therealpm

Hey there, birthday boy. You're not looking very festive. Why are you strapped to the bed?

*Not that Peter is likely to answer. She turns to ask Nigel, who let her into the cell, but the idiot Tory has vanished back down the hallway. Fiona sighs, sets her packages down, and comes over to the bed to untie Peter.*

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It's special therapy to work out the kinks in my back.

*He rubs his wrists as she unstraps them , trying to get some circulation back.*

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*She can't help but notice that his wrist is bandaged. She looks at it dubiously, but Peter trying to top himself seems so out of character that she'd feel like an idiot asking. Besides, if he was going to attempt suicide he'd definitely wait until after his birthday so he could collect his presents first.*

I'm glad you've finally decided to do something about that ridiculous stoop. Here, I got you some cake.

*She reaches into her bag and pulls out a box containing a slice of chocolate layer cake.*

I'd have got you a whole one but I figured you'd eat a slice and then feed the rest to Osborne. I'm not subsidising desserts for Tories.

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Thank you.

*Peter rests the cake carefully on the board to which his right arm had previously been strapped. He is surprised, and inwardly a little pleased, to note that Fiona's comment elicits a greater desire to roll his eyes, than to curl up in a small ball and sob. Progress.*

At my age, one does have to watch one's figure.

I hear Osborne has had some bad luck with a ticket inspector...?

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We're not mentioning trains right now.

Here's your present.

*She fishes out a flat packet, artistically wrapped in a Waterstones bag with a piece of tape tamping down the open end. Fiona adds to the drama and mystery of Peter's birthday surprise with the following announcement.*

It's Polly Toynbee's book about how shit the Government are and how they plan to destroy Britain. I know you're not on speaking terms since she dubbed you a "venal has-been", but it's a good read.

Edited Date: 2012-10-21 08:05 pm (UTC)

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*Jack's excited yapping gives advanced warning of Alastair's arrival. When they reach the cell, he takes a tin of dog food from his jacket pocket and tosses it to Peter.*

Happy birthday, granddad. You can keep that for yourself or use it to bribe this little pup not to run away from you, it's your call. Of course, this is in addition to your main present, namely my very generous agreement to sort out...

*He glances at Fiona and pauses, then gives her a kiss on the head and an awkward smile.*

... that thing that needed sorting out. Hello, dear.

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*Peter catches the tin, examines it, and considers flinging it right back at Alastair's head when he reads the label, but his arms are tired. All of him is. Instead he calls to Jack who, whilst still wary, doesn't run away this time and allows Peter to lean over as far as the IV line will allow to scratch his ears.

Peter carefully ignores the second half of Alastair's comments, preferring to unwrap Fiona's gift with as charming a smile as he can manage whilst still taking insufficient panikillers.*

Thank you, Fiona. As you can see, my books have been confiscated so any reading material is greatly appreciated.

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Your books were confiscated? What, was Bercow afraid you would papercut him to death with the pages?

*Belatedly Fiona registers Alastair's last comment. She looks up at him suspiciously.*

What thing?

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Let's face it, if anyone would, Peter would.

*It's difficult to lie to that look, but equally telling the truth doesn't look very inviting at the moment, either.*

Well - it's Peter's thing, really. His business, not mine. I think he's in a much better position to answer your question than I am.

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I will forgive that slur on my character this once.

*'You naughty bastard!'

Peter rearranges his face into one of polite curiosity.*

I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea of what you're talking about, Alastair.

*He thumbs through the book.*

It is very readable.

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That's about as believable as your fucking boyfriend's "We're all in it together" line. And all this evasion is giving me the distinct impression I will not like this whatever-it-is at all.

Alastair. What. Did. You. Do.

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I didn't do anything out of line! I didn't. I did a favour for a damsel in distress and it didn't hurt anyone and it only involved a little light chatting to old journalist pals about a trivial little nothing.

*Oddly, he doesn't think she looks terribly satisfied by this.*

Involving how not-corrupt John is. Come on, you don't want everyone thinking John's corrupt, do you?

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*Peter quietly raises the book in front of his face. Alastair can deal with this one.*

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Dammit. PETER! What did you ask him to do!?

Your damsel in distress had better not be fucking Tony!

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Yes, Peter, I really think you should be chipping in here! It was your idea, after all...

*He firmly pushes the book down away from Peter's face and glares at him, half annoyed, half pleading.*

Fiona, improbable as it sounds, this is one of the few things to happen over the past two decades that has absolutely nothing to do with Tony. The worst distress he gets in these days involves working out how much to tip his fucking pedicurist.

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*Peter sends Alastair a glare as the book is pushed aside, then adjusts his expression for Fiona.*

Tony wasn't involved in the slightest. John simply decided that his PR team should consist of one summer intern and was terribly distressed when that didn't work so well in a crisis.

It needed a little... mopping up.

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*Fiona contemplates this, and decides it does sound plausible. Alastair would have been a lot more evasive if Tony was actually involved.*

Hmm. All right, fine. I'll let you off for dragging him back into the spin game this once.

*She turns to Alastair.*

Promise me this was a one-off, and you're not taking it up again.

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Scout's honour. He dragged me off the wagon and I am now firmly back on it - 'clearing up self-inflicted fiascos for idiots' hasn't been in my job description for years, and I'm very happy with that state of affairs, thanks very much.

*He side-eyes Peter sternly.*

You're more trouble than you're worth. I should have made it a double Kitkat.

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*Peter rolls his eyes and returns to reading his new book.*

Do let me know once you've finished, I want to check if the butter's melted in that mouth of yours.

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*Fiona leans up to kiss him on the cheek.*

I'll hold you to that, darling.

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chrisbrilliant.livejournal.com

*It is at this opportune moment that Alastair's phone rings*

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You can trust me, dear -

*He takes out his phone and reflexively answers it without more than a cursory glance at the caller ID.*

Yeah, who or what is it?

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chrisbrilliant.livejournal.com

Alastair, thank goodness. It's Chris Bryant.

Have you seen the papers today?

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Oh good, my third-favourite Welshman.

I have seen the Guardian and, more importantly, I have been online. As far as I could tell, nobody has so far had anything to say about you, but I imagine you're about to tell me otherwise.

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