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"I'm the man to do it?" George seemed baffled. Understandably so. "I get not trusting David, the man's been looking for an excuse to resign, but what about the others? Tim, David-our David, Andrew, Oliver, even William. Any one of them would do."

George had a brilliance about him, if he could only truly understand it. Everyone thought it'd be men like Tim or either of the David's who could do it, but George was different. He was the true chameleon, willing to adapt himself to the situation entirely. It was a gift, unless you were one of those who took the view of dying in the trenches being the greatest of glories.

If he seemed cynical, it was because the past year had helped him in that. You had Gordon saying, with a straight face, that Labour could be the party of Keynesian thinking when he had started a path that contradicted the very principles of Keynes. Save in the good times, spend in the bad ones. He had been the one to truly stick with Keynesian principles, and he got accusations of being a murderer to thank for it.

That went especially so for the LibDems. In what world was removing two party leaders in four years stability? The worst he had was David-the man who seemed desperate to resign-'quietly' briefing the press, and Clarke chucking bombs from the backbenches. At his more irritable moments, he wondered whether the only reason that the man stayed around was to spite the party.

"George," The Prime Minister said, cleaning his glasses. "Considering how it's all gone to tits, it has to be you. You're Mr Investment. Before you, I had William getting all the stick for being around when this happened. We're getting mid-20s at best, and I'm as beloved as AIDS. David's decent, but he's too prone to faffing about. Besides, he's an Old Etonian. Who's going to give him a majority?"

"I'm guessing Rachel has a role in this?" George raised an eyebrow.

Yes, he had to admit, she did play a role. David never quite forgave him for keeping her on, not after that whole incident. She was the person that kept things go, however, and you don't get rid of your assets because of personal issues. Of course, if it was his father-in-law, he doubt he'd have been so focused on the political side.

"We can't have our best people being kicked out. Besides, if that was the only reason, I'd have gone for Andrew or Oliver." He looked at George intensely. "It has to be you. Oliver prefers the background, Andrew can't beat David, and William is still the man who let Northern Rock die. I made you Chancellor for a reason. You can beat Brown, I've seen it before."

George's eyes gleamed at that. "I will admit, getting the raging inferno in a mess is fun," He smiled, before turning serious again. "David's still-"

"The leader? George, I know you two are close, but this is a multi-round system." Eyes motioned to the outside of Downing Street. "Tim'll likely run, and David would be mad to lock him out because of it. We need someone to beat Davis, and be Prime Minister, and I think you're the man for it."

It was a small victory that he managed to make George pause. "I'll need to talk to Frances. Get her view of it all."

"Take your time, I'm giving it a week before making the leap. I may not even do it." He promised and lied. First half was a promise, second a lie. He was going, whether George was ready or not. "Just give it some thought."

George left, and he was all alone. As the sun started getting into his eyes, he moved to close the curtains, preferring the comfort of silence from within the dark. Private Eye would have a field day with it, but he didn't care. It was all going to be irrelevant any way.

Everyone had been gunning for him. It all started with people's inability to accept no for an answer. The only thing that saved his balls from the fire was something he thought would doom him. Wild attacks, claims that Paxman didn't even have his next guest ready for why he wouldn't let the point go. At that point, the Prime Minister thought that that would be the end of it all.

From what he heard, afterwards, it was a broadcasting mistake that showed that he was right about it. Once he saw that image, he leapt upon it. Making up some guff about journalism being more about the gotcha moment and less about informing beyond prejudice, he ended with a line on interviewers asking questions and accepting the answers they got, not the one they wanted.

Recorded as a man saving himself from certain doom. He didn't think so. All the polls and focus groups thought that he came off as vindictive and arrogant, but the key thing was that he didn't look like an idiot. A bastard who knew what he was doing was a welcome change. In a government that couldn't go two weeks without someone fucking something, or Cabinet Ministers attacking each other, he had a valuable commodity.

Competence.

William almost left him in the dirt. People around him were telling him all about how it was his time. Widdecombe even moved to stab him in the back, if it weren't for Paxman. Maybe she thought it'd be poetic justice, helping him get the boot in what he missed last time. Too bad she underestimated the man's loathing of just about everyone in politics.

Getting the party to change was like pulling teeth. At least Europe became a question of how much we didn't like it, bar a few golden oldies and backroom boys who didn't get the memo. The Pro-Euro Tories were a squib, everyone knew the founders wanted a pair of sandals and a beard, and Howard kept the focus on gradual and careful reform.

But he kept at it, didn't he? Yes, the first election wasn't a thundering success, but what did they expect? Growing economy, no Euro referendum to get people mad, and Britain's love-affair turned out to be more than just a fling. He got a few hits in, the fuel crisis was one, even if it only got them an extra percent at most, and the double-resignation of Peter Mandelson. Prince of the Dark Arts? Yeah, if by Dark Arts they meant what came out of your arse.

The public sector reforms got the Left mad, and he sensed an opportunity. Maybe they would have done, and even extended, these policies in office (in fact, they did), but when you're below two hundred seats and your otherwise-juggernaut of an enemy looks to have a weakness, you attack it. Cynical, maybe, but it made Labour sweat. Once Charlie Kennedy cut off the marriage, the blood began to show, exposed to danger.

All around him, the signs were there. The New Labour giant was beginning to bleed. Frank Field's reforms got Gordon in a huff, especially when the costs starting coming in, and the Left were finding an excuse to rise up. The week of doctors and patients telling Blair of how bad the NHS was getting gave the campaign some direction, all shine and no real improvement in public services.

One hundred and ninety-eight seats was not a bad job. It was even respectable. For all the Clarke-fans claiming that he wasn't going far enough, and all of the Right who thought he was leading to the party to their doom, he was making the best of it.

Iraq. The source of his troubles for years, and then of his successes. He had been sceptical, the idea of Saddam being able to attack London in 45 minutes just felt...off to him. Many of the bright young things he promoted bought it, however, and swallowed it whole. That was their problem, even with George. They all thought Blair had some kind of magic to him, instead of luck and a good poker-face.

It wasn't just them, but the party as well. The Special Relationship, and finishing the job started in the Gulf War appealed to the lot of them.

Every time he confronted the Prime Minister on it, he got some rambled ravings about him being Neville Chamberlain reborn. It took everything the Whips had to keep the backwoodsmen from cheering those taunts, while the press showed no such mercy. They loved him for a brief moment, when he got the job, before they turned on him again.

Not the party, just him. Cook and Short resigning together managed to get about a third of the Labour Party to vote against, and to this day he remembered each and every one of the people on his side who backed the war but stuck with him. The Iraq War went through easily, but at least he could say he stuck with his conscience.

He kept the government accountable, even as the attacks rose, and the whispers grew louder. There were moments where he thought he was sunk. Had William decided to resign and demand a vote, his goose would have been cooked.

But he was vindicated.

The war turned into a slog, everyone knew Hutton was a sham, Blair and Brown were reaching for each other's throats as time went on, and the LibDems kept hammering away at Labour. One of Blair or Brown's minions tried to go personal on Kennedy, pulling the drink card, but all it did was backfire for a few months.

Everyone with doubts quickly shut up, as the polls narrowed, and he gained a new freedom. Modernisation continued in the same quiet way it always did, but he wasn't quiet any more. Every chance he got, he advertised his voting against Iraq. While Blair backed Bush, it was Kerry who almost got the hug from him.

Now, it seemed like a distant memory. Oh, the new President was good for a photo-op, a reminder of who was friends with who, and who had to beg for forgiveness to get a 'drop-in' from the young and popular man of Change.

Chaos at home, no spine abroad, whether over the Middle East or the EU Constitution, victory seemed close.

A Hung Parliament was ideal, especially with winning the English vote. He had Blair by the balls, and was ready to squeeze. Gordon Brown wasn't known for playing nice with others, and it was only a matter of time before he'd get them. In the end, Blair seemed determined to impale himself on his sword, and take the party with him.

The commentators and book-writers loved it, the last and principled stand of a man who could have played it safe, been popular forever, and did nothing. Personally, the Prime Minister didn't see the virtues of being all but called Lord Haw Haw and a British Petain, and it might have gotten him mad if it didn't lead to his victorious entry into Downing Street.

From there, the world was his oyster. Murdoch was forced to come to him, to regain his valued sense of importance, and he made sure people knew it was Britain that got its roar back. A referendum lock on all EU Treaties and transferences of sovereignty, a continuance of Blair's 'good work' in the public sector, and a speedy withdrawal from Iraq. Oh, the neo-cons wailed about that, but he was Prime Minister and he had been proven right.

From the Rebate, to the Constitution, to Lisbon, he stayed firm. No endorsement of YES on Lisbon until repatriation of powers, no rebate shift until changes to the CAP started. Granted, the latter became an existential slog, and the former needed two NO landslides before people got the message. The 2009 Euros still went shit, unless you were UKIP or Labour.

On the bright side, he did get an 'extension' on the delay in opening borders. Sometime between 'when the Sun had heat-death' and 'never', or rather when a more pliable Prime Minister would get into office in the eyes of the EU. Some say he alienated the lot and ruined relations for decades, he'd say he defended British interests.

Bercow defected, balancing the budget again was harder than it looked, and the world economy went and died. It was the middle of 2009, and people were already panicking about a new 1997. He accepted a deficit, focusing on spending to fuel recovery. Labour and the LibDems wanted more and more, and the government tried to play keep-up.

In the end, it was clear what needed to be done. He had seen all of this before, and knew what could have been done to save the damage. All of Britain's hate was concentrated on a single man, and that man was him. So long as he remained Prime Minister, people were going to be calling for his head. By extension, his own party would be torn apart in the crossfire.

As much as he didn't like it. He had only one option. The only thing he had left to deny Brown his prize, and keep all the people waiting for him to fail from getting the satisfaction of forcing him out of power. They wanted him to fail, for not being the man they wanted. Practicality was a virtue more loathed than people liked to think, but he kept to it.

He took risks. Even now you had Montgomerie lamenting how awful it was that Britain only spent a few years in Iraq, how cynical the government was. The London luvvies moaned about the Licence Fee payments falling after decriminalisation, and his referendum lock, but he did it anyway. This was even a roll of the dice.

Seeing if the markets wouldn't go mad, if he could keep Davis out, if the right man could get in. If it worked out, they had a chance of staying in, of avoiding having to see Brown awkwardly grin his way into Downing Street, of keeping Huhne from nabbing their seats. If it didn't, then they were pretty fucked anyway.

The public knew what they wanted, and the Prime Minister was going to give it to them. When it came to what had to be done, he was thinking exactly what the British people were thinking.

Let them howl and cackle at the thought of me leaving, He thought staring out of the windows of Downing Street. I'll be the one to enjoy the look on their faces when I resign. They're not staking Michael Howard's corpse that easily.
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