Who: Zipporah and Peter What: An early morning conversation Where: Peter's flat When: The early hours of the morning, 5th February 1889 [slight backdate] Rating: PG-13
Zipporah stirred and blinked, and made a sleepy groaning noise. It took her a bit to catch her bearings, but soon remembered where she was (and who with). She yawned, and stretched, feeling languid and still a little heavy-limbed, turning to nestle against Peter in his bed.
“I must have fallen asleep,” she said, muzzily. “What time is it?” The curtains were heavy, making it difficult to judge. She didn’t tend to make a habit of spending the night in his rooms, although he’d spent the night at hers a few times -- it was a challenge sneaking out of his building in the morning without attracting attention, while he could always take the fire escape out her window -- but she’d been more tired than she’d thought, and it’d been cold out, so she’d ended up staying.
Peter stirred at the movements beside him, having him stretch out before turning his head to the woman in his bed. It was a rare moment that he slept as solidly as he had been, something that only came when he was with Zipporah. He smiled and wrapped an arm around her before turning to glance at his window.
“I would say it’s too early, way too early,” he yawned and squeezed the arm around her a little tighter before relaxing. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been busy lately and have missed you.”
The tip of Zipporah’s nose was cold, but she was loathe to have either of them move from the bed to stoke the fire, so she buried it in Peter’s chest with a huff.
“I have missed you as well,” she said, quietly. “Tell me what you have been doing?” She looked up at him. “If you can say, that is,” she added, with a bit of a playful tilt to her chin.
Cold nose! But Peter went with it, slightly sucking in air and then letting it out. He pulled the blankets up more around them, but he knew he would have to go mess with the fire soon. For now, they had a few moments before it became too terribly cold.
“I’m still trying to build up the group,” he started. “It’s slow going, a lot of the men aren’t as trusting, which I don’t blame them. And because of what happened with the one, I think they see me the same as Damian; it’s hard to make them see that I’m just like them,” he sighed. “I’ve been given a task and am soon to follow it through, only there will be a slight change in them,” he said without giving details. “I wish all of this to finally be over, for us to all know our fates and to let what will happen, happen,” he admitted. “I’m in the middle of a terrible storm that is brewing and when it finally breaks, it’s going to be a horrible mess I believe.”
Peter’s cringing at her nose made her smile, but the worry in his voice made it fade. “They do not know you well. Once they do…” she kissed his collarbone. “They will see you are trying for to help them. That Damian fellow, he did not let them talk to one another, kept them in the dark, didn’t he?” She looked up at him. “Perhaps it is healthy, for them to show you they are suspicious. It means they are being honest, truthful, that they are not afraid for to tell you what they think.”
She held his eyes with hers, her expression serious. “You are nothing like him,” she added, firmly.
“What… what have you been told for to do?” She added, quietly, feeling a twist of dread in her stomach.
Peter smiled and squeezed her tighter against him for a moment. Zipporah was a good woman, wise and generous. She knew him more than most, was able to see a side of him that he rarely let out. “I hope they see it soon,” he said quietly, looking up at the ceiling. “I need them all to be as one when we reach the end to all of this, I need them to want to fight for each other as well as me. I can’t do it all alone.” He wanted unity and loyalty, not just with himself but with everyone. He wanted them to be an actual pack, or to at least act like one.
At her question he was silent for a moment and closed his eyes. “To kill another,” he whispered. “A vampire. One of high standing in the community,” he opened his eyes when the words were out. “I won’t kill him, of course, and he knows what is to come and there will be a plan,” he turned his head and nuzzled his face into her hair. “I’m going to have Jean followed, too. I need more information on this group, something more to give to Lucien and Mac, to have them see that we are all trying to fight for the right side now.”
Zipporah stilled. “Mac, of the Lionhart?” She asked, quietly, knowing it to be true. “I know him,” she added, biting her lip. “Is he… is he the one who holds your life in his hands?” She blinked tears from her eyes. “He is not the sort for to… to take such things lightly,” she added, “and if there had to be one such man, I am glad it is him. Oh, Peter,” she said, leaning up to kiss him.
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Those are all good things. Good, worthy things. I hate that you are in such dangers, but I am glad you have a plan, that you are not trapped, as you were. That you do not have to kill the vampire.”
It dawned on him that he should probably try to keep some things quiet, secret, but Peter found it easy to talk to Zipporah and the words left his mouth before he even thought it through. He could trust her, he was sure, but he worried that things he said could possibly put her in danger.
“Yes,” he sighed. “He holds the very life I breathe. It is he that will decide on if I am worthy of a noose around my neck.” And Peter prayed that he would overcome the noose and that he’d be able to live on with his life to die of some other cause later. When her kiss came, he gladly accepted it and moved a hand to cup her cheek softly.
“Things are going to work out,” he assured her with more bravado than what he felt. “As long as we can make this plan work, everyone will be okay…”
She nodded, sighing, her arms slipping around his dear neck. “They shall,” she echoed, firmly. “You will find out what you know, and it will be of use. And he is a fair man,” she added, stoutly.
She kissed him again. “Now. Tell me something good, for to get my mind off of this,” she said, softly. “Something about being a wolf. Something about your childhood.” She smiled. “Something about what you hope for future.”
Peter smiled, glad that Zipporah was so sure of it all.
At her kiss, his hands went to her waist and in an easy motion had her laying atop of him; only better to keep them warmer. He let his hands slide over her back as he thought of something good to tell her.
“Something from my past that was good,” he hummed out thoughtfully. “The day I brought home a cat,” he chuckled as he remembered that day. “I had been out causing trouble as normal when I came across this tiny little kitten,” he continued. “It was all black except for a white patch over it’s right eye. It just laid there on it’s side, hidden beneath some brush and meowed pitiful-like. It was puny and looked ready to die,” he paused for a moment. “I instantly gathered it up and took it back home. I kept it hidden for about a week, maybe two, and fed it scraps when I could. One day, after being out, I come home to my dad and two guys chasing this cat through the pack park,” he explained. “It was the funniest sight I’d ever seen. Three grown men, werewolves to be exact, trying to corner this tiny kitten. When they did get it cornered, it would hiss and arch it’s back and attack them which sent them stumbling back a few steps. Then, all of a sudden, I guess it sensed me near and it rushed straight at me. These men are yelling and chasing it and telling me to watch out for the demon cat as it raced right up to me, climbed my leg and then torso and straight to my shoulder where it took a seat and growled at my dad and the others when they neared,” he laughed. “I looked at them and said ‘What? This is Pirate…’ and then I walked right past them and went home. I got a stern talking to that night by my dad and how cats and werewolves were like cats and dogs, and didn’t necessarily get along. But I got to keep him, mostly because no one else could get close to that cat except for me.”
Zipporah laughed at the image of the men so thrown by such a little thing.
“Breaking rules from the start, I see,” she said, grinning and kissing the tip of his nose. “Sweet man. Stubborn too. I suppose I would be seen like that cat, if you were for to bring me home.” She poked at him a little, laughing and teasing. “I would lead to a stern talking-to at the very least, I have no doubt.”
She knew that despite Peter’s liberal views and his sister’s acceptance of her, that their love had real limits -- a temporary heaven, until either the worst happened (which she was determined to prevent), or some other impediment got in the way -- his parents, his true love waiting in the wings, her aging, her (eventual) desire for children. It was a bittersweet thought, one that made her sad from time to time, but this morning, it was something she could laugh at, which was a relief.
“I raised a baby bird once,” she added, softly. “I found it after it had fallen from the nest, and fed it food and taught it for to sit on my finger and flap its wings once the feathers had grown. It was such an ugly little creature when I first saw it, all bristles and pink stubble and an enormous mouth, always open.”
Peter chuckled. “Yes, I’ve always been a rule breaker from the very start,” he said, a small smile settling on his lips. I’ve always followed my own beat of the drum, and maybe that is why I left Black Park and Lucien when I did, because I needed to find my own way,” though part of it was how hurt he had been in Lucien’s decisions. “And we both know how that has turned out for me so far,” he sighed.
“As for you,” he ran his fingers along her spine. “I would say that I would probably get a stern talking to by many, but I think that as long as I’m happy they would be happy for me.” He knew the warnings that would come, she was a witch yes but lived as humans did. She would probably not make it to 100, and if she did her mind would be gone, where as he would live for much longer, a couple of centuries maybe, and would age much slower than she. On top of that, she could not give him children if he wished to do so and there was always a chance, a very slim chance, that he’d meet his mate and that would mess things up as well. Yeah, he knew the issues, but for now he was willing to take the risks. For now he would enjoy his time with her until something came along to pull them apart.
“I don’t think that surprises me about you,” he said of the bird she’d raised. “You are that type of person, someone that just...cares for others.”
Zipporah shivered pleasantly at the feel of Peter’s fingers along her spine. “And your saving the kitten does not surprise me either,” she replied, grinning. “You are that type of person as well, whether you believe it or not.”
She looked over at him. “And are you happy?” She asked, softly. “When it comes to this? Us?” she looked up at him. “Here and now,” she added.
“I am extremely happy,” Peter met her eyes. “Right here, right now, this, us, definitely makes me happy. You are my sun in the darkness that has become my life, the light to help me see my way through it all.” He smiled and then gently pulled her into a kiss.
“Mmm,” Zipporah replied, wriggling a little to get even closer to him, winding her fingers through his hair. “And you are wild and wonderful and full of goodness, and I will keep holding up a mirror so you may see what I see,” she replied. “Rule breaker,” she added, fondly.
Her smile turned a little wicked. “I am cold,” she continued, with an imperious tilt to her chin, “and I need for to be warmed.” She laughed, and looked up at him. “So. How do you propose we go about that, hm? I am certain you can think of something.”
Her last sentence quickly turned into a shriek of laughter as he tickled her, and a muffled yelp as her cold foot brushed against his.