Where her hero hides (Peter, like everyone)
Sometimes the most difficult thing to do at his hospital was simply leaving it.
Peter's work was, honestly, never done. Robert Macgavillary Memorial Hospital existed to be a sanctuary to anyone supernatural, as well as to give them a place to go when they needed help that normal institutions just weren't cut out to give. It wasn't publicly advertised, of course, and there were safeguards in place to keep outsiders from knowing. But even so, Peter managed to get several inquiries a week from people who knew of the place's reputation because they were in the know and they had heard about a case of a patient in a mental asylum somewhere in the world and weird things happened around the patient. Peter would dutifully send one of his staff to investigate and if he felt they needed to be transferred to his hospital, he would arrange it.
There were things to discuss, regarding the fight with the Templar. Peter received almost constant updates from Saul on how things were going, which he appreciated, even if it did take up rather a lot of his time.
And there was doing the part of his job Peter valued most. Spending his time helping demons and angels come to terms with who they were. That afternoon he had spent an hour with Evan and another hour with Darren. He had stopped by to see if Paula was doing any better, but when informed it wasn't safe to approach her, he did as he was told. He visited Svetlana, and then he popped in to see Joel, accidentally walking in on an intimate moment with him and his girlfriend Paige. Joel had been wearing a cape and nothing else. Peter wished that hadn't happened. He also stopped by Carmen's room to speak to her, or to try to.
Now it was two hours after he was supposed to have gone home, and he was finally packing up his briefcase. He closed his laptop, sighing that he hadn't gotten anything done on his thesis that day.
Patrick Finnegan poked his head into Peter's room and Peter smiled, looking up at the man who seemed to be doing so much better these days. "Good evening, Patrick."
"Ooooh, well, good evening to you, Gentle Peter," Patrick said, gently teasing Peter, his delightful Irish accent making his words seem all the more jovial. "Your wife just called me to ask when you were headin' home. I am guessing she tried several other people first..."
Peter chuckled and he reached for his coat. "Aly does have her subtle ways of telling me my presence is required."
Patrick grinned and he stepped inside the door. "I have another date tonight. With Alisdair. I think this is actually turning into something, Peter."
Peter, who hadn't been expecting to have a conversation when he was trying to leave, never once looked impatient with Patrick. The man had been through hell and he didn't deserve it. Peter remained as calm and gentle as ever. "That's wonderful to hear, Patrick. And he makes you happy?"
"He really does. He's funny and sweet and he talks about music for hours. And I could talk about him for hours, but your wife would have my balls and I am planning on using them eventually."
"Oh!" Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut to laugh. "Oh, good to know, Patrick, thanks!"
"No problem," Patrick grinned and then he stepped back outside Peter's office. "I'll tell you how it went tomorrow."
"I don't need explicit details!" Peter called after him, and Patrick laughed.
Peter made it out of his office and down precisely seventeen stairs before he was stopped again.
"Peter!" Abby Littleton ran up to Peter, out of breath and looking harassed. "Peter, Caoilfhionn won't stop drawing on her walls! I feel like a baby sitter! I'm the head of psychiatry, this isn't my job!"
"Okay, Abby," Peter said, reaching out a calming hand to her. "I'll take care of it. Will you ring my wife and tell her I'll be a little late?"
Abby raised her eyebrows and then she walked away muttering, "I am not staring at the business end of that hissy fit! I'll text her."
Peter, for his part, headed down the Caoilfhionn's room where the cherubic, red-headed demon was indeed steadfastly writing on the walls in green marker pen. "Caoilfhionn, don't you have enough paper to write on?"
The demon turned to look at him and immediately she grinned. She loved Peter. A great deal of them did, as he actually listened to them. "Priesty!" She jumped off the bed she had been perching on and she ran to hug him, leaving a green marker smudge on his back from the pen she hadn't put down. "I was writing my thoughts out!"
Peter glanced at the walls. "I...see. Caoilfhionn, I'm noticed you have written 'Die, Dr Abby, die'. Is that a constructive thought?"
Caoilfhionn looked appropriately shamefaced, one fingernail between her teeth as she explained, "she tried to tell me I couldn't have three pies. So I wrote it so I wouldn't do it."
"Ah, I see. Well I would much rather have you write on the walls than kill Dr Abby, but Caoilfhionn, can you try something for me that would make me very happy? Next time you have these thoughts, can you come find myself, or Thomas or Stuart? You like Thomas and Stuart, don't you?"
"Oh yes! They were monks like you were!" Caoilfhionn said, lighting up. She loved the clergy.
"That's right. One of us will be here. And if we're not, try writing the thoughts in a journal and we'll read it later, alright? Because now someone has to clean the walls and that's no fun."
"No!" Caoilfhionn agreed. "Cleaning is no fun! I'll come find you!" and then she ran over to kiss his cheek.
"Thank you, Caoilfhionn, that would be a huge help."
Peter left her room, with a mental note to tell Abby Caoilfhionn was allowed to have as much pie as she wanted, even if there wasn't enough for everyone else.
That time, Peter made it just past Joe Littleton's office when Joe poked his head out. "Peter? Can I have you pop in to sign some things?" Peter did as he was told, signing cheques and approvals and anything else Joe put in front of him.
He was almost out the door when Katia ran forward and grabbed his hand. "Peter! Bentley is having a motherfucker of a vision on the floor outside my office." And Peter didn't even hesitate. He ran with Katia to Bentley's side where he made sure the poor boy was comfortable until he came to, and then he supported him while Bentley described what he had seen. Mostly darkness and a scared woman and a lot of crying. But the vision had taken it out of poor Bentley and scared him quite badly. Peter had stuck by his side all the way back to Bentley's room until Joel, once again fully dressed and sans cape, came to sit at the side of his best friend.
When Peter arrived home, he was exhausted and starving, but he had never spared a thought for these things while at the hospital. He was greeted by his daughter Lydia shrieking at his daughter Anna to 'stop copying her'. Peter dutifully broke up that fight and then immediately had to play first aid officer when his step-son Caleb ran into the living room, tripped, and his his head on the coffeetable. They had a quick chat about running in the house, and then Peter snuck upstairs to find his wife in the bedroom his four-year-old son shared with his three and a half-year-old nephew. "Hello, Aly."
"There you are," Aly said, but there wasn't a hint of impatience in her voice. Not to Peter. She rose and kissed him and then she said, "would you like to read their stories to them? I'll make you some dinner. By the way, Rasputina threw up in Lauren's mouth today and it fell on the kitchen floor and Caleb's dog ate it."
Peter closed his eyes for a moment and then he laughed, loud and long. Sometimes, Peter wondered if it would ever stop, and then he realised he didn't really want it to. Before Aly slipped away, he kissed her head and whispered, "Oh, it's good to be home."
"Read us Harry, Dad!" little Tommy demanded, and William nodded excitedly. Peter grinned and he grabbed the book, more than thrilled to be reading to them.
It was the favourite part of his day. Peter Kemp did amazing things. He led rescue missions and he fought warring factions of the Catholic Church. He rescued people from the clutches of madness and themselves. Sometimes he failed and sometimes he succeeded. He gave the people most of humanity overlooked a place to feel safe. But Peter still thought this was the most important thing he did. Coming home to his family, vomit and shrieking girls and bleeding sons and all. "Of course I will read to you. Come on, over here."
The boys both crawled on to Tommy's bed and Peter opened the book and he started to read, the young ones listening with rapt attention to his gentle, and calming voice.
Peter's work was, honestly, never done. Robert Macgavillary Memorial Hospital existed to be a sanctuary to anyone supernatural, as well as to give them a place to go when they needed help that normal institutions just weren't cut out to give. It wasn't publicly advertised, of course, and there were safeguards in place to keep outsiders from knowing. But even so, Peter managed to get several inquiries a week from people who knew of the place's reputation because they were in the know and they had heard about a case of a patient in a mental asylum somewhere in the world and weird things happened around the patient. Peter would dutifully send one of his staff to investigate and if he felt they needed to be transferred to his hospital, he would arrange it.
There were things to discuss, regarding the fight with the Templar. Peter received almost constant updates from Saul on how things were going, which he appreciated, even if it did take up rather a lot of his time.
And there was doing the part of his job Peter valued most. Spending his time helping demons and angels come to terms with who they were. That afternoon he had spent an hour with Evan and another hour with Darren. He had stopped by to see if Paula was doing any better, but when informed it wasn't safe to approach her, he did as he was told. He visited Svetlana, and then he popped in to see Joel, accidentally walking in on an intimate moment with him and his girlfriend Paige. Joel had been wearing a cape and nothing else. Peter wished that hadn't happened. He also stopped by Carmen's room to speak to her, or to try to.
Now it was two hours after he was supposed to have gone home, and he was finally packing up his briefcase. He closed his laptop, sighing that he hadn't gotten anything done on his thesis that day.
Patrick Finnegan poked his head into Peter's room and Peter smiled, looking up at the man who seemed to be doing so much better these days. "Good evening, Patrick."
"Ooooh, well, good evening to you, Gentle Peter," Patrick said, gently teasing Peter, his delightful Irish accent making his words seem all the more jovial. "Your wife just called me to ask when you were headin' home. I am guessing she tried several other people first..."
Peter chuckled and he reached for his coat. "Aly does have her subtle ways of telling me my presence is required."
Patrick grinned and he stepped inside the door. "I have another date tonight. With Alisdair. I think this is actually turning into something, Peter."
Peter, who hadn't been expecting to have a conversation when he was trying to leave, never once looked impatient with Patrick. The man had been through hell and he didn't deserve it. Peter remained as calm and gentle as ever. "That's wonderful to hear, Patrick. And he makes you happy?"
"He really does. He's funny and sweet and he talks about music for hours. And I could talk about him for hours, but your wife would have my balls and I am planning on using them eventually."
"Oh!" Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut to laugh. "Oh, good to know, Patrick, thanks!"
"No problem," Patrick grinned and then he stepped back outside Peter's office. "I'll tell you how it went tomorrow."
"I don't need explicit details!" Peter called after him, and Patrick laughed.
Peter made it out of his office and down precisely seventeen stairs before he was stopped again.
"Peter!" Abby Littleton ran up to Peter, out of breath and looking harassed. "Peter, Caoilfhionn won't stop drawing on her walls! I feel like a baby sitter! I'm the head of psychiatry, this isn't my job!"
"Okay, Abby," Peter said, reaching out a calming hand to her. "I'll take care of it. Will you ring my wife and tell her I'll be a little late?"
Abby raised her eyebrows and then she walked away muttering, "I am not staring at the business end of that hissy fit! I'll text her."
Peter, for his part, headed down the Caoilfhionn's room where the cherubic, red-headed demon was indeed steadfastly writing on the walls in green marker pen. "Caoilfhionn, don't you have enough paper to write on?"
The demon turned to look at him and immediately she grinned. She loved Peter. A great deal of them did, as he actually listened to them. "Priesty!" She jumped off the bed she had been perching on and she ran to hug him, leaving a green marker smudge on his back from the pen she hadn't put down. "I was writing my thoughts out!"
Peter glanced at the walls. "I...see. Caoilfhionn, I'm noticed you have written 'Die, Dr Abby, die'. Is that a constructive thought?"
Caoilfhionn looked appropriately shamefaced, one fingernail between her teeth as she explained, "she tried to tell me I couldn't have three pies. So I wrote it so I wouldn't do it."
"Ah, I see. Well I would much rather have you write on the walls than kill Dr Abby, but Caoilfhionn, can you try something for me that would make me very happy? Next time you have these thoughts, can you come find myself, or Thomas or Stuart? You like Thomas and Stuart, don't you?"
"Oh yes! They were monks like you were!" Caoilfhionn said, lighting up. She loved the clergy.
"That's right. One of us will be here. And if we're not, try writing the thoughts in a journal and we'll read it later, alright? Because now someone has to clean the walls and that's no fun."
"No!" Caoilfhionn agreed. "Cleaning is no fun! I'll come find you!" and then she ran over to kiss his cheek.
"Thank you, Caoilfhionn, that would be a huge help."
Peter left her room, with a mental note to tell Abby Caoilfhionn was allowed to have as much pie as she wanted, even if there wasn't enough for everyone else.
That time, Peter made it just past Joe Littleton's office when Joe poked his head out. "Peter? Can I have you pop in to sign some things?" Peter did as he was told, signing cheques and approvals and anything else Joe put in front of him.
He was almost out the door when Katia ran forward and grabbed his hand. "Peter! Bentley is having a motherfucker of a vision on the floor outside my office." And Peter didn't even hesitate. He ran with Katia to Bentley's side where he made sure the poor boy was comfortable until he came to, and then he supported him while Bentley described what he had seen. Mostly darkness and a scared woman and a lot of crying. But the vision had taken it out of poor Bentley and scared him quite badly. Peter had stuck by his side all the way back to Bentley's room until Joel, once again fully dressed and sans cape, came to sit at the side of his best friend.
When Peter arrived home, he was exhausted and starving, but he had never spared a thought for these things while at the hospital. He was greeted by his daughter Lydia shrieking at his daughter Anna to 'stop copying her'. Peter dutifully broke up that fight and then immediately had to play first aid officer when his step-son Caleb ran into the living room, tripped, and his his head on the coffeetable. They had a quick chat about running in the house, and then Peter snuck upstairs to find his wife in the bedroom his four-year-old son shared with his three and a half-year-old nephew. "Hello, Aly."
"There you are," Aly said, but there wasn't a hint of impatience in her voice. Not to Peter. She rose and kissed him and then she said, "would you like to read their stories to them? I'll make you some dinner. By the way, Rasputina threw up in Lauren's mouth today and it fell on the kitchen floor and Caleb's dog ate it."
Peter closed his eyes for a moment and then he laughed, loud and long. Sometimes, Peter wondered if it would ever stop, and then he realised he didn't really want it to. Before Aly slipped away, he kissed her head and whispered, "Oh, it's good to be home."
"Read us Harry, Dad!" little Tommy demanded, and William nodded excitedly. Peter grinned and he grabbed the book, more than thrilled to be reading to them.
It was the favourite part of his day. Peter Kemp did amazing things. He led rescue missions and he fought warring factions of the Catholic Church. He rescued people from the clutches of madness and themselves. Sometimes he failed and sometimes he succeeded. He gave the people most of humanity overlooked a place to feel safe. But Peter still thought this was the most important thing he did. Coming home to his family, vomit and shrieking girls and bleeding sons and all. "Of course I will read to you. Come on, over here."
The boys both crawled on to Tommy's bed and Peter opened the book and he started to read, the young ones listening with rapt attention to his gentle, and calming voice.