An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 13.3 (13 of ?)
Title: An Officer and the Noble Woman, Part 13.3 (13 of ?)
Author: dtstrainers
Paring: Donna Noble/Peter Carlisle
Beta/Co-Captain of this Ship: WhosInTheAttic- Thanks again for everything.
Rating: PG here, M for Mature in Part 13.4
Word Count: 3,091 of 12,353 words for all four parts of Part 13. LiveJournal hasn't been liking me lately and is making me break this up into several parts. I'm just happy it's letting me post again....
Summary: Peter and Donna spend an evening at Donna's home.
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, when Live Journal decides to cooperate.
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 13.4
He grinned and took a seat beside her on the couch. She watched him as he settled in beside her. His hair was tousled and her hands ached to reach out and brush it back off his forehead, so she picked up her fork and started to eat instead. "All right, then," she began after a few moments of awkward silence, "I've told you some of my exploits in the world of High Finance today. Anything exciting for you?"
"Exciting? No. A bit interesting? Aye," he replied, pausing to take a sip of wine. He decided against sharing details of the stalled murder investigation and instead focused on the banalities of police work.
Donna turned to watch him as he answered and was mesmerized by his throat as he swallowed. He caught her looking and grinned before answering. "Let’s see- It wasn't a very good day for DS Cave. He got got his pocket picked in booking by a working girl he'd taken in for solicitation. He’d gone to ask her a few questions and when she proved uncooperative, he retaliated by taking her into custody."
Donna was still contemplating him as he ate and she hoped he couldn’t see that it was really beginning to affect her. She swallowed hard and fought to keep her response casual. "So, turnabout, huh? How on earth does a DS get pick-pocketed in the station? I mean, she's already in jail and she has the nerve to do that?" She was still captivated by how he ate and when Peter realized what she was staring at, he slowly sucked on his fork and measured her response. When she shifted unconsciously, he grinned and flipped the fork over, making a show of licking the last trace of sauce from the tines.
Donna gave a snort of laughter before playfully batting at his arm and Peter snickered before returning to the conversation. "I think she was just having him on. She nicked his wallet and gave it right back, just to prove she could. I was actually impressed," he admitted.
"Oh, I like her!" Donna said in deeply impressed tones. "That's just...,” she hesitated, looking for the right word. Peter watched her right hand flutter towards the hand holding her wine glass, and he tilted his head to the side to get a better look. Donna was stunned by the intensity of his gaze and when she saw his expression, open mouthed, tongue pressed up behind his top teeth, her hand instantly changed course, heading for her own mouth. "...perfect," she breathed, biting her thumb. She watched his tongue traverse the confines of his mouth as he studied her openly. She could almost see his thoughts written across his face as he considered asking her a question, but he decided against it then. He smiled slowly, lazily, before returning to their previous conversation.
"And the language on her? She gave him what for. The lads really took the mickey out of him over it after. I stayed out of it, though. Thankfully, I'm not in the boys' club; I've kept myself apart, and I'm sort of glad for that." he added with a shrug. “Most of the working girls I've encountered aren't any trouble at all. It's only an accident of law that I'm lockin' em up and they're bein' locked up.” he finished, wiping a bit of sauce from his chin with the heel of his hand. When Donna’s eyes widen slightly, he silently scolded himself for not using his napkin.
“So,” she replied, arching an eyebrow at him, “is that what it takes to impress you, then? Quick hands and a clever tongue does it for you, hmmm?” It took Donna a moment to realize what she had said, and when she processed the implications, she blushed. She blushed even more when she saw him wipe sauce from his chin, and it took everything she had in her not to pin him to the couch and lick it clean.
Taken aback momentarily, Peter stammered, “I...I don't know how to answer that; if I pay you a flirtatious complement, you won't accept it.” He smiled at her sadly and continued. “If I said no, I'd be lying. So I’m damned if I do and equally damned if I do no.” He watched her intently, admiring her beauty as he did so. “Mostly, it's you that 'does it for me', as you say.”
“Oh,” Donna said, stunned. She took a sip of wine to cover her embarrassment, both hands holding her glass and awkwardly balanced her plate on her knees. “Thank you,* she answered in a quiet voice, unable to meet his gaze.
Donna Noble at a loss for words? he thought, amazed. He smiled at his victory and took a gulp of his wine before setting his glass and empty plate on the coffee table.
She hazarded a glance back at him and watched him as he took a drink and wondered how the hell he managed to make the simple task of eating and drinking look like the prelude to a seduction. He reached over and retrieved her plate from her lap, putting it down next to his and, feeling bold, moved a little closer to her on the sofa.
She responded by feeling blindly on the couch next to her and handing him the remote, saying breathlessly, “So, you're the guest, your choice...” because what she would choose at that moment definitely did not involve a quiet evening of passive watching. She curled her legs up onto the couch, but he took her ankle in hand and straightened her leg over his lap. With the other hand he accepted the remote with a touch of regret. “Well, as long as it's not a crime drama...” he teased as he flipped the telly on and handed the remote back to her, “....I'll be happy.” He started to rub her sore foot, pointedly ignoring the program on in the background.
Donna inhaled sharply as he grasped her ankle and began to knead the pads of her feet. “Oh, no Peter, no, you don't have to do that...” she said, stifling a moan as his fingers worked down into the arch of her aching foot. He bit his lip at the sound she made as he began to massage her foot with his fingers. When he continued as if she had never spoken, she moaned again and sucked her bottom lip and tried not to squirm in his lap, to no avail. “Oh,” she admitted unthinkingly, “that's really nice...”
She let her head drift back against the arm of the sofa, almost reclining and lost in the pleasure of his touch. “I know what you’re thinking,” she murmured almost inaudibly, “I should pick more practical footwear, but it's not like we'd need to run in a situation like that.”
Peter hesitated for a moment, puzzled. "Run, Donna?” he asked quietly. “Us?"
Drowning in sensation, she responded with a tiny sigh, "Yeah, I know, time and time again, eh?"
Continuing to work her feet, he filed the comment away for future reference. Now was not the time to pursue that issue, he decided, not with her all but writhing in his lap. He gently manipulated her foot, flexing her Achilles tendon carefully, bending her foot to stretch it out slowly and again, she moaned in response.
Donna suddenly realized what she must sound and look like to him and she struggled to sit up a bit, propping herself up on her elbows until he started to bend her other foot. She was even more embarrassed by the sounds coming out her now, but she was starting not to care. “Peter Carlisle,” she forced out between gritted teeth, “I give you a week to stop doing that...”
He paused for a moment to bring her other leg across his lap, then resumed his chosen task. He considered their situation for just a moment, and with a guilty internal shrug, he decided to take advantage of her relaxed state. “So,” he started, with feigned casualness, “tell me more about your family. Heard from them lately?”
Donna had started to pant slightly and she pushed her head and shoulders down into the couch without realizing that it forced her hips up into the air slightly with her bum against his thigh. “No, not lately,” she admitted with a sigh and Peter was relieved. “Nothing exciting and not much more to tell you don’t already know,” she forced out between stifled whimpers *I'm an only, no siblings. Just me, my mum and my granddad left. My dad died a little over five years ago from cancer, and after my divorce and up until about six months ago,’ she paused, giving out an involuntary shudder of pleasure, “I lived at home.”
Even as relaxed as she was, the silence that grew then was uncomfortable and she remembered to ask, “And you?”
He released her foot and reached for his wine, taking another large gulp before he replaced the glass and took up Donna's other foot. “Well, my father's passed on, ten years ago now, and my mother's still living in Glasgow. She was ... angry ... with me when I left home, and, of course, even angrier with me now for movin’ even further away: she took the whole situation very personally. Y'know how mothers can be,” he said, trying to play it down.
She shifted her foot gently in his lap and grazed him unknowingly. “Yeah, tell me about it,’ she commiserated. “I'm only 15 minutes away and the way mine carries on, you'd think I'd moved to Australia..." She arched her foot in his grasp, stretching as his attentions relaxed her far more than she had intended to be. Between the massage and the wine, she was floating blissfully and feeling no pain. “So why did you move? Did you not get on with your mum?”
“No, that’s not it, not really. I left Glasgow for Kendal because the North Lakes constabulary was offering a better wage. And I left Kendal because...,” he looked down, studying her foot intently as he continued, ”...well, I already told you that bit.” After a moment’s silence, he nudged her back towards his goal. “So, what can you tell me about your granddad?”
“Oh, Peter, you'll just love him and I know he'll love you!” she blurted out before she could stop herself. Oh, it's a night for embarrassing myself , Donna though, assuming he’ll want to meet my family. She tried for a quick recovery then, adding, “I mean, if you ever get ‘round to meetin’ him, that is. He's just a dear, I can tell him anythin’. If it weren't for him, I'd never go home...”
He hazarded his next question, but began to rub her foot more intently as he did. “So you don't get on with your mother then?” he asked gently, focusing on her toes rather than her face. He smiled despite himself as he noticed that the dark blue of her polish matched her jumper. Glancing around the room, he surmised blue must have been her favorite color, based on her surroundings. There was a fair amount of purple and green strewn about as accents, but blue in various shades easily predominated in the decor.
“No,” came Donna’s toneless response, drawing his attention back to her face. “We don't get on, not at all. I mean, I love her, but there's no pleasin’ her- ever. She's jumpy around me and always tellin’ me what to do and what to think. She’s never happy with anythin’ I do and she can be downright mean when she wants to be. It's only been worse since my accident.” She sadly sighed and continued. “I dunno- maybe I deserve it. I mean, I've never really done anythin’ of value with my life. If I hadn't won that lottery- and that was dumb luck, as I didn’t even buy the ticket myself- I'd still be tempin’ because I had to, not because I want to.” She shrugged uncomfortably, realizing for the first time the picture they must have made: the Masters in Forensic Psychology Practice had her flat on her back on a couch, laying out her mother issues for his examination.
“That’s not true,” he stated reflexively, “and no one deserves that level of vitriol from their own mother.” She looked at him questioningly and he realized he’d said more than he had intended. “Donna,” Peter began, unsure of what to expect from her response, “You recall I offered to interview your family, to attempt to ascertain if they might, as you suspect, have any information that could be of use in determining the precise nature of your accident and disappearance?” She watched him intently as his attention seemed to return to her toes, but she knew better. She had already started to pick up on his verbal cues- it seemed to her that not always, but frequently, the more words he used to convey an idea, the stronger the emotion lurking behind them.
“Yes,” she admitted, watching him, her tone and face betraying nothing.
“I believe you’re correct in your assessment, especially where Wilf is concerned. Your mother, on the other hand,...,” he paused ruefully, scratching at the back of his neck for a moment. “Your mother was not inclined to submit to interrogation, especially interrogation by me, as she made abundantly clear,” he admitted quietly.
“Oh, no, Peter,” Donna groaned, rubbing her eyes with her hands before fisting them in her hair. “Please tell me you didn’t...,” she whimpered, then stopped abruptly when his word choice hit her. She sat up to look him straight in the eye and then flopped back to the couch, laughing aloud. “My mum ‘was not inclined to submit to interrogation’? What a flippin’ surprise! My mum has never been inclined to submit to anythin’ her whole bloody life!” When her laughter subsided, she looked at him steadily and sat up again to take his hand. “I would have gone with you if you’d asked,” she said quietly.
“I know you would have,” he responded, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. “I just thought that, maybe, they might tell a policeman more, especially without you there. You can see how well that turned out,” he said, chagrinned. “But you’re right- they’re obviously concealing somethin’.” He considered for a moment before continuing, “Although, in at least your granddad’s case, I get the feelin’ he thinks it’s in your best interests that you not know what happened to you, for some reason. And you’re right- this Dr. Smith was definitely involved. Your mother nearly took my head off as soon as she opened the door and your granddad even mistook me for him at first.”
Peter exhaled deeply before continuing. “And as fer yer mum, ye cannae please ev'ryone. Y'know...my father never forgave me for becoming a policeman. Back when I was a PC, he told me I'd never amount to an'thin'.” He stared off in the distance until Donna reached up and gently laid a finger on his jaw, guiding his face back to her.
“What? Why?” she asked and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him look above her head in an attempt to hide his pain. “Being a policeman- that's a respectable profession.”
“When m’ wife left me, he said it was because I couldnae provide for her,” he admitted before looking back at her. He forced a smile, and sniffed. “We service industry workers don't earn major dosh, ‘specially not to start.”
Donna stoked his cheek fondly, wanting to comfort him. “Oh, Peter... no. That's not fair! That attitude....well, that's just bonkers!”, she finished vehemently, her voice rising with indignation on his behalf.
“Weelll,” he drawled, “Take the comment in context. I had been studyin’ psychology. Was gon' t'be a doctor, but I liked the idea of solvin’ puzzles and catchin’ the baddies rather than filin' reports on them all day.” He shook off his dark mood and returned his attention to the woman beside him.
"You? A doctor?" she breathed and her right hand began that inevitable, inexorable dance toward her left before he reached out to capture both of her hands in his own.
"Why do ye do that?" he asked, his eyes searching her face. “What’re ye lookin’ for, Donna?”
"What?" she asked, eyelids fluttering, unaware and uncomprehending. “I’m not lookin’ for anythin’.” She couldn’t catch her breath, he was so close to her now and she thought how handy it would be at that moment not to have to breathe. Peter studied her one long heartbeat longer and nodded before kissing her hand, her fingertips and then her left ring finger. Her hands tingled where his lips brushed her skin and she blinked hard again for a moment before grinning at him unabashedly.
"So, a doctor, then... You'd have made a good one, but if your heart's not in it..., “ she said, grinning even wider, but not sure why. “Besides, there's more important things than money! I should know- I've got plenty now, and well, it’s never managed to made me happy.”
“I hope there are other things in yer life that do,” he said, voice low and quiet. Before she could reply, he joked, “The irony is, I still have to file papers...” He watched her roll her eyes at him and laughed out loud.
She reached up again to lay the palm of her hand on his cheek. “I like it when you laugh, Peter. I don't think you do it enough. Even when you're being a bit of a prawn and laughing at yourself,” Donna admitted.
His smile grew pensive. “I cannae help it. It's better to laugh. But sometimes it’s difficult to find the humor in life when you’re in the midst of sufferin’ the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”
She smiled back sadly, then brightened. “Hamlet?” she asked, and those tiny lines that appeared beside his eyes were her reward. She glanced down, then back at him before quietly adding, “I know exactly what you mean.” She shifted her legs off his lap and turned her body to him on the couch, leaning over and kissing him gently. He leaned into her and the taste of the wine on her lips combined with the warmth of it coursing through his own system pooled in his groin.
When they finally parted, he spoke first. “Aren't we a pair?”
**********
Continued in Part 13.4 below.
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 13.4