The crew from Pearson Spector comes in often, and after the time they attempt to slip Peter the House Special, he doesn’t come with them. It’s highly possible he’s interested in a better class of friends, a better class of establishment, et cetera, but there’s something about it Freya finds slightly disappointing. She’s always interested in making new friends, and everyone is abuzz about the new pack in town.
Not that Laura Hale has been here or alpha-ing long, but Hales are Hales. Everyone with any kind of clout is clamoring to do her a favor. The sooner you can get her in your debt, the sooner you have a piece of leverage over everyone else. Now Freya, specifically, isn’t after a favor. It’s always best to test the waters, see what to make of the new packs in the area and how they feel about witches—Mikaelson witches specifically. But sometimes, a little leverage didn’t hurt either.
Just because she’s friendly doesn’t mean she lacks ambition.
Still, the assumption has her recalculating her approach, wondering if it might be worth it to send in one of the younger Mikaelsons. Find out where the youngest of the Hales is attending school and if she is amenable to friends. She’s flexible with her options. But before she can put any of those options into action, the door to her bar swings open, and in comes the man in question.
Her head tips to the side curiously, pausing in her wiping down of the bar to study him. “Well. Isn’t this a surprise?”
Peter raises an eyebrow as he moves closer, taking an empty spot at the bar. Most of the spots are empty aside from a few nocturnal cryptids who like to patronize the place, usually with varying flavors of fae. “Not expecting to see me again?”
“Your lawyer friends have been back, but you haven’t.” Freya shrugs. “I thought it might be a sign.”
“Mmmm. I think your wrong assumption there was that those people were my friends. That is not the case.”
“Ah. My mistake.” She offers him the menu from the stand. “In that case, what’s your poison?”
“Not going to offer me the House Special?”
“I think you and I both know that I’m not in the habit of coercing my customers into something they don’t want.”
She likes to think she proved that to him the last time they met, otherwise he wouldn’t be standing here now. Her head tips to the side as she takes him in again, letting the distractions of his appearance be just that, distractions, and focus on seeing past them. As much as his suit is immaculate, his demeanor calm, she’s picking up the cracks in the picture.
His tie is slightly askew. She doesn’t have to be a werewolf to hear the way his heel drums ever so softly against the wooden floor of the bar. The way his thumb currently worries over one knuckle. She doesn’t know him well, but she’s observed enough people to pick up a few ticks, here and there.
“Unless you do want the House Special?”
Peter glances back over his shoulder before leaning in closer, dropping his voice. “I’ve never been that way before.” Admitting weakness to someone is difficult for him. She can tell from the tension in his voice. “But—tonight is a night where I find myself in need of getting out of my head, and I’m out of options.”
Freya eyes him quietly before glancing out at the rest of the bar. “And you’re coming to me?”
“I’m hoping that I can trust you.” He doesn’t sound like he can. Peter Hale certainly doesn’t seem like a man who trusts easily. But he’s mostly trusting her not to take advantage of him while he’s drunk—not with the life of his firstborn.
“Elijah? Can you take over for a bit?” Her brother nods, and she grabs two glasses and one of the enchanted bottles of whiskey from behind the bar. Then she turns to Peter with a nod. “Follow me.”
Peter hesitates, glancing around to the rest of the bar, before nodding and following. They don’t head towards the Mikaelson apartments, but head to the roof of the bar, where the wind and sounds of the city whip around them. There are two lawn chairs stretched out in a sheltered portion of the roof, with a small table for the drinks.
“Have a seat.” She gestures to one of them and goes to pour them the first two shots. “I’m not normally a whiskey girl, but the spell ruins the taste of tequila.”
Peter snorts. “I wasn’t aware magic had a flavor profile.”
“It does. When you’re sensitive enough to notice.” She pushes the glass out to the side once it’s full. “Sip it slowly, not too much too fast. That’s everyone’s first mistake, and then you’ll be in real trouble.”
“How does it work?” he asks, studying the amber liquid carefully.
“Blah blah magic blah blah enchantment.” She gives a small shrug. “Honestly, it’s not my recipe. But according to my brother Kol, it essentially forces your body to metabolize it like a normal human would. This allows the alcohol to perform all the normal reactions.”
Peter nods, before taking a slow sip as instructed. He licks his lips, before shrugging as he stretches back on the lounge chair. “Nice flavor.”
“Thank you.” Freya sighs as she takes her own sip. “You know, I really am surprised you came back. Nobody warned you about me?”
Peter smirks. “That’s usually my line.” He shakes his head. “But no. No one did. Mostly because I don’t think anyone thought I would actually be in your company, and I didn’t ask.”
“Mikaelson tell you all you needed to know?”
“No. Though it raised a few eyebrows.” He takes another sip, and his posture is already relaxing. “But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make friends in extreme places.”
“Another thing we have in common,” she admits with a smirk. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”
“Friends,” he nods slowly. “I can do friends.”
Friends it is. They pour another couple rounds, and Peter seems much looser, so she has to ask. “I am curious. What brought you to my doorstep tonight?”
His head tips back, staring up at the stars. “Today’s the anniversary of my sister’s death. And it’s my fault.”
Freya raises an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that, or your niece wouldn’t be the alpha.” She knows how werewolves work.
He shakes his head, and the words keep tumbling, almost as though he can’t stop them. Alcohol will do that. “I didn’t kill her. But I might as well have. I trusted the wrong person, and she was the one who killed her.”
Freya’s face sobers, and she pours him another glass. She knows all too well the pain of trusting the wrong people and the things it could cost you. She’s not sure she’s right to be trusted with this, but she can’t unknow it now. Might as well prove that his drunken ramblings are not in the wrong hands.
After they finish the last glass, she stands and offers him her hands to pull him up. “Come. We should get you in a cab.”
He shakes his head but takes her hands anyway, using her as a counterweight. “No. Can’t go home like this.”
This is normally where she would have told most people that like the song, they don’t have to go home, but they can’t stay here. But as Peter stumbles closer to her, she can’t quite bring herself to kick him out into the cold. She licks her lips. “Peter—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t. You barely know me.”
“That goes both ways.” She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Alright. But you’re gone in the morning, understand? And if any of my siblings catch you, you came early for witch business.”
“Understood.” He gives her a small, drunken salute, and she shakes her head before sneaking him down to her rooms. She deposits him gently on the couch before escaping to clean up, and by the time she returns with the glasses and whiskey, Peter is asleep, relaxed and peaceful and she feels a stirring of something she hasn’t felt in a long time.
“Oh, Freya,” she murmurs to herself as she closes the door behind her. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Feelings are certainly not the leverage she had in mind, but unfortunately for her, the heart wants what the heart wants.
10/2 ~ nobody warned you about me? ~ darkest timeline (original timeline) ~ 1,446
The crew from Pearson Spector comes in often, and after the time they attempt to slip Peter the House Special, he doesn’t come with them. It’s highly possible he’s interested in a better class of friends, a better class of establishment, et cetera, but there’s something about it Freya finds slightly disappointing. She’s always interested in making new friends, and everyone is abuzz about the new pack in town.
Not that Laura Hale has been here or alpha-ing long, but Hales are Hales. Everyone with any kind of clout is clamoring to do her a favor. The sooner you can get her in your debt, the sooner you have a piece of leverage over everyone else. Now Freya, specifically, isn’t after a favor. It’s always best to test the waters, see what to make of the new packs in the area and how they feel about witches—Mikaelson witches specifically. But sometimes, a little leverage didn’t hurt either.
Just because she’s friendly doesn’t mean she lacks ambition.
Still, the assumption has her recalculating her approach, wondering if it might be worth it to send in one of the younger Mikaelsons. Find out where the youngest of the Hales is attending school and if she is amenable to friends. She’s flexible with her options. But before she can put any of those options into action, the door to her bar swings open, and in comes the man in question.
Her head tips to the side curiously, pausing in her wiping down of the bar to study him. “Well. Isn’t this a surprise?”
Peter raises an eyebrow as he moves closer, taking an empty spot at the bar. Most of the spots are empty aside from a few nocturnal cryptids who like to patronize the place, usually with varying flavors of fae. “Not expecting to see me again?”
“Your lawyer friends have been back, but you haven’t.” Freya shrugs. “I thought it might be a sign.”
“Mmmm. I think your wrong assumption there was that those people were my friends. That is not the case.”
“Ah. My mistake.” She offers him the menu from the stand. “In that case, what’s your poison?”
“Not going to offer me the House Special?”
“I think you and I both know that I’m not in the habit of coercing my customers into something they don’t want.”
She likes to think she proved that to him the last time they met, otherwise he wouldn’t be standing here now. Her head tips to the side as she takes him in again, letting the distractions of his appearance be just that, distractions, and focus on seeing past them. As much as his suit is immaculate, his demeanor calm, she’s picking up the cracks in the picture.
His tie is slightly askew. She doesn’t have to be a werewolf to hear the way his heel drums ever so softly against the wooden floor of the bar. The way his thumb currently worries over one knuckle. She doesn’t know him well, but she’s observed enough people to pick up a few ticks, here and there.
“Unless you do want the House Special?”
Peter glances back over his shoulder before leaning in closer, dropping his voice. “I’ve never been that way before.” Admitting weakness to someone is difficult for him. She can tell from the tension in his voice. “But—tonight is a night where I find myself in need of getting out of my head, and I’m out of options.”
Freya eyes him quietly before glancing out at the rest of the bar. “And you’re coming to me?”
“I’m hoping that I can trust you.” He doesn’t sound like he can. Peter Hale certainly doesn’t seem like a man who trusts easily. But he’s mostly trusting her not to take advantage of him while he’s drunk—not with the life of his firstborn.
“Elijah? Can you take over for a bit?” Her brother nods, and she grabs two glasses and one of the enchanted bottles of whiskey from behind the bar. Then she turns to Peter with a nod. “Follow me.”
Peter hesitates, glancing around to the rest of the bar, before nodding and following. They don’t head towards the Mikaelson apartments, but head to the roof of the bar, where the wind and sounds of the city whip around them. There are two lawn chairs stretched out in a sheltered portion of the roof, with a small table for the drinks.
“Have a seat.” She gestures to one of them and goes to pour them the first two shots. “I’m not normally a whiskey girl, but the spell ruins the taste of tequila.”
Peter snorts. “I wasn’t aware magic had a flavor profile.”
“It does. When you’re sensitive enough to notice.” She pushes the glass out to the side once it’s full. “Sip it slowly, not too much too fast. That’s everyone’s first mistake, and then you’ll be in real trouble.”
“How does it work?” he asks, studying the amber liquid carefully.
“Blah blah magic blah blah enchantment.” She gives a small shrug. “Honestly, it’s not my recipe. But according to my brother Kol, it essentially forces your body to metabolize it like a normal human would. This allows the alcohol to perform all the normal reactions.”
Peter nods, before taking a slow sip as instructed. He licks his lips, before shrugging as he stretches back on the lounge chair. “Nice flavor.”
“Thank you.” Freya sighs as she takes her own sip. “You know, I really am surprised you came back. Nobody warned you about me?”
Peter smirks. “That’s usually my line.” He shakes his head. “But no. No one did. Mostly because I don’t think anyone thought I would actually be in your company, and I didn’t ask.”
“Mikaelson tell you all you needed to know?”
“No. Though it raised a few eyebrows.” He takes another sip, and his posture is already relaxing. “But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make friends in extreme places.”
“Another thing we have in common,” she admits with a smirk. “Does this mean we’re friends now?”
“Friends,” he nods slowly. “I can do friends.”
Friends it is. They pour another couple rounds, and Peter seems much looser, so she has to ask. “I am curious. What brought you to my doorstep tonight?”
His head tips back, staring up at the stars. “Today’s the anniversary of my sister’s death. And it’s my fault.”
Freya raises an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that, or your niece wouldn’t be the alpha.” She knows how werewolves work.
He shakes his head, and the words keep tumbling, almost as though he can’t stop them. Alcohol will do that. “I didn’t kill her. But I might as well have. I trusted the wrong person, and she was the one who killed her.”
Freya’s face sobers, and she pours him another glass. She knows all too well the pain of trusting the wrong people and the things it could cost you. She’s not sure she’s right to be trusted with this, but she can’t unknow it now. Might as well prove that his drunken ramblings are not in the wrong hands.
After they finish the last glass, she stands and offers him her hands to pull him up. “Come. We should get you in a cab.”
He shakes his head but takes her hands anyway, using her as a counterweight. “No. Can’t go home like this.”
This is normally where she would have told most people that like the song, they don’t have to go home, but they can’t stay here. But as Peter stumbles closer to her, she can’t quite bring herself to kick him out into the cold. She licks her lips. “Peter—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t. You barely know me.”
“That goes both ways.” She takes a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Alright. But you’re gone in the morning, understand? And if any of my siblings catch you, you came early for witch business.”
“Understood.” He gives her a small, drunken salute, and she shakes her head before sneaking him down to her rooms. She deposits him gently on the couch before escaping to clean up, and by the time she returns with the glasses and whiskey, Peter is asleep, relaxed and peaceful and she feels a stirring of something she hasn’t felt in a long time.
“Oh, Freya,” she murmurs to herself as she closes the door behind her. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Feelings are certainly not the leverage she had in mind, but unfortunately for her, the heart wants what the heart wants.