darker_london | Like Father, Like Son (Peter, Robert) Rating: PG-13

Peter was in the small gaming lounge off of the living room, grumbling audibly. Robert made his way in there, and he raised his eyebrows to see Peter Kemp, holding a dart in his hand. "What?" Peter asked, looking confused.

"Nothing..."

"I'm not going to throw it at you!" Peter said, and then he let the dart fly. It landed near the the bullseye and he gave Robert a triumpant smile.

"So who are you pretending that is?" Robert asked knowingly with a wink.

"One of many people. That was Stephen Bailey." He raised another dart. "This one's Mia." He threw it and it landed closer to the bullseye. "Well...there you go. Apparently she's more motivating when it comes to people sticking sharp things into her."

Robert sighed. "Peter, are you alrigh'?"

"'Mfine." Peter neared the dartboard and he retrieved his darts. "Everything's perfect. 'Cept I'm a terrible liar."

"I noticed that." Robert arched a brow. "Have you been drinking?"

"Why does that matter?" Peter asked, turning to face Robert. "Everyone else drinks. I'm not drunk! I can still walk and talk and..." He turned to the dartboard and threw a dart straight into the bullseye. "Hah!" He said, pointing at it as if the dart proved he wasn't an alcoholic.

Robert was silent for a moment and then he said something he'd been wondering about for awhile now. "Peter, did your father drink?" The dart Peter had just thrown stuck in the wall nowhere near the dartboard. Peter stared at it for a second and then he turned to face Robert without saying a thing. Robert continued. "I'm just asking because sometimes things like this run in the family. And you talk about your mother a lot, and you never say anything about your father."

Peter held up a hand. "I'm nothing like my father." Which pretty much served to prove Robert's point as far as he was concerned.

A look of concern crossed Robert's face. He'd obviously struck a chord here. "Peter-"

"No! Look, I don't have a problem! I have a drink every now and then when something bad happens. Everyone does that. Why does everyone get on my back about this?"

"We're worried about ya, Peter. It seems like...like you're usin' drink to escape from things."

Peter sighed. "Isn't that what everyone uses it for?"

"Not...constantly. Peter, you have a history of using it to numb yourself against pain. But when you...do what you do, you're bound to feel pain. You have to learn to feel it."

"Do I, Robert? Thank you so much. I'll get right on that." Peter hissed and then he turned and walked into the living room where Rosa was curled up on the sofa again. He leaned down to her and ran his fingers through her hair gently. She could sleep through pretty much everything, which wasn't really surprising. She smiled gently at her, but his smile faded when Robert joined him again. "I'm sorry I was an arse." He said flatly.

"That's alrigh'. I didn't expect you to be thrilled by me bringing this up." Robert shifted as if waiting for something.

"Augh. Look, maybe I do drink when I shouldn't. But it doesn't interfere with my life. It doesn't keep me from the people I love."

"It has."

Peter shook his head. "No. That was a mental breakdown. I was completely bollocksed. But it wasn't because I drank. I drank because I was bollocksed."

"I'm sure the two went together, but to be fair, I wasn't here. For either of the instances."

"Well I don't hurt anyone. I wouldn't ever hurt anyone."

Robert gave Peter a sympathetic look. "Is that what your father did when he drank, Peter?"

Peter walked over to the mantel above the fireplace and he leaned against it, crossing his arms across his chest. "I wasn't aware this was 20 questions."

"Peter. You can be so damn difficult sometimes!" Robert said, running his hands through his hair. "Can't you just answer the question?"

"He never hurt anyone." Peter said softly, eyes trained on the sleeping demon. "Not physically. He didn't always say the most complimentary things. You know...stoic tough German man. And I didn't see him much. But he wasn't a bad man."

"Then why do you avoid talking about him? It's just...considering how things ended with your mum...and you talk about her..."

"Mum didn't take three people with her when she died. Well...four if you count mum herself."

Robert looked confused. "What?"

Peter sighed again and he sat down hard on the hearth of the fireplace. He put his head in his hands, his fingers entertwining with his shaggy brown hair. "I told you my father was killed in a car accident which is...mostly true. The truth is that he was in the car accident and survived it. The people in the car he ran in to, didn't. He was drunk. One of the reasons I'm so adamant about not drinking and driving. It was his fault. And he killed a man and two children. So he...didn't stick around for the police to arrive if you know what I mean. And I hate him for that because he had to know what his death would do to my mother. He couldn't face the shame so he just took the easy way out."

So Peter blamed his father for his mother's death. "Isn't tha' kind of what you're doin' with drinking though, Peter?"

Peter looked up at Robert and he opened his mouth and closed it again. "Bu..but I'm not hurting anyone!" He said desperately.

"You're hurting yourself."

"Oh, that's bollocks, I'm fine."

"Then why are you here instead of home with your wife?"

Peter stood up. "Aly's at her parents tonight. Trying to convince them David doesn't have cancer or something." Robert gave him a questioning look so Peter continued. "Jacinta spoke to David and apparently she picked up that something was wrong so she rang Aly, convinced he's dying. And Aly couldn't exactly say 'Mum it's just that a colleague stole the nice lady that lived in his head and now David can't fly anymore'. So Jacinta's freaking out."

"That's...a little crazy."

Peter shook his head. "I don't blame her. Her son-in-law died of a brain tumor, her oldest son's an arse and her daughter is...well...she's...Aly." Peter sighed and appeared distraught for a moment before recovering. "She has precedent to worry. I sneezed once she asked me if I was catching pneumonia."

"But you're going back tomorrow? You can't hide here forever, Peter."

"I'm not hiding." Peter said through gritted teeth.

Robert held his hands up to show he didn't want a fight. "Alrigh' Peter. You'll go home tomorrow?"

"Sure. Yes. I'll go home tomorrow."

"And you'll stop drinking?"

"Robert! You're like a...thing that repeats itself really a lot."

"Tha' wasn't a yes." Robert said sagely.

"It wasn't a no." Peter shot back. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnigh', Peter." Robert went to sit beside Rosa, then something occurred to him. He went into the gaming room and looked behind Peter's coat. The silver flask he'd seen Peter hide the other day was hidden underneath it. Robert sighed. He shook it around, but the flask was empty. He opened and sniffed. It certainly smelled like whiskey. And inscribed across the front was the name 'Klaus Kempf'.