And So Things Go, Chapter 25
Title- And So Things Go (25/34)
Author- jlrpuck
Rating - M
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 - Peter tells Rose of the offer from the Met.
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. And, on an artistic front-thank you to angelfireeast for the lovely banner at the top of the chapter.
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
He missed his connecting train out of Canary Wharf, and arrived at Torchwood fifteen minutes late; it took another ten minutes to figure out how to enter the building after-hours. By the time he signed in, it was seven o’clock; he glanced at his mobile, surprised Rose hadn’t rung him to ask where he was.
He dialled her number, heard the click as she answered the phone; in the background, he could hear a woman’s clipped voice mutter, “Well!”
“Hello.” He grinned as he said the word; Rose was trapped in some sort of meeting.
“Hello. I’m, ah...still in a meeting. I’m sorry. Where are you?”
“In your lobby. Torchwood’s lobby, that is.”
“Stay there. Someone will come get you.”
“I’ll not be going anywhere without you,” he answered mildly; Rose had told him to be there, and he was.
“Tease.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and he grinned again.
“I love you, too. See you in a bit.”
He rang off, leaving Rose to her meeting, and he slowly ambled over to the posh furniture, meant for higher-class guests than he. The guard continued to watch him warily, no doubt wondering about the scruffy gentleman who was lurking in the lobby; Peter gave him a smile, and turned his attention to the television set in the wall, broadcasting the latest news in hushed tones.
Mickey appeared ten minutes later; bored, Peter had shifted his attention to his book, and was startled when he noted the pair of polished black dress shoes just in his line of sight. He glanced up and gave a genuine smile of delight as he saw the black man standing before him.
“Hello, Mickey.” Peter stood, extending his hand; Mickey gaped at him, briefly, before shaking it.
“Peter. Rose, ah, she’s in a meeting. And she asked me to come get you.”
“Thank you.”
Mickey walked him back to the security desk, helping him to sign in for a badge; Peter once again regretted not shaving as he stood still for his picture, which then appeared prominently displayed next to the words “ESCORT REQUIRED” on the stiff piece of plastic.
“Do I get to keep this, then, when I leave?” he asked, bemused, as Mickey led him to the lift.
“No.” Mickey had been sneaking glances at him the entire time, and Peter wondered if he had something on his nose. He swiped at it, surreptitiously, rubbing the skin in case it was ink or something equally annoying.
Rose’s office was on one of the upper floors; as Mickey led him down the hushed hallways, Peter took in the nice office chairs, the customised furniture that marked each workstation. Torchwood certainly wasn’t hurting for money. Rose, of course, had her own office-the door was one of several lining an exterior wall, and opened to reveal a small room containing a desk, a credenza, a few chairs, and a stunning view of London.
Mickey shifted as Peter walked past him, into the office. “Rose’ll be down. If you don’t leave, no one’ll know you’re in here unescorted.”
“Thank you again.”
Mickey nodded, and closed the door behind him as he left.
Peter settled into Rose’s desk chair, his eyes passing over her desk, wondering yet again what it was like to work for Torchwood. It apparently required reams of paperwork-there were piles of it stacked across the far side of the desk, while the credenza held yet more pieces of paper as well as a half-buried computer. He felt a smile pull at his mouth as he noticed two picture frames, nearly hidden in the back corner of her desk, under the bookshelves above the credenza: one of her and her family-and one of the two of them, taken by Graeme during their first visit to Croy.
He leaned back, swivelling in the chair, taking a moment to look out at the twinkling lights of the city, before spinning to face the desk again. Mickey hadn’t said how long it would be before Rose appeared, so he may as well carry on reading his book. He flipped through to the page he’d been reading downstairs, and once again began reading an analysis of the battle of Prince Edward Island.
He’d not made it halfway down the page when he heard the door pushed open; he glanced up, smiling as he saw Rose there. She was wearing a black suit, the skirt ending just below her knees; the blouse was a simple white. She looked stunning.
“Hello.” His voice was low as he offered the greeting.
“Hello.” She walked around the desk, and he stood; she dropped her notebook and pulled him to her for a kiss.
“Well, hello there.” He pulled back, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “I’ve missed you, too.” He could feel the effects of Rose’s presence wash through him; not just the physical interest she always caused, but the relaxed happiness that seemed to seep into him whenever she was near.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, gazing at him, her hand gently stroking through the beard he’d not had time to shave. “You look...you look...amazing.”
He blushed, ducking his eyes to the side. “I’ve been up in Scotland these past days.” He still felt strangely reluctant to tell her what had happened that week-not yet. The hope was still too precious, and he’d had his hopes crushed so many times before...
“Ah.” She scratched her fingers through his beard, her lips quirking. “’s everything ok?”
“Right as rain.” He gave her a small smile, but could hear the melancholic note to his voice.
Rose, observant as ever, hadn’t missed it either. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. ‘m sorry I didn’t mention it.” His eyes drifted to her lips, and he fought down a sudden desire to lean forward and kiss her again. He could make love to her later, once they got back to her flat.
“You don’t have to report to me, you know.”
He met her gaze once more, pulled back to the present. “I know.”
“Good.” She leaned up, her lips brushing across his cheek. “I love it when you look like this.” She splayed her hand across his chest, bracing herself as she pushed up onto her tiptoes.
He felt his breath catch, and brought his arms around her, pulling her to him as he leant forward to whisper, “I might be aware of that fact, yes.” He’d honestly intended to shave before visiting her, but it suddenly occurred to him that staying a bit dishevelled might have been a very, very good idea after all.
“I...might not be able to keep my hands off of you.” She turned, brushing her lips across his skin.
His body reacted instantly, blood flowing to his groin, his body thrumming at her touch. They needed to get out of her office. Immediately. “Mmmm...then perhaps we should go somewhere a bit more...”
“We...there’s no one here.” Her voice held a note of playfulness, and she glanced up at him through lowered eyelashes.
He pulled back, gazing at her, his eyes dark and his expression serious. “Rose...this...we can’t...can we?” He fought down a shudder at the idea of what kind of security Torchwood might have; of who might be able to watch them.
“We could...” Rose’s voice remained playful; she was quite deliberately seducing him.
“Aren’t there cameras in here?”
She giggled. “Not in the offices, no. Only in the conference rooms.”
“Ah.” He felt his lips curve in a smile. He’d not been able to make love to her in the interrogation room in Kendal-much to his regret-but Rose appeared perfectly willing to make love in her office. “Then are you suggesting we do something untoward in your office, Miss Tyler?”
“I think I am, Mr. Carlisle.”
He leaned down, his lips crushing against hers; she let out a small, startled noise before relaxing against him, leaning up into the kiss. His hands slid down, finding the opening in her jacket; he slid them up to her shoulders, guiding the worsted wool over her shoulders and down her arms. She moved, helping him to take her jacket off as she continued to kiss him.
They teased and seduced each other, slowly taking off an article of clothing, giving knowing smiles, or ghosting touches across places that were most sensitive. He had a brief flash of panic as he realized, well after they’d begun, that he didn’t have a condom; he should have had more faith in Rose, he thought as she pulled a condom from her purse. The sex was incredibly erotic, the hint of danger only serving to emphasize everything about it-Rose on her desk, her stocking-clad legs wrapped around his hips; the flashes of her bra underneath her unbuttoned blouse; the dim lighting from the desk lamp casting shadows across her skin that begged for exploration-and he whispered to her throughout, telling her what she was doing to him, what he was feeling. He felt a flash of pride as he drove her to orgasm on her desk, his fingers deftly teasing as he drove into her.
And then she turned around and did the same to him, telling him what it felt like to have him in her, telling him how much she loved him. His orgasm crashed through him, pulling a cry from his lips, and he felt elation and exhaustion in its wake. He was vaguely aware of Rose bringing her arms around him, holding him to her-or perhaps even holding him upright-as he slowly recovered.
After several moments of catching his breath he turned, brushing a light kiss over her cheek. “You’re a minx.”
She smiled, moving a hand to brush his hair from his temple. “Maybe I am. But I don’t regret it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Good.” She smiled, rubbing her hand through his hair affectionately. “Besides, I know perfectly well you’re the one who seduced me tonight.”
He pulled back, looking at her in surprise. “Me?!”
“You. You know I can’t resist the scruff.” She ran her hand across the growth, giving him a mock stern glare. “And yet you insist on showing up here, looking like that...how was I to resist?”
“If it bothers you so, I’ll not do it again...” He fought to keep from grinning. He loved making love to Rose; but he also loved how relaxed they were together afterwards. It was so...comfortable.
“Hmmm. I somehow doubt that. But as I rather enjoy it....” She leaned up, kissing him, sitting back.
He grinned. “I suppose I’ll have to visit you more often here at work.” He leaned around her, reaching for the box of tissues she kept on her desk, before taking a step back.
“That would be lovely. I know I’ll not be able to look at my desk quite the same way again...” She stood, scooting around him, looking for her skirt.
If the sex had been incredible-and for him it certainly had-there was still a bit of awkwardness after. How did one dispose of a used condom in an office? He stood, indecisive, in Rose’s office; the ball of tissue in his hand held the evidence of their misdeeds. He really didn’t want to toss it in Rose’s dustbin-what if they searched the trash at Torchwood? She turned from getting dressed, and smiled as she saw him.
“That can go in the dustbin; they burn everything, and will be ‘round to empty it out in a few hours.”
He paused, unsure, and she added, “If it makes you feel better, there’s a men’s loo just down the hall; that rubbish is burnt as well.”
The men’s loo certainly seemed the safer place to hide the evidence; as they left-after they were both dressed again-he stopped in briefly to dispose of the tissue, and to try to clean up a bit. Dark brown eyes gazed back at him from the mirror, peering out of a face that was too pale by half, covered with freckles, and fringed by dark hair.
Once again, he felt a sense of unreality that he-Peter Carlisle, a nobody from the north-was dating Rose Tyler.
He splashed water on his face, towelled it off, and rejoined Rose in the hall. “What would you like to do tonight, Miss Tyler?”
She pressed the call button for the lift, looking at him. “I think...that I’d like to go home. And then I think that I’d like to have dinner with you.”
“Is that all?” He leaned forward, brushing a light kiss over her lips.
She pushed onto her toes, whispering against his ear, “And then I want seconds on dessert.”
The lift dinged, and the doors opened; she stepped through them, turning, reaching her hand out to Peter, pulling him to her. She pressed the button for the undercroft, and sighed happily as he hugged her.
He brushed a kiss over her hair, rocking her gently back and forth as the rode the elevator down to her car.
~ - ~
Peter was awake with the dawn on Saturday, frustrated with his inability the night before to find a way to tell Rose that the Met wanted to hire him. It should have been easy-“Rose, the Met want to hire me”-but he simply couldn’t find the right time to tell her. After all, they might have agreed to move in together but they’d not set anything definitive. What if, by telling her he might be able to leave Kendal, to move into her flat permanently, she developed second thoughts? What if he did move down to be with her, and she discovered she couldn’t abide living with him?
What if she’d already had second thoughts?
He scrubbed his hair vigorously, trying to drive the self-doubt away as he took his morning shower. Rose wouldn’t have had second thoughts. Rose loved him. Rose had told him she didn’t care where they lived, so long as they were together.
Rose had meant all of it.
He needed to get over the doubts, needed to tell her that morning; needed to hear what she’d say, what she thought. He could do that-would do it, once she awoke.
He shut the water off, dragging the towel over his hair before drying off and tying it around his hips. He briefly contemplated shaving, staring at his razor; he decided to give it a miss, knowing how much Rose enjoyed seeing him unshaven. He opened the door, feeling the cool air rush over his skin, and padded back to the bedroom.
Rose was awake, sort of-she was sitting upright, her hair tousled, her shirt askew. Her eyes were still sleepy as they met his, and he ducked his head in embarrassment at being caught up and about so early.
“Sorry, I…thought you were still asleep.”
“I’m awake.” Her gaze held a certain degree of heat now, and he felt his groin twinge.
“I can see that.”
“And you’re freshly showered.” She rocked forward, shifting to her knees and crawling out from under the covers, moving to the foot of the bed and sitting there. She reminded him of a lioness, stalking her prey.
He crossed over, moving slowly towards her, stopping just out of her reach. “Indeed I am.” He danced backwards, away from her reaching hands. “And if I’d known you’d be so frisky, I’d have waited for you.”
“If I’d known you were going to take a shower first thing, I’d have made sure to wake up.” Her eyes had been staring at his waist; she slowly dragged them up his body, and he flushed. “You’ve not shaved,” she observed as her gaze stopped at his chin.
He rubbed his hand over his chin. “You’re quite right. I knew I’d forgot something this morning...”
Rose lunged forward, standing, grabbing at him, her hands finding his waist and stilling his movement. He turned to face her without hesitation, closing the distance between them, a smile still on his lips.
He loved making love to Rose in the mornings, when they were both still sleepy, when the day was still bright and full of promise; this morning was no different. He slowly undressed Rose, the feel of her warm skin intoxicating against his, still cool from the shower. She, eventually, removed his towel, and he gasped as the chilly air of the room hit the warmth of his erection.
Rose was clever, and brilliant in bed; she outdid herself that morning, her mouth tormenting him, coaxing him closer and closer to release, taking him in, teasing him with her tongue, making him think of nothing else in the world but her and him and what it would take to orgasm.
And as she stroked him, teased him, showed him how much she loved him, she spoke. Telling him of her love, of her worries-of her concern about his week.
He was utterly powerless, and found himself telling her of the job offer right before a stunning orgasm washed through him. It was neither the time nor the place he would have expected to tell Rose of such a potentially life-altering event, but somehow it seemed right.
And, after he’d repaid her in kind, savouring the taste of her, the sound of her cries as he teased and tormented her, as she rode out her own climax, it occurred to him that she’d known just what he needed.
He continued to tease her after her orgasm had waned, unable to resist hearing her giggle; she finally pushed him away, laughing outright.
“You win!” she said, breathlessly, giggling as he finally shifted away from her.
“Of course I do,” he said reasonably, moving to lie next to her. He slid an arm under her, and pulled her to him.
They lay together, catching their breath, wrapped in an embrace. He sighed, contented, thinking perhaps it might be time to take a nap.
Rose’s voice pulled him from his doze. “I think you should take the job.”
“You don’t even know what it is,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her hair.
“Doesn’t matter.”
He laughed. “It will do, if I’m miserable doing it.”
Rose tilted her head back, looking at him. “I don’t think you could be any unhappier than you are at Kendal.” Her voice was soft, her eyes full of compassion.
He broke their gaze, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll survive up there.”
Rose propped herself on her elbow. “You aren’t happy there, Peter. You’re miserable, in fact.”
She was right, but he was sick of being reminded of the fact. “I’ve made my bed, Rose.”
He didn’t miss her exasperated sigh, and was surprised when she lay back down. “What’s the job, Peter?” Her fingers gently slid across his sternum, the lines lazily swirling and curving in whatever pattern her mind chose.
“The Met.” He felt strangely reluctant to tell her-as though sharing the offer with Rose would somehow make it disappear.
“From Elias?”
“From Cunningham through Elias.”
“When would you start?”
“I’d have to officially put in for it. But if I do, it sounds as though they’d find a way to bring me on.”
“Do you want to?” Rose’s voice was barely audible, and her hand had stilled.
He took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling, blanking his mind.
“Yes,” he whispered into the silence filling the room.
He waited for something terrible to happen; for Rose to vanish, or for him to wake up from his dream.
Nothing did.
Saying he wanted this, that he wanted to go after something that would make him happy, hadn’t caused the world to end.
Rose placed a soft kiss on his chest. “I’m glad.”
He rubbed her arm. “I’m glad you’re glad.”
Once again, she tilted her head back to look at him. “I hope you get it, Peter.”
“As do I.”
“You do deserve it, you know.”
He sighed, and she brought a hand to cup his jaw. “You do. You’re a good detective. Very good, and I’m not just saying that because you’re lying here, naked in my bed.”
He felt his lips quirk in a smile, and Rose continued. “Kendal’s a lovely town, and there are some truly nice people up there; even the police services have their redeeming members, outside of you. But you’re wasted in a place like that; you’re smart, and clever, and need to be challenged with more than the odd murder once every two years.”
“Once a year,” he replied, drily.
“You get the point.”
“I’m terrified, Rose.” He drew his gaze down, meeting Rose’s. “What if I’m not as good as they think?”
“What if you’re better than you think you are?” she challenged.
They fell into silence again, Peter lazily running his hand over her arm, Rose tucking her chin against his chest and resting her palm over his heart.
He started to doze anew; was once more pulled back into consciousness by Rose’s voice. “When do you have to put in for it?”
“It should go out next week. Two weeks is the usual amount of time for candidates to put together their requests and submit them. Another two weeks for them to empanel a committee to review the candidates; a week after that for invitations to be sent out to those who’ve been selected.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“I’ve helped partners to do it before, yes.”
He’d helped Blythe, in fact; it had been painfully awkward, but it had been the least he could do for his former partner.
“You’d know by the new year.”
“If I were lucky, yes.”
“A fresh start,” she murmured against his chest.
“If you’re of a mind to be poetic about it.”
She smiled, her lips curving against his skin. “You’re the poet. But I like the idea.”
He bent forward, kissing her hair before rolling to face her. “I’d…we’d have to find a place. If I got it.”
Rose looked surprised. “You could just move in here.”
He’d not considered it. “Really?”
Rose laughed, her fingers affectionately stroking his cheek. “Really.”
“So simple?”
“Not everything is a puzzle, Peter.” She leaned forward, kissing him. “Not even us, sometimes.”
~ - ~
Chapter 26