The Substance of Things Hoped For, 18/29
Title: The Substance of Things Hoped For (18/29)
Rating: K
Author: jlrpuck
Pairing: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; but Ruby, Elias, and Lucy are all mine. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1
Notes: Thank you to both
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta work-and to
chicklet73 for her encouragement and advice as this was written.
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
They settled back into a routine after the picnic, the air completely clear between them. In the weeks which followed, Peter visited Alex only a few more times, always emerging from the sessions beaming, almost laughing; it was enough to make Rose wonder just what it was that Alex said to her husband. She, however, continued to visit with Alex more regularly-once a month, once she and Peter had found their equilibrium again.
It helped that the plan she and Pete had drawn up, marking out how she would transfer from being team lead to management, had been put into action. Huw had returned two weeks after she and Pete had created the initial schedule; he’d agreed to it readily enough, and things had moved forward smoothly from there. A pattern was set when it came to deployments, as well: for each case they worked, she would appoint one of the team members as acting lead, backing them up as they worked to run the pertinent investigation or liaison.
The team was also provided with a fifth member, enabling that person to become comfortable with the team itself, while Rose worked to identify who the new team lead would be once she was gone.
It was hard, at first, sitting back and letting someone else do things-watching them make mistakes, or do something she would not have. But it was part of the learning process for all of them, and she found she didn’t have to step in nearly so often as she’d first feared. After a while, she almost enjoyed not having to always be the one in charge-the one who had to make big or hard decisions at the immediate moment.
She still had to fill out the paperwork, which led Peter to tease her mercilessly. “Bureaucrat,” he’d singsong , conveniently ignoring the fact that he was in exactly the same position as she was.
With the new year, Pete decreed it was time for her to begin her rota in different divisions within Torchwood. For two weeks out of the month, she would continue to work with her field team; but for the remainder of the time, she would be seconded to a division within the organization, shadowing someone in charge, learning what it was the group did, and how. It was frustrating for her, being thrown into environments where she knew nothing, or could be of no use, and more than a few of the people she shadowed barely tolerated her presence. She kept quiet, though-forced herself to ask questions, to stick with it, and more often than not by the end of her time in the division, she’d at least be on good speaking terms with the person who’d taken her around.
Each time she went back to her team, they’d grown just that little bit more removed from her. They still greeted her warmly, and they still gelled together when they were working together, but she could tell they’d already planned to move on. And, as she’d hoped, the group eventually self-selected her successor, identifying one of Jake’s favourite students as the natural leader out of the quartet. It was made official in June, just days after Lucy had returned home for summer holidays and months before she’d expected.
She came home that night and cried , Peter cradling her to him after they’d put Lucy to bed for the night.
And then, a month after the formal announcement of who would replace her, Rose officially retired from fieldwork. She’d moved her things from the office she’d had for years, upstairs to the executive level of Torchwood, the final act of her career in fieldwork. The job done, she sat at her now-former desk, in her now-empty former office, and stared out at the peaceful scene below her. The Thames wound its way towards London, a low haze of smog hanging over it, zeppelins drifting peacefully in the sky overhead. The towers of Canary Wharf were just visible to the right-a constant reminder of why she was there, and what she was meant to protect against.
There was a soft knocking at the door, and she turned to find James leaning against the jamb.
“Come by for a last visit?” she asked conversationally, spinning her (now-former) chair to face him.
He sauntered in, plopping himself in the guest chair. “Something like that. Although it’s not as though you’re quitting, Rose. I can still wander upstairs to your posh new office if I want a chat.”
“Or I could still find you in your hidey-hole and chew your ear off.”
“When have you ever done that?” he teased.
“’s weird, leaving but not leaving.”
James nodded. “Yeah. Took me a while to get used to it. But then I learned to love sleeping through most nights, and not having to be out in the freezing rain in the middle of some mud-covered field.”
“You don’t miss it, then?”
“Oh, I miss it all the time, Rose. I miss being out there with you and Mickey and Jake. I miss our team, and being out there as a team. They were good times, and I’ll always miss them. But…things change, y’know? It was time to move on, and I don’t regret making the decision to do it.”
“I’d imagine Susan was pretty happy about it, too.”
James gave her a brief smile. “She was, yes. Just as I imagine Peter will be rather happy to have you home every night.”
“We’ll see how he feels about it after months upon months of seeing me, without a break,” she joked, wanting to break the sombre mood.
James laughed, and stood. “Fair enough. Anyway, I’ve been sent along to escort you to your luncheon.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My luncheon? James, I’m just transferring.”
“Yeah, well, they’re still giving you a lunch. Didn’t anyone warn you about that?”
She stood, reluctantly walking around the desk, giving her former office one final glance before following James out into the hall. “No-thought I might manage to avoid it altogether.”
James snorted. “Good luck with that, Rose. You’re an institution on this floor-they’re not going to let you go quietly.”
“Don’t I feel young,” she replied drily.
James winked at her as the lift arrived, and guided her into the car. “Yes, you’re positively ancient, Mrs. Carlisle. Why they haven’t put you out to pasture sooner is beyond me…”
She stuck her tongue out at her old teammate as he pushed the button for the floor which held the café.
She’d expected a small group for lunch-her old team, her current (now former) team, her father, and the people she’d worked closely with in research and security. Instead, she found all of those people waiting for her, as well as Peter, Lucy, her mum, her brothers, Elias and Ruby, and all of the people she’d befriended within Torchwood during her years working in the field.
She froze in the doorway, speechless as she took in the room of people. They were all talking, several of them were laughing.
“Happy transfer,” James whispered, moving into the room, drawing attention to where she stood.
She fought down tears, instead smiling as she moved in to join the crowd. She was greeted with hugs, with kisses to the cheek, with handshakes; it was overwhelming and unexpected, and by the time she reached Peter, she was desperate for the comfort his hand offered. Lucy, apparently, had been clamouring to go see her mum from the instant she’d appeared in the doorway, and Rose finally had to let go of Peter’s hand so she could bend down and give Lucy a kiss. Her daughter, now eight, was tall for her age; Jackie had suggested that, by the time she stopped growing, Lucy would be several inches taller than Rose.
“Did you know about this surprise?” Rose asked, teasingly.
Lucy beamed. “Gran told me it was a big secret and not to tell anybody, not even Miss Penelopy. Were you surprised, Mummy?”
“I was indeed, love. You did very well.”
“I didn’t even tell Da,” Lucy stated as Peter walked up, quite proud of herself.
“Indeed you did not, cagaran.” He leaned down, whispering, “But don’t go thinking that it’s right to keep secrets from us all the time, eh?” He winked as he stood, and turned to Rose.
Lucy had taken his hand and was clinging to it as she eagerly looked at the crowd around them. Rose sighed, glancing around the room as well, finding it hard to believe that this was her life; that these people had all turned out, simply to see her off as she transferred divisions.
“Are you happy?” Peter whispered, leaning against her.
“Yeah, I think I am,” she answered, looking up at him.
He gave her a soft smile-his smile, just for her-and then turned his head to Lucy. “So, cagaran, what think you of the party?”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “’s a lot of people. I think it would be more fun with less.”
Rose let out a bark of laughter, causing a more than a few heads to turn their way. “She is so your daughter.”
~ - ~
They went to Croy at the end of the week, both he and Rose having arranged to take advantage of the vast quantities of leave they had stored up over the years. Lucy couldn’t wait to be back at the cottage, to see not only the kindly couple whom she considered as grandparents, but some of the children who holidayed up the coast and whom she’d befriended over her many visits to the cottage.
Peter, for his part, was most looking forward to being able to sleep in with Rose; to be able to properly relax with her for the first time in years, without the worry of Torchwood calling and needing her help.
Their first morning at the cottage, Lucy was the first one up and about. He could hear her scampering across the wooden floors of the first storey, heard her sure steps going down the stairs to the ground floor. She knew better than to go outside alone, and he happily snuggled against the still-sleeping Rose. He fell back asleep, completely at ease, and was only awoken again by the banging of Lucy on their bedroom door.
“Da!”
He shot up, panicked at first; he then noted that Lucy’s voice was one of impatience, not panic, and he took his time moving to find his robe and pull it on before unlocking and opening the door.
Lucy took a step back as he stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him to grant Rose her privacy; his daughter looked up at him with wide eyes, completely uncowed by the stern expression he wore.
“What have we told you about banging about our door, Lucy?”
“Nae t’do it unless it was important.”
“Aye. And is this important?”
She slowly shook her head.
He sighed, tying off the belt of his robe. “Then why’d ye come knocking?”
“There’re whales in the sea!” She practically bounced as she said the words.
“Of course there are.”
“Nae, t’front!” She shifted, eager to be downstairs but needing to finish what she was saying first. “And I cannae go out alone, and please may I go out and look?”
Rose would have his head for not being firmer in disciplining Lucy for violating a sacrosanct rule in the house, but he couldn’t resist her plea. “Very well, then, cagaran. Just for a wee while.”
She grinned and scampered down the stairs at a frightful pace-she was utterly fearless, his daughter, and he wondered if it was a trait which would ever be tempered. If she remained like her mum, odds were it wouldn’t be.
Lucy had unbolted the door, but waited until he reached the ground before opening it and rushing out. She was racing towards the shore before he’d taken more than a step outside; he kept an eye on her as he pulled the door to behind him. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe, he slowly followed her, watching as she raced along the shorebreak, pointing and exclaiming as the pod of whales slowly arced just off shore.
They’d only just made being able to see the creatures; by the time he reached where Lucy had stopped, the whales had disappeared, continuing on their mysterious way.
“Did ye see them, Da?”
“Aye.”
“Where were they goin, d’you think?”
“Perhaps on holiday, too.”
Lucy gave him a pitying look. “They dinnae go on holiday, Da.”
“Then perhaps they’re just passing through, cagaran.” The wind whipped around him, and he felt a brief chill pass down his spine. “Let’s go in, shall we? Maybe make your mum some breakfast?”
“Can we have bacon?” Lucy practically bounced at the idea.
“Aye, we can have bacon. We’ll even cook it the way Mum likes.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose at the idea-his daughter had picked up his knack for liking the bacon barely cooked -but she took his hand, and eagerly joined him as he walked back towards the cottage.
Rose remained above stairs as the two of them made breakfast-not unusual, really, given that she loved to have a lie-in, but something about it niggled at the back of his mind. She’d been looking tired of late-more tired than usual, that was-and he’d noticed as well that she seemed…distant. She wasn’t shutting him out; she just seemed more thoughtful. He’d chalked it up to her finally changing jobs-to a touch of melancholy, perhaps, at the fieldwork part of her life now being in the past. He’d felt it, certainly, when he’d been promoted; he missed being one of the first officers on a scene, being the first set of professional eyes to look over what had been left behind, seeking out clues or hints that could lead to a successful resolution to things. He missed the physicality of it, as well-of being out in the air, be it cold and crisp or hot and humid; of running after a suspect (he’d never expected to miss the running part ); of the feel of the stones of London’s pavement under his feet. He got to work better cases as a DCI, it was true-but he also had to spend infinitely more time behind his desk, wrestling the seemingly-never-ending piles of paperwork down to a reasonable amount every day.
He also felt, quite heavily, the responsibility for his staff. He had six detectives working under him at the moment-bright and smart men and women, each of them as eager to find wrongdoers and punish them as he was. But in their eagerness to succeed, they’d each-more than once-done something stupid, and it was his job to see that they never did it again, and that they didn’t bring themselves or others to harm. How much harder must it be for Rose, then, to know that she had literally hundreds of people under her protection, now; to know that instead of the small group she trusted completely, she had to oversee and protect staff she’d barely even met? Pete, and much of Torchwood’s upper staff, had done all they could to help Rose train and prepare for her promotion, but Rose would want to get everything right at the outset. If one person under her charge came to harm-be it in the field, or in the lab-she’d feel it acutely and blame herself, regardless of her culpability.
He sighed, returning his attention to the eggs currently cooking on the stove. Lucy was awkwardly but gamely working to stir them-she still preferred her eggs scrambled, and so that was what Rose would get for her breakfast-and he decided he may as well set to putting together the breakfast tray.
When things were almost ready, he turned off all of the burners, made sure Lucy was well away from the stove, and then hurried upstairs to wake Rose up. Lucy had only stumbled into their room a few times when they weren’t dressed over the years, most often in the middle of the night, after a bad dream; he wanted to give Rose the chance to pull on a robe before he brought both their daughter, and Rose’s breakfast, above stairs.
Rose was sprawled across the bed, sleeping on her stomach, when he pushed the door open. As he always did, he paused for a moment, simply looking at her, marvelling at his luck ; then he moved over to her, resting a knee on the bed as he leaned down to place a kiss against her cheek. “Time to wake up, love,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her.
Rose sighed, shifting in her sleep; he reached forward, stroking her cheek. “C’mon, mo gradh.”
Rose’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced up at him, her eyes unfocused and confused, then her gaze sharpened. “Peter,” she said, her voice gravelly.
He smiled softly, hiding his concern. “Aye, 'tis me. Lucy’s made ye breakfast.”
Rose rolled over, stretching, unconsciously teasing him as the duvet rested just across her stomach. She relaxed, then smiled slowly as she saw him openly gazing at her. “Has she, then?”
“Sadly, yes,” he replied, drawing his eyes back to her face. Rose was grinning outright, and he waggled a finger at her. “Temptress. Seductress. Our wee bairn has taken the effort to cook for ye, and is at this moment no doubt at the foot of the stairs waiting to bring you her efforts; I’ll not be seduced by your early-morning charms, and break Lucy’s heart.”
Rose laughed. “She’s hardly ‘wee,’ Peter.” She pushed herself upright, then glanced around for her robe. “But I take the point about now not being the best time for a bit of lovemaking.”
Peter stood, finding her robe at the foot of the bed and handing it up to her. “More’s the pity,” he sighed, turning to walk back to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returned upstairs, Lucy following him with the tray, he found Rose had pulled on her robe, and snuggled back under the duvet, her eyes closed. He saw her lips quirk as she heard them come into the room, and he stood back, watching, as Lucy carefully walked over to the bed, whispering loudly, “Mum!”
Rose opened her eyes; smiling, she expressed delighted surprise at finding her daughter standing in front of her with breakfast. Rose and Lucy settled into bed together, the breakfast tray on Rose’s lap, Lucy eagerly telling her mum of her morning, and cooking; and Peter felt a sense of peace wash through him as he watched his family, in his family’s cottage.
~ - ~
Chapter 19
End Note: You, er, might have noticed that the chapter number got revised *down* with this particular chapter. I’d always meant to go back and write a chapter focusing on their Christmas and Twelfth Night together, this particular year - but I’m afraid life simply got away from me (and goodness, has time flown as I've posted this story!). I still plan to write it - but I’m afraid it won’t go up until after Chapter 28 (aka, the Epilogue) goes up. Mea culpa!
Rating: K
Author: jlrpuck
Pairing: Rose Tyler, Peter Carlisle
Disclaimer: Characters from Doctor Who and Blackpool are the property of BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; but Ruby, Elias, and Lucy are all mine. No personal profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary: Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. - Hebrews 11:1
Notes: Thank you to both
earlgreytea68 and
chicklet73 for their beta work-and to
chicklet73 for her encouragement and advice as this was written.
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
They settled back into a routine after the picnic, the air completely clear between them. In the weeks which followed, Peter visited Alex only a few more times, always emerging from the sessions beaming, almost laughing; it was enough to make Rose wonder just what it was that Alex said to her husband. She, however, continued to visit with Alex more regularly-once a month, once she and Peter had found their equilibrium again.
It helped that the plan she and Pete had drawn up, marking out how she would transfer from being team lead to management, had been put into action. Huw had returned two weeks after she and Pete had created the initial schedule; he’d agreed to it readily enough, and things had moved forward smoothly from there. A pattern was set when it came to deployments, as well: for each case they worked, she would appoint one of the team members as acting lead, backing them up as they worked to run the pertinent investigation or liaison.
The team was also provided with a fifth member, enabling that person to become comfortable with the team itself, while Rose worked to identify who the new team lead would be once she was gone.
It was hard, at first, sitting back and letting someone else do things-watching them make mistakes, or do something she would not have. But it was part of the learning process for all of them, and she found she didn’t have to step in nearly so often as she’d first feared. After a while, she almost enjoyed not having to always be the one in charge-the one who had to make big or hard decisions at the immediate moment.
She still had to fill out the paperwork, which led Peter to tease her mercilessly. “Bureaucrat,” he’d singsong , conveniently ignoring the fact that he was in exactly the same position as she was.
With the new year, Pete decreed it was time for her to begin her rota in different divisions within Torchwood. For two weeks out of the month, she would continue to work with her field team; but for the remainder of the time, she would be seconded to a division within the organization, shadowing someone in charge, learning what it was the group did, and how. It was frustrating for her, being thrown into environments where she knew nothing, or could be of no use, and more than a few of the people she shadowed barely tolerated her presence. She kept quiet, though-forced herself to ask questions, to stick with it, and more often than not by the end of her time in the division, she’d at least be on good speaking terms with the person who’d taken her around.
Each time she went back to her team, they’d grown just that little bit more removed from her. They still greeted her warmly, and they still gelled together when they were working together, but she could tell they’d already planned to move on. And, as she’d hoped, the group eventually self-selected her successor, identifying one of Jake’s favourite students as the natural leader out of the quartet. It was made official in June, just days after Lucy had returned home for summer holidays and months before she’d expected.
She came home that night and cried , Peter cradling her to him after they’d put Lucy to bed for the night.
And then, a month after the formal announcement of who would replace her, Rose officially retired from fieldwork. She’d moved her things from the office she’d had for years, upstairs to the executive level of Torchwood, the final act of her career in fieldwork. The job done, she sat at her now-former desk, in her now-empty former office, and stared out at the peaceful scene below her. The Thames wound its way towards London, a low haze of smog hanging over it, zeppelins drifting peacefully in the sky overhead. The towers of Canary Wharf were just visible to the right-a constant reminder of why she was there, and what she was meant to protect against.
There was a soft knocking at the door, and she turned to find James leaning against the jamb.
“Come by for a last visit?” she asked conversationally, spinning her (now-former) chair to face him.
He sauntered in, plopping himself in the guest chair. “Something like that. Although it’s not as though you’re quitting, Rose. I can still wander upstairs to your posh new office if I want a chat.”
“Or I could still find you in your hidey-hole and chew your ear off.”
“When have you ever done that?” he teased.
“’s weird, leaving but not leaving.”
James nodded. “Yeah. Took me a while to get used to it. But then I learned to love sleeping through most nights, and not having to be out in the freezing rain in the middle of some mud-covered field.”
“You don’t miss it, then?”
“Oh, I miss it all the time, Rose. I miss being out there with you and Mickey and Jake. I miss our team, and being out there as a team. They were good times, and I’ll always miss them. But…things change, y’know? It was time to move on, and I don’t regret making the decision to do it.”
“I’d imagine Susan was pretty happy about it, too.”
James gave her a brief smile. “She was, yes. Just as I imagine Peter will be rather happy to have you home every night.”
“We’ll see how he feels about it after months upon months of seeing me, without a break,” she joked, wanting to break the sombre mood.
James laughed, and stood. “Fair enough. Anyway, I’ve been sent along to escort you to your luncheon.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My luncheon? James, I’m just transferring.”
“Yeah, well, they’re still giving you a lunch. Didn’t anyone warn you about that?”
She stood, reluctantly walking around the desk, giving her former office one final glance before following James out into the hall. “No-thought I might manage to avoid it altogether.”
James snorted. “Good luck with that, Rose. You’re an institution on this floor-they’re not going to let you go quietly.”
“Don’t I feel young,” she replied drily.
James winked at her as the lift arrived, and guided her into the car. “Yes, you’re positively ancient, Mrs. Carlisle. Why they haven’t put you out to pasture sooner is beyond me…”
She stuck her tongue out at her old teammate as he pushed the button for the floor which held the café.
She’d expected a small group for lunch-her old team, her current (now former) team, her father, and the people she’d worked closely with in research and security. Instead, she found all of those people waiting for her, as well as Peter, Lucy, her mum, her brothers, Elias and Ruby, and all of the people she’d befriended within Torchwood during her years working in the field.
She froze in the doorway, speechless as she took in the room of people. They were all talking, several of them were laughing.
“Happy transfer,” James whispered, moving into the room, drawing attention to where she stood.
She fought down tears, instead smiling as she moved in to join the crowd. She was greeted with hugs, with kisses to the cheek, with handshakes; it was overwhelming and unexpected, and by the time she reached Peter, she was desperate for the comfort his hand offered. Lucy, apparently, had been clamouring to go see her mum from the instant she’d appeared in the doorway, and Rose finally had to let go of Peter’s hand so she could bend down and give Lucy a kiss. Her daughter, now eight, was tall for her age; Jackie had suggested that, by the time she stopped growing, Lucy would be several inches taller than Rose.
“Did you know about this surprise?” Rose asked, teasingly.
Lucy beamed. “Gran told me it was a big secret and not to tell anybody, not even Miss Penelopy. Were you surprised, Mummy?”
“I was indeed, love. You did very well.”
“I didn’t even tell Da,” Lucy stated as Peter walked up, quite proud of herself.
“Indeed you did not, cagaran.” He leaned down, whispering, “But don’t go thinking that it’s right to keep secrets from us all the time, eh?” He winked as he stood, and turned to Rose.
Lucy had taken his hand and was clinging to it as she eagerly looked at the crowd around them. Rose sighed, glancing around the room as well, finding it hard to believe that this was her life; that these people had all turned out, simply to see her off as she transferred divisions.
“Are you happy?” Peter whispered, leaning against her.
“Yeah, I think I am,” she answered, looking up at him.
He gave her a soft smile-his smile, just for her-and then turned his head to Lucy. “So, cagaran, what think you of the party?”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “’s a lot of people. I think it would be more fun with less.”
Rose let out a bark of laughter, causing a more than a few heads to turn their way. “She is so your daughter.”
~ - ~
They went to Croy at the end of the week, both he and Rose having arranged to take advantage of the vast quantities of leave they had stored up over the years. Lucy couldn’t wait to be back at the cottage, to see not only the kindly couple whom she considered as grandparents, but some of the children who holidayed up the coast and whom she’d befriended over her many visits to the cottage.
Peter, for his part, was most looking forward to being able to sleep in with Rose; to be able to properly relax with her for the first time in years, without the worry of Torchwood calling and needing her help.
Their first morning at the cottage, Lucy was the first one up and about. He could hear her scampering across the wooden floors of the first storey, heard her sure steps going down the stairs to the ground floor. She knew better than to go outside alone, and he happily snuggled against the still-sleeping Rose. He fell back asleep, completely at ease, and was only awoken again by the banging of Lucy on their bedroom door.
“Da!”
He shot up, panicked at first; he then noted that Lucy’s voice was one of impatience, not panic, and he took his time moving to find his robe and pull it on before unlocking and opening the door.
Lucy took a step back as he stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind him to grant Rose her privacy; his daughter looked up at him with wide eyes, completely uncowed by the stern expression he wore.
“What have we told you about banging about our door, Lucy?”
“Nae t’do it unless it was important.”
“Aye. And is this important?”
She slowly shook her head.
He sighed, tying off the belt of his robe. “Then why’d ye come knocking?”
“There’re whales in the sea!” She practically bounced as she said the words.
“Of course there are.”
“Nae, t’front!” She shifted, eager to be downstairs but needing to finish what she was saying first. “And I cannae go out alone, and please may I go out and look?”
Rose would have his head for not being firmer in disciplining Lucy for violating a sacrosanct rule in the house, but he couldn’t resist her plea. “Very well, then, cagaran. Just for a wee while.”
She grinned and scampered down the stairs at a frightful pace-she was utterly fearless, his daughter, and he wondered if it was a trait which would ever be tempered. If she remained like her mum, odds were it wouldn’t be.
Lucy had unbolted the door, but waited until he reached the ground before opening it and rushing out. She was racing towards the shore before he’d taken more than a step outside; he kept an eye on her as he pulled the door to behind him. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe, he slowly followed her, watching as she raced along the shorebreak, pointing and exclaiming as the pod of whales slowly arced just off shore.
They’d only just made being able to see the creatures; by the time he reached where Lucy had stopped, the whales had disappeared, continuing on their mysterious way.
“Did ye see them, Da?”
“Aye.”
“Where were they goin, d’you think?”
“Perhaps on holiday, too.”
Lucy gave him a pitying look. “They dinnae go on holiday, Da.”
“Then perhaps they’re just passing through, cagaran.” The wind whipped around him, and he felt a brief chill pass down his spine. “Let’s go in, shall we? Maybe make your mum some breakfast?”
“Can we have bacon?” Lucy practically bounced at the idea.
“Aye, we can have bacon. We’ll even cook it the way Mum likes.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose at the idea-his daughter had picked up his knack for liking the bacon barely cooked -but she took his hand, and eagerly joined him as he walked back towards the cottage.
Rose remained above stairs as the two of them made breakfast-not unusual, really, given that she loved to have a lie-in, but something about it niggled at the back of his mind. She’d been looking tired of late-more tired than usual, that was-and he’d noticed as well that she seemed…distant. She wasn’t shutting him out; she just seemed more thoughtful. He’d chalked it up to her finally changing jobs-to a touch of melancholy, perhaps, at the fieldwork part of her life now being in the past. He’d felt it, certainly, when he’d been promoted; he missed being one of the first officers on a scene, being the first set of professional eyes to look over what had been left behind, seeking out clues or hints that could lead to a successful resolution to things. He missed the physicality of it, as well-of being out in the air, be it cold and crisp or hot and humid; of running after a suspect (he’d never expected to miss the running part ); of the feel of the stones of London’s pavement under his feet. He got to work better cases as a DCI, it was true-but he also had to spend infinitely more time behind his desk, wrestling the seemingly-never-ending piles of paperwork down to a reasonable amount every day.
He also felt, quite heavily, the responsibility for his staff. He had six detectives working under him at the moment-bright and smart men and women, each of them as eager to find wrongdoers and punish them as he was. But in their eagerness to succeed, they’d each-more than once-done something stupid, and it was his job to see that they never did it again, and that they didn’t bring themselves or others to harm. How much harder must it be for Rose, then, to know that she had literally hundreds of people under her protection, now; to know that instead of the small group she trusted completely, she had to oversee and protect staff she’d barely even met? Pete, and much of Torchwood’s upper staff, had done all they could to help Rose train and prepare for her promotion, but Rose would want to get everything right at the outset. If one person under her charge came to harm-be it in the field, or in the lab-she’d feel it acutely and blame herself, regardless of her culpability.
He sighed, returning his attention to the eggs currently cooking on the stove. Lucy was awkwardly but gamely working to stir them-she still preferred her eggs scrambled, and so that was what Rose would get for her breakfast-and he decided he may as well set to putting together the breakfast tray.
When things were almost ready, he turned off all of the burners, made sure Lucy was well away from the stove, and then hurried upstairs to wake Rose up. Lucy had only stumbled into their room a few times when they weren’t dressed over the years, most often in the middle of the night, after a bad dream; he wanted to give Rose the chance to pull on a robe before he brought both their daughter, and Rose’s breakfast, above stairs.
Rose was sprawled across the bed, sleeping on her stomach, when he pushed the door open. As he always did, he paused for a moment, simply looking at her, marvelling at his luck ; then he moved over to her, resting a knee on the bed as he leaned down to place a kiss against her cheek. “Time to wake up, love,” he whispered, pulling back to look at her.
Rose sighed, shifting in her sleep; he reached forward, stroking her cheek. “C’mon, mo gradh.”
Rose’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced up at him, her eyes unfocused and confused, then her gaze sharpened. “Peter,” she said, her voice gravelly.
He smiled softly, hiding his concern. “Aye, 'tis me. Lucy’s made ye breakfast.”
Rose rolled over, stretching, unconsciously teasing him as the duvet rested just across her stomach. She relaxed, then smiled slowly as she saw him openly gazing at her. “Has she, then?”
“Sadly, yes,” he replied, drawing his eyes back to her face. Rose was grinning outright, and he waggled a finger at her. “Temptress. Seductress. Our wee bairn has taken the effort to cook for ye, and is at this moment no doubt at the foot of the stairs waiting to bring you her efforts; I’ll not be seduced by your early-morning charms, and break Lucy’s heart.”
Rose laughed. “She’s hardly ‘wee,’ Peter.” She pushed herself upright, then glanced around for her robe. “But I take the point about now not being the best time for a bit of lovemaking.”
Peter stood, finding her robe at the foot of the bed and handing it up to her. “More’s the pity,” he sighed, turning to walk back to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
When he returned upstairs, Lucy following him with the tray, he found Rose had pulled on her robe, and snuggled back under the duvet, her eyes closed. He saw her lips quirk as she heard them come into the room, and he stood back, watching, as Lucy carefully walked over to the bed, whispering loudly, “Mum!”
Rose opened her eyes; smiling, she expressed delighted surprise at finding her daughter standing in front of her with breakfast. Rose and Lucy settled into bed together, the breakfast tray on Rose’s lap, Lucy eagerly telling her mum of her morning, and cooking; and Peter felt a sense of peace wash through him as he watched his family, in his family’s cottage.
~ - ~
Chapter 19
End Note: You, er, might have noticed that the chapter number got revised *down* with this particular chapter. I’d always meant to go back and write a chapter focusing on their Christmas and Twelfth Night together, this particular year - but I’m afraid life simply got away from me (and goodness, has time flown as I've posted this story!). I still plan to write it - but I’m afraid it won’t go up until after Chapter 28 (aka, the Epilogue) goes up. Mea culpa!