The Primrose - Recto
Title: The Primrose - Recto
Rating: T
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: Part two of “The Primrose”. This was written Monday morning, and was inspired by a comment EGT had made in her beta of Verso: Peter tells his mother than he thinks he’s in love with Rose about a week before this, right? Someday, I’d be interested in knowing why here, why now.
Thank you to chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 for their quick 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 walk to find a true love ; and I see
That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
-John Donne, The Primrose, Being at Montgomery Castle Upon the Hill, On Which it is Situate
Verso | Recto
He’d taken her to one of his favourite places for lunch, a small restaurant in the fishing village of Stonehaven. The restaurant only held four tables, but served excellent food and provided a spectacular view of the North Sea. It was a sharp, sunny day-chilly for the time of year, but otherwise absolutely perfect-and he felt a deep sort of contentment settle within him.
Rose was smiling, admiring the view, the restaurant itself, the entire journey; he once again felt lightheaded as he realized how very much he loved her. He’d known it for a while-certainly since within the first week of dating her-and yet it still caught him by surprise, taking his breath away.
“I love you.” The words were spoken before he could think twice, and he was surprised by how calm he sounded as he said them. He should be terrified-he’d only told one other woman that he loved her, after all, and while he suspected Rose loved him in return, it was still quite a leap of faith. Especially as they’d only been seeing each other for a month.
Rose’s cheeks turned pink, her lips parting slightly in a surprised but silent “Oh!”. Her eyes drifted towards his shoulders, and he felt compelled to add-only half-jokingly-“Is that alright, Rose?”
She returned her gaze to his, her eyes fairly glowing; he didn’t need her to speak to know her answer.
“Yes.” The word was spoken softly, and he felt his heart gallop along. “I…” She swallowed, a slightly panicked look crossing her face as she wrestled with the words she wanted to say.
“I know,” he said, taking her hand in his. At her weak smile, he gave a gentle squeeze.
She smiled at him, gratefully, and turned her hand over. “Say it again?” she whispered, her cheeks flushing.
“I love you, Rose.” He held her gaze as he said the words, and watched as she straightened slightly, her uncertainty replaced with confidence.
She loved him, he was sure of it.
He felt his lips curve in the smile he seemed to use only with her; she answered with a small, heartfelt smile of her own.
“Thank you.” She laced her fingers through his.
“Believe me when I say, it’s my pleasure.” Joy suffused him, amplifying the contentment he’d felt earlier. He loved Rose Tyler; he was in love with her. He once more considered that she’d most likely known how he felt-he’d hardly hidden it. But now the words were spoken, and acknowledged, and he considered that life really couldn’t be any more perfect.
They finished lunch in companionable silence, Rose stealing glances at him, appearing to consider speaking before blushing, and returning her attention to her rapidly clearing plate. As soon as he could, he slid a hand to her side of the table, using his touch to express, once more, his love for her. As they left the restaurant, he couldn’t resist leaning down once more and whispering, “I love you, Rose Tyler.”
She grinned up at him, raising herself up on her toes to brush a kiss over his jaw.
He took her to his favourite set of ruins, a castle set out into the sea on a steep promontory. It had been ignored and neglected for centuries, to the point that only a few academics like himself-and the odd occasional history buff-knew how to access it, and he and Rose had the place to themselves. He watched her with concern as they picked their way up the steep path leading to the entrance; he was careful to make sure she followed his exact route through the fallen stones hiding the tunnel leading to the great grass court of the castle.
Rose blinked as they came out into the sunshine, the wind whipping round them; she stopped, gazing around her in awe. “’s gorgeous,” she breathed, turning to take it all in. Everywhere they looked were remnants of the buildings which had once stood on the site, backed on one side by the steely blue of the sea, and on the other by the warm gold of hay growing on the coastal bluffs.
“Yes,” he replied simply, watching Rose take it all in.
She returned her attention to him, her cheeks a deep pink-from embarrassment at his statement, or the wind? He thought it might be both-and then she slowly grinned. “So, Professor. Show me around?” She extended her hand, wiggling her fingers; he took it in his own, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
“With pleasure.”
He took Rose on a tour of the perimeter of the castle first, showing her the buildings used by the residents and staff, taking in the expansive views, all as he explained to Rose the history of the castle-or what he had been able to learn of it-focusing on the Earl Marischal who had lived there in the 17th century. The Marischal had taken up with the Royalists, and had ensured the honours of Scotland were safely hidden within the castle’s walls.
“He saved the country,” Peter said as they stood in the Keep, the stone walls rising three stories above them. The roof was long-since gone-as was anything timber in the grounds-but the stairs and thick walls were still sound.
“Then how come no one comes here?” Rose asked, turning her attention from one of the windows, back to him.
“The honours were unearthed at a small church, a few miles distant; no one’s quite sure how they found their way there, but all that matters is that they did. It’s the church that’s hailed as the starting point for the self-governance of Scotland, not these tumbled-down stones.”
Rose had moved to stand next to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Would you want people to visit here? To know about it?”
She was gazing up at him, and he was reminded again of how very powerful a person she was. If he wanted people to know about the castle-if he wanted to see it restored, or simply cleaned up so more people could see it-Rose could see it done.
“I don’t know,” he finally replied. “I want people to know about it, Rose. But…I’m loathe to share it with people who’d come for a picture, or a hike, and then leave it behind, forgotten.”
She nodded, sliding her arms from him. “Show me more?”
He told her more about the castle’s history; showed her every inch of the castle and its grounds, often climbing rocks or hills first, waiting to give her a hand up. She always thanked him with a smile, and sometimes with a kiss; and he ended the tour in the Marsichal’s suite, the small window overlooking the North Sea, the roof open to the sky.
“Thank you,” Rose said, standing in front of the too-small fireplace. Peter still couldn’t fathom how it had managed to heat the room successfully; he’d meant to find a way to experiment with it, to see if the construction had been sound enough that it would have worked.
He walked to her, pulling her into an embrace before leaning down to kiss her. She sighed into him, her hands finding their way under his unbuttoned coat as she returned the kiss eagerly. Her arms came around his back, holding him to her, as she deepened the kiss.
“Rose,” he finally gasped, pulling back. “We…God, I’d love to make love to you here.”
Her eyes were dark as she looked at him, her lips glistening. She didn’t reply, simply leaned forward and began to drift kisses down his neck.
“We can’t,” he whispered, tilting his head back. “Not enough time before dark…”
“So you’re saying we could, if we had more daylight?” Her voice had dropped, and now held the lovely low tenor he associated with making love to her.
“Oh yes. Count on it.”
She leaned back, smiling, then leaned up to brush a chaste kiss over his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”
~ - ~
They stayed in Stonehaven that night, neither of them keen to make the drive home in the dark; Peter suspected that part of the reason Rose was so eager to stay in the town was the prospect of a return to the castle the next day. Both of them were disappointed to awake to a thick fog the next morning, and they slowly drove south, first through fog, then through brilliant sunlight..
Throughout the drive-and throughout the day, once they were back in his cottage-Peter caught Rose gazing thoughtfully at him. He wondered what she was thinking; he hoped she was trying to find a way to say she loved him in return. He was content to simply know she did, but something about hearing her say the words…there was a magic there, in the ability to say it; to say it to her, and have her say it in reply. But he didn’t want Rose to feel that he was forcing her, and so he held back, offering the words only when they went to bed together.
Monday saw a return to work; he was finishing his sabbatical, and so had plenty of work to do in preparing his paper, as well as for the courses in the next term. Rose accompanied him on his walk to his office, intent on taking over a small sliver of space in Vitex’s building; she’d been unabashed in stating that she’d claim the space, and he was once again reminded of just who Rose Tyler was. It always caught him off-guard, realizing that he was in love with one of the wealthiest women in the world; and it never failed to rattle his self-confidence, just a bit.Once he was ensconced in his office, with the fire dancing in the stone fireplace, he forced himself to concentrate on the things he could see in front of him. He threw himself into his work that day, not wanting to let the insecurity burrow into his subconscious. Rose was her own woman, and he had faith that she loved him for who he was-even if she couldn’t yet say it.
~ - ~
“Time t’go.”
Peter jumped, startled; Rose was standing in the doorway to his office, leaning against the jamb with a knowing grin.
“Is it already?”
She glanced at her watch. “I think so. Did you remember to eat lunch?” She crossed over to his desk, moving to stand behind his chair. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders, and she began to gently knead at the muscles there.
“No,” he mumbled, his eyes drifting shut.
“Silly man,” she said with good humour, her hands still working at his shoulders. “Smart as they come, but y’can’t remember to feed yourself.”
“Mmmm,” he replied, feeling his shoulders slowly begin to loosen.
“And now you’re fallin’ asleep. C’mon.” She patted his shoulders, leaning down to brush a quick kiss over the corner of his jaw. “I’m cookin’ tonight.”
“Mmmkay,” he replied, drowsily opening his eyes. Rose was now standing on the opposite side of his desk, waiting for him to gather his things. She arched an eyebrow, and he sighed. “I’m coming, Rose. Y’shouldnae have relaxed me so, if you want alacrity.”
She grinned, her tongue peeping from the corner of her mouth. “Shall I go ahead, then?”
“Nae, nae…I dinnae want ye walking town alane.”
Rose raised her eyebrows. “Are you trying to seduce me with that brogue?”
He gave her a slow smile. “Maybe.”
“In your office?”
“Absolutely.”
“With other staff about?” She looked doubtful, casting a guilty glance at the door.
“Oh, that’s part of the thrill,” he growled, standing and leaning forward across the papers in front of him.
Rose scampered back, laughing; he moved around the desk, eager to pin her against the wall...and was brought to a halt.
“Carlisle? Still in?”
Rose froze, blushing, and he hastily leaned against his desk, desperate to appear nonchalant. “Aye, Fingal.”
His colleague-a young highlander who’d survived the year working for Charlotte-poked his head into the office. He glanced at Rose, then over to Peter, and realized he might have been interrupting something. “Oh! Sorry. Nothing important, Peter-I’ll see ye tomorrow.” He gave a weak wave then vanished, his rapidly retreating footsteps clicking against the stone foyer.
“Well. That had the potential for embarrassment,” Peter said lightly, moving over to where Rose stood. She looked mortified, and he gently cupped her cheek. “’s alright, Rose.” He leaned down, brushing his lips across hers, then taking a step back.
She blinked open her eyes, her expression slowly shifting to humour. “You’re going to have quite the reputation, if you keep trying to seduce me in here.”
“I think I can live with that.”
~ - ~
As promised, Rose made dinner upon their return to the cottage. It was a treat for him; somehow, along the way, they’d fallen into the habit of him cooking, in spite of Rose being able to make a decent meal. She’d teased him for his domesticity a few times; he’d teased her in return, saying he only cooked because she was such an excellent dish washer.
As Rose had cooked, it was his turn to wash the dishes; he sighed in resignation as he made sure the water was hot, as he filled the sink with soapy water for cleaning the dishes. Rose had vanished after helping him to clear the table, and he wondered briefly where she’d gone, before allowing his mind to wander, thinking of things he’d need for his courses.
He was pulled from his reverie by the feel of Rose’s hands sliding across his waist. “I love you,” she whispered, leaning against his back.
He stilled, his arms dropping so his wrists rested on the edge of the sink, some part of his mind making sure he didn’t break the glass he’d been washing. He took a shuddering breath, his heart rocketing along as his brain replayed the words in his mind. She loved him. She’d said it.
“I love you, Peter. I love you.” She repeated the words, brushing kisses across his back; he let the glass go, suddenly desperate to turn around, to see Rose as she said the words. He turned, not even bothering to dry his hands, instead reaching forward to cup her jaw. He caught her eye before he leaned in, kissing her reverently.
“I love you,” he whispered, breaking the kiss for only a moment.
“I love you,” she replied, her hands now resting on his chest as she leaned up to kiss him once more.
She pulled back several moments later, gasping; he watched as she opened her eyes, looking dazed. He gave her a soft smile, and pulled her to him, embracing her, rocking her gently side to side as he leaned against the edge of the sink.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of saying it. ‘I love you’,” he whispered, brushing his lips over her hair. “As I’ll never tire of hearing you say it in return.”
She tilted her head back. “I love you.”
“Exactly so.”
She smiled, rocking onto the balls of her feet so she could kiss the scar on his jaw. “My Peter.”
“My Rose,” he replied, a note of laughter in his voice.
She relaxed, resting her head against his chest; he gently clasped his hands at the small of her back, loosely holding her to him.
She loved him. Just as he loved her.
~ - ~
fin