And So Things Go, Chapter 31
Title- And So Things Go (31/34)
Author- jlrpuck
Rating - T
Pairing - Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Disclaimer - Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary - The story of how Peter Carlisle moved to London to live with Rose Tyler.
Author’s Notes - Peter and Rose figure out how to move on-together-after their row.
earlgreytea68 and chicklet73 have been ideal betas for this-supportive, diligent, and full of excellent ideas. lostwolfchats has been fabulous, as well, and equally as invaluable, ensuring that I didn’t ruin the Queen’s English…too badly. Any errors-grammatical, colloquial, or factual-are mine, and mine alone. And, on an artistic front-thank you to angelfireeast for the lovely banner at the top of the chapter.
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 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Epilogue
He didn’t sleep that night. In spite of Rose saying he was forgiven, in spite of him reading to her after their quiet dinner, and in spite of her falling asleep, curled next to him,he had been unable to relax enough to drift into slumber. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Rose had said that afternoon.
And he couldn’t stop castigating himself for how easily he’d ignored her in favour of chatting up Annie.
He spent several hours staring at Rose, watching as she slept, as she shifted from drowsing, to proper sleep, into REM, the entire time facing him. Shortly before three she rolled over, turning her back to him; he took it as a sign to leave her alone for a bit, and decided he may as well try to bring some order to the chaos that was his office.
He worked in the small room at the front of the house for several more hours, sorting his notes, organizing and filing them, clearing the mass of papers and books from his desk. It was almost six by the time he was done with the chore he’d been putting off for months, and he turned the light off with relief before walking down the hallway to the bedroom.
Rose had wrapped herself in the duvet-a luxury for her, he was sure, when she was sleeping with him. Or at least sleeping in his bed. She was, again, turned away from his side of the bed; he tried not to take it personally. It took only a moment to prop the pillow against the headboard, to turn on the bedside lamp and slide into bed next to her before reaching for his beloved Burns.
He let his eyes rove over the familiar words, their rhythm washing through him, soothing him as he waited for the sun to rise.
Peter had read the book through twice by the time Rose opened her eyes.
He was idly leafing through the pages, seeing what caught his eye, when her hand drifted to rest against his arm. He glanced down, then over to Rose; she was looking at him, her eyes still heavy with sleep.
“You sleep?” she asked thickly.
Peter closed his book, setting it on the bedside table with a sigh. “No.” He lay down, rolling onto his side to face Rose.
They watched each other, Rose coming awake while Peter tried to bring his thoughts under control. Her hazel eyes were bright by the time she spoke again.
“What do you want to do today?”
“I...” He exhaled. “I don’t know.”
“Well. We could let you beat yourself up further-or we could go for a walk.” She gave him a soft smile.
“It’s snowing, Rose.”
“So...that’s a vote for option A, then?” She grinned, the tip of her tongue just poking from the corner of her mouth.
“No, Miss Tyler, that is not. It’s...a vote for coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Coffee. I’ll even make it.”
She laughed. “You’re the only one who makes it, here! You don’t trust me with your precious fancy coffee pot.”
He sobered. “I do. I trust you with anything.” He cupped her cheek. “Anything, and everything,” he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her.
They kissed lazily in the morning sunshine, neither in a rush to go downstairs for coffee, nor indeed to go out into the cold day. Eventually, however, they were interrupted by the growl of Rose’s stomach, and made their way downstairs.
Rose had appropriated his robe, wrapping it around her as she walked down the stairs; as she stood in the kitchen, watching him make coffee, she loosened the belt, letting the fabric hang loosely over her pyjamas. He was content to remain bare-chested, in spite of the slight chill to the kitchen, and they were soon seated at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and eating a simple breakfast of cereal.
The flakes falling outside were fat and heavy-enough to cover everything with a blanket of pretty white for a short while, but not the type of snow to stick around for more than a few hours. It added a sense of peace to the scene, and by the time Rose collected the dishes and moved them to the sink, he finally felt relaxed.
Rose settled across from him, watching him as steadily as he watched her; he still felt terrible for the day before, and still felt slightly awkward.
“Y’okay?” she finally asked, interrupting the hush which had filled the room.
“No.”
She leaned forward, extending her hand across the table. He reached out, clasping it, drawing comfort from her. He was a selfish bastard.
“I’m fine, Peter. I’m not going to go storming off because of it.”
He gazed at their hands, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles. “I should have paid attention to you, Rose.”
She laughed lightly. “Peter, I should have been more clear-headed. I certainly didn’t mean to make you feel terrible about it a day on.”
“I forget, sometimes, that you’re not a superwoman. You’re so strong, Rose-it’s so easy to forget that there’s more to you than that.” He raised his eyes to hers. “I…I’d be lost without you. Without you there to lean on.”
“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere, then, isn’t it?” she said lightly.
“I mean it, Rose,” he said, slightly stung by her flippant reply.
“So do I, Peter.” Her gaze intensified. “It hurt. You know it hurt. We’ll move on, as we’ve done before. And, well, we’ll both have learned from it.” She squeezed his hand. “’cause it occurs-well, occurred, yesterday-to me that I’ve done the very same thing to you. With Mickey, or Jake, or even my mum. And…I’m sorry, Peter. For doin’ that to you.”
“You haven’t done that.”
“I think I may have done, Peter. But I’ll try not to do it again.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry you were up all night.”
“It happens, sometimes, even when I’m not feeling quite so…introspective.”
“Well. At least I know I’ll have a periodic shot at having a duvet for the whole night.” She smiled gently at him. “Although I’d rather have you there, duvet hog and all.”
It set the tone for the day, Rose gently teasing him, trying to pull him out of the funk he’d fallen into. She forgave him, trusted him not to ignore her like that again; he couldn’t stop focusing on it.
By dinnertime, after a long day lazing about the house, Rose had had enough of it. “We’re goin’ out,” she said, decisively, standing next to where he was curled into a chair. He’d given her the sofa for reading, tucking himself into the relic he’d inherited years-and girlfriends-before. He hated the chair, and only kept it in case he had company.
“But it’s miserable out, Rose.” It was, sleet now hitting against the windows. All remnants of that morning’s snow had disappeared.
“It is, Peter. But I can’t stand your moping any longer.”
“I’m not moping, Rose. I’m being…contemplative.”
“You’re moping, and nothing I can say is shaking you from it. So we’re goin’ out.”
“We’re going to kill ourselves out here,” he muttered a half hour later as he scurried down the walk. The sleet had stopped, but the pavement still felt slick.
Rose skidded to a halt in front of him, turning to kiss him soundly as he slid into her. “No, we’re not,” she said, grinning as she pulled away.
“Yes, we are,” he grumbled, slightly mollified.
Rose had insisted she drive, and he settled into the passenger seat of her small car with a resigned sigh.
“All-weather car, Peter. Plus Pete had some features added. We’ll be fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile as she turned the car on, adjusted a few knobs, and set out-slowly-down the street.
“It’s the other idiots I’m worried about.”
“Let me worry about them. You enjoy the ride.”
The roads weren’t so terrible, really-the pavement was warm enough still that the sleet hadn’t frozen to it. Rose was an excellent driver-trained by Torchwood to handle all sorts of things, as she loved to remind him when he frantically clung to the handle above his seat-and they were soon in Kendal, parking behind one of the few free-standing restaurants in town.
They were sat at a small table along the wall, the booth slightly curved so they sat together instead of across from each other; the room was lit by low lights and candlelight, causing a warm glow to dance within the depths of Rose’s eyes whenever she looked at him. She remained quiet, stealing lingering glances at him in between perusing the menu, and didn’t turn to him fully until after they had ordered.
They had the place to themselves, everyone else (wisely) opting to stay in. The staff left them largely alone, congregating in the kitchen to no doubt complain about the idiots who’d come in for supper that night.
“I told you last night, I forgave you, Peter-although, really, it’s not a crime, what you did. And I know you’re having a hard time forgiving yourself; I’ve not seen you like this in months, all introspective, unable to take a moment to see what’s going on outside.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by Rose pressing a finger to his lips. “It’s your choice, deciding how or when to move on. But a wise man said to me, long ago, that there’s a point where self-recrimination becomes self-indulgence instead of something productive." She removed her finger. “I was offered that counsel for a crime far greater than this one, but the words hold true.”
She watched him, waiting for a response. He averted his gaze, reaching for his wineglass; taking a sip, he tried to organize his thoughts.
Maybe he was overreacting. Just a bit.
He swallowed the wine, turning back to Rose. “I’ve been…well, I’ve made this more than it was, haven’t I.” It was a declarative statement-he didn’t need Rose to confirm that.
“It’s been a long few months, Peter.”
He gave a soft laugh. “Aye, that’s understatement. I’m sorry you’ve been caught up in it.”
“Don’t apologise, Peter. It’s…I mean…I mean it, when I say there’s no place I’d rather be. That I’m with you through whatever comes. I just want to be with you.” Her gaze was boring into his, the emotion behind the words clear. “I don’t care if that means three months of stress, or a week of bliss. I just want to be with you.”
He closed the distance between them, kissing her. “Good.” He pulled back, holding her gaze. “Because I don’t want you to be with anyone else but me.”
She blushed, her cheeks a soft pink in the light. He continued. “I envy your team mates, you know. That they get to see you through good and bad, when you’re at your most gorgeous, or your most appalling. That’s time I’ll never get to spend with you, ever; and I begrudge them that.”
She cupped his cheek. “But I always think of you, when I’m away. You’re always with me, even if you think you’re not.”
He closed his eyes, relaxing into her hand. “I know,” he whispered.
She leaned forward, brushing a quick kiss over his lips. “Good. Now don’t you forget it.” Her hand dropped, and he felt her sit back.
He opened his eyes; she was smiling at him, and he felt his mouth curve in response.
The waiter chose that moment to appear, bearing their supper. Rose moved, placing a small bit of space between the two of them, and the waiter scurried off a few moments later.
He felt things finally settle back into their normal rhythm as they ate, he and Rose chatting amiably. She told him of her mum’s plans for Twelfth Night-of the huge party that would be thrown at the mansion, of how John would be dressed up and allowed to attend the party, right up until he invariably spilled something down his front. “Last party Mum threw, it was custard. Time before, it was tomato bisque.”
“He seems to have a knack for finding things that stain, doesn’t he?”
“Jeopardy friendly, that’s the Tyler trait.” She gave a wry grin.
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Been called that more than a few times. The…the Doctor first used that phrase.” She glanced hastily at him as she said the name.
He swallowed-he really needed to move beyond her past, needed to be comfortable enough with the mention of the swashbuckling alien that Rose wouldn’t feel she’d erred by mentioning him.
“And how’d that come about-besides you, clearly, getting yourself into trouble?” he asked, tilting his head to meet her eye.
Rose relaxed, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. “Was when we were trapped in a hospital during the Blitz.”
He thought for a moment. “When you met…Colonel Jack.”
“Captain. Yeah.”
“And the appellation stuck.”
“Well, you know the sayin’-if the shoe fits…” She grinned.
“I’m not sure I like knowing that about you, to be quite honest.” He smiled in return. “I’ll have all sorts of images of you wandering into situations rife with danger, drawing them to you like a magnet.”
He didn’t miss the brief, awkward pause that followed his statement-he had hit perhaps a bit too close to the mark, then. “Of course, so long as you come back I’ll be just fine,” he added.
“I’ll always try.”
“And that’s all I can ask.” He leaned over to her, kissing her cheek.
~ - ~
Chapter 32