And So Things Go, Chapter 10
Title- And So Things Go (10/34)
Author- jlrpuck
Rating - T
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
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 - The story of how Peter Carlisle moved to London to live with Rose Tyler.
Author’s Notes - The investigation continues.
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 have been ideal betas for this-supportive, diligent, and full of excellent ideas.
lostwolfchats has been fabulous, as well, and equally as invaluable, ensuring that I didn’t ruin the Queen’s English…too badly. Any errors-grammatical, colloquial, or factual-are mine, and mine alone.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Epilogue
“Rose is going to kill you.” Elias offered the comment for roughly the thousandth time, glee still lacing his voice.
“Yes, thank you.”
The two of them were stood in the safe zone, several hundred metres from the house, and had been watching the lately arrived explosive disposal unit do their work. Both the front and back doors had had devices rigged to them; Peter hadn’t been able to get out of the house fast enough, scooping his coat up as he looped around the back of the house, yelling at the PC to get the hell away; he, McCoy, and the four young PC’s had met by the cars, wide-eyed, Peter still panting from the adrenaline rush.
He was a bloody idiot.
They’d radioed for explosives right away; Peter had been proud of the fact that he remembered to ask for forensics as well, telling them he was fairly sure there was a body in the house somewhere and they may as well go through the house as soon as they could.
And so, two hours later, it looked as though the bomb unit was just about done. Peter hadn’t a clue what they did inside, just knew he considered them crazier than just about any people he’d encountered in his job-and that included Torchwood-and that he was grateful they were happy to go into places he couldn’t be paid to.
He still couldn’t get over his sheer hubris, sneaking in through a side window. He’d been stupid, and lucky; all told, he’d take that particular combination over smart and unlucky, but it still didn’t help with the maelstrom of emotion swirling through him. If they’d gone through the front door, he or Elias-or, more likely, both of them-likely wouldn’t have come back out. If their bad guy hadn’t, for whatever reason, skipped trapping the windows, he’d not be standing on a street in Glasgow, Elias ribbing him to no end.
Yes. Rose was going to kill him…assuming she found out.
“Ruby’ll have your head too, you know,” Peter offered conversationally.
“I’m not the idiot who went in.”
“You flipped the coin.”
Elias opened his mouth, paused, shut it.
“Let’s say we avoid bringing this up. Ever.”
“Ruby’s going to find out,” Elias replied morosely.
“Not from me, she’s not.” Peter’s voice was firm.
Elias sighed. “Very well. If I meet your fine Rose Tyler, I’ll not mention the time you lost a coin toss and very nearly got yourself blown up.”
“Deal.”
It was another half-hour before the bomb squad declared the small building safe, allowing forensics to enter. The klieg lights had been set up as the sun finally set, and the small building was cast in the bright, near-blinding white light they provided. As he and Elias slowly walked towards the house, he noted that smaller work lights were being set up in the building, reducing the forensic techs to nothing more than shadows on the wall. He found himself unaccountably missing Ian and his team, missing the security of knowing what the group could do, who he could trust; the easy banter that would flow as they worked a scene together.
He sighed-please let this case be over soon, he thought, suddenly bone-weary and desperate to return to the safety and comfort of his house, of his dysfunctional little station where nothing major ever happened but where everyone was a known quantity.
He might have made a deal with Elias not to tell Rose or Ruby about the events of the evening, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to not tell Rose about it-her yelling at him as the outcome or not. He simply couldn’t imagine keeping something like that from her-and, if he were honest with himself, he wanted the comfort that would come of her knowing about it.
They were stopped at the entrance to the front path by the head of the bomb unit, a grizzled army veteran who cast a gimlet eye over the both of them. “Who’s the idiot as decided it would be a good idea to go in?”
Peter shifted guiltily, avoiding the man’s gaze; Elias stayed silent.
“You’re bloody idiots, the both of you.”
“I don’t suppose you all found anything of use?” Elias asked meekly.
“The doors were wired to a series of small canister bombs, chock full of nails; the circuit was in series. Pretty simple once you get down to it-not much flash, but a lot of damage to whichever of you fools were going through the door. Death, more like.”
Peter swallowed.
“Did you recognize the work?” Elias pressed. He seemed a lot more nonchalant about nearly being blown to bits-Peter wondered sardonically if bombs were more of a standard job hazard down at the Met.
“Won’t know until we look, will we?”
“We’re working a murder; the information would help. At your leisure,” Peter offered hastily.
The Captain stared at him long enough that Peter wondered if he’d been recognized. “We’ll get it to you when we get it to you,” he finally replied, gruffly.
“Yes, thank you.” Elias proffered one of his cards. “We’ll just get out of your way, then.”
Peter found himself propelled forwards, along the path to the house. He glanced over to his partner, and found that although Elias’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes were glinting in the harsh light. “Bomb guys. They’re all the same.”
Peter refrained from commenting that he’d only worked with the explosives unit once-when someone had found some ancient nitroglycerine tucked away in the corner of their late granddad’s garden shed, years before.
They were greeted at the door by the head of the small forensics unit; they’d officially met as they’d all stood outside the safe zone, waiting for the house to be cleared. Marcus was an older gentleman from the highlands; Peter wasn’t certain if he ever smiled or, indeed, if he had a sense of humour, but he certainly seemed keen to get down to business.
“Two bodies in the back-quadrant C.”
Peter blinked. The second window they’d have looked in, then, in the back left corner of the house.
“Just how dead?”
“They’re not only merely dead, they’re really most sincerely dead,” Marcus offered, leading the way. Perhaps he had a sense of humour after all, if he was quoting from old, post-war movies.
Peter winced as they stepped into the room, the smell overwhelming him. He closed his throat, held his breath, waiting for the first wave of nausea to pass over him; he’d be alright in a minute or so, once his body got over its initial revulsion. He focused on the two bodies, his mind shifting into analytical mode, focusing on what he saw as evidence and not former human beings. It got too difficult, working a messy scene like this, if he allowed himself to feel, to relate to them as living breathing creatures as opposed to…things. He could worry about figuring out who they were, as people, later on, away from here.
Although he already suspected he knew. They had to be Timothy and Johnny, Judy’s friends.
Elias had the same idea. “Judy’s friends, I reckon.” He glanced at Peter. “D’you think she knew?”
Peter sighed, his throat clenching slightly as he took a deep breath to speak. “I don’t know.” He scrubbed at his hair, forgetting until after he’d dragged his fingers through his hair that his hands were still filthy. He grimaced, glancing over Elias’s shoulder at the team taking pictures and beginning to get the bodies ready for removal. “May as well get out of their way.”
Elias glanced over dispassionately before turning and walking out of the room. They returned to the window Peter had originally entered through, leaning against the wall on either side of the window. “I hope you have all your shots, Carlisle.”
“Yeah, got ‘em over the summer after an adventure with someone’s pet iguana,” he offered drily, recalling that particular misadventure. Rose had teased him mercilessly for it, right before she kissed each and every one of the scratches he’d received from the reptile.
Elias laughed. “Just what kinds of cases do you work in Kendal?”
“What kind of cases do you work in London?”
“Not iguanas.” Elias dug into his pocket, pulling his mobile out. “Should see how Ruby’s doing-she’s been awfully quiet this past hour.”
Elias had called Ruby as soon as they’d made it away from the house, standing in the middle of the street. Elias had been rattled, no question, cursing his shaking hands as he’d dialled his wife; Peter had watched as his partner visibly sagged in relief when his wife had answered the phone, saying she was fine, that Wilson was still banging pints away like the pro he was, seemingly not a care in the world.
“Where are you?” Elias asked into the phone without preamble. Peter watched his partner, his eyes gazing downwards, towards the window sill. Elias tensed, and Peter straightened. “Leave.”
Elias listened again, his brow furrowing. “I mean it. Please.”
Another pause.
“Come to the station. Don’t stop. Come in screaming, furious if you must. But I don’t like you being there.”
He paused, softly saying, “I love you, too,” before flipping the phone shut.
“She alright?”
“Yes, but Wilson’s starting to glance her way a bit more.”
“I think we need to talk with Judy again.”
“I think you’re right. Perhaps...perhaps it’s time to shut down our Glasgow office, and put Ruby to good use. With Judy.”
They stopped by for a visit with Marcus before leaving, letting him know they’d be at the station conducting further interviews, and to ring if he needed them there.
“D’you need anything, before we go?” Peter asked, surprised by the urge to inquire.
“We’ll get our own supper, thankee.” Marcus turned, clearly dismissing them; Elias chuckled as Peter bristled.
“Come along, Mother.” Elias walked out of the fetid room, striding laughingly to the front door.
Peter hurried after him, still sulking. “Bloody ingrate,” he muttered as they walked outside.
“Honestly, Peter. He’s working, and to him you’re the bloody idiot who almost got himself done in.”
“You are, too.”
“Fine-even better. We’re both the bloody idiot Sassenachs who almost got ourselves topped today.”
“I’m not a Sassenach.”
“Then stop acting like one.” Elias stopped at the driver’s door, gazing across the roof of the car at Peter. “Give me the keys.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to filthy up the wheel with god only knows what.”
Peter released a put-upon sigh, sliding them across the metal to Elias. His partner was right...but he really wasn’t in the mood to admit it just yet.
In truth, he just wanted to talk to Rose. Just a short call, to hear her voice and know she was well, that she’d had a quiet day to balance out his amazingly lively one. That was all; he could be happy with that.
“Peter. You’re sure you’re alright?” Elias asked the question softly as he pulled out onto the main road, headed back to the station.
“Oughtn’t I be asking you that? It’s your wife who’s fleeing across the city to safe haven.”
“Yes,” Elias drawled. “But I’m not the one who crawled into a booby-trapped building this afternoon.”
“I’m fine, Elias.” Peter stared across the bonnet of the car, studiously avoiding meeting Elias’s doubtful gaze. “Car!”
Elias returned his attention to the road, slamming on the brakes in anticipation of a car that wasn’t there. “That wasn’t funny, Peter.”
Peter giggled. “It was. A bit.”
“Prat.”
“Pay attention to the blasted road. I can take care of myself.”
“Alright then.”
~ - ~
Ruby was already at the station by the time they arrived, giving one of the poor PC’s an earful, demanding to see the scabby looking Detective who’d harassed her at her flat the week before, sticking his bloody card in the door. Peter bit his lip, fighting to stifle a smile as he listened to Ruby continue on, seemingly without breath. He choked as he watched the PC notice their presence, pointing in their direction, doing anything he could to redirect Ruby’s energies.
“That’s the one! The streaky bloke!” Ruby pointed at Peter, and he felt his jaw drop. She leapt up from the desk, storming over to Peter-he froze, completely unprepared to be the direct recipient of Ruby’s act. Fortunately Elias came to his rescue, grabbing his wife around the waist, bracing his weight as she struggled. “Lemme go!”
“Do you promise not to hit the nice DI?” Elias’s voice was calm, and not a little patronising.
Ruby stilled, her expression sullen.
“Good lass. Now why don’t we go chat, and you can tell us what’s got you so angry.” Peter couldn’t resist getting an oar in, now that he’d gathered his wits.
“Shaddup, ye pillock,” Ruby growled, loud enough for the silent squad room to hear.
“Right. Interrogation room.” Elias steered Ruby towards one of the rooms, propelling her before him.
“Show’s over,” Peter quipped to the three PC’s, watching open-mouthed from around the room. There was a rapid, purposeless shuffling of paper as they each pretended not to have been watching in the first place, and he spun on his heel, moving to join Elias and Ruby. They’d settled in to the room, facing each other across the table, a recording device sitting between them; to anyone looking in through the small window in the door, it would look like an interview. As Peter walked in, however, the two of them were talking about where to have supper once they were done.
“Looking a bit rough there, Carlisle,” Ruby offered as he closed the door behind him.
“Been earning my keep, I suppose,” he rejoined, leaning back against the door.
Ruby gave him a frank gaze, her eyes running across his face, down his body. He blushed under the scrutiny, trying not to squirm as Ruby met his eye. “I reckon Rose likes it well enough.”
“Ruby!” Peter didn’t think Elias was feigning his shock.
“What? It adds a certain mischievousness to him!”
Elias rested his head in his hands. “You’re unbelievable. You’ve met him twice!”
“Seen his picture quite a bit, though, haven’t I?”
Peter remained stood at the door, watching Elias and Ruby back-and-forth, teasing each other in between Ruby offering her opinion of how attractive Peter was and why. If not for the rather hair-raising afternoon, he’d have to wonder, once again, if he was on a hidden-camera show.
“Peter?” Elias’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yup.”
“You about ready to call it a night?” Elias was peering at him, his head tilted slightly.
“Ah...we’ve two bodies in the house. And a witness god-knows-where. And a murderer on the loose.”
“The bodies aren’t going anywhere without help. The witness is in safe hands-Ruby checked in with our local bloke. The murderer? Well. Physical evidence is the way of the service these days-we’re going to have to see what forensics finds in that lovely little death trap.”
“But...”
“I think we’re done for the night. Barring any cracking developments.” Elias stood, shoving his chair backwards.
“What of Ruby?”
“What of me?” She gave Peter a bemused glance.
“You...the flat? And Wilson?”
“Oh, I’ll not be going back there tonight.”
Peter glanced between Ruby and Elias. “Ah. In that case...” He turned, opening the door. “Madam, you’re free to go. Thank you for your time and concern.” He winked as Ruby sashayed past.
“Cheeky bastard,” she offered cheerily on her way out.
“She’ll be ok?” Peter asked Elias as the two of them watched Ruby cross the squad room.
“Don’t underestimate her.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Smart bastard, too.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Peter sighed. “I need to get my report done before I can call it a night.”
“And I don’t?” Elias’s voice was filled with humour. “God, I hate paperwork.”
“Worst part of the job,” Peter agreed cheerfully, walking towards his desk. Cheerful? When had he ever been cheerful on the job? Besides when he had been working with Rose-and even then, he’d not been, torn between castigating her and snogging her senseless.
Cheerful, though. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d had so much fun on a case-his earlier weariness and near-death experience be damned.
It took two more hours to take care of the paperwork, each man making sure every ‘i’ was dotted, every ‘t’ crossed; they’d not technically broken any rules that day, but the alarming proximity to explosives meant that they needed to be very thorough and very precise in their reports. By the time he finally signed his name to his version of the report, Peter was starving, his stomach rumbling loudly enough that Elias kept glancing up from his desk, shaking his head as he returned to writing his side of the story.
Elias finished ten minutes later, signing his name with a flourish before re-capping his pen and sliding it into his pocket. “Done. Thank god.”
“Amen.” Peter stood, grabbing his report and Elias’s and walking them over to the “Reports” box. He paused briefly, moving over to the photocopier-it was a shiny new machine, capable of running exact colour copies, and he created a set of colour duplicates of the reports, filing the duplicates and sliding the originals under his sweater when he was sure no one was looking. Things were still a bit odd in this case-and until he knew things were not odd, he wasn’t sure he trusted the original copies of the report with anyone.
He swiped his hand over his eyes, back through his hair, ruminating on how full of contradictions the day had been. On the one hand, he’d be incredibly relieved when this blasted case was over. On the up side, however, he was having more fun that he’d had in ages with a partner. He enjoyed working with Penny, and had grown to consider the young man to be as close to a friend as he had in Kendal. But Elias...Elias was something else entirely. He’d thought, when they first met, that he’d never have got on with Elias outside of the case. Now? Now, he wasn’t nearly so sure that was true.
Elias was waiting for him, tapping his foot impatiently, his arms crossed. “Waiting on you, Carlisle!”
“Coming, coming...” Peter hurried over to his desk, gathering his things before moving to the door. “Let’s go, then.”
It was a relief to return to the hotel, to walk into the familiar lobby and hear the familiar music and inhale the familiar scent. Dinner, he thought, would be a very quick affair indeed; he wanted simply to take a shower, to call Rose, and to go to sleep.
“I’ve got a guest upstairs,” Elias said as they stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Unless something comes up, see you at half-seven.”
“Right.” Peter moved to the first step, then paused. “Night, Elias.”
“Night, Peter.”
The walk to his room seemed interminable, Peter growing more tired with each step. He sighed in relief as he reached his door, as he turned the key and pushed it open, flicking the light on. He should probably be concerned with someone trying to off him, really-after all, someone had rigged the house to kill them both-but he was simply too exhausted to be careful.
He glanced around the room, making sure no one was hiding behind the curtain; he poked his head into the en-suite to be doubly sure no one was hiding, before moving to the phone and ringing down for supper. That chore done, he reached under his jumper, removing the reports-he still wasn’t quite sure why he’d taken the originals, it had simply seemed a good idea at the time-and burying them in the back of the wardrobe. Then it was over to the shower to wash as much of the dirt and stench from the house off of him as possible; his clothes might actually be a total loss, and he sighed as he shed them, tossing them over to the dustbin.
Twenty minutes later he emerged from the steam-filled shower, moving to the wardrobe to find the robe he’d seen hanging there each of the eight previous nights. He pulled it on over his bare skin, cinching the belt, walking over to where he’d tossed his coat and digging through the pockets for his mobile. Rose might not be able to talk, but he wanted to hear her voice.
He was sitting on his bed, staring blankly at his phone, when dinner arrived; he stood off to the side, eager for the attendant to be gone so he could call Rose. He paused long enough to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, to gulp down the water he’d ordered, before settling onto the bed and dialling Rose’s mobile.
As expected, it rang twice and the rolled over to voicemail. Hearing Rose’s voice, even in the stern professional tone he’d heard the first day he met her, made him physically long for her, and he lay back onto the bed, wondering if he’d ever get past that point, ever be able to be separated from her, unable to speak with her whenever he wanted, and not be a bit upset about it.
When had he become so dependent upon her for his personal happiness?
He sighed, listening to the familiar message, waiting for the tone; right before it beeped, he took a deep breath, trying frantically to work out what to say.
“Rose. Hi. It’s, ah, me. Peter. I...well. It’s been a bit of a day. Been a bit of a few days, really. I hope you’re well. And that you’ll be home soon. I miss you, Rose. Love you.”
He stabbed at the hash sign, ending the recording. Peter glared at the phone as he closed it, and then tossed it onto the bed in frustration, listening as it hit the floor with a soft thump after bouncing off the mattress.
He may as well eat something before he went to sleep.
~ - ~
Chapter 11
Author- jlrpuck
Rating - T
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
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 - The story of how Peter Carlisle moved to London to live with Rose Tyler.
Author’s Notes - The investigation continues.
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 have been ideal betas for this-supportive, diligent, and full of excellent ideas.
lostwolfchats has been fabulous, as well, and equally as invaluable, ensuring that I didn’t ruin the Queen’s English…too badly. Any errors-grammatical, colloquial, or factual-are mine, and mine alone.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Epilogue
“Rose is going to kill you.” Elias offered the comment for roughly the thousandth time, glee still lacing his voice.
“Yes, thank you.”
The two of them were stood in the safe zone, several hundred metres from the house, and had been watching the lately arrived explosive disposal unit do their work. Both the front and back doors had had devices rigged to them; Peter hadn’t been able to get out of the house fast enough, scooping his coat up as he looped around the back of the house, yelling at the PC to get the hell away; he, McCoy, and the four young PC’s had met by the cars, wide-eyed, Peter still panting from the adrenaline rush.
He was a bloody idiot.
They’d radioed for explosives right away; Peter had been proud of the fact that he remembered to ask for forensics as well, telling them he was fairly sure there was a body in the house somewhere and they may as well go through the house as soon as they could.
And so, two hours later, it looked as though the bomb unit was just about done. Peter hadn’t a clue what they did inside, just knew he considered them crazier than just about any people he’d encountered in his job-and that included Torchwood-and that he was grateful they were happy to go into places he couldn’t be paid to.
He still couldn’t get over his sheer hubris, sneaking in through a side window. He’d been stupid, and lucky; all told, he’d take that particular combination over smart and unlucky, but it still didn’t help with the maelstrom of emotion swirling through him. If they’d gone through the front door, he or Elias-or, more likely, both of them-likely wouldn’t have come back out. If their bad guy hadn’t, for whatever reason, skipped trapping the windows, he’d not be standing on a street in Glasgow, Elias ribbing him to no end.
Yes. Rose was going to kill him…assuming she found out.
“Ruby’ll have your head too, you know,” Peter offered conversationally.
“I’m not the idiot who went in.”
“You flipped the coin.”
Elias opened his mouth, paused, shut it.
“Let’s say we avoid bringing this up. Ever.”
“Ruby’s going to find out,” Elias replied morosely.
“Not from me, she’s not.” Peter’s voice was firm.
Elias sighed. “Very well. If I meet your fine Rose Tyler, I’ll not mention the time you lost a coin toss and very nearly got yourself blown up.”
“Deal.”
It was another half-hour before the bomb squad declared the small building safe, allowing forensics to enter. The klieg lights had been set up as the sun finally set, and the small building was cast in the bright, near-blinding white light they provided. As he and Elias slowly walked towards the house, he noted that smaller work lights were being set up in the building, reducing the forensic techs to nothing more than shadows on the wall. He found himself unaccountably missing Ian and his team, missing the security of knowing what the group could do, who he could trust; the easy banter that would flow as they worked a scene together.
He sighed-please let this case be over soon, he thought, suddenly bone-weary and desperate to return to the safety and comfort of his house, of his dysfunctional little station where nothing major ever happened but where everyone was a known quantity.
He might have made a deal with Elias not to tell Rose or Ruby about the events of the evening, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to not tell Rose about it-her yelling at him as the outcome or not. He simply couldn’t imagine keeping something like that from her-and, if he were honest with himself, he wanted the comfort that would come of her knowing about it.
They were stopped at the entrance to the front path by the head of the bomb unit, a grizzled army veteran who cast a gimlet eye over the both of them. “Who’s the idiot as decided it would be a good idea to go in?”
Peter shifted guiltily, avoiding the man’s gaze; Elias stayed silent.
“You’re bloody idiots, the both of you.”
“I don’t suppose you all found anything of use?” Elias asked meekly.
“The doors were wired to a series of small canister bombs, chock full of nails; the circuit was in series. Pretty simple once you get down to it-not much flash, but a lot of damage to whichever of you fools were going through the door. Death, more like.”
Peter swallowed.
“Did you recognize the work?” Elias pressed. He seemed a lot more nonchalant about nearly being blown to bits-Peter wondered sardonically if bombs were more of a standard job hazard down at the Met.
“Won’t know until we look, will we?”
“We’re working a murder; the information would help. At your leisure,” Peter offered hastily.
The Captain stared at him long enough that Peter wondered if he’d been recognized. “We’ll get it to you when we get it to you,” he finally replied, gruffly.
“Yes, thank you.” Elias proffered one of his cards. “We’ll just get out of your way, then.”
Peter found himself propelled forwards, along the path to the house. He glanced over to his partner, and found that although Elias’s mouth was set in a firm line, his eyes were glinting in the harsh light. “Bomb guys. They’re all the same.”
Peter refrained from commenting that he’d only worked with the explosives unit once-when someone had found some ancient nitroglycerine tucked away in the corner of their late granddad’s garden shed, years before.
They were greeted at the door by the head of the small forensics unit; they’d officially met as they’d all stood outside the safe zone, waiting for the house to be cleared. Marcus was an older gentleman from the highlands; Peter wasn’t certain if he ever smiled or, indeed, if he had a sense of humour, but he certainly seemed keen to get down to business.
“Two bodies in the back-quadrant C.”
Peter blinked. The second window they’d have looked in, then, in the back left corner of the house.
“Just how dead?”
“They’re not only merely dead, they’re really most sincerely dead,” Marcus offered, leading the way. Perhaps he had a sense of humour after all, if he was quoting from old, post-war movies.
Peter winced as they stepped into the room, the smell overwhelming him. He closed his throat, held his breath, waiting for the first wave of nausea to pass over him; he’d be alright in a minute or so, once his body got over its initial revulsion. He focused on the two bodies, his mind shifting into analytical mode, focusing on what he saw as evidence and not former human beings. It got too difficult, working a messy scene like this, if he allowed himself to feel, to relate to them as living breathing creatures as opposed to…things. He could worry about figuring out who they were, as people, later on, away from here.
Although he already suspected he knew. They had to be Timothy and Johnny, Judy’s friends.
Elias had the same idea. “Judy’s friends, I reckon.” He glanced at Peter. “D’you think she knew?”
Peter sighed, his throat clenching slightly as he took a deep breath to speak. “I don’t know.” He scrubbed at his hair, forgetting until after he’d dragged his fingers through his hair that his hands were still filthy. He grimaced, glancing over Elias’s shoulder at the team taking pictures and beginning to get the bodies ready for removal. “May as well get out of their way.”
Elias glanced over dispassionately before turning and walking out of the room. They returned to the window Peter had originally entered through, leaning against the wall on either side of the window. “I hope you have all your shots, Carlisle.”
“Yeah, got ‘em over the summer after an adventure with someone’s pet iguana,” he offered drily, recalling that particular misadventure. Rose had teased him mercilessly for it, right before she kissed each and every one of the scratches he’d received from the reptile.
Elias laughed. “Just what kinds of cases do you work in Kendal?”
“What kind of cases do you work in London?”
“Not iguanas.” Elias dug into his pocket, pulling his mobile out. “Should see how Ruby’s doing-she’s been awfully quiet this past hour.”
Elias had called Ruby as soon as they’d made it away from the house, standing in the middle of the street. Elias had been rattled, no question, cursing his shaking hands as he’d dialled his wife; Peter had watched as his partner visibly sagged in relief when his wife had answered the phone, saying she was fine, that Wilson was still banging pints away like the pro he was, seemingly not a care in the world.
“Where are you?” Elias asked into the phone without preamble. Peter watched his partner, his eyes gazing downwards, towards the window sill. Elias tensed, and Peter straightened. “Leave.”
Elias listened again, his brow furrowing. “I mean it. Please.”
Another pause.
“Come to the station. Don’t stop. Come in screaming, furious if you must. But I don’t like you being there.”
He paused, softly saying, “I love you, too,” before flipping the phone shut.
“She alright?”
“Yes, but Wilson’s starting to glance her way a bit more.”
“I think we need to talk with Judy again.”
“I think you’re right. Perhaps...perhaps it’s time to shut down our Glasgow office, and put Ruby to good use. With Judy.”
They stopped by for a visit with Marcus before leaving, letting him know they’d be at the station conducting further interviews, and to ring if he needed them there.
“D’you need anything, before we go?” Peter asked, surprised by the urge to inquire.
“We’ll get our own supper, thankee.” Marcus turned, clearly dismissing them; Elias chuckled as Peter bristled.
“Come along, Mother.” Elias walked out of the fetid room, striding laughingly to the front door.
Peter hurried after him, still sulking. “Bloody ingrate,” he muttered as they walked outside.
“Honestly, Peter. He’s working, and to him you’re the bloody idiot who almost got himself done in.”
“You are, too.”
“Fine-even better. We’re both the bloody idiot Sassenachs who almost got ourselves topped today.”
“I’m not a Sassenach.”
“Then stop acting like one.” Elias stopped at the driver’s door, gazing across the roof of the car at Peter. “Give me the keys.”
“Why?”
“You’re going to filthy up the wheel with god only knows what.”
Peter released a put-upon sigh, sliding them across the metal to Elias. His partner was right...but he really wasn’t in the mood to admit it just yet.
In truth, he just wanted to talk to Rose. Just a short call, to hear her voice and know she was well, that she’d had a quiet day to balance out his amazingly lively one. That was all; he could be happy with that.
“Peter. You’re sure you’re alright?” Elias asked the question softly as he pulled out onto the main road, headed back to the station.
“Oughtn’t I be asking you that? It’s your wife who’s fleeing across the city to safe haven.”
“Yes,” Elias drawled. “But I’m not the one who crawled into a booby-trapped building this afternoon.”
“I’m fine, Elias.” Peter stared across the bonnet of the car, studiously avoiding meeting Elias’s doubtful gaze. “Car!”
Elias returned his attention to the road, slamming on the brakes in anticipation of a car that wasn’t there. “That wasn’t funny, Peter.”
Peter giggled. “It was. A bit.”
“Prat.”
“Pay attention to the blasted road. I can take care of myself.”
“Alright then.”
~ - ~
Ruby was already at the station by the time they arrived, giving one of the poor PC’s an earful, demanding to see the scabby looking Detective who’d harassed her at her flat the week before, sticking his bloody card in the door. Peter bit his lip, fighting to stifle a smile as he listened to Ruby continue on, seemingly without breath. He choked as he watched the PC notice their presence, pointing in their direction, doing anything he could to redirect Ruby’s energies.
“That’s the one! The streaky bloke!” Ruby pointed at Peter, and he felt his jaw drop. She leapt up from the desk, storming over to Peter-he froze, completely unprepared to be the direct recipient of Ruby’s act. Fortunately Elias came to his rescue, grabbing his wife around the waist, bracing his weight as she struggled. “Lemme go!”
“Do you promise not to hit the nice DI?” Elias’s voice was calm, and not a little patronising.
Ruby stilled, her expression sullen.
“Good lass. Now why don’t we go chat, and you can tell us what’s got you so angry.” Peter couldn’t resist getting an oar in, now that he’d gathered his wits.
“Shaddup, ye pillock,” Ruby growled, loud enough for the silent squad room to hear.
“Right. Interrogation room.” Elias steered Ruby towards one of the rooms, propelling her before him.
“Show’s over,” Peter quipped to the three PC’s, watching open-mouthed from around the room. There was a rapid, purposeless shuffling of paper as they each pretended not to have been watching in the first place, and he spun on his heel, moving to join Elias and Ruby. They’d settled in to the room, facing each other across the table, a recording device sitting between them; to anyone looking in through the small window in the door, it would look like an interview. As Peter walked in, however, the two of them were talking about where to have supper once they were done.
“Looking a bit rough there, Carlisle,” Ruby offered as he closed the door behind him.
“Been earning my keep, I suppose,” he rejoined, leaning back against the door.
Ruby gave him a frank gaze, her eyes running across his face, down his body. He blushed under the scrutiny, trying not to squirm as Ruby met his eye. “I reckon Rose likes it well enough.”
“Ruby!” Peter didn’t think Elias was feigning his shock.
“What? It adds a certain mischievousness to him!”
Elias rested his head in his hands. “You’re unbelievable. You’ve met him twice!”
“Seen his picture quite a bit, though, haven’t I?”
Peter remained stood at the door, watching Elias and Ruby back-and-forth, teasing each other in between Ruby offering her opinion of how attractive Peter was and why. If not for the rather hair-raising afternoon, he’d have to wonder, once again, if he was on a hidden-camera show.
“Peter?” Elias’s voice broke into his thoughts.
“Yup.”
“You about ready to call it a night?” Elias was peering at him, his head tilted slightly.
“Ah...we’ve two bodies in the house. And a witness god-knows-where. And a murderer on the loose.”
“The bodies aren’t going anywhere without help. The witness is in safe hands-Ruby checked in with our local bloke. The murderer? Well. Physical evidence is the way of the service these days-we’re going to have to see what forensics finds in that lovely little death trap.”
“But...”
“I think we’re done for the night. Barring any cracking developments.” Elias stood, shoving his chair backwards.
“What of Ruby?”
“What of me?” She gave Peter a bemused glance.
“You...the flat? And Wilson?”
“Oh, I’ll not be going back there tonight.”
Peter glanced between Ruby and Elias. “Ah. In that case...” He turned, opening the door. “Madam, you’re free to go. Thank you for your time and concern.” He winked as Ruby sashayed past.
“Cheeky bastard,” she offered cheerily on her way out.
“She’ll be ok?” Peter asked Elias as the two of them watched Ruby cross the squad room.
“Don’t underestimate her.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
“Smart bastard, too.”
“I’ve been called worse.” Peter sighed. “I need to get my report done before I can call it a night.”
“And I don’t?” Elias’s voice was filled with humour. “God, I hate paperwork.”
“Worst part of the job,” Peter agreed cheerfully, walking towards his desk. Cheerful? When had he ever been cheerful on the job? Besides when he had been working with Rose-and even then, he’d not been, torn between castigating her and snogging her senseless.
Cheerful, though. He couldn’t think of the last time he’d had so much fun on a case-his earlier weariness and near-death experience be damned.
It took two more hours to take care of the paperwork, each man making sure every ‘i’ was dotted, every ‘t’ crossed; they’d not technically broken any rules that day, but the alarming proximity to explosives meant that they needed to be very thorough and very precise in their reports. By the time he finally signed his name to his version of the report, Peter was starving, his stomach rumbling loudly enough that Elias kept glancing up from his desk, shaking his head as he returned to writing his side of the story.
Elias finished ten minutes later, signing his name with a flourish before re-capping his pen and sliding it into his pocket. “Done. Thank god.”
“Amen.” Peter stood, grabbing his report and Elias’s and walking them over to the “Reports” box. He paused briefly, moving over to the photocopier-it was a shiny new machine, capable of running exact colour copies, and he created a set of colour duplicates of the reports, filing the duplicates and sliding the originals under his sweater when he was sure no one was looking. Things were still a bit odd in this case-and until he knew things were not odd, he wasn’t sure he trusted the original copies of the report with anyone.
He swiped his hand over his eyes, back through his hair, ruminating on how full of contradictions the day had been. On the one hand, he’d be incredibly relieved when this blasted case was over. On the up side, however, he was having more fun that he’d had in ages with a partner. He enjoyed working with Penny, and had grown to consider the young man to be as close to a friend as he had in Kendal. But Elias...Elias was something else entirely. He’d thought, when they first met, that he’d never have got on with Elias outside of the case. Now? Now, he wasn’t nearly so sure that was true.
Elias was waiting for him, tapping his foot impatiently, his arms crossed. “Waiting on you, Carlisle!”
“Coming, coming...” Peter hurried over to his desk, gathering his things before moving to the door. “Let’s go, then.”
It was a relief to return to the hotel, to walk into the familiar lobby and hear the familiar music and inhale the familiar scent. Dinner, he thought, would be a very quick affair indeed; he wanted simply to take a shower, to call Rose, and to go to sleep.
“I’ve got a guest upstairs,” Elias said as they stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Unless something comes up, see you at half-seven.”
“Right.” Peter moved to the first step, then paused. “Night, Elias.”
“Night, Peter.”
The walk to his room seemed interminable, Peter growing more tired with each step. He sighed in relief as he reached his door, as he turned the key and pushed it open, flicking the light on. He should probably be concerned with someone trying to off him, really-after all, someone had rigged the house to kill them both-but he was simply too exhausted to be careful.
He glanced around the room, making sure no one was hiding behind the curtain; he poked his head into the en-suite to be doubly sure no one was hiding, before moving to the phone and ringing down for supper. That chore done, he reached under his jumper, removing the reports-he still wasn’t quite sure why he’d taken the originals, it had simply seemed a good idea at the time-and burying them in the back of the wardrobe. Then it was over to the shower to wash as much of the dirt and stench from the house off of him as possible; his clothes might actually be a total loss, and he sighed as he shed them, tossing them over to the dustbin.
Twenty minutes later he emerged from the steam-filled shower, moving to the wardrobe to find the robe he’d seen hanging there each of the eight previous nights. He pulled it on over his bare skin, cinching the belt, walking over to where he’d tossed his coat and digging through the pockets for his mobile. Rose might not be able to talk, but he wanted to hear her voice.
He was sitting on his bed, staring blankly at his phone, when dinner arrived; he stood off to the side, eager for the attendant to be gone so he could call Rose. He paused long enough to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, to gulp down the water he’d ordered, before settling onto the bed and dialling Rose’s mobile.
As expected, it rang twice and the rolled over to voicemail. Hearing Rose’s voice, even in the stern professional tone he’d heard the first day he met her, made him physically long for her, and he lay back onto the bed, wondering if he’d ever get past that point, ever be able to be separated from her, unable to speak with her whenever he wanted, and not be a bit upset about it.
When had he become so dependent upon her for his personal happiness?
He sighed, listening to the familiar message, waiting for the tone; right before it beeped, he took a deep breath, trying frantically to work out what to say.
“Rose. Hi. It’s, ah, me. Peter. I...well. It’s been a bit of a day. Been a bit of a few days, really. I hope you’re well. And that you’ll be home soon. I miss you, Rose. Love you.”
He stabbed at the hash sign, ending the recording. Peter glared at the phone as he closed it, and then tossed it onto the bed in frustration, listening as it hit the floor with a soft thump after bouncing off the mattress.
He may as well eat something before he went to sleep.
~ - ~
Chapter 11