An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 25
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 25 (It'll be done when it's done)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
Rating: PG & P/DA- Plot Galore and Peter/Donna Anger
Word Count: 4,224
Summary: Donna and Peter have to deal with the emotional aftermath of their actions.Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 20.2
Tuesday, 12 June 2012 8:25 AM
“Now that’s somethin’ you don’t see every day,” said Alice Newcomb in surprise looking up from her desk at reception and across to the lift. “It’s usually the DI dragging in the suspect, not the other way about.”
Lab Tech Hamish Chapman glanced up at her from the pile of forms he’d been coerced into delivering and asked, “What’s that, then?”
“Detective Inspector Carlisle and that woman there,” she replied, one eyebrow raised in disbelief as Donna all but marched towards the interrogation rooms, Peter trailing behind her with a scowl. “Oh, my,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I’d better warn DS Keating there seems to be trouble brewing and, by the looks of it, it’s heading directly his way.”
Hamish followed her gaze and his mouth dropped open as his eyes grew wide. “It’s her,” he breathed, following Donna’s progress as she jerked open the first door she came to and plunged in headlong with Peter less than a half-step behind her. Heads popped out of multiple offices in response to the reverberating impact of the door in the doorframe and Hamish and Alice both stood gobsmacked, not quite believing what they had just witnessed.
“What the bloody hell was that?” came an exasperated voice from down the hallway. “Are we under terrorist attack?”
“No, we’re not,” Hamish answered with what was, in Alice’s opinion, an astonishing amount of exuberance. “We’re not, but DI Carlisle is.”
**********
"OK, Sherlock, you've got me here. Now what?" Donna cried, only just remembering to set her tea down on the table as she tossed her bag on the chair. "You gonna charge me for interferin' with a police officer? Or is it assistin' an offender? No, no, no- I know!" she announced grandly, flinging her hair back over her shoulder in disdain. "You're gonna haul me before the judge for obstruction and then clap me in irons for contempt!" Her face was stormy but her eyes were full of fire as she folded her arms across her chest and awaited his response.
"Donna, stop it. Stop it right now," Peter said in a low, barely-controlled growl as he pushed the forgotten coffee holder onto the table and rounded on her. "I am no havin' this row with ye, here, now, in police headquarters!"
"Oh, no, you don't get to take a pass on this, DI," she said, matching his tone and meeting him head on. One hand on her hip, she waved the other back and forth between them. "You started it, but I'm finishin' it up, right here, right now!" She planted her feet firmly before him, her chin tilted up defiantly and through his righteous indignation, Peter’s traitorous brain thought she’d never looked so magnificent.
"I started it? ME?” he found himself retorting, his voice rising in both volume and pitch, matching the progress of his eyebrows. He leaned over to stare her in the eyes, his hand on his hip now as he unconsciously mirrored her attack position. “Who was it went chargin' into an unknown situation without the benefit of any sort of backup? Who was it that just couldnae follow directions for five bloody minutes and wait?” he roared, wheeling back and away from her. “Ye could have been hurt! Donna, he could have... "
"No backup?” she countered angrily. She pursued Peter across the room, stabbing an accusatory index finger roughly into his chest, incredulous and indignant at his indictment of her actions. “What the bloody hell were you, then? And you!” she crowed, standing up on tiptoe to meet his furious glower. “Weren’t you the one who told me you didn't think he was the murderer!"
"Not so ye could go stumbling' into harms' way for a lark!” he shouted, throwing up his arms as he spun in place, looking to the heavens for vindication. He ran both of his hands abruptly through his hair, desperate to make her realize the recklessness of her behavior. “Woman, did it never occur to ye that I might have been wrong and and that Bence, in fact, could have been guilty?"
“Yes, of course I did, but, unlike you, I didn't assume my best friend and lover is a flippin' moron!” she parried, gesturing wildly as something inside her threatened to break. “I know you. I know you,” Donna repeated, infuriated at the tears that were about to betray her. “You're competent, and intelligent, and... and brave," she hiccuped as her emotions conspired to overwhelm her, "and resourceful, and... and, and bloody brilliant!" She closed her eyes momentarily to block out his confused expression and inhaled deeply, concentrating on the sensation of air filling her chest. “But now I see what you think of me,” she whispered, mortified at the single drop that spilled down her cheek. She wiped it away roughly and turned on him, all blazing outrage and injured pride. “Well, I'm no Hobby Bobby and I can take care of myself!”
"What? That’s what you think I...?” he said, stopping mid-sentence as her words hit home. “That’s what you think this is about? No!" Peter declared, reaching out to her, but Donna was having none of it.
"Oi! Hands!" she spat, slapping at his outstretched arms as she hopped back just out of reach.
He watched as her mask fell back into place, the mask of attitude and indifference he hadn’t seen since the first time he’d tried to understand her at that little cafe and at its reappearance, Peter tried and failed to reign in his temper. "Donna Noble," he snarled, "that is no true and entirely beside the point!
"No, Detective Inspector," she hissed, withdrawing yet another step away from him, "That is exactly the point!"
Peter inhaled slowly through his nose and out through his mouth, as he attempted to regain control of himself and the situation. “Donna, I was only tryin’ to keep yer name out of this business, aye? But you? You had to barge in and engage the suspect in conversation,” he said and she was too distraught this time to catch the tiny spark of wonder in his voice. “And now? We’re here, havin’ a go at each other in my offices.”
Donna crossed her arms and cocked her hip, staring him down and refusing to be chastised. “And that’s entirely your fault, DI. You were derelict in your duties when you hauled me in here," she accused, much to Peter's puzzlement. "You never got around to cautionin’ me as to my rights, especially the one about not havin’ to say anythin’,” she quipped flippantly, sweeping her hair back with a slight tremor in her hand.
“Donna, ...,” he said quietly as he tried again to reassert sanity into the situation. He was careful to keep his distance, trying to draw her back to him with words instead of the gestures she’d already rejected.
“So, is this gonna be a formal interrogation, Sherlock?” she asked tightly, and she had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from breaking as she deliberately refused to meet his gaze.
Flinching slightly, wishing for the first time that he’d never shared his reading habits with her, Peter sighed heavily. “No, Donna, nothin' of the sort. We’re just here to take yer statement,” he said, drawing a weary hand across his eyes. She saw what this conflict was costing him and she bit her lip for a moment before his words finally sank in and she frowned.
“Statement, huh? Well, it may not be an interrogation from your end, but I think it’s high time I instigated one of my own,” Donna declared, catching her second wind. “What have you found out about me, Sherlock? What are you hidin’?” she demanded, advancing on him once more. “ ‘Cos I think it’s high time for someone here to be makin' a confession,” she huffed, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
Hearing her gear up for round two, Peter sighed and retreated into the familiarity of impersonal interrogation techniques. “Ms. Noble, as this line of questionin' has no bearin' on the case at hand, I’d suggest we pursue this topic of inquiry at a later date.” He slumped forward slightly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he regarded her, his eyes tense, weary and wary.
"No, I suggest you tell me what I want to know!" she cried in exasperation. She felt the tidal wave of uncertainty and insecurity tumble up and wash over her and the emotional weight of it threatened to drag her under. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and weep in frustration but her self-doubt and injured pride prevented her from doing so. She turned away from him and wrapped her arms around herself again and wished with all her heart she could be anywhere but here and now.
Peter saw her begin to waver and he tried to reach out to her again. "Donna, this is no the time or the place,” he said quietly, “but I promise..."
She whirled back to him before he could even finish his though, "No? Really, Peter?” she said incredulously. “If not here and now, then where and when?" By the time Peter recognized the pleading, desperate note in her voice, it was too late; their timing was off. Even as he realized her resolve was crumbling and he surged forward to meet her, her face hardened and she shored up her defenses and readied herself for the next assault.
“Donna, we'll take this up again tonight,” he promised as he reached for her hand. “We’ll talk tonight, just the two of us, after we both have time...”
“Who says I want to talk to you tonight, Peter?” she snapped angrily as she jerked her hand away from him and she realized she was skittering out of control. “What will you have to say then that you can’t tell me now?” she challenged him, even as she tried desperately to stop. It was if she stood outside herself, watching a horrendous train wreck unfold, knowing exactly what destruction was about to occur but being powerless to intervene. She tried to will herself to mirror his calm, to bring herself down from her towering wrath, but again, they missed one another in passing.
Finally losing his patience entirely, Peter reeled away from her, fists clenched at his sides and bellowed, “Donna! Enough!” He turned and closed the distance between them in two long strides and Donna wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill her or kiss her. She looked up into his eyes, dark with rage and despair and wondered if she looked as terrible as he did. He leaned down and hissed, “This discussion is over, for now, full-stop!”
“Keep tellin' yourself that, P.C. Plod,” she replied dangerously, “and that’s not all that’ll be over.” She grabbed her bag from the chair and threw it over her shoulder as she snatched her tea off the table. “You’re such an excellent detective, Sherlock: what're your instincts tellin' you now?” she tossed back as she strode to the door and prepared to wrench it open and make good her escape.
With a sickening sense of déjà vu, Peter watched as another woman he loved was prepared to stalk out of his life, all because, once again, he hadn't trusted her: he hadn't told her the truth. But just before she reached for the door handle, it popped open and Ian stuck his head in, looking from one to the other as Donna staggered back in surprise.
"Uhm, I hate to interrupt," he said in a tone that suggested the exact opposite, "but we've actually prepared a room next door for the interview. Ms. Noble, if you'd be so kind as to accompany me, we can get started." He stood back and held the door open for Donna with a surprisingly composed smile, Peter reflected. Then again, he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of one of Donna’s pastings.
It took Donna all of a second to regain her composure. "Of course, DS Keating," she said sweetly as she adjusted her bag on her shoulder., "But if it's him doin' the interviewin'," she said, jabbing her thumb over she shoulder without a backwards glance, " I'm not talkin'!" Squaring her shoulders, she continued stridently. "I'll talk to you, but I've got nothin' to say to him." Ian's eyes flicked to Peter and he gave a barely perceptible nod, his expression hard and flinty.
Not waiting for Ian’s reply or Peter's permission, Donna marched out angrily and the officers assembled in the hallway scattered like cockroaches at the flip of a light-switch. Donna flushed bright red as Ian scrambled ahead to escort her to the interrogation room he'd reserved for her statement. For being London’s finest, she thought, the faces staring at her curiously from the doorways they passed were less than adept at being inconspicuous. In fact, more than a few were leaning against the wall, openly studying her as she stalked behind Ian and she was so fixated on ignoring them that she almost blew past when he stopped unexpectedly to open the door for her. Following behind at a distance, Peter glimpsed Cave pass a twenty pound note to Alec who didn't even have the good grace to look abashed as Peter stormed by.
**********
Donna stepped into the room and she was struck with the uncharacteristic urge to scarper. There was something different, something subtle that put her teeth on edge: it was almost like she was chewing on aluminum foil. She looked about suspiciously: the room was nearly identical to the one she'd just been in, but there was something off, something wrong here. Bad Feng Shui? she wondered. The accumulated karma of hundreds, if not thousands of suspects who’d been questioned here? Maybe someone had died in custody- could it be haunted? She almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all, but there was something about being in the room that just gave her the willies.
She shook if off as best she could and moved to the seat closest to the door. Glancing around again at her surroundings, Donna took a closer look at the small space, the camera in the corner and the two chairs across the table from her. The room was small, but not so much that she should feel as claustrophobic as she did. She sat down and stared thoughtfully at the mirror on the wall, knowing full-well that there was probably someone, maybe even several someones watching behind it.
She turned to see Peter walk purposefully into the room, deliberately avoiding her gaze and she felt the first pangs of regret that always preceded one of her harangue hangovers. She could see the tension coiled in his usually graceful form and she wondered, given the nature of the abuse she’d hurled at him, if he’d ever even consider forgiving her. She checked the urge leap to her feet, to wrap her arms around him and stammer an apology, but she realized belatedly that Peter had been correct: this wasn’t the appropriate venue for that sort of behaviour and besides, she was terrified that he’d push her away. Looking again at the observation mirror, she took the coward’s route and hid behind bluster, certain that she’d regret it later.
“I distinctly remember tellin’ you I’d only talk to you, DS,” Donna stated flatly, unable to tear her eyes away from his, for fear she’d see something she couldn’t stand in Peter’s expression. “I don’t want to talk to your DI,” she said and wished she hadn’t when she caught sight of his hand twitch towards her in response. “Not just now,” she amended quietly.
Ian nodded as he took the seat directly opposite her and sighed deeply. “No, I agree. That wouldn’t be advisable at this time, given the nature of your personal ... relationship. In this instance, DI Carlisle is here only as an observer,” Ian said with a meaningful look at Peter. Turning back to her, he lied, “Regulations and all,” with an apologetic shrug, but she barely heard him.
There was something terribly wrong here, she knew. Donna felt as if someone were smothering her, holding her back and turning her round and round, all at once. Feeling dizzy and ill, she closed her eyes to try to block out the sensation and regain her equilibrium. When she opened them again, her eyes kept darting to the corner below the camera and her heart faltered before taking on a rapid staccato beat. There was something there, against the wall, something that just didn’t belong there. If she could only get up and walk over, reach out and grab hold, she knew she'd find the reason for her unease: something or someone that was unseen but not unseeing. Donna started to rise from her chair as if in a trance when something flickered in the corner of her eye.
In the observation room, Hamish threw the door wide and skidded to a halt next to Alec. "There you are,” he hissed. "I was searchin' all over for you. How'd you get here so quick, then?" He stood up on his toes in a vain attempt to see the proceedings in the interrogation room clearly from the back row.
"Keating" said Alec, nodding at the man on the other side of the glass by way of explanation. "Called to tell me I should come down and collect on my bet with Cave. Others overheard the conversation- on both ends, I might add- and they came to satisfy their ‘professional’ curiosity." Hamish glanced around the crowded room before looking again to Alec.
"I figured the proceedings might be lively, given what you'd said about the DI's Ginger,” he continued quietly. “I must admit, however, I wasn't expecting a fireworks display."
"Ah," sighed Hamish, with a knowing smile. "What'd I miss?" As Alec began to answer, Donna spoke again.
"This is being recorded, right?" she asked, staring at the camera placed just out of the normal line of sight above. She tried to look in the corner below the camera again but her eyes darted towards the two-way mirror instead.
"Yes, of course," Ian replied, following her gaze.
"So why the standing'-room only audience?" Donna drawled, hooking a thumb towards the observation booth.
"I’m sorry?" Ian said, puzzled. He glanced around and repeated, "Standing room only?"
"That mirror there?" She said, inclining her head towards it with a sardonic smirk. "That mirror has flickered at least four times since we came in. Light from the door as people come in to watch, I reckon." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared right into the glass. "I expect a cut of the take if I'm to be today's entertainment."
Peter flung his chair back and a strange high-pitched squeal filled the air as it shot across the room and clattered against the wall. He payed it no mind as he stalked out but it was too late. His expression alone could have cleared a room and the people in the observation room next door had seen him coming. By the time he reached the hallway, Cave was sauntering slowly down the passage with an especially impressed nod as he met Peter, but he said nothing. Muttering curses, Peter dove past him and jerked the door open violently, only to find it empty, save for Alec. Peter slammed the door behind him and leaned back against it wearily. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck before letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes with a grimace. When he rolled his head around and opened his eyes again, Alec just shrugged.
He watched Peter forlornly watch Donna through the one-way mirror and waited for the right moment to speak. “Rumor is this is the bit of Ginger Spice in your life,” Alec said quietly. When he didn’t respond, Alec gave him a playful leer. “She is a spitfire, isn't she? Hamish said so.” Peter shot him a dirty look and stalked away to the glass but didn’t deny it.
“Never till this day saw I him touch'd with anger so distemper'd,” Alec goaded under his breath, but Peter didn’t so much as look at him. Alec let him stew for a moment, then walked up to the speaker set in the wall. He looked over to Peter and waited until the other man nodded before flipping the switch and Ian’s voice filled the room.
“Ms. Noble, if we could get started?” he said carefully. Ian had sat a long while, looking around the room, all but twiddling his thumbs, but when it became apparent that Peter wasn’t coming back, he decided to take a statement from Donna himself. He picked up a pen and waited patiently for Donna to turn her attention back to him.
As she uncrossed her arms and began fiddling absently with the necklace she wore, Donna’s fury drained from her slowly, leaving her faintly embarrassed and chagrinned. "DS Keating,” she began slowly, “I'm sorry. Truly, I am. You don't deserve my invective. From this point on, I'll save it for someone who does," she promised with a significant glare at the two-way glass.
In the observation room, Peter sighed heavily and Alec moved closer to him. “The course of true love never did run smooth,” Alec quoted with a sympathetic smile.
Peter snorted and replied morosely, “More matter with less art,” never taking his eyes from the occupants of the other room.
“Yeah, she’s angry and so are you,” Alec said bluntly. “But she still loves you. She nearly leapt from her chair when you passed by on the way out and even now, she’s struggling not to look over here.” Peter sniffed and rubbed at his nose, still watching Donna through the glass. She was noticeably calmer now, but Alec was right: she kept shooting furtive glances at the mirror with a worried expression.
In the interrogation room, after receiving terse, distracted answers in reply to his questions, Donna’s actions weren’t lost on Ian, either. He put his pen down, folded his hands on the table and looked Donna directly in the eye. "Ms. Noble, on behalf of myself, my partner and the Metropolitan Police Service, I’d like to thank you,” he said sincerely. Donna blinked in surprise and looked back at him with a tiny, puzzled frown. “Your actions were very brave and not many people would have done what you did, especially given the nature of the crime being investigated,” he continued with a nod. “And the person of interest is cooperating, fully, it seems, as he’s being processed right now. Again, thanks to you.” Donna’s lips quirked and she gave an awkward nod before looking again to the glass anxiously.
“But please, Ms. Noble, be reasonable,” Ian said and Donna’s head jerked back towards him. “Bence was a suspect in the murder of another man; a particularly efficient, vicious and violent crime.” Donna’s mouth dropped open and she prepared to retort but Ian skillfully cut her off. “Donna, any officer- any officer- would have reacted out of concern for your safety, similarly to DI Carlisle, without even knowing you," Ian said with a pointed look. “So, in light of your relationship, perhaps you can forgive him his excesses and we can continue?”
Donna sobered suddenly when she saw his expression. She dropped her necklace and focused on Ian’s face as she reached for her tea. “DS Keating, I had a cup of scaldin’ hot liquid in my hand with the lid already off,” she explained calmly, settling back into her seat. “I was prepared to throw it in his face if he got nasty, if things got out if hand." She paused to sip her now-tepid tea before setting her cup back on the table before her. "I wasn't unarmed and, contrary to what you might have been led to believe, I'm not completely stupid. And,” she said with a intentional look over her shoulder, “I would have told the DI that myself, if he’d only given me half a chance.”
**********
It was late afternoon before Peter returned to his office and the other officers on duty had enough grace or, at the very least, enough of an instinct for self-preservation to pretend they hadn’t seen him. After Donna had completed her statement, she shook Ian’s hand politely and left the building without even asking after DI Carlisle. From his vantage point at the windows at the front of the Met, Peter watched her cross the street without a backward glance, heading in the direction of Cheltenham & Gloucester. After that, he’d joined Ian in questioning Bence about Morgan’s murder, letting his partner take the lead, only asking a few questions for clarification. After that, he’d stayed behind in the observation room, watching and rewatching the recordings of Donna’s statement and Bence’s questioning in order to fill out the requisite reports, declining Ian’s offer of assistance and attempts to bring him something to eat. “I’m no hungry, and as you did most of the talkin‘, I’ll do most of the writin’,” Peter had explained before he buried himself in the work again. He rewound the recording to the spot of static that coincided with his abrupt charge from the room. Ian had watched him a long time before he backed out and closed the door quietly.
Now, after he’d submitted the paperwork to the proper offices, in triplicate, Peter had trudged back to his own desk and sat there pensively sucking on a lolly he’d found after rummaging through a drawer. When he’d finished with his sweet, he dropped the stick in the rubbish bin and pulled a card from his wallet before reaching into his pocket for his mobile. “Mrs. Hooper, this is Peter Carlisle. We met the other day in your shop, and I was wonderin’ if I could have somethin’ delivered today, somethin’ special,” he said hopefully. “Yes, mum, it’s for the same lady, and it's kind of a rush.”
His order placed, Peter sat back and rubbed his face with both hands. Now that he’d calmed down and processed the day’s events, he looked curiously around his office. Everything was exactly as he’d left it, but the atmosphere had changed in some infinitesimal way. He sat back at his desk, his eyes darting about, taking in every detail. He signed heavily and shook his head: maybe he was still on edge after the interviews. He was just about to dismiss his unease and put it down to nerves when he opened the folder on his desk and made a disquieting discovery: all of his photos of Donna together with the enigmatic Doctor Smith were missing.
Shooting to his feet, he spilled the contents of the folder out onto his desk and spread them out, then whirled to look about the floor. The photos hadn’t fallen out accidentally and were nowhere to be seen. He punched the button on his computer screen and checked his digital copies: gone. The entire folder on his hard drive had been deleted, down to the original image files from the Met archives. He jumped up and snatched his office door open only to be brought up short by the surprised faces of Detectives Cave and Dexter sitting at their desks.
“Cave, Dexter,” Peter said, struggling to appear calm,” have either of you seen anyone near my office today?”
Dexter gaped for a moment like a fish out of water before replying. “No, DI, I haven’t. And I haven’t left my desk since late morning,” he said significantly, staring at DS Cave. “I had reports to fill out.” Peter nodded, chewing his thumb thoughtfully.
“And you, Cave?” Peter asked, “Did you see no one?”
“No, DI. And at least one of us has been here all day.” When Peter simply nodded distractedly, Cave asked, “Is there anything wrong, sir?”
“Wrong? No, no, it’s nothin, nothin’ a’tall,” Peter replied, coming back to himself and looking about the room. “And Detectives? Thank you,” Peter said sincerely before returning to his office and closing the door. DS Cave and Detective Dexter shared a curious look before shrugging and returning to their paperwork.
Peter sat back and thoughtfully chewed his pen. What did this tell him? Who could just waltz into the Met, up to his offices, rifle thorough his papers and take what they wanted and then leave, unseen? Who had the kind of access that would allow them to rummage through his computer files? These and a thousand other questions swarmed about in his brain as in his trousers pocket, his hand closed around his thumbdrive, complete with the encrypted backup copies he habitually kept of any important files he might need for his current cases.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 20.2