darker_london | Father Peter (Flynn, Peter)

Flynn had been told Peter liked to sit on his roof when things got a little serious. And that was indeed where he found the man, though he had had to have Lydia show him how to get up there in the first place. When he stopped Peter through the window, he ducked out onto the roof, fearless despite the fact that the roof sloped down to a five-storey drop off that wouldn't result in anything good for Flynn. Flynn was graceful and sure-footed and he was used to hanging around on rooftops. "Peter." The man was staring out into the distance, smoke curling away from the cigarette he held between his fingers. Peter hadn't noticed Flynn's arrival at all.

Peter looked up from his contemplation, slightly startled to see someone joining him, and probably especially startled that it wasn't Thomas or Aly. "Flynn. Hello..." Peter promptly put out the cigarette that he was smoking, even though Flynn himself smoked. Peter didn't want to be the reason someone else ended up with lung cancer, even if Flynn might be the reason himself. "Did they find something?"

Instantly, Flynn felt guilty because he was about to shatter that hopeful look on his friend's face. "No. I'm sorry."

Peter frowned and he looked back over to the skyline of London in the distance. "Mmm."

Flynn hung his head, but he continued across the roof and plopped himself down by Peter's side. Peter wasn't one to be unwelcoming at the worst of times, and Flynn knew the man well enough now to know 'mmm' didn't mean 'go away'. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course you can." Peter turned back to him and smiled, and Flynn felt immediately reassured. There was something about the man that was calming, even when things sucked in an incredibly horrific way. Peter was kind and caring, and even though Flynn still had trouble trusting people, he trusted Peter completely. Flynn was about to unload his feelings, and he knew that Peter would not only listen, but he would care and do what he could to help.

Flynn sighed and his eyes were drawn to the city's skyline as well. Since coming here, his life had changed drastically for the better, and it was strange to think that he had spent over half his life with such hatred for the place. There were drawbacks, however. And the danger of being here was one of them. "I was being typically melancholy the other day and I read over some of Mara's old entries. I found the one she wrote after that man took her from the front yard. I promised her she wouldn't ever be taken again, and I...I feel so guilty because it was a lie." Flynn hung his head and a few moments later he felt Peter's eyes on him.

"Would you have done anything in your power to stop this from happening, were you able to?"

Flynn looked up and he caught Peter's considering look. "Anything," Flynn agreed firmly. "That little girl means so much to me. She was so sweet when she first came to London and I...I have to admit to seeing a little of myself in her. Our situations were drastically different, but she had to grow up too fast and I know how that is. I just wanted her to have a happy childhood for the part that was left."

"Flynn, there wasn't anything you could have done. Everyone knows you would have if you could have. Everyone. Mara is well-loved, and if there was anything anyone could have done, it would have happened. I know it's harder because the people around you are in uproar, but Flynn...this is not your fault. You haven't failed Mara at all. You've been doing everything you can to help find her. Have you even slept in the last forty-eight hours?"

Flynn looked cagey, giving away the fact that he really had not. Much. "I...took a nap..."

"And have you eaten anything?" Peter asked carefully.

Flynn sighed. "I try. Peter, I'm so worried. I know she's almost thirteen, but she's so tiny. And she's tough, but...fuck, she's just a kid. And can't angels...young angels, can't they-" Flynn couldn't actually finish the sentence. He couldn't think about Mara dying.

Peter did something then that Flynn hadn't expected and wasn't necessarily used to outside of Quinn, Deirdre, and ocasionally Spectre. Peter reached out and he took Flynn's hand while they were both totally and completely awake. Flynn was surprised at the contact, but not unpleasantly so. They were from completely different backgrounds. Peter had grown up in an old money family with enough resources to buy anything he ever wanted, outside of parental love. Flynn had once spent a month living in a carpark stairwell, and he had been utterly depressed when his spot was discovered and he was kicked out. Flynn didn't understand where Peter had come from, but to him it didn't matter. He was just getting to know the man, and already he was impressed every day by the things he did. And so, even though Flynn was not usually as openly affectionate as this, he not only let Peter hold his hand, he appreciated the sentiment deeply.

"I can't tell you what will happen," Peter said quietly. "I wish I could. You'd think having visions would be good for something, but so far I've had nothing in regards to Mara's disappearance. What I can say, is that when people are faced with hardship, they usually do everything they can to stand up to it. It's ingrained into us to struggle against anything that tries to take us down. It's evolutionary to fight and not to give up. I don't believe Mara is one to give up, and as long as that remains true, we will find her."

Flynn chewed on the inside of his cheek and he let out a slow breath. "I remember what it was like. Being with Amaris. I was scared every moment. I was only there for less than a week. And when I think of Mara going through that, I just-" Flynn's breath caught painfully in his throat and he had to swallow quickly. His eyes welled up with tears and he found himself crying, for the first time in months, with someone he didn't know all that well. "I'm sorry," Flynn breathed, and then he put his hand over his mouth to try to contain his misery. It didn't work.

"I know," Peter confessed, his voice even more quiet that Flynn's had been. He dropped his grip on Flynn's hand and instead he pulled the other man closer to him and Flynn found he was instantly relieved to have someone to, quite literally, lean on. "I feel it. Every time this happens, I feel it."

"How do you cope?" Flynn asked, his voice cracking with emotion. Tears continued to make their own slow way down his cheeks and Flynn didn't bother wiping them away. "How do you do this again and again?"

Peter didn't answer right away, and Flynn thought he might have upset the other man. He needn't have worried, however. Peter was simply trying not to answer with a cliche. "Every time, I think I can't handle it. That I'm going to crumble from the weight of horror and grief and everything else. But something inside tells me I need to find the person first. I can crumble later. And that gets me through. I manage not to fall apart, for them. And then I see them with my own eyes, and the need to crumble doesn't exist anymore."

"I thought losing Quinn would ruin me," Flynn sniffed. "I got through that, though sometimes I still don't know how. If Spectre loses Mara-"

"We'll do everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen," Peter murmured. He gave Flynn a little squeeze, and Flynn looked up at him with a small but appreciative smile. "I don't have all the answers-"

"You're right though," Flynn informed him. "I can get through it for Mara. And all I do want is to see her again. And once I do...it'll be okay. If she's okay, it'll be okay. Peter. Thank you for not sending me away."

"Why on Earth would I send you away?" Peter asked, looking terribly confused. He let Flynn go then, so he could turn to face the other man.

"Just...because I don't really know you and I came up here to burden you with my emotions. I'm sorry."

Peter chuckled to himself, and Flynn wondered what the joke was. He certainly didn't think anything was funny... "Flynn, if I got paid for every time a stranger came up to me to tell me their innermost thoughts and feelings...well. I would have been a very well-paid priest. And you are not a stranger. If I can listen to them, I can surely listen to you."

"Oh right," Flynn sniffed and he finally wiped his eyes. He didn't want tears anymore. "I forgot you were a priest. I didn't know you then."

"Which I am eternally grateful for. It never bothers me that the people I know seem to continue the tradition of confession with me, as long as they don't expect me to tell them to ask God for forgiveness. Advice and sympathy I can give. Divine intervention is now beyond my credentials..."

"Are you glad? That it's...beyond your credentials."

Peter nodded. I was very unhappy as a priest, and it was such a stark contrast to how happy I was as a monk. It was a relief to step away from it when I did. I was starting to accomplish what I wanted to without it anyway, so I didn't need to hide behind the robe. It made me slightly unpleasant..."

"I can't imagine you ever being unpleasant," Flynn mused.

"Well thank you, Flynn. I think the same of you." Peter glanced out at the city skyline once more, as if bidding it goodbye for now, and then he stood. "I'm going to get us both something to eat. I think we could use it. And then, if you'd rather go back out than sleep, we can call Thomas. I told him I might go out with him again later, and I'm sure he'd appreciate your presence too."

Flynn nodded. "I think that's good." And then Peter clapped him on the back and said, "you're a good man, Flynn."

And hearing those words from someone like Peter meant more to him than he ever would admit.