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The Teacher and The Politician

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What could be worse than the omnishambles of the British Government? Mad Friday. Malcolm Tucker hated going out to public events on an ordinary day, but tonight was bloody unbearable, completely agonising. The mess that was the British Public consisted of drunken students ranging up to drunken fifty-plus year olds, all making absolute fools of themselves. He wouldn’t be caught dead doing the pissing ‘cha cha slide’ around the dance floor of Jamie’s favourite bar.  

Their day had been a trying one. Everyday was always trying. Malcolm loathed his job at times, but deep down it was his entire being. It consisted of shouting, torturing stupid imbeciles and taking the piss out of Oliver Reeder. All he wanted now was to go home, have couple of red bulls and satsumas before collapsing into his bed for a good hour instead of having to hold the entire government together again.

“Look, I’ve had a whisky now can we please fuck off home before I have an aneurysm.” Malcom groaned, wiping his hand over his tired face. Jamie had forced him out for ‘a drink’ and Malcom had already argued that ‘a drink’ meant just one.

“One more Malcolm, and this time you can’t fucking neck the cunt, this shit is good.” He retorted, already calling over the bartender to pour them both another.

Malcolm watched the liquid pour into the glass as he sat, hunched over on his seat at the bar, the music was getting on his nerves, but the alcohol helped. The music, combined with the screaming and shouting and swearing of the drunken yobs in the bar was just one of the many reasons why the aging spin doctor despised the festive period. He turned his head to gaze over the mass of party-goers, all under the influence. That was the thing, for them it took three, maybe four drinks before they were completely rat-arsed, but for Malcolm and his now adapted biology, it took much longer. He wasn’t opposed to having a few drinks to get him through the stress of 10 Downing Street.

However, something across the dance floor attracted his attention or rather someone did. A young woman. The short brunette appeared to be trying to push away some drunken fool who was moving a little too close for her taste. She looked around, for her friends? For assistance? Malcolm was about to say something to Jamie about her when she shouted at the younger man. The Director of Communications couldn’t hear or make out what she said but he was guessing it was along the lines of ‘fuck off creep’.

Whatever it was appeared to anger him. The man snatched her wrist as she moved to push him away, causing her to stumble towards him. He took his chances and made his move. The next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, hard and uncomfortable. The stench and taste of alcohol repulsed her. He squeezed her wrist tighter, trying to stop her fighting back.

That was it.

Malcolm didn’t care in the slightest whom he tripped over, barged into or spilt the drink of on his way over to them. Jamie was calling for him to come back unaware. He hated men like that. Individuals who thought they were God’s fucking gift.

Tucker put his large hand on the man’s shoulder and pulled him back with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, possibly from the built-up stress of his job.

“Oi fuckwit, she said back off!” he hissed.

The woman managed to move back, however she did not stand down. Up with a lightening fast speed came her hand as it connected with the creep’s jaw. Adrenaline ran through her body as she seethed. Malcolm was quite surprised.

Small but mighty. He allowed himself a smirk before turning to the man, nursing his face after the blow. Malcolm’s eyes darkened, his silver brows furrowing – attack eyebrows.

“You fucking touch anyone like that again and I’ll personally make sure you spend the rest of the fucking year in a bloody cell, now fuck off!” he spoke lowly, but even over the sound of the blaring music he was understood.

Once he’d gone, Malcolm turned back to the woman who was rubbing her wrist. “You alright, lass?”

“Better now, but I totally had that under control.”

“Ah, forgive me, I didn’t realise having your wrist almost broken was part of your cunning plan.”

Surprisingly, she cracked a smile. Was she sloshed too?

“I’m Clara, Clara Oswald” she stuck out her other hand for him to shake.

“And there I thought you were Mike Tyson in disguise – Malcom.” He replied and shook her hand.

Still she smiled at him.

“I suppose it’s only fitting to offer my knight in shining armour a drink?”

Malcolm again was surprised. “So, I am your knight then?’ A chuckle escaped his lips as he spoke.

“No, I just thought your ego might be a little bruised. Come on…” she nodded to the bar and he found himself following her, smirking as he went.

Jamie was impressed, Malcolm was heading back towards the bar with a young lady leading the way. He caught his best friend’s eye and raised his glass. However, Malcolm gave him a ‘watch it’ look. Only then did Malcolm realise how small she was as he watched her jump up onto the stool.

She was pulling out her phone to text her friends, where had they gone? However, knowing Amy she was probably hooking up with Rory somewhere and the rest of the group had probably moved onto another bar. Clara rolled her eyes before turning back to look at Malcolm.

“Why do you look so surprised all the time? You look like an owl.” She laughed as she waited to be served. “Sit down.”

“I don’t look like a fucking owl.” He retorted, still standing. “Fucking bossy much, considering I just did you a favour.”

Clara replied with a smirk, “Do you always swear?”

That made him laugh. “Aye, I fucking do.”

She raised her brows as she chuckled too. There was something about her that Malcolm didn’t mind so much. He found himself able to stand being around a member of the general public. Maybe it was her bossy attitude. Maybe it was the fact she was ballsy, a spitfire. Or maybe it was because of both of those features and the fact she was quite attractive. She could hold her own, and that was fascinating to him.