A Cure For What Ails You


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Scene Title A Cure for What Ails You
Synopsis Brought to Pinehearst Headquarters by Eve, Peter finds his father and begins to unravel an explanation for his terrible predicament.
Date May 4, 2009

Pinehearst Headquarters, Fort Lee, New Jersey

The elevator ride up to the fourth floor of Pinehearst Headquarters gives Peter times to think. Think about how he's going to explain this situation to his father, think about the things they had shared the first time they met. There's so much his father told him, so many things he warned them about, and now Peter finds himself unable to come to terms with the fact that he refused to listen to so many of them. He thought he was invincible, and maybe for a time that was true, but now that couldn't be any further from the truth.

The doors slide open with a chime, opening to the fourth floor hallway where a tall and gaunt man with dark skin in a coal black suit waits, hands folded behind his back. "Mister Petrelli," he intones with a sense of urgency, watching with furrowed brows. Peter's breath hitches in the back of his throat when he hears those words, recognizing Roger Goodman only after a moment. The two exchange a long, steady stare before a nod is made towards the hall behind Roger.

"I—I'm here to see my father." Roger's eyes scan up and down Peter, noticing how he favors one leg over the other, how he cradles one arm close to his chest, the cuts on his face and chin and forehead. "He's here, right?" It would be a waste of a long journey out of Staten Island if he wasn't.

"Your father is most certainly in, Peter. In fact he's considerably worried about you." Roger half turns, motioning down the hall towards Arthur's office, "He's waiting for you in there, but if you'd excuse me, I have other matters to attend to." There's a pause, ever so brief, followed by a nod from Roger, "It's good to see you again, Peter."

A squint, long and uncertain comes after those words from Peter. "Yeah I…" his head quirks to one side, and there's something foggy, a memory half conjured up from blurry recesses made all the more dull from the lack of Cat's power in the back of his mind. "I—did we ever meet?" There's another squint, "before… before the last couple of weeks?"

Roger offers Peter a hesitant smile, laying a spidery hand on his shoulder, long fingers gently squeezing until he notices the wince of pain that comes in response. The hand doesn't move, and Roger keeps his eye contact in a lingering manner, the way a large, predatory animal might on prey. "It's best you not dwell on that, Peter." The squeeze finally loosens, followed by a gentle pat of the shoulder, "Go see your father."

An awkward silence remains until Roger steps into the elevator, and Peter watches the tall, dark man over his shoulder until he finally disappears behind the sliding elevator doors. The breath Peter was holding in the whole times finally comes out in a shuddered breath, and he reaches up to lightly feel his own shoulder and how tender it is, before limping down the hall towards Arthur's office.

The closer to Arthur's office Peter gets, the more audible the hissing pop of a record player becomes. Piped out of this old piece of musical hardware, the sounds of classical Big Band era music plays with soft, melodic notes. The instrumental classic "Night and Day" by Glenn Miller's Orchestra, something evocative of imagery from the 1940s, of gangsters and prohibition, but to Peter a song that evokes memories of his youth, of sneaking into his father's office after being goaded into the task by his older brother Nathan.

Pushing the door open, the music fills Peter's ears, fills his thoughts in a way that it hadn't the last time he was here. Hobbling into the office, battered and broken, it reminds Peter of other days, and of a time when his life was so much simpler…

Petrelli Mansion, Upper West Side, New York City

October 18th, 1992

"I—I don't want to." Wrapping his arms around himself, a young boy shies away from a pair of locked French doors, behind which muffled musical notes sound out along with the warbling voice of a male singer. There's an immediate sigh, followed by a stern look from a young man standing by the doors.

"Stop being such a baby, Pete, you're almost thirteen." Dark brows lower in a scowling expression, and Nathan leans away from the door, stepping over to his younger, scrawnier brother. "Come on, tell me who hit you."

A defiant snort slips out of Peter's nose as he leans off of the wall, looking down the hall towards the dining room, then back to the double doors of the office, one hand covering his right eye. "I—" his nose wrinkles, "It—it was nobody."

"Pete… you're my brother, come on." Nate takes a few steps back, laying a hand on the latch to the door, giving it an experimental push down, letting it creak open slowly. There's a broad smile that slowly spreads across his face, eyes scanning back to Peter. "We'll go tell dad, if you won't tell me."

Peter doesn't budge from here he stands, staring at the two inch space between the doors, listening to the music rolling out from within. Nate fixes his eyes on his younger brother again, brows raising expectantly as he tilts his head towards the door. Finally, Peter caves, and pushes past his brother with a huff, moving to edge the doors open the rest of the way.

As the doors sweep open and Peter takes his first experimental steps in, it's not the further crooning of Glenn Miller's music that greets him, but rather the very patient voice of Arthur Petrelli. "Peter." It comes in a tone that implies disappointment, and Peter's eyes grow wide as he breathes out a sharp breath, motioning behind himself with an accusing point.

"I—I'm sorry, dad I—" Moving his hand away from his blackened eye, Peter looks up to his father with a pitiful expression, shoulders slacked and eyes downcast to the floor. Arthur's tone changes entirely, a sigh slipping from him as he looks over his shoulder to the tall, darkly dressed man standing at his desk.

"Sorry about this, but… the perils of family." Arthur notes in a good-natured way, turning back towards his son. Heavy footsteps make their way over to the door, a seemingly towering silhouette draped in a pinstripe suit, head shaking slowly from side to side, despite the smile spread reluctantly on his lips. Arthur drops down to one knee, settling a hand atop Peter's head as he turns to look over to Nathan.

"You two know you're not supposed to come into my office when I'm working." Arthur's words make Peter look past his father, over towards the tall windows leading out on to the office's terrace, where a tall and gaunt man with dark skin stands, hands folded behind his back. There's a slight incline of his head, and Peter ducks behind his father's silhouette, frightfully hiding out of sight.

Arthur laughs to himself, ruffling Peter's hair, "That's Roger, Peter. He's a friend of mine from work…" despite his forgiving tone, Nathan is receiving a rather stern look. "Nate, what happened to your brother?"

Nathan frowns, arms folded as he leans against the door casing to the office, eyes squared down at his feet, scowling slightly, "I dunno, he won't tell me anything," he mumbles in a defeated manner. Quietly, Peter pokes his head around Arthur's shoulder, looking wide-eyed at the tall man standing behind Arthur, watching as he slowly makes his way closer.

"Peter?" Arthur focuses his attention back on his son, looking down at him with an intent stare. You've got to stop letting people push you around so much, okay? You're growing up—gonna' be a man soon—you've got to learn when to stand up for yourself when you feel like you're being taken advantage of." A warm smile spread across Arthur's face as he reaches around Peter to embrace his son in a hug as Nathan looks away, out the door and down the hall. "Alright, Nathan, you take your brother down to your mother, and let's see if she can do anything about that black eye. Afterward, I want you to tell me exactly what happened."

Pinehearst Headquarters, Fort Lee, New Jersey

Present Day

"Peter." Arthur's voice has that familiar tone, one that something as simple as a song can bring back, but it has something of a mixture of parental concern blended with the disapproval. As Peter slowly edges into the room, his eyes scan the otherwise empty office.

As he closes the door behind himself, Peter's quiet footsteps carry him past leather furniture and closer to where his father sits in a sleek leather armchair, reviewing a red-colored folder. "Dad—dad I'm in trouble," it's the first time in a long time Peter has had to say those words to his father as he limps in, but there's some things that time just doesn't change, and Arthur's reaction to crisis is one of them—Nathan learned his unflappable calm from someone after all.

"I heard, Peter. Or rather, I saw." Looking up from the folder, Arthur closes it and rests his hands flat on the cover, one leg crossed over the other beneath it. "When you didn't come back right away, I looked for you, and saw Miss Childs taking care of you at that building on Staten Island." His head tilts to the side, "It's curious that she didn't take you here, but I'll take that up with her when I see her again."

Limping over to the sofa, Peter flinchingly eases himself down onto it, keeping on leg straight from the discomfort in his knee. "How about you tell me how this happened, Peter, and why—exactly—it is you're not healing." Furrowing his brows, Arthur watches Peter with a narrowed gaze, breathing in a slow and tired breath that shows his tested patience.

"I don't know," Peter breathes out the words, hunching forward with his arms wrapped around his midsection. "I—After I left here, after we talked, I went to go see Gillian. I wanted to try and get working on what you told me to do—and—" wiping a hand over his forehead, Peter takes a moment to collect his thoughts. "She got me to agree to a meeting with—with Sylar." Looking up to his father, Peter searches for recognition in his expression.

The recognition is there, followed by a slow nod of his head. "Gillian has some very exceptional acquaintances, she made a good call. I take it this wasn't Mister Gray's handiwork, since you seem to have your head still squarely on your shoulders—" Arthur catches himself, cracking a smile, "—as much as it usually is, anyway."

"No it—I don't know. We were talking, and this guy showed up. Some—I dunno, he had to be around my age, maybe a little older. He had some power—" Peter's eyes dart back up to his father, "It was wild, this—this red lightning—and he hit me, Gillian. I think he hit Ss—Gariel—too… once I got hit, it—it felt like I was on fire inside, and then I just…" his eyes downturn to his hands, "I can't feel anything, my powers… n—nothing."

A tired sigh slips past Arthur's lips as he unfolds his legs and rises up from the chair, slowly moving over to the sofa Peter's seated on. Looking down at his son, there's a long moment of quiet until that red folder is slapped down onto the seat beside Peter, open to the photograph of a young man with sandy brown hair and a hopeless frown plastered across his face. "Did he look like that?"

Peter was always terrible from hiding his reactions from Arthur, and that much hasn't changed at all. Looking down at a photograph labeled Tyler Case, Peter can't help but slowly nod his head and look back up to Arthur with a confused expression. "Yeah he—that's him. I mean, he looks older now, but—that's definitely him."

Older. Arthur's brow furrows, and he looks towards the door to his office, then back to Peter. "That photograph was taken thirty days ago by Primatech employees." A slow, dawning look of confusion crosses Peter's face in response. "He's a current prisoner of Level-5, a man by the name of Tyler Case. His memory was wiped by the Haitian, but he possesses a unique ability to augment and suppress the powers of others."

"When'd he escape?" Peter's a bit slow on the uptake, and Arthur's slow sigh and shake of his head makes Peter begin to reconsider his knee-jerk response.

"Mister Goodman was kind enough to check up on Tyler for me recently, for unrelated reasons. He's still safe and sound within Level-5, which leaves me with a very unfortunate and highly unpopular answer, Peter. I think you might be able to guess what that is." Peter tenses up while Arthur talks, watching his father's motions with a wavering stare that bounces back and forth between Tyler's photo and his father's eyes.

"He—he's a time traveler?" It's hard to consider the possibilities, but after what happened at Moab, Peter's beginning to consider there may have been far-reaching repercussions of his actions.

"Possibly, we simply don't know enough to go on. However, whoever he is I've been having a very difficult time finding him. Either his ability allows him to block my sight, or someone very powerful is helping them. It might even be as simple as the fact that there's two Tyler Case's giving me a bit of difficulty in tracking him down." Pacing away from the couch, Arthur folds his hands behind his back, giving a slow shake of his head.

"If Tyler's taken your ability from you, Peter, there's no guarantee that it will come back. The Company's testing of Tyler's ability is… inconclusive. If he is an older and more experienced Tyler, then he may have permanently stripped your ability from you—but the question surrounding that is why." Turning to look over his shoulder to Peter, Arthur inclines his head. "Do you know how Gillian and Gabriel are doing?"

No guarantee it will come back. The very idea makes Peter's stomach turn inside-out, his teeth gnashing together as he looks back down to the photograph, then slowly up to his father. "No I—Gillian was gone when I woke up. I—I should go find her."

"You're in no condition to be going anywhere, Peter," Arthur turns around and points to the couch, "you sit down and stay put." His brows rise slowly, "Listen to your father."

When Peter laughs at the words, he clutches his sides, a wince coming over himself from the pressure put on his bruised ribs. "What… am I going to do? I—Dad, people are missing. There's so many people who were at Moab who haven't turned up yet, I—do you think—"

"Peter…" Arthur shakes his head, "You let me worry about that. Right now, I think, we should pay more attention to your injuries. You're not going to be able to do anything to get your powers back in that condition." A smile rises across Arthur's face, "I think it's time for a little something to cure what ails you."

One dark brow rises slowly, "You—can heal people?" At Peter's question, Arthur shakes his head and opens his hands wide, lips pursed.

"No… not, quite like that." Moving back over to where his son sits, Arthur comes to stand behind him and rest hands on Peter's shoulders. "I think it's about time I tell you about some more things, Peter. About how I plan on helping you get your abilities back," one hand slips away, then another, and Arthur starts to move towards the bar across the room.

"…and I think it's time I told you that I've spoken to Claire."

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