The Primrose - Verso
Title: The Primrose - Verso
Rating: K
Author: jlrpuck
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: What if Peter Carlisle's mum hadn't died from an overdose?
Authors Notes: Peter tells Rose how he feels.
As I’d promised in the comments to some of the drabbles last month, December will be Professor Peter and Heiress Rose month. This morning, I have only a very, very short offering. I’d hoped to have something longer, but I’m afraid that real life (and, to some degree, NaNoWriMo) put paid to that idea. The second part of this, however, will be posted on Thursday--very, VERY early, as I have a flight to catch that morning.
Thank you to chicklet73 and earlgreytea68 for their beta of this!
The Sun Rising - The Good Morrow - The Triple Fool - The Undertaking -The Primrose - The Bait - The Canonization - Valediction- Lover’s Infiniteness - Epithalamion
Verso | Recto
I walk to find a true love ; and I see
That 'tis not a mere woman, that is she,
But must or more or less than woman be.
-John Donne, The Primrose, Being at Montgomery Castle Upon the Hill, On Which it is Situate
“I love you.”
The words were said quietly, calmly; only Peter’s gaze was intense as he looked at her across the lunch table.
Rose gaped for a moment, her heart racing in her chest as she let the words resonate within her. He loved her. He’d been with her for only a month, and yet he’d said the words with such assurance…
“Is that alright, Rose?” There was a note of soft amusement to his voice, now, and she returned her gaze to his.
“Yes,” she replied, softly. “I…” She wanted to be able to say the words back to him-she was so close to being able to-but they froze in her throat.
Peter slid his hand over hers, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. “I know,” he whispered, giving a gentle squeeze.
She smiled at him, gratefully, and turned her hand over. “Say it again?” she whispered, her cheeks flushing at her boldness.
“I love you, Rose.” He held her gaze as he said the words, and she felt a fresh wave of adrenaline flood through her. Peter must have seen something; his lips curved again, the small smile he used only with her, and she felt an answering smile curve her lips.
“Thank you.” She laced her fingers through his.
“Believe me when I say, it’s my pleasure.”
They finished lunch in the small restaurant overlooking the sea, and spent the rest of the day exploring Peter’s favorite set of ruins. It wasn’t how she’d imagined things would turn out in her life-but as she watched Peter grin after scampering up a small rise, waiting for her, holding his hand to her to help her the last little bit, she realized it was absolutely perfect.
~ - ~
They were doing the dishes a few days later when she found herself able to say the words in return.
“I love you,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him as he washed one of the glasses from their meal.
He stilled, his arms dropping so his wrists rested on the edge of the sink. She felt him take a shuddering breath, and she felt emboldened.
“I love you, Peter. I love you.” She couldn’t stop saying the words, repeating them as she brushed kisses across his back.
He finally turned, his hands dripping with suds as he cupped her jaw, pausing only a moment to catch her eye before leaning down for a kiss.
“I love you,” he whispered, breaking the kiss for only a moment.
“I love you,” she replied, her hands now resting on his chest, tears pricking at her eyes. The sheer intensity of the feeling, of the admission, overwhelmed her, and she finally had to pull away from another of Peter’s gentle kisses to catch her breath.
He gave her a soft smile, and pulled her to him, embracing her, rocking her gently side to side as he leaned against the edge of the sink.
“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of saying it. ‘I love you’,” he whispered, brushing his lips over her hair. “As I’ll never tire of hearing you say it in return.”
She tilted her head back. “I love you.”
“Exactly so.”
She smiled, rocking onto the balls of her feet so she could kiss the scar on his jaw. “My Peter.”
“My Rose,” he replied, a note of laughter in his voice. He loved teasing her, telling her she belonged to him; she’d rejoin, saying that he, in fact, belonged to her.
She relaxed, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady, soothing thump of his heart. She loved him. And was loved in return.
~ fin ~