blame it on all you've been through; [CLOSED-COMPLETE]
WHO: Peter Petrelli and Susan Pevensie
WHAT: Peter makes it all better.
WHERE: At Peter's house
WHEN: Today, late afternoon- after the clinic log.
Susan slipped into the house without a word, as quietly as she possibly could. She didn't call out her customary hellos to Peter who was probably working upstairs. Nor did she pop in with a wave or a mug of coffee or something of that sort. Instead, she slipped wordlessly down the hall, into her room and closed the door shut behind her.
Throwing her shoes and socks off she climbed into bed, curled up into a ball, and threw the covers over her head. It was a normal tactic she used when she was upset- her siblings couldn't see her and if they did, they'd just assume that she was sleeping. The heat was almost suffocating but she didn't mind- the feeling of security was enough to make up for that.
Was it silly to think that nothing could ever touch her now that she was under a blanket?
She cried, at last. In her own room, under a blanket where nobody could see. All those years as an adult had taught her to shut it up, but now she cried as she did when she was a child. Her face would be blotchy, her eyes red and puffy she knew, but it felt so incredibly good to cry right now.
The wetness on her pillow grew as she lay face-down, muffling sobs quite effectively. Because she wouldn't tell- and no one would ever know. It was better this way.
WHAT: Peter makes it all better.
WHERE: At Peter's house
WHEN: Today, late afternoon- after the clinic log.
Susan slipped into the house without a word, as quietly as she possibly could. She didn't call out her customary hellos to Peter who was probably working upstairs. Nor did she pop in with a wave or a mug of coffee or something of that sort. Instead, she slipped wordlessly down the hall, into her room and closed the door shut behind her.
Throwing her shoes and socks off she climbed into bed, curled up into a ball, and threw the covers over her head. It was a normal tactic she used when she was upset- her siblings couldn't see her and if they did, they'd just assume that she was sleeping. The heat was almost suffocating but she didn't mind- the feeling of security was enough to make up for that.
Was it silly to think that nothing could ever touch her now that she was under a blanket?
She cried, at last. In her own room, under a blanket where nobody could see. All those years as an adult had taught her to shut it up, but now she cried as she did when she was a child. Her face would be blotchy, her eyes red and puffy she knew, but it felt so incredibly good to cry right now.
The wetness on her pillow grew as she lay face-down, muffling sobs quite effectively. Because she wouldn't tell- and no one would ever know. It was better this way.