Fic: It Wasn't April Fools

[vegawriters]

Title: It Wasn’t April Fools
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: Murphy Brown
Series: Come Rain, Come Shine
Pairing: Murphy Brown/Peter Hunt
Rating: Mature.
Timeframe: Between seasons 6 and 7. Sometime around … August.
A/N: Don’t blame me, blame Frank. This moment is mentioned in Rumble in the Alley (season 7) and really should have been addressed more.
Disclaimer: Diane! Hey, Diane! I have some questions for you. If I promise you that I make no money from this, only joy and friends, will you answer them for me? Thanks!

Summary: She emerged from the bedroom to see four men - clearly secret service agents - throwing her boyfriend up against the wall. Peter winced in pain. Avery screamed again, which did nothing to soothe the emotions in the room.



It was nap time for everyone. Well, specifically for one precocious little boy who loved his new bedroom set at Peter’s new apartment. He’d raced around the apartment, convinced them to let him play in the pool, and finally passed out on his big boy bed like he hadn’t slept in weeks. Spending an hour out among humans who were all watching their kids spend a Saturday in the pool had been a new and heady experience for Murphy, and she couldn’t say she hated it.

But now, she and Peter, were stretched out on his deep leather couch, dozing in the comfort of post-coital snuggles. Ten minutes earlier, she’d been gasping his name, trying to keep quiet while he made a meal of her. Now, he pressed against her back, stroking her stomach, while Murphy fought sleep.

It had been a surprise when he showed up on Monday night, three weeks earlier than she expected, not that she or Avery had complained. Avery had climbed on Peter like he was a jungle gym, babbling all his favorite new words and showing off that he could say Peter rather than Petwer. “I kinda miss Petwer,” he’d teased later.

But the real surprise came after Avery went down after dinner and they curled up on the couch.

“I’ve been offered a news magazine show and I’m going to take it.”

She’d pulled back from his arms, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. He’d been such a pill on FYI and now this? “What?” She’d demanded. “What happened to being tied to a desk and hating it? Or feeling bad because the other road dogs were getting all the good stuff?”

“Don’t … don’t get mad,” he started. God. How did he know her so well already? “But I can’t keep doing this. Not at this pace, anyway. Especially not after the broken leg. Honestly, I’m kind of tired of breaking bones.”

Okay, he had a point. And she knew the leg was still bothering him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

He took her hand and she had to fight back the instinctive flush in her body when he did. She loved it when he touched her. “I’ll still be on the road, of course,” he continued. “International is still my beat. Every single meeting I have with the brass, I have to remind them the news is where things blow up, you know. But actually having a home base? Being able to be near you and Avery? Murphy, now that I’ve tasted it, I want that. I’d rather only be gone for two weeks at a time than five months.”

She didn’t know what to say. “You hated being on FYI …”

“Honestly, part of it was because I was so infatuated with you, I couldn’t focus. Now, I’ve got you.” He grinned. “My priorities have shifted.”

That made her laugh. “Oh?”

“Yeah, I’ve already seen you naked. I don’t need to chase that.”

She hit him with a throw pillow. He pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t do this if you don’t want to, Peter.” Gently, she stroked her fingers down his cheek. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re feeling trapped in six months.”

“I promise, if I’m feeling trapped, not only will we talk about it, but I’ll go on a three month tour somewhere.”

“Fair.” She sighed and leaned in to kiss him.

“I have another surprise,” he grinned.

“Dear god, what?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I … uh … found a new apartment.” His gaze was sheepish and her stomach rolled, just a bit.

“You mean one larger than that matchbox studio that I barely fit in to?” She grinned, trying to keep calm. She could tell where this was going and she wanted to kiss him and hit him and run away all at the same time.

“A two bedroom one in a decent building. There’s a pool, and I have space for Avery too.”

Yup. She pulled off his lap and paced over to the fireplace, trying to calm her heart. No one, ever, had been like this. Not even Jerry, who had offered to leave FYI for her, had been this kind of dedicated. It was terrifying. What happened when she couldn’t let him walk away? Everyone always did.

“Peter …”

He was behind her, his hands on her hips, and she turned in his arms, pressing her palms to his chest. “Thank you,” she sniffed, unmitigated fear and joy washing over her. “I really don’t know what to say.”

“If it helps, I’ve been thinking about the new apartment for a while. You go out of town when I’m here, and Eldin deserves a break from time to time. I like the little guy and he seems to like me.”

Murphy met his eyes, “You scare the hell out of me, you know.”

He only wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up against him. “You too,” he said, before kissing her, deeply.

Today, she stretched out on his couch, reveling in the feel of his fingers against her, half paying attention to the movie on TV and half wondering if his computer desk could handle the stack of unpacked boxes piled on it. A reporter’s life was not a minimalist one. The apartment was lovely, Avery adored it, and she was just … content.

Well, until the calm was shattered by the front door literally vibrating as someone beat on it. She had a heart attack, Peter grabbed his back as he sat up, and from the bedroom, Avery started to cry.

“What the hell?!” Peter muttered.

Murphy was off the couch, buttoning her shirt again while Peter scrambled for his clothes. She darted into the bedroom and pulled her sleepy, confused baby into her arms. “It’s okay,” she murmured, hoping this was just a mistake. Dumb kids with the wrong apartment. They were going to get beaten to a pulp.

She emerged from the bedroom to see four men - clearly secret service agents - throwing her boyfriend up against the wall. Peter winced in pain. Avery screamed again, which did nothing to soothe the emotions in the room.

“What the hell is this?” She sucked in a breath, her eyes meeting Peter’s. They’d both been harassed by enough guards - White House or otherwise - to know when to push and when to hold still. Peter, who was being pinned by two men large enough to play for the NFL, held perfectly still.

“Murphy,” Peter grunted, “maybe you should get Avery out of here …”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” she charged. She’d hoped it would wait until he was in broadcasting school at Columbia, but her son could learn now that no one was safe from overreaching government behavior. “And if these guys don’t unhand you right now,” she stared into the eyes of the man she presumed was the lead agent, “I’m calling my lawyer.” Hers, specifically. Not the network. They didn’t unhand him. Murphy didn’t break eye contact, but she walked to the phone and dialed Robert’s cell phone. “Don’t say a word, Peter,” her eyes flashed. “You,” she said to the lead agent, as she dialed the number, “ what is your name and what the hell is this about?”

“Agent Rossiter, Ma’am.” The bulky lead agent who wasn’t pinning Peter to the wall responded. “We had a tip called in. This man, Peter Hunt, was heard to be threatening the president.”

She met Peter’s eyes, his widened. God. This could get ugly really quick. This wasn’t her getting thrown out of a press conference or banned from Air Force One because she overstepped her bounds. This was a tip called in. To disprove it could take forever. And the target on their back as reporters only made this even more of a big deal. Who the hell would do this?

“Don’t say a word, honey,” she said, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hey, Rob,” she said when put through by her lawyer’s secretary, “I’ve got a situation I need your help with.”

“What did you do now?” She could hear him rolling his eyes.

“For once, it isn’t me.” She sighed. “Look, someone’s called in a false tip to the secret service against my boyfriend and we need some muscle in the room.”

“You’re not kidding me here?”

“I’m in a TV movie right now, Robert. I have my son in my arms and there are four secret service agents the size of linebackers in Peter’s living room, three of whom have him pinned rather roughly against the wall.” She stared each of them down.

“All right. Where are you? I’ll get my things together and get there. Don’t let Peter say anything before I show up. I’ll call back once I’m about ten minutes out.” She gave the address and disconnected the line.

“Let him go,” she ordered. They stared at her. She stared back. “He isn’t doing any damage to you or the president here in the living room. Let him go.”

The shock was wearing off and Avery started to cry again. Peter shook his head at her. “Murphy, please … get him out of here.” Peter’s voice was near pleading. She didn’t care.

“I’m not leaving you alone. It’ll be okay.” She stroked her son’s hair, trying to soothe him. Peter was right to want Avery in another room, but she knew the minute she left him alone, anything could happen and there wouldn’t be a witness. These weren’t the pleasant, face-the-nation secret service agents people thought about. This was the muscle. These guys were the for-real-track down threats guys. They knew he’d moved only a week ago. “Let him go, guys. Or do you really want to have one of the most powerful lawyers in DC see you pinning down an innocent man. A journalist, at that.” She was trying to cover the panic, but this was serious. People disappeared for this. Additionally, they’d ruined her afternoon and she was annoyed.

The gauntlet thrown, the men released Peter from the wall, but threw him onto the couch. Again, Peter winced. “Stay,” they barked, clearly pissed now that they couldn’t drag an innocent citizen into nothingness. Now they had to wait for a damn lawyer. Murphy hoped Robert was stuck in traffic. Avery wailed and wiggled down, racing for Peter. One of the agents moved to try and stop him, but Peter reached down and scooped him up.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, cuddling Avery close to him. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t lost on her how both of them calmed down once they were together. She filed that away for later use, but right now she was just focused on dealing with the crisis in the moment. Murphy needed to find someone to take Avery, but she also didn’t want to leave Peter alone for a second. Eldin was up in Atlantic City with his girlfriend, and Jim and Doris were out of town as well. Fuck. Frank, maybe? Frank. But she couldn’t leave the room to call, so it would have to wait.

The phone rang. Robert.

“No,” she said, trying to breathe, “I have no idea where this is coming from.” She wanted to say more, remind Robert that Peter didn’t report on domestic politics save for how they impacted the countries he was reporting in. But the fact was, there were a lot of people who didn’t like that he didn’t hold back. This call could have come from anyone and anything she revealed now they could use against him.

“What’s the situation?”

“Well, right now, we are just hanging out awkwardly. I’m not letting Peter say anything.”

“I’m ten minutes out.”

It was the longest ten minutes of her life. Finally, Robert came through the door and Murphy grabbed Avery to get him out of the way. He started to scream when he was separated from Peter. “What’s going on here?” the lawyer demanded of the lead agent.

“We had a tip that Mr. Hunt was overheard threatening the president. We are here to investigate.”

“Does that investigation involve throwing the man up against the wall and scaring his three-year-old son?” Okay, so Avery’s meltdown was a good thing right now. Murphy didn’t bother correcting Robert about whose son Avery really was. Biology was mattering less and less these days.

“We take all threats against the president very seriously, and given Mr. Hunt’s reporting history and his involvement with Ms. Brown,” her name was all but spat out, “we felt it was quite credible.”

“Who called in the tip?”

“Anonymous.” The agent clipped in a way that Murphy knew he was lying, but was protecting the person. “Look, we respect that you are his representation, but we need to get going.”

“Peter didn’t …” Murphy tried to interject.

Robert held up a hand. “All right, let’s go.” He looked at Murphy, who was near panic.

“I need to get someone to watch Avery.” She stared at Robert, silently begging him to not let them take Peter until she had a sitter. But that was too much to ask. “I’ll follow you down,” she sighed. “I’ll call Frank from the car.” She just didn’t want to let Peter out of her sight.

In the car, before she called Frank, she called Tommy at CPJ and left a message, filling him in. And then, finally, she called Frank, who answered on the third ring. “Frank, I need you to watch Avery.”

“What’s up?” He snorted. “You and Peter need alone time?”

“The secret service just arrested him for making a threat against the President.” Silence on the other end. Too much silence. Silence that told her something she didn’t like. “Frank?” Silence. “FRANK?!”

“Um … Murphy?”

“FRANK!?” She slammed on her brakes before skidding over into a parking lot. “Don’t tell me what I suspect you are about to tell me unless your next move is to hang up the phone and call off the dogs that just slammed Peter against the wall and made Avery cry.”

Silence. Oh, she was furious. Avery was crying again.

“Look! I didn’t think you’d be there when they showed up! I thought they’d just ask a couple of questions!”

“Ask questions?! Do you pay attention to anything? They arrested him, Frank. If I hadn’t been there, they’d have dragged him out the door and I wouldn’t have heard from him again! You know how this works! They’d have thrown him in federal prison until they had “proof.” If you aren’t in your car and on your way to meet us in the next two minutes, I’m calling your father and telling him you never loved your mother.”

“Murphy.”

“Don’t push me. That’s just the beginning.” In almost twenty years of friendship, she’d never been truly angry at this man, and he’d pushed her over the years.

“I’m going. I’m going.”

“Now, Frank.” Murphy hung up and tried to catch her breath. Avery was still in shock back in the back seat. “Hey, honey,” she looked into his eyes through the mirror. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He was pale and scared and she could only sigh. “Me too, kiddo,” she murmured. “Me too.”

The holding area was, in fact, a place she was all too familiar with. She pulled in next to Robert’s BMW and gathered Avery. She knew at this point she was just window dressing. They’d have Peter back in a room and she could just hope he’d keep his mouth shut and listen to Robert. God, she was going to kill Frank.

Thirty minutes and two desperate cravings for a cigarette later, Frank’s corvette pulled in. He hoped out, his hands in front of him, and the only thing that kept her from killing him was her son in her arms.

“Unca Frank!” Avery screamed. But it wasn’t a cry of joy. He was scared. So was Murphy.

“Get in there, right now,” she stared at him. “Now.”

Frank obeyed and Murphy leaned against the car, trying to entertain Avery, who was still upset.

It took an hour, but Peter emerged, walking next to Robert. Frank slunk behind, looking thoroughly whipped and chastised. She didn’t care. Peter stared at her, grabbed her close, and kissed the hell out of her before scooping Avery up. He’d started to cry again out of fear and anxiety and exhaustion and Peter tried to soothe him.. Murphy turned to Robert. “Thank you,” she said.

“It’s good you called Frank on that lark,” Robert said. “This might have gone on a lot longer. Go home and get some rest. It’s done.” He raised an eyebrow at Frank. “For both of them.”

Peter took over getting Avery into his booster seat in the car. Frank hung back. “Look, Murph.”

“Not now,” she glared at him. “I will see you on Monday. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“It was supposed to be a joke …” Frank sighed. “I didn’t … look. I’m sorry.”

“Monday, Frank.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket. “We’re done right now.”

She slid into the seat next to Peter and took a breath, putting her hand on his knee. “Peter?”

“Just drive,” he ordered. But his hand covered hers and he squeezed.

She kicked the car into gear and peeled out of the lot, barely avoiding Frank. Again, she didn’t care. He’d tried to get Peter arrested.

They made the drive in silence. Exhaustion had worn Avery out and he slept the whole way back to Peter’s place. Peter was zoned out, and Murphy understood the need for him to process. It wasn’t until he’d eased Avery into his bed and collapsed on the couch that he really came back to her. Murphy brought him a beer and sat on the coffee table, touching her knees against his.

“Peter?” She tried again.

“I get he’s your best friend, Murphy, but …”

“I’m going to wring his neck myself, okay?”

Peter nodded and took a long swig of the beer. “I … I just … God. I’ve had guns pointed at my head and not been as scared as I was this afternoon.”

“Well, you understand the dangers of the US prison system when it comes to journalists.”

He groaned and leaned forward, running his fingers through his hair. “I thought that was it, Murphy. I envisioned myself in prison orange and no one knowing where I was.”

“Hey,” she reached out, putting her hand on his knee, “I’m pretty tough, you know. I’d have found you.” Did that convey her fear well enough? She wasn’t sure. He just looked at her, the same look in his eyes as the night he’d come to the townhouse and asked, very simply, and so gently, “Where do we go from here?” Six months later, she couldn’t just shake him away and pretend it didn’t matter. “Peter, I was scared to death. I was envisioning myself hunting through the prisons and not being able to find you. I’m not kidding when I tell you that I’m going to wring Frank’s neck.”

“Just don’t do anything that will land you in prison, okay?”

They shared a nervous chuckle before Peter reached out and grabbed her, pulling her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him between her legs, desperate to make sure he was still here and whole. His hands ran up her back and she could feel him adjusting under her, seeking connection in the way they were so good at connecting. But he nudged her off his lap and stood up.

“Hold on,” he whispered. He took the beer bottle back to the kitchen and grabbed a drink of water. She stared at him, shook completely to her core at the gesture. He always grabbed a drink of water before kissing her when he’d had a drink, but that was over dinner, or if they were dancing. It wasn’t necessary, but she always appreciated his efforts to help her in her sobriety. Just a few years ago, a day like today would have involved at least half a bottle of scotch and most likely a drunken call back to the President. What, exactly, would it take to send her over the edge again? It wasn’t like she hadn’t really needed a drink all afternoon.

But her thoughts couldn’t get too involved. He stalked back to her, a cat after prey, grabbed her hand, and dragged her into the bedroom.

It wasn’t meant to be a sweet, tender moment between lovers. He needed to claim her, to come down off the adrenaline. She needed to feel him inside of her, thrusting, and she gave as good as he did, pushing and pulling, biting and leaving claw marks down his already sore back.

She came after he did, his fingers circling her clit while his mouth worked her breast. She was sore and gasping and it was exactly what they both needed.

“Shit …” he moaned as he pulled out and reached for one of his discarded shirts to slide under her. “I’m sorry, Murphy. I just …”

“It’s fine.” She groaned. “You’ll notice I didn’t complain.”

“Yeah, well. You deserve better.”

Murphy looked into his eyes and ran her hand down his bicep. “I was right there with you,” she reiterated. He bent close, tears in his eyes, and pulled her up so she was lying on top of him.

“You … are an amazing woman, Murphy Brown.”

Her heart caught, knowing exactly what he meant.

“You too, Peter Hunt,” she murmured.

That said it all, right?

***

She woke to an empty bed. The green lights on the side table told her it was just about midnight, but there were voices in the living room. With a sore groan, Murphy pulled herself from the sheets, ducked into the bathroom, and tugged Peter’s robe around her body, searching for her lover, expecting to find him half-drunk, passed out on the couch.

In the living room, Peter was sitting on the floor, Avery on his lap. It made sense. Avery had been in bed long before his usual bedtime and at some point, he’d have woken up. She was just amazed she’d slept through it, but it was possible Peter had just been awake.

She stayed in the bedroom doorway, looking at her boys. They were surprisingly alike, really. The same curiosity about the world, the same ability to play, hell, the same jaw line. Today at the pool, everyone had just assumed Peter was Avery’s father and, like when Robert had said Avery was Peter’s son, she hadn’t corrected them. Why should she?

This was what she dreamed about for her son - a man in his life who played with him and loved him and shaped him. A man who didn’t think twice about changing sticky clothes or giving in and letting him have french fries with dinner. A man who wanted to be here. It terrified her, but Peter wanted to be here. The apartment alone told her so.

The reporter part of her wanted to parse the issue, wanted to dissect it, wanted to turn the logic on its head and then remind her heart that this was destined to crash and burn. The part of her that dreamed of happy endings could only see Avery and Peter two years from now, ten years from now, still locked in the tangle of father and son that Jake didn’t want and never could truly have.

“Hey look,” Peter’s voice changed from the book he’d been reading to Avery. “There’s your mom.”

Avery grinned and climbed off Peter’s lap. He held up his arms and Murphy obliged, happily. “What are you two doing up?”

Peter chuckled. “Neither of us could sleep.”

She moved back to the couch and sat down. “Well, reading is a good way to pass the time,” she said to Avery. Peter leaned his head against her knee. “You okay?” She whispered down to Peter.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “Just a reminder, I guess, that life is pretty dangerous here too.”

Murphy chuckled. “Yeah, well. True.” She scooted over so Peter could come up to the couch. She didn’t miss the grunt or how he gritted his teeth, so a backrub was definitely in order later and on Monday, she would kill Frank. But right now, they were all happy to return to the book Peter had been reading to Avery. Murphy sighed and curled up against Peter and let his voice carry her and Avery away.