The Way of Things, Chapter 31
Monday wasn’t any better than Sunday, Peter decided. Worse, actually-he’d at least awoken from a dream about Rose on Sunday, even if the shock of realizing it had only been a dream had cast a pall over the day. Monday morning, he awoke from a troubled sleep, dreams which he couldn’t remember causing him to feel uneasy as he got ready for work.
He skipped breakfast, making time only for a cup of coffee on his way to the station. He’d been jumpy since the call of the day before; the sound of Rose’s voice had had more of an effect on him than he would have liked, and the news she had shared hadn’t been good. That the technology was a teleport was bad enough; if it was large enough, it might also mean that McGreevy would have had the ability to move about, unseen, quite easily, and that Swinson would now potentially also have that capability. That knowledge was unnerving in the extreme, and he’d not rest easy until Rose was back near him-or they caught Swinson. He would not admit that he rather wanted Rose back near him more than he wanted to catch Swinson.
On the plus side, at least they’d formally identified what it was that McGreevy, Swinson, and Philippa had been trying to sell.
Penington, Mickey, Jake, and James were all waiting for him when he stumbled in. Fury still radiated off of Mickey, and Peter stifled a sigh. Jake, at least, was willing to continue working with him. James had been appointed team leader in Rose’s absence and, while distant, had seemed to be willing to carry on the partnership between Torchwood and the North Lakes constabulary. There was no update for morning discussion, and Jake and Mickey set off to do a quick check of the lab and McGreevy’s cottage while James wandered to the other end of the station to work with Gerry on the forensic accounting.
Despite his and Penington’s efforts the day before, they’d been unable to get a warrant signed. It seemed finding their former lead suspect burnt to a crisp wasn’t enough; the magistrate-who had been pulled from the links-was requesting something more tangible. Peter had been stunned into silence at that request, wondering if the world had gone mad, or if they’d just lucked into an unusually stupid signatory that particular day. He certainly hoped the ridiculous request for further information didn’t result in any untoward results.
After the morning brief, he and Penington used the information Rose had provided, including a redacted version of the Science Directorate report, to rewrite their request. As soon as it was printed, Penington had rushed off to get it signed; he was prepared for any eventuality this time, documents and pictures and various contact names and numbers tucked away, trying to ensure that he would walk away with a signed warrant. Peter probably could have forced the issue, the events of the case clearly demonstrating probable cause to his experienced eye-but he wanted an iron-clad case, down to the issuance of the search warrant. As he sat waiting for Penington to return, he whiled away some time by drafting up Swinson’s arrest warrant, as well; it never hurt to be prepared, after all.
Peter sat in the interrogation room, the draft arrest warrant sitting on the table, staring at the empty chair across from him. He could see a light at the end of the tunnel, investigation-wise, and he wondered if they’d finish before Rose would have a chance to return. He’d not missed how she’d made an effort to emphasize the point during the call the day before-neither had he missed James’s surprised expression when she’d said it.
Her team hadn’t been expecting her to return.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of James, who sauntered over and sat himself in Rose’s chair. Peter leaned back, holding the other man’s gaze, and waited for him to speak.
“We think we found the start of the money trail for Swinson.”
Peter arched an eyebrow and waited for James to continue.
“Gerry is looking to see if it ties back to McGreevy at all. London is following the path forward. I think you can understand their interest.”
“I think I might, yes.” Peter sat up. “Penny should be headed back with our lovely pass into Swinson’s. He and I were planning to go; who from your team would you like to join us?”
James looked at him thoughtfully. “Don’t have too much of a choice. Mickey can’t stand you, so it’s me or Jake. I reckon I’ll go, as we’ve not really had the pleasure of seeing each other in action. As it were.”
Peter nodded. “Some of Ian’s boys will be going as well. Anything else we’ll need to bring?”
“Not that I can think of. I spoke with Rose again this morning-she expected to see the Scientific Directorate demo of the tech sometime today, pending the whims of the Director. She said she’d ring down if anything new cropped up before then.”
Peter remained very still, focusing on not reacting to the news of Rose. James paused briefly, before continuing. “She repeated her request that we be careful. All of us.”
Peter closed his eyes briefly in relief. Surely the fact that she wanted all of them to be careful, had emphasized it enough for James to repeat it to him-surely that was a good sign. When he reopened his eyes, James was staring at him. “Right. As soon as Penny’s back, then, we’ll head out,” he said brusquely, in an effort to cover his emotion. James made to stand, and Peter asked one more question. “Anything else at the lab?”
“No, actually. Those gadgets were just neat looking pieces, apparently. It was the journals that helped them crack the tech.” James stood and moved behind Rose’s chair.
Peter nodded his thanks, and James turned to leave the room. Peter sat, staring at the wall, as silence surrounded him. Rose would be coming back, and she wanted them all to be safe. He hoped she was taking her own advice-he’d not be able to bear it if something happened to her because she’d gone to London.
Peter shook himself out of his thoughts and rooted around the desk for a clean piece of paper. Finding one in a pile of discarded ideas, he began to sketch out his theories. There was every chance that-assuming they caught Swinson-the case would be taken out of his hands. But in the event it wasn’t, he wanted to have his case fully prepared for prosecution. It was about damn time he focused on the paperwork, anyway.
He found a Biro and used it to draw three columns. The first was labelled ‘motive’, and underneath he wrote ‘money?’
The second column, means, was equally succinct-‘bare hands’ for Philippa, ‘fire’ for McGreevy. In parenthesis, he wrote ‘stabbed?’-he had a feeling McGreevy had been incapacitated in some not insubstantial way before the warehouse was set alight.
The third column, opportunity, was the difficult one. They had physical evidence McGreevy had killed Philippa but no actual location. Technically, he still had no proof McGreevy had been killed by Swinson; it was only instinct and experience which made him so confident.
As he looked at the paper, it occurred to him they still didn’t have a motive for Philippa’s murder. Money, certainly, figured into it, but why then? He’d assumed she’d been killed to silence her, but there was nothing to definitively say that.
He sighed and balled the piece of paper in frustration. He hated cases involving triangles-they muddied the waters.
Peter lightly chucked the pen across the room and decided it was time for some coffee. His body was telling him he really needed to eat, as well-in spite of still having no appetite, he decided it wouldn’t do to drop from hunger at Swinson’s house. Chances were Torchwood would leave him behind, and he couldn’t even be sure his own colleagues would do much more than the minimum on his behalf.
It was a nice day, and a short walk into town provided him with a fresh cup of proper coffee. There were some stands set up in the market square, and he picked up an orange to substitute as his lunch before making his way back to the station. The fresh air had helped to clear his mind, and he was actually looking forward to settling back in to work as he walked back in to the station.
He was brought up short on his return; Jake, James, Mickey, Penington, and Ian were all huddled in the room, clearly awaiting his arrival. In any other mood, he would have laughed at the visible relief on their faces when he walked in; instead, the energy he’d felt from being outside evaporated. He set the coffee down on the table, and set to peeling his orange as he broke the silence. “What?”
Penington really did look rattled, he noted, and he pulled off a section of orange as he continued to look expectantly at the group. He had just popped the small piece of fruit into his mouth when Jake finally spoke.
“Rose rang. We tried to find you, but you forgot your mobile.” Peter pulled off another section of the citrus, slowly began to chew it to cover his sheepishness. Jake continued. “She saw the demo today. The teleport is big enough for a man to go anywhere he wants-well, within a reasonable distance-any time. And it’s almost untraceable.”
Peter finished chewing and swallowed. “That’s bad news, then.”
Mickey snorted. James picked up the narrative. “They think, based off the journals, that McGreevy was able to augment it at the very least, if not outright copy it. And that he’d several serious offers for the thing.”
Peter continued to munch on his orange. No one spoke, and he finally broke the silence by putting voice to the thought that was forefront on his mind. “Didn’t we already suspect this much?”
Jake answered. “Yeah. But now it’s official. McGreevy was trafficking in classified technology. Which belonged to the government.”
Ah, so that’s why they were so tense. “So...you’re saying that the case is no longer the concern of the constabulary, and you’re taking over?”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. James spoke up. “Not quite. There’s still a murder investigation-or two-to be solved. But the things related to the tech are no longer of your concern.”
“I didn’t think they ever were,” Peter replied drily. He finished the orange and deposited the rind and pips in the bin. “Small problem, though-you don’t have the thing McGreevy most likely built, and you need Swinson to tell you what’s been going on; we need Swinson so he can answer for a crime or two. The question is: Are we still working together? Or, as we speak, is another of your crack field teams detaining Mr. Swinson and moving him to an undisclosed location?” He took a sip of his coffee.
Mickey’s glare was positively murderous, and Peter waggled his eyebrows at the man. He didn’t miss Jake moving his hand to calm Mickey, and he stifled a grin. He was going to have fun baiting Mickey, especially if the man was determined to hate him now. Really, it was almost too easy to get him riled up.
James once more spoke. “Our instructions were clear-we’re still working together. The criminal cases-case, really-is your purview. We just want whatever it is McGreevy built, and then Swinson-when you’re done with him.”
Peter couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Really?”
“Really. Came from the Director himself.”
Peter felt his eyebrows arch. That was interesting. “Right. Penny, did you have any luck?”
The DC straightened. “Yes, sir. We were waiting for you, actually, when Rose called.”
“Ah. My apologies. Now I’m here, shall we set out?”
James moved towards the door. “I’ll get our things out of the van. See you in the car park.”
Peter looked at Ian and Penington, who were clearly ready to get out of the room. As Peter made to leave, Jake spoke. “Rose said one more thing, Peter. She was especially careful to emphasize that we need to stay in pairs if we’re away from the station. If Swinson has a teleport, he can go anywhere.”
“Duly noted.” Peter followed Penington and Ian out the door.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Rose had awoken from a dreamless sleep early Monday, keen on arriving at work early in case Dr. Smith tried to sneak the demo past her. She had stayed at her parent’s mansion-Pete might call it a house, but the place was huge. Her car was still tucked away in the Torchwood garage, occupying the space she’d left it in five weeks earlier, and she was able to catch a ride in with Pete; their conversation was light, both of them pre-occupied by what might be waiting for them in Greenwich. She stopped by the cafeteria on her way to her office, and settled in behind her desk with a piping cup of tea and a cup of yoghurt.
Shortly after eight, she rang James. Nothing had happened in Kendal since her departure, although Carlisle and Penington had appeared to have no luck with the warrant the day before. Rose let James know she was expecting to see a demo of the technology they’d found at McGreevy’s house at some point that morning; she was hoping it would be sooner rather than later. James had laughed self-deprecatingly when she told him the dusty gadgets they’d found in the lab were nothing more than dust-gathering souvenirs; all of the time he’d spent on them had been wasted. She promised to ring him with any information from the demo and-with a final admonition to remind the entire team to stay safe-she rang off. She’d been careful to emphasize that all of them should be careful, and she was hoping that James would pick up on that subtlety. It was stupid-if she wanted Peter to be careful, she could ring him herself and tell him so. But the thought of any conversation with Peter over a telephone line seemed wrong. She had much to apologise for, and it had to happen face-to-face.
She spent some time working on the inevitable pile of paperwork which had accumulated in her absence, trying desperately not to look at the clock on her desk. She hoped to be able to return to Kendal that afternoon; after her talk with her mum, she was eager to go back north, to see if she could make her actions up to Peter. She had told Pete she had plenty of work to do in London, but the truth was the only thing of import was seeing the demonstration-her paperwork would wait. If she could see what the tech did, she should be able to head north almost immediately afterwards.
She was terribly tempted to go downstairs, to stay parked in Dr. Smith’s office until he gave her the demonstration she wanted; but she knew enough of the man to know that she’d pushed as far as she could the day before. Pushing any further would result in absolutely no action from him, and there would be nothing she’d be able to do about it. With a sigh, she reached out and turned the clock away from her.
Dr. Smith’s assistant finally rang shortly after 10:30. They’d set up a demonstration, if she was available. She hared down to the lower levels, arriving in the sterile laboratory shortly after Jacques and Pete.
It didn’t take long. A few switches were flipped, and she watched one of the technicians-the one holding the device-dematerialise and then reappear behind them. There was a slight tang of electricity in the air, but otherwise no indication that anything odd had occurred.
For something that had been a mystery for so long, it seemed rather anticlimactic. She wondered that it had been such a surprise at all, but supposed much of that surprise was down to McGreevy hoarding information, telling Smith and others that he’d made absolutely no progress when in fact he’d worked things out with more ease than they’d suspected.
The journals had been cracked by one of Jacques’ master cryptologists; the code on those journals was ultimately the most challenging mystery related to the small piece of technology the technician still held. Once they’d had those journals, it had been short work to solve the question of what the device did.
Oddly, it was Jacques who’d asked about replicating the technology. Smith had looked surprised before admitting that, given time and resources, it was possible. McGreevy had been working with the artefact for well over six months before his disappearance; he’d definitely had the time, and had access to the resources through his eager helper, Philippa.
As they stood discussing the tech, Rose was reminded of her visit to Platform One, of watching Cassandra teleport off the station. The Doctor had been able to reverse that teleport-and Blon’s, in Cardiff, amongst many others on their travels-using the sonic screwdriver. They didn’t have a sonic screwdriver, but maybe...
“Is it traceable in any way?” she asked, interrupting a discussion of possible uses.
Doctor Smith looked uncomfortable.
“You did check?” Jacques prodded.
“The journals said it was untraceable.”
“But you checked, here in the lab?” Pete’s interest was piqued.
Doctor Smith averted his eyes. “No, sir.”
“Do it. It’s now a priority.”
“But sir! We’ve other things...”
“Doctor Smith. There have been two murders as a result of one of your scientists going rogue. Do you really want a third?”
“No, sir.”
Rose asked if there was a limited useful distance, and was told they suspected it was no more than a few kilometers. They were still refining how to set coordinates using the switches and a small dial, but the furthest one of the techs had gone was to Hampstead. It seemed a bit hit-or-miss the further they tried to travel, and the group was planning to conduct more tests later in the day.
Rose, Jacques, and Pete left the laboratory and returned upstairs to Jacques’ office to discuss how to proceed. Rose was relieved when Pete was adamant that the investigation remain a partnership with the locals-he was still trying to build Torchwood’s reputation for collaboration with the more traditional police services, and saw this as an ideal opportunity. Rose briefly wondered if he was doing it so she’d have an excuse to return to Kendal, before shaking off the thought as far too self-centred. Pete was scrupulous about separating work from family; if he said his primary motivation was to build Torchwood’s reputation, he meant it.
They finally wrapped up around lunchtime, and Rose hurried down to her office. Closing her office door behind her, she dialled James’ mobile. The team needed to know the information she had, badly. She was disappointed that Peter wasn’t there.
She wondered what James thought when Peter was the first member of the team whose presence she enquired after-her disappointment shading to concern when no one seemed to know where he had gone. Knowing Peter, he’d probably just wandered off for sweets, but that didn’t quite quell her anxiety. Rose decided she’d not rest easy until he was back near her. After sharing the news from the morning, she took the opportunity to tell the group to work together in pairs until they had the tech in hand.
She’d been relieved when Jake had texted her a half-hour later, letting her know Peter had returned to the station after a snack run. She hadn’t specifically asked to be updated when Peter returned, but the fact that Jake had done it anyway made clear that her worry for Peter had been obvious over the phone. She wondered guiltily what Mickey had thought of that-she needed to tell him to back off Peter almost as badly as she needed to talk to Peter himself.
A quick bite from the canteen served as her lunch, and she made her way up to Pete’s office shortly after one.
He was in a meeting, and she spent the hour she waited for him trying to finish off the never-ending pile of paperwork. Being a team lead had many perks, but one of the major drawbacks was the amount of red tape involved. She was reviewing and signing forms from cases they’d worked months ago, and it was hard to keep her mind focused on the particulars of what she was reviewing. She wanted to get back to Kendal; key things were going on up there, without her, and it was driving her mad. Key professional things, of course. And-it was no good to pretend otherwise-she was almost desperate to see Peter again, to reassure herself that he was alright and to convince him that she was so very sorry for all of her stupidity and to plead with him for another chance. Above all of that, she simply missed him, with an alarming intensity. More than anything, she wanted to drive back to Kendal and track Peter down and make everything wonderful again, the way it had been only a few days ago. She was useless in London-she had seen what she needed to and was eager to go home, change, and drive north.
She shook her head, re-focusing. She’d not retained a word of what she’d read in front of her.
Her phone finally rang, startling her. It was Pete’s secretary, letting her know she could come upstairs to meet with him.
Pete was sitting behind his desk, his sleeves rolled up. A pile of papers sat before him, and he greeted her with a weary smile. “You have five minutes-I have another meeting and, well, you know how it goes.”
She smiled and sat. “Oh, I know. At least my pile of paper looks nothing like that.”
Pete chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Her five minutes had just begun.
“I’m going back to Kendal,” she said without preamble.
Pete raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.
“I’ll be of more use up there; I’ve seen all I needed to down here, and I really think all of the major things from here on out will happen up there.” She held Pete’s gaze.
“Those are the only factors involved?”
Far from it, she thought. She didn’t even think they were the primary factors. “I’d be lying if I said yes. But they’re the best reasons for me to go back. I’m the team lead. I should be leading them.”
“Are you going to be able to, without finding a new reason to return here in a few days?” Rose opened her mouth to speak, but Pete held up a hand. “I know you had business reasons for coming down, Rose-and I’m glad you did. But as the Director, I think it’s a fair question. Are you going to bounce between here and there wasting time with travel? Or are you going to go north and see this thing through?”
Rose squinted. Had Jackie told him some of their conversation? Pete would have worked things out on his own-presumably had the minute she’d arrived the day before-but it seemed as though he was giving her his tacit approval for what she had told him the night before. She finally answered him. “I’m going to see this through.”
Pete smiled. “Then you’d best be going. What time is your flight?”
Rose blushed. “I’d thought to drive back. It’s been a bit frustrating having only one car-and that the van.”
“Be careful, then. Your mum knows you won’t be joining us for supper?”
“I’ll tell her when I stop by the house-although I think she might suspect any way.”
Pete nodded and stood. “Very well. It’s been a bit more than five minutes, but it was time well-spent.” He walked around the edge of the desk, moving towards Rose; she stood and moved to meet him. Pete gave her a tight hug before stepping back. “Good luck, Rose. With everything. Don’t forget to call your mum to check in.”
She grinned. “I won’t. Love you.”
“You, too.”
Rose left Pete’s office, making a quick stop by hers to clean up and shut everything down. After ensuring all was in order, she locked up and headed to her car.
It took longer than she would have liked to pick up fresh clothes from her flat-she held out hope she’d be able to mend things with Peter, and wanted to have some nice clothes with her. She spent far too much time staring into her closet, trying to decide which outfits would appeal to Peter, and finally settled on some fresh trousers, some nice blouses and a dress; she also thought to grab some dressier shoes than she’d tucked away in her hotel room in Kendal. Her mail had been sorted, thanks to Jackie checking to make sure no one had broken in, and she threw the bundle of envelopes into her carryall as she left.
Her parents’ house was on her way out of town, and she was there in no time at all. Jackie didn’t seem at all surprised when Rose stopped in to say she was headed back north, ushering her daughter into the small study in which they’d had tea the day before. As Jackie closed the door and turned to her daughter, Rose had one question to ask of her mum. “Did you talk with Pete?”
Jackie looked affronted. “You asked me not to!”
Rose considered the question, and rephrased it. “Did Pete talk to you?”
“He might have done. He didn’t need any help from me, mind-you’re an easy book to read sometimes, Rose.”
She blushed and changed the subject. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. But I’ll call. Usual time and day.”
Jackie gave her a hug. “Give him a chance. If he’s worth it, he’ll come through.”
Rose’s smile was bittersweet as she pulled back. “And what if he’s not?”
Jackie grinned. “I’ll hunt him down myself. Now go. You’ve a long drive.”
Jackie hadn’t been kidding. Traffic on the orbital was terrible, there were road works on the motorway north, and the weather turned exceedingly foul when she finally reached north of Manchester. She pulled off at one of the highway services for some cocoa, and called James.
“Yeah, Rose?”
“I’m headed back. How’d things go?”
She heard him chuckle. “The DI is wound pretty tight these days, Rose.”
“I meant at Swinson’s, James.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.
“Sorry, normally when you call you’re most concerned about Carlisle’s present whereabouts, state of mind, well-being, and wardrobe.”
Rose blushed but rejoined, steadily, “I’ve never asked about his wardrobe.”
“Only because you’ve no need, as it’s the same every day.”
“Are you going to tell me anything useful about Swinson, James, or would you prefer to keep discussing the Inspector’s sartorial choices?”
“Well, much as I love a good debate about fashion, Swinson’s been at his house recently. Sadly, though, not today. Carlisle posted four PC’s to watch the place, and basically let Penny and Ian loose going through it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s setting Penny up.”
Rose felt her stomach drop, memories of what Peter had told her about Blythe coming to mind. She knew he wasn’t that kind of man, but still felt the need to get clarification. “How d’you mean?”
“You remember when you got me promoted? Gave me the work to make me look good? Same thing.”
Rose felt herself relax. She needed to have faith in Peter; she knew him. She didn’t need to let her personal insecurities colour her trust in him-and hadn’t her mother just reminded her to give him a chance? “I’m impressed.”
“I’m bloody amazed. The DI’s a sharp man, but I’d never have thought of him doing something like that. Whatever happened with you two this weekend, Rose-it’s affected the Inspector.”
Rose swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. “Well, if he’s still not wearing colour,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “then my job is far from done.”
“He looks like hell, Rose,” James told her, seriously. “He’s been moping about, I don’t think he’s combed his hair, he definitely hasn’t shaved, I’m not sure he’s slept, and, most alarmingly, he’s barely eaten anything all day.” James paused.
Rose didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if there was anything she could say. This was what she’d done to Peter, who deserved so much better, and how was she ever going to make up for it?
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, Rose,” James continued, when she didn’t say anything. “But whatever it was, if it was something he did, you’ve got to get back here to give him the opportunity to apologise to you, because he’s agonising over it. And if it was something you did, then you’ve got to get back here to do the apologising, because I think it’s pretty clear he’s forgiven you.”
Rose did not dare to hope that this was true…and yet she hoped it anyway. “I’m trying,” she said, and then collected herself, continuing briskly. “I’ve no idea what time I’ll be in, so I’ll meet you all at the station tomorrow.”
James let her get away with changing the subject. “Be safe, Rose. See you tomorrow.”
She arrived in Kendal well after ten; having handed her keys off to the valet at the hotel, she wearily walked into the brightness of the hotel lobby. She collected her room key and, as if by instinct, made her way to the lounge at the back of the lobby.
As he had after every date she’d had with Peter, Mickey was waiting for her. She sighed, not particularly keen on having a conversation with him after her long drive; after a moment of internal debate, she finally decided it was better to have it and be done, and walked into the lounge. “I’m back,” she said with forced cheer.
Rose let Mickey vent about the DI, about how the man had acted in her absence, his sarcasm and aloofness doing nothing to make up for what he’d done to Rose. Mickey was able to tell her how the DI had spent every minute in Mickey’s company, and while he insisted the DI had acted appallingly, she’d been unable to find much fault at all with what Mickey was relaying. If she was perfectly fair, it sounded as though the DI had actually toned things down quite a bit, although she didn’t miss the references to him deliberately baiting Mickey.
She should have called Mickey before she left London, should have called him off sooner-although he should have known to tone it down a bit on his own. When she was sure Mickey was done, she set him straight.
Yes, she’d been upset on Saturday; yes, the DI had taken the news badly. But that was as much her fault-probably more-than his. She reminded Mickey that he’d been advocating for Peter to know, right up until he’d found her Saturday; had encouraged her to get to know the DI-had even liked the man. Mickey had found her at a bad time, and while his sympathy had been appreciated-had been an incredible comfort at the time-the fact was that it wasn’t a capital offence which Peter had committed. Peter was in the same situation Jake had been in-even Pete had been in-but without the benefit of knowing was going on until well into the game. And that was her fault, as Mickey had warned her it would be the longer she waited to tell Peter.
“Bit different from last time we spoke,” Mickey replied.
Rose sighed. “Yeah. Time and distance help. So’d Mum. And I had a lot of time to think in the car.”
Mickey remained unconvinced. “It’s only been two days since you couldn’t wait to get away from here, Rose. Seems a bit fast for a change of heart.”
Rose paused, thinking, before responding. “Mickey, if Jake had rejected you, what would you have done?”
“But he didn’t. He knew where I came from, and accepted me as I was.”
“But if he hadn’t. If things hadn’t taken, if he’d not been able to cope-what then?”
Mickey was silent for a moment. “I s’pose...I’d’ve tried to talk to him one last time, to get him to understand, before moving on.”
“Exactly. Peter and I haven’t talked. Not really-I told him something, he listened-not much of a discussion, that. I need to talk with him before I decide what to do. I need to know what he wants to do, what he thinks.”
“He’s a git.”
“He was hurt. And I didn’t get to tell him everything I should have.”
“How’s that?”
“Never you mind. I’m going to talk with him, Mickey. I like him. I want to try to make this work; if it fails, I want it to be for something other than his resemblance to the Doctor. You don’t have to like him-but at least, don’t antagonize him any more. Treat him like...like...”
“Big ears?”
Rose laughed. “Be nicer. Give me a chance to talk with him. Please.”
Mickey scowled. “I don’t like it, Rose. But for you, I’ll do it.”
Rose hugged him. “Thank you. I know what I’m doing now, Mickey-I know what I want. And I want Peter. ” She looked around the room, her mind slowly winding down after her long day. “I’m going to call it a night, I think-have things to unpack, and Mum’ll kill me if I don’t ring down to let her know I made it. You should head to bed yourself, y’know. You have a long day of behaving yourself ahead of you tomorrow.” She grinned as Mickey tried not to look affronted.
“I’ve behaved just fine. It’s the Inspector as hasn’t.” At Rose’s reproachful look, Mickey sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll behave tomorrow. But you’re right, it’s time to call it a night. C’mon, I’ll walk you upstairs.”
Rose smiled at Mickey, locking her arm with his as they turned and walked out of the lounge.
He skipped breakfast, making time only for a cup of coffee on his way to the station. He’d been jumpy since the call of the day before; the sound of Rose’s voice had had more of an effect on him than he would have liked, and the news she had shared hadn’t been good. That the technology was a teleport was bad enough; if it was large enough, it might also mean that McGreevy would have had the ability to move about, unseen, quite easily, and that Swinson would now potentially also have that capability. That knowledge was unnerving in the extreme, and he’d not rest easy until Rose was back near him-or they caught Swinson. He would not admit that he rather wanted Rose back near him more than he wanted to catch Swinson.
On the plus side, at least they’d formally identified what it was that McGreevy, Swinson, and Philippa had been trying to sell.
Penington, Mickey, Jake, and James were all waiting for him when he stumbled in. Fury still radiated off of Mickey, and Peter stifled a sigh. Jake, at least, was willing to continue working with him. James had been appointed team leader in Rose’s absence and, while distant, had seemed to be willing to carry on the partnership between Torchwood and the North Lakes constabulary. There was no update for morning discussion, and Jake and Mickey set off to do a quick check of the lab and McGreevy’s cottage while James wandered to the other end of the station to work with Gerry on the forensic accounting.
Despite his and Penington’s efforts the day before, they’d been unable to get a warrant signed. It seemed finding their former lead suspect burnt to a crisp wasn’t enough; the magistrate-who had been pulled from the links-was requesting something more tangible. Peter had been stunned into silence at that request, wondering if the world had gone mad, or if they’d just lucked into an unusually stupid signatory that particular day. He certainly hoped the ridiculous request for further information didn’t result in any untoward results.
After the morning brief, he and Penington used the information Rose had provided, including a redacted version of the Science Directorate report, to rewrite their request. As soon as it was printed, Penington had rushed off to get it signed; he was prepared for any eventuality this time, documents and pictures and various contact names and numbers tucked away, trying to ensure that he would walk away with a signed warrant. Peter probably could have forced the issue, the events of the case clearly demonstrating probable cause to his experienced eye-but he wanted an iron-clad case, down to the issuance of the search warrant. As he sat waiting for Penington to return, he whiled away some time by drafting up Swinson’s arrest warrant, as well; it never hurt to be prepared, after all.
Peter sat in the interrogation room, the draft arrest warrant sitting on the table, staring at the empty chair across from him. He could see a light at the end of the tunnel, investigation-wise, and he wondered if they’d finish before Rose would have a chance to return. He’d not missed how she’d made an effort to emphasize the point during the call the day before-neither had he missed James’s surprised expression when she’d said it.
Her team hadn’t been expecting her to return.
His musings were interrupted by the arrival of James, who sauntered over and sat himself in Rose’s chair. Peter leaned back, holding the other man’s gaze, and waited for him to speak.
“We think we found the start of the money trail for Swinson.”
Peter arched an eyebrow and waited for James to continue.
“Gerry is looking to see if it ties back to McGreevy at all. London is following the path forward. I think you can understand their interest.”
“I think I might, yes.” Peter sat up. “Penny should be headed back with our lovely pass into Swinson’s. He and I were planning to go; who from your team would you like to join us?”
James looked at him thoughtfully. “Don’t have too much of a choice. Mickey can’t stand you, so it’s me or Jake. I reckon I’ll go, as we’ve not really had the pleasure of seeing each other in action. As it were.”
Peter nodded. “Some of Ian’s boys will be going as well. Anything else we’ll need to bring?”
“Not that I can think of. I spoke with Rose again this morning-she expected to see the Scientific Directorate demo of the tech sometime today, pending the whims of the Director. She said she’d ring down if anything new cropped up before then.”
Peter remained very still, focusing on not reacting to the news of Rose. James paused briefly, before continuing. “She repeated her request that we be careful. All of us.”
Peter closed his eyes briefly in relief. Surely the fact that she wanted all of them to be careful, had emphasized it enough for James to repeat it to him-surely that was a good sign. When he reopened his eyes, James was staring at him. “Right. As soon as Penny’s back, then, we’ll head out,” he said brusquely, in an effort to cover his emotion. James made to stand, and Peter asked one more question. “Anything else at the lab?”
“No, actually. Those gadgets were just neat looking pieces, apparently. It was the journals that helped them crack the tech.” James stood and moved behind Rose’s chair.
Peter nodded his thanks, and James turned to leave the room. Peter sat, staring at the wall, as silence surrounded him. Rose would be coming back, and she wanted them all to be safe. He hoped she was taking her own advice-he’d not be able to bear it if something happened to her because she’d gone to London.
Peter shook himself out of his thoughts and rooted around the desk for a clean piece of paper. Finding one in a pile of discarded ideas, he began to sketch out his theories. There was every chance that-assuming they caught Swinson-the case would be taken out of his hands. But in the event it wasn’t, he wanted to have his case fully prepared for prosecution. It was about damn time he focused on the paperwork, anyway.
He found a Biro and used it to draw three columns. The first was labelled ‘motive’, and underneath he wrote ‘money?’
The second column, means, was equally succinct-‘bare hands’ for Philippa, ‘fire’ for McGreevy. In parenthesis, he wrote ‘stabbed?’-he had a feeling McGreevy had been incapacitated in some not insubstantial way before the warehouse was set alight.
The third column, opportunity, was the difficult one. They had physical evidence McGreevy had killed Philippa but no actual location. Technically, he still had no proof McGreevy had been killed by Swinson; it was only instinct and experience which made him so confident.
As he looked at the paper, it occurred to him they still didn’t have a motive for Philippa’s murder. Money, certainly, figured into it, but why then? He’d assumed she’d been killed to silence her, but there was nothing to definitively say that.
He sighed and balled the piece of paper in frustration. He hated cases involving triangles-they muddied the waters.
Peter lightly chucked the pen across the room and decided it was time for some coffee. His body was telling him he really needed to eat, as well-in spite of still having no appetite, he decided it wouldn’t do to drop from hunger at Swinson’s house. Chances were Torchwood would leave him behind, and he couldn’t even be sure his own colleagues would do much more than the minimum on his behalf.
It was a nice day, and a short walk into town provided him with a fresh cup of proper coffee. There were some stands set up in the market square, and he picked up an orange to substitute as his lunch before making his way back to the station. The fresh air had helped to clear his mind, and he was actually looking forward to settling back in to work as he walked back in to the station.
He was brought up short on his return; Jake, James, Mickey, Penington, and Ian were all huddled in the room, clearly awaiting his arrival. In any other mood, he would have laughed at the visible relief on their faces when he walked in; instead, the energy he’d felt from being outside evaporated. He set the coffee down on the table, and set to peeling his orange as he broke the silence. “What?”
Penington really did look rattled, he noted, and he pulled off a section of orange as he continued to look expectantly at the group. He had just popped the small piece of fruit into his mouth when Jake finally spoke.
“Rose rang. We tried to find you, but you forgot your mobile.” Peter pulled off another section of the citrus, slowly began to chew it to cover his sheepishness. Jake continued. “She saw the demo today. The teleport is big enough for a man to go anywhere he wants-well, within a reasonable distance-any time. And it’s almost untraceable.”
Peter finished chewing and swallowed. “That’s bad news, then.”
Mickey snorted. James picked up the narrative. “They think, based off the journals, that McGreevy was able to augment it at the very least, if not outright copy it. And that he’d several serious offers for the thing.”
Peter continued to munch on his orange. No one spoke, and he finally broke the silence by putting voice to the thought that was forefront on his mind. “Didn’t we already suspect this much?”
Jake answered. “Yeah. But now it’s official. McGreevy was trafficking in classified technology. Which belonged to the government.”
Ah, so that’s why they were so tense. “So...you’re saying that the case is no longer the concern of the constabulary, and you’re taking over?”
Everyone shifted uncomfortably. James spoke up. “Not quite. There’s still a murder investigation-or two-to be solved. But the things related to the tech are no longer of your concern.”
“I didn’t think they ever were,” Peter replied drily. He finished the orange and deposited the rind and pips in the bin. “Small problem, though-you don’t have the thing McGreevy most likely built, and you need Swinson to tell you what’s been going on; we need Swinson so he can answer for a crime or two. The question is: Are we still working together? Or, as we speak, is another of your crack field teams detaining Mr. Swinson and moving him to an undisclosed location?” He took a sip of his coffee.
Mickey’s glare was positively murderous, and Peter waggled his eyebrows at the man. He didn’t miss Jake moving his hand to calm Mickey, and he stifled a grin. He was going to have fun baiting Mickey, especially if the man was determined to hate him now. Really, it was almost too easy to get him riled up.
James once more spoke. “Our instructions were clear-we’re still working together. The criminal cases-case, really-is your purview. We just want whatever it is McGreevy built, and then Swinson-when you’re done with him.”
Peter couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “Really?”
“Really. Came from the Director himself.”
Peter felt his eyebrows arch. That was interesting. “Right. Penny, did you have any luck?”
The DC straightened. “Yes, sir. We were waiting for you, actually, when Rose called.”
“Ah. My apologies. Now I’m here, shall we set out?”
James moved towards the door. “I’ll get our things out of the van. See you in the car park.”
Peter looked at Ian and Penington, who were clearly ready to get out of the room. As Peter made to leave, Jake spoke. “Rose said one more thing, Peter. She was especially careful to emphasize that we need to stay in pairs if we’re away from the station. If Swinson has a teleport, he can go anywhere.”
“Duly noted.” Peter followed Penington and Ian out the door.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Rose had awoken from a dreamless sleep early Monday, keen on arriving at work early in case Dr. Smith tried to sneak the demo past her. She had stayed at her parent’s mansion-Pete might call it a house, but the place was huge. Her car was still tucked away in the Torchwood garage, occupying the space she’d left it in five weeks earlier, and she was able to catch a ride in with Pete; their conversation was light, both of them pre-occupied by what might be waiting for them in Greenwich. She stopped by the cafeteria on her way to her office, and settled in behind her desk with a piping cup of tea and a cup of yoghurt.
Shortly after eight, she rang James. Nothing had happened in Kendal since her departure, although Carlisle and Penington had appeared to have no luck with the warrant the day before. Rose let James know she was expecting to see a demo of the technology they’d found at McGreevy’s house at some point that morning; she was hoping it would be sooner rather than later. James had laughed self-deprecatingly when she told him the dusty gadgets they’d found in the lab were nothing more than dust-gathering souvenirs; all of the time he’d spent on them had been wasted. She promised to ring him with any information from the demo and-with a final admonition to remind the entire team to stay safe-she rang off. She’d been careful to emphasize that all of them should be careful, and she was hoping that James would pick up on that subtlety. It was stupid-if she wanted Peter to be careful, she could ring him herself and tell him so. But the thought of any conversation with Peter over a telephone line seemed wrong. She had much to apologise for, and it had to happen face-to-face.
She spent some time working on the inevitable pile of paperwork which had accumulated in her absence, trying desperately not to look at the clock on her desk. She hoped to be able to return to Kendal that afternoon; after her talk with her mum, she was eager to go back north, to see if she could make her actions up to Peter. She had told Pete she had plenty of work to do in London, but the truth was the only thing of import was seeing the demonstration-her paperwork would wait. If she could see what the tech did, she should be able to head north almost immediately afterwards.
She was terribly tempted to go downstairs, to stay parked in Dr. Smith’s office until he gave her the demonstration she wanted; but she knew enough of the man to know that she’d pushed as far as she could the day before. Pushing any further would result in absolutely no action from him, and there would be nothing she’d be able to do about it. With a sigh, she reached out and turned the clock away from her.
Dr. Smith’s assistant finally rang shortly after 10:30. They’d set up a demonstration, if she was available. She hared down to the lower levels, arriving in the sterile laboratory shortly after Jacques and Pete.
It didn’t take long. A few switches were flipped, and she watched one of the technicians-the one holding the device-dematerialise and then reappear behind them. There was a slight tang of electricity in the air, but otherwise no indication that anything odd had occurred.
For something that had been a mystery for so long, it seemed rather anticlimactic. She wondered that it had been such a surprise at all, but supposed much of that surprise was down to McGreevy hoarding information, telling Smith and others that he’d made absolutely no progress when in fact he’d worked things out with more ease than they’d suspected.
The journals had been cracked by one of Jacques’ master cryptologists; the code on those journals was ultimately the most challenging mystery related to the small piece of technology the technician still held. Once they’d had those journals, it had been short work to solve the question of what the device did.
Oddly, it was Jacques who’d asked about replicating the technology. Smith had looked surprised before admitting that, given time and resources, it was possible. McGreevy had been working with the artefact for well over six months before his disappearance; he’d definitely had the time, and had access to the resources through his eager helper, Philippa.
As they stood discussing the tech, Rose was reminded of her visit to Platform One, of watching Cassandra teleport off the station. The Doctor had been able to reverse that teleport-and Blon’s, in Cardiff, amongst many others on their travels-using the sonic screwdriver. They didn’t have a sonic screwdriver, but maybe...
“Is it traceable in any way?” she asked, interrupting a discussion of possible uses.
Doctor Smith looked uncomfortable.
“You did check?” Jacques prodded.
“The journals said it was untraceable.”
“But you checked, here in the lab?” Pete’s interest was piqued.
Doctor Smith averted his eyes. “No, sir.”
“Do it. It’s now a priority.”
“But sir! We’ve other things...”
“Doctor Smith. There have been two murders as a result of one of your scientists going rogue. Do you really want a third?”
“No, sir.”
Rose asked if there was a limited useful distance, and was told they suspected it was no more than a few kilometers. They were still refining how to set coordinates using the switches and a small dial, but the furthest one of the techs had gone was to Hampstead. It seemed a bit hit-or-miss the further they tried to travel, and the group was planning to conduct more tests later in the day.
Rose, Jacques, and Pete left the laboratory and returned upstairs to Jacques’ office to discuss how to proceed. Rose was relieved when Pete was adamant that the investigation remain a partnership with the locals-he was still trying to build Torchwood’s reputation for collaboration with the more traditional police services, and saw this as an ideal opportunity. Rose briefly wondered if he was doing it so she’d have an excuse to return to Kendal, before shaking off the thought as far too self-centred. Pete was scrupulous about separating work from family; if he said his primary motivation was to build Torchwood’s reputation, he meant it.
They finally wrapped up around lunchtime, and Rose hurried down to her office. Closing her office door behind her, she dialled James’ mobile. The team needed to know the information she had, badly. She was disappointed that Peter wasn’t there.
She wondered what James thought when Peter was the first member of the team whose presence she enquired after-her disappointment shading to concern when no one seemed to know where he had gone. Knowing Peter, he’d probably just wandered off for sweets, but that didn’t quite quell her anxiety. Rose decided she’d not rest easy until he was back near her. After sharing the news from the morning, she took the opportunity to tell the group to work together in pairs until they had the tech in hand.
She’d been relieved when Jake had texted her a half-hour later, letting her know Peter had returned to the station after a snack run. She hadn’t specifically asked to be updated when Peter returned, but the fact that Jake had done it anyway made clear that her worry for Peter had been obvious over the phone. She wondered guiltily what Mickey had thought of that-she needed to tell him to back off Peter almost as badly as she needed to talk to Peter himself.
A quick bite from the canteen served as her lunch, and she made her way up to Pete’s office shortly after one.
He was in a meeting, and she spent the hour she waited for him trying to finish off the never-ending pile of paperwork. Being a team lead had many perks, but one of the major drawbacks was the amount of red tape involved. She was reviewing and signing forms from cases they’d worked months ago, and it was hard to keep her mind focused on the particulars of what she was reviewing. She wanted to get back to Kendal; key things were going on up there, without her, and it was driving her mad. Key professional things, of course. And-it was no good to pretend otherwise-she was almost desperate to see Peter again, to reassure herself that he was alright and to convince him that she was so very sorry for all of her stupidity and to plead with him for another chance. Above all of that, she simply missed him, with an alarming intensity. More than anything, she wanted to drive back to Kendal and track Peter down and make everything wonderful again, the way it had been only a few days ago. She was useless in London-she had seen what she needed to and was eager to go home, change, and drive north.
She shook her head, re-focusing. She’d not retained a word of what she’d read in front of her.
Her phone finally rang, startling her. It was Pete’s secretary, letting her know she could come upstairs to meet with him.
Pete was sitting behind his desk, his sleeves rolled up. A pile of papers sat before him, and he greeted her with a weary smile. “You have five minutes-I have another meeting and, well, you know how it goes.”
She smiled and sat. “Oh, I know. At least my pile of paper looks nothing like that.”
Pete chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Her five minutes had just begun.
“I’m going back to Kendal,” she said without preamble.
Pete raised his eyebrows, but remained silent.
“I’ll be of more use up there; I’ve seen all I needed to down here, and I really think all of the major things from here on out will happen up there.” She held Pete’s gaze.
“Those are the only factors involved?”
Far from it, she thought. She didn’t even think they were the primary factors. “I’d be lying if I said yes. But they’re the best reasons for me to go back. I’m the team lead. I should be leading them.”
“Are you going to be able to, without finding a new reason to return here in a few days?” Rose opened her mouth to speak, but Pete held up a hand. “I know you had business reasons for coming down, Rose-and I’m glad you did. But as the Director, I think it’s a fair question. Are you going to bounce between here and there wasting time with travel? Or are you going to go north and see this thing through?”
Rose squinted. Had Jackie told him some of their conversation? Pete would have worked things out on his own-presumably had the minute she’d arrived the day before-but it seemed as though he was giving her his tacit approval for what she had told him the night before. She finally answered him. “I’m going to see this through.”
Pete smiled. “Then you’d best be going. What time is your flight?”
Rose blushed. “I’d thought to drive back. It’s been a bit frustrating having only one car-and that the van.”
“Be careful, then. Your mum knows you won’t be joining us for supper?”
“I’ll tell her when I stop by the house-although I think she might suspect any way.”
Pete nodded and stood. “Very well. It’s been a bit more than five minutes, but it was time well-spent.” He walked around the edge of the desk, moving towards Rose; she stood and moved to meet him. Pete gave her a tight hug before stepping back. “Good luck, Rose. With everything. Don’t forget to call your mum to check in.”
She grinned. “I won’t. Love you.”
“You, too.”
Rose left Pete’s office, making a quick stop by hers to clean up and shut everything down. After ensuring all was in order, she locked up and headed to her car.
It took longer than she would have liked to pick up fresh clothes from her flat-she held out hope she’d be able to mend things with Peter, and wanted to have some nice clothes with her. She spent far too much time staring into her closet, trying to decide which outfits would appeal to Peter, and finally settled on some fresh trousers, some nice blouses and a dress; she also thought to grab some dressier shoes than she’d tucked away in her hotel room in Kendal. Her mail had been sorted, thanks to Jackie checking to make sure no one had broken in, and she threw the bundle of envelopes into her carryall as she left.
Her parents’ house was on her way out of town, and she was there in no time at all. Jackie didn’t seem at all surprised when Rose stopped in to say she was headed back north, ushering her daughter into the small study in which they’d had tea the day before. As Jackie closed the door and turned to her daughter, Rose had one question to ask of her mum. “Did you talk with Pete?”
Jackie looked affronted. “You asked me not to!”
Rose considered the question, and rephrased it. “Did Pete talk to you?”
“He might have done. He didn’t need any help from me, mind-you’re an easy book to read sometimes, Rose.”
She blushed and changed the subject. “I don’t know how long I’ll be. But I’ll call. Usual time and day.”
Jackie gave her a hug. “Give him a chance. If he’s worth it, he’ll come through.”
Rose’s smile was bittersweet as she pulled back. “And what if he’s not?”
Jackie grinned. “I’ll hunt him down myself. Now go. You’ve a long drive.”
Jackie hadn’t been kidding. Traffic on the orbital was terrible, there were road works on the motorway north, and the weather turned exceedingly foul when she finally reached north of Manchester. She pulled off at one of the highway services for some cocoa, and called James.
“Yeah, Rose?”
“I’m headed back. How’d things go?”
She heard him chuckle. “The DI is wound pretty tight these days, Rose.”
“I meant at Swinson’s, James.” She couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.
“Sorry, normally when you call you’re most concerned about Carlisle’s present whereabouts, state of mind, well-being, and wardrobe.”
Rose blushed but rejoined, steadily, “I’ve never asked about his wardrobe.”
“Only because you’ve no need, as it’s the same every day.”
“Are you going to tell me anything useful about Swinson, James, or would you prefer to keep discussing the Inspector’s sartorial choices?”
“Well, much as I love a good debate about fashion, Swinson’s been at his house recently. Sadly, though, not today. Carlisle posted four PC’s to watch the place, and basically let Penny and Ian loose going through it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s setting Penny up.”
Rose felt her stomach drop, memories of what Peter had told her about Blythe coming to mind. She knew he wasn’t that kind of man, but still felt the need to get clarification. “How d’you mean?”
“You remember when you got me promoted? Gave me the work to make me look good? Same thing.”
Rose felt herself relax. She needed to have faith in Peter; she knew him. She didn’t need to let her personal insecurities colour her trust in him-and hadn’t her mother just reminded her to give him a chance? “I’m impressed.”
“I’m bloody amazed. The DI’s a sharp man, but I’d never have thought of him doing something like that. Whatever happened with you two this weekend, Rose-it’s affected the Inspector.”
Rose swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. “Well, if he’s still not wearing colour,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “then my job is far from done.”
“He looks like hell, Rose,” James told her, seriously. “He’s been moping about, I don’t think he’s combed his hair, he definitely hasn’t shaved, I’m not sure he’s slept, and, most alarmingly, he’s barely eaten anything all day.” James paused.
Rose didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if there was anything she could say. This was what she’d done to Peter, who deserved so much better, and how was she ever going to make up for it?
“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, Rose,” James continued, when she didn’t say anything. “But whatever it was, if it was something he did, you’ve got to get back here to give him the opportunity to apologise to you, because he’s agonising over it. And if it was something you did, then you’ve got to get back here to do the apologising, because I think it’s pretty clear he’s forgiven you.”
Rose did not dare to hope that this was true…and yet she hoped it anyway. “I’m trying,” she said, and then collected herself, continuing briskly. “I’ve no idea what time I’ll be in, so I’ll meet you all at the station tomorrow.”
James let her get away with changing the subject. “Be safe, Rose. See you tomorrow.”
She arrived in Kendal well after ten; having handed her keys off to the valet at the hotel, she wearily walked into the brightness of the hotel lobby. She collected her room key and, as if by instinct, made her way to the lounge at the back of the lobby.
As he had after every date she’d had with Peter, Mickey was waiting for her. She sighed, not particularly keen on having a conversation with him after her long drive; after a moment of internal debate, she finally decided it was better to have it and be done, and walked into the lounge. “I’m back,” she said with forced cheer.
Rose let Mickey vent about the DI, about how the man had acted in her absence, his sarcasm and aloofness doing nothing to make up for what he’d done to Rose. Mickey was able to tell her how the DI had spent every minute in Mickey’s company, and while he insisted the DI had acted appallingly, she’d been unable to find much fault at all with what Mickey was relaying. If she was perfectly fair, it sounded as though the DI had actually toned things down quite a bit, although she didn’t miss the references to him deliberately baiting Mickey.
She should have called Mickey before she left London, should have called him off sooner-although he should have known to tone it down a bit on his own. When she was sure Mickey was done, she set him straight.
Yes, she’d been upset on Saturday; yes, the DI had taken the news badly. But that was as much her fault-probably more-than his. She reminded Mickey that he’d been advocating for Peter to know, right up until he’d found her Saturday; had encouraged her to get to know the DI-had even liked the man. Mickey had found her at a bad time, and while his sympathy had been appreciated-had been an incredible comfort at the time-the fact was that it wasn’t a capital offence which Peter had committed. Peter was in the same situation Jake had been in-even Pete had been in-but without the benefit of knowing was going on until well into the game. And that was her fault, as Mickey had warned her it would be the longer she waited to tell Peter.
“Bit different from last time we spoke,” Mickey replied.
Rose sighed. “Yeah. Time and distance help. So’d Mum. And I had a lot of time to think in the car.”
Mickey remained unconvinced. “It’s only been two days since you couldn’t wait to get away from here, Rose. Seems a bit fast for a change of heart.”
Rose paused, thinking, before responding. “Mickey, if Jake had rejected you, what would you have done?”
“But he didn’t. He knew where I came from, and accepted me as I was.”
“But if he hadn’t. If things hadn’t taken, if he’d not been able to cope-what then?”
Mickey was silent for a moment. “I s’pose...I’d’ve tried to talk to him one last time, to get him to understand, before moving on.”
“Exactly. Peter and I haven’t talked. Not really-I told him something, he listened-not much of a discussion, that. I need to talk with him before I decide what to do. I need to know what he wants to do, what he thinks.”
“He’s a git.”
“He was hurt. And I didn’t get to tell him everything I should have.”
“How’s that?”
“Never you mind. I’m going to talk with him, Mickey. I like him. I want to try to make this work; if it fails, I want it to be for something other than his resemblance to the Doctor. You don’t have to like him-but at least, don’t antagonize him any more. Treat him like...like...”
“Big ears?”
Rose laughed. “Be nicer. Give me a chance to talk with him. Please.”
Mickey scowled. “I don’t like it, Rose. But for you, I’ll do it.”
Rose hugged him. “Thank you. I know what I’m doing now, Mickey-I know what I want. And I want Peter. ” She looked around the room, her mind slowly winding down after her long day. “I’m going to call it a night, I think-have things to unpack, and Mum’ll kill me if I don’t ring down to let her know I made it. You should head to bed yourself, y’know. You have a long day of behaving yourself ahead of you tomorrow.” She grinned as Mickey tried not to look affronted.
“I’ve behaved just fine. It’s the Inspector as hasn’t.” At Rose’s reproachful look, Mickey sighed. “Fine, fine, I’ll behave tomorrow. But you’re right, it’s time to call it a night. C’mon, I’ll walk you upstairs.”
Rose smiled at Mickey, locking her arm with his as they turned and walked out of the lounge.