"I don't know if you take prompts but I'd love to see Malcolm doing an interview to publicize his memoir and having to answer questions about his relationship with Sam."

Your wish is my command. My first ever fic prompt...so excited!

This is in response the above fic prompt from zazou, thank you my dear!
This takes place after Malcolm and Sam return from Italy ( New Horizons) and before his illness. (A Close Shave) .The memoirs are published and Malcolm is in the States...

OFF THE RECORD.

Sam was curled on her own side of the bed, alone. She had to admit it, but she hated it when Malcolm was away.
Whenever possible she travelled with him, but sometimes it was just not feasible, and this was one of those times.
A tiny baby, a long flight, a media circus. Somehow she just couldn't hack it.
So he'd gone by himself.
On returning from their sojourn in Italy, Malcolm had been the most relaxed she'd ever seen him. Part of her didn't want to return at all.
Selfish, but she liked having him all to herself, and he'd been so tired, so wired, so drained, just reaching a point where he could sleep through the night had been a breakthrough.

Now they were back, in the maelstrom that was the life of the public Malcolm Tucker, the furore when the book was published and the frenzy that accompanied it had not died down.
"Christ, anyone would think I'd written a sequel to Harry Potter!"
His public were clamouring for him...apparently.
The American distributor had requested the visit. Promotions, interviews, a few days. He knew he had to do it. It was part of his obligation. It appeared that people were keen to meet him. Fuck knows why.

It had gone pretty well, so far. Press core, radio, TV and then one last interview for the New York Times. Malcolm was exhausted. Jet lag hit him hard. He was awake at 3am...and needing a nap in the middle of the afternoon, but not getting one.
Black coffee awaited him in the hotel suite where they met for the interview. Malcolm had showered, shaved, put on the suit that was his armour. He was ready. When this was over he could go home.
His flight wasn't until 11...he wondered briefly, if there was an earlier one.
Two chairs faced each other over a low coffee table. A jug of water and tumblers in the centre.
The young woman stood, as he walked briskly into the room, fingers unfastening his jacket as he did so.
She extended a hand, which he shook briefly, before taking a seat.
"Courtney Harris. New York Times."
She began, with a smile that was just a little too wide...he was reminded of a benevolent crocodile.
He nodded, with a ghost of a smile.
"Let's get down to it, shall we?"
"Right! So...Malcolm Tucker, the scourge of Downing Street, a political velociraptor, Iago with a blackberry...you've been described as all these things, and yet your persona now belies those descriptions..."
Fuck! He thought, straight to the jugular!
"Yeah, well, things change, people change."
She crossed her stockinged legs high, a movement she hoped he'd notice. He seemed unperturbed, however.
"They don't change inherently, so was all that an act, hiding the soft centre of the real you?"
"You make me sound like a fucking armadillo." Malcolm couldn't suppress a laugh.
"Well, you must be aware that part of your charisma was the shouting and swearing...women find that attractive."
Malcolm laughed again.
"Well, if that's the case they fucking hid it well! Because I was never aware of it."
"Really, not even your own PA?"
Malcolm bristled, squirming awkwardly in what was possibly the most uncomfortable chair he'd ever sat on. He leaned forward and poured some of the water, to give himself a moment.
He sipped.
"I wasn't aware I'd come here to talk about my private life, I've come to talk about my book."
"Oh, come on, Mr Tucker! You can't deflect like that, most of the memoir and your life are inextricably linked. You can't talk about one without the other!"
"Did your relationship with your wife start before all this stuff came out?"
Malcolm looked at her, with his best bollocking face. She stared back at him with defiance, but it was she who quailed first.
"I don't have relationships in the workplace." He replied, seething. "Sam and I didn't get together until after the Inquiry."
"I see." She sucked on the end of her pen...in what she hoped was an alluring way.
"But there must have been something there, a little frisson? I mean you disappeared off the radar, almost immediately after Goolding."
"Look love, I don't quite know where you're going with this, but I'm not fucking telling you about how my relationship with Sam blossomed. It's none of your fucking business...or my readers."
She backed off slightly, changing tack.
"So you've done a photoshoot, for American GQ magazine, the pictures are rather good."
"Yeah...I'm right up there with George Fucking Clooney!" Malcolm scoffed.
"I hear there are an awful lot of ladies who see you as quite the heartthrob."
"Well, if people want to enjoy my profile in the privacy of their own homes, that's up to them, but... well, I'm married and the only person I want to love me is my wife."
"Your wife hasn't accompanied you on this trip?"
"No. We have a small baby, it's all a bit much. All I want to do is get home to them."
Courtney Harris raised her eyebrows. Pursing her lips together in a sarcastic smirk.
"So, let's talk a bit about the Inquiry and the revelation about the Mr Tickel papers being forged.
That must have come as quite a shock?"
"Grenade going off, actually! Politics is a dirty business, that's why I'm glad I'm out of it."
"Don't you miss the adrenaline rush?"
"No, I don't. I've walked away...Miss...?"
"Harris...call me Courtney."
"I've walked away MISS HARRIS, and I don't intend to go back. My life now is the life I want, have always wanted. I wouldn't give that up for any of the shenanigans that go on in the corridors of power...I've left it behind. And good riddance."
"My, word, Mr Tucker, strong words indeed...your wife must have magical powers, to make you change your tune so completely and utterly."
"My wife, is the single most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, she has given me a child, our child, that I never thought I'd have. I love her completely and totally and I always will. Politics is no substitute for that. And that is Off The Record. If you print that I'll nail your bony little arse to the nearest wall and leave you hanging there."
He rose from the chair.
"We're done here. It's been a pleasure. Miss Harris. I look forward to reading your article."
He shook her hand again briefly, and headed for the door.
"So much for the alluring Mr Tucker...your reputation is founded on a lie. You're really a pussy cat! "
He turned, hand on the door handle.
"Oh, I'm one big bag of allure, me, " he said, " but don't forget, Miss Harris, cats have teeth and very sharp claws...I suggest you go find yourself a nice guy, get laid...the messages you've been sending out over the last twenty minutes, tell me you must be gagging for it. I wish you good day."
The door closed behind him.

Out into the street. Breathe, Tucker, breathe. Hail a yellow cab.
"Hi, pal, get me to JFK before half past and I'll double your fare, no fucking tourist scenic route , yeah?"
The cabbie nodded.
Malcolm watched idly as they drove past Flushing Meadow...his bags had been packed before the interview. Fuck them all. He was going home.

Sam stirred as a cold body slid into the bed beside her.
"Mmmmm?"
"My darling girl...I'm home!"
He pulled her into his arms, wrapping himself around her.
"Malcolm? You're early! I wasn't expecting you till the morning."
She ran her fingers through his tousled curls.
"This is the nicest surprise ever."
"How did it all go?"
"Good, but the last interview was a killer. Half way through it, I didn't know why I was there, Sam. All I could think about was getting home to you."
"I love you Malcom." She kissed him deeply.
"God, Sam...I love you too, with all my heart!"