And So Things Go, Chapter 33
Title- And So Things Go (33/34)
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 - The story comes to an end.
It’s a short chapter, I know-but before you yell at me *too* badly, please know that the story used to end here properly; I decided it was a bit too abrupt, though, and wrote the (short) epilogue to kind of finish things up.
I apologize once again for being terrible about replies-vacation is far more hectic than life, especially when you’re travelling with folks. However, I’ll be doing replies, at the latest, upon my return home on Tuesday. Thank you all for commenting, in spite of my rudeness-and I promise, I’ll acknowledge all of your comments properly as soon as I can.
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
It had stopped raining the next day, although it was windy and cold. The power came while they were eating breakfast-“Just in time to battle the daylight,” Peter quipped.
“Hot water,” Rose sighed, blissfully.
They spent their morning at one of the museums in town, and he spent half his afternoon on the phone with Martin. His brother had called to offer him early birthday wishes, and the two of them ultimately had one of the longest conversations Peter had had with his brother in years.
“He’s still clean,” Peter told Rose after he rung off.
“I’m glad.” She glanced up from her book, giving him a small smile.
“He and Mariah are talking about living together.”
She set the book on her lap. “Is that wise?”
“It’s not my decision to make, Rose. Martin’s a grown-up. All I can do is be there for him.”
She smiled at him, nodding, and returned to her book.
He made dinner that night; they’d procured food whilst in town, and he happily cooked chicken with rice and veg while Rose napped on the sofa. It was so normal, this life he was living. No Williams, yelling at him; no eating meals alone in his kitchen, the telly or his case notes his only company. It was the life he wanted to lead-the life he was hoping he’d have the chance to lead.
They played one of the few games Peter had after supper.
“Scrabble!” Rose sounded affronted.
“It’s a good game!”
“It’s a word game. You’ll win!”
“You don’t know that, Rose.”
“I do. Why bother playing, knowing you’ll win?” She was grinning by now, clearly enjoying winding him up; he won the argument by kissing her senseless.
“I think I could like Scrabble, if there’s a kissing system,” she said, dazedly, as Peter released her. He grinned at her, that superior smirk that drove her mad with want; she made sure to lightly brush against him as often as possible as he set the game up, driving him to distraction.
She almost won; she was so close. And then Peter decided that alien words-especially those played across triple word scores, involving a lot of q’s, x’s, and z’s-were most assuredly illegal in the game. She argued, pointing out that those words were commonly found in Torchwood documents; he countered, stating that they weren’t in the OED, and therefore were not allowed.
After that he won handily, and then made it up to her by taking her upstairs and tormenting her with his brilliant tongue.
The next day finally dawned bright and clear, the remnants of the storm from earlier in the week finally departing to the continent. Sunlight poured through the kitchen window, setting the blues and greens of the stained glass Rose had given him across the tile floor. He smiled, glancing at the splash of colour, remembering sitting in that very chair many months before, arguing with himself about how hard to push in order to get Rose to move in with him. He’d decided, that day, to talk with her about the idea; it had taken a little while, but they’d got there in the end.
He poked his head outside when Rose went upstairs for a shower-it was still cold out, and just a bit damp, but not so bad that they couldn’t go for a short walk. The sky was a clear blue, promising a bit of relative warmth later in the day-perhaps it was a good day to go to Shap, to simply sit together in the ruins and talk, as they had so long ago.
He waited below stairs until he heard Rose call down that the shower was free, and as he passed her on his way into the en-suite, he advised her to dress for a day outside.
Rose had pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans by the time he emerged from his hasty shower, and he hurried to find clothes that were both warm and clean. Rose preceded him downstairs; when he finally ran down the staircase, ready for the day, she had a small lunch packed in a rucksack.
“Where we off to, then?” she asked, holding the bag out to him as he walked into the kitchen.
“Shap. If you’re game.” He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder before moving over to peer into the (empty) coffee pot. “After we visit Louise.”
Rose laughed, and he couldn’t help but grin-he loved to hear her so happy. “I think,” she said, sidling up to him, “that you miss Louise, and are making up excuses to visit her.”
“I would never!” he replied, affronted. “Louise is-”
The doorbell rang, and they both turned towards the sound of it.
“Expecting company?” Rose’s voice held a note of caution.
“You’re the only person who visits,” he said distractedly, moving towards the door. He was startled by a quick rapping at the door knocker.
He took a breath, turned the bolt, and opened the door.
It was the postman. “Hallo, Peter. Registered letter for you today.”
He heard Rose walk up behind him as he scrawled his name on the receipt. It was with a sense of unreality that he took the envelope, blindly closing the door as the postman walked down the front walk.
“’s from the Met.”
Rose was standing next to him now, her arm looped through his. “It’s hardly going to bite you, Peter.”
He wasn’t entirely sure about that. He turned it over, his fingers drifting across the fold of the envelope.
“We could save it. For Shap.” Rose’s voice was soft. When he turned to face her, she was gazing at the envelope in his hand.
“We could.” He took one last glance at the envelope, before reaching to tuck it into the rucksack. “Let’s go visit Louise.” He reached for their coats, hung next to the door, and let Rose precede him out the door.
He tried to put the letter out of his mind, tried to avoid thinking too much about it as they stopped in to visit Louise-“Been keeping him in check, have you?” the older woman had asked Rose the second they walked in-and then during the drive north to Shap. There was a chance that the weather wouldn’t be as fine on the other side of the fells, especially given that it was grey and windy as they crossed them, and he briefly worried that they’d make it all the way to Shap only to find it raining and utterly miserable.
The weather held, clearing as the road straightened close to the small town near the Abbey ruins, and it even looked as though the small town had managed to miss some of the rain they’d had in Kendal just days before. By the time they pulled into the car park-nearly unchanged since he’d first taken Rose there-the sky was back to being blue, and the wind had calmed.
It was still chilly out, so much so that if the sun went in it would be decidedly uncomfortable without some kind of blanket or coat. He grabbed the two blankets from the boot of his car while Rose shouldered the rucksack, and they set out down the footpath for the Abbey.
There was an older couple walking through the ruins, and a family exploring one corner of the tumbled stones as they made their way through the swing gate; he paused briefly to watch Rose as she moved ahead, as he had so many months before-her head tilted back as she walked under the ruins of the tower, her eyes alight with awe. He’d known, even then, that there was something there-something that piqued his interest in spite of his frustration with the woman he’d only thought of as Agent Tyler-and it occurred to him that it might have been in that very place that he’d fallen in love with her.
Rose turned to him, smiling, waiting; he went to her and took her hand. He led her to a small, clear area just outside the foundation wall but still inside the protected property, and laid out the old grey blanket they’d used so many times for their picnics. Rose smiled at him as she stepped onto it, sinking down to sit so her back was against the grey stone of the foundation; he joined her as she opened the rucksack and began to set out the food she’d found in his kitchen. The letter, he noticed, stayed tucked away, out of sight.
He wasn’t hungry, too nervous about the letter; Rose made him eat at least some bread and an orange, forcing him to drink one of the bottles of water she’d bought from Louise.
The letter remained hidden away, even as Rose cleared the remnants of their lunch and tucked the rubbish back into the rucksack. She noticed him eying the bag, and moved it out of his reach with a smile. “The answer won’t change if you wait five minutes, Peter.”
He sighed. “I know.”
She leaned forward, kissing him briefly. “But why wait any longer...” she murmured against his lips before reaching behind her for the bag.
He swallowed, nervousness flooding him as she turned back to him with the letter in her hand. She offered it to him and he took it, glancing down at the unassuming white envelope bearing the Metropolitan Police seal.
Rose sat, watching him silently, her gaze steady.
“Well. May as well be done with this.” He tapped the envelope, shifting the contents to the end before tearing the opposite end open. He reached in, pulling out a single folded sheet of paper, his heart racing now in his chest. His hands were trembling-he had never wanted something as badly as he wanted this letter to say he had a job in London.
Rose continued to watch him, her hand moving to rest on his knee, her thumb stroking over the fabric of his jeans.
“Right.” He unfolded the letter, snapping the paper to keep the letter from folding shut on itself. He read it so quickly the first time he missed the salient bits; he forced himself to go back, to read it a second time, focusing on every word, every space on the paper before him.
“Peter?” Rose’s soft voice intruded on his perusal.
He raised his head, meeting her gaze. She was nervous, too, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed; she wanted to know the answer just as badly as he did.
“Based on my experience and performance, I’ve been offered a position as a Detective Inspector with the Met.” She grinned, and he smiled slowly at her. “They want me to start next month.”
She leaned forward, kissing him, the grin still on her lips. “Congratulations,” she murmured through the kiss.
He returned the kiss, dropping the letter between them as he reached to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking her cheeks; her hands fisted in his sweatshirt, pulling him closer to her.
They broke apart, gasping, both of them grinning.
“C’mere.” She patted the space of blanket next to her, lying down on her back. He moved to join her, pulling her to rest against him as he lay supine, the letter once again in his hand.
“I love you,” he whispered against her hair. “I love you so much, Rose. Always remember that.”
She looked up at him. “I will, Peter.” She leaned up to kiss him; he kept it brief, not wanting to scandalise the family which was still exploring the ruins. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll remember that, too,” he said softly.
“Do.” She tilted her chin down, burrowing against him in an effort to find a comfortable position on the ground. Her fingers brushed across his chest, barely there through the layers of clothing; he closed his eyes, focusing on following her fingers as they drifted across his sternum, along his ribs, lazy loops and whorls across his torso.
“Peter,” Rose interrupted, raising her chin to look at him.
“Yes, Rose.” He raised his head, meeting her eye.
“Would you like to move in with me?” She knew the answer but her voice still held a note of uncertainty.
He grinned, bringing his hand to cup her jaw. “I’d love to, Rose.”
She leaned up into him, kissing him softly as she whispered, “Done, and sealed with a kiss.”
~ - ~
Epilogue