Work Text:
“You’ll never give him what he needs.”
Alice paused in the hallway and turned to catch Riley Farjon’s eye. “What do you mean?”
“Peter. You’ll never give him what he means because you won’t offer him passion. You won’t ever be truly vulnerable, and he needs that to feel a deeper connection to you. But all the same, don’t worry—all your needs will be fulfilled quickly and quietly. But you’ll forget that he needs a great deal more than you do. He’ll never be satisfied with you, but he’ll never stray, either.”
“I suppose you’re being crude,” she said. It was the only reply she had for such nonsense. She didn’t know enough about whatever passion was to say anything else.
“That’s your problem. To Peter, it isn’t crude. It’s reality, a reality he shares with you.” Riley shrugged. “But you can’t share that reality with him. To you, it’s crude—it’s rough and harsh and to be ‘gotten through,’ I suppose.”
She left. That was the only other reply she had. But the thought stayed with her.
***
They lay, tangled between the sheets, messy and sweaty and real. Was that what Riley meant? Perhaps. But what was vulnerable about this? It was pleasurable, but that wasn’t the same thing. She felt that deep in her soul.
“Peter,” she whispered.
“Mmhmm?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too, darling.” He smiled, but there was something missing, some emptiness in his eyes. How did it seem that he could say nothing, and she still felt his heart close to hers—and yet she could tell that he didn’t feel the same.
Why was it her fault? Because he was sensitive, a creative, it was endlessly her fault. She rolled over with a small sigh. But Peter had never complained. Perhaps she was reading too much into things. Perhaps Riley was wrong.
“We’re all right, now, aren’t we?” she said, her back to him.
“I think so. What made you question it?”
“I don’t know—I was just thinking.”
“Was … I all right?” His cautious voice reminded her of those years when they just hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything, when every day he sidestepped around her broken places, for he knew she would hurt him if he dared to touch those spots.
“Always,” she replied absently.
She let him pull her back and tried to fall asleep. She probably never would know what passion was.
***
He was crying.
Peter was crying in great gulping sobs, his face in his hands and his body shuddering. She’d seen him cry before, of course, but it was usually either quiet or with her. When it was quiet, she held him close and believed she could will the pain away; when it was with her, her own sobs drowned his out.
Now what should she do?
She put her hands on his shoulders and held him steady, the way he did with her. She could be his rock, now, when he needed it.
It was a bit before he became quiet and washed his face; he didn’t say a word to her. She held his hand while they sat in silence for a time.
Later, in the night, Alice put her arms around him and pulled him close. Her lips were on his throat, his cheek, the space below his ear. She wasn’t sure if it was comfort or simply gratitude that they were both alive—that they had each other now. There were no endearments, no whispered ‘I love yous.’
Alice hadn’t known they could do that.
Still later, they both tried to apologize, breathlessly, at the same time. To her surprise, they found themselves laughing, and he held her close and told her how much she meant to him.
The words came to her for the first time, and she was able to say, quietly and only for him, that he was her world and more.
***
“I hate to tell you, but you were wrong.” She stood in front of a gravestone and swallowed back her own tears, for she missed him more than she’d known she would, somehow.
The tall stone in front of her didn’t reply. No witty retort, no outbreak of surprising wisdom. Still, she continued.
“I was able to give him what he needs. I was able to be passionate. When it really counted, I was able to do it.”
She worried her bottom lip and stood in silence for a bit, and then acknowledged, “But you were right about one thing—it took me far, far too long. And the timing wasn’t ideal. But I suppose I’ve you to thank for that.”