A couple of notes about the wedding: The venue really exists and is Dalmeny Park near Glasgow, which is beautiful without being too ostentatious. Malcolm being Malcolm I fear he resolutely refused to wear a kilt...and would have felt more comfortable in his suit. The vows, I chose because I strongly felt, that they both needed to say their own words rather than the traditional responses.

Malcolm's face when he sees Paul's revelation, I liken to Season 3. Ep 7 of TTOI, when he is forced to resign, and turns to see it emblazoned on the TV screen.
Greg Fraser is Malcolm's lawyer, whom he asks Sam to call, prior to his arrest in Series 4. He appears with Malcolm on the steps of Hackney Police Station in TTOI.

PART FOUR. VOWS AND VINDICATIONS.

"Samantha Cassidy, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

The strangled sob that left Sam, as she looked down into his anxious face, would have done Emma Thompson proud! Although this was no 'Sense and Sensibility' scenario!
Throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him up, into a bear crunching embrace, kissing his damp face over and over again,
"Yes, Malcolm...God! Yes and a thousand times yes!"
He slid into the booth at her side and taking her left hand, slipped the ring on her finger.
A gasp was all Sam could manage. A trio of diamonds, set in a twist of gold on either side, it glittered in the candle light.
Her hand outstretched, fingers splayed, turning the ring to catch the sparkle. Her face was radiant, tears brimming, other hand resting against her chest, to temper her rapid breathing.
The waiter bought coffee, and red roses, which Malcolm had organised beforehand. This instigated a fresh onslaught of sobs and crushing hugs.

The wedding was arranged for two months time. By which time Sam would be roughly four months into her pregnancy. Neither wanted a lavish affair.
Malcolm found a country house hotel, near to Glasgow; old, ivy clad and in a beautiful setting. It was perfect. Nancy, Frank and the children would be there, and Paul and Tina would travel up and spend the weekend. Sam had hoped to persuade Malcolm to ask Jamie McDonald, but, as part of his old life, he somehow couldn't bring himself to make the call.

As best man, Frank stood at his brother-in-law's side. Resplendent in his Armani suit, a pale rose in his buttonhole, Malcolm fidgeted nervously.
As both Mr and Mrs Cassidy senior had died many years before, Paul agreed to give Sam away. Her hair was swept up, curled and secured with real rosebuds. She wore a boucle Chanel dress and jacket in cream, with contrasting piping. The slight rounding of her belly, only barely noticeable.
A sharp intake of breath left Malcolm as he locked eyes with her.

Malcolm had chosen a Pablo Neruda sonnet (XVII) for his vows, his voice trembled with emotion as he spoke the words;

I love you without knowing how,
or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly,
without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know
no other way than this:
where 'I' does not exist, nor 'you'
so close that your hand
on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close
as I fall asleep.

Sam reached forward and took his hand in hers, she spoke quietly but firmly in reply;

I take you to be my best friend,
my faithful partner
and my one true love.
I promise to encourage you
and inspire you
and to love you truly,
through good times and bad.
I will forever be there
to laugh with you,
to lift you up when you are down,
and to love you unconditionally
through all of our adventures in life
together...

Ceremony complete, the new Mr and Mrs Tucker, enjoyed the rest of a wonderful, happy weekend, with the people closest to them in the world. Their utter joy was tangible.

A small article appeared in the press...

Freed Communications Director Weds Former PA….…the marriage of Malcolm Tucker to Samantha Cassidy took place today….Ms Cassidy is understood to be expecting the couple's first child later this year…..

During the weeks that followed their marriage, Malcolm was bombarded with offers from the newspapers. They were very keen to have the 'human story' behind the once powerful man. Although he really did not want to dwell on his past life, very much wishing to leave it behind, he was beginning to feel, that there were certain things that needed to be said. Records that needed straightening, hatchets that needed burying. So he acquiesced.
The article agreed upon encompassed a little of the background of the Goolding Enquiry, his subsequent trial and a few details of his home life as it now stood. Some of the old Malcolm resurfaced;
"I still have some contacts in high places, and if you cunts print anything I don't like I'll rip out your fucking livers and eat them for dinner," he warned.

By the time the piece went to press, Sam was six months pregnant.
Each passing week was, to Malcolm, a source of wonderment. To lie beside her, his hand resting on the swell of her abdomen, feeling the movement within. To stroke the curve of her as she grew, to see the radiance and glow of her, was a constant sense of thrill and anticipation.

They were enjoying a quiet evening in, when the telephone rang. Sam answered. It was Paul.
"Is Malc there, sis?" his voice sounded breathy and flustered.
"Sure," she replied," pop round."
Within half an hour Paul Cassidy was at the Tucker house. Newspapers, files and computer, strewn across the coffee table.
"I've been looking at your press article," his rapid fingers tapped his laptop keyboard, "I've noticed something that I think might shock you."
Malcolm and Sam exchanged glances.
Pages from the newspaper appeared on the screen and he scrolled through them quickly.
"Malc, how much do you remember of what was said at the Enquiry?"
Malcolm frowned, every detail was irrevocably etched in his memory.
"I have a complete transcript...somewhere, and the whole thing was filmed, it was used as evidence at the trial."
Sam hurried to her husband's study and began rummaging through the desk. Returning with the labelled disc.
"What caught my attention, was this...it says in this paragraph, that you were cropped out of this photo..."
Up popped the picture of Nicola Murray, with the 'quiet bat people' papers under her arm. Malcolm grimaced.
Paul bought up the uncropped version of the image from the disc and zoomed in on Malcolm himself, standing to one side, poppy in his overcoat lapel, a file tucked under his arm.
"I wanted to see this original full version," he said,
"At first, I didn't notice anything," the picture shimmered into clarity, as he drew in closer and closer, numbers at the top of Malcolm's file became clearly visible.
"This software can zoom to 1 million by 1 million pixels," he said, rolling the mouse to enhance the view.
Sam and Malcolm leaned in towards the screen. They could both see the NHS and National Insurance number of Mr Tickel, as well as two telephone numbers.
"What WAS actually on the top of that page in the file Malc?" Paul asked, turning to face his bemused brother-in-law, "because I think this has been doctored!"
"WHAT!...HOW!"
Sam gasped aloud, hand over her mouth in horror, as her eyes scanned the image.
"You can't see it just by looking at a blown up version, they wouldn't have seen it at the Enquiry or the trial, but if you use this software to look closely, you can see that there are changes in the pattern of the pixels, it's a form of photoshop."
There was a note of triumph in Paul's voice.
"Not just anyone could have done this, Malc, it would require specialist IT knowledge!"

Malcolm Tucker stood silent in his own living room. He stared intently at the screen, his eyes narrowed, face taut, jaw clenched tight. He blinked several times, as if trying prevent the brimming wetness under his lashes. His fists closing and flexing at his sides.
"Oh, Malcolm...!" Sam whispered, almost unable to control her own rising nausea.

Malcolm turned on his heel, marching out of the room and into his study. He shut the door behind him. Sam watched him go, quaking where she stood, and made as if to follow him. Paul caught her wrist.
"Let him be." He said.
Sitting down in his leather chair, hands spread before him on his desk, Malcolm retched and sucked air into his lungs, as if he were choking.
During The Enquiry, the Trial, he'd gone over and over it a thousand times in his mind. What HAD been in that file? He REALLY couldn't remember. His briefing notes, various documents, some letters, but the page with the phone numbers? He didn't remember ever having seen it. So convenient that it was just visible. He'd thought about it until his head ached.
He remembered the cold lurch in his gut, the moment the picture had been displayed on the Enquiry screen. It had taken him unawares, he, the Great Malcolm Tucker, had been rendered speechless.
It was THE moment he knew, he had no answers, THE moment it all came crashing down. He was fucked. He TRUTHFULLY didn't know how the numbers got there.

The vein on his temple bulged. His harsh breathing did not diminish, rather, it increased. He felt pain as if his chest would burst.
With harsh, juddering cries of FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! he began to sweep the contents from the top of his desk, wildly scattering them onto the floor. He hurled a glass paperweight across the room, where it shattered against the wall with a sickening crash.
Sam flung open the door, face blanched white, as he continued to launch anything within reach towards the opposite wall. Books, papers, files. Ripping the computer keyboard from its wire, half sobbing, half bellowing all the while, he smashed it repeatedly against the side of the bookcase.
Sam reached his side as he collapsed back into the chair, beating his fists against the desk. At first as she enveloped him in her arms, he tried to shove her away, but she would not be vanquished. Grabbing him firmly, she held him, stroking his head, as he lowered it to his hands on the desk top, the yells becoming broken weeping at last.
Paul handed him a whiskey as he fought to regain control of himself, he knocked it back in one swallow, hands trembling.
Hours later, weary and spent, he lay curled beside Sam, mind whirring. Her fingers running lightly through his steel grey hair.
"What are you going to do Malc?" Her voice full of concern.
"Part of me wants to just leave it, I've moved on, it's over, fuck the lot of them," he replied dully,
"But the rest of me wants to nail their fucking arses to the wall, flay the skin of whoever's responsible." His anger rose.
"How dare they fuck with me, Sam, how dare they ruin my reputation, my fucking life, everything I ever stood for. They're cunts, every one of them. But, guess what? I'm Indiana Tucker and the Bum Dildo of Vengeance...and I'm going to take them down!"

Next morning he placed a call to Greg Fraser.

A flurry of hastily arranged meetings punctuated the days that followed. An official investigation was set in motion and the files and information that Malcolm and Paul had gathered were handed over to the Police.
A month passed before a glimmer of light began to shine through the mire of hidden paper trails and computer links. The trail wound through the newspaper offices. Interviews with journalists, led back to DoSAC and two names seemed to crop up with increasing frequency; Oliver Reader, and a close friend of his, a certain Russell Brewer.

Fire had been kindled in Malcolm's belly. He was determined, now, that whatever he had to go through, those who had conspired to destroy his career, would pay. He also found that he had allies, from his past life, who came forward to support him. Glenn Cullen was one of these.

Sam, great with child, had waddled into the kitchen to make tea. Malcolm was reading through files from his days at DoSAC that she had downloaded for him, on that fateful last day.
"MALCOLM!...I need you, come here!"
The urgency in her voice made him jump up.
She was standing by the sink, watching as liquid cascaded down her legs and onto the floor.
Panic gripped him.
"Malc...I need you to focus...go and phone the midwife!"

Malcolm Tucker was not renowned for his patience in his previous life! Although he had improved somewhat since being in a relationship. Babies, however, will not be rushed, and waiting for one to make it's appearance can be arduous.
To be fair, he did all that was asked of him. Having no experience of actual birth whatever, he felt a little like a spare part.
He rubbed Sam's back with each contraction, mopped her sweating forehead, held her clammy hand, whispered encouragement to her from time to time and made more cups of tea than he ever had in his entire life!
Not being in control of the situation was hard for him. Sam had to do all the work, he couldn't shoulder that burden. Seeing her in so much agony, he found really quite distressing, as she panted and breathed and tried to ride the waves of pain, he felt helpless to do anything much to make it easier for her.
The midwife was, as they almost always are, marvellous. Calm and assured, she helped Sam to remain focussed and told Malcolm what to do and say to ease her along.
The hours crawled by, and Sam was tiring.
"Come on darling, just one last effort, you can do this!"
He was sitting on the floor, legs either side of her, her back resting against his chest. One hand circling her swollen belly, the other being squeezed to within an inch of its life by his tortured wife. She was almost there.
Malcolm shifted round to kneel beside her left knee, leaving her to rest back. The head was visible and he watched, mesmerised as it began to emerge. Nothing on earth could have prepared him for the moment his son was born. With one final heroic endeavour, Sam pushed, and arms, torso and legs slid out into the midwife's waiting grasp.
The infant wailed lustily, as the nurse deftly cut the chord, swaddled him and handed him to his father. Malcolm cradled the tiny mewling bundle, and looked from it to his wonderful, beautiful wife.
"You are amazing!" He bent and kissed her lips tenderly, presenting their son to her, " look what you've done, you clever girl!"
Exhausted, she smiled up at him, her face still flushed from the effort. The shawl loosened and a little pink arm poked out.
"Good god, Malcolm, he's got your hands...look at those fingers!"
It was true; baby Tucker had long narrow, delicate, artistic digits, just like his proud Dad.

It was three in the morning. Both Sam and the new baby were sleeping soundly and gratefully.
Malcolm sat alone in his study, feet on the desk, in the dim lamplight, a tumbler of whiskey at his elbow. He replayed the moment of that birth over and over in his mind. The euphoria of it, the miracle of new life. Did anything else really matter to him anymore? Did he really care about what was past? Somehow these things seemed to pale into insignificance. This well of deep attachment that he had to his wife, and now his child, seemed immeasurably more important. He sighed, drained his glass and went to bed. He slept the sleep of the righteous.

There was to be a court case. There were charges to be answered. Russell Brewer, had, most certainly been responsible for digitally manipulating the photograph. He had certainly not acted of his own volition, he had been recruited by another person higher up. Malcolm and Sam attended every day, despite having a very tiny baby.
The whole process bought back painful memories for Malcolm. Seeing himself standing in the box being questioned, standing there once again whilst reliving his own trial, was emotionally wearing. He listened to both Russell and Ollie's testimonies. He was within a foot of his young successor, as he stepped up.
"Wanker!" He hissed under his breath.
Ollie, turned towards him sharply and was treated to Malcolm's most vicious burning glare.
Yes, despite everything, it DID still matter, he DID still care, he wanted closure. He needed to be vindicated. He wanted justice.
On the final day, Russell was found guilty of falsifying government documents. He received a fine and a custodial sentence. Oliver Reader, somehow managed to slip the noose. But his credibility was shot, and he would never work in government circles again, no one would trust him.
Malcolm made a statement on the court steps,
"Today, marks the end of almost two years of living under the shadow of the Goolding Enquiry's repercussions. My only wish now, is to move on with my life and enjoy time with my wife, who has been an unfailing support, and my new baby. I have nothing further to add. Thank you."

Two weeks later Malcolm and Sam and the baby were in a villa on the Amalfi Coast in Italy.

This story now ties in with the mini Fic 'New Horizons'. I hope you enjoyed it. It's been a lot of fun to write.