9:10 am, mandatory excursion.

[therealpm]

*Sitting in the back of a vehicle with blacked out windows, huddled up once more in a hoodie far too broad for him, Peter looks across at Alastair and smirks.  Alastair thinks they're going for the equivalent of a jog around the park, and Peter has been careful not to indicate otherwise.  Today is going to be horrible, but watching Alastair slowly lose the will to live is going to make it utterly worth it.*

Comments

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair reaches the first pipe just as Peter makes it past the last. He grits his teeth and jumps, bracing both feet on the smooth concrete and hauling himself up and over.

This process is back-breakingly painful by the time Alastair repeats it for the last time, but he can at least see Peter up ahead now, running along on the track ahead. Alastair follows his lead and resigns himself to the crushing probability that the next obstacle has something to do with the cliff face looming into view.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter checks over his shoulder. Alastair has gained quite a bit of ground. Damn it.

He almost flings himself onto the rope, drawing himself up arm over arm, then sinking his fingers into the top of the bank and scrambling onto the turf.

The descent is going to be trickier- his arms can't bear his whole weight and he hasn't got the balance for the slack rope. Instead, he grabs onto the overhead rope and jumps so that his legs grip onto it as well. Drawing himself along it isn't the fastest method and it's probably wearing through the back of the knees of his trousers, but it's a lot faster than his swimming. In the distance, he can see the vehicle pull up at the finish.

'So close.'*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair clutches the rope uncertainly. Peter, who's just scampered out of sight again, made it look - not easy, but easier than Alastair imagines it's going to be. He tries walking his feet up the bank but it's pure wet mud and he slips down again in seconds.

Climbing the rope properly takes three attempts, and Alastair's hands are raw by the end of it. He crawls onto the turf and looks out at the final stretch. Peter is dangling from the top rope like a caterpillar, making slow but steady progress.

Alastair tries to copy this technique, grunting as his first ankle hooks onto the rope, but falls back down fairly quickly. He glares at the lower rope, swaying and jiggling in the rain. There's only one thing for it. Before he's taken his first two steps, it pitches, threatening to land him in the lake below. He shouts and just manages to hang onto the top rope.*

Fuck everything.

*He takes another tiny step, trying not to look down at the lake.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's knuckles go white as the rope bounces and he curses Campbell under his breath. Moving more cautiously now as the rope quivers, he inches towards the end and evntually drops his feet onto solid ground.

His legs ache, especially where they've been bearing his weight on the rope and his arms feel like lead weights, but it's 200 m to the finish and Peter can already taste victory. Too tired to smirk, but definitely grinning inwardly, he runs the last section before collapsing against the bonnet of the vehicle.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair is astonished by how far he gets before losing his grip on the top rope. His feet fly out from under him but by sheer survival instinct he manages to grab the slack rope on his way down. Panting and cursing, he drags himself along, bouncing every inch, until he's low enough for his feet to trail in the lake, then drops and wades the rest of the way to dry (ish) land.

There's no point bothering about Peter any more. The cheating, sneaky, selfish bastard has as good as won now; Alastair hasn't the energy to delude himself otherwise. Still, he gives his all to the run to the finish line, and feels a sort of bitter pride as he slams breathlessly into the bonnet beside Peter.*

This... means... nothing.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter turns his head to give him the biggest grin he thinks he's ever had since 1997.*

Whatever makes you feel better about losing, Campbell.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair leans in until he's nose-to-nose with Peter, holding him close with one shaking hand in the front of his hoodie.*

I mean it. Enjoy your moment of triumph, because nobody's going to share it with you. You're one to talk about losing when you'll be spending tonight behind bars.

*In all honesty, it doesn't make him feel better about losing. Not even slightly.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John jumps in before a fight can break out in full force,*

Well, now that's done I think we should head back, don't you? A cup of hit chocolate and a few biscuits before bed sounds like a magnificent idea to me. Paddy, if you would be so kind...?

*They head back to the 4x4 in the middle of the terrain, and Paddy takes them to the car park. All the way, John has his eye on the two.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's sour reply is cut off by John's intervention, and they spend the vehicle ride back to the car park glaring at each other in silence.

This continues as they are shuffled into the car- seats now covered in plastic sheeting. John has learnt from last time. Peter's stomach growls loudly, but he ignores it and instead stares out the window, eyes dropping and a slight smile playing about his lips.

Eventually, exhaustion overcomes even his sense of smug triumph and the hum of the car's engine lulls him to sleep. He dreams of running through a wood, on all fours even on the flat parts. He is confused by the screaming he can hear in the distance and struggles back to wakefulness.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*At least he can relax while he sulks now. The car is blissfully warm and Peter blissfully quiet. Only when Alastair hears the plastic sheeting start to crackle and Peter's deep breathing start to deepen even further does he look around at the other man.

Peter, still fast asleep, is midway through transformation and getting more canine almost quicker than Alastair can take it in. For half a second he just stares as Peter's nose finishes lengthening and his claws finish sharpening. Then, for the overwhelming need to scream, he screams.*

HOLY FUCK

JOHN STOP THE CAR

HELP

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John glances in the mirror - oh for Merlin's sake...*

It's fine, Alastair, never fear...

*John pulls the car over to the side of the road and hops out to see to Peter. Still groggy, it is easy for John to ease Peter into the boot without much trouble, making sure the werewolf if secure - thank goodness for the emergency rope!. Goodness knows Peter will be annoyed when he comes round but for now...*

*John turns to Alastair*

If you would refer to sit in the front, by all means be my guest.

*Once they are all settled, John starts driving again, back to Parliament.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter grumbles as he is chivvied out of the back of the car. His shoes have fallen off into the footwell and by the time he's been shuffled into the boot his trousers have pooled around his paws, pushed off by a rapidly growing tail. The t-shirt and hoodie, extra baggy when in human form, stay on through.

He looks around in confusion as the collar is tied to the back of one of the car seats and gives the rope an experimental tug. When there is little to no give, he settles down with his neck at an awkward angle and howls his displeasure.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair jumps out of the car almost before it's stopped moving and watches from the roadside as John moves the wolf into the boot. He quickly takes up the offer to sit in the front, slamming the door just as a mournful howl erupts from behind the back seats. Alastair shudders.*

Drive quickly and I won't say anything about you barely being able to reach the pedals.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's really quite cross. He's been taking the potion dutifully for the past month and John's still put him in the boot like some mutt. He scratches the back of the seats, whining to be let out and fed.

'John, I'm hungry. And cold. My fur is completely soaked and this hoodie isn't helping.'

When his whines seem to fail at conveying the full depth of Peter's discomfort, he begins to shuffle about, trying to work the hoodie and t-shirt off. He manages to get as far as getting his forelegs out of the sleeves, by dint of careful standing on the cuffs, but his attempts at getting it over his head are foiled by his own ears.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Try as Alastair might to avoid the scratching and whining noises from the boot, they eventually become so intense that his curiosity outweighs his fear.

He glances back to see the wolf looking forlorn with both hoodie and t-shirt rumpled up around its ears and collar. Alastair smirks briefly, but can't bring himself to find it as entertaining as it should be. All he wants is to get home and far from from the bloodthirsty thing.

He looks away and hits the radio, turning up the volume to try and drown out the wolf noises.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Alastair, stop being such a bastard and GET THIS OFF ME!

Peter whines. The music hurts his ears and he whines again, tired and hungry.

Eventually they arrive and Peter is allowed out of the boot. Either John takes pity on him or he realises a wolf-like animal in a hoodie is likely to attract attention, because he helps Peter out of the hoodie and tshirt.

Peter wags his tail and shakes, droplets flying everywhere. Feeling better for being slightly drier, Peter allows himself to be dragged along behind John back to the cell. Alastair is following warily, several dozen metres behind, lured by the promise of tea and biscuits.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair was just starting to dry off and now the wolf's gone and shaken itself, getting him soaked him again. Brilliant.

He follows them to the cell, only daring to approach once its occupant is safely inside. He keeps one eye on it while he hungrily eats up the Jaffa Cakes Bercow offers (fuck it, he deserves something tasty today of all days). Even in wolf form, it seems to be giving off an air of smugness.*

Stop looking at me like that! Changing shape without warning is not cool and it's not funny. I'll see you when you're human again, yeah?

*He drains his tea and gives the wolf one last knowing glare.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*I. Am. Starving, you dolt!

Peter gets up on his hind legs, paws on the door, trying to get a jaffa cake, but it repelled by the wards. He wanders over to the table where his breakfast is usually placed and gives it a pointed shove with his paw, hoping John will get the message.

He seems to, as he soon returns with a bowl which he places in the middle of the floor.

Is that... is that dog food?

It glistens worryingly, all jelly and gristle, and yet right now it looks like the most delicious thing Peter's ever seen.

However.

It is still dog food and if Peter's going to ensure he's provided with something decent when he isn't exhausted and famished, he needs to set his boundaries now. No dog food.

He pointedly turns his back on the bowl and sticks his nose in the air.

A sigh of exasperation is the only audible response, but John does return with a packet of mince. Peter decides this will do and eats it as fast as he can, whining for more once he's finished.*