5th October, 10 pm

[therealpm]

*Peter is startled out of his usual preparations for sleep by the over enthusiastic ringing of his phone. He rummages around through the papers on his desk, eyes lighting up at the number.*

George! How are you? It's lovely to be able to speak to you again, after so long as a-

Oh really, DEFRA contacted you already? That's very quick for a government department, I must say. Well it's good the paperwork is all finalised I sup-

Yes, George, I know. I did already tell you, several weeks ago.

*Peter blinks in surprise*

Well... the inability to touch silver and a tendency to grow fur during the full moon was a bit of a hint.

Well what else could it possibly have been?

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout.

Look-

Don't be unkind, I'm still me.

I'm taking a potion for that, as you well know.

Well of course it's not risk free, but-

I see.

No, obviously you have to think of your family.

Right.

Fine.

George-

...

*The line goes dead. Peter replaces the phone on the desk and mechanically completes his preparations for bed. He won't give whoever's guarding him the satisfaction of having their suspicions confirmed. He won't.

Dropping onto the bed, he pulls the covers over his head and tries to cry quietly.*

Comments

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair raises his eyebrows at Peter's sharp tone.*

All right, cool your claws. I'm not about to push the poor kid off a roof. I said he was doing well, didn't I?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

You said he could have gone up on stage as Tarzan and nobody would have noticed, that's hardly a ringing endorsement.

*He rubs his forehead in frustration.*

Sorry, it's...

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair rolls his eyes.*

No, it's fine. I can see you're past the point of genial conversation. I apologise for casting doubt on my loyalty to the Grand High Wonk; I didn't realise I was talking to the chairman of his personal fanclub.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter frowns.*

Setting Miliband's personal dearth of charisma aside, he is still our party leader. Not-

*He sends Alastair a reproving glance.*

Tony.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

Set it aside? Oh, lovely. I wish he would do that...

*Alastair smirks.*

Like you wouldn't be there in a heartbeat too, Fido.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter regrets shuffling so far back on the bed, it means he can't reach Alastair to kick him without it being immediately obvious what he's doing. Instead he reaches across to the desk and snatches up a cup, then wanders past Ali to the bathroom to fill it, almost casually kicking the man's ankle along the way. He calls back from the bathroom.*

Faster than you, anyway, though I suppose that's more to do with capability than will.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair rubs his assaulted ankle against the other. It doesn't particularly hurt, given that Peter's not wearing any shoes, but he still glares over at the bathroom door.*

You forget that we are back in civilisation now and there aren't any oversized climbing frames to push me off. What there is includes a big locked door and spells you can't get through.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter wanders back through.*

Unfortunately for you, there also isn't a tie round my neck, nor your partner to hide behind and do the dirty work for you.

*He sips his water.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair narrows his eyes as they follow Peter back across the room to his bed.*

We're both capable of doing our own dirty work, thanks very much. Anyway, a tie's not the only thing that fits round a neck, is it? I bet your collar would be just as effective as a means of restraint, if push came to shove.

Just hypothetically, you understand.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter yawns*

I'm flattered, Alastair, really. But do leave me out of your prurient fantasies.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*He snorts.*

You certainly are flattered. By yourself. Trust me, it will be a cold day in hell before I run out of more appealing things to fantasise about - like having my fingers removed one at a time with a steak knife, for example.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter looks thoughtful*

That certainly could be an enjoyable afternoon. I'm not sure what the current limits on my possession of edged implements are, but it can't hurt to ask.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

Ohhh no you don't, you bloodthirsty bastard. Do you see now why it's all picture books with rounded edges for you these days? It's because you say creepy things like that.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

It's true, the drivel you write is hardly cutting edge.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

The sales figures don't half pack a punch, though. I don't expect you to understand all my work, shallow as you are, but at least keep your jealousy to yourself...

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Their exchange of insults is halted by the arrival of Fiona with a steaming packets of fish and chips (for Peter) and a double portion of chips (for Alastair). Peter thanks her politely and procedes to pick listlessly at his dinner- he'd been rather hoping that he could palm off the majority of his dinner aka all the chips to Alastair.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair accepts his chips and gladly starts eating, remembering what it is that makes them so good. He sees Peter fussing over his own food and pauses to reprimand him.*

They're not poisoned, you know.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I know.

Thank you.

*He adds hastily, as Fiona raises one eyebrow at him. He ducks his head, selects a chip and has a bite. After eating uncooked meat for a week, it feels far too warm and pulpy in his mouth.

ALastair's eaten nearly half of his already. When Peter selects his next chip, he nudges others over to the side a little, making the empty space appear as large as possible.*

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*From the look on Peter's face, you'd think he was being forced to eat cockroaches. Alastair tuts at him between mouthfuls.*

I don't know how you expect to get better if you don't feed yourself. Are you sure you don't want some ketchup or something? Or might that be a step too far out of your comfort zone, now that you're intimate with ex-Bullingdon boys and the like?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter stops eating and stares.*

I...

I need a glass of water. Excuse me.

*He grabs his cup, slopping water on the carpet and nearly races to the bathroom, shutting (not slamming, he'd like to at least try and maintain the pretence that he's here to get water) the door and leaning against it, cursing the lack of a lock.

He breathes deeply and tries to get his thoughts and face under control.*

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*Fiona stares after him open-mouthed. After a moment she steals one of Alastair's chips and munches on it absently while she studies the closed door.*

What the hell was that about? He looked like he was going to throw up.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair stares too, both concerned and slightly affronted by the sudden exit.*

Dunno. Maybe he just hates ketchup that much.

*Or maybe he really is transforming this time. With some effort, Alastair keeps his voice steady as he calls through to the bathroom.*

All right, Peter? You're not suddenly going shy on us, are you?

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

Peter's never sh-

*Oh. Fiona suddenly recalls the last time she saw that stricken expression on his face, like he's about to shatter into a thousand little pieces and he's holding himself together by sheer force of will. Normally when he's unhappy he tries to share his misery with as many people as humanly possible, but when Tony appointed him to Northern Ireland and gave him that bollocking beforehand, essentially telling him that he didn't trust him to do the job- Peter had been really hurt that time, and for once he tried to keep it to himself. Fiona had been arguing with Cherie outside Tony's office and she can still remember Peter's white face as he fled past them. He'd hidden in a toilet that time too.*

Ali. I think something's happened.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Fiona's seriousness makes Alastair turn away from the bathroom door to face her. His hands clench anxiously around the takeaway box.*

Well - well, Peter's just had a diva moment, but I take it that's not what you mean. Do you... want to go and ask him? Or something?

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

No, diva moments are standard operating procedure. If he was having a strop right now I wouldn't be so worried.

*Fiona sighs. Alastair actually has a fair amount of emotional intelligence, but it's more trouble than it's worth to get him to use on behalf of any cause but Tony.*

Fat lot of help you are.

*She gets up and goes over to rap on the bathroom door.*

Peter? Do you think you could come out? Or maybe let me in? We could leave Alastair outside.