Innocent Eyes
by tbossjenn
Note: This takes place right after "Such Fleeting Paradise"
"Hmmmm ... " Tom rolled over and rubbed his eyes.
Peter sat down on the bed with a *thump*. "Good morning, love! I thought you'd never wake up. If you hurry, we can still catch breakfast," he said cheerfully, shaking Tom's shoulder.
Tom smiled through his sleepy haze. "Peter ..." He sat up and pulled his lover into a kiss.
Peter gently pulled away. "After last night, I don't really blame you for sleeping so late," he said with wink. "Now get up! And brush your teeth while you're at it," he added, heading towards the door.
"Okay! Okay!" Tom laughed. Then he remembered. "No, wait!" He jumped up and ran towards the door, aware that he was still naked. "Peter, don't go up there."
"Why not? What's the matter with you?"
Tom smiled and nervously ran a hand through his hair. "I thought we had decided to stay in here for the rest of the trip."
"Well, we can't stay the whole time. We do have to eat."
"Peter ..." Tom was at a loss. The cold, rational part of him cursed himself for being so stupid. He had let sex overrule his judgement - Peter should be dead and Tom should have already been drinking his coffee with Meredith Logue. Instead he was still bogged down in this mess. Then again, this was Peter. Dickie had been an honest mistake and Freddie was almost a pleasure, but he loved this man. He had tried to find a way around murder - he confessed everything to him last night and Peter wouldn't even believe him. Damn it. Well, when first you don't succeed ...
"Peter, come with me. Come and sit down with me for a minute, okay?"
"All right."
Tom led him to the bed and sat him down. He put on a bathrobe, figuring Peter would take him much more seriously if he weren't distracted. "You know how we played that little game last night?"
"The murder game."
"Yes, that's right. See, Peter, it wasn't really a game."
Peter looked confused. "I don't understand. It ... it wasn't a game?"
"I really did kill Dickie and Freddie. I killed them. Dickie was an accident - I swear to God, Peter! We were arguing, and he was yelling at me and he wouldn't stop and without thinking I hit him over the head with the oar. I really wasn't thinking." The words were just tumbling out of him now, and he was sounding more and more desperate. "And then he attacked me, and I had to kill him. You should have seen him, Peter, I was defending myself! What else could I do?! As for Freddie ... well, it's like you said last night. Murder is necessary sometimes."
"Stop this, Tom." Peter was beginning to look anxious.
He's believing me, Tom thought. "Just hear me out, please? I was impersonating Dickie in Rome - I've met Meredith Logue and she knows me as Dickie. And then I met you, Peter, and I fell in love with you. Maybe it even happened when we first bumped into each other at the opera. You make me feel like a real person, and nobody has ever made me feel that way before..."
"Stop it!" Peter edged away from him.
No, please ... "I didn't want to kill you, Peter. I don't want to! If you'll only hear this, and hear why you can't leave the cabin ..."
"Oh, God," Peter moaned, getting up. "I ... I can't believe what I'm hearing. You killed them. Just like that? And now you seriously expect me to act as if nothing has happened?"
Peter had become a male version of Marge. When she had found the rings, she looked at Tom just like that; had used that same exact expression. Watery eyes filled with fear and horror. Surely he wasn't that terrible.
"Peter, come over here."
"No." Peter went to the door, but Tom grabbed him from behind. "Let me ...ummmff!" Tom had clapped a hand against his mouth.
Tom knew he couldn't hold him for long. He had better make it quick. Tom steeled himself against what he had to do ... Aw hell. He didn't have it in him to kill Peter, despite all that he knew. Despite that rational voice screaming at him to finish him. Tom began to cry now. "Peter, you had better stop. I love you, and I don't want to kill you. If you really loved me, you wouldn't do this to me. You wouldn't turn me in. I know you love me."
Peter stopped struggling and merely stood there. Then he leaned back slightly against Tom's body. They stood that way for several long minutes, and Tom cautiously removed his hand from Peter's mouth. "I've watched you these past weeks and I've seen how tortured you are," Peter said. "I did ask you tell me your secrets, didn't I? But how can you do it, Tom? Wake up every morning and live with yourself?"
"For a long time it was very hard. But waking up with you - it makes it so much easier." Tom rested his head against Peter's shoulder. "This is who I am, Peter. I haven't changed. I'm the same Tom you were with last night." Tom knew this was a stupid move, but he had to do it. He really didn't think he could go on if he killed Peter. "I'm going to let you go now. Go to the captain, have me arrested, do whatever you like. Just give me a chance to get dressed first. It would be pretty embarrassing to be sent to the brig in nothing but a robe!" He flashed Peter his characteristically nervous grin, then turned and went over to his trunk.
A few minutes later a pair of arms snaked their way around his chest. "I won't go to the police," said the smooth English voice, sounding sad and resigned. "God help me, Tom, I love you too. I don't approve of what you've done, and I don't think I'll ever look at you the same way again. Never. But I can't let anyone take you away from me."
Tom turned and buried himself into Peter's chest. However, he couldn't help but think that if he could convince Peter to be with him despite the murders and lies, what else could he convince the suave Englishman to do?
"Okay, then this is what we'll do," Tom said, pulling himself together. "You'll have to stay down here because I already told Meredith that you weren't onboard. I'll go up and have breakfast with her now. I shouldn't be gone too long."
Peter did not look happy. "And I suppose I'll be left alone to starve."
"Of course not! I'll bring you back something, I promise. It's just for awhile, Peter - just until we get to Greece."
Peter sat on the bed and watched Tom shower and get dressed. Finally he said, "There's still one more thing, isn't there?"
Tom paused, his hand on the doorknob. "What's that?"
"What are you going to do with Meredith and Co. once we get there?"
Good question. Tom rushed forward and gave his lover a kiss. "I'll worry about that later. I have to go." Peter nodded, looking upset, but the warmth of his kiss reassured Tom that the Englishman would remain true to his word. For the time being, at least.
Upon entering the dining room, Tom was greeted by the throaty laugh of Meredith Logue. "Dickie! Over here!" The debutante was waving at him enthusiastically, as if he couldn't distinguish her and her family from the other two groups that were still lingering over breakfast.
Flashing his best Dickie smile, Tom said, "Good morning, I'm sorry I'm so late! Sleeping on boats puts me right out - I had the worst time waking up this morning."
Meredith shook her head and gave him a knowing look. "We were just about to leave - we should leave, just to make you eat alone!" She laughed, as if she said something witty. For some reason, she believed that everything he did was terribly devious.
"Oh, Meredith, please don't do that," he answered softly, giving her a look that (he hoped) spoke of hidden longing. It worked, for then her face settled into the expression of a wistful princess. Her relatives, as usual, broke up their little "moment" by commenting on the fine weather and asking about his plans once he reached Greece. They did not ask about the business with Freddie Miles, though he could tell they were dying to. No doubt Meredith had told them his story, and he was sure there would be gossip when he wasn't around. Satisfied that Tom wouldn't ravish their girl behind their backs, the relatives excused themselves and walked over to the railing to look at the ocean. Now and then he saw them turn and look at him. Let them talk all they wanted. He had nothing to fear from these people, except for the possibility that he may have to eventually kill Peter after all.
God, it couldn't come to that.
Just then, Meredith was looking past his shoulder at something. A huge smile lit up her face and she said, "Peter! What a surprise!"
Tom froze, counted to three and then turned around. There stood Peter Smith Kingsley, grinning down at them and looking keenly British. "Hello, Meredith! Well, how about that! First I see you in Rome and now I run into you here. I would have thought you were stalking me or something!" He gave a gentle laugh and leaned over Tom to give Meredith a peck on the cheek. Tom smelled his cologne - the very scent that had driven him crazy last night. If only they were alone in their room he would -
"You know Dickie, don't you?"
Peter offered him his hand, his gaze never wavering. "Yes, of course I do. How are you, Dickie? Still playing the saxophone?"
Tom hesitated. "Um, no. No, I haven't been playing lately. I've been kind of busy."
Another smile. "Yes, of course. I hear you've been going to the opera."
All he could think of to say to that was: "Yes." Tom's flushed embarassment was beginning to turn into anger. Just what the hell was Peter trying to pull?
"Now, Peter, it's so funny that you're here because Dickie told me last night that you weren't." Meredith turned to look at Tom. "Now were you lying to me, or were you telling the truth?"
Tom laughed and threw his arms up as if to say: I give up! You caught me! Glancing at Peter, he said, "We thought it'd be a nice surprise, him meeting you like this."
"Oh you two! I swear, this trip to Greece just improved dramatically. I know I'll never get bored having you to talk to."
Inwardly, Tom groaned. Just how long was Meredith planning to keep them? Peter was free to bail anytime he wanted, but Tom was stuck in his own lie. What good reason could Tom give for leaving the ship with Peter that wouldn't bring about renewed attention to Dickie?
Then Meredith's face fell: her aunt was calling her over to join them. "I guess I have to go, but I will see you later, won't I?"
"Of course!" Tom replied brightly.
She smiled at him again before leaving the table. As soon as she was gone Tom turned to Peter, who was quietly sipping his coffee while perusing a newspaper. "What the hell are you doing?"
"You didn't really expect me to spend two days in that stuffy cabin?"
"Yes I did. We were sitting on the bed and you said you loved me and would do anything to protect me. You said that."
"I did say that, and I meant it." Peter's face took on an expression of amazement, then hardened again. "But she's seen me, so there's nothing we can do about it now."
"You could have at least warned me."
"Then you wouldn't have been surprised." He patted Tom's hand. "Don't worry, everything will still work out all right."
"How? It's not as if Marge is around for me to use as an excuse to dump Meredith again. Now I'm saddled with her for God knows how long!"
"Calm down. You can't let yourself get hysterical." The sharpness in his voice surprised Tom.
"Sorry." Tom ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "I just don't know what to do."
"Make up some reason to leave her once we reach Greece, and we can meet up later."
Tom laughed bitterly. "I can't. Nothing is ever that simple for me." He wished to God it was, but his recent experiences in Italy had taught him that nothing came easy. Fate always threw him a curveball. Of all ships for Meredith to be on, it had to be this one. Somebody sure had one hell of a sense of humor. He looked at Peter helplessly and said, "I just won't get too close to her anymore. Maybe she'll take the hint."
"I think it's too late for that. Didn't you notice the way she was looking at you? Like a shark."
"How could I miss it?"
"And that kiss from last night doesn't help, either." Peter chuckled softly. "It's almost enough to make me feel jealous."
"Hey, you know there's nothing between us, not really."
"Not unless it serves your purpose."
"That's not fair."
"Do you think this is fair to me?"
"I know it's not, Peter," Tom replied softly. "I want you to know I would never do anything to hurt you, but I just need to get through this first." No one was around, so he reached out and caressed his lover's cheek. Peter was still tense, still angry; but he leaned into the touch and gazed at Tom with those soft eyes.
"Okay, Tommy."
* * *
The next two days reminded Tom very much of the time he spent in Rome - the time he spent with Meredith, that is. Meredith was the kind of person who talked and behaved as if she were brilliant but was, in truth, a bore. He thought it was amazing that a girl who had access to the best art, music and literature in the world could know so little about all three. Tom had known much more interesting people in New York who were as poor or poorer than he had been. So his days were spent gossiping with Meredith and strolling the deck with her relatives. Sometimes Peter joined them, sometimes not. They didn't want the Logues to figure out the two of them had boarded the ship together. Tom always ached for him, and whenever he managed to wrest himself from Meredith's clutches he fled back to their room where Peter was always waiting for him.
Like now.
It was their last night on the ship - tomorrow they would reach Greece and he would finally be free to be with Peter. One way or another.
Tom flung open the door of their cabin and found his lover lying on the bed, reading. Peter turned to him with a warm smile. "So how was your day? Or should I not dare to -" He was abruptly silenced as Tom rushed forward and kissed him. When they broke apart, Peter laughed and said, "Shouldn't we be getting ready for dinner?"
"I'm just helping you get undressed, that's all."
"Oh, is that all? Then what on earth are you doing down there?" With a sigh he added, "Not that I'm complaining."
Tom smiled. Peter's inability to keep quiet during sex was just one of the many things he loved about him, especially when words were replaced by sounds that were much more delicious. But then Peter said something that made him freeze completely.
"Let's play the murder game again."
Tom nervously backed away from the bed. "What are you saying? Why are you saying that?"
Peter sat up and looked at him, his eyes darkened by lust ... and by something else. "I liked playing it the other night. There was something nice about it." When Tom didn't answer, he said, "I've upset you, haven't I?"
"It wasn't just some sex game, it was real. I was trying to tell you the truth."
Peter got up and slowly approached him. "I know, but it was special somehow. It made me feel ... I don't know, incredible. I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true. Please, Tom, I want to do it again."
Tom was consumed by that dark gaze. "All right," he whispered, and then Peter was on him.
"You have something to tell me?" he asked between soft kisses.
"I ... I'm the one who killed Dickie. And Freddie!" This last part he gasped out as Peter's hand found it's way inside his pants.
"Did you kill Dickie on purpose?"
"No!"
"No?"
Peter's breath against his ear and the touch of his hands made it very hard for Tom to think, but this was all part of the game. "I was defending myself."
"I knew it. I knew my beautiful Tommy couldn't be a killer."
Tom pressed himself against Peter. He suddenly felt, among other things, blissfully absolved of his crimes. "Thank you." His breath came out in a ragged gasp.
"But what about Freddie?"
"Wh - what?"
"What excuse have you got for killing him? Or would you rather talk about how you're planning to kill Meredith?"
Tom violently pushed himself out of Peter's grip, and Peter's hand came away sticky. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"
Peter's gaze was calm and steady. "Why don't we talk about how you were planning to kill me? How you still might go through with it."
Tom was speechless. Trembling, he picked out a suit from the closet and changed in the bathroom. When he came out, Peter was reading in bed again as if nothing had happened. As Tom opened the door to leave, Peter casually said, "Tell Meredith I'll be late for dinner."
Tom's mind was reeling. What was wrong with Peter? There was tension between them, but he hadn't behaved this way before. What the hell had brought it on all of a sudden? Peter could have possibly been numbed by all that Tom had told him and was just now beginning to react. He probably hated him, and was now on his way to report him. Tom would be led away from dinner in handcuffs with Meredith and Co. as his audience and Peter standing by with a look of pure satisfaction on his face.
Or worse, Peter would leave him with Meredith. No time to dwell on this now, for it was time for him to be Dickie again.
Meredith greeted him happily, looking beautiful and accompanied by her relatives. "Have you seen Peter? He said he would be joining us tonight."
"He'll be a little late. Why don't we start without him? He'll be around soon." Meredith smiled and took his arm. He could tell she didn't give a damn if Peter joined them or not. At the moment, neither did he.
No one came to arrest Tom, but Peter joined them about ten minutes later. And, of course, he was only interested in conversing with Dickie about his newfound interest in opera and his old interest in jazz and Venice and Rome and anything else the damned Englishman could think of to talk about. Meredith became so annoyed that she looked ready to burst, but Tom hardly noticed. He was fascinated by Peter's long fingers - he loved how Peter talked with his hands. Then Peter abruptly excused himself from the table and went back to his room.
"I can't believe he talked your ear off like that!" Meredith huffed, glad to finally have "Dickie Greenleaf" all to herself.
"Well, I haven't seen much of him in the last couple of days. It was nice to catch up."
"I suppose so. So, what do you want to do now?" She was touching his leg under the table.
"Come by later," he whispered so that the others wouldn't hear. He told her the room number and excused himself. In about fifteen minutes she would follow.
* * *
Peter was getting dressed when Tom got back. Tom walked up and put a hand on the young man's arm. "Listen, I don't know how you feel about me right now, but I wish you would tell me."
"I don't like it when people try to kill me, Tom."
"And you're trying to get back at me somehow?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Peter, do you still love me?" Peter didn't answer, and Tom bit his lip and backed away. "Okay, then. You're going to have your chance to tell Meredith everything. She'll be here in a few minutes."
"What?"
"I invited her. She thinks I'm going to sleep with her."
"That'll be pretty hard with me being in bed with the two of you, won't it? Or were you thinking -?"
"For God's sake, I'm serious! She's coming." Just then there was a soft knock on the cabin door. "Go answer it," Tom said miserably.
Peter glanced at the door, then quickly drew close to him and caressed his cheek. "Send her away as soon as you can?" His eyes were full of fear, longing, and of words left unsaid.
Touching the soft fingers with his own, Tom said, "All right."
A quick kiss, then Peter led him to the door. "I'll be waiting for you." He stepped into the closet and shut the doors.
Tom could only stand and stare at the closet doors when another soft knock startled him. He let Meredith in, and as soon as the door was closed she pressed herself against his body and began kissing him. "Make love to me, Dickie. Please..." Tom kissed her back, hoping his response did not seem as mechanical as it felt.
Tom suddenly imagined himself married to Meredith; living off her money on a fantastic estate with a priceless piano, maybe even a harpsichord. He would lead the kind of life that Dickie had first given him - the life he had come to love. How Dickie would laugh at him if he saw Tom in that life: I knew it! I was right - you are a mooch! That's too funny!
Dickie ...
And worse, there was no place for Peter in that life. There never could be.
He pulled away from Meredith as gently as he could, restraining himself from hurling her against the wall in revulsion. Her face crumpled. "What's wrong?"
She was devastated, and Tom felt bad. "I'm sorry, Meredith. I can't do this."
"I don't understand. You said you were through with Marge; that nothing tied you down anymore. So it has to be me. What is it?" Meredith was wringing her hands now.
He cupped her face in his palm. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're smart and beautiful - any guy would be lucky to be with you."
"Except Dickie Greenleaf, right?"
"Look, Marge and I rushed into sex too fast, and I think that's what ruined our relationship. I don't want that to happen again. I think I was wrong - it is too soon after Marge."
"Okay, I guess I'll go now," Meredith said shakily, smoothing back her hair. "But in case you change your mind ..." She stepped forward and handed him her room key. "You know where our cabin is. I have my own room, you'd just have to be careful not to wake up the others."
He took the key, and she quickly left.
Peter stepped out of the closet. "So will you?"
"Will I what?"
"You know - change your mind?"
Tom laid the key down on the nightstand and wrapped himself into Peter's arms. "Never. Not when I already have you. Peter, you don't really hate me?"
"No, I don't really hate you. Actually, I quite like you."
"Even after everything I've done?"
"Yes."
"You're not still fucking with me, are you?"
"Tom, you have to understand what a shock all of this has been. I've been trying my best to deal with it, and I'm so afraid of losing you." He laughed nervously. "I guess I'm just really mixed up."
"No more than I am," Tom answered, closing his eyes and snuggling into the embrace.
"Please believe me when I say I'll do anything I can to protect you," Peter whispered.
"I believe you." Then Tom opened his eyes. "But what am I going to do about the Logues?" he asked, worry and dread creeping into his voice. "It isn't just a case of mistaken identity. They'll find out the Italian police are still looking for Dickie and they'll tell them where I am. The cops will know for sure that "Dickie" isn't dead."
"Don't worry about that, love. Everything will be all right."
* * *
In the middle of the night, Tom stirred as he felt the bed shift beneath him. Rolling onto his side, he could faintly make out the shape of Peter sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Peter?"
"Shh, darling. Go back to sleep," murmured the smooth British voice. The bed shifted some more as Peter settled himself down beside Tom.
Tom snuggled close and put his head on his shoulder. "I love you, Peter."
"I love you too, Tom." A tender kiss on his cheek, then he added, "I love you so very much."
* * *
Meredith and Co. were found late that morning by the housekeepers. At first they had looked like they were sleeping, but closer inspection revealed they had been smothered to death in their sleep.
Sleeping on boats puts me right out ...
Naturally, the police wanted to speak with them. Tom found it ironic that this was twice in a row now that he had to spend his first day in a new city in a police station with Peter. This time was different, though. This time he didn't have to lie.
The detective looked at them gravely. "A sad day for you, I am sure. But you understand, you were seen with the victims on the ship. Your names, please. For the record."
"Peter Smith Kingsley."
"Tom Ripley."
"Ripley ... " The detective stared at him with recognition. "You are the same Ripley who is connected to Dickie Greenleaf?"
"I knew Dickie, yes."
"Amazing that so much death happens to surround you."
"Look, I've explained everything to the police in Italy, and they're done with me there. I don't see what this has to do with the Logues, anyway."
"Hmmm, yes, I suppose the Greenleaf case is not my business, is it? Tell me about your relationship with these Logues."
Peter answered, "I spent last Christmas with Meredith. Her people throw very good parties."
"I met them on the ship," Tom said.
"You didn't know the girl before?" the detective asked.
"No."
"But some people I questioned said you behaved intimately with her."
"A small fling that lasted a few days. We were going to say good-bye once we got here."
"And you?" The detective directed this question to Peter.
"We were friends, but not that close. I saw her in Rome not long ago and I couldn't even remember her last name." Peter said this with regret, and Tom knew that he really did regret it. "She was a very a nice girl."
"Where were you both last night?"
"In bed asleep. Where else would we be?" Peter answered, sounding a little angry.
"How do you know that both of you were in bed?"
"Because we were in our room. Together. All night." The detective was startled, and Tom could see realization dawning in his face. The Greek hadn't noticed before how close the two of them were sitting together, and how Peter had placed his hand over Tom's during the questioning. The man had initially ignored the Englishman, finding Tom much more interesting given his reputation. But now he leaned forward slightly and for the first time really looked at Peter, staring into those innocent eyes. Peter did not have the eyes of a killer or a liar.
The detective turned to Tom and said, "You agree with this? With what he said?"
"Yes."
Visibly disgusted, the detective excused the two of them. He asked them to remain on hand if needed for further questioning, but they were generally freed from suspicion.
As the two of them strolled along the warm street, Tom realized that he had been wrong when he thought he wouldn't have to lie to the police. He stopped and stared at his lover. Peter's eyes no longer looked innocent. Turning away slightly, Tom suddenly wondered if they had ever really been innocent to begin with. "You could have at least warned me."
Peter slipped an arm around his waist, and his answer came in a soft, sad whisper against Tom's ear. "Then you wouldn't have been surprised."