An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 7
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 7 (7 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- you complete me. Any and all mistakes are my own.
Rating: All- just some plot and character development, fluffy and angsty all at once.
Word Count: 4,846
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. I'm going to be very busy this week, so I'm not optimistic about any posts before Friday...and that one may be late as well.
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
Part 7: Sunday, 22 April 2012, 1:15 PM
“All right, then, what about that one?” Donna asked, pointing at an older man walking a small toy poodle through the park. She was reclining on an oversized blanket in the afternoon sun, shoulder to shoulder with Peter, giggling mischievously and trying to remember the last time she'd enjoyed a day doing nothing so much. They had spent the morning in bed together before Peter had found her a pair of his sweat pants and a sweatshirt to wear while he drove her back to her flat. After a quick shower and change, they had stopped by the market for a picnic lunch and then found a spot to lounge about and people-watch while they ate.
"Ach, give me a challenge next time, won't you?" Peter teased as he watched the man cross in front of them. He sat up and tucked the remnants of his lunch back into the box and set it aside. Leaning closer to Donna so that their foreheads almost touched, he whispered in her ear, "Mid-50's, London born and bred, second marriage, and recent, too. The dog belongs to his much-younger trophy wife and he's doing his best to act as though he's fond of the wee hairy beastie, which he's not. Not used to physical activity and would, on the whole, much rather be back in The City than here in Chiswick." He let his lips brush her ear and was pleased when she shivered slightly in response as he settled back into place beside her.
Donna didn’t miss the satisfied expression on his face as he noted her reaction and she decided to take him down a peg. "You're havin' me on, Copper," she scoffed, poking Peter in the arm none-too-gently. "You got all that in the sixty seconds you saw him?!? I don't believe you- you're makin’ it up." She tried hard to keep a straight face but her laughter burbled up and finally exploded into a guffaw at the mock-affronted look he gave her in return.
"Ah'm no," he protested, sitting up now, "and unlike some people, I have the evidence to back it up!" He leaned over and quickly kissed her before ducking away from her playful slap. "Some people just cannae take it when someone else is cleverer." His mischievous tone and sly smile made Donna happier than she was prepared to admit, and she loved it when he relaxed enough that his natural accent reappeared. She sat up quickly, folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a challenging stare.
"Prove it," she snorted, lifting her chin defiantly and smiling. This was the third round of their game and Donna was curious. Peter would merely glance at someone and come back with what seemed to be their life story like he was flippin' Sherlock Holmes or something. Of course there was no way to prove his suppositions, short of accosting total strangers and interrogating them, but after Peter’s declarations, when Donna looked at the subject again, she could believe every word. "Tell me how you do it."
"If you insist," he laughed, inclining his head to her for a moment. He turned and gracefully gestured in the direction of the retreating dog-walker. "His age is evident just by lookin’ at him. He's in the park on a lovely Sunday afternoon, ostensibly for relaxation, but his pace is too brisk for him to be anythin’ but a Londoner from birth.” He stopped momentarily, waiting for Donna’s nod of acceptance of his logic thus far.
“The dog? It would be odd for a man of his age to have a dog like that on his own, so it must belong to his partner. Now, if the dog is his wife's, it makes sense, but if it was his first wife, he'd have balked by now at walkin’ that little toy. He might be gay, but the smudge of pink iridescent lipstick on his jawline suggests a woman stood on tiptoe to kiss him as he left on his errand. That and the ring on his left hand being shiny and new suggests a lovely young thing is waiting at home for him when this chore is done. As for the physical activity? Who walks a dog in dress shoes and brand-new jeans? The new wife is tryin’ to bring his wardrobe up to date, but either she hasnae got around to his shoes yet, or out of habit, he's put on the same shoes he's worn for years. And given all that, it's a natural assumption that he's out of his comfort zone and would rather be back on his home turf and at work. Easy, really" he finished, spreading out his hands and nodding sagely before reclining again on the blanket, resting on his elbows.
“Well, at least you didn’t say ‘Elementary’,” groused Donna, smiling despite herself. He was too clever by half, but instead of being annoying, Donna found his quick intellect and quiet confidence enticing, especially when he lounged about with that loose-limbed grace of which he seemed to be completely unaware. Her smile deepened as she wondered if he’d let her try out her developing skills on him.
“Your turn, beautiful,” he replied, shaking her from her reverie.
She threw her hair back and made a show of squaring her shoulders. "Okay, Policeman; your pick," she announced with a hint of challenge in her voice.
Peter scanned the collection of afternoon park-goers before selecting a woman pushing a buggy.
“That one,” he said, shifting closer to Donna as he pointed across the park.
"Her?" Donna asked, eyes widening in surprise.
"Yes," Peter confirmed with a trace of amusement. He’d already begun his analysis of the woman in question and was looking forward to seeing how his results tallied with Donna’s conclusions.
"That woman, right there?" Donna waited for his answering nod, and taking a deep breath, launched into her interpretation. "Well, I’m no expert,” she declared, nudging his foot with her own, “but here goes.”
She studied the woman carefully before continuing. “She’s 36 and a stay-at-home mom with 3 kids- two boys and a baby girl.” Donna turned to see Peter nodding his approval and her smile deepened into a grin as she continued.
“The oldest boy is a hand-full, always in trouble at school. But he’s sweet, just a bit rambunctious. She left a job in ... “ Donna paused somewhat dramatically, as if searching for a clue before glancing over at Peter and continuing. “Marketin’? This was before her husband got a major promotion at work that allowed her to quit to become a full-time mommy. She loves her boys but was over the moon when the baby was born, ecstatic to add a girl to the family.”
“That it?”, he asked, impressed despite himself at the ease with which she had taken to his game. He never doubted for a moment that Donna was clever- in fact, he thought she was brilliant- and he could see hints of most of what she had concluded about their target, but other things escaped him completely. Peter assumed it was a ‘female thing’, clues only a woman might pick up about another woman, and was looking forward to her explanation, perhaps adding some of her techniques to his own bag of tricks.
“Uh huh,” she responded confidently. “That and she does aerobics three times a week, her favorite color is mauve and her birthday is coming up in about two weeks.” She ticked off her final conclusions on her fingers with a triumphant flourish, cocking her head to the side with a pleased expression.
"That's quite impressive," he confessed, sitting up to study the woman more carefully as she approached. “On what evidence do you base these stunningly brilliant observations?” She beamed at Peter’s admiring smile and pursed her lips as she considered how to begin.
“All right. She’s 36, or in the general vicinity, although admittedly, she does look a trifle younger. That’s based on the probable ages of her children, which I'll get to shortly. The buggy is new- mauve, because of the baby girl within. For a woman with a background in Marketin’, pink is a bit too obvious, really, and she’s practical, for the most part- see, she’s reused the gender-neutral green nappy bag- so if the child had been another boy, she would have used the old blue one. The baby is barely 6 months old, but the practiced way she maneuvers that push-chair about says experienced mommy.” Donna glanced sideways at Peter momentarily, looking for his approval.
He leaned towards her, eyes shining with undisguised amusement and admiration and nodded his encouragement.
Pleased, Donna tapped her lips with her index finger, narrowed her eyes and adopted a slightly professorial tone before going on. “The dark blue bag she has slung across her shoulder has at least two pairs of shoes in there, but small shoes, maybe even footy boots, judgin’ by the prickly pattern one of them is makin’ as it presses against the side. So blue bag for the two boys, then- let's say 10 and 6, on account of the shoe sizes, and judgin’ by the time and her own brisk pace, they have a football match today on the other side of the park. Her husband’s taken the boys out for the day to let her have the mornin’ with the baby in peace. The way she’s dressed, she’s just finished her aerobics class, which she takes the baby to so she can show her off to all her friends, and she’s brought the boy’s gear, which her husband- bless him- forgot as he left this mornin’.”
Peter couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “Two boys then,” he conceded, “but how do you know one is a hand-full?” This insight into her thinking was fascinating and he wanted to know more.
She snorted and looked at him incredulously before answering with a smirk. “Two boys? Isn’t one of them always? And if she’d had the perfect child first, she wouldn’t have tried for another.” Peter laughed and looked away, amused. It was a plausible conclusion, albeit a very female one, and as it fit perfectly within the rules of the game, he allowed her the assumption.
Peter watched their target as she maintained her steady pace on course towards the football pitch, reviewing Donna’s statements one by one. “OK, but how could you know about the birthday?” he blurted out abruptly. Every other statement could be supported, either by visible evidence or plausible assumption, but this one had him stumped.
Donna momentarily considered bluffing her way through his question, and she bit her lip as she tried to maintain her detective facade; tried and failed miserably. “She has coffee in Maison Blanc with her friends every Thursday after their early mornin’ aerobics class, and I’ve eavesdropped a bit out of boredom,” she confessed with a mischievous smile.
Peter’s eyes widened as he realized the implication of her words. "That's cheatin’!" he cried, lunging for her and knocking her back to the blanket, pinning her shoulders as she laughed.
‘You picked her out, not me,’ Donna retorted, giggling as he started to tickle her. She shrieked and writhed beneath his merciless onslaught, trying halfheartedly to fend off his dancing fingers.
“You could’ve said,” Peter accused, and he abruptly stopped tickling her so that she could catch her breath. As her gasps subsided and she favored him with a grateful smile, he began tracing her features with one terribly gentle finger.
“You didn’t say I had to make all my observations here, now did you?” Donna defended herself, “Don’t good policemen- and policewomen- sometimes follow a subject, build up a profile, ask others about them?” she contended, kissing his finger as it ghosted across her lips.
“Yes, but that’s still cheatin’,” he countered even as he recognized the parallel she was drawing. He slowly closed the distance between them and was gratified when her breathing hitched at his approach.
"Oi, so what's the penalty then?" Donna inquired breathlessly as his lips grazed hers, far too gently and she pulled him down and lost herself in the kiss. Before their embrace became untenable in public, she was startled by the deep rolling rumble of thunder and her eyes flew open to search the sky beyond her lover.
Peter reluctantly released his hold on Donna and glanced up at the darkening sky. “Well, maybe it’s time we took this indoors, anyway,” he whispered, stealing one more kiss before climbing gracefully to his feet and offering her his hand. “Shall we?”
“Lay on, MacDuff...,” she teased as he helped her stand.
He grinned, pleased that she hadn’t bungled the quotation and finished it with, “And damned be him that first cries, “Hold, enough!”
“If you say so,” she laughed. “I can see I’m goin’ to have to brush up on my Shakespeare. I never could remember the rest of that one.”
Peter stole yet another kiss before Donna stooped to collect the picnic blanket and he leaned over to collect their lunch rubbish, walking across the field to toss it in the bin. He paused to stretch and glancing over at the play area beyond, he absently remarked, "Now, there's somethin’ you don't see every day..," more to himself than to her.
"What's that, then?" Donna asked, shaking the blanket before folding it over her arm as she straightened. She turned to him curiously and took a step in his direction.
"Over there, on the playground," Peter replied, pointing.
Donna turned, following his gaze, to see a pair of children, a little girl and her younger brother holding hands as their mother gathered their belongings to leave. She smiled at them then looked closer, searching for the detail she'd missed that Peter found remarkable. Her eyes glazed over and her vision clouded as another pair of children walked up behind the first pair, the same girl and boy all over again. Donna suddenly couldn’t breathe as she was swept into a swirling vortex, assaulted by flashes of images she knew she should recognize, suffocated by a dangerous otherness from within, and her head began to pound relentlessly as she fought the darkness rising up before her, desperate to stay upright and almost as frantic to fall.
"Maybe one of those Mothers of Multiples play dates or some such," Peter mused, turning back to Donna just in time to see her clutch her head and collapse like a marionette with its strings severed, a faint gold aura playing about her head fading as she fell. “Donna!” he cried as he dashed back across the field and knelt at her side. He gently turned her over, checking for her vital signs before pulling out his mobile and punching in 999.
Donna was vaguely aware of a frantic voice coming through the dark, and she tried to focus on the words that filtered through. She could just make out a man calling her name before he started telling someone else where they were. She wanted desperately to answer, to get up and take his hand in hers, but the pain was too great and the darkness was insistent, pulling her to safety.
“Donna! Donna, can you hear me?” Peter cried. She was suddenly hot as if she’d been standing too long and too close to a roaring bonfire. “Donna, wake up?” he pleaded, pulling her up against him and wrapping his arms around her limp form as he waited impatiently for the ambulance service to arrive. He could see her eyes moving fitfully behind closed lids and he gently tilted her head back, trying to keep her airway clear. She didn't appear to be having convulsions and he cradled her chin as he held her, grateful for the small consolation of her even breathing against his fingertips.
Donna felt cool lips ghost across her forehead and wondered what 'brilliant' thing she'd done now to prompt such a reaction from.... "Who....? Wha...?" she gasped as she struggled back to consciousness and found her head cradled against a man's shoulder. Her head still throbbing, she groped desperately in the air until a strong hand captured hers and again, there was a feather-light kiss on her skin. "Where?" She came back to herself and looked around frantically for a moment before her eyes focused. "Peter!" she cried, clutching his sleeve.
“Donna! Donna, it’s OK, there’s an ambulance on the way,” he soothed, trying to hide his anxiety from her. “You’re gonna be fine; just rest now.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and placed a trembling kiss on her temple, distressed by the heat still emanating from her. She knew his name, she recognized him and he felt his racing heartbeat slow a bit. Maybe just a fainting spell, then, and not something worse?
“Peter,” she breathed, relaxing into his embrace before abruptly jolting back in alarm. "Peter, please! Have I got a face?" she implored frantically, searching his eyes and trying desperately to stay with him as her hand lost its grip and she slipped back into the dark.
“Donna? Donna, please...,” he cajoled, gently stroking her cheek, "Wake up. Come back to me. Donna, wake up, now." Long moments later, her eyes fluttered at the sound of his voice and she raised her hand to her brow, shakily sitting up and looking into his concerned face. He reached up to brush her hair back again and was surprised to find her forehead cool to the touch once more. She took a deep, shuddering breath, put her hand on her forehead and made as if to stand, but he held her tighter to his chest. “Donna, take it easy, now. The ambulance is on it’s way...”
“What?” she nearly shrieked, pushing him away and leaping to her feet too quickly, swaying on the spot. Peter stood and put his hands on her shoulders to stabilize her, opening his mouth to persuade her to sit and wait when she rounded on him accusingly. “You didn’t call an ambulance, did you? You call them back, this instant, Policeman, and tell them...” Her eyes widened in horror as she looked over his shoulder at the street beyond.
“Oh, no, Peter..,” she wailed in distress. She leaned over then, head in her hands, spinning around on the spot before she straightened abruptly. She put one fist on her hip and jabbed fiercely at his chest with her other hand while declaring defiantly, “You called ‘em, you get rid of ‘em! They’re not puttin’ their mitts on me!”
“But, Donna,” Peter began reasonably.
“No ‘buts’,” Sherlock. I’m not havin’ it, I tell you!” Donna turned away, arms folded across her chest and wiped angrily at her face. She could tell Peter wasn’t convinced and she flopped down petulantly on the blanket she’d dropped earlier, resigned to the indignity she was about to endure yet again. This was the absolute worst thing that could have happened, and to have it occur here and now, in broad daylight, right in front of him? She choked back tears of rage and frustration as she heard the wail of the siren tremble and die.
Stunned at her sudden, unexpected outburst, Peter glanced over as the ambulance shrieked into the nearby parking lot. He turned and waved at the paramedics as they exited the vehicle, gear at the ready. They rushed to meet him and were halfway across the field when the taller paramedic’s eyes widened and his step faltered. He winced visibly as he approached, then rolled his head and squared his shoulders as he resumed his earlier pace.
“Mrs.Temple-Noble," he said as he brushed by Peter and tentatively knelt down beside Donna, inclining his head in greeting.
“I don’t want you pokin’ and proddin’ at me. Go away. I don’t want any of this.” She rounded on the paramedic, eyes blazing and angry, ready for a fight. She regarded him steadily for a moment before deflating and turning away. “And it's just Ms. Noble now, Geoff,” Donna finished quietly.
He took in the news with a grim nod before continuing. “Ms. Noble, you must know, this’ll only take a moment. We'll just take your vitals then we'll all be on our way, yeah?” He didn’t wait for her response or permission as he opened his bag and took out a stethoscope and a penlight and began his examination. "Anything different this time?"
"No," she replied in a small voice and she went white as she looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
"Headache?" Geoff asked, tipping her head back gently and flashing the tiny penlight into her eyes. "Same, better or worse?"
"Same," she whispered so quietly Peter wasn't sure he hadn't imagined her response.
To Peter’s surprise, Donna submitted to the evaluation almost meekly and without further complaint, not bothering to even look over at the man. He took a step back and motioned Geoff’s partner aside. “She refused treatment but your partner talked her into it. Why?” he asked curiously. After a moment’s consideration, he added, “And more importantly, how?”
The other man smirked knowingly before answering. “First time we got a call for her, she categorically refused treatment. So, of course, we left.” Peter nodded his understanding and smiled grimly, imagining what a categorical refusal might look like coming from Donna.
“And before we even got back or filled out the paperwork, this bloke from higher up came and had a word with our supervisor.” The paramedic gave Peter a significant look before he continued. “We were told, from that point on, under no circumstances were we to ever accept a refusal from Mrs. Temple-Noble and that her health was of the utmost importance." He nodded knowingly and hooked a thumb in Donna's direction. "Her file's been noted in the system, we reckon.”
Peter stood quietly, considering this new information and looking from Donna to Geoff as the paramedic quickly and efficiently took her temperature and pulse, asking her questions and making notations on a digital tablet. Peter’s thoughts were interrupted by an amused comment from the man beside him. “We think she must have felt bad about how she acted the first time after she had time to think about it. Every time we get called out to see her, a huge basket of fruit and baked goods is delivered the next day. We all fight over the banana bread,” he admitted.
Peter turned back to observe Donna as Geoff completed his examination and turned to replace his equipment in his bag. He had a final, quiet word with Donna before standing and moving back to his partner with Peter nearby.
“She’s fine. We can go now,” Geoff said to his partner as he moved back across the field and towards the ambulance. A peal of thunder rolled across the park and Peter looked up, surprised at how close the storm had become.
“But she had a headache and a fever! She was burning up, I know it!,” he cried, throwing out a hand to stop the man’s progress. “How can she be OK?”
Geoff stopped and gave Peter an appraising look. “You’ve not known Mrs. Temple...excuse me, Ms. Noble long, have you, sir?” he asked. When Peter didn’t reply, Geoff leaned closer. “A word of advice- with Ms. Noble in your life, get used to not knowing or get out. Simple as that.” He glanced back at Donna almost sadly, then regarded Peter for a long moment before turning and resuming his trek across the field to the ambulance beyond. Geoff’s partner merely shrugged, giving Peter a bemused look as he followed behind and the rain began to fall.
Peter watched them jog to the ambulance before turning back for Donna. He snatched the fallen blanket up and grabbed her hand, turning on his heel to stalk back to his car with a despondent Donna in tow. She was grateful for the rain then; it effectively hid the tears that had begun to freely flow.
“Do you mind explainin’ to me what just occurred here, Donna?” Peter asked as Donna closed her door, his hands clenching the steering wheel as he stared out at the rain pelting down. It was the first thing he’d said since the ambulance left and Donna startled slightly at the harsh tone of his voice. She bit her lip as she stared out the window, her face turned away from him as her hopes fell apart and her heart shattered into a thousand glittering fragments.
She took a deep, shuddering breath and closed her eyes before trusting her voice to speak. “You’ve already figured out that today wasn’t the first time I’ve had one of these episodes. They started up a few months after I lost my memory and they scare me to death. I’ve been to every hospital, been poked and prodded and bled for every test they could come up with, but the doctors can't find anythin’ physically wrong with me. At first, they blamed it on epilepsy, but I found out that just meant they had no clue, since they couldn’t find any lesions or anythin’ else to explain these fits.” She wanted so badly to look over at Peter then, hoping to see something, anything in his eyes to give her the strength to continue but she was terrified that if she did, all she‘d find would be scorn and rejection. She decided that even if he was going to leave her, she at least owed him the truth. “When the doctors started suggestin’ I see a psychiatrist, I knew there wasn’t a medical reason for all this. They thought I’d just gone ‘round the bend." She rubbed her face in both hands and turned back to the widow again. "When they finally pass, I'm left with a horrible headache and the feelin’ that I was so close to remembering something very important. But I never do."
When he didn’t respond, Donna mustered the last of her courage and continued. “I’m sorry, Peter, I’m so, so sorry. I tried to warn you earlier,” she said softly, watching the raindrops course down her window, mirroring the tears that were streaking her face. “Just take me home and I won’t bother you any more,” she finished, suppressing a sob. She was unprepared for the vehemence of his sudden reaction.
“What?!? No, Donna, no. No! I was frightened. I thought...I was sure... ,” Peter stuttered, uncharacteristically tongue-tied and awkward. He released his grip on the steering wheel and reached across to gently turn her face to him. “I mean, you just dropped and I was so afraid I’d lost you, and just after I’d found you. I was angry that these random strangers knew more about you than I do. And I know that’s not fair, to you or to them, but I cannae help it. I...” Peter faltered for a moment before gently brushing Donna’s lips with his own. He could taste her tears in the kiss and he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes before whispering horsely, “I want to know everythin’ about you, and I thought I’d lost my chance.”
Donna felt her heart stutter at the pain and fear in his voice, but she wasn’t through with her confession. "Peter, I know I lost someone in the time I was gone. When these fits start, I can hear myself screamin’. I'm telling someone that I’m gonna find them again. But I know I never, ever will. I don't know who they were, or what they were to me or even why I know it, but I do." She sobbed brokenly and clutched at his shirt, damp from the rain and her tears. “And now, I don’t even know if I want to. Oh, Peter, please, please don’t go...” she cried, even as he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. Time stopped then and Donna fell willingly into the kiss, desperate to make him understand. She didn’t want her past anymore; all she could see was her future with him, and the clarity of it all frightened her. Peter felt her melt against him and tried to convince himself that the tears staining his shirt were all hers as he pulled her closer and deepened the kiss.
**********
Somewhere in time and space, a lonely traveller stared at a string of information rolling and bouncing about on a screen, nestled below a flashing light on a vastly complicated console. He considered his options before whirling around and dashing to the opposite side of the control panel. He consulted another readout before stepping back and leaning heavily on the railing behind him. Rubbing his brow wearily for a moment, he suddenly straightened and adjusted his bow tie. “Stable enough, for now,” he muttered as he returned to the console, throwing switches and tweaking dials as he went.
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