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There was a moment, drunk on sunshine in the valley, when I almost kissed Bev.
I can't remember what we were talking about. I remember the gleam of the sun on her skin, the length of thigh exposed by her short shorts, the curves of her breasts under her baggy t shirt. I remember my face being close to hers; a sudden sway and giddiness and thinking why not?
But just as I leaned in, I leaned away again.
She glanced at me, curious, and then smiled.
My eyes dropped to her lips.
"Let me grab another drink," I managed, and a few seconds later I was in the cowbarn, confusion edging into brief anger and then amused resignation.
Beverley Brook is an attractive woman. But despite Lesley's suppositions, I've never actually wanted to sleep with her.
Bev gave me a quizzical look when I emerged again, since my drink hadn't even been half empty before.
Now, my first real effort at fighting off a genii locorum's influence in my head had been Lady Ty, and I'd blown up her fountain. Bev was maybe a friend, and I could do with getting through this with less of a diplomatic incident.
"You were messing with my head a bit, " I said honestly, tapping the bottle neck against the side of my head.
She frowned.
"So I just needed a minute. "
"I didn't do anything," she objected, stung.
I shrugged. "Felt like you did."
"I-" She paused, and I could practically see the defensive storm subside. She cocked her head. "Peter," she said, a tone of sudden delight, "are you uncomfortable coz you want me? Because I know a therapist that woul-"
"It was a bit like being hit over the head," I explained. "It didn't come from me."
Another frown.
I reached out and gently took her hand. "I think you're lovely," I said, "but not like that. They weren’t my feelings, Bev."
Her face flicked through several expressions, and, just for a second, I thought she'd cry.
Here's the thing about the rivers - they come imbued with a weight and presence that makes them feel ancient. But Beverly herself was pretty young. She'd maybe been nursing a crush on me since we'd met (I know, my ego speaks again) which had been frustrated by my lack of contact while she'd been upriver.
She, like most of the rivers, was used to getting whatever she wanted, as people fell all over themselves to do her bidding. Even, I suspected, if it wasn’t something she was deliberately trying to influence.
"It's alright," I said quietly.
She tugged her hand from under mine, crossed her arms under her breasts, stared into the orchard.
"I didn't mean to," she said after a minute. "I was just... I wasn't thinking. And I didn't think you'd mind, " she added, notes of hurt pride.
I smiled peaceably. "Seems to be a rivers’ thing. But please don't do it on me, Bev."
There was a moment, just a moment, where it could have swung the other way. Where her lips pouted and I thought she might bring the full force of her power to bear out of spite. Where maybe I wouldn't have been myself anymore.
Then she sighed, and I released the concentration I'd been building for an impello.
"I'll try,” she said.
Diplomacy, level up!
*
It happened a couple more times over the following week of chaos - of unicorns and fae - but I was better at recognising it earlier. The third time, it felt almost easy to pull my mind away from the lure, from the sweet smell and overwhelming desire to touch her. Like I was becoming a bit resistant, now that I knew what it was.
But it meant being on high alert all the time I was around her, which was a fair amount of the time. And then the fourth time, right before things really went to shit, I realised my theory of having some resistance was absolute bullshit, after I found myself kissing her after all.
We had a blow out argument.
It meant I was tired, and heartsore, and had totally failed at diplomacy after all. This time I hadn’t taken the few seconds to figure out what to say, and she’d got defensive and angry and just... Fuck.
So fucking tired.
Not the best frame of mind to be going into hostage negotiations or a kidnapping with.
It meant the oh thank fuck I felt when I saw Nightingale pull up in the road engine and face down a fae queen for me became oh thank fuck and I'll just kneel here on the bank and think about keeling over.
"Get on, Peter," he yelled, and God, I wanted to.
I wanted to be not here more than I'd wanted anything in a long time.
"Constable Grant." And this time it was a command, with iron and steel in it, and I dragged myself to my feet and the adrenaline kicked in.
I made a stumbling sprint for the road engine as Nightingale did something that started it in a slow reverse, and then I was leaping for the footplate and a strong hand gripped mine to yank me on board.
For a little while, there was only the great noise of the steam engine and the press of cool metal against my cheek, the feel of rivets pressing into my arse and back where I slumped against the back of the cabin.
I dragged myself upright eventually, going to join Nightingale at the controls.
"Are you alright, Peter?" He asked, head turning towards me so assessing eyes could scan me up and down.
I felt a bit unsteady on my feet. I felt terrible. I felt amazing.
"Alright, sir," I said with a wry grin.
And then I couldn't help myself - it was like gravity, or the tide going out. I swayed sideways until I was leaning against him, just a little, until I felt him straighten and ground his feet, and then I rested my weight on him, head gravitating to his shoulder. "Been a bit of a week," I mumbled.
"I can see that," he murmured, and just... I dunno. His voice, and his smell, and the fact that I really wanted to kiss him and it was actually me that wanted it, that he was here and I wasn't going to be lost in fairyland forever after all.
My breathing got a bit uneven for a bit. Neither of us mentioned it.