(no subject)

[therealpm]

*Peter skims through Hansard. He's been far too busy plotting revenge attending to House of Lords business to watch the debates today, but with the statement on the equal marriage consultation and Treasury questions, it seems reasonable to invest a little time digging out the choicer quotes. Especially if he's expected to turn up to the Lords for those sort of things.

Most of the debate is pretty predictable, but towards the end Bercow takes a point of order. Most odd; there's still a statement to go.

As he reads through the exchange, the corners of his mouth begin to turn up, until by the end he's sporting a full blown smirk. It's not just that Osborne was made to sit there and be reprimanded for his disregard of parliamentary procedure, but that it's done in such a way as to make Bercow's dislike for the man painfully obvious. Peter is reminded of nothing so much as Jack's tendency to growl, and even nip, when he spots a long-lens camera. A sort of dogged, over-protective loyalty that's as endearing as it is amusing (he buries the pang of resentment he still feels every time he sees someone mocking his George. It's a tenacious habit but one he is determined to break). He gets out his phone.


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

John,

interesting performance with Osborne yesterday. I'm touched.

-Peter

Comments

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter tries to quietly make himself some tea- he's come here more so that he doesn't have to stare at the same four walls of his own living room after that emotional rollercoaster than to see John. His plan is thwarted by the presence of Freddie, who is in the kitchen colouring in a map of Europe, but launches himself at Peter with a piercing yell, arms stretched wide for a hug the instant Peter crosses the threshold.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John starts at the noise and instantly rushes to where the thinks the sound came from.*

Freddie! Freddie are you al-

...Peter. Good evening.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter stands rooted to the spot, mostly because Freddie has decided to cuddle his leg.*

Good evening. I was just about to put the kettle on before-

*He indicates Freddie.*

-would you like a cup of tea?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John's eyebrows shoot up. Turning up unannounced and making John tea are not like Peter at all.*

Please.

I'll be in the livingroom.

...Freddie, let go of Uncle Peter's leg, please. He does need that one.

...no, Freddie, that does not mean you should cling to the other one.

Freddie, let go of Uncle Peter.

You'll have to ask him if you can have cuddles later.

*John nods at Peter, then leaves. He picks up some of his work and heads to the sofa in the front room.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter makes the tea, then follows John to the living room, sitting next to him on the sofa. He peers at John's constituency work.*

They are still complaining about HS2?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

...it will cut their gardens in half, Peter. It's a very important local issue as well as a national one.

*John sips at his tea.*

Thank you for the tea.

*He tries to think of a way to ask about the conversation with Osborne without being too obvious about it. His comments are made while reading another letter.*

Sally was going to do and internet search for the best Christmas turkey later this evening - shall we get an extra large one so Jack can have some, or do you have plans to be elsewhere this year?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter waves one hand dismissively.*

Sacrifices must be made in order for progress to occur.

...I had planned to be there when Oliver opens his presents, if only for the novelty of seeing it happen on the correct day. Provided Order is agreeable, then of course I can bring Jack along too.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John takes a sip from his tea to hide his "Communist" remark.*

Order will be fine as long as she doesn't have to share her favourite spot on the window seat. The more the merrier for Christmas.

*John picks up another letter, reads through it and winces. He makes a note on the pad of paper to forward that one to Vince at BIS.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*He sets his cup down, allowing himself to sink back further into the cushions. He relaxes- the adrenaline from his earlier encounter slowly ebbing away, leaving a strange sense of loss intermingled with relief. He watches John scribbling away- grey head occasionally bending closer to the pages to grasp some finer point, and feels his eyelids begin to droop.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*Freddie bounds into the room and onto Peter, knocking the man sideways into John. Started, John looks at the confused wizard.*

*To his credit, John blushes only slightly.*

If you want to read letters from my constituents so badly, Peter, all you have to do is ask.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Huh?

*Peter scrabbles for a handhold on the back of the sofa, dragging himself off John and into an upright position.*

A little less enthusiasm next time, Freddie, if you don't mind.

*He rubs his eyes: whatever sustained him throughout that conversation has now almost entirely gone and he feels immoderately sleepy.*

If that was my aim, I'd simply stand for election.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Against the Speaker? You're not as bad as Farage, are you, Peter?

*Even John can see Peter's getting sleepy.*

Coffee? Or perhaps heading home for an early night might be a better solution.

No, Freddie, I'm sure Uncle Peter doesn't want to stay for a sleepover tonight.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter gives John a glare at the comparison to UKIP*

....


Wash your mouth out.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John takes another sip of his tea.*

Terribly sorry, Peter. But at least it appears to have woken you up a tad.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*For lack of a better response, Peter harumphs and covertly elbows John in the ribs.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

What on ear-

...

*John attempts a glare in Peter's direction but, predictably, it fails. Instead, while Peter is busy answering a question from Freddie, John follow's Peter's lead and gently elbows him back, eyes not leaving a particularly repetitive letter about membership of the EU.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

Hmm?

*He turns his head, but John is apparently absorbed in his correspondence. Peter narrows his eyes, returns to answering Freddie's question, and then causes an icy breeze to hit the back of John's neck a few moments later.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John shivers at the hex. He glares at Peter but decides against throwing a spell back at the other wizard.*

*It's not long that Freddie starts asking how long it will be before dinner.*

Well, chicken nuggets take about 20 to 25 minutes in the over, give 5 minutes for the oven to heat up and that means dinner should be-

*John notices Peter's glare*

...or, alternatively, about the same amount of time for a take away?

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Peter nods absentmindedly.*

By the way, John, what is Sally getting as a tattoo?

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*John gets up from the sofa to fetch the take away menus.*

You'll have to ask her about that, Peter.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

I fully intend to.

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

Good to know.

*John throws a copy of the menu at the sofa.*

Pick what you like, you two. I'll go and check with the others what they fancy.

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Freddie and Peter deliberate a while over the selection, with Peter eventually choosing Freddie's second choice and solemnly promising to share.*

[bamfbercow.livejournal.com]

*A list formulated and ordered, it is simply a matter of waiting until the delivery person arrives with the food.*

*When the buzzer goes, it is John who retrieves the meal, setting it out on plates and calling the house to order.*

[therealpm.livejournal.com]

*Aside from Freddie's decision halfway through the meal that he actually prefers Peter's food, and the subsequent swapping of plates, the meal passes uneventfully. So uneventfully that Peter finds it difficult to keep awake towards the end of the meal. By the time all but John (delegated to the dishwasher) have congregated in the living room afterwards, Peter's nearly snoozing. He tries to keep chatting, but eventually has to just nod along as the children and Sally tell him about their week. He forgets to ask about the tattoo.

The impact of John's (newly returned from the kitchen) weight on the sofa tips Peter from upright to diagonal and he ends up snoozing on the man's shoulder.*