Valediction by jlrpuck, commentary by fishface44
[This commentary was actually completed before the others, but it was unfortunately submarined by my initial failed posting efforts.]
Valediction
Rating: T
Author: jlrpuck
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose? [I adore Professor Peter and Heiress Rose. Of course, Peter Carlisle is adorable in any time line]
Authors Notes: Peter meets the inestimable Jackie Tyler.
Thank you to chicklet73 for her beta of this!
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking - The Primrose - The Bard’s Epitaph - The Bait - On His Mistress - The Canonization - Valediction - Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
-John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
In 1611, John Donne wrote "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" to his wife, Anne More Donne, to comfort her while he was in France conducting government business and she remained home in Mitcham, England, about seven miles from London. The title says, in essence, "When we part, we must not mourn." Valediction is derived from the Latin verb valedicere, meaning to say farewell. (Another English word derived from the same Latin verb is valedictorian, referring to a student scholar who delivers a farewell address at a graduation ceremony.) The poem then explains that a maudlin show of emotion would cheapen their love, reduce it to the level of the ordinary and mundane. Their love, after all, is transcendent, heavenly. Other husbands and wives who know only physical, earthly love, weep and sob when they separate for a time because they dread the loss of physical closeness. But because Donne and his wife have a spiritual, as well as physical, dimension to their love, they will never really be apart, he says, for their souls will remain united-even though their bodies are separated-until he returns to England.
http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides3/Valediction.html
“He looks like the Doctor. The second one,” Jackie added helpfully, helping her daughter prepare tea in the cavernous kitchen of the estate house.
“D’you think so?” Rose paused, turning to her mum, her brows knit together in concentration.
“You don’t?” Jackie’s disbelief was apparent.
“No. Well, I mean…when I first saw him, yeah. But he’s so different, mum-so very different. I just…I don’t see it. Not anymore.” [This is sort of the opposite of getting used to the regeneration from Nine to Ten. Just like Rose came to see both Nine and Ten as the same Doctor, she sees Peter as an entirely different man from the Doctor]
“You’re mad for him.” It was a simple, declarative statement; underneath it, though, unspoken, Rose could hear her mum’s worry.
“Yes.”
“You’ve spent all of your time with him, since you found him months ago. Have you…have you thought, maybe, of taking a break?”
“I’m living with him, Mum. ‘s a bit late for that.” Jackie had been concerned, when Rose had told her mum she was planning to move in with Peter-but as Rose was the happiest she’d seen in years (and as Peter’s reputation in both the academic community, and the town in which he lived, was sterling), she’d reluctantly given her approval. Pete had remained silent on the matter, but continued to watch with a wary eye.
“Just some breathing room, love--to make sure. Maybe even a weekend apart.”
Rose sighed, leaning against the counter, the tea forgotten. “’s mad, isn’t it? He’s a bit like drugs; I can’t seem to get enough of him. But, mum-it took us almost two years to get this far. There’s so much time to make up; I don’t want to lose another minute with him.” [If any human understands the importance of savoring every moment with loved ones, it is Rose Tyler!]
Jackie gave her daughter a searching gaze, then nodded, once. “Alright then, love.”
Jackie seemed to warm up to Peter after the conversation, even if Rose was fairly certain her mum was still mentally comparing him to the man he somewhat resembled. [Jackie will probably never really stop comparing Peter and the Doctor.] Peter took it in good humour-he’d already been told that on first glance, he did look suspiciously like the Doctor, and had seemed to find it amusing more than disconcerting. In between answering the questions about his degrees, or his courses, or even his papers, Peter amused Rose’s little brother John by telling tales of raiders coming across the sea, sneaking bits of history and architecture in with the enthralling stories. [Professor Peter is such a professor!]
When he wasn’t answering questions, or distracting her young brother, Peter was asking Jackie about life in the other universe-and the mysterious Doctor about whom Rose had told him. If her mum was surprised at exactly how much Rose had shared, she didn’t show it, instead answering his questions as forthrightly as Peter had answered hers. Peter was still having a tough time fully believing her, Rose knew: he trusted her, absolutely, but his rational side was fighting the thought that aliens were real, and could look like any other person on the street. She slid her hand into his as he continued to speak with Jackie, as he became enraptured with the stories Jackie told of a younger, more adventurous Rose who would call her from the ends of the universe. [I like that Peter is discussing all this with Jackie with Rose right there. And Rose’s history is not all that different from the thrilling bits of regular history that Peter loves!]
In fact, Rose would have gone so far as to say things were going brilliantly, right up until her mum mentioned Kendal. Rose had told Peter almost everything there was to tell, three months in to their relationship-the Doctor, the TARDIS, the alternate universe, even her job at Torchwood--but she still hadn’t found the courage to tell him of that day in the basement in the cottage in Kendal, when James had died and her life had changed irrevocably. [This bit of the Professor Peter /Heiress Rose time line is difficult to think about. James is a sweetheart, and the loss of him in this ‘verse is wildly sad.]
“Thought we’d lost her, you know, up in Kendal. It was a near thing.”
Rose felt as though ice had been poured down her back; she felt Peter go very still next to her, and could almost sense the intensity of his gaze towards her mum.
“I’m sorry?” His voice was terrifyingly polite, and Rose frantically tried to catch her mum’s eye, to let her know not to tell that particular tale.
Jackie didn’t notice. “Well, you know-there was poor James. Mickey and Jake still don’t talk about that day, although Pete told me that the only reason James was killed was because he blocked the shot from that awful man. And Rose here only survived because she was standing behind a metal table; of course, she still got torn apart, but the doctors were able to put her to rights. Closest we ever came to losing our Rose.”
Peter had tuned Jackie out, and had turned to Rose. His eyes were bright, his skin pale, and she braced herself for whatever comment he was going to offer. [jlrpuck really makes us see Peter here and in several more places-the physical manifestations of stress and horror are very apparent!]
“You what?!” He shouted the words, causing her to flinch. Rose noted the surprise written across her mum’s face, and was only partially aware of the look of alarm which crossed John’s. A frightful silence filled the room before chaos broke out.
The alarm in Peter’s voice, combined with the volume, caused John to cry; he was running from the room, looking for safe haven, by the time Jackie recollected herself enough to glare at Rose. Rose ignored her mum, focusing instead on Peter, on the maelstrom of emotion passing across his face.
“’s ok, Peter. I’m ok.” She reached forward, resting her hand on his leg; he was practically quivering now, tension radiating through him.
Rose was only vaguely aware of her mum excusing herself, following John out one of the side doors to the parlour; As soon as her mum was gone, Peter leaned forward, pulling Rose to him, almost crushing her in his embrace. She brought her arms around his back, returning the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m ok,” she whispered, her hand stroking along his spine.
“You could’ve died?” he whispered into her hair, tightening his hold on her.
“But I didn’t,” she replied, using the words which she heard so many times as she lay in hospital, words she’d adopted as her own as she had tried to come to terms with what had happened.
Peter was silent for several moments, wrestling with what he had heard from Jackie, and finally released Rose. His gaze was solemn as he sat back, as he looked at her. “What happened, Rose?”
She swallowed, not wanting to re-live those minutes in the cellar, not wanting to even think about the aftermath, but knowing Peter had to be told. She’d misled him long enough. [And here is really the crux of the matter. Peter needs full disclosure from Rose.]
“We…my team and I…we got sent to Kendal. To find a missing employee. Only it turns out there was more to it.” Rose turned to face Peter, settling her back against the arm of the sofa, tucking her left leg under her while letting her right foot rest on the floor. She watched him as she related the story of her weeks in Kendal-of the challenge of working with a pair of detectives who weren’t willing to cooperate, let alone believe she was there to do a deadly serious job. [This was interesting to me, since it makes it apparent how truly dysfunctional the police department at Kendal was in every universe. It was awful there with or without a DI Carlisle.] Of how she, and Jake, and Mickey had slowly realized there was much more at play; of how she’d called James north as soon as she could, desperate to have her full team there so they could finish the case and get away from the uncooperative-obstructive-locals.
She paused, collecting herself before launching into the specifics of the day when everything went so wrong; of how she’d blithely assumed they’d be safe, of how she should have made sure the local constabulary believed at least someone from Torchwood before she led the group into the cellar and glibly told Mickey to de-activate the electromedial lock blocking access to who-knew-what. Of how McGreevy and his associate, Swinson, had been waiting for them in the large room lying at the end of the ell-shaped hallway they’d found. McGreevy had been jabbering, trying to broker a deal; Swinson was far less inclined to negotiate, and had grabbed at an alien weapon which McGreevy had been researching. She fought back tears as she told Peter about James, diving in front of her and Mickey and Jake, blocking that first shot; of how she’d yelled at her friends to get out, diving behind the large metal table sitting in the middle of the room as Swinson took a second shot at her. Jake had, by that point, pulled out his own weapon and fired back at Swinson; McGreevy had taken shelter behind his desk, cowering in fear, and surrendered immediately after Swinson fell to the ground, incapacitated. [Until this incident I think Rose had felt safe in her Torchwood job. Even with all the risks, nothing had likely seemed anywhere near as amazing as all the things she had faced with the Doctor. After Kendal, that feeling had to be gone forever. ] The rest of it was a haze for Rose; she could still feel the pain and anguish of that day, even after months of therapy and years of distance; she could hear her voice catch as she finished by telling Peter of her stay in the hospital, compressing months into minutes.
“I used to be a field agent, Peter, used to chase after folks. It was scary, and exhilarating, and I did a lot of stupid things. But I don’t do that, anymore. I can’t.”
“But you would, if you could.” His voice was bitter. She flinched, knowing he was right. [I suspect she had a conversation very much like this with Jackie after she got out of hospital. ]
“Yes.” She stroked his arm. “But I can’t, Peter. So I do other things. I won’t be purposely placed in a situation like that, ever again.”
He turned to her, pulling her into a crushing hug, burying his nose in her hair. “Don’t. Please.”
She turned slightly, brushing a kiss over his hair. “I won’t.”
As she said the words, she found she meant them. She didn’t want to risk losing him - or making him lose her.
Silence again descended in the room, Peter working through what she had told him.
“Did James have any family?” he finally asked, softly, still holding her to him.
Rose felt her throat tighten, and took a deep breath. “No.” Tears filled her eyes, guilt washing through her, and remorse. She’d missed his funeral, although Mickey had sat with her after, telling her how it was a celebration of James’ life as much as a mourning of his passing. No one, Mickey had added, held her responsible for what had happened. [No one except Rose herself.]
She sniffled, clenching her eyes shut, willing herself not to break completely down. She’d cried so many tears over that day; surely, at some point, she’d run out. She took several deep breaths, the quavering lessening with each one, and was finally able to speak again. “The detectives up there, who left us on our own-they were demoted, and transferred. Their boss-the one who told them to ignore us, and who blocked a lot of what we needed-was sacked.” [I found it very gratifying to know this happened to that evil DCI!] She felt the comfort of cold fury wash through her; as angry as she was with the DCI who’d hindered their case, Pete was infinitely moreso. He was the one who’d contacted the head of the police services, who had demanded to know what kind of idiots were working up in Kendal, and did London know about it. Pete was even more furious when, after an investigation, it was revealed that there had been numerous complaints made against the DCI, but no action had been taken.
Peter brushed a kiss over her hair, and relaxed his hold on her. “You could have told me, you know.” His voice held a measure of hurt, and she leaned back, confused. He continued, “I…I thought there was something more. More than an accident. But…” He shrugged, and let out a frustrated sigh.
“I…was terrified of telling you, Peter. It was just easier, to let you think that it was from an accident. In a way, it was.”
“Why were you terrified, Rose?” Peter’s voice was low, and he ducked his head so he could meet her gaze.
She blushed. “I’d already told you so many fantastical things. And…now, it’s a lifetime ago. Like it happened to someone else, really. I worried you’d think I was still that girl, who took foolish risks, and was so stupidly naïve.”
Bitterness laced her voice, and she closed her eyes, fighting back the feeling. She’d learned from those mistakes, and had moved on.
She felt Peter lean in, felt his arm come around her, and she relaxed against him, savouring his warmth. “You’re who you are, Rose.” He brushed a kiss across her hair. “Your past has helped to make you that. The woman I love.”
She tilted her head back, looking up at him, wondering if he was teasing her. He was in earnest, his dark gaze full of his love.
Rose blushed, still awed and amazed that this wonderful man loved her, in spite of all of her mistakes and flaws.
~ - ~
Jackie had returned, eventually, and they finished their now cold tea by making rather awkward conversation. Rose knew her mum was desperate to find out how Peter had taken the story Rose had shared; just the thought of replaying the conversation, though, wearied her. Peter made their excuses, letting Jackie know he and Rose had plans that they needed to keep; Rose didn’t tell her mum that those plans involved making supper at Rose’s flat, but did promise her mum to bring Peter for supper the next evening.
Peter, fortunately, had driven them to the estate, and Rose was able to settle back in her seat, and nap for the drive back to her home. [I love this, because her being able to sleep right away indicates that she is comfortable with Peter’s reaction to the story of what really happened to her.]
Peter woke her after he’d wedged his car into the parking spot in the mews behind her house; he had frown lines as he watched her wake up, and she reached over, gently running a finger across one of them. “’m alright, Peter.”
He kissed the finger, and then nodded. “Then let’s go inside so I can change out of this ridiculous suit.” Peter had been nervous about meeting Jackie on her own turf, and-in spite of Rose’s reassurances that he really didn’t have to-had worn a suit. She’d worn a dress, so he wouldn’t be the only one overdressed for tea with her mum, and was as desperate to change back into comfortable clothes as Peter was.
Peter waited for her outside the car, taking her hand as she moved to him, squeezing it as he led the way to the garden gate. Rose entered the security code for the week, and gave Peter a small smile as he pushed the now-unlatched gate open for her. There was another pause at the front door, as she entered a different-permanent-code, and then they were inside.
She’d moved, after Kendal; almost the first thing she’d told her mum, once she was fully lucid, was that she never wanted to go back to Southwark. The flat was too full of memories for her-of dinners with her team, of celebrations following cases successfully concluded. Jackie had found an estate agent, had passed days with Rose while she was still confined to bed, poring through folios on potential properties, visiting the ones Rose thought would be nice. By the time she was released from hospital, Rose was the owner of an ancient-and impossibly small-house in Kew, well away from Torchwood, and Canary Wharf, and any other reminder of her life Before Kendal. She’d not set foot in the flat again, and had sold off almost everything in it when she sold the flat itself. [Check Kew out. Even if it is a bit different in the AU, it sounds charming! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kew and see Kew Gardens! http://www.kew.org/ ]
Rose relaxed immediately, the comforting smell and feel of home washing through her; the house had been her refuge-not just in the months after she’d been released from hospital, but during the many, many months she’d tried to forget about the man now holding her hand.
She moved to the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea; she listened to Peter climb the narrow wooden stairs, heard his footsteps as he moved across the ancient wooden floors above, changing. She stayed in the kitchen, hiding, wanting to wait until he was done changing and had returned downstairs before going to change herself. Peter knew the story behind the scars on her torso, now-and that, somehow, made it even harder for her to let him see them. [I love the all the cottages in the Peter and Rose stories. For this one I looked up real estate listings for Kew houses. I like to think of Rose’s cottage as a very nice 2 bedroom Victorian I found listed there. ]
The kettle came to a boil, whistling merrily on the stove, and she pulled herself out of her melancholy thoughts.
Peter joined her in the kitchen as she poured out the water from warming the tea pot. He stopped behind her, his hands gently resting on her hips, kissing her cheek as she measured tea into the pot, and poured the remaining boiling water over it. Her heart raced, as it always did when it was just the two of them, and she set the kettle back onto the burner with shaking hands.
“Tea’ll be done in a few,” she said, her voice sharp and bright with nervousness.
Peter paused for just a moment, before replying “You’ve time enough to change, if you like.”
She turned, his hands sliding across her skin to clasp behind the small of her back as she faced him; her palms moved to his chest, resting on the coarse green wool of his jumper. [I loved this jumper, which struck me as a bit Nineish. ] She found it impossible to raise her eyes to his, and instead focused on the small patch of green visible between her hands.
“Rose.” Peter’s voice was low and gentle, and she found herself unable to stop from looking up at him. His eyes were warm, although there was a tension to them that belied how worried he was.
“’m okay,” she said, reflexively. [This, on the other hand, seems really quite Ten-like!]
He brought a hand up, cradling her jaw; as his thumb stroked across her cheek, she felt her tension begin to melt away. She sighed, her eyes gently drifting shut, giving herself over to the comfort Peter was offering. He brought his other hand up, and cupped her face gently between his palms before leaning in to brush a soft kiss over her lips.
“My Rose,” he whispered, pulling away.
“My Peter,” she murmured, her eyes opening slowly. He smiled at her, a simple quirk of his lips, and she felt the last of her tension fade away.
“I love you, you know.” He was watching her carefully, his hands still cradling her face.
“I know.”
“No matter what, Rose.”
She leaned up, pressing her lips against his in answer. “I love you,” she murmured as she pulled back.
His thumb stroked across her cheekbone as she opened her eyes, and she blushed under his continued scrutiny.
“’m okay Peter. Really I am. ‘s just…hard to talk about it.”
He moved his hands to her shoulders, sliding them down her arms before taking her hands in his. “I know. Thank you.”
She gave him a tentative smile, and he squeezed her hands as she took a breath to speak. “I…” Rose huffed in frustration, trying to marshal her thoughts. “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For…for sharing your life before, with me.” Rose raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze as she added, “I know it wasn’t easy. But it means the world to me.”
“That’s exactly how I feel today.”
“All square, then?”
“It’s not quid pro quo, Rose.”
She blushed, embarrassed. “I…I didn’t mean…” She tried to free her hands from Peter’s grasp, but he held them firm.
“I know, Rose. It’s hard to know what to say, sometimes.”
She nodded, relaxing her hands again in his grip. “So. Tea?” Her voice was more natural this time, and she tilted her head as she looked up at Peter.
“D’you reckon it’s strong enough to strip paint by now?” he asked, clearly teasing.
She laughed softly. “It had best not be. I need a cuppa, hot.” She rocked up, brushing a kiss over his jaw, before moving to return her attention to the teapot.
Peter didn’t mention, or even allude to, what he had learned until they went to bed that night. Rose had changed into a chemise, while Peter had stripped down completely; she’d blushed to learn that he habitually slept naked, but loved the feeling, now, of having his skin against hers as she fell asleep or awoke. He was already in bed when she slid next to him, his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he calmly read. The duvet rested teasingly at his hips even as she snuggled under it, and he appeared to not even notice her presence although she was certain he was perfectly well aware that she was there, and of what she was wearing. She rolled onto her side, gazing at him, once more amazed that he was there with her, and at the seemingly normal life she’d come to lead.
Peter continued to read, but slid a hand down; with practiced ease, he stroked her hair, soothing her as he finished the chapter he was currently working on. She scooted closer to him, her arm draping across his hips, her thumb gently brushing up and down across his skin.
He finally finished reading, closing the book, and leaning over to set it and his glasses on the bedside table; he turned off the lamp, and slid down to lay next to Rose.
They stared at each other in the dim light for some time, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Peter finally took a deep breath, and whispered, “I can’t believe how close I came to missing all of this.”
“But you’d never have known. I wouldn’t be here, and you’d not have missed me at all.”
He slid an arm under her, pulling her to him. Rose shifted, resting her head on his chest, and listened to the words rumble through him as he spoke again. “I think somehow I’d have known. I can’t imagine not having met you, Rose.”
She rested her palm on his chest, listening to the soothing thump of his heart as she savoured being with him. “I can’t believe how close I came to missing this,” she finally whispered, echoing his statement. She’d been so reckless, years before, confident in her abilities and-worse-her luck.
“Why’d you do it, Rose?” Peter asked gently.
Rose sighed. It was so very tempting to tell him that she’d not been thinking, but there was more to it than that-and he deserved the absolute truth, now. “I…I didn’t think. Not really. But…there was a long time, when I first got here, where I almost prayed that something would happen-that something would make the hurting stop, the ache I felt after I got pulled over here.” Peter tensed, his hand stilling on her arm as he listened to her. “It was selfish, and stupid, and I…I’m so ashamed I was like that. And…” she swallowed, fighting to say the next words, “And if I’d known what doing those things would lead to-if I’d known that somebody else would die-I never would have done.”
Peter remained absolutely still, although Rose could hear his heart hammering in his chest.
“I…I’m not like that, now, and the thing is, I wasn’t like that then, either-not by Kendal. I’d finally grown out of it. But…I got into bad habits, early on. I thought it was acceptable to take these horrible risks; that it was perfectly alright to ignore the rules, when they were a hindrance. And my team…they got into that habit, too. And so, when we were there, in Kendal…it just didn’t occur to me that something could go wrong. I’d been so lucky, before-and the worst thing is, I hadn’t thought it was luck. I had thought it was because we were just that good.”
She fell silent, listening to Peter’s heartbeat, feeling the puff of his breath over her hair as he worked through what she’d said. His skin was warmer than it had been, and his body was still tense; she wondered if he was going to yell at her-tell her she was stupid, as some had after Kendal, or offer words laced with pity, as still others had.
“Will you ever forgive yourself for it?” he finally asked, taking her aback. [I love it that he makes this her choice, and not his. This is yet another example of why Professor Peter is Awesome!]
She glanced up at him, surprised by his question. “No,” she replied, giving the honest answer without thinking.
Peter took a deep breath, let it out, and then spoke again. “I’m very, very glad you lived, Rose. So very glad.” He bent forward, pulling her up to meet his kiss; she squirmed, moving so she could return his kiss eagerly, her hand sliding from his chest to cradle his jaw.
He eventually slid his hands to the edge of her chemise, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the satin over her head; she pressed her body against his as the fabric was tossed aside, her body singing at the feel of his skin against hers.
She’d thought she might still be embarrassed by Peter acknowledging the physical reminders of Kendal-but as he made love to her that night, he kissed lines down each one, whispering thanks that she was there, that she was his, and that she loved him in return.[This is very, very sweet!]
~ fin ~
Valediction
Rating: T
Author: jlrpuck
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose? [I adore Professor Peter and Heiress Rose. Of course, Peter Carlisle is adorable in any time line]
Authors Notes: Peter meets the inestimable Jackie Tyler.
Thank you to chicklet73 for her beta of this!
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking - The Primrose - The Bard’s Epitaph - The Bait - On His Mistress - The Canonization - Valediction - Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
-John Donne, A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
In 1611, John Donne wrote "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" to his wife, Anne More Donne, to comfort her while he was in France conducting government business and she remained home in Mitcham, England, about seven miles from London. The title says, in essence, "When we part, we must not mourn." Valediction is derived from the Latin verb valedicere, meaning to say farewell. (Another English word derived from the same Latin verb is valedictorian, referring to a student scholar who delivers a farewell address at a graduation ceremony.) The poem then explains that a maudlin show of emotion would cheapen their love, reduce it to the level of the ordinary and mundane. Their love, after all, is transcendent, heavenly. Other husbands and wives who know only physical, earthly love, weep and sob when they separate for a time because they dread the loss of physical closeness. But because Donne and his wife have a spiritual, as well as physical, dimension to their love, they will never really be apart, he says, for their souls will remain united-even though their bodies are separated-until he returns to England.
http://www.cummingsstudyguides.net/Guides3/Valediction.html
“He looks like the Doctor. The second one,” Jackie added helpfully, helping her daughter prepare tea in the cavernous kitchen of the estate house.
“D’you think so?” Rose paused, turning to her mum, her brows knit together in concentration.
“You don’t?” Jackie’s disbelief was apparent.
“No. Well, I mean…when I first saw him, yeah. But he’s so different, mum-so very different. I just…I don’t see it. Not anymore.” [This is sort of the opposite of getting used to the regeneration from Nine to Ten. Just like Rose came to see both Nine and Ten as the same Doctor, she sees Peter as an entirely different man from the Doctor]
“You’re mad for him.” It was a simple, declarative statement; underneath it, though, unspoken, Rose could hear her mum’s worry.
“Yes.”
“You’ve spent all of your time with him, since you found him months ago. Have you…have you thought, maybe, of taking a break?”
“I’m living with him, Mum. ‘s a bit late for that.” Jackie had been concerned, when Rose had told her mum she was planning to move in with Peter-but as Rose was the happiest she’d seen in years (and as Peter’s reputation in both the academic community, and the town in which he lived, was sterling), she’d reluctantly given her approval. Pete had remained silent on the matter, but continued to watch with a wary eye.
“Just some breathing room, love--to make sure. Maybe even a weekend apart.”
Rose sighed, leaning against the counter, the tea forgotten. “’s mad, isn’t it? He’s a bit like drugs; I can’t seem to get enough of him. But, mum-it took us almost two years to get this far. There’s so much time to make up; I don’t want to lose another minute with him.” [If any human understands the importance of savoring every moment with loved ones, it is Rose Tyler!]
Jackie gave her daughter a searching gaze, then nodded, once. “Alright then, love.”
Jackie seemed to warm up to Peter after the conversation, even if Rose was fairly certain her mum was still mentally comparing him to the man he somewhat resembled. [Jackie will probably never really stop comparing Peter and the Doctor.] Peter took it in good humour-he’d already been told that on first glance, he did look suspiciously like the Doctor, and had seemed to find it amusing more than disconcerting. In between answering the questions about his degrees, or his courses, or even his papers, Peter amused Rose’s little brother John by telling tales of raiders coming across the sea, sneaking bits of history and architecture in with the enthralling stories. [Professor Peter is such a professor!]
When he wasn’t answering questions, or distracting her young brother, Peter was asking Jackie about life in the other universe-and the mysterious Doctor about whom Rose had told him. If her mum was surprised at exactly how much Rose had shared, she didn’t show it, instead answering his questions as forthrightly as Peter had answered hers. Peter was still having a tough time fully believing her, Rose knew: he trusted her, absolutely, but his rational side was fighting the thought that aliens were real, and could look like any other person on the street. She slid her hand into his as he continued to speak with Jackie, as he became enraptured with the stories Jackie told of a younger, more adventurous Rose who would call her from the ends of the universe. [I like that Peter is discussing all this with Jackie with Rose right there. And Rose’s history is not all that different from the thrilling bits of regular history that Peter loves!]
In fact, Rose would have gone so far as to say things were going brilliantly, right up until her mum mentioned Kendal. Rose had told Peter almost everything there was to tell, three months in to their relationship-the Doctor, the TARDIS, the alternate universe, even her job at Torchwood--but she still hadn’t found the courage to tell him of that day in the basement in the cottage in Kendal, when James had died and her life had changed irrevocably. [This bit of the Professor Peter /Heiress Rose time line is difficult to think about. James is a sweetheart, and the loss of him in this ‘verse is wildly sad.]
“Thought we’d lost her, you know, up in Kendal. It was a near thing.”
Rose felt as though ice had been poured down her back; she felt Peter go very still next to her, and could almost sense the intensity of his gaze towards her mum.
“I’m sorry?” His voice was terrifyingly polite, and Rose frantically tried to catch her mum’s eye, to let her know not to tell that particular tale.
Jackie didn’t notice. “Well, you know-there was poor James. Mickey and Jake still don’t talk about that day, although Pete told me that the only reason James was killed was because he blocked the shot from that awful man. And Rose here only survived because she was standing behind a metal table; of course, she still got torn apart, but the doctors were able to put her to rights. Closest we ever came to losing our Rose.”
Peter had tuned Jackie out, and had turned to Rose. His eyes were bright, his skin pale, and she braced herself for whatever comment he was going to offer. [jlrpuck really makes us see Peter here and in several more places-the physical manifestations of stress and horror are very apparent!]
“You what?!” He shouted the words, causing her to flinch. Rose noted the surprise written across her mum’s face, and was only partially aware of the look of alarm which crossed John’s. A frightful silence filled the room before chaos broke out.
The alarm in Peter’s voice, combined with the volume, caused John to cry; he was running from the room, looking for safe haven, by the time Jackie recollected herself enough to glare at Rose. Rose ignored her mum, focusing instead on Peter, on the maelstrom of emotion passing across his face.
“’s ok, Peter. I’m ok.” She reached forward, resting her hand on his leg; he was practically quivering now, tension radiating through him.
Rose was only vaguely aware of her mum excusing herself, following John out one of the side doors to the parlour; As soon as her mum was gone, Peter leaned forward, pulling Rose to him, almost crushing her in his embrace. She brought her arms around his back, returning the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder. “I’m ok,” she whispered, her hand stroking along his spine.
“You could’ve died?” he whispered into her hair, tightening his hold on her.
“But I didn’t,” she replied, using the words which she heard so many times as she lay in hospital, words she’d adopted as her own as she had tried to come to terms with what had happened.
Peter was silent for several moments, wrestling with what he had heard from Jackie, and finally released Rose. His gaze was solemn as he sat back, as he looked at her. “What happened, Rose?”
She swallowed, not wanting to re-live those minutes in the cellar, not wanting to even think about the aftermath, but knowing Peter had to be told. She’d misled him long enough. [And here is really the crux of the matter. Peter needs full disclosure from Rose.]
“We…my team and I…we got sent to Kendal. To find a missing employee. Only it turns out there was more to it.” Rose turned to face Peter, settling her back against the arm of the sofa, tucking her left leg under her while letting her right foot rest on the floor. She watched him as she related the story of her weeks in Kendal-of the challenge of working with a pair of detectives who weren’t willing to cooperate, let alone believe she was there to do a deadly serious job. [This was interesting to me, since it makes it apparent how truly dysfunctional the police department at Kendal was in every universe. It was awful there with or without a DI Carlisle.] Of how she, and Jake, and Mickey had slowly realized there was much more at play; of how she’d called James north as soon as she could, desperate to have her full team there so they could finish the case and get away from the uncooperative-obstructive-locals.
She paused, collecting herself before launching into the specifics of the day when everything went so wrong; of how she’d blithely assumed they’d be safe, of how she should have made sure the local constabulary believed at least someone from Torchwood before she led the group into the cellar and glibly told Mickey to de-activate the electromedial lock blocking access to who-knew-what. Of how McGreevy and his associate, Swinson, had been waiting for them in the large room lying at the end of the ell-shaped hallway they’d found. McGreevy had been jabbering, trying to broker a deal; Swinson was far less inclined to negotiate, and had grabbed at an alien weapon which McGreevy had been researching. She fought back tears as she told Peter about James, diving in front of her and Mickey and Jake, blocking that first shot; of how she’d yelled at her friends to get out, diving behind the large metal table sitting in the middle of the room as Swinson took a second shot at her. Jake had, by that point, pulled out his own weapon and fired back at Swinson; McGreevy had taken shelter behind his desk, cowering in fear, and surrendered immediately after Swinson fell to the ground, incapacitated. [Until this incident I think Rose had felt safe in her Torchwood job. Even with all the risks, nothing had likely seemed anywhere near as amazing as all the things she had faced with the Doctor. After Kendal, that feeling had to be gone forever. ] The rest of it was a haze for Rose; she could still feel the pain and anguish of that day, even after months of therapy and years of distance; she could hear her voice catch as she finished by telling Peter of her stay in the hospital, compressing months into minutes.
“I used to be a field agent, Peter, used to chase after folks. It was scary, and exhilarating, and I did a lot of stupid things. But I don’t do that, anymore. I can’t.”
“But you would, if you could.” His voice was bitter. She flinched, knowing he was right. [I suspect she had a conversation very much like this with Jackie after she got out of hospital. ]
“Yes.” She stroked his arm. “But I can’t, Peter. So I do other things. I won’t be purposely placed in a situation like that, ever again.”
He turned to her, pulling her into a crushing hug, burying his nose in her hair. “Don’t. Please.”
She turned slightly, brushing a kiss over his hair. “I won’t.”
As she said the words, she found she meant them. She didn’t want to risk losing him - or making him lose her.
Silence again descended in the room, Peter working through what she had told him.
“Did James have any family?” he finally asked, softly, still holding her to him.
Rose felt her throat tighten, and took a deep breath. “No.” Tears filled her eyes, guilt washing through her, and remorse. She’d missed his funeral, although Mickey had sat with her after, telling her how it was a celebration of James’ life as much as a mourning of his passing. No one, Mickey had added, held her responsible for what had happened. [No one except Rose herself.]
She sniffled, clenching her eyes shut, willing herself not to break completely down. She’d cried so many tears over that day; surely, at some point, she’d run out. She took several deep breaths, the quavering lessening with each one, and was finally able to speak again. “The detectives up there, who left us on our own-they were demoted, and transferred. Their boss-the one who told them to ignore us, and who blocked a lot of what we needed-was sacked.” [I found it very gratifying to know this happened to that evil DCI!] She felt the comfort of cold fury wash through her; as angry as she was with the DCI who’d hindered their case, Pete was infinitely moreso. He was the one who’d contacted the head of the police services, who had demanded to know what kind of idiots were working up in Kendal, and did London know about it. Pete was even more furious when, after an investigation, it was revealed that there had been numerous complaints made against the DCI, but no action had been taken.
Peter brushed a kiss over her hair, and relaxed his hold on her. “You could have told me, you know.” His voice held a measure of hurt, and she leaned back, confused. He continued, “I…I thought there was something more. More than an accident. But…” He shrugged, and let out a frustrated sigh.
“I…was terrified of telling you, Peter. It was just easier, to let you think that it was from an accident. In a way, it was.”
“Why were you terrified, Rose?” Peter’s voice was low, and he ducked his head so he could meet her gaze.
She blushed. “I’d already told you so many fantastical things. And…now, it’s a lifetime ago. Like it happened to someone else, really. I worried you’d think I was still that girl, who took foolish risks, and was so stupidly naïve.”
Bitterness laced her voice, and she closed her eyes, fighting back the feeling. She’d learned from those mistakes, and had moved on.
She felt Peter lean in, felt his arm come around her, and she relaxed against him, savouring his warmth. “You’re who you are, Rose.” He brushed a kiss across her hair. “Your past has helped to make you that. The woman I love.”
She tilted her head back, looking up at him, wondering if he was teasing her. He was in earnest, his dark gaze full of his love.
Rose blushed, still awed and amazed that this wonderful man loved her, in spite of all of her mistakes and flaws.
~ - ~
Jackie had returned, eventually, and they finished their now cold tea by making rather awkward conversation. Rose knew her mum was desperate to find out how Peter had taken the story Rose had shared; just the thought of replaying the conversation, though, wearied her. Peter made their excuses, letting Jackie know he and Rose had plans that they needed to keep; Rose didn’t tell her mum that those plans involved making supper at Rose’s flat, but did promise her mum to bring Peter for supper the next evening.
Peter, fortunately, had driven them to the estate, and Rose was able to settle back in her seat, and nap for the drive back to her home. [I love this, because her being able to sleep right away indicates that she is comfortable with Peter’s reaction to the story of what really happened to her.]
Peter woke her after he’d wedged his car into the parking spot in the mews behind her house; he had frown lines as he watched her wake up, and she reached over, gently running a finger across one of them. “’m alright, Peter.”
He kissed the finger, and then nodded. “Then let’s go inside so I can change out of this ridiculous suit.” Peter had been nervous about meeting Jackie on her own turf, and-in spite of Rose’s reassurances that he really didn’t have to-had worn a suit. She’d worn a dress, so he wouldn’t be the only one overdressed for tea with her mum, and was as desperate to change back into comfortable clothes as Peter was.
Peter waited for her outside the car, taking her hand as she moved to him, squeezing it as he led the way to the garden gate. Rose entered the security code for the week, and gave Peter a small smile as he pushed the now-unlatched gate open for her. There was another pause at the front door, as she entered a different-permanent-code, and then they were inside.
She’d moved, after Kendal; almost the first thing she’d told her mum, once she was fully lucid, was that she never wanted to go back to Southwark. The flat was too full of memories for her-of dinners with her team, of celebrations following cases successfully concluded. Jackie had found an estate agent, had passed days with Rose while she was still confined to bed, poring through folios on potential properties, visiting the ones Rose thought would be nice. By the time she was released from hospital, Rose was the owner of an ancient-and impossibly small-house in Kew, well away from Torchwood, and Canary Wharf, and any other reminder of her life Before Kendal. She’d not set foot in the flat again, and had sold off almost everything in it when she sold the flat itself. [Check Kew out. Even if it is a bit different in the AU, it sounds charming! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kew and see Kew Gardens! http://www.kew.org/ ]
Rose relaxed immediately, the comforting smell and feel of home washing through her; the house had been her refuge-not just in the months after she’d been released from hospital, but during the many, many months she’d tried to forget about the man now holding her hand.
She moved to the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea; she listened to Peter climb the narrow wooden stairs, heard his footsteps as he moved across the ancient wooden floors above, changing. She stayed in the kitchen, hiding, wanting to wait until he was done changing and had returned downstairs before going to change herself. Peter knew the story behind the scars on her torso, now-and that, somehow, made it even harder for her to let him see them. [I love the all the cottages in the Peter and Rose stories. For this one I looked up real estate listings for Kew houses. I like to think of Rose’s cottage as a very nice 2 bedroom Victorian I found listed there. ]
The kettle came to a boil, whistling merrily on the stove, and she pulled herself out of her melancholy thoughts.
Peter joined her in the kitchen as she poured out the water from warming the tea pot. He stopped behind her, his hands gently resting on her hips, kissing her cheek as she measured tea into the pot, and poured the remaining boiling water over it. Her heart raced, as it always did when it was just the two of them, and she set the kettle back onto the burner with shaking hands.
“Tea’ll be done in a few,” she said, her voice sharp and bright with nervousness.
Peter paused for just a moment, before replying “You’ve time enough to change, if you like.”
She turned, his hands sliding across her skin to clasp behind the small of her back as she faced him; her palms moved to his chest, resting on the coarse green wool of his jumper. [I loved this jumper, which struck me as a bit Nineish. ] She found it impossible to raise her eyes to his, and instead focused on the small patch of green visible between her hands.
“Rose.” Peter’s voice was low and gentle, and she found herself unable to stop from looking up at him. His eyes were warm, although there was a tension to them that belied how worried he was.
“’m okay,” she said, reflexively. [This, on the other hand, seems really quite Ten-like!]
He brought a hand up, cradling her jaw; as his thumb stroked across her cheek, she felt her tension begin to melt away. She sighed, her eyes gently drifting shut, giving herself over to the comfort Peter was offering. He brought his other hand up, and cupped her face gently between his palms before leaning in to brush a soft kiss over her lips.
“My Rose,” he whispered, pulling away.
“My Peter,” she murmured, her eyes opening slowly. He smiled at her, a simple quirk of his lips, and she felt the last of her tension fade away.
“I love you, you know.” He was watching her carefully, his hands still cradling her face.
“I know.”
“No matter what, Rose.”
She leaned up, pressing her lips against his in answer. “I love you,” she murmured as she pulled back.
His thumb stroked across her cheekbone as she opened her eyes, and she blushed under his continued scrutiny.
“’m okay Peter. Really I am. ‘s just…hard to talk about it.”
He moved his hands to her shoulders, sliding them down her arms before taking her hands in his. “I know. Thank you.”
She gave him a tentative smile, and he squeezed her hands as she took a breath to speak. “I…” Rose huffed in frustration, trying to marshal her thoughts. “I don’t think I ever thanked you. For…for sharing your life before, with me.” Rose raised her eyes to his, holding his gaze as she added, “I know it wasn’t easy. But it means the world to me.”
“That’s exactly how I feel today.”
“All square, then?”
“It’s not quid pro quo, Rose.”
She blushed, embarrassed. “I…I didn’t mean…” She tried to free her hands from Peter’s grasp, but he held them firm.
“I know, Rose. It’s hard to know what to say, sometimes.”
She nodded, relaxing her hands again in his grip. “So. Tea?” Her voice was more natural this time, and she tilted her head as she looked up at Peter.
“D’you reckon it’s strong enough to strip paint by now?” he asked, clearly teasing.
She laughed softly. “It had best not be. I need a cuppa, hot.” She rocked up, brushing a kiss over his jaw, before moving to return her attention to the teapot.
Peter didn’t mention, or even allude to, what he had learned until they went to bed that night. Rose had changed into a chemise, while Peter had stripped down completely; she’d blushed to learn that he habitually slept naked, but loved the feeling, now, of having his skin against hers as she fell asleep or awoke. He was already in bed when she slid next to him, his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he calmly read. The duvet rested teasingly at his hips even as she snuggled under it, and he appeared to not even notice her presence although she was certain he was perfectly well aware that she was there, and of what she was wearing. She rolled onto her side, gazing at him, once more amazed that he was there with her, and at the seemingly normal life she’d come to lead.
Peter continued to read, but slid a hand down; with practiced ease, he stroked her hair, soothing her as he finished the chapter he was currently working on. She scooted closer to him, her arm draping across his hips, her thumb gently brushing up and down across his skin.
He finally finished reading, closing the book, and leaning over to set it and his glasses on the bedside table; he turned off the lamp, and slid down to lay next to Rose.
They stared at each other in the dim light for some time, neither wanting to be the one to break the silence. Peter finally took a deep breath, and whispered, “I can’t believe how close I came to missing all of this.”
“But you’d never have known. I wouldn’t be here, and you’d not have missed me at all.”
He slid an arm under her, pulling her to him. Rose shifted, resting her head on his chest, and listened to the words rumble through him as he spoke again. “I think somehow I’d have known. I can’t imagine not having met you, Rose.”
She rested her palm on his chest, listening to the soothing thump of his heart as she savoured being with him. “I can’t believe how close I came to missing this,” she finally whispered, echoing his statement. She’d been so reckless, years before, confident in her abilities and-worse-her luck.
“Why’d you do it, Rose?” Peter asked gently.
Rose sighed. It was so very tempting to tell him that she’d not been thinking, but there was more to it than that-and he deserved the absolute truth, now. “I…I didn’t think. Not really. But…there was a long time, when I first got here, where I almost prayed that something would happen-that something would make the hurting stop, the ache I felt after I got pulled over here.” Peter tensed, his hand stilling on her arm as he listened to her. “It was selfish, and stupid, and I…I’m so ashamed I was like that. And…” she swallowed, fighting to say the next words, “And if I’d known what doing those things would lead to-if I’d known that somebody else would die-I never would have done.”
Peter remained absolutely still, although Rose could hear his heart hammering in his chest.
“I…I’m not like that, now, and the thing is, I wasn’t like that then, either-not by Kendal. I’d finally grown out of it. But…I got into bad habits, early on. I thought it was acceptable to take these horrible risks; that it was perfectly alright to ignore the rules, when they were a hindrance. And my team…they got into that habit, too. And so, when we were there, in Kendal…it just didn’t occur to me that something could go wrong. I’d been so lucky, before-and the worst thing is, I hadn’t thought it was luck. I had thought it was because we were just that good.”
She fell silent, listening to Peter’s heartbeat, feeling the puff of his breath over her hair as he worked through what she’d said. His skin was warmer than it had been, and his body was still tense; she wondered if he was going to yell at her-tell her she was stupid, as some had after Kendal, or offer words laced with pity, as still others had.
“Will you ever forgive yourself for it?” he finally asked, taking her aback. [I love it that he makes this her choice, and not his. This is yet another example of why Professor Peter is Awesome!]
She glanced up at him, surprised by his question. “No,” she replied, giving the honest answer without thinking.
Peter took a deep breath, let it out, and then spoke again. “I’m very, very glad you lived, Rose. So very glad.” He bent forward, pulling her up to meet his kiss; she squirmed, moving so she could return his kiss eagerly, her hand sliding from his chest to cradle his jaw.
He eventually slid his hands to the edge of her chemise, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the satin over her head; she pressed her body against his as the fabric was tossed aside, her body singing at the feel of his skin against hers.
She’d thought she might still be embarrassed by Peter acknowledging the physical reminders of Kendal-but as he made love to her that night, he kissed lines down each one, whispering thanks that she was there, that she was his, and that she loved him in return.[This is very, very sweet!]
~ fin ~