Hey guys! I'm back!

This is a story examining Peter's relationships with certain women who've impacted his life. It's a companion piece to my story Heartbreak Warfare, which looks at the men who've affected Olivia's life, so if you haven't read that yet, please go and check it out. This one's ended up a lot longer than Heartbreak Warfare but oh well…

Just a warning, my Russian and Greek speaking is admittedly sketchy, so forgive me if I get something wrong in this story. Translations are at the end of each chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show

Part 1: Childhood

In the night, Peter cries.

She's used to it by now. He always gets restless when his father is away. He wakes up alone in the dark and cries out, just wanting to be held. But this doesn't bother Elizabeth, because when Walter is away for work, she often finds herself in more need of affection from her son.

Getting out of bed, she wanders to her son's room, where the 11-month-old is fussing in his cot. "Shhh," she whispers, reaching out to soothe him. "What's the matter, agoraki mou? Do you miss Baba?"

Little Peter whimpers a little and buries his face against the crook of her neck, comforted by the smell of her. She loves holding him like this, feeling his breath tickle her skin and his tiny palms press against her, holding her near. She melts into his warmth, and the milky scent of him, and the way his light dusting of brown hair grazes her cheek.

Her husband always says Peter looks like her, but all she sees when she looks down on him is his father. Peter and Walter have a simply adorable relationship. Walter's face lights up whenever they're together. Elizabeth is the tough one, trying to discipline her son, but her husband always gives Peter sugary things he's not allowed to eat, simply because he can't resist spoiling the boy. On Sundays, Walter makes pancakes for the family. He makes Peter's in the shape of whales. Whenever they're doing something cheeky together, Peter and Walter smile at each other like people sharing a secret do - slyly, like they've been plotting mischievous schemes all day. Elizabeth loves to stand back and watch these interactions, fiercely in love with them both.

Peter's calm now, babbling to himself and playing with strands of his mother's curly hair. "Hi Peter," she whispers to him, gently smoothing a hand over his head.

"Mama," he giggles, grinning up at her and pressing his little hands against her cheeks.

She laughs and kisses him. "Look at you talking!" she praises. "You're getting so big, kamari mou. Stop growing up!"

The little boy gurgles in response and goes back to playing with her hair. There's a low hum in the air now, and she turns to see that out the window, a blimp is flying overhead. "Look, Peter!" she whispers, pointing outside. She sees his gaze flick to her, recognising the sound of his name, before following the direction of her hand. "Look at the blimp in the sky! Your Baba's coming home on one of those soon."

Peter watches the shiny blimp float slowly across the sky, mesmerised by it, before yawning adorably and resting his cheek against her chest once more. "Go to sleep, darling," she whispers to him.

Her baby nestles against her and she sighs, wishing she could guard him from the dangers of the world. It seems unfathomable that it's been a whole year since he was safe in her belly, kicking along to the classical music Walter would make her listen to. He's growing up so fast already. Of course, she imagines great things for his future, but sometimes she wishes she could keep him locked in this simple age forever, where she can love him, and protect him, make sure no harm ever comes to him.

Seeing his eyelids begin to droop, she kisses his forehead, lingering for a moment to murmur in his hair. "S'agapo, moro mou," she says, meaning it with all her heart.

I love you, my baby.

When he gets home from school, Peter's mother bombards him with questions all night. How was your day? Do you like this school? Are your teachers good? Were people nice to you? Did you make any friends?

He's been there for a week but she interrogates him like it's his first day.

He answers positively to each question, though in all honesty, he doesn't like it here. They moved to Allston recently when his mother stopped being able to afford the mortgage on their old house. They're in an apartment now. It's a reasonable size for the two of them, but there's a train station nearby and the rumbling keeps him up at night. The kids at his school weren't particularly horrible. He mostly kept to himself. After being mostly homeschooled by his mother in Reiden Lake or Cambridge, it's odd being around so many people his own age. She's been working so hard she can't home school him anymore, and while this causes her much anxiety, he finds it a welcome relief. It'd be nice to actually make some friends, but for some reason his mother seems afraid something terrible will happen to him if she ever lets him experience the world outside their home.

"Did you really have a good time at school today?" she asks him again before bed, running a hand through his hair affectionately. "Are you sure you're alright?"

He sighs, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "Nai, Mama. Olo ine endaxi." They speak a mixture of Greek and English at home, but usually Greek works better at calming her down.

She smiles a little, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Smoothing some of his hair away, she kisses his forehead. "S'agapo, agapi mou."

"S'agapo, Mama."

Looking into her eyes, he sees her heart break a little when he calls her his mother. She's always done this, but he doesn't understand why. Whenever he says anything remotely affectionate, or acknowledges her as his mother, something flickers in her eyes that he can't diagnose. Is it fear? Regret? Shame?

No, he decides. It's definitely guilt. And pain.

She must just be sad about the mortgage, he thinks.

Tonight, her eyes even tear up a little. "I know this is hard, Peter," she says. "I miss our old house too. But I'm doing my best, darling. I only want to do what's best for you."

"I know, Mom. It's OK. It's not your fault."

She forces another gentle smile, and he hopes with everything he has that he's made her feel a little better. He doesn't want her to blame herself for where they ended up. Because it's not her fault at all. It's his.

She kisses him once more, soundly. "Petros mou, einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy," she whispers into his hair as she holds him close. It's a quiet plea, but he knows that she needs this from him. She needs him to be everything he wasn't. Because he ruined everything.

"I will, Mom," he promises.

"Parakalo," she begs softly.

"It's OK, Mom," he tells her, holding her tighter. He feels her rest her chin on the top of his head, and although he can't see her, he's sure she's trying not to cry. "It's OK, I'm right here."

He hopes that those words are enough to comfort her for now. In that moment, he truly realises the pressure that rests on his shoulders. His mother needs him to step up, study hard, get a job after school. He's the man of the house now. When he went to live in the hospital and they had to move to Allston, that was childhood's end.

He's not a kid anymore.

The realisation is a punch in the gut. It's just sad. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. One he can't swallow down.

He goes to bed and finds that he can't sleep. The trains are still rolling by, and the dodeskaden, dodeskaden, dodeskaden sound of the wheels on the tracks reverberates through the whole apartment. Sighing, he pulls out a Green Lantern comic he got on the way home from school today and starts reading. He could have sworn it was called Red Lantern, but apparently he was wrong. The guy at the comic book store had a good time embarrassing the thirteen year old about his confusion.

Sometimes on nights like these he hears his mother crying softly in her room, but he doesn't often approach her. He's sure it will only upset her, if she found out he knows exactly how upset she is. She's worked so hard to hide it from him. Tonight she's quiet. But that may not necessarily be a good thing.

He hesitantly steps out of his room to check on her, though he's pretending to raid the fridge for a midnight snack. He finds her passed out on the couch, an almost-empty wine bottle on the table next to her. Sighing, he finds a blanket and pulls it over her body, making sure she's alright.

It's then that he notices the small patch of blood staining her shirt near her wrist.

He sees this and wants to cry. She promised she would stop.

Pulling back the cuff of her shirt a little, he finds the small cut she's made, dried blood smearing her other light scars. It's only a small one tonight, and he's grateful that she hasn't done too much damage. Maybe she's getting better.

He's heard of other people doing this before. Cutting their wrists. Girls talked about doing it at school sometimes. Doing it doesn't necessarily mean you want to kill yourself, he's learned. Apparently it feels good – deliciously painful. It's a release. What the girls at school never mentioned was that if you cut too deep, you can ruin the tendons in your wrist. His mother still has trouble writing with that hand sometimes. The doctor said it might never completely heal.

But as far as that doctor knew, she'd cut herself accidentally on some glass. Peter had backed up this story. His mother had made him lie. He had been too afraid of what she'd do to herself if he disobeyed her.

Remembering that time, he shudders. "Please don't do it again, Mom," he whispers, pulling the cuff of her shirt over her scars, wishing he could make them go away. "You promised me you'd stop."

Peter realises he's crying and hastily wipes his face. He hates his life right now. He wants to go back to when things were happy. It's a dream-like place in the dark corners of his memory that he barely recalls, but he knows it existed once. A world where his mother and father were together, and happy, and where he was happy too. He dreams about that place sometimes. But that's all it is. A dream.

Knowing that his mother is safely passed out on the couch, Peter takes her keys and lets himself out. He's started sneaking out since they moved. He's started doing a lot of things he didn't do before. He swears a lot. He throws rocks at windows. He picks up every half-lit discarded cigarette he can find, even though they're practically useless. He shoplifts spray-paint and makes his mark on the walls of alleyways. He doesn't have any real reason for wanting to do these things. No reason except that he's angry.

He feels like a person wandering the earth without memory or context. He doesn't know anyone else whose Dad lives in a hospital. He doesn't know any other kid who has had to move to a crappy apartment because he's poor now, or whose Mom drinks so much she wants to die.

He is, and has always been, alone in the world.

Please leave a review! I'll post the next two parts soon. Coming up we take a look at the women/girls who made an impact on Peter in his teenage years. Stay tuned!

Oh, and please check out my story Heartbreak Warfare if you haven't already : )

Greek Translations:

Agoraki mou = My little boy

Kamari mou – I'm not sure if there's an English version of this, but it's a term of endearment you use for someone you are proud of

Baba = Dad/Daddy

Nai, Mama. Olo ine endaxi = Yes, Mom. Everything's fine.

S'agapo, agapi mou = I love you, my darling

Mou = means "my", but when used after a name can be a sign of affection, e.g. "Petros mou" is something like "My Peter"

Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera toy = "Be a better man than your father". The words used in the show, "Na einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera tou" translate to something more like "He is a better man than his father", or a wish like "May he be a better man than his father"

Parakalo = Please

Haha, sorry, I'm second generation Australian so my Greek isn't the best, lol. Please correct me in a review if I got something wrong