27. Gravity
The descent was brusquer than Beverly anticipated. She quickly took notice of how much heavier she felt.
Burn in Hell, drown in Heaven.
Alone, she'd floated as breezy as mist and flown as swift as a wisp, from pens to ink, and windows to puddles. Now there were two of them, in her starship, and his dark clothes were thick with sorrow.
Do you think stars are afraid of falling, too?
New York inhaled them. And she felt herself devoured by a gripping, sudden dizziness.
Had she grown so accustomed to her new form, that now gravity crushed her like she was a simple insect?
This, which she'd felt in New Year's Eve, when she stood, ungloved, at the center of a party she would never be free to fully enjoy. Embarrassment, and silliness, and… fear.
Beverly felt the city's breath in her bones. A wave of nausea blew past her. The clacking of heels on the street. Hooves. Horse neighs. Coins glinting. Bubbles of gold. Bells of starlight.
A jury, eyes ablaze, burning her through this curtain of death.
All will be well in the end…
She wobbled as they reached the world, her arm entwined with his, and Peter Lake steadied her against him.
"Beverly-"
"Don't let go."
"Baby… Baby, what's the matter?"
"I do fear falling," she murmured. "I didn't before… Now I do."
How could it be possible? To feel so much when her own body had become so pliant? The flexibility of death had worked in her favor when she was alone. But now, she couldn't move.
Was this what being adrift was like? Was this the weight of his doubt? They were linked, soul to soul.
Peter Lake wasn't fazed by her sudden worries. For the first time, he seemed calmer than she was. He merely held her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, keeping her on her feet.
"Walk with me?" he asked.
She nodded. He guided her leisurely, with care. Invisible, they strolled through New York, bathed in the amber embers of the day.
"So… this is death."
Death.
In the beginning, his calmness surprised her. But the longer they floated about this city of beating hearts and spinning wheels, the more it made sense. These were dreads he'd carried all his life.
You're not a thief…
He was so used to doubt and its crushing heaviness, whereas Beverly had shrugged off shame as an unnecessary burden for years. Her own illness had weighed enough.
"Cecil often preferred the shade," he said now. "At least, from what I remember. He loved the shadows…"
A moment of silence. Bridges of light connected the windows above them. All these giants of glass and stone. She wanted to fly. But the weight of two souls was far too heavy.
Then Peter said: "He strayed off the path. He looked for light in dark places."
His eyes looked even blacker than before. Perhaps a bit larger, as well.
"You know where he is," Beverly said.
"He's my friend… Of course I know."
They were now in Times Square. Amidst the showers of molten snow. Soldiers of frost. Merchants with their glossy teeth and noisy money. Tourists, lovers, like them, taking a stroll. Wherever they were. Alive and dead.
Children at play, chips rolling down the street, the ashy afternoon shadows blowing past them, like castles of salt, disintegrating. So many people, such blind eyes. Heartbeats, thick and stormy, breezing past them.
Peter's mouth moved against her hair, one hand soothingly rubbing the flat bones on her back, the green fabric, this costume of forgotten seasons.
"You're not alone," he murmured. "You can talk to me."
And his voice was the flap of a magpie's wings. Breadcrumbs on the pavement. Rustling feathers.
I had no wings of my own. Mine were borrowed.
She wanted him to fly. To know the rush of freedom. The breeziness of the afterlife.
But love was a heavy, wondrous burden. It anchored her to the city. Little Willa, her father. It kept her from breaking. In her loneliness, though swifter, she'd only become mad with solitude.
No… No…
She was at peace before… At peace with herself and the choice she'd made. Up in the tent. She thought she had it all figured out.
Let's go back there… Back to that sea of noise and starfire… Where no one else may find us…
They dripped into puddles, the molten ice. The sun was ripe and warm and Beverly saw it reflected in Peter's eyes. Cities in flames. Wintry dashes of music. Roads she'd traveled to find him.
I see you.
Was this what her own eyes reflected?
I love you.
Every road illuminated within his gaze forked away from the blackness of his eyes. A spiderweb cracked at the center.
You're not a thief.
He listened to her, holding her as they strolled.
"I think I just realized how fragile we are," she murmured. "Stars, I mean."
"Fragile, how?"
"Cecil said he had 'a line to hold.' He's a fisherman… He rescues those he loves from drowning. Prevents others from sinking into dark dreams, unable to find closure… Give them eyes to see what's missing… We were lucky to be dragged up on our own. Because a fishing line is very thin… and it can snap easily."
Crickets brewed within her hollowed chest, buzzing, begging to be released. Was this the weight of stolen souls? Lights yet to bloom? Lives yet to be changed?
"I had forgotten gravity… Already…"
Peter Lake had arrived in her life with a satchel full of silver. And upon flight, he'd released the weight to lift off with her.
You're not a thief.
Cecil claimed to be in love. But he could only wait for a ticket to be given. Wink off glass and gold, guiding the eyes. Hugging old friends and wishing them luck. He knew where Peter would go but he never said a word.
You're not a thief…
For days she'd been given the power to travel these roads of sunshine. Now she walked among blind eyes and paintings of shadow, and she clung to Peter with all her might, and she was the one drowning in this instant, while he was her shore.
It was all quite ironic. And yet it made so much sense. In this abstract new reality, he still remained believable.
He'd been born to the sea and awoken in a grave of water. While she'd only known the ocean for a bridge. Continents, nurses… To Peter, it was his parent. For a change he was significantly less nervous than she was.
She saw nothing beyond the concrete mountains she'd left behind. The city she'd longed to abandon for years. The last vision she'd been granted had found him, sunk. Dying…
You shouldn't bestow me with all this power.
Her earring was in his vest, against his chest.
"Have I changed so much, since the last time I felt this weight?" she wondered. "Were three days of total loneliness enough to make me forget? Always speaking of fate… That everything matters… And yet here I am, these threads of light twisted around my fingers… Moving things around. Manipulating tide and wind. Trusting nothing else but my own impatience…"
Beverly stared at his face, waiting for the dawning self-consciousness, his surrender, her own desperate attempts to soothe him once more. But, yet to her surprise, Peter Lake just smiled a bit. A small, bittersweet gesture.
He teased: "We had it all wrong, in that case. I corrupted you."
And Beverly yielded to his humor, this kind attempt to comfort her. She grinned softly, nodding.
"You corrupted me, yes… I feel you now… I know your doubt."
His smile faded away. He brushed some wisps of red hair away from her brow, grazed a thumb along her temple. His dark eyes were rapt in a morose acceptance.
Abuse it, he said once.
"We both have changed," he breathed. "I must believe everyone does, when they go through this…"
This gown was too green.
"You could see Cecil," she said. "I was told I'd be seen again, as well."
He nodded. "Yes."
"If I fall, Peter, what will happen to you? If- If either you or me is stranded?"
Would this gravity thicken, grow heavier? Peter Lake's gaze softened in concern.
"Beverly…"
"Or if we're found by Pearly…?"
"You won't fall. No, Beverly."
Yet he never asked her why she feared the fall. What had led to this worry. He'd been afraid of such things for a very long time and he understood her, now, perhaps better than he ever had.
Was this road melting at her feet? Was she regaining her flame, her illness, the scalding blood drinking at her heels?
Since when had she worried so much of what approached her? This ill-ridden life, bereft of fear, until he'd stepped over that floorboard and become a part of her story…
Curse you, Peter Lake. Curse you…
And now, he was linked to her, he couldn't exist in her absence.
"You won't fall," he said again, as if to reassure them both.
Beverly licked her lips. Tasted the universe, the rust of galaxies.
Her earring was in his pocket. A little heart of crystal, beatless. She had him leashed like a hound.
I had no wings of my own, mine were borrowed.
His life and his demise had both come at a theft. It suddenly made her sick to her stomach. That she had refused him the relief of dying with a clean conscience.
Drown in Heaven…
Athansor had tried to save him… Cecil had disappeared…
"And what if you weren't finished? What if I robbed you of a chance to be given this on your own…? Years you still had to live?"
Peter Lake said nothing.
A faraway sea bird, nestled by the rocks, attempting to rest among the roaring of the water.
He still saw himself as a thief. A failed performer of broken miracles. He always would, until he was given a light of his own. It broke her heart.
Drown in Heaven.
She had spent so long imagining a rehearsed dance of starfire. Never in a million years had she prepared herself to make a choice regarding the music that was played. And Beverly feared the responsibility of it all. The possibility of making a mistake.
The future had become hers for three days and now, without it, she felt bereft. She didn't know how to help him.
You're the same you, in every color…
"A shadow to bleed into that of my father and that of my sister, until they're gone," she murmured. "A light upon their skin. Warmth and joy in the empty air. Inexplicable tranquility. Paths for them to find joy. Little tricks of light. I'll be content with that, some day, yes. When impatience has become all but a memory…"
And yet she did see little Willa, all grown up, in the Coheeries, and her father on the chair before the fire. Willa would not even try to wake him…
"But, today," she muttered, "I still remember life, I r-remember my illness… I see you now and… And… I am impatient. Afraid, too… That I may have hurt you for interfering… just because I was too tired and too lonely to wait for you to reach me on your own… I was so afraid of losing you that I just stopped believing altogether… In fate... In you..."
Drops of molten ice, tears of winter. His lips on her forehead.
"But how could I have ever lost you?" she murmured. "You would have found me yourself… How could I have assumed you wouldn't be granted a light of your own?"
"Don't do this, love… I don't want you to feel this, too…"
"I can't help it. I feel you."
His embrace… These arms… His soul, afloat in an ocean of starlight, which she'd dragged to safety…
Who would ever abandon him?
Why had everything abandoned him?
You're not dumb, you're not ugly…
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I don't want to be afraid… I don't like the implications behind it…"
"Fear is not regret," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I fear, too."
He sealed a soothing kiss onto her brow.
"Just hold me…"
"Okay…"
"Don't let go…"
"Okay… Okay…"
"I'm nervous of what Cecil will say… He- He was on his way to meet you… He would have…"
"Whatever he says, we'll be alright… You'll be fine… I promise…"
Peter Lake's head, dropping onto her shoulder, his breath on the curve of her neck, his arms steady and solid, a loop of coarse cloth around her waist.
To be held by him…
"You won't fall," he told her. "Not you… You have so much to give…"
You're going to be a real heartbreaker.
"You breathe life into people, Beverly."
She thought of his hands, caked in ash and charcoal. His face snuggling against the horse's neck. His weeping in the greenhouse.
She shook her head, embarrassed. "So do you."
"Beverly..."
"You've been trapped too. And alone. More than I ever have."
"I was never as trapped as you were. In your own body, your own house. You could have made the same mistakes I did, in your frustration. Instead you chose to be kind. You were strong."
"You're kind, too. In spite of everything. I've always had my family. You've had no one to help you run away from Pearly's goons. No one to inspire you to run and become a better man…"
And yet you were not chosen… Why was I chosen?
"No, no one helped me run away," he said gently. "But… can I tell you a secret?"
Me, a thief of stranded souls? Me, impatience? Me, greed?
She nodded. He stroked her hair, her back, rubbing between her shoulder blades. His hands were cold. The warmth of life was starting to bleed out of him.
"It wasn't running I needed help with. I've always been a runner… Quite frankly, what I needed help with was the very opposite. The courage to stop… and wait."
And as they walked through the shade, where no more paths could web through them but the footprints they'd left in life, Peter Lake spoke to her like he'd spoken in the first night. Her feet flooded, a heartbeat drumming. The trees gleaming with frozen starlight.
"You did that. You made me stop. You taught me courage, Beverly."
These eyes of fire, now burning at her back. He still found ways to keep the ground solid at her feet.
"And I was never all alone. When I needed to run, John helped me. Cecil, too. Though they were never there. Through brick and fog, they existed to me still. The night I went back to John, he hugged me so tight that it overwhelmed me. I reeked of soot and blood. I was filthy with darkness. The midnight sky felt heavy, its lights dim and flickering… I remember crying like a baby, feeling myself melt. I was so ashamed. When I told him that I didn't deserve what he was giving me, he only told me to shut up. Shut up, Peter…"
There was comfort in the dark. It was quieter. Cooler.
"From that moment on," Peter murmured, "I have done everything I can to make myself worthy of that hug. To every light cast upon me, every ounce of kindness… I want to receive an embrace and feel myself worthy of it. I never want to cry again, in the arms of someone I love… And yet I still do. You saw it."
Did you find closure?
It was too warm outside and it made no sense.
"Beverly… Love, look at me…"
The white in his eyes, four crescent moons in the shadows. Dusty silver. Blue and grey.
We have nothing but time.
He squeezed her hand. It only now dawned on her, how wonderful this simple detail was, considering their current state. That she had hands for him to hold. A voice to reply to his own.
"This is a gift I will not give up," he murmured. "Not through doubt or dread for what may come of it… I don't want to think of what you may have prevented, what you may have taken from me… I don't give a damn, to be honest. I don't care."
"You should care… Like you cared for my life, when it was taken from me. We're so far away from everything now, and- I have never had anyone depend on me, Peter. All my life I've been the one in need of help, need of- of doctors, and nurses, and…"
"Bev-"
"I don't want to fail you."
"You've never failed me, or anyone, or anything. Don't ever think like that."
A pause. And then, with immense tenderness, he spoke again.
"You told me that nothing happens that isn't supposed to. I dream of people I haven't met yet. I feel movement in my chest. We're not lost. You took nothing from me. You- You're a musician, yeah? You play your piano and free your crickets. You know what keys to press. You've been sick your entire life and you've learned all the ways in which this world can harm you. All this time you have become your own medicine. You heal yourself and heal others. I trust you. I believe you."
I didn't change you, she'd told him on New Year's Day. You've always been like this.
"And yes, whatever is to happen, will happen. Some things will occur, no matter what we choose, or what keys you press…"
We have nothing but time.
She had held his hand like this once. She had looked at his eyes and said, You're not a thief.
"However we arrived here, this is what we have. One day, maybe we don't. So I want to help you now. To be kind now. To hold you and feel like I deserve being in your arms. Because you love me and I love you and I value that too much to worry about where we might be, had we taken different routes."
It was your glimpse of hope that I stole. That little spark of wonder. That maybe you could have flown on your own.
"In the case this ends too… I want to go knowing that I did everything I could with what you gave me. That I did right by you, and by John, and by Athansor, and by Cecil… That you feel no remorse. And that I may garner enough hope to find you again, on my own."
Beverly held his hand to her chest, silken shadows draping along their fingers.
If only you'd run… Escaped this city and its filth and its beasts… If only you hadn't gone to the bridge…
She peeked a shy glance at his face. At long last, she spoke.
"Is your doubt always this heavy?"
He nodded quietly, with a dash of self-consciousness.
"You carry it wordlessly, every day. And I dared to yell at you for it…" Then: "What do I feel like?" she whispered.
"You're mighty… Everpresent… I feel disjointed. I'm in no single place. Wind rings in my ears. Like when Athansor took me flying… You want to be everywhere."
"You want to walk… To take in the view. You're looking for something… Behind walls, through doors… Cogs to tighten. Patterns to complete. Answers to questions…"
He nodded. "You hear lots of things, mostly… Fences and clocks and wind chimes… Sounds that I can't even register just yet… Like klaxons, but thicker… Hearts… Breaths… Coins."
He looked at her eyes.
Please… abuse it.
In the shadows he touched her lips with his own. Beverly caressed him, running her fingers along the rough flesh of his jaw, the stubble, the coarseness of his skin. When he withdrew she arched her neck up and kissed him again.
He was greater than the weight of his own worries. He was also the sound of the sea. Drops of water, molten off the mosaics of frost on the windows of New York.
"You're neither a thief nor a theft, Peter Lake. You're a miracle. Unfulfilled, waiting. And you'll see yourself as one some day... You'll find your own light and be by my side, not at my mercy. And you'll fly with wings of your own. You're not my crime. You're not trespassing."
Another sad smile. A glint of optimistic endearment in his gaze. He stroked her face, looked down, pressed his lips shyly together.
"I hope you're right, love," he whispered. "I want to believe you. Because I fear the dark, the numbness of the sinking..."
We have nothing but time...
"To go to sleep forever, as if I were convinced that I really had done everything I could..."
Author's Note: To whoever is here today, thank you for your patience, and for reading, and for getting all the way down here.
Hello again! So. I promise to not take as long with chapters so far, and here I am, a month later, because I finally finished Chapter 27. And there is still no Cecil here XD I promise, PROMISE, that A) you will see him next chapter for sure this time, and B) I will not take as long on giving you Chapter 28. This was yet another bridge between sections of my story: the moment where Peter and Beverly are not only together in death, but also united emotionally. I thought it would be a nice way to show just how they react to each other's emotions - like in here, in the case of Beverly reacting to Peter's doubt, and actively partaking in it.
I also really like how I wrote out Peter's motivation regarding his trauma and his current state of mind. That he now wants to deserve happiness - to not only be worthy of it, but to feel worthy of it. And that he'd rather cherish the time he has with Beverly, in case they are parted again (cough-cough-COUGH-), and help her in every way he can, to be kinder rather than reject kindness, etc.
I would realistically picture a conversation like this between them. That Beverly would fear to have robbed Peter of a chance to be given a ticket of his own, and that Peter would obviously not care, because he doesn't believe his life was worth any other recompensation anyways. That Beverly fears for a moment that she may have forgotten how much she trusted in fate and the justice of the universe, that she was so scared of losing the love of her life that she took the reins of his fate, in the same desperate way she "freed her crickets," and played her piano, and that she would feel the responsability of keeping both of them safe in this moment. Lots of things. (Sorry. It's 2:12 am for me right now so I'm trying to explain this in the best way I can XD)
I definitely was going for a little reversal of their roles. I feel like making them "bond" emotionally and get a taste of each other's emotional state, is a way to make all of this more realistic, as well as sweeter.
So. A long chapter, yes. Another PeterxBeverly interaction only chapter, too, yes. But I needed to get these feelings out of the way.
I've been feeling very sad this whole month, and quite frankly I've given you enough explanations in the past for you to understand what it is I'm going through, it's always the same thing. So... I needed to write myself a little conversation about cherishing what we have, about how nothing is lost, that "everything will turn out well in the end." That some things are bound to happen, but that our actions in the present, our kindness, will the key to surpassing those possible challenges. That's the spirit of "Winter's Tale," and I wanted to encapture that here. Thank you for the wait.
I will be editing this chapter in the near future, I fear, cause there are parts of it that I still feel a bit "meh" about, but I need to keep moving forward. I haven't even gotten to Peter's return under the bridge yet. Soon. Soon. I have so many plans in mind... And yes, Cecil is involved in it, and also Gabriel. Yeah. I haven't forgotten him :3
Thank you again. Night-night! Here's your hug. *hug*
April 10 2023 - Added some edits. Voila.
