Uh-uh!

Participants:

odessa_icon.gif peter2_icon.gif

Also Featuring:

woods_icon.gif

Scene Title Uh-uh!
Synopsis Peter receives a rather rude awakening when he discovers Odessa is evolved. Everybody has a reason for being locked away in Level Five, don't they? Even the ones that claim to be not guilty.
Date October 27, 2008

Primatech Research - Cell Block B

Welcome to Level Five.


Pop.

Six.

Squish.

Uh-uh.

Cicero.

Lipschitz.

Pop!

Six!

Squish!

Uh-uh!

Cicero!

Lipschitz!

Pop! Six! Squish! Uh-uh! Cicero! Lipschitz!

Piping from Odessa's office on Level Five is none other than the Cell Block Tango. Dressed in an indigo denim miniskirt with a blank tank top, the white coat has been discarded, left draped over a chair in the lab. Bubblegum pink heels click on the floor as she dances her way down the hall in front of the cells of villains, peering curiously through each window as she passes.

"He had it comin'. He had it comin'. He only had himself to blame." Her cooing of the lyrics is a little off key, but Odessa's smug little heart is in it. She traces her finger over one pane of glass, beaming a smile to the prisoner inside, turning away sharply before any response can be had. She resumes her blithe dance down the row.

The loud hiss of hydraulics and the heavy grating screech of the freight elevator being accessed drowns out that solo act. Lights flash down the hall signaling the elevator's activity. After a few minutes of loud grinding and scraping, the elevator stops with a crash and the caged doors slide open, followed by the sound of voices echoing from inside, "'Ow the fuck was I supposed to know not to shoot? He was fuckin' beatin' the tar outta' Sanders!" Agent Woods is obviously agitated, and several sets of feet click-clack down the hall from the elevator, along with the creaking squeak of something on wheels.

From around the corner, Peter Petrelli can be seen before he's heard, "Becuase it was in my report!" He waves one hand furiously at Woods, "They're sick, you could've used your taser!" It's an argument, and a strong one. Behind Peter and Woods, three medical technicians dressed as paramedics wheel a bodybag on a stretcher down the hall.

"I didn't have my fuckin taser on me, we were off the bloody clock having drinks!" Woods flails both of his hands over his head, "For christ's sake Pete, at least stop off and change out of that goddamned shirt, you look like a fuckin' zombie." Woods does have a point, almost everything Peter is wearing is covered with blood, and not all of it is his. The front of his jacket and shirt are torn open, one of his sleeves is split at the shoulder. It's clear he's had a rough night.

That is exactly when he spots Odessa heading down the hall, "There you are." Peter calls out rather sharply, and Woods tries to hold him with a very carefully placed hand to a clean shoulder, but Peter pulls away, storming ahead of the others down the hall towards Dr. Knutson.

Odessa whirls around sharply in surprise, hands held out in front of her with fingers splayed. Woods and the technicians seem to falter for a moment, evident only in the absence of their footfalls, as Peter has his back to them. But they pick up again easily enough. "Oh," Doctor Knutson seems perhaps a little disgusted or even crestfallen. "It's you." But then, she plasters on her sweetest smile. "Hello, Peter. I'm still waiting for conclusive results from Doctor Suresh, I'm afraid." She holds up a finger, signaling for quiet. "You pop that gum, one more time," she says along to the lyrics, followed with a well-time chuckle, suggesting she's listened to this song entirely too many times. "And he did. So, I took the shotgun off the wall, and I fired two warning shots…" At this point, she saunters up to the new agent and taps on his temple. "Into his head." She giggles as the fresh chorus starts up. "I just love that bit."

Peter scowls, visibly, but then with a pause he closes his eyes and breathes in a deep breath to try and calm himself down. He fails to notice anything amiss going on, despite the momentary pause that Woods and the others experienced. "Odessa, two more people died, and I'm covered in their blood." He motions to Woods, "Take that one down to the locker room, make sure you clean off afterwards."

"Ain't got to tell me twice." Woods says with a crooked smile, "C'mon boys, let's go put the cobbler in the fridge." He simply has no respect for the dead. Peter shakes his head for a moment, then turns to look back at Odessa.

"I need to know if I'm going to get sick, or worse. I don't have any idea what we're dealing with, but if I'm a walking biohazard I'd like to know." He plucks at his perforated shirt, "The holes aren't decorations, I had half a car sticking into me."

"Oooh. Wish I could'a seen that." Odessa grins widely and tilts her head back down the hall toward her office. "C'mon. Let's go have a look at'cha. I've got a pair of scrubs you can switch into." She hurries off down the hallway at a giddy pace. A mystery to solve! "And yes, they're men's scrubs. I keep my office well stocked. Never know when a good looking nurse is going to wander by, yeah?"

There's a groan, one hand covering his face as Odessa chirps out those teasing and mirthful words as she is often wont to. "Right…" There's no hope in arguing with her when she's in one of these whimsical moods. As he follows behind Odessa, Peter looks back over his shoulder towards one of the cells he passes, a concerned look on his face, before turning back to Odessa. "Hey, did…" He considers how to ask, "Did you ever fill out that prescription for those meds Bryan takes? I…" He makes an awkward expression, "You know, for my own good?"

"I might. We'll have to test you first. That should be easy enough. If you prove you need 'em, you'll get your 'scrip." Odessa turns the music off once she enters the office and then points to the exam table. "Down to the boxers and hop up there." She shuts the door behind him. "I'll get those scrubs." She moves to a large oak cabinet and rummages around. The computer on the desk chimes. "Oooh! I've got mail!" The scrubs are dropped on the desk next to her over two open files as the eager doctor pulls up her chair - and her e-mail. "…Oh." Whatever it is seems to have just knocked the wind out of her sails. When she looks over her shoulder to check on Peter, her expression is apprehensive and serious. "Suresh's findings agree with my own."

Peter blanches slightly at the request as he comes into the office, his eyes wandering over Odessa and then to the examination table. His suit jacket is shed before she's even heard the chime from the computer, dropped into a medical waste bin. The shirt, tattered as it is, comes off with just two buttons being undone, falling off his shoulders down down into that same bin as his jacket. Blood covered Peter's front and back in dry patches, but there's not a single sign of injury on his body, despite all of the blood. He pauses there, in the undressing, turning to look at Odessa over his shoulder. "…And what were your findings?" He's nervous, visibly so.

"More inconclusive than I'd like to admit. I'll need a fresher sample. One that isn't dead." Odessa closes the e-mail and gets to her feet again, scooping up the scrubs. She then frowns at Peter. "You need a shower," she comments absently, eyes flitting nervously down his form and then back up to his eyes. "You should, uhm… Yeah. Get those pants off and sit down, okay?" She shifts her weight anxiously and grips at the fabric in her hands.

The lack of an answer doesn't make Peter feel all that comfortable, one shoulder rolling as he tilts his head to one side, cracking his neck with a series of soft pops. Wordlessly, Agent Petrelli nods and unbuckles his belt, circling around to the opposite side of the examination table before letting his bloodstained slacks fall to the tile floor. He's too nervous right now to make a joke, one that the opportunity is ripe for, but is truly too worried about his own well-being to make. When he hops up onto the table, black boxer-briefs are all that covers him. He looks like an abused prisoner of war in this state, spattered in dried blood. Even his legs, with some having soaked through the legs of his pants from the old homeless man.

"Do you have a full dossier of my abilities?" It's an odd question, and when he looks over his shoulder to ask it, his eyes don't meet Odessa, he seems remarkably shy, and at the same time anxious about the entire situation. It's like the atmosphere of a doctor's office, with the pretenses of bedside manner and warmth cast aside for clinical coldness and scrutiny.

Odessa chuckles nervously. "Peter, you're a nurse. Like you've never seen someone in this little, or less. I'm a doctor. I've seen naked people before. You're nothing special." Of course, maybe that's the problem. "Is it because I'm younger than you are? You've heard the rumors that I'm immortal, right? I'm three hundred years old. It's all good." She smooths back her hair and then tosses the scrubs down on one end of the table, rather than a pillow. "Yeah, I have record of everyone's abilities. Ev-er-ee-wu-n-sah." She procures a needle and a swab from a drawer and approaches her patient. "Why?"

Peter laughs, shaking his head, "Doctor humor," He says with a crooked smile, "I never was much good at that," he dismisses her comment entirely as a flight of fancy and humor. "No it's just, it's because you're a woman." Peter cracks a smile, "I… It's stupid, you know, I just get awkward, because there's someone special, and, you know, she'd probably flip her lid if she knew I was getting checked out by a female doctor." He laughs, shaking his head, despite her sincerity, Peter seems to have taken the light conversation as good bedside manner. It worked.

"I wanted to know if you knew about my regeneration. I figure most people in the Company do, I just — If this is a virus, or some kind've disease, I'm worried about how it might interact with me. I've got so many abilities that just…" He sighs, tiredly, "Half of them I'm not even sure how they work. I just, this whole situation has me worried. What if I got sick with this? Would it kill me? Or would I just go on an unending rampage of destruction because of my biology?"

Odessa gives Peter a look. "Who's joking? I am three hundred years old." She peers down at Peter's arm as she begins drawing blood. "You don't honestly think that I would- Your girlfriend is dumb if she's worried about me." She's very good at what she does, since he barely feels the prick of the needle, or its withdrawal. "As near as I've been able to tell, whatever those people have been infected with was dormant before you or I came in contact with it. It's… degenerative, as you may have already guessed." The vial of blood is dislodged from the syringe and dropped in a box for testing later, the sharp disposed of properly. "You and I would already be infected if it weren't. However, if you can get me a live subject, I think I'll be able to study it."

Peter eyes Odessa intently, he can't entirely be certain if she's telling the truth or not. But the straight face she delivers it with, and the matter-of-factly way of bringing it up earns his attention. He opens his mouth to speak, then reconsiders, but not long enough, "So, you're like Adam?" Information he should not know, Adam's true age. It's not on any Company records, it's not listed on any computer files, there is no simple way Peter could have known that.

Well that grabs Doctor Knutson's attention. Her head snaps up and she tilts her head curiously. "Interesting. And how did you know that?" She ignores his first question entirely. We're talking about Adam now.

Peter's eyes widen — he'd spoken before thinking, again. There's no immediate answer he can come up with, his blind awash with the silence of guilt, fumbling over his thoughts to explain how he knows without implicating Kaito in all of this. His brow tenses, in what would normally look like an expression of frustration, but as the doctors passing by the lab window begin to slow down and then finally freeze in place, Peter lets out a heavy sigh. "…Damnit." He mumbles to himself, eyes closed and one hand resting on his forehead.

The clock on the wall has stopped entirely with one last heavy clunk of the second hand. He needs a minute to think.

Odessa tilts her head to the other side with a hint of concern to her expression as she takes a brief look around her. Something doesn't feel right. She glances at at her watch. "Ohhh…" She looks up at Peter again and grins before chiming, "That's cute! Are you stopping time? Yeah, that trick doesn't work on me, sweetie. I'm pretty timeless."

The sound of Odessa's voice causes Peter to scramble backwards and off of the examination table, one hand raised without much other effect except to add gesture to his surprise, "W-woah!" His eyes grow wide, and he looks around at the unmoving lab technicians outside, then up to the stopped clock, then back to Odessa, "H-how — " He swallows, awkwardly, "You — How are you doing that?" From his hastened breathing and the look of absolute confusion on his face, it's clear this isn't a common occurrence for Peter.

"Haven't you heard?" Odessa strides up to Peter slowly. "I can do anything I want to do. Why do you think they don't want me to leave?" She takes on a look of sympathy as she reaches out to brush a thumb across her patient's cheek. "Awww… You poor boy. You aren't used to people you can't get the better of, are you?"

There's a look of concern that flashes immediately across Peter's face, "You…" His brow furrows, head tilting to one side, "How is that even possible?" Together like this, trapped in a moment of standing time, they could have an eternity together, as long as Peter can maintain enough focus to keep time ground down to what amount to almost a halt. "How does that even work?" He flinches when her hand comes up to his cheek, head turning away ever so subtly, eyes fixed on Odessa with his brow furrowed together.

"It just does, Peter. I'm special." Odessa's smile turns sweet. She doesn't withdraw her hand. Perhaps she secretly enjoys making the Amazing Peter Petrelli uncomfortable. Or maybe she's just oblivious to his discomfort. "Don't give me that face."

Swallowing dryly, Peter clears his throat ans watches Odessa for a moment, fearfully. "Then what does that mean for me?" The implication is rather clear, given his capabilities. "Does… does that mean I do this now? This… whatever it is you're doing?" He breathes in sharply through his nose, and it's almost comical, someone as tall and toned as Peter, brought to anxiety and fright from a small little mousy thing like Odessa.

"You've already been able to do what I can do. You just haven't realized your full potential yet." Odessa actually giggles. "You are so precious. I can't believe you're all flustered over this."

Staggering away from Odessa finally, Peter reaches up to touch his cheek where her hand had come up to it. He swallows, nervously, and breathes out a deep breath, "Of course I'm flustered, I didn't think you had a power!" Peter breathes in and out deeply, blinking his eyes and looking for all his worth like he's waiting for the next shoe to drop. "If I don't even know how to control it — Or even what I'm controling, I could hurt people!" He's incensed, brow lowering, "I — This isn't a good time to be screwing around, I… My head is…" He waves one hand dismissively, and suddenly all of the noise of the offices come back into full swing the ticking of the clock, the conversation of lab technicians outside. No one to notice that Peter and Odessa are now on the other side of her office.

"If you can do anything why haven't you saved Elle yet? Why are youo letting her stay left behind!?" Pious Petrelli, as always, "Why haven't you told anyone where she is, or helped us look for her? If you can do anything then you — " He hesitates, eyes growing wide, " — Then I can."

Odessa laughs softly and steps back, only to pull herself up onto the exam table, swinging her legs back and forth languidly. "I said I have to want to do it. And, really, why should I find Elle if they're just going to keep me locked up here?" She leans forward, legs holding still now, and she crooks a finger in a come hither gesture. "If you get me out of here, I might be persuaded to help you look."

Peter furrows his brows together, "Because she's a human being and she's in danger." It's as clear as day to Peter, why, "Because it's right to save someone who's life is in danger, especially when — " He cuts himself off, then furrows his brow and looks back up to Odessa, walking towards her slowly. "Why don't you just let yourself out? How can anything I do matter at all if you can do anything?" His head tilts to the side, regarding Odessa intently, and his eyes narrow. This time, he figures, he should be listening for sincerity when he asks for an answer, and his thoughts probe outwards, seeking to invade the sanctity of Odessa's mind to discern just what's going through her head.

Odessa knows that look. She gasps and shrinks back, shielding herself with her arms as though it might somehow block it out. "Stop it! Please! It hurts!" She holds her ears now and whimpers. "Please, please, stop." Her fingers go rigidly straight, splayed out even as the heels of her palms still plug her ears tight. "I'd leave if I could do it on my own." Through the fear, there's sincerity. Doctor Knutson is truly unable to simply walk out of the facility. At least, it's what she believes.

If it were anyone else but a pretty young girl, Peter might not be convinced, but there is she. whimpering and recoiling and covering her ears. It's enough to make him relent, and he pushes out a heavy sigh, "Great," He says exasperatedly. "Exactly why can't you just up and leave? You can — " He cuts himself off, just in time, watching Odessa with a level stare. Peter swallows, anxiously, then speaks in a more quiet tone of voice. "If you can help me get Elle back here safely, I'll see what I can do. But firstly — "

Peter motions with one hand towards the girl, a single finger pointing at her, "You don't tell anyone what I said about Adam." He tilts his head to the side, feigning a threat of telepathy as if to make himself seem a bit more intent. "Secondly, you figure out what that thing is that's killing everyone. I'll find you a live one, but you've gotta be awake, gotta be aware. Once they start showing symptoms it usually only takes a few minutes before they're dead." Posture straightening, Peter exhales a slow, steady breath. "I'll be sending him to cell 501," The only lead-lined cell on Level 5, "Just in case. It's up to you to get to them while they're still alive. Either me or Woods will call you when we get them down here…" Peter pauses, tilting his head to the side, "Though why you need a live one is beyond me. If I were you, I'd already know exactly what it is and how to stop it."

The girl relaxes when it seems Peter's done threatening to pry into that obviously fragile mind of hers. "You can't tell anyone you know about me. Not anyone. Especially not Woods. He'd tell everybody." She frowns at that last shot. "You have no idea what it's like to be me, pretty boy. You don't know what it's like to be locked up in a cage with little more freedom than some of the bastards lined up down this row." Makes one wonder why unimposing, little her was chosen to be the physician for the worst villains mankind has conceived. "I need a live one because the cellular breakdown has already ended by the time you get me a dead one. All you have to do is find someone who's going through this, stop time on them, call me, and teleport them to five-oh-one and hold them there until I can get a sample. It won't be easy, but… it should work."

Peter runs his hand over his forehead, fingers eventually raking through his hair. "Fine…" He says in a hushed tone of voice, "But until we get Elle back, there's no gauruntee about me being able to help you do anything." Not that Peter isn't terrified about what would happen if someone with the wrong intentions were to get their hands on her abilities, if they are really what she says they are. "Do…" He looks at the table, "Do you still need me for those tests?" One brow raises slowly, relaxing a bit more as she does.

"It's fine," Odessa assures, reaching over to the other end of the table to take and summarily toss the scrubs to Peter. "Get dressed. I'll run tests on that blood sample and call you as soon as I know one way or the other. I suspect you're pretty safe, though."

Watching Odessa for a short time, Peter's dark eyes wander over her, then to the scrubs on the table. Walking over, he picks them up and dons the shirt first, then pulls over the pale blue pants, tugging them on while still watching her in relative silence, as if trying to put together the pieces of a very elaborate puzzle by eye alone. "Odessa…" Peter says quietly, "What you asked, why you should want to help Elle?" He smiles, somewhat awkwardly, "It'd mean a lot to Bryan."

And that much, is the truth.


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October 27th: We'll Be Seeing You
Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

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October 27th: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle
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