WHO: Sarah Williams [Peter by inference] WHERE: the Hyperion WHEN: Thursday, October 13; early a.m. WHAT: Sometimes the most ordinary things can be very novel indeed. RATING: F for fluff STATUS: narrative; complete! it so was not supposed to be this long
You and Peter, can be in peace together.
Lying on her stomach, draped partially across Peter's torso with her arms folded atop his chest, that together in peace Elaine had written of was currently this very thing for Sarah – being with Peter while he slept. A very normal and consistent act in most cases, generally considered a function of daily life, necessary for survival, but as with many other things, the standards for duration and frequency were redefined for Peter. Even the times he did sleep, she was nearly certain only part of them involved actual sleep and the rest were just periods of rest that were orchestrated to look like sleep to appease those around him.
But this time had been too long without sleep, far too long even for him, and Sarah still hoped he slept for days, though her current private bet had crept from three days to forty-eight hours maximum, if that, given the things that continued to catch his attention when she nudged him awake enough to eat. He had been consuming whatever she brought back (part of what she returned with for Hiro, who had been doing voluntary sentry duty outside the door to keep Peter from being disturbed), half-awake very briefly before he hit the pillow again with the same near-instantaneous slumber as he had the first time, when he'd told her the Apocalypse really was over.
It was a pattern of sleeping except for sustenance (and the few stray technopathic message board replies she had eventually noticed) that hadn't been broken otherwise – except for waking with a brief, bright smile shortly after he'd originally fallen asleep.
She was pleased to see that smile remain on his face as he slept the time away, though it was considerably softened by sleep. He looked peaceful, just as she'd told Elaine yesterday after having her few moments of worry for his rest. She hadn't understood that smile at first, but it was later in the day, when she had woken up and pulled her laptop to her to see how the city was taking the news of the averted Apocalypse, that she had.
The dead had come back to life. Friends, acquaintances and strangers, all alive again if they had died in recent weeks. Except Jareth.
Even now, Jareth being gone was a relief, but it wasn't something she ultimately classified as good, as she had never wanted it to come to death. It had been necessary, of course, she knew that because of Claire's certainty, but it was still regrettable in Sarah's mind for a number of reasons. She would tell Hoggle that Jareth was gone for good, but not right now, as even had she been able to travel up the stairs to her and Charlie's room, there was still the lingering remembrance of Charlie dying there that kept her from wanting to be in the room. For now, Hoggle and the others were all safe and well in the Underground, so the confirmation could wait.
The hotel had been quiet, save for the small bursts of action with the dead returning, and so most of her time had been spent just like this – if not curled up against Peter, just watching him or sleeping herself, then at least in the bed reading or on her laptop, her attention split between the activity and him. It hadn't been boring at all, not just the novelty of Peter sleeping so long, but the rare pleasure of him being there at length, no demands on him save that of his body needing rest. It was a heady feeling, having him nearly all to herself for lengthy stretches, broken without objection from Sarah by others like Heidi or Nathan or Toby stopping in to check on the both of them.
It was something she would treasure, not demanding more (except perhaps when the way he pushed himself beyond his breaking point drove her a little crazy), just reveling in this right now. It was right that he was needed and she would be there to make sure he remembered himself sometimes, no matter how rare the moments.
Sarah hadn't been the only one spending a great deal of time like this, as the ball of feathers and fur on the opposite side of Peter attested to, Kat having claimed prime position on that side with her body tucked against his, her head resting on the cat's back, and Guinevere taking a purring second by being curled around Kat, her tail draped over the duck and her face pressed against Peter's hip. That purr was a sound Sarah could agree with, one that grew when she unfolded one arm and ruffled Guinevere's fur, petting the cat for a time before moving her hand to Kat's head. The duck nuzzled into Sarah's palm, Sarah treating Kat to equal love and affection as she watched Peter's lips curl slightly more before relaxing again. Whether dream or external input, she didn't know, but she was glad of whatever it was that kept that look on his face.
Watching hadn't been the only thing Sarah had done, however. While there was pleasure in seeing the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed or the twitch of lash with the deeper levels of sleep, there was just as much in listening to his heart beat or touching him. The backs of her knuckles against his cheek, fingers through his hair when movement sent it slipping down across his face – that and a hundred other small touches and variations that afforded her the chance to continually revisit things she had long-since fully mapped, from the curve of his lip to the dip of his collarbone to even the scar on his face. A barely there, careful touch, but clearly loving in intent.
There were even the things done solely for her own amusement – namely, spelling games. From petting Kat, Sarah's hand moved back to Peter's chest, one fingertip only with the same barely-there touch, as she indulged in the sort of thing most commonly found on school notebooks, like 'Sarah & Peter' in big, loopy hearts, then spelled out one of the most common phrases she had been using.
I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U
It wasn't done for him to feel or being cognizant of it, only as that basic expression of deep feeling. Spoke words, written words and feelings that had no voice or spelt form all combined to try and relate that love on a daily basis. It had come suddenly, if one judged by length of time, but it had been true and whole from the very beginning, never anything less than all of Sarah. With Peter, she'd learned what it was to constantly find the new depths of those places one didn't know they had until they were discovered. She had known love and she had known what felt like love and wasn't, but what they had was unique, not in a fairy tale Happily Ever After way, but in standing the test of conflict and strife and coming out stronger each time. It was a love to last.
That was what she wanted, not fantasy-perfect, but real and lasting, with all the things both good and bad that came with it. Not that it didn't often have its fantasy moments, both literal and figurative – a smile touched Sarah's face even then, recalling things like the moment of triumph in the amnesiatic crystal ballroom – but it would have meant nothing without the counter to those moments, the struggles that made the good things feel even better.
Meant to be or free will? Sarah believed it was a little of the former and a lot of the latter. The Powers That Be had all brought them here for various purposes, so perhaps their first face-to-face meeting had been fate, but Sarah was certain, with an unwavering confidence, that they'd made fate their own from that very first moment, far surpassing any intention of the higher powers. It was something that couldn't have been denied and it was nothing she had ever wanted to deny. The nature of the lives they led here was to focus on the present, to have what they wanted now, rather than wait, and it would never have suited them to conform to set standards, rather than their own hearts.
With Peter, Sarah had found the thing she'd spent a great deal of her life searching for, especially in recent years. With him, there were no facades to hide behind to make either of them more acceptable. In a world full of masked people, they wore none for each other, always genuine and always reachable. She didn't have to be anything but herself with him, loved no matter her idiosyncrasies, and what she gave back was tireless acceptance of all he was, as she knew no other way to be with him but that.
She'd promised him forever from the moment she had learned the truth of what awaited him in the future, a life always losing those he loved as they grew old and died, and that promise was meant now more than ever. The Apocalypse hadn't given her a light-bulb revelation of her life – she was already living it how she wanted, how she needed – but it had served to solidify the promise she had made, to remind her that living day by day was so often what was necessary, but sometimes thinking of the future was needed too. The answer to 'how' to fulfill that might elude her for an indefinable amount of time, but she would find it, somehow.