2010-04-18: Three Little Words

Starring:

Peter_V5icon.pngDaphne_V5icon.png

Date: April 18th, 2010

Summary:

Sometimes things just seem to fall into place for two people.


"Three Little Words"

Peter's Apartment

A pinkish glow reflects off of the bare floor in front of the windows, the sun outside setting fast as night takes over the city that never sleeps. The apartment is quiet save for a few sounds of shuffling and scraping coming from the bathroom, a quiet "Ouch!" echoing from somewhere nearby a moment later as Peter searches for the light switch— found it. Lights on! It still doesn't save him from stubbing his toe only a few seconds before, but you can't have everything.

With the lights on, he moves over to the couch, one of the few pieces of furniture left in the apartment. With the Alpha Protocol kidnapping everyone with abilities, he thought it'd be best to remove what he could for different reasons, but he hasn't gotten everything back into yet.

The night is refreshing, breezy. A soft whispering wind outside the window says it might be getting chillier after the sun's protection is gone. And a very sudden and abrupt *whoooooosh* of it says: "Hooooney, I'm home!" Caroled out into the empty-ish apartment by one Daphne, it's followed by a grumbly, "Not that you are…"

All on one breath, it's out before she's fully come to a halt on the wood floor so that, a second later, the speedster pauses, poised to shuck off one shoe to note that the lights are on. In almost the same instant, she's suddenly in front of the couch, that shoe held up by her shoulder intended to be a weapon if anyone else's visage was before her. But it's just Peter, and Daphne's tension visibly melts away to brim instead as a cautious smile. "What. You were gonna play hooky without telling me?"

The sudden noise and movement has Peter jerking his head up in Daphne's direction, instinct causing his hand to rise towards his face and block the threatening shoe. The blow never comes, and he lowers his hands, eyebrows raising in recognition of Daphne. He watches her for a little bit before standing, running a hand over his head and through his hair. "Hi," he says, a tinge of confusion touching his features as she mentions hooky. "Oh.. no," he says as he finally seems to comprehend, eyes roaming the apartment for a couple of moments before he looks back at her. "I was going to tell you."

"Yeah, yeah, save the gloomy gus," With a careless flick of the wrist, the shoe is tossed away to be no longer threatening as Daphne dips to pull the other off in kind. It's a very comfortable maneuver— a speedster taking off her running shoes. With the same ease in the environment, she steps around to where Peter's standing, her hands hovering by his chest as she pops up to press speedy affection to his cheek. "Maybe if you stopped taking extra hours, I'd know your schedule," is the soft scold before she wraps her hands around his, twisting to the side to try and use her tiny body as leverage to get him to fall onto the couch again. "What's your hurry," haha, "I got something for you."

Watching her as she moves about her different ways, Peter allows the speedster to drag him back down onto the couch with her. The kiss doesn't go unnoticed, his hand brushing the spot where her lips touched his cheek in a brisk moment. He falls into the couch cushions with a soft plop, leaning back into them with one arm resting against the back of the couch over his head. He turns to look at her, the couch cushion obscuring part of his face. "I know, I know," he says as he looks back down at his hands, one fingernail scraping against another, "but someone has to do it." He turns more fully towards her, an expectant look on his face. "What did you get me?"

Flopping beside him by the power of her own momentum, Daphne is immediately shifting into Peter's personal space, nuzzling against his shoulder in the way that used to tickle his chin with her hair. But, short as it is, the sheer blonde strands only drift across her forehead as she also stares at his hands. "You're always that someone," she mentions, less accusing than one might expect. "Which was… endearing at first," her fingers creep along his leg towards his fingers, hoping to snag one or two. "Then, honestly, kind of annoying— except. Then I realized I wasn't annoyed at you, I was annoyed at me. That I wasn't this good. But when you said… when you said you loved me…" Her eyes dart briefly to him, waiting for some flicker of reaction to betray that he was stringing her along, has doubts — anything.

His fingers intertwining with hers, Peter looks up from his hands to meet Daphne's gaze. He tilts his head slightly to the side, wondering if this is heading somewhere good, or somewhere bad…

Looks like somewhere bad.

"I know—" Peter begins, already ready to speak his defense, but he cuts himself short when Daphne continues to talk. He watches her, hands at a still as they're close to hers, ando nly when she finishes talking does he try to speak himself again. "It doesn't matter," he says, jawline tensing slightly as he continues to meet her eyes with his own, worry lines forming across his forehead. He turns on the couch slightly towards her so he can face her better, taking both hands in his own. "You're good enough for me, and that's all that matters."

She studies him, Daphne, using seconds as hours to absorb every flicker of emotion on his face; some of those worry lines escape from his forehead to hers, creasing her brow gently as she tilts her head and sucks up a tiny breath of courage. "I know." She states firmly, squeezing his hands and shaking her head slightly, "I know that's what you think, at least… so. That's why…" But she second-guesses herself and acts first; from out of her pocket, she reveals a single key on a string. "It's to my apartment," she explains, "The one in Paris, you know. With all that stuff I told you I'd return… well. You can have it. And the stuff. Because— I don't need it." Carefully, her breath catching if it isn't heaving, she turns over the hand of his she's still holding to show his palm, and to slowly coil the key into it. "You're enough, Peter Petrelli. And— I love you, too."

Daphne's gaze is met, and even though some of the worryliens find their way to her head, they're replaced by more of the same as Peter continues to watch her. When the key comes out, his eyes fall to it as he reaches a hand up to trace the small curves with a finger. It twirls slightly, and as the silver spins in the fading light of the sun, he looks back up to Daphne. A few moments later, after a quick kiss to the cheek, he stands. "Let's get out of here," he says, the tense jaw and worrylines fading as something else rarely seen on his face makes an appearance— a smile. "Let's go to Paris. To the apartment."

It's another hard study on Peter's expressions, Daphne's lower lip virtually disappearing as she bites down. For her, he takes forever to look at that key, longer to look back at her. Holding firm allows him to get that kiss before she slides backwards, head turning in some measure of embarrassment to the side. "That wasn't — kinda lame, right. But you're always…" What could've lead into more jabbering is cut off by his pronouncement. Her eyebrows dip downwards, disbelieving but not exactly suspicious as she espies that sweet expression, hears his words. "Oh yeah?" Rising, she crosses her arms over her chest challengingly. "And what happens when work calls?"

Taking over Daphne's hand with his own so that he wraps both of their fingers around the key, he guides it up between them, pulling her a little bit closer. "No, it wasn't lame," he responds, shaking his head. If anything, he'd figure it was pretty cute. "Come on," he says, motioning his head in the direction of the door. "Work can always wait a few extra days… it's not like the world is going anywhere. Take us to Paris."

Daphne yields to his maneuvers, letting herself be drawn in to that closeness though her head still bobs back and forth in affected deliberation. When he makes up his mind, the twitching at the corner of her mouth sparks into a real smile. She quite enthusiastically draws herself right up against him, easing onto her toes just that bit of height between them for his favorite thing — foreheads touching, noses nuzzling. "Three little words," she scoffs, "Those are my favorite four." Already in position, she indulges with a real kiss, invested with all the emotion and nervous energy she had coming into this. Settling excitedly onto her heels, she doesn't even seem to mind that she's still barefoot. She can take care of that in a flash anyway when they — "No backsies!" — ZOOM, ZOOM are off.

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