2007-05-12: The Trouble Of Mourning Someone Who's Still There


Elle_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Peter's been in mourning. Only it's hard to mourn for someone who's standing right in front of you. He goes home to Elle, drunk. He's a depressed and talkative drunk, apparently.

Date It Happened: May 12, 2007

The Trouble of Mourning Someone Who's Still There

Elle and Jane's Apartment

It's well after most the good shows are off television. There's a knock on the door, quiet and light, tentative, as if expecting no one to answer. Maybe if they don't answer, he'll go around and try her window again. But there's Peter at the door— with a bottle of gin. Which he started drinking from again already. He'd sobered himself up some only to drink again.

Elle is still up at this hour, especially after the earlier talk with Jane. The blonde's been contemplative all night. Still in her bathrobe, she heads up to the door. She doesn't bother to check the peephole; no need when you can electrofry anyone on the other side. But she beams when she sees the person. "Hey, Peter." A warm, if tired smile. "How're you doing?" She sees the bottle, but hasn't really put two and two together yet.

If she doesn't put the bottle together as something being a miss, she might notice the redness around his eyes, the rather odd flush to his skin. Peter's not to slurring stage, but there's just something about his voice that's tighter than normal. "Hey— Elle. Needed to see you." He's needed to see her before— too often. But this time… Talking to her while under the influence is probably not his most brill idea ever…

Elle hears the slightly odd tone, and there's a concerned look. "You sound like you're at least two and a half sheets to the wind, Peter." She moves to urge him inside with one hand, and with the other reaches for the bottle. "Is everything all right?"

"No," Peter says honestly, letting her take the bottle from his hand as well as pull him inside. Pushing the door closed behind him politely, he leans against it a bit more than he needs to. "Everything's not all right. Don't think— there's such a thing— as everything being all right." It's said with an almost ironic sound, before he looks at her quietly, voice tightening as the redness around his eyes gives way to more moisture, "Wish I would've kept one of the pictures…"

Elle smiles. "Actually, I think I can get those back." she says, looking back to him. "I just haven't had the chance. What's wrong?" She looks up at him with honest concern.

Seeing her smile makes him move away from the wall, stepping over to wrap his arms around her. That makes it so they can't quite look into each other's eyes for a moment, but Peter's holding her— and shaking again. He was shaking yesterday. "I remember," he says. That shouldn't be a terrible thing. "And I love you— before— after— but you're practically two different people…"

Elle holds him in return, but she looks up. This line of conversation is making her decidedly uneasy. "No, I'm one person who remembers two different things, that's all. Peter, I know you're upset about Elena. I'm sorry. I asked Jane to call her, so I can apologize to her. I'm trying to make it right."

"I don't know what to do," Peter says softly, looking around for a moment as if he wants his gin bottle back. But he's forgotten she took it. So instead he just pulls away and scrubs at his face, already tear streaked again. Again. "It's not just Elena. It's you. And it's me." Then he takes a slow breath. "Can I stay here tonight? With you?"

Elle nods. "Sure you can." she says. Her voice is still concerned. "Come on. Let's get you to bed and you can sleep this off." She'll walk him to her bedroom, and unless prevented, help him get into bed and get his shoes off.

There's no protests to getting his shoes off. Peter sheds his jacket as well, shrugging off the sleeves and letting it thump heavily on the floor. He has a few things in his pockets. He doesn't bother to take anything else off yet as he watches her quietly. "…You're beautiful," he murmurs, before his eyes close, leaning back onto the bed. "Always beautiful."

Elle smiles. "Well, I'm glad that being drunk makes you inclined to flatter me." She moves to slide into the bed next to him, and then leans in to give him a gentle kiss. "C'mon, Superman. Get some sleep." she says. "Things'll look different in the morning."

"Looked this way for weeks," Peter murmurs softly, eyes still closed, but his arms move up to rest against her arm. A half hug, really. "Couldn't say it before." May not be able to say it again when it's over either— but his brother had one piece of advice. Just one. "Want— to start again. From the beginning… Even if it means you electrocute me every day for two months." Did he ever mention that part of their early courtship?

Elle looks a little confused at that. "You want to start again, and you want me to shock you?" She seems puzzled. "Peter, I don't understand."

"Tried," Peter murmurs softly. "To get over who you were— love who you are only. But it's difficult. I remember. You don't. Everything that made me love you— that made me fight so hard to keep you— is mine alone to carry— to remember. It's like a piece of me is— broken. Like that you I knew— died— and I still see you every day— looking back at me. Glimmers— pieces— but never… It just hurts. Hurts so much— not sure how I feel anymore…"

Elle looks a little traumatized at that speech. "Peter…" Her eyes tear up a little. "I'm sorry. I didn't ask them to take my memories. I'm not happy that they did. But I'm still Elle. I may not remember, but the person I was is still right here. She's just got a little bit of amnesia." She reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek.

A hand raises up to touch the one on his cheek, drawing the palm towards his lips. Peter doesn't want to let go, even as more of those tears leak out of his eyes. "Know you didn't ask for it. Not your fault." He can be assured of that. Who would want something like that stripped away? No one. Not him, either. "I'm sorry…" If he'd had the time to properly accept what had happened to her, to cope without running full steam ahead from one crisis to the next— this breakdown might not have happened quite so bad.

Elle is trying to be strong at the moment, because Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. She reaches out to take his other hand and kiss it. "It wasn't your fault. Like I said, Peter…I'm the same person, just with a few fewer memories. It's like I'd been in a car accident and gotten amnesia. That's all." She tries to relate it to something that might harken to his medical background.

"But you're not," Peter says softly, lowering the hand from his mouth to press against his chest. "Physically— yes. Foundation— yes. But so much of what we are comes from the people we meet— the ones we love." Now he can open his eyes and try to look at her, though he has to blink a few times to see. "Would you have fallen in love with me again— if everyone hadn't been telling you what we had?"

Elle looks back at him. "If I was around you, yes, I think I would. Peter, you know I love you." she says, sounding a little scared now herself. "You've been inside my head. The whole freak-out I had yesterday was -because- I love you and I thought I was going to lose you. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't care."

"You said you were trying to be something you're not," Peter points out, voice still tight and small, he's still not slurred. It's not that kind of drunk. Or maybe he's not that kind of drunk. Maybe he becomes rambly and depressed. Better than an angry drunk. "I know you think you love me. I don't get emotions— just thoughts— pictures— maybe hints of feelings. But not feelings." That's not really the point, though, is it. "Don't want to hurt you. —been hurt so much."

Elle looks at him, her own voice urgent. "Then don't hurt me, Peter. I love you. I don't want to lose you." she says. "Come on, sweetie. Go to sleep." She says, tone pleading a bit. "This will all look better in the morning."

Holding her hand against his chest, Peter lets out a small sigh, that sounds too tired, and closes his eyes again, "Good night." With the alcohol in him, he'll be asleep pretty fast.

Elle moves to pretty much wrap herself around him, holding him tightly. Never let go.

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