Sticks and Stones (Peter, Lydia)

[father-peter.livejournal.com]

Peter was in the middle of making both tea for himself and a snack for Caleb when Lydia entered the kitchen. Immediately, Peter looked at her and he stammered nervously. "W..h...hi."

Lydia arched her eyebrows as she headed in the direction of the oranges. She said nothing, but she nodded her head a little to show she had at least noticed his presence.

"Are you hungry?" Peter asked carefully, because that seemed like a safer question than 'WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE?!'. "I can make you s-"

"I can take care of myself." Lydia hissed back, her voice cold. "I always take care of myself."

The words smalled into Peter's heart like a ten-tonne lorry and he frowned as his hands started to shake. He loved Lydia. He loved her so much and he couldn't understand where this hostility was coming from. He didn't know where it had started or why. Only that it hurt him and he was terrified that she was hurting too. She was right, however. Lydia was plenty capable of taking care of herself, even at thirteen. She'd been doing it for years and hell, she was even quite adept at taking care of others too. That didn't mean the words didn't pain Peter. Especially since he knew part of the reason she had been left to care for herself at a young age was his fault. "I...I'm sorry. I just wanted to help."

"Well I don't need your help." Lydia shot right back, reaching out for an orange.

"Right..." Peter had no idea what to say. He was a thirty-eight year old man, stranded in his own kitchen, held captive there by his thirteen year old daughter. He shifted uncomfortably and then his eyes turned to Caleb's snack because it was easier to look at than the anger on Lydia's face. "If you do need anything-"

"I don't." Lydia interrupted, attempting to peel the orange in one go.

"Okay, but if you did-"

"You'll what? Help? Shove me in a hospital like you do everyone else?" Lydia fixed her green-eyed gaze on him, her lips curled up in a cruel smile.

"Lydia Ashley." Peter warned then, going from wounded puppy to slightly enraged man in less than two seconds. His hospital was a way to help people. Especially those who couldn't help themselves. The very reason it existed was because demons were so often shoved into mental institutions and forgotten. His hospital was so they would have a chance. So they wouldn't be forgotten. So they could be helped and shown that not everything was doom and blackness and anger. It had worked for Razvan. It had worked for Aleto and it was working for Naja. He was helping them just as he helped Deirdre, Svetlana, and to some extent, Josie. He did not appreciate having his work thrown back at him like that, not even by his Lydia who had, at one time not all that long ago, been one of the only people in the world he loved. Furthermore, he wouldn't care shove his little girl anywhere just to get rid of her. That wasn't Peter's way. He loved his kids more than anything. "I would never do that to you."

"You did it to Deirdre!" Lydia shouted then, dropping the orange on the kitchen bench now that she was primed for a fight.

"Deirdre checked herself into the hospital, Lydia, and she was free to leave at any time, which she did a week later!"

"You locked her in a room a long time ago!" Lydia said, referring to the time Peter had locked Deirdre in the guest house and told her to make a choice. She could become the demon inside and kill him first, or she could learn to control herself. That was how he had learned that the most powerful tool one had when trying to save someone from themselves, was love. But that had been before immortality and so many other things and he had risked his life to save her.

"I was in there with her, Lydia! She could have killed me.."

"And taken you from all of us." Lydia said, her voice much quieter then.

"I...I trusted that she wouldn't." Peter's voice softened too. "I knew her well enough to know that I was pretty much the one person she wouldn't kill. And if she had to kill me first...then she would choose not to kill at all. I knew I would live, Lydia. Is that why you're angry? Is...is it because I went to Romania?"

Peter was so close, and yet still so far away from the mark that the scowl worked itself right back onto Lydia's face. "I wouldn't care if you buggered off back there!" She said, and she reached out to grab her orange and turn away from him.

"Lydia!" Peter cried after her retreating form. "Goddammit..." Peter sighed and he leaned against the counter, his face in his hands.

He was very glad no one else had been nearby enough to witness that.