[open, multiple threads wanted] offer up a song i was made to play

[lovethissuit]

[As a note, this is all happening before this thread, which only promises to be horrible.]

Soon as it's light enough to see, Peter heads out, wrapped up nice and warm. After rummaging through the smithy a bit, he'd managed to find a good axe - slightly rusty, but still usable - so he heads over to one of the cabins damaged beyond repair (or at

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[itchafes]

Neal isn't asleep. He hears Peter leave and follows, cat-quiet and at a distance - but not so far away that he doesn't hear every word the man says. He stays hidden just around the corner of the nearest cabin, his back against it, looking up at a sky full of unfamiliar stars while he listens to his partner talk to a picture of his wife and Neal's own friend - all the worries he won't unload on Neal himself.

He can't think of anything to say to make it better. There's really no way that he can. Instead he straightens, clears his throat, and calls out in a voice that makes it sound like he's looking for someone - "Peter?"

[lovethissuit]

Inhaling sharply - not a sniffle, all right, not by a long shot, and besides it's winter, a guy's allowed to have a runny nose in the middle of winter, isn't he - Peter snaps his head up and straightens himself out. Cowboy up: it's become a kind of night-constant mantra these days.

"Yeah, I'm here." Sticking his hands (and the wallet) back into his pockets, he schools his face back to normal as he walks back towards the cabin. "What are you even still doing up at this hour?"

...Says the guy who snuck out at fuck-in-the-morning o'clock in the first place. Bravo, Peter.

[itchafes]

Neal opens his mouth to reply, drags in a breath and makes with the innocent face. "Woke up. You weren't there. I just thought I'd make sure you were, you know."

He shrugs. He can feel it's unconvincing. This is Peter. But part of him isn't trying to be convincing, really - part of him is trying to broadcast I heard. Your move.

[lovethissuit]

The light's just enough for Peter to make out the faux halo, and the reflexive eyeroll can't be helped. He shrugs right back at Neal. "Couldn't sleep. Figure I'd just take a quick walk instead of tossing and turning and waking you up with it. Sorry." It's enough of the truth to count, as far as he's concerned.

The unspoken signal piggybacked onto the actual broadcast isn't so much missed as outright ignored. Peter has no idea what you could possibly be silently not-hinting at, Neal, now how about we all just walk on over back to the cabin and we can sleep and/or pretend to sleep until morning like we normally do, hm?

[numbersnfigures]

Spencer Reid isn't exactly a voyeur, but he does like to people watch. He had been sitting on the front porch of his cabin writing in his notebook when Peter's activity attracted his attention. Reid sits back and observes

...Reid, you adorable thing.

[lovethissuit]

After finishing with Neal, Peter can most definitely start to feel that itching at the base of his skull you get when you feel you're being watched. (The fact he hasn't noticed before now says volumes about how frayed he's gotten, how he's slipped.) He surreptitiously thumbs the latch of his holster open, but doesn't draw down - he hasn't seen any monsters in the barracks since the fall, and he's pretty sure if what's out there was going to do any damage, it'd have done so by now. But better safe than sorry.

"Who's out there?"

The whole point of waiting this late was to avoid people. What is with all the night owls tonight.

it's what he does XD

[numbersnfigures]

Spencer sees Peter reaching for his pistol and decides that rather than risk a bullet in his direction, he should make his presence known.

"I'm over here."

His cabin is across the yard, probably about 20 feet away from where Peter is sitting. If he squints, he might be able to make out Reid's thin frame sitting on the front steps.

[lovethissuit]

Peter keys into the source of the noise and starts walking over. Crossing his arms, he arches an eyebrow once he's closer. Skinny little guy, and not a little creepy just sitting there and watching people. At least now he's pretty sure this guy isn't one of the fae.

"Not exactly answering my question... Unless you'd just prefer I call you Tom." As in peeping. "This a regular thing with you, people watching in the middle of the night?"

[bell_bound]

There's a cat also at the stream. Mogget is sitting at the water's edge, staring intently into its depths. He's completely still - until, that is, some clumsy human blunders in. Concentration broken, Mogget looks up and watches with increasing annoyance as the man starts blunting shards of glass. Really, why?

[lovethissuit]

See, this is why Peter doesn't like cats. It's like they're always looking down on you, judging you, plotting your downfall. Okay, part of this is probably just his bias as a dog person, but seriously. You never know. Cats could totally plot stuff behind your back and then whammo - you're hit with an anvil or a piano or something. ...It could happen.

He does his best to ignore this particular cat for a while, but then it's just getting ridiculous. Raising his head to frown at it. "...What are you looking at," he says suspiciously, and totally not expecting a response.

[bell_bound]

He was uncertain at first, but when the man addresses him, Mogget assumes that he is already familiar with the talking cats in the Wood. He stares right back, and yes, his look is completely disdainful. The cat shape is good for that.

"A question for you to answer, I should think," is the response. "What are you doing?"

[lovethissuit]

He's met a few talking cats in the Wood already, yes. But that doesn't make him at all familiar with the concept. So when the cat actually answers him, he's startled enough that his hand slips and is cut on a not-quite-dull-yet piece.

"What th- shit!" It starts as a yelp but ends with a quiet hiss before he brings his hand to his mouth to suck. There needs to some kind of brand, or sign, or collar, or something to distinguish the regular-sized talking animals from the regular-sized nontalking animals. Wincing as he checks the wound, and quickly assured that it's nothing serious (even though it hurts like a bitch and a half), he glares at the cat. "Right now? I'm wondering why it's so damned hard for this place to stick to anything normal."

[fellbychoice]

Anna has a tendency to know when people need comfort, and when they need space. And something that night nags at her and pulls her toward where Peter lives, she can just sense that he needs someone to be there with him. She pops in on him as he's speaking to the image of his wife, and she bows her head in silent respect of the sight before her. She feels almost bad for intruding on this private moment, but would feel worse if she was to just leave.

"She misses you." She speaks softly as she approaches him, and reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder. Even if she doesn't know for sure if time moves the same back home as it does here, it feels like the right thing to say to him. He's hurting, and she wants to fix that.

[lovethissuit]

Peter jumps all the same as if Anna had yelled in ear - seriously why are so many people not sleeping. That's the entire point of it being nighttime. People go to sleep and thus offer privacy for things that other people might or might not be doing.

Getting to his feet, he coughs a few times to cover his startle (as well as the wallet getting pocketed).

"Don't know what you're talking about." Deny, deny, deny - there is no baw here.

[fellbychoice]

"Mm." Anna just smiles, humoring him for a few seconds. She almost doesn't press the issue, but then decides that he needs to get some of it out of his system. It's not good for him to keep everything so bottled up, and so she wants to help him with that

[lovethissuit]

Swallowing hard, he keeps his eyes elsewhere the entire time she's talking. It's nothing he has against Anna personally, it's just. He doesn't want to talk about this. It hurts too damn much. The first couple of weeks he was stuck here it was bad enough, he'd gone that long without El when she'd gone on her business trips out of town, though he had phone calls and Skype to alleviate it then. But now it's been months - months upon months - and he hasn't been alone this long in twelve years, and now the ache in his chest feels like a rabid doberman gnawing on the inside of his ribs.

But he can't just brush off what Anna's saying. He recognizes it for exactly what it is, and why she's saying it now, but...

"Memory's not enough sometimes." It's quiet and grudging, and less than what Anna wants him to say, he knows. But it's still more than what he'd say to most anyone else.