Niki hates this time of year more than Micah's birthday, Mother's Day, and Christmas combined, and why? Because a couple years ago she made the mistake of telling one of the girls at work that her son died in the New York explosion, and ever since then the bitch keeps remembering for her
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Regardless of whether or not he should have expected it, he's still recovering from it. With... a glass of whiskey, because he is a healthy individual who knows how to cope with stress.
Still, there's plenty of time to kill before his shift bartending starts, and he's tired of watching the pre-anniversary shit on TV. He was tired of it before he sat down and watched it, to be honest, but yet he does anyway. Eventually, he abandons the empty glass at the bar and wanders back to Niki's dressing room.
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For who?
When Peter arrives, Niki's leaning against the dressing table with a flask in hand, flimsy robe gathered around her in a way meant to be defensive but just looking vulnerable. She's never really trained herself out of those little-girl save-me gestures, even though she's long past needing them.
"You're not on yet?" She mumbles, by way of greeting.
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"No, not for a while yet." He's not much better than she is when it comes to greetings. He will, at least, give her a brief kiss on the neck (if she's amenable) before finding a chair to settle down in.
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"I need to get a watch or something." She rubs her eye, slumping against the dresser. "If I punch anyone in the next couple of days, just...get me out of here. The girls are trying to get everyone in a solidarity march or something."
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