An Alternate Thing, Story Six
Title: The Undertaking
Rating: T (with allusions to naughtiness)
Author: jlrpuck
Disclaimer: Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used
with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose?
Authors Notes: Rose meets the inimitable Mrs. Carlisle.
At crimedoc1’s suggestion, I’ve finally gone and individually titled each of the Professor/Heiress stories. The proper order of them is the one below; I’ll be tweaking the Order of Things to reflect this. Whether or not I go back to the individual stories and do the same depends largely on how feisty the internet is today.
Thank you to earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 for their beta of this!
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking - The Primrose - The Bard’s Epitaph - The Bait - On His Mistress - The Canonization - Valediction - Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
I have done one braver thing
Than all the Worthies did;
And yet a braver thence doth spring,
Which is to keep that hid.
-John Donne, The Undertaking
Rose was curled in his arms, napping peacefully after they’d made love in the middle of the day. She’d just returned from London-her first trip back to the city after they’d run into each other for the third time in the town-and he’d not been able to keep from making love to her the instant the cottage door had closed behind them.
He was having trouble falling asleep in spite of having Rose curled against him, happiness from having her there counteracting his body’s desire for a post-coital nap, and he let his mind wander. Rose hadn’t yet updated him on too much about London-but on the drive from the train station, she had warned him that the zanzare were starting to become interested in her again. She’d watched him carefully as he drove, adding that one of the stories had (correctly) named him as her latest paramour. He’d been horrified at first, but as he lay there, Rose peaceably napping next to him, he found himself discovering the humour in the situation.
He led one of the most boring lives imaginable, splitting his time between his classroom, his office, and his cottage. He fought down a chuckle, not wanting to wake Rose as he had visions of zanzare in the shrubbery, the roses Catie had so carefully planted years before pricking at the nosy media; or of them registering for one of his classes in the next term and then trying desperately to blend in with the generally conservative student population.
He sighed, brushing a soft kiss over Rose’s head as he let his eyes drift shut. He’d have to talk to the University at some point, he supposed, simply to let them know that he might, perhaps, be a bit notorious for something other than his revolutionary ideas about the influence of the Picts on the Vikings.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sudden sound of his mum’s voice floating up the stairs. “Peter? Ye in?”
His eyes flew open, and he felt cold heat wash through him-what was his mum doing there? And letting herself in, too?
“Peter?” She was at the foot of the stairs-sure to find him and Rose in bed, given that the stairs opened into the master bedroom, which with the en suite took up the entire first floor.
He sat up hastily. “Be down in a sec, Mum!” he shouted, glancing around frantically for something to wear.
“What’re ye doin’ upstairs?” She was still climbing the stairs; he hastily snatched at the blanket at the end of the bed and wrapped it around his hips as he stood. A quick glance showed that Rose was buried under the duvet, and still-remarkably-asleep.
“I’m-I’ll just be down, Mum.” He hastened to the head of the stairs, blocking entry to the room, trying not to laugh at the rather comical situation. His mum looked utterly surprised.
“Are ye well?”
“Yes! Why wouldn’t I be?” He took a step down, hoping to herd his mother back down to the ground floor, away from where Rose was.
“You’re in bed in the middle of the day?” his mum replied, arching an eyebrow. Her white hair-still styled with care-was tucked behind her ears, her brown eyes bemused; she took a step backwards, down the staircase to the ground floor.
“I was dozing.” He continued down the stairs, his right hand holding the blanket in place as he walked past his mum and into the living room. He took a quick glance around-there wasn’t any evidence that Rose was there--and he relaxed.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want his mum to know that he was seeing someone-or sleeping with her. He just wanted to let her know when the woman he was seeing wasn’t naked in his bed-and, ideally, when he was clothed. And perhaps after he’d been able to have a post-coital shower.
“You’re sure you’re well? You’re flushed, dear.” His mum stepped towards him, reaching up to rest the back of her hand on his forehead.
“Yeah, Mum, I’m fine. Surprised, is all. What’re you doing here?”
“I’d told you I’d come by after I returned from the cruise-didn’t ye read the note I’d left?”
He’d forgotten. Utterly and completely forgotten, in the maelstrom of finding Rose again, and spending almost every waking moment with her. He should have remembered, at least while she was away in London-but he’d simply...not.
“I did, Mum-got it when I returned. But I lost track of time.” He ruffled his hair, trying to collect his scattered thoughts.
“Never could keep track of the hours, Peter, nor the days.” His mum shook her head good-naturedly. “You can make it up to me with a cuppa.”
Oh, bugger. His mum was settling in, and most likely wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. He loved his mum-loved chatting with her, catching up on what Martin had been up to, or Graeme and Eirlys-but he really wasn’t up for hearing about her cruise. And he absolutely wasn’t in the mood to have her encamp in his living room, which had a spectacular view of the stairs and was directly below the en suite.
He’d have to hope Rose was out cold, and for at least an hour.
“I’d love to, Mum...but could I at least get dressed first?” He glanced down briefly to reinforce the point that he was currently clad in nothing more than a (rather scratchy) wool blanket.
His mum sighed theatrically. “Oh, I suppose. Go on, go upstairs-I’ll get the water going.”
His mum turned, moving towards the kitchen; he took a step towards the stairs-and froze.
Rose was awake, and was moving around upstairs. He could hear her footsteps on the floor above him, moving from the rug to the hard wood as she crossed towards the stairs. He went to move again, hoping to make it to the stairs, if not up them, before Rose said anything, before his mum heard over the sound of her filling the kettle...
...only she wasn’t filling the kettle. She’d heard, too, and had come to stand behind him. “Dozing?” Her voice held a note of amusement, and he felt his neck flush.
“I was.”
“After a shag, I’d wager.”
“Mum!” He turned, appalled, the possibility of Rose coming downstairs momentarily forgotten.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, Peter. Was beginning to wonder, you know.” She winked at him, increasing his horror.
“Mum!” was the only response he could formulate. He was vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps above; he absently noted they were moving towards the loo.
“Peter, ‘s not like Martin hasn’t told me that he leaves you boxes of condoms; he’s been hoping you’d find someone, too. If you’re shagging someone, I’ve every faith you’re being an adult about it. In spite of your more juvenile habits.”
“I...he...” Peter stumbled over the words, absolutely unable to formulate a coherent statement. He paused, taking a deep breath, before continuing a bit more calmly, “He insisted on leaving them, in spite of my telling him they’d not be used.”
“You must have quite the stockpile, then. Have you used them all?”
“I can’t believe I’m speaking with you about my sex life.” He didn’t want to confess to his mum that he had most assuredly found a way to use the majority of the supply Martin had left for him.
Peter shook his head, hoping to wake from this nightmare. Silence fell between them briefly; he heard the water running in the pipes from a toilet flush, and studiously avoided his mum’s eyes.
“She a frequent guest, then?”
“Mum! This is my sex life, not yours!”
“I’m merely relieved you have one to speak about, Peter.” His mum’s expression softened. “Catie wanted you to be happy, to live.”
He swallowed, shame filling him. He reflexively glanced down to his left hand, the gold of the band glinting in the light of the hallway.
“That included finding companionship, Peter.” His mum sighed, adding, “Although it is hard. Lord knows, it’s hard. But you’re not doing anything wrong.”
Silence fell between them briefly, and he turned, slowly walking to the stairs. He was just moving to climb the staircase, to warn Rose that his mum was there, when there was the sound of something dropping on the floor above them, followed by a soft, feminine exclamation.
“Ah, it’s a lady, too!” his mum crowed, causing him to halt with a foot on the first riser.
“There was a doubt?” He arched an eyebrow at his mother. Not that there was anything wrong with homosexuality, but he’d never been anything but interested in women.
“Well...’s not like you were looking at women, Peter. Being gay was an option. As was you taking the cloth. A mother never knows.”
Stunned embarrassment washed through him again. His mum was doing a remarkable job of rendering him speechless.
“So, will I get to meet her?” His mum was grinning, utterly unrepentant.
“No!” he replied reflexively.
“Why not?” His mum’s tone shifted to indignant.
“Because....because...she’s not dressed! And nor am I!” He’d stepped off of the riser, facing his mum again; she was eagerly peering over his shoulder, up the stairs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman lurking in her son’s bedroom.
“Oh, come on now, Peter. Unless it’s one of your students...” His mum looked chagrined.
“No! It’s not one of my students!” The thought appalled him. Not that he’d never been propositioned-usually by a recently former student, but once or twice by a current one. And not always by women. “I might be juvenile, but I prefer to think I have academic integrity.”
His mum pursed her lips, trying not to laugh at him.
“It’s not funny, Mum! This is...this is humiliating! Having you barge in on me mid-afternoon, interrogating me about whom I’m shagging and for how long. It’s a nightmare.”
“If you’d simply told me you were seeing someone, perhaps this conversation would be unnecessary.” Her tone was full of amusement.
“Hello, Mum. I’m shagging again. I’ll pop ‘round for a cuppa once we’ve exhausted ourselves.”
“That might have caused me to die of a heart attack. A simple ‘I’ve gone on a date’ would have done.”
Peter sighed. “Could we perhaps continue this conversation once I’ve showered and dressed? I’ll even buy supper at the best restaurant in town, if you’ll give me a half-hour.”
“And what of your lady-friend?”
“What of her?” Rose’s voice drifted down from the top of the stairs, followed by her feet, then her lower body, then Rose herself. She’d managed to pull on her clothes, to brush her hair and clean up really rather well, given the circumstances; she smiled at him, then turned her attention to his mum as she came to the bottom of the stairs.
“Mrs. Carlisle? She extended her hand to his rather stunned mum. “Rose Tyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
He didn’t think he’d ever seen his mother stunned into proper silence.
Rose brushed a kiss over his cheek as she walked past him, returning her attention to his mum with, “You’re just back from the Mediterranean, aren’t you?”
His mum nodded, still silent, following Rose into the sitting room; he moved to the kitchen to take care of tea, still clad in his blanket.
He finally heard his mum’s voice, answering a question from Rose, and he shook his head as he filled the kettle and set it on the cooker. Trust Rose to dive right in; she was among the most personable people he knew, and had charmed not only the owner and staff of the pub, but the invariably grouchy man who ran the coffee bar.
By the time he returned to the sitting room, the blanket held together around his hips with several clothespins, his mum was telling Rose of her visit to Kuşadasi, in the Ottoman Republic. “The town itself was unremarkable-but the ruins around it! Heaven!” his mum enthused, her attention fully on Rose. “Peter here would love it, if only I could get him to visit somewhere other than Iceland.” Peter dropped a splash of milk into one of the three cups of tea he’d poured, and handed it to his mum. “Thank you, dear.”
“Your trip sounds like it was wonderful.” Rose smiled gratefully at him as he handed her a cuppa, fixed exactly how she liked.
His mum watched with a smile, before continuing on, “I almost bought a rug, but there’s simply no place to put it in the cottage.”
“Oh! Peter’s told me about your cottage. He says this one is a poor substitute for yours.”
Peter almost spit his tea as his mum chuckled; Rose had been alone with her for just over five minutes, and had already won her over. It had taken Catie weeks.
“My cottage has been in the family for generations, it’s true. But it does get a bit cold in the winter; the central heat helps, but there’s something about the sea air that just gets in there. Still, I wouldn’t move for the world.” His mum took a sip of her tea.
Rose sighed. “Sounds lovely.”
“It is. You should come visit!”
Peter nearly choked on his tea. His mum was already inviting Rose to Croy? It had taken months for Catie to be invited.
“Oh!” Rose blushed, glancing down to her cuppa. “I...I didn’t mean to...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re sleeping with my son-it’s not like you’re a stranger.”
Rose’s cheeks flamed, and Peter leapt into the breach. “Mum, maybe that’s something we could talk about...later. Perhaps when I’m dressed. Or when the situation is otherwise less awkward.” He took a sip from his mug, raising his eyebrows when his mum turned to him.
To his surprise, his mum laughed. “This is all terribly awkward, isn’t it?”
“It is, a bit,” Rose agreed, her cheeks now a soft pink.
“How’d you stumble across my fine son, then?” The mug thunked against the coffee table as his mum set it down, her attention fully on Rose.
“Mum -" Surely this was a question that would wait until after supper?
“Well...we met several times, actually.” Rose turned to him, smiling softly-that smile he’d learned was only for him. His heartbeat accelerated, and he felt himself flush. “Third time was the charm, though.”
“Down in London?”
Rose laughed, a delightful noise that always made him smile. “No, no-heavens, no. I was here. For...for my father’s company. We built a research institute, and Peter was on the board who worked with my mum.”
“You met Jackie Tyler and you didn’t tell me?” His mum turned to him, lightly thwapping him on the arm.
“Ow! No! Mum! I skipped those meetings!”
“You skipped meeting Jackie Tyler?”
“Yes! No! I mean...” He took a deep breath, sparing Rose a teasing glare before answering his mum. “I was on the committee, Mum. But you know how much I hate those big, showy meetings. It was a waste to go to them, everyone trying to schmooze Mrs. Tyler; the real work went on in the subcommittees. I chaired one, you know.” He smiled at his mum, proud of his work; he’d chaired the most challenging committee, without question, but had been happy to let his vice-chair do all of the presenting at the main meetings.
“And then I met Peter at the gala,” Rose added, before his mum could continue to ask him about not-meeting Jackie Tyler. “And don’t let my mum hear you call her ‘Mrs’. She hates that.”
“That assumes you’ll let me meet your mum.”
“You might have to come to London.”
“Horrors!”
His mum gently cleared her throat, drawing his and Rose’s attention to her presence. “And this was...when?” she asked, smiling.
“Oh, heavens-year and a half ago?” Rose glanced over to him for confirmation. “Didn’t start seeing each other then. Was another coupla months-”
“Six,” he interrupted, wanting Rose to get the fact correct.
“Six months,” she said, grinning at him, her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth. “We ran into each other in town. He gave me a tour.”
“We had supper,” he added, reaching for her hand.
“So you’ve been seeing each for a year?” His mum was giving him a look that promised all sorts of harm if he’d been keeping his relationship a secret for that long
“Oh, no. No, no. Didn’t see each other for another year, after that. That’s when we started seeing each other.” Rose gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
His mum wrinkled her nose, glancing to him for explanation. “We ran into each other again in town. No tour, this time. But we did have dinner at the pub.”
“Have done, several times now.” Rose continued to grin at him, now leaning in to bump his shoulder gently with her own.
“So...just a few days?” Peter’s mum continued to look utterly confused.
“Bit longer, Mum. Three weeks?”
Rose tilted her head, thinking. “Two weeks and five days. Close enough.”
His mum looked between the two of them, once again unsure of what to say. Peter had the feeling that his mum was only just then properly processing that he was dating The Vitex Heiress.
Rose glanced to his mum, her smile fading; she glanced back to Peter, and a corner of her mouth curved. “I-I need to go make a call. Won’t be a tick.” She glanced back to his mum. “I’m terribly sorry-I’ll be back in a few minutes. Have to ring my Mum.”
He squeezed her hand as she stood, his eyes following her as she walked out of the room; he heard her slow steps on the stairs, then across the floor above. He wasn’t entirely sure she actually did have a call to make, but he was grateful to her for leaving him alone with his mum for a bit.
His mum. He returned his attention to her, noting her slightly stunned expression. “Mum...you’re ok?”
“You’re dating Rose Tyler. She’s...she’s richer than Croesus.”
“Technically, her father is. Rose is just...Rose.”
“I...she’s famous.”
“She’s just Rose, Mum. Just a normal person, like you or me.”
“Are you...will the zanzare start following you?”
He sighed. “Rose mentioned a picture or two had appeared whilst she was down in London these past few days. Probably?” He ran his hand through his hair. “I need to speak with the University about that...”
“She...you’re sure, Peter? About dating her?” His mum looked concerned, and he spared a thought for what it might look like. He, a professor; she, an heiress. It was almost like something out of a film.
“I am, Mum. I’ve...I wish I’d asked her when we met a year ago.” He made sure to catch his mum’s eye, before adding, “I think I’m in love with her.”
His mum’s gaze sharpened, protectiveness becoming evident. “You barely know her, Peter.” Her voice was soft, but concern filled the words.
“I know. But...I do, Mum.” He raised his gaze from where it had dropped, and looked at his mum. “It’s not infatuation. I...I’m in love with her.”
“And her?”
“I...don’t know. I’ve...I haven’t said anything to her. Not yet. I guess I still can’t quite believe it. And I don’t want to scare her, I guess,” he finished, ruefully.
His mum watched him, thinking; he sat patiently, watching her in turn. Finally, she sighed. “Well, so long as you’re not stupid about it, Peter. You’re an adult after all-I suppose I should trust that you know what you’re about.” She leaned in, adding, “Your degrees seem to indicate some level of intelligence at any rate.” His mum winked at him, patting his knee before straightening.
“Thanks ever so much for the faith,” he replied, drily.
“Peter, you’ve gone years without showing an interest in anyone. That, to me, speaks not just of faith to Catie-it speaks to how seriously you’re taking this. You could have gone out and shagged anything that moved, justifying it with Catie’s words; you’ve not-that I’m aware of-and so I’m going to venture a guess that it would take something extraordinary to get you to move on from your celibate life.”
“Thank you, I think.” He could feel the flush of his cheeks once more.
“You’re welcome.” A grin from his mum now, followed by her standing. “I think I’ve tormented you and your lovely girlfriend for long enough.”
“You’re leaving?” Peter stood, his hand flying to his hip as he felt the blanket slip.
“Yes, I think so. There’s only so long I can speak to my mostly-naked son and not roll over laughing, you know. And I’m sure your Rose is biding her time quite nicely upstairs, allowing us to have our time alone together.”
“You could join us for supper,” Peter offered hastily, suddenly not wanting his mum to leave just yet. He wanted her to continue to get to know Rose, to see just how brilliant she was.
His mum glanced at her watch. “It’d have to be an early supper, Peter. And I’m not sure-”
“That would be lovely, Mum. Truly. I want you to join us for supper.”
“How does Rose feel about that, d’you think?”
“I think...I think she’d like it. Please, Mum. I want you to get to know her.”
His mum stepped forward, brushing a kiss over his cheek. “I’ll join you for supper-but only after I make myself scarce for a spell. I’ll be down at your little cafe-come find me when you two are ready.”
Peter trailed after his mum as she stopped in the hall for her handbag; she then stepped to the door, and smiled back at Peter. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”
“At the cafe,” he confirmed.
He waited for the door to close before turning and sprinting up the stairs to his room. Rose was seated in the large armchair in the window, a book in her hands. Light filtered through the sheer draperies, bathing Rose in a soft glow.
“She alright?” Rose closed the book, resting it on her leg.
“Aye. Just a bit...”
“Overwhelmed, I think, is the usual reaction to meeting a Tyler.” Peter thought he noted a hint of bitterness in the statement.
“Just a bit,” he conceded.
Rose sighed, her gaze drifting to the book. Her hands rested on it, her fingers wrapped tightly around the sides. “Yeah,” she said, softly.
Peter crossed to her, crouching so he could catch her gaze. “I...invited her to supper. I hope that’s alright.”
“Of course it is! She’s your mum-and she seemed a very charming lady. I’d like to get to know her, I think.”
He grinned, standing. Rose remained seated, although her eyes followed him as he straightened. “Fantastic. She’ll be waiting for us at the cafe.”
“When do we have to be there?”
“Whenever we’re ready.”
He didn’t miss the flash in Rose’s eyes, nor the soft curve of her lips. “Whenever we’re ready?” Her hands moved to his waist, and he felt her fingers loosen one of the clothespins holding the blanket in place.
“Whenever we’re ready,” he affirmed, his hands drifting to cup Rose’s jaw.
Rose’s lips quirked, her eyes darkening as she undid another of the clothespins; her fingers gently drifted across the skin of his waist, moving on to the next-and second-to-last-clothespin. “When will you be ready, d’you think?” She released the pin, and gently slid her hands across the front of the blanket.
“Oh, I think I’m ready now,” he whispered. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt her release the last of the clothespins, the wool blanket falling to the floor, his erection freed from the scratchy material. His breath caught as he felt her lean forward, and his mind shut down as he felt her lips skate over sensitive skin.
~ - ~
It took them over an hour to make it the two blocks to the small cafe where his mum awaited them.
~fin~
Epilogue