48. Seconds
What are you?
Had his appearance changed? The way Beverly's had, in the hues that composed her or the light in her gaze? Or did he need wings of his own for such a shift to occur?
"I'm sorry."
What the hell are you?
Peter Lake had always been heavy. Heavy in color. Black hair, black eyes, black clothes. Sucking up the light and only thickening in darkness.
But, even rid of such a weight, he still often asked himself… how could he ever come to radiate the starlight Cecil emitted? The likes that Beverly, too, now emitted?
"I'm sorry, I- I shouldn't have- Oh god-"
How could he ever hope to be more than a rescued child, taken from the sea. Stolen away. A thief, stolen. A son of thieves. A soul, taken…
No. Not taken.
He'd promised her to be more optimistic… He'd promised…
Not stolen. Saved.
Athansor, and Cecil, and Beverly. They had saved him. She had saved him. She'd torn the sky open and dragged one of Pearly's magpies into her star, only to prove to the world that he could be miraculous, too. That he was worth existing, still.
And what did he make of it? What, with this fury? This greed, silent, to have her be present to him, despite the perils that implied?
The city had given them one walk in the sun, in January 1917, where her colors could be overlooked to anyone who may have been able to see them. Pearly's men had been scattered and hidden away back then, save for a scarce few, frightened by Pearly's anger in the bridge and the return of summer to the streets.
It'd been one of those rare moments where the City of Justice had lived up to its alleged title.
But winter had eagerly returned and Peter had been stranded from a star he had been merely invited into.
That'd been foreseen, unspoken notes in a silent song she now played for him. He knew. He did.
But today, now… he was afraid.
The terror he'd provoked in that boy's eyes. The terror he now felt…
The memories, unfurling. The blinding darkness he'd awoken to the first day of 1917. The heat, her fire, set loose, against his chest, setting him ablaze. Her eyes wide open and seeing nothing. He'd been so stunned, so horrified, that when he'd finally heard his own screams of agony it'd felt like coughing out a bloodied piece of food he was choking on. As if the whole world had gripped his vocal cords still for a full minute. Denying him the relief of screaming, screaming…
Beverly! Baby!
Now she was dead. Now she was shaking in the lamplight he breezed past. Separated from her loved ones. Hidden away from men who could still very much harm her.
All because he was here.
No. Stop. Stop doubting. Stop it.
His chest felt heavy. He barely made it back to the corner with Lexington Avenue before his knees failed him.
He gripped a nearby wall and was shocked to feel glass under his fingers. He lumped against the frosty black windows of an abandoned shoe shop, under the snow-caked awnings.
"I'm sorry-"
He felt the weight of New York. A debt he owed. The spotlight of ice that he stood under. Stars. Eyes. Expectant, quiet.
And her.
No-
Giving in to the pressure. Stumbling to shape in a mist of light, gathering herself from the dewdrops of the Avenue. The people, living, moving, around him.
"No- No, wait-!"
Saturated greens, sharpening to form from the blur of the street.
Her red hair. The single earring on her left ear. Her wings, tucking in between her shoulders, a thread of sunshine between her face and the world she floated within, hidden, invisible. Her face twisted in worry…
"Bev-!"
Shut up, Peter.
Her arms, her hands. Digging into his back, dragging him forward. Her body, bending, the fabric of her gown gently floating to join the arch of her back, as she pressed herself completely to him.
The abandoned windows, coarse and freezing behind him. Peter hastily wiped the tears from his eyes.
Fly on down, Peter Pan.
As a young boy his hunger for a fight had always faded away with his descent from that long flight of stairs. But the longing for John and the sea had always lingered.
Fly, fly…
"The boy, the boy is nearby, if he sees you-"
"I can risk a few seconds of eternity, Peter…"
He hadn't heard her voice in so long and it gave him goosebumps.
"Magpies be damned…"
There's a thrill in almost burning…
Was a year too long, even, anymore? Considering how much time they could potentially have?
He placed a hand tentatively on her head, the soft red curls, and the glimmers webbed there reacted to his touch.
She was fuzzy, and cold, and particles of light moved on her skin and on her scalp as he gently caressed her. The fabric of her gown was thick and loose along the shoulders, delicately fastened at the arms.
I need to stop. I need to stop.
Peter Lake tried to cover her with the darkness he was clothed with. But it seemed that his desperation only fed into the light she emitted, making it ever-thicker.
I need to stop…
"I can't let them- I won't l-"
Her face, bluish purple in the greenhouse, amid the flowers Willa had salvaged from the cold…
Stop…
"Beverly, please- I- Don't-"
"Castor…"
Her embrace wouldn't loosen.
He was breathing raggedly. Her pianist hands traversed the broad expanse of his back. Fingers open, slow and greedy. As if the mere touch of him mesmerized her.
"Pollux…"
She hadn't had hands for over a year. Her sense of touch was being rekindled now. And when she spoke her voice betrayed nothing but relief.
"Capella…"
She needed this too. More than he did, probably. Whatever loneliness he'd endured was nothing compared to her own.
"Capella," he echoed, barely. She nodded her approval.
He properly returned her embrace. Kissed her forehead, firmly, letting his lips linger. Beverly whimpered softly. She was shaking.
They rocked one another gently as they stayed, hugged, against the display window of a forgotten business. A glassy coffin of what had once existed.
Passerbys of gold and orange walked next to them, bathed by lampposts and shop windows, walking, laughing. Living eyes that didn't look up at the stars, or think of death, or care for it.
How he envied them…
"Ursa Major…"
When they'd made love for the first time they'd woven a list together.
"Ursa Major…"
They would have been alright.
"Ursa Minor…"
She would have been alright…
"Ursa Minor…"
Had Pearly kept his poisons, and his fury…
You have no idea how badly you hurt him.
"Pleiades…"
They would have been alright…
"Plea… Pleiades… Pleiades…"
"Breathe, darling…"
"Pleiades…"
You have no idea…
She'd stood unclothed before him in the lamplight and he'd been shaken by a joy so intense that he'd whisked her off her feet and laughed out loud, and she'd laughed too…
We had a very pleasant time together. You have no idea.
They had nothing but time.
Hold me closer, don't fear me…
They would be alright.
"I need to go with Cecil…"
"Go with him. I'll go with you."
"I know you will."
"Light takes many forms, the only bad reaction you can get is none at all… Indifference, like these people, walking past us now. Remember this, always, okay?"
"I do. I promise."
"Trust me."
"I do."
Her face, now cupped between his hands. Her colors, dusty with galaxies… It seemed like the longer she spent in the light, the more she herself became so. Her flesh was soft and it dipped gently under his fingers.
Magpies be damned.
"How are you, love? How have you been?"
She nodded, sniffed. "I've been mostly okay."
"Your family?"
"They're okay."
She didn't elaborate much, and he didn't press her on. They had nothing but time and yet only a handful of seconds were fully entrusted to them.
"I miss you. I know you know this, already, but…"
She understood. "In the same way you know that I'm always where you are."
Sometimes they needed stronger reminders. Human, living reminders. Words, and touches, and kisses.
They were still, in spirit, simple machines. They hadn't gotten fully used to the new bodies, the new language they'd been granted…
"We've been like this for a very short time," he said.
Beverly's eyes glittered. Her lips pursed slightly and for a second he feared that she would burst into tears. But, instead, she took one of his hands in-between both of her own and pressed a solid kiss onto his knuckles.
Against his skin and his bones and the remains of his body, she murmured: "I miss you every day, Peter."
He closed his eyes. Her glow burned through his eyelids in gentle pinks and reds.
He'd heard her name for the first time and imagined the sky at dawn, rosy and clear…
Call me Beverly. I'm Beverly.
When he looked again she'd returned to the light.
Call me what I am.
He lifted his hand to his lips and they touched the skin she'd kissed. The dark glass at his back took in the shadow she'd left behind.
"I love you," he whispered. "In any fashion, or none at all."
Beverly replied to him in a wink of the frost on the pavement. On the tips of shoes and the flood of the lamplight as he stepped out from under the awnings and began walking again.
He found Cecil soon enough.
Author's Note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.
Yes, I did make them reunite, if not for a moment, just cause I personally needed a little break myself. And, as always, my need for comfort translated to Peter and Beverly's need for comfort. And I feel like what I once considered a rushed decision on my part was, honestly, quite earned. I'm not giving Peter back his old lack of self-esteem, but I have known that things are easier said than done. You can hold on, and keep going, and be strong, but that doesn't mean you are immune to pain. I'm glad I gave them this. And, by extension, gave myself this. I consider myself a strong person, but I'm not invulnerable. And I tend to swallow my tears a lot when I have been in need of them a lot these last few years. So yeah. As always, I heal through writing this, among other methods - friends, family, of course.
I don't have much of an elaborate Note for you this time around, plus I'm currently typing this out in the middle of class XD So I'll get back to work soon. I will mention that I (very unsubtly) looked at an actual map of New York City to write and edit these last few chapters. I have been to New York twice, years ago, but of course my actual savvy of this gigantic city's street names and twists and crannies is quite nonexistent. I tend to keep my descriptions of New York in my fanfics as how I recall my feeling of being there to be: that you are so small in it, you feel so crushable, but at the same time there is a monstrous beauty to how intimidating and endless it feels. The buildings and the massive streets and whatnot. I hope I get to return there some day...
But, if I am to mention actual streets or avenues, I want to be aware of the accuracy of the directions I am taking Peter in. So I decided to look down at a map (of modern times, mind you, I didn't find any 1910s maps that allowed me to fully dig into the details - if I get my hands on one I'll make sure to fact-check the routes I chose for Peter here, but I don't think I'll worry about this too much, I merely wanted basic accuracy to the directions) and decided that Peter goes after the wolf boy on the corner between 5th Avenue and E33rd street, and that the dead end they wind up at is past Lexington Avenue. And so the awning Peter and Beverly hug under in this chapter is right before the corner between Lexington and E33rd. Of course the presence of fences or closed-down shoe shops and whatnot is entirely made up by me, I have no idea what was on those precise locations back in the day... but I don't really care about that, I just wanted to be accurate in regards to the streets and ways in which Peter moves around here. I have a poorly-jotted-down screenshot saved on my laptop of where he goes lol XD
That'll be all I elaborate on today. I've had a stressful week at uni so far but writing this little chapter between my babies has served as a somewhat soothing pat on the back for me. I hope you're having a nice day yourself, take care, here's a hug for you *hug* and thank you, as always, for reading :3 See you later.