the magnificent

Sloane skipped over the help Peter with all the trays, piled high from clearing out rooms all day. Everything with heavy and crowded in the hall, but she had just finished up the sanitation duty in the basement. Anything was preferrable to washing bed pans.

"Let me help you, there's no way you can carry all'a those!"

@peterpevensiegc

“I am, and you are much too solicitous for your own good, Miss White. I do not think I have seen you stop for a moment since we started. I can handle these myself, thank you — You should sit down and catch your breath, however.”

"I promise I have other jackets. Wearing something this nice in my neighborhood is more of an attention-grabber anyways," The teacher says simply. Since Peter's not taking it out of their hands, they just set it on the desk. They do consider taking it back for a moment they trace their fingers over the texture, but then they let go.

"I really couldn't, it's just... When I wear it, people think we- Well, they've asked if you and I are-" They make a "together" gesture with their hands, interlocking fingers. Though typically a well-spoken individual, Elinor fumbles for the right words, not wanting to make it sound like they are offended by the suggestion. There was a time when that sort of connection wouldn't have even registered as an issue to Elinor; they loved being friends and partners with Peter. But now that he's the sheriff? There's a certain weight that comes with that, and there will be a weight that follows him if people think he's in connection with Elinor's business, like town protests, "Not that it's a problem! I just- the implications might not have been... something you considered."

Then again, was Peter ever a man who didn't consider every angle of an action before proceeding? If he wanted Elinor to have the jacket, that's one thing. If he wanted them to wear it around and have it known that they were wearing his jacket, that's another thing. Much to consider there.

To him, this is not about whether or not they do not have any others they can wear, instead. It is not about whether or not they need to rely upon his kindness to keep themselves warm. It is a much more… symbolic gestutre. A token of his esteem. A present reminder that, no matter the distance between them now, he will always remember and cherish the closeness they had shared in the past.

The thought of reaching for the jacket as they set it down upon his desk only to press it back onto their hands is one that crosses his mind, only to be rudely interrupted by their elucidation as to the reasons why they do not wish to be seen in public wearing something that belongs to him.

Peter opens his mouth as if to speak before shutting it again, pursing his lips as they interlace their fingers together to demonstrate to him what people thought, as if it were not already painfully obvious.

Surely not. Surely the presence of an article of clothing by itself is no reliable indicator as to whether two people are romantically involved or not. Friends borrow one another’s belongings all the time. Family, as well. He has lost count of how many clothes he has passed down to Edmund over the years, and of how much his wardrobe had consisted of hand-me-downs from his father in his youth.

But he knows, deep within himself, that they are correct. That there is an implication there, one that he had not considered — not because he had not understood it prior to this, but because he had blinded himself to it on purpose, because the thought of romance makes him more uncomfortable than he would ever care to admit for.

It always has. To put a name to his emotions, to entertain their existence at all, had never been his priority when taking care of his family had always been his primary focus. Would always be his primary focus.

And it would not be fair, nor would it be gentlemanly of him, to ask that they field these questions and implications that clearly seem to make them uncomfortable simply because he wished for them to have something that would remind them of him.

“I understand.” Peter says, finally, his voice tight but kind as he places a hand over the jacket and pushes it towards Elinor. “I will not ask you to do anything that may make you feel uneasy, but please, take it with you tonight. Keep it in your closet afterwards if you must, or return it to me another time. You do not have to wear it in public if you do not wish to, but I would not forgive myself if you come down with a cold because of me.”

@spendfcrever

"If I had known it would surprise you so much, I would've just left it on your doorstep," In this town though, one couldn't just leave anything out on the sidewalk without expecting it to get swiped.

The natural instinct is to deflect, and Elinor is beginning to say 'it's alright' or 'it's nothing' to avoid receiving thanks, but they think better of it. It's unavoidable to acknowledge the oddity of the action, so why try? They couldn't quite be said to be "friends" - close like they used to be - but honestly Elinor had just wanted to do it. Sure, it was a gift, but they hadn't thought twice about doing something that helped Peter on a personal level because they just knew he'd need it, and wasn't the type to ask for or admit to wanting the help on his own. And honestly? It was sort of the only thing Elinor felt they could do when the pair so often lacked the common goals that tied them together before.

"You're very welcome, Peter. It's not like I wasn't cooking already in the first place," They sit up straight, remembering that the rolling cart wasn't the only thing they needed to give him. They slip the leather jacket off their shoulders and fold in the sleeves, then fold in half, presenting it like another packaged gift ( even though it was his in the first place ), "Plus, I've stolen this for long enough."

It'd been a solid season or two since Peter had loaned out his jacket, and unfortunately Elinor could no longer justify keeping it when they had other perfectly good ones in their own wardrobe. Perhaps it had been selfish, but beneath anything they might've said or avoided saying to each other, they'd enjoyed the reminder that Peter cared in his actions more so than his words, and that there was still that presence in each other's lives. Elinor had lost many friends and family members to time and distance, so they held close the little expressions of connection wherever they could. It was only a jacket they had to give up, not the reminder itself

He'd have to return their rolling cart and tupperware in a few months anyways.

Peter Pevensie is someone who likes to think of himself as a well put-together and collected individual, as no easy man to fluster to any degree — but the truth is that this is simply not the case, as Elinor has just exemplified with barely any effort at all.

Mercifully, their decision to return the leather jacket he had left with them months and months prior to his possession provides him with an immediate opportunity to shift his focus elsewhere for the moment — that is, to anywhere but the offering of the jacket itself. To avoid acknowledging, as they have both done since that day, that a material gesture of kindness under the guise of the supposed temporary loaning of an item was the only manner in which Peter could communicate that he still cared for them.

It isn’t as though he needs that particular article of clothing back anyhow — even if he did not own more already, which he does, he is fortunate to be in a financial position that is comfortable enough to permit him to buy another one just like it without a second thought, should he wish to do so. A position he knows to be a more privileged one than theirs, given their background and current position as a school teacher.

Besides, it would be rather ungentlemanly of him to rescind what had been meant to be a gift, particularly so when so much time has already passed since he had given it to them. If he simply accepted it and his mother learned of it, she would certainly become quite cross with him — and that is not even to mention what Susan and Lucy would say if they knew. He may never hear the end of it.

“It’s late,” he starts, a convenient excuse offered with a small, sheepish smile, “and rather nippy outside. What kind of man would I be if I permitted you to brave the elements in your shirtsleeves?”

Keep it, is what he says without saying so. I want you to.

@spendfcrever

"Thrilling," Edmund's response is equally measured, careful not to offend his brother with any of his actual opinions on this. He didn't exactly question Peter's choices or think they were wrong, but they obviously weren't kids playing soldiers any more. Peter's decisions affected everyone else in town, not just the criminals he'd like to prosecute. Ed was definitely looking forward to ports being opened again.

He has learned, however, that words thrown around carelessly tend to land badly between them. Bringing more attention to the stress they're all under would only make Peter put more pressure on himself, and Ed's not looking to see his brother explode under it all.

"So you have to be security because... someone thinks there'll be another fight?" Edmund puts two and two together - he's not as mindless as Peter has, at times, accused him of being. Peter's squad being needed for security means the danger is still very real and alive, not just conveniently sanctioned off to one night. And if someone's going to be shooting again, they're going to be shooting at Peter, "I suppose you cheesed off everyone you didn't arrest, eh?"

Someone who does not need to be handled with kid gloves anymore.

So, when he goes on to jest about who the raid may or may not have upset, Peter decides that perhaps his brother can be trusted enough to hear a little more about what is currently on his mind than he had been initially inclined to share.

“Something to that effect, yes” he begins, a rueful smile on his lips. “That night, my officers and I disrupted the profits and operation of multiple local criminal organisations. It had been our intent to pursue them one at a time, not all at once. It became more than we had bargained for. We have had no further incident since then, nor do I believe we will, but tensions are still high, and there may yet be trouble ahead. Being Sheriff, I would be easily excused if I chose not to return to the scene to secure the perimeter personally — but how could I ask anyone to do that which I myself am unwilling to do? No. As their leader, I have a duty to my men: To be the first on the scene and the last to leave, always. No matter the risk.”

@justedmnd

The only thing that enraged Hook more was the fact that he was the one sitting in a questioning room now, awaiting making a statement. His hook was taken from him as it was considered a weapon, and he doesn't have a hand to cuff, so instead he's been cuffed to the table.

At least this is an opportunity to pin everything on the Lost Boys. Anything Pevensie thinks he has on Nauticus can be deflected. That is, if Hook doesn't let his anger get the better of him.

"Sheriff." He greets coldly as the man finally enters.

But to challenge the established order is a dangerous endeavour, and one that does not come without consequences. The reason why he could not be the one to escort the owner of Nauticus to the interrogation room himself, as he would have wished to, is because he had been injured during the assault, grazed by a bullet while leading the initial charge only hours ago — which had necessitated that he, after securing the premises and carrying out initial searches and apprehensions, step away from the action in order to seek medical attention.

This is why he returns to the precinct only now, a bandaged wound carefully concealed beneath the layers of his uniform and coat as he walks into the room with an authority and a confidence beyond his years, appearing unfazed by the cold welcome he receives and the sight of the man before him — a man who, if he were to hazard a guess, is not used to being regarded by anyone without fear or awe.

“James Hook, is it? I do not believe we have ever been formally introduced. I am Sheriff Pevensie. Peter Pevensie. Now, are you ready to begin?”

@allxtted

They don't speak of it though, because rather than asking something more direct about Peter's condition or his duty to the town, Ed is serving his brother up a paper cup of coffee and giving him a fond roll of his eyes.

"Decent. Complicated," Far more so after the raid than was typical, but Edmund wasn't opposed to the hiccups that kept his job interesting. More work, more being needed. Neither of those things were a detriment to him, even if they were stressful, "The council, the mayor's circle - well, that's who I see on the daily, but I think this goes for everyone - they're on edge. No one wants to be first to say the wrong thing."

And speaking of saying the wrong thing, Peter is obviously on edge too. Their family is very much included in that "everyone", even when it's not convenient to acknowledge. It's only Ed's first few years into building a career and there's suddenly lots of eyes on his politician clients. Questions about who has shaken hands with who, who's been photographed making deals with who. In a small town like Godscobh, the news kept track of everything, which meant he had to as well.

"I'm sure you've noticed the same," Though Edmund did trust his brother, there weren't many more in this very building that he'd say the same for. It paid to be suspicious in Godscobh, that much was clear. That said, his work wasn't so much about trust as it was about strategy and producing results, much like the Sheriff's, "What does duty call you to do today, then?"

Edmund, whom he had always had such a contentious and strained relationship with? Edmund, whom he cannot talk to? Whom he could never just simply talk to?

Without a word, he raises the cup of coffee that is offered to him to his lips and drinks. The bitterness of the drink is rivaled only by the bitterness of the picture painted by Edmund’s words of a heavy tension in the air, not only in between the two of them but that hangs over all the citizens of Godscobh — a dense fog of uncertainty and apprehension that had gripped their hearts and minds since the day of the raid. Peter’s raid.

It occurs to him, for a brief and fleeting moment, to ask if his brother believes that he had done the right thing. To be affirmed by someone who is close to him, someone who knows him, that his judgement had not been compromised. That to make the choice to act is better than to make no choice at all, even if in the moment, things may seem to be more chaotic and unstable than ever. That he had done well. For once in his life, Peter needs someone to tell him that he was doing well — but those words die before they ever reach his lips.

He would not ask that of him. Not of his baby brother, who has not yet seen just how difficult life can truly be. Yes, Peter can trust Edmund — or, at least, Peter wants to believe that he can trust Edmund — but he will not ask for his support when he is the one meant to support him.

Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, and he will not ask that his brother share the weight of that responsibility with him. That is a burden all his own.

“Well… Only just today, I received notice that the judge has granted me the search and seizure warrant I had requested in the aftermath of our operation, therefore the plan is that I return to the scene and provide on-site security and support to our CSI unit while my men search every last inch of that harbour.”

Conveniently, Peter elects not to mention why there may be a need for said security in the first place. There is no need to exacerbate whatever concerns his little brother has about him.

@justedmnd

The thought occurs to Elinor that they'd never actually been this far into the sheriff's office. They'd actually feel quite uneasy about it if not for the fact that it's Peter's office too. There are little things about the space that feel very unique to him; photos of his brother and sisters on the desk, and was that a medal or two adorning his wall? Likely awarded for great bravery or accomplishments - Elinor wonders if he'd won them before or after they'd stopped talking.

"Well, actually it's more than a few things. I won't be long though," They hadn't planned on staying long, that is. But then Peter is telling them to take a seat, and Elinor feels beholden to do exactly as he says, sitting awkwardly and quickly even as he stands.

They maneuver a plastic crate in front of the seat, the kind with a long handle and wheels so that Elinor didn't have to carry their teaching and/or protest supplies everywhere on their back. Instead of world maps and textbooks inside though, they lifted the plastic lid to show three large glass oven dishes stacked inside, "I wasn't troubled, really, but I know you and I know you are probably living off of caffeine and willpower right now. So I just wanted to do something that might make your life easier. They're, um, meal prepping."

Once they're sitting, Elinor feels somehow like the gesture is too small, and maybe even a little inappropriate? Was is embarrassing to come all the way here with frozen soup and casseroles? Was it also a betrayal of Tinley, who'd been questioned to no end about her involvement? And what about the legality, if Elinor might have to testify on their own student's alibis or character soon? There were quite a few thoughts swirling now that Elinor looked Peter in the eyes, causing a ripple of panic to come up their throat.

"And I know you already have family here that checks in on you, but seeing how the last few weeks have been pretty unorthodox, I just... wanted to do my part to think of what you're going through." It's what a good friend would do, Elinor thinks but doesn't say.

When he watches as they lower themselves onto the seat that has been offered to them, he cannot help but to notice just how small they seem to be here. Meek and stiff and uncomfortable.

It brings him to wondering, for a brief moment, just how they might see him now, and if he is the reason for their unease. Has he come so far from the man he had once been, from the man they had known so well, that all they can see him as now is not as Peter Pevensie, their friend, but as Sheriff Pevensie, the man responsible for the sudden chaos and upheaval faced by their community in these past weeks? Have they started to resent him for the part he has played in the raid, for being the one to organise it in the first place, when he knows they believe the solution to the rampant crime in their streets to be a peaceful one?

These thoughts are swiftly interrupted as they push forth the container that had been carrying with them and crack open the lid to reveal… carefully wrapped portions of food. Homemade food, as he can immediately tell. For a long moment, all he can do is blink down at it, stunned into silence, as he finds himself attempting to remember how long  it has been, actually, since he has had a proper meal. Days, surely.

“Elinor…” Peter starts, before allowing his words to trail off. He doesn’t know what to say. How he could possibly express his gratitude towards them. Words always seem to fail him when he needs them the most, particularly so when the matter concerns his own feelings. 

More than anything else, he does not know how to express how touched he is that they had thought of him. That he still inspires enough affection in them, enough fondness to bring them here, late at night when he is sure they would rather be comfortable at home, only to extend to him this kindness and ensure that he does not neglect himself for his duty, as he is wont to do.

A thank you does not seem adequate enough — nothing seems adequate enough, grateful enough — but it’s all he has.

“Elinor, this is immensely thoughtful of you. I don’t know what to say other than… to thank you. Truly. Thank you.”

@spendfcrever

Conversely, Edmund did not have the same faith in this town. There were many things he liked about America in a general sense. He felt an almost joyful relief upon doing things like meeting new people here, becoming a stronger leader in a land where he felt potential all around him. The chance to be his own man was both a comfort and a temptation ever-present in the back of his mind. Only threatened, understandably, by the constant risk this town put them in.

Godscobh was not a shining city of opportunity, far from it. And there's the rub, Ed felt, because while it was exciting and adventurous to be here, it also felt like something was sucking away at the goodness he'd always seen in his brother. That was more obvious than anything.

"You look better today," Edmund had taken to dropping off boxes of coffee for the sheriff's office the past several mornings, since it was close to city hall anyways, "Finally go back home instead of sleeping in your office?"

@peterpevensiegc

The next morning, when he had stumbled back to his room with the sound of a firefight still ringing in his ears, the scent of gunpowder lingering on his hands and a nasty gash on his arm, courtesy of a stray bullet that had grazed him during the chaos, he had tried to keep them from that, as well.

Susan had found him, of course, and rightfully read him the riot act for his recklessness — but still, she had helped him clean himself up and seen to his wounds, and both of them had kept this secret from their younger siblings. Edmund and Lucy had enough to worry about without needing to concern themselves with the safety of their older brother. 

This is why he does what he does, after all — so that this town may become a better place, a safer place for them.

Greeting his brother with a stiff incline of his head and a hand that rubs the back of his own sore neck, Peter nods in assent. “For a few hours, at least. I try to come back every night, but duty calls. This is where I am most needed now.”

There’s a small pause, then, as he stops to think about what he’s just said. That he tries to come home every night. When had been the last time he had seen Edmund, lately? Lucy? With all he has needed to do, all he has felt he must do, it has become harder and harder for him to make the time to see his own family. This realisation makes him feel guilty. Guilty enough to say something, where he might have otherwise allowed this conversation to lie.

“What of you? How have things been for you, Ed?”

@justedmnd

It was a few days after the fact that word started spreading around the town about just violent nasty things had gotten. News stories and interviews with the council finally going out, informing everyone that this wasn't just a neighborhood spat, but an implosion of two large gangs breaking into a fight, made all the more volatile by the investigation that had long been planned into one James Hook. Good that someone was finally looking into him, but disastrous that all the action had converged like that.

It was the most chaotic Elinor had ever seen the town, and after their car getting followed for the better part of an hour the other day? The teacher could feel a shift happening. Peter's force actually stopping some sales of pixie dust showed a distinct difference in how the town felt toward their primary commodity. Danger felt present at everyone's doorstep all of a sudden. On the other hand, it was known that many of these so-called "Lost Boys" and "Crocs" were a product of the failing foster system in Godscobh. Elinor couldn't even care about their own run-in once they started thinking about those who'd been shot at, apprehended, or worse. Though it wasn't their place to look into student backgrounds, they knew a few in their class who hadn't been to school since that night... and hoped against hope they'd just been out sick.

Elinor went to Peter's side the very moment they could, a weekend that felt unbelievably short in the grand scheme of the school's finals schedule and everything that had been happening in town.

"Peter? Hello, hi, do you have a moment?" The teacher knocked quietly on the door to the Sheriff's private office, sticking their head in since it was ajar. It was late enough in the evening that surely he was packing up work, no? His desk certainly didn't seem like it, but that could probably be expected. It was entirely unprofessional for Elinor to come to his place of work as a friend, but they would've continued to worry sick if they didn't get some confirmation he was okay, "I have a few things for you."

@peterpevensiegc

It had been an investigation led by Peter himself that had first given him the inkling that something of importance might come to pass on the docks that evening, it had been his initiative to prepare his officers and the precinct for an incursion and it had been him leading the charge once chaos had erupted between the fugitives and the law, and he could not be prouder of what they had accomplished then and what they are still pursuing — but accomplishing more than any Sheriff in the history of this town ever has also entails working harder than any of them ever have, which is why he finds himself here, now: In his office, after hours, still parsing through handwritten reports and files upon files of evidence, well past the time where most officers under his command had since retired to their homes at the end of their shifts.

As the head of the precinct, he should have been home hours ago. No one would have begrudged him or thought any lesser of him as a man or leader if he had simply left once his shift had ended, but Peter could never be satisfied with that. Not when there was still so much work to be done, work that could, perhaps, wait until the morning, but should not wait — laboratory reports of the illegal substances they had apprehended, eyewitness accounts of the raid, what precious few documents they had apprehended containing addresses, names, links towards other ongoing investigations being carried out by his department.

That is when he hears a familiar voice softly call out for him and he finds himself at once rising from his seat in order to greet them properly, his eyes and voice betraying the surprise he feels to see them here:

“Elinor — Of course. Please, come in. Take a seat.” Peter invites, stepping around his crowded desk in order to pull their chair for them before sitting back down himself. It truly does stun him to see them here — why were they up so late, and on a school night, no less? That is when he finds himself reminded that it must be the weekend already, and that this is not the first occasion in which he has lost track of time in the days following the raid.

Clearing his throat, he continues, “What brings you here so late? Has something troubled you? How may I help?”

@spendfcrever

His earnestness makes her uncomfortable, and she doesn't trust it. The more he tries to be sincere, the more she wants to run in the opposite direction.

"What, are you going to bake me cookies?" She laughs, shaking her head. "We don't have to commence with all the pageantry, where you pretend like you care about me beyond the assistance I'll provide in your investigation, and I pretend like I believe you. You're kind of in the wrong field for me to trust you have good intentions, chief."

Peter allows these words to linger in the air between them for a moment before politely averting his gaze, granting her a respite from his gaze so that she, hopefully, may come to feel less watched and scrutinized. If she does not wish to accept the olive branches that he has offered her, he will not insist upon it any further and will proceed with the interrogation as intended — that does not mean he wishes her to be uncomfortable, however.

“I would like to begin my questioning by asking you to state your full name and your whereabouts on the night of the New Year, if you please.”

@acommonfairy

She rubs at her temples. This whole situation is a headache. They still need to search the grounds for evidence and she has to get someone out there to replace the knob and the glass, all without garnering any attention.

Light from the early morning sun reflects off the colored glass on the ground, and she frowns at it. She’d liked that mosaic, but now it will probably need to be replaced with something simpler for the sake of efficiency.  

At least she knows Peter will keep this as quiet as possible. She gives him a grateful smile. “Thank you for your discretion.”

The question about pressing charges isn’t really a question, since she knows exactly how her father would respond: press charges and deter the trespasser from causing any future damage. He’d also throw in a line about security being one of the pillars of Callaway Realty. It might open the door a little wider toward the risk of people finding out, but she trusts Peter will keep that risk minimal.

“Yes,” she says, nodding. “I think we’d like to press charges. And I can get you the property's security tapes.”

“Your wish is my command, Miss Callaway,” Peter answers her with a charming smile. “I will see to it myself that this case is pursued and handled with the utmost discretion and care. Your property’s security footage would be invaluable to our investigation, if you would be so kind as to provide us with the tapes later. For now, all we can do is to allow my officers to sweep the premises thoroughly and collect all the evidence they can. They will inform me as soon as they are done, so that I can give you permission to call a repairman to see to the damage that has been done.”

“In the meantime…” The Sheriff allows his posture to relax a little as he meets her eyes. “ It would be best if we did not disturb the scene of the crime any further. Would you care for a coffee? It would be my treat, of course. I imagine this breaking and entering must have interrupted your morning quite rudely, and I should like to make that right, if you would allow me to.”

@swanprncess