darker_london | Enough for now (Peter, Aly, Lydia)

Bloody pictures were being sent around and while Peter was pretty sure they hadn't been sent by Amaris, he had to check. It did his soul good to see her lying on the hospital bed, helpless anyway though he would never admit that aloud. Only when he had ruled her out as the culprit and gone to see Anna, had he returned home again. And when he walked into the living room, he found Aly collapsed on the sofa. She must have returned home while he was out. Everyone else in the house was still asleep, save William who was upstairs watching over the youngest of Peter's kids. He must not have heard Aly come in.

Peter crept over to his wife's side and he gazed at her for a long, silent moment. She was wearing clothes better suited for someone Erin O'Connor's age, though they still looked good on Aly. Sexy, Peter supposed, though he found that he liked it more when she dressed in elegant clothing. It was one thing to be naked with the person you loved, but another to be with them in public while they were wearing clothing that concealed little and gave off an air of easiness. Aly's mascara and eyeliner were smeared and Peter could see that she had rouge on her cheeks, quite bright against the oddly pale colour of her usual olive skin. Even now, she was beautiful and Peter wanted to take her in his arms and carry her up to bed so she would be more comfortable. But he was afraid she would wake up and take offense and the knowledge of that hurt him. He was afraid of how his wife would react to him. That wasn't right.

Instead of waking her, Peter moved to the kitchen and he brewed some coffee and fixed some breakfast and by the time he returned to the living room, Aly was stirring. "Hi." Peter murmured as Aly blinked blearily around the room.

"Urgh." Aly put a hand on her head and he turned her eyes to him. "Hi."

"You still have pokey shoes on." Peter pointed to her high heels. "You want me to take them off for you."

"No. No, don't touch me." As if to emphasize the point, Aly drew her legs further away from him, though he was standing on the other side of the coffee table to begin with.

"Alright." Peter put his hands in the air to show her he had no intention of touching her against her will. "I brought you some breakfast." Peter indicated the plate and steaming mug on the coffee table with his knee, since his hands were still in the air. "Cheesy hash, good for hangovers."

"Yeah, you'd know, wouldn't you?" Aly moaned, with one hand over her eyes to block out the light.

"That's right. Because I'm an alcoholic. Get it all out, Aly." Peter growled and he lowered his hands since she wasn't looking at him anymore anyway. "Feel free to have a go at my overwhelming punctuality as well if you're up to it."

Aly just sighed in exasperation, and she rolled over on the couch so she had her back to him. "Can't you just leave me be, Peter?"

"I hate to be a stickler, but you are on the living room sofa. In about an hour this place will be swarming with young children, and I don't exactly fancy them copping an earful of your spite first thing in the morning, if you don't mind."

Aly groaned and she ran both hands through her hair so they were clamped tightly over her ears.

Peter couldn't stand it anymore. He knew Aly was hurting. He understood that. But what Tasha had said the night before was still true. Grief or no, there was no excuse for Aly's behaviour right now. She had a family and she couldn't just leave them behind. Peter even understood slipping. He had slipped and had a drink and he had been hit by a car that would have killed him had he not been immortal. Oh how he understood slipping. But this wasn't slipping, this was burying yourself under six feet of spite, with a covering of grief so that the grave she was digging herself wasn't just dirt bared to the open sky. Something much deeper was going on. And Peter needed to look below the surface.

"Aly, for christ's sake, don't turn your back on me." Peter stepped over to her then, and he took her shoulders, albeit gently, and he turned her to face him. Her face was livid and unpleasant, but she didn't resist. "I've had enough of this. I'm hurting too, and the worst thing is? You're making it worse. We're supposed to make things better for each other but whenever I see you, you spout filth all over me. And I've had enough! You have no idea how upset I am about Thomas. I'm so angry that Rolf made me immortal again against my will and without my knowledge or consent. I'm terrified for our daughter. And for you. And I want to know what you're feeling too."

"Currently? Annoyance." Aly ripped her wrists from Peter's grip. "I asked you not to touch me."

"Since when do you have a problem with me touching you, Aly?"

"Since now." Aly shot back, sounding like a stroppy teenager. "Since you couldn't please a woman if you tried."

Peter rolled his eyes at that. Attacking his ability to make love now, hmm? This was going just as well as he had expected. Oddly enough, this barb didn't hurt all that much. It just seemed desperate and pathetic, especially since he knew it was untrue and he didn't have an inferiority complex about that in the least. Many other things sure, but not that. "Oh yes, I've made you scream on numerous occasions because you were bored."

"There's such a thing as faking it, Peter." Aly looked at him contemptuously.

"There's such a thing as grasping at straws, Alyona." Peter shook his head sadly. "Why can't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

"You are!" Aly hissed at him.

"Aly, I know that's not true. Please...please, tell me." Peter looked at her and he bit her lip. "Or at least...eat your breakfast and you can tell me afterwards."

"I don't want your goddamn breakfast! The smell is enough to make me vomit!"

Peter glanced at the food he had made for her and he frowned. "Oh...alright. I can take it away-"

"Yes, get it the fuck out of here." Aly moaned. Peter stood to do that and by the time he returned from the kitchen again, Aly was standing, swaying from side to side so she could get her shoes off. Peter rushed over to her and he put his hand on her back to keep her from falling. Quickly, Aly wheeled around and she smacked his hand away with one of hers while slapping his face with her free hand. The force of her own blows knocked her backwards onto the sofa and she landed with a yelp.

"What are you doing?!" Lydia shrieked and she rushed over to her father's side, slamming the front door behind her. "Did you just hit my dad?!" Peter was standing in front of Aly, one hand on his cheek. His face had gone pale and he was staring at Aly in disbelief. She had hit him. It hadn't really hurt, not in a physical sense. But he had rushed over to help her and she had hit him in the face. And even then, his first thought was not of himself. Something dark and terrible twisted at his insides and he put a restraining hand on Lydia's shoulder before kneeling in front of his wife.

"Aly...did someone touch you? Please. If someone touched you, it's not your fault. I just need to know so we can get you looked at." His voice was uneven. Scared. Slightly frantic. He was clearly on the edge of crying at the thought of some man using his wife and leaving behind such a clearly distraught shadow of her. "Aly...I love you."

"No one touched me." Aly grumbled back, shrinking away from him. "And even if they had, I wouldn't care. I'd rather have them touch me than you."

Peter let his hands drop to his sides at that, and he closed his eyes. One mirthless laugh bubbled up out of his chest before he could stop it, and then he felt his throat constrict as a sob fought to follow. Peter gasped, eyes watering with the pain of holding his emotion at bay. Aly had just insinuated she would rather be raped than have her husband touch her. And that was enough for Peter. Peter, who had been raped and had his ex-angelic spirit Lauren's memories on top of his own. Aly couldn't possibly know what she was saying, but she would know it would hit home for Peter, and it had.

With clenched teeth, Peter turned to Lydia. "Honey, why don't you go pack a few things, hmm? I think we might go stay with Aunty Elizabeth for a while."

"Yeah, no fucking kidding." Lydia glared at Aly. "Slag." And then she turned and ran upstairs. Before Aly could shout something back at her, Peter put his hand over her mouth, though he didn't do it forcefully. She may have struck him, but he was not about to hit her back. It wasn't in Peter's blood to do something like that.

"Don't you dare." Peter shook his head and then he removed his hand. He stood then, his cheek burning from where her palm had connected with his skin. "If you're so desperate to be alone, that's fine. Be alone. See how horrible it is, Aly. How lonely and depressing. And when you're ready to be with the people who love you again, we'll be waiting. But if you ever speak to me again like you spoke to me today..." Peter didn't know how to finish his sentence. He was terrified and heart broken and he missed his wife so much it hurt. That she was right in front of him and glaring felt like she was driving a knife through his heard. And he would know. "I don't deserve it. I will not be treated like that. Not even by you. Aly, I won't stay married to someone who insults me and makes me feel worthless. I really hope you understand that. And know it's not an empty threat." It wasn't a threat at all. It was the truth.

Peter backed away from her then, and he headed for the staircase. He had to move his children to Liz's house. He could cry then. He just had to wait. He had to take care of things first.

He just had to hold himself together for a little while longer...