Without another word, Elizabeth turned around and disappeared into her bedroom. Madeline gave Peter a pointed look before making herself at home in the living room. Since things couldn't get much worse between him and Elizabeth's sister, Peter decided to ignore her for now and followed Elizabeth. She had closed the bedroom door behind her, so he wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to barge in like this. But after last night, he wasn't interested in keeping up any more boundaries.
Elizabeth seemed entirely focused on her parents' imminent arrival. When she pulled his shirt over her head, the sight of her beautiful exposed body once again took Peter's breath away.
But he managed to pull himself together enough to ask, "What do you want me to do, El?" He didn't know where the nickname came from, it just rolled off his tongue.
"I'm sorry, Peter. I had no idea they were going to do this," Elizabeth replied distractedly while looking for something to wear. "My parents won't be here for another few minutes. You can still leave."
Peter just stood there, dumbfounded. "Do you want me to leave?"
Clad in only a bra and panties now, Elizabeth paused in her frantic search for more clothes to look at him. "Do you want to stay?"
The truth was that Peter had never been less prepared for a meet and greet with the parents. He was wearing a slightly wrinkled T-shirt from yesterday and his mind was filled with nothing but images and sensations from last night, from making love to their daughter. But he was willing to do anything for Elizabeth right now. Anything except to simply abandon her.
"I'll do whatever you want me to do, El. But I don't want to sneak out of here as if we've done something wrong. Because for me last night felt more right than anything else in my life."
Some of the tension in Elizabeth's shoulders eased and got replaced by a beautiful, loving smile. She walked up to him and stood on her toes to give him a kiss. Peter's hands automatically went around her waist, the feeling of her naked skin underneath his fingers making him wish they could just lock the door.
"If you're sure you want to do this, I'd love for you to stay," Elizabeth said.
Peter's answering smile faded a little when Elizabeth stepped back out of his arms to finish getting dressed and he noticed his shirt that she had thrown on the bed. It was almost as wrinkled as the rumpled sheets. While it had looked unbelievably sexy on Elizabeth this morning, on him it would look like he didn't own any clean clothes. So he decided to leave it and simply grab his jacket and put it on over his T-shirt.
When he got back to the living room, a now fully dressed Elizabeth was in the midst of some last minute cleaning up while her sister lounged on the couch. Peter had no idea what he was supposed to do, but he didn't get the chance to ask before Elizabeth's parents were at the door.
He simply stayed where he was and listened to Elizabeth greeting them in the hallway.
"Mom, Dad! Come on in. I wish you would have told me you were coming."
"We wanted to surprise you," her mother answered brightly. "Especially when Maddie told us that you had the weekend off. You always work so hard."
"Because I love to work, Mom," Elizabeth reminded her.
"As you should. You know we're proud of you. We just wanted to see our girl," her father spoke for the first time.
Peter wiped the palms of his hands on his pant legs.
"I hope this isn't an unwelcome surprise," her mother added.
"Of course not. I just might have a surprise of my own," Elizabeth said hesitantly.
"Oh really? What is it?"
Elizabeth didn't answer because she now led her parents into the living room. Peter stood ramrod straight when all eyes immediately went to him. Elizabeth's mother was a short, blonde woman with a kind face and an open smile. Her father on the other hand was tall, with dark hair that was beginning to turn grey in places and Elizabeth's striking blue eyes, only his seemed a lot colder.
"Mom, Dad, this is my… Peter. Peter Burke," Elizabeth said while walking over to him and taking his hand, just like she had done when introducing him to her sister. Only this time she avoided looking at him when she stumbled over what to call him. Peter smiled to himself. He was perfectly fine with being 'her Peter'.
Then he remembered that he should focus on her parents. "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell," he said with something that would hopefully pass as an easy smile while extending a hand.
Elizabeth's parents exchanged a surprised look. Her mother was the first to react and shake his hand. "Oh, it's nice to meet you, too, Peter. And Tina is fine."
Peter nodded and was about to offer his hand to Mr. Mitchell, but he crossed his arms and didn't say anything. He just stared at Peter.
The awkward pause that followed was broken by Elizabeth. "Why don't you sit down? I was just about to make some coffee."
"Sounds good. I'll help you, sweetie. I just need to use the bathroom first. It's been quite a long drive," Tina said, and to Peter's slight horror, Elizabeth and her mother both left the room, leaving him alone with Mr. Mitchell and his elder daughter, who so far hadn't been very helpful.
"Are you two going to sit or are you just going to stand there and stare at each other all day?" she said now.
El's father still didn't say anything, but he slowly settled in an armchair. So Peter took the one opposite him, which was the seat furthest from him but also one that was directly in his line of sight. And Mr. Mitchell kept staring. Peter had stared down suspects in interrogations before without batting an eye. But he had been in control of the situation then. Right now, he had no idea what to do. It was unnerving.
"So… Peter," Mr. Mitchell finally said, his voice eerily calm, "how long have you been seeing my daughter?"
"Not… not long," Peter replied evasively. It was completely ridiculous, but he felt a little bit like a suspect. As such, it was better not to volunteer too much information.
"I see. And how long do you plan on seeing her?"
Peter froze, not having expected such a loaded question. He glanced at Elizabeth's sister, but she seemed amused by his helplessness. "As long as she'll have me," he said haltingly.
Mr. Mitchell picked up on his tone right away. "Is that a question?" he asked.
"No, I just meant that… it's up to El… Elizabeth…"
"You don't have an opinion?"
"Of course I do. I want to be with your daughter. That's why I'm here, but…"
"But what?"
Peter forced himself to take a breath before answering. This was actually turning into an interrogation, and he was making the same mistakes their suspects always did. He was getting rattled.
Before he could try to fix that, though, a loud scream echoed through the apartment. It didn't sound like El, so it had to be her mother. Either way, they all jumped to their feet in surprise.
"Mom?"
"Honey?"
Mr. Mitchell and Madeline were about to go look for her when Mrs. Mitchell returned to the living room on her own with a worried Elizabeth on her heels.
"Mom? What's wrong?"
"Why… for heaven's sake… is there a gun under your pillow?" Mrs. Mitchell asked, her voice still shaky.
"What?"
Oh God, Peter thought in that short moment before Elizabeth realized that her mother could only be talking about his gun. When she did, she gave him a look that was confused and irritated at the same time. Unfortunately, he couldn't explain to her now why hiding his gun under the pillows had seemed like a good idea at the time. When Peter had grabbed his jacket, he had realized that he couldn't just leave his gun right there in the hallway. Since Elizabeth had been busy in the living room, he had quickly decided to put the gun into the bedroom, in the hope that her parents wouldn't have reason to go in there.
Elizabeth seemed to have the same thought. "What were you even doing in the bedroom, Mom?"
"I just wanted to leave something on your bed as a surprise, but it was a bit of a mess in there, so I thought I would quickly make the bed for you. You know you have to shake out your pillows or they get lumpy…"
"Mom! I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need you to make my bed for me!" Elizabeth protested while her sister snickered.
The thought that El's mother had tried to make the bed in which Peter had just had sex with her daughter would have been horrifying, but the whole thing with the gun seemed worse.
Mrs. Mitchell certainly agreed. "That is beside the point right now. You still haven't answered my question about that gun!"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mitchell. The gun is mine," Peter said quickly to save Elizabeth from her mother's outrage.
Mr. Mitchell had observed the exchange between his wife and daughter without trying to interfere, but now that Peter had spoken up, he turned towards him. "You've brought a firearm into our daughter's home?"
Before Peter could think of a reply, Elizabeth returned to his side. "It's not like that, Dad. Peter is an FBI agent," she said, and Peter wasn't sure what distracted him more – the way she almost defiantly reached for his hand and intertwined their fingers or the unmistakable pride in her voice.
Both seemed to have the intended effect, at least on her mother. "FBI? Really? Oh my, that sounds exciting!" she said, suddenly intrigued.
"Not as exciting as the prospect of the fresh cup of coffee I was promised," Madeline interjected.
"Mom distracted me. But you know where the kitchen is. Feel free to get it yourself," Elizabeth told her with a pointed look.
"Fine," Madeline replied and left the room.
Peter tried not to show how relieved he felt that Elizabeth wasn't going to leave him alone with her parents again. She seemed to understand perfectly, though, and pulled him over to the couch to sit with her.
Her parents sat back down as well, even though Mr. Mitchell didn't seem pleased by the sight of them holding hands. And he didn't sound as enthusiastic as his wife either when he asked, "What made you decide to become an FBI agent?"
Peter felt like he was back in high school, showing up on his first girlfriend's doorstep to pick her up for their first date, desperately trying to impress her family. In his panic to come up with something meaningful to say, all he could think of was, "Three things, I suppose. Fidelity, bravery, and integrity."
Mr. Mitchell frowned. "Isn't that the FBI motto?"
"It is," Peter nodded.
"So your answer as to why you chose your current career path is a platitude?"
"Dad, be nice," Elizabeth pleaded on Peter's behalf, which did not make him feel better.
And it certainly didn't impress her father. "Honeybee, if he can't handle answering my questions, I think he's got the wrong job."
"Come on, Alan," Mrs. Mitchell intervened before Peter could try to defend himself. "When have we ever met a real FBI agent before? I want to know more. What do you do exactly? Catch criminals, go after bad guys?"
"That depends on your definition of 'bad guys'. I'm in White Collar," Peter replied.
"What does that mean? And is that the reason why you're wearing that T-shirt with your suit rather than a nice shirt?"
Peter glanced at El, who mouthed 'sorry' while trying not to laugh. That didn't help either. "No, it just means that I'm investigating what the FBI refers to as white-collar crimes like insurance fraud or bank fraud."
"So you're going after people who've stolen other people's money," Mr. Mitchell summed up his explanation. "Is money something you value a lot?"
That sounded like a question with only wrong answers, but El saved him again by saying, "That's not all Peter does. He recovered a very valuable painting for the DeArmitt Gallery. That's how we met."
"Recovered? As in something was stolen from your gallery?" Mrs. Mitchell asked.
"Yes, I was a witness, and Peter interviewed me." Elizabeth smiled at him, but the happy moment between them was short-lived.
"You never told us there was a break-in at your gallery! That sounds dangerous," El's mother said, her tone more than a little accusatory.
Elizabeth had to focus back on her. "I was going to tell you, and I was never in any danger."
Madeline chose that moment to return with the coffee and said, "Except for that night when they broke in a second time and you were working late and suddenly you were all alone with them."
"Right," Elizabeth said without missing a beat. "And that's when Peter saved me."
Both of her parents stared at him. "You did?"
"Um, well…" Peter gave El a look, wondering if exaggerating what had happened was really the way she wanted to go. He hadn't actually saved her since he doubted that Carol Rhodes had ever planned on attacking El. She shrugged and indicated that he should just go with it. "I only did my job."
"In that case, we're very grateful to you, Peter," Mrs. Mitchell said.
"Yes, thanks for watching out for our girl," her husband added.
"No need to thank me, Sir. I could never let her get hurt." It was the first thing he had said since her parents' arrival that felt right. And when Peter looked at El, she gave him a touched smile.
"Okay, you two lovebirds have definitely been cooped up in here for too long," Madeline broke the spell between them. "Time to hit the city."
"You hate New York City," Elizabeth reminded her.
"That's because the traffic is a giant pain in the ass. But I'm sure that's no problem for an FBI agent."
"It is if you're suggesting that we break the law," Peter said quickly.
Madeline grinned. "Of course not. But I'm sure your car has a siren or something."
"Actually, it doesn't, and even if it did, using it for personal reasons would be breaking the law," Peter pointed out.
Elizabeth got to her feet before her sister could respond. "Why don't we walk?" she suggested. "It's nice outside."
"Great idea, honey," her mother agreed, and they all got up to put their coats and shoes on.
They decided to walk to a diner that was only a couple of blocks away to have breakfast (in Peter and El's case) or brunch as far as the rest of her family was concerned. The walk over there was actually rather nice. El hadn't let go of Peter's hand since the apartment, and she struck up an easy conversation with her parents about a recent trip they had taken. All Peter needed to do was to listen and to nod every now and then.
He actually liked El's parents when they weren't staring at him or grilling him. They were obviously good people who loved both of their daughters very much. Then again, he hadn't expected anything else. All the love and kindness El had in her heart had to have come from somewhere. And Peter couldn't actually fault El's parents for wanting to protect her. If she had told them about her last piece-of-shit boyfriend, they had every right to be cautious with him.
None of that helped him, though, when they had gotten a table at the diner and Mrs. Mitchell said she needed to go to the ladies' room again. Both of her daughters joined her, leaving Peter alone with El's father.
At first, Peter thought he could simply wait it out. But Mr. Mitchell had gone back to staring at him, and Peter would have felt like a coward if he hadn't come up with a single thing to say. "So, what is it you do, Mr. Mitchell?"
"I'm a psychiatrist."
That explained all the weird tricky questions at least. "Wow, that's interesting," Peter said, and perhaps he laid it on too thick with the enthusiasm.
El's father furrowed his brow, and then, unsurprisingly, he asked another question. "Why do you think that's so interesting?"
"I just have the utmost respect for your profession," Peter tried to explain. "We have mandatory psych evaluations at work, and they are not to be taken lightly."
"Sounds like your respect is really based on a certain distrust if not dislike of psychiatrists," Mr. Mitchell said.
And suddenly Peter remembered why he hated those psych evals. But it didn't seem wise to admit that. Instead, he said, "No, that's not what I meant. I'm just not a big fan of sitting around and talking about myself."
"Why don't you like to talk about yourself? Most people enjoy that immensely," El's father pointed out.
Peter shrugged. "I'd rather get back to work."
"Then you think that you're so indispensable that if you spend thirty minutes to determine your mental fitness to carry a firearm, the rest of the FBI won't know what to do in that time?"
Peter could only stare at the other man for a moment. He might not be a big fan of psychiatrists, but at least none of the ones he had dealt with so far had insisted on twisting every word that came out of his mouth. "No, but I know what it is I'm good at, which is closing cases, and that's why I want to spend all my time doing that," Peter answered as measured as he could.
Mr. Mitchell smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile, it was more of a self-satisfied smile that already made Peter not want to hear what he was about to say next. "I see. Then tell me, Peter, where does my daughter fit into that?"
No matter what he said, it was wrong. Peter understood being protective of someone you loved, but he suddenly realized that Mr. Mitchell wasn't the only one who felt that way about Elizabeth. And Peter had no intention of backing down. "Elizabeth doesn't need to be fitted in anywhere. She's smart and passionate, and she's going to do whatever she sets her mind on," he told her father.
Mr. Mitchell didn't even hesitate with his answer. "I know that. I just don't know why she needs you to do that."
"I guess you're right. She doesn't need me. But with all due respect, it's her decision if she wants me. And if she does, then that's where I'll be because whether you believe that or not, I care about your daughter more than I care about anything else."
The words came out in a rush and entirely unfiltered, but once they were out, Peter knew that they were also true. Scary and slightly premature, perhaps, but true nevertheless.
And he was relieved to see that Mr. Mitchell didn't look so smug anymore. He seemed thoughtful now and went back to staring.
Before he could respond to Peter's declaration, the Mitchell women made their way back to the table.
"Are you boys being nice to each other?" Elizabeth asked while she slid onto the bench next to Peter.
Peter couldn't help himself. He slipped one hand under the table to put it on El's knee. Her father couldn't see that of course, but since he had been watching Peter closely, he could probably guess where his hand had gone.
When Elizabeth felt his touch, she just turned her head and smiled at him. And that smile was everything he needed. It was worth a hundred hours of being grilled by her father.
"Yes, Peter was just about to tell me about the dangers of his job," Mr. Mitchell answered his daughter's question with an outright lie and didn't seem to feel bad about that in the slightest.
Elizabeth's smile faded a little, but it was her mother who took the edge off. "Oh yes, do tell us, Peter. Are you a real bad boy like in the movie?" she asked and started humming a melody that Peter unfortunately recognized as the theme song from that movie.
"Mom, that movie wasn't even about the FBI," Elizabeth pointed out, trying to get her mother to stop humming.
"And movies like that generally have very little to do with reality," Peter added, having no interest in competing with an image of Will Smith as a Miami detective that seemed to be on Mrs. Mitchell's mind.
"Oh, I know that, but I'm sure going after money laundering criminals can be very exciting at times."
And so for the rest of their brunch, Peter was forced to walk the fine line between telling stories from work that weren't too dull or unimpressive but also not too scary.
When they left the diner, Elizabeth remembered that there was a special exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art this weekend and suggested that they should go there next. Madeline wasn't too thrilled with that idea, but after Elizabeth had reminded her sister that she had been the one to drag them all into this, everybody agreed to let El have her way. Peter had a feeling that wasn't an unusual occurrence in the Mitchell household, and he couldn't blame them. El could be a force of nature when she wanted to be.
Especially when it came to discussing modern art. At the museum, it didn't take long for her and her father to start arguing about the meaning of some of the paintings. Madeline was otherwise occupied rebuking a bunch of children not to run and scream in the museum (apparently, being a teacher was as difficult to turn off as being an FBI agent). So Peter stood to the side with Mrs. Mitchell while her husband and younger daughter barely even paid attention to them.
"Do they always do that?" Peter asked, making a mental note not to bring El to a museum on any of their future dates.
"Argue about paintings? Oh yes," Mrs. Mitchell confirmed with a broad smile on her face while she watched them. "Ever since she decided to study art history, it's become their favorite pastime. She's so very smart, and he's so very proud of her. Of both of them. Most men dream of having a son one day, but I think Alan was meant to raise these beautiful, strong, independent daughters."
Peter didn't know how to respond other than with a quick nod. He certainly couldn't argue with her description of the Mitchell sisters, especially the younger one.
With a knowing smile, Mrs. Mitchell turned her attention to him. "So don't take anything he might have said today too personally. He'll come around. If you treat her well that is…"
It was the closest thing to a warning Peter had heard from El's mother. "Mrs. Mitchell…" he began.
"Tina," she corrected him kindly.
"Tina, I don't know your daughter the way you and your husband do, but I want to. I want to make her happy."
Mrs. Mitchell smiled. "I think you're a good man, Peter. On top of being a bad boy, of course." She winked at him.
Peter suppressed a sigh and decided to take the compliment. "Thank you, Mrs…, Tina."
The rest of the day felt a little less like a struggle. Mr. Mitchell seemed to have argued enough for one day, and Mrs. Mitchell was almost affectionate towards Peter, although that was probably just part of her nature. He still stared, and she still hummed 'Bad Boys' under her breath every now and then. But as the day progressed, Elizabeth became more and more at ease with openly showing her affection for Peter in front of her family, so really, he had nothing to complain about.
Nevertheless, Peter was wiped out when the Mitchells had finally said their goodbyes that night.
Elizabeth closed the door behind them and then turned around to him with a curious smile on her lips. Peter leaned against the doorframe to the living room and didn't feel like he could move or say anything meaningful. But Elizabeth merely walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him deeply, taking her time like they had done this morning before her family had hijacked their Sunday.
"What was that for?" Peter asked, not bothering to hide the grin on his face when their kiss had finally ended.
"To thank you for spending the day with me and my family, especially my dad. I know he was a bit prickly. He's not usually like that," Elizabeth explained.
"You mean he's not like that to you because he loves you. He hates me."
Elizabeth shook her head. "He doesn't hate you. He told me he likes you better than my last boyfriends. I mean if that's what you want."
"To treat you better than your last boyfriend? I most definitely want that," Peter assured her, even though he had a feeling he was sidestepping the real question. But this needed to be said, too.
Elizabeth smiled, but she clarified, "To be my boyfriend."
Peter was a little surprised that she felt she needed to ask this, but then he remembered that technically they had still only been on three dates – if you didn't count today as a date, which he didn't – and had obviously never talked about this. "El, last night was more than just great. It meant something to me. I don't just do that…" He huffed when he couldn't really find the right words.
"Me either," Elizabeth said quickly, though.
He sighed in relief that she seemed to understand. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want to be with anyone but you."
Elizabeth responded by kissing him again, but the way she was pressing into him, with her hands buried in his hair and one of her legs hooked around his, told Peter that this was only going to end with them back in her bed.
Which was exactly where he wanted to be, but somehow, he managed to disentangle himself from her before then. "El, I'm so sorry, but I need to go home. I need a fresh suit for work tomorrow. If we do this, I'm not going anywhere tonight."
El actually pouted a little, which, truth be told, wasn't making this any easier for Peter. "I love her, but I'm a little mad at my sister right now for taking this day away from us," she said.
Peter cupped her face in his hands and kissed her very tenderly, so they wouldn't get carried away again. "We'll have lots of time to make up for it," he promised her.
She nodded but then halted with her brow furrowed. "Or… why don't I just pack a bag with everything I need for work tomorrow and come with you?"
"To my place?" Peter asked, making a bit of a face, and before he could school his features, Elizabeth had already seen it.
"Or not," she said dismissively but clearly a little bit hurt, too, having drawn all the wrong conclusions.
"No, no." Peter quickly took her hands in his, perhaps squeezing them a little too hard. "I'd love to take you. It's just… I'm not sure it's, um, presentable."
The hurt and confusion in Elizabeth's eyes were immediately replaced by an amused glimmer. "What exactly are you worried about?"
Peter shrugged. "Just don't want to scare you off."
Elizabeth laughed, and he simply couldn't get over how that always made her beauty even more pronounced. "You just spent all day being interrogated by my father. Do you honestly think a few socks lying around could make me run for the hills now?"
With a smile on his face, Peter wrapped his arms around her waist again. "So you're giving me full immunity?"
"For tonight," Elizabeth agreed. "I'm not saying you can have socks lying around every time I come over."
Honestly, all Peter cared about was the implication that she would be coming over a lot. "Deal," he said.
Peter's apartment was very manly. Elizabeth couldn't think of a better word to describe it. It was actually a very nice apartment, considering he had to pay rent on a government salary. It was a one bedroom, just like hers, but the living room was lovely with an open kitchen, big windows, and even a little balcony. The light in here during the day was probably very beautiful.
But there wasn't a lot of life in it. There was a big TV and a Yankees blanket draped over the couch, a few books and a couple of DVDs but not a lot of pictures and no plants. The curtains looked like someone had hastily picked them out at Home Depot, the kitchen was suspiciously spotless, and the coffee table was littered with FBI files (no socks, though).
"So what's the verdict?" Peter wrapped his arms around her from behind after giving her a moment to take it all in.
"I think it's very nice. It just needs a bit of a woman's touch," Elizabeth replied boldly.
Peter started planting kisses along her jawline and down the side of her neck. "Hm, you can touch anything you want in here."
Elizabeth turned around in his arms. "Does that include the tenant?"
"Especially him."
That's where their conversation ended and their hunger for each other got the better of them. Elizabeth's bag was left abandoned by the door because they had precious little need for clothes the rest of the night. Actually, they didn't have need for anything except each other. When Elizabeth closed her eyes while Peter was planting kisses all over her body, she could barely even remember who she was anymore. She was perfectly happy to lose herself in him just as he inevitably came undone inside of her, so they could then build a new sense of self that irrevocably bound them together.
Waking up in Peter's arms the next morning when his alarm went off still felt a little unfamiliar but wonderful all the same. When Elizabeth realized that the alarm was closer to her than to Peter, which probably meant that she had somehow ended up sleeping on his side of the bed, she stretched a little to turn it off.
"Hm, don't move," Peter mumbled, pulling her back in closer.
"You set the alarm. I don't have to be at work for another two hours," Elizabeth told him.
"Don't go." She just smiled, but Peter stopped nuzzling her neck and lifted his head to look at her. "I'm serious. Let's play hooky today and call in sick."
Elizabeth raised both eyebrows at him. "Have you ever called in sick?"
"Nope, never. Don't get sick," Peter replied proudly.
"Then why break that perfect record?" she asked.
Peter looked as if the answer was perfectly obvious. "Because I want to spend more time with you, even if I have to break a few rules to do it."
"I think I'm having a bad influence on you," Elizabeth said with an amused grin on her face.
"Then I guess I'll have to make sure you're severely scolded," Peter replied, his hands moving to find all her most ticklish spots.
Elizabeth writhed and laughed until his hands stilled and she got the chance to really look at him. "Seriously, Peter, I don't want to get you into trouble at work."
"Honestly, I really don't care, El," he vowed but frowned when he saw a look on her face that he couldn't identify. "What?"
"You've been calling me 'El'…" she observed.
Peter hesitated. "You don't like it?"
Elizabeth chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love it."
A/N: Sorry about last chapter's cliffhanger. I hope you enjoyed this second part. I know El's dad is coming down hard on Peter in this one, but I think their relationship on the show still seemed rather distant for ten plus years of marriage between Peter and El. So I figured the beginning would have been rough. Anyway, as always, thanks for the reviews!
