An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 12 (12 of ?)
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 12 (12 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Enter the Dragon Lady. Despite her involvement, I must admit that any and all mistakes are my own.
Rating: A for Angst.
Word Count: 4,407
Summary: Peter takes the investigation into Donna's past to the next level. He was warned.
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 when I do, on Friday. Except when LiveJournal hates me, which is what happened here....
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 13.1 | Part 13.2 | Part 13.3 | Part 14
Next Thursday, In a Manner of Speaking
In the dim glow of the TARDIS console, the Doctor leaned over, intently studying the data streaming across the screen before him. He was uncharacteristically still as he pondered the possible implications and what, if any, course of action he should pursue., based upon the input he was receiving. The longer he thought about it, the more perplexing the situation became- after months of decreased activity, Donna's Time Lord consciousness was flaring up again. Even more peculiar than that, though, was the pattern of activity she was experiencing- the spikes were becoming increasingly frequent even as they lessened in intensity. He recalled with chagrin the recently-returned Donna Noble’s reaction to her memory loss. Mentally, she'd fought tooth and nail against the gaping hole in her existence when she first resumed her old life in Chiswick and ended up with nothing more than a series of migraines for her efforts. Lately, however, she'd stopped struggling and had begun to accept that her past was lost to her and in the process, he was sorry to say, she'd lost some of the vibrancy, the fire and the passion that he'd so admired in her. But she was safe and he would do everything in his power to ensure that she stayed that way- he owed her nothing less. He braced himself against the panel before him and leaned on it heavily, sighing deeply as he bowed his head for a long, quiet moment.
Abruptly, he pushed himself away from the TARDIS controls and spun around, sweeping his mop of hair out of his face with one hand. What this situation called for, the Doctor thought as he straightened his bow tie, was a closer inspection- a reconnaissance mission, carried out with all the stealth and subtly at his command. It wasn't the first time he'd taken it upon himself to reconnoiter, to gain insight into the mind of Donna Noble. He’d watched her closely after her return, starting with the unfortunate pub incident. He took complete responsibility for that unexpected occurrence- he had been so afraid of losing her initially that he hadn't taken the time to dig deeply into her sensory memory, to obliterate the taste of walnuts and anchovies and ginger beer and really!- what were the chances she'd ever run into that combination of foodstuffs again? He remembered fondly the shocked look on her face at his comment following the detox kiss and, not for the first time, he wondered who'd gotten the bigger shock that day. There had never, ever been anything between them other than friendship, and even if she had traveled with him forever, there never, ever would have been. But the Doctor knew that wasn't quite the same as never, ever could have been, given the wibbly-wobbly nature of time.
Now that he was determined to personally investigate this newest bout of Time Lord mental activity, he reflected on the irony of the situation. His new-to-Donna Noble face was both a blessing and a curse- he could literally walk beside her, all but reach out and take her hand on a crowded London street without arousing her suspicions or endangering her life. He ruefully recalled the time she'd caught him staring as he’d checked up on her soon after her divorce. She'd been volunteering at the RSPCA that day, and he'd narrowly escaped ending up with a puppy for his troubles.
He reeled about again and threw himself at the controls, muttering "Just what exactly is going on in that tiny human brain of yours, Donna Noble?" His smile was bittersweet as he realized that even though his best mate no longer traveled with him, he still phrased his rhetorical question so as to provoke the maximum amount of ire from her. He could almost hear her outraged "Oi!" echo through the TARDIS and he even missed her none-too-gentle punches, though if anyone accused him of that, he'd rub his shoulder at the memory and vehemently deny it. Pulling himself back from his reverie, he gyroscoped about the control room, bouncing from one display to the next as he set the coordinates for Donna Noble’s London.
**********Wednesday, 16 May 2012, 4:50 PM
Donna Noble stood, wearily holding the strap above her head and wishing that she were already home, in her pajamas and in front of the telly as the train rumbled along the tracks. It was crowded with every available seat filled and each time the train hit a bump, the awkward young man beside her almost tripped over his feet trying to stay upright and off of her. Her first impulse was to unleash her formidable verbal skills on the wretch, but when she whipped around to give him a piece of her mind, he looked so remorseful, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Every time the train lurched and he unintentionally invaded her personal space, he mumbled his apologies and kept his face turned away, obviously embarrassed, no matter how many times Donna told him not to worry. When the train jerked to a halt at Ravenscourt Park, he fell headlong into her arms, flailing desperately with one hand in an effort to maintain his balance, barely brushing her temple in the process. “I am so terribly, terribly sorry, miss,” he stammered as he wobbled back away from her and towards the open door, “you know, they really should look into adding comfy chairs in here. That would make this whole experience much less awkward.“ He smiled sadly as he turned away and melted into the exiting crowd. Bemused, Donna watched him disappear and marveled for a moment, wondering how he managed to survive in the city before forgetting him almost completely as she sank into the recently vacated seat beside her.
Instantly, she regretted sitting down. There had been an emergency meeting to complete the pending files of an employee who had unexpectedly gone on sick leave and as a result, Donna had ended up running back and forth between offices for most of the day. As she relaxed for a moment in her seat, her feet began throbbing and she tried her best to surreptitiously stretch, shifting her weight to relieve the pressure. She knew the pain would be worse when she had to stand and leave the train at her stop, but at least she could close her eyes for a moment and not worry about being flattened by a reeling giraffe beside her with every little bump on the line. She glanced at her phone and sighed petulantly when she remembered that it was Wednesday and she should be getting ready to meet Nerys at the George, but honestly, she didn’t have the heart for it. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was feeling a little despondent: other than a quick text just before 10:30 that morning, she hadn't seen or heard from Peter all day. Not that she should expect to, she chided herself- he was busy and had more important things to do than call her every time he had a free moment to breathe. She checked her mobile one more time and sighed heavily- just the one message:
Something’s come up. Can’t meet for lunch today. Will call later- promise.
P
Donna smiled sadly as she reread the message, but it was a good kind of sad. She was missing him, but she suspected that he was missing her as well.
**********
Peter Carlisle switched off the ignition and sat back in his car, studying the house across the street. It was neat and trim, like the rest of the houses on the nondescript suburban street and Peter checked the address once more before opening the car door. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before making up his mind, plunging his hands deep within the pockets of his coat, glancing up and down the street as he crossed. He’d worked straight through lunch and made his excuses so that he could leave a bit early in order to carry out his own personal investigation. Keating had regarded him suspiciously as he had departed and Peter silently resolved to make it up to his partner soon, maybe even accept the perennially-proffered invitation to St. Stephens, as long as Donna was willing to suffer through an evening in the company of his coworkers.
He stood at the door for a moment, contemplating if, in fact, he had the right to knock and intrude on Donna’s family. He hadn’t been introduced to them yet and, as far as he knew, Donna had never even mentioned his existence to them. How much cooperation could he expect, he wondered, when they didn’t even know him? Beyond his earlier offer, he hadn’t even reminded Donna that he was planning on interviewing her family, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor and that it would be easier to beg her forgiveness if the meeting went badly than to argue about the wisdom of his actions with her beforehand. He decided to go the official route first to break the ice before explaining that the reason for his inquiry was entirely personal.
He was saved the trouble of knocking when a fierce-looking woman snatched the door open, looked him over from head to toe and sneered, “What the hell are YOU doing here?”
Peter had encountered his fair share of hostile witnesses and was used to verbal abuse, but he’d never encountered this level of malice before he’d even had an opportunity to introduce himself and begin his interrogation. Taken aback at the unexpected vehemence of her attack, he stood there dumbly for a moment before remembering his purpose and continuing.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you this evenin', but I’m Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle and I was wonderin' if I could...,” he began, reaching into his coat for his badge.
“Oh, you don't fool me, Lord Muck,” the angry woman spat at him, hands on her hips in eerie imitation of the stance he’d seen Donna take in the park when he’d insisted, against her wishes, that she get checked over by the ambulance crew. “First you play at being a doctor and now you're a policeman? I don’t think so.” She paused to draw breath and Peter lunged into the temporary breach.
“I’m lookin' into your daughter Donna’s disappearance and...” he began, flipping his badge out for the inspection of the woman he surmised was Donna’s mother. She snorted derisively, confirming his suspicions, as she waved his credentials away.
“As if I'd tell YOU anything about Donna,” she crowed, pulling the door open wide and jabbing a finger at his chest. Her voice rose in volume, mirroring her rising indignation. “You're not gonna come swanning in now and drag her away again. She doesn't live here anymore. She's married now and used that lottery ticket to go far away where you'll never find her again.”
Again with the odd emphasis on you, Peter thought, as if she knew him personally; knew him, and hated him. He began his introduction again, changing tack in an attempt to get a word in edge-wise.
“Mrs. Noble, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me...” he began reasonably before she could muster a counterattack. It didn’t work.
“I’m not the one who’s made a mistake here!” she raved, “It’s you! Every time you get near her, bad things happen! Oh, can't you see you're no good for her?” Sylvia Noble cried in frustration. Looking at the confusion and distress on the face of the man at her door, she softened suddenly, pleading, “Just you go away- she's happy now, and safe without you.” She gave him one more lingering look, chin quivering as if she were almost on the verge of tears, before slamming the door in his face.
Stunned, Peter stood on the doormat, mouth agape, trying to decide whether to knock again or to wait and come back another day with Donna when he heard a muffled commotion from within.
“Don’t you dare open that door to that man!”
“Sylvia, he’s come back to help her, can’t you see?”
“Dad, no! He’s dangerous....”
“You don’t mean that! You know it wasn’t his fault!”
And before Peter had time to move back, the door was flung open again and an elderly man launched himself full tilt across the threshold.
“Doctor! Doctor, wait!” he cried, grabbing Peter's hand. “Oh, I knew you'd come back, you've found a way to fix her!”
“Excuse me?” Peter stammered in surprise.
“Oh, you don't have to put on an act for me, sir,” the old man almost sang in his delight, grinning wildly. “I never thought to see you again, after that last time. I'd always hoped, you know, after seeing you at Donna's wedding, to get a chance to thank you for that tick...”
Looking up for the first time into Peter’s eyes, Wilf trailed off into silence. There was something different, something wrong about this man. There was no no hint of the of the boundless energy or near-manic restlessness he expected, barely contained in brown pinstripes, no answering grin of delight. Instead, a quiet, focused man clad in a white shirt and a black coat stood in front of Wilf, drinking in every word and gesture, letting him pump his hand in misplaced greeting.
“You...,” Wilf breathed. “You're not him.” He dropped Peter’ hand and took a step back, eyes never leaving Peter’s face and staring in undisguised disappointment.
“What are you on about?” the madwoman behind him screeched in disgust. “Of course that’s him!”
“No, it’s not, Sylvia,” Wilf barked, turning on her angrily, desperate to quiet her. They had already said too much, Wilf knew, and he abruptly shifted into damage control. “Now hush up!”
“You can’t tell me to hush!” Sylvia fumed, turning her accusing finger in his direction.
“I just did,” he retorted bluntly. “Now go on, before this poor man thinks you’re totally barmy!’ he finished, waving in Peter’s direction.
“A bit late for that,” Peter muttered in surprise, then looked back at Wilf apologetically. “Detective Inspector Peter Carlisle. You must be Donna’s grandfather,” he said, extending his hand again. “She speaks very highly of you, sir.”
Wilf hesitated for only a second before reaching to shake Peter’s hand in proper greeting. “Wilfred Mott, but my friends call me Wilf. And you'll have to forgive me, son, but Donna’s never mentioned you,” Wilf said evenly as he took another step back, the better to study Peter fully. “But I haven’t seen her lately, you know,” he explained.
Peter cocked his head to the side and grimaced slightly, nodding as he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, but that may be down to me,” he admitted. “I’m afraid we’ve been monopolizing each other’s free time of late.”
Wilf raised an eyebrow at that, and considered carefully before continuing. “So, what can I do for you, my boy? If you’re a friend of Donna’s, why come here, for the first time, without her?”
Peter smiled at the question- direct, insightful and logical. He began to see who Donna favored in her family. “Actually, sir..,” he began.
“Wilf, son; call me Wilf,” he interrupted, “and are you in some sort of hurry? Got somewhere to be?” Wilf asked hopefully.
“Uhm, no, not really. Why do you ask?” Peter queried, frowning. He looked from Wilf to the scowling woman in the doorway, hoping that he wasn’t being invited in.
“Oh, no reason, no reason a’tol,” Wilf prevaricated, glancing pointedly at Sylvia before turning a steady gaze on Peter. “Walk with me, son, and we’ll talk and get to know each other.” Wilf turned to head down the street and glanced back to make sure Peter was following him.
“Oi! Where do you think you’re going?” Sylvia shrieked, poking her head out of the door but refusing to step nearer to Peter. “And don’t you think for one minute I don’t know EXACTLY what you’re up to!”
Wilf continued to walk away at a brisk rate, pretending not to hear Sylvia and motioning for Peter to follow.
“You’re heading up to the pub for a pint and a pork pie, aren’t you!” Sylvia accused. “Oh, you don’t fool me. Well, at least take this one with you!” she cried, pointing at Peter.
Peter, eyes wide with surprise, nodded slowly as he backed away before turning to follow Wilf down the street.
As he came to the intersection, WIlf jerked his head towards a tiny neighborhood pub across the street. Looking in the window and judging by the decor and the average age of the clientele on a weeknight, Peter reckoned the pub had stood there since at least before the Great War. “Enter and accept the sanctuary it offers,” Wilf smiled. “Sylvia never follows me in here.”
“Are you still on duty, son, or can you...?” Wilf asked as he moved without hesitation to his customary spot at the bar. Peter felt the weight of the stares that followed his progress as the pub patrons openly inspected the interloper in their midst. He had the distinct impression that his presence was only tolerated because he was escorted by a regular.
“No, sir, my time is my own. And I’ll have whatever you’re havin',” he replied, nodding towards the bar.
The man behind the bar nodded once in acknowledgement, and quickly drew two pints of dark brew. “Ta, Fred, ta,” Wilf said as he turned with his drink and headed for a table at the back of the pub. “Just need a word in private, you see,” he tossed off in explanation and Peter followed his lead, nodding his thanks to the barman as he picked up his pint, acutely aware that every set of eyes in the place followed them both curiously.
Wilf wasted no time as he settled into a chair at the far side of the table, facing the bar and the front door with his back to the wall. Peter recognized the placement and smiled momentarily, thinking fondly of Donna’s customary spot at the George. He had a feeling that Donna had been sent to collect Wilf from spots just like this many times in her life. She had clearly learned at her grandfather’s knee the finer points of pub life. He was roused from his thoughts almost immediately as Wilf launched his own investigation.
“So, Detective Inspector, how'd you come to know my granddaughter? “ he said without preamble. “Where did you two meet?” Wilf lifted his glass and stared thoughtfully at the younger man. Peter was amused at being on the receiving end of an interrogation for once, but he knew from experience that if you paid attention, it was possible to learn as much from questions as from answers. He sniffed slightly and rubbed at his nose before answering.
“We met as part of my investigation of a murder in her neighborhood a little over a month ago. I was questionin' passersby, searchin' for witnesses,” Peter explained. “I noticed her walkin' across the street, and her reaction when she caught sight of me drew my attention. It was if she'd seen a ghost.” Wilf visibly paled and took a long drink before setting his glass down awkwardly. “You OK, Wilf?” Peter asked, concerned.
“Fine, fine,” Wilf said, waving away Peter’s worries. “Just go on.”
Peter hesitated a beat before continuing. “Donna’s already told me that I resemble a man she met once at your house, just after her memory loss- a 'Dr. Smith'?” Peter raised his eyebrows in disbelief at the obvious pseudonym and inclined his head towards Wilf curiously. “What can you tell me about him?”
“What else has Donna told you?” Wilf countered, neatly sidestepping Peter’s inquiry. Peter regarded him steadily for a moment before responding.
“She does nae remember anything about him before that night. She just thought it odd that a doctor would be at your home without obvious cause and,” he added, “that her lovin' family would withhold from her information concerning this man. She’s convinced he knows something of the circumstances surrounding her memory loss.” Peter noticed Wilf's immediate relief and concluded that the man would make a terrible poker player- every emotion he had was writ plain on his face.
Wilf looked down into his glass while casually asking, “And since you've been keeping company,” Peter smiled at the old-fashioned euphemism as the other man continued, “has she had any funny turns? Headaches? Fainting spells?”
Peter considered for a moment before answering. “Just after we started seein' each other, we spent a day together in the park. As we were gettin' ready to leave, Donna collapsed and I called out the paramedics. By the time they arrived, she’d recovered, but they checked her out anyway and didn’t find anythin' out of the ordinary. They contacted Donna’s mother. I thought you’d know about that.” He pursed his lips momentarily before hazarding a guess. “How often does that sort of thing happen to her?” he asked, watching Wilf carefully.
“Who said anything about it being frequent?” Wilf returned evasively. He leaned on his glass, tapping the side with his wedding ring and Peter knew Wilf was watching for his reactions now.
“The paramedics knew her by name and on sight, Wilf,” Peter said calmly. “And they knew exactly what to say to to calm her and convince her to let them examine her. Quite a trick, if you ask me.” Peter watched Wilf absorb his comments, watched him close his eyes and drag his hand across his face. What Wilf wouldn’t say was as important as what he did say, Peter decided, and he wondered who was learning more in this exchange.
Wilf collected himself and tried to play off his reaction, wiping at his eyes with a trembling hand. “What triggered it?” he asked Peter suddenly. “Why did Donna collapse?”
Peter shook his head, frowning. “I dunno. The sky turned threatenin' and we were packing to leave. I pointed out a couple of sets of twins- two boys and two girls playing together- and she just collapsed. Thought at first she’d been struck by lightning or somethin’, there seemed to be a weird light around her, but...” Peter spread his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders, “no clue. Donna woke for a moment and said somethin' about her face, then she passed out again. But she recovered before the paramedics arrived, enough to give them a bit of a hard time.”
Wilf scratched his chin thoughtfully before clarifying, “Nothin’ to do with you, then, Detective Inspector?”
“Noooo,” Peter drawled, confused. When Wilf didn’t continue, Peter decided to redirect the interrogation. “All right now, I understand that I bear somethin’ of a resemblance to the mysterious Dr. Smith...,” he began.
Wilf snorted in derision, “Oh, it’s more than a resemblance, my boy, much more than that!“
“More than just a passin' resemblance, then,“ he conceded. “After all, you thought I was him, even up close.” When Wilf didn’t add anything to that statement, Peter continued. “Donna said she knew I wasn’t him when she heard my voice...”
“No, my boy. No,” Wilf interrupted suddenly. “Your voice is the same, even. Just the accent is different. I really thought, when I heard you, from inside the house, I mean...,” Wilf looked away and trailed off sadly. His chin quavered and Peter was afraid he was about to break down and cry, but the older man sniffed once and defiantly lifted his face. “Go on.”
“Who is he, and how does he know Donna?” Peter blurted out, hoping against hope to overwhelm Wilf and startle an answer from him. “What wasn’t his fault? How can he help her? Where can I find him?” He knew Wilf knew more than he was saying, much more, and perhaps everything he needed to know to help Donna, but Peter was taken aback by WIlf’s muted reaction.
“Those aren’t the questions you want to ask me, son. What is it that you really want to know?” Wilf asked softly. His eyes never strayed from Peter’s face and his hands had stilled on the table as Peter realized he could learn a trick or two from the elderly gentleman across the table. Again, he hesitated, knowing that his next question would show his hand.
“What was he to Donna?” Peter asked in a small, quiet voice, searching Wilf’s face for a reaction, any reaction at all.
“Just a friend,” Wilf replied carefully. “He and Donna were just good friends. Nothin’ more.” Wilf nodded once, perfunctorily, and Peter saw something of his military past in the precise nature of the movement and the implied dismissal of the subject. “Be careful, my boy. You may be the best thing that's ever happened to Donna, or you may be the worst.”
“And this Dr. Smith?” Peter prodded one last time.
Wilf considered his question for a long, silent moment before responding. “You remind me of him, in all the good ways,” he began sadly. “And I won’t lie to you; that hurts.” He paused, and his eyes lost focus as he gazed into the past. With an effort of will, he looked straight at Peter again and added, “What’s worse is you remind Sylvia of him....”
“One more question, then, Wilf. Why did you and Donna have a falling out? “ Peter asked quietly. “She says you used to invite her up the hill to stargaze in the evenings, but since her memory loss, you never have. It’s one of the reasons she left home.” Peter watched Wilf’s face crumple momentarily before he looked back up at him. His expression hardened for a moment before he shook his head sadly at Peter. After a long moment, Peter added, “She misses you, sir.”
Wilf frowned down into his empty pint glass for a moment before rousing himself from his seat. Walking straight to the bar, he placed his glass on the counter carefully. “Thanks again, Fred,” he called out to the man at the far end of the bar with a wave. He turned back to regard Peter wearily and warily.
“I hope to see you again, son, under better circumstances,” he said before turning, leaving Peter alone and confused, staring down into what remained of his pint.
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 13.1 | Part 13.2 | Part 13.3 | Part 14