[PETER] Vamprism was a lesson in the unexpected.
Unexpectedly, fadebeasts could pop up out of nowhere. Unexpectedly, one might be unable to walk over running water anymore without inciting excruciating pain. Unexpectedly, one’s shadow detaches and has a mind of its own. Unexpectedly, one’s girlfriend gets turned into a vampire by someone in one’s own bloodline. Vampirism was not an experiment for the weak of heart and Peter, though not specifically weak, struggled quite a lot. He only wished that the Universe could give him some kind of warning before these things happened. A head’s up. Perhaps being a vampire was a warning in and of itself: Beware: random **** might occur on any given night, depending on mood.
The night started out ordinarily enough.Once again, Peter woke up. Waking up was something that could not be helped. He got out of bed and he showered, as was his habit. He brushed his teeth, he brushed his hair. He dressed in clothes that could have been fit for public, but which would not be seen by the public.
Peter had not left the cabin in months.
Jersey had tried, of course. There’d been a wedding that she’d wanted a date for and Peter and said no. It wasn’t a pretty scene, and he expected that one of these nights his wife would ask for an annulment. Or a divorce. She can’t have bargained on marrying a complete recluse -- an agoraphobe who’d suddenly realised he just did not want to risk the outdoors ever again.
And yet, he was an agoraphobe who had his own businesses. They could be run from the cabin; important documents could be signed and scanned and sent electronically. Deliveries were made to the front door, and they were the only faces Peter saw. The only physical business he had was the animal rescue, and he had a good manager who took care of things while the boss was away.
The phone call Peter received was not a welcome one. Lance’s mother had died. Lance was the manager. Lance wanted some time off. There was no one there to close up; there’d been a call about a sack of kittens and they were waiting to be welcomed and processed. There was no one there who knew how to do it. They needed Peter to come in. They needed him as soon as possible.
That had been an hour ago. Paws and Whiskers had been completely forgotten about while Peter hid beneath his desk in the confines of his office, the door to which was locked. There was a stranger in his kitchen. A stranger wearing his face. A stranger who appeared out of nowhere, one who looked exactly like Peter. A stranger who’d knocked on the office door and called out with Peter’s voice. Yes, Peter had only just been thinking it would be a miracle if he had another self, another body that could go to the shelter in his place.
But the reality of it was downright terrifying. I must be dreaming, he thought, and closed his eyes tight as he counted to a million in his head.
<JERSEY> If asked, Jersey wouldn't say that she had been angry when Peter’s mind got the best of him. It pissed her off, but it was the life she had chosen the moment she'd married him. And despite his issues, she still loved him, but it didn't mean she failed to get upset or be disappointed. Clover’s wedding had been important to her. She had wanted the love of her life at her best friend’s wedding with her, but it hadn't happened.
Peter, of course, had apologized, too, but she wasn't thrilled when she had gotten home. She'd not replied to him as she changed out of her dress into her pajamas, as she had removed her make up. To make sure he didn't think she hated him, however, she'd crawled into bed with him to hold tight. On the days where his agoraphobia had developed, getting worse, she stopped trying to drag him out. Occasionally, as she'd stood there with her arms across her chest, Jersey contemplating on physically picking up her husband. She might've been on the small side, but vampiric strength did wonders.
That debate had been given up often.
She didn't want to risk him staying literally in the dog house again.
That evening, she had gotten up alongside her husband. Her green eyes had watched the way the muscles beneath his skin moved and she reminded herself how much she loved him. Again, Jersey asked if he wanted to join her for the dogs morning walk - the word was chosen pointedly. She knew it wasn't morning, but it was morning for her. After the blood had been finished off, the dogs walked, she kissed him and without another word, left the cabin. One would imagine it could be a considerably lonely life, but she was fine. Or at least, that was what she told herself.
Once her errands were ran, the guns she made sold, Jersey returned back to the cabin. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she let it down for the night and set her bag down. “Peter, baby, I’m back.” Her shoes were removed quickly, followed by her jacket. She hated wearing a lot when home, padding barefoot as soon as her socks were off and she tucked them into her boots. When one of her cats moved closer, she leaned down to scratch the furry animal behind the ear. “Hi to you, too, sweet girl.”
She pulled her shirt off, adjusting the strap of her bra underneath as she went into the laundry room after. A frown crossed her lips, Jersey calling out, “Peter, have you seen my tank top? The paint covered one?” Art had become one of her favorite things, mostly because she could pointedly make a mess when she wanted, needed to, vent.
[PETER] Peter had no idea what the doppelganger was doing. He could hear his own voice cooing at the dogs and pottering around the kitchen. It was eerie. It was surreal. But what wasn’t surreal about being a vampire? There were levels of it. This ranked quite high. Peter was tempted to pull out a notebook and pen to list every surreal thing that had ever happened to him and then rank them. It was a very Peter thing to do.
Except his plans were thwarted when he heard Jersey come home. Her voice was accompanied by the scurrying of claws on hardwood as all the dogs raced to greet her and also by Peter’s head as it hit the underside of his desk. She might not have heard that, nor the curse that followed suit. He heard her footsteps as she made her way through the cabin -- he heard another pair of footsteps following. He heard her call out about a tank top and he heard himself answering.
“I think you should paint without it,” he heard himself say, the voice muffled through the walls. In the office, Peter’s jaw dropped. In the laundry room, a Peter who looked just like the Peter in the office -- right down to the clothes on his back -- leaned nonchalantly against the door. At this point, Peter clambered out from his hiding place, his heart in his throat. This was Jersey. His wife. He couldn’t leave her alone with this… thing!
The door of the office was wrenched open and Peter, so determined to get to the laundry room, did not look down. He should have looked down. In this house, one must always look down. Jack got between his feet and Peter fell, like a log lopped in a forest. There was a single bark that could have come from one of the dogs which was promptly cut off by a head hitting the opposite wall. In just the right place. And Peter was out cold.
In the laundry room, not-Peter cleared his throat and put a hand up against the door jam, basically blocking Jersey’s way out. “... I can imagine it, watching you paint naked…”
<JERSEY> There was a thud that had Jersey’s green eyes moving towards the general area; the first thought in her mind was that one of her cats had knocked something over - they didn’t have any holiday pieces to chase any more much to her amusement. Lately any ball-looking object would do. Where had she put that shirt? She’d done laundry yesterday, her laundry to be exact as she knew her husband had his own routine and she did some of hers out of sync just so it wasn’t an everyday thing.
Jersey didn’t think it was in the bedroom, though. She hadn’t painted yesterday or brought it in there. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she bent over to check the sides of the washer. Maybe it had slipped. Peter’s words, however, had her looking over her shoulder at the man. “While I do like that suggestion, you’d probably end up with your shirt stained when I decide it's Jersey time later.” The woman commented, eyeing him despite the soft smile that adorned her lips.
She heard the door open, that soft creak that she’d been meaning to fix of Peter’s office and her green eyes went from the man in the doorway with a frown playing across her lips. Was Lucas there? She didn’t think so. But, it was the thud and Peter’s lack of response that had Jersey alert, concerned even. “Honey, did you hear that?” She stepped forward, “Hunter? Bear?” She called. The two dogs were the largest, capable of making that noise. Bear must’ve weighed about the size of a child alone.
There was a brief flash of brown and black near his long legs, a bark from Hunter and lack of crying from either dog that had her curious. Her green eyes lifted to his face as she noticed the lack of panic. “It is a very me thing to do.” She said as she adjusted to set her body against the washer, looking to see if she could ease past Peter.
[PETER] In the hallway, the passed out Peter was being ferociously licked by a contrary Jack, the little dog’s tail wagging at a pace too fast for the human eye to follow. The little guy was feeling a little guilty, it might seem, for causing his master to trip. His little ears swivelled at the sound of Jersey’s voice -- but his was not the name she called. It was always one of the big dogs that got in trouble. Little Jack sometimes took advantage of their obvious clumsiness.
The two big dogs, upon hearing their names, came running. With a grace that defied their size they rounded corners without knocking anything over. They reached the laundry and, rather than try to push their way past not-Peter they remained on the other side, heads bowed and wary, noses twitching as they were still uncertain about this stranger wearing Peter’s face. He’d been trying to win them over before Jersey arrived and, being that they were all tame and rather timid dogs they did not attack the man who’d done nothing to harm them and who sounded so much like the one they were accustomed to. But there was something about his smell, and they still weren’t sure.
Not-Peter wasn’t aware of the dogs and their usual boisterous behaviour and he merely arched a brow at them before turning back to Jersey, tongue darting to lick his lips. Honestly, he’d been waiting for the proper Peter to come charging into the room. Given that nothing had happened, he went on as if nothing were wrong.
“Or we can have Jersey time now. And then no one has to get dirty. Well, not that kind of dirty…” he said with a slow grin.
<JERSEY> It was noted when Bear and Hunter didn't push past him. Normally, Bear came immediately because he enjoyed being scratched behind his ears and Hunter? She’d always been able to depend on his large size to accidentally knock her over in greeting if she wasn't careful. She ignored Peter and looked past his legs, clearly worried. They were acting off.
Even Lady and KC, Ellie and Jack didn't come running. As Peter spoke, she lifted her gaze to his features. Instead of moving to follow suit with his suggestion, instead of grinning and slipping her arms around his broad shoulders, Jersey stepped back. Her hand moved to grab one of her other shirts and pulled it on over her head. She didn't care that it was backward, but Peter was off. “Did they hurt you again?” She asked, although even without his permission the telepath flicked through his mind and frowned when she found nothing.
“Did you snap again?” It was in that confined space, however, that she noticed something was more off than his personality. He smelled different. It wasn't strong, or even something that bothered her too much, but it was there. A subtle change that had her calling out, “Peter?” behind the man standing in front of her despite the fact her green eyes were trained on the man in front of her. Jersey wondered briefly if it was part of her damaged mind playing a trick with her. That it was still repairing itself from the bus accident that had claimed her memory.
She knew he was her husband, but everything about the way he was carrying himself was wrong. Jersey almost expected to see him strip naked and saunter away as he did when he was soaked in blood.
[PETER] There was a groan in the hallway. A vampire could not stay unconscious for long. The concussion barely lasted as all the synapses healed themselves, the bruising -- what little there was -- clearing up. Or maybe it was Jersey’s voice, calling his name, that lifted him out of his fog. Long fingers reached up to slip into Jack’s fur -- Jack, who yipped excitedly. Where Jack was, Ellie wasn’t too far behind and soon, Peter -- strewn on the floor -- was being accosted by both dogs trying to lick him to death. This always happened when someone whose company they liked was brought down to their level.
While this was happening, not-Peter could feel his leverage slipping. The corners of his lips slipped downward and he shrugged his shoulders. What was he hoping to achieve? Regardless of how different this copy was to Peter, it had at least inherited basic goodness. It wasn’t out to kill anyone to get its way -- though it would have been willing to kill, if strictly required. But it had a special kind of loyalty to the man he’d sprung from, an instinctive need to obey. Though that didn’t mean he couldn’t be stubborn and rebellious -- a couple more traits the real Peter had wished he had on a few occasions.
“No one hurt me. I didn’t snap. I haven’t left the house. Hey, it’s me,” he said, making the mistake of lifting his arm, holding it out as if to surrender to Jersey. He didn’t, like Peter would have, insist that she take her shirt off only to put it back on the right way around. He did leave a small space through which Jersey could slip, should she so wish.
In the hallway, Peter was slowly pushing himself to his feet, much to Jack and Ellie’s dismay.
“Jersey --” he called, voice quiet and cracked to begin with. He cleared it.
“Jersey, he’s not me!” he called, stumbling down the hallway as he regained his balance, afraid to discover what kind of scene he might stumble into.
<JERSEY> Despite the attempt of reassurance that it was Peter, Jersey gave a shake of her head. She didn't have to try telepathically to find out, she could tell. “You are to an extent, but you gave yourself away.” The woman said as she stayed back. She heard the groan and her concern showed clear in her eyes before she closed them. She focused and… ah, the sound of his groan had her relaxing, but her green eyes reopened to show slight anger. Who the hell was this man and why was he in her house?
Reaching for her was something Peter would do, it was an action that had her heart twisting in confusion. It also made her wish she had one of her guns… but she knew she'd never be able to point one even at a man who looked like her husband. Losing Peter was something she didn't think she could ever do. Not again. The second she heard Peter call out to her, she moved quickly so that she could take advantage of the opening in the door. She was sure to hipcheck the individual so he’d have to stumble before he would be able to grab her. Jersey stepped over Bear, gracefully avoided stepping on Hunter - she glanced down at her feet briefly to avoid Lady as she neared her.
Once she spotted the real Peter, once she could smell him, did she turn to face the not-Peter and asked, “What the hell are you doing in my house?” At least in the hall, she could bolt if needed. She didn't, however, feel threatened in the least so once her husband neared her, the blonde relaxed. “And who are you?”
[PETER] Real Peter had his hands on Jersey’s shoulders as soon as she was near. At first she shielded him, until he swallowed down his own fear and surged forward, stood in front of her. Peter also swallowed down his relief. This other version of himself was more confident, more suave. It was the kind of man he thought Jersey probably wished she’d married and he half feared he’d stumble into the bedroom to find them in flagrante.
He now realised that he should give Jersey more credit. Her current anger was only testament to his faith in her. They could both stand there and watch as not-Peter pushed his fingers through his hair before shoving his hands into his pockets; it was the exact same way Peter got when feeling shy or sheepish. The smile on his face looked genuinely remorseful.
“I am him,” he said, pointing to Peter -- Peter, who immediately started shaking his head.
“No, no you’re not. You’re not me. I am me. There is only one of me and you are not,” he said, near panic. His hand slipped down Jersey’s arm, his fingers tangling with his hers, his grip tight. Not-Peter was unphased and merely shrugged, defeated.
“I came into existence about an hour ago. I have all your memories. I know what you want. I know what you hate. I know what you fear. I wasn’t here and now I am. Didn’t you wish you could be in two places at once?” he asked. He was being reasonable. Peter didn’t like it. All he could manage was a stammer and a shake of his head. It was too much to handle.
Unexpectedly, fadebeasts could pop up out of nowhere. Unexpectedly, one might be unable to walk over running water anymore without inciting excruciating pain. Unexpectedly, one’s shadow detaches and has a mind of its own. Unexpectedly, one’s girlfriend gets turned into a vampire by someone in one’s own bloodline. Vampirism was not an experiment for the weak of heart and Peter, though not specifically weak, struggled quite a lot. He only wished that the Universe could give him some kind of warning before these things happened. A head’s up. Perhaps being a vampire was a warning in and of itself: Beware: random **** might occur on any given night, depending on mood.
The night started out ordinarily enough.Once again, Peter woke up. Waking up was something that could not be helped. He got out of bed and he showered, as was his habit. He brushed his teeth, he brushed his hair. He dressed in clothes that could have been fit for public, but which would not be seen by the public.
Peter had not left the cabin in months.
Jersey had tried, of course. There’d been a wedding that she’d wanted a date for and Peter and said no. It wasn’t a pretty scene, and he expected that one of these nights his wife would ask for an annulment. Or a divorce. She can’t have bargained on marrying a complete recluse -- an agoraphobe who’d suddenly realised he just did not want to risk the outdoors ever again.
And yet, he was an agoraphobe who had his own businesses. They could be run from the cabin; important documents could be signed and scanned and sent electronically. Deliveries were made to the front door, and they were the only faces Peter saw. The only physical business he had was the animal rescue, and he had a good manager who took care of things while the boss was away.
The phone call Peter received was not a welcome one. Lance’s mother had died. Lance was the manager. Lance wanted some time off. There was no one there to close up; there’d been a call about a sack of kittens and they were waiting to be welcomed and processed. There was no one there who knew how to do it. They needed Peter to come in. They needed him as soon as possible.
That had been an hour ago. Paws and Whiskers had been completely forgotten about while Peter hid beneath his desk in the confines of his office, the door to which was locked. There was a stranger in his kitchen. A stranger wearing his face. A stranger who appeared out of nowhere, one who looked exactly like Peter. A stranger who’d knocked on the office door and called out with Peter’s voice. Yes, Peter had only just been thinking it would be a miracle if he had another self, another body that could go to the shelter in his place.
But the reality of it was downright terrifying. I must be dreaming, he thought, and closed his eyes tight as he counted to a million in his head.
<JERSEY> If asked, Jersey wouldn't say that she had been angry when Peter’s mind got the best of him. It pissed her off, but it was the life she had chosen the moment she'd married him. And despite his issues, she still loved him, but it didn't mean she failed to get upset or be disappointed. Clover’s wedding had been important to her. She had wanted the love of her life at her best friend’s wedding with her, but it hadn't happened.
Peter, of course, had apologized, too, but she wasn't thrilled when she had gotten home. She'd not replied to him as she changed out of her dress into her pajamas, as she had removed her make up. To make sure he didn't think she hated him, however, she'd crawled into bed with him to hold tight. On the days where his agoraphobia had developed, getting worse, she stopped trying to drag him out. Occasionally, as she'd stood there with her arms across her chest, Jersey contemplating on physically picking up her husband. She might've been on the small side, but vampiric strength did wonders.
That debate had been given up often.
She didn't want to risk him staying literally in the dog house again.
That evening, she had gotten up alongside her husband. Her green eyes had watched the way the muscles beneath his skin moved and she reminded herself how much she loved him. Again, Jersey asked if he wanted to join her for the dogs morning walk - the word was chosen pointedly. She knew it wasn't morning, but it was morning for her. After the blood had been finished off, the dogs walked, she kissed him and without another word, left the cabin. One would imagine it could be a considerably lonely life, but she was fine. Or at least, that was what she told herself.
Once her errands were ran, the guns she made sold, Jersey returned back to the cabin. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulders as she let it down for the night and set her bag down. “Peter, baby, I’m back.” Her shoes were removed quickly, followed by her jacket. She hated wearing a lot when home, padding barefoot as soon as her socks were off and she tucked them into her boots. When one of her cats moved closer, she leaned down to scratch the furry animal behind the ear. “Hi to you, too, sweet girl.”
She pulled her shirt off, adjusting the strap of her bra underneath as she went into the laundry room after. A frown crossed her lips, Jersey calling out, “Peter, have you seen my tank top? The paint covered one?” Art had become one of her favorite things, mostly because she could pointedly make a mess when she wanted, needed to, vent.
[PETER] Peter had no idea what the doppelganger was doing. He could hear his own voice cooing at the dogs and pottering around the kitchen. It was eerie. It was surreal. But what wasn’t surreal about being a vampire? There were levels of it. This ranked quite high. Peter was tempted to pull out a notebook and pen to list every surreal thing that had ever happened to him and then rank them. It was a very Peter thing to do.
Except his plans were thwarted when he heard Jersey come home. Her voice was accompanied by the scurrying of claws on hardwood as all the dogs raced to greet her and also by Peter’s head as it hit the underside of his desk. She might not have heard that, nor the curse that followed suit. He heard her footsteps as she made her way through the cabin -- he heard another pair of footsteps following. He heard her call out about a tank top and he heard himself answering.
“I think you should paint without it,” he heard himself say, the voice muffled through the walls. In the office, Peter’s jaw dropped. In the laundry room, a Peter who looked just like the Peter in the office -- right down to the clothes on his back -- leaned nonchalantly against the door. At this point, Peter clambered out from his hiding place, his heart in his throat. This was Jersey. His wife. He couldn’t leave her alone with this… thing!
The door of the office was wrenched open and Peter, so determined to get to the laundry room, did not look down. He should have looked down. In this house, one must always look down. Jack got between his feet and Peter fell, like a log lopped in a forest. There was a single bark that could have come from one of the dogs which was promptly cut off by a head hitting the opposite wall. In just the right place. And Peter was out cold.
In the laundry room, not-Peter cleared his throat and put a hand up against the door jam, basically blocking Jersey’s way out. “... I can imagine it, watching you paint naked…”
<JERSEY> There was a thud that had Jersey’s green eyes moving towards the general area; the first thought in her mind was that one of her cats had knocked something over - they didn’t have any holiday pieces to chase any more much to her amusement. Lately any ball-looking object would do. Where had she put that shirt? She’d done laundry yesterday, her laundry to be exact as she knew her husband had his own routine and she did some of hers out of sync just so it wasn’t an everyday thing.
Jersey didn’t think it was in the bedroom, though. She hadn’t painted yesterday or brought it in there. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she bent over to check the sides of the washer. Maybe it had slipped. Peter’s words, however, had her looking over her shoulder at the man. “While I do like that suggestion, you’d probably end up with your shirt stained when I decide it's Jersey time later.” The woman commented, eyeing him despite the soft smile that adorned her lips.
She heard the door open, that soft creak that she’d been meaning to fix of Peter’s office and her green eyes went from the man in the doorway with a frown playing across her lips. Was Lucas there? She didn’t think so. But, it was the thud and Peter’s lack of response that had Jersey alert, concerned even. “Honey, did you hear that?” She stepped forward, “Hunter? Bear?” She called. The two dogs were the largest, capable of making that noise. Bear must’ve weighed about the size of a child alone.
There was a brief flash of brown and black near his long legs, a bark from Hunter and lack of crying from either dog that had her curious. Her green eyes lifted to his face as she noticed the lack of panic. “It is a very me thing to do.” She said as she adjusted to set her body against the washer, looking to see if she could ease past Peter.
[PETER] In the hallway, the passed out Peter was being ferociously licked by a contrary Jack, the little dog’s tail wagging at a pace too fast for the human eye to follow. The little guy was feeling a little guilty, it might seem, for causing his master to trip. His little ears swivelled at the sound of Jersey’s voice -- but his was not the name she called. It was always one of the big dogs that got in trouble. Little Jack sometimes took advantage of their obvious clumsiness.
The two big dogs, upon hearing their names, came running. With a grace that defied their size they rounded corners without knocking anything over. They reached the laundry and, rather than try to push their way past not-Peter they remained on the other side, heads bowed and wary, noses twitching as they were still uncertain about this stranger wearing Peter’s face. He’d been trying to win them over before Jersey arrived and, being that they were all tame and rather timid dogs they did not attack the man who’d done nothing to harm them and who sounded so much like the one they were accustomed to. But there was something about his smell, and they still weren’t sure.
Not-Peter wasn’t aware of the dogs and their usual boisterous behaviour and he merely arched a brow at them before turning back to Jersey, tongue darting to lick his lips. Honestly, he’d been waiting for the proper Peter to come charging into the room. Given that nothing had happened, he went on as if nothing were wrong.
“Or we can have Jersey time now. And then no one has to get dirty. Well, not that kind of dirty…” he said with a slow grin.
<JERSEY> It was noted when Bear and Hunter didn't push past him. Normally, Bear came immediately because he enjoyed being scratched behind his ears and Hunter? She’d always been able to depend on his large size to accidentally knock her over in greeting if she wasn't careful. She ignored Peter and looked past his legs, clearly worried. They were acting off.
Even Lady and KC, Ellie and Jack didn't come running. As Peter spoke, she lifted her gaze to his features. Instead of moving to follow suit with his suggestion, instead of grinning and slipping her arms around his broad shoulders, Jersey stepped back. Her hand moved to grab one of her other shirts and pulled it on over her head. She didn't care that it was backward, but Peter was off. “Did they hurt you again?” She asked, although even without his permission the telepath flicked through his mind and frowned when she found nothing.
“Did you snap again?” It was in that confined space, however, that she noticed something was more off than his personality. He smelled different. It wasn't strong, or even something that bothered her too much, but it was there. A subtle change that had her calling out, “Peter?” behind the man standing in front of her despite the fact her green eyes were trained on the man in front of her. Jersey wondered briefly if it was part of her damaged mind playing a trick with her. That it was still repairing itself from the bus accident that had claimed her memory.
She knew he was her husband, but everything about the way he was carrying himself was wrong. Jersey almost expected to see him strip naked and saunter away as he did when he was soaked in blood.
[PETER] There was a groan in the hallway. A vampire could not stay unconscious for long. The concussion barely lasted as all the synapses healed themselves, the bruising -- what little there was -- clearing up. Or maybe it was Jersey’s voice, calling his name, that lifted him out of his fog. Long fingers reached up to slip into Jack’s fur -- Jack, who yipped excitedly. Where Jack was, Ellie wasn’t too far behind and soon, Peter -- strewn on the floor -- was being accosted by both dogs trying to lick him to death. This always happened when someone whose company they liked was brought down to their level.
While this was happening, not-Peter could feel his leverage slipping. The corners of his lips slipped downward and he shrugged his shoulders. What was he hoping to achieve? Regardless of how different this copy was to Peter, it had at least inherited basic goodness. It wasn’t out to kill anyone to get its way -- though it would have been willing to kill, if strictly required. But it had a special kind of loyalty to the man he’d sprung from, an instinctive need to obey. Though that didn’t mean he couldn’t be stubborn and rebellious -- a couple more traits the real Peter had wished he had on a few occasions.
“No one hurt me. I didn’t snap. I haven’t left the house. Hey, it’s me,” he said, making the mistake of lifting his arm, holding it out as if to surrender to Jersey. He didn’t, like Peter would have, insist that she take her shirt off only to put it back on the right way around. He did leave a small space through which Jersey could slip, should she so wish.
In the hallway, Peter was slowly pushing himself to his feet, much to Jack and Ellie’s dismay.
“Jersey --” he called, voice quiet and cracked to begin with. He cleared it.
“Jersey, he’s not me!” he called, stumbling down the hallway as he regained his balance, afraid to discover what kind of scene he might stumble into.
<JERSEY> Despite the attempt of reassurance that it was Peter, Jersey gave a shake of her head. She didn't have to try telepathically to find out, she could tell. “You are to an extent, but you gave yourself away.” The woman said as she stayed back. She heard the groan and her concern showed clear in her eyes before she closed them. She focused and… ah, the sound of his groan had her relaxing, but her green eyes reopened to show slight anger. Who the hell was this man and why was he in her house?
Reaching for her was something Peter would do, it was an action that had her heart twisting in confusion. It also made her wish she had one of her guns… but she knew she'd never be able to point one even at a man who looked like her husband. Losing Peter was something she didn't think she could ever do. Not again. The second she heard Peter call out to her, she moved quickly so that she could take advantage of the opening in the door. She was sure to hipcheck the individual so he’d have to stumble before he would be able to grab her. Jersey stepped over Bear, gracefully avoided stepping on Hunter - she glanced down at her feet briefly to avoid Lady as she neared her.
Once she spotted the real Peter, once she could smell him, did she turn to face the not-Peter and asked, “What the hell are you doing in my house?” At least in the hall, she could bolt if needed. She didn't, however, feel threatened in the least so once her husband neared her, the blonde relaxed. “And who are you?”
[PETER] Real Peter had his hands on Jersey’s shoulders as soon as she was near. At first she shielded him, until he swallowed down his own fear and surged forward, stood in front of her. Peter also swallowed down his relief. This other version of himself was more confident, more suave. It was the kind of man he thought Jersey probably wished she’d married and he half feared he’d stumble into the bedroom to find them in flagrante.
He now realised that he should give Jersey more credit. Her current anger was only testament to his faith in her. They could both stand there and watch as not-Peter pushed his fingers through his hair before shoving his hands into his pockets; it was the exact same way Peter got when feeling shy or sheepish. The smile on his face looked genuinely remorseful.
“I am him,” he said, pointing to Peter -- Peter, who immediately started shaking his head.
“No, no you’re not. You’re not me. I am me. There is only one of me and you are not,” he said, near panic. His hand slipped down Jersey’s arm, his fingers tangling with his hers, his grip tight. Not-Peter was unphased and merely shrugged, defeated.
“I came into existence about an hour ago. I have all your memories. I know what you want. I know what you hate. I know what you fear. I wasn’t here and now I am. Didn’t you wish you could be in two places at once?” he asked. He was being reasonable. Peter didn’t like it. All he could manage was a stammer and a shake of his head. It was too much to handle.
