A/N: Aaaaaand here comes the angst XD I'm trying to keep it balanced :p Thank you so much for your feedbacks, I was happy to see that I hadn't ruined champagne for everybody XD Thank you to all of you who are still reading, now 10 chapters in! We're about halfway through :)

And I'm not kidding, this is quite sad. And unbetaed, sorry!

IN REVERSE

X.

Peter has just started peeling the carrots when the front door opens behind him.

"You girls are home early," he says without turning around, focused on the vegetable. These have become so rare to find nowadays that he doesn't want to waste any of it.

"It's just me," answers a rather dull voice as the door closes; he finally glances over his shoulder, just in time to see Ella carelessly drop her backpack on the floor. "Aunt Liv had to go to work, she asked me to let you know she might not make it on time for dinner."

He surveys his niece for a moment, taking in her red eyes and slumped shoulders, before opening a drawer and getting another peeler out. "I think we should still have that fancy dinner I was making for you two. Help me out?"

She offers him her best unenthusiastic look. "Seriously? You gonna make me peel stuffs?"

"The dream of every fifteen year old girl," he answers cheerfully, wiggling the peeler, but she's just as stubborn as her aunt. Plus, she's fifteen. "C'mon," he says, losing the smile and offering her a knowing look. "Trivial tasks help take your mind off things."

She sighs but finally makes her way around the counter to join him on the other side, taking the peeler and grabbing a carrot. "Where did you find those, anyway?" she can't help but ask.

"I have connections," he answers mysteriously. Only a few years ago, she would have asked him to elaborate and tell her wild stories. But that Ella is long gone, replaced by a teenager whose green eyes are already too dark. Especially today. "Plus, I just know how much you love carrots."

She huffs darkly, peeling a bit aggressively. "Yeah, when I was like eight."

He decides not to push her. July 3rd hasn't been a good day for his girls for a few years now, and therefore it isn't for him either, but he does his best to help out as he much as he can. By cooking fancy dinners, for example.

When all around the city, people are putting out flags for the next day's celebrations, Olivia and Ella buy flowers and visit cemeteries.

They work in silence for a few minutes. He almost speaks on several occasions, wanting to ask her how is school or if he should be scaring away some boys looking at her the wrong way, but the young Dunham channels her aunt in too many ways. He knows school is going perfectly and that she thinks boys her age are a joke. Also, when particularly upset, she closes up and will only open up when she feels like it.

That is why he is quite surprised when she is the one who finally speaks. He is even more shocked by her question.

"Who's Elizabeth?" She asks, not taking her eyes away from her task, now peeling a potato.

Peter, on the other hand, stops his movement, his breath getting caught in his throat; he's pretty sure his heart has missed a beat within his chest.

Because he knows. He knows she can't possibly be talking about his mother. Not today, not after visiting that cemetery. But there's no harm in being optimistic, is it?

So he 'casually' starts cutting his carrot again, before answering in a steady voice. "Well, my mother was named Elizabeth."

Cut. Cut. Cut.

"I don't think it's her," Ella replies then, tersely. "Her full name was 'Elizabeth Dunham-Bishop.'"

Peter lets out a hiss of pain as the knife slashes his index, and he brings it up to his mouth, muffling a swear word. His mind has gone blank, which is a good thing, and he turns around to the sink, turning the water on and placing his finger under the spray, focusing on the dull pain already starting to pulse at the gash. Maybe Ella will get the hint, and drop it.

But she definitely is a Dunham.

"Did you and Aunt Liv have a child?" she asks instead behind him, and he closes his eyes.

He turns the water off and grabs a towel, pressing it to his wound. "Did Olivia talk to you about this?"

"Hardly," she answers, and her voice is even graver now. "I can barely get her to talk about mom."

Rather reluctantly, he faces her again. Her face is pale, and her eyes look watery. She also looks pissed off. He forces himself to remember that she's in pain and grieving her mother at the moment, a variable he cannot dismiss.

But she has no idea what Pandora Box she is trying to break open.

He knows that dismissing her won't do any good, though; she might go ask Olivia if he refuses to answer her questions, and he doesn't want that either.

"Where did you hear her name, then?" he eventually asks, and his voice is slightly hoarse.

She shakes her head slightly. "I didn't. I read it." She bites her lip then, something he knows she only does when she's done something to feel guilty about. And sure enough, she looks down at her hands, avoiding his gaze now. When she speaks again, her voice is hardly louder than a whisper. "For the past three years, whenever we went to mom's grave, Aunt Liv would always…she would give me a few minutes by myself if I wanted to…you know, to talk to her."

Peter knows. Even though there is no body in that grave –how could there be one?- it's precisely the reason why Olivia had insisted her sister got a grave anyway, so there would be a place for Ella to mourn her properly.

"Anyway," Ella continues, glancing up at him, blinking some tears away. "She got a call from work today, and asked me if I was alright coming back here by myself. I said yes, of course, and she left. Except that she didn't go for the exit right away. She went the way she always did the previous years so…"

"You followed her," Peter finishes for her, his voice remarkably soft, though his arms are crossed and his jaw set, his posture screaming his disapproval. But when he sees a tear finally escape Ella's eyes to roll onto her pale cheek, a sign of weakness she hastily wipes away, his whole body slumps a little.

"I did," she whispers. "She stayed there for a few minutes, then left. That's when I went up to the grave and read her name."

"Ella," he starts, but stops. He sighs, closing his eyes, trying to keep his own emotions about the whole subject buried, the way they have been for a while now, because that's the way he likes it. Or the way he needs it to be. "Can we…just drop it, please?"

But she won't. When he opens his eyes again, hers are lost in the distance. "I don't remember much of my childhood before…before mom died." She says then, and her voice sounds as distant as she looks, clearly lost in some broken memory. "But I do remember Aunt Liv being pregnant. Like, really pregnant." She meets his eyes again then. "I just…I never really thought about it again because…because mom asked me not to talk about it back then, and…I don't remember ever seeing a baby."

The dull pain is changing into something more intense now, and he has to close his eyes again, clenching the towel in a death grip, swallowing hard. "Ella, please," he repeats. "Let it go."

"Why don't you go with her?" she asks then, and her voice, though barely louder than a whisper, sounds accusing now; and so is the look on her face when he meets her eyes again. "You shouldn't let her go there by herself."

It's like a slap in the face, or a bucket of cold water poured over his head. She doesn't understand, and how could she? She simply has no idea what she's talking about, and he doesn't take that kind of accusation well at all.

Guilt and irritation are swelling fast inside of him, like a familiar disease.

"That's enough, I don't want to talk about this anymore." He tells her coldly. "You can go to your room, I'll finish here."

But she chuckles darkly, a look of despise on her flushed face. "That's bullshit," she hisses. "You haven't even said a word yet."

"Careful, Ella, your age is showing," he replies in a low tone, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he very well knows that she hates being called an 'angry teenager' or any stereotype associated to her age.

"No, it's your lack of feelings that is showing" she spits back, and he's had about enough of her tantrum.

"That's it, you're grounded, go to your room."

"Try again," she answers without losing a beat. "You're not my father."

That hurts way more than it should.

He actually winces a little. She obviously immediately regrets her words, her face crumbling as her anger fades away to be replaced by mortification when she realizes what she has said, and how insensitive it was after the 'discussion' they just had.

"Fair enough," he whispers then, looking away, down to his wounded hand, which is still bleeding he realizes then, dropping the towel on the counter.

And then his hip hits the counter, when she literally pounces on him quite forcefully, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and burying her face against his side.

"I'm sorry…" she whimpers, her voice muffled against his shirt, and he's pretty sure she's crying now. "I didn't mean it."

He sighs heavily and slides his uninjured hand in her hair, the other one dripping over the sink. He knows he needs to take care of it, but right now, his niece's distressed is more important than a few drops of blood.

He presses his lips against the top of her head. "I know," he says softly, his own anger completely gone; all he wants is to make her stop crying, now. "It's okay."

But she shakes her head against him, sniffling loudly. "No it's not. You've been a better father to me these past few years than my real one. It was cruel and I do need to be grounded."

He can't help but chuckle soflty, and his hand cups her cheek so she would raise her head; he brushes a few tears away with his thumb. She looks so young when she cries.

"We'll let this one go," he tells her with a comforting smile. "You've been nothing but an exemplary teenager so far, after all. And I think special circumstances call for exceptions." She gives him a weak smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. He loses his own smile, and sighs again, before telling her softly: "I know you want answers, Ella but…there are just some subjects that are very personal, and simply too painful. You understand?"

He knows she does. She nods slowly, before hiding her face in his shirt again. "I miss her…" she whispers then, before her body starts trembling against his, more forcefully this time, and his hand goes back to her hair.

"I know, sweetie, I know…"

He lets her cry against him, a rare moment of vulnerability he knows, and it rips his heart apart, knowing that there's nothing he can do. Her mother died four years ago, and nothing will ever soothe that pain, just like nothing will ever soothe his pain, or Olivia's. He lets her cry, and cannot help but think about what she's said, despite his intense desire to forget it all again, or to pretend at least.

He wants to explain himself to her. He wants to tell her about how suffocating it is for him to simply stand at the cemetery's gate. He has tried in the past, more times that he would ever admit to anybody, not even to Olivia. They don't talk about it, because he knows she understands, somehow. Olivia understands his insufferable guilt and how torn he feels.

She understands why he cannot bring himself to go mourn their daughter together, when his son didn't get the luxury of a grave.

"I remember something else," Ella says softly against him after a long stretch of silence, and she takes his lack of answer for an authorization to keep on going. "I remember mom asking me for the cross Aunt Liv gave me, years ago. She told me someone else needed it more. I remember feeling incredibly jealous because I thought…who could Aunt Liv want to give it to, more than to me? But…she gave it to Elizabeth, didn't she?"

Ella remembers more than she gives herself credit for. But Peter doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to think about it, to think about her. He needs for those memories to go back to a dark corner of his heart, where they have been hiding for the past five years. He needs for that box to stay closed.

And yet, he remembers.

He remembers tiny fingers and ivory skin. He remembers Olivia, and how delicately she had slipped the silver cross between the baby's hands. He remembers how quiet everything was, and the tender kiss she had pressed on her soft skin, murmuring words that hadn't reached his ears.

And then he remembers that he needs to forget.

He turns his head slightly against her hair to stare at his finger, still slowly dripping blood into the sink. "She did," he whispers.

But the memory is already gone.

(July 2019)

TBC...

A/N: Sooo I know some of you had guessed it, and that others hadn't lol But you can reread Part III, it was first hinted in this one. As I said back then, I am going to explore Peter and Olivia and why they don't have a child in the future. I just chose to do it in a very evil way; it is not the last of it, and I'm very scared (I cried a bit -a lot- writing this).

As always, reviews would make my weekend :)) Fluff is next!