AN: So I'd like to sincerely apologize for the crazy lateness of this chapter. My life has been very chaotic. I don't like to give less than my all to something, so I take a lot of time thinking about and playing out the scenes in my head. Unfortunately, this means it takes me longer to post. Hopefully, I can keep it at least once a week. Thanks so much for your continued interest! Ashleigh
Ian was in complete ignorance of how much time had passed as he lay on the floor, his body flaccid and slumped against the bedframe. The harsh darkness of his bedroom was consuming him, leaving him almost physically numb. The utter anguish he felt at that moment was nearly kin to the anguish he felt when he remembered his final moments with his father. Both losses tore his heart. How could he have been so foolish, so stupid? How could he have allowed himself to be deceived into believing that that happiness would last? He'd given in, allowed himself to feel, to…love. And once again, Fate had condemned him to a life of regret and desolation.
Finally tearing his eyes away from the sterile white wall in front of him, Ian took in his surroundings, his eyes finally focusing on the open bedroom door. He stared through it and into the empty hallway, only blinking his eyes when physically necessary. It was almost as if he was attempting to will Rose to appear. Deep in his soul, he yearned for her. Ian's ears strained to hear any sound that belonged to the life that had been taken away—Olivia's elated squeals, her calls for him, the soft entrancing melody of Rose's singing, the warmth and devotion conveyed as his name rolled off her tongue. And not just by the name the majority used, but rather, his given name—Cillian. He'd never been fond of it for reasons that still eluded him. Most often it was used by his father during a reprimand. But, hearing the name from Rose's lips was anything but reprimanding. She said it with such warmth and tenderness that it almost felt like a caress, even when she had practically purred it at him to get her way.
Yet, no matter how hard he endeavored to hear those dulcet tones, they were nowhere to be found. Ian found his mind being ravaged with emotions and he harshly swallowed the lump in his throat that was suddenly making it extremely hard to breathe. Trying to rein himself in, he roughly dragged his hands through his hair. Finally finding some semblance of strength, Ian pulled his knees close to his chest and rested his elbows on them, bracing his head in his hands. That action caused his mind's eye to be slammed with images of a deserted surgical hallway, and his hands suddenly felt sticky as the memory became eerily tangible. Violently jerking his hands from his head, he stared down at them in terror, half expecting to see them once again stained crimson. At seeing they were free of such taint, he released a shuddering breath.
The sensory overload became too much to bear and the acidic taste of bile flew into his mouth. Rushing into the en suite, Ian barely made it the sink before heaving the contents of his stomach. He silently cursed himself for showing such weakness. For releasing the hold he had on his emotions. For falling in love with an illusion. Turning on the faucet, he filled his palm with cold water and rinsed his mouth out before splashing his face. Taking a few cleansing breaths, Ian looked up and stared at his reflection; his face was pale and drawn, and the familiar guard had returned to his eyes. As he continued to focus on the image in the mirror, one thought began to break through cacophony warring in his mind—Rose. He had to find Rose.
Rose was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her work. Isobel was manning the register and training the new hire, Meg, which allowed Rose to experiment with a few recipes and decorating techniques. But as hard as she tried, she could not focus on the tasks in front of her. The conversation with Sarah Jane continued to replay over and over in her mind. Though she didn't have any definite proof, Rose couldn't help but feel with complete surety that she had indeed met Ian's aunt and brother. What should have been a happy realization was overshadowed by the small detail Sarah Jane had shared with her—that Ian's father had been violently killed.
Though no other details had been divulged, Rose's heart still broke for Ian. It would explain why his countenance darkened and became pained when the topic of his father had been brought up. However, she couldn't surmise why he wouldn't directly refer to Jack or his aunt. If that was his only family, wouldn't he have mentioned them? Even during their conversation outside St. James' Park, Ian had simply said, "my brother." Nothing more. Why wouldn't he use his name?
Suddenly a burnt odor wafted over her, and Rose whirled around to face the oven. Through the glass pane, she saw that what was once white batter was now charcoal black. She threw open the door, allowing the mix of heat and charred pastry to hit her full-force. Scowling, she picked up the pan and angrily threw it into the sink, flinging on the faucet. Once the contents were thoroughly saturated, she turned off the water and braced her arms against the cold metal. The worry for Ian and the frustration of the unknown coupled with the ruined remains of her baking suddenly culminated with her angrily slamming her hands against the sink.
"Hey, Rose?"
"What?!" she snapped, turning her head towards the voice.
Isobel's head jerked back slightly and her eyes widened at Rose's outburst. Realizing her uncalled for reaction, Rose sighed and ran her hand through her hair.
"Sorry, Bel. I didn't mean to snap at ya. I'm just frustrated 'cause I spent all this time tryin' to figure out this new recipe, and then stupid me burnt the bloody thing," she finished, gesturing to the sink.
"S'ok, sweets. I just wanted to know how much ya wanna charge for the Kahlua Crème Cups. Ya forgot to price 'em."
"I dunno…you can decide. Makes no matter to me," Rose sighed, turning back to the sink and sighing once again.
Frowning at Rose's uncharacteristic behavior, Isobel walked over and put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Y'alright?"
Rose looked up at her, forcing what she hoped was a believable smile. "Yeah. M'fine."
Isobel's lips twitched, as if she wanted to say something to the contrary, but she refrained. She knew when Rose was holding back, but she also knew when and when not to push a matter. Right now was one of those times that Isobel knew she needed to be patient; she'd draw it out of her later. Giving her a small parting smile, Isobel returned to the front. As she watched Isobel walk away, Rose chastised herself for allowing her temper to get the better of her. Needing a moment to think, she sat down in her chair and rested her head in her hands. She struggled to calm her thoughts and process them methodically, but it was to no avail. But even though her mind continued to race, there was one thought that remained clear and insistent—Ian. She had to see Ian. Her mind decided, Rose stood, pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and touched up her makeup. Grabbing her bag, she mumbled a quick explanation to Isobel and Meg before hurrying out of the bakery and to the only place she could think of to look for him.
Cathica hated the fact that she had to go into the office. Saturdays and Sundays were the only days she had to herself; it was one of the reasons she didn't complain too much when she had to work long hours during the week. She would work herself to exhaustion Monday thru Friday; all she asked for was the weekend. Unfortunately, Ian's random arrivals and short hours that week had put multiple things behind schedule, making it a necessity for her to be there. After allowing herself a good half hour to gripe, Cathica put her irritation aside and focused on completing her tasks as quickly and competently as possible.
It was nearing noon, and Cathica was putting away the last of the completed files when there was a sudden knock followed by the slight opening of the door.
"H-hello?" said a feminine voice.
Cathica walked over to the door and pulled it open further, revealing a blonde young woman. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Cathica asked, "May I help you?"
The young woman smiled, but Cathica could tell she was nervous. Tucking an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear, the woman made eye contact with her and finally found her voice.
"Sorry… I didn't mean to interrupt anythin', I was just, uh, looking for Ian. He works here, yeah?"
Cathica narrowed her eyes in appraisal. "And you are?"
"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to be rude. I'm Rose Tyler. Nice to meet you," she said smilingly, extending her hand.
As she shook Rose's hand in greeting, Cathica's features softened as she realized that this woman wasn't some nutter looking to make a scene, which given Ian's conviction record, could have been a real possibility.
"Cathica Kadanie. Sorry but he's not in." Rose's disappointment on hearing this was not missed, and Cathica spoke up again. "Do you want to leave a message for him?"
"Uh…yeah," Rose replied, rummaging through her bag for a pen and scrap piece of paper. On finding both, she quickly scribbled before folding the note and handing it to Cathica. "If y'could give 'im this, I'd really appreciate it."
Taking the small piece of paper, Cathica finally offered Rose a small smile. "Certainly."
With another nervous smile and slight wave of her hand, Rose turned and left a curious Cathica in her wake.
The sidewalks were fairly congested, but Ian was unaware of the passersby. He still wasn't sure what he was thinking; but the truth of the matter was he wasn't thinking—he was feeling. His mind demanded a reason for his actions, censured him for them. But it wasn't his mind that was urging him to find Rose. No, this was something instinctual leading him. However, this didn't stop Ian from inwardly struggling with it.
Finally approaching the shop entrance, Ian lifted a shaky hand and opened the door. Approaching the counter, he immediately recognized Isobel, who was currently engaged in conversation with a petite raven haired girl, who couldn't have been more than sixteen. On hearing the opening of the door, she ceased speaking and turned her attention to him, smiling brightly as he approached the counter.
"Hey! 'S good to see ya," Isobel greeted enthusiastically.
Ian attempted to smile, but it appeared more like a grimace. Isobel noticed this, and her smile faltered ever so slightly.
"Y'alright, Ian?"
"Of course. I'm always alright," he replied automatically. As the words left him, he could hear Rose's voice admonish, "Don't do that…I know what that means."
Isobel furrowed her brow for a moment, clearly gauging the honesty of his answer, before smiling at him once again. "What would you like?"
My wife… My child… My life…
Running a hand through his hair, Ian looked absentmindedly over the displays, poorly feigning interest. Isobel could plainly see that he was not there as a customer; he was there for personal reasons. Grinning playfully, she brought up the unspoken reason for his visit.
"Rose'll be back soon, if ya wanna wait for a bit."
On hearing her name, Ian's eyes snapped to meet Isobel's. "She's not here?"
The intensity in his eyes and the strained tone of his voice greatly disturbed her. Something was definitely not right.
"No…she's gone," Isobel replied hesitantly, almost as if fearful that it was the wrong response.
An undiscernible look flashed in Ian's eyes and his manner completely altered. Straightening his stance, he sniffed and nodded. "Right, well… I'll just be going."
At a loss for words over what had just transpired, Isobel could only watch as a now stoic Ian turned and left the shop.
Ian couldn't retreat fast enough. All he could hear was Isobel's last words.
"She's gone."
They rolled over and about, crashing like waves upon him.
Gone… Gone… She's gone…
Rose is…gone…
I've lost her…
"Please explain to me how I got roped into feeding a hoard of near barmy wannabe doctors?" Donna grumbled as she attempted to navigate her way into the flat with a mountain of takeaway pizzas.
Rose popped out of the kitchen and rushed over to help Donna with her load, grinning as she took in her best friend's irritated scowl. "Because you're Donna and you're brilliant and without you, the whole world would come to an end."
"Well…when ya put it like that…," Donna trailed off, now returning Rose's grin and following her into the kitchen. "So…who's all comin'?"
"Dunno," Rose shrugged. "Martha didn't say. Just said bring food. Lots 'a food. Oh, and a ridiculously huge bottle of Patrón which I've been instructed to keep hidden until everyone leaves."
Donna snorted in amusement at Martha's requests, already eager for the nonexistent guests to leave so the three of them could enjoy themselves freely. After placing the boxes on the counter, Rose resumed her earlier task of washing the dishes. Donna watched her silently for a minute or two before moving beside her, picking up a dishcloth and drying as Rose washed.
"Soo…"
Rose looked up at her briefly in silent acknowledgement.
"Will anyone special be joining us? Maybe a certain skinny streak of a prosecutor?"
"No, he's not coming. An' I wouldn't call 'im skinny…"
Donna raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? Then what would ya call 'im?"
Rose shrugged her shoulders and focused intently on the plate in her hands. A playful smirk appeared on Donna's face as she noticed Rose's avoidance.
"C'mon, now," she prodded, bumping Rose with her hip and widening her grin. "You're the one who opened the door. What do you think about him?"
Feeling a heat to her cheeks, Rose ducked her head enough to allow her hair to cover her face. "I dunno… He's… Well, he's…"
"For cryin' out loud, Rose, finish the sentence!"
Releasing the dish, Rose put one hand on her hip and looked directly at Donna. "Ya really wanna know what I think of 'im?"
"Desperately."
"Fine, ya wanna know what I think, well here ya go—he's by far the most gorgeous man I've ever met. When he smiles, my mind goes completely blank and it takes every bit a strength I've got to not lunge at 'im and snog 'im till one of us blacks out from lack of air. And his hair…God, I just wanna run my fingers through it over and over," she said, slightly out of breath from her ramble.
"Alright. So I think we've established that ya think he's a bit fit," Donna chuckled.
"Oh, he's more than bit fit," Rose grinned before biting her lip. Suddenly her face softened and her eyes became thoughtful. "But it's not just that, Donna. He's… I dunno, there's just somethin' 'bout 'im. He's funny. He's interesting. We can just talk 'bout nothin' at all, and it means more to me than anythin' else. I wanna know everything there is to know 'bout 'im. I find myself thinkin' about 'im every day. Have been since we first met and I… I just wanna be with him… all the time."
She turned her gaze back towards Donna, only to find that she was looking at her with warm, glistening eyes. Donna had never witnessed such a sight. Rose Tyler, her best friend in the entire world, was completely and irrevocably in love. Donna put her hand to her mouth, stifling the small sob of happiness that threatened to break forth. When she pulled back her hand, a brilliant smile slowly overtook her features.
"Oh wow…," she chuckled. "You're done for."
Rose blushed, averting her eyes and tucking her hair behind her ear. Though she said nothing in reply, Donna knew Rose completely agreed.
Several hours later, Rose and Donna found themselves surrounded by Mickey, Martha, and half dozen hopefully soon-to-be doctors. The evening was pleasant enough. Martha's friends were entertaining, especially since the stress of exams had lifted. Despite that, Rose was quite tired and simply wanted a hot shower and to lounge in bed. Deciding to remain for another ten minutes, Rose got up from her place on the sofa and retrieved a now cold slice of pizza. As she walked back to the living room, she noticed Donna was no longer on the sofa. Instead, there was the tall blonde from the other evening sitting next to her waiting seat. Frowning slightly, Rose took her seat, smiling politely at the man next to her.
"Fancy meeting you here," he quipped with a grin.
She chuckled, broadening her smile. "It's Fenton, yeah?"
"Got it in one, Rose."
As his eyes remained on her, sparkling and inquisitive, Rose felt herself tense just a tad. She wasn't making more of his look than was truly there, was she? Maybe it was all in her mind. He was just being friendly, no ulterior motive. Focusing herself to relax, she grabbed her drink and took a long sip.
"So, Rose, what do ya do for work?"
Moving her eyes discretely about the room, Rose realized that the others were engaged in various conversations, leaving it just her and Fenton.
"I run a bakery."
"Sounds fun.
"Yeah, I love it," she replied with a small smile.
Fenton's grin grew at seeing her smile. He couldn't help but think how even such a small action further added to her beauty. Taking a sip from his drink, he continued, "So what made you decide to do that? Your mum a cook or somethin'?"
Rose couldn't suppress the snort at that question. "No, definitely not my mum. She's got a few things she makes well, but overall she's no gourmet."
Fenton laughed and Rose allowed him a moment before continuing, "Actually, it was my gran. She loved baking. Dad says it's why he was a chubster while he was little. Anyway, every time I stayed with her, she'd show me how she did things. It was fun, and it kinda stuck with me."
His smile firmly in place, Fenton adjusted his position on the sofa, now just a bit closer to her than before. Rose felt the tension return as she watched him. Fenton's expression became more inquisitive and he opened his mouth to speak.
"Oi!" Donna's voice halted him. "I pop off to the loo for two minutes and ya steal my seat? Off with ya," she instructed, swatting at him.
Fenton's eyebrows met his hairline in surprise, but he got up anyway. Grateful for Donna's return, Rose felt her tension subside. Fenton seemed like a nice bloke, but she wasn't interested. Hopefully he would pick up on that fact. She continued to sit beside Donna for a few more minutes before telling everyone goodnight and heading off to the shower.
Fenton watched Rose leave, smiling as her pleasing figure disappeared from sight. He turned and saw that, thankfully, Donna was still present on the sofa. Based on their interaction throughout the evening, It wasn't hard to realize that Donna and Rose were close friends, something that was about to become very helpful. Getting up from his spot on the floor, he walked over and took the free seat next to Donna. She turned and looked at him, lifting a brow questioningly.
"Donna, right?"
"Uh-huh," she replied, eyebrow still in place.
"You an' Rose are pretty close, yeah?"
"Yeah, we are… Why?" she replied slowly, not sure she liked where he was obviously headed.
"Well, maybe you can tell me a bit about her. Like, is she with anyone?"
She blinked at him, determining what response to give him. Rose and Ian weren't exactly together, though Donna knew Rose wanted to be and could tell Ian obviously felt something very strong for her.
"Sorry, mate, but she's interested in someone," she answered, hoping that response would be enough to dissuade him.
"But she's not actually in a relationship," Fenton inferred.
Donna's eyes narrowed at him. "Maybe ya didn't hear me, she's interested in someone. Someone who isn't you."
He merely took a drink and smiled at her before getting up and returning to his seat. Donna watched him leave, glaring unseen daggers as he did so.
That bloke's gonna be trouble, Donna thought. No doubt about it.
Rose sat on her bed with her computer resting on her lap. The shower had helped to relax her muscles and ease some of the worry out of her. But now, as she stared at the search bar on the screen, Rose felt some of that earlier tension return. Sarah Jane's words had remained on the edge of her mind all day, and now that she was in the privacy of her room, she decided that she needed to know more.
After trying various combinations of words, Rose finally found something that looked promising. She scrolled over the link but stopped short of clicking on it. She wanted to know more, needed to know more; but she couldn't help the guilt that suddenly came over her. Was this intruding on their privacy? Was it wrong to find out more? Shaking her head at the jumble of thoughts trying to confuse her, Rose clicked on the link.
Reputed financier and philanthropist, Thomas Edward Smith, was gunned down yesterday in the lobby of Morrison & Stamford while visiting his son, Ian Smith—a young rising solicitor within the firm. Sources say that father and son were on their way out of the lobby when the gunman, identified as Harold Saxon, exited the lift and pointed a gun at the two men.
Rose felt her heart constrict as she read the account. Though already able to surmise the ending, she forced herself to continue reading.
Saxon (whom Ian Smith was representing at the time) began speaking somewhat incoherently as he continued to keep the weapon trained on the two men. Witnesses stated that the younger Smith attempted to convince Saxon to put down the gun, but that Saxon "suddenly snapped" and swiftly turned the gun and fired pointblank at Thomas Smith. Before he was able to fire again, Saxon was subdued from behind by two guards who finally arrived to the floor. Witnesses also stated that Ian Smith fiercely attempted to save his father. Unfortunately, after being rushed to New Hope Hospital, Smith was pronounced dead upon arrival. Thomas Smith is survived by his two sons, Ian Smith and Jack Harkness (son by marriage), and his sister, Sarah Jane Smith.
Unable to read the rest of the article, Rose firmly closed her laptop. She felt hot tears burn her cheeks and she fiercely wiped at her eyes. A literal ache had formed in her chest as had read the account, and she wanted nothing more than to find Ian and throw her arms around him—absorb his pain and grief, to bear it with him. To know that not only that his father had been murdered, but that Ian had witnessed it and tried in vain to save him. Rose couldn't even begin to fathom the pain he'd experienced. Just knowing that he had gone through such tragedy filled her with overwhelming pain and sadness. Suddenly, the look she'd seen in his eyes began to make sense to her. It was pure agony intertwined with another emotion that still eluded her.
Another flood of tears broke forth and she laid on her side, curling into herself. As her eyes grew heavy, Ian's face remained before her. Rose's last thought before sleep finally claimed her was that she wished she could've been there to hold his hand.