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

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*Fiona is honestly a little touched, although she knows that it's mostly a diversionary tactic.*

That may be so, but even if you haven't told a soul what's bothering you it won't be hard to work out. Your contact with the outside world is limited to a handful of people. Either one of them has done something to upset you or they've brought you bad news. All we have to do is ask your keepers when you started moping, and we'll be able to pinpoint the culprit.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter snorts derisively.*

I wish you the best of luck with your enquiries.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*While they verbally meander about, Alastair has worked through most of his chips and is now taking a break, already having regrets. Fortunately, Peter and Fiona finally seem to be strolling into view of something resembling the fucking point.*

Or why don't we play twenty questions? It'd only take, I don't know, a few weeks to narrow down the list of possible candidates and work out who or what's being pulling your pigtails.

Alternatively, you could just break the habit of the lifetime and tell us the truth. Easier for everyone in the long run, Peter.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He sniffs haughtily.*

I've already told you the truth. If you don't believe me, that's your own problem, not mine.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

And the defence rests, does it? I hate to break it to you, but it sort of is your problem in that you're missing out on the expert advice and tender reassurances of your oldest and dearest friends, namely us.

If I was in your shoes - forward slash prison cell, forward slash bizarre and horrible predicament - I wouldn't be pushing away people who were still generous enough to give a shit. That is not the way to deal with pain, trust me.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter is about to snarl something vaguely sarcastic about 'tender reassurances' and 'attempted drowning', when he makes the mistake of actually considering rather than outright rejecting Alastair's second point. The number of people whom Peter could trust to 'give a shit', as Alastair so eloquently put it seemed to be rapidly dwindling. Tony and Gordon had self eliminated long ago, Philip died, George apparently doesn't want anything to do with him any more...

...from a purely practical point of view, it makes sense to concede something to Alastair and Fiona if it means they'll feel trusted and valued enough to stick around for when he actually does need them. Decision made, Peter shrugs miserably and says*

I... received some unpleasant news. I don't want to discuss it. Happy, now?

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair sees Peter's defensive retort die unspoken, only to be replaced with an unhappy concession. It's a start.*

That much we'd gathered already.

*He's never understood why everything personal has to be a secret with Peter, or how to play the convoluted games required to get him to open up like a normal person, but he does know that this admission of something not quite right constitutes a significant victory. One win is best followed by another.*

All right, then we don't have to discuss it. Just... give us a name, maybe? Or an initial.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I am not playing twenty questions with you, Alastair. It's called a private life for a reason.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Alastair taps his fingers together sarcastically.*

Private life..? I don't... oh, I remember, it's a sub-heading on your fucking Wikipedia page.

Seriously, Peter - animal, vegetable or mineral?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter just glares at Alastair.*

None of your business.

How's Jack, anyway?

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*Angry and a little bit hurt at being shut out, Alastair looks at Fiona in a silent demand for back-up. When she simply shrugs, he turns back to Peter and tries to sound as detached as possible.*

Fine. Fine, whatever, fine. Have it your way. I do take serious issue with the suggestion I could be sidetracked that easily. But this is going nowhere fast, that much is obvious, and I haven't got much patience left for dealing with your attitude.

Jack's okay. We could bring him for a visit, if at some point you decide you want company after all.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter sits in silence for a little while, trying to judge how much of Alastair's anger is a guilt trip and how much is genuine.*

I... would prefer not to discuss it now, that is all. Perhaps at a later date when it's not... quite so... raw...

*He gives Alastair a tight, pained smile.*

And if you would care to visit again and bring Jack, that would be lovely.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

*The offer of more details to come mollifies Alastair somewhat, and he relaxes his scowl into a mere frown.*

That's more like it. We'll try again when you've passed the crying-in-bathrooms stage of grief.

All right, then! He'll be glad to see you again, it's been quite a while. *He nods at Fiona* She doesn't feed him enough.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter nods absently, though an elbow in the ribs from Fiona reminds him to at least pretend to eat another chip.*

I'm sure you're generous enough with tidbits to make up for it, Alastair.

*He stretches, rolling his shoulders.*

Thank you for visiting, but I really am going to fall asleep soon. I'm far too old to be swapping bodies several times a day.

[bigalcampbell.livejournal.com]

That doesn't matter, you can't possibly be any less hospitable when you're unconscious. That said, we should probably be heading off anyway.

*He gets up and positions himself awkwardly near the door of the cell, ready to leave.*

This isn't the end of the world, Peter. If nothing else, I guarantee you'll find out who your real friends are. It's going to work out for the best, do you hear me, you miserable git?

[furiously-fiona.livejournal.com]

*Fiona gives Peter a quick hug and goes to join Alastair at the door.*

It's true. You know you always land on your feet in the end, and you'll have us looking out for you every step of the way. Sleep well. And make sure you eat a proper dinner!

*Looking out for Peter will start immediately with a few discreet inquiries. He may be claiming that he'll open up eventually, but she's known him too long to trust that assurance, and anyway there's nothing wrong with a two-pronged approach.*