A/N: The following is a cobbling of a couple different scenes, all centered around the lead-up to the Tucker-Oswald wedding, though not the wedding itself.
Christmas, 2010
"I still don't know why you're so worried," Clara said as they rode up to Blackpool. Malcolm was driving, as he was the one with an actual car, and it was all his fiancée could do to keep him from turning around and going back to London.
"He's just not going to like me, I can feel it," he said. "I'm younger than him, but still close enough in age to where we could have been in the same sodding school at the same time—it won't fucking sit right with him."
"Does our age gap sit right with you?"
"Shagging the woman I love shouldn't depend on that; we both got past it a while ago now."
"Then you'll be fine," she insisted. "The only one you're going to have to worry about is Linda, and it doesn't matter who I bring home because Linda will never be impressed."
They spent the rest of the ride making small-talk and discussing who precisely it was they wanted in the wedding and where. Dave Oswald lived in a modest brick house in a neighborhood of other modest brick houses, each one definitely plain and ordinary and not anywhere near where one would think witches used to live. They pulled into the drive and unloaded the car, Clara getting the gifts from the back seat and Malcolm the suitcases from the boot, before walking up to the front door. Dave answered it, an uneasy grin on his face.
"Clara, there you are!" he beamed as he let his visitors in the house. Clara placed the presents on a table in the hallway before hugging her father, the both of them happy to see one another.
"It's so good to see you again, Dad!" she sighed. She then pulled back and glanced around, as if looking for someone else. "Where's Gran?"
"She had Linda take her shopping," Dave explained. "She wanted me to be able to meet the newest member of the family without wandering ears." He then turned towards the man who was offering to take off his daughter's coat and held out his hand nervously. "You must be Malcolm; I'm Dave."
"It's a pleasure, Dave," Malcolm replied, shaking the man's hand. "I'm going to have to thank your mam when she comes back; I hear Linda's not very agreeable when it comes to things Clara."
"The only real problem I have with her, but they have a general truce for my sake," Dave said. Once Clara and Malcolm's coats were off he led them back into the kitchen, where he had them sit down at the breakfast bar. "You know, I think I've still got a bottle of wine hanging about if you're interested."
"Not until dinner, Dad," Clara replied quickly. "Malcolm's constitution isn't really agreeable unless it's with food."
"A lightweight? I can respect that," Dave nodded. "One of my roommates in uni was one—at least you admit it." He got them all water instead and then stood there awkwardly, not entirely sure where to go from there. "So… Clara says you met at work, yeah?"
"We did, a while ago now," Malcolm confirmed. "It's only this year that we started dating, but we already knew one another pretty well before that. I'm very fond of Clara, and every moment I spend with her it's like I'm over the goddamned moon." He blushed uncomfortably into his glass; this was going to be a long visit.
"Well, what do you do then?" Dave wondered. "Clara explained to me recently what all goes on in the Ministry of Magic, but I'm afraid I still can't make heads or tails of it."
"I actually work for the PM," Malcolm said. He watched uncomfortably as Dave put down his water, seeing the gears work in the other man's eyes. "I'm Malcolm Tucker, and I'm Director of Communications over there in Number 10… the Muggle version of what your daughter does."
"Wait… you're a Muggle…?"
"Yeah…?"
Dave exhaled heavily in relief, coming around the bar to hug Malcolm enthusiastically. "You don't know how happy this makes me! I knew no matter who my baby girl ended up with I was going to have to be accepting of, but… another Muggle!"
"Our Clara knows how to pick 'em," Malcolm laughed. No wonder Clara wasn't worried in the slightest about her fiancée meeting her father. "Man, this is a fucking load off my shoulders—meeting a lass's family ain't an easy task, you know?"
"No kidding; hey, don't mention anything about magic in front of my wife, alright? She doesn't know anything—thinks Clara works PR for some holistic medicine firm."
Malcolm's eyes went wide and he snorted loudly. "Wait, really? Your wife doesn't know?"
"His wife doesn't know what?" a new voice asked sourly. Linda was at the back door, some bags in her hands that she set down on the table, a sour look upon her face.
"Oh, just that you've got Whitehall's formerly most eligible bachelor sitting in your kitchen," Malcolm replied suavely. He saw disapproval wash over his future mother-in-law as she gave him a good look-over. Yeah, he knew she couldn't say he looked like a fucking slob, but he could tell that his greying hair and crow's feet around his eyes weren't winning him any points.
"Charmed," Linda replied before walking out. She could be heard going up the stairs by the time Clara's gran came shuffling in the back door, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her granddaughter.
"Clara! Congratulations!" she cried, going over and hugging her. She then turned towards Malcolm and brought him into an embrace as well. "Welcome to the family, dear. Oh, you look so normal, bless you."
"That's because I'm a Muggle… erm…"
"Gran—just call me Gran," she finished. "Now tell me: what are your plans so far for the wedding?"
March 2011
He was paraded around as a variety of relatives were shoved in front of him and every introduction became a blur after a while. At least he could tell who Oswin was, as she was the bride who looked so much like her cousin. Clara and Oswin's Granddads Oswald had been brothers, which made the entire party sans Malcolm's fiancée thankfully Muggle.
"I'm glad you and Clara met," the new Mr. Oswald said as the two stood off to the side, allowing everyone else to socialize without them. Actually, he was still Smith—Dr. Johnathan Smith at that—but Oswin kept her surname as she was hitched to the bow-tied lad with floppy hair and impossibly gangly limbs. He wasn't bad to talk with, considering he thankfully had a brain attached to that medical degree, which was a balm in the otherwise filled-to-the-brim hall of cunts. "She's not had the best of luck, from what I hear."
"We all do at some point in our lives," Malcolm nodded. He took a sip of his water and watched Clara as she and Oswin were talking with some of their friends. "One thing I do know is that we've got ourselves a wonderful pair of women on our hands. Clara and I met at work—how'd you meet Oswin?"
"She was my best friend's neighbor in uni," the younger man said. "They kept in touch and it took a few years, but we ended up hitting it off. Oswald women are screaming geniuses, you know. Once they've got you, you're stuck." The look on his face as he glanced over at his new wife made it very clear to Malcolm that he was not the least bit upset about the "stuck" part. It was then that the Best Lady's husband came up to them, his face stuck in a frown.
"If I get asked one more time when Amy and I are having kids I'm going to punch someone," he grumbled. Malcolm didn't say anything, already having been given the story about the Williams-Ponds' lack of ability, though not lack of trying. They were a good pair, as he very quickly learned earlier in the day as Amy, a fellow Scot, won an argument with the bride's aunt over whether or not it was appropriate to wear her skirt that high at a wedding.
"Hey, that's why you're Aunt Amy and Uncle Rory, and whenever you want to borrow our future little ones, you're more than welcome," Johnathan said, giving his friend a one-armed hug.
"I don't know if Oswin will like you offering to give away the kids before they even exist," Malcolm mentioned. Rory glanced over at him, unimpressed.
"Amy is all I need, and very little will change that," he said. "Just watch out for the Oswalds—they're flirts."
"As long as Clara's extramarital flirting involves needing to get shit done at work, I don't fucking mind," Malcolm chuckled. Fuck, he needed to flirt sometimes in order to make particularly pesky people actually do what they had to, so he wasn't about to judge Clara for doing the exact same.
"You must feel pretty secure then," Rory noted. He then moved in closer to the other two, dropping his voice in concern. "Hey, this probably isn't the time, but I think we should know: have you told your family about some of the more unusual stuff?"
"Naw, not yet; there isn't many of us, so I figure I can break the news over some family dinner or something. Can't be when Her Lindaship's there—she'd think I'm off my fucking rocker, which I guess would keep the bitch away, but the only ones on my side that would know would be Mam, my sister, and her kid. The fewer the better."
"You're lucky," Johnathan added, patting Malcolm's back. "Just let us know when we need to show up for stuff and we'll be there. Won't be as fast as Clara's used to at work, but you're our friend now too and we can't ignore that."
"Thanks," Malcolm said, truly meaning it. The word felt good to say, knowing the two were genuinely on his side. Few ever were that and it was great to know it for sure.
June 2011
"What the fucking hell, you randy-arse cunt?!" Jamie growled. "What sort of bloke throws a dry stag night?! Just because you're the one that can't guzzle it down doesn't mean that the rest of us can't knock back a couple!"
"I'm telling ya: no booze, ya wee shite," Malcolm fired back. They were in his office, Jamie having come over from his post in the newsroom to go over some last-minute details in private. Sam came in with some tea and biscuits for them both, giving her boss the opportunity to call in for reinforcements. "Sammy, you ever been to a dry hen night?"
"Yeah, why?" she wondered, trying to play the fool. It was always a miracle the entire building never heard the two ranting and raving about this thing or that, even with the muffling charm she put on the office.
"Malc's telling me I got to throw him a dry stag! It's not like no one there'll be up the duff or anything…"
"…but everyone will be on-call, if I heard the guest list correctly," she threw at him. "You're going to have a doctor, a nurse, some government officials…"
"Alright, alright, I get'cha Sammy," Jamie scowled, shoving a biscuit in his mouth. "Hey, what's the news on your lad? Figured out yet if he's a keeper or a cunt?"
"Leaning towards the former," she laughed. "Be careful, or I might spread the rumor that the Crossest Man in Scotland is actually a giant softie."
"As long as it's not in bed then we're good," he snarked. Sam rolled her eyes and left the two men alone again, returning to her work. "Fine; I'll bring a flask."
"No, Jamie."
"You respect my right to get shit-faced every other time! What makes this different?!"
"It just is, yeah? Fuck off." Malcolm went back to tapping out a speech on his computer, attempting to ignore his travel-sized Best Man's incessant bitching. If he was going to get to watch Clara walk towards him down the aisle without all of government knowing, then it was would be a legitimate miracle.
