MM Fic: I'll Follow the Sun (Don; Peggy/Don/Pete)
Title: I’ll Follow the Sun
Character/Pairing: Don; Peggy/Don/Pete
Rating: R
Word Count: 4,883
Spoilers: Major spoilers for “Sit Down. Shut the Door.”
Warnings: Sex. Hints at alcoholism. Threesome. Dark themes. Angst.
Disclaimer: Mad Men and its characters most emphatically do not belong to me. Title borrowed from The Beatles’s song.
Summary: He’s still Don Draper, he just doesn’t know what that means anymore.
A/N: In the beginning I intended for this to be a semi-happy Don/Pete/Peggy story, but that didn’t happen. It’s very much a Don story and happiness is not a factor. I just want to note the Daisy commercial is of course a real ad, and Goldwater ran against Johnson in the ’64 presidential race.
“I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.”
---Frank O’Hara, “Meditations in an Emergency”
It’s New Year’s Eve and the employees of the newly formed Sterling Cooper Draper & Pryce are crammed into their “office” raising their glasses to a fresh start.
It’s only been two weeks---two weeks since Don waltzed out of Sterling Cooper without locking the door, two weeks since he set up shop in a hotel room where he’s always bumping into his fellow refugees, always mumbling “I’m sorry”, two weeks since Betty got on a plane to Reno and he began the process of reinventing himself all over again.
He’s a master at rebranding, but it’s harder this time. There are no dog tags to steal, no dead man with a ready made life to step into. And even if there was, he wouldn’t be so eager to shed the remnants of his old life. He’s still Don Draper, he just doesn’t know what that means anymore.
He drinks too much at the party, but no one notices except Peggy. The rest of them are just as drunk as he is. They’re all hiding their doubts in the wine glasses they hold, in the jokes they tell too loudly. It’s all posturing nonsense to hide the fact that they’re all terrified. It’s a new beginning and none of them knows quite what to do with it yet.
As midnight approaches Don hears Roger’s voice rising above the din counting them down to the new year. He’s loud and joyous, ever the showman.
Don can barely stand; he lurches forward, the world tilting suddenly and it’s Peggy that catches him. Dependable Peggy, he thinks and maybe he says it because she’s smiling, her small hands wrapped around his waist in the parody of an embrace.
“I think you’ve had enough, Don,” she says.
He’s close enough to see the freckles on her nose, the worry in her eyes, her lipstick a pale red, slightly smudged.
“Happy New Year! God let us make it through this one with our asses in tact,” Roger shouts. And then everyone around Don is kissing someone and it only seems natural to close the gap.
Her lips are soft and she’s hesitant, shocked maybe, but he’s greedy and he holds the kiss too long, letting his tongue slip into her mouth. She pulls away first, but her hand lingers on his chest.
“I don’t think I have,” he murmurs.
Confused, she arches an eyebrow. Her face is flushed red with embarrassment.
“What?”
“Had enough.”
Don catches Pete watching them out of the corner of his eye and he winks. Pete looks away quickly and Don grins. He really is very drunk. He turns back to Peggy. There’s a tight smile on her lips that seems forced, practiced as if nothing has changed.
“Happy New Year,” she says.
It’s 1964. This is the moment it began.
***
Don Draper is accustomed to loneliness, but he’s never been any good at being alone.
He finds that he’s no longer suited to the bachelor’s life. He misses coming home to dinner on the table, a cold beer next to his plate, his children laughing and tugging at him, baby Gene wailing in the middle of the night, Betty asking how his day was---all of the things he never knew he wanted until he found himself in a furnished apartment eating frozen dinners and sleeping in a used bed.
He considers calling Suzanne; he lets himself imagine her curled against him in his bed, imagines her scrambling eggs in the tiny kitchen, telling him to have a good day, kissing him goodbye in the morning. He could have a life with her, she wanted one with him. But he doesn’t call. He watches The Ed Sullivan Show instead, chain smoking as he takes notes on the ads, jotting down ideas to share with the others until his eyes begin to sting from the smoke and the glare.
The day after the party Peggy shows up at his door with a covered plate in her hands.
“I thought you could use a good meal,” she says.
“Did you make this?”
Don asks the question too quickly to hide the surprise in his voice. Peggy shakes her head.
“My mother, she’s always sending me home with something. It’s ham. And deviled eggs. She’s really a very good cook…”
She’s clutching the plate, her knuckles turning white. Don opens the door wider.
“Come in. I wanted to run something by you anyway.”
“It’s getting late…”
He takes the plate with one hand and ushers her in with the other.
“I’ll pay for the cab.”
She nods and Don sets the plate down as she slips out of her coat. Her hands shake as he takes it from her. He can sympathize; he’s feeling a bit shaky himself. They both know there won’t be any work done tonight.
***
They don’t verbalize what they’re doing, they don’t put a name on it, there’s no discussion, no talk of consequences. If they look too closely at the thing it will fall apart in front of them and neither of them wants that.
She reaches for his tie, her fingers working uselessly at the knot. After a moment he brushes her hands away gently.
“Let me.”
He tugs and the tie comes undone; he tosses it to the floor and she smiles, hesitantly reaches for the top button of his shirt.
They shed the rest of their clothes quickly; Don grins as her dress slips to the floor. For a moment they stop, neither of them bold enough to touch the other. They stand there suddenly keenly aware that they are Peggy Olsen and Don Draper. They examine each other stripped down to their underwear and it’s almost too much. But then Don takes a step forward and slips a finger under her bra strap and flashes her a knowing smile.
“Platex,” he says.
She laughs, leans into his touch.
“Of course.”
Then it’s skin on skin, his lips blazing a path down her neck as he pushes her onto the couch, her nails digging into his back as he slips into her and then her breath hitching as she says his name, “Don,” her voice hoarse and thick, her lips against his ear.
A shiver runs down his spine. He knows without a doubt that nothing will ever be the same between them again. They’ll never be able go to back to what they were.
He thrusts into her roughly and she gasps, rolls her hips up to meet his making him groan.
He decides that he doesn’t care.
***
Afterwards they sit on opposite ends of the couch. He smokes; she toys with the fringe on the pillow cradled in her lap.
“You can’t treat me differently. I don’t want this to change anything between us. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. This has to be separate.”
She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, but he nods anyway.
“One thing doesn’t have to affect the other,” he says.
But he knows better now, everything bleeds into everything else eventually.
She turns to him and for once he can’t read her. She’s supposed to be an extension of him, he said that not so long ago, but here in this room, her hair mussed, a dark bruise in the shape of his fingers forming on her side, he has no idea what Peggy Olsen is thinking.
She reaches across and takes his cigarette from his hand and brings it to her lips. She takes a long draw and when she exhales her face is shrouded in smoke. She passes it back to him and nods sharply and suddenly she’s the same efficient woman who used to bring him coffee every morning.
“Okay then,” she says.
***
Nearly a month passes before they’re caught. They’re careless, it’s lunchtime and the others are all gone. Don wraps his arms around her waist, nuzzles his nose against the crook of her neck. They don’t hear the door open.
“I forgot my…”
They move apart too quickly, shuffling away from each other, heads down, twin expressions of guilt on their faces.
Pete looks first at one and then at the other. And he knows, of course he knows. Don feels his jaw clenching because it’s ruined now. Campbell will use this. He’ll find a way.
“My coat, I forgot my coat,” Pete laughs nervously and tosses his jacket over his arm. “You two don’t forget to…eat.”
Don nods curtly.
“You should get going Pete; you don’t want to keep a client waiting.”
His voice is sharp, his meaning clear: You did not see what you think you saw.
“Of course not, I’m off then.”
He exits quickly and Don thinks of a scolded dog scampering away from its master. Peggy sighs, folds her arms across her chest.
“What do you think he’s going to do?”
“Keep his mouth shut,” Don says.
“He won’t, not without something in return. He doesn’t like me very much.”
Don snorts. “He’s in love with you.”
Peggy turns away from him without saying a word.
***
He’s expecting the knock on his door. It comes later than he thought it would, it’s one in the morning. Pete must have required some extra liquid courage to work up the nerve to come to his apartment at this hour.
Don opens the door to find Campbell wobbling on his feet, his hair a mess, his eyes watery.
“Hello, Don,” he slurs.
“Pete,” Don replies.
“Can I…I want to come in.”
Pete raises himself up to his full height, but he still looks like an insolent child next to Don. Don thought his patience would hold out longer than this, but he’s not in the mood to be threatened. He has had quite enough of that lately. He grabs the front of Pete’s jacket and hauls him into the apartment. Pete is caught off guard and he stumbles, barely catching himself on the coat rack by the door.
“I saw you, the two of you.”
Don smirks, crosses the room and pours himself a glass of whiskey.
“You didn’t see anything, Pete.”
Pete forces a laugh. “You’re sleeping with her. Have you always been sleeping with her? She’s your pet, we all knew that, and some of the others suspected, but I… it all makes perfect sense now.”
Don tosses his neck back, draining the glass in one swallow. He moves over to the couch and sits, crossing his legs casually.
“You didn’t see anything,” his voice is low and even.
Pete stares, his mouth hanging open. He sits down heavily on the couch, his hands bawled into fists.
“Why her? Why did you choose her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Pete lets out a small laugh and it’s laced with bitterness.
“She’s quite good. In bed, I mean. I was her first you know.”
“I didn’t.”
“You didn’t have to choose her.”
Pete shifts closer so that he’s near enough for Don to smell the liquor on his breath.
“You’re drunk, Pete,” Don warns.
“Very,” Pete replies and then he’s kissing Don. His body, long and wiry, pressing Don’s back painfully against the arm of the couch, the stubble on his chin scratching along Don’s jaw line.
Don knew Pete would want something in exchange for his silence.
He just never imagined it would be this.
***
The next morning not one of them can meet the other’s eyes. Pete and Don pass files carefully so that their hands don’t brush together, Peggy turns her chair to the side so that she doesn’t have to face Pete; the secrets are folded one on top of the other and Don feels the weight of all of them pressing down on his chest.
Don knows that Peggy can sense something happened, but he avoids her when she tries to corner him in the bedroom.
Roger watches them, amusement in his eyes.
“Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” he asks Don.
Don shakes his head, makes an excuse to leave. He can feel them all watching as he exits the room. He walks to the nearest bar and orders a drink, his hands trembling as he takes the first sip.
He wonders if they’ll talk while he’s gone. The two of them, their heads bent together. He imagines Peggy’s expression when she finds out, her eyes going wide, brimming with tears.
He drains his glass, grimacing as the liquor burns his throat.
***
He doesn’t go back to work, instead he gets in his car and drives until the city fades behind him and the scenery outside his window changes from concrete to trees and tidy, white houses. He feels like a trespasser here, then again that’s nothing new.
He doesn’t stop until he’s at the school. He parks, gets out of the car and leans against the trunk, his eyes trained on the door.
Sally exits first and her face brightens the instant she sees her father and for the first time in a long time something makes sense.
“Daddy!”
She runs towards him, her shoes clicking against the pavement. She launches herself at his waist and he catches her, lifting her off of her feet into a hug.
***
They find the nanny and Don waves away her protests and takes the kids. They stop at a diner close to the children’s new home and Don buys them shakes that he knows will ruin their dinners. Bobby blows bubbles in his, babbling about the new bicycle Henry bought him. Don drinks his coffee black and tries to hold his tongue.
“How’s school?” he asks Sally. She shrugs, her hands working quickly to shred the napkin in front of her.
“It’s okay. I got an “A” on my last spelling test.”
Don smiles.
“Good girl.”
“When can we come and stay with you?” Sally asks.
Don thinks of his apartment and remembers Pete, his mouth sour from too much drink and Peggy laughing as she slowly undid the buttons on his dress shirt. He doesn’t want his children there, but Sally looks so hopeful he says the only thing he can.
“Soon. We’ll make it soon.”
***
Betty’s waiting for them on the front step, her arms crossed. Sally looks up at Don uncertainly. He takes her hand, gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Say goodbye to your father then go inside,” Betty says.
“Bye Daddy,” they say in unison. He bends down to hug them and Sally whispers in his ear.
“I can come soon, right?”
Don kisses her forehead. “I promise.”
After the children disappear inside, Betty unfolds her arms and arches an eyebrow.
“This is not how it’s done, Don. You can’t just take them whenever you want to.”
“I haven’t seen my children since Christmas, Betty.”
She shakes her head in disbelief.
“That’s not my fault. All you have to do is call. Is that so hard?”
Don doesn’t respond, instead he turns and walks away.
“If you do this again, I’ll call the police,” she calls after him.
He gets in the car and slams the door behind him.
***
Peggy’s waiting for him in the hallway when he gets home. He doesn’t say anything to her, just stands there as she wraps her arms around him.
“Let’s go inside,” she says firmly.
***
He tells her about his day, about the way Sally hugged him, how desperate she was to come for a visit, the way Bobby ran into the house without looking back, about Betty and how she still looked like his wife, but the house was bigger and the car in the driveway wasn’t his. He talks until his throat becomes sore and he has to get up to get a drink.
She listens, nodding occasionally, offering no advice until he’s finished.
“There’s going to be an adjustment period, Don. But you should try to see the kids more, you’re still their father.”
“I don’t want them to see me like this,” he confesses and immediately wishes he could take it back.
Peggy looks stricken.
“Like what, exactly?”
He shakes his head, his hand already reaching for the bottle. She takes it from him, and he fights the urge to snatch it back.
“What happened with Pete?”
“Nothing,” he says flatly.
In the dim light of his apartment he can just barely see the flicker of disbelief cross her face.
***
The second time Pete comes there’s no pretense. He shows up sober and they don’t speak. Don pushes him roughly against the door and kisses him hard, his teeth grazing Pete’s bottom lip drawing blood. Pete whimpers and Don doesn’t know if it’s a sound of pleasure or pain.
There is nothing soft or gentle about their touches, when their hips come together, it’s sharp and violent. Pete sinks his teeth into Don’s shoulder; Don squeezes Pete’s cock until he cries out. He’s not sure if they’re fighting or fucking.
Afterwards they dress in silence and Pete leaves as quickly as he came. Don strips the sheets from the bed and falls asleep on the couch with a glass of scotch in his hand.
***
Peggy finds out. Or maybe she always knew, Don isn’t quite sure.
But she tells him one night, it’s late and his head is resting on her stomach, her fingers playing with his hair. They were talking about a new account, trading pitches back and forth when she says it quickly and matter-of-factly.
“I know about Pete. You and Pete, I mean.”
Don is suddenly very aware of his heart beating. It’s the shoebox all over again.
“Peggy…”
He tries to think of a lie, but nothing comes. He’s not sure that’s ever happened before.
“It’s okay,” she says quickly. “I was with him too you know. Of course, you know. I just wanted it to be clear, I understand.”
He raises himself up, so that they’re face to face.
“Really? Because I don’t.”
She’s cups his cheek in her hand, her thumb rubbing gently across his lips.
“We’ll figure it out, Don.”
***
They work late one afternoon, all three of them, in the new office. Don expects it to be unbearable, all awkward pauses and uncomfortable silences, but it’s not, it’s easy.
They work, their heads bent over three sheets of art all designed to convince young women that Clearasil will change their lives.
“They should believe they can have it all, the confidence, the date to the prom, everything they ever wanted. And it’s not the product that gives it to them; the product’s just a means to an end. It gives them the clear skin so that the world can see them as they see themselves. It’s beautiful when you think about it. Clearasil: Welcome back.”
Don loves watching Peggy like this. He can almost see the words forming in her mind, the pitch falling into place, even when she’s off base the process that gets her there is a thing of beauty. She looks at him with a mixture of pride and expectation. He takes a deep breath and smiles apologetically. She sighs, bracing herself for the worst.
“That’s good, but you’re wrong. No teenage girl wants to be herself. She wants to be better, prettier, more charming, she wants to be her,” Don says as he taps the photo of a smiling, young woman all white teeth and blonde hair. “She wants to be the most popular girl in school, the one all of the boys dream about. We run this photo and at the bottom something simple and to the point. Maybe, Clearasil: We can get you here.”
Peggy considers his proposal. “I don’t know. I think you’re underestimating teenage girls.”
“Have you seen any teenage girls lately? They’ve all completely lost their minds. Throwing themselves at the stage every time one of those Beatles sneezes, there’s not exactly much to underestimate,” Pete chimes in.
Peggy rolls her eyes and Don laughs. “If I’m wrong you can gloat later.”
“It’s getting late, Don,” she says wearily. “Maybe we can wait until tomorrow to make a decision.”
Don shakes his head. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Okay, but I’m still tired.”
“I think we’re done here. Pete are you good?”
Pete nods, shifting nervously in his seat.
“Good. Then let’s go home.”
“All of us?” Pete asks his voice barely above a whisper.
Peggy freezes her hand on the door knob. Don glances at her and she nods ever so slightly.
His stomach clenches. He wants her to say no, to protest, to tell him he’s disgusting. Up until now he’s kept them separate. It was Peggy or Pete, never both. What he does with one is so different from what he does with the other.
He talks to Peggy and they’re intimate, yes, but it’s more than that, it’s something like a relationship he thinks, the closest he can come to having a relationship anyway.
He fucks Pete. It’s as simple as that.
He looks at Pete, his expression guarded.
“It’s just Trudy’s away visiting her mother again and I hate being there alone.”
Don swallows hard. He has to say yes.
“Get your coat.”
Pete grins and it only makes him look more childish than usual. Peggy reaches out and takes Don’s hand.
“It’s fine,” she says, but there’s a quaver to her voice that he finds reassuring.
She knows this is wrong too.
***
He can’t sleep afterwards. He disentangles himself from Pete and Peggy and sits in a chair facing the bed, the art for the Clearasil ad on his lap.
He looks at the girl, young and fresh, smiling up at him as if she doesn’t have a worry in the world and he grimaces. He used to be good at looking like that. When he looks at his reflection now all he sees is worry and guilt, failure etched in every line. He doesn’t look very often.
Peggy stirs and in the darkness he can see her reaching out towards the space where he should be. She sits up, carefully lifting Pete’s arm from her waist, and pads softly across the room to Don. She sets the ad on the floor beside his chair and settles herself on his lap, leans her head against his chest.
“I don’t want to make you a part of this,” he whispers.
“It’s too late for that, Don.”
He kisses her forehead, pulling her closer to him.
“No it’s not.”
She sighs and her breath tickles his neck.
“Come back to bed.”
***
He calls Betty the next morning. Her voice is thick with sleep and it’s so familiar it makes him ache. He asks to see the children and when he hears the pause on the other end of the line he imagines her smiling.
“Sure Don. They would love that.”
He leaves with Pete and Peggy still curled against one another in his bed.
***
Bobby’s quiet and Gene buries his head in his big sister’s shoulder every time Don touches him, but Sally talks enough for the both of her brothers.
“You’ve heard them right, Daddy? Mommy let me watch them on The Ed Sullivan Show but Henry complained so much we had to shut it off before they sang “I Wanna Hold Your Hand”. That one’s my favorite.”
Don smiles at his daughter and takes a sip of his coffee.
“Henry’s not a fan then?”
“He doesn’t like anything except for really old furniture,” Sally replies.
Don tries not to look too proud.
“Did your mother buy you the album?”
Sally shakes her head so fiercely her blonde curls go flying. “No. She said I had to wait for Christmas, but I think she’s hoping I’ll forget.”
Don laughs. “Not much chance of that happening.”
Sally smiles at her father and he’s struck by how much older she looks. The softness of her features already beginning to fade and he feels a pang of regret in his chest. He’s missing too much.
“I’m never going to stop loving The Beatles,” Sally says seriously.
Don takes another sip of his coffee to hide his grin.
***
He stays in the car when he lets the kids out, Henry’s hovering at the door but he can see Sally showing her mother the record and the pained expression it brings to Henry’s face.
He sees Betty waving as he drives away.
***
He comes back to the apartment and finds Pete and Peggy still there. The door to the bedroom is cracked open and he can just see their bodies moving together, hear their moans drifting from the room. He stops and listens for a moment, feeling like an intruder in his own home.
When Pete comes he gasps her name and there’s something about the way he says it, desperate, like he’s been waiting for years to say it, and Don’s never heard his voice so raw before. He hears Peggy’s breath hitch and he closes his eyes.
He shouldn’t be here.
He turns around and leaves before either of them has a chance to notice he was ever there.
***
He’s alone in his apartment one September evening drinking straight from a bottle of scotch, only half-watching the movie on the television when the ad appears.
A little girl standing in a field, pulling the petals from a daisy---she reminds Don of Sally when she was younger; when she was small he and Betty would take her to the park and let her run barefoot through the grass. He imagines Henry will take Gene there. He takes another drink.
Then the picture changes to a sudden close-up of the little girl’s face and a mushroom cloud appears behind her, an explosion and then a voice tells him to vote for Lyndon B. Johnson.
Don’s fingers are dialing Roger’s number before the announcer has a chance to finish speaking.
***
“What the hell are we paying you for?”
Don’s angry, pacing the office floor. Pete, Peggy, and Harry sit on the couch like three naughty children, their heads down.
“That should have been of us. We brought you three because you’re supposed to be ahead of the game.”
“It’s fear mongering,” Pete says cautiously. “We can do better than that.”
“It’s effective and it’s disturbing, it preys on our most primal fear, that our children might not have a future if we make the wrong choice. What I’m I supposed to say to Goldwater? Sorry, we’re too good to win the race for you.”
“Don…” Peggy starts, but he cuts her off.
“What use are any of you if you can’t give me anything new?”
Peggy shakes her head, her eyes never wavering from his.
“Maybe you’re not being clear about what is that you want from us.”
Don turns away from her, one foot already out of the door.
“Just get to work.”
***
They come over later that night, both of them looking sheepish and Don wants to turn them away, but he’s drunk (again) and then they’re pressing against him, Pete at his back, pulling the jacket from his shoulders, Peggy in front of him unbuckling his belt.
He lets them undress him and lead him to the bed.
He doesn’t know what else to do.
***
He watches them make the bed later. First they strip the old sheets, toss them carelessly to the floor and then Peggy pulls out the fresh ones from the bottom drawer. Pete helps her spread the clean sheets across the bed, each tucking in a corner. It’s a two man job, he thinks and then he laughs.
They exchange a glance before turning to smile at him uncertainly.
He stumbles forward and lands face first on their handiwork. He takes a deep breath and smells the newness on the sheets mixed with the tang of the liquor clinging to his skin.
He shivers and then Peggy’s behind him, her arm wrapped around his waist.
“It’s okay, Don. We’re right here.”
He wonders if she thought that would be comforting.
***
He writes the note on a plain piece of stationary, folds it over instead of bothering with an envelope. It’s short; he doesn’t make any declaration of love or regret. There’s no use in being flowery, these things always run their course.
***
He pulls up to Betty’s house ten minutes early. Sally’s already waiting on the front step. Her overnight bag pulled tight against her chest, her shoulders hunched against the cool, October breeze.
She runs to the car, hops into the front seat and presses a cold kiss to her father’s cheek.
“Where are your brothers?” Don asks.
“They’re sick,” Sally replies. “Bobby caught a cold. Mommy told him to wear his jacket.”
Don nods.
“It’ll just be me and you then. Where do you want to go?”
Sally shrugs. “I don’t care.”
She scoots over and rests her head on her father’s shoulder. Don pulls away from the drive and then drapes one arm around Sally.
“Alright then. I’ll just have to decide for the both of us.”
***
I told Roger to make you partner. You earned it, tell Pete I’m sorry. The apartment’s yours if you want it.
---Don