Jamaica. I'd never really had any desire to go. Well, sure - sandy beaches, hot accents, what's not to like. But other than the occasional fantasy wherein I was rich enough to afford lying on the beach with a drink in one hand a hot cabana boy fanning me, I'd never really considered it.
But when I'd fled from Hogwarts, it had been the first flight out of the airport. Which made it a winner. Too bad - if I'd been twenty minutes earlier, I could have gone to Munich and worn leiderhosen or something. Instead I was in a run down hut - one room and a porch but a great view - in cut off jeans which were covering my bathing suit. Bumming it local-style since that was all I'd bought from the little thrift shop down the street. I'd left Scotland with virtually nothing and I really didn't care
( ... )
This self-imposed frozen status lasted about five seconds into his speech. Because he was right about one thing - I felt. Everything. And I dealt with things the only ways I knew how. I either acted on the feelings or I shoved them away and denied they were there. Trent had once told me he could read my face like a book, that all my emotions were just right there. He just wasn't sure how to interpret them. All that meant that whether I was acting or repressing, the emotions were there. And no matter how much I wanted to, I could only hide them for so long.
When I looked back up at Peter, then, instead of nothing there was a tired hurt in my eyes. A pain that had plagued me for so long that I honestly couldn't remember being without it. Something that had gotten ripped open during the time I'd been with him, something that had started to fester when he walked out the door. I looked up at him and studied his face for a long moment
( ... )
This was probably the one thing that frustrated Peter the most about Rachel - that she could be so defeatist. A few misinterpreted gestures and she suddenly gave up hope on everything.
"Yeah, that sounds like a great life," he said dryly. There wasn't a shred of accusation or meanness in his voice, just simple understanding and knowledge that it wasn't the best way to live. Peter wasn't a violent person by nature, but he really wanted to kick something right now. How could someone be so utterly without hope? He didn't understand.
He stared absently out at the view and watched people passing by, until he eventually looked sideways and calmly met Rachel's eyes. "That's a good question," he mused thoughtfully. "You know I don't spend my time on things that I don't believe in. You know I only truly dedicate myself to people who I think are worth it. You know I said that I would be back, but you left anyway. And you know I don't give up easily. Why am I here? Why don't you tell me
( ... )
"I am never wearing tights," Peter protested. "And I don't need witty banter to be a hero." Did he? Peter didn't think he did. He did okay at the whole hero thing without banter. He'd saved Claire without a single word of funny repartee, so he thought he was doing well.
As soon as Rachel's mood changed, Peter swung with it, his almost smirk changing into something understanding and more reassuring. He didn't know if Rachel wanted time away from the castle or from him, but she actually didn't need to ask.
"Of course." Peter leaned back slightly to press a kiss to Rachel's forehead. "We can make a holiday of it. I can fan you with palm fronds, bring you decent beer, and we can just relax."
"Good," I sighed. "I missed waking up next to you." And boy did I hate that that was true. Missing him meant he'd wormed his way in far tighter than I should have allowed. But I pushed those thoughts aside. For now. My grin widened and I chuckled. "Don't forget the peeled grapes. It's not a true, decadent holiday without peeled grapes."
Still wrapped up with him, treading water, I shrugged teasingly. "Never say never, Petrelli. You might find tights oddly freeing. As for the witty banter..." I laughed, lips quirking up. "I guess I have no idea. I'm the furthest thing in the world from a hero. You'd know better than I would."
My hands had settled into their favorite spot, playing with the hairs at the base of Peter's neck. "God, I shudder to think what our tent will look like after a few days, with Claude alone in it." Again my forehead tipped forward to rest against his. "Maybe we can hire a maid service."
"You might have to deal without skinless grapes," Peter apologized, shrugging one shoulder, amused. "They're pretty hard to peel. But I promise I will buy better beer than what you've got. A holiday is not a holiday with beer that tastes like that."
And god, again with the tights. Tights were weird and constricting and something that Peter had vowed never to wear (again, after that one stint in school theater). "Maybe you could teach me witty banter. Then I could be one step closer to saving the world."
The thought of what Claude was doing in their tent was truly horrifying, and Peter dreaded to think what kind of mess they'd come back to. Not that he minded his own sort of mess, but he imagined Claude's kind of mess was just extreme. He just made a sound of agreement deep in his throat - a maid was probably a good idea - and concentrated more on Rachel's hand on his neck. Doing nothing for a few days in Jamaica was sounding better and better.
"Mmm," smiling, I closed my eyes. "Sweetheart, if you can walk on water, I think you can peel grapes. But I'll definitely take you up on the better beer. Massive depression is not a good time to buy alcohol. You tend to just pick up whatever you find closest to the door
( ... )
Comments 33
But when I'd fled from Hogwarts, it had been the first flight out of the airport. Which made it a winner. Too bad - if I'd been twenty minutes earlier, I could have gone to Munich and worn leiderhosen or something. Instead I was in a run down hut - one room and a porch but a great view - in cut off jeans which were covering my bathing suit. Bumming it local-style since that was all I'd bought from the little thrift shop down the street. I'd left Scotland with virtually nothing and I really didn't care ( ... )
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When I looked back up at Peter, then, instead of nothing there was a tired hurt in my eyes. A pain that had plagued me for so long that I honestly couldn't remember being without it. Something that had gotten ripped open during the time I'd been with him, something that had started to fester when he walked out the door. I looked up at him and studied his face for a long moment ( ... )
Reply
"Yeah, that sounds like a great life," he said dryly. There wasn't a shred of accusation or meanness in his voice, just simple understanding and knowledge that it wasn't the best way to live. Peter wasn't a violent person by nature, but he really wanted to kick something right now. How could someone be so utterly without hope? He didn't understand.
He stared absently out at the view and watched people passing by, until he eventually looked sideways and calmly met Rachel's eyes. "That's a good question," he mused thoughtfully. "You know I don't spend my time on things that I don't believe in. You know I only truly dedicate myself to people who I think are worth it. You know I said that I would be back, but you left anyway. And you know I don't give up easily. Why am I here? Why don't you tell me ( ... )
Reply
As soon as Rachel's mood changed, Peter swung with it, his almost smirk changing into something understanding and more reassuring. He didn't know if Rachel wanted time away from the castle or from him, but she actually didn't need to ask.
"Of course." Peter leaned back slightly to press a kiss to Rachel's forehead. "We can make a holiday of it. I can fan you with palm fronds, bring you decent beer, and we can just relax."
Reply
Still wrapped up with him, treading water, I shrugged teasingly. "Never say never, Petrelli. You might find tights oddly freeing. As for the witty banter..." I laughed, lips quirking up. "I guess I have no idea. I'm the furthest thing in the world from a hero. You'd know better than I would."
My hands had settled into their favorite spot, playing with the hairs at the base of Peter's neck. "God, I shudder to think what our tent will look like after a few days, with Claude alone in it." Again my forehead tipped forward to rest against his. "Maybe we can hire a maid service."
Reply
And god, again with the tights. Tights were weird and constricting and something that Peter had vowed never to wear (again, after that one stint in school theater). "Maybe you could teach me witty banter. Then I could be one step closer to saving the world."
The thought of what Claude was doing in their tent was truly horrifying, and Peter dreaded to think what kind of mess they'd come back to. Not that he minded his own sort of mess, but he imagined Claude's kind of mess was just extreme. He just made a sound of agreement deep in his throat - a maid was probably a good idea - and concentrated more on Rachel's hand on his neck. Doing nothing for a few days in Jamaica was sounding better and better.
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