Fic: Not Completely Cast Away 11/12 + Epilogue
Title: Not Completely Cast Away
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Word Count of entire fic: 53,000
Synopsis: Nick has been missing presumed dead since September 2010, this is the story of what happens when he turns up alive and well five years later.
Author's note: Finally finishing up my posting of the edited version after computer meltdown meant I had to do a lot of it over again.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Didn't really happen and is unlikely to.
Chapter Eleven
Westminster was all the duller on David's return, monotonous to the extreme and full of emptiness, and worry. David found himself constantly wondering if
Nick was all right on his own; twisting his phone in his hands and trying to decide whether to call or not. He wanted to call, to hear Nick's voice, but
was not sure if it would be welcome since Nick had not made contact, not even by text, since David left three days ago.
It had never occurred to David beforehand that he might miss Nick, but he did. He missed waking up next to him and listening to his sleepy groaning.
The first morning he had been back David had stretched out his hand expecting to find Nick next to him, and had sat up startled when he realised Nick was
not there, looking around frantically until he remembered Nick was still in Devon. The second morning David had lain in bed on the brink of tears,
clutching his phone and willing Nick to call him, or for the courage to call Nick.
Odd though it was, David felt a profound sense of loneliness. It was as though a piece of his life was suddenly not there any more, and David was confused
why the four days he had spent with Nick now amounted to something other than it had been.
Something about his line of thought unsettled David and he pushed it quickly out of mind, looking at the the clock and then his diary. It was nearly six
o'clock.
David was due to make a last-minute appearance at a charity event at seven and needed to get changed before he left. He did not intend to stay long and had
only agreed to attend because it was preferable to spending the night alone in the flat above number ten, even though it would have meant he could
watch the new episode of Moyen's Game today instead of Sunday. David felt sure that doing so would only have reminded him of the way he and Nick
had curled up together to watch it in Devon, and everything that had happened since.
When David reached the Norton Rose building, he stepped out of the car and was greeted by Richard Desmond, who shook his hand and directed him inside to
where the other guests were having drinks in one of the reception lounges.
David entered the tall glass building with his security team a few steps behind him, and made polite conversation with a few of the other attendees until
he spotted Simon standing by one of the flower arrangements, listening attentively to an attractive blonde while his hand lingered on her forearm.
On seeing David, Simon said a few words to his companion and walked over.
‘Simon,’ David greeted him as soon as he was in earshot. ‘I didn't know you would be here.’
‘Last minute thing, rather like you, I imagine,’ Simon replied, smiling. ‘How are you? We haven't had a chance to talk since you got back.’
‘Fine. Fine,’ David nodded. ‘How– How is Nick? Did he get back to London all right?’
‘Didn't you hear?’ Simon asked with a frown. David shook his head. ‘Oh,’ Simon went on. ‘Nick isn't back in London yet. He went to Oxford to meet with his
doctor. He's staying there until Monday.’
‘Right,’ David mumbled, worried again. ‘He's all right, isn't he?’
‘Haven't you spoken to him?’
‘Not since Sunday,’ David admitted, closing his eyes as he thought of the quiet goodbye and the sad look on Nick's face. ‘I didn't want to make things more
difficult for him.’
‘I'm sure you wouldn't be,’ Simon smiled sympathetically. He patted David on the arm affectionately. ‘Why don't you call him? I'm certain he'd like to hear
from you.’
David mumbled something non-committally before they were interrupted by Richard, who wanted to introduce them both to one of the charity patrons, a
portly gentleman in his fifties who gushed unashamedly about how pleased he was that David and Simon could attend. David smiled politely for as long as he
could before excusing himself and leaving to talk to an old acquaintance he noticed arriving.
Later that night, after David had left the reception and arrived back at Downing Street, he climbed the steps to the flat and went straight to the bedroom.
It was too late to call Nick now, he decided as he lay in the dark staring up at the ceiling. He would call tomorrow.
Christ, I miss him, David thought unhappily as he drifted off to sleep.
When David turned to page six of The Telegraph on Thursday morning he was confronted by the headline: Clegg's Mysterious Coffee Companion, along
with a small, slightly blurry picture, obviously taken on a mobile phone, of Nick and a smart-looking man of around Nick's age sitting in the corner of a
coffee shop drinking tea. The man was touching Nick on the arm and Nick's gaze was downcast, his face sad.
David felt a flush of anger at the apparent familiarity of the unidentified man. He slammed the paper on the table and then, surprised at his reaction,
stood up and paced the room.
It's Nick's doctor, David told himself, because surely it must have been. Nick had not seen or spoken to anyone but himself, Simon, a few aides, and doctor Rimbaugh since
his return from Penrhyn, and Simon had mentioned that Nick was in Oxford to meet with his therapist. David wondered why Nick was spending so long there
before returning to London.
Sitting down again, David read through the short article accompanying the picture. According to the journalist, Nick had spent twenty minutes in the coffee
shop before leaving. It also mentioned that Nick was staying in the Old Bank Hotel on Oxford High Street, and had been seen returning there at around
seven-fifteen the previous evening – alone, David noted mentally, with relief he did not register.
David looked again at the picture above the article, feeling a pang of hurt for the visible sadness of Nick's expression. Clearly the other man was
attempting to comfort Nick, and David was gripped by a fierce longing to do the same, to hold Nick to him and keep holding until that unhappy look was
replaced by a smile, no matter how long that took. He could not help but feel that the reason for it being there at all was due to him; it was almost
identical to how Nick had looked when David had reluctantly kissed him goodbye and left to drive back to London.
It was partly that thought which led David to pick up his phone and write a text message.
I see you're in the paper today.
He sent it to Nick, sipping his coffee and waiting anxiously for a reply. It came less than a minute later.
Alive and in the paper? Big day for me, isn't it.
Alive?
David sent back, beginning to smile to himself without noticing.
Papers came this morning for me to sign. Now I'm officially alive as opposed to just alive, not that there's much difference.
That's good news.
David sent. He had forgotten the coroner's decision had not been reversed while they were in Devon.
Yes it is. I even got some money back, which means I don't have to borrow from Simon any more. How is London? Enjoying being back in the thick of
things?
Picking up his coffee mug, David walked through the flat to the living room and sat down on the sofa while he debated his reply.
'London is terrible and I miss you' was his first thought, and he even got so far as to type the first three words before he changed his mind.
Is that how you paid for those scones?
You know how it is, rushing around and listening to the Labour front bench bluster on about nothing.
Of course it is. Did you think I stole them? I remember what that was like. I don't miss it at all.
Actually I thought you charmed them out of the bakery with your puppy dog eyes. How is Oxford?
Puppy dog eyes? Crowded. Arthur insists on dragging me about the place though. He says it's therapeutic.
You know, that look you have that makes it impossible to say no to you. So that's how you ended up in the paper, then?
David drained his coffee mug and stood up again, feeling restless. The way Nick was answering his messages straight away gave David the impression
Nick was as eager to talk as he was, and he smiled widely as he deposited his empty cup in the sink and grabbed his jacket, intending to continue the
conversation during his walk to Parliament, and for as long as possible after he got there.
I think that look only works on you, David. :) If it is then there will only be more of it. Which paper? So I can avoid it today.
Telegraph, page six. But I haven't read the others yet so it could be in those, too.
Hm, no denying the 'puppy dog eyes' work on you. I'll take that as a good sign. Damn, Arthur is here, I have to go. It was good to talk to you,
and thanks for telling me about the paper!
David spent the weekend making the final preparations for a statement he was due to give in the house on Tuesday afternoon, after Simon's question session
was over, and swapping text messages with Nick, very regular text messages. He still had not worked up the courage to call Nick, but since Nick had shown
no sign of wanting him to, David continued with the text conversation they were having, happy they were talking at all.
On Monday morning he hopped out of bed and slung on his dressing gown, immediately taking up his phone. Nick would be back in London today and David was
going to suggest they should see each other, perhaps have dinner together. He sent off a text saying just that as he waited for the kettle to boil.
There was no answer.
Not thinking anything of it – perhaps Nick was busy – David drank his coffee and read the morning papers before taking a shower and getting dressed. He
checked his phone for a reply from Nick as he made his way downstairs and when there was still nothing, David began to feel a little uneasy, but dismissed
the feeling as pure paranoia. Nick was not awake, or was out somewhere with Arthur, or even on his way back to London and somewhere with no signal.
He made his way along Whitehall to Parliament and walked to George's office, knocking on the door and going inside.
‘Morning, George,’ David greeted him cheerfully.
‘Oh, good morning,’ George commented as David sat down. ‘I didn't expect to see you until later. Thought you'd be at the airport.’
‘The airport?’ David echoed questioningly. He flipped through his briefcase for the notes he had made the night before, frowning and wondering what George
was talking about. ‘Why would I be?’
‘Isn't Nick's flight today?’ George asked, looking up from his own papers, which were spread out on the low table in the middle of the room.
‘He didn't say anything to me about a holiday,’ David answered, slipping out of his suit jacket and leaving it on the arm of his chair.
‘Oh,’ George exclaimed, his eyes widening. ‘I thought he would have told you.’
‘Told me what?’
‘That he's going back to Penrhyn,’ George said. ‘Danny said he called last night and asked–’
‘What do you mean he's going back to Penrhyn?’ David interrupted, jumping to his feet.
‘That's what Danny told me earlier. He said Nick–’
David did not wait for George to finish. He grabbed his jacket and crossed the room, flinging the office door open. Then he stopped and turned back to
George.
‘What airport?!’ he demanded.
‘Heathrow,’ George replied. ‘But David–’
‘What time is the plane?’ David cut in. George looked at him, brow furrowed.
‘Ten-fifteen,’ he stated.
It was five past nine. Heathrow was a forty minute drive, at least. It would be close but perhaps he could get there before Nick got on the plane.
Why didn't he tell me?
David thought desperately as he rushed through the corridor, his heart racing and his mouth dry. Anguish welled in his chest and he realised he was
close to tears, distraught at the thought of Nick leaving, of losing him.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, David grappled with his phone, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from people as he passed them. He fumbled with
the earpiece, dropping it on the floor as he tried to fix it behind his ear, stumbling blindly ahead as he grabbed it up and shoved it roughly in place.
‘Nick,’ he said into the phone, waiting impatiently as the voice recognition dialled.
The number you have dialled is currently unavailable, please leave a message.
Twice more David called, each time he was transferred straight to Nick's voicemail.
‘Fuck,’ David cursed, leaving the building and heading back along Whitehall toward Downing Street at a brisk pace, his blood pounding so loudly in his ears
he almost did not hear the footfalls of his security team rushing along behind him. Once through the gate he headed for his car, parked at the end of
the street, and instructed the driver to take him to Heathrow.
As he slid into the back and shut the door he threw his phone down on the seat next to him, leaving the earpiece behind his ear as he repeated Nick's name
and waited to be connected.
‘Nick,’ he said frantically after the beep. ‘Nick, I don't know if you will get this. I'm on my way to the airport. Please, Nick, don't leave. Don't get on
the plane.’
Jabbing at the disconnect button as the car moved along Whitehall, David reached down and slotted the earpiece hastily back into its holder.
‘Come on, come on,’ he mumbled anxiously at the lights around Parliament square, as each second they stayed red made him feel like he would not make it in
time.
The drive to Heathrow was agonising. David muttered and cursed under his breath each time they got stuck in traffic, and watched the clock on the interior
display ticking closer and closer to ten-fifteen. It was five to ten by the time the car pulled up to the roundabout that led to the terminals, and the
intercom fizzed to life.
‘Which terminal, sir?’ the driver asked.
Suddenly realising he had no idea which of the five Nick's flight was leaving from, David's heart sank. He quickly picked up his phone and rang
George, cutting through the hurried questions about whether he was all right and asking, ‘What terminal is Nick's flight leaving from?’
‘I don't think you'll make it in time, David,’ George answered.
‘Just tell me,’ David shouted, bristling with anger and worry.
‘Four, terminal four,’ George sighed. ‘KLM flight 1028 to Amsterdam.’
David hung up without another word and pressed the intercom button.
‘Terminal four,’ he told the driver, flopping back in his seat as the car began to move again. He looked at the clock; one minute to ten.
I'm not going to make it, he thought. I hope he got my message.
Rushing straight from the car when it pulled up to the entrance, David ran into the terminal and up to the information desk.
‘Amsterdam, flight 1028,’ he wheezed at the male attendant, leaning against the counter as he tried to slow his breathing.
‘Too late for that one,’ the attendant answered, beginning to click at a keyboard. ‘Next flight to Amsterdam is–’
‘Gate, what gate?’ David interrupted.
‘No gate, it's ready for take off.’
‘No,’ David sobbed, turning away as tears started to sting his eyes. He walked through the terminal to the large windows that faced the runway and looked
out at the taxiing planes, spotting the distinctive blue and white design of a KLM Airbus disappearing out of sight behind the far end of the terminal
building.
David looked at the departure board, at the listing for Nick's flight and the words 'gate closed' in capital letters next to the flight number. It blinked
as the screen updated a few minutes later, and AIRBORNE 10:16 appeared.
Leaving the window, David walked slowly back to the car, saying nothing more to the driver than ‘Downing Street’ as the man held the door open for him. In
the privacy of the back of the car, David sat numbly, leaning forward and staring at the floor.
Nick had said he wanted to go back to Penrhyn, that he missed it and wished sometimes he had stayed, but David had not thought he was
speaking with any real intention to actually go back.
Yes, Nick was having considerable trouble in adjusting, seemed to struggle with things even when David had been with him, but David had honestly thought
Nick was coping remarkably well, considering all he had been through. Had he been so wrong in his judgement, or so blinded by confusion over his
own feelings he had missed how Nick really felt?
Sitting back in his seat as he realised he had forgotten to put on his seat belt, David puzzled over what he would do once he arrived back in
Westminster as he pulled it across his chest and clicked the catch home. Nick's flight was to Amsterdam, and presumably there would be a connecting flight
from there to somewhere closer to the Cook Islands. He recalled reading that Nick had gone through Los Angeles International during his return to the UK.
The information was not useful, however, since David could hardly contact any of the airports Nick might use and cause an international incident over...
what was this anyway?
In his haste to reach the airport David had not really thought about why he wanted so desperately for Nick to stay. He only knew he felt a keen
panicky sensation whenever he thought he might not see Nick again, an enormous and oppressing feeling of emptiness that loomed darkly overhead, ready
to swallow him whole.
How could everyone else be so calm about this? Surely they must feel the same sense of loss and confusion and heartbreak David did? Someone, at least
one person out of the people Nick had told, must have told Nick they wanted him to stay. Surely?
Either they had not or Nick had not listened, and David felt suddenly furious that none of them had told him of the situation before this morning. Clearly
the knowledge was common enough that George had heard, why not himself?
By the time he arrived back in Westminster, David was fuming. His face reddened and his eyes narrow with rage, he stormed into the first office his
feet carried him to, unaware it was Simon's until he opened the door without knocking.
‘Out,’ David snapped at the young female aide who was sitting with Simon. The woman jumped up and scurried from the room, looking shocked and a little
frightened.
‘Steady on, David,’ Simon said, eyebrows raised in surprise at David's abrupt entrance. ‘There's no need to scare the poor girl.’
‘Why didn't you tell me?’ David demanded, his voice high and angry. He walked to Simon's desk and placed his palms flat against the surface, leaning
forward and looking at Simon furiously.
‘Tell you what?’ Simon asked.
‘About Nick,’ David shouted. ‘That he was leaving.’ Simon stared at him in confusion.
‘I thought Nick told you,’ he said. ‘I didn't know myself until last night when he called and said he wouldn't need a place to stay.’
‘And you agreed?’ David exclaimed loudly. ‘You just let him go back without even trying to stop him?’ He stomped his way across the floor to the window and
stood there in silence, trying to restrain his anger.
‘Stop him? Why would I stop–’
‘Why?’ David yelled, wheeling around to face Simon again. ‘You mean to tell me you think it's a good idea for him to go back there?’
‘Not at first, but after he explained it, it made a lot of sense. I don't understand why you're so worked up,’ Simon frowned.
‘Because I love–’ David snapped his mouth shut, eyes wide as he realised what he had been about to say. He sank down onto the nearest chair, trembling and
breathing hard. Simon tilted his head to one side, a kindly half-smile replacing his frown.
‘I did wonder how long I would have to watch you wallowing around here before you realised that,’ Simon said. He got up and put his hand on David's
shoulder, squeezing gently.
‘What?’ David mumbled, still reeling.
The words milled around inside his head, tumbling over themselves with a sort of hypnotic fascination, as if they had been there all along, waiting to be
recognised.
I love Nick. I love Nick. I love Nick.
‘I said I wondered–’ Simon started, but then stopped, studying David carefully for a few moments. He crossed the room and poured a measure of whisky into
one of the crystal glasses that sat on the bureau, returning to where David was sitting in stunned silence and handing it to him. ‘I think you could use
this, judging by the look on your face.’
‘I– Thank you,’ David replied, downing the whisky in one gulp and feeling it burn his throat.
‘Of all the places where I thought the penny might drop, I never dreamed it would be while you were standing in my office,’ Simon chuckled, taking the
empty glass from David's hand. He reached out and put it on the edge of his desk.
‘Sorry,’ David breathed.
‘Oh, don't be. I feel honoured, in a strange sort of way.’ Simon waved his hand. ‘At least now I won't have to put up with the pair of you pining. I swear
I've wanted to bash your heads together this past week, anyone can see you're completely smitten with each other.’
‘Then why did he leave?’ David asked sadly. He lowered his head, feeling upset all over again by Nick's return to Penrhyn. ‘He didn't even say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ Simon echoed, sounding lost. Then David heard him gasp, and Simon's hand was gently patting his back.
‘No wonder you stormed in here looking ready to hang me from the rafters,’ Simon said. He rubbed David's back vigorously a few times before adding, ‘He's
coming back, you know.’
‘What?’ David squeaked, his head snapping up.
‘Nick,’ Simon smiled. ‘He went to Penrhyn with Doctor Rimbaugh, some sort of farewell as part of his therapy, and to collect his belongings. He's not
staying there, David. He will be back on Saturday.’