Love and Loathing

loving and loathing

"It's the way it is, Elias. I don't know what's gotten into you, really."

Peter strides into the empty room as he speaks. Elias Bouchard walks in behind him, closing and locking the door in one smooth motion. He always was too prim and proper, too polite to cause a scene or slam a door. Prick.

He turns to Peter, who fixes a bemused expression onto his face, complete with wide, innocent eyes and slight smile. Elias never liked it when he played the fool, and his glare could have melted steel.

"Peter, how many times must I repeat myself? There is 'the way it is'-" he uses air quotes without committing to the gesture itself, and yet Peter can always hear the implication clearly in Elias's voice, "-and then there's the way you have been behaving for the past six months."

Peter scoffs, running a hand through his wavy, grey-white hair. "Which is how, exactly?"

"Ask yourself that, because unfortunately I don't know. Would you like to know why I don't know, Peter?"

Peter looks him over, knowing that Elias was Looking right back at him. The practiced, plastic smile he uses for greeting wealthy donors and dealing with other legal matters is firmly affixed, and as genuine as it appears, it does not reach his eyes. Having learned to see through that particular act years ago, Peter widens his view, takes in the pinch of Elias's eyebrows, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his back was ramrod straight in comparison to his usual loose posture. Elias was furious, and Peter had never been able to resist fanning the flames.

"Eye-rectile dysfunction?"

"Fuck you."

"We could do that right now," Peter says automatically, "plenty of time and room on that desk."

Elias scowls in irritation, and Peter has to bite his lip so that another ill-advised comment doesn't slip through. Best not to call his irate husband "adorable" when he could practically smell the divorce papers being written up again.

"You were gone, Peter. Gone on your damn boat-"

"Ship."

"-boat, for six months, and I couldn't See you." Elias's face is stone-cold and smooth once more,, and the biting tone in his words is the only indication of any emotion lurking behind his piercing gaze.

Something about the emphasis on 'See,' of the capital so clearly implied, makes Peter bristle despite his careless attitude towards why Elias is so irritated. He allows the silence to linger, dwelling in the tension and all the words he's sure that Elias is refraining from spitting out. Elias watches, and Peter waits.

Finally, he speaks, and immediately regrets the too-cool tone of his words.

"Is that what this is about then? Not being able to See me?"

Elias blows a strand of hair away from his eyes with an irritated huff. "Of course it is, Peter. Don't be absurd, what else would it be."

And like always, Peter's too slow to respond, to defend himself. Too late to collect his thoughts and riposte, give an excuse before Elias's eyes widen in realization, and his lips curl into a mocking smile.

"You didn't think I missed you? That I was worried?"

Fuck.

"No, why would I ever think that?" His voice pitches up despite himself, wavering in a near-imperceptible, yet incredibly telling show of his denial. "Elias Bouchard, missing and showing concern for someone, that'll be the day. Obviously your Sight is the only important thing here, glad we've clarified that. If that's all, well, now you've seen me, so! I'll just be going."