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Knock Knock.
Martin groans as he wakes up. He looks around and he doesn’t hear Jon in their room. He looks over and sees their baby stir in her crib but otherwise she stays asleep. Violet's little mittens fell off while she was sleeping so he stood up and put them back on her hands. Ugh, what woke him up?
Knock Knock.
Ah, that must have been it. He stepped away from his daughter and went over to the door. He was fully expecting Miss Annabelle Cane, or even Georgie and Melanie. All of which had been helping out with the during and aftermath of the pregnancy. Georgie had been helpful in terms of the medical sides of things, given her work with medical sciences in her college years. Annabelle had been, surprisingly, very helpful, despite Jon's absolute determent of spiders. Or maybe that's what she secretly enjoyed about it all. Regardless, it was none of them, it was Elias. He didn’t fight the groan that erupted from him.
“God, what are you doing here?” Elias arrived in front of him with a small package in hand.
"The same reason I usually am, Martin. How is she?"
“Doing great. Healthy 3.9 kilos. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Martin snapped at Elias. It was clear that Martin and Jon haven’t been sleeping much at all because of the baby. Speaking of which, she begins fussing behind Martin, to which he sighs.
“If there’s nothing else, I’m going to ask you to leave.” Well, it was less an ask and more of a demand. Elias laughed at that.
"Well that's a bit rude, isn't it? I have a gift, and I would like to see her. You are allowing guests again, aren't you?" He tried to step forward, trying to get a glance at the baby with his own eyes.
“Guests, sure. But guests are people we invite to our home.” He can hear Violet begin fuss more, gearing up to begin crying. Martin grits his teeth.
“Look, you either leave or I make you leave. This isn’t a situation where you’re allowed to barge in however you please. And you are most certainly not allowed anywhere near my daughter.” But now Elias looks a bit upset. Like he's entitled to their home and family.
"It isn't a far stretch of the imagination to call me family, you know. I don't understand your obsession with the guard dog act, Martin. It was far better left to Daisy." That’s it. Martin was getting angrier by the second and now he could hear his daughter crying, and now is when he had to decide between comforting his daughter and dealing with the son of a bitch at his door.
“Leave. This is your final warning.” He tries to shut the door, but Elias is blocking the way.
"Oh, come now, is that any way to treat your-" He paused, thinking it over, "Well, your step father, if you want to be technical?" Martin's daughter was bawling her little heart out, so much so it is his only focus and Martin doesn’t even want to delve into whatever Elias just said. He tried to slam the door, slamming it on the man’s foot before promptly turning to go comfort his daughter. He very quickly switches from angry to worried.
“Shhh shh. It’s alright, love.” Martin holds her close, bouncing her in her arms. Without time moving consistently and it affecting practically all electronic devices that they had still functioning, feeding was just something they had to guess. Or, thankfully in Jon's case, Know. But his partner was resting right now. Elias cringed, his foot throbbing as he started to enter their home, so that he could help. And then, all of the sudden, he couldn't see. He was surrounded by fog.
Elias is confused, mostly. Offended. Outraged. Martin had his own domain? Since when? Oh, he should check- ah. Right! Part of the Lonely. He's been basically blinded by the dense fog and rain. He crossed his arms and glanced around as the familiar, cold mist settled onto him. I mean, he hadn't been anywhere near the Lonely's territories since...
He shook his head. No. None of that, if Peter was a big enough idiot to get himself killed, so be it. Jonah's charm and Elias' face could get him anyone he wanted. Not to mention his power.
The fog was thick and smoldering. The silence was deafening, other than the pouring rain from above. It soaked Elias' clothes and the mixing of the rain and the fog made it so he was seeing things. A familiar navy blue swirled into the torrential downpour. Was it a trick of the light? And yet, in the fog formed a man. A large man with pale skin and hair, deep blue soaked clothes swirling in and out of the fog and most notably, those deep sea blue eyes. He wore his typical frown, staring blankly into the mist before settling on Elias' figure and smiling cheekily at the man. As if him wallowing in his misery at Peter's death decidedly made him elated.
Elias felt his heart get stuck in his throat, and he very quickly found himself completely unable to be anything but grateful and relieved. Not upset at the rain soaking his very expensive clothes, not mad at Peter for leaving or gloating. Just a pure joy at seeing him again. He moved forwards, turning towards the phantom with slow movements.
But the closer Elias got, the more the apparition began to retreat back into the fog. His grin grew wider as Elias attempted to get closer. But it still wasn't one of genuine admiration, or adoration, or even love. It was like he, and only he, was in on the joke. And the disappearing act was absolutely hilarious. That deep, contrasting blue became more and more misty as Elias moved towards him, clouds enveloping him in slow rolls and twirls. Was it really a trick of the light? Was the hair that Elias saw really just swirling fog? No, he had to be real. Elias needed it to be real. Jonah needed him to be real.
Jonah realized the game quickly. He realized that more than likely, this was not real. It was just a projection. But that didn't stop him. It was so hard to Know. And what if it was? What if he was alive, just weakened? If he could just catch him-
He lost his footing after a long while of slow chasing. Hell, Peter had even gotten Jonah to run for a few steps after him. But it was hard to put out that much energy. He fell forward, at some point, slipping onto the cold, wet muddy floor. His body ached from the cold and damp and constant movement he had forced from himself when he just wanted to lay down. He wasn't sure if the dampness on his face was mud or rain or tears. He wasn't sure how long he'd truly been here. He wasn't even sure if he could get out. What he was sure of, though, was Peter's wide and cruel smile would surely be there if he looked up. A sob escaped him.
"Why am I being punished for this!?" His apocalypse was going so wrong. He was covered in mud, full of shame and ache and longing. And yet somehow nothing had gone the way it was supposed to. This was supposed to be his happy ending, his story book closing chapter. Now everyone and everything seemed to be turning back to bite at him. He couldn't even get back to his office to try and read statements or enjoy his Beholding, because he was stuck in that stupid bastard child's domain.
Everything surrounding the man was cold and wet and absolutely disgusting. And as Jonah stared at the floor, crying and wallowing in his own self pity, something cold touched him. It pressed against his cheek but it wasn’t quite human. It certainly didn’t feel human. It was like the wind in the fog had manifested and made a hand print that cupped Jonah’s cheek and attempted to wipe away the tears, despite the hand not being physically there. But there was no chase anymore. Peter was there, well within reach but unable to touch. Not really. And Jonah had been wrong. As the man looked up at what he knew was some form of his dead husband, that cheeky, shit-eating grin was gone. The metaphysical foggy hand tried to lift Jonah’s face to look at his, the man now kneeling in front of him. And Peter had the most dopey looking expression on his face. It almost looked wrong with how… in love the man looked. Because despite all of the chasing and despite all of the things they had put each other through, Peter loved him. Even if Peter was gone now. Even if Peter was only allowed to live on in his bastard child’s fear domain. The fog-made man let out a noiseless chuckle, unable to speak, seeming only enamored by the mess of a man in front of him. Jonah looked up, his expression a mix of longing and the attempted remnant anger of the games they used to play.
"Don't. Don't look at me," Jonah sniffled, "How could you? How could you do this to me? Don't- don't look at me like you love me. Stop it." Jonah missed him. He missed him so much. And He Knew the other knew. He didn't want to admit it. His face twisted again and he shoved down a sob, trembling from either his cries or the cold.
Peter continued to be oh so caring, still attempting and failing to wipe away the tears. If you looked close enough, the rain pouring down pulled a trick to where it almost looked like Peter was crying. Was he crying? The figment's shoulders shook as he held himself back from fading through Jonah. Wanting to hold him, speak to him. But he couldn't anymore and he'd taken his time alive for granted. He mouthed the words "I love you", being no longer constrained to have to hide it and yet no longer having the voice to speak what he truly felt for the man who stayed by his side for nearly forty years. Jonah sobbed again and looked away. He couldn't take it. He just couldn't. Not after thinking the man he loved was dead. He Knew the man he loved was dead.
"I miss you. I miss you so much. This was for us. How could you just go and die?" He looked so betrayed. So much like himself, rather than Elias, as he looked back up at Peter.
It was no longer a trick of the light, It was clear to Jonah that Peter is crying, even if the man didn't seem or feel real. His shoulder racked with an empty sob, both hands going up to cup Jonah’s cheeks. He looked so… happy. Well, as happy as a man who can never speak or touch his lover again could be. A cold sting hits Jonah’s forehead as Peter plants a kiss there, the fog of his beard dense against Jonah’s face and eyes. Peter pulls away again and mouths the same three words again. “I love you” and the words never make it to Jonah’s ears. Jonah sniffles again at the feeling of the cold rain washing down his face and mixing with the salt of his tears. He lets out a bitter laugh, unable to even momentarily enjoy the love of his deceased partner.
"I love you too."