And So Things Go, Epilogue
Title- And So Things Go, Epilogue
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 - And so here we are-the end of this particular story. I…can’t quite believe it, to be honest. When I started posting this in July, I thought it would take *forever* to get to this point (well, to Chapter 33; this didn’t yet exist)-but the time has absolutely flown by.
Thank you, to all of you, for your comments and thoughts-and for loving Peter and Rose (and Elias and Ruby) as much as I do. There were several days where reading comments got me through a particularly bad or dull patch; and there have been many, many comments which got me to thinking about other ideas for Peter and Rose stories. I have two (maybe three?) stories for next week-mostly written to fill the larger gaps in this story-but after that, I’ve got a blank slate. Which means that, starting on Monday, I’ll be putting up a new request post. It’ll only be open for the month of November-and, as with all request posts, I can’t promise I’ll write what you ask for. But I’ll certainly give it a try ;)
For the last time, it’s time to thank the folks who were absolutely indispensible during the writing and posting of this story. 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
Rose traced her fingers over the intricate carving on the headboard of Peter’s bed, memories of making love to him in that bed-in that room-flooding through her. They’d made love in that bed just that morning, for the final time in that room; Peter and Mickey would soon be back upstairs, taking the last bit of the now-disassembled bed down to the panel truck they’d hired to move Peter’s things to London.
Peter’s beloved wardrobe had already been carried downstairs, wrangled through the hallways and narrow stairs by not only Peter and Mickey, but also Jake and James, as Rose had finished dissembling the bed. She’d fought back laughter as she heard the men swearing, or sniping at each other-Peter in Gaelic, which made her briefly ponder running after him to snog him senseless-as they wrestled with the bulky object. Peter had told her he’d brought it into the house with help from just one other person; she couldn’t imagine how, other than through sheer stubbornness and determination.
Replacing Peter’s furniture would be hers from London; the white birch objects stood off to the side of the room, the wardrobe now in the space where the walnut one had stood, the dresser and bedside tables pressed temporarily alongside it; the bed patiently awaiting assembly, the cornflower blue of her duvet cover peeping out from through the slightly open door of the wardrobe. It felt strange to have the room be so…light.
She’d thought it odd, initially, when Peter had suggested they move his things themselves-why not hire movers instead, and save the effort? He’d been unable to articulate his reasoning, had just been quite adamant that he wanted to be the one to move his things; and now, watching how things were slowly shifting and changing so visibly-how his things and hers were merging and changing together-she thought she might have some idea of what he’d been unable to explain. This move was about them-about their lives together. He’d not have wanted a stranger to be a part of that, no matter how much easier it would have made their lives.
Rose became aware of Peter’s presence, and snatched her hand away from the headboard. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms and ankles crossed, his gaze dark; she felt herself blush under his intense scrutiny. “Your bed…’s lovely,” she offered, holding his gaze.
He pushed off from the door, striding over to her. “I think you’ve told me that before,” he said, his voice low. She felt her breath catch as he leaned down, his lips only barely brushing against hers before he pulled away. “And it’s our bed, now.”
Her chest tightened, emotion flooding through her. He really was moving to London-he really would be living with her.
She’d be living with him. Would see him every morning, and every evening-after a good day, and after the bad ones which were bound to occur.
He brought his hand to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he gazed softly at her.
The silent intensity of the moment was broken by the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and of Jake and James bantering with each other as Jake’s voice grew nearer; James appeared to have stayed downstairs. Peter leaned in, stealing one last kiss, before stepping away from her with a small smile.
Jake walked into the room, pausing only briefly as he sensed the tension in the air. Rose couldn’t help the blush which flashed across her skin-again-as her teammate gave her a shrewd look, then directed his attention to Peter. She didn’t miss the slight quirk at the corner of Peter’s mouth as he met Jake’s gaze, and she once again marveled at her luck in finding-and falling in love with-Peter Carlisle.
Jake paused at the headboard, his hand now resting on the corner of it. “This the last bit, then?”
“That it is.” Peter moved to join Jake, but was shooed aside.
“James’ll help. I reckon you and Rose have…things to do. Like, ah, moving that.” Jake gestured to the birch furniture, and winked at Rose.
“I’ll do what?” James’ voice drifted up the stairs.
“You’ll get your duff up here and help me, is what!” Jake shouted.
They heard heavy steps running up the stairs, and James grumbled as he soon walked by, a smile on his face. It was only seconds more, and the two men had soon carried the headboard out of the room.
Rose strode over to where Peter was leaning against the wardrobe. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, in spite of it being February, and she could see the small trail of sweat which trickled from his sideburn, across the curve of his jaw. She reached up, her fingers threading through his damp hair, and fought down a smile as he sighed and relaxed into her touch.
“D’you want to stay here tonight? Take the afternoon off? We could,” she whispered. They’d been up since dawn, moving boxes of books and clothes into the truck before putting in the furniture. The plan had been to load the truck in the morning, spend the afternoon driving to London, and then at least assemble the bed in her flat before collapsing for the night. Adding an extra night to the trip wouldn’t be a problem at all; after all, they’d planned to spend their Sunday unpacking the rest of the truck.
Peter brought his hand to cover hers. “As tempting as that may be, Rose…I really just want to be done with the moving.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss over it. “I want to be able to wake up next to you tomorrow, in our flat.”
Her heart fluttered at the thought.
“Then let’s get this set up so we can get out of here,” she offered once she’d caught her breath.
The dresser was moved to stand against a wall which had been empty when Peter’s furniture had been in the room. The bed was hastily assembled in the space now vacated by the one she’d forever associate with Peter’s bedroom, the mattress placed on the rails. They were interrupted briefly by Mickey, who let them know the truck was packed, and that he, Jake, and James would be headed back to the hotel to check out and take showers; Rose fought back a smile as Mickey gave them an astonishingly precise time for the return of the group. Assuming the boys were on time, they’d be on the road before noon.
They finished by making the bed, Rose grinning at Peter across the mattress as he helped her with the linens. A bedside table was moved to each side of the bed, and they were soon done.
“That’s that, then,” Rose offered quietly, gazing at the sight of her furniture and bedding in Peter’s bedroom.
“All done.” Peter stood next to her, taking her hand.
Rose squeezed his hand, glancing up at him. “Just need to get cleaned up, and we can head home.”
“And eat,” Peter added, glancing down to her with amusement.
“Of course. Can’t forget about lunch.” She grinned, her tongue resting at the corner of her mouth.
Her heart leapt as Peter’s gaze darkened, as he leaned down to kiss her; she was grateful they’d been left alone when his hands drifted under her shirt and he deepened their kiss.
She’d been expecting him to make love to her on the bed, at that point; he instead led her to the en suite, kissing her the entire time, breaking the kiss only to reach into the shower to flick on the taps as he held her to him with his other arm. As the water began to warm up, Peter returned to kissing her, his hands now working to divest her of her clothing. She reached forward, stripping him out of his attire, and they were soon naked together in the shower, still kissing.
They didn’t make love, which surprised her; Peter instead finally broke the kiss and, with a soft smile, reached for the shampoo. He was infinitely gentle as he washed her hair, as he then massaged conditioner into it; and she felt utterly boneless as he lathered up the sponge and began to rub it across her skin. He ended his ministrations with a kiss to her nose, gently guiding her to stand under the shower.
She returned the favour, gently working shampoo into a lather in his hair as he bent forward slightly, loving the feel of the water sluicing through his hair and her hands as she helped to wash the shampoo out. She brushed kisses across his skin before following them with the sponge, and gently ghosted her hands across his arms, his chest, his shoulders as she stood him under the spray and washed the soap off of him.
They’d not said a word the entire time, using touch or glances to guide the other; the silence continued after Peter shut the water off, the sound of draining and dripping water the only noise in the room.
The air was almost painfully cold against her skin as Peter opened the door, releasing the warm air from the shower stall; he snatched a towel from the bar and hurriedly pulled it around her, rubbing his hands over the terrycloth as he dried her skin. She leaned up and into him, kissing him as he continued to dry her off, her heart almost full to bursting.
“Rose…” Peter’s whispered voice was still unnaturally loud after the minutes of silence. He drifted a line of kisses up across her jaw, finally wrapping her in a hug, the terrycloth of the towel between his arms and her torso.
“Mmmm?” She felt sleepy-ready for a nap, stretched next to Peter, his body providing warmth as she drowsed.
“Mickey’ll be back soon.” His voice held a note of amusement.
It was with reluctance that she pulled back; she used the towel to dry Peter, and they both left the seclusion of the en-suite a few minutes later.
Rose was dressed in clean clothes, and was stretched out on the bed watching Peter, when they heard the front door open. “You lot fit for public viewing?” James’s voice drifted up the stairs.
Rose rolled over, groaning; she just wanted to nap. Peter laughed, and shouted a reply that it was safe to come above stairs.
“Jake’s going to be disappointed,” she said as she sat up, listening to the sound of her teammates clambering up to the bedroom.
“I think he’ll survive,” Peter replied drily.
It was another twelve hours before they were done for the day, Peter’s furniture safely moved into the flat in London, the boxes of books and clothes stacked neatly in the living room. They’d made excellent time from Kendal, once they’d bade their goodbyes to Louise-Peter had left her with a hug, thanking her for watching his house, warning her with a wink that he’d best not find empty tins of beer, or evidence of any sort of crazy partying when he next visited; giddy from the ease of the drive, they’d all decided to go ahead and unpack the truck that night.
“What were we thinking?” Rose asked as she turned the lock on the front door. She could hear her teammates shuffling down the hallway; she’d been profuse in her thanks, as had Peter, but she’d still have to do something to thank them properly. Maybe a team field trip which didn’t involve running for their lives…
“But we’re done,” Peter replied, leaning lazily against the wall.
“We are.” Rose shuffled over to him, leaning against him in a hug. He brought his arms around her, his hand rubbing her back. “And we get to sleep in tomorrow.”
“We do. And every morning for the rest of the week, as well.” Peter had taken a week off between jobs, wanting to make sure he was well-settled before diving into his new duties with the Met. Rose, having hours upon hours of unused leave, had decided to take the time off as well, to help Peter-and to simply enjoy being with him, full-time.
“Mmm.” Rose rested her head against Peter’s chest, her eyes drifting shut as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. One heart--not the two hearts she’d thought she’d listen to for the rest of her life, so many years before-offering her comfort, security, and love.
He rubbed her back for a few minutes more, then brushed a kiss over her hair. “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”
Rose straightened reluctantly, her hand sliding to find Peter’s as she took a step back, and turned to walk the short distance to the bedroom. She paused as she crossed into the room, the sight of Peter’s things in front of her making the reality hit home with certainty.
He was there. He was living with her. He wouldn’t have to leave in five days; she’d wake up to him every day now--would find his clothes hanging next to hers, would see his silver razor and shaving mug on the sink next to the toothbrush holder she’d had since she’d moved in.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Peter had stopped behind her, and leaned forward to brush a kiss over the curve of her neck. “You alright?” he whispered, his hands now resting on her waist.
“Yeah. ‘s real, isn’t it? This? Us?” She turned, meeting his eye, her heart racing in her chest.
“Yes.” His gaze was solemn, his gaze dark and loving. “I’m really here, Rose. With you.”
Rose fell asleep an hour later, her naked body curled against Peter’s, both of them under the red duvet which covered their bed, in their bedroom. He was there; and London was their home, now.
~ - ~
fin