The Way of Things, Chapter 12
Title - The Way of Things (12/45)
Author - jlrpuck
Rating - K+
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
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 - A post-Doomsday story, set in the Alt!Verse. It's been over three years since Rose and the Doctor said goodbye. What happens when she not only meets his doppelganger, but has to work with him?
Author’s Notes - Peter’s now decided he really ought to apologise to Rose for being, well, Peter; will that make their third week working together any better than their first two?
Yes, this is still K+ (*looks at f-list* you lot, especially, have no room to grouse ;D). Have some faith in the DI, the DI’s libido, and Rose; the rating will, eventually, go up.
earlgreytea68 and arctacuda have been wonderful betas-patient, constructive, encouraging, and snarky, all in right measure at the right time. rosa_acicularisis not just a font of poetic knowledge; she’s been great about doing the final sanity check for this behemoth. misssara11 is the one who encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and who read over my early efforts at this story.
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 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Epilogue
Rose was ready to scream with frustration. Almost another week gone-nearly three in total-and they still had next to no leads about where McGreevy had gone. She was about to give up and state officially that McGreevy had vanished off the face of the earth-literally. She sighed, leaning back in the borrowed desk chair and propping her feet on the borrowed desk. It was a bloody shame the CCTV footage hadn’t panned out; that had taken the better part of the week, working out what they were seeing on the grainy black and white film. Ultimately it had turned out to be nothing, disappointing all and raising the level of frustration for everyone. Rose was supposed to be finishing her notes on that dead end, but found herself distracted-again. Right now, as she was trying not to go mad, Carlisle and Jake were in with Philippa and her solicitor. Jacques had found a little blip buried deep in her background, and she fully expected the DI was leaning quite hard on the woman for information on just about anything; their leverage was weak, the incident just about at the end of the statute of limitations, but it might be enough to broker some kind of deal. Meanwhile, poor Penington-whose desk she had appropriated-was once again haring after a few people with tenuous ties to McGreevy. Did the DC ever get to do anything fun, or was he permanently relegated to errand boy for the DI? Was that how he got his training? She tapped a pen against her lips as she pondered the question.
“Working hard, I see.” Mickey’s voice shook her from pondering the odd world of police training, causing her to drop her feet to the floor and lean forward.
“Hardly working, yeah?” She grinned at him as he sat in Carlisle’s empty desk chair.
He grinned in return, and scooted the chair closer to Rose so they could talk. “Anything out of…?” He tilted his head towards the hallway leading to the interrogation room.
“Haven’t heard anything, no. Haven’t been listening, either; it’d ruin the surprise. You have any luck?”
Mickey had been working non-stop on breaking the last of the encrypted diary since the weekend, determined that some of what they needed lay in the coded words. He looked at her, eyes shining.
She took a deep breath. “You have had luck.” He nodded, fighting hard to keep his smile contained. She wanted to leap up, shout, and hug him. She settled for a grin and a squeeze of his thigh. “Knew you’d do it. What’d you find?”
Mickey shook his head. “No, not until everyone’s here.” Rose pouted playfully; the look had long since ceased to work on Mickey, but it was a well-established part of their routine. “No, Rose, trust me. ’s better that everyone’s here for this.” She sighed melodramatically, leaning back in the chair in a huff. Her hair fell across her face, ruining the effect, and she puffed at it before laughing. Mickey, too, leaned back in his chair and joined her in her laughter.
After a few minutes, he once more leaned forward; Rose unconsciously mirrored his action so they were a few inches apart. “So, how’re things going with you and-” Mickey once again resorted to pantomime, this time pointing to the DI’s desk.
Rose sighed. “Better.” Carlisle had pulled her aside after the team’s Monday morning review, and apologised for “being a bit of a git.” She’d been surprised, not expecting an apology at all. Yes, he’d been a five-star pillock, but she had viewed it as someone defending their turf, not as a personal attack. Still, he’d seemed so earnest and sincere as he offered it up, the two of them standing in the corner created by the wall of the hallway meeting the door to the main room, the hustle and bustle of daily police business swirling around them; there was no way she could have laughed it off or told him it was no bother. Instead, she’d mimicked his actions of the week prior, accepting his apologies with a small smile and a simple “Apology accepted.” And life had continued on.
She had felt it at the time, that their interaction and relationship had taken a new turn, but she wasn’t quite sure why. She did know that her respect for Carlisle, as both the DI on the case and as an individual, continued to grow. She was still uncomfortable around him, but that was largely down to the disturbing thoughts that Jake had stirred up. Since Jake had teased her about Carlisle Saturday night, she’d found the door open to all sorts of thoughts about the DI; thoughts that had absolutely nothing to do with the task at hand. She’d find herself thinking those thoughts when the Inspector was briefing out at the end of the day; distracted by his dark eyes, his eyelashes, his hair that begged to have hands run through it. More dangerously, she had grown incredibly fond of his brogue, and could listen to it for hours; she would get lost in the sounds and lose track of the meaning of the words. She was going spare with the distraction of it, and found herself being far more abrupt with the man than she would have liked and the DI deserved.
The object of her thoughts walked into the room, Jake not far behind; they both looked quite pleased with themselves. Arriving in front of her and Mickey, Carlisle nonchalantly leaned against the corner of his desk. His brown eyes were positively alight with excitement, and his cheeks were flushed. “We’ve got...a warehouse.” He playfully arched his eyebrows.
Jake was grinning, and Carlisle looked for all the world as though he had just provided the secret to the meaning of life. Rose smiled, then bit back a grin as Mickey stood.
“And I have found what McGreevy was working on.”
There was a brief, stunned silence before Carlisle recollected himself. Rose was transfixed by the emotions crossing his face. “Where is it?”
“Ah, that’s the rub. We need to round up Penny, and the five of us are going to have to do a bit of digging in McGreevy’s house. It’s tucked away in his cellar.”
“He had a cellar?” Rose was fairly sure that house had been gone over thoroughly, and no one had ever found a cellar.
Carlisle leaned his weight against his left hand, fingers splayed on his desk, while his right ruffled his hair; he looked sidelong at her. “Well. Seems he does, doesn’t it?” He focused on Mickey. “How do we get in?”
They retrieved Penington on their way to the house, the five of them split between two cars; Rose wondered what it was Peter and Jake were talking about in theirs as they drove over to the cottage. It took an hour of going over the floors with all the care of Sherlock Holmes to find the floorboards that allowed access to the cellar, innocuously lined up in McGreevy’s library.(“I wasn’t aware McGreevy was the hero in a gothic romance,” Carlisle had drolly commented as they lifted the floorboards). Tools and torches in hand, they had used the rickety wooden ladder to enter the dark space and begin the task of trying to find the secure compartment that held McGreevy’s project. They each had a spade, the torches had been placed on end so the beams shone at the ceiling to provide as much diffused light as possible, and everyone was staring at the wall trying to work out where to start and how; their spades wouldn’t be much use against the brick, but they would work on the hard-packed earthen floor. Mickey had McGreevy’s journal and was muttering to himself. Rose took a look around and started to laugh. The other four looked at her. “We’re like the Scoobies! Well, hopefully without the vampires.”
Mickey was the only one who got the joke. Just another of the many things that were different between universes, apparently. Rose sighed, and found a patch of brick wall to lean against as they waited for Mickey to figure out where X marked the spot.
~ - ~
“To Mickey!” Five pint glasses clinked together in front of one rather embarrassed Mickey Smith. It had taken a while, down in the cellar, but he’d finally managed to work McGreevy’s directions out and lead them to the missing tech. Or what they assumed was the missing tech. It matched the description provided by Torchwood, although Peter could see no discernible use for it. Mickey, Jake, and Rose had treated it like a deadly weapon, running up to the van to collect special boxes, bags, papers, and gloves before delicately packaging it for transport. Rose had disappeared for a bit, presumably to phone London with the good news, and had returned looking quite relieved. They’d secured the device in an evidence locker at the station, and were now having a celebratory pint together at the pub before turning in for the night. There was still plenty of work to be done-not least of which was actually finding McGreevy-but for tonight, they could celebrate a small victory.
Peter caught Rose looking at him over the rim of her glass, and quirked an eyebrow. She blushed and quickly looked away. He sighed, taking a long draught of his ale. She’d been accommodating enough when he’d finally got around to apologising for being a prick, but she’d been a bit skittish since then. He hoped that they’d not return to the uneasy interaction of their first week working together.
He’d managed to keep his wilder thoughts about her under control, but still found Rose to be absolutely intriguing. She was smart, intuitive, clearly cared deeply about her friends as well as her job; and yet he still couldn’t figure out what her back story was. It helped that Rose was so distant around him; it kept him focused on the investigation, and went some ways towards keeping his more risqué thoughts quelled.
Finding the thing McGreevy had been working on was a wonderful bit of luck, although Peter realized that it was far more than just luck. Mickey had been slaving over the journal all week, absolutely convinced that it held the answers to so many of their questions. He had been right, to a degree; time would tell if the little widget that seemed to serve no purpose would help them to find McGreevy himself.
The interview with Philippa had gone about as he had expected, him having to apply pressure repeatedly, slowly increasing it as she continued to deny any knowledge. He’d toed the line between badgering and questioning, knew he was getting dangerously close, but also knew with every ounce of his being that she had the answer to one of their questions. Jake had been practically silent the entire time, a menacing presence that helped to distract Philippa and break her concentration. The bit of info that Torchwood had turned up had finally convinced the fiancée to share what she knew, including further explanation of what she was really after when she seduced the hapless engineer. At least they knew what Philippa’s real motives were; Peter had a feeling that she was still involved with Swinson, and he hoped that she’d reflexively seek to warn him about the investigation soon, thereby leading the police to his doorstep.
The icing on the cake, however, had been her admitting she knew about the warehouse, knew where it was, even knew who owned it. McGreevy had talked about it on several occasions, and although she had never been there she knew that Swinson and McGreevy had planned to meet there to transact some business. She’d suspected it was to do with a project McGreevy was working on independently, and she’d admitted that she had suspected a double-cross; she had searched McGreevy’s car the night he’d vanished in the hopes that she’d find some clue as to what he and Jerald were working on together. He had found it interesting that she really knew next to nothing about McGreevy and Swinson’s interaction-in spite of seducing the scientist at her (former? Current? He was still working that out) lover’s request, Swinson had kept her in the dark about his own activities.
By the time they had taken care of the tech it was far too dark to go out to the countryside and search the warehouse--they’d have to head out in the morning. Peter was itching to get out to the warehouse, his instincts telling him there was something important out there. Mickey was lined up to join him, and they were planning to go as soon as the morning review was done.
He took another long sip of his ale and returned his focus to the present. Plenty of time tomorrow to dwell on the case; his mind could do with a break, and he was sure his subconscious would chew things over even if he wasn’t actively thinking about the disparate bits of information. He took a step back towards the group, and rejoined the conversation.
~ - ~
Chapter Thirteen
Author - jlrpuck
Rating - K+
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers - For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
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 - A post-Doomsday story, set in the Alt!Verse. It's been over three years since Rose and the Doctor said goodbye. What happens when she not only meets his doppelganger, but has to work with him?
Author’s Notes - Peter’s now decided he really ought to apologise to Rose for being, well, Peter; will that make their third week working together any better than their first two?
Yes, this is still K+ (*looks at f-list* you lot, especially, have no room to grouse ;D). Have some faith in the DI, the DI’s libido, and Rose; the rating will, eventually, go up.
earlgreytea68 and arctacuda have been wonderful betas-patient, constructive, encouraging, and snarky, all in right measure at the right time. rosa_acicularisis not just a font of poetic knowledge; she’s been great about doing the final sanity check for this behemoth. misssara11 is the one who encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and who read over my early efforts at this story.
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 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Epilogue
Rose was ready to scream with frustration. Almost another week gone-nearly three in total-and they still had next to no leads about where McGreevy had gone. She was about to give up and state officially that McGreevy had vanished off the face of the earth-literally. She sighed, leaning back in the borrowed desk chair and propping her feet on the borrowed desk. It was a bloody shame the CCTV footage hadn’t panned out; that had taken the better part of the week, working out what they were seeing on the grainy black and white film. Ultimately it had turned out to be nothing, disappointing all and raising the level of frustration for everyone. Rose was supposed to be finishing her notes on that dead end, but found herself distracted-again. Right now, as she was trying not to go mad, Carlisle and Jake were in with Philippa and her solicitor. Jacques had found a little blip buried deep in her background, and she fully expected the DI was leaning quite hard on the woman for information on just about anything; their leverage was weak, the incident just about at the end of the statute of limitations, but it might be enough to broker some kind of deal. Meanwhile, poor Penington-whose desk she had appropriated-was once again haring after a few people with tenuous ties to McGreevy. Did the DC ever get to do anything fun, or was he permanently relegated to errand boy for the DI? Was that how he got his training? She tapped a pen against her lips as she pondered the question.
“Working hard, I see.” Mickey’s voice shook her from pondering the odd world of police training, causing her to drop her feet to the floor and lean forward.
“Hardly working, yeah?” She grinned at him as he sat in Carlisle’s empty desk chair.
He grinned in return, and scooted the chair closer to Rose so they could talk. “Anything out of…?” He tilted his head towards the hallway leading to the interrogation room.
“Haven’t heard anything, no. Haven’t been listening, either; it’d ruin the surprise. You have any luck?”
Mickey had been working non-stop on breaking the last of the encrypted diary since the weekend, determined that some of what they needed lay in the coded words. He looked at her, eyes shining.
She took a deep breath. “You have had luck.” He nodded, fighting hard to keep his smile contained. She wanted to leap up, shout, and hug him. She settled for a grin and a squeeze of his thigh. “Knew you’d do it. What’d you find?”
Mickey shook his head. “No, not until everyone’s here.” Rose pouted playfully; the look had long since ceased to work on Mickey, but it was a well-established part of their routine. “No, Rose, trust me. ’s better that everyone’s here for this.” She sighed melodramatically, leaning back in the chair in a huff. Her hair fell across her face, ruining the effect, and she puffed at it before laughing. Mickey, too, leaned back in his chair and joined her in her laughter.
After a few minutes, he once more leaned forward; Rose unconsciously mirrored his action so they were a few inches apart. “So, how’re things going with you and-” Mickey once again resorted to pantomime, this time pointing to the DI’s desk.
Rose sighed. “Better.” Carlisle had pulled her aside after the team’s Monday morning review, and apologised for “being a bit of a git.” She’d been surprised, not expecting an apology at all. Yes, he’d been a five-star pillock, but she had viewed it as someone defending their turf, not as a personal attack. Still, he’d seemed so earnest and sincere as he offered it up, the two of them standing in the corner created by the wall of the hallway meeting the door to the main room, the hustle and bustle of daily police business swirling around them; there was no way she could have laughed it off or told him it was no bother. Instead, she’d mimicked his actions of the week prior, accepting his apologies with a small smile and a simple “Apology accepted.” And life had continued on.
She had felt it at the time, that their interaction and relationship had taken a new turn, but she wasn’t quite sure why. She did know that her respect for Carlisle, as both the DI on the case and as an individual, continued to grow. She was still uncomfortable around him, but that was largely down to the disturbing thoughts that Jake had stirred up. Since Jake had teased her about Carlisle Saturday night, she’d found the door open to all sorts of thoughts about the DI; thoughts that had absolutely nothing to do with the task at hand. She’d find herself thinking those thoughts when the Inspector was briefing out at the end of the day; distracted by his dark eyes, his eyelashes, his hair that begged to have hands run through it. More dangerously, she had grown incredibly fond of his brogue, and could listen to it for hours; she would get lost in the sounds and lose track of the meaning of the words. She was going spare with the distraction of it, and found herself being far more abrupt with the man than she would have liked and the DI deserved.
The object of her thoughts walked into the room, Jake not far behind; they both looked quite pleased with themselves. Arriving in front of her and Mickey, Carlisle nonchalantly leaned against the corner of his desk. His brown eyes were positively alight with excitement, and his cheeks were flushed. “We’ve got...a warehouse.” He playfully arched his eyebrows.
Jake was grinning, and Carlisle looked for all the world as though he had just provided the secret to the meaning of life. Rose smiled, then bit back a grin as Mickey stood.
“And I have found what McGreevy was working on.”
There was a brief, stunned silence before Carlisle recollected himself. Rose was transfixed by the emotions crossing his face. “Where is it?”
“Ah, that’s the rub. We need to round up Penny, and the five of us are going to have to do a bit of digging in McGreevy’s house. It’s tucked away in his cellar.”
“He had a cellar?” Rose was fairly sure that house had been gone over thoroughly, and no one had ever found a cellar.
Carlisle leaned his weight against his left hand, fingers splayed on his desk, while his right ruffled his hair; he looked sidelong at her. “Well. Seems he does, doesn’t it?” He focused on Mickey. “How do we get in?”
They retrieved Penington on their way to the house, the five of them split between two cars; Rose wondered what it was Peter and Jake were talking about in theirs as they drove over to the cottage. It took an hour of going over the floors with all the care of Sherlock Holmes to find the floorboards that allowed access to the cellar, innocuously lined up in McGreevy’s library.(“I wasn’t aware McGreevy was the hero in a gothic romance,” Carlisle had drolly commented as they lifted the floorboards). Tools and torches in hand, they had used the rickety wooden ladder to enter the dark space and begin the task of trying to find the secure compartment that held McGreevy’s project. They each had a spade, the torches had been placed on end so the beams shone at the ceiling to provide as much diffused light as possible, and everyone was staring at the wall trying to work out where to start and how; their spades wouldn’t be much use against the brick, but they would work on the hard-packed earthen floor. Mickey had McGreevy’s journal and was muttering to himself. Rose took a look around and started to laugh. The other four looked at her. “We’re like the Scoobies! Well, hopefully without the vampires.”
Mickey was the only one who got the joke. Just another of the many things that were different between universes, apparently. Rose sighed, and found a patch of brick wall to lean against as they waited for Mickey to figure out where X marked the spot.
~ - ~
“To Mickey!” Five pint glasses clinked together in front of one rather embarrassed Mickey Smith. It had taken a while, down in the cellar, but he’d finally managed to work McGreevy’s directions out and lead them to the missing tech. Or what they assumed was the missing tech. It matched the description provided by Torchwood, although Peter could see no discernible use for it. Mickey, Jake, and Rose had treated it like a deadly weapon, running up to the van to collect special boxes, bags, papers, and gloves before delicately packaging it for transport. Rose had disappeared for a bit, presumably to phone London with the good news, and had returned looking quite relieved. They’d secured the device in an evidence locker at the station, and were now having a celebratory pint together at the pub before turning in for the night. There was still plenty of work to be done-not least of which was actually finding McGreevy-but for tonight, they could celebrate a small victory.
Peter caught Rose looking at him over the rim of her glass, and quirked an eyebrow. She blushed and quickly looked away. He sighed, taking a long draught of his ale. She’d been accommodating enough when he’d finally got around to apologising for being a prick, but she’d been a bit skittish since then. He hoped that they’d not return to the uneasy interaction of their first week working together.
He’d managed to keep his wilder thoughts about her under control, but still found Rose to be absolutely intriguing. She was smart, intuitive, clearly cared deeply about her friends as well as her job; and yet he still couldn’t figure out what her back story was. It helped that Rose was so distant around him; it kept him focused on the investigation, and went some ways towards keeping his more risqué thoughts quelled.
Finding the thing McGreevy had been working on was a wonderful bit of luck, although Peter realized that it was far more than just luck. Mickey had been slaving over the journal all week, absolutely convinced that it held the answers to so many of their questions. He had been right, to a degree; time would tell if the little widget that seemed to serve no purpose would help them to find McGreevy himself.
The interview with Philippa had gone about as he had expected, him having to apply pressure repeatedly, slowly increasing it as she continued to deny any knowledge. He’d toed the line between badgering and questioning, knew he was getting dangerously close, but also knew with every ounce of his being that she had the answer to one of their questions. Jake had been practically silent the entire time, a menacing presence that helped to distract Philippa and break her concentration. The bit of info that Torchwood had turned up had finally convinced the fiancée to share what she knew, including further explanation of what she was really after when she seduced the hapless engineer. At least they knew what Philippa’s real motives were; Peter had a feeling that she was still involved with Swinson, and he hoped that she’d reflexively seek to warn him about the investigation soon, thereby leading the police to his doorstep.
The icing on the cake, however, had been her admitting she knew about the warehouse, knew where it was, even knew who owned it. McGreevy had talked about it on several occasions, and although she had never been there she knew that Swinson and McGreevy had planned to meet there to transact some business. She’d suspected it was to do with a project McGreevy was working on independently, and she’d admitted that she had suspected a double-cross; she had searched McGreevy’s car the night he’d vanished in the hopes that she’d find some clue as to what he and Jerald were working on together. He had found it interesting that she really knew next to nothing about McGreevy and Swinson’s interaction-in spite of seducing the scientist at her (former? Current? He was still working that out) lover’s request, Swinson had kept her in the dark about his own activities.
By the time they had taken care of the tech it was far too dark to go out to the countryside and search the warehouse--they’d have to head out in the morning. Peter was itching to get out to the warehouse, his instincts telling him there was something important out there. Mickey was lined up to join him, and they were planning to go as soon as the morning review was done.
He took another long sip of his ale and returned his focus to the present. Plenty of time tomorrow to dwell on the case; his mind could do with a break, and he was sure his subconscious would chew things over even if he wasn’t actively thinking about the disparate bits of information. He took a step back towards the group, and rejoined the conversation.
~ - ~
Chapter Thirteen