And So Things Go, Chapter 29
Title- And So Things Go (29/34)
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 - Rose and Annie meet.
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.
Just a reminder that there will be no Chapter updates the week of October 13; instead, keep an eye out for at least one Peter/Rose ficlet by a guest author (posted to the_rspcpc, as well as their personal journal).
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
Tea was set for the second day of the year-enough time, Peter had quoted Annie as saying, for their hangovers to have worn off. Rose remained uncertain about the prospect, oddly intimidated by the woman from Peter’s past. Still, he seemed so happy, so eager, for the two of them to meet, she couldn’t help but try to put on a brave face and seem excited.
Rose had been expecting to meet Annie at Heatherfield, a thought which filled her with trepidation. She’d been pleasantly surprised when Peter had instead said they’d be meeting Annie closer to home; Peter’s oldest, dearest friend was going to be in Glasgow, and had suggested they meet halfway. Thus they were to meet in Carlisle-a fact which caused a giggle to escape from Rose’s lips when he told her. She knew about the city-the largest in Cumbria, in fact-but it just seemed so…odd, really. She couldn’t hear that name, now, without thinking of Peter; couldn’t imagine it being used for anything other than the man whom she loved.
Annie would have to return to Heatherfield after tea-a drive of several hours, according to Peter--and so tea was ultimately going to be more of a late lunch.
Rose felt her nervousness grow as she got dressed that morning. What should she wear? What would Annie be like? What did Annie think Rose would be like? She’d not packed anything remotely appropriate for a proper tea-nor even for a tea masquerading as lunch-and felt she was doomed to make a bad impression from the moment she arrived.
She smoothed her hands over her outfit, the blue lambswool jumper a gift from her mum that year. She’d packed it, thinking she and Peter might go out for dinner one night, perhaps for his birthday; paired with a nondescript pair of grey trousers, she thought it might just do for meeting the most influential woman in Peter’s life.
Peter remained blissfully oblivious to her nervousness, going so far as to whistle in the shower that morning. She’d never heard him whistle-didn’t even know he knew how to, in fact-and she felt her stomach twist further into knots. How on earth was she going to compare to this woman?
She took a deep breath, willing her hands to stop shaking enough that she could put on the necklace Peter had bought her for Christmas. The chain was long and fine; suspended at the end was a small, deep pink tourmaline-“The closest to rose I could get, I’m afraid,” Peter had said, apologetically, as she gazed upon the gift. She loved it, loved the thought and sincerity behind it, and had made sure to thank Peter appropriately for the gift.
Peter emerged from the en-suite, hair still dripping, as Rose continued to wrestle with the clasp of her necklace. He paused behind her, gently taking the chain from her hands and securing the clasp, brushing a soft kiss over the nape of her neck. She swallowed, giving him a smile of thanks, once again trying desperately to tamp down the (irrational, she was sure) feeling of inadequacy lurking deep within her.
Peter didn’t suffer fools gladly. Annie was sure to be a charming woman. This was the woman who had helped to make Peter who he was. Annie was happily married, and wasn’t a threat.
Peter’s opinion of her didn’t hang on Annie’s.
Peter had pulled on his pants by the time she turned around, a plain white pair of boxerbriefs. She relaxed marginally as she watched him get dressed, standing in front of the wardrobe working out which shirt to wear that day. She had no doubt his tongue was against the back of his front teeth as he thought, and she moved to stand behind him, wrapping her arms around him for comfort.
“Hello,” he said, a smile in his voice as he reached forward for a shirt.
“’lo.”
She felt him reach forward again-most likely for his trousers-before straightening. “Much as I enjoy this position, Rose, I need to dress.”
She released him reluctantly. He turned, tossing his clothes onto the bed, before shifting his attention to her. “Are you alright?”
“I’m always alright.” She winced at the phrase, hastily adding, “’m nervous, is all.”
“There’s no need to be, Rose.” He leaned forward, brushing a quick kiss across her lips, then turning back to the wardrobe for a vest. “Annie’s…Annie. She’ll not bite.” He pulled the vest over his head. “I promise.” He reached for his shirt.
“I know.” Rose felt like a wayward child. “Still can’t help being nervous.”
Peter glanced down, lining up the buttons on his shirt as he dressed, then looked up at Rose as his fingers worked. “She’ll love you, Rose.”
Rose moved to sit on the bed, pulling Peter’s trousers from the hanger and handing them to him when he finished buttoning his shirt. “’m bein’ silly, I know.”
He paused, his hand holding the trousers, and leaned forward to meet her gaze. “It will be fine, Rose.”
She stifled a sigh. He might not have meant to, but Peter was making her feel like her nervousness wasn’t justified at all; that she was overreacting. Perhaps she was-but what she wanted at that moment was for him to listen, properly, to her concerns instead of offering blind reassurances.
He was so certain he was right. She hoped he was.
They finished getting ready together-Peter, pulling a belt through the loops of his trousers, finding socks and shoes as Rose put the finishing touches on her makeup and hair. She’d pulled it back, thinking it looked more sophisticated; it was already struggling to come free of the pins holding it in place, adding to her frustration.
And then it was time to go. Peter spent the entirety of the drive regaling Rose with stories of Annie, of tales from their days in Uni, or when she’d said something particularly brilliant.
“And then, when she was at the cottage-”
“She’s been to the cottage?” Rose asked, surprised. She didn’t think he’d taken anyone to the cottage; he certainly hadn’t taken Loreen or Natalie there.
“Of course she has-it was there that she told me to go for the job in Kendal.” Peter glanced over at her, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “You knew that, surely-that she’s been there nearly as often as I have, since Uni?”
Rose shook her head, returning her gaze to the passing scenery. Peter continued with his story as they cruised up the motorway, utterly oblivious to the effect of his continued paean to his ex-girlfriend.
They pulled up to the small hotel in the centre of town ten minutes early; Peter let her out in front of the doors, and Rose slowly wandered into the lobby, her heart hammering in her chest.
She’d made a full circuit of the lobby, glancing at the art on the walls, even bending down to sniff the flowers to see if they were real-and still Peter was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he’d been able to find parking; Carlisle was an old town, like Kendal, and parking seemed to be in precious short supply.
She needn’t have worried; five minutes later, Peter appeared-laughing as he held the door open for a smiling woman with auburn hair.
Annie, no doubt.
It had been a long time since someone had had the power to make her feel so young, so naïve-so insignificant. The beautiful woman who walked in before Peter, who Peter adored and had praised to the heavens, had managed to do it without uttering a word.
Rose squared her shoulders. She’d faced down despots without blinking. Had told off the Dalek emperor. Had charmed her way out of certain death; had survived long hard days-and nights-in prison or on prison planets. She could weather lunch with Annie. And she could do it with grace, making Peter proud. And then, when it was over, she could lock herself in the bath, take a long shower, and fall apart.
That was the mantra she repeated to herself when Annie was introduced, the mantra she meant to cling to throughout the following hours. But when Annie gave her a hard look as she shook her hand, and as Rose watched the woman’s smile tighten at the corners, Rose found it almost impossible to rally. Annie clearly didn’t approve.
They were sat in the small dining room of the hotel, at a round table covered with starched white tablecloths. The crystal sparkled, the silver gleamed; it oozed money without being ostentatious. Annie looked as though she belonged, her hair perfect, her makeup impeccable, her clothes expertly tailored and flattering in every way. Peter, too, looked as though he were in his milieu, his clothes smart and his manners refined.
It was just the sort of place to make her uncomfortable, reminding her of her roots in the Powell Estate, and it left Rose feeling faded and flawed next to Annie.
Peter was directing all of his conversation to the redhead, seeming to continue the story he’d begun outside, telling her of something particular from Glasgow; it was a story he’d not shared with her. Rose listened, desperate to remain engaged, and tried to get a toehold in the conversation by asking a question as Peter ended well after they’d ordered and been served their first course. She was cut off by Annie; Peter didn’t seem to notice, his attention fully on his ex.
Annie, at least, seemed to notice. As their empty soup bowls were removed from the table, Annie turned her hazel eyes to Rose. “I seem to be taking up all of the conversation,” she said, her laughter tinkling in the nearly-empty dining room. Peter didn’t even appear chagrined.
“It’s quite alright,” Rose replied, quietly. What else could she say?
“I understand from Peter that you’ve a job in London?”
Rose was certain she imagined the slightly supercilious note to Annie’s tone. She was nervous, imagining things; this woman had held Peter’s interest for nearly twenty years. She couldn’t be that bad.
“Yes. I work for Torchwood, LLC.”
“And what do you do there? It must be compelling, to draw you in when you’ve no need to work.”
Rose watched as Peter took a sip of water, his attention on Annie; he had the soft smile Rose thought had only been reserved for her.
Rose returned her gaze to Annie. “Nothing of interest-just some administrative work. It’s better than sitting at home, though, doing nothing at all, or playing the society game. I’d go mad with nothing to keep me thinking,” Rose answered honestly. She loathed the idea of sitting at home, idle, doing nothing but frittering away Pete’s hard-earned money.
Peter gave her a sharp look; Rose paused, surprised. What had she said?
“Oh,” Annie replied politely. Peter, however, seemed to feel the need to add to the conversation.
“Rose, Annie sits on the board of several charitable organizations.”
Rose felt a wave of nausea roll through her; she’d just inadvertently insulted Peter’s friend, and rather badly. “I’m sure you find that very rewarding,” Rose offered, lamely. She wished she could sink under her chair and hide from the horror of lunch.
“I do, as I’m sure you find your work to be.”
“Yes.” She was sure there was more to say, but the words escaped her.
Conversation paused as their main courses were delivered. Peter again began conversing, his attention on Annie. Rose fought down the growing urge to lash out, instead turning her thoughts inward. She’d get through this. Peter surely wasn’t doing it deliberately; he hadn’t seen his friend in a long while, whereas he’d seen her every day of the past ten. He was a man of intense focus-when something held his interest, it did so practically to the exclusion of all else. Perhaps he thought he didn’t need to make an effort to include her-that she’d just…put her oar in, and off they’d go.
“You met Peter at Uni?” Rose asked during a pause in conversation. Peter finally graced her with a smile.
“I did, yes. Years ago, now.” Annie grinned fondly at Peter. “He was all gangly, and blonde. And not nearly as cynical.”
Peter had been blonde? Rose glanced at Peter, trying to imagine it.
Peter felt the need to protest, grinning, and the conversation between Annie and Peter once again took off, leaving Rose behind. She stared down at her chicken, thinking she couldn’t stomach a single mouthful of the food.
“Rose?” Peter’s voice pulled her from her contemplation of the bird’s life before it had been chosen as her meal.
“’m sorry. What was the question?” She glanced up, meeting Peter’s exasperated glance.
“I asked where you had gone to school. With a father like Pete Tyler, I’m sure you went to the best institutions money could buy.” Annie’s voice was warm.
She blanched. Talking about school-about anything before nearly four years ago, really-was challenging in the best of circumstances. “I…I had tutors. Excellent tutors.”
“You didn’t attend Uni at all?”
“No…I…I didn’t.” Rose returned her gaze to her plate. She held no degree at all-a fact which still stung, in spite of her position at Torchwood.
“And your A-levels?”
“I…was tutored in a system that didn’t use them.” She raised her eyes to Peter, hoping he’d be able to see that she didn’t want to talk about this, that she needed rescuing.
He was, as she should have known, watching Annie. Who, in turn, was watching her thoughtfully.
“That must have made for an interesting childhood, then,” Annie asked after a long pause.
“Yes,” Rose nearly whispered. Would lunch never end? She glanced down again, this time fighting back the urge to cry. She seemed to have ceased to exist for Peter. And Annie, either consciously or not, was asking her questions she couldn’t hope to converse about for more than a few seconds.
“Have you enjoyed your week in Kendal?” Annie tried one last time.
“Yes. It’s been lovely,” Rose offered, meeting Annie’s eye once again.
Peter chose that moment to rejoin the conversation, and off it zoomed again-without Rose.
Annie tried one or two more times to involve Rose in the conversation; each time, Peter answered before Rose could, ensuring she was left out. She finally gave up on trying to enter the conversation at all, instead shutting down completely and letting her mind wander to thoughts of any place but where she was, and anyone but the other two people at the table. Dessert was served; she ate the sorbet without thinking too much about it, sipped her tea without much caring how hot it was. She just wanted time to pass, for lunch to end; wanted to be back in Kendal, so she could have a good cry and move on.
What was perhaps most frustrating about the entire thing was that it was so unlike the Peter she’d come to know. Not just the chattiness--she knew him well enough, by now, to know that when he genuinely liked someone, he could talk for England. It was the simple thoughtlessness he was exhibiting, the way he wasn’t looking at her at all; the way he turned his body just so as he talked to Annie, giving her the cold shoulder. She was used to being the centre of his attention, and to see it so suddenly shifted left her unsteady.
She felt a flash of fear that she was like this, to him, whenever they were dining out with Jake or Mickey; or at dinner with her family. Her mind raced, trying to recall how she’d behaved, how engaged Peter had been; she couldn’t recall, and grew more frantic the harder she tried to remember. Was that what this was? A lesson in how not to behave? A demonstration of how she’d been with Peter on each of those occasions? He was clever, and smart, and not a little passive-aggressive when he was angry; would Peter hold that resentment that close, waiting until an opportune time to demonstrate, first-hand, what it was like to be excluded?
She excused herself as the dishes were cleared, needing to go outside, to calm her thoughts and clear her head. Peter wouldn’t do that-he was too blunt, too frank. Every other time something she’d done had bothered him, he’d told her as soon as they were alone. He’d have told her, most likely as soon as they were in the car, if she’d been so rude.
He wasn’t doing it intentionally.
That helped her to calm down, at least a little bit. Everything else she was dealing with-the feeling of inadequacy, the sense of scrutiny-was down largely to her own insecurities and demons. She’d find a way to beat those into submission, at some point. After lunch was over.
She returned to the table to find she’d hardly been missed. She settled into her seat with a sigh, watching as Peter and Annie discussed who would pay the bill, arguing good-naturedly with each other. They were focused enough on their conversation that Rose was able to slip a passing waiter her bank card, instructing that it be used to cover the bill, before resuming drowning her sorrows in her tea. It wasn’t until the waiter returned with a pen and the charge slip that Annie and Peter realized their argument was moot.
Rose was in no mood to be thanked, and gave a brusque “You’re welcome” in response to Annie’s thanks, offered as they stood to leave. Peter, she noted, pursed his lips at this point, his dimple briefly appearing before he relaxed. She gave him a carefully blank look before turning to walk towards the door, following Annie.
Being unintentionally obtuse was one thing-but if he was going to be displeased because she’d not been able to get a word in edgewise, he was in for one humdinger of a row.
Once outside, Rose hung back as Peter and Annie said their goodbyes, kissing each other on the cheek. Annie extended her hand to Rose, thanking her once more for lunch.
“We should try to do this again.” Again, Annie was giving Rose a searching glance.
I’d as soon face down Daleks. “That would be lovely,” Rose offered, no enthusiasm at all in her voice.
“Take care of him,” Annie said, releasing Rose’s hand and turning with a smile to Peter. He grinned in response.
“I make no promises,” Rose said weakly.
Annie waved as she walked away, the sunshine glinting in her hair. Peter watched until Annie rounded the corner, then finally looked at Rose.
“Let’s go.” He spun on his heel, walking the opposite direction, his strides long. He didn’t seem inclined to talk, and it was a long, silent car ride back to Kendal.
Rose hoped never to have an afternoon like that again.
~ - ~
Chapter 30