Disclaimer: This story is for fan purposes only. All the characters are property of their respective owners (not me!) and are used here without permission.

Acknowledgements: This story has been percolating for a long time and came from a convoluted mess of inspiration. I should start by thanking the people on Tumblr who have pointed out that Clare Holman and Peter Capaldi have played the role of married couple on more than one occasion, and that there was clarinet music in Malcolm Tucker's home that could possibly belong to Laura Hobson. So a Hobson-Tucker union is not my original idea, but I find it incredibly plausible for their younger days. I always thought that would be a fun story to write, but I realized that I lack the creativity and… umm, vocabulary… to write dialogue for Malcolm Tucker. In celebration of Peter Capaldi becoming the 12th Doctor Who, I decided it was time to just give it my best. That meant writing about Malcolm in the third person, so I offer my apologies in advance to any readers who are hoping he'll put in an appearance. Also, the Taylor Swift song White Horse is partially to blame for this story. See what I mean? A convoluted mess of inspiration…

Once upon a time, little Laura Hobson believed that her Prince Charming would ride up on a white horse and carry her off to his far away kingdom. But she often reminded herself that was in the distant past, just like Robbie Lewis' proclivity for having fun- as she had recently teased him at a sidewalk café. Yet despite many years of disillusionment, she hadn't been completely wrong. The White Horse in question was not an equine at all but rather a pub, and instead of being carried away, she was walking side by side with a man as enamored of her as she was of him, in perfect step.

Robbie Lewis and Laura Hobson maintained a hurried pace, both excited to resume what they had begun with a passionate kiss in the pub. They didn't speak, but they were both of one mind as to where they were going. They didn't let go of one another until he needed both hands to unlock the front door to his building.

Robbie was already pawing at his own tie as they entered the foyer and approached the door to his flat.

"I've never actually been inside your flat before."

"It's not much; I hope you won't be disappointed. Maybe I should ask you to close your eyes."

She laughed as she shut her eyelids and held her hands out in front of her. "Lead the way."

He opened the door, pulled her across the threshold and into his arms. He kicked the door closed as his lips found hers once more.

When they at last broke apart, they smiled lovingly at one another.

"Where are me manners? Do you want another beer, or should we switch to wine?"

"Wine would be lovely."

"Why don't you pick a bottle while I go freshen up."

"You have an impressive selection here, Robbie!"

"Erm, I keep receiving them as gifts over the years, but I don't get the opportunity to open a bottle very often. No one to share it with, I suppose."

"I shall be happy to help you in that endeavour," she said as she found glasses and he slipped off to the loo.

When he returned, they both had shed their jackets and Laura was seated on the couch with two glasses of wine poured. He joined her there, and after a few tentative sips of wine the glasses were posed back on the coffee table and they were closely snuggled together. A masculine fragrance mixed with the merlot in the air between them. "Did you just put on cologne?" She asked.

"No, just wanted to add a fresh coat of deodorant, pet."

"Charming!" she laughed, so happy to be experiencing Robbie Lewis with all her senses. As their hands and lips curiously explored one another, Laura found herself willingly gravitating towards a supine posture. However, Robbie's couch was only a love seat, so they both wrestled awkwardly, unsure of how to accommodate their legs in a small space. He was pressing her back into the arm of the couch, with more and more pressure as he anchored more of himself on to her.

"Oof!" She let out as he shifted his legs again, putting his weight on her trying to maintain his balance on the love seat.

Robbie sat up and saw her neck bent against the arm of the couch. "Sorry, love. Little out of practice." He helped her up and began rubbing her neck instead.

"That's all right, Robbie, but maybe it's time for some new throw pillows. Nice big cushiony ones."

"Throw pillows, good idea." He reckoned that maybe he should buy some new towels too. They both took a sip of wine.

"You know, Robbie, it was less than a week ago that I teased you about your misplaced sense of wild abandon. It seems I was wrong."

"Heh heh, I'm just excited, is all. But we've no need to rush, do we now, love?"

"We have all the time in the world, Robbie."

She put down her glass and reclined on the love seat with her legs tented across his lap as he sat upright. He said somewhat out of the blue, "tell me everything, Laura."

"What do you mean?"

"I've known you for years, but not the way you know me: Tyneside, the kids, and all. I've been told I wear me heart on me sleeve. In some ways, though, I hardly know you. Maybe it's me own fault because I wasn't paying enough attention, but you've always been a bit guarded too, no?" She conceded a nod. "Where were you born, Laura?"

"Not too far away- Coventry." She stopped there despite his expectant gaze.

"Is that all? Come on, Laura, you can do better than that."

"Isn't this how you interrogate suspects, Inspector?"

"No, sometimes I make Hathaway break out the thumb screws. But that won't be necessary; I have ways of making you talk." He took her left foot into his hand and removed her sock. He began to massage her foot.

"Mmm, you're very effective, Robbie. I lived with my parents and my younger brother. When I was young, I wanted to be a gymnast. I was very disciplined, obsessed with nutrition and kinesthetics. I think that's where my love of anatomy came from, but it's kind of ironic that after spending so many years training to be flexible that I would spend the rest of my life with a bunch of stiff corpses. I was quite good; I placed in several competitions both individually and as part of a team. But I wasn't good enough to compete internationally or make a career of it, so I focused on my studies. I eventually had to give up gymnastics to go to uni. That's where I gave in to a few vices: drinking, smoking, and you know…" (Robbie raised his eyebrows) "…binging on garlic bread." She smirked to let him know how much she was enjoying teasing him. "Cigarettes these days are rare of course, but I still like to have a stiff drink now and then- as you well know. After med school, I went to London and worked in a pathology lab. Made some contacts in the Met, and ended up in forensics."

"But you wanted to come back to Oxford?"

She nodded and gave him a half smile, but he knew she was holding something back. He put down her left foot. He didn't have to say anything; the question was in his eyes.

"Everything, Robbie?" He nodded and picked up her right foot this time to resume his ministrations. "All right, then. I was married- albeit briefly. He had political ambitions and a vile tongue. Needless to say, it didn't work out. I left and came back to Oxford." Robbie was stunned, but his face didn't move. "What, stop giving me that look, Robbie."

"What look?"

"The look where you're doing absolutely nothing with your face!" Now Robbie was laughing at her exasperated facial expression. "You know, for a man who claims to wear his heart on his sleeve, you are incredibly talented at hiding what you're really thinking."

"Just a little surprised is all."

"What do you mean, surprised?"

"I had no idea."

"Oh come off it, Robbie. Don't pretend you haven't done a background check on me."

"I haven't."

"Not even after what happened with Ligeia? You must have."

"No, I swear it. I asked for your alibi but that was the extent of it. I'll admit that I was led astray by some of the evidence in that case—but we were researching Mary Gwilliam's connection to adoptions at the maternity hospital, not you specifically. Whatever questions I had, I asked you to your face. Please believe me." Suddenly Robbie was on the defensive; he had just solidified his relationship with Laura and was terrified he might lose her just as quickly.

"OK, OK, Robbie, don't get upset." Maybe Robbie trusted me after all… she thought. "Where were we?" She asked in her sultry voice, hoping he would kiss her again to make her forget all about that shallow grave in Holmwood Park… but the detective had a different lead to follow up on.

"You were married to a bloke who… lacked my Northern charm?"

Actually, he was Scottish, so he may have you beat in latitude, though certainly not in terms of charm… she thought, but she didn't say it because the less said about Malcolm Tucker the better.

"You really don't know, do you?"

"Not a clue, love."

"Hmph. Morse knew. He admitted to me over pints one night that he'd looked into my credentials and background." DCI Martin Johnson had known too; he'd tried to use Laura for personal gain, wondering if the well-connected 'Malc' owed her any favours. She'd broken up with Johnson immediately thereafter.

"Morse." Robbie shook his head. "That sounds like him all right, but he didn't share half of what he knew about anything, and certainly not about his lady friends." Laura raised an eyebrow. "Not that you were… I didn't mean that you and he… You're too young for me, let alone Morse. Bollocks, I'm cocking this up again, aren't I?"

"No, Robbie! You're wonderful- a clean slate!" I'm a line item entry on Malcolm's Wikipedia page; that's how easy it would be to know the truth, but Robbie hasn't even Googled my name! She thought, then immediately realised how foolish that sounded even in her head. Of course Robbie wouldn't have spent his loneliest hours Googling her like a silly school girl… like she herself had Googled him to read of his exploits occasionally mentioned in the Oxford Mail.

She continued. "Can we simplify things a bit? I'm happy to answer any specific questions you have, but in broad terms, the omnishambles that I called a marriage isn't worth revisiting anyway." She paused, giving him the opening to ask.

He hesitated before asking, "Did he ever hurt you?"

"Never. Not physically, anyway. Master of the tongue lashing he was, though. But you know me, I give as good as I get." Malcolm was my ideal sparring partner, not my ideal husband…

"Good. That's all I need to know, then." Robbie had consciously entered into this relationship with Laura assuming that she would have a more varied amorous experience than his own, and he had already decided that he wasn't going to press her for any of the details. He was looking for a new start and extended the same to Laura.

Laura made an overture of her own. "I know that it was different for you, marriage. Now that we're… more than friends…" (Robbie grinned.) "… you can still talk about Val anytime you need to. The past doesn't bother me."

He nodded in thanks.

"We have each other now," she said as she sat up and refilled their wine glasses. The two clung to each other the rest of the night, the ardent kisses of earlier having given way to tender caresses that went a long way towards healing them both.

"I love you, bonny lass," Robbie whispered into her hair at some point in the night. Laura was not sure if he was awake or asleep and was a bit afraid he'd mistaken her for Val.

"A few hours ago, you admitted that you hardly knew me." Laura said, quietly muffled into a bed pillow.

The same sleepy voice answered her in a heartbeat. "Nice girl, gymnast from Coventry." He gave her a little extra squeeze, tightening their flesh-to-flesh sleeping arrangement. Laura was relieved; she never should have doubted him and never would again.

"I love you too, my proper copper from Newcastle."