PoW: Chapter 3: this other Eden, demi-paradise

[motleypatches]

The world had changed, but the English countryside had been preserved. Nick sat facing George who was glaring at the window through which were the the thatched roofs, the neatly trimmed hedges, the cobblestone roads, and the lines of lamp-posts. The fields were green and still glittering with dew, a lingering layer of fog over the Cotswolds on the horizon completed the effect.

"Nick?" Nick turned. David was frowning, but his hand had crept closer on the seat between them. "You are biting your lip again." They had broken him of the habit before he left.

"It's a terrible tell," Nick agreed and tried to relax. His hand moved the last centimeter between them, the touch grounded him.

"What is it?" David asked more quietly. "What are you regretting?"

"Nothing important," Nick answered. George seemed as if he was still concentrating on the window. "I'm wondering what lies beyond this. You know how these thoughts happen." These thoughts happened and they were ignored until they coalesced, grown heavy but remained unspoken like the worst of secrets- "The history of England has her as a naval power. Sometimes I wonder if nature itself has a sense of irony. Parts of Netherlands had sank without a trace. The River Elbe became a lake and floating houses built for the eventuality were so few that each man, literally, is their own island. And in Spain, from Seville to Cadiz, was entirely covered by water. The Basques finally declared independence." It wasn't what he meant to say at all, but perhaps it still wasn't time.

"I saw the photographs."

David's eyes were an intense blue today, undercast by the colour of his suit. He wasn't wearing a tie. Nick said, "Anywhere else anyone could accuse me to claim home is gone, except for here. I wish you could trust me."

"But I do trust you," David objected automatically. Nick wanted to bite his lip again. He regretted saying anything at all. Afterwards, when it was all over, they would regret the sincerity of a politics bound by personal loyalty. He knew why George was glaring at the window. They had both returned to a vision that they had wedded to fantasy. Confronting the reality of middle England still in existence, they realised they had not been prepared for all the normality all that embodied and how indifferent they had become to it.

Nick thought he was merely an honest hypocrite; he had not considered that he was deliberately deluding himself as well. The unexpected treacherous part of his nature disturbed him. Perhaps David was right all along when he had refused to call for the election in the early Summer of 2015 as the first reports of abnormal weather patterns began to emerge and first dire scientific reports trickled into the government research groups. Then, they must believe whatever they do at any given moment as a decision that represented the best choice of all possible worlds. This Panglossian self-acceptance, Nick saw, was the reassurance that carried the Tories through under Thatcher, the Opposition, and Government. Hague had it, George's self-reassurance could make him smug, but David, too, possessed this quality though its most charming incarnation- what confidence...

Upon reflection, it would be easier if Nick himself had been a Tory. The thought had passed his mind through the years and each time he had smiled at the notion. He was no more Tory than David was Lib-Dem. The center-center-right government was a Coalition and it had remained such despite the human and natural forces against them. And even if it was the bond between them that carried them through chaos, it had not not been forged merely by stolen moments snatched in the space between one disaster and the next, but in the written documents with their signatures and the joint statements that their government gave to the public, what they did together.

They were closer to each other than to either of their own parties and it would be their plan that they would take care to enact. Nick was disturbed because he knew it was something he knew himself of old would have never considered. He believed that David believed that he trusted him, but that had been before Nick completed his mission. The future ahead was still uncertain.

-=-=

The house opened in the now customary respectful silence. It was stil early, the members were still more curious than rowdy though the intense whispering was making George anxious, a barely suppressed thread of tension running through him. Wary of laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder, David chose to hand him a glass of water after Nick gave his statement.

There was no video feed, of course, but there were still microphones snaking down from the roof beams. David hoped those who listened interpreted the silence that greeted Nick's statement as their validation rather than disapproval. Sometimes, he thought Bercow's breaking them of the habit of voicing their content or discontent spontaneously had been far too successful and at far too inopportune a time.

Then it was George's turn. He spoke well, his voice kept lowered.Then, towards the end, David saw his back straighten suddenlyand heard him skip two sentences in the conclusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked Nick, but Nick shook his head, as bewildered as he was and then it was David's turn to face Harriet Harman and the inevitable accusations by Edward Miliband, still bitter over the defection of his brother from government.

He had warned both Nick and George of the extended metaphors now in fashion, but when the expected inevitable prodigal son reference was made of George, the Opposition faltered in mid-argument. It would've been easy to mock had not David found it so alarming. The backbenchers were quiet, being mostly products during Bercow's tenure as Speaker, but then Andy Burham leaned over to Ed Balls, and they, as their wont, whispered with careful regard to the microphones, less so for the rest of the House. A surge of whispered rippled across the Opposition, from the frontbench to the backbench. Worse still, Jack Straw was smiling.

David wouldn't turn to gauge the reactions of his own backbenchers. He could barely angle his body to catch a glimpse of the frontbench where Nick was gesticulating furiously at someone. He didn't know what George was doing, but Alistair Darling had such an enigmatic expression on his face that David was momentarily distracted.

"I do not disparage the accomplishments of this government, or of our Deputy Prime Minister," Harman was saying, "but I think their intentions toward this country's future could be more reliably explained had not the Chancellor chose this moment to reappear before this House with a statement so wrapped in secrecy and so unparalleled in its equivocation that the merest suggestion of it being the truth is an affront to this house. His influence or rather, his lack of influence due to his absence, is the responsibility of the Prime Minister whose government, surely, has now accomplished all it set out to do with the consent of this nation. So I would like to ask, what would be the role of the chancellor now that he has returned? Will we have another budget from a man about whose current views we know nothing?"

The whispers stopped abruptly; David had not heard the entire question. He answered, as his wont these days, by rote, emphasising the cooperation within the party and the importance of the House's role in leading the nation to recovery. Ed Miliband pursued the theme while glancing worriedly across the Dispatch Box. David relied on time to finish the session.

The public would never know the exact nature of what happened out of the range of the media or to what extent the operations of politics would influence their lives. They need reassurances and David Cameron and Nick Clegg wished to give it to them. It was the service of the politician. However, it also meant that David's priority at the end of the session was to know what was the content of the information that diffused through the House without, apparently, knowledge of either party leader.

-=-=

George Osborne's watch -- a gold Cartier tank solo with the signature sapphire cabochon crown -- went on auction on eBay a month after his disappearance. It lacked a certificate of authenticity, the brown alligator watch band was obviously worn, and the long scratch on the crystal face had caught the light on the photograph and blurred a Roman numeral on the dial, but it had been sold, packaged, and shipped to the buyer like one of the other million transactions that took place on the Internet.

And like in a murder-mystery or one very specific novel featuring an eponymous character, its original owner found himself in possession of an object he had considered hopelessly lost.

George Osborne had no name in mind for who could have been the giver. Instead of being touched, he felt frightened when he spotted it next to the Dispatch Box, so easily camouflaged amidst the gilt and wood. He had covered his hand over the timepiece when he spoke then slipped it beneath his folders and files. It was still between the sheaves of paper at the end of the session. When the whispers started at the other side of the House -- an innocuous aside that surely didn't warrant Nick's maddened response -- he ran his finger over the familiar leather with its conformation to the curve of his wrist. Someone had wind it up; it was still ticking. It was placed on his side of the table. It could not have been an accident.

Nonetheless, for all the awful memories during the parting, he was glad to have it again. It was a reminder of everything he had and perhaps its reappearance was auspicious of everything that he would have again. The politics he knew still existed. If Mandelson and his ilk was responsible, surely they know that it would mean taking on the House which had ousted them in the first place.

Fortified with this new optimism, George hurried his steps to the Prime Minister's office behind the Speaker's chair. If his progress was delayed by well-wishers who was there to shake his hand, for form's sake if nothing else, it was nothing compared to Nick's who was heading the same direction. He caught his eyes for a moment then motioned to the right. George looked and realised David seemed to have been gone.

"I'm going to see the Prime Minister in a moment," he promised a MP he had never met before, "I'm sure he will appreciate your concern in writing."

The problem was, when he and Nick finally found their way into the room, David wasn't there.

"Where is he?" George asked. Nick shook his head and then checked his phone.

"Nothing."

"Did you see him after the session?"

"There was a crowd," answered Nick, "but perhaps he is still out there. It is an all-day parliament." But of course, few people remained. They were all looking forward to the Summer holiday they thought they deserved since the success of Nick's negotiations. It would be the Cabinet that would be working to restructure with the resources now available to them. David had not answered the question. There would be another budget and George was certain it would work this time; he had never worked with strictly economic principles but strictly economic principles did not apply when the economy no longer functioned.

"I saw him standing up and leaving," Nick said. "I thought he was with you."

"Perhaps he just stepped outside," George said. "What was it that Labour was saying that riled you up again?"

Nick flushed. Instead of replying, he said he was going to look for David. Before George could ask how he could he possibly know where he was, Nick was gone and George was left alone in the office.

Sighing, he sat down and nibbled thoughtfully at the tea laid out on the table. The first twitters and blogposts on the news sites were already out. It was slightly marvelous to see what the lack of image can do for public perception. Apparently the silence that greeted Nick's success had been interpreted as a literally stunning victory. It quite overshadowed everything else while around him political wheels were frantically turning.

It took him a moment before he realised an aide was coughing deliberately beside him. He didn't recognize her.

"The Prime Minister is expecting you." George rolled his eyes; of course David would choose to send an aide instead of a text message. The peculiarity had came about as part of the policy to prevent panic by keeping everyone occupied, though he wondered that it had not been allowed to lapse.

"Where is he?"

"By the car, with Mr. Clegg."

"Are they leaving?"

"I don't know that."

"Never mind," George said, surprised and mildly irked at this break of a routine as he remembered it. "Can you lock up?"

The aide nodded, then avoided his gaze as George left, his folders in hand. They would need to figure out what to do next and how he should ease himself into government again, this time he he hoped it wouldn't cost as much. From a distance, he saw two suited figures. They were of height and shape similar enough from the back that George thought he was seeing Nick and David at first.

"Why couldn't we have met the normal way?" he asked Ed Balls. His hair was now entirely gray.

"There is no normal way to meet you," Balls scoffed. "Do you think I could make an official appointment to speak with the Tory Chancellor so soon after his return?"

"Well, this is hardly better. There could be photographers and writers eager for a story. We could be making someone's career. It would give them an interesting angle."

"Let's make this quick then. You returned with Nick Clegg from France."

"That's been made a matter of official record."

"Where were you before then? And don't tell me about utilizing resources abroad. Our kindest thought about you was that you were a coward who hid with the rest of the lords." George was going to protest but then Balls said, "I suppose you know Nick met with the Bilderberg Group and what they offered him. You were probably there. You were always that set."

"So were you," George retorted, but he wondered what Balls was hinting at. Perhaps the remarks passed today weren't as innocuous as he thought.

"I was there as a matter of public policy; you are different for being there even before Government. I suppose Nick Clegg returning to Britain was also your doing."

"The Commons had entrusted him with a task and he had completed it," George answered guardedly.

"He is the noble knight carrying the Conservatives' favour," Balls mocked, "but I do not believe the group had ever had intention for Great Britain to return to its former independence. It would allow us to afford tax credits, pensions, and strengthen our fiscal position only to the extent that we could maintain a society, but not to improve it. You know as well as I do that economic recovery is not within immediate reach."

"You have very little faith in this government," George said coolly. "Thank you for voicing your opinion, be rest-assured that we will rebuild this country."

There was something manic and unpleasant in Ed Balls' face, as if he had placed a trap and had returned to find it more successful than he expected. "But Nick Clegg is going to leave your government soon. He is a liberal-democrat. I think you do well remember that. Your ambitions could not afford to lose him and," Ed Balls eyed him speculatively, "it is not only Labour that wants his support."

George furrowed his brow.

"What are you implying?" Then Balls did something very strange. He took a step back and the other man, whom George recognized as a silent Andy Burnham, touched him lightly on the elbow. Balls turned and scowled and said something fierce in an undertone. Having never known either men to be quiet and laconic when they could be voluble and garrulous, the entire exchange was worrisome. The matter they were contending obviously pertained to himself and Nick Clegg.

The thought of the association was black. Perhaps they had found out, or worse, have evidence of his regrettable lapse on the plane or even of his current propensity to still occasionally succumb to the stress of his ordeal. Pressure exerted via spin had always been the easiest weapon and George knew was the most effective against him; his enemies in the media outnumber his friends and especially now.

He had been so expectant of this terrible personal revelation that George felt the effects of Ball's next words as a wave of relief followed by sharp alarm that he said something senseless.

Balls was smirking. Andy's curiously vivid eyes strangely sad.

"You weren't at Brussels for long," Ball said, triumphant, as if George's reaction confirmed some long cherished suspicions, "otherwise you would have known. It was hardly the work of a week or a month, and yet you've led the parliament deliberately to think otherwise. One of our mutual friends, you may think of him as a Rothschilde in this scenario, leaked the information that the group's concession to Britain was the knightly Nick Clegg who was given an offer he couldn't refuse. He is playing both sides again, Chancellor, in mid-negotiation with both sides. Strange, isn't it, how a barely-popular Liberal-Democrat can end up being kingmaker twice over. In a different era, it would be easy to imagine him as having dictatorial or even," the bright blue gaze was sly, "autocratic in intention, but I think that particular ambition is thoughtfully suppressed by his own AV reforms."

"So he is a better man than you imagine him to be," George said, overwhelmed with the information. Nick Clegg might not have had autocratic intentions, but of course he wanted to be Prime Minister and of course whatever private bargain he struck with David Cameron still wouldn't mean that the lib-dems could ever run a government alone, "Nick Clegg is the Deputy Prime Minister per the Coalition agreement, and he has never claimed to be anything else." He didn't need to, but George knew he was losing his point. He had made made no cut of his own and was at best standing his ground, but Balls had always seemed rather impervious to his attack; of a course a man who worked under Brown could be so resilient and tiresome at the same time.

"Strange to see you defending him," Balls said. "I've always thought you in particular had noliking for him."

"That's not a requirement of cooperation or appreciation for all he did." Not least for his own release from the clutches of his nightmare, George didn't add, not to mention Cameron's own ambitions.

"I've already told the Prime Minister," Balls said, as if reading George's thoughts.

"You told him," he repeated flatly.

"I did," Burnham spoke up. "It is his business what he does with the facts. There's no evidence that Clegg has done any wrong. The information is incidental and David Cameron, for a Tory, has led us through to this point. He should know this about his Coalition partner, who has done a great service, regardless of his intentions. We thought you should, too." After a moment's pause, he said, "It is only fair."

"Is that the official party line?" George asked acidly.

"Merely the facts, Chancellor," Balls said, though George still couldn't shake the feeling that he's laughing at him. "You've missed a lot, being away."

-=-=

Nick didn't see David again until late in the evening. He was standing in his shirtsleeves in front of the window. It was raining. The air was thick with damp and the patter of water. David glanced up briefly when he heard the door open then looked down again.

"What is it?" Nick asked.

"I've never asked you," David began, "what it took-"

He was still not meeting Nick's eyes.

"To obtain what we have. It strikes me as naive, now, that we imagined that we wielded any power when even Mervyn King declared our economy practically obsolete after the double-dip recession."

And yet, Bank of England had not dared to withdraw its support; by then, it had been bound up too tightly with the Coalition's economic policies; George had made certain of that. "What are you asking? The physical fatigue, the mental exertion? We had expected it. I chose to go, David. No one forced me. It's all right isn't it?" Nick was almost hesitant. Something had happened.

"So you weren't angry at all when they reminded you that your family is abroad, that Britain will not recover under this Coalition and that you," David, to Nick's unease, seemed to be trembling slightly while his voice had reached a level of dangerous evenness. "You have prepared for your future in this world, in careful disregard of what this partnership means. What you mean, to me."

Stunned, Nick took a step forward, then stopped himself. "We are not a lost cause," he said and couldn't say anything else because he saw what was lying on David's desk. It was a document he had signed in Brussels, the second one which should've remained private and inactive until the dates described. He took a sharp breath. How could it be here?

"We are also not an open secret," David said. "I didn't believe that the story of this Coalition is a fiction conjured by the media as an arranged marriage of political expediency." He drew his lips back in a parody of a smile, his eyes seemed odd. "Apparently I was wrong. It is a fiction, so cleverly perpetrated by the principles that even they've come to believe it."

He was bitter, Nick realised, though he didn't know why.

"Of course, politically, you have done nothing wrong. You have every right to do with your life as you like after this government. You have every right to remain as independent as you like, as liberal as you like, despite us. You are the Deputy Prime Minister and the Coalition partner."

"What else should I be? That's what I'm here for!" And before Nick finished, by the stricken look on David's face, he knew he had condemned himself, again. Their happiness never lasted. Away from the business of politics, there would never be time between them preserved for irony, sympathy, or amusement even when their regard for each other had transmuted into something more awful and frightening than they had anticipated. That was the worst thing. That what brought them together would separate them because a Coalition required the push-and-pull of two voices, not one, even when they had bound themselves so irrevocably to each other. At the same time, Nick couldn't help at irritation that passed through him. It was enough for Labour to mock his aspirations, but how dare David Cameron assume and accuse Nick of being insincere to him and the private agreements between them, to see that unfortunate contract as a personal betrayal. David might claim, demand, and welcome his affections, but he didn't trust him after all.

"Now I know what brought you back. I had imagined-" David shook his head. "Never mind. I thought it it different. I was wrong, from the beginning to end," And Nick knew David wasn't speaking about the Coalition. "I am unashamed that you've grown to mean more to me than anyone else. I am sorry that you feel differently."

"You know my feelings in matter. Why don't you trust me?" David's face was red, almost florid. Nick attempted to take a step closer, but the other man backed away.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," David said. "You are, as they've all warned me, very clever."

Nick left.

-=-=

The rains continued, the skies gray and swollen during the day then so black during the nights that the moon and the stars seemed to have disappeared. It was easy to believe they were living in the Cimmerian place, unmoored from the rest of the universe and drifting in dark space. The younger researchers and aides stopped watching old Doctor Who episodes.

David's imaginations had turned as caliginous as the weather. It affected all of them. The memories of sunless days were still fresh. Select Committees were always sombre affairs, but now they were downright draconian. The members had given up their holidays under the urgings of the lashes of rain; progress was made rapidly, if reluctantly. There were, of course, no more Cabinet meetings, most of the members being away. Number Ten seemed strangely empty. It held only David, Nick, George, and the remaining members of the staff who were either so devoted, so curious, or so ambitious that they had considered it worthwhile to stay.

After that last disastrous conversation, Nick had not mentioned it again and David thought it would be impolite, at the very least, to bring it up again when Nick had already made his intentions clear regarding them. They have said all they could to each other on the subject, surely. Nonetheless, perhaps because he knew that he was existing in some invisible countdown, he found himself thinking about the betrayal less and less and more and more about Nick in general.

He observed him in the meetings, devouring the details of his form, the sound of his voice. David was a man starved. He was still waiting, though for what, he no longer knew. Nick had returned and for almost a week, he thought they had finally reached the understanding and the equilibrium he had coveted since that first fantastic and frightening moment when he suffered the sudden desire to possess the man completely.

And Nick, of course, showed no sign of wishing to resume that particular aspect of their relationship. He was as charming as ever. David, in his turn, returned the charm. Photographs of them still arrived on the communication director's desk every morning with the relevant articles, the backgrounds carefully edited. Both men appeared as polished ever, even more so than before, their conversations in high-gloss: perfectly polite and business-like. And every day at dinner at his desk, David would remember that he hadn't been in the kitchen for a long time and there wouldn't be any more point.

It wasn't until George rang him up one very early morning, with a voice gone high in agitation, that David remembered that with his mission accomplished, Nick could finally communicate with his wife and make plans for their future. The thought left an acrid taste though he didn't want to dwell on the reason. It was unbecoming, at the very least, to be jealous like a spurned mistress when he had been the one who had been betrayed, politically and personally.

"Slow down, George, it's only," he glanced at the clock, "five o'clock in the morning." It was still dark outside, though the sound rain had softened. He couldn't even hear the flow of water in the storm drains.

"Mandelson. It's Peter Mandelson!"

"What's Mandelson?"

"He did ransom me. He gave them Nick in exchange. He told me I was worth the price of a couple of countries. I thought he was joking, but he meant Britain and Wales. Remove Nick Clegg from the Coalition and this Government will fall. It was the old Labour trick, he is doing all he could to drive a wedge between the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats."

And David was in motion, his mind frantically planning the moves ahead while George explained how Mandelson, gathering all his friends in the media, managed to convince, cajole or coerce enough of the lords that the restoration of Britain would require their presence and leadership. He had used the resentment against the Coalition government to make a case for Labour. With Nick Clegg elevated in importance and international prestige, there would be no need for the Conservatives to remain in government. Labour were the natural allies of the Liberal Democrats and if Nick Clegg still wished to lead his party or remain within it-- as a partner in another Coalition or a member of the government-- he would have to abandon the Conservatives. For all that this Coalition government had accomplished before the floods, it had been Nick Clegg who was the most visibly active most recently and people have very short memories.

"He had already abandoned us," David muttered.

"What was that?" George was instantly suspicious.

"Nothing, never mind that. So there will be an invasion," David said, standing. He caught his reflection in the mirror and quickly smoothed down his hair, "and you have a date when this is going to occur."

"Yeah, a date," George confirmed. "A month after the parliament resumes, after our policies are in place and they could savage the ones that performed the least well."

"So it is that all over again."

But George ignored him. "You should go speak with Nick about this. We need to push forward the date for the revelation of this place, otherwise we would be helpless when a coup takes place, violent or otherwise. Actually, he's probably already awake. Go find him. I don't trust the people here." He hung up.

David slipped the phone into his pocket and made his way down the hallways before he realised he was walking to Nick's bedroom, not his office, and he really could have just rang. Too late now, he thought, and braced himself and knocked. He dreaded waking Nick, his mind's eyes supplying him with the image of the man still tussled from sleep.

When no one answered, he tried again, then finally called. The ringtone startled him. He whirled around there was Nick, in jeans and an un-tucked shirt holding a cup of coffee. The memory of weekends from long ago leapt to life. David's mouth went dry.

"What are you doing here?" It was the first time Nick spoke to him without their minders nearby since their ridiculous altercation and as much as David wished to talk to him, of course there were more urgent matters. He wet his lips; George's warnings were on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately, he had dwelled for too long on the opportunity. They were alone.

"I wish to apologise," he heard himself say, then endured one of the most eerie moment of his life as Nick looked first nonplussed, then angry, then puzzled.

"There is nothing to apologise for. We both went too far."

"We are all right then? You see, because I thought you had been avoiding me." David lowered his voice; he didn't even look around. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Nick inhaled sharply. "I see you every day. It's fine. It's all right."

It was definitely not fine and they were not all right, but David knew an invitation to leave when he was given one. And this, emphatically, was it. "Perhaps we should go into the office. George said Peter Mandelson's attempts to undermine this government is beginning."

There would be other opportunities.

-=-=

George didn't know David and Nick weren't on personal speaking terms with each other. He did know that the relationship between them were strained, but they were treating each other as he remembered from the first year of the Coalition, almost overly friendly to each other, the camaraderie palpable to anyone who saw them together. Gone was the reservations George remembered from the last summer in London. As far as George was concerned, the strong united front was important, especially if Labour or anyone else was intent on seducing Clegg away from the current Coalition government. Should he decide to no longer work with the Conservatives, even if in principle he would be blameless, it would, or at least, could look the worse the closer he appeared to be with them now.

He just didn't expect the barely suppressed sniggers from his policy advisors when he voiced the thought.

"Any closer and they could be sharing the same bed." When George glared, the advisor had the grace to blush. "I'm merely repeating what I read in the news," she added hastily.

"They were, weren't they? For a while."

The irreverence was shocking. These two were clearly useless when it comes to spinning for the Tories. George gave warning and work resumed until mid-morning when he went to see David.

"I have the reports for the new perimeters," he said. "Numbers should be forthcoming, but if the rain stops-"

"When the rain stops," David corrected.

"As I was saying, if the rain stops," George continued, undettered, "we're picking the first sunny day in the month for a conference for the announcement. The surrounding areas are quiet, safe. I think we could do another news conference, though perhaps not in a garden this time. Somewhere more austere, I think, to reaffirm the authority and the function of this Coalition."

"And if the rain doesn't stop?"

"Then the second week after the Parliament resume, but no later. There would be no secrets in Number Ten when all the ministers and their advisors and interns return," George looked around, "What did Nick think of Mandelson's plot? Where is he? I thought we should discuss it."

"What could I say? That he should do what we ask because he is the junior partner in this government? You know as well as I do that the Coalition agreement has expired."

"He did agree not to call for a general election or support one in the near future," George tried. "At least, not until the country's properly settled."

"I thought he did," David said with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "I'm no longer sure."

"But I thought you were friends. What about- " George stopped himself, then he was struck by an unsettling thought. "David, did you really sleep with Nick Clegg?"

"Have you been looking at the Guardian cartoons again?" He was attempting to laugh; but either because he wasn't making the effort or because George had been haunted by the thought ever since that morning, believing him actually seemed unbelievable.

"Is this an ongoing affair? When did it begin? Did you end it? Did he end it?"

"George, leave it."

"I deserve to know." Filled with horror at the political implications and not least by a strange sense of jealousy, George couldn't help feeling ridiculed. He had been living in the same house with them and yet he hadn't known. How much had changed?

"No one deserves to know," David said, "I don't even know." That was as good as a confirmation.

"That was stupid," George said, unable to help himself.

David's face was thunderous. "That was not a matter of policy!"

"It is a matter of policy now." George forced himself to remain calm. "This time of all times. Give him whatever he wants." He couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, but this was far too important for pettiness, "Make sure he is on the same page as us."

"I speak as your friend, George, but if you are suggesting what I think you're suggesting, I'll have to finally agree with the most unflattering assessment of you because that was one of the most ruthless and unscrupulous thing I've ever heard."

"I think you're the last person to lecture me on scruples," said George, hurt. "I have our best interests at heart."

-=-=

"So you will be staying for the meanwhile," Vince finished. "You know my thoughts on the matter. Whether you take my advice is up to you." He stood with difficulty, but no one had dared to bring up the idea of retirement. "But you should be careful of Cameron no matter how friendly he seems. Regardless of his own revolutionary leanings and how he accommodated us in this Coalition government, he did choose Conservatism and all who supports it as his natural friends. They are Tories and there have never been enough of us. There haven't been a chance until now."

"I'll think about it," Nick said and Vince nodded, as if that was expected, though Nick couldn't shake the feeling that he had disappointed the man somehow. He had never hinted at it in word or action, but sometimes, perhaps in the way he looks at him, Nick wondered in what way he had been found wanting.

Nick didn't know what to think any more. Ending whatever he had with David had left him curiously empty. He had hoped for too much too fast. He spoke every day with Miriam now and it brought back a relative sense of stability though it still seemed unreal at times. When the calls ended -- they still weren't allowed videos --- he was left with the sense he had been speaking to himself. A voice, no matter how familiar, still seemed disembodied when unaccompanied with other proof of existence. For the first time, he understood why people were afraid of telephones when they were first invented.

He was going mad. The rain was driving him mad. David's eyes, alternatively guilty and accusatory whenever Nick sensed his stares would be compelling madness even if he had been in the most serene of moods.

Nick had no doubt that David was still interested, to say the least, but the affair was problematical from the beginning. David couldn't accept the thought that Nick would be anything other than his Coalition partner, a member of his government, and he didn't trust Nick otherwise.

Then again, judging by what Vince reported concerning the views of the Liberal-Democrats, perhaps David had good reason. Whatever plot Mandelson was concocting, it was still aimed at the Tories, not at the Liberal Democrats. Any damage it did between David and himself must have been incidental and through no fault but their own.

He glanced at the door, at the desk, then finally at the unopened evening edition of the newspapers. He should know all the important headlines but just at the corner, there was a bold heading partially obscured by the midline. that startled him. Warily, Nick opened it. It was a short article containing an interview with the elusive David Miliband, concerning the security of the country's global standing after the return of official governance. The journalists clearly had Paxman aspirations, but Miliband had faced the man years ago in the peak of his powers and reminded the journalist, somewhat facetiously, that every government would have every confidence until reality proved otherwise.

Throwing down the newspaper, Nick got up from the table. In the hallway he was waved down by Lembit who said, disconcertingly cheerful, "You've talked to Vince then." And when Nick nodded, he broke into a smile, "We, both the old and new MPs, are fully behind you. There's never been a question of leadership." It was a lie, Nick knew, but the man was enthusiasitic, "We'll finally be rid of the ball and chain of the Conservatives. This is our chance. Don't like so surprised, I may not be on the official negotiating team but we operate in a very small world. There are always rumours," said he, waving at the general direction of the walls of the Liberal Democrat headquarters, but what Vince said it's a set thing."

"Thank you," Nick said, "I'll have to give the matter further thought."

"Further thought," Lembit echoed. "But I thought-" He brightened, "Of course, timing is important, but you know you'll have my support." Satisfied, he wished Nick luck.

After that particular encounter, Nick then avoided the main hallways and made his way outside through a side entrance. Of everything he had looked forward to, the clean and brutal but fair rule of the democratic process had made him the leader of his party, then, Coalition partner- at least, such were his principles. The possibility of government was exciting. The Lib-Dems could now claim experience as well as the virtues of the party even if they wouldn't be able to command old loyalties of the Labour, working once again with the Conservatives actual policies was relighting old conflicts. Friends not a few months past reading from the same script now found negotiating of the Coalition an unexpected strain.

They were Tories, Vince reminded him. He had been less than pleased with George's interference.

"He is a Tory strategist, not an economist. What he wants is merely continued rule." he had said, then, wistfully continued, "I wish David was back with us," more than once and Nick would have to agree until he remembered the manner of George's return.

When he entered Number Ten, the place seemed deserted. He was heading toward the living quarters when he saw the door to David's office ajar.

"You wanted to see me?" Nick asked, closing the door carefully behind him. "If it's about Mandelson, I don't know anything more than what you've told me."

"He's been making overtures," David said. "You were gone all day."

"Nothing has been offered," Nick answered carefully.

"Inner party-politics, right. George was the one who wanted to see you. He expected both of us to be here." There was something in his voice that seemed strange. "How does work, to be courted at every turn? Do you want to work with Labour?" When Nick didn't reply, David continued, as if musing half to himself, "Sometimes we can't choose our allies, or even who become our friends. Will you negotiate with them and us again? I must admit, you were fantastic the first time round. We really did think Labour had offered you more than what they did."

"Nothing's definite yet," Nick said, wary. They were, he realised, abruptly alone, with a conversation veering dangerous away from politics.

"Assuming Mandelson comes up, would you work with him? Would the liberal-democrats be amenable to a second Coalition government? You and I both know that a hung parliament would be an inevitable consequence should the election be held today."

"Peter Mandelson is irrelevant at this point. He's not part of this government regardless of his possible efforts to the contrary," Nick said, then hesitated. "David, I can tell you this much- there has been nothing official. I had agreed with you, I won't seek anther election in the near future." But David was silent, he was looking at Nick a little sadly. Growing uncomfortable under the gaze, Nick made an excuse and was half-way out of the door when David called him back and he didn't turn around and he kept walking. He bypassed the stairs until he exited into the garden and beyond. Despite the late afternoon sun burning behind the gray clouds, there was a heaviness in the air that boded impending rain.

He should not have said that. He couldn't guarantee it but he had wanted to reassure David of his own feelings without speaking of them and that had seemed the only recourse.

His own standing in the party had been tenuous in the first years of government, he was aware hat he was sometimes considered a traitor. Working with the Tories was a position that he had spent years to justify. And while he had redeemed himself, the Conservatives, in the eyes of the Liberal-Democrats, had not. After all, the party agendas remain very different. Wasn't David's insistence evidence of continuing government everything the Liberal-Democrats loathed? Nick walked faster. It made no difference to him.

He didn't care.

-=-=

Stunned with the revelation David had remained in his seat until he realised that Nick was not coming back. Uncertain whether that was the reconciliation he had wished or a scene from his own feverish imagination and understanding he would never know otherwise David hurried after him. It took him only a moment to see Nick had left the house. Cutting across a patch of garden, careful not to step on the plants, he climbed over the low fence and saw the familiar figure not far away.

Nick must've heard him. He turned and then, to David's wonder and relief, waited, staring at him as if a phantom.

"Why must you be so-" Nick said, exasperated, when David approached.

"Me? What about you?" David exclaimed. Moisture was clinging to the tips of Nick's hair which darkened in the humidity, the tendrils by his ear and near his neck already curling, "How could you say that and leave?" He paused, his heart beating very fast. Nick attempted a gesture -- trying to throw up his hands, most likely -- but failed, because David gave in and kissed him.

An unbearable moment with the other man seemingly frozen beneath David's lips, then Nick relaxed, opening his mouth, and David was almost overwhelmed: the heady mixture of cologne, cigarette smoke surrounded him, the familiar taste of the man himself was robbing him of his breath, and around him was the warmth of the body, so deeply desired, so long missed, so finally finally close.

Nick's arms had wrapped around him. The clung to each other under the shadow of the oaks. David pressed forward until Nick's back was against the tree, pressing himself closer. Their mouths were still fused together. One of David's legs had slipped between the other man's and his hands was against his chest where the shirt was becoming so damp that it was plastered against skin, but his shirt-tails were warm and dry. His hand was slipping on the belt buckle then the tab buttons; he cursed; Nick laughed against his neck, then gasped and jerked forward as David reached inside his trousers.

Nick was breathing hard against his ear, urging him.

"Whatever you want," David managed, himself breathless, and tightened the curl of his hand. He was straining against his trousers but the little hitches in Nick's breath, the warmth and the feel of him were distracting. The half-broken little murmurs could intoxicate.

"I can't," David thought he heard.

"It's all right," said he thoughtlessly, holding on as Nick shuddered violently, then laid his head on David's shoulder, strangely quiet.

"You haven't," whispered Nick after a moment.

"I'm all right," David said, then hissed sharply when he felt a hand against his erection. He felt the smile at the side of his face. Nick stepped away, looked at David so hotly that David thought he could come right then, but then Nick was lowering himself onto his knees, looking almost demure and David couldn't move. He grabbed Nick's shoulders and held on, feeling each minute movement of zipper and shift of clothes as exquisite agony until that mouth -- David closed his eyes, unable to look -- closed about him. There was a terrible moan. He feared it came from himself and opened his eyes and looked down. At first, it was only the spikes of those eyelashes, then Nick's eyes met his -- beautifully dark and ringed by green-- David couldn't decipher the look. It didn't matter. Both of Nick's hands were on his hips, pinning him in place and David thought he wouldn't mind dying very much just then.

It was not a very long thought, though he could always argue (to himself) it was of respectable, even commendable length considering the sheer amount pleasure he was experiencing. It ended with David swaying on his feet, dazed, as Nick stood, surveyed him, seemingly satisfied.

He wiped at his mouth, David reached forward with his hand, changed his mind and instead leaned forward, kissing him rather sloppily.

"What a mess," Nick said, doing up his trousers, but his hands were unsteady, and David thought he said it happily. He started smiling in turn, batting the other man's hand away to dress him, while Nick did the same for him. They were still hardly presentable afterwards, bizarre streaks of damp on their clothes. It was late, the setting sun was painting the sky into streaks of deep purple and red, the looming clouds conjuring a gray mist over the horizon.

Then, it began to rain, heavily, the fat droplets of water crashing onto the leaves before falling onto them. David looked up. Rivulets ran down his face, he could feel slipping beneath his shirt collar. David looked at Nick, raising an eyebrow.

They both started laughing.

-=-=

Chapter 4: an echo murmured back