( IN THE SEA. )

Lily: Oh man, Sirius told you?

Dorcas: Nope. You’re drinking decaf coffee, which you usually only do in the afternoon, you’re wearing an empire-waist dress and loose shoes ‘cause your feet are already swelling. I’d put you at nine, maybe ten weeks.

James: Merlin, you’re observant.

Dorcas: Yes, I am. Yes, I am. By the way, when did you make the switch to boxer briefs?

—–   OR FIGHT.  Her words struck him deep. Fingers wrapping tightly around an old broom handle, willing it to give him strength. To give him anything. But it was useless and worn. “I - I know, Dorcas. I know-” his words caught in his throat. He felt like a coward. Why did the sorting hat put him in GRYFFINDOR? Why did his friends insist that he was brave? He had no buisness being in any war. Peter belonged beneath a rock, far underneath the soil where no light could ever reach. He was useless. A quivering boy, too afraid to move. He could use a wand, yes. Peter had always prevailed in charms, but it was his heart that questioned his abilities. It made him weak.

 “I want to fight. I do, but - but I can’t…” his voice came out small, his chest heaving. The tie that was around his neck had been loosened and his over-priced coat discarded. He couldn’t breath with all the layers. Not now. But she was right, he couldn’t run. Though he couldn’t fight either. “Apparate me. Just do it, Dor. Get it over with!”

It wasn’t the time for him to beat himself up, she knew that so she took his hand, and before she apparated, she squeezed it. It was meant as a signal to let him know that she was there, that she understood the fear to a point -- that she didn’t judge him for his choice and that it was okay. It was always okay to choose SURVIVAL for yourself. In a pop, they were in her apartment and she went to wrap him in a hug.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to be okay, I promise. You’re going to be fine, Peter,” she squeezed her arms tighter around Peter, and though she knew she wasn’t the best at comfort, the best at physical contact and hugs -- she’d read that in times of stress, comforting physical contact helped. Peter’s fear was RADIATING off of him like an aura and it made her remember why she chose to be a Hit Witch in the first place -- to make sure that horrible people wouldn’t effect wonderful people like Peter. So, they could be protected and feel safe. 

“You’re safe here, I PROMISE, You trust me right?” she pulled away, looking him in the eyes for a moment, giving him a quick, reassuring smile, then taking inventory of her apartment making sure it hadn’t been infiltrated. It was safe. “If you need anything, food or a drink -- I save some wine for Amelia -- take all you need. Er,” a deep breath, “before I go back, would you like to watch me put up some protection spells??”

They were safe, hidden in a broom closet away from the craziness echoing on the other side of the door. Anxiety poured over him. He could hear what the other was saying, what they were demanding, but Peter couldn’t.  —–  “No, y-you don’t understand!  I can’t! We can make a run for it. We don’t have to apparate.” 

Dorcas was unfortunately made for situations like this -- it’s why she’d dreamed of being an Auror since she knew about the profession, because she knew she could serve and protect, and duel these masked bastards. But she was not an Auror, she didn’t get into the academy, and she chose being a Hit Witch as her profession which didn’t require her to be a civil servant. Not in the slightest. 

                            But she felt she needed to be out there. 

At the same time, if she couldn’t quell Peter’s nerves, couldn’t do something to protect him -- she wouldn’t be protecting EVERYONE would she? It was a precarious situation, because if Peter couldn’t handle something like this -- why the hell was he in the Order?? This life wasn’t for everyone, but it made her wonder -- though it was something to file away for later. 

                                 ( Did he wonder the same things she did?? )

“Peter, I’ll apparate you out then I’ll come back but if you can go out there and just run away in the face of ALL THIS, mate, then -- I just -- it’s not important now but running away isn’t an option. It’s apparate or fight.                                      -- --- I’m sorry, Pete.”

“At least I’m not the ONLY one who’s a bad employee,” said Frank, sounding nearly relieved. A laugh slipped past his lips and he shook his head — in disbelief of his and Dorcas’ failure to know these things. “D’ya really think he’s that old?? My guess was more nearing the late sixties, but I’ve never been good at estimating ages.”

“Oi!! I’m not a bad employee, I just could give less of a shit about people’s birthday’s like that, it’s not like the dear old man is my friend or somethin’,” she defended herself, still not taking herself quite seriously. “Late sixties?? You can be that YOUNG here and be Minister?? I thought sixty here was the new thirty in the muggle world??”