30th October, 9am

[therealpm]

*Peter groans as he wakes up: his arm, though now free of the IV, still feels cramped and sore. His brief elation at remembering his newfound freedom is tempered by the sight of an 'innocently' smiling Miles sitting next to his bed, cradling a steaming cup of tea. He sits up and a brief struggle ensues, with Miles crying indignantly for Peter to get his own cup before eventually relenting and handing his younger brother the mug. Peter nearly scalds his mouth as he gulps the brew down greedily, though he only manages half a cup before his stomach protests and he begins to feel sick.*

You took your time.

"Your minion only phoned me last night. Look... Peter, if you're going to do ridiculously stupid things like turn yourself into a mythological creature or stand for Parliament, you could at least keep me informed."

I didn't turn myself... and I can't believe you're still harping on about that. I told you, I was very busy, and I-

*His sentence is cut off by a tactical hug from Miles.*

"Anyway, I had a chat with John and that DEFRA person last night.  You're all clear to go home, which means I'm taking you home.  To Asby."

*Peter's protests are cut off by another hug*

"You are not well enough to stay by yourself, and you are not staying here.  I've already packed most of your things.  Once you're ready to go we'll get you dressed and wheeled down to the car."

...I want to take Jack.

"Fine.  The dogs could do with more company anyway.  Who's taking care of him at the moment?"

Fiona and Alastair.

"....

...you never make things easy, do you?  Fine. We'll stop by theirs and pick up Jack.  But that's it."

*They bicker for a little longer as Peter slowly finishes the tea.*

Comments

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John comes through the fireplace holding a large stack of files which he places on the desk. He nods at Miles and then turns his attention to Peter.*

Your copy of all the paperwork relating to this case, should they be needed - Ms Crachett explained there maybe a bit of a time delay on certain things, but that she'll keep you informed of developments (when you've been given clearance to leave the country again and so on). DEFRA should handle all the paperwork, but it never hurts to have a spare copy in case something is over looked.

I've put the leaflet explaining it all at the top of the pile should you care to peruse that this morning.

...I see you've already had tea. Can I get you anything to eat?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter tries to follow what John's saying, but is somewhat hampered by Miles pulling a thick, woolly jumper over his head. He does notice the last sentence. Not usually one to dwell overmuch on food, his mind now supplies images of a dazzling array of culinary delights.

Peter's musings are halted when Miles puts a firm hand on his shoulder and states "Milk, or a thin soup. His stomach won't be able to handle anything heavier."*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Of course - Peter knows from long experience I can hardly manage anything much more complicated anyway.

Which shall it be, Peter? The soup or the milk?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter frowns, but has to admit the truth of Miles' words. Besides, his brother tends to be stubborn about these sort of things.*

Soup.

*Hopefully the complex procedure of opening a tin, sticking it in the microwave, remembering you're not meant to do that, pouring the soup into a bowl and sticking that into a microwave will keep Bercow occupied for sufficiently long that Peter will be able to put his trousers on in relative privacy.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Soup coming right up.

*John returns to the kitchen. He rummages past the tins of beans and spaghetti hoops until he find some soup. Cream of Chicken or Cream of Tomato. Peter probably needs the protein, John thinks, and opts for the chicken.*

*He empties the can into a bowl and microwaves it - taking it out to stir it occasionally - until it is cooked. John briefly considers giving Peter a plain bread roll or slice of toast to go with it, but decides against it. Instead, he places a pint glass of water on the tray as well as the soup and heads back to the cell.*

Careful, it's hot.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter and Miles send John identical looks of 'We know, you moron.' Peter has been fully dressed and tucked up in a parliamentary wheelchair, a blanket over his knees. Pillows have been placed against the seat and back to prevent aggravating his sores.

He pokes the soup dubiously with a (non silver) spoon and takes a sip of the water, whilst Miles finishes getting all the paperwork packed away and plans out a wheelchair-friendly route to the carpark. Peter has demanded that it be secluded- he has no desire to meet anyone en route.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John helps Miles work out the best way to get Peter out without anyone seeing him whilst Peter eats his soup. He doesn't manage a great deal, but it's something at least.*

*John takes the tray and places it on the now empty desk when Peter has finished. Miles says goodbye to John and then begins to wheel Peter toward the exit.*

Don't be a stranger, Peter. Remember, you're always welcome to visit the children.

*John follows them a little of the way until he is sure they have got on a route that will not lead them to be seen by anyone.*

*He watches Miles' car pull away and off the parliamentary estate.*