The Way of Things, Chapter 32
Peter rubbed his eyes blearily, another long day without Rose done and gone. He’d come home and, after a light supper, had spent a few hours working at the table in the kitchen. After re-reading the same report for the fourth time, he’d given up, moving to stretch out on the sofa. He had a new book he’d been meaning to read for ages, and hoped it would distract him from further thoughts of Rose; from thinking constantly of how desperately he wanted to call Rose’s mobile; he wanted to see how she was, to make sure she was safe. He stared at the page in front of him, his mind still trying to work out what might be happening with Rose-and what he wanted to happen with Rose.
He still stung from her revelation, still wondered why she’d started seeing him; and yet he knew he still cared for her, still wanted her. He wondered when she’d come back. Maybe it would be worth a zeppelin ticket to go to London, to try to see her?
No. She’d run away for a reason, and had taken pains to let her team know she’d be back. She’d known he was on that call, as well. It would be best to be patient, to give her the time she needed-and to hope she’d come back to Kendal so they could work things out.
Peter finally gave up, shutting off the lights and going up to bed after decided he couldn’t bear lying on the sofa trying not to think about Rose any more.
He stripped out of his clothes, collapsing into the bed that Rose would probably never see, and tried to relax in the darkness. He found no physical relief, his body refusing to cooperate; and he spent most of the long night just laying in the dark, his mind wandering. He fell asleep at some point, awaking with a start to find his bedroom lighter than it should have been. In spite of his sleepless night, he’d managed to oversleep.
Peter made time for a quick shower, hastily drying off before he grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe and picked a potentially matching pair of shoes for his daily uniform. He ran out of his house five minutes after he was meant to be at the station.
A proper cup of coffee was an absolute necessity, and he arrived at the station a full half-hour late, the precious beverage clutched in his hand. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that his mobile hadn’t rung, and he walked into the station wearily rubbing his eyes.
He tossed his coat over his desk chair, his mind beginning to work the problem of the case once more. They’d have to go back to Swinson’s at some point-well, at least Penington and a Torchwood representative would. He’d put the young DC in charge of the scene, and hoped the man would live up to the expectations Peter had for him. He’d kept an eye on things the day before, to be sure, but the DC was a clever enough investigator when left to his own devices. He was curious to see what Penington would come up with.
He left behind the chatter of the station room, heading back to the old interrogation room so he could have the pleasure of being sneered at for the first time that day. A quick glance at his watch, one last sip of coffee, and he opened the door with a sigh.
Five pairs of eyes met his, but he only saw one. Rose was back.
He felt the room begin to tilt away, before he came to his senses. He covered automatically, “Sorry I’m late. Went on a bender last night. You know how it goes.”
Jake rose to the bait. “You sure as hell look like it.”
For the first time since he’d left his house, Peter actually looked at what he was wearing. He was a bit more rumpled than usual, and hadn’t shaved, but it was the shoes that were the problem. They were the same colour, at least, but they definitely did not match.
“Nice outfit, sir.” When had Penington become so cheeky?
Peter raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. “What’d I miss?”
“Rose is back,” James said, unnecessarily. “And that’s about it.”
“Ian did say that McGreevy would have died without the help of the fire,” Penington added.
Peter was able to manage an eloquent ‘ah’ as he found a clean patch of wall against which to lean. “Sorry I’m late, then.”
He felt like he was one half of a tennis match; he watched everyone’s eyes move from him to Rose, waiting for her to make the next move. Her cheeks were flushed, but she collected herself and spoke. “The Scientific Directorate is working to see if the teleport is traceable. The effective range isn’t far-a few miles at a go, based off of the journals and what they’d been able to find out in the lab these past few days.”
The quaver in her voice was barely noticeable, but he was studying her so closely for even the slightest signal as to why she had come back that he wanted to dance a jig at the indication of some sort of emotional turmoil. To distract himself, he forced a work-related question. “When are you expecting answers?”
Rose’s eyes flew to his; he was startled by the intensity of feeling in them. “As soon as possible. They’ve been told it’s their number one priority.”
He looked at Penington, and immediately felt it was easier to breathe. “You’re going back to Swinson’s?”
“Yes, sir. We’d thought to go out there for a bit.”
“Now that Rose is back, I thought I’d go back to working with Gerry on the money trail. There were some...interesting things,” James spoke up.
Peter turned his gaze to Jake, who answered the unspoken question. “Lending a helping hand at Swinson’s.”
Peter let his eyes travel to Mickey; he still looked sullen, but the overt hostility was gone. Interesting. “And you?”
Mickey’s response was succinct. “With them.” He gestured to Jake and Penington.
Peter swallowed and shifted his glance to Rose. “Miss Tyler?”
“I’ll go wherever I’m needed.” She swallowed, hesitated, before saying, “I had thought to stay here, to be available if London called.”
Damn. He’d hoped to stay behind, to get a chance to collect his wits. He wasn’t sure what Rose intended to do once they were alone. He was worried that possibly she meant to do nothing, and he’d no idea how he would cope with that. The group looked at him, waiting to see what move he’d make.
Well, he couldn’t turn cowardly now. She was here. And he wanted her. He knew he wanted her. “Penny,” he heard himself say, while he kept his eyes on Rose, who blushed and looked away, “do you think you have all of the resources you’ll need for Swinson’s house?”
Penington didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
Peter looked at him. “Very well, it’s all yours. I had some ideas I’d wanted to chase down, and I’ll actually have my mobile with me today if something comes up.” He paused briefly, then turned to Rose. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take over your meeting.”
“It wasn’t mine, it was James’s,” she said, mildly.
He turned to James, who waved him off. “We were catching up on office goss.” James stood. “’bout time we got moving. Gerry’s already been slaving over spreadsheets today. If we have any luck at all, we’ll have something solid out of this soon.”
Chairs scraped as the other members of the group stood. “Usual meet up?” Jake asked as he pushed his chair towards the table.
Peter saw Rose look at him before turning to Jake. “Unless something comes up, yeah. Everyone has their mobiles?”
There were murmurs yes, and Rose continued. “Remember-stay in pairs. You lot at Swinson’s be especially careful.” Peter was bemused by Rose’s quiet control of the room, and her team’s causal acceptance of the shift in leadership he’d witnessed.
Jake paused en route to the exit, and turned to Rose. “Same goes for you two, you know.” His eyes glinted, and Peter thought he saw the man’s lips quirk.
Some help he was being.
Rose had blushed. “Thank you, Jake,” she said, as though to a particularly slow student.
Peter didn’t miss Jake’s grin as he turned and walked out of the room. Mickey hung back, looking like he was about to say something. Rose was watching her friend with a wary eye, and Peter gazed evenly at the other man when he turned to him.
“Anything I can do for you, Mister Smith?” he drawled, keeping his expression neutral.
Mickey opened his mouth, stopped, looked at Rose.
“Go on, Mickey.” She gave him a smile. “Be safe.”
“See you later, then,” Mickey said to Rose. With a parting glance at Peter, he left.
The room fell into awkward silence, Peter still leaning against the wall while Rose stood on the opposite side of the room. Rose was having as much trouble looking at him as he was at her, and the silence continued uninterrupted for several painful minutes while he tried to decide what to do, while he hoped that Rose would act first to save him the decision-making. Finally, he could stand it no longer.
He pushed away from the wall, didn’t miss Rose’s wide-eyed expression as he strode towards her. Her eyes were locked on him as he came to a halt in front of her; her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks pink-and the vision of her in front of him in the garden briefly flashed through his mind.
He shook it off, focusing on the present. At least he still had an effect on her, he thought ruefully.
He leaned forward. “So...” he began, his voice low. Rose leaned towards him. He lost his nerve and swerved his mind back toward work. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned during your visit to London?”
Rose’s eyes, which had drifted to his lips, flew up to meet his. “What d’you mean?” Her voice was higher than normal-what kind of nerve had he hit? And was it something he’d said, or was it some remnant from his twin?
He resisted the urge to press her to find out. “About the teleport. What did you learn? What does it look like when it’s at home-assuming it’s not the same charming junky-looking object we dug up? How easy is it to use? Things that might, perhaps, be constructive with regards to the case.”
He watched as Rose brought her emotions under control, returning to the calm, collected woman he’d first met those many weeks ago. As he watched her, he suddenly regretted bringing up work. He didn’t want calm, collected Rose back. He wanted passionate, genuine Rose. Bloody hell. He wanted to rewind everything and start over.”
“Ah, that. I brought some things that might be of use.” She turned and stepped over to the table; as she looked down and shuffled some papers, Peter indulged in the luxury of looking at her unchallenged. As she rummaged, she continued speaking. “Technical specs, mainly. James and Jake have seen them and know what they’re looking for.”
“I take it, then, my DC wasn’t one of the anointed?”
Rose’s gaze met his, her eyes flashing. “We’re here for the tech, Inspector.”
Meaning that she wasn’t here for him? He lashed out instinctively. “Yes, thank you, that was made perfectly clear to me, Miss Tyler,” he bit out. He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers-this wasn’t getting them anywhere, personally or professionally. “Look.” He opened his eyes, focused on Rose. “If we all know what we’re looking for, there’s a better chance of it being found. Is there something we could give to the PC’s, something for them to be on the watch for, as they’re already looking for Swinson? Not your precious classified report--”he couldn’t help the sarcasm, as much as he wanted to--“but something basic. Is it bigger than a breadbox? Colour? Smell? Sound? Something?”
“We could do,” Rose said, sounding decidedly begrudging to him.
He’d been wrong about working with Rose again. This was worse than their first weeks together. He’d not be able to talk to her at all if this kept up. He sighed in resignation-it might be time for a tactical retreat. “That would be most appreciated. Could we draft something up in the next few hours?”
“You mean, could I?”
“I’d be happy to, but as you’re so dead-set on not sharing that paper, then yes. You.” He walked around her to his chair, jerking it out from under the table.
“And what will you be doing during this time?” Rose’s voice was challenging.
“Trying not to murder you,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Rose’s voice was sharp, and her eyes had narrowed.
“Trying to work out motives,” he said, brightly. He moved some papers around until he found a blank tablet. “Surely you don’t need the help of a lowly DI to draft up something from a technical report?”
Rose pulled her chair back from the table with a violent tug. “Thanks, I think I can manage.” She yanked the chair forward, viciously shoved papers aside, all the while avoiding making eye contact.
He put on his glasses, feeling a hollow sort of victory at having made Rose angry. He found a Biro, began to draw columns on the page to help focus his thoughts. He knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d been desperate to see Rose again, had even thought of how he could try to talk to her; but now that she was back in front of him, he couldn’t help but push her buttons. Possibly, he admitted, because he didn’t want to give her an opening to push his. The best defence: a good offense.
The room once more fell into a tense silence, the only sound that of his pen scratching across paper.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Rose was furious. She’d only come back to this blasted place to set things right with Peter, and he was being a five-star pillock. She’d seen better behaviour out of her young brother, in the middle of a temper tantrum. Peter was deliberately provoking her.
If he didn’t want to hear her apology, did he have to be so rude about it?
She stared at the gibberish in front of her; writing a basic description of what to look for shouldn’t be so difficult. The damned DI, however, had made it almost impossible for her to concentrate. His physical proximity was driving her spare-she could periodically catch the scent of his soap, and she was hyper-aware of every movement he made across the table. He was calmly writing his thoughts out, the handwriting neat and precise.
She found herself stealing glances at him as he wrote, but stopped doing that when she looked over to see him thoughtfully chewing on the end of his pen. Damn him and his oral fixation, anyway.
His unaffected air was only making her more frustrated. He seemed blissfully unaware of the havoc he was wreaking, but Rose knew he wasn’t entirely unmoved. She’d not missed the brief wave of emotion that had crossed his face when he’d walked in late to find her there. He’d brought that under control quickly, had swung hard-over to aloof sarcasm; and she’d begun to wonder if she’d had a chat with Mickey a bit too early.
She’d been excited to see Peter again, and nervous-unsure of how or when to speak with him, just knowing she had to do it soon. She’d not been expecting to be welcomed back with open arms-but she’d certainly not expected to be treated to the Peter Carlisle sarcasm special. She knew it was how he reacted when he felt uncomfortable-she supposed she could take it as a perverse form of flattery; she even supposed she should have expected it and braced herself for it-but she still found herself reacting to his tone, digging her heels in instead of turning the other cheek and making the first move.
She sighed in frustration, staring at the piece of paper in front of her. If Peter wanted to be stubborn, that was his problem. She could handle it, after all-it was no different than their first weeks working together. All she had to do was forget what the previous week had been like.
She couldn’t believe it had only been a week. Ten days, really, but it had felt like so much longer. Something about Peter resonated with her; something indefinable, which made her want to be around him, be with him. She’d been wrong when she’d said the Doctor was his twin: the only thing the two had in common was their physical appearance. She had loved the Doctor, still did; but she’d never felt that he completely understood her, or she him. Peter had instinctively known what would appeal to her, had understood her in a way not many people ever had. Some of it was no doubt down to the skills that made him a good detective-careful observation and a quick mind foremost among them-but she couldn’t believe it was simply that.
Physically, too, she reacted to him in a way she’d not with the Doctor. She’d found the Doctor-both versions of him-to be attractive and charismatic. She’d enjoyed being with and around him, had always found a thrill in his presence. But being with Peter felt right; not in a ‘this is what I’ve dreamt about’ way, but something far more elemental. To steal a phrase from her mum, she could feel it in her bones, that this was right. Not that being with the Doctor had been wrong-it had just been a different, and far shallower, feeling that she’d not even realized was lacking depth at the time. So it was silly to be so deterred by Peter’s sarcasm, when she knew how much she wanted him. She had to push through. She had to be strong. She could be, she reminded herself.
“Looks like you’re cracking right along on that,” Peter drawled from across the table, pulling her from her reverie. She looked up from the paper to find him looking at her; he was still wearing the glasses, and his expression was blank.
“And how are you doing? Single-handedly solve the case yet?” she shot back. She couldn’t help herself, reacting to his sarcasm with a snarky retort of her own.
She needed to give herself better internal pep talks, she decided.
“At least it looks like I’ve made more progress this past hour than you have. You do realize shift change is marching ever closer? And while I’ve no doubt you could do hand-puppets to share the information, ink-on-paper tends to be slightly more effective. Helps with data retention, you know,” he whispered confidentially.
She forced herself to ignore him, returning her eyes to the paper in front of her, a step up from engaging him in some battle of sarcastic wits. To hell with him and his snide comments, she tried to tell herself.
It wasn’t easy, but she was able to concentrate just enough to get a draft summary written. Another hour had passed by the time she slid the freshly-written document across to Peter.
“Does this meet your exacting standards, then?” She settled it on top of the sheet Peter had been working on, the white of his paper covered with the black ink of Peter’s neat handwriting.
He sighed, yanked his glasses off, threw them carelessly on the table. She glared at him, and saw a flash in his brown eyes. Holding her gaze, he reached down for the paper; he finally glanced down at what she’d written, quickly skimming it.
“Could you be a bit more vague? I fear there’s a surfeit of information here,” he finally said.
She snatched the paper back without a word, her anger building.
“You do realize our constables actually need at least something to go on? Assuming, of course, we expect them to have any degree of success?” His voice had once more taken on the drawling tone he used when he was particularly trying to rile someone up. He really was keen on provoking her.
Rose clenched her teeth, making a nearly physical effort to once more ignore him, and set to tweaking the memorandum. She wasn’t going to react. Even if it killed her, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Fifteen minutes later she stood, kicking the chair back. “There.” She tossed the revised document towards the man across from her. Snatching up the original copies of the Scientific Directorate’s report and the specifications, she turned to leave the room.
“Where do you think you’re going? Travel in pairs, I seem to recall you saying.”
She stopped at the door, took a calming breath. Without turning, she ground out, “I am going to secure this, and then I am going to the ladies. You are not welcome to tag along.” She threw open the door with a clang, muttering “Git” under her breath as she walked out of the room.
After completing her errands, Rose stopped into the break room for a desperately-needed cuppa. She was surprised to find Penington there, making one for himself. “Are you back, then?” she asked.
The DC set the kettle down and looked over at her. “Briefly. Jake’s around here, somewhere, talking with James. Said he wanted to see the DI as well.”
“Good luck to him,” she muttered as she collected a mug and a tea bag. Penington offered her some of the hot water, and she held out the mug so he could pour. Her mum would have a fit if she knew Rose hadn’t warmed the ceramic, but she didn’t care. She wanted tea. Badly.
Penington once more returned the kettle to the counter, and moved to pull out a chair. “Care to join me for a break? I reckon you could use one from the Inspector.”
Rose moved to the small table and joined the DC. They sat in brief silence, each fixing their tea to their satisfaction before making conversation.
The DC took a quick sip from his mug before breaking the comfortable silence. “How was London?”
“Good. I needed the break-well, relative break-I think.”
Penington made a noncommittal grunt.
“How were things up here?” she asked, conversationally.
The DC set his mug down. “A right nightmare.”
Rose was surprised-none of her team had indicated anything of the sort. “How so?”
“The DI is a misery, even by his usual sunny standards.”
Oh. That nightmare. Rose set her mug down with a thunk, tea sloshing over the sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, and certainly not with Peter’s DC.
Penington reached out a hand to stay her, sensing she was about to flee. “Look. I’m not-well, wasn’t-a huge fan of the DI. Everyone knows what happened with him, and he’s not the most charming personality. No one wants to work with him, even if everyone admits he’s good at his job. I near pitched a fit when I was assigned to him, and even thought of requesting a transfer rather than work under him. I stayed because he does know what he’s about when it comes to detecting-best of a bad situation, really. But since you all came up here, he’s…I don’t know. He’s got some spark, I suppose. He cares about what he’s doing, and it’s suddenly been much better working with him. And then, last week-I’ve never seen him like that. It even crossed my mind that some weird alien body-swap might have happened, so different was he.”
Penington paused, looking at Rose; she stared down at her tea, watching the steam roll off the surface of the liquid. He continued. “Thought he’d given up on women, actually-don’t tell anyone, but there’s a station pool on how long it’s been between shags for him. None of the estimates is under three years.”
Rose shifted uncomfortably, her heart aching for Peter. It must be miserable for him to be in such a place, to work with people who didn’t like or respect him, who practically mocked him outright. She couldn’t imagine how he survived it.
“So then, Saturday night, he looks as awful as ever I’ve seen him-and that’s saying something. And it’s only got worse since then. Today’s the new bottom; he’s never looked that rough. I’d been wondering if he was even eating until I saw him have an orange with his coffee yesterday.”
“Penny…”Rose wasn’t sure what she was going to say-what she could say. She just knew she couldn’t listen to it any more.
Penington cut her off. “Look. I’ve no idea what happened. For all I know, he’s the biggest bastard going. In fact, I’d have no problem believing that. But I do know he’s a right miserable bastard. He might deserve it, but I reckon he’s beating himself up enough for the both of you.” He stood. “I just thought you should know.”
Rose pushed her chair back, rising to stand next to the DC. She looked down at her tea as she spoke. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. She picked up the mug, raising her eyes to Penington’s. “Let’s go see what the miserable bastard is up to.”
He still stung from her revelation, still wondered why she’d started seeing him; and yet he knew he still cared for her, still wanted her. He wondered when she’d come back. Maybe it would be worth a zeppelin ticket to go to London, to try to see her?
No. She’d run away for a reason, and had taken pains to let her team know she’d be back. She’d known he was on that call, as well. It would be best to be patient, to give her the time she needed-and to hope she’d come back to Kendal so they could work things out.
Peter finally gave up, shutting off the lights and going up to bed after decided he couldn’t bear lying on the sofa trying not to think about Rose any more.
He stripped out of his clothes, collapsing into the bed that Rose would probably never see, and tried to relax in the darkness. He found no physical relief, his body refusing to cooperate; and he spent most of the long night just laying in the dark, his mind wandering. He fell asleep at some point, awaking with a start to find his bedroom lighter than it should have been. In spite of his sleepless night, he’d managed to oversleep.
Peter made time for a quick shower, hastily drying off before he grabbed some clothes out of the wardrobe and picked a potentially matching pair of shoes for his daily uniform. He ran out of his house five minutes after he was meant to be at the station.
A proper cup of coffee was an absolute necessity, and he arrived at the station a full half-hour late, the precious beverage clutched in his hand. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that his mobile hadn’t rung, and he walked into the station wearily rubbing his eyes.
He tossed his coat over his desk chair, his mind beginning to work the problem of the case once more. They’d have to go back to Swinson’s at some point-well, at least Penington and a Torchwood representative would. He’d put the young DC in charge of the scene, and hoped the man would live up to the expectations Peter had for him. He’d kept an eye on things the day before, to be sure, but the DC was a clever enough investigator when left to his own devices. He was curious to see what Penington would come up with.
He left behind the chatter of the station room, heading back to the old interrogation room so he could have the pleasure of being sneered at for the first time that day. A quick glance at his watch, one last sip of coffee, and he opened the door with a sigh.
Five pairs of eyes met his, but he only saw one. Rose was back.
He felt the room begin to tilt away, before he came to his senses. He covered automatically, “Sorry I’m late. Went on a bender last night. You know how it goes.”
Jake rose to the bait. “You sure as hell look like it.”
For the first time since he’d left his house, Peter actually looked at what he was wearing. He was a bit more rumpled than usual, and hadn’t shaved, but it was the shoes that were the problem. They were the same colour, at least, but they definitely did not match.
“Nice outfit, sir.” When had Penington become so cheeky?
Peter raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips. “What’d I miss?”
“Rose is back,” James said, unnecessarily. “And that’s about it.”
“Ian did say that McGreevy would have died without the help of the fire,” Penington added.
Peter was able to manage an eloquent ‘ah’ as he found a clean patch of wall against which to lean. “Sorry I’m late, then.”
He felt like he was one half of a tennis match; he watched everyone’s eyes move from him to Rose, waiting for her to make the next move. Her cheeks were flushed, but she collected herself and spoke. “The Scientific Directorate is working to see if the teleport is traceable. The effective range isn’t far-a few miles at a go, based off of the journals and what they’d been able to find out in the lab these past few days.”
The quaver in her voice was barely noticeable, but he was studying her so closely for even the slightest signal as to why she had come back that he wanted to dance a jig at the indication of some sort of emotional turmoil. To distract himself, he forced a work-related question. “When are you expecting answers?”
Rose’s eyes flew to his; he was startled by the intensity of feeling in them. “As soon as possible. They’ve been told it’s their number one priority.”
He looked at Penington, and immediately felt it was easier to breathe. “You’re going back to Swinson’s?”
“Yes, sir. We’d thought to go out there for a bit.”
“Now that Rose is back, I thought I’d go back to working with Gerry on the money trail. There were some...interesting things,” James spoke up.
Peter turned his gaze to Jake, who answered the unspoken question. “Lending a helping hand at Swinson’s.”
Peter let his eyes travel to Mickey; he still looked sullen, but the overt hostility was gone. Interesting. “And you?”
Mickey’s response was succinct. “With them.” He gestured to Jake and Penington.
Peter swallowed and shifted his glance to Rose. “Miss Tyler?”
“I’ll go wherever I’m needed.” She swallowed, hesitated, before saying, “I had thought to stay here, to be available if London called.”
Damn. He’d hoped to stay behind, to get a chance to collect his wits. He wasn’t sure what Rose intended to do once they were alone. He was worried that possibly she meant to do nothing, and he’d no idea how he would cope with that. The group looked at him, waiting to see what move he’d make.
Well, he couldn’t turn cowardly now. She was here. And he wanted her. He knew he wanted her. “Penny,” he heard himself say, while he kept his eyes on Rose, who blushed and looked away, “do you think you have all of the resources you’ll need for Swinson’s house?”
Penington didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
Peter looked at him. “Very well, it’s all yours. I had some ideas I’d wanted to chase down, and I’ll actually have my mobile with me today if something comes up.” He paused briefly, then turned to Rose. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to take over your meeting.”
“It wasn’t mine, it was James’s,” she said, mildly.
He turned to James, who waved him off. “We were catching up on office goss.” James stood. “’bout time we got moving. Gerry’s already been slaving over spreadsheets today. If we have any luck at all, we’ll have something solid out of this soon.”
Chairs scraped as the other members of the group stood. “Usual meet up?” Jake asked as he pushed his chair towards the table.
Peter saw Rose look at him before turning to Jake. “Unless something comes up, yeah. Everyone has their mobiles?”
There were murmurs yes, and Rose continued. “Remember-stay in pairs. You lot at Swinson’s be especially careful.” Peter was bemused by Rose’s quiet control of the room, and her team’s causal acceptance of the shift in leadership he’d witnessed.
Jake paused en route to the exit, and turned to Rose. “Same goes for you two, you know.” His eyes glinted, and Peter thought he saw the man’s lips quirk.
Some help he was being.
Rose had blushed. “Thank you, Jake,” she said, as though to a particularly slow student.
Peter didn’t miss Jake’s grin as he turned and walked out of the room. Mickey hung back, looking like he was about to say something. Rose was watching her friend with a wary eye, and Peter gazed evenly at the other man when he turned to him.
“Anything I can do for you, Mister Smith?” he drawled, keeping his expression neutral.
Mickey opened his mouth, stopped, looked at Rose.
“Go on, Mickey.” She gave him a smile. “Be safe.”
“See you later, then,” Mickey said to Rose. With a parting glance at Peter, he left.
The room fell into awkward silence, Peter still leaning against the wall while Rose stood on the opposite side of the room. Rose was having as much trouble looking at him as he was at her, and the silence continued uninterrupted for several painful minutes while he tried to decide what to do, while he hoped that Rose would act first to save him the decision-making. Finally, he could stand it no longer.
He pushed away from the wall, didn’t miss Rose’s wide-eyed expression as he strode towards her. Her eyes were locked on him as he came to a halt in front of her; her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks pink-and the vision of her in front of him in the garden briefly flashed through his mind.
He shook it off, focusing on the present. At least he still had an effect on her, he thought ruefully.
He leaned forward. “So...” he began, his voice low. Rose leaned towards him. He lost his nerve and swerved his mind back toward work. “Why don’t you tell me what you learned during your visit to London?”
Rose’s eyes, which had drifted to his lips, flew up to meet his. “What d’you mean?” Her voice was higher than normal-what kind of nerve had he hit? And was it something he’d said, or was it some remnant from his twin?
He resisted the urge to press her to find out. “About the teleport. What did you learn? What does it look like when it’s at home-assuming it’s not the same charming junky-looking object we dug up? How easy is it to use? Things that might, perhaps, be constructive with regards to the case.”
He watched as Rose brought her emotions under control, returning to the calm, collected woman he’d first met those many weeks ago. As he watched her, he suddenly regretted bringing up work. He didn’t want calm, collected Rose back. He wanted passionate, genuine Rose. Bloody hell. He wanted to rewind everything and start over.”
“Ah, that. I brought some things that might be of use.” She turned and stepped over to the table; as she looked down and shuffled some papers, Peter indulged in the luxury of looking at her unchallenged. As she rummaged, she continued speaking. “Technical specs, mainly. James and Jake have seen them and know what they’re looking for.”
“I take it, then, my DC wasn’t one of the anointed?”
Rose’s gaze met his, her eyes flashing. “We’re here for the tech, Inspector.”
Meaning that she wasn’t here for him? He lashed out instinctively. “Yes, thank you, that was made perfectly clear to me, Miss Tyler,” he bit out. He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his fingers-this wasn’t getting them anywhere, personally or professionally. “Look.” He opened his eyes, focused on Rose. “If we all know what we’re looking for, there’s a better chance of it being found. Is there something we could give to the PC’s, something for them to be on the watch for, as they’re already looking for Swinson? Not your precious classified report--”he couldn’t help the sarcasm, as much as he wanted to--“but something basic. Is it bigger than a breadbox? Colour? Smell? Sound? Something?”
“We could do,” Rose said, sounding decidedly begrudging to him.
He’d been wrong about working with Rose again. This was worse than their first weeks together. He’d not be able to talk to her at all if this kept up. He sighed in resignation-it might be time for a tactical retreat. “That would be most appreciated. Could we draft something up in the next few hours?”
“You mean, could I?”
“I’d be happy to, but as you’re so dead-set on not sharing that paper, then yes. You.” He walked around her to his chair, jerking it out from under the table.
“And what will you be doing during this time?” Rose’s voice was challenging.
“Trying not to murder you,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Rose’s voice was sharp, and her eyes had narrowed.
“Trying to work out motives,” he said, brightly. He moved some papers around until he found a blank tablet. “Surely you don’t need the help of a lowly DI to draft up something from a technical report?”
Rose pulled her chair back from the table with a violent tug. “Thanks, I think I can manage.” She yanked the chair forward, viciously shoved papers aside, all the while avoiding making eye contact.
He put on his glasses, feeling a hollow sort of victory at having made Rose angry. He found a Biro, began to draw columns on the page to help focus his thoughts. He knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d been desperate to see Rose again, had even thought of how he could try to talk to her; but now that she was back in front of him, he couldn’t help but push her buttons. Possibly, he admitted, because he didn’t want to give her an opening to push his. The best defence: a good offense.
The room once more fell into a tense silence, the only sound that of his pen scratching across paper.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Rose was furious. She’d only come back to this blasted place to set things right with Peter, and he was being a five-star pillock. She’d seen better behaviour out of her young brother, in the middle of a temper tantrum. Peter was deliberately provoking her.
If he didn’t want to hear her apology, did he have to be so rude about it?
She stared at the gibberish in front of her; writing a basic description of what to look for shouldn’t be so difficult. The damned DI, however, had made it almost impossible for her to concentrate. His physical proximity was driving her spare-she could periodically catch the scent of his soap, and she was hyper-aware of every movement he made across the table. He was calmly writing his thoughts out, the handwriting neat and precise.
She found herself stealing glances at him as he wrote, but stopped doing that when she looked over to see him thoughtfully chewing on the end of his pen. Damn him and his oral fixation, anyway.
His unaffected air was only making her more frustrated. He seemed blissfully unaware of the havoc he was wreaking, but Rose knew he wasn’t entirely unmoved. She’d not missed the brief wave of emotion that had crossed his face when he’d walked in late to find her there. He’d brought that under control quickly, had swung hard-over to aloof sarcasm; and she’d begun to wonder if she’d had a chat with Mickey a bit too early.
She’d been excited to see Peter again, and nervous-unsure of how or when to speak with him, just knowing she had to do it soon. She’d not been expecting to be welcomed back with open arms-but she’d certainly not expected to be treated to the Peter Carlisle sarcasm special. She knew it was how he reacted when he felt uncomfortable-she supposed she could take it as a perverse form of flattery; she even supposed she should have expected it and braced herself for it-but she still found herself reacting to his tone, digging her heels in instead of turning the other cheek and making the first move.
She sighed in frustration, staring at the piece of paper in front of her. If Peter wanted to be stubborn, that was his problem. She could handle it, after all-it was no different than their first weeks working together. All she had to do was forget what the previous week had been like.
She couldn’t believe it had only been a week. Ten days, really, but it had felt like so much longer. Something about Peter resonated with her; something indefinable, which made her want to be around him, be with him. She’d been wrong when she’d said the Doctor was his twin: the only thing the two had in common was their physical appearance. She had loved the Doctor, still did; but she’d never felt that he completely understood her, or she him. Peter had instinctively known what would appeal to her, had understood her in a way not many people ever had. Some of it was no doubt down to the skills that made him a good detective-careful observation and a quick mind foremost among them-but she couldn’t believe it was simply that.
Physically, too, she reacted to him in a way she’d not with the Doctor. She’d found the Doctor-both versions of him-to be attractive and charismatic. She’d enjoyed being with and around him, had always found a thrill in his presence. But being with Peter felt right; not in a ‘this is what I’ve dreamt about’ way, but something far more elemental. To steal a phrase from her mum, she could feel it in her bones, that this was right. Not that being with the Doctor had been wrong-it had just been a different, and far shallower, feeling that she’d not even realized was lacking depth at the time. So it was silly to be so deterred by Peter’s sarcasm, when she knew how much she wanted him. She had to push through. She had to be strong. She could be, she reminded herself.
“Looks like you’re cracking right along on that,” Peter drawled from across the table, pulling her from her reverie. She looked up from the paper to find him looking at her; he was still wearing the glasses, and his expression was blank.
“And how are you doing? Single-handedly solve the case yet?” she shot back. She couldn’t help herself, reacting to his sarcasm with a snarky retort of her own.
She needed to give herself better internal pep talks, she decided.
“At least it looks like I’ve made more progress this past hour than you have. You do realize shift change is marching ever closer? And while I’ve no doubt you could do hand-puppets to share the information, ink-on-paper tends to be slightly more effective. Helps with data retention, you know,” he whispered confidentially.
She forced herself to ignore him, returning her eyes to the paper in front of her, a step up from engaging him in some battle of sarcastic wits. To hell with him and his snide comments, she tried to tell herself.
It wasn’t easy, but she was able to concentrate just enough to get a draft summary written. Another hour had passed by the time she slid the freshly-written document across to Peter.
“Does this meet your exacting standards, then?” She settled it on top of the sheet Peter had been working on, the white of his paper covered with the black ink of Peter’s neat handwriting.
He sighed, yanked his glasses off, threw them carelessly on the table. She glared at him, and saw a flash in his brown eyes. Holding her gaze, he reached down for the paper; he finally glanced down at what she’d written, quickly skimming it.
“Could you be a bit more vague? I fear there’s a surfeit of information here,” he finally said.
She snatched the paper back without a word, her anger building.
“You do realize our constables actually need at least something to go on? Assuming, of course, we expect them to have any degree of success?” His voice had once more taken on the drawling tone he used when he was particularly trying to rile someone up. He really was keen on provoking her.
Rose clenched her teeth, making a nearly physical effort to once more ignore him, and set to tweaking the memorandum. She wasn’t going to react. Even if it killed her, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Fifteen minutes later she stood, kicking the chair back. “There.” She tossed the revised document towards the man across from her. Snatching up the original copies of the Scientific Directorate’s report and the specifications, she turned to leave the room.
“Where do you think you’re going? Travel in pairs, I seem to recall you saying.”
She stopped at the door, took a calming breath. Without turning, she ground out, “I am going to secure this, and then I am going to the ladies. You are not welcome to tag along.” She threw open the door with a clang, muttering “Git” under her breath as she walked out of the room.
After completing her errands, Rose stopped into the break room for a desperately-needed cuppa. She was surprised to find Penington there, making one for himself. “Are you back, then?” she asked.
The DC set the kettle down and looked over at her. “Briefly. Jake’s around here, somewhere, talking with James. Said he wanted to see the DI as well.”
“Good luck to him,” she muttered as she collected a mug and a tea bag. Penington offered her some of the hot water, and she held out the mug so he could pour. Her mum would have a fit if she knew Rose hadn’t warmed the ceramic, but she didn’t care. She wanted tea. Badly.
Penington once more returned the kettle to the counter, and moved to pull out a chair. “Care to join me for a break? I reckon you could use one from the Inspector.”
Rose moved to the small table and joined the DC. They sat in brief silence, each fixing their tea to their satisfaction before making conversation.
The DC took a quick sip from his mug before breaking the comfortable silence. “How was London?”
“Good. I needed the break-well, relative break-I think.”
Penington made a noncommittal grunt.
“How were things up here?” she asked, conversationally.
The DC set his mug down. “A right nightmare.”
Rose was surprised-none of her team had indicated anything of the sort. “How so?”
“The DI is a misery, even by his usual sunny standards.”
Oh. That nightmare. Rose set her mug down with a thunk, tea sloshing over the sides. She didn’t want to have this conversation, and certainly not with Peter’s DC.
Penington reached out a hand to stay her, sensing she was about to flee. “Look. I’m not-well, wasn’t-a huge fan of the DI. Everyone knows what happened with him, and he’s not the most charming personality. No one wants to work with him, even if everyone admits he’s good at his job. I near pitched a fit when I was assigned to him, and even thought of requesting a transfer rather than work under him. I stayed because he does know what he’s about when it comes to detecting-best of a bad situation, really. But since you all came up here, he’s…I don’t know. He’s got some spark, I suppose. He cares about what he’s doing, and it’s suddenly been much better working with him. And then, last week-I’ve never seen him like that. It even crossed my mind that some weird alien body-swap might have happened, so different was he.”
Penington paused, looking at Rose; she stared down at her tea, watching the steam roll off the surface of the liquid. He continued. “Thought he’d given up on women, actually-don’t tell anyone, but there’s a station pool on how long it’s been between shags for him. None of the estimates is under three years.”
Rose shifted uncomfortably, her heart aching for Peter. It must be miserable for him to be in such a place, to work with people who didn’t like or respect him, who practically mocked him outright. She couldn’t imagine how he survived it.
“So then, Saturday night, he looks as awful as ever I’ve seen him-and that’s saying something. And it’s only got worse since then. Today’s the new bottom; he’s never looked that rough. I’d been wondering if he was even eating until I saw him have an orange with his coffee yesterday.”
“Penny…”Rose wasn’t sure what she was going to say-what she could say. She just knew she couldn’t listen to it any more.
Penington cut her off. “Look. I’ve no idea what happened. For all I know, he’s the biggest bastard going. In fact, I’d have no problem believing that. But I do know he’s a right miserable bastard. He might deserve it, but I reckon he’s beating himself up enough for the both of you.” He stood. “I just thought you should know.”
Rose pushed her chair back, rising to stand next to the DC. She looked down at her tea as she spoke. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. She picked up the mug, raising her eyes to Penington’s. “Let’s go see what the miserable bastard is up to.”