Good To You [Peter Parkman]

[Jersey]

Stability had been something Jersey knew she needed from the beginning – it had been one of the things that her therapist had constantly insisted upon when she was in the hospital, the other being a steady routine that could stir up things about the past. The lie that she had known what her name was, giving it to him as Jersey Thompson, hadn’t really helped anything. It had taken her getting knocked to her back with her head smacking against a wooden floor before Marilee Evans had even registered in her subconscious.
And, in some ways, she really didn’t mind it.

Jersey had found stability and routine on her own. Her relationships, her family, her job – both the initial one where she’d walked the dogs for Peter while human and the one that Mora had given her – were in place to help her find her footing. Financially, she was secure and proud of her bank account. She had gone from not having fifty dollars to her name to eventually being able to afford two apartments where one was used in emergency and the other being used by her brother so he wouldn’t bother her.

Her gaze followed him from both habit and interest as she toyed with the relic on her finger briefly, the woman still quite pleased with how the man had cleaned up even if it wasn’t an entirely new sight to see. If one were to ask her to explain her thought process, it would likely take her a while. She did as Peter gestured given the fact she knew that in the accident that had robbed her of her memory; Jersey hadn’t been able to wear a seatbelt.

At his touch, she squeezed his hand and smiled warmly as she relaxed. When he spoke, she tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “No clubs... his own music...” The clues didn’t register in the blonde’s mind, her thumb moving slowly over the back of his hand in small circles. “It sounds like it’ll be a wonderful time, my love.” Jersey carefully leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek and then leaned back in her seat.

Jersey smiled when she noticed that he had relaxed, pleased to see as much. She knew that unplanned situations bothered him and after everything that had happened in the past few months, he deserved a night of relaxation and fun. Rather than chatter as she normally would, the telepath admired the man beside her quietly for a little while before her emerald green eyes moved outside the windows.

[Peter Parkman]

The night passed outside the windows, the streets with their semi-lit buildings, with the streetlights illuminating lonely footpaths—or footpaths walked by those braving the cold weather. At least the snow wasn’t intolerable, and the place to which Peter was taking Jersey was well covered with the tent. He hoped that the heaters had been remembered, too, even if the two of them didn’t strictly require heat.

He kept his hand clasped in Jersey’s, and the silence engulfed the cabin of the car. There was no music bar the rhythmic beat of the driver’s heart and the shush of the tires against the asphalt, the steady thrum of the machine beneath them. But even that wasn’t loud—the car itself was one of those new hybrid breeds. Mostly electrical. Silent as the grave.

Soon enough, the car turned slowly onto a dirt path that led down into the park that Peter had commandeered for the night. The glimmer of the fairy lights slowly strengthened, and as soon as the musician saw the glow of the car’s headlights, he began to play. The melodic, almost melancholy sound of the violin penetrated the glass of the windows, filtered through the cracks around the doors.

”Wait there,” Peter said, lifting Jersey’s knuckles to his lips to brush a quick kiss over the soft skin, before he got out of the car and rounded behind it, the heat of the exhaust billowing smoke against the frigid air. Once he’d opened Jersey’s door for her, he held out a long-fingered hand for her to take, to balance herself as she stood, as she extracted herself from the low seat.

There was a smile on Peter’s lips, as if he were entirely proud of what he had managed to construct, here, with the help of a few good people, and of cash, of course. There was inquisition in his eyes, however—for all the time that they had spent together, there would still always be things that he would not know about Jersey. And whether or not this kind of scene was something that she would consider romantic was one of them. Had he gone overboard? Was it too much?

”Dancing. Just the two of us. No distractions. What do you think?” he asked, voice hushed beneath the keening cry of the violin.

[Jersey]

It was both a little difficult to believe and amusing, she thought, as she settled comfortably into the seats of the car that it was a few months shy of a year to when the two had met. Neither of them required heat and she no longer could recall the way his skin had been cold against hers, nor did she really remembered how actually cold it had to be outside to get her to clench her teeth together at a particularly cold gust of wind piercing through her jacket.

As they sat in the car, it dawned on her that she likely should have worn a longer dress or at least, leggings underneath due to the weather outside, but she trusted that Peter had thought ahead. She wasn’t very fond of restricting material and was perfectly comfortable to wear shorts around the cabin in the dead of winter, only adding more layers if she heard chatter outside when she would take the dogs out, or if she were going into town. Simple, but she preferred to be able to move around and relax in one of his shirts and her pajama shorts.

Feeling the car turn, she gave his hand another squeeze. Her excitement and curiosity rose as she caught sight of the fairy lights growing stronger and her green eyes moved to the man beside her with a curious expression dancing across her pretty features. It softened to one of adoration. As he got out of the car, she brushed her thumb over the area that he had kissed and she focused on the sound of the violin rather than the heartbeat in front of her, waiting for the door to reopen as she unbuckled herself from the seat.

Her long legs swung out carefully, her hand lifting to curl around his while she slipped out of the car and smoothed out her dress with her freehand. As she straightened up, her green eyes went to studying the area around them and her expression was thoughtful, slightly critical as she considered it all. Finally, after a few moments, Jersey looked up at Peter with a warm smile playing across her lips. “I think it’s perfect, Peter.” She spoke softly, looking around once again, “You did all of this, for us?”

[Peter Parkman]

Peter nodded, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. The evening had been in the works for a while, all of it culminating to this point; revealing the scene to Jersey, who appeared to appreciate it. Which caused Peter to release the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, a weight lifting from his shoulders. Although he seemed sure of a lot of things, there were also plenty of things that he wasn’t sure of. He had to have faith that he at least had some luck with women; he’d been married once, and now he had Jersey, who wasn’t running from him as fast as her clumsy legs might carry her. Though sometimes Peter wondered whether her judgment was clumsy, too, and that was the reason she stayed.

Basically, underneath everything, he wondered why she would stay. Yes, he had showed her kindness in the beginning, and had formed an attachment to her wellbeing. He would continue to care for her, but he did not understand how she could continue to care for him. Even now, even as she told him that what he had organised was perfect, he assumed it was only a matter of time. He was more trouble than he was worth, and he wasn’t trouble, he was boring. Had to be. He was a man who lived a regimented life and who did not like to deviate from his plans. He went from the cabin, to the animal shelter, to the Asylum, and back again, rarely going anywhere else or seeing anyone else. And if that plan should be ruined, he lost his wits. How could anyone want to deal with that?

So he decided that if he wanted to enjoy his time with Jersey, he would have to do so now, while he had the chance. Of course, he would mention none of this to Jersey; it wasn’t a conversation he wanted to instigate. So he just nodded again and cleared his throat.

”I’m only in a relationship with you,” he said. There wasn’t even any humour in the sentence; it was a statement of fact. Of course he had done it just for them. Who else would he have done it for? He took Jersey’s hand and led her toward the canopy and its fairy lights, toward the slender melody of the violin. There was a light smile on the musician’s face as he watched the couple, bowing to Jersey should she catch his eye. Ever polite, but averting his eyes and giving the couple privacy as soon as the greetings were made.

Peter had learned how to dance, once. Proper dance. His former wife had forced him into it for their wedding night, so he knew exactly what he was doing as he continued to hold on to Jersey’s hand, and as his palm came to rest in the proper, supporting place upon her back.

”I promised you dancing,” he said, with a slight cant to his head.

[Jersey]

The blonde heard the noise of his exhale and looked at her lover with a curious gaze, her eyebrow lifting briefly in questioning. She remained quiet as she looked back over the scene he had created for their date. Jersey wasn’t a perfectionist, and in all honesty she knew that had she not begun to live with Peter it would have reflected more on her lifestyle. She had already assumed she’d once worn all white because she liked the purity of the color, but even on the first evening she’d met him, stains were something she’d been used to – there had been enough bleach pens in her bag to tell her that.

Turning back to him, she lifted her hand lightly to his cheek before leaning up to press a kiss to his lips after he cleared his throat and then stepped back to admire him. Tall, handsome. Jersey supposed that while his hair was dark and skin was pale, the dark portion that she’d begun to consider had nothing to do with his physical appearance, but rather the darkness that she knew lingered beneath the surface of his mind. She still couldn’t entirely describe why she felt the way she did for Peter, but on that same thought, she didn’t know much of why certain things made her feel the way she did. And, she was content to not figure it out just yet.

“Rhe-tor-i-cal.” She mumbled, prodding at his hip with a slender finger and resisted the urge to sigh even though she knew she should have expected such a response. Still, as she felt mild aggravation towards the man, Jersey was still happy about the evening’s plans and he had done a wonderful job arranging everything. It was elegant and simple, and she loved it. Smiling to the musician as she followed after Peter, the blonde woman appreciated the sound of the violin. In her time as a telepath, she’d learned that she preferred to avoid club venues anyway. Too many colors, too many sounds. It didn’t do well, sometimes.

Lifting her green eyes to Peter’s features as she felt his free palm move to her back, her own moving to his shoulder and sliding for a moment before it found its proper place. “You did, and I’m glad that you’re following through with that promise.” Jersey chuckled, looking up at him with a soft, fond expression playing across her features. Afterwards, she cracked a sheepish grin. “Let’s hope I manage not to trip over my feet?” She knew that eventually, if she’d lose her temper with her shoes, she’d take them off and set them aside. Jersey usually danced around the cabin barefoot and did just fine that way. Even with the six dogs running about.

[Peter Parkman]

Rhetorical. Peter never did get the hang of rhetorical statements. No matter how many were thrown at him, he never could learn what was rhetorical and what wasn’t. He heard that upward tilt at the end of the sentence, and all those grammatical structures that comprise a question, and he has to answer that question. Because it is a question. Why ask a question if you don’t want an answer for it? Peter never did understand that, either.

He was quite able to ignore the presence of the musician. The kid was wearing all black and even went so far as to take a step backward, as if trying to blend into the shadows beyond the tent. A nice touch, though it didn’t help so much. Peter could still see him. Still knew, logically, that the music was being made by a person. A person who was very much present. A single glance and Peter knew the musician wasn’t paying them any attention, though. He was focused on his music.

It was easy to forget about the guy, though, when he felt Jersey’s hand slide over his shoulder. Smooth, a very real presence in front of him. They’d been through a lot, he and Jersey. Jersey wasn’t her real name, but Peter didn’t care. Somehow, this wondrous woman was still with him and he may as well celebrate that, while it lasted. She wasn’t something out of his imagination; she wasn’t some wraith. She wasn’t an ethereal memory of the woman he had lost. Jersey was not grief. She was a product of the new life he had gained for himself, here. She was Peter Parkman’s girl. Arthur Pembroke had never met her, had never had anything to do with her, nor she with him. Not really.

Peter’s grip around Jersey’s waist tightened and he smiled down at her. He paused in his movements so that he could look down between them. So cliché. So corny. Something he’d seen numerous times… where? Those movies that Lily had made him watch, probably.

”Stand on my feet,” he said. ”I’m not much of a dancer myself, but that’s what they do, isn’t it? All the … couples in those movies. Does it actually work?” he asked, nudging his feet forward just a little to encourage Jersey to step up, to allow him to take her weight. Feather-light. Her shoes might scuff his, but nothing that he couldn’t clean later on.