Title: Everybody's Fool

Rating: T

Author: hobbithunter

Characters: Rose, Peter Carlisle (Blackpool)

Pairings: hinted 9/Rose, possible Rose/Peter

Spoilers: Spoilers for the series Blackpool, and Bad Wolf with alternate Parting of the Ways

Author's Note: Yay for dark fanfictions! Just a little idea that came to my mind when I was showering after watching episodes 3 and 4 of Blackpool and wondering about Doctor Who, never mix the two. This is rather dark and angst filled I warn you now. It will stray off from the story of Blackpool a bit, but I'm not sure if I will continue this one, depends on feedback really. Only part one is written like this, if I choose to continue the story.

Song Credits: Our Farewell by Within Temptation.

"I need you! …I need you. And you need me."

A moment of silence.

"Well get over it."

He watches as she stands and walks from him, from what happen, from what could happen. His eyes drift to the sea before him before slumping back into his seat, staring. It was evening; the sun was going to set soon. Metaphoric, but not comforting. His head leans back against the bench, closing his eyes as he attempts to sort through his thoughts and feelings. He had gotten in to far, hadn't he? How did a simple act of questioning turn into this. He slowly opens his eyes, and something catches his gaze, from the corner of his eyes.

He sits up, looking over at what has caught him in his moment of weakness. It isn't her, but she was someone different. He's seen her around Blackpool, more recently as his investigation has become heavier. Somehow, someway, whenever he sees her she is always standing there. Waiting for something.

Waiting.

He figures there isn't another way he can mess up his life anymore. He has lost sight of his job, his purpose, and it was falling around him now. So he stands elegantly, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to make the first move. Last time he had made the first move, it ended up where he was now. However she stands there, watching him as her hair moves into her face through the wind. It is blond, maybe golden in the way it shines in the evening sun. She just stands there.

Waiting.

He walks over to her, looking down at the shorter person in front of him. "You ok?" he asks, squinting from the rays of the fading sun. Her eyes look up to meet his, wavering as they meet in a gaze. Her mouth opens to say something but shuts tightly, attempting to sort her thoughts through her feelings. He frowns, stepping more to be in front of her and to shield his eyes from the sun. "Miss?"

"You're so much like him." She speaks. It startles him, his head moving slightly back in surprise. She turns from him and walks away from what has happened. Unknown to him at the moment he surges forward, placing his hand on her shoulder. She stops in her footsteps; her eyes slowly looking over his hand and up his arm till she reconnects with his gaze. He's speechless, trying to understand his action.

"Do you want to talk?" he asks finally. He sees her falter, lost and surprised, unable to comprehend what he has asked from her. He catches that her eye has wandered from his own, staring behind him. He removes his hand as he turns his own head to see what she sees, his partner is approaching them. He feels the need to explain and turns to face her, but she's no longer there. His eyes dart around to find the golden hair woman, unable to see her. He stands there and becomes aware of his partner's presence before he begins his walking again; passing a blue box that was not there before.

That has been haunting him for the last few days. His mind wanders to the meeting, loosing track of his purpose in Blackpool. At first he believes it is because of Natalie, but that isn't it. It is because of a murder, one he has made his soul duty in life to solve, to pin the man named Ridely for. He knows he is guilty. Everything points to it. The keys, the drugs, the brothel in his wife's name, the son with drugs, everything points to it. And yet something escapes his grasp, something he can't figure out that eludes him from the answer to the case.

"Carlisle!"

His thoughts are interrupted, causing him to jolt and his coffee nearly to fly on his partner's face. He grins sheepishly at his partner before turning in his chair and relaxing to find another man behind him. He raises his eyebrows in question, taking a drink of the now cold coffee.

"You have a visitor."

He blinks, his mind jumping to who would see him at work. Not Natalie, she never would; possibly Danny, ready to tell the truth instead of attempting to make his father proud. Whomever it is he decides to stand and go see who is waiting for him beyond the door. He opens it, stepping outside to find her. The blond from the beach, she stands there just like she did then as if they were simply moved from one spot to the next. His eyes dart behind him as if someone is attempting a cruel joke, but his gaze switches back and fixes on hers. Her hair is down, she has loop earrings in her ears, a dark pink top on covered by a white jacket, dark blue jeans to add to the contradicting outfit, the one that spoke for her eyes.

"I want to talk." She says simply.

"I'm at work." He says simply in return before he can realize he is answering her, this woman he has never spoken to.

"I know." She answers. "I know the case you are working on, I know the victim, and I know who you want to blame for the death."

"A lot of people know that one." He replies.

"But not everyone knows about his wife." She dares.

A spark of anger lights inside him. The reminder of the fight and the passion nearly snaps him to hurt her, but in a defiance to prove her wrong, to lie to himself, he grabs her by the arm and leads her out of the police station. He lets go of her and spins to face her.

"Let's talk here." He says.

"Not here." She looks around before she returns his gaze. His eyes narrow. "Somewhere else. I know where." She walks past him but her hand reaches out and entwines itself into his fingers. He looks down; being dragged to the destination she has in mind. He can see she has no idea why she took his hand, just as he has no idea why he opened himself to her, why he had offered to comfort her. It baffles him still, he can't understand the impulse. Maybe he just cannot stand to see a woman sad?

She leads him to the spot from before, standing against the wall and looking out at the noon sun. He stands beside her, his hands now in his pockets looking at the same sun. His eyes travel to her, looking her over to assure himself she is there and did not disappear like she did before. He turns to her then.

"You said you wanted to talk." He says.

"I did." She speaks. She looks up at him. "You asked me if I wanted to talk."

"I did." He agrees. "And then you came and got me. Why?"

She bites her lip and looks away for a moment, then up at him, her gaze soft as her eyes sparkle with unshed water. "Why are you so much like him?" she asks.

"Like who?" he asks. "I've been told I'm me and no one else."

"You're so similar." She replies, looking him over before returning to his eyes, soft and brown, not blue. "The way you talk and walk, the way you turn to look, the way you see things. I don't understand how are you like him in so many ways but not him?"

"I don't understand what you're talking bout, Miss." He says, gesturing for her to sit down on the bench. She sits and he sits beside her and turns to her. "We should start off with your name, if you don't mind tellin' me that is."

She looks up at him. "I have a lot of names." She says.

"All of us have nicknames." He reassures. "What's the name you want me to know you by?"

She pauses, unsure if she should. She hasn't spoken her real name in a great many years, at times she forgets. And yet she finds herself answering his question. "My name is Rose Tyler." She speaks softly. "Most know me by The Wolf."

"The Wolf?" He tilts his head, looking at her oddly. "I haven' heard of a nick name like that before. If you don't mind I think I'll be callin' you Rose, that alright?"

"It's fine." She speaks. "I haven't been called that in a long time."

A silence falls on them. A somewhat comfortable silence as they enjoy each others company. He still doesn't understand why he is here or came with her; he refuses to accept any answers that would be a logical one. He decides that now would be a good time to act upon the information she knew of when they met earlier. He shifts in his seat, his hand resting behind the bench.

"You spoke that you knew 'bout the case I'm workin' on, Rose." He says. She looks at him, her head tilting and the blond hair spills over her shoulder. He looks up at the sky for a moment before returning his eyes to her blue ones. "So how do you kno' 'bout it, besides the fact that everyone else in Blackpool kno's 'bout it of course."

She almost smiles. "I know how it ends." She looks out at the ocean. "I saw it before, in my mind, but in the end it was nothing more than a passing thought in an ocean. But I saw it happen." She turns and looks back at him, seeing the confusion and disbelief in his eyes. "You don't believe me, Detective Carisle?"

He opens his mouth, putting his tongue to the back of his teeth as he thinks. "No, not really. After all you're sounding like a nutter."

"Maybe I am." She replies.

"Yes, maybe you are." He agrees. "So then, you can tell me who killed him, where, and why he was stashed inside the casino?"

"No."

"But you just told me you knew who did it,"

"I do."

"Then why can't ya tell me?" he pursues with the questions, it is his job.

"I can't interfere." She speaks and looks at him. "I used it to get you here, to speak with me. You offered and I took the offer."

"Only because you've been followin' me round Blackpool the last week." He states.

She smiles then, a playful one, but her eyes are still sparkling with unshed water. "Because you remind me of him. I want to know why."

"Well then," he straightens, leaning against the back of the bench and places his chin in his palm. "Tell me 'bout this man, the one I remind ya of. Can't really say how I'm like him if I don't know anythin' 'bout him, yeh?"

She frowns then, looking out over the sand as the wind blows the hair from her face, her eyelashes meeting each other to keep the water unshed. "He was…I was his companion…not like that, but just a couple of friends travelin…" she glances at him to see if he is still interested, and his eyebrows have moved up slightly. "He found me, cause of something else…and, he offered me to travel with him. We went to a lot of places, saw lots of different things and people…." She trails off.

"He ditched you then?" he asks.

"No." she says hotly, but calms herself and looks at him. "No he would never have done that, never." She inhales and looks down before meeting his gaze. "We ran into a bit of trouble, you see…and, he sent me home to keep me safe." She looks out at the ocean, her eyes lowering to the sand as she silently remembers the last few moments with him, the laughing and the chuckling about what would happen, what could have happened.

"What happened to him?" he breaks into her thoughts.

"He's dead." She says and looks at him, her head titled slightly. "You know…like when you get a bond with someone, a really special one…the one where you can tell what they are gonna say before they say it?" he nods. "It's like that…but, more. I just…when I think about it, I feel it you know? I feel it here." Her hand raises and lies against her breast where her heart beats steadily. His eyes leave hers to look at her hand before looking up at her again.

"What makes me like him?"

Rose sighs and leans against the bench, looking up at the roof of the cover. "You talk like him, you walk like him." Her eyes go to him, a sense of longing in them, perhaps a longing for comfort, and a kind she cannot find any longer. "Just…everythin', really. I know that might sound a bit daft, but it's true."

"So," he moved his hand, resting his check inside it. "Yer tellin' me that basically everythin' I do is a reminder?"

"Not everything. He wouldn't go after a married woman." She speaks softly. He falters, surprised by her attack and unable to think of a way to fight or defend against it. "'Course your motives were good to begin with, they always are for coppers aren't they? You go to enforce the law, but then it becomes about self justice." She stands and steps into the sand.

"And what would a girl who'd gone missin' without tellin' her mum know 'bout self justice and the law?" he bites back, watching as she stops.

Rose turns to him, she hurts now. "If you could go back and save someone from diein', would you?" he pauses and looks away, looking back at her. "Would you let your pride and sense of self justice get in the way or just let time go about on its own?"

"Can't really do that." He explains. "Can't go back in time."

"And if you could?" she asks. He stares at her, his eyebrows raising. "If you could go anywhere in time, if you had that power, would you?"

"Maybe." He answers after a moment.

He stands with his hands in his pockets on the intent of leaving, as it has been many moments since either of them have spoken. He steps off into the sand, walking but a few feet before he hears her speak.

"There is nothing but silence now," she walks over to him, singing softly. "Around the one I loved…is this our farewell?" she passes him, not looking at him but continuing the song softly to herself. "Sweet darling you worry too much, my child, see the sadness in your eyes?" she stops a few feet in front of him as the wind blows, her head turning to look at him over her shoulder. "You are not alone in life…although you might think… that you are."

He knows this game and walks forward, his hands in his pockets and past her, not glancing at her but at the sandy road before him. "Never thought this day would come so soon. We had no time to say good-bye." He stops and turns halfway to her, his eyes daring to meet hers. "How can the world just carry on?"

"I feel so lost when you are not in my sight." She sings softly to him as he watches her. "But there's nothing but silence now, around the one I loved…is this our farewell?" she walks forward, falling into step beside him as their feet imprint into the sand.

"Sweet darling you worry too much, my child see the sadness in your eyes." They spoke to each other with their tune, looking at each other. "You are not alone in life…although you might think that you are." He stops and takes her arm, turning her to face him.

"So sorry your world is tumbling down," he puts his hand on her shoulder in a carrying manner, squeezing it softly. "I will watch you through these nights. Rest your head and go to sleep, because my child this is not our farewell. This is not…our farewell." He stands there for a moment before turning and walking.

"You'd do best to stay away from her." She speaks up. He stops and turns to her. "Trust me on this, please. I don't want to see anyone hurt."

"And what might you be then?" he asks as he walks backwards. "The big bad wolf?" he turns and heads back to his job, to the murder and the man he must crush with his self justice. However something tells him to wait and watch. He trusts his feeling and stands beside a pole, watching as she leaves the beach and to the sidewalk. She stops in front of a blue public police box, bringing a key out and unlocking it, stepping inside. He blinks, tilting his head as he tries to understand what has happened.

Peter looks up at his partner the following. His partner returns his look. Peter relaxes in his chair, putting one ankle on his knee and his head in his palm. "You ever meet someone, and they keep comin' back to your thoughts, ever?"

"Constantly." His partner replies. "I think we call 'em suspects."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Not that kinda someone, blimey." He reaches out and takes his bowl in one hand, his glasses in his other. "Like someone comes to ya lookin' for an answer, ya give it to 'em, and ya just keep thinkin' bout that answer you gave 'em."

"Blimey don't tell me you've found another girl off the streets." His partner shakes his head and Peter's eyes narrow dangerously.

"Ain't like that." Peter defends himself. "Name's Rose Tyler, that one in London that was missin' for a couple months." he takes a bite of his cereal that has grown soggy in it's bowl. "She was the one that was 'ere yesterday lookin' for me. Wanted to talk."

"'Bout what?" his partner asks.

"Somehow I remind her of her dead companion." Peter raises his eyebrows to show his own confusion as his partner is baffled. "That's what I was thinkin' meself. Though she said she knew somethin' bout our little case here." He gestured to the pictures tacked to the wall with his spoon. "Wouldn't tell me anythin', said somethin' 'bout interferin' 'n' such." His partner shakes his head and goes back to work. "It's worth lookin' into I think."

"Oh like looking into Ridely's wife?" his partner shoots, but Peter glares at him. His partner watches as he stands, putting his bowl and glasses on the desk and heading out.

"Do a search on 'The Wolf'!" he calls out.

He walks along the boardwalk of Blackpool. His hands are firmly in his pockets as he walks rigidly, glancing around at the people that pass him for any clues or hints that can solve his case. Everything he needs seems to be in place, and yet he cannot find a way to pin the man he wants. The man he wants to serve on self-justice. He blinks and stops, looking forward at his path. He is confused, because now the same public police box he had seen by the beach is near the casino. Leaning against the doors is the woman, Rose, The Wolf. He licks his lips and continues up to her, his mouth open as he looks the box over.

"Didn't expect to see you again so soon, Detective." She says to him, looking up. He meets her gaze, seeing she is wearing a simple gray shirt, hoodie, and pants. His eyes travel back up to the police box, looking it over. "It's a Public Police Phone Box from the fifties." She explains, standing up and putting her hands on the side. The smile of bittersweet finds its way onto her face as she recalls a memory. "It's a disguise you know."

"Disguise for what?" he asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Rose darts at him, smiling as he shrugs. "Not sure if I trust ya with it yet, after all you don't believe me."

"'Bout, what, time?" he recalls with a shake of his head. "Yer right, I don't." he walks around the police box, inspecting it over. "I am however interested in information yer with drawlin' from me."

"About that dead boy?" Rose knows. She shakes her head. "And what do you plan to do to get me to talk about it, copper?"

"Well I can treat you to a dinner and a movie." He suggests with a grin.

"Aren't you in an immoral relationship?" she dares. He pauses and looks away, biting on his lip and shakes his head. "Ah…" her head tilts up then looks at him. "Alright."

"Alright? That's it?" he blinks, baffled.

"Just cause yer gonna treat me doesn't mean I'm gonna answer right away." She smiles and looks down at the watch, then up at him. "Seven sound alright to you?" he stares at her. "I'll meet you here at seven…there's your man." She points behind him. Peter leans backwards to see Ridley standing outside and speaking with the protestor. He turns to agree with her terms to find she has gone. His eyes travel up to the police box before he turns and heads to his man ready to wreak justice.