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Author –
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jlrpuck Rating – K+
Pairing – Peter Carlisle/Rose Tyler
Spoilers – For both Blackpool and S2 of Doctor Who.
Disclaimer – Characters from Blackpool and Doctor Who are the property of the BBC, and are used with the greatest of love and respect; no profit is intended from the writing or sharing of this story.
Summary – A post-Doomsday story, set in the Alt!Verse. It's been over three years since Rose and the Doctor said goodbye. What happens when she not only meets his doppelganger, but has to work with him?
Author’s Notes – The morning—and the day—after Rose fell asleep at Peter’s. What does the day have in store—and how will her team react?
earlgreytea68 and arctacuda are wonderful, incredible beta’s—as I sat in a hotel, doing some final tweaking to this, EGT was (virtually) there to provide immediate feedback and several of her amazing suggestions. Although she ditched me for coffee, rosa_acicularis has provided a wonderful sounding board, and has acted as an amazing final-reader for the story. misssara11 is the one who encouraged me to start writing in the first place, and who read over my early efforts at this story. Two last things: First, I'm just blown away by the reaction to the story. The comments section never fails to make my jaw drop, and I never thought I'd see the day that I got 240 comments to one chapter. I know I missed replying to comments for this past chapter, and for that I am deeply sorry. I normally get to reply as comments are posted, and my travel schedule this week has made that impossible. I do read every single comment, though, and absolutely appreciate all of them (even the ones that
principia_coh and chicklet73 have been known to post when they're getting punchy ;)) Second, this is another of those post-and-dash days—I misjudged crossing the dateline (as usual) and so am posting this on a layover rather than posting late. I won’t be responding to comments for a bit (a girl has to sleep sometime), but I promise I will do eventually. I hope everyone enjoys the chapter!
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26 | Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34 | Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41 | Chapter 42 | Chapter 43 | Chapter 44 | Epilogue
Peter wrestled with what to do after Rose fell asleep, curled against him on the sofa. The proper thing to do, of course, would be to wake her, drive her back to the hotel, make sure she spent the night in her own room. He knew he was selfish enough to ignore that option in favour of having her sleep in his house; even if they weren’t sleeping together, the thought filled him with a quiet excitement.
Then there was the question of sleeping arrangements. He’d love nothing more than to carry her upstairs, to see her asleep in his bed in his house, but he worried that moving her might wake her up—resulting in a request to go back to the hotel. He would also have loved to spend the night next to her on the sofa, her warm body against his, but the simple fact was that the piece of furniture was too narrow and too short. It might sound romantic, but the reality would be miserable.
In the end, he slowly extricated himself from the tangle of their limbs, gently lowering Rose’s head onto one of the throw pillows. He’d found a spare blanket which was actually clean and had quietly tucked her in, hoping she was comfortable. He leaned in and gently kissed her goodnight—freezing as she shifted in her sleep, and releasing his breath only when she stilled.
Ensuring the dishes were cleared and placed back in the kitchen, he stole upstairs and went to bed. Sleep came surprisingly quickly.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Rose awoke, disoriented. She was still fully dressed, the fabric of the pillow against her cheek was rough, and the smell of the covers was unfamiliar. She slowly opened her eyes, blinking them against the light flooding the room as she focused on her surroundings.
She was in a parlour. Her gaze moved to the low table in front of her, a small vase of wildflowers gracing the corner—and she suddenly realized where she was.
Peter’s. She’d fallen asleep there? Where was he—and what time was it?
She hastily sat up, throwing the blanket aside as she swung her feet to the floor, running her hand through her hair as she looked at her watch. It was still early—but late enough that she might have been missed. She listened to the silence; no beeps could be heard from her phone, and there was no evidence at all that there was another person in the house.
She padded into the kitchen for her purse, and noted briefly that Peter had cleared the dinner plates before he’d gone wherever he had the night before. A quick check of her phone showed no missed calls or messages, and she sent a very short text to Mickey to let him know she was out, and safe.
Rose straightened her clothes as she looked around the kitchen, and once more ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She decided she could do with a cup of tea and, as silently as possible, searched through the kitchen until she found the things necessary for a cuppa. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she poked through the cabinets, curious as to what a bachelor like Peter might have; she was mildly amused by his rather odd collection of pint glasses.
There was still no sign of Peter as she finished her morning tea, and she sighed. She may as well make herself useful.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Peter slowly awoke, his body tangled in the duvet after a rather feverish dream about Rose Tyler. He stretched, yawning, enjoying the pleasant buzz the dream had given him, then paused; he could hear someone moving around downstairs.
Rose.
He sat up hastily, frantically kicking the deep red fabric away. A glance at the clock told him it was relatively early for a Saturday, and he snatched up a discarded vest as he made his way across the room. He pulled the white cotton over his head as he strode down the hallway, made sure the string on his pyjamas was tied securely around his waist as he lightly ran down the stairs, tried to tame his hair as he approached the kitchen. The water was running, and he could hear Rose humming as she...dear God, was she doing the dishes?
He came to a halt just inside the kitchen door. Rose was at the sink, unaware of his presence; the morning light illuminated her features, her cheeks still pink from sleep, her hair still mussed. He waited until she was finished with the plate in her hand before making his presence known.
As expected, she jumped in reaction to his soft “Good morning.” She spun around, eyes wide—and as she took in what he was wearing, she blushed.
He was beginning to be glad he’d worn the shirt; seeing Rose in his kitchen, still rumpled from sleep, was making his body react in ways he didn’t want her to see. He decided he could get used to seeing her first thing in the morning.
“You certainly didn’t have to clean, you know—dinner was provided free of charge.” He stayed in the doorway, gesturing, trying to get his body to calm down.
She blushed further. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t help it—habitual neatener. Got used to it, livin’...” She stopped abruptly, and changed the subject. “Sorry ‘bout falling asleep on you.”
He grinned. “A man could take a thing like that personally.”
“Or he could take it as a compliment,” she shot back.
He crossed his arms, leaning against the door. “Oh? And how’s that?”
She shut the water off before turning and leaning against the sink. “You could take it to mean I felt comfortable enough to sleep here.” Her gaze bored into his, and he felt his breath catch.
They remained staring at each other across the kitchen, neither willing to break the silence following that statement. Finally he shifted, slowly walking over to Rose. He watched her as he crossed the small room; saw her fight to hold his gaze, hold still; watched her chest begin to rise and fall more rapidly. He stopped in front of her.
Her eyes were huge and dark, and he kept watching as he slowly leaned in; kept waiting for her to break the spell, to slide away. He was delighted when her eyes fluttered shut right before his lips met hers. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of their skin against each other.
The kiss was gentle, and he felt Rose’s hands slide up over his shoulders. He sighed in contentment, his arms enveloping her; he slowly moved his lips along her jaw, planting soft kisses in a line until he ended with her in a simple embrace. She rested her head against his chest, and he brushed another light kiss over her hair before speaking.
“I suppose you’ll need to be getting back?” His voice was soft, afraid of ruining the magic atmosphere in the kitchen. He felt Rose exhale against his chest.
“Eventually. I texted Mickey so he wouldn’t come looking for me.”
“Ah, yes, that could have been a bit embarrassing. Especially if he’d felt compelled to kick in the door.”
She laughed and looked up at him. He swallowed.
“I suppose you all had plans, though?” He loosened his arms and stepped back, giving her some space.
“The boys did, yes. I had planned for a day off.” Her eyes sparkled.
“Ah. So...I don’t suppose you’d be up for a trip to the country? For lunch?” His voice sounded hopeful, even to his own ears. She smiled.
“I’d love to. But...I need a shower and a change, I think.”
“Oh! Of course—can’t have you going out in public looking so very dishevelled. More fodder for the gossips, you know.” He winked, and watched her blush. “I’ll just get dressed then, and return you to your hotel? Unless you’d like some breakfast? You really should be sitting before I say this, but I have things for a fry-up...or cereal...”
Rose smiled. “Breakfast would be lovely.”
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
He’d made another nice meal, and the two of them had spent the time chatting about anything and everything. Another bridge had been crossed by what had happened; she could feel it, could see it in how Peter was acting. She longed to enjoy this rapport and connection, but the voice was back, practically screaming at her to tell him of the Doctor.
Peter had placed the dishes in the sink and, with a firm scolding not to even think of doing the washing up, had run upstairs to change. She was nearly rendered speechless when he returned downstairs a few minutes later wearing jeans, trainers, and a tee shirt for a band she’d never heard of. He looked like a completely different man.
“Who are you, and what have you done with Peter Carlisle?” she only half-joked as she grabbed her purse. He gave her a wry grin as he led her out of the house and to his car.
“You’d be amazed at the wide variety of clothing buried in my wardrobe; white shirts and dark trousers might obscure anything else, but there’s a wee bit of variety. “
“Do people recognize you when you dress like this?”
He laughed. “Rarely. You should see how invisible I become when I wear colour.”
He’d dropped her at her hotel with a promise to return for her at one o’clock; she’d been grateful to make it up to her room without encountering anyone she knew. A note had been slipped under her door, and she noted with amusement that Jake, James, and Mickey had each written admonitions followed by demands for scuttlebutt upon their return. She laughed, setting the note aside before taking a shower and getting dressed.
She tried to read for a bit, finding it difficult to remain focused on the book in front of her when images of Peter kept intruding. She finally gave up, writing notes for each of her team members and slipping them under their doors before retreating downstairs to once more meet up with Peter.
As he’d done the night before, he greeted her with a quick kiss as she got in the car. She blushed under his scrutiny as he looked at what she’d chosen to wear.
“Is this alright? You’d said the country.” She’d pulled on a pair of khakis and a cotton shirt, her cardigan was balled in her lap, and she was wearing her nicest boots; Peter was dressed far more casually, still in jeans but wearing a pale blue dress shirt rolled up at the cuffs.
“You look lovely. As always.” His gaze was filled with heat, and she felt her body flash with desire.
He smiled slowly at her, and she debated the merits of dragging him out of the car and up to her room. Her conscience pulled her back, yelling at her body for skipping ahead.
Peter was grinning at her now, and she leaned over and kissed him quickly before smiling.
“We going to sit here all day, or are you actually taking me somewhere?”
He blinked, realizing he was supposed to be driving, and hastily engaged the clutch. Peter deftly navigated, shifting up and down as they made their way through the twisting and turning roads that would lead them out of town; it wasn’t until he had accelerated, clear of the traffic and the speed restrictions, that Rose spoke again.
“Where are we off to?”
“One of the great houses, just near the motorway. There’s as many of those as there are ruins, and this one has gardens that I think you might like. Assuming you like gardens?” he asked tentatively. Rose smiled her agreement.
“And what’s for lunch?”
“You’ll see.” He glanced briefly at her as they drove.
They arrived towards the end of lunch, and were able find a parking spot not too far from the picnic area outside the entrance to the house. “Eat, then tour?” he asked as they met at the boot of the car.
“Certainly.”
She got to assist him this time, helping to lay out the picnic in a small, sun-dappled patch of grass under the trees. He’d brought fruit and cheese for lunch, along with some bread and summer sausage; for a drink, he’d brought not only water but some lemon squash. There was plenty of room for them on the blanket, but she noticed he was never more than an arm’s-length away, and they chatted happily as they ate.
The car park had emptied a bit more by the time they were done with lunch, so they cleaned up the evidence of their picnic before heading to the entrance to the gardens. There were couples and families throughout the spacious landscape, and their tour was accompanied by the sounds of children at play intermingled with birdsong.
Peter was as familiar with the gardens as he was anything else in the area, and he gave Rose a thorough and delightful tour, holding her hand and guiding her along the numerous pathways. The flowerbeds were full of spring flowers, and the fountains danced merrily; the cricket pitch was clear except for the occasional running child, and the shrubbery was a deep, shining green in the light.
As they cut through one hedge, Peter stopped suddenly, turning and pulling her to him for a brief, intense kiss. She slowly opened her eyes as they pulled apart, looking up at him; his eyes were a deep brown, the clear light illuminating his fair skin and making his brown hair rich and lush with colour.
Her left hand on his chest Rose reached up with her right, hesitantly threading her fingers through Peter’s hair. His eyes closed, and he seemed to sag against the boxwood as she savoured the feel of her fingers in his hair. It had been warmed by the sunlight, and slid through her fingers like silk; the action released the smell of his shampoo, adding to the already heady scent of the garden. She slowly drew them down his face, following his short sideburn, lightly running her fingers along his still clean-shaven jaw, and as she cupped his cheek, he turned to kiss her palm. He opened his eyes as he turned his head back to face her.
Time seemed to stop around them.
She stood, staring at him, her eyes tracing the freckles dusting his face. Her chest tightened as she looked at him, as she slowly began to realize that what she was feeling for him might be more than a casual interest. The voice in the back of her mind was insistent, telling her she was running out of chances to tell him about her past so she could make a future with him.
Reality came crashing back as a small child came barrelling by them; the harried father smiled apologetically as he came running past. Rose rested her forehead against Peter’s chest and began to laugh.
“Who would have thought gardens would be so full of menace?” Peter asked drily. She looked up to see him smiling. “I’d have seen him, too, if you hadn’t distracted me so effectively.”
He planted another quick kiss on her lips before taking her hand and leading her back onto one of the paths. “The boxwood is lovely, but I’d rather not use it as a wall—it’s a bit prickly.”
“Suits your personality.” She grinned at him when he turned to her, shocked. She watched as his eyes drifted to her tongue, peeping out of the corner of her mouth.
“That wasn’t very nice, Tyler,” he growled, pulling her alongside him.
She continued grinning, unrepentant. “I never claimed to be nice, Carlisle.”
There was a flash in his eyes as he once again swooped down for a kiss. It was like a lightning strike—brief, intense, electrifying—and Rose was breathless when he pulled back. “Neither did I,” he said softly, as she tried to catch her breath.
They walked along in silence, Rose trying to comprehend what had just passed between them. She felt flushed and incredibly aroused by Peter’s actions, and she wondered what other tricks he had up his sleeve. She found her eyes straying to his lips as he periodically glanced down at her, to his arse as he would precede her; her body was begging for him, and she knew without a doubt that this was her last best chance to tell Peter her secret. As they emerged once more from the shade of a bower into the sunlight, she decided it was time to tell him about the Doctor.
“Peter...” Her voice was soft, uncertain; he turned his head to look at her.
“What is it, Rose?” His voice was gentle, his gaze intent. The world once again compressed, the two of them alone, surrounded by green in the sunshine. Rose closed her eyes, and swallowed before reopening them.
“I...I need to tell you something. Something important.” She was terrified, her voice quavering as she looked anywhere but at Peter. She glanced up at him when he didn’t reply; he was scanning the garden around them, looking for something. He looked back at her.
“C’mon. I know just the place.” Peter knew all of the shortcuts, and they were soon seated on a bench in a quiet corner of the garden, facing each other.
Rose could feel adrenaline coursing through her, Peter’s anticipatory silence doing nothing to quell her nerves. This was it. Everything was going to change after this—for better or for worse. She could think of only two other times in her life when the fork in the road had been so clear.
Peter was patiently waiting for her to speak, concern and curiosity flickering in his eyes. A dark corner of her mind wondered if this was what he was like when he waited for suspects to confess.
She swallowed. “You told me about Blackpool. I think it’s my turn to tell you about my past.” She noticed his eyebrows twitch; other than that, he kept his features—even his expressive eyes—under remarkable control. “I...I don’t even know where to start, really.” She gave a helpless laugh. “Easiest bit first, I suppose.
“You asked last night how I started working for Torchwood. I’m sure you noticed some gaping holes in the story I gave you--would have been hard not to.” She took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled. “This is going to sound fantastic. Just stick with me.”
The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked. “I think my horizons might have broadened a bit this past month.”
“’s what I’m counting on. “ She took one last deep breath before plunging ahead. “Up until just about four years ago, I spent several years travelling. With a man. But it was more than that.” She looked up at him, holding his steady gaze. “The man looked human, but was alien. And we travelled through time and space.”
She paused, gauging Peter’s reaction. There was none—not a twitch, not a blink, nothing. She continued, shifting her gaze off to his side. “It sounds ridiculous. Insane. Mad as a hatter, that Tyler girl. But it’s the truth. I went out there—” She gestured, her arm sweeping towards the sky above. “Saw things you wouldn’t believe. Places you couldn’t imagine. Stuff that was wonderful, and horrible, and everything in between.” Her gaze returned to his. “All of it living and travelling through space, in a ship with an alien who looked like a man.”
She paused and took a breath. “I know you’ve seen my file, know you’ve seen stuff in there about ‘experience’ with no further explanation. That’s what it means. I’m one of only two humans on this planet who’ve seen and done things like that. That’s why I work for Torchwood.”
Her voice trailed off. Peter hadn’t reacted at all, and she felt the tension radiating off him.
A bird trilled somewhere behind her, and Peter’s gaze drifted over her shoulder. He finally spoke, his eyes returning to hers.
“Mickey.”
“What?”
“Mickey’s the other person.” He stated it as accepted fact.
“Yeah.”
Peter shifted so his back was against the bench, his legs stretched in front of him. “Your parents know?”
“Yeah, they both met the Doctor.”
Peter looked confused.
“The Doctor. That is—was—his name. Jake met him a couple of times, too. Not many other people around here did.”
“And when you say space, you mean space.”
“Yeah. Saw the Universe. Planets, galaxies...black holes. And some things you’d never expect.”
Peter sat in silence as Rose nervously chewed on her lip. She fought not to stare at him, her eyes ranging over the greenery surrounding them as he processed the information she’d shared.
When he spoke again, she jumped. “What aren’t you telling me?” His voice wasn’t angry—it was soft, and contained a note of curiosity.
She blinked, confused. Peter sighed, turning to her and taking her hand. “I’ll grant you, the fact that you spent...how long?”
“Three years.”
“Three years travelling in space with an alien is rather an important thing. Unexpected, certainly, but given what I’ve learnt of Torchwood it’s not as unbelievable as it might once have been. But—“ he leaned forward, “you should know me well enough by now that that fact alone wouldn’t bother me. Well, at least once I processed the ‘time’ part of ‘travelled in space and time.’” He gave her a quick smile, and she smiled weakly in return. “So what’s really bothering you, Rose?” His voice was low, his eyes intent; he ducked his head to try to meet her slightly lowered gaze.
May as well get it all on the table, then, Rose thought. “It gets even more fantastic.”
He squeezed her hand, and she continued.
“How much were you able to find out about me? I know you tried, so don’t deny it.” Her voice was wry. Peter had the good grace to look abashed.
“Not much. Hardly anything at all, really. Your past is sealed off like a brick wall.”
She nodded and once again held his gaze. “That’s because, up until just about four years ago I didn’t exist. Not here.”
His eyebrow arched, and he sucked in a corner of his bottom lip. She continued.
“It’s surreal. Four years ago, my mum lived on an estate—Powell Estates—in London; what I said last night, about that? It was all true. The United Kingdom had a Prime Minister; aeroplanes not zeppelins were used to get places. It was—is—a parallel universe. They really exist. I’m proof of that.”
Peter’s look contained a hint of disbelief, but he held his tongue.
“My mum is my mum. Pete Tyler is not my dad. Not this Pete—at least he wasn’t when I got stuck here. Mickey, Mum, and I, all of us came over.” She sighed, her eyes dropping. At least Peter hadn’t let go of her hand; he was still listening.
“Four and a half years ago—for me—Mickey, the Doctor, and I fell through a hole in time and space into this world.” She squeezed his hand and looked up. “That would be when we met up with John Lumic, and thought we’d taken care of the Cybermen. That’s when we met Jake—and when I met Pete and Jackie Tyler. Not my mum, but Jackie Tyler. There are twins of almost everyone in each universe. My real dad was also Pete Tyler—Peter Alan Tyler, actually, not Peter Michael Tyler like he is here. He died when I was a baby in my universe. Here, he became a millionaire. My mum survived, raised me in my universe; here, Jackie Tyler was Cyberised before we could stop Lumic.” She closed her eyes against the memory of that night, so long ago.
“That’s the first reference in your file,” Peter said, softly.
Rose reopened her eyes. “It is. A lot happened then—nothing important to this conversation, not really. Except Mickey decided to stay behind. He’d had a doppelganger here, too—Rickey. Rickey died—we couldn’t save him—and Mickey saw a way t’ help. He stayed, and we left. And I thought that was it.” She paused, and Peter shifted. Releasing her hand, he brought an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him; she snuggled against him, his warmth and scent helping her to focus.
“So how’d you end up here, Rose Tyler?” His voice was deliberately light.
She laughed. “Torchwood, if you can believe it. Not this one—not completely. The other one. The one I...well, the one in my original universe. The bastards found a way through, only they didn’t realize how disastrous punching holes through to alternate universes could be. And they had no idea what lurked in the space in between. Cybermen, Daleks—all sorts of terrible things came to our world because of their stupidity. And so the Doctor did what he always did: He tried to fix things. It was crazy, and there’s a lot to tell. The important bit, though, is that when he finally managed to close the hole between universes, it was me and my mum on this side of the wall, and him on the other. He found a way to let me know that that was it—no more crossing over, no coming back. And that’s when I became who I am today.”
There was silence between them briefly before Peter spoke. “So...Jackie is your mum. But Pete isn’t your dad?”
She smiled wistfully. “Yeah, technically. The Doctor was a bit of a closet romantic. We’re in the middle of fighting, and he still found time to play matchmaker with those two. It took a bit for them to get to know each other, but they can’t imagine life without the other now.”
Peter paused, and then asked his next question. “What about you? Was there ever another Rose Tyler here?”
Rose laughed. “Yeah. She was Jackie’s Yorkie. Doctor got a good laugh out of that.” There was fondness in her tone at the memory of his reaction that night. “Pete...he’s been great. It was awkward at first, yeah? But I love him like he’s my real dad, and he’s one of the best friends I could hope for. He makes my mum so happy.” Her voice regained its wistful note.
“Did...did you love him?” Peter’s voice was soft. She didn’t have to ask who he meant.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. He was my world—three years of living with him, seeing amazing things with him, bein’ his companion. It took me a little bit to realize I could live without him.” She sighed. “He taught me so much; showed me so much. He made me who I am. I can’t imagine life if I’d not met him.”
She felt Peter’s lips brush her hair, and felt his jaw rest on the top of her head; she sighed and enjoyed Peter’s closeness, the comforting sound of his heart through the fabric of his shirt.
They remained seated in silence as a family walked past them, through the small garden, and out the other end. As they disappeared, Rose pulled back and gazed up at Peter. He looked serenely accepting of her story.
“You believe me?”
“I see no reason not to. I do trust you, Rose—and I’ve learned enough in the past month to believe quite a lot I wouldn’t have before.” He focused on her, his eyes searching her face. “Was that what you were worried about? That I’d not believe you?”
She gave him a small smile. “Some of it, yeah. There aren’t a lot of people who know—not just because they wouldn’t believe it, but because it could be a dangerous thing if the wrong people knew.”
“You’re who you are, Rose. I’m not going to say there won’t be times where it might strike me as unusual, your background—but you’re here, now, with me. And if how you got here is a little unusual...well, we all have things that put us where we are today.” He paused, and she saw vulnerability flash in his eyes. “If it means being here, now, with you? I wouldn’t change any of them.” His voice was soft.
Rose closed her eyes, enjoying his closeness, his calm acceptance of her past. It would be so easy to pretend there wasn’t more to it, that the hardest thing to tell was that she’d come from another universe and not that the Doctor looked like the man sitting next to her—the man that, she realized with some shock, she was falling in love with.
Her throat tightened. How had she even come to feel this strongly for Peter, patiently sitting next to her, when she’d only known him a month? She was falling, no question. Not because he reminded her of the Doctor, but because he was Peter Carlisle. Because his eyes crinkled when he laughed. Because of his sarcasm, because of his cleverness. Because of his terrible dress sense. Because of his intensity, both with work and with his personal life.
Because of how he looked at her, and because of how he made her feel.
She wanted to laugh and cry—the universe certainly did enjoy tormenting her when it came to relationships. Hadn’t she paid karma enough for her treatment of Mickey? Didn’t it owe her, just this once?
The thought briefly tempted her, to just let things go. To talk with Mickey and Jake and her mum and Pete, begging them not to tell Peter about the Doctor...but she couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be fair. Peter absolutely deserved to know the rest of the story.
She reopened her eyes and saw Peter looking at her; her heart skipped a beat at his expression, and she swallowed nervously. This was going to hurt, and she wished--not for the first time--that she’d done this before. Before he’d started to look at her like that; before she realized how much she cared for him. “Peter...that’s not all.” She felt her adrenaline spike again, saw Peter’s expression become still as he watched her reaction.
“Y’ see...almost everyone has a double between universes. I didn’t, and I never met Jake’s, but everyone else does.” She looked at him, watched him wait for her to finish her statement.
“The Doctor was yours.”
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From:
no subject
It doesn't seem like Rose is quite at the point of telling him her feelings yet, though, and I wonder how that would have affected his reaction to her revelations if she'd said something first about her being fairly certain she was falling in love with him. Would Peter feel manipulated if she told him how she felt and then gave the big reveal? Or if she follows up the reveal by telling him how she feels, letting him know that that is precisely why she's telling him? How will he feel then?
I don't know that Peter is going to feel used, per se, but I do think he's going to feel incredibly stupid at the very least, if not out and out deceived.
From:
no subject
I think he's going to be upset enough that he's going to take it in the worst way possible in either case. In which case he might assume that she isn't truly sincere but is just saying she loves him to make him feel better.
And I assume he doesn't like to feel patronized or pitied any more than he likes to feel betrayed. Not that I'm saying Rose would have been patronizing him, or pities him. But who knows what sort of distortion he's going to apply to her words/actions through the lens of his (justly) wounded feelings.
From:
no subject
Or that she's bringing it up as a possibility in order to control his reaction, to keep him from being too angry with her.
And I assume he doesn't like to feel patronized or pitied any more than he likes to feel betrayed. Not that I'm saying Rose would have been patronizing him, or pities him. But who knows what sort of distortion he's going to apply to her words/actions through the lens of his (justly) wounded feelings.
I really hope she doesn't say that she understands how he feels, 'cos I'm sure that would set him off.
The lens of his justly wounded feelings... and the f-stop of his self-esteem issues. If this were set back in the day of Blackpool, I'd be fairly confident of how he'd respond to this sort of news, but nowadays? He could do anything from flipping out to quietly walking away to having a full-blown panic attack.
*wibble*
Working on that new icon set as soon as I can!
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full-blown panic attack
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He takes it really well while he's with her and has the panic attack in private.
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He gets up and starts pacing, throwing questions at Rose on the basis of their relationship (I think I remember something about Rose saying she never wanted to be on the other side of an interrogation from him.)
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Over all I think its really going to depend on who speaks next, Peter or Rose. His reaction throughout the conversation has me hopeful...I'll probably be crushed.
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Re: full-blown panic attack
He might still be holding her hand (the one he squeezed earlier), but she had sat back up out of their embrace prior to starting the last bit.
(I think I remember something about Rose saying she never wanted to be on the other side of an interrogation from him.)
I think the question is whether she's going to get it now, or after he's cooled off for a bit.
His reaction throughout the conversation has me hopeful...
Me? Not so much. He's taken the rest of what she's said about as well as anyone could, but especially if he feels like she's jerking him around I don't imagine he'll react well at all. There's even a possibility that he'll initially think she's just making sh*t up to get out of the current situation.
I suspect that he's going to direct most of his anger inwards, though. I wouldn't be surprised if he starts off with an interrogation directed at her, and it turns into him taking repeated potshots at himself.
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Re: full-blown panic attack
Ooh, you're right! And this could be a situation that results in her being interrogated, sooner or later...and I could see the questions being interspersed with some pretty scathing remarks...
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Didn't Natalie try something similar to that, and he responded all "YOU HAVE NO IDEA" and he was absolutely scary and cold and broken and furious all at once?
The exact reaction now may be different - he's different now than he was then, at least in some ways - but I still can't imagine he wouldn't call bullshit on that.
"You'll know how I feel when you finally get back to your precious Doctor and he's got some little blond chav as his lover because she reminds him of you..."
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That particular snap at Natalie was provoked by her saying If you love me as much as you say you do, then you could never think that, in response to him saying she wouldn't the first person to use an affair to overcome a little marital difficulty. And then he told her to piss off back to Ripley, and the ugly continued.
He would totally call her on it - unless... see my latest comment off the main post.
I don't think he'd call her a chav, mostly 'cos I don't know that the slang concept would transfer over and he's never seen Rose in chav mode, but I could see something along the lines of that. And how personal he might get from there probably does vary depending on how far he's come from Blackpool.
Option 1:
Maybe you'll know how I feel if or when you manage to get back to him and you find out he's taken up with the closest pretty young thing he could find to you. *fingers Rose's hair* She wouldn't even have to be blonde, not really. After all, what's a ten-pound dye kit to a man who has all of space and time at his fingertips?
Option 2:
No. No. You know who might have some idea? Mickey. Or maybe your mum. Hell, the dog would have a better idea than you would.
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I don't know that it would either, but I was a complete loss as to what other term to use, so after about six deletions, re-typings, reconsiderings, and frustrated sighs, I just went with it. *g* I figure anything in the general spirit of "Let's see how you enjoy feeling replaceable/like a replacement" would be what I was going for...but I like "Pretty young thing".
Nice snark work on the comment about being a natural blonde. SNAP.
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Ooo, that's a bit harsher than I'd like to see. I don't know if Peter will strike back quite like that. He'll feel stung, but I think Rose has touched him in such a way that instead of snarking, he may just withdraw to process it all, more of a freezing out.
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I could definitely see him withdrawing. Especially at first. If only in order to process what he's just found out...and then maybe to shut her out and give her the cold shoulder later.
But I wouldn't count out the possibility of some, er, pointed words being exchanged at some time, either.