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kainosite, friend and cheerleader, encourager and inspiration, and source of all the best ideas in this fic. I only hope I've done them justice. <3
Fandoms: UK Politics
Title: How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chris Bryant?
Ship(s): gen
Word Count: 3,915
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lessons given and lessons learned; or, how Yvette Cooper stopped worrying and learned how to lead her team. Written for this prompt at the meme.
WARNING: Strapping.
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.
How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chris Bryant?
“There’s one more thing,” Ed says, and hesitates. Yvette can practically see him choosing his words, as his fingers tap nervously on his coffee mug. “We have to find a place for Chris Bryant.”
“Not it,” her Ed says immediately.
Harriet snorts. “Putting your finger on your nose is something most people grow out of, Edward.”
Yvette turns to look. Ed’s finger is indeed safely affixed to his nose.
He grins unabashedly at the three of them. “You’ve already given me another vegan, I’m not taking Chris. Mercy, m’lud.”
Yvette raises her eyebrows at him. “What’s wrong with Chris? He’s been excellent with the phone hacking scandal, and rather good in constitutional reform.”
“Oh, he’s talented, no denying that,” Ed says. He grins. “But I’ve talked to Sadiq, you see.”
The other Ed clears his throat. “Yes, well. That’s why we need to find a place for him. Sadiq’s asked for a change.”
“Why?” Yvette asks, frowning. “If Sadiq thinks he’s not fit for purpose we shouldn’t be giving him any job.” She squints down at her notes, trying to figure out what team might have a place open. She’s usually very organised about these things, but there has been so much crossing out and rearranging, it’s a bit hard to orient herself immediately.
Ed sighs. “It’s not that. They have...personality conflicts.”
Yvette looks at Harriet. “He’s worked for you before, and you have two briefs.”
Harriet shakes her head. “My team’s already set.”
“Still not it,” her Ed says. His finger remains obstinately on his nose. “My team already has enough personality. Besides, you know he and Osborne have a history. Not that I’m against people taking the piss out of Osborne, but we’ll never get anything done if two of us are doing it.”
Yvette purses her lips. “All right, you’ve persuaded me. You two would be thoroughly bad influences on each other.”
“It’s settled, then,” the other Ed says, with audible relief. “Yvette, he can go to you.”
Yvette swings her head around. “What?”
(Her Ed is chortling through his nose, a very attractive noise. She’ll deal with him later.)
Ed holds up his own sheet, which is nearly as black as hers with cross-throughs and scribbles, and far less legible. His handwriting has always been a horror. “You have immigration open, right? We’ll put him in that.”
It’s true - now that she looks, Yvette does have immigration open. She puts Chris’s name down. “You know,” she says, contemplatively, “I’d be much less worried about this if you two weren’t being so mysterious about it all. What, is he a prankster or something?”
The two Eds exchange glances.
Next to her, Harriet laughs. “He’s just...some people find him a little hard to control.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you’re being diplomatic?” Yvette asks, with a growing sense of dread.
“Come see me later,” Harriet says, patting her on the shoulder. “I know just how to handle him.”
~//~
“You what?” Yvette asks, looking up at Harriet with wide eyes.
Harriet shrugs, and sits on the edge of her desk. “You do what works in this business. I got the idea from Gordon, actually, and it worked like a charm.”
“I’m not entirely sure I can,” Yvette says.
“Suit yourself,” Harriet says. “You may think differently after you’ve had Chris for a few weeks. I love him, and he’s getting better and better in the House, but discipline is his weak spot.”
Yvette scuffs her foot against the floor. “Agh.”
Harriet gets up, and goes to rummage through her desk. “I know it’s here somewhere...aha!” She emerges triumphant, and slaps her prize down into Yvette’s hand. “Here you are.”
Yvette stares gloomily at the strap.
“You’ll be fine,” Harriet says, heartlessly. “You manage Ed, after all.”
~//~
Despite Harriet’s encouraging words, Yvette isn’t at all sure she can go through with it. It’s all quite well for Harriet to say that strapping Chris made him behave – Harriet’s Harriet, and Yvette firmly believes that Harriet can do anything. But for her to strap Chris? How would that conversation even go? “Come into my office, Chris, I want to hit you.” He’ll do that thing with his eyebrows, and she’ll have to laugh it off as a joke, and be deeply embarrassed nonetheless.
These misgivings begin to fade as Yvette’s new team settles in, and she begins to work with them on a regular basis. Gloria is awkward – she goes on Question Time and gives a performance that makes Yvette wince – and Stella is overly eager in that new-puppy way which reminds Yvette of her own earliest days in Westminster.
Whereas Chris – Yvette begins to worry less about whether she’ll have to strap Chris, and more about when it will have to be. It’s not that he’s insubordinate, exactly, or incompetent, although she suspects Sadiq thought he was. It’s just that he’s developed a taste for independence, and has a very low tolerance for boredom. The two taken together can be a... difficult combination.
Which leads to today.
Yvette sits behind her desk, and tries not to look at her clock. She’s told Chris to come at half ten, and he’s usually punctual.
There’s a knock at the door.
~//~
“So, what are we looking at today?” Chris asks, beginning to shuffle through his papers. He’s come into her office in a bit of a whirlwind, dropping into a chair without so much as a by-your-leave, shooting a distracted smile at her and then opening his briefcase.
“There’s actually something we need to talk about first,” Yvette says.
Chris’s head comes up, polite – and freezes, as his eyes register the strap she’s just placed on the desk.
When he doesn’t say anything, Yvette clears her own throat. “I see you know what this is.” She sounds stilted, even to herself – but how do you have this conversation without sounding like a villainous headmistress from a certain type of novel? (Or a certain type of porn, her brain helpfully supplies.)
Chris’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “It appears to be a strap.”
“Harriet gave it to me,” Yvette says. She tries to keep her voice calm and assured.
Chris’s eyes shoot up to her. “Did she?”
Yvette gets up, picks up the strap, and walks around the desk. “Yes. Please stand up.”
“You are not going to strap me,” Chris says, abandoning all attempts to duck the issue. His hands tighten around the arms of his chair, holding on.
“Stand up,” Yvette says, quietly, but putting her no-nonsense face on. Now that they’re well into this, she’ll be damned if she’s going to back down.
Chris swallows. She watches his Adam’s apple bob. Slowly, he puts his papers back in his briefcase, then stands up and faces her.
“Do you know why I’m going to strap you?” Yvette asks, meeting and holding his eyes.
Chris makes a face. “I assume it’s because I’ve done something you didn’t like. That’s usually why people hit people.”
Yvette resists the urge to sigh. “I’m going to strap you because you need to learn discipline.”
Surely even Chris can’t argue that he has discipline. He seems to be thinking about trying to anyway, but bites his lip instead. “I can learn discipline without you strapping me,” he says, finally.
“Harriet says it makes the lesson stick for you,” Yvette says, not unkindly.
Chris juts his chin out. “So what in particular am I supposed to be learning?”
“Hand,” Yvette says, raising her eyebrows expectantly. She’s happy to explain – indeed, she needs to – but she recognises this particular delaying tactic all too well. She’s a politician, after all.
Chris’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath. For a moment, Yvette thinks he may walk out – but it passes, and he silently offers her his hand, supporting it with his other.
Yvette hopes she looked up how to do this correctly. For all that Chris is no doubt surmising that she’s never done this before, she’d rather not prove it to him. Although even the poorest technique will inflict pain and make her point, she supposes.
She eyes her target, then brings the strap down with a sharp thwack – once, twice.
“I put theyworkforyou alerts on each member of my team, so I can keep track of what they say in the Chamber,” Yvette says, giving Chris a moment to catch his breath, now that they’ve begun. “Do you know what your line said on Saturday morning?”
Chris looks sheepish, or as sheepish as anyone can look with a tightly-drawn mouth.
“43 results,” Yvette tells him. “41 in one debate alone. Many of them chuntering, and nearly half of them superfluous.”
She brings the strap down twice more in quick succession.
“They weren’t superfluous,” Chris protests, in a strained voice. “Do you want me not to talk in the House?”
“I want you to control yourself,” Yvette says. “You get bored easily, and you can’t keep your mouth shut when you do. Have you ever seen yourself? You thrash about, you wave your arms, and you chunter remorselessly. You’re hardly doing yourself credit.”
Chris’s expressive eyes may not technically be capable of speech, but they try.
“And yes, my husband is nearly as bad,” Yvette admits.
“Perhaps you should strap him,” Chris dares.
Yvette brings the strap down twice more, then nods at him to change hands. “The difference between my husband and you, Chris, is that the Government may hate him, but they take him seriously. He’s the Shadow Chancellor. You’re an aging middlebencher who they still make coded jokes about and laugh at behind their hands.”
“And you want me to change who I am to make them feel more comfortable with me?” Chris asks, screwing up his face.
“No,” Yvette says. “I want you to learn some discipline, so that they’re forced to stop laughing at you and take you seriously. There’s a difference.”
Chris raises his eyebrows toward the strap, and Yvette remembers what she’s supposed to be doing. Her blows feel more perfunctory this time, although Chris still winces.
“And what’s more,” she continues, “I want you to learn some discipline, so our side is forced to stop laughing at you and take you seriously.”
This strikes home; Yvette sees his mouth twist.
“During phone hacking,” she says, pressing her point home, “everyone listened to you. They weren’t bristling because you goaded them, they weren’t rolling their eyes because you wouldn’t stop chuntering at them, they weren’t jeering and making questionable jokes.”
“Because I was right,” Chris says.
“Because you were right,” Yvette agrees, “and because you were on top of the issue. You focused on it, and you let the extraneous things go for the moment. You were one of the heroes of the hour.”
She brings the strap down three times more, in quick succession, making sure to snap it hard enough to make tears spring to Chris’s eyes. “I’m giving you the chance to sink your teeth into a real brief, a brief with serious and chronic problems. It’s only a matter of time before the first immigration scandal comes out. I need you focused on it. I need you working with me. I need you to grow up a little, and discipline that formidable energy of yours in a constructive direction.”
Chris’s breath is coming a bit faster, but he blinks the tears obstinately back. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Yvette says, and gives him a smile, as she sets the strap down on the desk. A real smile, the kind that only her friends see – small, and more than a bit tired, but one that reaches her eyes.
“May I put my hands down?” Chris asks. There’s a reluctant half-smile tugging at his own mouth.
“Yes,” Yvette says. She walks back around her desk and sits back down in her chair.
Chris reaches a hand up to palm the back of his neck. Yvette sees the moment the lingering soreness in his hand registers, as he winces. “I’ll just be going, then.”
“You will not,” Yvette says, mock-sternly. “We still have the Immigration brief to go over.”
Chris looks torn between indignation and amusement for a moment – but amusement wins out, and he grins. “A taskmaster, indeed.”
“Indeed,” Yvette agrees.
Chris drops back into his chair, and begins to shuffle his papers again, and Yvette slides the strap into a drawer, and pulls out papers of her own.
Their meeting is productive, and cordial, and perhaps Yvette is imagining things, but she thinks Chris is looking at her with a bit more respect.
Perhaps Harriet was right after all.
~//~
Perhaps Yvette counted her chickens too soon.
Chris takes one look at her face after Theresa’s gang statement, and winces. “What time?”
Yvette pulls out her Blackberry. “I have nearly an hour now. Meet me at my office in ten.”
~//~
“So what did I do this time?” Chris asks, shutting the door behind him.
Yvette finishes her paragraph, then looks up. “You know exactly what you did.”
Chris crosses his arms. “Tell me.”
“No,” Yvette says. “You tell me.”
“I didn’t chunter!” Chris says, belligerently. “Not much, anyway.”
Yvette sighs. “No. You sat there and looked bored out of your mind the entire time, and amused yourself by posting random tweets.”
“I stopped!”
“You stopped because I passed you a note and told you to,” Yvette says, unamused. “Then you just slouched and looked sullen, like a teenager who’s been told off.”
Chris glares like a teenager as well.
Yvette sighs again. “Obviously the first lesson didn’t stick. I’d been hoping to avoid this, but apparently it’s necessary. Over the desk.”
“No!” Chris says. His eyes have gone wide. Perhaps he has just now noticed the cane standing against the wall.
“Strapping didn’t work,” Yvette says, trying to avoid betraying just how nervous she is about this. “Harriet said she only had to cane you once.”
“First of all,” Chris says, and Yvette can hear the panic in the speed and inflection of his voice, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you and Harriet discussing this. Second, that’s definitely workplace harassment. Third, you only gave me one chance. Harriet gave me three before she caned me.”
Yvette folds her arms. “First, we wouldn’t be discussing it if you learned how to behave. Second, you didn’t protest when Harriet did it.”
“Oh, I protested,” Chris mutters.
“Third,” Yvette continues, “you’re older and wiser now. One chance should have been more than enough. Over the desk.”
“Fourth,” Chris says, although he does take a reluctant step towards the desk, “I don’t think you know how to use that, and I don’t want to get hurt.”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” Yvette says, trying not to let him see the uneasy glance she throws at the cane. Google is all well and good, but she’d rather not have to send Chris to A&E because she broke his tailbone. The questions! Also she’d feel bad.
“Not as much as it will if you make a mistake,” Chris says. “Harriet at least knew what she was doing. Also, I promised Jared I wouldn’t let other people see my pants.”
Yvette raises her eyebrows. “There would be no cheating involved.”
Chris gives her his best ‘I’m a pain but I’m a funny one’ look. “No, I mean I literally promised him I wouldn’t let other people see my pants. Because, well, you know.”
“Right,” Yvette says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
“Can’t you just strap me again?” Chris asks. “If you have to hit me at all, that is,” he remembers to add belatedly.
Yvette chews on her bottom lip. She does thoroughly distrust that cane. “Will strapping you when you’ve asked for it make an impression?”
“Will someone walking in on you caning the naked arse of a co-worker make an impression?” Chris counters.
Yvette shoots a quick glance at the door. “It’s locked.”
“But my pitiful cries will summon aid,” Chris says, solemnly.
Yvette sighs. “Fine. But you’re getting more this time.”
Chris winces.
~//~
“Ow,” Chris says, contemplatively.
Yvette sets the strap down. “Impression made?”
“Impression definitely made,” Chris says.
“Next time it’ll be the cane,” Yvette says, “even if I have to learn how on Ed first.”
A long moment.
“Not an image I particularly wanted to have,” Chris says.
Yvette punches him in the shoulder. “Behave!”
He laughs along with her, although there’s still a certain lingering pained twist to his mouth. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? You want me to behave.”
“I don’t...” Yvette thinks about how to phrase it. “I don’t want you to be someone you’re not. If you’d rather be Dennis Skinner, then be Dennis Skinner.”
Chris’s laugh is more assured this time. “I don’t want to be Dennis Skinner.”
“If, on the other hand, you do have ambitions to be in government,” Yvette says, “then you have to learn discipline. Be on top of your brief. Always look engaged, even when you’re bored. Tone down the dramatics. Keep the chuntering to a minimum. Don’t tweet randomly when you’re on the frontbench.”
“I think I may have a bit of a problem tweeting for a while,” Chris says ruefully, stretching his fingers and screwing up his face as he does so.
Yvette reaches for his hands, and massages them carefully. “You’ll live.”
“I might just,” Chris agrees, and when she looks up, he’s grinning at her, and the smile reaches his eyes.
~//~
Theresa May has excellent timing.
The UKBA scandal breaks, and they’re all suddenly incredibly busy. Yvette barely has time to think, but in the space beyond the clear knowledge that this is one of those rare chances to make a lasting mark with the party and the electorate and she has to make it count, she’s aware of Chris’s constant and steadfast support. He’s only been in his brief for a few short weeks, but he runs around like a madman, and instructs his beleaguered researcher to find ever-mounting stacks of data, and somehow still manages to be there whenever she needs him.
He sits next to her on the frontbench, and his face isn’t bored at all, but fiercely focused. He keeps the chuntering and the tweeting down. There are no Strictly Come Dancing references; there are no Points of Order that are really an excuse to flirt with the Speaker; there are no extraneous interventions. He rises to intervene once in Home Office Questions, prepared with the relevant figures, and spends the rest of the time a bulwark of strength at her elbow. A bulwark that is perhaps bristling with righteous indignation, but a bulwark that is perhaps – at last – learning some discipline.
And then they have an hour’s space between Home Office Questions and May’s statement on the UKBA, and she leaves her husband to shout at Cameron (later, she will find out that matters descended into Cameron shouting “Shut up!” at her husband across the despatch box, and she will wonder if perhaps she ought to strap her husband after all), and she goes with Chris into a frantic huddle in her office, writing and rewriting her rebuttal, pulling in more figures, Chris working like a particularly dedicated researcher, both of them reminding each other to breathe.
And then back into the Chamber, with Chris at her side, and up to respond to May – and finding out, afterwards, that apparently she’s just taken the betting on her being the next Leader from “favourite” to “prohibitive favourite.”
Yvette and Chris grin at each other, tired but triumphant, and go back to work, getting ready to do it all over again.
~//~
“So Chris seems to be behaving beautifully,” Harriet observes a few days later, over a glass of wine.
“Yes,” Yvette says, and suppresses a proud smile. “He is.” She sips her own wine.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, before Harriet breaks it. “You know, I’m the one who told Ed to give you Chris in the first place. And Gloria, and Stella.”
Yvette wrinkles her nose. “Why?”
Harriet smiles. “Because they all need a careful hand to develop their talent. Gloria’s nervous and awkward, Stella’s still very young, and Chris is – Chris.”
“Why me?” Yvette asks. “You have two briefs, why not take a few yourself?”
Harriet takes a drink. Her eyes study Yvette over the top of her glass. “Why you? Two reasons. First, I knew you’d be conscientious about training them, in a way I don’t think many of our colleagues would be, for various reasons. Some are too new themselves, some are too singleminded in their pursuit of the government to think about anything else, and some don’t have the ability.”
Yvette shifts in her chair.
“And second,” Harriet says slowly, “you need training yourself.”
“In what?” Yvette asks, raising an eyebrow.
“In leadership,” Harriet says. “In dealing with difficult personalities. In managing people, and building your support base. In making the talented people love you.”
Yvette’s hands feel sweaty. She sets her glass down before she drops it.
Harriet’s eyes are shrewd. Harriet sees everything. “One day, Yvette Cooper, you’re going to be Prime Minister. You know that, right?”
“That’s what Ed says,” Yvette manages. Her voice sounds very small.
“I always said that man of yours was smart,” Harriet tells her, and her voice is fond. “I’m not saying it’s going to be soon, and it’s for the best anyway. You still have work to do on your public presentation and confidence, although they’re much better lately, particularly in this immigration scandal.”
“Thanks,” Yvette says, feeling a little wild.
Harriet reaches for the wine bottle, pours a bit more into her glass. “But eventually, you’re going to be the one. And when you are, you’ll need talented, loyal people by your side, and you’ll need to be able to draw on the experience you’ve gained managing them.”
“Somehow I don’t think I’ll have to strap anyone else,” Yvette says.
“Perhaps not,” Harriet acknowledges. “And you won’t have Chris for too much longer, at any rate. Next reshuffle, I’ll give him Culture, Media, and Sport, if he’s behaved himself and learned some discipline.” She grins. “Or rather, you can give him Culture, Media, and Sport. Give a man his first Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet post, you’ve won him forever.”
“You,” Yvette says slowly, “are a genius. And far too good to me.”
“Yes,” Harriet says, and offers her the wine bottle, “I do believe I am.”
~//~
The next time Yvette has her team together, she takes a moment to look around. There’s Diana Johnson, curly hair bouncing as she laughs. There’s David Hanson, relaxed and calm. There’s Stella, smiling widely. There’s Gloria, a bit too eager to please. There’s Chris, doing his best to put everyone at ease, hands waving generously to illustrate his latest anecdote.
Yvette catches Chris’s eye, and he grins at her, a wide open smile. “Quiet now!” he orders the team, peremptorily. “Our esteemed mistress would like a word.”
Her team members’ heads swing her way, smiles on every face. They’re flying high – they’re taking the fight to the Government – they’re winning (for the moment). She looks around, and sees the hunger in their eyes. It may not be the oldest team, or the most experienced, or the least awkward - but it has talent, and it is hers.
“So,” Yvette says, and lets a smile break over her own face, full and true. “Shall we begin?”
~//~
kainosite, friend and cheerleader, encourager and inspiration, and source of all the best ideas in this fic. I only hope I've done them justice. <3Fandoms: UK Politics
Title: How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chris Bryant?
Ship(s): gen
Word Count: 3,915
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lessons given and lessons learned; or, how Yvette Cooper stopped worrying and learned how to lead her team. Written for this prompt at the meme.
WARNING: Strapping.
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.
How Do You Solve a Problem Like Chris Bryant?
“There’s one more thing,” Ed says, and hesitates. Yvette can practically see him choosing his words, as his fingers tap nervously on his coffee mug. “We have to find a place for Chris Bryant.”
“Not it,” her Ed says immediately.
Harriet snorts. “Putting your finger on your nose is something most people grow out of, Edward.”
Yvette turns to look. Ed’s finger is indeed safely affixed to his nose.
He grins unabashedly at the three of them. “You’ve already given me another vegan, I’m not taking Chris. Mercy, m’lud.”
Yvette raises her eyebrows at him. “What’s wrong with Chris? He’s been excellent with the phone hacking scandal, and rather good in constitutional reform.”
“Oh, he’s talented, no denying that,” Ed says. He grins. “But I’ve talked to Sadiq, you see.”
The other Ed clears his throat. “Yes, well. That’s why we need to find a place for him. Sadiq’s asked for a change.”
“Why?” Yvette asks, frowning. “If Sadiq thinks he’s not fit for purpose we shouldn’t be giving him any job.” She squints down at her notes, trying to figure out what team might have a place open. She’s usually very organised about these things, but there has been so much crossing out and rearranging, it’s a bit hard to orient herself immediately.
Ed sighs. “It’s not that. They have...personality conflicts.”
Yvette looks at Harriet. “He’s worked for you before, and you have two briefs.”
Harriet shakes her head. “My team’s already set.”
“Still not it,” her Ed says. His finger remains obstinately on his nose. “My team already has enough personality. Besides, you know he and Osborne have a history. Not that I’m against people taking the piss out of Osborne, but we’ll never get anything done if two of us are doing it.”
Yvette purses her lips. “All right, you’ve persuaded me. You two would be thoroughly bad influences on each other.”
“It’s settled, then,” the other Ed says, with audible relief. “Yvette, he can go to you.”
Yvette swings her head around. “What?”
(Her Ed is chortling through his nose, a very attractive noise. She’ll deal with him later.)
Ed holds up his own sheet, which is nearly as black as hers with cross-throughs and scribbles, and far less legible. His handwriting has always been a horror. “You have immigration open, right? We’ll put him in that.”
It’s true - now that she looks, Yvette does have immigration open. She puts Chris’s name down. “You know,” she says, contemplatively, “I’d be much less worried about this if you two weren’t being so mysterious about it all. What, is he a prankster or something?”
The two Eds exchange glances.
Next to her, Harriet laughs. “He’s just...some people find him a little hard to control.”
“Why do I have the feeling that you’re being diplomatic?” Yvette asks, with a growing sense of dread.
“Come see me later,” Harriet says, patting her on the shoulder. “I know just how to handle him.”
~//~
“You what?” Yvette asks, looking up at Harriet with wide eyes.
Harriet shrugs, and sits on the edge of her desk. “You do what works in this business. I got the idea from Gordon, actually, and it worked like a charm.”
“I’m not entirely sure I can,” Yvette says.
“Suit yourself,” Harriet says. “You may think differently after you’ve had Chris for a few weeks. I love him, and he’s getting better and better in the House, but discipline is his weak spot.”
Yvette scuffs her foot against the floor. “Agh.”
Harriet gets up, and goes to rummage through her desk. “I know it’s here somewhere...aha!” She emerges triumphant, and slaps her prize down into Yvette’s hand. “Here you are.”
Yvette stares gloomily at the strap.
“You’ll be fine,” Harriet says, heartlessly. “You manage Ed, after all.”
~//~
Despite Harriet’s encouraging words, Yvette isn’t at all sure she can go through with it. It’s all quite well for Harriet to say that strapping Chris made him behave – Harriet’s Harriet, and Yvette firmly believes that Harriet can do anything. But for her to strap Chris? How would that conversation even go? “Come into my office, Chris, I want to hit you.” He’ll do that thing with his eyebrows, and she’ll have to laugh it off as a joke, and be deeply embarrassed nonetheless.
These misgivings begin to fade as Yvette’s new team settles in, and she begins to work with them on a regular basis. Gloria is awkward – she goes on Question Time and gives a performance that makes Yvette wince – and Stella is overly eager in that new-puppy way which reminds Yvette of her own earliest days in Westminster.
Whereas Chris – Yvette begins to worry less about whether she’ll have to strap Chris, and more about when it will have to be. It’s not that he’s insubordinate, exactly, or incompetent, although she suspects Sadiq thought he was. It’s just that he’s developed a taste for independence, and has a very low tolerance for boredom. The two taken together can be a... difficult combination.
Which leads to today.
Yvette sits behind her desk, and tries not to look at her clock. She’s told Chris to come at half ten, and he’s usually punctual.
There’s a knock at the door.
~//~
“So, what are we looking at today?” Chris asks, beginning to shuffle through his papers. He’s come into her office in a bit of a whirlwind, dropping into a chair without so much as a by-your-leave, shooting a distracted smile at her and then opening his briefcase.
“There’s actually something we need to talk about first,” Yvette says.
Chris’s head comes up, polite – and freezes, as his eyes register the strap she’s just placed on the desk.
When he doesn’t say anything, Yvette clears her own throat. “I see you know what this is.” She sounds stilted, even to herself – but how do you have this conversation without sounding like a villainous headmistress from a certain type of novel? (Or a certain type of porn, her brain helpfully supplies.)
Chris’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. “It appears to be a strap.”
“Harriet gave it to me,” Yvette says. She tries to keep her voice calm and assured.
Chris’s eyes shoot up to her. “Did she?”
Yvette gets up, picks up the strap, and walks around the desk. “Yes. Please stand up.”
“You are not going to strap me,” Chris says, abandoning all attempts to duck the issue. His hands tighten around the arms of his chair, holding on.
“Stand up,” Yvette says, quietly, but putting her no-nonsense face on. Now that they’re well into this, she’ll be damned if she’s going to back down.
Chris swallows. She watches his Adam’s apple bob. Slowly, he puts his papers back in his briefcase, then stands up and faces her.
“Do you know why I’m going to strap you?” Yvette asks, meeting and holding his eyes.
Chris makes a face. “I assume it’s because I’ve done something you didn’t like. That’s usually why people hit people.”
Yvette resists the urge to sigh. “I’m going to strap you because you need to learn discipline.”
Surely even Chris can’t argue that he has discipline. He seems to be thinking about trying to anyway, but bites his lip instead. “I can learn discipline without you strapping me,” he says, finally.
“Harriet says it makes the lesson stick for you,” Yvette says, not unkindly.
Chris juts his chin out. “So what in particular am I supposed to be learning?”
“Hand,” Yvette says, raising her eyebrows expectantly. She’s happy to explain – indeed, she needs to – but she recognises this particular delaying tactic all too well. She’s a politician, after all.
Chris’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath. For a moment, Yvette thinks he may walk out – but it passes, and he silently offers her his hand, supporting it with his other.
Yvette hopes she looked up how to do this correctly. For all that Chris is no doubt surmising that she’s never done this before, she’d rather not prove it to him. Although even the poorest technique will inflict pain and make her point, she supposes.
She eyes her target, then brings the strap down with a sharp thwack – once, twice.
“I put theyworkforyou alerts on each member of my team, so I can keep track of what they say in the Chamber,” Yvette says, giving Chris a moment to catch his breath, now that they’ve begun. “Do you know what your line said on Saturday morning?”
Chris looks sheepish, or as sheepish as anyone can look with a tightly-drawn mouth.
“43 results,” Yvette tells him. “41 in one debate alone. Many of them chuntering, and nearly half of them superfluous.”
She brings the strap down twice more in quick succession.
“They weren’t superfluous,” Chris protests, in a strained voice. “Do you want me not to talk in the House?”
“I want you to control yourself,” Yvette says. “You get bored easily, and you can’t keep your mouth shut when you do. Have you ever seen yourself? You thrash about, you wave your arms, and you chunter remorselessly. You’re hardly doing yourself credit.”
Chris’s expressive eyes may not technically be capable of speech, but they try.
“And yes, my husband is nearly as bad,” Yvette admits.
“Perhaps you should strap him,” Chris dares.
Yvette brings the strap down twice more, then nods at him to change hands. “The difference between my husband and you, Chris, is that the Government may hate him, but they take him seriously. He’s the Shadow Chancellor. You’re an aging middlebencher who they still make coded jokes about and laugh at behind their hands.”
“And you want me to change who I am to make them feel more comfortable with me?” Chris asks, screwing up his face.
“No,” Yvette says. “I want you to learn some discipline, so that they’re forced to stop laughing at you and take you seriously. There’s a difference.”
Chris raises his eyebrows toward the strap, and Yvette remembers what she’s supposed to be doing. Her blows feel more perfunctory this time, although Chris still winces.
“And what’s more,” she continues, “I want you to learn some discipline, so our side is forced to stop laughing at you and take you seriously.”
This strikes home; Yvette sees his mouth twist.
“During phone hacking,” she says, pressing her point home, “everyone listened to you. They weren’t bristling because you goaded them, they weren’t rolling their eyes because you wouldn’t stop chuntering at them, they weren’t jeering and making questionable jokes.”
“Because I was right,” Chris says.
“Because you were right,” Yvette agrees, “and because you were on top of the issue. You focused on it, and you let the extraneous things go for the moment. You were one of the heroes of the hour.”
She brings the strap down three times more, in quick succession, making sure to snap it hard enough to make tears spring to Chris’s eyes. “I’m giving you the chance to sink your teeth into a real brief, a brief with serious and chronic problems. It’s only a matter of time before the first immigration scandal comes out. I need you focused on it. I need you working with me. I need you to grow up a little, and discipline that formidable energy of yours in a constructive direction.”
Chris’s breath is coming a bit faster, but he blinks the tears obstinately back. “I can do that.”
“Good,” Yvette says, and gives him a smile, as she sets the strap down on the desk. A real smile, the kind that only her friends see – small, and more than a bit tired, but one that reaches her eyes.
“May I put my hands down?” Chris asks. There’s a reluctant half-smile tugging at his own mouth.
“Yes,” Yvette says. She walks back around her desk and sits back down in her chair.
Chris reaches a hand up to palm the back of his neck. Yvette sees the moment the lingering soreness in his hand registers, as he winces. “I’ll just be going, then.”
“You will not,” Yvette says, mock-sternly. “We still have the Immigration brief to go over.”
Chris looks torn between indignation and amusement for a moment – but amusement wins out, and he grins. “A taskmaster, indeed.”
“Indeed,” Yvette agrees.
Chris drops back into his chair, and begins to shuffle his papers again, and Yvette slides the strap into a drawer, and pulls out papers of her own.
Their meeting is productive, and cordial, and perhaps Yvette is imagining things, but she thinks Chris is looking at her with a bit more respect.
Perhaps Harriet was right after all.
~//~
Perhaps Yvette counted her chickens too soon.
Chris takes one look at her face after Theresa’s gang statement, and winces. “What time?”
Yvette pulls out her Blackberry. “I have nearly an hour now. Meet me at my office in ten.”
~//~
“So what did I do this time?” Chris asks, shutting the door behind him.
Yvette finishes her paragraph, then looks up. “You know exactly what you did.”
Chris crosses his arms. “Tell me.”
“No,” Yvette says. “You tell me.”
“I didn’t chunter!” Chris says, belligerently. “Not much, anyway.”
Yvette sighs. “No. You sat there and looked bored out of your mind the entire time, and amused yourself by posting random tweets.”
“I stopped!”
“You stopped because I passed you a note and told you to,” Yvette says, unamused. “Then you just slouched and looked sullen, like a teenager who’s been told off.”
Chris glares like a teenager as well.
Yvette sighs again. “Obviously the first lesson didn’t stick. I’d been hoping to avoid this, but apparently it’s necessary. Over the desk.”
“No!” Chris says. His eyes have gone wide. Perhaps he has just now noticed the cane standing against the wall.
“Strapping didn’t work,” Yvette says, trying to avoid betraying just how nervous she is about this. “Harriet said she only had to cane you once.”
“First of all,” Chris says, and Yvette can hear the panic in the speed and inflection of his voice, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you and Harriet discussing this. Second, that’s definitely workplace harassment. Third, you only gave me one chance. Harriet gave me three before she caned me.”
Yvette folds her arms. “First, we wouldn’t be discussing it if you learned how to behave. Second, you didn’t protest when Harriet did it.”
“Oh, I protested,” Chris mutters.
“Third,” Yvette continues, “you’re older and wiser now. One chance should have been more than enough. Over the desk.”
“Fourth,” Chris says, although he does take a reluctant step towards the desk, “I don’t think you know how to use that, and I don’t want to get hurt.”
“It’s supposed to hurt,” Yvette says, trying not to let him see the uneasy glance she throws at the cane. Google is all well and good, but she’d rather not have to send Chris to A&E because she broke his tailbone. The questions! Also she’d feel bad.
“Not as much as it will if you make a mistake,” Chris says. “Harriet at least knew what she was doing. Also, I promised Jared I wouldn’t let other people see my pants.”
Yvette raises her eyebrows. “There would be no cheating involved.”
Chris gives her his best ‘I’m a pain but I’m a funny one’ look. “No, I mean I literally promised him I wouldn’t let other people see my pants. Because, well, you know.”
“Right,” Yvette says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
“Can’t you just strap me again?” Chris asks. “If you have to hit me at all, that is,” he remembers to add belatedly.
Yvette chews on her bottom lip. She does thoroughly distrust that cane. “Will strapping you when you’ve asked for it make an impression?”
“Will someone walking in on you caning the naked arse of a co-worker make an impression?” Chris counters.
Yvette shoots a quick glance at the door. “It’s locked.”
“But my pitiful cries will summon aid,” Chris says, solemnly.
Yvette sighs. “Fine. But you’re getting more this time.”
Chris winces.
~//~
“Ow,” Chris says, contemplatively.
Yvette sets the strap down. “Impression made?”
“Impression definitely made,” Chris says.
“Next time it’ll be the cane,” Yvette says, “even if I have to learn how on Ed first.”
A long moment.
“Not an image I particularly wanted to have,” Chris says.
Yvette punches him in the shoulder. “Behave!”
He laughs along with her, although there’s still a certain lingering pained twist to his mouth. “That’s the whole point, isn’t it? You want me to behave.”
“I don’t...” Yvette thinks about how to phrase it. “I don’t want you to be someone you’re not. If you’d rather be Dennis Skinner, then be Dennis Skinner.”
Chris’s laugh is more assured this time. “I don’t want to be Dennis Skinner.”
“If, on the other hand, you do have ambitions to be in government,” Yvette says, “then you have to learn discipline. Be on top of your brief. Always look engaged, even when you’re bored. Tone down the dramatics. Keep the chuntering to a minimum. Don’t tweet randomly when you’re on the frontbench.”
“I think I may have a bit of a problem tweeting for a while,” Chris says ruefully, stretching his fingers and screwing up his face as he does so.
Yvette reaches for his hands, and massages them carefully. “You’ll live.”
“I might just,” Chris agrees, and when she looks up, he’s grinning at her, and the smile reaches his eyes.
~//~
Theresa May has excellent timing.
The UKBA scandal breaks, and they’re all suddenly incredibly busy. Yvette barely has time to think, but in the space beyond the clear knowledge that this is one of those rare chances to make a lasting mark with the party and the electorate and she has to make it count, she’s aware of Chris’s constant and steadfast support. He’s only been in his brief for a few short weeks, but he runs around like a madman, and instructs his beleaguered researcher to find ever-mounting stacks of data, and somehow still manages to be there whenever she needs him.
He sits next to her on the frontbench, and his face isn’t bored at all, but fiercely focused. He keeps the chuntering and the tweeting down. There are no Strictly Come Dancing references; there are no Points of Order that are really an excuse to flirt with the Speaker; there are no extraneous interventions. He rises to intervene once in Home Office Questions, prepared with the relevant figures, and spends the rest of the time a bulwark of strength at her elbow. A bulwark that is perhaps bristling with righteous indignation, but a bulwark that is perhaps – at last – learning some discipline.
And then they have an hour’s space between Home Office Questions and May’s statement on the UKBA, and she leaves her husband to shout at Cameron (later, she will find out that matters descended into Cameron shouting “Shut up!” at her husband across the despatch box, and she will wonder if perhaps she ought to strap her husband after all), and she goes with Chris into a frantic huddle in her office, writing and rewriting her rebuttal, pulling in more figures, Chris working like a particularly dedicated researcher, both of them reminding each other to breathe.
And then back into the Chamber, with Chris at her side, and up to respond to May – and finding out, afterwards, that apparently she’s just taken the betting on her being the next Leader from “favourite” to “prohibitive favourite.”
Yvette and Chris grin at each other, tired but triumphant, and go back to work, getting ready to do it all over again.
~//~
“So Chris seems to be behaving beautifully,” Harriet observes a few days later, over a glass of wine.
“Yes,” Yvette says, and suppresses a proud smile. “He is.” She sips her own wine.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, before Harriet breaks it. “You know, I’m the one who told Ed to give you Chris in the first place. And Gloria, and Stella.”
Yvette wrinkles her nose. “Why?”
Harriet smiles. “Because they all need a careful hand to develop their talent. Gloria’s nervous and awkward, Stella’s still very young, and Chris is – Chris.”
“Why me?” Yvette asks. “You have two briefs, why not take a few yourself?”
Harriet takes a drink. Her eyes study Yvette over the top of her glass. “Why you? Two reasons. First, I knew you’d be conscientious about training them, in a way I don’t think many of our colleagues would be, for various reasons. Some are too new themselves, some are too singleminded in their pursuit of the government to think about anything else, and some don’t have the ability.”
Yvette shifts in her chair.
“And second,” Harriet says slowly, “you need training yourself.”
“In what?” Yvette asks, raising an eyebrow.
“In leadership,” Harriet says. “In dealing with difficult personalities. In managing people, and building your support base. In making the talented people love you.”
Yvette’s hands feel sweaty. She sets her glass down before she drops it.
Harriet’s eyes are shrewd. Harriet sees everything. “One day, Yvette Cooper, you’re going to be Prime Minister. You know that, right?”
“That’s what Ed says,” Yvette manages. Her voice sounds very small.
“I always said that man of yours was smart,” Harriet tells her, and her voice is fond. “I’m not saying it’s going to be soon, and it’s for the best anyway. You still have work to do on your public presentation and confidence, although they’re much better lately, particularly in this immigration scandal.”
“Thanks,” Yvette says, feeling a little wild.
Harriet reaches for the wine bottle, pours a bit more into her glass. “But eventually, you’re going to be the one. And when you are, you’ll need talented, loyal people by your side, and you’ll need to be able to draw on the experience you’ve gained managing them.”
“Somehow I don’t think I’ll have to strap anyone else,” Yvette says.
“Perhaps not,” Harriet acknowledges. “And you won’t have Chris for too much longer, at any rate. Next reshuffle, I’ll give him Culture, Media, and Sport, if he’s behaved himself and learned some discipline.” She grins. “Or rather, you can give him Culture, Media, and Sport. Give a man his first Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet post, you’ve won him forever.”
“You,” Yvette says slowly, “are a genius. And far too good to me.”
“Yes,” Harriet says, and offers her the wine bottle, “I do believe I am.”
~//~
The next time Yvette has her team together, she takes a moment to look around. There’s Diana Johnson, curly hair bouncing as she laughs. There’s David Hanson, relaxed and calm. There’s Stella, smiling widely. There’s Gloria, a bit too eager to please. There’s Chris, doing his best to put everyone at ease, hands waving generously to illustrate his latest anecdote.
Yvette catches Chris’s eye, and he grins at her, a wide open smile. “Quiet now!” he orders the team, peremptorily. “Our esteemed mistress would like a word.”
Her team members’ heads swing her way, smiles on every face. They’re flying high – they’re taking the fight to the Government – they’re winning (for the moment). She looks around, and sees the hunger in their eyes. It may not be the oldest team, or the most experienced, or the least awkward - but it has talent, and it is hers.
“So,” Yvette says, and lets a smile break over her own face, full and true. “Shall we begin?”
~//~
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no subject
Date: 2011-11-10 02:32 am (UTC)Of course, the "source of all the best ideas in this fic" bit is total rubbish, especially since you came up with the idea of involving Harriet, who is against extremely stiff competition the best part of the fic. More on that when I comment properly over at the meme.
For now let me just say I'm delighted with it! For this level of awesomeness you get to make an art commission- up to three characters doing whatever you want as long as it doesn't involve complex backgrounds, because I'm lazy. (Fair warning, though- at the current rate my art queue is moving you'll probably get your artfill around February.)
no subject
Date: 2011-11-10 09:46 am (UTC)Of course, the "source of all the best ideas in this fic" bit is total rubbish,
Is NOT total rubbish. Is NOT. :D
An art commission? Eeee! I can't think...anything would be lovely, really. But perhaps, if it works, the Ed-Govey-Yvette bit from Let Me Fall? Or really anything with Cooperballs. :D
no subject
Date: 2011-11-10 10:53 am (UTC)Should be manageable. I need practice with Govey too, because he's really difficult for some reason, so it will be good for me. ;)
no subject
Date: 2011-11-10 03:12 pm (UTC)