A/N: Fic is my happy place. That is all.

Forty-Four

All in all, things were mostly peaceful while the summer months dragged by. Due to a backlog of work in certain offices (as well as a week-long argument into the matter), Fiona's name-changing venture did not pan out in time for her to complete her school transfer applications for the midyear, which was fine by her anyhow. Having always wanted to take a gap year, she instead picked up a part-time position at a shop in the village, able to put her name down as Fiona Tucker-Stewart and it not be a lie or conjecture. Kate was wary of the move, Malcolm remained proud, and all three braced themselves for when a certain banker caught wind of said change.

September came and soon Malcolm was in the middle of a quandary. His wedding anniversary was towards the end of the month and he wasn't entirely sure about what to do to commemorate it. The unspoken-of first marriage he'd gone through had fallen apart within the year, meaning he hadn't exactly had much to go on in the remembering department.

"I'd say get her some jewelry, but Director Stewart doesn't seem much into that sort of thing," Aparajita shrugged. She and her boss were eating lunch together in his office—she on the couch and he at his desk—while Kate was off-mainframe, utilizing the time to chat without risk of her walking in. "Wait… does she wear more jewelry when she's not at work?"

"No, she does not," he affirmed. "Save a lot that way, that's for damn sure."

She popped a crisp in her mouth and chewed it pensively. "Dad would write Mum poems and recite them from memory."

"Didn't he know what a fucking greeting card was?"

"Yes and no—my parents were an arranged match, of all things. They worked hard at falling in love and that was part of it."

"They do those here?"

"If you want and are part of the right community to do it in, then yeah," she shrugged. "Probably not so much now, but I do my very best to pointedly ignore all that stuff, so I really wouldn't know how common it is. Mum's stopped going on about getting me a match since Jabril and I started dating, plus all my married friends did so for love. None of us found the need for a match but I'm sure it happens."

"Fair enough." He spun idly in his chair and looked down over the atrium and the varying molemen scurrying about their daily tasks. As much flack as he gave them, they truly were a bunch of semi-competent shits and he was glad to have them doing the dirty work. "I don't know if I can write a poem though—kinda touchy-feely don't'cha think?"

"Hey, all I know is how to bridge a twenty-two year age gap, nothing else."

"Considering my wife is not thirty-five, I'll put that one to the side for now," he mentioned. He spun back around and grabbed his tea, taking a long drink from it. "Fuck… that's only three years older than you are now. Your da was insane."

"Dad was forty when he married Mum, so you do the math," she said. He did and she tried not to laugh as her boss's face twisted in horror, disgust, and confusion. "Hey, she had long-sat her school-leaving exams and was supposedly all on-board."

"That's still screams wrong to me."

"What's wrong…?" The two glanced towards the door and saw Gordon standing there, a stack of papers in his hand.

"If I tell you then you can't unhear it," Malcolm said bluntly. "We were just talking about what I can do for your mam for our anniversary before we got sidetracked."

"Ah," the younger man mused. "Well, I know Dad usually goes away with Erica for a few days, and when they don't he takes care of things around the house and gets her flowers and makes dinner and stuff like that."

"Can't just take off for a couple days at this point, we already have Fiona doing a lot of the housework, and flowers haven't exactly been our thing."

"Well, then I don't know what to tell you," Gordon said. He walked over to the desk and plopped the papers down next to his stepfather's sandwich. "Fajr wants you to review these security upgrades so that you know what not to mention if something goes down."

"Thanks; let me know if you think of anything else," he replied.

"Will do." Gordon then walked out of the office, nodding at Aparajita on his way out. "Miss Khan."

"RAF Reject," she nodded back. Soon as he was out of earshot, she shook her head and sighed heavily. "He's a dead-end too. Have you asked Fiona for input?"

"No, but I'm guessing that she'd have about the same thought as her brother," Malcolm replied. "This is the sort of shit where growing up with a single parent is beyond fucking unhelpful."

"What about friends? You've told me that MacDonald and Richards have wives—what do they do?"

"I always stayed away from that; Jamie is too much a feral animal and Cal a sadistic bastard for me to want to model anything I do after those two fuckers. Only time I've ever paid attention to what they were doing was when they were courting their now-wives, and even then I purposefully ignored details."

"No other friends or coworkers could give you an example, whether it be due to a wife or husband?"

"Not a fucking one." Malcolm shook his head and curled his lip in disgust. "My generation's basically blasted when it comes to staying together. It takes too many of us a long time to figure out who we want to be with, sometimes with a string of failed marriages and other long-term relationships in our wake. To pay attention to my peers is almost pointless."

"Why do you think marriage has been a topic Jabril and I are almost avoiding?" Aparajita frowned. "Both our mums are your generation, and although our parents were in happy marriages, it doesn't mean that they automatically know what is correct for us."

"You know what? I'm going to take a walk and think about this." He stood and binned the wrapper from his sandwich, keeping pace so that he could easily walk out the door. "I'll be back before lunch is technically over—just got to clear my head."

"Have fun."

Wandering around the corridors of Mainframe UK, Malcolm tried to think of a plan as to what he could do to commemorate his wedding anniversary. As he wandered, he unconsciously made his way over a certain path, his muscle memory bringing him into the medbay. He stood at the door to Clara Oswald's room, hesitant as to if he should enter or keep on walking.

Fuck it.

"Clara?" He knocked on the door and waited sheepishly, hoping as to not get caught by Alessandra doing her rounds. A moment later and the door opened, the woman standing there with a smirk on her face and her son in her arm.

"Malcolm, come in," she insisted. He stepped in and she closed the door behind them. The veritable explosion of baby things that the room had become seemed to calm him, with blankets, toys, clothes, books, and bottles everywhere. "What brings you here?"

"I was taking a walk in order to sort my thoughts and I guess I automatically went this way," he admitted. He looked at Conall—four months old now—and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he saw the glimmer of recognition in the lad's eyes. "It looks like this was what I needed."

"I was just about to give him a bottle and set him down for a nap, if you wanted to stay," she offered.

"I might." Malcolm watched as Clara plucked a bottle from the kitchenette's counter and helped Conall hold it in place as he began to suck it down. Both adults took a spot on the couch and watched the boy, the very sight of him relaxing. "It's Kate and my wedding anniversary in a couple weeks."

"You've only been married a year, yeah?"

"Yeah, but I want to make it special; I never got this far blissfully and the memories of the first go around for her are now tainted. All I want to do is make it so that we do it right." He turned his attention to Clara, who seemed to be trying to not laugh. "Don't fucking make fun of me."

"I'm not," she snickered, lying poorly. "You just sound like a teenager talking about his date for the school dance."

"I do not."

"Listening to teens is literally part of my job—I know what they sound like." She had him there. A scowl and she laughed genuinely. "I'm certain that whatever you do will be more than adequate."

"I want better than adequate… I want fantastic."

"Fantastic is a flea market on the other side of the galaxy with stardust mimosas to follow," she deadpanned. "Don't worry. I'm certain she'll love whatever you do."

"How do you know that?"

"…because the other day, when you two were visiting, I saw how she was looking at you as you played with Conall. You don't look at another person like that unless you're completely and firmly in love with them." She noted that her son was turning away from his bottle, instead reaching for the grey-haired man who would often come just to give him attention. "I think he's done with his snack."

"Oh, then come here, our wee piss factory," Malcolm said. He waited until Conall's face was wiped from any excess formula and let out a burp before snatching him up. The baby cooed in satisfaction as it snuggled into the suit jacket his adoptive father was wearing, having grown to associate the feeling with security and safety. He looked back at his mother bashfully, though Malcolm knew the child's actions were a perfect way to skirt the conversation into something else more amenable. "So then… how's it going? With you and the nip?"

"Changing subjects subtly isn't a strength of yours, is it?"

"It can be, when I want to; that time is not now."

"They're going well, thank you," she beamed. Clara leaned down and kissed Conall's brow, tears beginning to well in her eyes as she straightened. "This future tiny terror is keeping me very busy—I'm so glad I decided to stay for a while."

"I'm glad too," he replied. "I wouldn't want you to spend all that time looking like you swallowed an oversized football just to be torn away soon as you deflate."

"…that's one way to put it…"

"I don't know how women fucking do it," he admitted. Conall began touching his face, grabbing at his skin and even attempting to stick fingers up his nose. He took at least that hand and pulled it down; none of that now. "I mean, I know how… but how they put up with it is the thing that I don't get."

"…and to think, it used to be worse before the advent of crisps and ice cream and chocolate and decaffeinated tea," she chuckled. He shuddered at that, knowing that it was certainly true she required the comfort foods more than either of them had wanted to admit, which only made her laugh more. "Sometimes I think about what you would have been like as a father earlier, like how the Dream Crabs made you believe, and the thought is priceless."

"What, you saying I would've been shite at this?" he joked. He took a stuffed toy from the table and began tapping Conall's forehead with it, the babe grunting and reaching for the soft, plush dog.

"What I'm saying is that you having to go through Kate being pregnant would have been hilarious to watch," she clarified. "I'm sure you would have been fine though. A bit coarse around the edges? Certainly. A good husband and father? There's not a doubt… because she makes you better and vice versa."

That was true, wasn't it? Although the thought abso-fucking-lutely terrified him, Malcolm knew that he could be a semi-functioning dad to the wee lad in his arms that was now playing with his hair, all because of the woman he married. Kate was going to be there to help, to reassure him, to back him up when things got pubescent, and it was very calming in its own way. Conall locked eyes with his and the man could see how deep that pale blue gaze went—this child was alien without a doubt, despite all the Human features about him, and it was going to take all they had to make certain he was headed on a somewhat-moral path as time went on.

All this wouldn't be possible without Kate; a switch flicked in his brain and everything clicked.

"I think I have an idea, lad," he smirked, kissing the boy on the nose. "Thank you for your help."

"An idea?" Clara wondered. "About…?"

"It's more of a decision being made, actually," he admitted. "Chaachee Rajit can take most of the credit."

"Chaachee Rajit is very clever," Clara told her son. "She was the one who got you your kitty, after all."

Conall made a noise and looked around, eventually seeing what he wanted on the table. He reached for his plush toy cat, which Malcolm allowed him to grab as he leaned the baby forward. Hugging it, he made another noise in satisfaction.

"He loves his kitty," Clara stated.

"I can see," Malcolm chuckled. "Such a smart lad—do you know where your penguin is?"

Another noise and Conall pointed to the armchair, where his stuffed penguin laid half-covered in a blanket as though it was taking a nap. "Ah, yes, it looks like he has the right idea. Time for a wee boy I know to go kip." Malcolm stood and brought him over to the cot next to Clara's bed, laying Conall down on his back. "Be good and get some rest, alright? Got to be healthy and strong for when we finally bust you out of here."

"You're an arse," Clara reminded him with a smirk.

He shrugged at that—there was no use in denying facts. After giving Oswald a hug, he left the ward with a new lift in his step, having settled his mind in the presence of the lad who was certain to be helping him along for years to come. There was something to be said about babies in that regard, he thought. Well, babies and having a multicultural workforce, though he wasn't going to fess up to Aparajita just yet.

It was finally the day of Kate and Malcolm's wedding anniversary.

Both had been wise enough to take the day off, meaning they were able to contently sleep part of the morning away together, which ended when they finally got a bit too handsy and went over the threshold from content petting to excitable fondling. They were indulgently loud as they stroked one another off; with Fiona staying at Marco's for the weekend, there was no reason whatsoever for them to censor themselves. Once both were satisfied, they cleaned up and went to make a late breakfast, keeping their ankles hooked under the table the entire time they ate.

Really, both of them knew that they were treating the event more like a couple who were more than one or two decades younger would, but that did not matter to them. They didn't care how they were acting—it had taken entirely too long for them to find one another, and longer still to realize that what they had was something that could work. It was more than justifiable for them to want to be oversexed and over-touchy as they went about their day; anyone who dared say otherwise was merely jealous that they were already hung up to dry or out to pasture by the time they were forty.

Then again, since when were they the sort to listen to petty cunts?

After another naughty snogging session against the linen cupboard door, Kate and Malcolm went to the sitting room in order to lay back and relax with some books and each other. The former grabbed her book from the shelf and plopped down on the couch, though the latter…

"Erm, Kate… there's something I want to read to you before we settle in for the day," Malcolm said. Kate looked at him and saw he was taking his book as well, though pulled out a sheet of loose, folded up paper from the inside, opening it up with one hand.

"What is this?" she laughed. She couldn't help but find the bright shade her husband was turning amusing. "Malcolm? What's that?"

"It's a poem, and I'd like to read it, if you stop snickering long enough for me to talk," he muttered, putting on his reading glasses.

"Fine, fine… go ahead," she nodded. Kate took in the sight of her husband in his reading specs and slightly shaking as he went over the words one last time before clearing his throat—he was petrified, and not everyone could say they had the luxury of seeing a terrified Malcolm Tucker in their sitting room.

"What was I before you? That I do not know.

"What am I without you? Just a lot of show.

"I swear and shout and scare; terrorize to hold the line,

"I keep the act up at work, because at home it is divine.

"We come home to each other, the same house, room, and bed.

"We complete each other thoroughly, and we shall until we're dead.

"You picked me up when I was down. You saw me at near-worst.

"You let me have another chance. You saw me not as cursed.

"Our family life is loving. It is beyond what I deserve.

"Our sex life is amazing. Thank fuck we both are pervs.

"This life we have is wonderful and it gets greater by the day.

"This marriage keeps me living, which I know I do not have to say.

"Even though we're so content, a wean is soon to be.

"Even in our age—a son—a second chance for me.

"Yet he pales in comparison; there would be no him without you.

"Yet here we are, we're nutters, love—for one another, it's true.

"How much you mean to me is clear; there never was a doubt.

"Happy anniversary, my Kate—for now I'm all fucking sapped-out."

Silence fell over the room. Malcolm tried not to cringe as his wife sat there, staring at him curiously. Kate then stood, walking up to him as she kept eye contact. She gently took his glasses off and placed them in his shirt pocket, wanting to look directly at him.

"You honestly wrote that? For me?"

"Fuck… yeah… of course I did," he mumbled. "I'm no Burns, but I can pretend if it's for your sake."

"That is one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me," she said. She pulled his face down and kissed him tenderly. "I love it."

"You do…?"

"Of course I do, you silly idiot. I mean," she showed him the ring on her finger, "I did allow way too many people to wander around the house a year ago so they could watch you put this on me. If you wrote it for me, then I absolutely adore it, just as I adore you."

Instead of saying something in reply, Malcolm leaned back in and kissed Kate solidly on the mouth. Her breath hitched and he grew hard—precisely the reactions he was hoping to get.

Yes, they were horny as a couple of teens, they admitted to themselves as they went back upstairs towards their bedroom, but at least they deserved it.