FIC: The Foxhunt
Oct. 14th, 2011 09:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaubraFandom: UK Politics
Title: The Foxhunt
Ship(s): Liam Fox/Adam Werrity, Liam Fox/Jesme Baird, David Cameron/Nick Clegg
Word Count: 672
Rating: PG, for brief language
Summary: Five questions that didn't matter, and one that did. Written for this prompt.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
The Foxhunt
or, five questions that didn't matter, and one that did
one
“Christmas in October, I tell you, Christmas in October,” one reporter says, waving her coffee in illustration.
“Are we running with the gay angle or with the shady-funding angle?” a colleague asks.
The first reporter grins, white teeth against red lipstick. “Who says we can’t run with both?”
two
“It’s...difficult to watch,” Hague says, cradling the phone gently.
“Is it very bad?” Ffion asks, the Welsh lilt in her voice sounding worried.
Hague hesitates. “It’s not like us. Chris was a legitimate special adviser, and there weren’t all of these questions about funding and access and lobbyists, just the gay innuendo. I don’t...I don’t see how Liam can survive.”
three
“It’s a fucking shame,” the first man says candidly, setting his briefcase down. “A fucking shame.”
His colleague shrugs. “Our other lobbyists are in place, aren’t they?”
“Yes. And perhaps,” the first man says, picking up the wine menu, “they’ll be less bloody indiscreet.”
four
“I wish it hadn’t happened,” David says, against the wry twist of Nick’s mouth.
“Can Fox really survive?” Nick asks, and twists his fingers.
David gasps in a breath, struggling to assemble words. “I have to wait for the official report, but it’s only a matter of time.”
five
Jesme has to push past three reporters to reach the house. “Excuse me,” she says, trying to keep her voice pleasant and not descend into the realm of Malcolm Tucker.
“Mrs. Fox,” one of them shouts, and why he shouts she really doesn’t know, as he’s standing next to her, “did you know that your husband was cheating on you?”
Twenty years ago, she met Liam at university. He was funny, and friendly, and made her laugh; he was there for her in good times and ill. Six years ago, she married him, when his career path was in jeopardy because of persistent gay rumours. She knew about Adam (Liam and Adam had lived together, for fuck’s sake). But she and Liam are happy together, and what happens in the bedroom is no one’s business but theirs. “No comment,” she says, and accidentally hits a reporter with her shopping bag.
and one
Liam checks the room for bystanders before he dials. He knows that he shouldn’t make contact; he knows that phone hacking has only been found out, it hasn’t necessarily stopped; he knows that he’s in the goldfish bowl called Whitehall. “Adam?”
“Liam,” Adam says, and Liam winces, because there is no condemnation there. If Liam had been honest – if he’d been brave enough to stand up to the world and acknowledge his sexual orientation – if he’d been courageous enough to take Adam by the hand in front of all and sundry – they would never have come to this. He could be married to Adam now, instead of to his platonic best friend. He could very possibly still be in the Cabinet; every time he sees Nick Herbert – out, civil partnered, Minister, happy – his heart turns over with jealousy. That could have been me.
Because of Liam’s cowardice, Adam’s career and reputation have both been ruined. And yet there is no condemnation in Adam’s voice.
“How are you holding up?” Adam says, and his voice is gentle, concerned. Liam can close his eyes and see him, standing by the window in his flat – beautiful, wonderful, his. “If it helps...” – and Adam pauses, and Liam can hear him swallow – “You do know that I love you? No matter what happens.”
Liam closes his eyes. There are no tears, just the sudden calm peace of certainty. “It does help.”
After he hangs up the phone, he sits at his desk for a minute, staring around his office, the culmination of so much hard work and so many long hours. He has loved this office and this job.
He pulls a piece of paper toward him and begins to write. Dear Prime Minister...
There has been enough scandal, and pain, and fear. He has taken from those he loves for long enough. It’s time to end it.
~//~
Title: The Foxhunt
Ship(s): Liam Fox/Adam Werrity, Liam Fox/Jesme Baird, David Cameron/Nick Clegg
Word Count: 672
Rating: PG, for brief language
Summary: Five questions that didn't matter, and one that did. Written for this prompt.
Disclaimer: This is a creative work of fiction, composed of fictional characters inspired by the public personas of living people. No injury or disrespect is intended to the persons named. If you've found this by googling yourself or someone you know, stop playing on the Internet and go run the country.
The Foxhunt
or, five questions that didn't matter, and one that did
one
“Christmas in October, I tell you, Christmas in October,” one reporter says, waving her coffee in illustration.
“Are we running with the gay angle or with the shady-funding angle?” a colleague asks.
The first reporter grins, white teeth against red lipstick. “Who says we can’t run with both?”
two
“It’s...difficult to watch,” Hague says, cradling the phone gently.
“Is it very bad?” Ffion asks, the Welsh lilt in her voice sounding worried.
Hague hesitates. “It’s not like us. Chris was a legitimate special adviser, and there weren’t all of these questions about funding and access and lobbyists, just the gay innuendo. I don’t...I don’t see how Liam can survive.”
three
“It’s a fucking shame,” the first man says candidly, setting his briefcase down. “A fucking shame.”
His colleague shrugs. “Our other lobbyists are in place, aren’t they?”
“Yes. And perhaps,” the first man says, picking up the wine menu, “they’ll be less bloody indiscreet.”
four
“I wish it hadn’t happened,” David says, against the wry twist of Nick’s mouth.
“Can Fox really survive?” Nick asks, and twists his fingers.
David gasps in a breath, struggling to assemble words. “I have to wait for the official report, but it’s only a matter of time.”
five
Jesme has to push past three reporters to reach the house. “Excuse me,” she says, trying to keep her voice pleasant and not descend into the realm of Malcolm Tucker.
“Mrs. Fox,” one of them shouts, and why he shouts she really doesn’t know, as he’s standing next to her, “did you know that your husband was cheating on you?”
Twenty years ago, she met Liam at university. He was funny, and friendly, and made her laugh; he was there for her in good times and ill. Six years ago, she married him, when his career path was in jeopardy because of persistent gay rumours. She knew about Adam (Liam and Adam had lived together, for fuck’s sake). But she and Liam are happy together, and what happens in the bedroom is no one’s business but theirs. “No comment,” she says, and accidentally hits a reporter with her shopping bag.
and one
Liam checks the room for bystanders before he dials. He knows that he shouldn’t make contact; he knows that phone hacking has only been found out, it hasn’t necessarily stopped; he knows that he’s in the goldfish bowl called Whitehall. “Adam?”
“Liam,” Adam says, and Liam winces, because there is no condemnation there. If Liam had been honest – if he’d been brave enough to stand up to the world and acknowledge his sexual orientation – if he’d been courageous enough to take Adam by the hand in front of all and sundry – they would never have come to this. He could be married to Adam now, instead of to his platonic best friend. He could very possibly still be in the Cabinet; every time he sees Nick Herbert – out, civil partnered, Minister, happy – his heart turns over with jealousy. That could have been me.
Because of Liam’s cowardice, Adam’s career and reputation have both been ruined. And yet there is no condemnation in Adam’s voice.
“How are you holding up?” Adam says, and his voice is gentle, concerned. Liam can close his eyes and see him, standing by the window in his flat – beautiful, wonderful, his. “If it helps...” – and Adam pauses, and Liam can hear him swallow – “You do know that I love you? No matter what happens.”
Liam closes his eyes. There are no tears, just the sudden calm peace of certainty. “It does help.”
After he hangs up the phone, he sits at his desk for a minute, staring around his office, the culmination of so much hard work and so many long hours. He has loved this office and this job.
He pulls a piece of paper toward him and begins to write. Dear Prime Minister...
There has been enough scandal, and pain, and fear. He has taken from those he loves for long enough. It’s time to end it.
~//~
Tags:
- british politics,
- fic,
- genre: drama,
- length: 00-01k,
- pairing: baird/fox,
- pairing: cameron/clegg,
- pairing: fox/werritty,
- pairing: the hagues,
- person: adam werritty,
- person: david cameron,
- person: ffion hague,
- person: jesme baird,
- person: liam fox,
- person: nick clegg,
- person: william hague,
- rating: pg
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-10-14 04:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-14 05:59 pm (UTC)