Hurting for a Heart to Heart
WHO: Kirklands Big and Small
WHEN: June the sixth, early evening
WHERE: John's Flat
WHAT: Say what you need to say. Peter needs to talk.
( Trying hard to speak, but the words they come out wrong... )
WHEN: June the sixth, early evening
WHERE: John's Flat
WHAT: Say what you need to say. Peter needs to talk.
( Trying hard to speak, but the words they come out wrong... )
Back on the road, Peter looked down at the scrap note with John's address. He looked up and nodded to himself at the matching street number. He pushed through the entrance gate, darted a greeting to a passing resident, and searched for the lift.
Third floor. D4.
He cleared his throat, leaning his weight on the wall. The angry and bitter part of him perched on his shoulder, hissing in his ear that it was a bad bad idea to come looking for John. For as long as John had been in town, Peter had made it his mission to deny the man's existence; the only one of the Kirklands whom he so avidly disliked. And for what reason? The man was a brother, and deserved to be treated as one.
An anxious knuckle met the wood. A sigh bellowed out Peter's lips. There was no backing down now.
Knock knock knock. Peter's here.
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"Jesus fuckin' Ch- Be right with ya, mate!"
God, but he was jumpy. Undeniably as skittish as a spooked horse, shaking as badly as if he had just shuffled in from a blizzard when he shoved his hands under cold water and hissed through clenched teeth at the pain. He cast about for a towel quickly, swiped it over his palms as he found it, over the counter, the sink ledge, before an absentminded fling sent it tumbling into a tiny hamper by the fridge and John could, in good conscience, stop forcing his guest to wait in the hall.
His hand throbbed awfully, raw and too hot against the cool of burnished bronze as he opened his home to Peter with a friendly grin, a well placed foot shooing at the kiwi waving its beak just past barely within range of Peter's footwear. "Just in time, eh! Coffee's on. Y'like cream, sugar or black?"
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"Cream and sugar," Peter answered half-mindedly, his eyes still fixated on the exotic choice of a pet.
He let himself in and surveyed John's abode. It seemed normal - except for the curious bird - but normal enough that Peter allowed his legs to step and his bum to plant itself on the couch.
"Thanks for seeing me," he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable with the intimacy and familiarity. "I appreciate it. I'll only be a moment, won't keep you. You are a busy man, I gather." Or at least, what Dewi had bothered to tell him. He shifted on the couch, waiting for his coffee and the cue to state his reason for visit.
"Lovely place, really. Feels... home-y."
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Busy?
John chuckled heartily, making an absent minded wave at seemingly nothing as he drifted back into the kitchen for a pair of mugs and caffeinated comfort. "Ch, y'get used to multi-tasking enough and there's always time for some good yakka. Especially with a rellie." Called out while he poured, idly observing the pain of his burn with the flexing of his hand. Predisposed to ridiculous misfortune, the lot of them. A burn, a nigh on broken ankle.
He glanced toward the icebox speculatively before sense dictated that if Peter had the Kirkland luck, he most definitely had the Kirkland Pride.
His fingers gripped both ceramic handles hard. "Glad y'like the place. It's usually filled with a lotta rubbish, but-" John stilled the shake in his arm as he placed one drink on a coaster in front of Peter, set the other on the glass when Penny's rummaging under the couch caught his ear then he stooped down to fish her out. A couple of affectionate scratches under her beak appeared to calm her and John set her on his lap as he sat in the recliner adjacent to the couch.
Best not to have two frightened creatures under the same roof. "So what is it y'wanted to chat about?"
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How should he even begin? The two of them had not been on good terms since they uncovered each other's existence. Peter, particularly, had tried his darnest to pretend the New Zealander was only an ill-tasted rumor. But alas, there was reason why it was called wishful thinking.
So here he was again, having to be the family mediator. He narrowed his eyes at the wild bird on John's lap. Its beaded eyes staring back at him. He glanced away and shifted his attention to the man of the hour.
"You are my brother... aye," he choked. "So I thought... maybe... we should get to know one another better. Find out a bit more about each other, you know. So we won't be... uh... strangers... Aye. Yes, ahem, yes, that's what Peter wanted to come here for."
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His palm smoothed over short, bristling feathers. His smile had never entirely left him, but here it turned shy of polite, closer to genuine happiness that a sibling who had shown nothing but absolute disinterest before was now- albeit, grudgingly- attempting to make amends. For nothing, really, because as cool as Peter might have been, John had always accepted the boy as family. "What do you want to know? What do you want me to know?"
The kiwi evaded his caresses after a while, hopped along his leg, perched on his knee and settled there. "Don't really have anything to hide. Never really do, honestly."
John groped for his coffee absently, taking a gulp as he offered, "You'll be married soon, I heard. When'd y'meet the lucky bloke?"
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He loitered his attention on his reflection off the telly screen. His hand flied up to adjust his wayward bangs. He pondered exactly what he should ask about John. Or to be more precise, what exactly did he care to know. He supposed he could go with the most basic question.
"What is it that you do for a living then? I am not sure I know for sure. Aren't you some sort of... filmmaker, you know...?"
Well, that was a horrible question to begin with. His face instantly lit up when John asked about his wedding.
"My fiance?" he softened and maybe put on a smile. "We met in boarding school, you know. Raivis hardly spoke a word of English, but I couldn't stop myself from being attracted to him. N-not that he knew that, of course...! He was so shy... and whenever I tried to be close with him, he would..." His cheeks flushed. Not even Beth knew this kind of thing. "But, yes, that was when we met..."
He glanced up to John and asked, "And you? Do you have someone in yer life?"
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If a glance up revealed a sound mic dangling from a dolly, there would be no shock. John would merely settle back, as he did now, and consider the next piece of dialog. Heartfelt, sincere. "Ahh, so a long lastin' romance with your sweetheart. Good on ya, Peter! Sounds like y'had to do some hard yakka, but y'stuck with him until it worked. Mark of a real fine bloke." His shifting legs brought the kiwi hopping down to the floor again, where an idle peck at John's shoe was the last they saw of her before she vanished, noisily, beneath the furniture.
He sympathized. Partially wanted to crawl in and join her the instant he was reminded of a stupid, cocksure grin. "That's... a bit more complicated. You meet all sorts when you work in film but it's none of them, actually. Gotta mate who's a bit o' alright- and two sammies short of a picnic... Least when it comes to people. Seems it might just be one-sided on my part, unfortunately."
John chuckled lightly. "That'll be Logan, by the way. Aussie joker who lives with your Raivis."
A heel tapped against the floor a few times. "Met in Australia- showed up back here just last year. Sort of the strange thing about this town. Never thought I'd see him again but there he is, the bastard, as daft and as carefree as ever...still has a mean right hook, too. And that stupid, funny smi- Heh, nah, no more of that. Plannin' on keeping with your robotics after y' tie the knot?"
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His young attention was stolen by the kiwi as it fled from the living room. He bobbed his head back to John and nodded again, even though he wasn't sure if the Kiwi had said anything. Fingers scratched his scalp. They stopped when John's words registered in his head.
"Logan? That Aussie bloke!?" Then he had to think about what 'two sammies short of a picnic' meant before his face contorted in a series of expression. There was a dash of shock, a stroke of disbelief, a brush of glee, and finally he settled down on a sigh. And laughed.
"You blooming eejit! Don't change the topic! Tell me about him, mate. What's it about him that attracts you?" He leaned off his chair, curious and more attentive than before. When he noticed the hesitation on John's face, he continued. "For me, I like Raivis because even if he looks like he is a wee lad who can't do anything on his own, inside, he is really strong, you know! Stronger than I am, even... and that is saying a lot because, well, I am pretty solid m'self. And when he smiles, there is a twinkle in his eyes that just melt me, you know!"
He grinned and teased, "Same for ye, aye?"
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One surprise after another. Throw in an explosion, a few curvaceous Sheilah, and Hollywood could only vaguely do one better.
"Yeah nah, I suppose you're right." Two Kirklands grinning like fools, chinwagging about sweethearts. His toothy maw split wide, threatening to slice his face clear in two. Enthusiasm was an infection he'd gladly inherit. "He's a real hard case- funny man, I guess you'd say- loves a good beer and that laugh of his, why, I think that's what gets me every time. S'the sort of belly shakin' thing that y'can't help but want to join in on. Never mind the drongo can hold his own in a blue. N'that jaw..."
John sighed, shamefully wistful as he continued with a bittersweet, "Daft bugger has a heart of gold. Can beat y'senseless, but he's just a great big kitten on the inside." He pointed absently to the digital clock above the telly, "Have a date with destiny this evening, in fact. Course, for Mortlock, it's more of a- what is it- a 'hang out'? Figured I'd at least give it a go at getting it through to him. Probably won't happen, though. More's the pity..."
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The link, perhaps, came from their two hearts aching for love. In that sense, he was more fortunate than his older brother. At least, he knew Raivis loved him (and he would die believing that, thank you, good sir). A mischievous grin touched that boyish face. Peter slapped his hands on his thighs. He was about to say something but a skittish little kiwi cry shut his mouth.
"If you have a date, then I should be on m'way," Peter said, that grin never once leaving his face. "It's Papa's birthday, after all. I should spend m'time with him, you know!"
He pushed himself up, gritting at the injured ankle. He picked up the mug and chugged down the precious dark life force. Licking his lips, he said, "Good luck with that Aussie bloke, if he has half a mind, he would know how you feel."
With a heart-full chuckle, cheeks flushing with excitement, Peter maneuvered his way to the door.
((ooc: Sorry for the ruuuush. Need to get to class. OTL))
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It was perhaps his last offering of peace, the gentle, affectionate ruffling of short blonde hair and the light knock of a fist against a thin arm. "You're a good man, Peter and if it's worth anything- I'm proud of ya." A tap at the space between large brows before the Kiwi withdrew completely. "Give your Papa a Happy Birthday from me, eh."
I'm proud of ya.
Proud.
The sincerity and happiness in that statement resounded loudly, superseding the sharp click of the locking mechanisms following the closure of John's flat and the opening of opportunity for them both.
A door that would always, regardless of circumstance, remain unlocked.
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