A/N: Neal and Peter hash out some issues about surnames; Elizabeth and Mozzie meet for teatime.
Timestamp takes place soon after Phoenix_crysg1's, Animula, Chapter 50. Although my friend, Phoenix_crysg1, is taking time off this summer from her Animula sequel (check out her current fic "Double or Nothing"), she and I are having fun discussing future segments. Readers are in for a roller coaster ride that includes some long, deferred payback for Peter.
In Case of Heartache, Steep Three To Five Minutes
If Mozzie was honest with himself, he would have admitted to a slight case of the nerves while knocking on Elizabeth's door that afternoon. Slight case of nerves? Hah! Who was he fooling? More like emotions being tossed around in an intense tsunami.
"Just a moment," he heard Elizabeth call out.
Oh yes, Neal had relayed the message Elizabeth seemed forgiving of his clumsy, ill-timed and potentially dangerous snooping and past intrusion into her life, even to the extent of mentioning a future teatime, but she finally had had contact with long lost Peter two nights ago. It was possible her husband had persuaded her to take on a smidge of justifiable anger, perhaps some… vengeful wrath. Images of Alexander Litvinenko were suddenly swirling through his follicly challenged head.
Mozzie grimaced. Battling suspicion and conspiracy theories required copious amounts of energy, and did little for inspiring confidence in someone else's goodwill.
Laying low and avoiding Neal's apartment, now that was the better part of valor. It would, at the very least, keep an enraged Animula from possibly crushing his head with one meaty hand, given half the chance. The conman knew he'd inadvertently taken away something beyond measure from a man dubbed sub-human. Although grievously ignorant at the time, his actions had carelessly removed Peter's choice of ─ when or even if ─ someone should contact Elizabeth about his survival.
The small man had realized, in retrospective horror, that this time he was one of those cold-blooded humans that harmed a defenseless man.
So here he was bravely casting a 'few' deep seated fears and regrets aside, blowing caution to the wind, and girding his loins, carrying a gift of appeasement. Skirting the issue of his own loneliness and lack of female companionship, he decided he couldn't live with himself without trying to apologize and make amends with Elizabeth Mitchell for the deceitful entry into her life. Tracing heavy steps to her apartment, he had slipped into the locked foyer and arrived knocking, unannounced at her door.
Maybe he should just back off and give Elizabeth more time to cool down.
If she did open the door, after looking through the peephole and identifying him, Mozzie was going to assure her he meant no further harm, would offer sincere apologies and future assistance to both she and… Peter. If Elizabeth actually invited him in… he would brave the lioness's den and, being no one's complete fool, use extreme caution while in her domicile.
However, to his amazement and delight, Elizabeth opened the door and welcomed him in with a warm smile. Previous nervousness and thoughts of potential revenge suddenly ceased their petty awareness. Had an odd couple of squirrely criminal and government-persecuted underdog really hit it off on their first meeting? How radical! No small feat for either of them.
Beaming with pride, the small man ambled through the doorway, giving a slight, nonchalant hand wave to Satchmo standing vigilant by the kitchen alcove.
Moments later, comfortably seated in Elizabeth's drab 7th floor apartment, sighing in relief, Mozzie lifted a water glass to his lips, shaking his head with mild bafflement.
"What is it Dante…, Mozzie?" asked Elizabeth. "Such a heavy sigh."
"Did I sigh, Elizabeth? Ah, just nature's way for the body to decompress by releasing CO2 and taking in more oxygen." He paused. "I'm fine."
"It seemed, to me, a release of pent up tension." The petite brunette smiled with a hint of sadness. "Keeping more secrets?" she asked.
"No no, not that," Mozzie hastened to assure her, "I'm just rather hesitant to tell you what I was thinking about."
A puzzled expression crossed Elizabeth's face. Cocking her head, she waited for an answer.
Mozzie knew defeat.
"I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me," he said, throwing his hands up in despair. "Spying on you, utilizing subterfuge and deceit, digging into Peter's private affairs. I… I was trying to protect Neal; I thought my only friend was in danger. I didn't trust Peter… an Animula," his words spewed out in rare honesty. "But that's no excuse," he added softly, words trailing off as he lowered his head in shame.
"I understand why you did it, Mozzie. But you're right… that's no excuse."
Her visitor shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"You lied about who you were, you lied your way into my home and abused my hospitality, but worse you've caused Peter pain."
Elizabeth leaned forward, resting her hands in her lap.
"It did eventually work out for good." Her open smile temporarily lit the dingy room. "Peter and I are back together again. But Mozzie," her breath hitched with emotion, "it could have easily gone the other way, bringing suspicion from others, flagging the Market to Peter's location or causing my husband to back away to avoid hurting me."
"I'm so sorry. I'll leave─"
"Let me finish, please."
Mozzie sat back, awaiting a curt dismissal. His stomach hurt.
"I sensed your kindness from the start; Satchmo certainly welcomed you."
Seated under the dining table, the retriever recognized his name, thumping his tail and nudging one of Mozzie's legs.
"And," she continued, "I know about the danger of trying to protect others… especially behind their back." Elizabeth momentarily closed her eyes against the pain. "I can't forgive myself for that same sin."
Mozzie wondered how Elizabeth's protection of Peter had gone dangerously wrong in the past.
"So," she added, placing a warm hand on his knee, "I forgive your transgression towards me and I'm ready to begin again, if you are. Now, you wanted to show me a peace offering you brought?"
Mozzie nodded with relief. Heaving another sigh, his happiness was quickly overshadowed by Elizabeth's next words.
"But to the harm you caused my husband, that's up to him to decide a course of action."
WCWCWCWCWCWCWC
Peter sat at Neal's dining room table, his computer open and unused before him. Rolling an empty water glass around his fingers, he vaguely heard his friend bustling around in the kitchen working on what Neal called a 'relaxed gourmet meal that was guaranteed to knock his socks off.'" Something about showing Peter recipes that would satisfy a connoisseur's palate, yet require minimum preparation time.
Peter should have never shared his pot roast stories. Now Neal wanted to begin lessons on dazzling Elizabeth with elegant meals using available ingredients, common appliances, and without any extensive cooking experience. Perhaps Neal had too much time on his hands.
"Peter, this is one of those spectacular meals I told you about," Neal said, from the kitchen. "Seared sea scallops with mint and pea puree; sure to amaze. You'll be making inspired dishes in no time."
"Uh huh," replied Peter, as he forced a slight mile upon his lips, "sounds amazing." Inwardly troubled, the older man quickly became lost in his thoughts. Cooking with Neal was not on his radar.
His mind was focused on a white envelope, nestled inside the top drawer of his dresser, wrestling with the ramifications that would ensue if he opened it. Two days ago, Neal had handed him, what at first seemed, an innocuous envelope from Mozzie. He was told it identified his lost surname. Somehow, Neal's loony friend had snagged, performed bribery, or stolen the information most dear to an Animula: the clandestinely guarded family name.
Identified as property, Animula were given names by the Market, consisting of no more than a first name. The rigid norm always prevailed, but if a company, on the rare occasion, owned two Animula with the same first name, one was assigned their birth year as well.
"… and so once we've gathered all the necessary ingredients, it's a slam dunk to fix," Neal called out from the kitchen. "Want to give it a go?"
Receiving no response, either verbal or physical, he slowly sauntered over to the dining room table, finding Peter zoned out, oblivious to his surroundings.
"Peter?" Neal reached out, gently touching the man on his shoulder.
Peter, reverting back to ingrained protocol, stumbled up in surprise, overturning his glass and knocking over the chair.
"Dammit, Neal," he snapped. "Where did you come from?" He bowed his head, his face now flushed with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to surprise you like that. You weren't responding to any of my questions." Neal stepped back, giving Peter necessary space, his face radiating regret. "Look if you're working on something, we can hold off on the cooking instructions."
"No. I'm the one who should apologize. I wasn't listening… and you startled me." Shaking his head, he gave a rueful smile. "Neal, I'm surprised you were able to approach without any awareness on my part."
"That wouldn't have happened a few weeks ago," teased Neal, "this is a good thing."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," adding in a softer tone, "for the time being."
Neal decided to let that lie. Something else was on his mind. "Are you okay, Peter? Is there something wrong? Do you need to contact Elizabeth?"
Peter's eyes darted to the ground, suddenly finding the wooden floor boards a mesmerizing pattern. As the man shifted his feet in a seemingly self-comforting pattern, Neal regretted his query. With so much coming at his friend from all directions, he didn't need prying questions from a housemate. He had perceived that Mozzie's envelope was a source of inner turmoil for Peter; the Animula had not mentioned it once after it being placed in his hands.
"Why don't we sit down, Neal," Peter said abruptly. "Please."
The two men sat down across from each other and Peter began to talk in a soft confidential tone.
"The envelope containing my surname; I haven't opened it yet. I may decide not to." He looked across at Neal. "That probably surprises you."
Neal folded his arms on the table and met Peter's steady gaze. "No, that doesn't surprise me. Peter, I can't, in anyway, fathom how difficult this decision is for you. I can only empathize." Neal knew he wasn't the right man to offer advice having easily discarded and swapped his own identity for years. But he had to try.
"A name is only a way to address someone. Your character defines your nature; the person you really are."
"The Market had the right to give me any name they wished," said Peter, as he rubbed his forehead. 'Peter' is the name I've answered to all my life and became what I hold as my own." He paused. "But a family name is usually handed down along a patrimonial line. It's the reality of your essence at the deepest level… signifying you belong somewhere. At some point in time, you had a family, a posterity to cherish or reject."
Peter smiled sadly. "The absence of a surname propagates denial of your humanity; the destruction of any future. I thought if I ever had the opportunity to take a surname it would be one of my own choosing." He didn't tell Neal he had considered adopting Mitchell as his last name. Though not culturally popular, he would be proud to share his wife's identity. "Do I even want to know," he continued, "the name of birth parents forced to reject their 'freak of nature' offspring? They must have been grateful to hand me over to the Market."
Neal stiffened, shaking his head, but if Peter noticed he made no sign.
"Oh I know they had no choice, Neal. It wouldn't be fair to hold animosity, but that doesn't change the fact that in their eyes, I was a nonperson. Quickly rejected and forgotten."
"You don't know that," Neal answered softly, reaching out to touch Peter's arm.
"No, I don't… and never will." Peter withdrew his arm, rising suddenly from his chair, his eyes moist. Striding into the kitchen, he looked back, motioning Neal to join him. "What is this culinary delight you were anxious to show me?"
Neal knew the moment for talk was over. Anticipating Peter might broach the subject again, when he felt comfortable, he stood up and sadly trailed after his friend.
WCWCWCWCWCWCWCWCWC
"What do you think, Elizabeth?" asked Mozzie with a slight frown.
"It's perfect," she answered, taking a sip from her tea cup. "Brewing loose leaf green tea isn't as difficult to master as I thought."
"Remember, bottled spring water is one of the key aspects for a positive outcome; soft water with few minerals. No hard, tap or distilled water and, of course, you must ascertain the right temperature."
"Follow the proper tea to water ratio," Elizabeth began inciting, "and the time it takes to infuse is dependent on the type of tea you're brewing."
"Would you like to practice pouring the tea in my cup?" asked her unconventional instructor. "Slowly and gently," he pantomimed, "that's right. Ah… no shaking or swirling the teapot."
Elizabeth laughed, sitting down close to the small man. "Thank you, Mozzie. This has been a delightful afternoon. And I adore the beautiful Japanese kyusu and delicate tea cups you bought me." She gave him a searching look. "You know that wasn't necessary?"
Mozzie opened his eyes wide in mock amazement. "No one should be without the proper teapot. And western teacups are really not suitable for sencha or kamairicha. My gift was just an essential component of the tutelage."
"I remember my mom always saying that as far as she was concerned, tea can fix everything," said Elizabeth, her vivid blue eyes expressing a quiet sadness. "If only that were true," she added wistfully.
"Things will work out. You have friends on your side now."
Elizabeth kissed the top of Mozzie's bald head. "The antidote for fifty enemies is one friend."
"Aristotle," he answered, feeling a protective streak within him that he would never have guessed existed. You must never give up; 'for even rivers someday wash dams away.' "
"Would you like more tea?" asked his pupil.
"Of course. Let's practice the technique again," he said. "You'll have a faultless presentation for Peter."