An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 3
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 3 (3 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: My life wouldn't be complete without WhosInTheAttic. She has put up with more than any human should be expected to in the course of this fic, and has contributed to it in both writing and beta-ing my own poor attempts. Any and all mistakes are my own.
Rating: M (Still just establishing relationships, but eventually....)
Word Count: 3,069
Summary: While investigating a murder, Peter meets a woman whose life is an even bigger mystery.
Disclaimer: Donna and Peter both belong to others, except in my own twisted version of what should be. My Great and Glorious plan is to post at least once a week, and always on Friday. If I can get it all on track, I'll post more frequently.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12
Thursday, 19 April 2012, 8:00 PM
Donna was sure he’d seen her; really, properly seen her, before he turned back to the bar and engaged Lewis in conversation. For that split second, the world had gone silent but now that his attention was focused elsewhere, the cacophony of everyday life roared back around her. What the bloody hell was that?!?, she thought as she realized she had been holding her breath. Whatever it had been, it was gone now, she reflected, blinking rapidly before turning back to Nerys.
“What's your interest in our Donna, DI?” Our Donna. Peter didn’t miss the protective tone of warning in the barkeep's voice as he’d identified himself as an officer of the law and asked about the woman in the booth to his right. He raised both hands and ducked his head, smirking slightly. "Strictly professional, I can assure you. Nothin’ untoward,” Peter leaned on the bar as he reclaimed his drink. “I'm investigatin’ a man’s murder that took place night before last, round the corner." Peter removed a photo of the victim from his coat pocket and handed it over with an unspoken question. "I'm technically off-duty, but thought I'd ask around a bit on my way home."
Lewis took the photo and examined it thoughtfully before shaking his head and returning it to Peter who tucked it back into his coat pocket. "Well, unless he died of a severe tongue-lashin’, I can guarantee our Donna had nothing to do with it!" Lewis asserted, nodding decisively, as though that settled the issue. “She might have a temper on her, that one, but I’ve yet to see her unleash it on an undeserving soul.” He braced himself against the bar separating him from the Detective Inspector and fixed Peter with an appraising eye.
“Nah, the thought never crossed my mind,” Peter casually assured him. “Just lookin’ fer anyone who might have seen something, is all. I thought I might have seen her passin’ by the crime scene last night.” He lifted his pint, then hesitated a moment. “You seem to know her pretty well. What can you tell me?” As the man considered his words before responding, Peter took advantage of the distraction to study him. Late 20‘s to early 30‘s, compact but slightly burly, he had the look of a weekend footballer who’d been good at it in school. When Lewis glanced over at Donna, deciding what to share with the DI, Peter saw the attitude of a little brother defending his sister’s honor cross his face and he cataloged the reaction for future reference.
“Our Donna’s had a tough time of it. She don’t need more trouble,” Lewis finally ventured. He spoke in even, measured tones and Peter decided he liked the man. Loyal, honest and discreet, and quick with the drinks to boot: he was the perfect man for the job behind the bar.
“Trouble?” Peter mused by way of invitation to continue. “What sort of trouble?” He shifted position, leaning on his elbow, chin in hand, two fingers splayed carelessly across his cheekbone.
“Not the kind you’d be interested in. Just personal stuff,” Lewis declared. He folded his arms across his chest before continuing. “And she’s a private one. You’d do well to stay out of the Throne Room.”
Peter raised his eyebrows and a slight smile entered his voice. “Throne Room?” he queried.
Lewis’ defensive manner crumbled and he smiled slightly. He nodded discreetly at the table where Donna and Nerys sat. “Just what we all call it when the Red Queen and the White Queen hold court over there,” he explained.
“So, she’s a regular customer, then?” Peter lifted his pint and shot a covert glance in the direction of the indicated booth. He turned back to Lewis and found the table reflected in the mirror behind the bar. The ginger from the previous night had turned her body away from him and was trying to pay attention to the blonde sharing the table, but she kept sneaking furtive glances over her shoulder as if she couldn’t help herself.
“Lives nearby, around the corner about five blocks over in an old flat above the shops near Turnham Green, and she’s in here ‘bout three to four nights a week. The White Queen joins her on Wednesdays and usually on Fridays, ‘lessen she’s got a date. Donna’s got family nearby, but I get the feeling they don’t always get on,” Lewis said, warming to Peter and the topic. “She’s been around here longer than I have, and I’ve been here four years now. I remember her from when I first started. She’d come in here with a regular flock and they’d all carry on something awful.” He raised a hand to scratch his cheek thoughtfully. “But then she disappeared for about a year. Lost her fiancee in some sort of accident and went away on holiday. When she did come back, though, she was different. Sommat bad happened to her then, but she’s never spoken of it.” Peter nodded, considering all he’d just been told and comparing it to the haunted look he’d seen on the woman's face the night before. He started to raise his pint again and frowned down into the glass, surprised to find it in need of a refill.
Abruptly shifting demeanor, Lewis’s eyes narrowed as he realized all that he’d inadvertently revealed to Peter. “If you’ll forgive me, Detective, it doesn’t sound like you’re just investigating a murder...,” he growled. Taken aback, Peter looked down into his empty glass and pondered both the man’s insinuation and his own motives. He smiled slowly and tugged at his ear before answering. “Well,” he admitted, “that might not be the only reason...”
Lewis pursed his lips, shifted his jaw to the side and leaned back slightly, fixing Peter with a cautionary glare. “You be careful, DI,” He placed a full pint on the bar before Peter and gave him a pointed look, “for your own sake and for hers.” Peter nodded his understanding to the man, chastened.
Donna watched as the policeman at the bar picked up his glass and took a drink. In her mind’s eye, she saw the two of them sharing a pint...at some street fair? He should be laughing, she thought as her respiratory system stuttered again, and I should be with him? Donna’s breathing resumed and she was oddly calm. Of course I should, she realized, where else could I be?
It was the way she looked at him that drew Peter’s attention back to her, like she had something to say but had no idea where to begin. It was a look he’d seen on the face of a thousand different witnesses, the one that shouted, Hold up, maybe I did see something, maybe this is important? She was clearly mulling over something and he decided to move closer to give her an opportunity to speak, but not directly enough to spook her. Course decided upon, he turned back to the bar to settle his account before heading over to seek an audience with Her Majesties.
Before she realized what she was doing, Donna stood and moved towards the man who had monopolized her thoughts since he’d entered the George. She ignored her companion’s cries of protest, and Nerys realized her appointment with Donna had abruptly ended for the evening. She gathered her belongings in a huff and was almost tempted to stay to watch Donna make a fool of herself, but decided against it. Instead, she shot out a hand and grabbed Donna’s arm before hissing, “He may be rumpled, but he’s still out of your league, girl.” She was rewarded by a flicker of pain in Donna’s eyes before the fire returned. “Nerys, grow up, why don’t you?” Donna spat at her, shaking herself from Nerys’ grasp. “Unlike you, not everyone is on the prowl,” she snapped and continued across the pub to Peter. Nerys gave her one more disgusted glance before she left the George in a huff.
**********
"Excuse me, I know this sounds like a chat up line, but- do you know me?"
At the sound of her voice, Peter turned back from paying his tab and was surprised to find Donna standing right behind him. She looked up at him with a strange mixture of emotions playing across her face: trepidation, familiarity, humiliation and amusement flittered and died, replaced by frank curiosity. He assumed she had seen him at the crime scene, later thought of something that might be useful in the investigation and now she was looking for an excuse to talk to him. But then the odd phrasing hit him and Peter stopped, regarding her seriously.
“Hmmm, no: I can’t say that I do,” he replied after studying her for a few seconds. He risked a glance down at her ring finger before continuing, “But I’d like to.” Donna hadn’t missed his discreet peek at her hand and almost smiled as he asked, “Miss....?”
“Noble, Donna Noble,” she replied and she just caught herself before she blurted out, shaken, not stirred. She smiled sadly and glanced down at her hand again before raising her eyes back to meet his. “No, I guess you’re right. Not even I could forget meeting someone like you...,” she trailed off, then shook her head as if to rouse herself. It was an odd choice of words again and Peter's eyes widened slightly, puzzled. She made as if to go before turning to him politely. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, then...”
“Peter,” he said abruptly, “it’s Peter Carlisle.”
Donna fixed him with a hard stare and for a split second, Peter thought she would spin on her heel and stalk away before her expression abruptly softened into something close to faint amusement. "All right then, Detective ... Inspector?" she relented, the last word a lilting question that he answered with the ghost of a smile and an inclination of the head.
"You've seen me at work, then. You have me at a disadvantage, Miss Noble," Peter replied, smile now firmly in place.
Donna responded with a hoot of laughter and reached for a coaster lying on the counter to check a sudden impulse to slap his shoulder. Deciding that she liked this game, she regarded him for a moment before replying, "Nah, I don't think that's even possible. The way you've been pumping Lewis there for information since you came in, it's even money that you probably know the life stories of everyone in the room." She leaned sideways on the bar, facing him and for the first time, Peter saw that her smile reached her eyes. "That's the only reason I'm talking to you, you do realize," she continued, jerking a thumb in the barkeep's direction. "He's your character witness. Lewis here, he can spot a bad egg at a hundred paces, toss 'em right out on their ear before they have time to raise a ruckus. He talks to you; you're all right," she finished, nodding. Donna was really enjoying herself now and she felt like one of the hard-boiled dames in the detective fiction she'd developed a taste for after spending a month temping in the offices of an online specialty bookshop.
It was Peter’s turn to smile now at the unexpected banter. "Just doing my job, ma'am," he answered with an exaggerated drawl and he instantly wished he could pull the words back, to retrieve each one from where it hung in the air between them. Donna’s face fell infinitesimally, the laughter gone from her eyes and she was all business.
"What is it that I can do for you, then, DI?" Donna stated in a matter-of-fact tone that screamed playtime is over. Peter kicked himself mentally and set about winning her back. “I was hoping you could help me, Miss Noble. There’s been a murder and I find myself in need of assistance from the public.” Her expression softened slightly and in imitation of his earlier gesture, she inclined her head, granting him permission to continue.
“Last night, this man was found murdered in an alley, around the corner and about four blocks away, a straight shot between the George and where you live,” he began, retrieving the photo from his pocket. At this, Donna shot a look at Lewis that would have killed lesser mortals. He had the good grace to look apologetic and a bit unnerved and Peter wondered if Lewis had moved into the deserving of a tongue-lashing category in Donna's books. “We think he was murdered the night before and his killer stashed his body behind some rubbish bins there. We’re just checking to see if anyone noticed something that might help out in the investigation.” Despite herself, Donna reached for the dead man’s picture. Peter watched her carefully as she inspected the photo.
“This poor thing laid there all night and all day, alone?” she whispered as she traced the dead man’s features with her index finger. “Oh, that's terrible, dying with no one even there to hold his hand.” Peter observed the faraway look in her eyes as Donna felt snow brush her cheeks and she heard the faint strains of a sad, plaintive song that filled her with longing for a moment. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply until the feeling passed and, returning to the waking world, she handed the picture back to Peter. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the poor man,” Donna offered, her mind still billions of miles away.
“You’ve never seen him around, then?” Peter prodded gently.
“Dunno, really, but I know I don’t remember him,” she answered. Suddenly, something clicked. “Uhm, Dectective Inspector, when do you think this happened?” Donna asked dubiously.
“Tuesday evening, between about 7:00 and 11:00 PM, according to the boys in the lab,” Peter replied, studying her face.
“Now, I’m not sayin’ this is important or that this is gonna help,” she said slowly, chewing on her bottom lip, “but on my way home from here that night I heard a crash from that alley. I was a bit startled, but I didn’t hear or see anything else goin’ on, so I assumed it was cats.” Peter nodded his agreement and waited for her to continue. “Anyway, when I got nearly level with the alley, this man stumbled out. I didn't see his face and I figured he was drunk, the way he was lurching about, so I just stopped and let him get ahead of me. Better him in front of me where I could see him, I figured, than him behind me, ‘ya know?”
He smiled at her impeccable logic and commented, “Good thinking. Better safe...”
Donna huffed a bit before tossing the unfinished comment back at him, “He’d be the one who was sorry if he messed with me!” Peter grinned at her cheek as he realized she probably wasn’t exaggerating.
“So, as he left the alley, reeling around, I saw he was clutching at his side, with both hands, about here,” she indicated her left side, just above her waist. She bit her lip, trying to remember clearly and be precise in her speech. “When he got to the corner, right there at Gable House, he put his hand up- um, his right hand- high on the glass to steady himself before he headed out, going north. When he left, I saw he’d left a bit of a smudge of something on the glass. Again, I don’t know what it was or if it’s still there, or even if it’s important, but maybe....” she shrugged, and regarded him carefully.
"Can you provide me with a description of this man you observed?" Peter asked hopefully. "And were you to see him again, do you feel confident you could provide a positive identification?"
Donna considered for a moment before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Detective" she said, her voice tinged with genuine remorse. "There's no way I would trust my shoddy memory where a man's freedom is at stake."
Peter nodded grimly, stroking his chin for a moment before he responded, “Thank you, Miss Noble, for taking the time to help me out with this. You’re right, it may be nothing, but it may be exactly what we need to tie a suspect to the scene. Either way, I’m in your debt.” She smiled shyly, obviously pleased at his reaction to her recollections.
He moved away from the bar to make a phone call to forensics, making arrangements to meet as soon as possible to investigate the possible lead Ms. Noble had given them. He had to turn his back to hide his amusement as Donna accosted Lewis behind the bar, “And you, what were you thinkin’? I don’t care if he is a policeman: what were you thinkin’ tellin’ him everything about me? This isn’t over, Sunshine, not by a long shot,’ Donna groused at him, wagging a finger in his direction.
His call finished, Peter turned back to the bar and saw that Donna had apparently decided their interview was concluded and had begun to retreat back to the safety of her table with a tiny sigh. He watched her move away and with every step she took, she seemed to shrink back into herself and disengage from the world. The vibrant, funny and spirited woman he’d just been talking to was disappearing before his eyes and he considered his options before following her over to the Throne Room. She sank into her customary chair and started violently when she turned to find Peter standing on the other side of the table, waiting for her.
“Miss Noble,” he began quietly, “ I was wonderin’: would you be willin’ to meet with me sometime tomorrow’? I may have a few more questions for you to help me with after we’ve processed anythin’ we may find where you’ve indicated we should look. Are you free tomorrow afternoon, say about 2:00?”
For just a moment, she turned her face from him, looking at the table, and Peter thought he might have seen the barest hint of a smile. When she raised her head back to him, the smile had vanished, but there was life in her eyes and the teasing, playful note had returned to her voice. “Of course,” she responded. “Anything I can do to help, Detective Inspector.”
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8.1 | Part 8.2 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12