An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 23
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 23 (I've given up on predicting how long this will be.)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Welcome back. You were missed.
Rating: PG & DA- Plot Galore and Doctor Angst
Word Count: 5,270
Summary: The Doctor visits Wilf and Peter gives Donna an unexpected gift.Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 20.2
Monday, 11 June 2012 8:15 PM
The Doctor stood awkwardly on the doorstep, twisting and turning as he mentally rehearsed the best way to approach the situation. He was debating the most effective and efficient method to find out what he needed to know from Wilf: should he go with stealthy or straightforward? Charming or challenging? Ingenuous or ingenious? He was unprepared, therefore, when the door jerked open unexpectedly and he was confronted with the scornful face of Sylvia Noble. "Can I help you," she snapped, "or were you just planning on wearing a hole into the doormat with your pacing? You've been back and forth at least a dozen times, young man."
Taken aback, the Doctor blinked in confusion before remembering that Sylvia Noble didn't know this body. Silently thanking Rassilon for small favors, he stepped forward and offered his hand and his best smile in a futile attempt to win over Sylvia Noble.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Mott's granddaughter," he gushed. "He says such nice things about you. I'm ...Doctor... McCrimmon. Yes, that's it. I'm Doctor James McCrimmon, and I'm terribly sorry to be a bother, but I need to speak to Mr. Mott, if it's not too much to ask." Sylvia refused to move and simply stood with one hand on her hip and the other on the door, effectively blocking his way. The Doctor raised his hand to smooth back his hair as his eyes darted about, taking in everything except the contemptuous expression of the woman before him.
"No, I'm his daughter, you fool," Sylvia spat at him, "and I guess he doesn't say nice things about me, eh?" She crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot in a painfully familiar manner. He'd managed once again to put his foot in it and not for the first time did he realize the futility of trying to engage one of the Noble women in verbal battle. He glanced back at Sylva and frowned, suddenly clasping his hands behind his back as he studied his shoes: her stance was so much like Donna's, it was all he could do to stop himself from hugging her.
Subdued and saddened by the impulse, he quietly asked with abashed dignity, "May I see Wilf, please?"
"A bit late for a social call, don't you think?" Sylvia countered dryly. She waited, glaring at the Doctor as he fidgeted awkwardly with his tie until it became obvious that he wasn't going to offer a response. She sighed theatrically and turned to yell up the stairs. "Dad! Someone's here to see you!"
"At this hour?" came the puzzled response from the second floor. "Well, then, who is it?"
Sylvia turned and raked the Doctor from head to toe and back with a quick, disdainful glance. " I dunno. Some young fool in a tweed jacket at the height of summer," she sneered. "All floppy hair and a bow tie? Says his name is Dr. James Something-or-other. That sound like anyone you know?"
Before she'd even completed her assessment, Wilf flew down the stairs and launched himself across the room to where the Doctor stood. "Ah, yes! So nice to see you again," he declared grandly, shaking the Doctor’s hand and dragging him bodily across the threshold. "We met up at the pub last week, Syl," he explained as the Doctor stumbled over his own feet. "He's an astronomer; I told him to come anytime and I'd take him up the hill to see my telescope." He nodded and put on his best potty-old-man expression for Sylvia's benefit, pushing a bag into the Doctor's hands as he backed out the rear door, tugging him along after. "So good of you to come, Doctor...," he exclaimed loudly.
"McCrimmon" the Doctor said, sotto voce.
"McCrimmon," Wilf said smoothly. "Just came down to reprovision myself before I headed back out for the night."
Sylvia watched the two men disappear into the darkness and rolled her eyes as she slammed the door behind them.
When they reached the allotment, the Doctor glanced about and then back at the house, making sure he was well out of earshot of Sylvia Noble before speaking. "Ah, Wilf," he said as he glanced in the bag that had been thrust upon him. He grinned in delight as he saw a thermos and two packs of Jammie Dodgers in it's depths. "It's always a pleasure to see you," he said, genuinely happy at the reunion. He handed the bag back to Wilf and mused aloud, "Well, except for that one time, but that was hardly your fault, now was it?" He smiled again and bent down to shake Wilf's hand. "The point is, how are you Wilf?"
"Oh, I'm good, I'm good," said Wilf as he pumped the Doctor's hand in greeting, "but you don't really want to talk about me, now, do you, sir? It's Donna you're here about, or I'm much mistaken."
"Well," the Doctor drawled with a grin. "I admit seeing you again isn't the primary reason for my visit, but I am still delighted to see you, Wilf." He paused for a moment, dipping his head before looking back at his friend. "And I'm sorry for the whole ‘Not having anything nice to say about me’ business with Sylvia," he apologized, wringing his hands and leaning in close. He frowned for a moment, conjecturing the possible outcomes of his awkward encounter with Donna's mother. "I hope it doesn't prove to be too... inconvenient." He offered Wilf a wan smile as he looked up hopefully from under his hair and Wilf was reminded of the response of a little red-haired girl when she was caught out being rude. "I really was trying to be complementary."
Wilf snorted. "It makes no difference, Doctor," he said as he unlocked the shed and pulled out his telescope and two chairs. "If it weren't that, she'd be after me for somethin' else." He settled down into the first chair as he waved the Doctor toward the other.
The Doctor pursed his lips and wavered for a moment before he exhaled heavily and fell into the proffered seat. "The invitation still stands for a quick jaunt in the TARDIS," he offered by way of apology. "Whenever and wherever you like, no questions asked." He swept his hair out of his face, then clasped his hands together between his knees and rocked back and forth for a moment with a sad, hopeful smile.
Wilf shook his head slowly while he studied the Doctor. "Thank you, but I reckon we'd best get back to the matter at hand."
"Ah, yes, of course," the Doctor said, nodding awkwardly. "Donna. Donna and that man..."
"Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle," Wilf supplied helpfully as he passed an open package of biscuits over and looking up, he was surprised to see the Doctor's face harden slightly.
"Yes," the Doctor stated, his voice flat and entirely without emotion, "DI Carlisle. Tell me about him, Wilf.” The Doctor plucked a Jammie Dodger from the package and absently turned it over and over in his hand.
"Why? What have you found out about him? Is he dangerous?" Wilf demanded. "Because Donna says..."
"I don't want to know what she says - I know what she thinks," the Doctor said with deceptive calm. "I want to know what you think."
"Well, he seemed pleasant enough, the one time," Wilf began. The Doctor's head jerked up sharply and he fixed Wilf with a fierce glower.
"You still haven't seen them together?" he demanded incredulously. Wilf shook his head and the Doctor's eyes narrowed as he wondered to himself, "Why have you still not seen them together? Donna Noble was never one to hide; in fact, she always marched right up and made sure the world knew she was there and was well-informed of exactly what she thought, whether the world wanted to know or not. She was open, with everybody and everything, except…." He tapped his finger forcefully against his forehead, his face a mask of concern.
"I've been tryin' to, sir, tryin' to get her to bring him to meet us, after the last time we spoke. I finally just came out and asked her that myself," Wilf replied. "She wavered about and wouldn't answer, but I think I know. I think she was afraid she'd jinx it, the relationship, or that her mum would scare the DI off." Wilf looked down at his hands for a moment. He avoided the Doctor's eyes as he cautiously continued. "And the way she talks about him? Donna seems happy, Doctor. Truly happy. Happier, at any rate, than I've heard her since she's been back here. Almost like her old self, like she was when she was travelin’." Wilf carefully avoided adding with you. "She's finally agreed and we’re to go to dinner with them both, later on this week."
"Dinner with the family? How domestic," the Doctor replied, wrinkling his nose and picking dejectedly at the Jammie Dodger in his hand. He averted his eyes and flinched slightly before he continued. "Well, I'm glad that's been sorted, then." He looked somehow diminished, sad and small and still as he sat folded up in the chair, his eyes firmly on the sky above.
"I think... I think the fact that he's willin' to deal with Sylvia again, even after their first meetin', speaks volumes about him.” Wilf waited for moment for the Doctor to continue, but when the silence stretched uncomfortably between them, he asked quietly, "Doctor, I know you miss her, but don't you…. don't you want Donna to be happy? Even if it's not with you?"
The Doctor's face leapt back to life, and he defended himself vehemently. "Of course I want Donna to be happy, Wilf. That’s all I ever wanted." He sat forward suddenly and continued. "She’s my best mate - that much hasn’t changed; not for me, at any rate. And she deserves every happiness, Wilf, every boon the Universe can possibly grant her," he declared passionately. He paused for a moment before his voice dropped to a near-whisper. "But not with him. He’s not right for her: he's not suitable at all," he finished darkly before biting into his biscuit. He chewed absently, lost in thought.
Wilf threw himself into the momentary pause in the Doctor's thoughts. "But why?” he demanded, plowing on before he lost his nerve. “Because here’s the thing, Doctor. Donna? She seems happy, with him. They’re nigh well inseparable. They spend all their free time together." Wilf watched the Doctor's face carefully as he went on. "He seems good for her. She rings me up now, just like she used to and when I talk to her on the mobile, she’s more like her old self. It's not like when she was with you, but it's close. If she can't ever travel again with you, isn't this near enough?"
The Doctor was quiet for a long time before he nodded once to Wilf. "Dinner, then," he said quietly, examining the remains of his biscuit. His lips quirked into the ghost of a smile and he inhaled deeply. "Where?" he asked, deceptively casually as he brushed something unseen from his lapel.
"I reckon Donna wanted Syl to be happy, so she picked Café Rouge, up there on the high road. It's a regular place for her and she'll be comfortable there." Wilf chuckled ruefully, shaking his head, “I reckon Donna thinks that out in front of her regular Girl’s Night crowd, Syl won’t risk embarrassin’ herself or her DI.” In his amusement, he missed the flash of something dangerous cross the Doctor’s face at his words.
"I saw them together, Wilf," the Doctor blurted out suddenly, unable to keep it secret any longer. "More like watched, actually," he admitted, almost as an afterthought.
"You’re spyin' on them?" Wilf breathed, aghast.
"No, Wilf, I was conducting research," the Doctor said, nonplussed. "I’m only doing it to protect Donna. I don't have any sinister, ulterior motives." He swept his hair back and munched on the rest of his Jammie Dodger, trying to appear casual in an effort to hide his confusion as he watched Wilf curiously.
"Donna? She saw you?" he asked hesitantly.
"No, of course not," the Doctor replied, shaking his head with a frown. "“I was under a perception filter. I could follow them anywhere, be like a fly on the wall, as they say, and they would be none the wiser. She never even knew I was there," he said, which, strictly speaking, was true. She had felt something, she had known that something had been there, but Donna hadn't known what she felt was him. How could she?
Wilf's blood ran cold as he realized the implications of the Doctor's admission: was there anything this man was incapable of, once he put his mind to it properly? Was there any secret he couldn't discover, any piece of information that could remain hidden once he'd decided to find it? As he watched the alien sitting before him - because Wilf remembered suddenly that his friend wasn't human- he slowly understood why the Doctor wanted Donna back so desperately.
The Doctor lifted his face back to the heavens with a tiny smile. “She calls him Policeman,” he mused wistfully, his jaw trembling very slightly. “And why not? It’s not as if she can remember...” he trailed off bitterly, thinking and whose fault is that? He was sure Donna was responding to subconscious memories of another hand in hers, faint traces of a trail he had blazed leading straight to her heart and this other man was trespassing there. This interloper was taking advantage of her vulnerability, invading her life as he insinuated himself into her affections. The Doctor’s lip curled as he remembered the way the man skillfully infiltrated her defenses with a subtle caress, disarming her with pretty words, enticing her with his eyes. His artful seduction was insidious and unstoppable and the man’s biggest sin, the one thing the Doctor would never forgive, was that each and every complement DI Carlisle paid Donna Noble was true.
"Doctor," Wilf said, forcing him from his thoughts, "you said the DI wasn't good for Donna, but you didn't explain why. You'll need to,” he said forcefully, “especially if you're wanting me to try and get between the two of them."
The Doctor suddenly leapt to his feet and began pacing about wildly. "Why? Why?" he cried, arms swinging about madly. "Why, Wilf? You ask me why? Because every time I see him, with her, I see… " The Doctor's voice faltered for a moment and he swept his hair back from his face impatiently. "Every time I see them, I’m reminded…" he said, spinning in place and stopping to face Wilf. His lip curled and he stalked over to Wilf's chair, towering over the old man before he came back to himself. He took a step back, kicking at the ground and watching the dust swirl in the air and settle back to earth before he spoke again.
"It’s not fair, Wilf," he murmured. "It’s not right! He....he’s taking advantage of her!" he continued, his voice rising in outrage. "He didn’t earn her trust! He doesn’t deserve her affections! He…" The Doctor blinked hard as he realized what he had said. He slunk back to his chair and sat awkwardly, not daring to look back at his friend.
As the Doctor sunk back into silence, Wilf slowly spoke. "I remember something' Donna told me, Doctor. She told me never to tell you she said it," he admitted quietly. He sniffed once and looked up before he continued. "But I reckon, as she can’t ever decide to tell you herself now, she’d want you to know,” he said, nodding sadly. “Donna told me once that you were dazzlin’- amazin’ even- and that she trusted you with her life,” Wilf revealed quietly. “And that’s what this really is we’re talkin’ about here, isn’t it, Doctor? Her life? Her happiness?“
The Doctor stilled again and seemed to buckle back into himself, shoulders hunched as he convulsively clasped and unclasped his hands before him. He looked again to the heavens and in the moonlight, Wilf saw the glint of unshed tears standing in his eyes. The Doctor jutted his jaw out, biting his lip, but said nothing.
“So what happens now?” Wilf asked and when the Doctor didn’t respond, he slowly prodded, “ ‘Cos I reckon jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Doctor.”
The Doctor lunged out of his chair at Wilf, only just stopping before him as he hovered above, his face dark and threatening. “Jealous?!? Me???” he sneered, his jaw trembling with suppressed rage. “Is that what you think?” he hissed as he leaned in close to Wilf, his eyes flashing fire. “What? Just because I said she was the Most Important Woman...” He spun on his heel and Wilf watched sadly as the storm passed and the Doctor deflated in front of him.
“I miss her, Wilf. I miss her so much,” he whispered. “And it hurts, that she can’t remember me, but she’s with him and he looks like....that,” he muttered, quiet, sad and subdued. He stared into the past and saw Donna and all the possible futures that had once swirled and sparked and danced around them, but the song had ended and those bright, shining possibilities were irrevocably lost to him now.
“Doctor, I know how much you want her back,” Wilf admitted. “I saw it that day...”
An idea flared suddenly in the Doctor’s mind: a new song had begun, he realized and he roused himself from the past. “You wanted me to go back to her, Wilf. You told me to. If he can, maybe I can, too, especially now,” he said hopefully, gesturing to himself, becoming almost manic as new possibilities bloomed in the timelines surrounding him.
“Is she really in love with him, or has he simply taken advantage of the groundwork laid in our relationship?” he mused aloud. He spun around, wobbling unsteadily, caught up in the whirlwind of potential and probability flickering before his eyes. With just a prod there and a tweak here, he thought, it might even become more than possible. It wouldn’t be too much of a violation of his responsibilities, would it? He swung back to Wilf and cried, “Is it love, or is she subliminally substituting this double for... ?” He trailed off, straightening up, biting his lip viciously, frowning.
“Doctor, I reckon...” Wilf began, shrugging sadly but the Doctor knew what he was going to say.
“She’s happy,” the Doctor blurted out. He nodded his head once, slowly, before turning to face Wilf. “She’s happy?” he asked bluntly and at Wilf's answering shrug, his face threatened to cave in upon itself again.
“I think so,” Wilf admitted quietly.
“I have to know," he said vehemently. "I have to know.” He looked down at his hands, his own fingers intertwined in a way they never again would be with his best friend’s. “I told you... I did some things, before: things that went terribly wrong. I never would have, you know, not if she’d been there to keep me...” he stumbled, unable to finish the thought aloud.
“Wilf, what I became without her,” he whispered dejectedly before whirling about, his hands clenched tight at his sides. “The Universe isn’t fair!” he roared. “She was my best mate - the very best. She didn’t look up to me or idolize me, or- or- or fancy me,” he declared with an awkward wave of his hand as he paced about erratically. “She wasn’t in awe of me or afraid of me. She treated me as an equal, as a person, and for once, I felt like a person instead of some madman in a box.”
He threw his hands up in the air without warning and shouted accusingly at the stars, “If he can be with her, then why can’t I?” He wheeled about and yelled, “What if she remembers? What if she remembers and her mind burns because of him? I can’t protect her from this doppelgänger, don’t you see?” He stalked back and forth before jerking back to Wilf, throwing out his arm and stabbing the air as he cried, “He’s going to be the one holding her hand, sharing her life and her laughter: that man is in her bed, Wilf, but if it all goes wrong, it’ll be me killing her!”
The Doctor’s voice still echoed in the air around him as his face collapsed suddenly. “I miss her, Wilf. I want her back,” he confessed and the air around him shimmered with misery.
“I know you do,” Wilf admitted, wishing he could do something to alleviate the other man's anguish. “But you’re a good man, Doctor. You are. You’ll do what’s best.”
"I'm not a good man; I’m far too old and selfish and bitter for that,” the Doctor muttered. “But you’re right. I will do what's best.” He nodded once more to Wilf and walked dejectedly back to the TARDIS. “The question is, Wilf, what’s best for whom?”
*********
Monday, 11 June 2012 8:15 PM
Peter Carlisle blushed furiously as Donna lifted the lid on the small box in her hand. "Like I said, it...it's nothin’ much," he stammered awkwardly, as Donna's eyebrows threatened to shoot into her hairline.
"You weren't kiddin', Policeman," Donna gasped as she held the scrap of lace up for inspection. "A black lace bodysuit?"
Peter’s face threatened to spontaneously combust and he hastened to explain. "After ye gave me the shirt and all," he said, "I assumed we were at the point in our relationship where gifts of clothin’ were acceptable." As Donna snorted and held the bodysuit up to the light, Peter muttered to himself, "Knew I should've gone with the cream one instead."
Donna turned the gossamer garment around and blanched when she saw the thin strip of material that was supposed to cover the wearer's bum. "Peter, if I wear this, and we engage in our typical ...activities... I'm going to have to have it surgically removed," she said, regarding the wisp of lace dubiously.
"No, Donna, ye mistake the purpose of the gift," he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm no askin' for ye to wear it for me... Well, no that way, at any rate. No that I wouldnae like to see ye... What I mean to say is..." he spluttered, wishing that the floor beneath his feet would open and swallow him whole.
Donna took pity on him, her expression softening as she reached up and drew his arm down, taking his hand in hers. "Care to explain what brought this on, Detective Inspector?" she asked gently, laying the box aside. She turned to him fully and looked up into his face, standing on tiptoe to place a slow, sweet kiss of understanding on his lips.
Peter sighed and confessed, "It's for me, but no the way ye think." Donna waited patiently for Peter to continue. "I'm a bit of the jealous type," he said slowly, avoiding her eyes, "and the other night, with Nerys and her date? Let's just say I dinnae care for some of the looks that man was shootin' yer way." He inclined his head and pulled at his ear, favoring Donna with a slow, sheepish grin. "But I did hope ye'd like it."
Donna cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips, watching Peter's expression shrewdly. "So, Gary was guilty of more than Nerys’ usual level of boyfriend twatiness is what you’re saying." She put her free hand on her hip and nudged Peter gently with her shoulder.
"Very creatively phrased, Ms. Noble," he smirked, relaxing when it became apparent that she was more amused than offended. He wrapped an arm about her waist to draw her closer and brushed back a lock of hair from her forehead. "Eloquent, original and descriptive: very much like ye. I like it."
"And this," Donna said, stretching out the word as she leaned over to hook a finger in the scrap of lace, dangling it between them, "this was your solution? Not to nudge me and warn me to sit up or tell me my blouse was too low-cut?"
"Ye shouldn't have to change what ye like to wear to protect yerself from the attentions o’ men like that!" Peter protested hotly. "Ye werenae indecent! Ye were lovely - ye are lovely! It's just," he stumbled over his words, unsure of how best to phrase his confession before he decided to come clean. "It's just to keep me from endin' up bein' incarcerated for assault when some bloody wanker looks like he's picturin' havin' ye for dessert."
"I can see how that wouldn't be your best career move, there, Policeman," she said, caressing his cheek. "But I would've slapped his eyes back in his head if I'd seen him. I can take care of myself, ya know. Been doin' it for more years than I care to admit."
Peter bit his tongue rather than say the words he wanted to: it was his responsibility and duty to protect her now. It wasn’t that she was incapable of defending herself; far from it. He’d seen an inkling of her ability the night she’d rounded on that vid-happy wanker in the George and the whole pub had gone silent in anticipation. No, Donna was more than able. It was that he needed to keep her safe, more than he was prepared to admit, and he was unsure of how she would react to that sentiment. He pulled her closer and tried to direct the conversation away from dangerous waters, not realizing he was heading directly for rocky shores.
"When I was browsin’,” Peter said quietly, “the girl in the shop assured me that this was the right choice.” He looked away for a moment, pushing his hair back off his forehead. “She said it would be comfortable and if it did show beneath yer clothin’, black would go with everythin’," he continued, his voice wavering as he saw her expression morph from shock to outright mortification.
"Which shop?" she squeaked, eyes wide as she paled in his arms.
"Sanderson & Grainger," he replied cautiously. "Why?"
“Because I have to decide whether to avoid the place outright for the rest of my days or march in there and give the wisp of a girl who told you that a resounding slap,” Donna declared, eyeing the lace in her hand dangerously.
“If ye dinnae like it, I can always return it,” Peter murmured bashfully, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve overstepped my bounds and I shouldnae...”
“Oh, no, no, Policeman! You haven’t overstepped!” Donna said, laying a finger on his lips as she hastened to reassure him. “It’s a lovely thought, and I love you for it, but it’s a bit...darin’... for someone of my.... for me,” she finished quietly.
“Darin’?” he asked, an eyebrow arched and a smile of remembrance playing about his lips. “This from the woman who tied me to her sofa with my own tie?” he laughed, glancing down at the selfsame accessory hanging from his neck. “From the ginger beauty who brought handcuffs to my flat?” Donna sucked in her bottom lip at both the memory and his choice of words and tried to hide her embarrassed grin.
Peter sensed he’d managed to steer them clear of danger and smiled. “As I said, I dinnae purchase it with prurient intent. I must admit, though, if I catch a glimpse of black lace peekin’ out,” he said with a lingering kiss, “it’ll have my mind racing with thoughts of...later possibilities.” He risked a quick peek with a downward flick of his eyes, grinning evilly all the while and Donna rolled her eyes before pulling him down for an exasperated kiss.
“Men,” she groused, kissing him again. A devious smile spread across her face as she leaned back to look at the bodysuit once more. “And you only got me the one?” she teased.
“Weeelllll,” Peter drawled, pulling at his ear, “I wanted to see if ye’d wear it, first.”
Donna draped her arms about his neck and pulled him down to her. “You should've gone with the cream, Copper,” she breathed, kissing his ear. “Follow your instincts next time.”
Peter closed his eyes and leaned down to her. Their lips met and he sighed, “Donna, those instincts? They’re screamin’ now, tellin’ me that I love ye.”
“Quite right, too, Copper,” she teased, grabbing him by the tie - her tie, he thought with a stab of desire- and snogging him thoroughly. She pulled back slowly, then risked a quick nip at his chin just to make him smile before she rested her forehead against his. “You stayin’?” she asked breathlessly, still clinging to his tie.
“Oh, I want to, but I shouldnae,” Peter replied, inhaling sharply. “I have to drive in early tomorrow and I’ve left some files back at mine. Ian and I are gonna follow up on a few leads tomorrow and then we’ve got an appointment to interview a lad taken into custody for property crimes: he might know Bence. I want to make sure I get there early to get things in order, and we’ll likely be out and about at lunch time.” He brightened as a thought occurred to him. “But I should be ready for a break about 8:00. Want to have a quick coffee before ye have to be in?” he asked hopefully.
Listening to his explanation, Donna grinned happily, but Peter had no way of knowing at what. Ian, she thought, he’s calling him Ian all the time now. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and straightened his tie. “Sounds lovely, Policeman. Shall I bring it up to you?” she offered with a tilt of her head and Peter realized he’d stepped directly into her snare.
“If ye’d like,” he said, tenderly tracing her smile with his thumb. “I would be pleased to introduce ye to Ian and anyone else who might be there.” Her smile grew smug and with a tiny nod, she acknowledged his acceptance of her victory. “Ring me when ye’re near and I’ll come down and ease yer way through security.”
“I’ll do that, Copper,” she said, drawing out her pet name for him playfully. “8:00 AM - coffee for you - and Ian?” she offered with a knowing glint in her eye.
“Aye,” he chuckled. “He takes it with just a splash of milk, no sugar. If Millie’s there across the street, tell her it’s for Ian. She’ll do it right. I think she’s a bit sweet on him,” he confided.
“Will do,” she laughed in response as she walked with him to the door. “Tomorrow mornin’, then. And Policeman, don’t forget,” she said sincerely, “I love you.”
She left him with a kiss and as he made his way down the stairs, he smiled as he mused, not for the first time, that Donna would have made a fine detective in her own right. She was quick-witted, she made connections easily, she could think three paces ahead in a conversation effortlessly and she was practiced in turning situations to her advantage. She knew when to gently probe and when to go on the offensive: in an interrogation, he thought, she would be a force to be reckoned with.
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