Arthur and Pietro, Friday morning

[om_quicksilver]

Pietro serves Arthur with a characteristically obnoxious apology. Arthur somehow manages not to hurt him. There are varying degrees of cluelessness, but things... could be weirder?

All the gym time was starting to become something of a habit. Arthur had been in and out before, of course, but nothing as regularly as he had lately. The worst of the urges to hit things were gone but there was still something almost calming about the workout, whether there was anyone there or not. It was doing wonders to settle his head, anyway, when things got bad again.

It may have been the reason he was lingering in the locker room after his latest workout, not quite ready to head back into the school proper just yet. He'd already changed, slowly, and was putting his things away a lot more fastidiously than even Arthur really bothered with. Eventually, he'd have to stop putting it off. Just not yet.

Pietro came around the bank of lockers, gym bag in hand, ready to go a few rounds with a punching bag as soon as he could hop out of his jeans... and froze when he saw Arthur sitting there.

For weeks, now, he'd been avoiding the guy. Not because he wanted to, because really, once Eames had been (tentatively) forgiven, Pietro had wanted nothing more than to try and talk to Arthur himself. But he knew the guy well enough to realize that sometimes, just giving him some distance was the nicest thing anyone could do for Arthur.

And that it probably went doubly for someone he wanted to punch.

But Eames had assured him things were okay between them, now, and he was right there and and and...

Fuck it. Pietro set down his gym bag on a bench and said. "Hey."

He'd already started turning towards the sound of someone approaching when the voice made him stop completely. And it was ridiculous, and Arthur knew it, to treat Pietro any differently considering he'd forgiven Eames a while ago. If there was any blame there, it was definitely shared. Arthur knew that, logically.

It still didn't stop him from sounding more than a little cool as he returned the greeting. "Pietro."

Pietro winced a little, but honestly, he'd expected a lot worse. "So. This is awkward." He bit at his bottom lip for just a second, long enough to leave a little white indentation, then said, "But, I'm sorry."

Well, he never claimed to be a poet. Or anything much but to the point, really.

Arthur arched an eyebrow at him, letting that sink in for a long moment. "For which part?"

Though Pietro also cocked an eyebrow in a silent question, he still replied as bluntly as ever: "The part where I was still hooking up with Eames even after I had at least some idea it would hurt you if you knew." He'd said it to everyone but Arthur already, after all.

Would he do it differently, if he had to to do again? Maybe, with what he knew now. No way, otherwise, especially considering how annoyingly rattled he'd been by Eames cutting him off, in the end. But Pietro was definitely sorry.

There was a long moment of silence. "Thank you for that," Arthur finally said, utterly dry. "Was there anything else?"

Pietro's eyelashes fluttered briefly. Then, "Um. I"--an uncharacteristic hesitation, there--"don't know. Was that not the right thing to apologize for?"

He got an unimpressed look in return. "I'm just wondering what you expect," Arthur said. "Are you look for forgiveness or absolution?"

"I thought absolution was a thing the Catholic Church invented to make more money," Pietro said. "I'm too poor for that."

Arthur just rolled his eyes. "What do you want from me, Pietro?"

"We eliminated option B, but not option A." Pietro shifted his weight, shoving his hands into the pockets of his battered jeans. "But I don't get to ask you for things, right now. What do you want from me?"

He let out a breath, somewhere between frustrated and resigned. "I don't want anything from you." But Pietro had actually sought him out, and Arthur somehow doubted that he would be willing to leave it there. "Look," he said, turning to actually face him. "It happened. I won't say I'm not still angry, but it's done."

"It happened," Pietro agreed. "And me just saying I'm sorry doesn't fix anything. I know it, and you know it. Or you wouldn't be angry."

Unless... that was what Arthur wanted? Pietro hadn't considered that before. And... Well... Shit. His shoulders slumped.

"There isn't anything that's going to fix it. So we move on."

Pietro watched him for a very long time (for Pietro). But the Arthurface was, as ever, unreadable. "You mean you don't want to yell at me? Or ask me why? Or, um, punch me? Because you can totally punch me, if you want, just not the face, because Wanda will ask questions."

Also, Eames. But like hell he was saying that.

"Does the why matter?" Arthur gave him an arch look and rolled his shoulders slightly, as if to remind himself of the workout he'd just had. Punching someone might have seemed like a good idea at the time, now there was no point to it. Especially if it was being invited. "I'm not going to hit you."

Pietro sighed in obvious disappointment about the hitting, but hey, fair enough. "The why doesn't matter unless it matters to you, so no. But..." Again, totally uncharacteristically, Pietro paused.

He was totally thrown off. He'd expected something. A question, if not a hit. This was just, completely, like.

Ugh. Arthur.

That eyebrow arched upwards again. "Would it make you feel better if I yelled at you?" Because Arthur wasn't going to budge on the punching thing. He still struggled enough with going up against people he knew could fight back.

Pietro shook his head. "Who cares what makes me feel better? I'm just trying to figure out how to... de-angrify you."

"I'm working on it," Arthur said just a little flatly as he climbed to his feet.

Pietro leaned against the nearest locker with one hip and running a hand through his hair. It felt wrong. Like Pietro just said, Oh, gosh, I'm sorry, and now Arthur said, Oh, well, thanks but I'm still angry but maybe I won't be someday, and... what?

Now they just wished it away or ignored it? Yeah, not a thing, not when it's your best friend's boyfriend, or the other way around.

But Pietro didn't know what else to do. "Okay. I just. I mean, I don't even know what you're angry about, exactly. Like, because I'm a horrible friend? Because you think it was more than it actually was, with me and Eames? Because I enable his poor decisions constantly and this is one particularly bad example? Any, all, things I haven't even thought of yet? I could at least apologize better if I knew."

"How about," Arthur said, slightly too evenly, "because by your own admittance you knew it was something that would hurt me and you did it anyway?"

Pietro scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. "Right. The big thing. I just thought maybe there'd be, like, additional satellite things that--"

He stopped himself, again uncharacteristically, mid-sentence. Having run out of patience with his own nonsense entirely. "I did. And that's not why I did it, obviously. I'm just kind of fucked up. But I swear, I feel really terrible, and I will, like, stop taking out my fucked-upness on other people."

He considered pointing out that he was already trying, but shit, if he didn't even care right then, he really didn't expect Arthur to.

"So I'm not sure what it is you want me to say," Arthur said with a quiet sigh as he turned back to face him. "It was a shit thing. You know it, I know it. I could say a whole lot of things about what I know about you now, but what's the point? It's not going to make you feel any worse than you apparently already do and it's not going to make me feel any better.

"And it doesn't matter what I think anyway," he added with a slightly humorless smile. "You're Eames' friend, and god knows anything I say wouldn't change that even if I was petty enough to try. So now, it's my problem. I'm dealing with it. The end."

You have to want to fuck someone to want to forgive them for being horrible. And Pietro had to admit, if that was the situation, it was fair enough. He slumped more heavily against the locker and, in the briefest of pauses, worked worked his way through a huge amount of frustration. Arthur thought he knew, but he didn't. Even Eames didn't; Pietro had made sure of that.

But he guessed that was all fair enough too.

"If your problem is that I'm Eames' friend, then yeah. No one can help with that." Another barely there pause, in which Pietro was mostly surprised at his absence of insecurity, on that point. "But if the problem is that you don't want to be angry at me anymore, then that's my problem, too. And I'm not totally sure how these things work, but I figured talking about it was a good starting point."

Arthur gave him a long sideways look. "So even your apologies are all about you?" Though it was a lot less sharp than it could have been. "Honestly," he added as he folded his arms across his chest, "why do you care what my opinion of you is? I'm sure you'd survive if we stopped talking."

Pietro winced. "I thought the apology was about us," he admitted, far more slowly than usual. "I thought you wouldn't care as much if you didn't think I was someone who should've known better. As in a friend. And I thought that meant I should try to make it better, so I could be again.

"But. I guess. I was wrong." He held out his hands just at hip level and spread his fingers. Kind of like... I give up.

There was a long moment of silence where Arthur studied him like Pietro was some new, fascinating species he'd never seen before. Someone was way out of their depth here, and Arthur was starting to suspect it was both of them. Too bad they were still on different levels.

"You're not wrong," he said finally. "But you want to make it better? Fine. You're sorry. Let me process, and then move on. Because at the moment, all it seems is that you want me to be angrier."

"But I just--" said I want you not to be angry. But Pietro's brain was too fast to let him finish that sentence, no matter how confused. Especially after that long pause of intense examination, during which Pietro had shifted his weight no less than three times, albeit as subtly as possible. "Okay. Sorry."

He opened his mouth again. But this time, managed to close it. Now that he'd been told directly to shut the fuck up, and all.

"Look," Arthur said, all carefully leashed patience and somehow almost softer despite himself, "you like talking things thought. I get it. I don't. So if there's something you want to hear from me, just tell me. Otherwise, let work it out on my own. I got over it with Eames, I'll get over it with you."

Pietro seriously did not understand at this point why there wasn't attempted punching. Or at least yelling. It was going in the opposite direction, and he had no idea how.

He shoved his hands back into his pockets and just shook his head. "Just. Tell me if you want to know... anything. Or change your mind about the punching. Or whatever."

"I am pretty certain that there is nothing you could tell me that would make the situation any better," was Arthur's utterly dry response as he finally moved to gather his things. He needed to get out of there before Pietro kept poking at him until he finally did snap. Somehow he doubted that would end well for anyone. "And I don't hit people who can't fight back."

Pietro had soooo not expected that response that he barked out a sudden--albeit awkward--laugh. "Wait--you mean, you can drop me with one hit?"

"Possibly," Arthur said, and used the slight shrug that went with it to shoulder his bag. "I'd rather not find out."

"If that's all that's holding you back, don't let it stop you." Pietro pushed off the locker and unzipped his bag, producing a pair of track pants and a roll of tape. "I mean, while Eames has been pining for you, I've been pining for Laura. And her idea of flirting occasionally involves sparring. So, you know. I can take a hit, if you really feel the need. Not that I'm all that keen to find out, either. But whatever it takes."

Okay, the sparring was new on their ever-growing menu of activities, but yeah. Somehow, being bruised up by Arthur just didn't have the same appeal. Somehow.

"If you desperately feel a need to get hit, we'll spar sometime." Arthur gave him one last measuring look and shook his head. "Otherwise? Drop it."

Pietro rolled his eyes--but only because he had his back turned. Okay, fine, no actual talking, no mood-lightening nonsense. A whole lot of nothing was what Arthur wanted, then that was what he'd get--minus the attitude.

In a superfast blur, he had his jeans and button-down off, an undertank and track pants on, and a locker open. He tucked his pants into the shelf on top and his bag into the bottom, and the roll of tape around his wrist. "See you at the show, then." He closed the locker.

Comments

[om_touchstone]

Seriously. This is how every argument with my sister turns out. Me with the Arthur, and her with the Pietro.

[om_quicksilver]

I feel like Arthur deserves a medal for this and he's not even real. Or related to Pietro.

You DEFINITELY DESERVE... a nice bottle of Champagne, at LEAST. Every time.