At No Time || Bruno Mars

77

"Oh, good; you're up."

Trystan was sure she would never fully understand Peter's sleeping schedule. She would find him awake at awkward times of the day. Sometimes, she would arise early, barely past six in the morning, and when she would go in the kitchen to retrieve a cup of coffee, she would see him, already sitting at the table with his laptop and endless manila folders before him. Some nights, he would say he was going to bed, but Trystan would awaken at the quiet shuffling she heard—a skill acquired from having a baby to always listen out for—and from her open door, she would see the soft glow of the kitchen light on and the soft clacking of computer keys.

This morning did not fail to showcase his abnormal agenda. Still wearing the clothes he had gone to bed in, he glanced up from his laptop to look at her. "Oh, yeah; just thought I'd get some work in."

"Isn't it your day off?"

"Yeah, but y'know–," he lifted a heavy file with a playfully smug look, "–there's always something that has to be done."

"Damn," Trystan muttered as she went to sit across from him. She found their proximity easier to deal with after the evening spent with Raina doing her hair, but she was still cautious. He had yet to speak with her about the outburst at Dr. Chavez's office, so she operated around him with a prudence. "Had I known you'd been doing work today, I would've rescheduled."

"Rescheduled what?"

She offered him a small smile before relaying, "I'm going over to Lique's to get my hair done. It wasn't really planned, kind of an "in the moment" thing that happened last night. I texted her and she's graciously allowing me over."

Peter took a glimpse of her hair, piled high into a puffy mound, wondering for a moment what she was getting done to it before meeting her eyes again. "'Graciously'? I thought you already apologized."

"Yeah, well, if there's anything to know about Angelique, it's that an apology isn't an apology until it's said to her face. But it's cool; I've got a few tricks up my sleeve to win her over. But if you want to get your work done, I can tell her I'll stop by another day. I know Dew can be a handful–,"

"No, it's all right," Peter assured. "Go ahead. I can multitask."

Trystan gave him an, No, you probably can't multitask with a near-four-year-old in your wake look, and Peter caught on and chuckled lightly.

"Seriously, I'll be fine. We'll have a daddy-daughter day and I'll be able finish up these briefings for next week."

Trystan held up her hands and snickered. "Okay. I'll hold you to it." She stood and grabbed her purse from off the table top. Swinging it onto her shoulder, she advised she did not know when she would be back. "It'll definitely be later tonight, but if you need anything, just call me. Her favorite snacks and games, I'm just a text away."

"Trystan," Peter chortled, "I got it. Go and reacquaint with your best friend. Dew won't be any trouble at all."

"All right, all right," she finally let it go, though she was sure he would not be able to keep to his word.

"Give Dew a good morning kiss for me," she said over her shoulder before quietly escaping out the door.

Trystan would live for the day when she was able to drive herself around again. It must have been torture for Oliver to show up at the condo's front entrance every time she needed to go out somewhere that would be too far to walk to, no matter how early or late. But still, he greeted her with his typical smile and "Where to, Ms. Wildes?"

She arrived on Angelique's doorstep, a paper bag of breakfast and two coffees in hand. She used her foot to knock on the door, a secret tactic they used to use when they were younger that came in hand now since Trystan's fists were occupied.