Colorful Words For A Colorful Woman


abby_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title Colorful Words for a Colorful Woman
Synopsis Peter comes calling in the early hours to offer a healing hand to Abigail.
Date May 27, 2010

Le Rivage

She had a phonecall as warning. Peter was swinging by to get her back on her feet proper before he was going to kill the Vegan. Poor trevor, there were very few who wanted to partner with him. Not that anyone could blame people.

Early up, that was Abby's habit and she was working on getting back into the schedule she'd need. They'd already been called, told to schedule her in for tomorrow, she'd bring a doctors note to prove that her foot was fine.

Thumping around the quiet apartment, no one else there, crutches creaking from their age and mis-use over the years, she's had the audacity to make breakfast for herself and for Peter. He knows as much too. The mother hen in her having seen him the other day, has gone into overdrive. With no one to mother hen, this means that peter will have to bear the brunt of it. The smell of bacon has already permeated the place, coffee and other things that survived the deep freeze that the place had sunk into.

A plate of the pork product on the second hand kitchen table with it's mismatched chairs, paper towel covering it to keep warm and soak up excess fat. Toast sings it's finished song of "pop" in the toaster prompting the blonde to crutch her way back to the kitchen from where she was ironing her uniforms. What few of them she still has. Most went up in flames.

It's something of a magic trick when Abby turns back around from the toaster to see Peter sitting at the table, jacket folded over the back of his chair and EMT uniform on, still looking like he's hardly gotten a good night's sleep. "You didn't have to cook breakfast…" Peter offers like his abrupt arrival isn't anything out of the norm, in the process of tugging off his gloves as he offered a look of those brown eyes towards the crutched blonde.

"I could've gotten you something or…" Peter loses his train of thought, laying his gloves down on the table before slouching back against the chair with a creak of wood, fingers folding and hands resting down in his lap. "Sorry for, uh, coming so early too… you know, work and— things. It makes my schedule sort've difficult to manage."

"Shut up and eat, before I tell your mother on you that you are working far more than you should be. Besides, I hate to cook for just myself." She had warning that he was coming, so there's no scream, no jumping - maybe a flinch - and certainly no flaming up. But then again, she'd taken some liiitle pills to ensure that didn't happen. "I could come with you, on shift if it works, save you a day of listening to him jibber at you"

Where she found eggs, who knows, but enough meals with him, she knows how he likes them and they're tossed into a pan before Abigail's making her way to the table with coffee. "Okay, how many hours sleep this time? And is it a money thing Peter, or just..?"

"I need to keep myself busy," Peter insists, tapping his hands down lightly on the end of the table, "that's— that's all it is. I really don't work doubles all the time, I just— I've had a lot of trouble sleeping lately. Sometimes I go to bed early, wake up and feel like I haven't hardly slept at all… I've been thinking about seeing somebody about it, I dunno if— I mean it might be some side effect of the Formula." Because that's exactly what Abby wants to hear. "But I can't really go and tell a doctor about that situation."

Grimacing slightly, Peter leans forward to take one of the two coffees, brows lifting in an expression of silent appreciation as he takes it. "Don't worry about it though, I'm here to get you better, not talk about whatever problems are compounding up in my head. Even if you feel better, you should still take the day off. Sasha's ability can be a little draining on both people."

"You cannot do one, without the other Peter. We'll just end up talking about it in the ambulance between calls, and you know that. Maybe it's the new power, the new aspect of it. Two hands, takes up more energy I'm sure. Double shifts, improper eating, stress, everything. I'm here for you to unload on, the same as you're there for the same. Or have we completely forgotten the whole crashed the ambulance into the snowbank night?"

Her own cup is left to steam, so she can tend to his eggs, though he'll have to come and fetch the plate himself. "You should visit Francois. He's a doctor. If it is a side effect of the formula and you can't go to a Doctor doctor then, Francois is one of your best bets. I doubt you'd go near Odessa and as much as you frown at the Ferry, they have physicians as well in the network and they can run some tests if you need them to be run" But that's all she'll say on the Ferry.

"I don't have the luxury of taking a day to rest off the healing. I need to start dealing with insurance and getting things rolling so that when stores open, I can get clothes for the summer that's coming and maybe… find some more permanent furniture and not second hand good will finds. And a car. Because I can only borrow the clunker for so long."

"Do they sell flame-retardant bikinis?" Peter asks with a lift of one brow, lips crooked into a lpsided smile as he deflects Abby's concern with a joke. Lifting his coffee up to hide his smile, Peter takes a long sip from it, then pushes out his chair and comes to stand tiredly, circling around the table to come up and stand beside Abby. It's obvious something's weighing on him, but he just keeps it wrapped up inside of himself for the moment.

Clearing his throat, Peter turns to rest his back up against the counter, crossing one leg over the other as he looks long-long at Abby, then down to the skillet. "So what exactly am I fixing, so I know how much this is going to hit me…" furrowing his brows and looking Abby up and down, he does like a Petrelli and evades the personal issues to focus on the goals.

"Do they even makes asbestos clothing? Because if they do, H-E-double hockey stick, I want the whole clothing line" She fires back, enjoying the banter back and forth with him, missing it in reality. "Lets see. Dislocated ankle and all that comes with it from Robert, and then there's the bullet wounds from Dreyfus's comrades. I burned up the stitches yesterday morning when I lost control but they were well on their way to healing. That's it really. The ankle is just the muscles now around the joint"

His eggs are flipped, butter lubricating the pan and making it so they don't stick. Even these were temporary goodwill purchases. The whole place was goodwill. "If you don't want to Peter, I understand, don't worry. It's not like I know how Sasha's gift works. You do" Satisfied with the condition of the ovum, They're lifted out and onto his plate, pushed towards him.

"It really is in your best interest, and mine, if you think it's the formula that's making you do strange things, doing this to you physically. We're the only two who have taken it, so.. what happens to you, woudl likely happen to me"

Laughing nervously, Peter shakes his head slowly and furrows his brows. "I don't know how it works, I just know it does. I mean, I know what Kazimir knew it could do from experience, but it works differently for me. It operates on roughly the same rules, but… there's not a lot of detail in my memories. I might be able to bring back the dead… I just don't know." The look in Peter's eyes at that suggestion is a tormented one, not even sure how he'd take to understanding an ability that could do something so drastic.

"I can fix something like that easy enough… I'll be sore, but— it's not that big a deal. I'll feel better knowing that you're not hurting. It's partly my fault that you got hurt in the first place anyway, the… whole Formula thing, I can't help but feel responsible for it. My father… if I'd just done something sooner. I don't know… I don't know what happened where they got those vials from, but they should never have brought them back."

Which, admittedly, means Peter would've been dead. "Sometimes I wonder just how much having something from a future that doesn't even exist anymore is screwing things up."

"You'll be sore and yet you'll be going to work" The plate is nudged towards him. "Peter, you've been dead. Doctor Stevens, he said you'd been dead a half hour, before he used his ability to bring you back. He doens't know how, just knows that it worked. Dead and cold half an hour. Maybe it's not the formula, maybe it's that" There's a tilt of her head, canted to the left as she regards the man beside her. "Could be a great many things Peter. If it's formula related, we won't know until maybe the same amount of time passes and see if I'm feeling the same, but I already have sleep issues"

There's a gesture to the table and she makes her way back over there. "And how is it your fault that I hurt my ankle and I got shot? Seriously Peter"

"Sorry," is somewhat sheepishly offered, head bowing as Peter stares down at his feet. There's a worried noise in the back of Peter's throat before he looks back up to Abby, watching her nervously at the mention of what happened after the attack at the manor. Dead, how many times now? There's a hitch in the back of Peter's throat and he leans away from the counter, looking back at the eggs and the skillet.

"Cover 'em up, I'll eat after we're done." Letting his stare linger on Abby for a moment, Peter shakes his head and turns back towards the table, pulling out a chair and turning it around, then taking another and turning it to face that one. With a hand on the back of it, Peter lowers himself down to sit, slouching forward and resting his forearms over his knees, hands rubbing together.

"So," Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head, looking up to Abby with a hesitantly offered smile. "Did you take my advice? Call Gabriel?"

"Uhuh, that's what I thought, neither is your fault. You're like me, apologizing for things we didn't do or have no control over" Chair laid out for her, she snags the second plate, turning it over top the first, covering his eggs and protecting them from getting cold before she takes a seat opposite him.

"I did. Like you suggested. I haven't heard back from him and I won't be holding my breath to. For now, i'm taking the negation pills that Cat gave me. I don't need to light up like I did yesterday" Over a letter and a man who's likely dead somewhere. For a moment, brows furrow and there's a sweep of sadness, but as quick as it came, it's gone. "I'll take the handprint on the back of my head, by the way. Under my hair. Because unless my head gets shaved, there will be no one seeing it"

"Your— your what?" Both of Peter's brows lift up in surprise. "On the— on the back of your head?" Troubled looking, Peter laces his fingers together and stares down at the floor between his feet, teeth toying with his lower lip for a moment before he offers a subtle shake of his head. "Well— you know that might be okay, but when I healed Francois, by touch made all the hairs on his leg turn chalk white. So… I mean, I guess you could dye it again, but you'd wind up looking kind've like a really confused skunk."

Grimacing lopsidedly, Peter stands up from his chair, looking down at Abby with a nervous smile. "If you're sure about it, it's no problem. I just need you to sit still and relax. I… I don't really know how it feels, most of the people I've healed have been sort've— broken already and in a lot of pain, so I'm not sure if the ability itself hurts or…" there's a sound that cuts off his words, awkward and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry if it hurts," Peter finally admits, head nodding slowly.

"I know a really good chromokinetic. I knew about the color thing already. Francois and I played show and tell with our new marks. He saw my new tattoo and he showed me his leg" She offers in comfort to her friend. "I have to visit Xiu anyways to fix my wing, it'll be an excuse to go to pink. They can't fire me for pink hair if they really need me"

Abigail reaches out, clasping his hand in hers and squeezing his hand. "Peter. I'm pretty sure, that not all healing could be as light and joyous and warm as mine was. I'm accepting it. Whatever it comes with, I'm accepting it. Don't worry about be poofing into flames, I took a pill. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I just.. I want to get back to work. It'll keep my mind off the bar, and just.. everything. Give me something to do, just like you do. We can pull double shifts together okay? I'll relax, and i'll let you do your thing and then we will eat and then.. you'll go to work and i'll go get hot pink hair"

Circling behind Abby as she talks, Peter eventually comes to lay hands on her shoulders, nodding in silent agreement to her words. "Chromokinetic? That's pretty interesting, you… know all sorts of interesting people, don't you?" One of Peter's hands moves from Abby's shoulder to rest at the back of her head, and there's a furrow of his brows as he hesitantly moves his fingertips thorugh her hair, getting the pads of his fingers down to her scalp. She can feel the press of his palm to the back of her head and his other hand squeeze her shoulder gently.

"Hot pink hair…" Peter says in a somewhat amazed tone of voice, "you know sometimes you really say something I never thought I'd hear come out've your mouth." With a grimace, Peter gives Abby's shoulder another squeeze, leaning in to ask her in a hushed tone of voice. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, that's right, you never saw my pink phase… or my blue phase, or my red phase, just blonde… Just you wait Peter, and yes. I only have one tattoo, everything on my back? That's my skin, she just changed the pigmentation. The wings, the wings was… a really drunk night and I was hurting. So was she."

Abby inhales through her nose, closing her eyes then exhales with a nod. "Ready. Don't wake the dog"

One brow lifted, Peter cracks a playful smile. "You know I've seen movies on late night cable that start the same way…" It's not like him to make a joke like that, but trying to help set Abby at ease before a potentially painful procedure comes like second nature to him, that old nurse mentality coming back in full swing, even if the commentary itself is a little colorful and unusual. Colorful commentary for a colorful woman.

"Here it goes," is all the warning Peter gives before a simple moment of concentration and muscular action causes a pin-prickling warmth to spread through the back of Abby's head. It feels to her like local anesthesia, a numbing sensation around Peter's fingertips that has a warmness to it. What comes next is a dull ache, an ache that spreads down her body like a creepy-crawling muscle cramp. With her injury at her ankle and Peter's hand on her head, it feels like his power has to make its way down her entire body.

The sensation is discomforting and ultimately painful, like her muscles writhing of their own accord, cramping and pinching, starting at the back of her neck and moving down her shoulder, around the right side of her ribs, then across her stomach with a contraction of muscles, down the top of her thigh in a sharp charliehorse, to her knee and then down the back of her calf before finally reaching her ankle where the prickling numbness rises up again.

Peter exhales a held in breath the moment he reaches the affected area, a held back noise of discomfort as he resst a little of his weight against the chair. The knotwork of cramped muscles in Abby's body slithers back up through from bottom to top, unworking all the cramped muscled back to normal but aching in the process painfully, before finally the sensations both end, the numbness relents, and… Abby's ankle feels just as good as new.

Peter, however, stumbles back and finds both legs buckling, sending him collapsing onto his backside on the floor with a grunt.

The worlds largest charlie horse.

Or really bad PMS cramps through ones body. Francois might laugh for a moment if he saw it, how Abby goes from relaxed to fingers gripping the seat of her chair with eye's clamped tight and mouth hanging open in a silent explenative from his ability, or more appropriately, Sahsa's ability.

Curls around her spine, the three healing bullet wounds wicked away before down to her foot where her toe curls and elicits forth a pained whimper. If she'd known it would have been like this, she would have dug up a percocet and it wouldn't have been so bad.

She recognizes that it could be worse and when it's over, Peter thumping back on his ass, she's curling over on herself, arms wrapped around her middle, trying to breathe through it as things uncramp, forehead resting on the edge of the table. "I… "

Breathing out an exasperated sigh, Peter holds up a hand to his head, just staying on the floor behind Abby's chair, eyes closed and brows creased. "I'm— I'm fine…" Peter distractedly murmurs, rolling onto his side and slowly pulling himself up to his knees, then onyl one foot, then finally a staggering attempt at standing. "Got— got kind've light-headed. I think I might've been doing this too much…" breathing in and out slowly, Peter turns to look and spot Abby curled in on herself and all his own whining stops immediately. "Abby."

Shakily moving over to her side, Peter lays a hesitant hand down on her shoulder, squeezing gently and deciding to crouch down beside her chair rather than muster up the energy to stand. "Are— is— did it work?"

"Worse than PMS. That I'm even uttering those words.. I think.. I think that might be an insight as to what labour might feel like and if so Peter, I do not want children. Check my back" Because she's just not ready to stand up quite yet and he's right there. "But I think so.. I think so." She rolls her head to the side, looking over at him through blonde strands of hair.

"That is… Okay, I hope you're hungry because I don't think I can eat right now because I just want to throw up."

Moving a hand up to Abby's back, Peter slides his hand down from her shoulderblade to her waist, a mostly unnecessary gesture. There's a nod of his head, a faint smile, and a gently tap of his fingers against her back. "Your back's fine. I— I'm sorry about the pain. It… I don't understand how the ability works, but… but this is the first time I've touched someone so far away from their injury I was trying to repair. It— it felt like going in through the trunk to fix a car's engine." Swallowing nervously, Peter smooths his hand up Abby's back again to her hsoulder, giving a squeeze to the muscles at the side of her neck.

"I'm starving," he admits with a grimace, "now, at least." Looking from Abby to the covered skillet on the stove, then back to the blonde, Peter rises up just enough to slip an arm around her shoulders and offer her a gentle hug before settling back down into his crouch. "At least you're better…"

"If you didn't need saving from Trevor so bad… I think I would have been content to be bored and stick to everything still injured" She offers a weak grin to him, starting the process of unfolding herself, taking account of her limbs and body parts. A hot shower will set her to rights, that is for sure. "If you're starving and can stand then please, by all means, gorge yourself on bacon. So you can breath on Trevor and talk about it the whole time about what a great pig slaughterer that I am"

She's feeling better by the minute, things become just a bad memory. She has never had healing like that. "Peter, if you're gonna stick with that ability, you gotta learn to channel it differently. But then again, at least this way, they won't be taking advantage of you"

"Learn…" Peter says a bit sarcastically, rising up slowly to stand straight, rolling one shoulder to work a crick in the muscles out. "Well, maybe. It's easier said than done usually, these things don't come with operation manuals." Tugging his teeth over his bottom lip, Peter takes a step back and looks over to the stove, then just shakes his head slowly and smiles. "You might be right about that…" he admits a little vaguely, walking towards the plate-covered skillet.

"The ah, the bacon, I mean." Turning to look over his shoulder, Peter flashes Abby a weary smile. "Maybe I'll bring some with me to eat on the ride."

"I'll make you a bacon sandwhich with the leftovers. I'll even make one with his name on it" Abby can be cruel. She's easing out of the chair, weight on one foot, then the other, testing it out. Fixed, fine, everything's back to how it should be. She'll get a look at her hair later, see how bad it is.

"You know right Peter" Getting her bearings and gesturing for him to sit. Her time to take care of him now. "I have the other room, two of them actually. They're empty and you can't stand your place right now. You're welcome to take up one of the rooms. I'm pretty easy to live with" She balances on her left foot, testing out the joint with a smile on her face. "I can't stand living alone anymore either and… someone to keep an eye on me in case I go all flambe after a nightmare. Not like the dog can do that"

There's an unsettled noise in the back of Peter's throat as he looks to the other side of the apartment, lips downturning into a frown and brows creasing together. With a subtle shake of his head, Peter looks back to Abby, but his words don't match his gestures in some kind of dismissal. "I'll… I'll think about it," he admits reluctantly, "I've got a lot to think about so, I just… if I do it, I'll do it because you need someone to help you." Which sounds a bit more dismissive of his own situation than he means.

"Right now," Peter says quietly, lifting the place off of the skillet. "Breakfist first, torment second," there's a crack of his smile at Abby's plan for the Vegan, "and then… then thinking."

He's too hungry and too tired to do much else.

But at least he did what he came here to do.

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