DR. FUCKING KNOW

"I'm the one who should be sorry, Malcolm. I never should have involved you with this. Seeing you hurt... it..." she stopped talking and sat down on the floor next to him. It was like a dam broke loose, and she began to cry. It was a culmination of stress from the attempted takeover, the break-in, and seeing Malcolm again. "I would take a beating myself before I'd ever want you to be hurt because of me."

"This is a mistake. I should have walked out of your office. But I couldn't help myself. Stupid heart wants what it wants."

"I dinnae... I dinnae want ye saying any of that after all the stress or what ye just saw happen in here, luv. Save it for later, please. When yer clearheaded and I'm not on the verge of passing out as well."

She sighed quietly. She didn’t want to have this discussion in his car. But she owed him this. “You know I want to become Secretary of State for Defence. I want to make a difference with the intelligence services. But I’ve been thinking that there might be a time limit on how long I want to remain in service. I’ve already served as Home Secretary longer than most.”

For a moment, he wasn't quite sure what to say. He squeezed her hand again, then sighed. "Right, sorry," he admitted. "I'm a fuckin' wanker. Ignore me, alright?"

He had his own issues to work through. If anything, the last however fucking long had been spent being solely focused on her. Just now, everything going to his head, he'd expected her to say that this marriage wasn't worth the work. What she actually said, however, was far different.

As they pulled into the long drive, eventually parking by the house, he turned towards her and watched her for a moment. His expression was soft, open. Vulnerable, even.

"This was a marriage of convenience," he began. "When everything first started, back then. It was for work. It was... because we were being blackmailed with intimate photographs of us in yer office. Do ye remember all that? We were distant, cold. Quiet. Kept tae ourselves. Stopped having sex then, too. We just... werenae present. It was all for work. And then ye were... kidnapped, and it changed everything. I realized I loved ye. I realized it was far more than just convenience. It was real."

After, when they were all settled in chatting, he was happy to listen. Mundane conversation wasn't something he engaged in a lot of the time, most of the time he had little desire for it. But there was something different about this time. And with the upheaval that would be upon them soon, and the extra work — and though he would never admit it, stress — an evening of this was superb.

Anthea caught him watching an oblivious Mycroft and she smiled to herself, something soft and knowing, and he cleared his throat as he turned to listen to Sam prattle on about the puppy escapades and how the cats were fairing with the madness in their home.

"And I suppose you do know what it's like from when you were away. Letters only go so far, right?"

He squeezed James' fingers before awkwardly drawing away to reach for his glass of wine. He sipped at it, sighing afterward. "Letters. Heh. Cannae say I got a single one of those while I was in prison. Did talk tae my sister and Sammy a few times, though. Jamie as well."

He wished, honestly, that he'd been able to call James somehow. Just to hear his voice. To talk. To give him something to keep him going. He remembered that feeling all too well, no matter how much time had actually passed since then.

He lifted his gaze and placed his own order, cautious and mindful of exactly what he chose. He enjoyed the food yes, and he was touched that Malcolm had chosen this particular spot with him in mind, but he was still careful.

With nods, Malcolm noticed that everyone seemed satisfied. The remainder of the night was spent in good company with excellent conversation. When Malcolm noticed, after the food arrived, that Mycroft had asked for his meal without any naan, he quietly slipped a piece of his onto the man's plate. It was just a small gesture, something considerate and sweet, and he didn't mind sharing. Little things like that meant a lot to Mycroft, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

His eyes dropped to their hands and the gentle touch there, revelling in it. He exhaled another slow breath, calming the way his heart seemed to be doing something in his chest.

"It's a nice thought, anyway. It helped me a fuckton while I was in prison." He huffed a soft, stupid laugh. "I missed ye that entire time."

He never said as much but he knew James had kept his place safe (and paid for) while he was away in prison. He was thankful for it. His sister couldn't have helped him all on her own. It was too much for her to do.

Once at the table Mycroft smiled at the small gathering, drawing a seat out for Anthea and tucking it in beneath her as she settled, then he took his own seat, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit jacket.

Sam jumped in, beginning to explain the entire situation (in hushed tones), and they all listened carefully. Jamie occasionally piped in, along with Malcolm whenever it was necessary. Anthea was silent, taking notes from their impromptu meeting before a server arrived to take their orders.

"Usually is a good time," he noted, his fingers still curved Malcolm's on the table and he lifted his glass to his lips to take a steady sip of deep amber, regarding the liquid as he swirled it in the glass after, watching as it caught the light.

"Yer missed," he murmured. "And more than just sometimes."

This conversation had been coming for a long time. Malc understood that, and although it wasn't pretty and it might have ached, it had to eventually happen. Taking a wee chance, he let his thumb glide along James' knuckles and settle just over the space between his forefinger and thumb, sweet and gentle.

He exhaled a slow breath, his chest tight with something he couldn't really fathom and certainly didn't have the words for. His line of work put the breaks on any further speculation or contemplation of the complex feelings surrounding it, because Malcolm had been quite right. His line of work meant things weren't ever simple, it didn't allow for happy endings. Just endings.

"Thank you," his voice was a low, steady timbre. A deep burr that said some of the things that he couldn't. Shouldn't say.

Exhaling a breath he took another sip of scotch, allowing it to sit on his tongue for a moment, grounding him, then he swallowed.

Everything inside of him ached. It was the closest he had ever come to something since the loss of his wife, and while it was right there in front of him, he still couldn't have it. James lived a complicated life. In the meantime, Malcolm blinked away any tears, feeling a bit silly for it, and cast a glance down at his empty pasta bowl.

Kate felt helpless, and watching Malcolm fight this man was tearing her heart to pieces. Malcolm was taking a beating, and it was her fault. She spied her cane propped up by the fireplace. Before she could consider the wisdom of her actions, she grabbed it and bashed the intruder on the back of the head with it. He went down like a sack of wet cement, out cold.

"Jesus Christ, luv. For fuck's sake. I... I think... I think I'm alright." He paused, taking inventory of everything that hurt. His face was a mottled, bloody mess, hands too, his ribs ached, knees hurt, arse was sore. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I havenae been in a fight since I was about sixteen. I'd like tae just... get us home, aye? After these fuckin' police come, obviously. Arseholes. Would ye mind driving later for us?"

Dazed, he turned to look at the crumpled heap on the floor. Maybe he was the only intruder. Maybe there had been more men than just him. Either way, at least they had one of them.

Mycroft, of course, was working. He was in his office, reading through some correspondence before his next meeting and he glanced at his phone, resting face up on the edge of the desk, when it dinged.

Malcolm's name flashed across the screen and he delicately placed his pen aside and reached for the device. He quickly read through the message.

Excellent. Dinner sounds charming, I look forward to it.

MH.

Anthea walked in at that moment, looking up from her own phone to inform him that the car had arrived for his next appointment. She also spared him a secret little smirk.

Anthea, naturally, is on board.

In the recess of Malcolm's mind, he was wondering if he could coax another meal out of Mycroft someday soon, maybe just the two of them. Any sort of flirtatious comment went over the poor man's head. He would have be careful about it and not just scare him away. But if there was anyone that Malcolm was more than willing to try again with, after losing his wife decades prior, than it was probably him. Sad, perhaps, but true. He wasn't even entirely sure that Mycroft felt those sorts of emotions, but perhaps it was well worth the try.

Sam glanced over at Malcolm, surprised to find him lost in thought. She reached out to gently brush his hand with hers. "Y'okay?" she whispered.

He started, laughing at himself. "Yeah, luv. Just fine. It's been a long day is all. Ye know better than most. We had that atrocious client today, Mike, that I fought with. I'll be alright."

"And what am I to you?" He asked before he could think better of it. Before he could talk himself out of it, glutton for punishment that he was. He huffed a laugh and reached to top his glass up again, taking care to fill Malc up too, then sat back, swirling the deep, beautiful amber liquid in the glass.

"Don't answer that, you don't need to. The fact that you let me be here, drink your scotch, bleed over your future and feed me on occasion says enough."

When James asked what the plan was, Malcolm sidestepped it and answered his previous one, instead. "Whatever ye are tae me should probably be considered forbidden, given what yer line of work is," he replied honestly, never having meant anything more. He met James' eyes, something earnest there in his expression. "In any case, for that very reason, I'll just say that yer my friend. And moreover, my house will always be a safe space for ye."

That might have just been the stupidest fucking thing in the world to say, but he found that he didn't care. It was more than flirting and it always had been. Just this once, he was tired of playing games with the world. He might not have actually said the words, but James was clever and he could easily read between the lines. There was something so gut-wrenching about the way the poor man had asked what they were. It was a vulnerable moment, as if he hadn't even meant to say the words aloud. Of course, he had to muster up a fucking answer for James.

That little smirk at the edge of his mouth deepened and he lifted his glass to his lips, taking a slow, steady sip. Exactly what he wanted to hear. Now they were both naturally flirty men, but there always felt like an extra element of satisfaction when they went at it together. Something different, good.

"You joke but it is a miracle. I'm told frequently that I'm a nuisance, a nightmare and a liability." He paused. "Most of those people I do work with, though."

His teasing expression faded away for the time being. "Listen, mate. Ye really do have friends here. Sammy and Jay care about ye. Yer one of my mates. They care about me, and I care about ye. And once they fuckin' got tae know ye ages ago, they were thrilled."

She’d eventually get angry about it, but for the moment she was frightened, and she was glad Malcolm was going in with her. “I very much appreciate you dropping everything to come,” she murmured. “And I appreciate the offer of staying at yours. You’re right. It’s probably the place I’d feel the safest.”

"Stay here for a minute," he whispered. "I dinnae want ye going inside just yet."

Before doing anything, he handed her his unlocked mobile, just in case. Then he stepped into the house, glancing around. He made it down the hall before someone dressed in all black came barreling towards him. Malcolm never even had the chance to react. They went flying down to the ground together, landing in a heap. Malcolm gasped, the wind knocked from his shoulders, just before he was punched squarely in the face.

Rolling them over, he called out to Kate in a panic. "Call the fuckin' police!" And then the fight continued, both of them scrambling to their feet, landing knocks, knees, and punches. Fucking hell. Malcolm wasn't built for this sort of thing.