Eye Candy

Once a month Peter made a point of being up before the other three Ghostbusters and preparing a seriously heart-attack inducing breakfast. This month it happened that he chose to do so on a lazy Saturday morning, when the other three were due some down time after a hellacious week. Peter was still on the 'sick list' from a particularly nasty viral infection, although he was due to be cleared by the doctor on Monday. He planned on clearing himself from it if any emergency calls came in over the weekend; had the full team been available, the week wouldn't have been half as bad as it was.

Of course, if the week hadn't been that bad, then he would have had to have gotten up at seven to make breakfast this morning, instead of the still-early-but-not-quite-unheard-of eight.

He grinned to himself and turned off the last pan, scooted the slices of ham onto a plate and turned to survey the table. Egon was there, dressed for the day sans-tie, nose buried in the paper and muttering to himself about the state of the world.  His top button was still unbuttoned, and Peter could see a tiny tuft of chest hair, nearly as blond as his impossible mane, peeking out. Peter reached around the paper and set the still-warm plate in front of the physicist. That the contortions necessary to do so without wrinkling the paper or making Egon move just happened to bring him within nuzzling distance were entirely coincidental. Egon's quiet smile when he pulled back met his own widening grin, then Egon made a show of going back to his paper and Peter cat-footed around the table to the 'fridge.

Peter opened the door and leaned in, keeping his legs stiff and pulling the thin material of his old black jeans tight. Reaching for syrup and orange juice, he heard the paper snap sharply behind him and Egon mutter something under his breath. Mission accomplished; probability of Egon hiding out in the lab this morning less than two percent.

More movement behind him pulled his head out of the 'fridge to find Winston settling in at the table with a fresh cup of coffee, eyes still more than half-closed. It looked to Peter like a crawl through Ecto's innards was on Winston's schedule this morning; the man was dressed in a black t-shirt with several small tears and a pair of jeans worn thin at the seams. Peter leaned closer when he set the bottle and jug down in front of his brother. Was that...?

Peter put a finger under Winston's chin and turned the side of his face into the light. Surprised, Winston let him then wrinkled his nose at the concerned lift of one of Peter's eyebrows. Satisfied the long scrape and bruising developing under Winston's beard was nothing to be worried about he let Winston get back to his coffee while Peter finished putting the food on the table.

Just as he set down the last of the fruit Peter heard a shuffle and creak that could only be Ray making his way down the stairs at last.  Less than a minute later he was proved right when Ray joined them, still wrapped in robe and jammies, floppy-eared puppy slippers making every step an exercise in caution. His short, red hair stood straight up in spots, like a whole heard of cows had been licking it, and he was evidently ready to go back to bed, coming in while in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn.

Peter leaned back against the counter and pushed up the sleeves of his favorite cream-colored cable knit and picked up his own coffee. Ray looked ridiculously young in the mornings, and from the looks of things Winston agreed. Peter hid his smile in his cup but when he flicked his eyes over to Egon, they were met with a sparkling blue look in return. Good, all was well on that front. Not that he'd ever seriously thought Egon would object, but for a man that made logic and rationality his religion he could be completely irrational where Ray was concerned. Peter was completely convinced, however, that Winston would be able to care for the engineer the way he needed.

Pouring a cup of coffee for Ray--cream, no sugar--he reached across the table and set it in front of him. Ray mumbled what might be taken for appreciation from behind hands still scrubbing at the remnants of sleep in his eyes. Peter frowned, concerned. While Ray had his bad mornings like anybody, they were infrequent and never lasted beyond the bottom of the stairs. He reached out one hand to test Ray's temperature.

"Freeze!" Ray yelled, flinging his hands out in a warding gesture. "Nobody move!"

Obediently the other three Ghostbusters stopped where they were, Peter with his hand outstretched, Winston holding a forkful of waffles dripping syrup, and Egon in the act of turning the page of his paper. A stray glimmer of sunlight from the window sparked off the back of Ray's hand and revealed the problem to Peter.

"Oh, Ray, not again!" he said, then reached over to pluck the offending object off the back of Ray's hand, extending it on fingertip. "Here."

Ray blew out a breath. "Whew, thanks Peter," he said, carefully bushing the delicate plastic into his cupped hand. He made a face and then left, the flopping of his slippers against the metal stairs fading while he headed for the bathroom.

Peter slid comfortably into the vacant seat across from Winston. The man was still sitting there, mouth half open and a long strand of syrup reaching from waffles to plate beginning to harden.

"Y'know, eating those shows more admiration for a cook than just staring at them," Peter said, watching Winston over his coffee.

The fork dropped to Winston's plate with a clatter. "Ray's eyes...," he started.

"Hmmmm, yes," Peter sipped and put his cup down. "Ray's just the slightest bit near-sighted with a touch of astigmatism."

"So he wears contacts?"

"Uh-hmmm. Usually tinted." Peter shrugged. "Sometimes not."

"His eyes are really..?"

"Yup." Peter finished off his coffee while he watched the thoughts move through Winston's eyes. Finally he brought the other man's attention back to himself. "Winston, of all the things I've managed to convince Ray of, there's one I've never managed."

Winston blinked. "What's that?"

"That there's nothing wrong with the color of his eyes."

Winston studied the green eyes across from his and saw only pleased approval there. "Maybe you're coming at it from the wrong angle," he said, pushing away from the table and heading out the door.

A loaded plate appeared in front of the psychologist. "Nicely done, Dr. Venkman," Egon murmured from behind his ear.

Peter laughed and leaned back to pull Egon down for a kiss. "I thought so," he said against Egon's mouth, then went back for seconds. Eventually, he knew, Winston would learn that Peter always covered all his angles and there'd be hell to pay. But, he'd be ready.