Second Chances [Jersey]

[Peter Parkman]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


<Jersey> Out of all of the injuries that Jersey had received, most had healed aside from a burn that was taped up on her side, although she knew that her skin wouldn’t fade to a lovely tan, but back to the pale, healthy undertone that she had received after her turning. “Peter?” She called, stopping by her bag to tuck the shard back away until she could ask her sire about later as she reached down to scratch at one of the dog’s soft fur, “Where, my darling, are you?”

She fiddled with the shard that she had picked up in the raid with her sire and the two other ladies, rolling it between her fingers as she left their bedroom after changing into a pair of simple black nike spandex shorts and one of Peter's shirts that was left partially unbuttoned over a black sports bra. As promised with behaving, it was the beginning of a new start to harass him in more ways than one, showing a little bit more skin and leg despite the fact in reality, she was simply more comfortable dressed that way in the cabin. Her blonde hair, which had been recently touched up so that the roots weren't so brown at the crown of her head, had been pulled up into a high bun with a few strands around her ears left down to frame her face.


<Peter Parkman> The second business was a blessing for Peter. As if, giving himself more to do helped him to fill in the time. The routine had shifted, just slightly; He would wake and shower and dress, and after feeding and saying goodbye to Jersey, he’d go to the Animal Rescue. There he would stay for six hours – never straying over – and he would clean, first. He’d check each cage and fill every water bowl and every biscuit bowl, regardless of how full or empty they might already be. He checked accounts and discussed what had gone on during the day with the day staff. It had taken some time to find the staff that would meet Peter’s standards, but he had found them, sooner or later. Whether or not they, too, suffered from OCD, it didn’t matter – they were OCD at work. Which made Peter happy.

After the Shelter, he’d go into the city to finish with the banking and the other small transactions that he might need to make on a nightly basis. Any business that needed to be concluded in the city would be done within a one hour window. And then he would return to the cabin, where he would have another shower, dress in his pyjamas – always striped long pants and a plain grey t-shirt – and settle in his office. The office was all wooden furniture, all the walls covered from floor to roof in bookshelves, with one glass cabinet for the special things that he owned. On the wall behind his desk were his certificates, those that qualify him as an academic – forged, of course, so that his new name appeared rather than his old one. His desk was neat, with nothing out of place. The laptop was open, the shimmering blue light competing with the fire that burned in the corner. There was a large, cracked leather armchair, too, which Lady currently occupied. Jack and Ellie sat licking each other on the mat in front of the desk.

He heard the front door open. He heard Jersey moving around – it was only when she called out to him that he replied. “In here!” he called. It was where he was every night, unless something waylaid him. In which case he would be in a very bad mood. But nothing had gone wrong tonight. And so he was placated. Happy enough.


<Jersey> Hearing his voice coming from his office, she wondered quietly if it would be a night to try and coax him away from his work but her green eyes moved to the clock on her phone to check the time before setting it down and padding barefoot in the direction with Bear, KC and Hunter following after her, the large pup nearly knocking her over from size before she caught herself. “Horse.” She huffed at Bear with a shake of her head. “How are things going with the shelter and your journal?” She asked curiously once she was in the room, carefully moving around to stand behind him and slip her arms around his shoulders. When he was sitting, she felt less short and enjoyed being able to set her chin there as she gave a squeeze before letting go.

Jersey set her hand on the middle of his back after from habit, enjoying touching the man in the slightest of ways even before her turning without realizing that then, he’d been too cold while now, they were the same temperature. When she’d first moved in, she had looked over the certificates and every now and then, making a mental note to where she’d found the book, read something before putting it back where she found it. After his accident with the fae and thinking back to a conversation they had had, she’d looked at the name Peter Parkman printed on every one of the certificates, her lips forming the name over and over again. For someone that had no memory of her past, she made it a point to remember her present so she’d know it in the future and certain things still popped out at her.

It was one of those things, his name at this moment, that bugged her as did his lack of a shadow had when she first confronted him and this time, she figured it would be best to ease into the conversation rather than ask, set him off and possibly ruin their night. Although, Jersey mused as she recalled the events that transpired after the truth came out, she might not ruin it at all. A smile crossed her lips at the memory of their first kiss and she slid her hand up to brush her fingertips through his hair affectionately. “And how was your day?” Simple and trivial stuff, for now.


<Peter Parkman> One could hear Jersey coming down the hallway. Not because Jersey herself was noisy, but because the entourage that followed. The dogs’ claws on the polished wooden flooring were loud, click clicking and sliding. They all bustled into the room and it was a welcome sight, as if the additions only added to the warmth of the office. It was one of Peter’s favourite places to be; it was home, it was familiar and it was comfortable, and he knew every single corner, every chip and scratch in every bit of wood, every book, nothing out of place. He was calm here. Comfortable.

Jersey was every bit a part of this home now as all those scratches and chips, all those books and knick knacks. She was as much loved, and if she were to suddenly disappear, there’d be something wrong. Something missing. Something out of place. It was why Peter didn’t cringe when he felt her behind him; when he felt her fingers mess up the hair that he had so meticulously brushed.

“Night,” he corrected. “I slept during the day – I can’t say much happened. My night was good. No hiccups,” he said, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen – highlighting the sentence that he’d reached while editing an essay he’d received from a former student for the journal – to swing around in his chair so that he could face Jersey. He could be lenient. This was his time to be in the office – it didn’t mean that he had to be working every single second of it. He was here. And that was fine. His olive-coloured eyes assessed Jersey – she’d recently been injured, and he was ascertaining how much she had healed. He wanted to reach out to unbutton that shirt she was wearing, just to see what the wounds beneath looked like now. Imagining doing so, however, had him shifting in his chair and clearing his throat. “And yours?”


<Jersey> She felt Hunter bump her hand with his nose as she waited, Bear sitting down beside her as she began to scratch the Great Dane before she repeated the action on her shepherd. When she finished running her fingers through his hair, Jersey pressed a kiss to his temple and fixed it to how he’d had it with her nails. If she wouldn’t mess with him in some way, it wouldn’t be normal, nor would not touching him be. Peter was an important part of her life, or death, or whatever vampirism was considered, and she loved him even on his worse days. “Our lives are reversed; these are our days and those are our nights and I will continue to say it until you either get used to it or I tire of saying it, which has more of a chance of happening.”

She sassed playfully and watched him quietly, her green eyes skimming over the words he had highlighted before stepping back when she noticed he was moving. When he faced her, the blonde leaned in and pressed her lips to his in a brief kiss and her smile continued against her lips as she straightened up. He had shifted and her head inclined, amused lightly as she lifted an eyebrow to silently question what had been going on in his head. “Well enough, I’m still trying to figure out what some of the things I found in the raid with Siren are. I realized some are fangs, but I can’t tell what creature they’re from.” She shrugged and set her hand over the shirt where the bandage was in place.


<Peter Parkman> Peter ignored the sass. Night was night and day was day – the words have specific dictionary meanings and if those meanings were tossed aside, then the world would become chaos. He had already emailed his complaint to the OED about the inclusion of ‘literally’ in the dictionary meaning both ‘literally’ and ‘figuratively’. If all words are allowed to have such double meanings, then where would sense come from? There would be none.

He wanted to ask what the items were; but the mention of ‘Siren’ had a metaphorically bitter taste bleeding onto his tongue. Maybe later he’d ask to observe, so see if they had any historical value. He’d started a partnership with Jonah, whereby Jonah would help him find useful manuscripts. Maybe Peter could know something about these items; he could, sooner or later, play the part of Giles, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. The musty old librarian who had the answers to everything. At least, that’s what he strove for.

The way Jersey touched her side, however, had all questions and bitterness sliding away to be replaced only by concern. It was more immediate, now, that she was still hurt. Peter didn’t think before he acted. He leaned forward and, rather than slowly unbuttoning the shirt in what might appear to be a seductive way, he instead lifted it so that he could observe the wound. He was at the right height to do so. The tips of his fingers touched upon the flesh around the taped bandage. It looked neat and clean, but was it festering underneath? “Are you okay?” he asked, gaze lifting from the bandage to his lover’s face.


<Jersey> After she had mentioned the fang, Jersey reached into the breast pocket of the shirt she wore to dig around in it for a few moments to find the one she’d wrapped up in tissue paper for him. It wasn’t exactly a nice gift, but she had eleven more and figured it might come up in his second project at some point, so when she found it in the shirt, Jersey leaned forward carefully and set the small bundle up. “There’s just one of many.” She lifted her lips in a soft smile, “Those creatures were... strong. I got my butt kicked.” She hadn’t tried after that first one, either, and stuck to taking out traps, spirit cages and did a little bit of breaking and entering.

Watching Peter move, she lifted her hand away and shivered lightly at his touch against her skin while she bit down on her bottom lip briefly before he looked back up at her. “It still hurts a little, but it should be gone tomorrow. I was burnt to a crisp and had a gunshot in my stomach again not too long ago.” Jersey set her fingertips against his cheekbone, smoothing her hand out to rest against his jaw. “But we won, and I’m somewhat back to being stubborn?” She lifted her eyebrows, as she hadn’t felt like protesting or being difficult with him in the past few days. “The smell of burnt flesh is gone, too. You can look if you’d like.” She nodded down at the bandage.


<Peter Parkman> The possibility that there might be seeping blood was what had Peter pausing; he shook his head and contented himself with laying his palm flat against the bandaged area. Not pressing hard, just touching, lightly, as if he could transfer some kind of energy through the flimsy cloth to heal her. He couldn’t, of course, but the want was there. Peter swallowed and shook his head. “N—no, I trust you,” he said. There was that urge to swaddle Jersey in bubble wrap, but that would get them nowhere. Their bodies were near indestructible. Fatal wounds healed. Some took longer than others, but the damage wasn’t permanent. It was a matter of getting used to it, of trying to accept it as normal. He shuddered as Jersey explained – getting her *** kicked. Traps. Why do they do it? They won and they gained profits, but Peter wasn’t sure that he felt he was missing out on anything. He knew that he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.

Time, also, was something that they had in abundance. It was a concept that Peter struggled with in a daily basis, but underneath it all he had never been an impatient man. Although he was curious about the fang, he knew it could wait. “Stubborn?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He removed his hand and let the material of the shirt drop again. He leaned back, shoulders straight, as his palms lay flat over his knees.

He had no such stories to tell. He glanced sideways at the computer screen; the fans whirred. The one modern sound in the room; there was the crackling of the fire, and the small dogs had settled back onto the mat to keep grooming each other. You could hear their tongues, licking away.


<Jersey> She leaned down lightly and brushed her lips to his in another kiss, silently trying to reassure him that she show that she really was fine after he had shook his head, her hand sliding to rest against the curve of his neck. She smiled softly, pulling back briefly to brush her nose against his after. Jersey knew he was likely worried, seeing him shudder and gave a soft chuckle. “It’s not that bad, I’m getting better at evading and disarming traps.” Jersey studied her lover’s features with a content expression playing across her own as she inclined her head. She thought about the name once more, her green eyes moving to the screen in debate. “You know... do you remember our talk about spiderman in the park while you were recovering?” She asked curiously. Jersey never could beat around the bush for long.

When her shirt dropped, she nudged his legs apart enough with her own before stepping forward to slip her arms around his neck. “Yes, stubborn. So, back to my normal self.” She shrugged a shoulder as she traced her thumb over his collar of his shirt before sliding it underneath the cloth to trace over the skin. “And I’m asking because... something has me curious and maybe you might want to try to finish up a bit early before I ask outright?”


<Peter Parkman> If Peter had a heart, the tempo might have instantly increased as soon as Jersey nudged herself between his legs. A kiss was one thing. Kissing he had grown accustomed to; had inured himself to the sensation that kissing her might have inspired. Whenever she got up close, however, he could remember the feel of their bodies intertwined, and it was harder to resist. It was easy, before, because he had no memory to tempt him. Now, though, he knew exactly what he was missing out on.

But she wasn’t trying to lure him in that way. Not yet. His hands had flit to the arms of the office chair that he sat in – an old office chair, with the short rounded back and the shiny brown leather. Vintage. A frown creased the centre of his brow. Did he remember talking about Spiderman? Not really. He remembered a vague conversation, and the walk in the park, but he couldn’t remember the specifics. If he had a heart, it would be in his throat. Spiderman. It couldn’t be good, whatever he had let slip.

Maybe it was time, though. He and Jersey had been together long enough, and he hoped that he would not be wrong, that he would be able to trust her to keep everything he told her to herself. He reached over to click the save button on the document he’d been working on before closing the lid of the laptop. It would all be there, ready for him to return to. “So long as we don’t leave the office,” he said. He rolled backward on the chair – if this was going to be a serious conversation he wouldn’t be able to concentrate with Jersey so close. Instead, he stood, and gestured to a couch over against one of the far walls. Leather, too – cracked as well, and not very comfortable in the grand scheme of things. But he’d thrown a knitted throw over it to make it a little more appealing.


<Jersey> “We don’t have to leave the office.” She smiled softly, watching him before she watched him quietly and stepped back with her hands moving to roll up the sleeves a bit of the shirt she wore. Jersey chewed on the bottom of her lip and then got up, tracing her fingertips against his arm briefly before she moved to sit down on the couch so she wouldn’t bother him. She crossed her legs underneath herself, fiddling with her fingertips and pick at the nail. “What did you mean when you said that you picked the name Peter Parker?” She asked, her green eyes moving to his features with an incline of her head. Her pale lips pressed into a soft thin line.

[Jersey]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--



<Peter Parkman> Peter followed Jersey to the couch. He sat down beside her, the leather complaining beneath his weight. He sat with one knee up on the couch, the other foot flat on the ground so that he could face Jersey. There were plenty of stories he could make up. He could laugh and tell her that he had been delirious and hadn't know what he was saying. He could say that upon being turned into a vampire, he thought it prudent to change his name. A lot of the others did. But it wouldn't gel, would it? That was a lie which would fall apart at the seems. The certificates with his name on were dated before his turn. "There's... I'm not really... I was going to tell you, sooner or later, but they were so serious about not telling anyone, anyone. That I wasn't...." he stopped and shook his head. He was telling the story backwards. He gathered the timeline in his head and took a deep breath, before clearing his throat. "My name isn't Peter Parker. My name is actually Arthur Pembroke. I moved to Harper Rock as part of a witness protection program," he said. There. Matter-of-fact. Easy. There was a lot more to explain. A lot more to make her understand. But he stopped, waiting for her initial reaction before continuing.


<Jersey> Green eyes studied the man that she’d fallen in love with, his words sinking into her while the gears turned in her head and she searched for a sign in his features that he was playing with her. But, she knew how he was. Peter had always been honest with her when she asked; he had told her the truth about being a vampire even though he stressed how dangerous it had been, because she had asked. The telepath could tell that he wasn’t lying. Reaching over, Jersey rested her arm against the back of the couch as her head set against it. “They’re always serious with you about not telling anyone, aren’t they? Someone always is. Keara... now these guys.” She was careful to not make her words not sound accusing and she didn’t understand why it upset her more now than it had when she learned that he’d been a living dead guy. “Even after the truth about you being a vampire, you knowing I’d never share something that would put you in danger.” Arthur Pembroke. The name didn’t have to be repeated, she’d remember it. “What happened to you?” She asked softly when she pushed her own emotions aside.


<Peter Parkman> There was a twitch in Peter's brain - he should have explained first, but it would have been backward. He'd have confused her more, and it would have made no sense. But there was something in her tone that told him she wasn't happy. As if he didn't trust her enough to tell her all about his past. But he had to answer her question, first - he cleared his throat, licked his lips, and dropped his eyes to his hands. "I ... I had a wife. She was pregnant. She... never told me but she was ... we lived in Toronto, and she was the daughter of a prominent businessman. But he was strictly a legal businessman. Her family had criminal connections. She didn't want to be a part of anything but she got involved in something she couldn't get out of. She was artist. She restored art for the gallery and she could... she used to forge for them, and she tried to get out. Anyway I... there was a confrontation and she was murdered, right in front of me. I got away. I went straight to the police though I knew I would be a dead man. I didn't care. It wasn't my life the police cared about, but the knowledge that I have. Star witness - they had to hide me, and keep me safe. So they sent me here," he explained. Some of the words were strained, though his voice remained clear. Repeating the story
dredged up memories he'd prefer to leave behind him forever. When finally he lifted his eyes to Jersey's face, they were pleading. "You have to understand - it's not that I don't trust you. But it's my old life. I came here and Keara turned me and I feel like it's a second chance. I died. Arthur Pembroke died. There is no more Arthur Pembroke. I am Peter Parkman, and I don't want to go back. I just want to be Peter Parkman, and if I tell everyone who I once was, then Arthur Pembroke will live on. You understand?"


<Jersey> “That’s certainly a divorce, just not the type that I had expected.” She said quietly about his wife, listening. Her green eyes lowered to the ground as she took in his words, trying to put away her own feelings and lock them away for the time being. She understood that he hadn’t been able to tell her. She was upset, yes, but he hadn’t done it to lie to her. The lies had just been there in place before Jersey Thompson had ever come across Peter Parkman. It wasn’t his fault, really. He had a family that had been murdered. Turning her head to look at the dogs, she remembered the conversation that they had where he had mentioned that she’d never be able to have children had she stayed with him as a human and she felt a tug on her heart – he had already felt that loss of life and she felt wetness on her cheek, her hand lifting automatically to use the sleeve of her shirt to wipe away tears that had fallen.

For him. For his wife, for his child. It wasn’t difficult to put herself in his perspective; she didn’t have a past to compare anything to. When she had died, she considered whoever that she had been to die. “Just like me with being Marilee.” She murmured offhandedly without even realizing that she’d uttered a name, unaware of where it came from. She was focused on Peter. She repeated quietly to herself that this was the man that had taken her in as a stranger, who had given her a job and trusted her, and this was the man that she’d fallen in love with. “I still wish you would have told me and not made me feel blindsided.” She admitted honestly.


<Peter Parkman> Of course the name registered. The wetness on her cheeks registered. He wasn't expecting sympathy. This was not the reason why he told the story - he doesn't want it, he doesn't want to grieve anymore for what he'd lost. He'd done enough of that. He'd spent far too long crying in the dark before he got up and got on with it. Continued with his changed life with determination, and precision. Work, home, dogs, reading. That's it. He could do that. Now everything was changed again, and he couldn't complain. Wouldn't, because this was his life now. This was who he was. And so he couldn't help the way the name, Marilee, was registered and then pushed aside - slapped out of the way by her last statement. "You weren't blindsided. If I had't been out of my wits I wouldn't have slipped up. You would never have known because it doesn't matter. It has no consequence. I don't want to be him anymore. Okay?" he said. She'd hit a nerve. His shoulders had straightened, his body tense.


<Jersey> “You told me once that you were a local and then later explained that you relocated to Harper Rock months before you met me.” It was one of those things that she remembered at random points at times, things that she remembered about him because of how odd that it had sounded at the time. And then she noticed that she had seemed to irritate him and green eyes narrowed softly. “You say now that I never would have known and yet you said that you were going to tell me sooner or later. Would you have told me before or after they came to collect their star witness, the man that I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with?” She took a few minutes to calm down as she fell quiet before sighing and carefully adjusting on the couch so that she could lean over to him, her knuckles pressing into the couch as she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Her expression and voice softened, she didn’t want to fight with him and it showed in every bit of her features. “You aren’t him anymore, you’re Peter Parkman. You’re a vampire, and you’re my boyfriend, my lover. You’re my heart. But, he’s still a part of you until the moment that his need to be a witness for the government is up because one day, his past might come to haunt your future.” She paused, her green eyes lifting to his as she studied his features, “And I’m going to be here for you when if the time comes that it does. Arthur Pembroke is dead, yes. But Peter’ll need him at some point until he can properly give him the burial that he deserves.”


<Peter Parkman> Of course these were things that Peter's rational mind told him. That there was a reason why his name was Peter Parkman and it was legally sanctioned; it wasn't something that the vampire community had knocked together for him. To all those in Toronto, Arthur Pembroke was missing. A runaway. A man who could not deal with his wife's death and thus left the country. He knew, deep down, that his past would come back to haunt him, but a part of him chose to believe it wouldn't. The murderers would never be apprehended and his statement would never be required. He was still tense, even as Jersey leaned in and kissed him. "I would have told you after. If it happened. If it didn't, I might not have told you. I am local, as in... I am from Canada. That's what I meant. I never lied to you, beyond that. I never lied, I never meant to, I only kept things from you that I couldn't tell you," he said, though he felt like he was digging himself into a deeper hole. He didn't know what had gotten into him; he wasn't usually so argumentative or defensive. But she had caught him off guard, and he struggled to comprehend. He didn't want to argue. He didn't want for this to be a spark to set off his anxieties. Suddenly, he reached up to cup Jersey's jaw, long fingers curling behind her neck. To press a kiss to her lips, tenderly. "I love you," he murmured against them.


<Jersey> She gave a soft shake of her head, “No more keeping things from me that could initially blow up into a fight.” She murmured and then frowned, a sigh escaping past her lips as she leaned back slightly to look up at him. “And I won’t keep things from you, either. Well. Not that I know anything about who I was, but I like being able to be honest with you. You’ve never made me feel crazy.” She gently nudged his nose with hers and then jumped at the sudden movement before she kissed him in return. Lightly, she tapped at his knee with her fingertip during the kiss in a silent way to ask that he move it so she could sit closer and she smiled at his words. “I love you, too.” She whispered.


<Peter Parkman> He shifted, as silently requested. Peter would, of course, have begged to differ. He hadn't ever made her feel crazy? Not even that time he would not come out of the doghouse? There was always time to make Jersey go crazy, but was that what she even meant? Or, in comparison to him, was she not crazy? He assumed the latter. Compared to him, no one would look crazy. His released his hold on Jersey's neck - it was a moment of rashness - and clamped his hands between his knees. She'd said she'd be honest. "What about 'Marilee'?" he asked. He'd been staring forward at the fire on the other side of the room. He now glanced sideways.


<Jersey> Jersey adjusted to sit closer to him and then studied his features once more, silently thinking about his past and then what she had said. Her hand went to his thigh and she gave a soft squeeze. She meant what she'd said about being there for him if the time came. "Marilee?" The telepath looked confused. She hadn't even realized she'd said it and quietly, she replaced their conversation in her head. Green eyes widened just a bit and then she pulled at a strand of blonde hair. "She's me. I remember the name... somehow."


<Peter Parkman> Peter frowned. "And you knew this? And you... you were angry at me because of Arthur Pembroke?" he asked. It wasn't the same thing, he knew. She'd forgotten, but he'd had knowledge of his past all along. In the beginning he hadn't told her because there was the whole vampire thing to contend with. And afterwards? She'd known him as Peter for so long that it didn't even matter. When had she learned about Marilee, and why not tell him? He studied her features. When next he spoke it was with calm reason, no irritation. Because, he realised, he was not irritated. "It's for the same reason," he stated. "Because you aren't her anymore. You're Jersey. And it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter," he repeated, to himself as much as to Jersey.


<Jersey> "I honestly only put it together today. Her name was Marilee Evans." She frowned, "The name came back to me after I got knocked flat on my back because of a proximity mine and I wrote it down on a sticky note pad I keep in my purse." She lifted her shoulder in a shrug, “She died in the accident with her memories. And no, I was angry at you because I felt as if you didn’t trust me but you clarified that you do which makes me feel silly.” Reaching over, the blonde inclined her head softly, “Peter, move your hands?” She asked.


<Peter Parkman> Peter moved his hands without even thinking to ask why. It was an odd request, but he was preoccupied, thinking about what Jersey had said. One hand landed on the arm of the couch, while the other rested on the throw beside his leg. His fingers were relaxed. Maybe she hadn't had time to think about it. But Peter asked the question anyway: "And you don't want to look her up, to see who her family might have been? I know you say you have a family now but what if that changes, when you start to remember more?" he asked.


<Jersey> She moved to sit on his lap without hesitation, it was usually a place where she was more comfortable and she pressed a kiss to his jaw as she listened to him speak. His voice calmed her down easily and she pressed her lips into a line as she considered the question. "I might one day, but for now... no. I have you, I have Kallista and my siblings. Granted, now that I have a name and Nakia was CIA... I could probably just ask her to find out what she can. It's not a priority though, it never will be."


<Peter Parkman> Peter bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying what he wanted to say about Kallista. Naturally, as soon as Jersey was settled on his lap his arms encircled her waist. Not groping or grasping but settled. He nodded. "And nor is Arthur Pembroke a priority of mine, and I should hope he doesn't become a priority of yours. Arthur had medication, and Arthur was a calm and relaxed man," Peter said with a frown. If he missed anything, it would be that. If he yearned for anything, it would be the calmness, and the sturdiness he'd felt in any situation. "And I am not. He is nothing like I am now; you are stuck with the broken Arthur. The one who calls himself Peter out of some ... false idolisation of a character whom he'll never live up to," he said. He said it with a smile, but it was a sad smile.


<Jersey> She set her head lightly on his shoulder and closed her eyes, "He won't be, I'm happy with you. My lover, my Peter." Her green eyes opened to look up at his features, and then she gave a soft shake of her head as she sat up. Her hand moved to cup his jaw, her thumb softly tracing over his lips when he smiled and then she stroked over his cheek. "Arthur died, Peter. You said so yourself, you aren't broken. You're you, living with your OCD because our bodies are too different to have a medicated effect to tame what goes on in that wonderful head of yours." She pressed a kiss to his temple, "I love you, and nothing will change that."


<Peter Parkman> Peter sighed and relaxed, just for a moment or two. He won't argue - this is a conversation they'd had several times before and Peter was ashamed of himself for bringing it up again. It was a moment of weakness and vulnerability, remembering who he once was and comparing it to himself now. He believed himself to be broken, Arthur or no Arthur. That was the reality of it. He didn't feel as if he could be of any use to anyone - they go to these raids and they invite him to join but he doesn't. Because he will be no help. He doesn't tell any of this to Jersey, not again, not now. Over Jersey's shoulder he could see the light of the laptop blinking; he knew he should get back to work, aware as he was of time, passing him by. He inched his hand a little so he could see the numbers on the watch that he always wore. But, for the moment, he stayed where he was. Inadvertently, his arms wrapped a little tighter, hugging Jersey, his back hunched and the side of his head resting against her chest.