Peter ground his teeth together and pushed his office door closed behind him. It fell into place with a harsh slam, but he hardly noticed – he was too busy resisting the urge to scream and toss the thick pile of papers in his hands out the window. Instead he slammed the papers down onto the table in the corner of his office and dropped heavily into his chair. It squeaked a little in protest and groaned as Peter shifted to loosen his tie and undo the top button of his (formerly impeccable, but now hopelessly wrinkled) button down shirt.
"Should've never fucking left Chicago," Peter grumbled to himself, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars.
His six months at SVU hadn't gotten any easier. The squad was still angry with his prosecution of Barba, still missing their friend, and, to Peter's never ending dismay, apparently content to give him half-baked conspiracies instead of solid evidence to bring to court.
His intercom crackled to life and Carmen's voice filled the office, "Mr. Stone, it's Ms. Mulvaney on the line for you."
Peter rubbed at his temple and frowned, "Tell her I'm not here. I'm in court or a meeting – I don't care."
"Of course, Mr. Stone," Carmen replied and Peter wasn't sure if it was his own guilt, but he thought he heard a tone of judgment in his secretary's voice.
He shook his head against the thought and got up from his desk to look at a particular law journal on one of his shelves. He thought he remembered an obscure case from his time at law school that might help him make a case out of the miniscule evidence Olivia and her team had given him. Or at least it might give him a place to start.
It was 12:03 in the morning when Peter first began to think about packing up his files to head home. He rubbed a fist against his eye and stabbed his other index finger at his phone to silence the twentieth call of the night from Ava. A second later, his phone dinged with a voicemail – he ignored that too, feeling shitty, but also agitated that she kept calling.
When his phone dinged with a text message ten minutes later, he let out an angry growl and unceremoniously yanked open his desk drawer to push the phone inside.
Forty-five minutes alter, when his eyes were burning from dryness and exhaustion, Peter bookmarked everything he had been looking at – both on his computer and in physical books – logged out of his computer and headed out of his office. He locked the door behind him and headed on autopilot towards the stop for the 4 train. He waited briefly on the platform – there were fewer trains running at 1:15 in the morning – and blinked lazily off into the distance.
Ava hated when he took the subway back to Park Slope so late, but it was usually faster than a car and it gave him some time to wind down after what usually became long, hard, emotional days. She tended to latch onto the fact that he was an ADA that made enemies in his job and that subway at 2 a.m. wasn't always the safest place. Peter usually pointed out that it was just drunks that shared the train with him at that time, and that any of his enemies could get him at any time. She hadn't liked that argument at all.
It was just after 2 when the train pulled up to the platform at the stop in Park Slope. Peter tightened his grip on his briefcase and jogged for the steps. Now that he was within spitting distance of his home, all he wanted to do was fall into a very deep sleep. His stomach grumbled as he walked – maybe he'd make a snack of any leftovers in the fridge before falling asleep.
Peter thought he was being quiet when he let himself into the apartment. He didn't want to wake Ava and have to deal with her right now.
He wasn't quiet enough.
A lamp flipped on in the living room – illuminating the expression of fear and anger on Ava's face.
"Fuck, Ava!" Peter muttered, standing stock-still once he saw her. "You're going to give me a heart attack."
"It's nothing you wouldn't deserve," she muttered to herself, and then standing up, said, "Where've you been? I called you a thousand times."
Peter remembered ignoring her calls and leaving his phone in his desk. He shrugged one shoulder, dropping his briefcase to the floor and closing the front door behind him. "The office," he said shortly.
He loosened his tie even further and headed back toward their bedroom so he could change. Ava followed him.
"You couldn't have sent a quick text? I thought you were dead," she signed, leaning against the doorframe to watch him change.
Peter made quick work of his slacks and jacket, draping them over the back of the chair. He turned with a frown, standing in the middle of the room, unbuttoning his shirt after discarding his tie entirely.
"Well I'm not. I got busy." He tossed the wrinkled shirt into the hamper and began rifling through his drawer for a shirt to wear to bed. The idea of taking a shower crossed his mind, but he was so damn tired. It could wait until morning.
Ava let out another sigh and scrubbed her hand over her face. "You're always busy, Peter. I never hear from you, I never see you."
"We live together, Ave," Peter chucked lightly. "I see you plenty."
Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He was, more often than not, only home for a handful of hours at night and in the morning to eat. He couldn't even remember the last time they'd had a meal together.
"Jesus, Peter," Ava laughed bitterly. "I you think we see each other 'plenty,'" she added a mocking tone to the word, "then you need a fucking vocabulary lesson."
Peter narrowed his eyes at her and walked around her to get to the kitchen. "I'm not doing this now, Ava."
"Doing what?" she asked, "Having a conversation with your fiancée? I know you're not used to that anymore –"
She jumped when he slammed his hand down on the counter. "Enough! Fucking enough! I get it. I know you're clingy and needy, but I'm fucking tired. Benson gives me attitude and barely enough evidence to bring a case to trial, much less convict. Rollins glares at me every time she sees me. I took a fucking pay cut and demotion to work at a job where I'm only ever compared to my father. I can't – I need to come home and turn off my goddamn brain, not get into a fucking fight with you, Ava."
He paused, breathing heavily, not realizing he had started screaming until he saw the glimmer of tears in Ava's green eyes. Peter watched as Ava's spine straightened and her eyes grew steely.
"I'm fucking sorry for caring about you, Peter," she spat. "I wasn't aware that wondering where your fiancé was at two o-fucking-clock in the morning was a federal offense."
"It is when you call, text, and leave voicemails ever ten goddamn minutes," he snapped back, balling his hands into fists at his side. "I can't concentrate on anything when you're constantly interrupting."
Ava barked a short laugh, "That would only be an excuse if you ever picked up the phone instead of sending me to voicemail or having Carmen give me the run around."
"Do you know what it's like?" Peter grumbled lowly, "To have to go back and build a case from nothing? I'm spending hours and hours reading case law and penal codes to try and find something that might work. I'm running ragged, Ava. SVU is the hardest job I've ever had."
Ava paused for a minute. She knew that. When they had first gotten to New York, Peter had talked about his days with her. She had known that they would struggle with the transition at first, but then they'd settle in and be better than ever. And then Peter had slowly stopped talking to her about cases because "they're so depressing, baby, I can't keep reliving them," and she'd been okay with that. Sex crimes were a heavy topic.
Next came the late nights and early mornings, and still she'd been okay with that. Peter was new, he had his father's legacy to live up to, he'd settle in eventually and his hours would be more normal.
But outright ignoring her and calling her needy for wanting to know he was safe? The line had to be drawn somewhere. She needed to feel like she was important to Peter – she need to actually be important to him.
"You should've never taken the job," she said quietly, her voice making Peter pause at the refrigerator. "I wish we had never come to New York. But I guess it was a good thing since the move showed me that I'm not a priority for you."
Peter turned slowly and Ava watched his chest expand as he took a breath, the telltale sign he was gathering his thoughts.
She waited.
"That's not fair," he said slowly, carefully, "You encouraged this, you said you were okay with the move. Don't put this all on me."
"I was okay with moving to New York because you were the Peter Stone I fell in love with," Ava whispered, "I don't know you anymore. We don't talk, we don't see each other, hell, Peter, we haven't had sex in three months."
Her voice broke slightly – it wasn't even sex she missed, it was the intimate, safe feeling of being wrapped in Peter's arms where it felt like nothing could hurt them. Where it was just Peter Stone and Ava Mulvaney against the world.
Peter signed and sagged back to lean against the counter. "You're being dramatic, Ava. I'm still me, I'm still Peter. Besides, it hasn't been three months since we had sex."
Ava rolled her eyes at him. "Thrusting into me for thirty seconds before cumming because you got horny after four beers and a Cubs win does not count as sex, Peter."
The tips of Peter's ear went red as he remembered that night, only three weeks ago. Okay, so maybe sex wasn't exactly something they were doing regularly.
"It's hard," he defended himself, "Seeing every terrible, sick thing I see every day. Forgive me for not wanting to have sex after I've convicted a man on thirteen counts of raping little girls."
Ava threw her hands in the air. "You're missing the point, Peter! I had a life in Chicago – friends, family, hobbies! I left it all behind for you. I begged my boss to transfer my to Ogilvy's New York office because I thought it would be romantic. Peter and Ava – staring their life together in New York. I should have never followed you here."
She shook her head – angry and sad with the whole situation.
Peter shrugged, helpless. "Maybe you shouldn't have. You're miserable, you're clingy and I'm tired. I'm so tired, Ava."
She licked her lips and closed her eyes before she asked, "Of me?" afraid to see his answer on his face.
Peter took just a heartbeat too long before answering, "No. Not you . . . I'm tired of SVU, of -"
"Stop," Ava held up her hand, palm facing him. "Please. Please, just stop. I – I can't. I'm done, Peter."
She turned on her heel and hurried to their room, leaving Peter standing, stunned, in the kitchen, the tile floor cold under his bare feet.
Peter slumped at his desk, absently poking at the lo mein noodles he was holding. He clicked his chopsticks together a few times, half-heartedly attempting to pick up a few to eat.
Eventually abandoning his rapidly cooling lunch to the corner of his desk, he called Carmen on the intercom.
"Any calls Carmen?" he tried to keep his tone neutral.
"No, Mr. Stone. I'm sorry," she replied kindly.
Peter deflated further, "Okay. Thanks."
"I'll let you know if she calls, sir," Carmen said, a clear note of pity in her voice.
It had been nearly three weeks since Ava had left – calling it a break, not a breakup. The entire unit knew, mostly because Peter had shown up the day after she left unshaven and rumpled and has asked Carisi a question that any 1L could answer.
The only pro out of the break-up (BREAK, Peter mentally corrected himself), was the fact that the unit had warned to him a little more. It was probably pity, but he'd take it. Olivia was giving him better cases with more evidence and less attitude when he insisted that he couldn't and wouldn't prosecute certain cases.
He missed Ava desperately. It wasn't right that they were on a break. Peter only wanted to be with her – she'd been the only one for him from the moment they met. Having most of her stuff – clothes and toiletries and personal items – missing from the apartment was wrong. Having her missing from his life was wrong.
He'd fucked up – he knew that. But the transition to New York had been hard and he'd (apparently foolishly) thought that his relationship with Ava would remain the same. God, he just wanted her home. But he was giving her the requested space she needed to figure everything out.
In the weeks they'd been apart, Peter had sent only one text (I'm sorry. I love you. Give me a chance to do better) and had only gotten one text in return (I love you too. That's what makes this all hurt so much, Peter. I'll let you know).
So he'd thrown himself into work. Even though that had been what got him into trouble in the first place, working was the only thing Peter knew. He wished he had someone to talk to about the situation, but Ava was the only one he wanted to talk to.
"Mr. Stone, your three o'clock is here," Carmen's voice startled Peter from his thoughts and he nearly fell out of his chair in his scramble to answer.
"Thanks, Carmen. Let him in," he said, expecting the door to open and Buchanan to enter. He and the defense attorney had been going back and forth on a plea deal for three days now and Peter just wanted it all to be settled. He stood as the door opened.
"Mr. Buchanan, thank you for –" Peter cut himself off when he realized his three o'clock wasn't the defense attorney, but was instead his fiancée.
" Hi, Peter," she said softly, carefully closing the door to his office.
He couldn't stop staring. Ava was the last person he had expected to see. She looked amazing, as usual, but after not seeing her for nearly a month, Peter was immediately distracted.
She gave him a small, cheeky smile. "You going to say something or are you going to let him do the talking?" She looked pointedly at his crotch and the obvious straining of his slacks.
Peter's ears went red as he sat down immediately, pulling his chair in so his desk covered the growing problem.
"I wasn't expecting you," he said, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Ava sat down in the chair usually occupied by wayward detectives, defense attorneys, or victims. She nodded, "Obviously. I called Carmen this morning to see if you had a minute. I think you're meeting with Mr. Buchanan on Friday now."
Peter nodded absently – he didn't give a fuck when Buchanan was coming to his office, all he cared about was Ava and the fact that she was sitting in front of him.
"Remind me to get her a great Christmas present," Peter mumbled under his breath, and then louder, "How are you?"
He wanted so badly to ask if she was coming home, but Ava controlled this moment and he was willing to let her.
"I'm okay," she said, "I . . . uh, I was in Chicago last weekend."
Peter's heart stuttered in his chest. Chicago. This was it. She was leaving him for good and going back home. He swallowed around the knot in his throat and tried to stay calm.
"Yeah?" his voice cracked a bit. Dammit. "Still cool there or has to late June heat wave hit?"
Ava laughed a little, "Oh, the heat wave is on. I got lunch with Antonio and he threated me with pain of death if we didn't get an inside table."
"Oh, shit!" Peter exclaimed and then, off of Ava's confused and slightly annoyed look, explained, "Antonio left a message for me yesterday about a case we worked last year and I forgot to call him back."
"Oh," Ava relaxed as Peter rummaged in his desk for a Post-it. "I thought you got mad at me for a second."
Peter looked up from his desk drawer seriously, "No matter what, I'm never going to be mad at you, Ava. Never." He paused and then decided to plow forward, "You're the love of my life. I only want you to be happy. Even – even if that means leaving me and going back to Chicago."
Ava blinked at him. "What? Chi – no. No, Peter. Oh god. No, I'm not going back to Chicago. I'm staying here. With you. If you'll let me." She fumbled over her words and then laughed a bit. "I was going to be better about this. I had a whole little speech."
Peter grinned at her, eyes crinkling with pure joy. "I don't need a speech. I'm just so fucking happy that you're coming home."
He stood up and circled his desk, hesitating for only a second before dropping down to one knee and cupping Ava's face in his hands.
"I'm so sorry, Ave. I never wanted you to feel like you aren't important to me," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her softly.
Ava's hands came up to cover Peter's as she kissed him back. God, she missed him.
"You have to talk to me though," she murmured when they broke apart for air. "I want to be your wife, Peter. But I'm not settling for anything less than an absolutely equal partnership."
He nodded. 'You deserve that. I was an idiot for shutting you out. I thought I could handle everything."
Cupping his face in her hands, Ava smiled at him, "That's the best part of marriage, you doofus, you don't have to do anything alone. Moving to New York was hard, but I uprooted my life too. I know what that feels like. Your burdens are my burdens, and vice versa, babe."
Peter, in lieu of responding, leaned over and kissed Ava again, softer this time, like he was trying to convey everything he couldn't say.
Ava understood and she covered Peter's hands with her own again, deepening the kiss. She had missed him so much. Being in his arms again felt like coming home. She gently broke the kiss, leaving her hands over Peter's. "Think you could end the day early?" she whispered against his lips.
"There's nothing that could stop me," Peter grinned, pressing another quick kiss to her lips.
"Mr. Stone?" Carmen's voice over the intercom startled them both. "Your four o'clock is early."
Ava raised her eyebrow at Peter in a look that said, "really?" and Peter groaned, dropping his head to Ava's shoulder. Eventually, he looked up and gave Ava a mischievous smirk.
"I think I'm getting sick, Carmen," he gave an unconvincing fake cough and Ava smothered a giggle. "I need to leave early."
They could hear Carmen's amused sigh. "I'll reschedule your afternoon, Mr. Stone. I hope Ms. Mulvaney nurses you back to full health."
Peter ignored his secretary's wry sarcasm, "Thank you, Carmen."
"is that going to cause a problem for you?" Ava asked as they stood up and Peter started gathering his jacket and briefcase.
"Eh," Peter shrugged, giving her a small smile. "There are more important things than my job."
Ava reached out to squeeze his hand, smiling happily. Peter squeezed her hand back and poked his head out of his office.
Carmen rolled her eyes, "Coast is clear, Mr. Stone."
"You're the best, Carmen," Peter tugged Ava out into the hallway and they both shot grateful grins at the young woman as they hurried down towards the elevators.
Ava was quiet as they walked, enjoying the warmth of Peter's hand in hers. A thought was bothering her.
"Hey, Peter?" she tugged on his hand a little. Without stopping or slowing his pace – he really just wanted to get home – Peter hummed to indicate he had heard her.
"Do you really hate your job? I don't want you sabotaging yourself. You're an amazing lawyer and New York is lucky to have you," she spoke honestly and earnestly.
Peter's thumb brushed over Ava's knuckles as he thought about his answer.
"No," he said eventually. "I don't hate it. I'm just . . . struggling to adjust. Benson and her team don't make it easy." He laughed lightly. "I'll settle in. I'm happy to be here – being in New York makes seeing Pamela easier too."
Ava smiled at the clear affection Peter had for his sister. She knew it wasn't easy for him to see her confused and ill – but they were both hoping that they new medications would help.
"Good," she said, "I like happy, fulfilled Peter Stone the best."
Peter stopped and grinned down at his fiancée. He let go of her hand to brush his thumb over her cheekbone and kissed her quickly.
"You make me the happiest," he said, a broad, cheesy grin on his face.
"Cheeseball," Ava giggled, shaking her head. "I love you."
"I love you," Peter grinned, "Now come on. Our bed's missed you."
Ava laughed, following Peter to the subway station. "Oh the bed missed me, huh?"
"Yeah," Peter said innocently, "And the couch and the shower and the kitchen counter. It's been a very lonely apartment."
"We'll just have to fix that, won't we?" she replied slyly, squeezing his hand with a wink.
If Peter picked up the pace to the subway station, no one could blame him.
A/N: I had so much fun writing this one! Basically, it lives in a 'verse where Peter came from Chicago with a fiancee (Ava) and never loses his sister because in this house we love Peter Stone and don't subject him to unnecessary emotional trauma.
The main idea was based on an ask that childofbarisi posted on Tumblr and I ran with it! I have another Peter 'verse planned with a different OC, but if y'all want to see more of Ava, let me know and I'll play around with fics in this 'verse.
Drop me a review! I love to chat and the reviews definitely make me write faster :)