Voyages of Discovery (Chapter Two)
Mar. 25th, 2007 09:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kalleahI'm so pleased with the response to the first chapter. Thank you to everyone who left a comment -- I try to respond to all of them, so if I missed you, it's my error.
I'm also glad to hear that the depiction of Rose in grief, but trying to pick up her life and move on in the alternate universe, has been so well received. She's a strong character and she has grown enormously from her first experiences to The Calm Before The Storm and Doomsday. This chapter continues her efforts to get on with her life.
Enormous thanks as always to betasivydoor, platypus, and especially, for this chapter, sensiblecat, whose Britpicking was absolutely invaluable.
Previous Chapter
"For what is the beloved? She is that which I myself am not. In the act of love, I am pure male, and she is pure female. She is she, and I am I, and clasped together with her, I know how perfectly she is not me, how perfectly I am not her, how utterly we are two, the light and the darkness, and how infinitely and eternally, not-to-be-comprehended by either of us is the surpassing One we make."
D. H. Lawrence
Rose balanced on the barstool at the counter next to Anna Weidley, a colleague at Torchwood who had proven herself to be funny, witty, and devoted to her work. Anna had lost her fiance to a cyber conversion unit and had as many carefully constructed walls as Rose did. They had taken to having dinner or drinks together once a week or so, both seeming grateful to be around another woman who wasn't constantly on the prowl for a man. Anna also was one of the few colleagues who didn't seem intimidated by the fact that she was Pete Tyler's wife's mysterious daughter, or snotty about Rose's lack of higher education. She simply took Rose for who she was and didn't demand more. They weren't yet truly friends -- their relationship was not yet intimate enough for that -- but they genuinely liked each other and took mutual comfort from their time together.
Anna made a disgusted sound low in her throat and took a long sip of her chardonnay. "Careful, incoming," she said in a casual, light tone meant for Rose's ears alone.
Rose didn't need to look up to know there was a man, probably carrying a drink, aimed in their direction. Anna commanded attention whenever she entered a room. She was tall, slightly built, with dark hair that fell in loose waves around her olive face and slanting, hazel eyes. If Rose had been feeling competitive, she might have been unsure of herself around such a stunning woman. As it happened, Anna was no more competitive than Rose felt, without a trace of makeup on her clear skin and neatly but plainly attired in khaki slacks and a dark turtleneck. Her hair was only loose because she had fiddled with the elastic from her ponytail too long and snapped it earlier in the day. Rose had taken some pains with her appearance, if only to prevent her mum from worrying. She wore a pink lightweight, short-sleeved sweater with jeans and a pair of strappy sandals. Beneath her sweater, the TARDIS key hung on a gold chain, unseen.
The admirer sidled up next to Rose, setting his beer on the bar in front of him. She regarded him with a neutral expression, but he persisted. "Hi, I'm Paul," he said, with an American accent. "Can you say Constantinople backwards? Me neither, but I just wanted to ask."
Original, if awful, thought Rose with amusement. "Sorry," she said, glancing over at Anna, whose face was tight with suppressed laughter, "I'm not looking to meet anyone."
"I'm not either," he responded. "I lost a bet and had to deliver a terrible pick-up line to a woman at the bar." He grimaced. "Sorry about that. Can I stay for a minute or two, just so they don't laugh me out of town, and then I'll crawl quietly away?"
She laughed despite herself and shrugged. He leaned his elbows on the bar and gave Anna a nod. "Paul," he said again.
"I heard," said Anna, deadpan. Neither she nor Rose offered their names, and Paul didn't ask. He was a nice enough looking guy, she supposed, with a prominent widow's peak in his curly, light brown hair and exceptionally white teeth that set off his blue eyes.
"I'm not from around here," he offered, filling the silence.
"Got that from the accent." Anna drank more chardonnay. Rose watched one, then the other, of them.
"Ah, yeah." He seemed embarrassed. "Listen, I am sorry. I'm sure you both get a lot of assholes coming up to you and trying to charm their way into your pants. I won't bother you again." He turned and Rose, driven by something in his voice, grabbed his arm.
"Hey," she said, not sure why. "Stay a minute and have a drink." She favoured him with a bright smile. "You may as well go back after your bet with something to brag about, yeah?"
"Okay," he answered, equally surprised. Rose returned her attention to her merlot and ran her finger absently around the lip of her glass. "So," he started awkwardly.
"I'm Rose," she said.
Beside her, Anna made a soft sigh and patted her on the shoulder. "You all right?" she whispered into Rose's ear. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Nature calls." Rose nodded and Anna stepped away.
"Didn't mean to drive her off," said Paul, shaking his head. "I know that was a terrible line and all."
"It was," she said, smiling.
"I can, however, say Constantinople in Pig Latin." He assumed a straight face and then said, proudly, "Onstantinoplecay."
Rose burst out laughing. "That's quite a talent you've got."
"Multilingual." She sobered when she realized she was laughing at a joke made by another man, a man in a bar. The echo of the Doctor's words came back to her. The TARDIS refuses to translate Esperanto, did you know that? Paul's smile disappeared. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Not really," she said, masking her statement with another painted-on smile.
He waited, quietly, for her to continue. When she didn't, he took a deep drink of his beer. "You lost someone recently?" he asked.
She stared. "How did you know?"
"I read people well. You have the look of it." He looked down and drank again. "I'm sorry it happened to you." She nodded.
Anna returned to her barstool and gave Rose a nudge. "I got a call from mum and I need to go," she explained, leaning against Rose so her words would be inaudible to anyone else. "Do you need an out from this or are you all right?"
"I'm all right," Rose whispered back, just as discreetly.
Anna finished her chardonnay and gave Rose a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow. Nice to meet you," she said, nodding at Paul. She sailed off, a crowd parting admiringly around her retreating figure.
Paul watched her go and returned his attention to Rose, who was again fiddling with her glass. "Have you eaten anything?" he asked.
"No."
He made a tentative gesture. "Want to go around the corner? There's a great little pizza place."
Rose considered her options. Home, to her warm, bright little room, to curl into her books and let her mum worry, or pizza, with a decent guy in a public place. She admitted to herself that she was lonely. The company could do her some good, and Paul understood at least a little that she was off limits. "Yeah," she agreed. "Pizza sounds good."
They walked the short distance to the restaurant, which was kitschy faux Italian-American, with the red-and-white checked plastic tablecloths and plastic flowers in cheap glass vases. It smelled fantastic, with wafting scents of garlic, tomato, and baking crust making Rose's mouth water. Paul greeted the owner warmly, and the balding little man hurriedly settled them into a corner table. "What's good?" said Rose, picking up a brittle, stained paper menu.
"Everything. I know it doesn't look like much -- well, anything -- but it's the best pizza I've had since I left the States." He didn't look at a menu. "Italian sausage is good. Want to split a pie?" Rose agreed and they settled on Italian sausage with green peppers. Paul stretched back in the chair and studied her thoughtfully. "So, why did you come?"
"What?"
"Come to dinner with me. Don't tell me you weren't suspicious of that pickup line."
She grinned. "Was there really a bet?"
"There really was, honest. And I lost. So, why did you come?"
She considered, pretending to review the geometric shapes of the tablecloth. "Because my mum worries about me," she said finally.
Paul raised his eyebrows. "Truth hurts. Not my charm? That's okay, I can take it." He paused, and Rose felt his eyes on her. "A man, then?"
She didn't need to ask who he meant. "Yeah."
"Sorry," he said again.
"Me too." They sat quietly together until the pizza arrived, and then the mood brightened again as they divided pieces and tucked into what Rose found was an excellent pizza. The sausage, as Paul had promised, was spicy and sweet, and the peppers were still crunchy.
"They make their own mozzarella," he offered, between bites. As they talked, she found herself laughing, as she had before, at his quick sense of humour, and he regaled her with the story of his accidental discovery of the pizzeria after his arrival in London three years ago.
When they finished, Paul paid, this time quietly insistent, and Rose gave in without argument. They walked outside. In the time it had taken for them to eat, a light, misty rain had begun to fall. Paul ducked back in the restaurant and returned with an umbrella, which he offered to Rose. "Paolo said you can have it. If you ever get back here, there's an umbrella stand up front. If not, no problem. They always end up with extras."
Rose checked her watch. 9:15. She had planned to return to work for a while to finish some paperwork, and then catch a ride home with Pete's car service. Paul caught her looking. "Late?" he asked.
"Just going to get back to work for a bit, then head home," she said, opening the umbrella and positioning it above her.
"Work?" He was surprised.
"Government," she said by way of brief explanation. "Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork!"
"I bet. Some things are the same the world over. I'm an accountant, so I guess I'm in the same boat." His grin was lopsided. "It's fascinating, all those numbers."
"All those reports," Rose responded with a chuckle. They shared a laugh and were caught looking intently at one another. Paul's eyes flicked down to her lips, and then back to her eyes. Rose's breath caught. He took a step closer. She didn't step back or pull away. When he leaned down and kissed her, softly, she closed her eyes and tried to enjoy it. Then, to her surprise, she did. His lips were paper-smooth and soft, tender, entreating but not demanding. Her own lips parted in response and he deepened the kiss, angling his head and moving closer to her. His hand came up and cupped around her wrist, where she held the umbrella.
With a start, Rose jerked back. She stared in Paul in disbelief, his head still leaned in toward her, lips open. He immediately straightened and gave her a sad, wan smile.
"Shouldn't have pushed that," he said. "I'm sorry." He let go of her wrist and let his hand drop to his side. She continued to stare. "Rose, you seem like a nice person. I wish -- I wish we'd met under different circumstances." He fished in his pocket and produced a business card and a pen. He scribbled his number on the back. "If you want, call me. I won't expect it, but I'd like it if you did." He looked at her. "You okay?"
"Not really," she repeated, dully.
"You hadn't kissed anyone since him, had you?"
"No."
"It will get better," he said. "Maybe not with me, but it will get better."
She blinked several times to clear her eyes and shook her head, then turned and almost ran, letting the umbrella clatter to the ground behind her.
When Rose finally returned to the mansion, she ran to her room, shut her door with a thud, and threw herself onto the bed. The expected tears didn't come. She balled herself up, pulling the blanket over her head, and shutting out the world.
I'm also glad to hear that the depiction of Rose in grief, but trying to pick up her life and move on in the alternate universe, has been so well received. She's a strong character and she has grown enormously from her first experiences to The Calm Before The Storm and Doomsday. This chapter continues her efforts to get on with her life.
Enormous thanks as always to betas
ivydoor, platypus, and especially, for this chapter, sensiblecat, whose Britpicking was absolutely invaluable.Previous Chapter
"For what is the beloved? She is that which I myself am not. In the act of love, I am pure male, and she is pure female. She is she, and I am I, and clasped together with her, I know how perfectly she is not me, how perfectly I am not her, how utterly we are two, the light and the darkness, and how infinitely and eternally, not-to-be-comprehended by either of us is the surpassing One we make."
D. H. Lawrence
Rose balanced on the barstool at the counter next to Anna Weidley, a colleague at Torchwood who had proven herself to be funny, witty, and devoted to her work. Anna had lost her fiance to a cyber conversion unit and had as many carefully constructed walls as Rose did. They had taken to having dinner or drinks together once a week or so, both seeming grateful to be around another woman who wasn't constantly on the prowl for a man. Anna also was one of the few colleagues who didn't seem intimidated by the fact that she was Pete Tyler's wife's mysterious daughter, or snotty about Rose's lack of higher education. She simply took Rose for who she was and didn't demand more. They weren't yet truly friends -- their relationship was not yet intimate enough for that -- but they genuinely liked each other and took mutual comfort from their time together.
Anna made a disgusted sound low in her throat and took a long sip of her chardonnay. "Careful, incoming," she said in a casual, light tone meant for Rose's ears alone.
Rose didn't need to look up to know there was a man, probably carrying a drink, aimed in their direction. Anna commanded attention whenever she entered a room. She was tall, slightly built, with dark hair that fell in loose waves around her olive face and slanting, hazel eyes. If Rose had been feeling competitive, she might have been unsure of herself around such a stunning woman. As it happened, Anna was no more competitive than Rose felt, without a trace of makeup on her clear skin and neatly but plainly attired in khaki slacks and a dark turtleneck. Her hair was only loose because she had fiddled with the elastic from her ponytail too long and snapped it earlier in the day. Rose had taken some pains with her appearance, if only to prevent her mum from worrying. She wore a pink lightweight, short-sleeved sweater with jeans and a pair of strappy sandals. Beneath her sweater, the TARDIS key hung on a gold chain, unseen.
The admirer sidled up next to Rose, setting his beer on the bar in front of him. She regarded him with a neutral expression, but he persisted. "Hi, I'm Paul," he said, with an American accent. "Can you say Constantinople backwards? Me neither, but I just wanted to ask."
Original, if awful, thought Rose with amusement. "Sorry," she said, glancing over at Anna, whose face was tight with suppressed laughter, "I'm not looking to meet anyone."
"I'm not either," he responded. "I lost a bet and had to deliver a terrible pick-up line to a woman at the bar." He grimaced. "Sorry about that. Can I stay for a minute or two, just so they don't laugh me out of town, and then I'll crawl quietly away?"
She laughed despite herself and shrugged. He leaned his elbows on the bar and gave Anna a nod. "Paul," he said again.
"I heard," said Anna, deadpan. Neither she nor Rose offered their names, and Paul didn't ask. He was a nice enough looking guy, she supposed, with a prominent widow's peak in his curly, light brown hair and exceptionally white teeth that set off his blue eyes.
"I'm not from around here," he offered, filling the silence.
"Got that from the accent." Anna drank more chardonnay. Rose watched one, then the other, of them.
"Ah, yeah." He seemed embarrassed. "Listen, I am sorry. I'm sure you both get a lot of assholes coming up to you and trying to charm their way into your pants. I won't bother you again." He turned and Rose, driven by something in his voice, grabbed his arm.
"Hey," she said, not sure why. "Stay a minute and have a drink." She favoured him with a bright smile. "You may as well go back after your bet with something to brag about, yeah?"
"Okay," he answered, equally surprised. Rose returned her attention to her merlot and ran her finger absently around the lip of her glass. "So," he started awkwardly.
"I'm Rose," she said.
Beside her, Anna made a soft sigh and patted her on the shoulder. "You all right?" she whispered into Rose's ear. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Nature calls." Rose nodded and Anna stepped away.
"Didn't mean to drive her off," said Paul, shaking his head. "I know that was a terrible line and all."
"It was," she said, smiling.
"I can, however, say Constantinople in Pig Latin." He assumed a straight face and then said, proudly, "Onstantinoplecay."
Rose burst out laughing. "That's quite a talent you've got."
"Multilingual." She sobered when she realized she was laughing at a joke made by another man, a man in a bar. The echo of the Doctor's words came back to her. The TARDIS refuses to translate Esperanto, did you know that? Paul's smile disappeared. "You okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Not really," she said, masking her statement with another painted-on smile.
He waited, quietly, for her to continue. When she didn't, he took a deep drink of his beer. "You lost someone recently?" he asked.
She stared. "How did you know?"
"I read people well. You have the look of it." He looked down and drank again. "I'm sorry it happened to you." She nodded.
Anna returned to her barstool and gave Rose a nudge. "I got a call from mum and I need to go," she explained, leaning against Rose so her words would be inaudible to anyone else. "Do you need an out from this or are you all right?"
"I'm all right," Rose whispered back, just as discreetly.
Anna finished her chardonnay and gave Rose a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow. Nice to meet you," she said, nodding at Paul. She sailed off, a crowd parting admiringly around her retreating figure.
Paul watched her go and returned his attention to Rose, who was again fiddling with her glass. "Have you eaten anything?" he asked.
"No."
He made a tentative gesture. "Want to go around the corner? There's a great little pizza place."
Rose considered her options. Home, to her warm, bright little room, to curl into her books and let her mum worry, or pizza, with a decent guy in a public place. She admitted to herself that she was lonely. The company could do her some good, and Paul understood at least a little that she was off limits. "Yeah," she agreed. "Pizza sounds good."
They walked the short distance to the restaurant, which was kitschy faux Italian-American, with the red-and-white checked plastic tablecloths and plastic flowers in cheap glass vases. It smelled fantastic, with wafting scents of garlic, tomato, and baking crust making Rose's mouth water. Paul greeted the owner warmly, and the balding little man hurriedly settled them into a corner table. "What's good?" said Rose, picking up a brittle, stained paper menu.
"Everything. I know it doesn't look like much -- well, anything -- but it's the best pizza I've had since I left the States." He didn't look at a menu. "Italian sausage is good. Want to split a pie?" Rose agreed and they settled on Italian sausage with green peppers. Paul stretched back in the chair and studied her thoughtfully. "So, why did you come?"
"What?"
"Come to dinner with me. Don't tell me you weren't suspicious of that pickup line."
She grinned. "Was there really a bet?"
"There really was, honest. And I lost. So, why did you come?"
She considered, pretending to review the geometric shapes of the tablecloth. "Because my mum worries about me," she said finally.
Paul raised his eyebrows. "Truth hurts. Not my charm? That's okay, I can take it." He paused, and Rose felt his eyes on her. "A man, then?"
She didn't need to ask who he meant. "Yeah."
"Sorry," he said again.
"Me too." They sat quietly together until the pizza arrived, and then the mood brightened again as they divided pieces and tucked into what Rose found was an excellent pizza. The sausage, as Paul had promised, was spicy and sweet, and the peppers were still crunchy.
"They make their own mozzarella," he offered, between bites. As they talked, she found herself laughing, as she had before, at his quick sense of humour, and he regaled her with the story of his accidental discovery of the pizzeria after his arrival in London three years ago.
When they finished, Paul paid, this time quietly insistent, and Rose gave in without argument. They walked outside. In the time it had taken for them to eat, a light, misty rain had begun to fall. Paul ducked back in the restaurant and returned with an umbrella, which he offered to Rose. "Paolo said you can have it. If you ever get back here, there's an umbrella stand up front. If not, no problem. They always end up with extras."
Rose checked her watch. 9:15. She had planned to return to work for a while to finish some paperwork, and then catch a ride home with Pete's car service. Paul caught her looking. "Late?" he asked.
"Just going to get back to work for a bit, then head home," she said, opening the umbrella and positioning it above her.
"Work?" He was surprised.
"Government," she said by way of brief explanation. "Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork!"
"I bet. Some things are the same the world over. I'm an accountant, so I guess I'm in the same boat." His grin was lopsided. "It's fascinating, all those numbers."
"All those reports," Rose responded with a chuckle. They shared a laugh and were caught looking intently at one another. Paul's eyes flicked down to her lips, and then back to her eyes. Rose's breath caught. He took a step closer. She didn't step back or pull away. When he leaned down and kissed her, softly, she closed her eyes and tried to enjoy it. Then, to her surprise, she did. His lips were paper-smooth and soft, tender, entreating but not demanding. Her own lips parted in response and he deepened the kiss, angling his head and moving closer to her. His hand came up and cupped around her wrist, where she held the umbrella.
With a start, Rose jerked back. She stared in Paul in disbelief, his head still leaned in toward her, lips open. He immediately straightened and gave her a sad, wan smile.
"Shouldn't have pushed that," he said. "I'm sorry." He let go of her wrist and let his hand drop to his side. She continued to stare. "Rose, you seem like a nice person. I wish -- I wish we'd met under different circumstances." He fished in his pocket and produced a business card and a pen. He scribbled his number on the back. "If you want, call me. I won't expect it, but I'd like it if you did." He looked at her. "You okay?"
"Not really," she repeated, dully.
"You hadn't kissed anyone since him, had you?"
"No."
"It will get better," he said. "Maybe not with me, but it will get better."
She blinked several times to clear her eyes and shook her head, then turned and almost ran, letting the umbrella clatter to the ground behind her.
When Rose finally returned to the mansion, she ran to her room, shut her door with a thud, and threw herself onto the bed. The expected tears didn't come. She balled herself up, pulling the blanket over her head, and shutting out the world.
