An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 26
Originally posted by dtstrainers at An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 26
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 25 (It'll be done when I stop hearing voices.)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
Rating: PG- Plot Galore
Word Count: 3,559
Summary: Peter and Ian on the trail of an unusual intruder try and make sense of what's happened in the Met.Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25
Tuesday, 12 June 2012 6:40 PM
Sitting on the park bench in the gathering gloom, the Doctor stared down at the photos he'd pulled from his bigger-on-the-inside jacket pocket and frowned. He must be getting old, what with all the photographic evidence he'd left behind in her camera-happy home time and place. It had been foolish to think someone wouldn't notice eventually, he thought, as an index finger gently traced Donna's profile from the night they'd been reunited, marveling at how careless and carefree his previous self had been with her. He thought back with chagrin on their first meeting and wondered: she’d turned him down that night, the first time he asked her to travel with him, claiming that he’d frightened her. It had hurt, much more than he had expected, and knowing her as he did now, he was sure her initial refusal to travel with him had been based more on injured feelings than fear.
If there were ever words he regretted more that those he’d uttered that day to her on a rooftop above London, he couldn’t recall. He hadn’t meant them, not even as he said them, but he had been so terribly miserable, depressed and angry over recent losses, not to mention smarting over her insistent refusal to be impressed with him, that he had petulantly indulged his talent for rudeness to the fullest. In doing so, he had inadvertently added to her sense of worthlessness, Donna’s angry retort hiding just how deeply she’d been hurt and how uncomfortably close to home she though his words had been. He’d carry the shame of it with him the rest of his life.
He looked back at the photos in his hand and shuffled them before finding the one he wanted. The Doctor smiled wistfully when he found it: a blurry image of Donna shoving him off-balance in the offices of Adipose Industries to bring him back to himself when, once again, he hadn’t known when to stop. He indulged in a bit of nostalgia, remembering her hair flying out behind her, blazing in the gloom as she had fled Miss Foster and her hired goons with him hot on her heels. He shuffled through the small stack again, pausing to look at a faraway image of the two of them atop the Thames flood barrier on the night she’d laughed in his arms in her ruined wedding dress before staring at the last image in the stack. She stood in the center of a small knot of UNIT officers, dangling an empty binder before them with a satisfied smile and he remembered how proud he’d been of her that day. Donna had just begun to accept her brilliance and he was saddened to realize that her hard-won confidence was just another causality of his actions.
He sighed, tired of the past, and stuffed the purloined photos back into his pocket. It had been a rather straightforward matter, really, he thought, stealing the photographs from the DI's desk. Wearing the perception filter, the Doctor had simply walked straight through security and wandered the halls, sonicing his way around the building, disabling all the cameras in his path until he’d found Homicide and Serious Crime Command. He was surprised to find it strangely deserted, with just a single officer hunched over paperwork at his desk, but it was all the better for him. DI Carlisle’s door had been left wide open: he slipped in unseen and, with a wave of the sonic screwdriver, erased all traces of his previous self from the man’s computer and the Met’s records. When the theft was discovered and the video inevitably checked, all they would find would be a strange trail of static snaking through the building left on the images captured that day in police headquarters.
His mission accomplished, the Doctor had smiled and adjusted his bow tie as he left Carlisle’s office, pleased with the results of his infiltration: success was all in the timing. In looking for his optimal opportunity, he’d examined the DI’s timelines and found that the argument between Donna and DI Carlisle was a fixed point, something that must happen, no matter what, which meant that the man would definitely not be in his office at the time. Once his task was completed and the evidence of his relationship with Donna erased, he’d intended to slip from the building but a familiar voice raised in anger stopped him in his tracks. All he’d had to do was follow the sound to it’s source and join the crowd in listening in from the hallway.
The Doctor smiled wickedly, remembering how much he’d enjoyed hearing the considerably vivid dressing-down Donna had given the upstart. He dared to question her abilities? This brilliant woman had willingly shared with him the responsibility for the destruction of Pompeii! She had single-handedly taken down a Sontaran warrior on his own ship, thus enabling him to save all of humanity! This magnificent human had brought low the entire Dalek race and saved all of creation and this earthbound policeman dared to upbraid her for speaking to an unarmed boy! he thought angrily, then frowned.
He had unsettled her when he’d slipped into the interrogation room as the other police officer had held the door. All he’d wanted was a better view of Round Two, but Donna had already been upset and on edge. In her heightened state, she had felt him watching her, accidentally contributing to her sense of unease and that really was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He had known his presence was a mistake the moment he leaned against the wall and she had stared straight at him. Had he stayed, he had no doubt she would have marched straight to the spot where he stood and reached out a hand to expose him. In the end, thanks to the perception filter and another short blast from the sonic, he'd simply walked out of the interrogation behind Carlisle as the man had stormed from the room.
And all this subterfuge was to what end? he asked himself, even as he knew he would never acknowledge the truth of his dirty little secret. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, craning his neck to see around the overhanging tree branches and watch the lights flick on and off as Donna made her way though her flat. Finally, when all her windows were dark, the Doctor stood and stretched as he made to leave. He glanced up one more time and saw a single light in the upper window and he turned to see her, silhouetted in the window seat, staring blankly out at the stars. She looked so forlorn and lost, searching the skies for something or someone she had no way to recognize and the guilt once more threatened to overwhelm him.
He had to face the facts: he really didn’t want her to form attachments here on Earth again. He didn’t want her to be happy here, because if he ever found a way to restore her memories, she wouldn’t want to go with him again. Destiny and the Powers That Be in the Universe had decreed their separation and she had been made to suffer, all for one simple reason- she had made him happy, and the Universe just couldn’t have that, could it? But that didn’t mean he had to like the judgement of Fate or abide by it. He swept his hair roughly back off his forehead and tugged his jacket down, squaring his shoulders as he stalked into the shadows and the TARDIS beyond. In his long lifetime, he had made an art form of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat: perhaps now was the time for his masterpiece.
**********
"Time to go, DI," Ian said, leaning on the doorframe to Peter's office.
Peter frowned as he glanced up from his computer, scratching his head and looking over at his mobile- 7:10 PM and still no word from Donna. "Hmmm," he replied around his lolly, nodding absently. "Ye go on- I'll be leavin' presently. "
"No," Ian said flatly, taking a seat across the desk from Peter.
"No?" Peter queried with a raised eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand. He flicked his eyes back to the screen for a second before leaning back in his chair, pulling off his spectacles to rub his eyes.
"No," Ian repeated. "I don't think so. I've no desire to see you tomorrow in the same clothes, so I'm not leaving until you do, Peter."
"Seriously,..." Peter began and Ian cut him off before he could finish.
"Yes, exactly. Seriously. I'm not leaving until you do," Ian countered and sat back with his arms crossed.
Peter scowled at his partner for a long heartbeat and Ian waited for him to lash out, but he just sighed. "Ye know, yer worse than my mam. Has anyone never told ye that before now?" Peter groused, rubbing his face with both hands.
"You're the first," Ian admitted with a smirk. He leaned back just far enough so he could see into Peter's rubbish bin. "So, a three-lolly problem, is it?" he ventured cautiously and Peter ran his hands through his hair before offering his partner a rueful shrug in response. "Did you call her?"
"No, I dinnae," Peter said indignantly. Ian pursed his lips and Peter shrugged again. "I texted." When Ian remained silent, he added, "Four times. I would have called, but I thought it prudent to test the waters first, so to speak. I did send flowers, though, to apologize," he confessed and he wondered why he found it necessary to defend himself to Ian.
Ian nodded his approval. "She'll come around, Peter. No woman gets that angry unless she's emotionally invested. She won't let one argument end your relationship," Ian said, certainly.
Peter answered with a sad half-smile, looking up at the ceiling while he spoke. "I dinnae think so, either, and besides, I wouldnae give up on her so easily. No," he said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, we both suffer from an excess of temper occasionally, and I’m hopin’ a wee bit of time for us both to cool down is all that’s required. But that's no why I'm still here."
"Why, then?" Ian asked, sitting forward with renewed interest. "What else has turned up?"
"Ah, but that's just it," Peter said mysteriously with one elbow planted on the desk, shaking his lolly at Ian. "It's no what's turned up. It’s what’s gone missin’, and how.”
Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead schooled his features to mere curiosity: the DI had a decidedly theatrical streak and he’d learned to indulge him in it. Ian put it down to Peter spending too much time in reading and not enough with real people, but the DI liked an attentive audience and would get to the point in his own time. “Care to elucidate?” he finally asked.
“Someone took full advantage of our absence from Homicide and Serious Crime this mornin’ to commit an offense of their own,” Peter confided. “My office files have been ransacked and information on both my computer and the Met’s archives has been deleted,” he said, leaning forward on his crossed arms. “This was achieved, in broad daylight, from inside this very building, under the nose of every officer here today, and without the discernible use of any passwords or external hardware.” Peter sat back thoughtfully, resting his folded hands on his belt, watching Ian carefully. “And no one saw a thing.”
“What?!? How is that even possible?” Ian demanded incredulously. “What was taken? Files on the Morgan murder case? There had to have been a witness- people here in the office? Security cameras?” Suddenly realizing that he was casually sitting in the middle of a crime scene, Ian leapt to his feet and looked around. “Have you alerted building security? Has forensics...”
“Stop, Ian. Stop. Alec and one of the other techs have- quietly- already been here,” Peter stated evenly and there was something in his tone that gave Ian pause. He resumed his seat slowly, never taking his eyes from Peter. “There was no evidence of anythin’ out of the ordinary and the files that were taken had nothin’ to do with official police work or any of our cases,” he explained. “Which is why I’m wantin’ to keep this quiet.”
“Not official? What then?” Ian asked with dawning understanding. “Donna?”
Peter nodded and Ian sat back to contemplate the implications. “You think this was an inside job? That someone inside the Met is responsible?“ he asked quietly.
“You tell me,” Peter said as he turned his monitor for Ian to see. “This footage was taken by internal security this morning." Ian looked uncomprehendingly at the display on Peter's computer. The screen was divided into quadrants, each showing a different view of the hallways leading to Homicide and Serious crime. Ian watched, puzzled, as the video in one quadrant dissolved into a haze of static which then seemed to jump to the next camera down the hall. Ian followed the distortion as it drifted across the screen and Peter continued his narration.
"While Alec processed my office late this afternoon, I paid a visit to building security to check the cameras. This is what we found,” he said, tapping the screen. “A bouncing ball of static. The techs were baffled and intrigued, said this shouldn’t be possible: it’s not a camera malfunction, you see, as that would cause the entire image to be lost. This distortion is localized, and it’s makin‘ its way through the building.” Ian watched the static shimmer and pulse from one camera to the other and Peter continued.
“We were able to backtrack it to the interrogation room and before that, to the sidewalk this morning," Peter said, reaching over and with a few keystrokes, bringing up an image of the two of them standing in front of the Met, looking across to the coffee shop on the other side of the street. Ian watched as onscreen, Peter charged across the street just as the ball of static rolled across the camera's field of view within a few feet of where he had been standing, heading in the opposite direction. "A neat trick, that, don't you think?" Peter said after a moment.
Ian slowly pulled his gaze from the camera and shook his head. "We were standing right there. Right there," he emphasized, pointing at the screen, "and I don't remember seeing anything out of the ordinary."
"We were a wee bit preoccupied at that moment," Peter murmured, "but if it makes you feel any better, Alice doesn't remember anything out of the ordinary, either.' He gestured at the screen just as the static skipped across the lift doors, right in front of the reception desk without eliciting any sort of reaction from the young woman seated there.
Rubbing his chin, Ian muttered, “This is like something out of Ghosthunters.” He watched the images replay on the screen and shook his head before turning to look quizzically at his partner. "What is going on here, Peter, and how does Donna figure into all this?"
"I dunno, Ian, but you haven't seen the best part yet," Peter replied with a dangerous glint in his eye. "There, at the end of the hallway, there's a spot where the cameras overlap. It's not much, but it's there.” He toggled over to another screen and another series of videos popped into view. The image in one quadrant flickered as the ball of static rolled just out of range of one camera and into view of the next. “And just about…," Peter said under his breath, his finger hovering over a key. He waited and as the image trembled, switching from one video feed to the next, he stabbed the keyboard with a cry of triumph. "There! There's the arrogant bastard!"
Ian leaned in closer to the image onscreen and blinked in surprise: two cameras, trained on the same spot at the same time, yet two distinctly different images were displayed before him. In the first image, the ball of static could clearly be seen plunging out of frame of one camera and resolving before the other. The image captured by the secondary camera, however, was another matter entirely.
"Do you recognize him?" Peter asked, gesturing at the frozen frame revealing a lanky man with his back to the camera, wearing what appeared to be an unseasonably warm tweed jacket.
“No,” Ian replied, rewinding the image a few frames to get a better look at their mysterious visitor. Whoever it was had gotten careless in his overconfidence: he was waving some sort of remote control about in the air as he literally spun on the ball of one foot, his arm whipping out to point at the second camera just before his face became visible and he dissolved into static again. Ian advanced the image frame by frame and watched as the cloud of static turned the corner and plunged down the hall, heading directly for Peter’s office. The feed shifted once more to display an oblique view into Homicide and Detective Dexter at his desk. As the distortion on screen approached him, Dexter stood and walked over to DS Cave’s desk, directly into the path of the oncoming snowstorm. It paused as he crossed, then resumed course once Dexter had moved out of the way, disappearing into Peter’s office and out of view of the cameras.
“No, I don’t know him, but I think we should meet this particular ghost as soon as possible.” Ian said darkly. “This raises a whole host of questions,” he continued, raising a hand to tick off his points one by one. “First, why would anyone break in here just to steal your personal files? Second: how was this accomplished? Third: whose red flags were raised by your investigation? Fourth: who the hell has whatever technology we just witnessed that would enable them to walk in here, unseen by the cameras and unnoticed by people who should have seen? And finally, what the hell was Donna involved in that might explain this?”
Peter leaned against the wall behind Ian, arms folded, frowning. “Again, I dunno, and even if she were talkin‘ to me right now, it wouldnae make a difference. Donna’s not hidin‘ anythin’. She really cannae remember what’s happened to her, I know it. And I’m startin‘ to think that’s no accident.” He let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud and inhaled sharply. “I’m at a loss here. I’m not sure where to go,” he reluctantly admitted, rolling his head to the side to look at his partner again.
Ian smirked suddenly and stood, stretching his arms out and taking a step away from the desk. “Where you go,” Ian said with elaborate emphasis, “is across the street with me to St. Stephen’s for a drink.” Peter opened his mouth to demur out of habit but Ian cut him off. “It’ll give you a change of scenery and the both of us time to contemplate this latest development.” When Peter visibly wavered, Ian pressed forward. “You’ve no excuse this time, DI,” he cajoled, “and no plans for the evening. Come out for a drink. Just one drink. You need it.”
Peter glanced at his silent mobile for a moment and grimaced. He looked back up at Ian and considered his words for a moment, then reached for his jacket with a resigned sigh and nodded his assent. “All right, then. One drink,“ Peter agreed, “But I’m buyin’. Is that clear?”
“I asked you, so by rights, first round should be on me,” Ian protested as he stepped out the door, “but as this is the first time you’ve accepted my long-standing invitation, I’ll let it slide.” He stood and waited as Peter joined him and rubbed his hands together, grinning. “And at long last, I have the solution to one mystery,” Ian said as Peter closed his office door behind them.
Peter frowned in confusion. “What’s that, then?” he asked with a puzzled tilt of his head as they made their way to the hallway.
“How Donna was able to capture your attention, without a word, from across the street in a crowd, when half the women in this building have been throwing themselves at you for months and you haven’t so much as spared them a second glance,” Ian said with a touch of envy as they stepped into the open doors of the lift. Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed as Ian continued. “But after meeting her, I’m sure she’s the perfect woman for you. She’s smart, quick-witted and fearless. She’s not intimidated by you and she gives as good as she gets. And best of all,” Ian smirked, leaning back against the wall of the lift, “she’s a ginger riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” Peter’s embarrassed smile as he punched the button for the lobby was all the confirmation Ian needed. “You never really stood a chance.”
“Yeah,” Peter said somberly as the doors closed behind them, “and after today, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 25 (It'll be done when I stop hearing voices.)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
Rating: PG- Plot Galore
Word Count: 3,559
Summary: Peter and Ian on the trail of an unusual intruder try and make sense of what's happened in the Met.Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25
Tuesday, 12 June 2012 6:40 PM
Sitting on the park bench in the gathering gloom, the Doctor stared down at the photos he'd pulled from his bigger-on-the-inside jacket pocket and frowned. He must be getting old, what with all the photographic evidence he'd left behind in her camera-happy home time and place. It had been foolish to think someone wouldn't notice eventually, he thought, as an index finger gently traced Donna's profile from the night they'd been reunited, marveling at how careless and carefree his previous self had been with her. He thought back with chagrin on their first meeting and wondered: she’d turned him down that night, the first time he asked her to travel with him, claiming that he’d frightened her. It had hurt, much more than he had expected, and knowing her as he did now, he was sure her initial refusal to travel with him had been based more on injured feelings than fear.
If there were ever words he regretted more that those he’d uttered that day to her on a rooftop above London, he couldn’t recall. He hadn’t meant them, not even as he said them, but he had been so terribly miserable, depressed and angry over recent losses, not to mention smarting over her insistent refusal to be impressed with him, that he had petulantly indulged his talent for rudeness to the fullest. In doing so, he had inadvertently added to her sense of worthlessness, Donna’s angry retort hiding just how deeply she’d been hurt and how uncomfortably close to home she though his words had been. He’d carry the shame of it with him the rest of his life.
He looked back at the photos in his hand and shuffled them before finding the one he wanted. The Doctor smiled wistfully when he found it: a blurry image of Donna shoving him off-balance in the offices of Adipose Industries to bring him back to himself when, once again, he hadn’t known when to stop. He indulged in a bit of nostalgia, remembering her hair flying out behind her, blazing in the gloom as she had fled Miss Foster and her hired goons with him hot on her heels. He shuffled through the small stack again, pausing to look at a faraway image of the two of them atop the Thames flood barrier on the night she’d laughed in his arms in her ruined wedding dress before staring at the last image in the stack. She stood in the center of a small knot of UNIT officers, dangling an empty binder before them with a satisfied smile and he remembered how proud he’d been of her that day. Donna had just begun to accept her brilliance and he was saddened to realize that her hard-won confidence was just another causality of his actions.
He sighed, tired of the past, and stuffed the purloined photos back into his pocket. It had been a rather straightforward matter, really, he thought, stealing the photographs from the DI's desk. Wearing the perception filter, the Doctor had simply walked straight through security and wandered the halls, sonicing his way around the building, disabling all the cameras in his path until he’d found Homicide and Serious Crime Command. He was surprised to find it strangely deserted, with just a single officer hunched over paperwork at his desk, but it was all the better for him. DI Carlisle’s door had been left wide open: he slipped in unseen and, with a wave of the sonic screwdriver, erased all traces of his previous self from the man’s computer and the Met’s records. When the theft was discovered and the video inevitably checked, all they would find would be a strange trail of static snaking through the building left on the images captured that day in police headquarters.
His mission accomplished, the Doctor had smiled and adjusted his bow tie as he left Carlisle’s office, pleased with the results of his infiltration: success was all in the timing. In looking for his optimal opportunity, he’d examined the DI’s timelines and found that the argument between Donna and DI Carlisle was a fixed point, something that must happen, no matter what, which meant that the man would definitely not be in his office at the time. Once his task was completed and the evidence of his relationship with Donna erased, he’d intended to slip from the building but a familiar voice raised in anger stopped him in his tracks. All he’d had to do was follow the sound to it’s source and join the crowd in listening in from the hallway.
The Doctor smiled wickedly, remembering how much he’d enjoyed hearing the considerably vivid dressing-down Donna had given the upstart. He dared to question her abilities? This brilliant woman had willingly shared with him the responsibility for the destruction of Pompeii! She had single-handedly taken down a Sontaran warrior on his own ship, thus enabling him to save all of humanity! This magnificent human had brought low the entire Dalek race and saved all of creation and this earthbound policeman dared to upbraid her for speaking to an unarmed boy! he thought angrily, then frowned.
He had unsettled her when he’d slipped into the interrogation room as the other police officer had held the door. All he’d wanted was a better view of Round Two, but Donna had already been upset and on edge. In her heightened state, she had felt him watching her, accidentally contributing to her sense of unease and that really was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He had known his presence was a mistake the moment he leaned against the wall and she had stared straight at him. Had he stayed, he had no doubt she would have marched straight to the spot where he stood and reached out a hand to expose him. In the end, thanks to the perception filter and another short blast from the sonic, he'd simply walked out of the interrogation behind Carlisle as the man had stormed from the room.
And all this subterfuge was to what end? he asked himself, even as he knew he would never acknowledge the truth of his dirty little secret. He sighed heavily and leaned forward, craning his neck to see around the overhanging tree branches and watch the lights flick on and off as Donna made her way though her flat. Finally, when all her windows were dark, the Doctor stood and stretched as he made to leave. He glanced up one more time and saw a single light in the upper window and he turned to see her, silhouetted in the window seat, staring blankly out at the stars. She looked so forlorn and lost, searching the skies for something or someone she had no way to recognize and the guilt once more threatened to overwhelm him.
He had to face the facts: he really didn’t want her to form attachments here on Earth again. He didn’t want her to be happy here, because if he ever found a way to restore her memories, she wouldn’t want to go with him again. Destiny and the Powers That Be in the Universe had decreed their separation and she had been made to suffer, all for one simple reason- she had made him happy, and the Universe just couldn’t have that, could it? But that didn’t mean he had to like the judgement of Fate or abide by it. He swept his hair roughly back off his forehead and tugged his jacket down, squaring his shoulders as he stalked into the shadows and the TARDIS beyond. In his long lifetime, he had made an art form of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat: perhaps now was the time for his masterpiece.
**********
"Time to go, DI," Ian said, leaning on the doorframe to Peter's office.
Peter frowned as he glanced up from his computer, scratching his head and looking over at his mobile- 7:10 PM and still no word from Donna. "Hmmm," he replied around his lolly, nodding absently. "Ye go on- I'll be leavin' presently. "
"No," Ian said flatly, taking a seat across the desk from Peter.
"No?" Peter queried with a raised eyebrow, resting his chin in his hand. He flicked his eyes back to the screen for a second before leaning back in his chair, pulling off his spectacles to rub his eyes.
"No," Ian repeated. "I don't think so. I've no desire to see you tomorrow in the same clothes, so I'm not leaving until you do, Peter."
"Seriously,..." Peter began and Ian cut him off before he could finish.
"Yes, exactly. Seriously. I'm not leaving until you do," Ian countered and sat back with his arms crossed.
Peter scowled at his partner for a long heartbeat and Ian waited for him to lash out, but he just sighed. "Ye know, yer worse than my mam. Has anyone never told ye that before now?" Peter groused, rubbing his face with both hands.
"You're the first," Ian admitted with a smirk. He leaned back just far enough so he could see into Peter's rubbish bin. "So, a three-lolly problem, is it?" he ventured cautiously and Peter ran his hands through his hair before offering his partner a rueful shrug in response. "Did you call her?"
"No, I dinnae," Peter said indignantly. Ian pursed his lips and Peter shrugged again. "I texted." When Ian remained silent, he added, "Four times. I would have called, but I thought it prudent to test the waters first, so to speak. I did send flowers, though, to apologize," he confessed and he wondered why he found it necessary to defend himself to Ian.
Ian nodded his approval. "She'll come around, Peter. No woman gets that angry unless she's emotionally invested. She won't let one argument end your relationship," Ian said, certainly.
Peter answered with a sad half-smile, looking up at the ceiling while he spoke. "I dinnae think so, either, and besides, I wouldnae give up on her so easily. No," he said with a sigh. "Unfortunately, we both suffer from an excess of temper occasionally, and I’m hopin’ a wee bit of time for us both to cool down is all that’s required. But that's no why I'm still here."
"Why, then?" Ian asked, sitting forward with renewed interest. "What else has turned up?"
"Ah, but that's just it," Peter said mysteriously with one elbow planted on the desk, shaking his lolly at Ian. "It's no what's turned up. It’s what’s gone missin’, and how.”
Ian fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead schooled his features to mere curiosity: the DI had a decidedly theatrical streak and he’d learned to indulge him in it. Ian put it down to Peter spending too much time in reading and not enough with real people, but the DI liked an attentive audience and would get to the point in his own time. “Care to elucidate?” he finally asked.
“Someone took full advantage of our absence from Homicide and Serious Crime this mornin’ to commit an offense of their own,” Peter confided. “My office files have been ransacked and information on both my computer and the Met’s archives has been deleted,” he said, leaning forward on his crossed arms. “This was achieved, in broad daylight, from inside this very building, under the nose of every officer here today, and without the discernible use of any passwords or external hardware.” Peter sat back thoughtfully, resting his folded hands on his belt, watching Ian carefully. “And no one saw a thing.”
“What?!? How is that even possible?” Ian demanded incredulously. “What was taken? Files on the Morgan murder case? There had to have been a witness- people here in the office? Security cameras?” Suddenly realizing that he was casually sitting in the middle of a crime scene, Ian leapt to his feet and looked around. “Have you alerted building security? Has forensics...”
“Stop, Ian. Stop. Alec and one of the other techs have- quietly- already been here,” Peter stated evenly and there was something in his tone that gave Ian pause. He resumed his seat slowly, never taking his eyes from Peter. “There was no evidence of anythin’ out of the ordinary and the files that were taken had nothin’ to do with official police work or any of our cases,” he explained. “Which is why I’m wantin’ to keep this quiet.”
“Not official? What then?” Ian asked with dawning understanding. “Donna?”
Peter nodded and Ian sat back to contemplate the implications. “You think this was an inside job? That someone inside the Met is responsible?“ he asked quietly.
“You tell me,” Peter said as he turned his monitor for Ian to see. “This footage was taken by internal security this morning." Ian looked uncomprehendingly at the display on Peter's computer. The screen was divided into quadrants, each showing a different view of the hallways leading to Homicide and Serious crime. Ian watched, puzzled, as the video in one quadrant dissolved into a haze of static which then seemed to jump to the next camera down the hall. Ian followed the distortion as it drifted across the screen and Peter continued his narration.
"While Alec processed my office late this afternoon, I paid a visit to building security to check the cameras. This is what we found,” he said, tapping the screen. “A bouncing ball of static. The techs were baffled and intrigued, said this shouldn’t be possible: it’s not a camera malfunction, you see, as that would cause the entire image to be lost. This distortion is localized, and it’s makin‘ its way through the building.” Ian watched the static shimmer and pulse from one camera to the other and Peter continued.
“We were able to backtrack it to the interrogation room and before that, to the sidewalk this morning," Peter said, reaching over and with a few keystrokes, bringing up an image of the two of them standing in front of the Met, looking across to the coffee shop on the other side of the street. Ian watched as onscreen, Peter charged across the street just as the ball of static rolled across the camera's field of view within a few feet of where he had been standing, heading in the opposite direction. "A neat trick, that, don't you think?" Peter said after a moment.
Ian slowly pulled his gaze from the camera and shook his head. "We were standing right there. Right there," he emphasized, pointing at the screen, "and I don't remember seeing anything out of the ordinary."
"We were a wee bit preoccupied at that moment," Peter murmured, "but if it makes you feel any better, Alice doesn't remember anything out of the ordinary, either.' He gestured at the screen just as the static skipped across the lift doors, right in front of the reception desk without eliciting any sort of reaction from the young woman seated there.
Rubbing his chin, Ian muttered, “This is like something out of Ghosthunters.” He watched the images replay on the screen and shook his head before turning to look quizzically at his partner. "What is going on here, Peter, and how does Donna figure into all this?"
"I dunno, Ian, but you haven't seen the best part yet," Peter replied with a dangerous glint in his eye. "There, at the end of the hallway, there's a spot where the cameras overlap. It's not much, but it's there.” He toggled over to another screen and another series of videos popped into view. The image in one quadrant flickered as the ball of static rolled just out of range of one camera and into view of the next. “And just about…," Peter said under his breath, his finger hovering over a key. He waited and as the image trembled, switching from one video feed to the next, he stabbed the keyboard with a cry of triumph. "There! There's the arrogant bastard!"
Ian leaned in closer to the image onscreen and blinked in surprise: two cameras, trained on the same spot at the same time, yet two distinctly different images were displayed before him. In the first image, the ball of static could clearly be seen plunging out of frame of one camera and resolving before the other. The image captured by the secondary camera, however, was another matter entirely.
"Do you recognize him?" Peter asked, gesturing at the frozen frame revealing a lanky man with his back to the camera, wearing what appeared to be an unseasonably warm tweed jacket.
“No,” Ian replied, rewinding the image a few frames to get a better look at their mysterious visitor. Whoever it was had gotten careless in his overconfidence: he was waving some sort of remote control about in the air as he literally spun on the ball of one foot, his arm whipping out to point at the second camera just before his face became visible and he dissolved into static again. Ian advanced the image frame by frame and watched as the cloud of static turned the corner and plunged down the hall, heading directly for Peter’s office. The feed shifted once more to display an oblique view into Homicide and Detective Dexter at his desk. As the distortion on screen approached him, Dexter stood and walked over to DS Cave’s desk, directly into the path of the oncoming snowstorm. It paused as he crossed, then resumed course once Dexter had moved out of the way, disappearing into Peter’s office and out of view of the cameras.
“No, I don’t know him, but I think we should meet this particular ghost as soon as possible.” Ian said darkly. “This raises a whole host of questions,” he continued, raising a hand to tick off his points one by one. “First, why would anyone break in here just to steal your personal files? Second: how was this accomplished? Third: whose red flags were raised by your investigation? Fourth: who the hell has whatever technology we just witnessed that would enable them to walk in here, unseen by the cameras and unnoticed by people who should have seen? And finally, what the hell was Donna involved in that might explain this?”
Peter leaned against the wall behind Ian, arms folded, frowning. “Again, I dunno, and even if she were talkin‘ to me right now, it wouldnae make a difference. Donna’s not hidin‘ anythin’. She really cannae remember what’s happened to her, I know it. And I’m startin‘ to think that’s no accident.” He let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud and inhaled sharply. “I’m at a loss here. I’m not sure where to go,” he reluctantly admitted, rolling his head to the side to look at his partner again.
Ian smirked suddenly and stood, stretching his arms out and taking a step away from the desk. “Where you go,” Ian said with elaborate emphasis, “is across the street with me to St. Stephen’s for a drink.” Peter opened his mouth to demur out of habit but Ian cut him off. “It’ll give you a change of scenery and the both of us time to contemplate this latest development.” When Peter visibly wavered, Ian pressed forward. “You’ve no excuse this time, DI,” he cajoled, “and no plans for the evening. Come out for a drink. Just one drink. You need it.”
Peter glanced at his silent mobile for a moment and grimaced. He looked back up at Ian and considered his words for a moment, then reached for his jacket with a resigned sigh and nodded his assent. “All right, then. One drink,“ Peter agreed, “But I’m buyin’. Is that clear?”
“I asked you, so by rights, first round should be on me,” Ian protested as he stepped out the door, “but as this is the first time you’ve accepted my long-standing invitation, I’ll let it slide.” He stood and waited as Peter joined him and rubbed his hands together, grinning. “And at long last, I have the solution to one mystery,” Ian said as Peter closed his office door behind them.
Peter frowned in confusion. “What’s that, then?” he asked with a puzzled tilt of his head as they made their way to the hallway.
“How Donna was able to capture your attention, without a word, from across the street in a crowd, when half the women in this building have been throwing themselves at you for months and you haven’t so much as spared them a second glance,” Ian said with a touch of envy as they stepped into the open doors of the lift. Peter rolled his eyes and scoffed as Ian continued. “But after meeting her, I’m sure she’s the perfect woman for you. She’s smart, quick-witted and fearless. She’s not intimidated by you and she gives as good as she gets. And best of all,” Ian smirked, leaning back against the wall of the lift, “she’s a ginger riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.” Peter’s embarrassed smile as he punched the button for the lobby was all the confirmation Ian needed. “You never really stood a chance.”
“Yeah,” Peter said somberly as the doors closed behind them, “and after today, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25