[Fic: We were the only ones]
Just trying to see if I have a feel for him. Dialog and some action taken from the pilot episode of Mad Men, which I have over analyzed to find Pete's thought process.
Pete didn't totally know what he was doing, knocking on her door. He knew he was drunk, and he knew logically it was far too early in the evening for him to be drunk enough to be doing this, his head resting against her door frame as he knocked. The door opened and he stumbled back, blinking in the dim light of the hall at a woman who was definitely not Peggy.
His heart hammered in his chest as the woman--not the woman he was looking for, not the woman he wanted--said something about buying things and began to close the door. No. He reached out, stopped the door from closing and made some excuse, just let his mouth run without really thinking about it before getting to the point. "Does Peggy live here?" It wasn't a real question. He knew she did, he had looked it up in the free phone book from the phone booth outside the bar. He never forgot an address once he'd committed it to memory. The woman told him to hold on, then shut the door. Pete took another step or two back, swaying as the world spun around him, adjusted his collar where it chafed his neck. Then the door opened and there she was, Peggy, in her bathrobe. She was prettier than he had originally given her credit for, though in his defense he hadn't really been able to get to the good parts before Draper stepped in. He smiled at her, or he hoped it was a smile. His whole face felt kind of fuzzy, so he wasn't totally sure what his muscles were doing. She seemed to be half-smiling back though, and his heartbeat sped up as she dismissed the other woman and stepped out into the hall, stepped closer to him, shutting the door behind her.
He had no idea what to do. He hadn't gone into this with a fully formulated plan, or even a half-way formulated plan. What had he come here for? He asked an inane question and she gave him an equally inane answer, an answer he barely heard because he knew exactly what he was going to say next.
"I'm gettin' married tomorrow," he informed her the second the last word of her sentence had left her mouth.
"I heard that." Her tone was cold, stiff, barely tolerant. Pete scoffed--at himself, not at her--and looked at his feet.
"You must think I'm a creep," he said, and bit his tongue. He was a creep, a drunken creep who had no idea what he was doing standing outside an innocent girl's door mere hours before his own wedding. He was nothing but a creep who skulked around the office hitting on anything that moved. He was a creep who was going nowhere with his life.
"Why are you here?" The question was simple, but the answer was not. Why was he here? He couldn't just not give her an answer, and he certainly couldn't give her any of the reasons that immediately popped into his head. Because he was scared of getting married and settling down. Because Draper had stopped him earlier and Draper always got what Pete wanted and Pete was sick of it. Because another girl had rejected him this evening. Because he had nowhere else to go. Because he thought, really, she was beautiful. Finally he lifted his head and took a step forward, standing over Peggy at the door to her apartment. He inhaled. She smelled like soap, fresh and innocnet, nothing like the flowery, faintly musky perfume the other women at the office wore. She smelled pure.
"I wanted to see you tonight," he said, not at her, not to her. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud he was sure she could hear it, so hard he knew she must have been able to see it thump from where she stood. They were so close, he could have pulled her into him, could have pressed against her, could have kissed her, but he didn't. He didn't want to ruin her, to ruin this moment they were having together.
"Me?" Pete couldn't tell what he heard in her voice--confusion, disgust, fear, surprise? Could there be longing? What could he say that would just make her stay with him a little while longer, that would give him an excuse to stay here and avoid his apartment and avoid tomorrow and avoid 'til death do us part?
"I had to see you," he whispered, not daring to look at her, not daring to take a breath. The pause was the longest moment of his life and then he lowered his gaze, telling himself it was just to see the gray roots in her hair, only to find she was already looking up at him. The silent, half-inhaled breath hitched in his throat. She dropped her hands and for a moment he thought she was going to say good night as she opened the door and called to her roommate that she was going to bed. He almost said 'No, don't go', but then she took his hand and led him into her apartment.
He closed his eyes before she shut the door, kept them closed as she pushed him back onto her bed, covered with a quilt his mother would have called 'quaint' in that disgusted tone of voice often reserved for him. He opened his eyes as she climbed on top of him, straddling his torso, stared up into her face with his expression blank as she looked back down at him, then reached out and stroked his cheek. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then slid his hand up her arm and behind her back, sitting up so she rested on his lap, her legs wrapped around him. He slid the other hand behind her head and kissed her, his lips buzzing as she pulled away. He went up her jawline and down her neck, nibbling as he went. Neither of them said a word, as he lifted his mouth to hers again and lay back down, letting her hands slide down his chest to his belt while he worked at the tie in her bathrobe. She withdrew from the kiss to pull of his pants, and he just lay there, arms outstretched, not thinking of anything except the way he buzzed all over, and how perfect this was and how perfect she was and how much he wanted time to stop at this moment and never move a second forward.
Word count: 1059
Pete didn't totally know what he was doing, knocking on her door. He knew he was drunk, and he knew logically it was far too early in the evening for him to be drunk enough to be doing this, his head resting against her door frame as he knocked. The door opened and he stumbled back, blinking in the dim light of the hall at a woman who was definitely not Peggy.
His heart hammered in his chest as the woman--not the woman he was looking for, not the woman he wanted--said something about buying things and began to close the door. No. He reached out, stopped the door from closing and made some excuse, just let his mouth run without really thinking about it before getting to the point. "Does Peggy live here?" It wasn't a real question. He knew she did, he had looked it up in the free phone book from the phone booth outside the bar. He never forgot an address once he'd committed it to memory. The woman told him to hold on, then shut the door. Pete took another step or two back, swaying as the world spun around him, adjusted his collar where it chafed his neck. Then the door opened and there she was, Peggy, in her bathrobe. She was prettier than he had originally given her credit for, though in his defense he hadn't really been able to get to the good parts before Draper stepped in. He smiled at her, or he hoped it was a smile. His whole face felt kind of fuzzy, so he wasn't totally sure what his muscles were doing. She seemed to be half-smiling back though, and his heartbeat sped up as she dismissed the other woman and stepped out into the hall, stepped closer to him, shutting the door behind her.
He had no idea what to do. He hadn't gone into this with a fully formulated plan, or even a half-way formulated plan. What had he come here for? He asked an inane question and she gave him an equally inane answer, an answer he barely heard because he knew exactly what he was going to say next.
"I'm gettin' married tomorrow," he informed her the second the last word of her sentence had left her mouth.
"I heard that." Her tone was cold, stiff, barely tolerant. Pete scoffed--at himself, not at her--and looked at his feet.
"You must think I'm a creep," he said, and bit his tongue. He was a creep, a drunken creep who had no idea what he was doing standing outside an innocent girl's door mere hours before his own wedding. He was nothing but a creep who skulked around the office hitting on anything that moved. He was a creep who was going nowhere with his life.
"Why are you here?" The question was simple, but the answer was not. Why was he here? He couldn't just not give her an answer, and he certainly couldn't give her any of the reasons that immediately popped into his head. Because he was scared of getting married and settling down. Because Draper had stopped him earlier and Draper always got what Pete wanted and Pete was sick of it. Because another girl had rejected him this evening. Because he had nowhere else to go. Because he thought, really, she was beautiful. Finally he lifted his head and took a step forward, standing over Peggy at the door to her apartment. He inhaled. She smelled like soap, fresh and innocnet, nothing like the flowery, faintly musky perfume the other women at the office wore. She smelled pure.
"I wanted to see you tonight," he said, not at her, not to her. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud he was sure she could hear it, so hard he knew she must have been able to see it thump from where she stood. They were so close, he could have pulled her into him, could have pressed against her, could have kissed her, but he didn't. He didn't want to ruin her, to ruin this moment they were having together.
"Me?" Pete couldn't tell what he heard in her voice--confusion, disgust, fear, surprise? Could there be longing? What could he say that would just make her stay with him a little while longer, that would give him an excuse to stay here and avoid his apartment and avoid tomorrow and avoid 'til death do us part?
"I had to see you," he whispered, not daring to look at her, not daring to take a breath. The pause was the longest moment of his life and then he lowered his gaze, telling himself it was just to see the gray roots in her hair, only to find she was already looking up at him. The silent, half-inhaled breath hitched in his throat. She dropped her hands and for a moment he thought she was going to say good night as she opened the door and called to her roommate that she was going to bed. He almost said 'No, don't go', but then she took his hand and led him into her apartment.
He closed his eyes before she shut the door, kept them closed as she pushed him back onto her bed, covered with a quilt his mother would have called 'quaint' in that disgusted tone of voice often reserved for him. He opened his eyes as she climbed on top of him, straddling his torso, stared up into her face with his expression blank as she looked back down at him, then reached out and stroked his cheek. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then slid his hand up her arm and behind her back, sitting up so she rested on his lap, her legs wrapped around him. He slid the other hand behind her head and kissed her, his lips buzzing as she pulled away. He went up her jawline and down her neck, nibbling as he went. Neither of them said a word, as he lifted his mouth to hers again and lay back down, letting her hands slide down his chest to his belt while he worked at the tie in her bathrobe. She withdrew from the kiss to pull of his pants, and he just lay there, arms outstretched, not thinking of anything except the way he buzzed all over, and how perfect this was and how perfect she was and how much he wanted time to stop at this moment and never move a second forward.
Word count: 1059