peter flynn ✴ elizabeth swann (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} ex_rumsoaked346) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} thereincarnates,@ 2012-04-07 14:45:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
What: Breaking the rules, just a little.
Where: The medical wing of Camelot HQ (Sara's room)
When: Saturday morning, April 7th, 2012
Warnings: ANGST. Ahhh. Breakfast of champs.
Technically, Peter wasn't supposed to be doing this. Daniel and the others had been explicit: for Sara's sake, he couldn't see her. She had been too badly damaged under the Resistance's "care", and because of what they'd done to her, Peter couldn't see her. Not until she was better.
The only problem was, better was so vague. They said they knew how to treat her, and they were going to have her father help, which Peter tried to understand. He did understand, really, when he detached himself from the problem, took himself out of the equation – something he had to do, or else he was sure he'd go crazy. He couldn't think about what they did to her. He couldn't think about what they changed. What she thought about him now. He couldn't think about that.
He couldn't help her, either.
He told her father (a man he remembered as a giant and was still a giant, after all these years) about her life after he left and before she was taken – as much as he could tell, everything she had to remember, because it was as much his as it was hers, and they couldn't take that away from them, they just couldn't. They'd taken enough, practically everything except for their lives, and in his own terrifyingly silent way, Gabriel seemed to know that, and he promised to do everything in his power. Peter was grateful, but how would that be enough? How would she ever remember how much Peter loved her if he couldn't tell her himself, if he couldn't help?
Peter spent a lot of time at their beach after they'd gotten her back. Alone with his thoughts, since he couldn't be alone with her anymore. Even Elizabeth was quiet – in shock, he thought, because in a way, he was too. Neither of them were used to sitting back and staying uninvolved, Elizabeth even more so than him, but this wasn't a battle they could win with strategy or insane, Sparrow-like whims. They couldn't fight an enemy that was in Sara's own mind, that was him but not him, and so they didn't know what to do. For days and days, all Peter did was sit on the sand and stare out across the waves. Sometimes the water would wash over his toes. Sometimes it wouldn't. He never noticed either way.
And then something changed. He wasn't sure what and he wasn't sure why, but he couldn't stay on that beach for a second more, so, barefoot, he walked back to his car, absentmindedly picking up a conch shell on the way, and drove to their apartment. He hated that place now because it was always empty and always quiet, and he barely used it anymore except to shower and crash on the couch sometimes. The sun was just beginning to set in San Diego when he'd finally cleaned himself up and left for the castle, and it was still very dark when he arrived in England – almost morning, but not quite. A good a time as any to do what he needed to do.
It was dead silent in the medical ward of the castle, and Peter felt like an intruder as he walked as quietly as possible to Sara's room – mostly because he was. He wasn't supposed to be here. He knew that, and he didn't care. The door was cracked, just barely, and the lights inside were dim, not dark. Peter knew why, and he felt a lump lodge in his throat, remembering the darkness of his own cell. It must have been even worse for her. But he couldn't think about that. Barely breathing, Peter slipped inside.
He wanted to look at her, but he didn't. He wanted to touch her, but he didn't. The only reason he knew she was still asleep (sedated or otherwise) was because she didn't start screaming when she saw him. She just... kept breathing, and that, the soft, even sounds of her breath, had to be enough for him now.
Without making a sound, he put the shell from their beach on her nightstand. There was no note, no indication of who it was from. When she woke up, it would be there. She'd be able to hear the sea again.
Peter left without even glancing at her. This has to be enough.