An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 4
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 4 (4 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.
Rating: All for now, but later.... (Still just establishing relationships, but getting closer....)
Word Count: 5,065
Summary: While investigating a murder, Peter meets a woman whose life is an even bigger mystery.
Disclaimer: Donna and Peter both belong to others, except in my own twisted version of what should be. My Great and Glorious plan is to post at least once a week, and always on Friday. I finished up this chapter unexpectedly early, hence this double-post weekend.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Part 4: Friday, 20 April, 2012, 1:40 PM
“It's just a coffee, just coffee, just coffee, that’s it, nothing more than coffee,” Donna Noble chanted under her breath as she stood in front of her closet, chewing her thumb. She was meeting DI Carlisle for coffee in twenty minutes, but she had no illusions as to why. She was a potential witness in a murder case he was investigating, and that was it. She'd seen enough procedurals on the telly to know it was common practice to interview witnesses several times in the hope that, given time, some crucial detail would be revealed and the entire case would fall into place and solve itself. As an added bonus, Donna reflected, the DI seemed to be one of those men for whom flirting was both a means of communication and an integral part of his charisma. He’d certainly succeeded in charming her at the George the previous evening, more than she wanted to admit, and she thought she might have actually dreamed about him last night. The fact that she could rarely remember her dreams anymore with any sort of clarity was dead frustrating and just another thing she put down to her ‘accident’.
She looked over her shoulder at where the detritus of half a dozen outfits that had been tried and found wanting was thrown carelessly across her bed and her uncertainty grew with every discarded garment added to the pile. She remembered a quote she’d read somewhere recently in a magazine: Style is a simple way of saying complicated things. The problem was, Donna had no idea what she wanted her clothes to say. She had long ago given up on the idea of dressing to impress and now she dressed for her own comfort and convenience. She still had an eye for color and knew how to put together an attractive business look, but it had been forever since she needed a casual outfit. When she went to the George, she usually wore whatever she’d worn to work that day, or sometimes just jeans, a plain black jumper and simple flats or trainers.
Taking a deep breath, Donna considered her options. If she were to show up to a routine second interview too dressed up, he would think that she thought it was a date. On the other hand, if she wasn't dressed up enough, he might think she was frumpy, or if he was interested in her, he'd think she wasn’t interested in him. And the sudden realization that she was actually worried about this brought her up short, because she most certainly was not interested in him. She was NOT. Nope. In no way was she personally interested in or attracted to Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. Was she?
She sighed and, hands on hips, made a decision- she was not going to try and be someone other than who she was. She’d tried that in the past and it had only brought her pain and disappointment. Either the Inspector would like her for who she was or this- whatever it was, and she wasn't saying it was anything, thank you very much- would be over before it began. She snatched her best-fitting pair of jeans from the closet and a simple purple jumper and slammed the closet doors shut in exasperation. She was over-thinking this and no good could come of that.
Donna grabbed her purse and checked her hair one more time as she left her flat, glancing down at her phone to check the time. She mentally calculated how long it would take her to walk to Maison Blanc, the little cafe she and the DI had agreed upon last night. It would take ten minutes, if she window shopped a bit on the way, five if she did what she really wanted to do and walked straight there. She checked the impulse to run, forced herself to slow down- while she didn’t want to be late, she damn well wouldn’t be early, either. She wasn’t a randy teenager and it wouldn’t do to go about acting like one. The slower she walked to the cafe, though, the faster her heart raced and she was dismayed to find that her hand was trembling when she reached for the door handle.
Peter had been sitting at the table for almost half an hour when Donna stepped into the cafe, right on time. He was here for the obligatory second interview, the one made to give a witness time to process what they might have seen in a new light; time to sleep on it, so to speak. That's what he'd been telling himself all morning, anyway. He wasn't here for any personal reasons- at all. He'd learned his lesson in Blackpool and had no intention of needing remediation, of getting involved with someone from a case, no matter how intriguing she was or how much he'd found himself thinking of her ginger hair and how lovely it would look spread across his pillow. No, this was just business, he chided himself firmly, until he looked up and saw her.
Donna paused just inside the doorway and searched the room, glancing about, bottom lip between her teeth. He was absurdly relieved to note that she seemed a bit anxious until she found him at the small table near the windows and her face lit up before relaxing into a smile. Peter grinned in response momentarily before he remembered this was an official appointment and dialed his expression back to a polite smile. He nodded a greeting to her from across the room, standing as she approached the table. He was suddenly unsure of what to do next: should he just sit back down when she came to the table, hold the chair for her or shake her hand? He was saved the trouble of making a decision when she stopped abruptly, looking at the large platter of pastries he’d ordered on the table between them.
“So, Detective Inspector, did you skip breakfast or do you always plan on entering a sugar coma midday?” Donna asked as she sat down, obviously amused.
Reclaiming his seat, Peter smiled back, suddenly a bit bashful, and replied, “ I didn’t know what you’d like, so I took the liberty of ordering an assortment."
Donna ducked her head and looked at the table again, then rolled her eyes and laughed. “An assortment. Is that what they’re calling it now, when you order two of everything on the menu?” Just as Peter started to retort, the waitress walked over.
“Well, nice to see you,” she said to Donna. “We missed you this morning. Not working today, then?”
Donna turned to answer and without thinking, reached across the table and lightly touched Peter’s arm. It was the unconscious gesture of a friend asking a friend to wait, to be patient for just a moment, and Peter forced himself not to react. Maybe she was one of those touchy-feeley people for whom this was just what they did, but that didn't tally with the profile he'd been building of the woman across the table out of habit. Another clue, then, he thought, to file away for future perusal.
“Alice! It’s nice to see you,” Donna replied. “No, not working today. I’m just enjoying a day off.”
“I can see that,” Alice retorted, eyebrow raised and regarding Peter openly. She glanced down to Donna’s hand resting on Peter’s arm and fought to hide a smile. “What can I get you today, Donna? Coffee or tea?”
Following Alice’s gaze, Donna quickly pulled her hand back and said quietly, “Tea, please.”
The consummate professional, Alice pretended not to notice. “Your usual, then?”
“Yes, that’d be lovely, thanks,” Donna replied. She smiled and nodded to Alice as she left the table, but inside, Donna was wondering, What was I thinking? What must he think? In a desperate attempt to regain control of the situation, Donna cast about for a safe topic of conversation. “So,” she began awkwardly, “anything new to report, DI?”
Peter looked briefly at the spot her hand had occupied before turning his full attention back to Donna. He'd noticed the faint color in her cheeks as she answered Alice and decided to pretend she hadn’t touched him- but she had, and he wondered what that might mean. "As we speak, the forensics team is analyzing blood we found, right where you indicated,” he replied, reaching for a pastry. “Not only that, we were able to lift several clear fingerprints left in the blood. Someone got very careless- we're hoping the blood is our victim's and the fingerprints would then naturally be those of the perpetrator. We’re confident this will save us numerous tedious hours of legwork in addition to giving us a solid lead and a way to tie someone to the scene of the crime, thanks to you and your observations.” He tore off part of the Pain au Chocolat he’d claimed for himself and popped it into his mouth. As he reached for his coffee, he noticed a smudge of chocolate left on his hand and without thinking, he briefly stuck the pad of his thumb in his mouth and licked it clean.
Donna watched, fascinated, before she realized she was gawking at him openmouthed. Luckily, his attention was on his pastry and he hadn’t noticed. Donna’s blush deepened and she looked away nervously, “It was nothin’. It was just me bein’ in the wrong place at the right time,” she murmured, twisting her napkin back and forth. "I just live up the street, after all." She glanced up at him and was surprised when she couldn’t catch her breath properly. Oh, God, what am I doing here? What was I thinking? Donna thought desperately. I’ve just walked in and already made a fool of myself. How quickly can I get out of here? When her discomfort was in danger of becoming more than she could bear, she blurted out, "Is that it, then? Did you need anything else from me, Detective Inspector, or am I free to go?"
Peter noticed her ragged breathing and was afraid she’d hyperventilate and pass out if she continued. He wasn’t exactly sure of the source of her discomfort, but he was determined to put her at ease. “If you've nothing to add to your observations, that's everything of a professional nature, Ms. Noble. I don't imagine we'll need your testimony in court or for you to identify anyone in a line-up. DNA is DNA and it was found in the vicinity of the crime. Hopefully we'll be able to close the book on this one soon." He paused for a moment and looked back at the sweets on the table between them. "But it seems a shame to let all this go to waste,” he said, indicating the tray with a nod of his head. "Will you not stay and finish your tea with me?" As if on cue, Alice delivered Donna's order with a knowing smile and quickly made herself scarce.
Donna clutched her cup, fidgeting with the lid and looking around the restaurant desperately, anywhere and at anything, except him. Peter thought back to her initial reaction to his presence and weighing it against her present state, decided to change tack. He fell back on his years of experience interrogating reluctant witnesses and decided to give her a topic most people could warm to. “Tell me about yourself, Donna,” he said quietly, crossing his arms on the table, waiting for her to relax with a patient smile. When she didn't respond, he looked at her appraisingly, considered the pastry display in front of him, then pointed at the almond croissant. She frowned at him, puzzled, until his smile became a smirk and he pushed a small plate across the table bearing the pastry he'd selected for her.
Donna relented and accepted his offering with a bemused expression. “Oh, there’s not much to tell....I’m sure you heard everything of interest last night from Lewis,” she answered wanly. She felt the beginnings of that odd prickling feeling in her nose and she knew her eyes were moments away from welling up but she had no earthly idea why. Lord, he's gonna think I'm a guilty suspect if this keeps up, she thought and the idea amused her enough that she was able to smile at him.
Donna bowed her head for a moment again before looking back up to finally meet his steady gaze. Every time she moved her head, the sunlight brightened her ginger curls and he wondered why he'd never really taken notice of redheads before. Blondes usually caught his attention first, but he was surprised to find himself reassessing his preference. Even more surprising, however, was Donna’s obvious reluctance to talk about herself. Most people, given even half a chance, would haver on and on about themselves until they either lost consciousness or their audience. Donna was obviously not most people, Peter realized, when she didn’t fill the growing silence between them. Instead, she pretended to be interested in the almond croissant, tearing it into progressively smaller pieces.
“No, Donna, Lewis did tell me some things about you, true, but he was careful and respectful of your privacy," he told her in a calm and steady voice. "Don’t be too hard on him. After all, the badge carries a bit of weight, and I was asking questions. Mostly about you, since I’d seen you at the scene of the crime.” When Donna ‘s eyes snapped back to his at this revelation, he clarified in the same placid manner. “And you looked like you had something to say." Peter paused and considered his next words very carefully before continuing. "But I find myself in the curious position of wanting to know all the things Lewis doesn’t know."
"What?" Donna blurted out, unsure of how to continue. Her thoughts raced- He can't be serious, can he? Men don't say things like that to me, especially drop-dead gorgeous ones- and where did THAT come from? I must be thick to think that. He can’t think I had something to do with all this?!? -but all she could manage was an indignant and less-than-eloquent, "Oi! What's with all these insinuations, Sherlock! Am I under suspicion or somethin’?" She glared at him, all blazing indignation as she pushed her plate back across the table, but in the depths of her eyes, Peter saw a tiny flare of pain and confusion.
His answering smile was gentle and amused, and he cocked his head to the side, pulling at his ear as he responded. "No, of course not, I’m just intrigued. I only have half the story, if that much. And Miss Noble," he added quietly, “if I didn’t make it clear earlier, the formal portion of our interview is concluded. I was just curious about your reaction to me that night on the street. Because that’s what made you stop suddenly, wasn’t it? Seeing me?”
Chastened, Donna hesitated, then blurted out, “I’m sorry, Detective Inspector. My outburst was uncalled for. But that’s me all over, isn’t it?” Peter could sense the despair rolling off her in waves and he was surprised to feel his heart lurch in sympathy deep in his chest.
“Donna, my name is Peter,” he stated simply and she rewarded him with stunned silence and a look of frank wonder.
When she remembered how to talk, Donna stammered quietly, “I...I..there's really not much more to tell than you already know....Peter. I was married once-he was sweet, but it just didn't work out- and engaged once before that. He...died in an accident.” At Peter’s questioning look, Donna clarified, “Anaphylactic shock from a spider bite and he couldn’t get treatment in time, I was told.” She looked wistfully at him, then continued. “No siblings, no real past....," she trailed off before she could add no real future.
Another odd phrase, Peter reflected before deciding to pursue it this time. “What did you mean, you were told? Did he die out of country or something? You weren’t there?” Donna hesitated a moment and Peter was afraid his questions had been awkward and she’d pull back again.
Donna slowly exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Sorry, Detec...Peter,” she corrected. “I’m missing nearly two years of my life. I’m suffering from what the medical profession labels Focal Retrograde Amnesia, which is a fancy way of sayin' I can't remember big chunks of what happened between my first engagement and about three years back. Ya know that whole ‘Planets in the Sky’ episode?” she queried, pointing at him. He nodded in fascination and she continued.
“I missed the whole thing. I woke up on my bed, fully clothed, and my mobile was ringing and that was it. When I went downstairs, I found a strange man talking to my family, John Smith, and I didn’t pay him any mind at the time. You see, I didn’t realize then how much time I’d lost,” she paused, lost momentarily in thought. She roused herself and continued, “And it wasn’t until much later that I thought about him again. I heard my grandfather talkin' to my mother about him later on and he called him the doctor, so I put two and two together and figured he might know what happened to me. When I was walkin' home the other night and saw you, well....I thought you might be Dr. Smith and you might know somethin' of what happened to me. I was going to walk over and talk to you, until I heard your voice, that is. With that accent, I realized straight away you couldn’t be him...” she shrugged and smiled apologetically.
When Peter kept looking at her expectantly, Donna relented and continued. “The psychiatrists say it’s a reaction to the shock of losing my fiancee the way I did, but so many things just don’t fit. My friends told me I’d just disappeared and no one saw hide nor hair of me for months and months. And my family’s been even less help- whenever I try to find out some information, start asking questions, or, heaven help me, try and find Dr. Smith, they just go barmy on me.” She stared off and there it was again, that wistful, sad air that had caught his attention that night on the street.
“What do you remember, Donna? Maybe that will give us a clue as to where to start?” Peter offered, considering her words.
Lost in her own thoughts, Donna missed the implication of his query. “Last thing I remember- without interruption or bits and pieces missing- is my dad, walking me down the aisle and I'm eternally grateful for that. He died about six months later,” she offered by way of explanation before continuing. “Mum and Gramps say the wedding was interrupted by that crazy star thing in the sky...”
“You mean at Christmas? You were getting married on Christmas Eve?” Peter asked, confused by the timeline of events he was trying to build.
“I can’t bear Christmas,” she explained. “All those expectations for happy family dinners that end in arguments and perfect gifts that never materialize, I just decided to give myself a happy memory at Christmas.” She snorted in derision. “See how that turned out! Well, they tell me that Lance died in the aftermath of the Christmas Star Attack, unable to get to help in time, so I never married there. I don’t remember any of it.”
“When I did realize what I’d lost,” she continued, “I’m not helpless, ya know. I found records, proof that I’d temped here and there for a year after, and then I took a job- a proper job- with Adipose Industries. Apparently, I didn’t like it because I only lasted three days before I quit... And then nothing, for almost a year. Next thing I know, I'm waking up, my friends are calling about planets in the sky...” She spread her hands wide in surrender, shrugging her shoulders.
“And your family or friends couldn’t offer any clues about what you’d been up to?” Peter prodded. The more she talked, the more he wanted to help her find peace with her past. He was intrigued and charmed and genuinely curious about the mystery surrounding the ginger woman across the table from him.
“Everyone said I was travelin', but I never mentioned being with anyone,” Donna replied before coloring slightly. “My guess is I was in a rebound relationship that I didn’t want anyone to know about,” she admitted slowly, “but apparently, whoever it was won’t even answer the phone.”
“Why do you think that?” Peter asked, watching her closely for clues.
“I found a number in my mobile when I upgraded it. I was in a hurry so they just 'ported my whole phonebook over from the old to the new because I’d planned to clean it out after. Anyway, there was a number in there with no name attached and I didn't recognize it. I tried looking it up on the Internet, but it was a mobile number- and I couldn’t find any reference to it anywhere. So one night,” she paused and smiled sadly at him, ”I called. And someone picked up but didn't speak. I could hear them breathing, just sitting there listening while I pleaded with them to speak to me, to tell me something- anything - but they just listened to me, begging and cursing and crying a long while before they rang off. I tried calling back but ... it's blocked. Whoever it is won't even take my calls. It must have been a rebound relationship, and maybe I was mad at the time, and I scared them. I dunno, but what could I have done that's so terrible they won't even speak to me?” Donna finished desperately, looking to Peter for any reaction.
At the sudden flood of information, all Peter could do was stare at her. He had begun to worry that his reaction was inappropriate, that he’d frighten her, so he was thankful for the intrusion when Alice arrived back at their table. “Can I get you two something else?” she asked, pulling their ticket from her apron and waiting expectantly.
Donna spoke first, glad for the distraction and she leapt at her chance for escape from the uncomfortable position in which she’d put herself and the lovely man who shared the table with her. “No thank you, it’s time I was going anyway,” Donna forced out, just a touch too brightly. Alice noticed Donna’s pained expression and the look on Peter’s face and she laid the bill down on the table near Peter before she quietly retreated. Donna reached across the table to retrieve the bill and started digging in her bag for her wallet.
Peter laid a restraining hand on her arm and it was Donna’s turn to look down at his hand in wonder. “Stay,” he requested, looking at her earnestly. She shuddered once and was suddenly desperate to leave. “I can’t,” she whispered, “I just can’t.”
He reached across the table with his free hand and took the bill from Donna’s trembling grasp. He laid it down on the table and captured her now-free hand in his own. “Donna, why? What is it about me that makes you so sad? I get that I must resemble this Dr. Smith you saw once, but why does that make you sad?” he pressed, holding her hand tightly so she couldn’t bolt from the table.
Donna’s voice broke and Peter saw the hint of tears forming in her eyes. “Peter, I find myself searching crowds for a face I can't remember. I jump when I hear a lorry screeching to a stop. I'm looking for someone and I don't know who. And that night, when I saw you across the street .... Well, for a moment, I thought... But then I heard you speak and the feeling was gone.” Peter was distressed to see the first tear spill from her eye and scorch a trail down her cheek. “And I’m sad, DI Carlisle, because I know. I don't know how I know, but I know. I'm looking for someone, I’m searching every face I pass in the street. I'm looking for someone,” she sobbed brokenly, openly crying then, “and they're not looking for me.”
Mortified at her public breakdown, Donna hauled her mask into place, the one she used whenever something touched her too deeply, whenever what she felt threatened to overwhelm her and expose her vulnerabilities for all the world to see. She used her free hand to angrily wipe at her face, and started to pull her other hand free of his, to push away from the table and get ready to flee. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she hesitated momentarily and looked at Peter. “This isn't your burden to bear. I'll just be going.”
“Donna..,” he began, still holding her hand but Donna had no intention of letting him finish. It would be too much for her, she knew for certain.
“It’s alright, DI Carlisle. I'll be alright,” she forced a brittle grin in place for his benefit as she rose from the table. “”I'm always alright....”
“Donna..,” he repeated, voice a bit louder, forceful now.
This was going to call for sterner stuff, she realized, steeling herself for his reaction. She stood and jerked her hand from his with a little more force than necessary and spat out at him, “Peter, why are you here?” and immediately, she regretted it. The flicker of pain that flashed and was gone from his face tore her heart in two and her resolve collapsed. “I'm damaged goods. I don't know what happened to two years of my life and I can't seem to move on from it,” she explained. “You're lovely, really you are, and I thought maybe I... but I'm no good for anything in my current state. I’m so sorry, but I’m wasting your time.” She reached for her bag, knowing that she had to leave now before she changed her mind or he recovered enough to retort.
But Peter was wasn’t finished. He stood and grabbed her hand again to stop her flight. “Donna, wait. Please,” he begged, acutely aware of the eyes of everyone in the restaurant on them both now. He gave her a look that should have been pleading but instead was vulnerable and Donna’s heart splintered further. He sighed, afraid to go on and was grateful when Donna resumed her seat. He sat heavily, leaning across the table, afraid to release her hand for fear she’d try to run again. “You're not wastin' anything of mine, here. And I was actually hoping we could continue this line of inquiry, in an entirely unofficial capacity?" he finished hopefully, and waited for her response. When she didn’t continue, he plunged on ahead.
“You think I'm somehow better off that you are? I...” he hesitated, too afraid to share his past. He glanced around the room to buy himself a moment to gather his wits. Everyone had politely averted their eyes, embarrassed by what they must suppose was a lover’s quarrel, he realized. For some reason, this gave him the courage he needed and he plunged in. “Donna, I'm not perfect and I don't care if you're not, either.” He felt a lopsided grin spread across his face and he hinted, “Besides, I’m a detective, you know... maybe I can help.“ He waggled his eyebrows at her and grinned even wider.
“Huh?” she said, stunned.
Peter knew he’d won when she couldn’t manage a coherent reply and he all but lilted, “I could look into it for you.”
“Why?” she asked, cocking her head to the side and looking down at their entwined hands in the middle of the table. She glanced up and blushed furiously when she caught Alice grinning openly at her from behind the counter, poking at the cashier and nodding at some shared secret. She tried to ignore them and returned her eyes to Peter and momentarily forgot how to breathe. He was looking at her with frank and open fascination and Donna felt as though she were the only person in his universe.
“It's an unsolved mystery and you're unhappy,” he admitted. “Two conditions I don’t like in the least.” At her stunned silence, he continued. “Let me help, Donna. There's a way about you, the way you move, the way you talk. You're....captivating.”
And at that, the spell he’d woven around her broke. She snorted and regarded him from beneath arched brows. “And how much have you had, DI Carlisle before comin' here this afternoon? It’s a bit early to have been tipplin’, don’t cha think?” She smirked at him, and then realized she may have hurt his feelings when she felt him stiffen and he glanced down at their linked hands again.
“Peter, I'm sorry,‘ she hastened to explain. “I'm just not used to having anyone actually want to be around me. Everyone tiptoes about and it's made me even crazier than usual. I've grown accustomed to taking care of myself, of being on my own, is all. And I don't know how to react when people are nice to me anymore, especially people I like,” she finished quietly, glancing up through her bangs at him. “And now, I really do think it’s time I went.” She smiled at him sadly and stood to leave. She got three steps from the table before he could speak.
Peter wasn’t sure why, but at her admission, he decided to take a chance. “For the record, Miss Noble,” he raised his voice slightly to call out to her as he stood, “I only know the life story of one of the patrons of of the George.” He put his hands in his coat pockets and took a single step closer to her. “But I’m not done with it yet. It's a real page turner and I don't want to put it down.” Peter explained. He raised his chin and favored her with a slow smile, “So I was wonderin' - if you're not busy- maybe you'd like to meet me for lunch tomorrow and we could go over the next chapter together?”
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12