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In a way this would be easier if he had any way to keep track of time

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Peter looks at the blades. And then at Elle.

"My hair?"

It's good to be clear about these things.

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Peter of a few months ago would have been deeply offended, as he was whenever various family members suggested that he make an attempt to look like a real adult.

Peter of the present shrugs, and mumbles, "Go ahead."

It'll make counting the crack in the ceiling a little easier.

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A lot of people compare interacting with Peter to training a dog. He'd be offended if he was paying much attention.

"How come?" he says, as he settles into the chair. "How come you're supposed to cut it, I mean."

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Peter should probably be nervous about Elle wielding sharp blades near his face, but instead the combing's kind of soothing.

"Where'd you learn how to cut hair?"

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Peter starts to glance at her, remembers just in time that there are sharp things near his face, and holds still.

Instead of answering, he reaches sideways for the plastic cup, and pulls it toward him. Something rattles; pills.

"So I just take these pills every day?"

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He tries to turn his head to follow her, and half-succeeds.

"Like that guy who was standing in the corner of Bob's office."

It seems too easy. Where were these pills a week ago? Where was that guy?

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She's crazy. But he already knew that.

A few moments pass before he takes the cup, still. It's a little late for second thoughts, but --

He gets as far as first and a half thoughts, and the memory of Nathan's charred face interrupts, and he tosses all five pills back.

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Peter's yelp echoes off the concrete. "Ow!"

"That hurts," he says, once his breath comes back, more out of habit than any real hope that she cares.