided to change the subject. 

“How’s your wife?” he asked. “I understand you just had a son.”

Regina beamed.

“Yes, Henry,” she said, a soft look in her eyes. “He’s perfect. Emma’s at the White House, obviously. I’m hoping to get this done quickly so I can get home to them.”

“I was planning on asking you to visit the UK this year,” he said. “I think perhaps it might be next year, at this rate.”

“So it seems,” she sighed. “We’d be delighted, once things go back to normal. Assuming they ever do. And this is Ms Deville, isn’t it?”

“Well remembered, Madam President,” said Carrie. “We met only once, I think.”

Regina smiled, nodding to her. No handshakes. Not now.

“Well, now that you’re here, at least I know I’ll have sense on my side in this thing,” she said to Sutherland. “Some of the leaders are already baulking at the restrictions and the spending we’re proposing.”

Sutherland clicked his tongue.

“Well, they’re gonna have to follow the science,” he said grimly. “I don’t have time for them to want to baby-step their way through this thing.”

“Agreed,” said the President, and glanced over his shoulder, a crease appearing between her eyes. “Ah. the CDC Director’s here. Would you excuse me?”

She walked off, and Sutherland turned to Carrie, raising an eyebrow.

“She looks worried,” murmured Carrie.

“That’s what I thought,” he said quietly. “I have a feeling whatever news the Director of the CDC is bringing her isn’t gonna be good.”

“Well, I have plenty of contacts here,” she said, glancing around the room. “Let me see what I can find out.”

She slipped away, and he walked over to one of the long tables holding glasses of wine and champagne, silver trays of bite-sized canapes alongside. He ignored the food and alcohol, opting for a glass of water instead. He had a feeling he would need to keep his wits about him.

“Well, if it isn’t Prime Minister Sutherland,” drawled a familiar voice, and Sutherland turned slowly.

The last time he had seen Lacey French, she had been wearing the previous night’s gleaming blue dress, with her hair tousled and her mouth full and red from his kisses. His bed had smelt of her perfume, and he remembered burying his face in the pillows after she had left, breathing her in. That scent was in the air now, making his heart thump a little harder and his cock twitch in memory of her touch. Lacey was wearing a very respectable blue dress and jacket, her hair tied up and simple gold rings in her ears. She looked him up and down very deliberately, fingers tapping the side of her wine glass and her lips curving upward as her eyes gleamed. 

“Miss French,” he said evenly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I bet,” she said, and took a sip of her drink. “Long time no see, huh?”

“Four months, but who’s counting?”

“You, by the sound of it,” she said, grinning at him. “Miss me?”

Yes. Yes, I missed you, fool that I am.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” he said neutrally, and Lacey pouted.

“That’s very - British - of you,” she said. “And I believe Sergeants Knight and Nolan are standing guard behind you. Hi, boys. Remember me?”

Sutherland glanced behind him, and both security officers were staring straight ahead with expressionless faces, although Nolan looked as though he was trying very hard not to think about something. He turned back to Lacey.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “I thought you were still at university.”

She wrinkled her nose, pursing her lips a little.

“I was. Dad managed to get me an internship for a few months, so I took a deferral of my studies until September. It’s all good experience, right?”

He inclined his head, taking a sip of water.

“I don’t suppose watching the progression of a deadly disease was quite what you had in mind when you took the post.”

“True,” she agreed, looking sober. “Maybe you can help to stop it, who knows?”

“I think we’ve gone beyond containment,” he said quietly. “Mitigating our losses may be the best we can hope for.”

Lacey’s eyes widened, and for a moment he saw fear in them. He wished he hadn’t said anything. The thought came to him that she could catch the virus herself. The thought of her sick and suffering, far from home with no family or friends around her, made his hand tighten on the glass, and he took another drink to wash away the sudden burst of fear.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the visiting dignitaries start to flow towards the large briefing room that had been set aside for their meeting.

“It seems we’re being summoned,” he said. “Make sure you practice your social distancing, Miss French.”

She gave him a wobbly smile, the spark of mischief back in her eyes.

“Yeah, you too,” she said. “Maybe I’ll bump into you later. Figuratively speaking, of course.”

x

It was hours later that Sutherland made his way back to his suite. He took off his suit jacket and tie as soon as he was inside, rolling up his shirt sleeves, washing his hands thoroughly in the bathroom, and pouring himself a drink. It had been a long day; there had been presentations by medical experts and pharmaceutical firms, followed by heated discussions between heads of state, and he felt as though his brain wanted to shut down. President Mills had called a halt to the whole thing at eight-fifteen after taking an urgent phone call. Her face, when she returned to the briefing room, had been grim. There had been a spike in cases, at the upper end of the estimates given by the experts, and she had taken the decision to lock down the country for an initial period of three weeks. Which meant that everyone at the conference was stuck there too.

There had initially been uproar in the briefing room, but President Mills assured them all that they would only be kept in the hotel as long as it took for them all to be tested to ensure they were clear of the virus. Those who were clear would be able to leave on their respective planes. Sutherland had remarked that since they had planned to be there for three days anyway, it probably wouldn’t take much longer to get through the tests, so they might as well get on with the business of dealing with the global response. His statement had been met with surly resentment, and eventual agreement, and he had been reminded of the fact that dealing with world leaders and their respective egos was like trying to herd cats.

He took a sip of the whisky in his glass, walking past his open laptop on the table and flipping it closed. Work could wait until he’d had a decent night’s sleep. If that was even possible in the circumstances. God alone knew what would be facing them in the morning. He paced slowly back and forth, statistics and projections running through his head, a seemingly unending list of potential calamities waiting to crash over the world. Some of them would happen, no matter what decisions were made in the next few days. No matter what he decided, people would die, and lives would be ruined. The thought was exhausting.

The sound of Sergeant Nolan’s voice outside his rooms made him look around, frowning slightly, and Sergeant Knight cleared his throat, calm and unruffled in his dark suit.

“I’ll check it out, sir,” he said, and headed for the door.

Sutherland sipped at his whisky again, a suspicion starting to form in his mind about who his late-night visitor might be.

“Hey, it’s Lance, isn’t it?” Lacey’s voice floated into the room through the open door. “D’you mind if I call you Lance? Can your boss come out to play?”

“Mr Sutherland is a little busy, Miss French,” said Sergeant Knight.

“Huh. I bet he’s drinking whisky and pacing the room.”

Sutherland sighed, setting down his glass and marching to the door, nodding at the officers to stand aside. Lacey smirked at him, arms folded and eyes sparkling.

“So…,” she said. “Apparently we’re in lockdown. Care for some company?”

“Look, you can’t come in here!” he snapped. “Haven’t you heard of social fucking distancing?”

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Duh. I watch the news.”

“So go back to your own room,” he said. “For all you know I could have the virus.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did,” she said. “I’ve already had it.”

Sutherland blinked.

“What?”

“Last month,” she added. “I was one of the lucky ones. Pretty mild symptoms. Not like some of the poor buggers suffering out there.”

“Oh.” Sutherland could feel himself wavering. “You’ve had it?”

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head, eyeing him. “So - can I come in?”

[emospritelet]

Sutheracey : he is the PM, she is a pool hustler. 27 - “All I want for Christmas is like a dozen orgasms. Is that too much to ask?”

Okay, so they did play pool, and she did beat him, but that wasn’t really the focus of the story XD. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Final part!

Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [AO3]

x

Sutherland left the library at a rapid pace, Lacey’s hand clutched in his and the sound of her quiet giggles following him. Nolan’s eyes widened when he saw them, both with messy hair, Sutherland with his tie loose. He opened his mouth, and Sutherland gave him a look.

“Not a word, Sergeant,” he said, and Nolan swallowed whatever he had been about to say.

“Sir.”

They reached his room quickly, Nolan’s torch providing the only light in the darkened corridors, and Sutherland closed the bedroom door behind them, his last glimpse of Nolan’s face showing a weary look of resignation as he took up position. Too bad.

One of the staff had placed lit a fire in the grate, and it gave the room a pleasant warmth, orange light making shadows dance and swell in the corners of the room. Three squat church candles burned on the nightstand, sending out a warm, flickering light. Lacey was looking around approvingly.

“Nice,” she said. “Seems a shame to keep it to yourself.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” She grinned at him. “You’ve got me for the whole night. Want to make the most of it?”

He turned towards her, grasping her upper arms and pushing her back against the wall as he bent to kiss her, and the impact made the breath leave her lungs in a gasp, cool against his lips. She moaned as he kissed her, and his hands slid down her body, cupping her breasts, feeling the curves of her waist and hips as she parted her legs to let him press up against her. His tongue probed her mouth, the taste of her sweet and delicious, and her nails scraped his scalp, making him shiver.

One hand found the slit in her skirt, his fingers touching smooth, cool skin, and he slid the hand upwards, over her inner thigh, brushing against the lace of her underwear. He pressed his palm between her legs, the thin fabric wet against his fingers, soaked with her juices. Groaning into her mouth, he slipped a finger inside, feeling soft, wet flesh and the heat of her desire. Lacey moaned, pulling her mouth from his and letting her head thump back against the wall as his finger pushed inside her, thrusting deep.

“Yes!” she whispered. “Feels good! Give me another!”

He added a second finger, pushing in beside the first, stretching her and making her moan. She was slick and wet, and he let his thumb explore her, feeling the hard bud of her swollen clit, a delicate pearl of flesh coated in slippery fluid. He brushed over it with the pad of his thumb, making Lacey moan and clutch at his shoulders. His nose nudged her ear, and he breathed in her scent as he pushed and thrust, kissing down her neck until he felt the throb of her pulse beneath his lips. His tongue swirled over it, and Lacey let out a whine of pleasure as his fingers fucked her hard.

She was rising up on her toes, her fingers sliding up the nape of his neck to twist in his hair, and her moans grew high and strident, her body trembling against his. She let out a loud cry as she came, wetness trickling over his fingers and her body slumping in his arms as she jerked and twitched. He groaned at the feel of it, wanting to get inside her, to slide deep and fuck her hard. Lacey had closed her eyes, her cries fading to tiny, contented moans, and he drew the fingers out of her, sucking the cum from them, tasting her salt on his tongue.

“Wow,” she murmured. “That was awesome. And here I thought you politicians were all about the oral delivery.”

He let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s important to remember how to work with your hands, too.”

“Yeah, well, you rang my bells,” she said lazily. “Although we’ll still be looking into that oral thing later.”

He grinned.

“That’ll be my pleasure.”

“Mine too, I hope.” She pouted at him, lips still full from the pressure of his. “And now, I think it’s your turn.”

She lunged to kiss him, hands sliding over his chest and her mouth hot against his. Her fingers found his nipples through the shirt, thumbs rubbing in circles and sending jolts of sensation through him. It had been too long since he had been touched this way, with passion and desperate need, and he could feel his body responding to her, eager for her touch, aching to be inside her. Lacey’s tongue stroked against his, fingers sliding higher to pluck at the knot of his tie, tugging to loosen it. She got it open, the long length of red and white striped silk pulling from around his neck and fluttering to the floor, and his hands slid around her back, finding the concealed zipper at the base of her spine and drawing it down.

Lacey was plucking at the buttons of his shirt, and managed to get it open down to his navel as he pulled the dress from her shoulders. She broke the kiss, leaning back to let him draw the dress down her arms, peeling it from her to expose the creamy mounds of her breasts with their pink nipples. There was a crackle of plastic as they were revealed, and he raised an eyebrow as two foil packets fell to the floor from where they had been concealed by the dress. Condoms. Lacey shrugged.

“Girl’s gotta be prepared,” she said, and he grinned.

“Indeed,” he whispered, and pushed the dress down over her hips.

She stepped out of it, hands dropping to tug at his belt, kissing him again as she got it open and pushed his trousers down to fall around his ankles. He remembered at the last moment that he hadn’t taken off his shoes, and trying to step out of his pants made him stumble backwards and fall with a breathtaking thump on the thick rug. Lacey fell with him, giggling as her hands splayed on his chest, trying to find her balance. Her curtain of dark hair, fragrant with perfume, stroked against his face, and he reached up to brush it back, revealing flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Beautiful.

“Okay, Prime Minister Candy Cane,” she said throatily. “Let’s see what you got.”

She began kissing his chest, pushing the shirt aside as her lips trailed down, sucking at first one nipple, then the other. Sutherland groaned, fingers sinking into her hair as her tongue swirled over him, and she shifted downward, kissing over his belly, tongue slipping into his navel as her fingers snagged the waistband of his boxers. He caught his breath, lifting his hips a little as she tugged them down, freeing his cock. 

Lacey made a satisfied sound low in her throat, like a cat purring, and he gasped as he felt hot breath against his skin, followed by the tip of her nose gently trailing along his length. It made his skin tingle, his senses heightened by his arousal, and he let out a low groan as she placed delicate, featherlight kisses to him. Each touch of her lips made him shiver, and his groan became a low cry as she swept her soft, wet tongue up his length. 

Her fingers closed around him, lifting his cock up from where it lay against his belly, and her lips brushed over the head, the tip of her tongue flicking at him. He glanced up, raising his head off the floor, and she met his eyes, her breath coming hard as she squeezed him. The tip of her tongue slipped out, tracing a slow circle around the head, and he groaned at the feel of it.

“Fuck, Lacey!”

“In a minute.”

She bent her head to him again, painting a wet circle with her tongue, rubbing over the sensitive tip as her hand started to slowly pump up and down. It felt incredible, and he gasped as wet lips parted over the head. She sucked him once, hard enough to make him groan, and let him slip out again, tongue swirling in a circle. Another hard suck, another swirling lick, and then her mouth opened, lips sliding down the length of his cock, heating surrounding him. 

Sutherland arched his back with a hoarse cry of pleasure as she took him deep into her throat, the feel of it making colours bloom in his head. She sucked hard, lips pulling at him, moving in time with her hand, her saliva running down his length. The feel of it was incredible, a throbbing, tingling wave of bliss rising up through his body, and he raised his head, panting heavily, his fingers trembling in the soft curls of her hair.

“Lacey!” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna fucking come if you don’t stop!”

She let him slip slowly from her mouth, hot breath bathing his cock as she looked up at him.

“Do you want me to stop?” she whispered, and he opened and closed his mouth.

“I - I want you,” he said desperately, hoping she understood. Lacey gave him that slow smile again.

“Oh…” She pressed a kiss to him. “You want me…”

Her tongue swept slowly up the length of his cock, making him groan.

“You want me to fuck you, is that it?” she breathed, and licked him again. “Want me to straddle you right here and take you deep inside?” Another lick, this one trailing down to circle his balls before sweeping upwards. “Want me to ride you until your brains blow out?”

“Jesus fuck, woman!” he gasped.

“Well, okay then,” she said, with a tiny, satisfied chuckle.

She pushed upwards onto her knees, reaching for one of the condoms. Sutherland watched her take it out, his chest heaving, skin tingling from her touch and his cock already close to bursting. She rolled the condom on, taking him firmly in hand as she did so, then shifted forward on her knees to sink slowly onto him. He arched upwards with a low groan, sinking into her soft flesh and feeling her grip him tightly, and Lacey steadied herself, fingers spread on his belly as she settled. Her eyes were gleaming in the candlelight, the shining waves of her hair bouncing around her pale shoulders, and he thought she was possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

“Ready?” she whispered. 

He nodded wordlessly, and she began to move, rocking slowly, moving her hips in tiny, deliberate circles. There was heat and wetness between them, from her saliva and her own fluids, and she made a throaty sound of contentment as she moved, her lips parted, her eyes closed. Being inside her was incredible, and he slid his hands up her smooth thighs, reaching up to cup her breasts and squeeze. Lacey moaned, quickening her pace a little, making the thrusts of her hips longer, letting him slip out a little further before taking him back inside.

“Fuck, that’s amazing!” he whispered. “You feel incredible!”

“You feel pretty good, too,” she breathed.

Her fingers tightened on his sides, digging into his skin, and he let his hands drop to her hips, holding her tight against him to increase the friction as she moved.

“Oh!” she gasped. “Yeah, that’s good! Keep doing that!”

She was moving more quickly, her thrusts rapid and shallow, her hips rocking back and forth, her flesh pulling at him, and he could feel that wave rising, waiting to crash over him. Her breath was quickening, her moans growing louder, and he let the pleasure take him, stars bursting behind his eyes and blinding him as he let out a deep groan of ecstasy. He came hard, his cock pulsing, and Lacey cried out as she followed him, pumping her hips, grinding against him. He pushed up into her as she rode out her orgasm, her cries matching his, until she fell forward onto her hands, head down and gasping for breath.

For a moment there was silence, only the heavy sound of their breathing as they tried to recover. Sutherland couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this relaxed, basking in the afterglow of pleasure, his skin tingling and his limbs heavy and loose. He was aware that he had a stupid grin on his face, and realised he didn’t care. Lacey let out a shuddering breath, raising her head to meet his gaze. She was heavy-eyed and contented, her grin every bit as wide and self-satisfied, and she used one arm to push her hair out of her face, licking her lips.

“Well,” she said. “Apparently we’re really compatible.”

“Apparently so,” he said lazily.

She shifted a little, hands bracing on his belly again.

“Not a bad way to finish your Christmas party, huh?” she added.

“The best way to finish it,” he agreed. “Certainly not the climax to the night I anticipated.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I was gonna be planning for tomorrow’s likely COBRA meeting.”

“My way’s better.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” he agreed. “Though I doubt it’s how the Cabinet expects me to spend my evening.”

Lacey wrinkled her nose.

“Fuck them, you can take one day off.”

“Not usually.”

“But it’s almost Christmas.”

“Well, I don’t always get what I want for Christmas, I’m afraid,” he said, sounding as regretful as he felt. “Do you?”

She smirked at him, lifting a pale shoulder in a lazy shrug.

“All I want for Christmas is like a dozen orgasms,” she said. “Is that too much to ask?”

Sutherland couldn’t help grinning.

“A dozen?” he said. “Well. That’s quite a Christmas present.”

“I’ve been a very good girl.”

“I know for a fact that isn’t fucking true.”

Lacey giggled, falling forward to bury her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder for a moment before kissing him and pushing up again.

“Okay, fine,” she said, pouting a little. “But I think you like it when I’m bad.”

He looked pointedly around them, where discarded clothing littered the floor.

“So the evidence would suggest.”

“So do I get the orgasms, or not?”

Sutherland grinned, rolling them until she was on her back, his chest pressing down against hers and her legs wrapped around him. They felt every bit as good as he had thought.

“We should probably try to make it to the bed this time,” he said.

Her eyes gleamed.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Still coming out of hibernation,” he confessed. “But very much alive, I assure you.”

“Good.”

He kissed her, lips pulling at hers as he felt his cock begin to stir again. Lacey appeared to feel it too, breaking the kiss with a muffled giggle, and he grinned.

“A dozen, you said?” 

“That’s right,” she said, and kissed him again.

“Two down,” he murmured. “Ten to go.”

x

The morning sun was too bright against his eyelids, and Sutherland let out a muffled groan, grabbing a pillow and pulling it over his head a little to cut the glare. Opening one eye a crack, he could see that Lacey was standing at the bedroom window, holding the curtain open and peering out. She was wearing his shirt, the somewhat wrinkled tail draped over her naked rear, and he could feel his cock twitch against the sheets. As if it hadn’t already seen more action in the night than it had in years. He felt as though he’d been beaten up and left to die, every muscle in his body aching, but he couldn’t seem to stop grinning. It was indescribably wonderful.

“Wow, there’s a total whiteout,” Lacey remarked. “The snow’s piled in huge drifts, you should see it!”

“Come back to bed,” he murmured.

“I thought you had a meeting this morning.”

“It won’t be until ten,” he said. “We’ve got at least an hour before I have to get dressed.”

She turned to face him with a wicked grin, dark hair rumpled and messy, and climbed into bed, sliding her arms around him. Her skin was cold from the room, and he let out a growl of pleasure as he bent his head to kiss her. At least an hour.

x

The morning was bright, sunlight gleaming on the snowdrifts that cloaked the countryside and hid the gardens from view. Lance Knight shoved his chin down into his scarf as he trudged through the snow, counting the steps until he reached the main driveway. The staff had already made a start on clearing it, men working snow shovels that probably hadn’t seen any action in years, scooping white powder from the driveway and piling it by the sides. Lance greeted them as he passed, bearing their easy banter about his singing in the pub the previous evening, and making a few quips of his own. He was feeling only a little worse for wear after the party had gone on into the small hours, but had slept fairly well. No doubt David Nolan would be pleased to be relieved so he could get home to his wife and baby son. If indeed he could manage to drive there. The snowploughs hadn’t quite made it to them yet.

By the time he reached Nolan, in his place outside the door to the Prime Minister’s bedroom, his feet had warmed up a little, and David greeted him with a nod and a weary, somewhat cautious smile.

“Hey,” said Lance. “All quiet?”

“Depends where you’re standing,” said David cryptically.

“It’s stopped snowing, but they didn’t clear the roads yet,” said Lance. “You might have to walk to the village. Power’s still out there, too. Go home, go to bed.”

“Thanks.” David clapped him on the shoulder as they went to change places, and hesitated. “Uh - make sure you knock before you go in there.”

“I always do,” said Lance, bemused.

“Just - just knock. Trust me.”

David stomped off wearily, and Lance frowned after him. A giggle came from behind the door, and Lance swivelled on his heels, eyes narrowing. Another giggle, followed by a moaning sound.

“Well, well.” Lance wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Sutherland sounding so - satisfied. “How many was that? I lost count some time ago.”

“Oh, I think we hit that dozen,” came the unforgettable voice of Miss French. “Merry bloody Christmas to me.”

[emospritelet]

For the Sutheracey fic : "I never saw a candy cane I didn’t want to suck”. And because of the trailer of course : “Well, looks like the power’s out!” Bless you for writing this darling!! :*

I know Cobra isn't out yet, but lack of familiarity with source material has never stopped me from writing Robert Carlyle characters having sex with Belle or Lacey and it never will.

The smut is not in this chapter but will be coming soon :)

[AO3]

The scents of pine and cinnamon were hanging in the air, the sound of cheerful conversation and light, pleasant music surrounding him. The room was dominated by an enormous Christmas tree covered in warm-toned lights, set next to the grand marble fireplace. Robert Sutherland shook the hand of the French Ambassador as they finished going through the obligatory diplomatic small talk. Little of substance would be discussed at the Christmas party, he suspected, but the niceties had to be observed.

The French Ambassador moved on to speak with the Foreign Secretary, and Carrie de Ville was back by his side as though she had appeared from nowhere. Tall, slim and elegant, draped in a cream silk beaded dress, she was carrying a glass of champagne between thumb and forefinger as she eyed the crowd of politicians and diplomats that had arrived for an evening of drinks, expensive canapés and gossip.

“We’re almost done with the meet and greet,” she said. “Just a few to go.”

“You could have brought me a bloody drink,” he grumbled. “I’ve been standing here making small talk with everyone that passes for half an hour.”

“Yes, you must have spoken to a grand total of ten people, how dreadful.”

“It’s been at least twenty, and you know it.”

“Oh, have this one, if you’re going to whine about it.”

She shoved the glass of champagne into his hand, tossing her blonde hair with a sigh. Carrie was his Principal Private Secretary and, it often seemed, self-appointed big sister. Despite being younger than him. He took a slurp of the champagne, wetting his parched throat, and Carrie eyed him.

“No getting pissed and passing out under the Christmas tree,” she warned. “If I have to get Lance to carry you upstairs it’s not gonna be pretty.”

“My days of drunken shenanigans have been over for some time,” he said dryly.

“Pity. Drunken shenanigans are always the most fun.”

Sutherland shifted, uncomfortable in his suit, his tie a little too tight. He tugged at it to loosen the knot, grimacing.

“Leave it alone,” said Carrie severely.

“Why did I decide to put this tie on anyway?” he demanded.

“Because Ursula bought it for you, and you could never deny her anything,” she said. “Besides, it’s nice. Red and white striped silk. Perfectly respectable.”

Sutherland sighed.

“I look like a bloody peppermint stick,” he said sourly.

“Don’t be silly. It’s a festive choice.”

“Right, because festive is exactly what I feel like, waiting to welcome in every ambassador who’s staying in Britain for Christmas. I thought the storm would keep them away.”

“Free food and drinks at Chequers and the opportunity to bend the ear of the Prime Minister? Not even the worst snowstorm in a decade will keep them away.”

“Sounds as though that’s exactly what’s heading this way,” he said. “Tell me this party will be over before the worst of the snow gets here. I don’t want to be stuck with this lot for company if we get snowed in. I’m not sure my skills at small talk extend that far.”

“You know perfectly well that schmoozing is expected for a man in your position,” she said. “Goes with the job of being the boss of all of us, I suppose.”

“I’m the boss, am I?” he said dryly. “Bloody news to me. If it were up to me, I’d be spending the evening drinking whisky in my underwear.”

“Well, you could still do that,” she allowed. “But let’s at least wait until the press pack has gone. I imagine a shot of you in your boxers swigging Scotch would definitely make the front page. And not in the way we want.”

Sutherland chuckled, and stiffened as two new arrivals entered the room. A tall, somewhat heavy man with a receding hairline, dressed in a dinner jacket and tie and looking every bit as uncomfortable as Sutherland felt. Clutching his arm was a very pretty young woman with reddish-brown hair tied up in a messy bun, the blue sequined dress she wore covering her slender body to the neck, a thigh-high slit in the skirt exposing a pale, shapely leg.

“Ah, it’s the new Australian High Commissioner, Maurice French,” said Carrie, in an undertone.  “I believe that lovely young thing is his daughter.”

As if she had heard, the High Commissioner’s daughter glanced over at Sutherland, raised an eyebrow, and smirked a little.

“Prime Minister,” said the High Commissioner, holding out a large, meaty hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“High Commissioner.” Sutherland shook his hand. “Likewise. I understand you’ve only been in post a week or so?”

“My predecessor had the poor timing to go and have a heart attack, right before Christmas,“ said Mr French heartily. “Thought I’d better get over here and settle in as soon as I could.”

A waiter wandered past with a tray of drinks: tall glasses of gin and tonic, ice cubes and lemon wedges clinking beside red and white straws that reminded Sutherland uncomfortably of his own tie. Miss French snatched one from the tray and put the straw to her lips. Sutherland looked back to Mr French.

“That must have been quite a change of scene to come from summer heat to the worst blizzards in a decade.”

“Well, at least it’s festive, I suppose,” said Mr French, looking around appreciatively. “Lovely place here.”

“Thank you. They say living at Chequers is the only good thing about being Prime Minister.”

“Beats arguing with a bunch of politicians and journalists,” he said. “Must be tough to heat the place in this weather, though. What is it, seventeenth century?”

“Sixteenth,” said Sutherland. “But it’s well-insulated. How are you finding your own residence?”

“Makes a change trying to keep the heat inside, I have to say.”

Sutherland had to smile at that.

“Is the South African High Commissioner here?” asked Mr French. “I wanted to taunt him about the cricket. You a cricket man?”

“Ah - no, Scotland's focus is more on football and rugby than cricket,” he said. “We don’t really have the weather for it.”

"So I see."

“The South African High Commissioner is talking to the Chancellor of the Exchequer,” put in Carrie. “I suspect he’d far rather discuss cricket than the Chancellor’s gardening exploits.”

Sutherland grinned.

“This is my Principal Private Secretary, Carrie de Ville,” he said. “She’d be delighted to introduce you, I’m sure.”

The young woman tapped Mr French’s arm, and he started.

“Oh, this is my daughter, Lacey,” he added. “She’s my plus one for the evening.”

Mr French wandered off with Carrie, chattering about cricket and leaving his daughter frowning after him, gin and tonic in her hand.

“Miss French,” said Sutherland, making her look around. “Welcome to Chequers.”

Lacey French gave him a long, appraising look, eyes sliding up and down his form and coming to rest on his tie before flicking up to meet his. They were clear blue, ringed with dark lashes, and she had a very blunt, direct stare. The tip of her pink tongue wet lips painted the deep, luscious red of holly berries, and she raised her chin a little.

“You look like a candy cane,” she said, and Sutherland’s hand automatically went to the knot of his tie.

“It was a gift,” he said lamely, and she smirked.

“Oh, don’t feel bad,” she said lazily. “I never saw a candy cane I didn’t want to suck.”

She locked eyes with him as she raised her glass, red lips closing around the end of the straw, cheeks hollowing as she sucked, and Sutherland felt his eyes widen as a pulse of heat shot down through his body to his groin. Miss French smirked, licked those full lips, and walked away, hips swaying. Her dress was backless, the blue sequins just skimming her shoulders before plunging down to expose a tantalising amount of pale skin. He swallowed hard, and threw back the rest of the champagne in his glass. Well. That was bracing.

[emospritelet]

Sutherelle : 24 - “We can have our own Christmas party”

I made it Sutheracey, so I could get these two idiots laid. Hope you don’t mind. Please excuse the utter ridiculousness of this fic but Lacey is very, very bad and I’m having fun with her XD

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3]

x

The kitchens at Chequers held a large supply of candles, and Lance provided a torch with surprising speed in order to locate them, so it wasn’t too long before Sutherland could see what he was doing. Within reason, anyway. He had moved from his study to the library, where a fire had been lit, and had poured himself a glass of whisky. Lacey was leaning against the desk, still clutching her open bottle of champagne, and he couldn’t be bothered to tell her to bugger off. Besides, the library was at least warm, and he had nowhere to send her with the snow blanketing the roads around them. The rest of the party guests had gotten out just in time, it seemed.

Lance’s shift had finished, but Sergeant David Nolan had taken over, and Sutherland had tasked him with finding out what was going on with the power loss. It turned out that the whole of the estate and the nearby villages were also dark, and Nolan said that the storm had knocked out power lines.

“It won’t be fixed tonight, sir,” he said. “No way anyone can get out in this weather, and it’s likely the roads will be impassable tomorrow.”

“Understood,” said Sutherland. “Keep me posted.”

“Sir.” Nolan eyed Lacey with a bemused look on his face. “I’ll - uh - be outside, sir.”

He stepped outside the door, closing it behind him. There was silence, but for the crackle and snap from the fire, and Sutherland looked at Lacey. Firelight danced, sending flickering shadows and bursts of warm light around the room. It highlighted the smooth curves of her cheeks and shone in her eyes.

“Well,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re trapped here, Miss French.”

“I’m not,” she said. “And it’s Lacey.”

“I should see about getting you a bed for the night,” he said. “The guest rooms are always ready.”

“What about yours?” she said.

He wanted to shiver at the low note of promise in her voice, and wanted to click his tongue in exasperation. She’s probably not even talking about getting in your bed, she’s telling you to get to bed. Stop letting your cock rule your bloody brain! 

“I’m not tired yet,” he said simply.

“People don’t just go to bed when they’re tired.”

She was smiling, her eyes gleaming with gold in the light from the candles and the crackling fire. He licked his lips nervously, feeling his cock twitch with interest. Lacey let her tongue wet her lips, making them glisten, and he looked away before he could grow fully hard. Damn the woman! Okay, she’s doing this on purpose! She knows exactly what she’s doing to me! 

More silence. Sutherland paced back and forth in front of the fire, wondering what to do with her, and discarding every suggestive notion his lust-fuelled brain was coming up with. You should probably just go to bed. Leave her down here. Nolan will show her to a guest room, she doesn’t need you here to entertain her. Go to bed, you idiot! Go to bed, have a fucking frenzied wank, and get it out of your system! 

When he looked around, Lacey was slowly pulling the pins from her hair. He had opened his mouth to tell her Nolan would show her to a room, but the words died in his throat as he watched her tilt her head back, exposing the pale length of her throat as she raked fingers through her hair. separating it into gleaming curls that bounced around her shoulders as she looked up. His pulse throbbed in his throat, and Lacey locked her gaze onto his, her lips parted a little. He could see her chest rise and fall with her breath, blue sequins glittering, and he was aware that he was staring with his mouth open. He snapped it shut, and Lacey tilted her head as she held up the champagne bottle.

“You want to help me drink this?” she asked.

“N-no thank you, I’ll stick with whisky.” He rubbed at the spot just above his left eye, where he could feel a headache forming. He probably shouldn’t be drinking at all with Lacey there to tangle his wits, but whisky in the evenings was something of a ritual. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t have a glass.”

“There are glasses in the cabinet over there.”

“It’s cool, I’ll just drink out of the bottle, I ain’t proud.”

Lacey slammed the bottom of the champagne bottle down on the desk, making him jump, and a gout of white foam spurted out of the open neck. She bent her head, letting the foam squirt into her mouth and run over her lips, sucking at the neck of the bottle. Sutherland felt his eyes widen at the sight of it, his cock swelling as his mind took the image and ran with it, as he imagined that sweet mouth wrapped around him, sucking him hard and drawing him deep. She let out a tiny moan, and straightened up, white foam running over her chin before she wiped it off with a thumb and sucked it clean. He swallowed hard, and Lacey sent him a tiny, secret smile.

“Oops,” she said.

She’s trying to kill me. She’s actually trying to kill me.

“Uh - you said you were at university earlier,” he said desperately. “What are you studying?”

Lacey pursed her lips, pushing herself up onto the desk on the heels of her hands.

“What would you say if I told you it was politics?”

“I’d say you don’t strike me as the political type,” he said dryly, and she sniffed.

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m doing a Master’s in Global Environment, Politics and Society.”

Sutherland raised an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“What’s the matter?” she said flatly. “You were expecting me to be an airhead?”

“No, not at all,” he said, lifting his glass to take a sip. “I just had you pegged for something on the arts side, like English, or journalism.”

“Want me to peg you?”

Sutherland choked, spraying whisky, and Lacey bit her lip to hold in her amusement. He coughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and feeling his cheeks heat.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “The offer stands. I’ll even bring the lube.”

“Are you intentionally going all out to make me feel out of my depth, or is this just how you interact with everyone?” he demanded, and Lacey shrugged, one shoulder rising and falling.

“I think you’re probably surrounded by people telling you what you want to hear all day,” she said. “It’s good to mix things up a little.”

“Clearly you haven’t attended any Cabinet meetings,” he muttered.

“No, but maybe I will in the future,” she said. “My dissertation’s on the Climate and Renewable Energy Bill and the studies and political pressures that led to its drafting,” She lifted her glass. “Maybe one day you and I will be sitting around a table in a briefing room.”

“I suspect it would be the Minister for Climate and Environmental Protection, rather than me,” he said. “And I wish them the best of bloody luck with you.”

Lacey chuckled.

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t had fun this evening.”

Surprisingly, he realised he had. Despite feeling as though he hadn’t the faintest idea what was happening to him, it was exhilarating. Perhaps that was the reason. Perhaps she was right; every waking moment of his life had been mapped out and organised since he entered 10 Downing Street. It was almost refreshing not to have a bloody clue what the rest of the night would hold.

“Why did you stay here?” he asked. “Why hide away until everyone else had gone?”

Lacey sent him a puzzled look.

“Don’t you know?”

He stared at her, unwilling to say anything in case he had read her very, very wrong, and Lacey sighed.

“I want to have sex with you,” she said. “Please don’t lie and say I’ve been subtle, because I absolutely haven’t.”

Sutherland stared at her, trying to swallow past the lump in his dry throat. He took a sip of whisky to help.

“No,” he said hoarsely. “Subtle is not a word I would apply to you, Miss French.”

“Glad to hear it,” she said. “We can have our own Christmas party. You up for it?”

He drank the last of the whisky to give himself time to think, but his brain was filled with white noise and was providing him with no answers other than a gentle whisper of how good she would feel. He set the glass down on the mantelpiece.

“You do realise the tabloid press have been trying to catch me in some sort of sex scandal since I came to power?”

Lacey snorted.

“It’s the biggest blizzard in a decade, from what you told me,” she said. “I really doubt any of the paps are camped out in the gardens with a long lens on the camera.”

“I’ve learned you can never be too careful, in my line of work,” he said, and she rolled her eyes.

“This is your place, right?”

“Yes.”

“Staffed by your people.”

“Correct.”

“Who you trust completely.”

“I do.”

“So no one gets in without their say so, right?”

“Again, correct.”

“Then why would you think anyone would ever find out?” she pushed. “This is probably the safest place in the world for you to do something you want to keep secret.”

He hesitated, unable to fault her logic.

“Besides, why is it so wrong?” she added. “We’re both adults.”

“You’re half my age.”

“Does that bother you?”

Sutherland was silent, and Lacey smirked.

“Well then.”

“It would bother some.”

“They’re not here, and given that none of them are gonna give me a mind-blowing orgasm, I don’t give a flying fuck what they think.”

He chuckled at that.

“I like your confidence in my abilities,” he remarked. “Probably misplaced, but even so…”

Lacey smirked, and set down her glass, pushing herself off the desk with the heels of her hands and walking towards him with a slow, sensuous sway of her hips. He felt his heart thump in his chest as she drew nearer, until they were almost touching, and her eyes locked onto his. One hand rested against his chest, fingers walking up his silk tie, pressing gently, one by one. 

“You strike me as the kind of man with a great deal of energy and attention to detail,” she said, her voice a low purr. “Those are excellent qualities in a lover.”

“Is that what we are?”

“We could be, if you stopped over-analysing everything and kissed me.”

“Really?” he growled, and her smile grew, fingers tightening around the tie and tugging his head down to meet hers.

“Really,” she whispered.

He lifted a hand to cup her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin beneath his palm.

“Fuck it!” he whispered, and her smile grew.

“That’s the spirit.”

His mouth found hers, and she moaned as his tongue pushed inside, her taste sweet from the champagne, her mouth hot and wet. One hand slid up into the short strands of his hair, her touch sending shivers through him, and he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her tight against him. It had been years since he’d had a good, long snog, and he’d forgotten how pleasant it was, how arousing to feel the press of a warm body against his and the intimacy of putting his tongue inside someone. His cock was a rigid line in his pants, pressing against the fabric of his boxers, and Lacey pushed against him, moving her hips to grind in a slow circle. It made him gasp into her mouth, and she broke the kiss, lips wet with saliva and both of them breathing hard. She smiled, a slow curve of her mouth, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Gonna take me upstairs?” she whispered, and he nodded.

“If you want.”

“I do.” Her hand tightened on his tie, and she nuzzled his nose with hers. “Like I said. I never saw a candy cane I didn’t want to suck.”

She kissed him again, and Sutherland groaned into her mouth, the kiss growing messy and frenzied. Maybe he’d tell Nolan to stay downstairs for once.

[emospritelet]

Bjob time - sutherelle or sutheracey : 23 - “Well, looks like the power’s out!” - which considering the plot of cobra is an appropriate prompt

Also prompted by @virgidearie

[Part 1] [AO3]

x

Sutherland was beginning to wish he had never decided to host this party. It had been Carrie’s idea; get the diplomats away from the city, only permit those members of the press who could be relied upon to behave themselves, and provide plenty of good food and wine to keep the conversation flowing. It was certainly more successful than the last such event he had been to, but from the rumours he heard, the weather was getting worse, and he was concerned that some or all of his guests would be stranded in snowdrifts.

He was also highly discomfited by the presence of Lacey French.

The High Commissioner’s daughter had rendered him speechless with one salacious comment and a knowing smirk, and he had found himself staring after her, watching the long, glittering skirt of her dress swish from side to side as she walked, a mermaid’s tail in sparkling blue. He had tried to collect himself, finding another drink and hurrying to speak to someone, anyone, to distract from the memory of the gleam in her eyes and the way she sucked on the straw in her drink. Running the country had kept him far too busy to think about the pleasures of female company for some years, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for the return of his libido. At least not in the middle of a party.

Fortunately the other guests were tipsy enough that conversation was easy to be had and far from taxing, but he found his eyes straying to Lacey a number of times. She was prowling the room, sampling the canapés and sipping a variety of drinks. Her father appeared to have ignored her since they arrived, deep in conversation with one diplomat or another, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Sutherland felt his eyes follow her as he tried to pay attention to the Norwegian Ambassador’s tale of her own plans for Christmas. Lacey was eating a bite-size chocolate dessert, eyes closed in pleasure. He swallowed hard, and she glanced around, licked chocolate from her fingers, and winked.

“And you, Prime Minister?” asked the Ambassador, tilting her head. There was a curious look in her blue eyes, and he realised he had no clue what she had just been saying.

“I’m sorry, I was miles away,” he said desperately. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

He strode away, weaving through the throng of guests and out into the blessed cool of the corridor. The door swung shut behind him, muffling the music and laughter, and he let out a deep sigh, beginning to pace up and down. Pull yourself together, you pervert! You’re the bloody Prime Minister, and you lose your shit because a pretty girl smiled at you? A bloody ambassador’s daughter, for fuck’s sake! What, you thought a diplomatic incident would be a great way to round out the year, did you? Bloody idiot!

The door swung open, and Lance Knight, one of his regular Special Branch officers, stepped into the corridor.

“Everything alright, sir?” he asked.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he somehow managed to simultaneously be alert to danger and exude an air of calm competence, and Sutherland nodded to him.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just give me five minutes.”

Lance nodded, folding his arms and waiting, and Sutherland paced the corridor slowly. The cooler air outside the Great Hall was refreshing, and he wandered along towards the entrance, Lance following a pace or two back. Sutherland ran a hand through his hair, grumbling to himself. He needed something to do other than think about how good Miss French had looked when she locked eyes with him.

He wasn’t really paying attention to where he was heading, and the sound of clicking heels took him by surprise as he rounded a corner and almost collided with Miss French herself. Lance was there to stop them actually bumping heads, but it had been a close thing. She settled back on her heels, drink sloshing in her glass.

“Well, if it isn’t the P.M.,” she drawled. “You hiding out here at your own party?”

“I needed some air,” he said automatically, and wondered with some exasperation if every interaction he had with her would put him on the defensive. He decided to try to wrest back a little control.

“It seems I’m not the only one skulking in the corridors,” he said. “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?” 

Lacey pulled a face, lips pouting. He wondered if she knew how pretty she looked doing it. He suspected she did.

“Nice place, great booze, delicious food,” she said, her voice going low and throaty. “It’s not my usual scene, though. Gotta say I’d rather be playing pool somewhere.”

“Oh.”

He was tongue-tied again, and stood there, brain screaming at him to say something. Where were his famed oratory abilities, which had seen him through many a Parliamentary debate?

“We have a billiard room,” he managed, and Lacey gave him a wide smile, eyes gleaming excitedly.

“Really?” she said, and gave him that appraising look again. “Want to play me? Ten quid says I can beat you.”

No. Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot leave your own party of politicians and foreign diplomats to go and shoot pool with this woman.

“Alright,” he heard himself say.

x

Lacey French turned out to be very good at pool. He watched her rack the balls and take the first shot, bent low over the table, teeth tugging at her lower lip as she concentrated. She potted two on the opening strike, and he stood back from the table and watched as she potted two more. Her next shot made the ball rattle the bottom pocket before bouncing out again, and Lacey swore softly under her breath.

“Your turn,” she said, straightening up.

Concentrating on his shot gave him something to do rather than think about how good she looked, and so he took his time, potting two balls before his own shot bounced out.

“Do you live with your father in his residence?” he asked, pleased that the power of speech seemed to have returned to him. Lacey shook her head.

“Just staying for the holidays. Back at university in January.”

“Oh, where are you studying?”

“Edinburgh.”

Sutherland straightened up.

“So you live there?”

“Usually, yeah,” she said dismissively. “Wasn’t expecting Dad to get the High Commissioner job quite so soon. Guess there’s no reason to go back to Australia for a while.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Home? Sometimes. I miss the beach.”

She bent over, frowned, and then grasped the skirt of her dress, hitching it up a little and lifting one knee onto the edge of the table so she could take her shot. Sutherland tried to tell himself that he wasn’t entranced by the pale length of her leg. He definitely wasn’t thinking about how it might feel wrapped around his back, either.

“This winter weather must be tough to deal with.”

Lacey smirked at him.

“It’s okay as long as you keep your clothes on,” she said. “But there again, where’s the fun in that?”

She winked at him, and took her shot. The ball grazed the edge of the pocket and clipped another ball, making her swear. The sound of high heels trotting closer made him look around, and Carrie strode into the room, looking harassed.

“There you are!” she announced. “I was wondering where you had disappeared to! You do remember that you’re supposed to be the host of this thing?”

“I needed some air,” he said. “Miss French threatened to beat me at pool.”

“Yeah, and I am beating you.”

“Well, if you could wrap it up,” said Carrie. “I just heard that the weather is taking a turn for the worse. The storm has swung to the north, so we’re directly in its path. I thought it would be best if we get everyone out now, while we can.”

“Agreed,” he said briskly, and laid his pool cue on the table. “Apologies, Miss French, but duty calls.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re losing,” she said. “We’ll call the game mine then, shall we?”

He turned to face her. She was chalking the end of her pool cue, one hip jutting out and that knowing little smirk twisting her beautiful mouth. God, he really was a bloody idiot.

“I’m sure your father is looking for you,” he said, in the most formal and distant tone he could manage. “Carrie, could you escort Miss French back to the High Commissioner?”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll find him,” said Lacey. “I’ll see you again, Prime Minister. You don’t get off that easily.”

He had already turned away, but her words made him shiver pleasantly. Heart thumping, he walked briskly from the room, Carrie trotting to keep up.

“What was all that about?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said shortly, and she snorted.

“Bollocks!” she said. “If I hadn’t come in just then, one of you would have been spread out on the pool table. And I don’t mean Miss French.”

“We were playing a game of pool, it’s hardly a scandal.”

“Yet.”

“Well, it’s not likely to be, since everyone’s leaving!” he snapped. “Have the cars been arranged?”

“Yes, Sergeants Nolan and Humbert are coordinating. I suggest we say our goodbyes with as little ceremony as possible. There’s already a ten mile tailback on the M40.”

“Right.” They reached the Great Hall, Lance ducking in front of them to open the doors. “Let’s get everyone out of here.”

x

Without all the guests, Chequers was once more quiet and peaceful. Sutherland sat in his office, a glass of whisky on the desk in front of him, making brief notes as he got an update on the storm from the Transport Secretary.

“Trains won’t be running for at least the rest of today, probably tomorrow as well,” she said. “Flights have been grounded in London and the South East, but those in the South West and Midlands are alright for the moment. Gritters have been out on the roads, obviously, but the amount of snow that’s falling is too much for them to cope with. I’m afraid if people haven’t made it home for Christmas already, they might have to stay put.”

“Understood,” he said grimly. “Keep me informed.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas.”

“And to you.”

He put down the phone, sitting back in his chair with a sigh and reaching for the whisky. Cold weather planning was all very well until the first snowflake fell, but the winds were unpredictable, winters were getting worse, and the transport system was finding it increasingly difficult to cope. They needed a new approach, and he felt too tired and tipsy to think of one right at that second. A COBRA meeting, perhaps. He resolved to ask Carrie to set one up for the next morning. It would mean some attendees having to dial in rather than attend in person, but it couldn’t be helped. He scribbled a list of those he wanted present.

“Get your hands off me!”

Sutherland looked up, frowning, as a commotion started up outside his door. Pushing to his feet, he strode over and wrenched it open. He had thought that all the guests had left some time ago, so was very surprised to find Lance restraining Lacey French, who was clutching an open bottle of champagne and looking the picture of indignation.

“If you just calm down, ma’am,” Lance was saying in his usual placid tones. “No need for any unpleasantness.”

“I’ll calm down when you let me go!”

“Afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”

“I doubt she’s here to kill me, Lance,” said Sutherland.

“Better safe than sorry, sir.”

“Let me go!”

Sutherland growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Lance, let her go,” he said impatiently. “Miss French, what the bloody hell are you doing here? I thought you left with your father.”

Lance had released Lacey, and she squared her shoulders, glaring at him before turning to Sutherland.

“I told him I was going back into town to go out with friends,” she said carelessly. “He’s not expecting me back. I thought we could pick up that pool game where we left off.”

“I’m busy,” he said coolly, and she shook her head.

“It’s like midnight.”

“Oh, you think the business of running the country is nine-to-five, do you?” he snapped.

“I think you’ll drive yourself mad if you work twenty-four-seven.”

Sutherland sighed again.

“Want me to arrange a car for Miss French, sir?” said Lance mildly.

Sutherland opened his mouth to say yes, and the lights flickered once and cut off, plunging the hallway into darkness.

“Well,” said Lacey cheerfully. “Looks like the power’s out.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (9/10)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: The rating has now gone up to E!

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [AO3]

Dead Man Walking

Nine

Lacey felt a sense of the forbidden as she and Sutherland made their way upstairs to her room. Despite Mrs de Ville making up a bed for her, she had not actually slept in it yet, and it felt deliciously wicked to be using a guest bed in someone else’s house just for sex - even if the house’s owner had been tacitly trying to get her together with this particular partner for the entire time they’d been there.

Maddie would probably be cheering them on if she knew what they were doing. Scratch that, Maddie probably knew exactly what they were doing and was cheering them on anyway, but they were still creeping about, the furtiveness adding to the idea that Lacey was doing something she shouldn’t. 

And after all, this was the Prime Minister she was sneaking off for a quickie with. It wasn’t exactly like any of her other boyfriends that she’d had to sneak past her dad or her roommates at university. She was with a man who was virtually untouchable despite being in the public eye all the time, and here she was, getting him in a very private setting and being very sure that she was going to be doing an awful lot of touching.

Sutherland closed the door quietly behind him, and there was a moment of silence, almost a reaffirmation of what they were about to do, giving either of them the chance to back out if they wanted. Lacey already knew that neither of them wanted to, although they were perhaps wondering about what the consequences would be before deciding that they would be worth it. 

She went over to her bag where she’d dumped it in the corner earlier, digging into the very bottom and taking out a couple of condoms, dropping them onto the bed. For the briefest of moments, Lacey wondered if this was Carrie’s childhood bedroom and sincerely hoped it wasn’t.

Then Sutherland had crossed the room towards her, slipping his arms around her back and slanting his mouth over hers, and all such thoughts were gone from her mind immediately. There was a heat and urgency in their kisses, knowing that they did not have long together, and they very much wanted to make the most of the time they did have.

For a minute, Lacey faltered as Sutherland’s hands came down to rest on her hips. She hadn’t showered or changed her clothes in over a day, and she hadn’t exactly been set up for impromptu liaisons even before that. It was a while since her legs and bikini line had seen much attention, having decided to stay out of the dating and casual hook-ups game for a while and concentrate on her studies. 

Naturally, all that had gone out of the window now, and she couldn’t feel self-conscious now, on the brink of what was probably a once in a lifetime experience. Besides, it wasn’t as if Sutherland didn’t know that she was still wearing the same clothes.

Shaking herself out of her moment of indecision, Lacey decided to take the lead. It had worked downstairs and got them this far. She pushed Sutherland towards the bed, climbing onto his lap again as he sat down heavily on the covers, his hands cupping her arse and squeezing her cheeks gently.

“I never had you down as an arse guy, you know,” she said, very aware of how breathless she was sounding already; when Sutherland spoke, he was barely faring much better in those stakes. 

“Well, you were rather interested in mine last night. I’m just returning the favour.”

Lacey rolled her eyes and kissed him again, beginning to unfasten his shirt buttons. She’d seen him naked, yes, but the circumstances had been such that it hadn’t exactly been appropriate to savour the sight. Now she wanted to explore and admire whilst she had the opportunity. 

Sutherland shrugged the shirt off his shoulders and tugged at the hem of her top, lifting it up to expose her bra, her nipples already pebbled against the lace and begging for attention. He licked at the sensitive buds, the damp lace scratching and rubbing and making everything so much more intense. Lacey wrestled her top off fully and unhooked her bra, one hand carding into Sutherland’s hair as he continued to lavish her breasts with attention, alternating kisses and licks and little tugs to her nipples. 

“Now I guess I see what they say about politicians having silver tongues,” she murmured. The look that Sutherland gave her was almost wicked, a little like a challenge: If you think that this is good, you should see what else I can do with my tongue. Lacey licked her lips at the prospect. Maybe later, if they still had enough time to take their time after giving in to this first fervent burst of lust.

She pushed him down onto the bed; it took a minute or so of fumbling for them to get comfortable against the pillows, but then that sense of profound urgency was back, a frenzy of messy, chaotic kisses as they tried to touch everywhere at once. Lacey raked her fingers down Sutherland’s chest, flicking at his nipples and relishing the hiss of pleasure that he gave. At least, she assumed it was a hiss of pleasure. She did it again, glancing up at his face. Yes, definitely pleasure. His hands had come back down to her arse, squeezing again as their hips rocked together. She could feel him getting harder against her thigh even through their remaining layers of clothing, and she grinned, slowing her movements a little to make him groan. Lacey would not deny that she had a lot of sex and it was a pastime that she thoroughly enjoyed, but there was something of a different thrill in it this time. She had the most powerful man in the country beneath her, practically at her mercy. 

She sat up, unfastening her jeans so that Sutherland could slide his hands down under her waistband, his grip on her arse distracting her as she went for his own fly. At last, his trousers and underwear were off, and she could look at leisure. 

“You have seen it all before, you know.”

“I know.” Lacey traced her fingertip down his length and cupped his balls. “But now I can have a proper look. And now I get to touch.”

“Yes.” Sutherland’s voice was a little strangled, and she could see his breathing hitch as she gave his balls a gentle squeeze. “Yes, you definitely do. Good grief, Lacey.”

“You’re allowed to swear, you know. You’re not in the House of Commons now.”

“Fucking hell.”

“That’s more like it.”

She crawled back up his body to kiss him deeply again, and he pulled her in close. Lacey liked the desperation; seeing him come so undone at her hand when she had only ever really known him in his public persona, calm and controlled and running the country. It made him even more human than everything else that had happened over the last day had done. 

She scrabbled out of her jeans and thong, the extra fabric between them now more of an annoyance than anything else, and she was pleased when Sutherland followed her lead, one hand delving between her legs to stroke over her mound and along her cleft, exploring in the same tentative way that she had done to his cock, the slowness and gentleness at odds with the rest of their hasty encounter. For all Lacey wanted to make the most of the time that she had, she didn’t want this to be a disappointing moment for either of them if they made too much of their haste.

She slipped two fingers down into her cleft, opening her up and unhooding her clit. Sutherland pressed his thumb against the swollen bud and Lacey threw her head back with a groan. She knew that she shouldn’t be too loud, Maddie could probably hear them, but at the same time, she knew that Maddie was on their side. Of course, there were several increasingly implausible scenarios running through the back of her subconscious wondering if Maddie was intending to burst through the door at an incredibly inopportune moment and take blackmail photos that could bring down the government, but at that moment, with Sutherland rubbing at her clit and dipping one finger into her entrance, she couldn’t bring herself to care for the what-ifs. 

She grabbed one of the condoms from the sheets beside them, getting it on and lining them up before sinking down onto Sutherland’s cock. He groaned as his pelvis bucked up to meet her, eyes closing, and Lacey rolled her hips, rubbing up to his fingers where they were still teasing against her mound, not quite getting her there as he succumbed to his own pleasure. Lacey didn’t mind, he could return the favour afterwards once his brain wasn’t dribbling out of his ears. 

It didn’t take long before he came with a guttural growl of her name.

“Fuck, Lacey…”

Lacey just grinned down at him, continuing to rock her hips until he grabbed the base of the condom and pulled out, leaving her right on the edge. His hands were soon back, and Lacey guided his fingers to just where she needed them. 

“Harder,” she gasped as he started to rub at her clit again. “So close, so close.”

Her climax came suddenly, warming her veins, and she felt her knees give way, collapsing down onto Sutherland’s chest in an ungainly heap. He just held her close until she eventually accepted that she was going to have to stop smothering him and rolled off and out of his embrace, as much as she wanted to stay and fall asleep there. There was silence for a long time, neither of them touching the other but both of them acutely aware of the presence in the bed beside them.

“So…” Lacey stared up at the ceiling, knowing that if she looked over at Sutherland then she’d just want to kiss him again and she’d put off the words that needed to be spoken. “What happens now?”

“Well, I guess that depends.” Sutherland rolled over and found her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

“On what?” She had to look at him now, glancing sideways to meet his dark eyes. They looked earnest, although she knew that you could never be sure with politicians, who were used to twisting words and bending truths. 

“On whether this was a one-time thing because we both liked each other and we were seizing the moment before we never saw each other again, or if we want it to be more than that.”

There was the definite implication that Sutherland would be ok with more than that. Lacey wasn’t sure what to think. She’d gone into this telling herself that whatever happened, it didn’t matter, because after today they would go back to their separate lives. Now that she was here and thinking about it more, and now that she’d had a first taste, so to speak, the harder it was for her to see this as a simple one-night stand. If that was what Sutherland wanted to keep it as, then she would be content with it, but now that the possibility had been mooted… 

“So, if, theoretically, we wanted it to be more than that?”

“Well, it’s a long time since I was last dating with any regularity, but I think the normal course of action would be to exchange phone numbers.”

Lacey had to laugh. “Are you sure that you should be giving out the Prime Ministerial phone number?”

“It’s my phone. Besides, being Prime Minister, it’s a lot easier for me to change my number if you start being weird.”

“True enough. But think about it the other way. I’m not sure how I’d feel about the Prime Minister having my number if he started being weird.”

“Shall we just agree not to be weird?”

Lacey laughed. “Yeah, ok. We won’t be weird. I mean, beginning a sort of relationship with the leader of the country is already pretty weird in itself. I have to admit, if you’d asked me two days ago where I would be now, this is definitely not what I would have said.”

“Me neither. It doesn’t feel quite real.” Sutherland paused, and his hand squeezed hers again beneath the covers. “This feels real. The circumstances are still something out of a melodrama, but you’re real.”

“Very real.”

It did feel real, and Lacey was surprised by that. She hadn’t expected to feel as positive and excited about the prospect of this brief dalliance going further. She certainly hadn’t expected it. Like Sutherland had said, it hadn’t really seemed real before, almost as if she was in a dream. Now though, lying here with him, safe in this old bed in an unfamiliar spare room, without politics and assassinations and journalists looming over them, it felt much more real, and if they could continue it for a while, then Lacey was up for seeing where it went. It would be difficult, she knew that, but that was life. 

Sutherland leaned in and kissed her again, letting go of her hand to cup her face, pushing her back over onto her back. Lacey welcomed him between her thighs again. She still had a while before she had to get home, after all, and even though this wasn’t necessarily a one-time thing, it made sense to get as much out of it as possible. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

Dead Man Walking (6/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [AO3]

===

Dead Man Walking

Six

“So, I’ve got two questions.”

Considering what they were about to undertake, Carrie would have forgiven Ursula for having many more than two questions. Carrie herself had several questions, most of them coming back to the ultimate question, one to which she did not know the answer: why had she drunk so much elderflower wine tonight?

“Fire away.”

“How are you going to get in once we get there, and do you even know what you’re looking for once you get inside?”

Carrie pondered these questions for a moment. They were certainly very good questions, and shamefully enough, they were not among the questions that Carrie had been asking herself. 

“Actually, I’ve thought of a third.” Ursula glanced over at her passenger. “Are you completely, absolutely insane?”

“Darling, you have to be a little bit mad to work in the civil service, it’s the only way that any of us are able to survive all of the politicians.” She paused. It was true that she had launched into this plan without much of, well, a plan, but one thing that years of working with Sutherland and everyone else in government had taught Carrie was that she was very good at thinking on her feet. It made her proud to remember just how many seemingly inevitable catastrophes had been avoided at the last minute due to her quick intervention. 

Failed assassinations had never yet featured on the list, but it seemed like as good a thing as any to add to her repertoire. 

“Right.” Ursula was silent for a long time as they drove through the countryside, the dawn beginning to break over them. “And about the other two questions?”

“Well, considering how hushed up Spencer is trying to keep everything at the moment, I should imagine that I’ll be able to get in on sheer audacity alone. I’m the PM’s Chief of Staff, they’re not going to stop me without good reason, even if Spencer told me to go home.” 

“Right.” Ursula was still clearly unconvinced. “And what are you looking for when you get there? I highly doubt that the culprit will have left a lot of evidence lying around. This isn’t Midsomer Murders.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve played enough games of Cluedo in my time, and you can’t deny that this is a large and ominous country house.”

They were nearing the Chequers drive now, the house just visible in the distance, and Ursula nodded.

“Yep, very large and ominous, I’ll definitely give you that. I thought we’d established that he was poisoned, not hit with any lead piping.”

Carrie sighed theatrically. “Do you have to spoil my analogies? I’m doing the best I can here.”

For the first time since they had first met her on their journey to the hospital, Ursula really laughed. It was a genuine laugh of amusement, nothing sarcastic or malicious in it, and Carrie smiled. 

“OK, I’ll trust your judgement,” she said eventually. “Now, do I just drive straight up, or should I park around the corner, or what? And please don’t suggest speeding through the barrier, I don’t think that the insurance would like me for that.”

The security checkpoint was coming up, stereotypical red and white barrier across the road. 

“You might as well drive on up.” Carrie squinted through the windscreen, trying to see who was on duty in the security booth, but it was impossible. “There’s no point in trying to sneak in if there’s no need to.” She rummaged in her bag for her ID as Ursula inched the car closer and closer to the barrier.

Steve was on duty in the booth, and Carrie thought that she might be in with a chance. She’d spent enough time at Chequers that she knew all of the security staff probably better than they wanted her to, and Steve was one who could be considered a friend in a time of need. She hoped. 

Steve looked at her ID, at her, back at her ID, and then at his watch. 

“It’s five o’clock in the morning,” he said. 

Carrie raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

Steve looked at her in disbelief. “What could possibly be so important that it can’t wait until later?”

Carrie was about to say something along the lines of the Prime Minister being dead, but she stopped herself just in time. “When did you come on shift, Steve?”

“Two o’clock.”

“And has Spencer spoken to you at all about certain events that transpired last night in this very building?”

Steve shook his head as he handed her ID back to her, and Carrie gave a theatrical sigh. 

“Well, I’m sure that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, but there’s certainly a lot that we’re going to have to catch you up on at some point. Suffice it to say, I have some urgent business to attend to.”

“Do you want me to phone up to the house and let them know you’re coming?”

“No, no,” Carrie said, hoping that she didn’t sound too hasty. “They’re expecting me. I’m sure it won’t take long, but you know how they all are.”

No elaboration was needed. Steve did indeed know how the Civil Service were, having worked alongside them for enough years to be able to take all the red tape in his stride. 

The barrier lifted up and Ursula proceeded up the driveway towards the house. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said. 

“Oh, I can.” Carrie grinned. “Spencer likes to play his cards close to his chest. He always has, it’s one of the many things about him that really, really infuriates Robert.”

“Right…” They fell silent again until they were parking up in front of the house, whereupon Ursula spoke again. 

“You know, I’ve never really known what this place looked like until now. I’ve always known vaguely that Chequers was a place and the Prime Minister lived there sometimes, but I’m not sure what I was expecting. So, this is what my hard-earned taxes go towards.”

“Yep, mine too.” Carrie patted her new friend’s arm. “Now, you just wait here, and I’ll go and see what I can find.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own?” Considering how sceptical Ursula had been for the entirety of the night so far, Carrie was quite touched by her concern. “I mean, you’re already hungover if not still drunk.”

Carrie was not quite as touched by that remark, and she hopped out of the car. “I’ll be fine, darling. I always land on my feet.” This statement was not helped by her losing her balance as she tried to shut the car door, and she caught Ursula’s raised eyebrow. “I’m fine!”

She stood outside the house for a long time, pondering the best way in. On the one hand, just going up and knocking on the front door probably wouldn’t get her very far, because the people inside the house would be aware of everything that had happened overnight, and Spencer had likely instructed them not to let her in. On the other hand, given the vast amounts of CCTV around the place, sneaking in through a window was not going to be a valid idea either. 

Still, nothing chanced, nothing gained.  She could always think up a new plan later. Carrie strode up to the front door and knocked sharply. Not that she really needed to knock, they would have seen her coming. Announcing her presence loudly might not have been the best option, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve yet. Namely, the fact that Robert was indeed still alive and kicking, and not in the hospital morgue where he was supposed to be. This would have thrown Spencer off balance, and hopefully, he would be so busy trying to perform damage limitation that she would be able to work around him.

Sure enough, a few moments later the door opened, and Carrie stepped inside to find herself face to face with a bleary-eyed security guard.

“Good morning, Charlie.”

Charlie looked her up and down and then up at the clock on the wall. “You’re here early. Spencer said that you’d gone to stay with your mother after…” The sentence trailed off. 

“Yes, yes.” Carrie waved Charlie’s statement away. “I forgot some things, darling. You know, with everything going on, my head was all over the place.” She caught the guard’s slightly incredulous look. “Well, more all over the place than it already was. If you just let me through like a sweetheart, I’ll be in and out in two minutes.”

Well, that wasn’t likely, considering that she still didn’t really know what she was looking for in terms of evidence, but no-one else needed to know that.

Charlie was definitely in two minds about the whole thing. Whilst the internal security team were definitely aware of what had happened, Carrie wasn’t sure how much Spencer would have told them about the events that had occurred after the Prime Minister had been taken away, and whether or not he would have instructed them to keep her out of the building after he had sent her home. 

Finally, Charlie stood back and let her through. “All right. But be quick. Spencer’s in a real mood tonight. I mean, it’s a huge shock, I can understand that, but he’s being even more of an arsehole about it than usual.”

Carrie air-kissed both of Charlie’s cheeks before practically dancing through the metal detector. “Darling, you’re a treasure.”

She was in, and no real subterfuge had been needed. Now all she needed to do was find her evidence whilst hopefully avoiding Spencer. 

The first port of call was Robert’s office. The open doorway was sealed off with strips of police tape, and it took a bit of wriggling to ease her way inside. For a brief moment she wondered if she should have worn gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints, but then she remembered that she was in here so often that all her prints would be all over everything anyway. 

The coffee cup that Robert had drunk from, and that had most likely poisoned him, was conspicuously absent. Spencer had obviously taken away that particular shred of evidence. There wasn’t likely to be anything else in the room. Carrie leaned back against the desk with a sigh, finally accepting that she had not thought this through properly. 

It was as she was looking at everything on the desk that inspiration struck. It would be a tricky idea to pull off, but if it worked, it was the best shot that she had. 

She needed Spencer’s phone. He never went anywhere without it and if there was going to be anything incriminating anywhere in Chequers, then it would be there. The downside to this, of course, was that he never went anywhere without it, so getting her hands on it would be difficult. 

She straightened up and squeezed out of the doorway again, creeping down the corridors on bare feet towards the office that Spencer used on the rare occasions that he came down from London. She could hear him talking as she got closer, and it made her smile to hear that he seemed rather flustered. 

Carrie inched closer, trying to get the gist of what was being said. Maybe this conversation would be enough in itself and she wouldn’t need his phone after all. She grabbed her own, setting it to record, and she pressed herself up against the wall. 

“Yes, I know that bodies don’t get out of morgues without assistance!” Spencer was saying. “No, I don’t know where he’s gone! I can understand kidnapping a living Prime Minister but kidnapping a dead one is just ridiculous!”

There was a long pause; Carrie couldn’t make out the voice on the other end, but they didn’t sound impressed. She wondered who on earth he could be talking to, her heart beating painfully in her mouth. Since beginning to suspect Spencer, she’d always had the horrible sinking feeling that he wasn’t working alone. Although he was certainly scheming - he wouldn’t have risen to his current lofty position had he not been - she didn’t think that he was intelligent enough to think up an assassination plot all on his own. Especially not one that used a niche poison that simulated natural death like Robert’s had been. 

Robert had his enemies, all politicians did, and being Prime Minister meant that he had more than most. Carrie shook her head, not wanting to get into that train of thought. She worked with all the cabinet on a daily basis and whilst she knew that there were power struggles and more than one person with their eyes on Robert’s job, she didn’t think that any of them would stretch to murder. 

She hoped none of them would stretch to murder.

“Yes, I’m sure!” She could hear the exasperation in Spencer’s voice and pressed a hand over her mouth to stop her from giggling and betraying her position. Oh, this frustration really couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. “Look, he’s dead, he can’t exactly have gone far. Yes, I’m sure he’s dead!”

Carrie began to creep away. She’d heard more than enough, and Charlie might be coming to look for her at any moment. She was almost at the end of the corridor when she heard Spencer’s door open, and she jumped through the nearest doorway to avoid detection, ending up in the small cloakroom where visitors could freshen up before meeting the Prime Minister. There was some kind of commotion going on at the front of the house, and her stomach churned, hoping that Ursula was still ok in the taxi. 

Spencer marched down the corridor, right past Carrie’s hiding place none the wiser, and began barking orders. Carrie peeped out, waiting until the coast was clear before scuttling back towards the front door and Charlie.

The guard seemed rather relieved to see her; the front door was open and from outside, Carrie could see Ursula being herded back towards the car by one of the other guards.

“Is everything all right?” Carrie asked. 

Charlie nodded. “She was trying to get in to look for you, muttering something about being left stranded without you paying the fare. Did you get what you were looking for?”

“Oh, yes. It was a very successful trip, thank you, Charlie.”

Carrie waltzed out of the door towards Ursula, whose expression turned into one of relief as they walked quickly towards the car. 

“Don’t worry, I’m here. Your fare will be paid in full as soon as we get back to my mother’s.”

“I, erm, I wasn’t actually worried about the fare.” Ursula looked up from fastening her seatbelt, her face a little sheepish. “I was more worried about you. I thought a distraction might help and it was the only thing I could think of.”

Carrie could only nod, stunned. “Well, it certainly worked, thank you.”

“Glad to be of service. Did you get it? Well, I don’t exactly know what ‘it’ is supposed to be. Did you get something?”

Carrie waved her phone. “I did indeed.”

“Great.” Ursula seemed genuinely happy to hear of the successful plot, and the trip back to the de Ville residence was made in uncharacteristic quiet. Carrie kept glancing sideways at Ursula as she drove, still gobsmacked that Ursula had been worried about her and had tried to help in her not necessarily legal endeavours, especially after everything else that had happened during the night. 

She was definitely beginning to see her new friend in an entirely different light.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (7/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [AO3]

===

Dead Man Walking

Seven

Sutherland had a problem.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true. He had several problems, and most of them were related to the fact that the Head of the Civil Service had tried to kill him and had very nearly succeeded. However, those problems were so large and far-reaching, and Sutherland had so very little idea of how to solve them, that he’d had to put them to the side for the sake of his own sanity.

Carrie was dealing with those problems by going to Chequers and collecting what evidence she could against Spencer. Sutherland had no idea what kind of evidence he was hoping that she would find there, but with any luck, she’d go through Spencer’s luggage and find a bottle marked with a skull and crossbones and a folder containing a detailed, ten-step plan for assassinating the Prime Minister.

With those problems put away until Carrie got back – there wasn’t really much else that Sutherland could do about the situation since he was still supposed to be dead – he was focussing on the one problem, still tangentially related to the myriad other problems, that he did have control over.

That problem was Lacey French, and now that he thought about it, Sutherland wasn’t sure that he had any control over this problem either. The two of them had been thrust into each other’s worlds by a twist of fate that no one in their right mind could have foreseen, and now they were stuck with each other.

Not that Sutherland minded being stuck with Lacey. Far from it, and therein lay the problem. Out of all the things that politicians could do that were inappropriate, finding a young woman at least twenty, if not more, years his junior, who had just saved his life, attractive, was probably up there on the list.

Sutherland ran his hands through his hair with a groan. This was not the time, nor the place, and whilst he wanted to think about something, anything to take his mind off whatever shenanigans Carrie was performing and whatever trouble she might be getting into on his behalf, he really didn’t want his thoughts to be turned in Lacey’s direction. She was just a good Samaritan who had helped him out because it was the right thing to do. She’d had no obligation to rescue him, and she certainly had no obligation to stay with him now that he was safe. (Although, having seen Maddie de Ville’s drinking habits, he wasn’t entirely sure that safe was the right word for her company.)

The fact remained, though, that Lacey was still here, determined to see this rollercoaster through to the bitter end, no matter what that might be. As worried as he was for Carrie and what she might be getting herself into, Sutherland knew Carrie, and he knew that she would always have his back through thick and thin. Considering that Lacey’s father was the pathologist who’d been about to cut him open, Sutherland was certain that Lacey was already in some kind of trouble, and he really didn’t want her or her family to suffer any repercussions as a result of her kindness. He could only hope that by the end of all this, when the world was put back to rights, he would be able to get everything sorted out with no ill effects.

He pushed Lacey firmly to the back of his mind and looked around the room that Mrs de Ville had shown him to. It was a small and neat guest room, no sign of any personality in it, and he wondered if he was the first person to use it. He had to admire how easily Mrs de Ville had taken to having them all camped out in her home, as if taking in a dead Prime Minister was an everyday occurrence.

He rolled his head, trying to get the cricks out of his neck. He wasn’t sure how long he had been lying on the autopsy table for, but it had done a number on his back. Perhaps a shower would help. Mrs de Ville had dug out some of her late husband’s clothes for him, and whilst they weren’t exactly his style, anything was better than hospital scrubs.

Mrs de Ville was more than happy to provide towels and soap when asked, and standing under the hot spray, Sutherland felt the tension beginning to ease out of his shoulders and spine. He couldn’t deny that he was beginning to get too old for adventures like this. Well, it wasn’t really an adventure so much as a nerve-wracking nightmare that he still wasn’t entirely sure was real. Lacey probably thought that it was more of an adventure, with the way that she had taken everything in her stride. The thought of his age brought him back full circle and he cursed, annoyed with himself for ending up with Lacey on his mind again.

He pushed her firmly to the side again and rinsed off the soap suds. As much as he wanted to, he knew that he couldn’t stay in the shower forever, and he shut off the water with a sigh, trying to pull his thoughts away from everything that had happened tonight and onto the pressing problems that had brought him down to Chequers for meetings in the first place. Just because he was technically dead didn’t mean that he couldn’t still do his job.

Unfortunately for Sutherland, his resolve not to think about Lacey was utterly shattered when he came out of the bathroom and almost bumped headlong into her on the landing. They both froze, and Sutherland watched as Lacey’s eyes took him in from head to toe and back again. Technically, she’d seen him wearing less than a towel, but right now, he felt far more exposed than he had done in the morgue. Perhaps because, back in the morgue, he’d been more concerned with the fact he’d just come back from the dead, and a random young woman seeing him naked was of secondary importance.

Now, Lacey was very much his primary concern and he was standing here like a lemon in front of her in just a towel, and was that an expression of appreciation on her face?

He decided not to hang around trying to analyse the situation any longer and bolted back into his room, shutting the door firmly behind him and leaning back against it with a groan. It was almost as if fate had it in for him and was determined to keep reminding him of Lacey’s existence and the fact he was really beginning to like her more than he should, until he could deny it no longer.

Maybe, a small, optimistic part of him said, accepting it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe Lacey was feeling the same way. She didn’t seem too horrified by what she had seen, at least.

He shook the unhelpful thought away, but he couldn’t stop it from coming back in idle moments as he dried off and put on the provided shirt and trousers.

Lacey was back in the living room by the time Sutherland returned there, and he couldn’t decide whether he was glad about that or not. On the one hand, it was still rather embarrassing to face her after everything else that had happened – and that seemed to keep happening – throughout the night, but on the other hand, his only other option for company was Maddie de Ville and he didn’t really know how he felt about spending any amount of time in conversation with her. It was clear where Carrie got most of her quirks from, but a lifetime of dealing with politicians had sharpened Carrie’s most eccentric edges. Her mother was the very definition of a cloudcuckoolander.

Lacey looked up as he came in. She was curled up in one of the armchairs, and for the first time that night, she was looking as worn down as Sutherland felt himself.

“Hey,” she said. “It’s good to see you wearing proper clothes again.”

Sutherland sighed. “Yes, let’s not dwell on that.”

Lacey just chuckled. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about from my point of view. You might be the Prime Minister, but I think you can still get it.”

“Great.” He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He’d just spent the last twenty minutes trying to push all thoughts of Lacey and his growing attraction to her to the back of his mind, but if he didn’t know better, he’d think that she was perhaps showing some degree of attraction back towards him. Maybe this was just her way, familiar and teasing in the same way that Carrie was. There was a lot about Lacey that reminded him of Carrie when he thought about it. No-nonsense, calm under pressure, a tough exterior that softened when her guard was down. Like now, with exhaustion creeping in around the edges.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. It was a genuine question, not just a nicety asked for the sake of it.

“Much better, thank you. The headache’s all but gone now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Of course, how he was feeling physically in himself had nothing on what he was feeling emotionally. As much as he was trying to put a brave face on it and take it in his stride, Sutherland couldn’t help but feel scared. He was the Prime Minister; he had an entire crack security team around him at all times and yet someone had still tried to kill him and had very nearly succeeded. There was something in the idea of keeping one’s friends close and one’s enemies closer that didn’t seem to bring him all that much comfort. He’d never seen eye to eye with Sir Albert ever since he’d taken up residence in Downing Street, but he’d never have thought that the Head of the Civil Service was capable of murder.

A shudder ran down his spine at the chilling thought that Sir Albert might not have been working alone. Sutherland knew he was a man with many enemies, but ones that were willing to kill were a completely different matter altogether.

“Are you ok?” Lacey was looking at him with her head on one side, a concerned expression on her face.

Sutherland nodded, then shook his head.

“I’m very aware of my own mortality right now,” he said. “And dealing with the terrible thought that apart from you and Carrie, I have no idea who I can trust in my life anymore.”

“I’m sorry. That must suck.” Lacey stifled a yawn behind her hand. “I guess we don’t really think about the psychological consequences of surviving an assassination. We assume that you’re just happy to be alive…”

“I’m very happy to be alive,” Sutherland said quickly. “Please don’t misunderstand that.”

“No, I know you are. But being happy to be alive doesn’t stop the wondering what might have been, or wondering why, or wondering where you’ll be safe.” She shrugged. “We don’t really get much into psychology in the forensic chemistry field, but it comes into all areas of criminology eventually.”

Sutherland shook his head. “I’d rather not talk about it. Not until Carrie comes back with some kind of evidence at least. Right now, I feel nice and safe here with you, so I’d rather not think about the things that are making me distinctly nervous.”

“You feel safe with me?” There was a moment of soft wonder in Lacey’s expression, before her carefree grin returned. “I think that’s the first time someone’s ever said that.”

“Well, it’s true.”

There was silence for a long time, Lacey staring out across the driveway as she digested what he’d just said. Finally, she looked back at him with a grin.

“All right. If you don’t want to talk about what’s going on tonight, we could have that discussion about student loan forgiveness if you want.”

Sutherland took the chair opposite her, although from the way Lacey was going, he didn’t think that the discussion would last all that long. She seemed to be flagging rapidly now, even if Sutherland himself was feeling very awake and would likely stay that way until he saw Carrie back safe and sound.

He had to admit, despite steeling himself for a fight, Lacey’s points were well thought out and backed up. She was getting very much into her element and had she not been on the verge of dropping off every time she finished speaking, he had no doubt that she’d be killing it on the debating floor. She spoke with a great deal of passion, and it was clear that she would have argued about anything she stood for with just the same fervour. It was refreshing to hear, and even though she was arguing against his own point of view, Sutherland enjoyed listening to her.

Soon, though, the inevitable moment happened, and Lacey succumbed to tiredness, curling in on herself in her chair, hair falling into her face. Sutherland took the throw blanket from the back of her chair and tucked it in around her, sitting back on his heels with a sigh.

He was going to have to admit that he was definitely developing more than a little crush on Lacey.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (3/?)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [AO3]

—

Dead Man Walking

Three

Something was wrong. Carrie had known that something was wrong from the moment that the Head of the Civil Service had told her to go home. He had told her in forceful and no uncertain terms to go home, and not to come back until he called her. 

Now that Robert was… gone, Sir Albert Spencer, Head of the Civil Service, was her de facto boss, so she couldn’t really contradict him.

She hadn’t really focussed on the fact that something was wrong at the time, because at the time, she had just found the Prime Minister dead in his private office in Chequers and had been through all the necessary trauma of calling the police and the ambulance and making statements and officially identifying the body and watching her boss being taken away covered in a sheet.

She had settled in for a long night of enforcing a complete press blackout until cause of death could be determined, and of enacting several antiquated procedures related to ‘what happens when a Prime Minister dies in office’ that no one had needed to enact since 1812. 

Ironically, the last Prime Minister to die in office was also the first and only to be assassinated. 

Carrie seriously suspected that he was not in fact the only one. 

She seriously suspected that Sir Albert knew something, and that was the reason why she, ostensibly the closest person to the Prime Minister, had been pretty much forcibly removed from Chequers and told to go home, that there was nothing she could do, that she’d had a traumatic evening and everyone else would take care of things. 

Carrie sighed, continuing to stare at the chintzy floral wallpaper of her mother’s living room and wondering if the decision to start drinking as soon as she’d got home was a good one. Having been told to go home, Carrie had pointed out that, whilst the Prime Minister was away from London and she was with him, Chequers was her home, Sir Albert had politely reminded her that her mother lived not ten miles away from Chequers, and gave her a pointed look that told her, without the need for words, where he expected her to go.

Her mother, owner of a house in a small village in the middle of nowhere, had found her outside the house, crying her eyes out with angry tears of loss and frustration as she kicked the garden wall to within an inch of the stonework’s life.

She’d steered her inside, given her some elderflower wine to calm her down, and, Official Secrets Act be damned, had listened to Carrie pour out all her woes. To her credit, Mrs de Ville had not batted an eyelid at the fact that the Prime Minister had died of a suspected heart attack, and she had just kept topping up her daughter’s glass. Carrie raised an eyebrow as the drink kept flowing. At least she knew where she got it from.  

They’d moved on from elderflower wine onto gin now, and it was now getting on for one in the morning. Mrs de Ville was snoring gently in her chair, and Carrie’s thoughts were coming full circle. Something was wrong. There was no way Robert had had a heart attack.

Yes, he was a smoker, and yes, he was under a lot of stress, but he’d been in good health lately, and there had been nothing wrong with him all day. Surely he’d show some kind of symptoms of impending doom.

This wasn’t supposed to have happened. This was supposed to her holiday, for fuck’s sake. Parliament wasn’t in session; everything was winding down for the summer. There had just been a couple of meetings about more sensitive policy matters for the next session that Robert had said couldn’t wait - so they’d arranged for a few private meetings at Chequers to go over it. Carrie had come down to be on hand if he needed her. Which, all things considered when it came to Robert losing his temper and threatening to do something stupid, was rather likely.

“Someone killed him,” she muttered darkly to the wallpaper.

The chilling thought was that the pool of suspects was incredibly small, given how few people were around. It was someone in the Cabinet, or the Civil Service, or the Chequers staff. 

Carrie shook her head. She was getting paranoid. It was the wine. And the gin probably hadn’t helped either. He’d had a heart attack, it was terribly tragic, and half the public would mourn, and the other half would rejoice when they found out, and that was the way of it. 

Except for the Head of the Civil Service locking her out of the proceedings. She couldn’t get those suspicions out of her head. 

“Who killed who, darling?” Mrs de Ville jerked awake. “I do love a good murder. I always fancied myself as a Miss Marple, but our village is nowhere near as prone to death as St Mary Mead.”

“Someone killed the Prime Minister.”

“Oh yes, that.” Mrs de Ville held up the wine bottle - nowhere near the first they’d got through - and found it empty. “Well, why don’t you do a little investigation? With your connections, you should be in a perfect position to find things out.”

She wasn’t, though. She was sitting in her mother’s living room whilst the Head of the Civil Service tried very hard to keep her from finding anything out. 

For the first time in her life, Carrie was actually beginning to wish that she hadn’t drunk so much. 

Her phone began to ring, pulling her out of her morbid contemplation. She grabbed it excitedly, convinced that it would be Sir Albert calling her to bring her back into the fold (although how much use she’d be after a bottle and a half of wine was debatable), and she was brought up short when the number showed as unknown; a comparatively local landline number.

Maybe the press had already got wind of what had happened and were calling her for a statement. Admittedly, one in the morning was an odd time for it, but Carrie had long since learned after a lifetime in politics that journalism never slept.

The phone continued to ring, and finally, she answered.

“Hello?”

“Carrie, it’s me.”

“What?” Carrie was very glad that she was already sitting down because she would most certainly have fallen over had she not been.

“It’s me, Carrie! For fuck’s sake!” Robert certainly sounded like himself, and certainly sounded alive, and Carrie was really beginning to wish that she hadn’t drunk so much because her brain was operating at a speed slower than a snail wading through treacle.

“But you’re dead!” she hissed. “I saw you. You were dead. Very dead.”

“Well, evidently not quite as dead as everyone thought.”

“What, how… Where are you?”

“I’m still in the morgue.”

“You’re calling me from the morgue?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“With a phone! Carrie… Have you been drinking?”

“Of course I’ve been drinking, you walnut! My boss just died, I just got put on indefinite garden leave, and I’ve been drowning my sorrows in elderflower wine for the last four hours!”

“Bloody hell, you must be desperate. Elderflower wine? Never mind. Look, I need your help; you’re the only person I trust.”

“I…” Carrie remembered her own conviction that Robert had been murdered and took his point. “Yes. All right. What do you need?”

“To find out who tried to kill me, that would be a good start. And getting out of this place would be good. And some aspirin. So far my only partner in crime is a trainee forensic scientist who isn’t even supposed to be here and who seems worryingly interested in my arse.”

Carrie could just about make out a young, female voice in the background of the call. “Your arse is very interesting.”

“You know, I have to agree with the trainee forensic scientist who isn’t even supposed to be there.”

“You’re drunk, Carrie. Look…” There was a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “I really, really need you right now.”

Carrie nodded despite the fact he couldn’t see her. “Yes. Ok. I’ll be there. Where are you? I mean, apart from the morgue.”

“Stoke Mandeville hospital,” said the almost-forensic scientist.

“Ok. Just…” Carrie had no idea what kind of advice to offer a man who’d just risen from the dead and was hiding in a morgue. “Just… hang in there.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can. Oh, and Robert?”

“Yes?”

“I’m so glad that you’re alive.”

The call ended. Carrie was suddenly painfully and horribly sober, and she jumped up out of the squashy armchair she’d been ensconced in ever since her mother had levered her away from the garden wall before she could kick it down. The suddenness of the action alarmed Mrs de Ville.

“Where are you going, darling?”

“Stoke Mandeville. Robert’s alive and stuck in a morgue and I have to go and get him out and work out who tried to kill him and…”

She fumbled for her car keys, and Mrs de Ville came over, closing her wrinkled hands over Carrie’s shaking ones.

“Darling, I’m not going to be responsible for you ending up in the hospital you’re trying to get to. We’ll get a taxi.”

“We?”

“Well, naturally I’m coming with you. You can’t exactly trust anyone else in this game, and you’re going to need all the help you can get on this one. I just finished the latest Kathy Reichs; we’ll make the perfect team.”

Carrie was not altogether convinced, but her mother was right. She was going to need some help, and none of her usual channels would be available to her, especially if Sir Albert was running interference. It wasn’t like anyone would suspect a seemingly harmless septuagenarian; maybe she could help out with bluffing Carrie’s way into the hospital.

Ten minutes later found Carrie and her mother sitting in the back of a taxi on their way to Stoke Mandeville. The driver, an incredibly cynical woman named Ursula, had raised an eyebrow at their destination and suggested calling an ambulance instead, until Carrie had reassured her that neither she nor her mother were in need of medical attention.

Ursula had not seemed entirely convinced by this, especially since Mrs de Ville was swaying slightly, but had nonetheless begun the drive to the hospital. At this time of the night the roads were empty, and they made good time. It was only once they were nearing the carpark that Carrie realised they’d hit a major snag. Namely, she had no idea where the morgue was in relation to anywhere else in the hospital.

Also, if she was going to be sneaking the supposedly dead Prime Minister out of the hospital, taking him out through the main entrance probably wouldn’t be a good idea. If the press didn’t know that something odd had happened in the upper echelons of government before, then they certainly would after that.

“Can you just go round the block a bit and park up in a side street?” she asked.

Ursula raised her eyebrows in the rear-view mirror.

“Are you mad? There’s nowhere to park within about a mile of the place.”

“You can leave the meter running,” Carrie said. “We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“Listen, madam, I don’t know what you’re doing, calling taxis in the middle of the night to take you to hospitals that you evidently want to get into furtively, but I am not partaking in any criminal activity. Once I drop you off, I’m out of here.”

“No! Please, we’ll need to go back again. And I promise that there is nothing illegal going on.”

Carrie knew that she probably didn’t sound all that convincing, but at the same time, she was desperate to get Robert out of the morgue and into somewhere safe, and right now this taxi was the only safe harbour she had.

Ursula heaved a sigh. “All right. There’s a little alley parallel to the ambulance station; there’s usually space in there and you can try and sneak in via Resus. But you pay for this journey now; I’m not going to hang around indefinitely.”

“You are a lifesaver. Quite possibly literally.” Carrie blew her a kiss from the back seat and Ursula rolled her eyes, but Carrie caught the slightest hint of a smile in the mirror.

The taxi pulled up and Carrie counted out change plus a generous tip, praying that Ursula would still be there when they got back. She considered leaving her mother in the car as insurance, but Mrs de Ville was already out of the taxi and scuttling towards the Resus entrance.

Carrie had never seen her mother scuttle before. Maddie de Ville had always been poised and dignified, and for a few moments all Carrie could do was stare in bewilderment, finally putting it down to the drink and following her as furtively as she could manage with that much elderflower wine inside her.

Quite how they managed to get inside without anyone noticing that anything was amiss would be a source of amazement to Carrie for the rest of her days, but they managed to make it out of A&E by refuge of sheer audacity and acting like they were definitely supposed to be there.

Now all they had to do was make it to the morgue.

“I think it’s this way.” Mrs de Ville was studying the hospital map on the wall intently. The morgue was not marked, but she tapped one long, red fingernail at the stairwell. “They’re usually in the basement.”

It was as good a place to start looking as any, and Carrie followed her mother towards the stairs, striding along the basement corridors with a confidence that neither of them felt but that would hopefully stop anyone from questioning them.

They had stopped to look at another map when they heard it.

“Pst!”

Carrie glanced over her shoulder. A young woman was leaning out of an unmarked doorway.

“Carrie de Ville?” she asked.

Carrie nodded once, uncertainly.

“Great. I’m Lacey French, almost-forensic scientist. I’ve got something of yours here.”

Carrie crossed the corridor and peered into the room – it turned out to be a linen closet – past Lacey.

Robert was there. He was looking rather worse for wear, but then, he had just been murdered so that was probably forgivable. Carrie knew that she wouldn’t be looking much better herself and she didn’t even have the excuse of waking up in a morgue.

“Robert!”

She pushed past Lacey and threw her arms around him. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad that you’re all right!”

Robert gave a weak laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Carrie.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here. There’s a taxi waiting.”

“Thank God for that,” said Lacey. “I really didn’t want to have to take him on the back of my moped. Let’s roll. Keep an eye out for Suits, the place is crawling with them.”

She led the way out of the linen closet and along the corridor, and Carrie, Robert and Mrs de Ville rushed to keep up with her.

Carrie had to smile, despite everything that was going on. She’d never met anyone less likely to be a forensic scientist, and anyone less likely to have helped the Prime Minister in his hour of need.

She felt that she was going to like Lacey French.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (5/?)

It’s been 84 years! Enjoy nonetheless.

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [AO3]

—

Dead Man Walking

Five

Lacey was alone in the living room with Sutherland. Mrs de Ville had vanished off somewhere and Carrie was outside talking to Ursula about the best way to get into Chequers without being questioned, trying to convince the taxi driver that everything was perfectly above board, honest. 

Before, when it had just been her and Sutherland in the morgue, it hadn’t been anywhere near as awkward as it was now. Before, there had been much more urgency, and Sutherland had been a lot groggier from having just died and come back to life, and Lacey had had a lot more to focus on than the fact she was alone with the Prime Minister.

Now that she didn’t have to worry about someone coming along and finding them and she didn’t have to worry about keeping him safe from a bunch of civil servants who were probably the ones to kill him in the first place, things were much more awkward. For some reason, she kept replaying the moment she’d run into the morgue in her mind, and she could barely string more than two thoughts together before something in her brain would helpfully remind her that she’d seen the Prime Minister naked and that he did have a rather nice arse. 

To be honest, the rest of him wasn’t too bad either. He’d look better if he weren’t quite so stressed, but Lacey had always had a bit of a soft spot for silver foxes. She might not agree with his party line, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t find the man himself objectively attractive. 

The silence in the living room stretched on, and Lacey wondered what she ought to say to fill it, rather than just sitting here staring at the man until someone came to rescue them from this void. 

Thankfully, Sutherland spoke first. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think that I really had the chance to express my gratitude back when we were in the hospital before, everything was a bit…”

“Frantic?” Lacey suggested. 

“Yes.” Sutherland sighed. “I do really appreciate all your help. I think that there are quite a few people in your position who would have been quite happy to leave me to my fate. Or finish the job, you know.”

Lacey snorted. “Oh, believe me, I’ve been tempted over the last couple of years, and you and I are still going to have a discussion about student loan forgiveness at some point. But, ultimately, I’m a decent human being and I like to believe that you are too. And, you know, murder is bad, even if it does happen to people you don’t like.” She paused. “Well, it’s not that I don’t like you.” Good grief, why was she trying to justify herself? She’d saved the man’s life and snuck him out of the hospital; she didn’t need to be friends with him so why was she trying to ingratiate herself? “More that I don’t like your policies and the way your party thinks.”

“Fair enough.” Sutherland drained his coffee and made a face. “You’re right, maybe this experience has served to put me off coffee a bit.”

Lacey laughed. “I told you so. You know, when I was growing up, I always thought that politics was the most boring thing ever and I couldn’t believe that anyone would want to be Prime Minister. Now it’s got a lot more exciting. Although, that said, I still can’t believe that anyone would want to be Prime Minister when the rate of assassination just went up by a hundred per cent.”

“It would only have gone up by a hundred per cent if they had actually succeeded,” Sutherland pointed out.

“According to everyone who isn’t us, they did succeed.” Lacey shrugged. “Face it, you’re in a dangerous line of work. Not as dangerous as being the American president though. We’ve still got a while to go before we catch them up in terms of assassinated premiers.”

She paused, thinking deeply into her long-perceived notions of politics and politicians. Since she had one here, the top dog no less, she might as well get a few things off her chest. “Why did you want to become Prime Minister anyway?”

Sutherland sighed. “Because I thought that I could change the country and make people’s lives better. It’s only once you get into government that you realise just how hard that is. Power is always limited, and so it should be – think what would happen if there were no restraints in place.”

Lacey nodded. “Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“Exactly. It’s something that you’re all too aware of when you get to be in my position.”

“Ever been tempted?”

“What?”

“Ever been tempted to use your power for evil? I mean, come on, we’re slap bang in the middle of an excellent villain origin story here. Poisoned and left for dead by the people you trusted…”

Sutherland scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust Sir Albert as far as I could throw him.”

“You’re ruining my narrative here!” Lacey sighed. “Why do I bother? I should have left you in the morgue.”

She didn’t mean it, and the worst thing was that she knew Sutherland knew she didn’t mean it as well. He gave a little chuckle, but it came out more tired than anything, turning into a yawn that he tried and failed to mask.

It served to remind Lacey of how late it was – well, how early now, given that it was long past midnight – and that she too was running on empty. She wondered how long this limbo was going to last. She had done her part, so to speak, delivering the Prime Minister into safe hands, and yet here she was still, for some reason unwilling to go home and consider her job done.

She tried to justify it to herself by saying that Carrie couldn’t possibly allow her to go home now and possibly ruin the secret of Sutherland’s survival, but she knew deep down that she still felt the same sense of responsibility towards him that had driven her to get him out of the hospital in the first place. It was the same acute sense of justice that had fuelled her in her current career path – the need to see victims vindicated and the perpetrators of the crimes against them punished.

“I have to say, although I’ve not met many forensic scientists in my time, you’re not at all how I imagined one would be,” Sutherland said presently, startling Lacey out of her train of thought. Spooky that he should mention it just as she was pondering it herself.

“Well, it’s not all the glamour of CSI,” she said. “Not that CSI is all that glamorous most of the time. Most of it’s sitting in laboratories looking through microscopes. And not all forensic scientists are nerds in lab coats like procedurals would have you believe. Some of us ride mopeds and rescue politicians in our spare time.”

She leaned back in her chair, running a hand through her hair and wishing it were possible for her to teleport out of the situation, get a few hours’ sleep in her own bed, then blink back in as if nothing had happened and continue the conversation. She didn’t want to leave Sutherland and Carrie to fend for themselves against whatever internal workings had brought them to this, but at the same time, she wasn’t really sure what she, Ursula and Mrs de Ville could do to help them.

She was saved from any further awkwardness by the entry of the lattermost into the room again.

“I’ve made up the spare beds,” she said, completely matter of fact. “I for one have been completely exhausted by this ordeal and if my errant daughter doesn’t come back in here soon I shall go to bed without saying goodnight or getting the latest in the plan off her.” She paused. “Although, that said, if Ursula wants to stay over as well, then people will have to start bunking up.”

Her gaze travelled from Sutherland to Lacey and back again, giving a sage nod before she disappeared out of the room.

Lacey leapt out of her seat, following the older woman out, not for any reason other than to get away from Sutherland’s physical presence whilst she also had the mental image of bunking up with him. She should not be finding the Prime Minister, of all people, this attractive. She definitely should not be thinking about sleeping with him. She absolutely should not be thinking about sleeping with him when he’d been functionally dead just a few hours ago. The poor man would need rest and recuperation, not riding into the mattress.

Although, given his current levels of stress, perhaps riding him into the mattress would provide the relaxation that he needed.

She stepped out into the driveway, where Carrie and Ursula were still very confidential beside the taxi. Carrie noticed her.

“Are you leaving us, darling?” she asked. “I was going to ask if you wanted to participate in the great expedition.”

Lacey shook her head. “No, no. I’m still here. I’m in this deep already, I might as well stick it out to the end.”

Ursula nodded. “That’s the principle I’m working on too. Anyway, we’re off to Chequers and praying we don’t get killed. Are you coming?”

“No, I don’t think so. Someone’s got to stay here and keep an eye on Sutherland. We don’t want anyone coming and finishing the job, and no offence to your mum, but I think she might need back up.”

“No offence taken. I’d best let her know that we’re going. Actually, can you do that, darling? If I tell her then she’ll want to come too, and whilst I just about managed to keep her reigned in at the hospital, I don’t trust her in the vicinity of government buildings. Wish us luck! We’re going to need it!” She flung herself into the back of the taxi and waved out of the window.

“We’re going to need more than luck,” Ursula muttered as she got into the driver’s seat. “We’re going to need a bloody miracle.”

The taxi backed out of the driveway just as the sun was beginning to come up, and Lacey felt the events of the day beginning to weigh heavy on her shoulders. All she really wanted now was a nap, but she had thrown her lot in with Carrie and Sutherland for better or worse.

Just as she was turning to go back inside and ponder her next steps, her phone buzzed with the arrival of another message. It was from her father again, and she remembered that she had never responded to his first frantic question of if she had stolen the Prime Minister.

Where are you? Is everything all right?

Lacey felt a sharp pang of guilt that her dad was so worried about her. Although she didn’t want to tell him the full extent of what was going on, she knew that she had to let him know that she was safe. Before she could reply, another message arrived.

Is you-know-who alive?

She snorted, immediately reminded of Harry Potter, and typed out a quick response. She loved the fact that he was using a strange little kind of code, but then again, she wouldn’t put it past the government to be tapping their phones whilst all this upheaval was going on and the Civil Service were desperately trying to find the Prime Minister’s corpse.

Yes, y-k-w is alive. I am safe and well and hiding out with him. Being taken care of by an old lady with a taste for gin and cigarette holders. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Well. Later today.

She paused before sending and added: I’ll call you at midday.

Hopefully by then, she’d have more of a plan, and if something did go terribly wrong and she ended up imprisoned in a basement at Chequers, or, in a terrible worst case scenario, in a morgue herself, then her dad would know to send out a search party if she didn’t check in.

His response came a moment later.

Stay safe, Lace. Keep y-k-w safe too.

She smiled and stepped back into the house, closing the door on the world outside and hoping that whatever Carrie and Ursula got up to at Chequers, they would be both successful and quick about it, so that her life could continue back on the nice and boring course that it had been taking before.

Lacey already knew, however, that it would likely never be quite the same again.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (10/10)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: E overall, this chapter is T.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [AO3]

Dead Man Walking

Ten

Sutherland had really not anticipated how much paperwork came with nearly being assassinated and having the Head of the Civil Service arrested for said near-assassination. What he had hoped would be a fairly peaceful summer break had, overnight, turned into a complete frenzy, not helped at all by the fact they were trying to do their utmost to keep everything out of the papers. 

Naturally, despite Carrie’s most valiant efforts, this was completely impossible, and the red tops were going above and beyond when it came to conspiracy theories. Sutherland was extremely glad that it was the summer and he didn’t have to deal with quite as many public appearances, or anyone in the Commons wondering aloud to the Speaker if the Prime Minister was in a fit state to be running the country given that he was probably suffering some kind of psychological trauma as a result of nearly dying. On top of that, the delicate political situation that had led to him hosting the meetings at Chequers in the first place had still not gone away, and it would only become more acute as time went on. 

Sutherland leaned back in his chair and sighed. It felt very strange to be back in Chequers given what had happened the last time that he was here, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. On the one hand, Sir Albert had been arrested and wasn’t around to make a second attempt on his life since the first one failed, but on the other hand, it was clear that he had not been working alone, and Sutherland still didn’t really know who he could trust. In a way, he felt safer down here at Chequers than he did back in Downing Street, because it was far more likely, given the phone conversation that Carrie had overheard, that Sir Albert’s co-conspirator was London-based. 

He glanced down at his phone, looking at his ongoing conversation with Lacey. They had been messaging each other fairly frequently over the last few weeks and had spoken a few times as well, talking about the day to day life of Downing Street and Carrie’s latest shenanigans, and how Lacey’s studies were going. She was on track to complete her doctorate on time and graduate in January, and Sutherland wondered how much of a stir it would cause if he were to go to the ceremony. Probably too much, but he would definitely send his congratulations.

Chatting with Lacey was always a breath of fresh air whenever things were getting out of hand. She would pull him out of the politics and into the wider world, reminding him that there was indeed a wider world out there that was affected by all the decisions that she was making. Sometimes, thinking about the bigger picture and trying to do the best for the entire country, he could lose sight of individuals.

And of course, there was the simple fact that she was Lacey, and he really liked her, and he enjoyed spending this time with her just because she made him happy. And, he liked to think, he made her happy. How they had managed to be so compatible despite being so vastly different was beyond him, but he was incredibly grateful for it. When he’d first gone into politics, he had let his personal life take a back seat, and when he had become Prime Minister, all thoughts of beginning a relationship had been parked firmly on one side - he had missed his chance and that was that. Now a great chance had been presented to him - in extraordinary circumstances, that was true - and he didn’t want to mess it up.

There was a soft knock on the door, and it startled Sutherland out of his reflections. He was still getting used to the layout of the new room, having decided that he really didn’t want to continue using the room that he had died in as his main office, and the door was in the wrong place according to his auditory memory.

“Come in.”

Carrie poked her head around the door. “How are you doing? Set the world to rights yet?”

Sutherland shook his head. “Of course not. The day I do that, I’ll instantly announce my retirement as I know I’ll never have it so good again. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve still got plenty of things to be getting on with, not least of all getting to know all of your hugely increased security personnel. I definitely appreciate how seriously they’re taking all this, but it has played havoc with one of my cunning plans.” 

Sutherland raised an eyebrow. Carrie’s cunning plans ranged from rearranging all the potted plants in Downing Street to tricking obstinate MPs into voting for bills that needed votes. He glanced down at the paper in front of him and wondered how many they’d have to sweet talk to get this one to pass. He’d been working on the proposal as a pet project all summer, intending to present it when parliament reconvened, a new draft bill for changes to student loan interest rate caps. Lacey’s words during their time together had had an impact on him, and even if he never saw her again, he felt that trying to make her voice heard in the House would be a fitting way to thank her for everything she had done for him. 

“Anyway,” Carrie continued. “I was just checking that you’ll be all right if I clock off for the night. You know you can always call me if you need anything.”

Sutherland nodded. “I know. It’s just strange being back here. It’s as if nothing’s changed and everything has changed at the same time. I’ll only be partaking of hot beverages that I have prepared and that have not left my sight.”

“That’s my man.” Carrie crossed the room and patted his shoulder. “Anyway, I have a hot date with a local taxi driver to look forward to, so I’ll leave you to your brooding. Lighten up, it might never happen. And if you think about what’s already happened this summer, I’m pretty sure that you can survive anything that the opposition might throw at you.”

“Too soon, Carrie.”

“My apologies. Well, you enjoy your evening. I’m certainly going to enjoy mine, even if I’m slightly concerned that my mother might end up stalking me. Oh, by the way, I brought you a present.”

“I don’t know whether to be pleased or scared. Some of your presents are dubiously thought out at best, and I don’t think any of them could be opened in front of my mother.”

“Oh, this one definitely can’t be opened in front of your mother. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it though.” Carried winked and left him alone but a moment later, there was another tap on the door. 

“All right, what did you forget…” Sutherland trailed off as he looked up and saw that the person coming into the room was not Carrie, but Lacey.

“Surprise,” she said. “Carrie snuck me in.”

Sutherland looked down at his phone, at the last messages that had been exchanged between them only about fifteen minutes prior. She would already have been in the building at that point. 

Lacey’s smile faltered a little. “Are you… happy to see me? I mean, I can go away again…”

“No! I mean yes. Yes, I am very happy to see you, no, please don’t go away.” He stood up quickly, coming across the room and closing the door. “It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all. It’s very good to see you.” He took her hand, making to lead her across to the sofa, but something made him stop, a ball of nerves. Despite their ongoing communication, this was the first time that he had seen Lacey in person since those fateful couple of days when the world was turned upside down. 

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted. “Is now the right time to tell you that I was seriously thinking about looking you up whilst I was down here again and asking if you wanted to go out somewhere?”

Lacey’s smile returned, although it did not quite meet her eyes. “Why didn’t you?”

“I was scared. Also, dating isn’t exactly the same kind of experience when you’re being shadowed by several security guards all the time. Even more security guards than usual thanks to recent adventures.”

Lacey laughed, and this time the humour did reach her eyes, lighting up her whole face. 

“Yes, I can see that would cause some problems. Would they sit at a different table or would it be a family affair?”

“You know, I don’t actually know what the etiquette is. I’ve never done it before.”

“Well, I’m happy to leave it as a mystery for now. I mean, we don’t need to go out to date, necessarily.” Lacey paused. “I was never really the dating type anyway; I don’t really know how I would go about it.”

“Yes. I haven’t done it for so long that I don’t really know how to go about it either.”

“Maybe we’re best off staying in and ordering takeaway. I happen to know a very friendly taxi driver who’d probably be happy to go and get it for us.”

Sutherland chuckled, finally chancing to take Lacey’s hand and lead her over to the sofa. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Carrie has plans with Ursula tonight and I don’t think that they involve food delivery.” Although, that said, Carrie had been all for encouraging his relationship with Lacey and had indeed been the one to get her into Chequers in the first place, so maybe she would be happy to help them on their way to becoming a proper couple. A rather odd couple, and one that the tabloids would no doubt get a great deal of mileage out of when they found out, but a couple, nonetheless. 

Lacey glanced over her shoulder at his desk as they crossed the room. “What did I interrupt?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you have a clear desk policy as the PM?”

“Ah, yes.” Sutherland rushed across to gather up the papers and shove them in his desk drawer, but not before Lacey had caught sight of his draft proposal. He plucked the sheet from her hand. 

“You took me seriously,” she said softly. 

“Yes. Your ideas were well thought out and whilst it was obvious that you were very impassioned about the topic, your arguments were coming from a place of reasonable thought and good logic rather than anger. You did most of the legwork, really, I just took everything that you said and put it into political terms.” He paused. “I can’t promise that it will get anywhere. The shadow chancellor’s probably already trying to shoot it down and he doesn’t even know that it exists yet, but at least it will bring the issue to the table and get people thinking about it.”

“I… I’m amazed. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sutherland shrugged. He hadn’t wanted to make it seem like he was doing it just to gain favour with her, or to make her feel like she owed him something in return.

“I didn’t want you to feel obligated.”

Lacey laughed. “You know, for a politician, you really do keep surprising me with how human you are.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

He finished tidying the desk and they finally made it to the sofa, sitting down close together. It was an easy closeness, falling back into the strange familiarity that they’d shared at Mrs de Ville’s house, and it felt so right, despite their long separation. 

“So, I might be a bit presumptuous, but…” Lacey reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “I thought we might toast to our reunion. Since we’re not going out to a bar or anything. Also, it’s not actually champagne, it’s the only sparkling wine they had at the supermarket.”

“I’m sure that supermarket sparkling wine and champagne taste much the same when drunk out of coffee mugs, which are all I have in here at the moment.”

“Yeah, I don’t want you running off to find champagne flutes or I won’t see you again for about an hour, this place is a complete rabbit warren. I got lost about five times getting to this room and I had Carrie as a guide. You can’t get rid of me now. I’ll be here forever.”

Sutherland just slipped an arm around her as she put the bottle down on the floor, pulling her in for a long-awaited kiss. 

“You know, I think I could live with that.”

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Dead Man Walking (8/10)

Summary: Prime Ministers don’t normally wake up in morgues after they’ve been murdered, but that’s exactly what Robert Sutherland has just done. Right in front of Lacey’s nose. With limited resources and not knowing who to trust, Sutherland and Lacey must work together to get to the bottom of the attempted assassination.

Based loosely on this dream I had.

Rated: T, eventually E.

Note: This is meant to be ‘darkly humorous and amusing mystery’ rather than ‘gripping political thriller’…

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [AO3]

Dead Man Walking

Eight

Lacey woke up incredibly confused as to where she was and what time it was. It felt like it ought to have been the middle of the night, but there was sunlight streaming in through the windows, and she remembered that the dawn greyness had already been showing outside when she and Sutherland had been talking. She didn’t remember falling asleep and she only had the vaguest of notions of what they had been talking about when she dropped off. Student loans had definitely come into it somewhere.

She unfolded herself out of the chair that she’d crashed in, getting tangled up in the blanket that someone had tucked in around her. She wondered if it was Sutherland. He’d been the only one with her when she’d fallen asleep, after all. 

The smell of breakfast was pervading through the house, despite it probably being closer to lunch time, and Lacey followed her nose through to the kitchen. Sutherland was in there, making eggs and bacon at the stove. 

“Good to see that being poisoned hasn’t affected your appetite.”

He laughed. “And good morning to you too. Well, afternoon.”

Lacey slid into a seat at the kitchen table just as Mrs de Ville came bustling in from the conservatory with a bowl of fresh tomatoes. The domesticity of the scene made her snort. Here she was, hiding out with the Prime Minister in the house of an eccentric old woman that neither of them had met before the previous night. And the Prime Minister was happily making breakfast, and Lacey was trying to tell herself that this increasingly weird scenario was all just a dream and she would wake up back in the morgue having fallen asleep on the desk. Either Sutherland would still be under his sheet, or the morgue would be empty, and Sutherland would be where he belonged in Downing Street. 

She pinched herself, but it was to no avail. She was definitely here. 

“What time is it?” she asked. Mrs de Ville brought over a cup of coffee which Lacey accepted gratefully. 

“Just gone twelve. Not too late for brunch.”

Lacey jerked back into full wakefulness. She’d promised to call her dad at noon to reassure him that she was still all right, and if she didn’t check in soon then he’d probably start scouring the countryside for her in the belief that she’d been kidnapped by the Civil Service.

She grabbed her phone and the coffee and went out into the garden. Hopefully, the others wouldn’t think too much of her sudden disappearance. 

Moe picked up on the first ring.

“Lace? Is everything ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just overslept. It was a weird night.”

“You’re telling me. How’s you-know-who?”

Lacey glanced back over her shoulder at the kitchen and the figure of the Prime Minister standing there cooking. “He’s still alive and kicking. It’s really weird, you never think you’ll get to know someone like that.”

“Going into hiding following a failed assassination brings people together, I imagine.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Do you know when you might be home?”

Lacey didn’t reply for a long time; she didn’t really know. Theoretically, she could go home at any time. Nothing was stopping her apart from her own stubborn determination to see this through to the end and see justice done. She had no idea what had happened to Carrie on her trip to Chequers to look for evidence, but the fact that Sutherland and Maddie both seemed calm made her think that it had been a success. Or at least that Carrie and Ursula had both come back in one piece. The taxi was nowhere to be seen in the driveway, but Ursula likely had a home of her own to go to and was sensible enough to go to it. 

“I should be back tonight,” she said. She knew that she couldn’t stay embroiled in this world forever, and it would help her to let go if she had a limit in place. The longer she stayed here, the more she would find herself thinking about Sutherland in ways that people really should not think about the Prime Minister. 

“Well, keep yourself safe.”

“Of course. Thanks Dad. I’ll see you soon.”

She stayed standing in the garden for a long time after saying goodbye, thinking about the events that had transpired. More specifically, thinking about Sutherland. She really shouldn’t be developing feelings for him. They were part of two extremely different worlds for a start. She was an almost-forensic scientist in the middle of Buckinghamshire, and he was the Prime Minister and lived predominantly in London. She wasn’t exactly part of the elite that he was normally surrounded with. There was no way that he could find anything likeable about her. 

Although, that said, he had been a great conversation partner and he had always taken her seriously when she had been arguing with him, never once brushing off her concerns. And he’d given her a blanket and made sure she was comfortable when she’d nodded off, likely mid-way through him talking. 

She sighed. There was nothing to be gained from standing out here like a lemon, especially when her stomach was loudly informing her of the last time she’d eaten anything substantial and brunch was waiting for her in the house. 

Sutherland and Mrs de Ville were both sitting at the table with plates of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and toast in front of them when Lacey returned, and she helped herself from the dishes. The food was good, although Lacey would have been quite happy with anything vaguely edible at that point in time. 

“I never had you down as the culinary type,” she said, to end the silence if nothing else. “Don’t you have staff to do all that kind of thing?”

Sutherland shook his head in despair. “You make it sound like I’ve lived in a palace my entire life. Yes, there are kitchen staff, but generally I cook for myself if I’m not hosting a grand reception for several world leaders.”

Annoyingly, that made sense, and Lacey just continued to chew her toast in silence. She really needed to stop finding reasons to like the man. 

They were saved from any awkwardness by Carrie entering the kitchen. If there was one thing that Lacey had learned about Carrie in all of the very brief time that she had known her, it was that she never did anything by halves. Despite having been up all night, she was still dressed to the nines and wearing full make-up.

“Good afternoon, everyone! What a lovely day to get the head of the Civil Service banged up on an attempted murder charge.”

Mrs de Ville looked at her daughter with an expression that was part disbelief and part maternal pride. “Did you find something, then?”

Carrie waved her phone. “I most certainly did, and Spencer’s not going to know what hit him.” She threw herself down into the remaining seat at the table and grabbed a piece of toast out of Sutherland’s hand. “Hey, I found evidence that you’re at the centre of a bloodthirsty power grab plot, the least you can do is give me your toast.”

“When you couch it in those terms, I’m not entirely sure I should be grateful,” Sutherland muttered as Maddie got up to make a fresh batch of toast. 

Lacey watched the interplay between Carrie and Sutherland, and a part of her had to wonder. She wasn’t exactly jealous of the easy familiarity between them, or the fact that Sutherland was so comfortable with Carrie in his personal space, but she’d spent so long trying not to be attracted to him that she hadn’t really thought about whether there was in fact anyone else in the picture, someone who would render her thoughts moot anyway. She knew that he wasn’t married and was nominally single, and she’d always suspected that if there was a significant other in his life then it would be all over the papers, him being such a public figure and all. On the other hand, if his significant other was his closest assistant, then they would certainly be in the best position to keep everything under wraps. 

Carrie’s phone began to ring, and she gave a theatrical sigh, taking her toast with her out of the kitchen and into the living room where they had been holed up the previous evening. If it was a professional call then it probably wasn’t a good idea to take it in a place where the caller could potentially overhear that Sutherland was still alive. Maybe the news had been spread further than they thought.

Lacey still didn’t really understand what the plan was supposed to be in terms of keeping it under wraps. Sutherland’s death had not been reported to the public yet, which meant that there were three distinct groups of people: those who thought he was dead, those who knew he was alive, and those who weren’t aware that there had been any change in his state at all and would hopefully continue their lives none the wiser. She had to smile when she thought of the potential headlines regarding the assassination attempt, and she wondered if there would even be any or if the Civil Service would work to keep everything tightly clamped down. Especially since one of their own was heavily implicated in the plot. She knew that if she’d been reading about everything that had happened on the news, then she wouldn’t believe any of it. She only half-believed it now, and she was living in the middle of it.

“Darlings, I am afraid I am going to have to love you and leave you.” Carrie swept back into the kitchen, taking another two pieces of toast from the rack that Maddie was bringing over to the table. “News of your demise and resurrection has spread to my London-based colleagues and no one knows whether they ought to be planning a funeral, asking Archie to come and take over as interim Prime Minister, or sending the attack dogs to get Sir Albert. I think most of them are hoping for the latter. It’s absolute chaos up there, I’m going to have to go and sort it out personally before anyone else can do something catastrophic.”

“Should I come?” Sutherland was halfway out of his chair, but Carrie pushed him back down. 

“No, no, you sit tight here with Lacey and Mother for a while longer. You’re my secret weapon, darling. I want to be able to pull you out of the bag with relish and enjoy the look on Albert Spencer’s face when he realises just what’s been going on whilst he’s been frantically looking for your corpse.” She kissed him on both cheeks in farewell and did the same to her mother. “I’ll call you when it’s safe for you to come back! In the meantime, avoid rhododendrons!”

With that, she left the kitchen again, and Lacey listened to her rushing around the house gathering her things together. 

“I’ll go and see her off.” Maddie left the kitchen, and if Lacey didn’t know better then she’d say that she’d given her a very pointed look as she closed the door after her. 

Sutherland looked at the door for a long time, then he met Lacey’s eyes. “I think she’s doing that on purpose.”

“What?”

“Leaving us alone together.”

Well, having a pensioner match-make her with the Prime Minister was certainly a new experience for Lacey, but she wasn’t going to knock it yet. Presumably if Maddie was attempting to set them up, then it meant that there was nothing between Carrie and Sutherland, but at the same time, Maddie may not have been the most observant of souls. 

Still, it gave her an opening. If everything went completely down the tubes after this then she never had to see the man again, after all. Her moped was still outside, and she could be at home forgetting about the entire ordeal in half an hour. 

“I was thinking the same,” she said. “But then you and Carrie…”

Sutherland laughed. “I’m the wrong gender for Carrie. No, I think she’s got her sights set on Ursula rather than me.”

“Oh. Right.”

With that particular misapprehension cleared up, Lacey didn’t really know where to go next. She and Sutherland were both still looking at each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move. 

Lacey took a deep breath, sticking to her previous reassurance that if it all went wrong, she could just escape back home and never think of the incident again. She moved around to the seat at the table next to Sutherland that Maddie had just vacated and inched a little closer to him. 

“So…” she began. “Over the last very weird day, I’ve come to the conclusion that despite everything I may have said about you and the government in the past, I do really like you. And I was just wondering if you perhaps liked me too, and that Mrs de Ville was actually making the right choice in leaving us alone together on purpose.”

Sutherland gave a slow nod. “Yes, Lacey. I do like you.”

“And not just because I rescued you from a morgue?”

“Not just because I rescued you from a morgue.” He gave a soft huff of laughter. “To be honest, I’m glad that you were the one to bring it up.”

“Really?”

“Well, you’re a beautiful, bright young thing and I’m a crusty old politician. Things could have gone very badly if I’d made the first move.”

Lacey thought back to when she’d found him in a towel on the landing, and the raging desires that had consumed her mind for those few moments. 

“I get your point. I don’t think that things are going to go badly, though. I mean, by necessity our time together is limited, right? You’ll go back to London. I’ll stay here. It’s a very limited window of opportunity that we’ve got here, and if we both like each other, then we might as well make the most of it.”

Sutherland nodded. “If there’s one thing that I’ve always been good at, it’s seizing windows of opportunity.”

Lacey took the plunge then, leaning in and pressing her lips against Sutherland’s. He accepted her readily, hands coming up to cup her face and pull her in closer. He was a surprisingly good kisser, firm and eager, and Lacey could help but grin as she pulled away. 

“No regrets, Prime Minister?”

“None apart from you calling me that.”

“I have to call you something.”

“I’ve got a name, you know. You can call me Robert.”

Lacey paused. Going onto first name terms made it so much more intimate, more than just a one-night stand. Well, one-day stand, considering how messed-up their sleeping patterns were at the moment. She’d had plenty of one-night stands before but having one with the Prime Minister was something entirely different. 

Oh, what the hell. 

“No regrets, Robert?”

“None.”

He kissed her again, and Lacey scrambled from her chair into his lap. Whatever happened now, she was definitely going to make sure that it was worth it. 

[worryinglyinnocent]

It’s official. 

I’m writing it.