Title: Sunshine and red plastic seats
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
eonism
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder, Molly
Word Count: 2,283
Author's notes: Takes place after Ways and means. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: There were only two rules: No flying, regardless of the circumstances, and absolutely no powers in the house.
“Are you sure you about this? I can try to leave the lab early if you need me to.”
There were only two rules: No flying, regardless of the circumstances, and absolutely no powers in the house. Other than that there was fresh fruit and leftover pasta in the refrigerator, and emergency contacts and Matt’s cell phone and work number were in the address book by the phone, just in case. Mohinder’s lengthy instructions about bedtime schedules and cutting the crusts off of tuna fish sandwiches were already well committed to memory by Peter’s third attempt at getting off the phone, jotting down the school’s street address with an emphatic nod of reassurance, even though Mohinder would not see it.
“Yeah, of course I’m sure,” Peter said coolly, changing his grip on his cell phone as he slid the piece of paper into the pocket of his jacket. “I used to baby-sit my nephews all the time. It’s not that big a deal.” The scraped knees and living room wrestling matches of 7- and 8-year-old boys were a world apart from that of 10-year-old girls, but Peter figured he could cope well enough in either case.
“Just relax, Mohinder. It’s not I’m gonna burn the apartment down or anything. I promise.”
Because if he did, Mohinder would be the first one Peter would call about it. Assuring him of this, Peter gathered his keys and wallet and left to pick Molly up from school.
The class bell had not yet rung when Peter arrived outside. He crossed the street, stepping onto the curb passed the school buses and conservative compact cars and four-door sedans with tired looking parents in business suits and work uniforms waiting inside. Up the broad concrete steps he jogged with a hand in his jacket pocket, the other extended to pull open the entrance door to the wide, still-empty hallway.
Passing rows of closed classroom doors Peter followed the directions still scribbled on the post-it note in his pocket to the room number he had been reciting since the last block. On his tip-toes Peter peered through the glass inset window beside the doorframe, looking for Molly’s head amongst the rows of bored-looking children, lounging drowsily at their desks. One row from the teacher’s desk he spotted her yellow headband and patterned green sundress over a pair of jeans, sitting up straight in her seat.
She is most definitely her father’s daughter, Peter thought, his mouth quirking fondly. When Molly glanced over in his direction he waved through the window, to which she smiled.
The class bell rang overhead. As though on cue the children clambered up from their seats to gather their books and pens and bags, filing out between the narrow rows of chairs to drift out into the hall passed Peter in a softly babbling flock. An arm out to catch the still open door he slipped into the classroom as the teacher was sorting papers and folders. She was blonde, and young, likely around his age with her hair in a tight ponytail. Dressed in a smart looking brown skirt and thin white sweater, she looked Peter over with a curious but polite expression.
“Can I help you?” she asked, opening her nearby book bag and sliding the stack of papers inside.
“Oh – sorry. I’m Peter. I’m here to pick up Molly?” Peter quickly explained, approaching the teacher with an extended hand. “I wasn’t sure if Mohinder called or not. He and Matt are stuck at work and asked me to come get her instead.”
“Oh,” the teacher smiled calmly and shook the offered hand, “no, that’s fine. It’s just neither of her guardians called to tell us you were coming today. They were both very specific that Molly never be sent home with anyone other than them.”
“It’s okay.” Coming to stand at Peter’s side, Molly slid her book bag over her shoulder and reached up to grab his hand. “Peter is Mohinder’s boyfriend.”
The room suddenly felt hot, and so did Peter’s face. Mohinder would be thrilled to know they had just been outed to the faculty, but Molly’s teacher only smiled and laughed softly, “Well, that’s good. I’ll see you guys on Monday then.”
Ushering Molly out, Peter smiled politely and closed the door behind them. What Mohinder did not know, he decided, definitely would not hurt him.
--
“I didn’t know I’d earned hand-holding privileges yet.”
Sunshine made dripping trails of the double-scoop Neapolitan ice cream cones, dribbling down to the sidewalk below to sizzle away beneath the dry heat of the mid-afternoon. Ice cream had not been on the list of instructions, but then Molly had pointed to the Baskin Robbins on the corner on the way home with a convincing pout.
“It’s Friday,” she had reasoned, with a surprising amount of patience for a child faced with ice cream. It was that not-quite-a-whine, but most-definitely-a-sulk that usually accompanied conversations regarding the nutritional value of frosted sugar cereals, and made Mohinder sigh heavily at the grocery store and turn the cart around to retrieve whatever it was she was trying to convince him that she needed. “Matt always stops for ice cream with me on Fridays.”
Following the line of sight dictated by Molly’s eager finger to the store’s front door, Peter shrugged, “Sure, if you want.”
When asked one scoop or two, Molly only looked up at him hopefully. His stomach could not say no either, as luck would have it. After all, he was not the sort of man to stand in the way of tradition.
The park was another thing not found on Mohinder’s list. Peter figured the list was more of a consultative outline than a piece of advisory material, and decided to leave it at that. It was too nice a day to waste just sitting around the apartment, especially now that there was ice cream in the equation. The thought occurred to him first, and when Peter offered the detour, Molly answered with an emphatic nod and tightened her grip on his hand.
Now licking at her quickly melting ice cream, the 10-year-old merely shrugged at Peter’s question as they walked down the concrete pathway. “Of course you do,” Molly said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “you live with us, and I trust you.”
Peter looked down at her, unsure. “You do?”
“Yes.” Clearly he was stupid for even asking, and she squeezed his hand in assurance. “And my dads trust you.”
“I think Matt just puts up with me,” Peter venture aloud, and lapped up the last bit of runny ice cream from his already softened cone. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t go around telling your teachers that I’m your dad’s boyfriend. I’m pretty sure Mohinder will find a way to blame this on me when he finds out.”
“Well, you are his boyfriend, aren’t you?” Molly asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Well, yeah,” Peter said, a little more sharply than intended, as he began polishing off the last of his ice cream cone, “but – it’s kinda complicated right now.”
“How?”
“I dunno.” Scarfing down the last piece, Peter shrugged and sighed. “Things are just moving sort of fast. Six months ago I could barely stand the guy, and now we’re –”
“Dating?”
Peter shot Molly a firm look. “Yeah, but – it’s grown up stuff. Just let me worry about it. You go worry about homework or something.”
Her ice cream now a sticky brown pool in the bottom of her cone, Molly slurped up the last bit and shrugged flippantly. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said, “You’re already living with us, and I know he loves you.”
Tossing the empty cone in a nearby metal trashcan, Molly slipped free of Peter’s hand. She jogged towards the playground at the end of the pathway, the soles of her shoes making crunching sounds of the loose gravel underfoot. Peter looked disappointedly at the trashcan at the thought of the wasted ice cream cone, then back to the little girl, now clambering into the seat of the nearest swing set.
“What’re you talking about?” Following close behind, Peter crunched his way through the shallow gravel to the swings, taking the spot beside her. The small red plastic seat was warm in the mid-afternoon sunshine, feeling malleable and especially flimsy beneath his weight as he wrapped his fingers around the heavy chains and settled in between them.
Molly took a few steps back before letting go, swinging forward gently. “Mohinder,” she said, returning to that matter-of-fact tone, from whom Peter was beginning to suspect she had picked it up. “He’s in love with you.”
Peter looked unconvinced. “How do you know?”
“He just is.” Molly lifted a shoulder to shrug, kicking her small legs out to gain momentum before swinging back again. “I can tell. He’s been a lot happier since you came to live with us.” Taking a sharp breath, she kicked her legs out again and leaned back into the swing, propelling herself even higher. “You do love him too, right?”
At that Peter scoffed, grabbing the chains and leaning back to push himself forward. “Do you always ask this many questions?”
The 10-year-old’s gaze was unwavering. “Well?” Definitely too much like her father.
“Well. Yeah,” Peter shrugged, slowly gaining momentum as he swung to meet her pace, “I mean, I think so.”
It did not really feel like the kind of love he had been used to, the kind of dizzy, butterflies-in-the-stomach loss of control. This had lacked the usual symptoms, and the rushed feelings of happiness in clumsy, giggling sex and words like warm honey in the mornings after, which were never quite as good as the first. It was slow, whatever this was, something that settled in the pit of his stomach and spread outward whenever he woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the feel of hands under his shirt, holding rather than pulling, keeping him there in case he wanted to be anywhere else instead. But he never did.
Despite that, Molly’s soft snort of laughter was still not particularly reassuring. “Either you do or you don’t!” the girl laughed teasingly.
“I asked him to move in with me,” he pointed out, just a bit smug, “didn’t I?”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Her brow furrowed in sudden concern, her swinging slowed. “What about me?”
“You’re coming too,” Peter said, returning her previous matter-of-fact tone.
“And Matt?”
Peter shrugged, kicking his legs out to propel himself further, the metal frame creaking with his weight. “I dunno yet. Everything’s still kinda in the air right now…”
And it was. He and Mohinder had barely had the time yet to discuss it, let alone consult Matt. Not that he would mind the peace and quiet of an apartment to himself, Peter guessed. It would still be a few weeks before they could consider seriously looking into getting another place. But leveling the girl a softened look Peter came to a stop, planting his feet in the gravel bed.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle but direct, “we’ll all figure it out. Nobody’s getting left out of this, okay?”
“Do you promise?” Molly asked softly, and came to a stop in all seriousness. “And you’re not just gonna leave, are you? You’ll stay?”
Something warm pooled in the center of Peter’s chest. He swallowed, tightly. “Yeah,” he said, and angled his head in a canine sincerity that the child seemed to understand, “I promise.”
Seemingly pacified by the response, Molly nodded slowly. Her small hands tightening on the chains she continued to swing in a momentary silence, punctuated by the whining of chains and old metal.
“So…does that mean you’re going to be my step-dad?” she eventually asked, small voice drained of all tease. At that, Peter simply laughed.
“Why? Are you already planning the wedding?”
Molly just smiled and continued swinging. Before Peter could say anything else, his pocket began to vibrate with an electronic chirp. Reaching for his cell phone he flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“You’re spying on me.”
“I’m not spying on you,” Mohinder responded evenly, “If I were spying on you, I would have sent Matt.”
“Well – I didn’t burn down your kitchen, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Peter said, watching Molly beside him, “and Molly’s still alive. No bumps or bruises, I’m sad to report.”
Molly stuck her tongue out at him, but Peter only smirked in return.
“Yes, well, I’m glad to hear it,” Mohinder chuckled softly, sounding tired over the line. “I hope Molly isn’t too much of a handful for you.”
“Nah,” Peter said, gripping the chains with his free hand, “she’s a good kid.”
A soft sigh. “Well, good. I just wanted to let you know that I’m done at the lab for the day. I’ll be home in about an hour – meet you there, then?”
“Sure,” Peter nodded, although Mohinder could not see it, and then ruffled a hand across his scalp. “Well, actually, me and Molly are at the park right now – wanna come down to here instead? Meet us at the swing sets?”
“Of course,” Mohinder said softly, his smile nearly audible on his end, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Alright, love you.” With that Peter snapped his cell phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket without a second thought. The sound of an impish giggle from over his shoulder brought his attention to Molly, grinning at him cheekily as she swung back and forth. At that Peter’s face reddened, from something other than the afternoon heat.
“Shut up,” he tried not to smirk. For it she simply laughed.
Previous parts:
Lightning in an empty cup
The clawfoot bathtub
These matters of security
Such a cautious display
Ways and means
Author:
eonismRating: PG
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to NBC. I'm just having a laugh at their expense
Characters/Pairings: Peter/Mohinder, Molly
Word Count: 2,283
Author's notes: Takes place after Ways and means. General season two spoiler stuff.
Summary: There were only two rules: No flying, regardless of the circumstances, and absolutely no powers in the house.
“Are you sure you about this? I can try to leave the lab early if you need me to.”
There were only two rules: No flying, regardless of the circumstances, and absolutely no powers in the house. Other than that there was fresh fruit and leftover pasta in the refrigerator, and emergency contacts and Matt’s cell phone and work number were in the address book by the phone, just in case. Mohinder’s lengthy instructions about bedtime schedules and cutting the crusts off of tuna fish sandwiches were already well committed to memory by Peter’s third attempt at getting off the phone, jotting down the school’s street address with an emphatic nod of reassurance, even though Mohinder would not see it.
“Yeah, of course I’m sure,” Peter said coolly, changing his grip on his cell phone as he slid the piece of paper into the pocket of his jacket. “I used to baby-sit my nephews all the time. It’s not that big a deal.” The scraped knees and living room wrestling matches of 7- and 8-year-old boys were a world apart from that of 10-year-old girls, but Peter figured he could cope well enough in either case.
“Just relax, Mohinder. It’s not I’m gonna burn the apartment down or anything. I promise.”
Because if he did, Mohinder would be the first one Peter would call about it. Assuring him of this, Peter gathered his keys and wallet and left to pick Molly up from school.
The class bell had not yet rung when Peter arrived outside. He crossed the street, stepping onto the curb passed the school buses and conservative compact cars and four-door sedans with tired looking parents in business suits and work uniforms waiting inside. Up the broad concrete steps he jogged with a hand in his jacket pocket, the other extended to pull open the entrance door to the wide, still-empty hallway.
Passing rows of closed classroom doors Peter followed the directions still scribbled on the post-it note in his pocket to the room number he had been reciting since the last block. On his tip-toes Peter peered through the glass inset window beside the doorframe, looking for Molly’s head amongst the rows of bored-looking children, lounging drowsily at their desks. One row from the teacher’s desk he spotted her yellow headband and patterned green sundress over a pair of jeans, sitting up straight in her seat.
She is most definitely her father’s daughter, Peter thought, his mouth quirking fondly. When Molly glanced over in his direction he waved through the window, to which she smiled.
The class bell rang overhead. As though on cue the children clambered up from their seats to gather their books and pens and bags, filing out between the narrow rows of chairs to drift out into the hall passed Peter in a softly babbling flock. An arm out to catch the still open door he slipped into the classroom as the teacher was sorting papers and folders. She was blonde, and young, likely around his age with her hair in a tight ponytail. Dressed in a smart looking brown skirt and thin white sweater, she looked Peter over with a curious but polite expression.
“Can I help you?” she asked, opening her nearby book bag and sliding the stack of papers inside.
“Oh – sorry. I’m Peter. I’m here to pick up Molly?” Peter quickly explained, approaching the teacher with an extended hand. “I wasn’t sure if Mohinder called or not. He and Matt are stuck at work and asked me to come get her instead.”
“Oh,” the teacher smiled calmly and shook the offered hand, “no, that’s fine. It’s just neither of her guardians called to tell us you were coming today. They were both very specific that Molly never be sent home with anyone other than them.”
“It’s okay.” Coming to stand at Peter’s side, Molly slid her book bag over her shoulder and reached up to grab his hand. “Peter is Mohinder’s boyfriend.”
The room suddenly felt hot, and so did Peter’s face. Mohinder would be thrilled to know they had just been outed to the faculty, but Molly’s teacher only smiled and laughed softly, “Well, that’s good. I’ll see you guys on Monday then.”
Ushering Molly out, Peter smiled politely and closed the door behind them. What Mohinder did not know, he decided, definitely would not hurt him.
--
“I didn’t know I’d earned hand-holding privileges yet.”
Sunshine made dripping trails of the double-scoop Neapolitan ice cream cones, dribbling down to the sidewalk below to sizzle away beneath the dry heat of the mid-afternoon. Ice cream had not been on the list of instructions, but then Molly had pointed to the Baskin Robbins on the corner on the way home with a convincing pout.
“It’s Friday,” she had reasoned, with a surprising amount of patience for a child faced with ice cream. It was that not-quite-a-whine, but most-definitely-a-sulk that usually accompanied conversations regarding the nutritional value of frosted sugar cereals, and made Mohinder sigh heavily at the grocery store and turn the cart around to retrieve whatever it was she was trying to convince him that she needed. “Matt always stops for ice cream with me on Fridays.”
Following the line of sight dictated by Molly’s eager finger to the store’s front door, Peter shrugged, “Sure, if you want.”
When asked one scoop or two, Molly only looked up at him hopefully. His stomach could not say no either, as luck would have it. After all, he was not the sort of man to stand in the way of tradition.
The park was another thing not found on Mohinder’s list. Peter figured the list was more of a consultative outline than a piece of advisory material, and decided to leave it at that. It was too nice a day to waste just sitting around the apartment, especially now that there was ice cream in the equation. The thought occurred to him first, and when Peter offered the detour, Molly answered with an emphatic nod and tightened her grip on his hand.
Now licking at her quickly melting ice cream, the 10-year-old merely shrugged at Peter’s question as they walked down the concrete pathway. “Of course you do,” Molly said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “you live with us, and I trust you.”
Peter looked down at her, unsure. “You do?”
“Yes.” Clearly he was stupid for even asking, and she squeezed his hand in assurance. “And my dads trust you.”
“I think Matt just puts up with me,” Peter venture aloud, and lapped up the last bit of runny ice cream from his already softened cone. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t go around telling your teachers that I’m your dad’s boyfriend. I’m pretty sure Mohinder will find a way to blame this on me when he finds out.”
“Well, you are his boyfriend, aren’t you?” Molly asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Well, yeah,” Peter said, a little more sharply than intended, as he began polishing off the last of his ice cream cone, “but – it’s kinda complicated right now.”
“How?”
“I dunno.” Scarfing down the last piece, Peter shrugged and sighed. “Things are just moving sort of fast. Six months ago I could barely stand the guy, and now we’re –”
“Dating?”
Peter shot Molly a firm look. “Yeah, but – it’s grown up stuff. Just let me worry about it. You go worry about homework or something.”
Her ice cream now a sticky brown pool in the bottom of her cone, Molly slurped up the last bit and shrugged flippantly. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” she said, “You’re already living with us, and I know he loves you.”
Tossing the empty cone in a nearby metal trashcan, Molly slipped free of Peter’s hand. She jogged towards the playground at the end of the pathway, the soles of her shoes making crunching sounds of the loose gravel underfoot. Peter looked disappointedly at the trashcan at the thought of the wasted ice cream cone, then back to the little girl, now clambering into the seat of the nearest swing set.
“What’re you talking about?” Following close behind, Peter crunched his way through the shallow gravel to the swings, taking the spot beside her. The small red plastic seat was warm in the mid-afternoon sunshine, feeling malleable and especially flimsy beneath his weight as he wrapped his fingers around the heavy chains and settled in between them.
Molly took a few steps back before letting go, swinging forward gently. “Mohinder,” she said, returning to that matter-of-fact tone, from whom Peter was beginning to suspect she had picked it up. “He’s in love with you.”
Peter looked unconvinced. “How do you know?”
“He just is.” Molly lifted a shoulder to shrug, kicking her small legs out to gain momentum before swinging back again. “I can tell. He’s been a lot happier since you came to live with us.” Taking a sharp breath, she kicked her legs out again and leaned back into the swing, propelling herself even higher. “You do love him too, right?”
At that Peter scoffed, grabbing the chains and leaning back to push himself forward. “Do you always ask this many questions?”
The 10-year-old’s gaze was unwavering. “Well?” Definitely too much like her father.
“Well. Yeah,” Peter shrugged, slowly gaining momentum as he swung to meet her pace, “I mean, I think so.”
It did not really feel like the kind of love he had been used to, the kind of dizzy, butterflies-in-the-stomach loss of control. This had lacked the usual symptoms, and the rushed feelings of happiness in clumsy, giggling sex and words like warm honey in the mornings after, which were never quite as good as the first. It was slow, whatever this was, something that settled in the pit of his stomach and spread outward whenever he woke to the smell of fresh coffee and the feel of hands under his shirt, holding rather than pulling, keeping him there in case he wanted to be anywhere else instead. But he never did.
Despite that, Molly’s soft snort of laughter was still not particularly reassuring. “Either you do or you don’t!” the girl laughed teasingly.
“I asked him to move in with me,” he pointed out, just a bit smug, “didn’t I?”
“When?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
Her brow furrowed in sudden concern, her swinging slowed. “What about me?”
“You’re coming too,” Peter said, returning her previous matter-of-fact tone.
“And Matt?”
Peter shrugged, kicking his legs out to propel himself further, the metal frame creaking with his weight. “I dunno yet. Everything’s still kinda in the air right now…”
And it was. He and Mohinder had barely had the time yet to discuss it, let alone consult Matt. Not that he would mind the peace and quiet of an apartment to himself, Peter guessed. It would still be a few weeks before they could consider seriously looking into getting another place. But leveling the girl a softened look Peter came to a stop, planting his feet in the gravel bed.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gentle but direct, “we’ll all figure it out. Nobody’s getting left out of this, okay?”
“Do you promise?” Molly asked softly, and came to a stop in all seriousness. “And you’re not just gonna leave, are you? You’ll stay?”
Something warm pooled in the center of Peter’s chest. He swallowed, tightly. “Yeah,” he said, and angled his head in a canine sincerity that the child seemed to understand, “I promise.”
Seemingly pacified by the response, Molly nodded slowly. Her small hands tightening on the chains she continued to swing in a momentary silence, punctuated by the whining of chains and old metal.
“So…does that mean you’re going to be my step-dad?” she eventually asked, small voice drained of all tease. At that, Peter simply laughed.
“Why? Are you already planning the wedding?”
Molly just smiled and continued swinging. Before Peter could say anything else, his pocket began to vibrate with an electronic chirp. Reaching for his cell phone he flipped it open and put it to his ear.
“You’re spying on me.”
“I’m not spying on you,” Mohinder responded evenly, “If I were spying on you, I would have sent Matt.”
“Well – I didn’t burn down your kitchen, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Peter said, watching Molly beside him, “and Molly’s still alive. No bumps or bruises, I’m sad to report.”
Molly stuck her tongue out at him, but Peter only smirked in return.
“Yes, well, I’m glad to hear it,” Mohinder chuckled softly, sounding tired over the line. “I hope Molly isn’t too much of a handful for you.”
“Nah,” Peter said, gripping the chains with his free hand, “she’s a good kid.”
A soft sigh. “Well, good. I just wanted to let you know that I’m done at the lab for the day. I’ll be home in about an hour – meet you there, then?”
“Sure,” Peter nodded, although Mohinder could not see it, and then ruffled a hand across his scalp. “Well, actually, me and Molly are at the park right now – wanna come down to here instead? Meet us at the swing sets?”
“Of course,” Mohinder said softly, his smile nearly audible on his end, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Alright, love you.” With that Peter snapped his cell phone shut and dropped it back into his pocket without a second thought. The sound of an impish giggle from over his shoulder brought his attention to Molly, grinning at him cheekily as she swung back and forth. At that Peter’s face reddened, from something other than the afternoon heat.
“Shut up,” he tried not to smirk. For it she simply laughed.
Previous parts:
Lightning in an empty cup
The clawfoot bathtub
These matters of security
Such a cautious display
Ways and means
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