A/N: Here is a Christmas Eve update for everyone! Whether you need to get away for family for a few minutes, kill time while traveling, get your mind off something, or you're not celebrating and need something to read, here's a few thousand words of fluff for you. Merry Christmas!
Forty-Three
Eventually, after all related parties had gotten a bit of rest and were capable of thinking semi-clearly despite their overwhelming exhaustion, Malcolm and Kate escorted Martha to her flight back to Canada and immediately went home to sleep in their own bed again. No work calls, no petty arguments that needed quelling—they were taking a late morning together before Kate headed back into work. The couple purposefully over-slept as well, getting in a bit of extra time alone before wandering out into the main of the house, which smelled of fresh biscuits.
"Morning!" Fiona said cheerily as they entered the kitchen. Much of the room was an explosion of baking supplies, which seemed to not bother her in the slightest.
"…what are you doing…?" Kate deadpanned. She frowned as Malcolm swiped a biscuit and began munching on it—still warm.
"I dunno; just felt like baking today," Fiona replied. "Maybe if I get good enough I can go on Bake-Off."
"You're not going on Bake-Off, I know you," Kate sighed in exasperation. "Just clean up when you're done, okay?"
"Yes, ma'am!" Fiona then continued to work on finishing up the biscuits while her mother and stepfather dodged her in order to get some breakfast. "Hey, Mum, how long do you think until we get Conall here?"
"Not for a few months at the least," Kate said. "We're giving Miss Oswald a little bit of time with him first, so we're thinking maybe October or November. Why?"
"I was just wondering," she shrugged. "Can you blame me for wanting to know when my baby brother's gonna be here?"
"He's gonna be a person, not a puppy; calm down," Malcolm snarked. "If you don't get into another school quickly, then you're going to be helping out a whole hell of a lot more than you're bargaining for."
"Then maybe I can be a stay-at-home sister and take classes online."
"No, I expressly forbid it; you are going to university properly and that's final," Kate cut in sternly, her tone quickly darkening. "You won't always have this freedom—take advantage of it while you can."
"Yikes, Mum, chill out—it was just an option. I didn't think you'd really go for it…"
"Correct, because I won't," Kate said. "Now by the time I get home I want to see the information on three different schools that you've either applied to, or are in the process of applying to, and I am deadly serious, because you need to either be in school or have a job and playing nanny to your brother is not going to cut it."
"I get it, Mum, relax," Fiona frowned. She popped another tray in the oven and set the timer as her mother took some coffee and left to sulk in the sitting room. "What got her off on the wrong foot this morning?"
"I dunno, but it's best to let her be, I've discovered, when the day starts like this, and it's only been recently that I've noticed it's getting worse." Malcolm took his own sip of coffee and nodded. "At least it's not often and I don't go into work today."
"What? You've got the day off and Mum doesn't?"
"Miscommunication back when we wrote the schedules means that I have today off, while she has tomorrow," he shrugged. "It's almost like watching a lady version of me stomping about work when this happens; shame to miss, but I'm not going to be a fucking fool and get in her way."
"That does sound pretty scary, not gonna lie," she agreed.
The two continued to shuffle about in their morning activities, with Malcolm staying in the kitchen to test the biscuits that periodically came from the oven, remaining in his pajamas and robe until after his wife left for work mid-morning. He took a long, hot shower after that, dressing in casual slacks and a polo shirt in order to stay comfortable yet still be able to be seen in public should he need to leave the house. By the time he exited his bedroom and got started on his projects for the day, he found the kitchen cleaned up and Fiona plopped down on the sitting room couch with her computer, presumably looking up schools.
"Doing what your mam asked you to?" he checked.
"Yup." She held up the laptop and turned it around so the screen faced him—that looked like a university website if he'd ever seen one. "I need to write some letters though, so I think I'm just going to research the schools themselves and pick out the three I want to put in at first, then start on the letters so that I at least have something to do tomorrow too."
"It's gonna take you more than today to apply to three?"
"Yeah—applying for university today is more difficult than back in the Bronze Age," she joked. "I have to submit records and recommendations and all sorts of other things, so it's not like doing it all online makes the process go any quicker. It's worse than applying for a job."
"You've never had a job."
"Yeah, but I've seen people apply for jobs and the pressure is much less severe than this," she noted. "I'll let you know if I need help."
"Sounds like a plan." He nodded and began to wander away, going over his list of chores mentally as he did so.
It took all morning, but Malcolm was able to get a majority of his tinkering done. He weeded two of the flower beds, fixed a rail on the gazebo, and attended to a sink in the main upstairs bathroom that was annoyingly leaky, finishing the plumbing job right before a late lunch. After turning the water back on to the piping and washing up quickly, he went to make himself a sandwich, only to find Fiona doing the exact same thing for herself.
"Looks like it's that time," he said idly, grabbing the loaf of bread and a plate. "How's the applications coming along?"
"They're… getting there," she shrugged. She put the kettle on and made them both a cuppa to go with their lunch. It was disturbingly quiet in the kitchen, with both occupants having plenty on their minds. "Hey, uh, Malcolm? Can I talk to you about something?"
His attention was caught. "Of course—what is it about?"
"…um… I admit I've been a bit hesitant on my admission papers, but that's because I'm trying to figure out if I really want to do something else first." She put their tea down and sat at the table, seeing that a small pile of crisps had appeared on her plate of Malcolm's doing.
"You don't want to talk to your mam?"
"No… she really doesn't understand how I feel about it…"
"…about uni? You know she sat enough classes to graduate, yeah?"
"Yeah, but it's not about uni as a concept, but what I tell them when I apply." She munched on a crisp and stared at the crust on her sandwich. "I'm considering changing my last name; I'm done with being a Ferrero. It's just an Italian version of Smith, anyhow."
"Won't your grandparents be upset?" he wondered.
"Nonno calls my father an idiot to his face and Nona doesn't say as much, but you can tell by the way she looks and acts that she is constantly embarrassed by him; they won't mind. In fact, I doubt they'd blame me."
"…and you don't want to discuss this with your mam because her own relationship with her father came out stronger despite their differences, making her unable to see when things are irreconcilable," He surmised. Fiona nodded silently. "Meanwhile, I don't know my father aside from a couple vague and potentially made-up details, therefore not having any room to tell you all that 'he's family' bullshit and not pressure you one way or the other."
"Yeah." They ate a few bites of lunch before continuing on. "I don't think I'll get away from Ferrero Financial or any of the issues from my previous schools unless I change my name too, which is part of the problem as well."
"Sounds like a solid case as any," he shrugged. "Have any ideas floating around?"
"Sort of…" She took a sip of tea and breathed deeply. "I was first considering 'Lethbridge-Stewart', like Gordy and Granddad, just 'Lethbridge', or even 'Stewart' like Mum, but I've been thinking about something else."
The young woman grew quiet and Malcolm frowned. "What is it?" She didn't answer him, clearly steeling herself for something. "Fiona? Kiddo? What are you thinking about?"
"I'd like to go with 'Tucker-Stewart', with your permission of course," she said quietly. "I want it to be clear who my parents are, and it would help out Conall in the end having someone with his exact surname to boot."
The only sound in the kitchen was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall. Malcolm stared at Fiona, his heart aching, while she avoided eye contact. Change her name? Partially to his? It was far from something he had expected and it was terrifying.
Yes, Malcolm, Scourge of Whitehall and Enforcer of UNIT, Tucker was metaphorically shitting his pants because of a wee nineteen-year-old.
"Fiona, lass, I'm not your father," he said gently. He tried to keep his voice under control, yet could hear it—feel it—waver. "I'll support you in the name change if that's what you really want, but you still have to remember that. I'm just some man your mam married… nothing more."
"…except that you've been a better dad to me the past few years than mine's been in my entire memory," she claimed, everything spilling out. "He was alright when I was little, but that was because we had Marco as a buffer. I barely see him when I'm over at his place, and when I do, he's usually with one of his girlfriends. Did you know that since Mum, he's given up on the family type and goes for women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-nine? It would be different if it accidentally happened once or twice, but he seeks that sort of thing out. I'm over eighteen now and Marco is married and in his thirties—that's not right and I want nothing to do with it."
"Fiona…"
"…and it still doesn't change the fact that I'm more comfortable with you around than him. Loris Ferrero is my father, yeah, but I feel like Malcolm Tucker is my dad and I want my name to reflect that."
"You aren't worried that going by 'Tucker-Stewart' will make you look like Conall's mam?"
"If anyone is seriously that stupid, then I don't know what to tell you." She drained her cuppa and went back to the teapot to pour herself another. "It just feels right."
"This could be dangerous," he warned. "Who knows how many people I've made enemies with over the years are ready and waiting to get at me, at my family, and your adoption of my name would make you only a bigger and more obvious target. Conall will likely be safe because enough time will pass between my forced retirement and when he wants to do anything, but you… you're still liable to run into the sad fucks I eviscerated on a daily basis. Don't go risking shit because I'm a better da than yours by virtue of not ignoring you."
"None of them thought you had a family though," she reasoned as she sat back down. "If they don't make the connection, then things will be fine… though if they do, then they will know that not only did you raise competency, but that I learned from the best and am not to be fucked with."
That hit Malcolm square in the jaw. "I didn't raise you."
"Yeah, you did."
"No, I didn't; you were fifteen and in boarding school when your mam and I first began dating…"
"So? You've been around for multiple years while I was in secondary, married Mum after needing to propose twice, were ready to help us out when we thought she died…" She trailed off, thinking, before shooting him a victorious smirk. "That portrait…"
"What portrait?"
"The one Nona made me sit last year; you have it on your desk at work, yeah?" He blinked at her—he did. "If you have a photo of me on your desk at work, then you're my dad."
"…but I have one of Lex…"
"You're good as Lex's dad, just ask her, which means there's nothing stopping you from being as good as mine too. Fuck anyone who says otherwise, because I know what a real family is and we're part of one. The only thing that's missing is me calling you Dad, which can start whenever you're ready by the way."
"…what…?" Malcolm gaped. His eyes went wide as he felt tears stinging at the corners, blurring his vision.
You helped raise me, so you're my dad. Fuck anyone who doesn't believe otherwise, because they can't understand what a real family is if it bit them in the bloody cock.
"Malcolm…?" Fiona stood and went around the table, taking the chair next to him as she tried to see what was wrong. "Are you alright? Why are you crying?"
"It's… well… because… fuck…" He palmed his eyes and wiped away tears stubbornly. "Don't fucking look at me."
"Malcolm…"
"What the fuck did I just say?!" he snapped. She jumped in surprise, taken aback by the outburst. Her startled confusion only served to tug at his heart; he exhaled heavily and shielded his eyes with a hand, propping himself up against the tabletop.
"Should… should I…?"
"No, I'm sorry. Fuck. It's just… you've said that to me before… sort of…"
That puzzled her. "When did I say that?"
Taking a deep breath, Malcolm tried to steady himself. His hands were shaking and his gut was roiling. Shit—this was too fucking difficult.
"When I was trying to figure out what was keeping me tethered to the Dream Crab's hallucination," he admitted. She knew the story behind how he nearly died that Christmas, yet it was about time she knew the story within the fucking story. "The only way to find the anchor was to find the people I was closest to and deny their existence. You, in that fucked-up cocktease of a dream, had been the very reason that your mam and I had gotten together in the first place. I don't think you had been in Primary for a whole year yet…" He put a hand over his mouth and reached back, towards the false memories he tried to not revisit, or else risk sliding into an eternal depression. "Your mam and I won custody over you and we raised you here—you went to the village school and no one knew fucking different—it was one of the hardest fucking things to do, to tell that version of you that she wasn't real, that she wasn't the child I adopted and treated as me own…"
"How…?" Fiona wondered quietly. "I mean… how did I end up being how you met Mum?"
"Your mam had told me before then how you sometimes would wander away, and the Dream Crab took that, making it so you found me during one of those times. I asked her out to dinner afterwards and… well… you can sort of figure out how it all went from there."
"The two of you took Dad to court…? And you won…?!" Tears were also beginning to blur her vision, for she wasn't entirely sure what to do concerning the scenario. "How the fuck did you manage that?"
"It was a hallucination where I'm the hero, remember?" he half-laughed. "I recall back around 7/7 that I did genuinely hope that it disrupting everything somehow, in some way, actually helped someone decent—if that pile of shite national tragedy could possibly be helpful to anyone—and because of the Dream Crab, it made it so that the judge just wanted the proceedings done and over with. Loris's casual shittiness towards us and Marco didn't hurt either, but it was mostly the judge not wanting to deal with the cuntastic commute that ensued afterwards. In reality the court proceedings would have just been suspended for a bit, but not according to the Dream Crabs. Twisted, I know."
"Wait… 7/7… does this mean that you were there to meet Granddad? Before he got sick?"
"Gordon and I built the gazebo in the back garden with him—the Scarfies theorize that any interactions I had with him were based on the Doctor's memories."
"…and I got to be your daughter. Sooner."
"Kate and I even gave you a wee baby sister…"
"…and this time, in real life, you still married Mum and became my dad. It's just this time you gave me a baby brother instead."
"Yeah… I guess we did." He took a deep breath and exhaled heavily—for once, he felt better, if marginally so. "Make sure you run it by your mam first, but if you want to become a Tucker in-name, then it's alright by me."
A shriek of glee and suddenly Malcolm found himself being tackled in an excited hug. Fiona was so happy that she was nearly crying, which was an odd sight for her stepfather to see.
"Thanks, Dad!" she beamed. They looked one another in the eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter. "That feels so good to say."
"It's good to hear too," he nodded. "C'mon; let's finish lunch so that we can get back to our chores, or we're going to have a cranky mam on our hands in a few hours."
"Oh shit, that's right," Fiona grimaced. She pulled her tea and plate towards her new spot and took a big bite from her sandwich. "If I don't at least look like I'm seriously lining things up, she's going to blow her top."
"…and that's the last fucking thing anyone needs," he agreed. The two hurried up and finished their meal, depositing their dishes in the sink before heading back to their respective tasks.
Nothing officially had changed, but there still was a different air as Malcolm prepared to take apart the vacuum cleaner in order to find the source of a rattling noise and Fiona went back to her computer. Even if the officialness of the matter would be struck down, they were still father and daughter, and nothing was going to change that.