An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 30
An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 30
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic, but all errors are mine alone.
Rating: M for Mature, if that word can ever be applied to me. Not quite as graphic as I'd first intended, but Peter and Donna had other things in mind.
Word Count: 5,823
Summary: It's about time they made up properly, don't you think?Disclaimer: Donna and Peter- not mine, but in my mind. And thanks to all who have been commenting and following along. Believe it or not, it makes me write faster.
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25
Wednesday, 12 June, 2012 8:20 PM
Peter unlocked his door, stepping back to hold it open for Donna and she stood on the doorstep as though awaiting permission to enter. He looked at her questioningly as she hesitated and he realized it was the first time they'd truly been alone together all day. After their late lunch, Peter had stepped outside Turnham Green with Ian and Donna rang her architect. While she waited, she'd watched their exchange through the window, smiling when Ian briefly laid a hand on Peter's shoulder and he'd responded with a grateful nod. With their short discussion concluded, Ian had looked up and graced Donna with a brief wave as Peter rejoined her at the table. He'd sat quietly, listening to her conversation, grimly nodding his approval as she made arrangements to incorporate a security upgrade into the plans for her flat and the unfinished second floor. She'd looked up in distress when Phil told her that everything would be ordered the next day to get started on Friday but the earliest they could possible be done would be Wednesday next, but Peter had reached for her hand and smiled reassuringly. With the arrangements finalized, they'd gone out for a few things Donna had forgotten in her rush to leave, picked up Peter’s dry cleaning, stopped by the bookstore and done a spot of grocery shopping in what Peter and Donna both recognized as stalling techniques. Now they stood together on the threshold, both nervous and uncertain as to how to proceed.
Peter made the first move before Donna could change her mind and bolt for the lift. "Are ye hungry? Can I … can I get ye somethin’?" he stammered as he ushered her in with a gentle hand at the small of her back, hating the awkwardness between them.
“No,” she replied automatically, stepping into the kitchen to deposit the shopping on the counter. She looked down at the bag, ruefully recalling another shopping trip before tossing her hair back and exclaiming brightly, "No, thank you. I’m good.” No one else would have noticed, but Peter heard the false note and felt the invisible barrier crackle and shimmer between them, just enough to prevent him reaching for her, almost as if Donna were wrapped in cellophane.
Peter desperately wanted to peel away the layer separating them and take her into his arms, but instead he offered, "Somethin’ to drink then?” She shook her head and looked down as he pursed his lips and nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. I could do with a glass of something myself to take the edge off, he thought bemusedly, then stopped short. Since when was there an edge to remove around Donna? Her next words brought him back from his thoughts to the here and now.
"Really, Pol… Peter, I’m fine, really. I’m just worn out is all. It’s been a long day and it’s getting late," she lied. "I think I’ll just shower, then read for a bit, before I go to sleep." she continued, lifting her recent purchase for his approval.
"Death in the Clouds," he said, smiling faintly. "Ye'll have to loan it to me when yer done. I've no read that one.” They stood awkwardly in his kitchen, neither knowing what to do next. The silence between them deepened and expanded, threatening to become a chasm before Peter finally spoke.
"Well then," he announced, inhaling sharply, “we should get ready … to, uhm, to turn in for the night." Rubbing the back of his neck, he offered her a brave smile. "I'll just put yer bag in the bedroom and sort the shoppin' while ye shower. All right?”
“You … you don't have to take my things. That’s not necessary," she demurred, shifting from one foot to the other. "I’ll do it, thank you.” She reached for her bag as he held it out for her and his heart dropped when she took it, deliberately avoiding his touch. She backed away two careful steps, watching him all the while before turning and retreating to his bedroom. Was she afraid he’d follow her, unwanted and uninvited? As she closed the door, Peter held his breath and strained to listen, grateful for the silence that followed: at least she hadn’t felt it necessary to lock the door against him.
Donna gathered her necessities quickly and stood, lost, in the middle of Peter's bedroom. This entire debacle was all her fault, she knew, from beginning to end, and still she couldn’t work out what she should do to make it better. He had let her back into his life, true, but she was uncomfortable there: his trust was unwarranted and soon, she was certain, he would find her just as unworthy of his time and attention as did she. Donna fought back tears of frustration and squared her shoulders, determined at least not to break down in front of him. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow and become even as she switched to brisk, efficient and practical mode. She stalked over to the door and wrenched it open a bit harder than she intended and was startled by Peter’s reaction. It was almost as if he’d been waiting for her to reemerge, taking her reappearance as his cue to duck back into the kitchen and look industrious and she faltered in her progress a half-step before recovering her momentum.
As she passed close by, Donna had to close her eyes and look away: the urge to reach out for him was almost overwhelming, the need just to touch his hand. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she was caught, trapped in the moment by her own indecision. They had never been this awkward and tentative together, not even when they’d just met, and she didn’t see any way around it, the both of them so unsure and vulnerable, so she fell back on the tried and true and pretended there was nothing wrong. It almost worked.
“Let me know if ye need anythin’ ye dinnae see,” Peter said quietly without turning, proof that he was as aware of her as she was of him. He held himself so still, his motions slow and deliberate as if afraid a sudden movement from him would spook her. She briefly considered telling him it was someone, not something, she desperately needed before deciding that might not be her wisest course of action. She took the coward’s way instead and answered, “I will,” relieved that at least her voice sounded normal in her ears, even if nothing else was.
Peter's shoulders slumped as Donna fled to the shower and he stood in the kitchen with just a door and a few scant meters separating them, but they might just as well have been a million miles apart. He busied himself putting away the groceries, but he was distracted as the sounds from the adjacent room provided fuel for his imagination. The detective in him cataloged every detail, building the scene in his mind as he heard her moving around, getting ready to shower. He stilled as a momentary silence told him she was removing her clothing and his breathing quickened as he heard the water begin to flow, right along with memories of fantasies of the night before. He closed his eyes, imagining the water cascading down her back, caressing her curves, clinging to her bare skin and he wanted nothing more than to step into the steamy confines of his bath, gather her up and kiss her. Behind closed eyes, he could see the water course down over her head and shoulders, making her hair cling to her, interesting tendrils coiling and curling across her chest and back and he braced himself against the counter as his breathing grew uneven. When the water suddenly shut off, he quickly resumed his task, aiming for nonchalant but missing the mark and acting wary instead.
"Peter?"
His head whipped around at the tremulous sound of her voice. She peeked around the door to his bath, biting her lip anxiously and he was ashamed of his body's reaction, but he couldn’t help it. She looked just as he'd seen her the night before in his waking dreams, her hair dark and moulded to her neck, the steam from the bath leaving the skin of her bare shoulder slick and shimmering.
"Yes, love?” he replied automatically.
“Do me a favor, please? I left my robe,” she asked, gesturing awkwardly towards his room.
"Of course," he replied, "I'll get it. Where is it?"
"Just there, in the top of my overnight bag,” she said, still hiding behind the door.
“OK, back in a tick,’ he told her before returning shortly, extended the robe to her as he averted his eyes.
“Thank you,” Donna whispered, plucking it from his grasp before disappearing back into the bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later, her robe wrapped so as to provide maximum coverage, her undergarments securely hidden inside her worn clothes, all tucked away from view under one arm. She walked past him and got halfway back to his bedroom before her step faltered. Donna had been so rattled by the day's events, she hadn't thought this far in advance. She hadn’t been foolish enough to expect that everything would return to normal between them, as though nothing had happened, but the idea that their sleeping arrangements might need alteration hadn't occurred to her until just then. She paused, looking around the living room before disappearing back into his room. Peter watched her go, exhaling quietly in relief when she returned to the bedroom. He started to follow the faint impressions of her damp footprints across the carpet of the living room and he was dismayed when she emerged again with her bag, her eyes resolutely downcast. He gaped at her for a moment before he swallowed hard and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Some brilliant detective I am, he thought bitterly, did I really expect her to just fall back into my arms and my bed with me? He watched her for a moment that stretched into eternity before her quiet determination galvanized him into action.
"Ye take the bed. I'll sleep out here," he said tersely as he strode purposely to his room. Donna glanced up, prepared to protest but instead, she wrapped her robe more securely around herself. She nodded and turned, biting her lip as she walked slowly behind him and stood at the door while Peter opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a vest. She slipped into the room behind him as he began to leave and resting his hand on the doorknob, he nodded his goodnight. “Uhm, let me know … if ye want anythin’,“ he said, remembering belatedly that he was repeating himself as he closed the door behind him.
Donna knew there was nothing for it but to agree. It didn't seem right, her evicting him from his own bed, but she knew him well enough not to bother arguing. It was nothing to do with her: it was a matter of simple courtesy and chivalry. Peter Carlisle would never allow a member of what he considered to be the fairer sex to sleep on his couch while he occupied his bed. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wavering in place, dreading spending the night again in yet another too-big bed, wrapped in blankets instead of his arms, unable to find rest on a pillow that smelled faintly of her Policeman.
Idly wondering if she could still call him that, she exhaled loudly, ruffling her fringe and she dropped her bag to the floor with a dull thud as she pulled on her pajamas and started buttoning them up. I must have known, somehow, that things would be different, she thought, resting her chin on the hand fisted into the front collar of her top. How else to explain her choice of sleepwear? Her heavy sigh turned into a gasp of surprise as long, gentle fingers lifted her hair, freeing it from inside her pajama jacket and a chill ran up her spine. She whirled around, startled, and Peter took a prudent step back from her, just out of reach.
“Donna, I’m sorry, I didnae mean to ... I just heard ... and I thought ye heard me ... I just came in to get another blanket,” he stammered nervously, indicating the wardrobe behind him with a jerk of his thumb as she struggled to bring her respiration rate back to something approaching normal. He took another step back before turning and opening the wardrobe door and pulling a blanket down from the shelf. He swallowed hard, his features carefully composed and said "Goodnight, then,” backing away towards the door.
As he turned to leave, Donna’s heart sank and before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Don’t. Peter, please, don't go. Oh, Policeman, I ... I don't want you to go.” What she really wanted was to fling herself into his arms and beg his forgiveness, but she couldn't bear the thought that he might not want that. Instead she stood impossibly still, willing him to read her mind, to know exactly what she wanted and respond. Peter's heart skipped a beat at the pleading note in her voice, and he realized with a shock that she was afraid he might refuse her request. He set the blanket back on the shelf and took a step towards her, even as she looked down at her feet and dug her toes into the carpet. He moved before her, putting a hand on her waist as he gingerly raised her chin so that she could see his eyes. She was fighting to keep her expression neutral but he could see the faint shimmer of tears forming there.
"Donna, the last thing on earth I ever want is to be apart from ye. Last night was one of the most miserable nights of my life,” he said soberly. He stroked her hair and Donna closed her eyes as a tear streaked down her cheek. Peter wiped it away with his thumb and whispered, "Hey, no... we'll no be havin' any of that tonight. Everythin' is fine, now. It was a misunderstandin’, that’s all, and it's behind us."
"Peter, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," she began, wrapping her arms around him and hiding her face in his chest, but she felt him shake his head.
"No, Donna. None of that, either, no now. Later we'll talk, eh?" Peter promised with a tiny catch in his voice. She pulled back, intending to kiss him and she was nearly undone by the broken look on his face. She could see a faint telltale tinge around his eyes and she felt his hand tremble slightly as he lifted her hair back and away from her face. "Oh, how I missed ye," he confessed, tangling a hand in her hair to draw her mouth to his in a sweet, gentle kiss. Her sharp intake of breath at his naked admission was quickly followed by a moan of mingled relief and regret as she melted against him.
Peter pulled her closer, even as she stepped back towards his bed. His lips chased hers, deepening the kiss and she dug her hands into his hair to urge him nearer, at once calmed by the reassuring solidity of the man in her arms and enflamed by the tender caress of his hands. He laid her back across his bed, slipping into place by her side as he searched her eyes and toyed with the buttons on her pajama top. He didn't slip them free until her hand tugged on the drawstring of his sweat pants, loosening the knot at his waist. Donna groaned slightly as they slipped off his slim hips and she pushed his pants down as far as she could before he pulled back and kicked them free. He settled back into place beside her and she rolled to meet him, realizing just how much she’d missed the warmth of his body against hers and the comfort of his embrace.
He was a treat for all the senses, but especially a visual one, she decided as he rose up, pulling his shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor. She admired the long, lean muscle of his torso and bit her lip as he reached over her to push away the blanket that had bunched up and made an uncomfortable lump beneath her head. Peter caught her staring and favored her with a slow, sensual smile, his eyes dark and hungry as he took hold of her waistband and eased her pajama bottoms down, freeing her legs. He hooked a finger into each side of her strangely-enticing white cotton knickers and slid them off, playing his hands along her legs as he went, bending down to leave a trail of tiny kisses across her hip. Once her clothes joined his in a pile on the floor, he settled back, kneeling between her knees, smiling down and marveling at the difference an hour made as the mad, frustrating dance they’d been engaged in all day became a mad dance of an entirely different sort.
“DI Carlisle,” Donna said formally as Peter quirked an eyebrow at her. “I’m not entirely certain what you have planned for this evenings’ entertainment, sir, but what I have in mind requires you to be considerably closer than your current position.” She offered him a shy smile that turned sly as he laughed aloud.
"What was that you were sayin' earlier about me and my ten-to-one word ratio?” he teased, watching as her eyes danced over him and she brought her foot up to slide along his calf.
“Weeellll,” she drawled, tugging at her ear in imitation, delighted at the grin she received in response. "I just thought maybe you’d respond better to that rather than ‘Get your gorgeous arse over here right now’,” she admitted and the laughter on his lips dwindled away as he leaned down to kiss her.
“Donna, consider me at your beck and call,” he replied, ending on a groan as she reached up to pull him to her. She let her legs fall open and wrapped herself around him as he slid home, embracing him from within as well as from without. They lay still for a moment, entangled together as Peter pushed himself up to look in her eyes, resting on his elbows and brushing her hair back from her forehead. At some unspoken agreement, they began to move together as if underwater, their motions slow and languid and there was no rushing, no urgency, no frenzy; instead, they slowly savored what they had each feared forever lost.
Still gazing into her eyes, Peter began to move within her in endless unhurried strokes and Donna whimpered, throwing her head back, pressing herself up into him and exposing her neck to his lips. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, guiding his mouth back to hers and together they found a slow rhythm of firm thrusts, long, languid kisses and gentle sighs, the two of them a slowly-moving tableau of warm caresses and whispered promises.
Peter’s breathing became increasingly ragged as he rolled his hips into Donna again and again, the pleasure within him building and surging, but he bit his lip and kept his pace, determined to wait for her. He knew she was close when Donna’s nails bit into his back, suddenly and briefly, and she closed her eyes and shuddered, taking him with her as she sank into bliss. Gentle at first, her climax grew in intensity, going on and on as the echoes of pleasure rebounded within her, and as the ecstasy faded, she opened her eyes to gaze at the face of the man above her. Peter leaned on one elbow, stroking her hair as she framed his face between her palms, gently tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs. Looking into his eyes, for the first time in her life, Donna understood the fine distinction between having sex and making love. She saw that he'd been just as lost without her as she’d felt without him, and as he settled down to embrace her fully, her eyes prickled at the tender words he murmured into her hair.
It was a homecoming for them both and Donna's last scrap of indecision and insecurity fell away as the spark of hope she'd been so carefully tending in her heart flared brightly: he was hers and she was his. This thing between them, this feeling? It was real and not some lovely little fantasy. She'd finally found the one she'd been searching for all her life; they were truly together and she knew he loved her as much, and as fiercely, as she loved him.
"You love me," she breathed into his ear, clutching him closer and Peter smiled at her characteristically-odd phrasing, remembering the first time they’d met.
"Aye," he replied, kissing the shell of her ear. "Did ye ever doubt that?"
"Not that you loved me, no," she whispered, not daring to look at him then. "But just how much? That was my question,” she admitted. “Now I know."
"Are we talkin' quantitative or qualitative measurement here?" he teased gently, rolling his upper body off her, bracing himself again on his elbow and toying with her hair.
"Both, you prawn,” she replied with a gentle smack to his shoulder. She smiled up at him in wonder before admitting "I think you just might love me almost as much as I love you."
"More than that," he told her with a lopsided grin. “ ‘My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite’ ,” he quoted. She grinned before biting her lip, searching her memory for the source of his words and he brushed the pad of his thumb against her lip to draw her attention back to him. “Here, let me show ye again."
**********
Wednesday, 12 June, 2012 11:15 PM
"Tea. Ye took on potential murderer armed with nothin' more than a hot cup of Earl Grey." Peter tried to look stern, but the corners of his mouth twitched upwards of their own accord. He hugged her to him tightly for a moment before relaxing again and finger-combing her unruly curls away from her eyes.
"English Breakfast Tea, actually, sort of a builder's cup,” Donna clarified as she turned in his embrace and stretched luxuriously. “More caffeine. I find I need it since I took up with the likes of you." She rolled back into his arms and yawned, unimpressed by his sour expression. Peter fought to stifle a giggle but when he looked down at her, it exploded from him and ended up as a guffaw.
"Oi, Policeman!" Donna exclaimed indignantly, slapping him soundly on the shoulder. "Tea's the best stuff in the universe, and don't you dare doubt it! Superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin-just the thing for healin' the synapses!” She blinked and gently shook her head before continuing. “When I used to get those horrible headaches all the time, a good strong cuppa was the only thing that made me better.” She gazed fondly into the eyes of her once-again lover and kissed him gently. “Now I can add stealth weapon to the list of things tea's good for."
“Welllll,” he drawled, nodding his agreement and scratching absently at the day’s growth on his chin, “that’s certainly more than can be said of most items available at breakfast. Unless ye count my mam’s tattie scone,” he said with a shudder of disgust. “And,” he continued, smiling broadly as he wound her up, "when ye needed to gain Bence’s trust and slow him down, it didnae escape my notice that ye condescended to share my pastry of choice with the boy and no Ian’s.” He affected an air of mock outrage and Donna smacked his shoulder again.
“Copper, you are nothin’ short of spoiled beyond belief!” she cried. “I shared your sticky bun with him because, knowin’ you,” she jabbed him abruptly in the chest then kissed the tip of his nose to soften the blow, “knowin’ you, I bought you two and I’d only got the one croissant for Ian. No playin’ the victim this time for you!”
“If I’m spoilt, Ms. Noble,” he smirked, twirling a copper curl around his finger, “it’s entirely your fault. Ian never gets me two of anythin’ and, when he does bring me somethin’, it’s always whole grain and low sugar.” Peter grinned as he pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it reverently, glad that they could slip back into their usual banter so easily. Lately, they had fallen into the habit of meeting for dinner and returning to whichever flat was closest for the night and consequently, the previous two nights had been the first they’d spent apart in almost two weeks. As she cupped his cheek and moved closer to kiss his lips, he wondered if she’d found it as difficult to sleep without him as he had found it without her. He decided not to ask, preferring to dwell in the moment instead of rehashing the events of the previous two days. Donna, however, had different ideas.
Leaning her forehead against his, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Peter, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.” She kissed him almost desperately and caressed his face with the back of her hand before tracing the seam of his lips with a fingertip. “I'm sorry for the way I acted and for embarrassing you where you work. That was unforgivable. And I'm sorriest for the things I said. I didn't mean any of it.” Peter opened his mouth to respond, but she laid a restraining finger on his lips and shook her head once.
“But there’s one thing I need to make perfectly clear: I'm not apologizin' for talkin' to Bence. That boy was so scared, I could feel it.”
“Donna,” Peter began to reply, but he was silenced by her look.
“Let me finish, Copper,” she warned before continuing. “And I did think about what I was doing before I spoke to him.” Peter raised an eyebrow at that, earning himself a stinging slap on the shoulder.
“I did! Think about it: why sit in the window like that, right across from the Met unless he wanted to be caught? Hmmm?” she asked, sitting up and pulling the sheets up around her. She prodded Peter’s ribs gently as she continued. “And he was slouched over wearin' a hoodie, yeah? He didn't have anywhere to hide a stiletto, not one he could pull quickly, at any rate. We were in a very public place and I knew you'd be there in no time, so the risk I took was tiny, really,” she finished reasonably with a slight shrug, examining her nails.
Peter sat up and placed a hand on her knee. “I apologize, Donna, for the way I reacted,” he said, his voice low but firm, “but no for how I felt at the time and no for how I still feel. I'll no have ye putting' yerself needlessly in harm's way, certainly no for me and my closure rate.” Donna looked up at him abruptly, and it was his turn to lay a restraining finger on her lips. “In this life, all it takes is one tiny miscalculation, one slip-up: we dinnae get a second chance where death is concerned.” For the barest flicker of time, she had to wrestle with the urge to laugh. Somehow, for some reason, that just sounded odd coming from him.
She kissed his finger before shaking her head gently. “You didn't see his eyes, Peter. I wasn't afraid of him. But you?” she breathed, her own eyes growing wide as she pulled back. “You were so different, you were like a stranger and I didn't know what to do. For just a moment, I didn’t know who you were. You frightened me, Peter, more than Bence ever could. You frightened me to death, and ... when I get frightened, I get angry.”
“Another trait we share,” he responded immediately and Donna nodded her understanding. He waited a moment before confessing, “Bence asked after ye this mornin’. I told him ye were under the weather but I'd let ye know.”
“I’ll go see him tomorrow, while you’re at work. Maybe after I can have lunch with you?” she offered hopefully. “Ian, too, my treat?”
“I dinnae think so,” Peter said with obvious reluctance. “Ian and I had planned to follow up on a lead by goin’ out to Immingham in the mornin’. It looks promising. Bence said this man, Tippet, he comes from there and he's lookin' to expand his business, to set up a drug distribution network in London in advance of the Olympics. He hit upon the idea of usin’ spray artists and others who knew the ins and outs of the streets but would be able to move among the tourists without attractin’ attention as bein’ out of place. He's no terribly smart, but he's vicious, so he intimidates smart people into doin' his biddin'.”
“Typical,” Donna sighed. “Is that how Morgan ended up dead, then?”
“Bence said Morgan was cuttin’ through the alley- must have been on his way home- and he saw Tippet pull his blade. Morgan must have seen a kid not much older than his students bein’ threatened and stepped in to help, gettin' himself killed in the process,” Peter explained as he opened his arms in invitation. Donna settled in and listened, her hand resting on his chest as Peter absently stroked her hair. “Tippet didn’t even give him a chance to speak, never even considered runnin’, according to Bence. He just stood and waited until Morgan drew close enough to strike and the next thing Bence knew, Morgan was laid out on the pavement before him. If he werenae dead already, Tippet beat him to death for show, then stood and slashed at Bence’s ribs, just enough to draw blood. He told Bence he’d be back for him later, that he’d find him and do worse if the boy told anyone what had happened. Then Tippet wiped his blade clean on the hem of Bence’s hoodie.” He sniffed loudly and closed his eyes against the images from his nightmares, scenes of the woman in his arms lying dead at his feet. He shook his head to return to reality and admitted, “I’m no surprised he was afraid to come in after that.”
“I’m glad you’re closing in on him. That man belongs behind bars and I know you’ll put him there before he can hurt anyone else,” Donna said vehemently before a tiny frown crossed her face. “But Immingham? That’s over three hours away…,” she said thoughtfully. “Will you be back in time for dinner tomorrow, or should I change the date with my mum?”
“Nah, we’re meetin’ yer mum and grandda for dinner at half past seven, right?” Peter asked. “We’ll be back and I’ll be ready to go,” he said before kissing her again. Donna smiled at him, then looked away, biting her lip as she let her hand rest on his chest.
“I'm so sorry I got gobby with Ian yesterday,” she whispered. “and I’m still sorry how I acted around your coworkers this mornin’ as well. They came out to my flat and I….”
“Ye have nothin' to be sorry for as much as I do,” Peter said, cutting her off. “I’ve come to realize that, given our temperaments, at times, our life together may very well resemble a tale full of sound and fury,” he said quietly.
“Which signifies nothing?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Nothin’ except that I love ye,” Peter said fondly as he kissed her forehead. “But there’s more ye need to say to me, is there no? What are ye still hidin’, and why?” he asked as he felt her grow still and small in his arms. “Donna, ye can tell me anythin’, ye know that, right?” He waited patiently, sure that she would respond in her own good time.
“Peter, it’s true what you said earlier: I didn’t think how my actions might have affected you,” she said slowly, before looking up at him. “I’m still not used to havin’ someone care about what I do. But don’t you trust me?” she asked, searching his face for a clue.
“Of course I trust ye, but no him!” Peter whispered with a catch in his voice. “Ye dinnae see Morgan, lyin’ there in a pool of his own blood.” He leaned back to look down his chest at her. “It was just a theory that it wasnae Bence but someone else that gutted Morgan and left him to die. If I'd been wrong, if ye’d acted on faulty information from me and been hurt… “ he said before Donna reached up and silenced him with a kiss.
“Well, I didn’t and you weren’t,” she said, but Peter’s eyes were still dark and unconvinced. She scowled at him for a moment before she decided to play her trump card and force his hand.
“I love you, Detective Dumbo,” she said as she slapped his chest without any real force, “and Bence wasn’t guilty, was he?”
“Weeellll”, Peter replied, pulling at his ear and looking skyward, “while he has yet to be officially cleared of any wrongdoing, if I were to hazard a peek at his future, it would seem that we were both correct in assumin' his innocence in this matter.” He looked down to see Donna staring up at him, dumbfounded.
"All that," she marveled sitting back and bracing herself against his chest, "when all you had to do was say 'No', or even better, 'No, you were right, Donna..."
She shrieked as Peter lunged at her, giggling madly as he pinned her back against the bed.
"Peace! I will stop your mouth," Peter muttered with a smile as he dipped his head towards her.
"With a kiss?" she asked reflexively, then paused. "No, hold on, that bit's earlier on, right?" He grinned wildly at her as she continued. “I just finished reading Much Ado the other day, but haven't reread it with the notes yet.” Peter kissed her beneath her ear and as he slowly made his way to her mouth, Donna found it increasingly difficult to breathe properly. “Though why any woman in her right mind … ,” she muttered, inhaling sharply as his fingers danced across her bare skin, “...would want to stop your mouth from this activity, I'll never know.”
Part 1 | Part 5 | Part 10 | Part 15 | Part 20.1 | Part 25