7th November, 9am

[therealpm]

*Prior to the balloon trick, Miles had been content to let his younger brother take the lead in devising and implementing the pranks, however, when he'd seen a rather shaken younger sibling standing in the middle of a living room covered entirely in popped House of Commons balloons, he'd taken a rather more active interest.  Which was why yesterday afternoon, after some brief enquiries as to exactly how much mass Peter could transport and with what accuracy, he'd driven Peter to a pharmacy several towns away (he wouldn't say why they couldn't go to the one in the village, just turned up the radio when Peter asked.  As it was Radio 4 this wasn't particularly effective, but Peter took the hint and stared out of the car window instead).

Peter stayed in the car, reaching over the back seat to pet the two dogs, whilst Miles went into the Chemist's, returning red faced and clutching a paper bag.  He'd tossed the bag into Peter's lap with a gruff instruction to 'get that into the little bastard's tea tomorrow morning, and make sure he drinks all of it'.

And so, the next morning at 7am, Peter finds himself sleepily drawing a rune circle and checking the omniview on his phone- waiting for the optimum moment to lace the Speaker of the House of Commons's tea with viagra.*

Comments

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*At the sound of his name, John yelps and grabs a pillow to cover his lap.*

*He tries to argue back with Peter but the other man disappears before he can get a word out.*

*John considers his options. He could demand that Peter concede. That would likely escalate the war and do far more damage than initially intended, but at least John's pride would be saved in the short term. On the other hand, John could play along with what Peter wants and end the war so they could go back to having tea and let the children see Peter again.*

*John picks up his phone.*

Text from 078## ######

Peter,

Since the conflict has reached a conclusion, I would like to ask when you would be free to visit for cake and presents.

-John

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter snorts at the message and replies.*

Text from 07### ######

John,

once my books have been returned, undamaged.

-Peter

*He smirks as the glossy paperbacks start to disappear almost immediately, to be replaced one by one with more familiar titles. Deciding to reward himself for winning (He quickly stamps on the thought that George isn't here to do that for him), Peter heads off to the cellar to fetch a nice bottle of red- nothing fancy, just the sort of good, rich wine that rolls over the tongue.

Feeling magnanimous, he even considers inviting John to join him... once all the books have been returned of course. Until then...

...as soon as he uncorks the bottle, he can tell something's off. His sense of smell isn't as good as it was before the cure, but one doesn't need to be a bloodhound to tell wine from-

-he pours a little into a glass-

-fruit juice.

One barked order to The Machine and a quick scan later confirms the rather obvious culprit: Bercow.*


Text from 07### ######

Bercow,

return my wine. Now.


*He doesn't bother to sign it.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Settled down with a cup of tea, John is confused when his phone goes off again.*

*He reads the message, momentarily confused.*

Return...

Oh!

*John waves his hand and the wine is returned. John then continues to sip his tea and flick through the television channels to find something to watch until he falls asleep.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter's somewhat mollified, but drops his phone onto the coffee table rather than reply. He'll stay by himself tonight.

The room's getting chilly again, so he finds the blanket and curls up in it once more. Someone, presumably Fiona (grumpily aided by Alastair), has tidied up- there's not a trace of shredded curtain to be seen, but the window where he and Campbell were hanging curtains is still bare and lets in the sodium glare of streetlamps. Peter shivers and calls out to Jack, who has been re-acquainting himself with the place since they arrived.

The small dog cuddles up on his chest and Peter thinks that he could just sleep here- no need to go upstairs, with the wardrobe full of clothes that aren't his. He buries his face in the blanket. Surviving the treatment, Miles and the prank war have all kept him too busy to do more than live moment to moment. He's not had time to sit back and reflect much since it happened, and he finds that when he digs down for the splinter, the wound's still as raw as it was a month before.

Jack whines, and Peter tries not to cuddle him too hard, the poor boy needs to breath, but... he just needs...

The glass of wine remains mostly un-drunk and Peter stays downstairs that night.*