Title: "Here's Your Future"
Author: Lila
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Pete with a side of Peggy
Spoiler: "The Fog"
Length: one-shot
Summary: Pete, Peggy, and the aftermath of a confrontation.
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing them for a few hours.
Author's Note: First time writing for this fandom so please be gentle. I'm new to "Mad Men" (only seen a handful of episodes from seasons one and two but I'm catching up), and I'm not sure I have their voices (or more likely, the 60s lingo), just right. But this idea has been bothering me for over a week and begged to be fleshed out, so a fic happened anyway. Peggy/Pete are my definite 'ship of choice when it comes to choosing a couple, so this fic really had to be told. Apologies if this turned out entirely out of character. Title courtesy of The Thermals. Enjoy.
She's wearing blue.
Blue like her eyes, your eyes, the eyes of the child you'll never see, never touch, never hold. There's green too, bright and warm like a spring morning, like the first hints of life pushing through the solid cold of Central Park soil, and it clashes with the blue of her dress.
You can't look away from the blue even as you ignore the green; new beginnings were never for you.
The color clashes more with the heap of ribbon you can see through the crack of Don's door, the explosion of blue that erupted in the wake of the baby Betty brought into the world calling itself Draper.
Campbell is a name claimed by hundreds of men, on both sides of the ocean, but it's still the one you claim as your own. Trudy has eased on the family planning, but it's eating away at the complacency that fills your days. You watch the way her eyes cling to every infant that passes her way, thin arms wrapped tight around her slender waist, and you hold her a little bit closer to ease the pain gnawing a hole in her heart.
You know what it's like to ache.
Every time an infant passes, you search for your face. Sometimes, you think you see her eyes.
---
Your day is long and your head hurts, eyes aching, Kenny and Admiral and victory slipping from your fingertips like a weight bearing down on your shoulders. You long to be home, Trudy's feet in your lap and the Dodgers on the television (not an Admiral, anything but an Admiral). Park Avenue doesn't keep a lantern burning, but while you're a terrible colleague and even worse husband, you're not ready to lose again. You won't lose again.
"I didn't expect to find you here," a voice interrupts and you glance up from the report you've been trying to read for the last hour to find her there, clinging to the worn wood of your doorframe, a pert hat perched on her hair but her coat hanging loose to showcase the blue and green of her dress. "Burning the midnight oil is more my habit than yours."
You smile tightly, swallow a sip of scotch. It's late to be drinking, but you need the liquid courage. Failure is something you're used to but you're not ready to concede defeat. "Redundancy will do that to a man."
She smiles in that far away style of hers and reaches for the buttons of her coat, fingers stilling before she can slide it closed. "It was a boy," she says softly, eyes wide, like she can't believe the words that came out of her own mouth; her fingers twitch over the curve of her stomach.
Her fingers grip the doorjamb for a minute, half a second, and she grabs the folds of her coat like a lifeline before letting go. She's going to leave, take her secrets and your secrets and walk out of your life all over again.
"That's all you're going to say?" you manage to sneer and your voice is even and level while your heart pounds so hard and your lungs beat so fast you're shocked you're still on two feet. "This isn't confession, Peggy. You don't get to say something like that and walk out of here with the slate wiped clean."
She shudders, grips the doorway harder, and her gaze slides to the floor.
"It was the hardest decision I ever made," she says and keeps her eyes locked to the ground, a lock of hair escaping its pins to hide the curve of her cheek.
"Giving him away," you say, fingers shaking around the tumbler clasped between them. "I heard it once, Peggy. You had a baby; you gave it way."
"No…" she starts but her voice skids to a halt and she sucks in a deep breath to gather her courage. "When it was all said and done, that was never really a choice." Her voice is steady even as her fingers tremble against the fine wool of her coat. She's isn't telling the full truth but you don't force it out. You're too good at your own craft to call another's bluff. She finally raises her eyes to meet yours and they're wide and blue and aching in the dim light. "It was choosing not to tell you."
"You wanted other things," you remind her, toss her words back in her face. "You could have had me but it wasn't what you wanted."
"It wouldn't have been what you wanted either."
That night flashes before your eyes, her cool demeanor and the relaxed set of her shoulders and the way she blew your world apart with two expertly played sentences. "It wasn't your choice to make," you manage to say and wrench your eyes away from hers. You can't bear to see yourself reflected in the watery blue staring back at you.
"There was no other choice to make."
You know she's right but it doesn't hurt any less. Your marriage is still a sham and your home is still empty of the one thing our wife wants most and your eyes will never stop searching for hers in the tiny faces of others. You shake your head and down the rest of the scotch. Your ring finger suddenly aches. What's done is done.
"Do you think I should go with Duck?" she asks suddenly and changes the subject. You look up sharply, find yourself staring into rapidly steeled-blue eyes.
You hate the man, but you're a good team, he was right about that. You came together because you both wanted something from Sterling-Cooper. If you bide your time, you think you can give something back. "I think he'll be lucky if he lasts a year at Grey."
"I want to stay here," she says and there's a smile on her face, the kind of smile that barely curves her lips and doesn't come close to reaching her eyes, the kind of smile that makes you wonder if you ever really knew her. "But what if it's my time?"
"It's your choice."
"I'm asking you."
It's nearing midnight and your wife is snug asleep in your bed, but your feet wear a familiar path through the carpet to the door. She's standing there, curled against the door frame, but her eyes meet yours, wide and strong and blue as the spring sky. "I think you should stay," you whisper. "You know how to get what you want. I think you should want this."
Your eyes lock before she backs down, straightens her spine and forces the smile to slip from her face. "Okay," she says and her hands slip to her sides. "Okay." You retreat to the desk, the battle yet to be won, but she surprises you yet again. "You're not redundant, Pete. I wouldn't be where I am if it weren't for you."
You find yourself smiling because she's smiling too, that warm, easy smile she wore the first time you ever laid eyes on her, and your words have never been more true. "I'm glad you'll be here."
"Thank you," she says and bends to button her coat. You turn back to your work.
You glance up to watch her leave and all you see is a flash of green walking into the light.
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