Muffins Make It Better

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helena_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title Muffins Make It Better
Synopsis Helena talks Peter down after he learns that Sylar's alive. Muffins battle emo and win!
Date September 9, 2008

Condemned Tenement - Abandoned Apartment

This apartment looks to have been left untended for years. It's a modest sized studio apartment, opening up from the doorway to both sides, painted a faded canary-yellow color, most of the paint peeling away in large spots. An old, ratty couch rests just across from the door, patched up with pieces of denim over the worn and faded fabric. The cushions look to have seen much abuse, and though they're repaired to some extend by re-stiching, they are still unevenly stuffed. In front of the couch, between it and the far wall is a lopsided coffee table. It's frame is metal, likely was once glass-topped as well, but the entire top of the table has been replaced by a sheet of particle-board with a plastic tarp thrown over it and held in place by heavy-duty staples. The four windows that line the wall opposite of the doorway are all busted out, two of them are boarded up, and all but one is covered with clear plastic that is stapled to the window frame.

Not far from the entrance, a small kitchenette rests in disrepair. The stove doesn't look to have been used in a long time, and with a portion of the ceiling having collapsed down onto it, for good reason. While the debris is neatly stacked — pieces of plaster, wood and sheet-rock stacked a foot high — it clearly seems to be hastily done. The L-shaped counter adjacent to the stove features a mini-fridge that isn't plugged in, and water-stains on the faux-marble countertop.

Beyond the kitchenette is what was likely the apartment's bedroom. A pair of matresses have been laid on the floor, with a folding screen placed between that area and the kitchenette. The screen looks newer and in better condition than the room, though portions of it are scuffed and torn. The bed is made with not only sheets, but also a heavy brick-red quilt that looks to have been hand-made. A small, uncomfortable looking pillow crowns off the arrangement. From the looks of it, no one lives here.


Rain drives hard against the side of the tenement complex, mixing with the rumble of thunder and the roaring winds outside. Peter's abandoned apartment that he has come to settle in rests on the side of the building suffering the brunt of the storm. Without electricity, he sits in the dark on the sofa, his back to the door, head hung. The two windows covered by plastic snap and flex as the wind gusts, causing the covering to make such a loud and terrible noise, but the one window that has been left open allows in the surging wind and driving rain, soaking the hardwood floor and the peeling paint on the walls.

As Peter sits, his hands rise up to run fingers through his hair, cradling his head down by his knees. He is soundless, save for the noise the storm is making, an expression of his turbulent emotions that have surged up far beyond what they ever have before. Slowly, Peter raises his had, moving his hands away as they begin to glow with a brilliant white hot light. His bones radiate out through his flesh, and a mottling of orange and yellow swirls across his skin. He closes his hands, rays of light shining through his fingertips, then opens his hands quickly, releasing a crackling blast of destructive energy that sends waves of heat through the room. Closing his hands again, then opening them; crackle-snap.

The glow begins to fade, save for the orange light shed by Peter's eyes, as if they were made from iron hot out of a forge.

He'll smell it first.

Not that it's likely that Angela Petrelli ever did something so domestic as bake, but it seems almost instinctive for the scent of cinnamon with a faint hint of apple to stimulate a sense of home and comfort. It's only a few moments after he released that heat wave, and there's a knock at the door. If Helena has a flaw, it might be that lack of appreciation for people's privacy is definitely it, she opens the door with her free hand, the other cupped around the glass the lit candle generating the scent is held in. "Peter?" she calls out before slipping inside. "I don't know why you're doing this, but you've got to calm down." She closes the door behind her. "What was that…ripple? I thought something exploded for a second."

Peter doesn't move as the door is opened, his hands shake for a moment, then lower down to rest on his knees, "Go away." There is so much emotion in those words, something terrible and painful. He's never been dismissive, never been uninviting, it was unlike what Helena has come to know of Peter. It's cold, and angry, and distant. He doesn't say anything more, the howling of the wind whipping into the room serves as his voice now, mixed with the crack of thunder outside that follows repeated flashes of lightning, shining through the plastic-covered windows.

Helena flinches, and then suddenly gets a serious case of Stubborn Face. She moves to set the candle down on an available surface, and balling her fists, looks at him. "When you calm down enough to clear this weather system, I'll go away. Right now you're causing damage and I've been battering at this for half an hour and am still trying to get it under control. Whatever it is you're struggling with, clearly locking yourself away isn't the answer. Tell me what's going on." It is so not a request.

When Helena walks around to set the candle down on the particle-board surface of the table, she can see the white-hot glow in Peter's eyes, and can feel waves of heat emanating off of him. He blinks his eyes, once he can finally see her, and looks away. Peter's eyes narrow to thin, luminous slits, "I can't." His fingers curl into the fabric of his slacks, and Helena can see the strain Peter looks to be under. His neck muscles are tensed, jaw clenched, knuckles white; every part of him is trembling.

Helena watches him in silence, her fists still balled at her sides. Despite the emanations of heat, Peter may start to feel the room's temperature dropping - obviously Helena is doing what she can to counter the heat. "You have to." she says quietly, but not unkindly. "If you don't stop carrying whatever it is all by yourself, it's going to be too much. Look at you." She manages a step forward, the chill somewhat dissapating the waves of heat just by virtue of temperature, but not a whole lot. She shivers from the results of her own abilities. "You're not scaring me, but what you're doing is."

"He's alive." Peter's hands shake, the bones in his fingers beginning to glow as his pants starts to smolder from the contact. Slowly, Peter's skin turns an orange-white color, those mottled shades of orange, red and yellow swarming just beneath his skin as scintilating waves of light begin radiating outwards like a cloud from his fingertips. "He survived," Raising his hands, Peter looks down at his palms, then closes his eyes, trying to rein in his emotions; unsuccessfully.

"Who is?" Helena only knows Sylar from stories; he's like the Evolved equivalent of the Hook Man as far as she knows. It wouldn't occur to her that he's who Peter means. That step forward becomes a step back but she doesn't bail - if Peter's going to blow up, she's not going to run far enough away not to get killed anyway. "I don't know what's happening to you right now, but if you keep going something bad is going to happen right here, right now. I want to know what's going on, but you need to do something." He's like a ticking bomb, and there's no hiding her nervousness, those clenched fists are gripping and releasing in betrayal of her anxiety. "Talk to me." she urges, less demandingly.

"Sylar!" Ted's emotions, Ted's helplessness. Peter lashes out unconsciously, a wave of telekinetic force sending the coffee table up over on its side, crashing down to the floor. The candle flies off of the table, hitting the ground and snuffing out, leaving Peter's glowing eyes and hands the only source of wavering irradiated light. "Sylar's alive! He's here in the city!" Peter looks down at his hands again, and his body begins to ripple and distort, turning to a smoke and ephemeral almost ghost-like form briefly — It was Daniel's power. When he solidifies again, Peter is gasping for air, his skin cooling down and the glow subsiding. His eyes finally begin to return to normal, and he leans back against the sofa, smoke rising off of his body.

"I… I couldn't stop him…" He trembles, hands falling down to his sides, and tears begin to well up in Peter's eyes from the emotional overload. Outside, it sounds like the wind is dying down, the rain still falls hard, but less like a hurricane. Breathing shallow breaths, Peter chokes out a whispered rasp, "I can't save anyone…"

Helena flinches to the point of bringing her arms up to protect her face from the wrath of Peter's powers. The news makes her go pale, and put her hands to her face for a moment. She takes the time to breathe, to push herself past the panic of Peter's actions and the news of Sylar and get back to using her brain. Here and now, there's nothing to do about Sylar, save let the others know and figure out what to do. She approaches Peter and sits down, not on the couch, but in front of it, resting on her knees. "You couldn't stop him." she says softly, "But now there's a lot more people who are backing you up. You're not alone. We can all protect each other, and if all you can do about it is go into emotional overload and let your abilities run amuck, then we may as well just all line up like a buffet for him. How do you know he's alive?" Now that her brain is in gear, she'll try to get him to stop angsting and start thinking.

Listening to Helena's words, Peter tries to focus on them, on the sound of her voice. He's quiet, just listening to her talk, his head reclined back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling. He closes his eyes, remaining quiet as she asks how he knows, and his response is a short one, "Mohinder." Peter swallows dryly, a wave of nausea passing from the over-exertion of his abilities, "Sergei and I went to meet him today…" He's starting to get a hold on himself again, but he either chooses not to, or can't move from where he sits. "We went to Central Park and met him, he… He told me that the Company is holding Sylar and… and a lot of other powerful Evolved in a special facility in the Bronx." Tensing for a moment, Peter tries to sit up, only to groan in discomfort before he sits back against the couch once more.

"They… want to use Sylar, experiment on him, figure out how he does what he does." Peter's brow tenses, "Mohinder…" He searches for the right words, "He wants me to kill him. Because as long as he lives, there's a chance he can escape." Peter's eyes close once more, trying to put all this together now that Helena has him thinking straight again. "I'm…" He corrects himself, "We're going to."

Helena considers this news carefully. She knows of Mohinder Suresh, son of Chandra Suresh, though more by reputation than anything else. "What proof did he give you?" she asks. "I can believe that there's a facility, but he could just be telling you that in order to trap you, or us. Tell me why you think Mohinder Suresh can be trusted." The words sound confrontative, but her tone is not. She's laying it all out as she sees it, in her maddeningly reasonable way.

"He didn't…" Peter forces his eyes shut for a moment, replaying the conversation in his mind, "But I didn't… see lies in his thoughts. He was scared, nervous." His head tilts to the side for a moment, re-living that snapshot in time, "Hana — Wireless — can find out. She can check their records, view their surveillance footage…" He's starting to think again, to be cognizent of the problem and use logic to find a solution, "I can contact her on the computer, have her pull up information…" Peter finally sits up straight, opening his eyes slowly as he does.

Looking around the room, Peter sees the table knocked over, the candle on the floor, then finally his eyes settle on Helena. A troubled look comes over Peter, and he leans forward more, reaching out one hand towards the girl only to hesitate, curling his fingers towards his palm. "I…" He sees the damage done, only now realizing the extend of it, "I'm…"
*realizing the extent of it

"It's fine." Helena says quickly, and puts her hand on top of his to give it a squeeze before drawing it away, "You didn't hurt me, and that may be a testament to your unconscious control. It's the front of your noggin we need to focus on, though." As he puts forth the suggestion of contacting Hana, she nods. "That's good thinking. See if Wireless can confirm it, but either way, you'll need to let Cameron know. You can afford to wait until you get a confirmation one way or the other if he's locked away, it means none of us are at immediate risk. Though I'm still worried about how Suresh's messenger girl was able to find you here."

"They know." Peter furrows his brow, "They knew I was alive, and…" Peter shifts his eyes to one side, "If I had to make a guess, Suresh found me with help from Molly Walker." Peter looks over to Helena, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, sitting a bit closer to the young woman. "She's… like us, her gift allows her to pinpoint the location of any person — or maybe just any Evolved, I don't know — wherever they are in the world." He shakes his head slowly, "He must have been looking for me." Letting his eyes drift up to Helena's, Peter doesn't break away from her eye contact now, looking the young blonde in the eyes as if searching for something.

"We need to find out more about her." Helena observes. She meets his gaze head on, but she's not doe-eyed about it. "If she's voluntarily helping him, then she's dangerous. And if she's being forced to find people, then she needs our help." There's a faint smile. "It's a mighty big plate."

Peter nods, slowly, managing an awkward smile after a few moments, rolling his head from side to side before letting it hang, his gaze finding the floor between his feet. "I couldn't find Cameron — I haven't seen him at all," His brow tensing, Peter's tone changes some, "We've got so much going on right now, my head's a mess…" One hand moves up, rubbing at the side of his head slowly, "After last night, I don't know how we're going to do this, how we're going to make this work."

Helena lifts a brow. "You've come to that conclusion after one night of herding cats as the new guy? Trust takes time, you know. Even with an initial share and care. All the things we've done have been scattered and held together by the sheer force of Cam's personality. And you've still got people creating a power play between you and him in their heads whether there really is one or not. And you've got Claire to deal with. It can be done, but you know, Rome wasn't built in a day and all that." Absently as he rubs his hair, "You need a haircut. Do you want my advice?"

Peter looks up, cracking a smile unconsciously, "I need a shave too, it's hard to do that and concentrate on not regrowing it immediately at the same time." When he realizes he's smiling, Peter manages to fend it off a bit, and he looks to Helena with a sidelong stare, "Advice… about?" One brow raises, making his scar stand out more between his eyebrows.

The corners of Hel's mouth creep upward. "How to make this easier. We've got some big ops that we're looking at. And they'll need time and prep and planning. You should try going on some smaller ops with people, get a feel for how they work in the field, let them get an idea of how you work. Even if it's just little things like joining a couple of folks on a graffiti run."

The corners of Hel's mouth creep upward. "How to make this easier. We've got some big ops that we're looking at. And they'll need time and prep and planning. You should try going on some smaller ops with people, get a feel for how they work in the field, let them get an idea of how you work. Even if it's just little things like joining a couple of folks on a graffiti run."

Looking up, Peter catches sight of Helena's faint smile, which makes it easier for him to reciprocate by affording the girl one of his own, "I'm going to need you," Peter admits with a quiet voice, "Now, later… Through all of this. I…" He shakes his head slightly, staring at his hands as he folds them, "I'm not sure why, but you're like an anchor to me. You can keep me grounded when I lose control." His eyes drift up, "You're absolutely right. I need to do whatever I can with everyone… If we're going to do what I hope we can, and succeed, it's going to take us working together… and more than in just name." His smile becomes tinged with doubt, faltering somewhat. Then, watching Helena for a moment, Peter asks, "Did… you bake something?"

Helena looks sheepish. "It's the candle." she admits. "I have a thing for smelly stuff. You know, candles, bath oils, perfume. But is there something you wanted baked?" she inquires, her tone. "Our resources are scarce, but I could pull of something." She casually checks her nails. "With proper incentive."

Shifting his eyes over to the candle, Peter looks at it with concern. Reaching out with one hand, his fingers tense, and the candle rises up from the floor where it had been tossed, floating through the air slowly towards Peter's hand. Taking a hold of the candle, he looks at it intently, watching the wick as it begins to smolder, and then with tension visible in his brows, the wick ignites in a small flame. His gaze wanders from the candle, and as his fingers release it, the object floats up through the air, coming to settle on the floor away from the pair, "I didn't know that," He admits about the small detail she reveals, "I guess there's a lot I don't know about you…" He adds, hesitantly.

Peter offers Helena a smile, a nervous one, and his eyes settle on the candle's wavering flame as that scent begins to fill the room again. "I'd like it," He says quietly, "But, I can't ask you to do that, espescially knowing our limited supplies." Peter's brows raise for a moment, then lower again as he looks from the candle to Helena. "You brought that in here, to help me calm down?" He only now figures out the thoughtful level of concern she was showing. "I…" His expression darkens some, "I'm sorry."

Helena makes a pointy with her fingers and jabs him in the side. "Don't go all gloomy again." she chides. "And tell me what you like anyway, because I'm curious. You know all about my not-so-secret obsession with scenty things, so call it a trade of information. C'mon. You're Italian, right? Are you a canoli man?"

Peter cracks a smile and shakes his head, "To be honest I never got much traditional food around the house. I…" He grimaces, "Our cooks sort've, prepared whatever it was my mother wanted, and she had kind've, Worldly tastes." Peter's brow furrows for a moment, "Though, I'm a sucker for a good chocolate-chip muffin." One corner of his lips curl up into a smile, "You know the kind," His entire tone of voice starts to change as he talks, softening and becoming far more gentle. He also seems more animate, motioning with his hands to accent the shape and size of an appropriate muffin, "The ones with the big granulated sugar on top?" Peter laughs, shaking his head, it all seems so absurd to him.

"Muffins." Helena repeats, her tone all sorts of plotting. "I'll see what I can manage, but like I said, incentive is important. My leet cooking skills are a prize to be won." Especially since she can actually do more then open a can of spaghetti oh's.

Tilting his head to the side, Peter cracks a smile and shakes his head, "Exactly what kind've incentive did you have in mind?" He's like an entirely different person at the moment, smiling, animate, finally starting to relax as he leans back aainst the couch again with a laugh. "Cameron might take that the wrong way if he heard you, y'know?" Even his method of speech seems more casual, less harsh emphasis on his words, "He'd probably burn this whole place down trying to get at me." Peter reaches up to rub his forehead with one hand as another laugh escapes his lips, but when his fingers trace the crease of his scar, that smile fades a little, as if he's reminded of just where he is again.

Now her smile turns sly. "Cameron's not my daddy." She then sits back. "How about a stick and carrot offer. "For every day you dont emo out on me, you get a muffin. Manage twelve, you get a dozen." She's kidding right? It's hard to tell from that grin.

Peter looks up to Helena after she makes that remark about Cameron, "You sure?" His smile returns and he moves his hand away from the scar. "Hey, look, I just…" He tries to get indignant about what Helena said, but her sly smile breaks any argument he has against the point. "Alright, deal." Peter nods once, leaning forward again to rest his forearms on his knees. "So, is this a twenty-four hour thing, or do I get one now?" One brow raises, wrinkling the scar on his forehead, "Then again, if you keep this up, maybe I'll have more reasons to stay smiling." Both his brows raise now as he tilts his head back, a crooked grin crossing his lips, "Then again, you're kind've a reward all in itself." He's teasing, much to his own amusement.

Helena pshes. "Not unless you want to whisk me away to a decent supermarket where I can get the ingredients." she says and then blinks. "Wow, for a minute I forgot you could do that if you wanted to." She leans back on the heels of her palms, lifts her foot and gives him a little nudge in the ribcage with her toe before setting it down again. "You should smile more often. Plenty in life to be glad about, if you look for it. You're alive, you're free, and you're potentially getting muffins. Nothing wrong with living for the now in the right time and place."

Peter tilts his head to the side, regarding Helena for a moment, then cracks a smile, "I could." He nods slowly, "I could take you to a market halfway across the world." Shaking his head, Peter watches as Helena slinks back and then reaches up to jab him in the side with her toe. He grimaces, playfully, and then reaches out to take a hold of her ankle, one brow raising. "I am alive, I am free…" He seems to be seriously considering that for just a moment, then makes a threatening gesture to the bottom of Helena's foot with his other hand, "You however…" His smile turns into a grin, "Look to be in a predicament." All that worry from earlier was fading away, with something else, something positive to focus his mind on, to give him a chance to escape a memory that can not forget.

"Careful," Helena waggles a finger. "I fight back." She lets out a laugh and mock-flutters a hand to her forehead. "I'm not real good with weepy maiden." She then regards him, lips pursing. "What are you going to do with my foot?" she asks, flexing and and pointing it for emphasis. "I mean, it is a rather shapely foot and I can naturally understand any desire on your part to keep it, but I really do need it to stay connected to my ankle. Which would make things inconvenient." Yes. Sylar's free, Homeland Security wants to stick them all in holding cells, but Helena's just got the cutest little foot in the burough.

"Not sure." He doesn't even touch her foot, but it feels like someone is, this unseen presence attempting to tickle the underside of it, "I've always wondered what using my powers for evil would be like," He says with a joking smile, "Now I think I know." That telekinetic tickle wiggles around the underside of her foot, moving in ways a hand most certainly does not, "You might not be good at the weepy maiden, but I wonder if I can tickle you until you cry?" His smile turns into a wide and playful grin. Whether he was consciously doing it or not, Peter was trying to live in the moment, in the now. He needed it, to have something to want to save.

"BWAH!" she jerks her foot back and down onto the floor. "What are you - !" she lets out a laugh. "That's terrible! Dirty pool, Pete." she chides, folding herself into an indian style seated position. "Weather's getting better." she notes, trying to distract him.

Peter cracks up, laughing more than she's ever seen him as she jerks her foot away. "That was kind've cute," He jokes, shaking his head as his eyes drift over towards the open window. She's right, the rain has subsided entirely, and the wind has died down as well. There's still a chill in the air, and a strong one at that, coming in thorugh the one open window. Peter's expression levels out a bit, becoming more serious, and he looks back to Helena, "Thanks…" He says appreciatively, "For, you know, putting up with me."

"Well, you've got the broody cute going." she conceeds, then waggles her finger. "But it will only get you so far, sir. I'd be a lot meaner if you weren't capable of turning me into microwave goo." She studies him then, gaze turning thoughtful. "So. When do you want to go on that graffiti run? Unless you've got a better idea."

"Graffiti is too…" He shakes his head slightly, "Childish. It seems rebellious from a kid's perspective." Peter breathes in through his nose, then exhales slowly, "I'm thinking a better idea might be some actual combat training." He tilts his head to the side, "Maybe help some of the members get their frustrations out too… There's a lot of places of Midtown that aren't patrolled by the police, and the radiation levels are safe enough for short-term exposure." Reaching up with one hand, Peter scratches his cheek while his mind wanders.

Helena cocks her head, in that way she does when she's about to get all debate-ish. "Grafitti's been a propaganda tool since the early twentieth century." she counters. "It may seem childish, but it reaches a lot of people, across a lot of class lines. Combat training is important, but so is making our voice heard. Not that I disagree with some training outings and stuff. I also want to make sure people have a little guerilla knowledge under their belt. We need to know how to scatter."

Peter strains a sigh for a moment, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his head against one hand, "Maybe you're right, but it gives us a much more…" He can't quite find the right words, "I don't know, the image seems ragtag." Rolling one shoulder, Peter keeps his focus on Helena, not letting his eyes wander like they so often do. "We should focus on doing things that make a difference. We don't need a name, or infamy, we can get that through actions, right?" One brow raises to punctuate that rhetoric, "Our new members will come from the people we rescue who want to help. The people will see our actions…" His brow lowers, "Graffiti seems… unnecessary?"

Helena lifts a brow. "Ragtag or not, it sends a message. How do you think some of the freedom fighters in World War 2 communicated? Or even the IRA back in the nineteenth and early twentieth?" she shakes her head. "There's no reason to be snobby about it." She starts to grin agan. "But if you're too delicate and lady like to manage spray cans, that's alright."

"Hey!" Peter leans forward in his seat, "I can spraypaint fine." He gives her a crooked look, then wrinkles his nose slightly, "Fine, if I have time tomorrow we'll go out and make some graffiti," He waves one hand in the air dismissively, "I trust you." His tone becomes markedly more serious for a moment, "And if you think it'll be good for the team as a whole, then…" He shakes his head, having a hard time believing Helena's talked him into this. "Then let's do it. I'm counting on your advice, you're a smart…" He almost said kid, "You're smart." But he chooses not to, "I'm glad I have you around, Helena."

Helena's powers of persuasion are renowned for any straight male over the age of fourteen. It's a fun fact! "We can take a small group. I'll scope some spots while I'm at work tomorrow and see what we come up with." She tilts her head to the side, brow lifting. "A smart what, Peter?" Her eyes half lid. Dare ya to say kid. Dare ya.

Peter eyes Helena with a smile, a few thoughts drift through his head as he watches her. When she mentions work, there is a momentary look of surprise, but it's quick to fade. It's hard for Peter to imagine returning to a normal life, to working a job, after all that has happened. He hasn't held down a job in years. "Cookie." Peter finally answers, raising one brow, "A smart cookie." He smiles, teasingly.

Helena grins as she catches the look. "I work as a bike courier." she explains. "So does Daniel, he partners with me a lot of the time on runs. It gets me a lot of access to places I might not otherwise, and means I get to figure out the lay of places. You'd be surprised where a courier id can get you."

"Courier?" Peter's rather obviously surprised, "Kind've dangerous, but then again, you can take care of yourself." He cracks a smile, running one hand through his hair. "Daniel too? I guess it makes sense… I'm surprised he has a legitimate job, with that gift." There's a slight tension of Peter's brow, and he considers something, but nothing comes of it. "I… shouldn't be keeping you here any longer." He's reluctant to say that, his head shaking as he does. "It's getting late, you're probably tired." Peter gets up slowly from the sofa, holding a hand down to Helena, an offer to help her up.

Helena takes his hand, brings herself up. There's a brief moment where she's a little close, but then she slips her hand out of his and starts to step back "It's not like I've got a curfew." she says lightly. "But you really need to get some sleep. And we are going to sit down and see what we can do about you getting your weather effects under control."

As she rises, Peter watches her carefully, and when she takes that step away there's a look. The look that implies he didn't want her to move away, but he doesn't say anything, he just nods, "I have trouble sleeping." He says with a tilt of his head, "I can't escape my talents," One shoulder rolls, and he looks from the girl to the open window. "It's probably best if we do that soon, I'm having… It's difficult." Leaving it at that, Peter looks down to the still burning candle, then back up again. "You mind if I keep that in here tonight? It's…" He smiles faintly, "It's comforting."

I brought it for you." she replies. A stray thought amuses her, but she keeps to herself, the corner of her mouth going up. "I'll see you tomorrow, then? A brand new day, the sun will be high, and there could be a muffin."

Peter nods with a warm smile, "Thanks, I appreciate it." He eyes the door, then Helena, "Tomorrow, then." With his head canted to the side, Peter takes that half step in to close the distance between himself and Helena, leaning forward to wrap his arms around her in a hug. He holds it for just a moment, not wanting to be too invasive to the girl, but as he leans back, he rests his lips on her forehead in a gentle kiss. Then, slowly starts to step back, "Goodnight…" He says quietly, so much calmer now than when Helena first arrived, her personality having cooled down his rage and confusion. "I'll be expecting that muffin." He adds in a hushed tone of voice, teasing to the last.

Helena turns her face up to his, only to be routed into a smooch on her forehead. Like she's twelve. Her grin turns wry, but she seems more amused. "Oh, trust me, Peter. It'll be worth more then a peck on the forehead if you manage to get your hands on my muffins." She waggles her brows and slips out.


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September 9th: A Cause For Revenge
Previously in this storyline…
Impossibilities

Next in this storyline…
Even Spidey is Gray

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September 10th: Even Spidey is Gray
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