On His Mistress (2/2)
Title: On His Mistress, 2/2
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? This is an alternate take on the universe presented in "The Way of Things" and "And So Things Go".
Authors Notes: Peter’s made a right mull of things; will Rose forgive him?
I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday, and is able to spend time with family, friends, and/or loved ones. And, if you're travelling this week--please be safe, and best of luck.
Thank you to chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 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
Temper, O fair Love, love's impetuous rage,
Be my true Mistress still, not my feigned Page
- John Donne, On His Mistress
Part One | Part Two
He straightened, looking around the room for a jacket: it had been a warm day, but the temperature was dropping quickly. He reached into the closet, grabbing a coat for Rose as well, before hurrying down the stairs and out the door to search for the woman he loved in the here and now.
~ - ~
He looked in the town first, going to the places she’d told him she associated with him. Ivan, the pub manager, hadn’t seen her since Peter had taken her for dinner the week before; she wasn’t in the square where they’d first kissed. He hastened through the wynds, along the streets, peeking in shops or windows, wondering where she could have gone.
Perhaps to the Vitex Institute? Or to the University proper?
He scoured the campus in the rapidly fading light. By the time he left his office, returning outside, the sky had gone a deep blue-the lingering twilight of midsummer. It wouldn’t get full dark, not in July-but it would become dim enough that it was going to be bloody difficult to find Rose, especially if she didn’t want to be found.
And what would it mean if she didn’t want to be found, anyway?
He sighed, slowly trudging back to the cottage, hoping that she’d have returned. The windows were dark, and he was greeted with silence as he called her name once inside. He hurried upstairs, just in case she was there, sleeping or ignoring him; the room was dark and empty.
Not home, then.
He took time to close the lower windows and turn on a lamp, before setting out once more into the twilight. He’d assumed she’d gone into town, but what if she’d gone the other direction, towards the sea? It occurred to him, as he walked along the path leading out to the old cathedral ruins and the small peninsula jutting out into the North Sea, that he’d never really inquired as to how she might spend her spare time. Truth be told, there really hadn’t been much spare time, after they’d met; even when he was writing, she was there with him in the house. He’d only been to his office a few times-for meetings, mostly-and each time he’d returned home she’d been there.
And yet, when they had been apart-when he’d left her behind at his house without a thought for what she might do-it simply hadn’t occurred to him to ask her how she’d spent her time, if she’d explored the town or the area around it. Of course, neither had she offered up how she’d spent her time, but still…
Rose was her own person, had her own interests and life; it was part of why he loved her so dearly. And yet he had blithely assumed she was staying in the cottage, waiting for him, her entire world shifting to accommodate his. He was shocked by the realization-by the self-centredness he’d demonstrated so casually.
He was such a bastard.
He passed the ruins of the cathedral, the stones hauntingly lit by a few spotlights; a few bats flitted above, feeding on the insects attracted to the light. He ducked through the gate, taking a quick stroll through the main ruins to make sure Rose wasn’t there; she wasn’t but a pair of students were, startled to be interrupted; he hastily exited, leaving them to their tryst.
Far be it for him to castigate them for giving over to the romance of ruins.
He continued on through the churchyard, aiming for the path between it and the sea, suspecting quite strongly that Rose would enjoy the view out to the infinite horizon.
He was proved right, and released a sigh of relief as he spotted her form sitting on the grass; she had her knees pulled up to her chest, with her forehead resting on them. There was only a small bit of safe shore here, and she was sitting on it; clearly, she’d been exploring in this direction when he was busy at work.
“Rose,” he said softly, coming to a stop several feet away.
She jumped, startled, and glanced up at him in surprise.
There was still enough light to see that she’d been crying, and he cursed himself as an insensitive bastard once more.
“I, ah…brought you a coat,” he said, offering her the object. It had been a long time since he’d had a row with a lover; he was completely at a loss as to what to do.
She glanced blankly at it, and he took a step towards her. She didn’t move, so he chanced another step, then another, finally coming to a stop just next to her.
At her continued silence he draped the coat around her shoulders; he took a step back, giving her space, waiting for her to speak.
“Why’re you out here?” she finally asked, staring out at the horizon.
“To find you,” he replied, confused.
“Why?” She glanced up at him, her eyes dark in the light.
He settled onto the grass next to her, not touching her, but within reach. “I…” He searched for the unfamiliar words, found them. “I was wrong.”
He didn’t miss the look of surprise which crossed her face, although she hid it quickly enough.
“About?”
He sighed, rubbing his hand across his face, then up into his hair. “I…”
Rose shifted her gaze from him, back to the sea.
“Those were Catie’s jumpers,” he offered.
“You’ll have to pardon me for not knowing that,” she replied sharply.
He winced; that had probably been the wrong thing to say. “Rose, I…I…” He turned to look at the horizon, wondering what she could possibly find so interesting, trying to work out what to say. “Bloody hell, Rose, I’m sorry, alright?”
Silence. He could feel the chill radiate from her, and smacked his hand against the ground.
“I can’t ruddy well apologise if you’re not going to work with me!”
“’s all about you, then,” she said, softly, after a few moments. “’s that how it’s going to be? All the time?” She sounded weary, and his pique evaporated.
“No, Rose. No.” He leaned towards her; she stiffened. “I’m a selfish bastard, I know that. I’m used to being right, and to having my own way. It’s part of my job.”
She didn’t smile, and he doggedly carried on. “But that’s not how I am at home. I promise. I…I just need…I’m out of practice, Rose. I’m too used to being on my own; to having Mum dote on me, and Martin ring to ask how I’m doing; to being coddled and pitied by my friends. ‘Poor Peter, the widower.’”
“I’m not goin’ t’ do that,” Rose said, softly. “’f you wanted that, you should have said so, so I could tell you to sod off and go back t’your cave.”
“But, Rose, I don’t want that. I just…I have to learn to get out of that habit.”
He saw her jaw clench, and he sighed heavily. “I’m sorry I yelled, Rose. Here, and at the house. I…overreacted. Badly.”
“I was jus’ tryin’ t’help.” Her voice was small, and he felt even worse.
“I know. I…it was a long day, and then I came home, and saw the jumpers, and…I should have listened to you, Rose, let you tell me what you were doing instead of assuming.” He swallowed, glancing down before looking back at her. “I should have trusted you.”
She nodded, wrapping her arms around her legs as she settled her chin on her knees.
“I will try to learn, Rose, I promise you. I want this to work, I do.” He was leaning down, trying to catch her eye; she sighed, resting her cheek on her knees so she could look at him.
“I…when I was a teenager, I got involved with this bloke. Jimmy, his name was. Moved in with him, thought it was True Love. Let him dictate my life for me, got to thinkin’ my world had to revolve around his for True Love to last. And he’d come home of a night, and yell at me, blamin’ me for everything that went wrong; next day he’d apologise, then the next night he’d do it all over again. How do I know this isn’t that?”
“You just have my word-just my word. I promise you, this isn’t like that. This won’t be-I won’t be-like that,” he said solemnly, holding her gaze. “Please, Rose,” he added, whispering.
She let out a shuddering sigh, her eyes closing. In the silence he watched her, watched as her right hand began to play with the ring on her left. Her engagement ring.
He felt nauseous, the reality of what he’d done washing through him. He’d as good as told her that he cared more about a wife-gone these five years-and the things she’d left behind, than the living breathing woman in front of him; the woman he loved more than anything in the world, and for whom he would do anything. She could, quite conceivably, look up at him, tell him it was off, that it was a mistake-and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to fault her for that choice.
He swallowed nervously, but resolved to be quiet, to let her speak.
After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes. Straightening, she leaned back on her hands, and extended her legs. “If I forgive you, Peter-if-we have to get a few things clear. Because if we don’t, it’s never gonna work, no matter how mad for you I might be.”
He nodded, leaning forward, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He might-might-have a chance to make things right.
She shifted, crossing her arms; he took a deep breath and leaned back.
“And you’ve gotta promise, right now, to hear me out before you start answerin’.” Her voice was strong, and brooked no opposition. He felt another flash of love for her, for the amazing woman she was.
“I promise,” he replied solemnly.
“Right.” She uncrossed her arms, turning now to face him, her legs folding in front of her. “We-” She gestured between them. “You ‘n me, we’re equals. You’re smarter about a lot of things, I get that, I know it; but I’m better at a lot of things than you, too. ‘s why we work, us; we’re a partnership. I know I’ll be wrong-a lot-but that doesn’t mean you get to talk down t’me, or impose your will on me; that you get to just talk right over me like I don’t matter, like my opinion isn’t worth the air I need to speak it. Just like I don’t get to do that t’you when you’re wrong. K?”
He opened his mouth to reply, and caught the warning glint in her eye. He’d promised to be quiet until she was finished. He nodded.
“K. Now, ‘bout this other thing. I know I’m not Catie; ‘m not tryin’ t’be, and I’m not tryin’ to push her out of your life. You loved her, I know that.” She swallowed, hastily wiped her eyes. “But…I can’t know what’s there, if you don’t tell me. I get that you kept her stuff, I do; but…Peter, you have to know this: I’m not goin’ t’tell you to stop thinkin’ of her. ‘m not goin’ to tell you t’get rid of all her stuff. I’m not gonna fight with a ghost. I don’ want to. So stop comparin’ us, and stop thinkin’ you can’t speak about her to me; that you can’t tell me that somethin’s important t’you ‘cause it was hers.”
“I-”
“’m not quite done,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I love you, Peter, but these two things…they’re important. I’ll give-god knows, I’ll give as much as I can, and I’ll need you t’tell me when I need to bend. But you’ve got to give, too. Just a bit. Meet me in the middle, yeah?”
He nodded again, remaining silent. She watched him, done saying her piece; he tentatively reached forward. She didn’t move, and he found her hand where it rested on her knee, sliding his palm against hers before curling his fingers around her hand.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he said softly, watching her. “I’ll try, Rose. I really will.”
“And so will I.” She tightened her grip on his hand briefly. “An’ you’ll let me know when I’m being a right pain?”
He gave her a weak smile. “Yeah, although I suspect I’ll not have to. You, on the other hand…you may have your hands full for a bit. But I’ll get better about…about being less of a prick.”
Her lips quirked in a quick smile. “’k.” She brought her free hand over to trace idle patterns across the back of his hand. “’m sorry I ran away.”
“’s alright. I can hardly blame you, given how I behaved.”
She bit her lip. “I…I have this habit. Of runnin’ off to think when I fight.”
He squeezed her hand. “Alright. I’ll make sure to leave you be for a bit, then, when we row.”
She glanced up at him, surprised.
“Rose, we’re going to row; that’s alright, just so long as we’re adults about it. And what really matters is what happens after. What happens here.” He gestured between them. “I’ll always give you time.” He brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing the knuckles.
She freed her hand from his, turning it so her palm cupped his cheek. She leaned forward, pulling him towards her; he closed the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a soft kiss.
“Done,” she said, pulling back.
He gave her a delighted grin. “Sealed with a kiss?”
She gave him an embarrassed smile. “Somethin’ like that.”
“I like that,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.
She pulled back a few moments later, her lips glistening in the deep twilight; as he looked at her, watching her, he felt his breath catch: he loved her so much it almost hurt.
“I love you, Rose,” he whispered.
“’love you,” she replied, shyly holding his gaze.
They silently watched each other for several moments; it occurred to him he could watch her for hours, but that they’d most likely catch a chill or fall asleep where they were. As romantic as it sounded-snuggling together with Rose under the stars-he suspected that the local constabulary probably wouldn’t find it charming at all.
He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, before straightening.
She blinked, and took a slow look around them. “It never gets dark up here, does it?” she eventually asked, returning her gaze to him.
“Not in the summer, no. Come winter? Well, you’ve seen it-I’ll go to work in the dark, and come home in the dark.”
“Not so many boats on the water, either, I’d think,” she said, her eyes now following a boat passing near shore. Laughter could be heard coming from it, along with music. “’s that safe? Bein’ so close to shore?” She nodded her head in the direction of the boat.
He glanced down to the shoreline, then up to the boat. “Aye, tide’s in. I’d not suggest doing that in a few hours, though.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said, smiling.
He tilted his head, catching the tune from the boat; it was an old one, from the forties, and he grinned. “Care to dance, Miss Tyler?” He stood, reaching for her hand.
She took it reflexively, joining him with a puzzled smile. “Dance?”
“Oh yes, dance.” He swept her to him, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other taking her hand and holding it at shoulder height. “I’m a wonderful dancer.”
She laughed delightedly. “I don’t believe you!”
“Believe me.” He paused, listening once more for the music. “Listen carefully.” He paused again, giving her a chance to catch the music. “Hear that? The music from the boat?”
She knitted her brows together, then nodded, a smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah. ‘s old.”
“Oh, aye. It’s perfect.” He listened for a good place to begin, the music growing slightly louder as the boat approached the harbor. Finding the rhythm and the refrain, he began to guide her in a simple series of steps across the grass. He’d not danced in years-not properly-but the steps came back to him with ease. He and Catie had danced every weekend they’d been together; it was because of her that he’d learned in the first place.
He’d not realized how very much he’d missed it; missed having his lover in his arms, her body moving in time with his, following his lead, simply trusting him. Rose was nervous, he could tell-but she was committed to following him, to believing that he’d not let her take a wrong step.
The music finally faded out of hearing as the boat continued into the harbor, but he kept dancing with Rose, spinning her out, pulling her back to him; she was beaming, her eyes alight.
“I had no idea you could dance,” she laughed as he pulled her to him, shifting to a waltz.
“I love it. Learned…” He swallowed, faltering. She’d told him he had to be comfortable talking about Catie around her, and he pressed on. “Learned from Catie. Used to dance all the time, she and I. Every weekend. I can’t tell you the last time I wanted to dance with someone,” he finished, looking down at her, slowing down to a stop.
“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, leaning down for a kiss.
Her hands found their way to his chest, bracing her weight as she leaned up and into him; he reached up, cupping her jaw, kissing her under the stars.
“Can we go home?” she murmured against his mouth. She punctuated the question with a series of soft kisses along his jaw, ending by resting her cheek against his chest.
“Aye,” he replied, his hands moving to gently stroke her back. “’s been a long day, for both of us.”
She pulled back, looking at him, smiling. “’m not tired. Just wanna dance to music I can hear, too.”
He grinned, delighted. “Really?”
“Really.” She raised up onto her toes, stealing a kiss before sliding out of his grasp, taking several steps towards the path back to town. “You comin’?”
He hurried to join her, taking her hand in his. “Always,” he answered softly, giving her a gentle smile.
~ fin ~