For Yourself...


doyle_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif peter_icon.gif

Scene Title For Yourself…
Synopsis When Peter comes to seek shelter with the Ferrymen, he instead finds unexpected old acquaintances and something else…
Date October 6, 2009

Staten Island, McRae's Safehouse

The way the golden color of sunset rays plays on the kitchen wall, everything seems to be made of gold. The honey colored wallpaper, though peeling in some places, is given an amber-gold shine from the last vestiges of afternoon's light. Yellow-tinted linoleum tile flooring is dusty with dirt tracked in from outside, and the fresh smell of coffee clings to the air from a percolater set out on the olive colored formica kitchen table. Everything in this house looks like it came from the seventies, though the white lace draped stained yellow by previous residents being heavy smokers probably were picked up later.

This house has accomodations few in Staten Island do — namely electricity. This region of the island's west coast is notorious for blackouts, and the neighborhood has been without electricity for five months straight now. The power cords coming in through the partially open window connect to an external generator, one just several paces away from where a new garden is being planted in what was once someone's small back yard.

Out here on Staten Island, it's like living after the end of civilization.

The building is quiet this afternoon, with its residents out for the remainder of daylight. The sole tender of this safehouse remains out back, tilling the garden and loosening the soil, and to the untrained eye this place seems abandoned from the broken pavement of the street. It's from that angle where an ink silhouette moves up from the cracked sidewalk, leaving browned grass in his wake. Dress shoes and a sleek black suit clash against the gritty urban surroundings of this once quainte suburban neighborhood. Black gloved fingers rap on the door, followed by a murmured call of "Solstice."

The safehouse's primary resident, Kaylee Anne Thatcher has heard that phrase before, it's one she has to speak — this month at least — in order to get inside. Someone's waiting to be let in, for the door to be unlocked and the latches to be withdrawn, and it looks like it's her turn to answer the door.

It's one of Kaylee's better days as she actually slept through the night without throwing up for once… always a plus. Maybe it's cause she was completely exhausted from the work she offered to do for the group house at that particular safe house. Which probably took some convincing since Kaylee, still looks like death. Pale, thinner then she should, dark patches around her eyes. Dressed in hand me down jeans that seem too long for her legs and a loosely fitting flannel shirt, since well… she never brought much with her when she left.

And this is what Peter sees when the door opens after a moment and a hastily called out, "Moment!" It opens a crack to look out, before fully opening to show the tall blonde, brows arched, flipping at dish towel over her shoulder, the sleeve of her shirt are rolled up so chances are she got put on dish duty. There is a bright smile for the man on the other side of the door, "Welcome." but then is falters a bit, brows furrow a bit. Something familiar.. but she doesn't say much, just steps out of the way so that he can enter the place. "Come on in.. I'm sure there are some cookies left over in the kitchen. Unless Jason got to them." Her tone bright, opposite of her appearance.

At least some of them can go outside! One of the safehouse's residents, one Eric Doyle, is still dreadfully paranoid of doing so - not that he expects someone to be waiting for him outside, but that he's afraid McRae's people, or the Ferry, would stop him from trying the door. It's a sullen paranoia, a dementation of the perpetually detained. Some prisons don't have bars, and are harder to escape. Somewhere deep inside, Eric'll always be locked up, until he finds his way out for good.

At the moment, he's seated on the edge of a cot, his shirt bulky not only from the size of the man dressed in it but also the gauze dressings beneath, his slow and careful movements also a tell-tale to match the burns. His cheeks are reddened a bit, creating an odd sort of sunburn-like situation, but it's not quite so serious. At the moment, he's got a sewing kit in hand, and he's sewing some googly eyes onto a sock.

A silent stare is afforded to the girl opening the door, pale blue eyes considering her height and the dark circles under her eyes. Peter turns, looking back over his shoulder at the empty street, then looks back to her with a faint smile that spreads crooked across his lips. "You're new…" he admits in a quiet voice, stepping past her and into the foyer of the house, shoes clunking across the hardwood floor underfoot. "I apologize for stopping by unannounced, I'm just going to stay here fr the evening." There's no introduction, no greeting, just a turn of his shoulder as he heads towards the kitchen and the scent of coffee, gloved hands tucking into the pockets of his slacks.

"Is this fresh?" Peter asks quietly without looking back at Kaylee, the sound of his footsteps turning into clicks as his hits the linoleum. Pausing by the table, Peter slides one hand out of his pocket, running gloved fingertips over the corner of the table thoughtfully, as if reminded of something.

"Jason." Kaylee calls out to the big guy and his puppet, on her way back into the kitchen. "Any of Felicity's cookie's left?" She offers the stranger a bright smile as she drops the dish towel from her shoulder and picks up a mug from the dish rack, she gives is a careful swipe and leans over to set it next to the coffeemaker. "Yeah, go for it. Know where the sugar and stuff is?" She then picks up other items making sure their nice and dry before putting them away.

As she works, she glances over at him, her eyes thoughtful, like she's trying to place his face. She focuses on the wall beyond him as she runs through her memory, with a small frown threating to tug at her lips. "Oh.. and yeah, I'm new. Been here a short while. Their keeping me safe, neat concept really. I like it." She glances over at him and flashes a smile, as she puts a plate away. "You come here often?"

The needle and thread are pulled slowly through the tiny metal fastener of the googly eye, and a fine pair of scissors cuts the threat. Greater deftness than one might expect Eric's fingers to have ties the little knot off, and then he draws the old grey sweat-sock over his arm, fingers twisting just so within it to create that 'fold' of a mouth with the crook of the sock, giving it a few testing mouth-movements. The puppeteer smiles sadly but beatifically at the little hand-made puppet.

Then there's the call from Kaylee, and he blinks up from his work, "Oh, hm— yeah, I think there is. Who's there?"

"I've only been here one other time, about a month ago…" Peter circles the table, gloved fingertips still tracing the olive colored surface, before he turns towards the cabinets, opening one, then another, then another until he finds the object of his search. A mug is withdrawn from within, one that reads World's Best Mom in flowery script. "This organization's staffed with good people," Peter admits quietly, turning back to the percolator on the table, sliding the glass pot out from the bottom, pouring himself a steaming cup with a relucrantly content smile. "I don't go anywhere often, having predictable patterns when you don't want someone finding you makes it easy to be ambushed."

There's an odd terse quality to his speech, but at the same time he doesn't shy away from the conversation. His manner of speech seems unusual, half discontent and half delighted to be here, as if he's quietly shouldering something on his mind. "If you don't mind my asking…" Peter begins before taking a sip of the black coffee, one brow immediately raising sharply as he backs the cup away from his lips, looking at it like it just tried to kill him. A moment of pause, and then his blue eyes drift up towards Kaylee. "What're you running from?"

"Some guy!" Comes the brilliant and more then happily given reply from the blonde telepath. There is a hint of… 'Come check it out yourself'… in her tone. Kaylee gives a small roll of her eyes for Peter's sake, her ever present smirk there. "He's been working on something. Something involving a sock.. so I've been keeping my nose out of it." She holds up her hands as if saying it's so totally out of her hands.

Last of the dishes away, Kaylee drops the towel on the edge of the sink. Reaching for the back of one of the table chairs, she moves to lower herself in it, slowly. Settled, she allows her shoulders to slump a bit, as she leans forward to lean her arms on the table. A lightly trembling hand lifts to brush at the moisture on her forehead, making her hair cling. The house isn't even hot, one would think she's been working hard, but in truth she's only been washing dishes.

The question gets a small shrug out of Kaylee as she considers the question. Then she only offers the scarred man a single word. "Death" How she can say that word so simply and without fear is anyone guess. Hands clasp on the tabletop to stall their trembling, her blue eyes unflinching as she gazes up at his own blue eyes.

A soft grunt puffs on the air as Doyle pushes himself up to his feet, drawing that breath back in as a hiss as the movement pulls on burnt skin. He's finally, warily started taking pills for the pain, but less of them than he should be. Once he's on his feet, he breathes for a moment and then heads towards the kitchen area, lumbering towards the conversation at a slow shuffle of footsteps. Somewhere, he found some fuzzy slippers. He sewed eyes on those, too, big ridiculous cotton-balls with the pupils painted on, bobbling about crazily with every step.
"Death," he snorts derisively, "As if. Really, you don't need to…" Whatever he was about to say about the man from whom she's fleeing dies on his lips as he sees the man drinking coffee, his eyes widening in sudden startlement, surprise—


"You!" A flare of heat, of anger behind the puppeteer's eyes, both hands jerking upwards as his power lashes out to seize the other man's body in his nearly signature fashion, as if steely threads reached down to pull Peter's arms up even as the rest of his muscles are forced slack. The coffee mug topples end over end, slowly falling towards the floor, droplets of hot coffee splashing - and then spraying in all directions as fragments of ceramic crash everywhere. World's Best Mom dies in a sudden, violent moment.

"You can't run from De— " Words are choked away when Peter's body is suddenly yanked out of his own control. Staggering backwards, his arms fly high over his head. Barely able to keep himself standing on wobbly legs, the rigid posture of his arms above his head causes Peter to look much like a shackled prisoner hanging from a wall. It's hard to see, but in those wide blue eyes there is considerable levels of fear as his focus comes upon the familiarly large silhouette of the man now in control of his body.

A hissed breath slips up from Peter's throat, unable to quite make words from the failure of his vocal chords to tighten up properly. For a moment, a few loose threads on one of his sleeves seem to have a mind of their own, black lines that snake and swirl around by his wrists, but do no more — maybe a trick of the light.

One moment things are hunky dory.. The next, the stranger is held like a puppet "Eric!" Kaylee exclaims surging to her feet, chair toppling backwards. His fake name tossed aside due to the urgency of the moment. Of course, standing like that, leaves her slightly unsteady and she places her palms on the table so she can lean for a moment as she glares at the puppet man. "What the hell are you doing?" She asks fiercely, all her smiles set aside for the surprise and shock she's feeling.

"Let him go. What are you thinking? Think about the last time someone suddenly jumped the damn gun." She motions frantically to his burned side, slipping away from the table, moving to Eric's side. Her words are soft, but still hold that edge. "Put…. him… down. Before you get us both thrown out. Then Adam will be all over us for sure." But then she slips into a more silent communication with the big guy. «And you know Adam knows I've been helping you.. and by now his goons know your gone too… connect the dots. We //need this protection.//»

Eyes watch him carefully, hoping that something she said sinks in and gives the right results. "Come on.. Just put him down." The words are spoken softly and seriously. A glance is thrown to Peter, even as she adds. "There are two of us and one of him anyhow." She tries to make the words sound smug even if her attention is on the stranger, her eyes worried for his safety.

The puppeteer's eyes are wide as saucers as he glares at the man held immobile by his power; his hands slowly lowering, but Peter's remain suspended, Eric's fingers dangling still from his broad hands as if they held strings. Well, one of them is. The other's still obscured by that ridiculous sock puppet, dark eyes in dark translucent plastic rattling in a wild roll.

"He's not alone," he claims flatly, "They're never alone." He steps forward slowly, his head leaning in closer, tilting to one side as he watches his captive's face, "One of us… one of them… that's how it goes, doesn't it? Are you just scouting or is there a whole raid out there? Hm? Tell me!"

Throat still somewhat slacked from Doyle's demand, Peter's blue eyes narrow as he tries to form words. "Y-you're— " there's a hiss of breath, a struggled sound of conflict in the way Peter tries to move against the unseen threads that bind him into such a rigid shape. "Stop," he manages to croak out before his head lolls back, slacked neck muscles unable to keep his head perfectly up. It's only in that motion that Doyle sees something out of place, a mark on the underside of Peter's jaw at the side of his throat — a quarter-sized scar of dimpled skin. Doyle has one in the same under the right side of his jaw, as does anyone who was ever a prisoner in the Moab Federal Penitentiary. Something, here, in Peter's scrabbling presence hung up by the puppeteer's mad will, doesn't add up.

Eyes widen a bit at Doyle, "Company?" Adam told her about them and Kayle glances at Peter. Her bottom lip catches in her teeth for a moment as she struggles with her own morals for a long moment. Then she decides she doesn't have a choice, she takes a few steps closer. Her eyes narrow slightly as her mind reaches out to Peter's. The touch is light, not even noticeable, but once she does there is a sharp hiss of air from her, as her own mind is assaulted by more then she expected, she only once felt something similar. Quickly she draws out of his mind with enough force to make her take a step back. She hates invading like that… but it's not just for their safety, but his as well."Holy shit." She murmurs in awe, her skin pales a bit more — Is that even possible? — her body trembling more then before. Her eyes focus on Peter like he suddenly became something interesting, her expression curious.

"Let him go, Eric." Her voice is slightly distant, "He's telling the truth." Her eyes finally break away from Peter to glance over her shoulder, her body twists a bit so that she can look at Doyle. "He's not a threat. He doesn't even understand what's going on." Her next words are firm, "Let… him… go."

The crane of the puppeteer's neck allows him to catch sight of that scar, burying a seed of doubt… and then the blonde telepath's words water it, until it's grown enough that he decides, tenatively, to accept her words. The short, heavyset man steps back from his puppet, and his hands lower, falling as he releases his control.

"Then he'd better explain himself," he says lightly, faking a bright smile that never touches his eyes, cold eyes that remain on Peter, "Shouldn't he, Mister Flopsy?"

Up comes the sock puppet, that mouths to a ventriloqist's squeak, "I think he should, Eric! Double-quick!"

Struggling to set his head upright, Peter's head instead falls forward into a dipped bow. Arms still raised, he manages to grumble out a throaty, "I— just— " then the control drops, and Peter's whole body goes limp for a moment as he drops to his knees on the floor. Shoulders hunched forward, he breathes in a slow and steady breath, bringing one gloved hand up to his throat to massage away the feeling of incooperative vocal cords. "Doyle," Peter practically hisses out, upturning blue eyes towards the puppeteer after a moment, "when…" there's a sharp breath, "how did you get out of Level-5?"

Blue eyes go to Kaylee, fingers rubbing along the front of his neck as he reaches up for the coffee table, pulling himself to his feet. He can't be certain what happened there, all he can be certain of is that his coffee is on the floor, and he owes McRae a new mug.

Blink and then stares, that's what Kaylee does. Looking away from the puppet master she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly until her eyes fix back on Peter. "I'm sorry." She says genuinely, a hand moving in front of her in a placating gesture. "From what I've heard from him and Adam about Company and Level 5… and Moab." She turns slightly to motion to Doyle, "I can't really blame him, but he overreacted. But last thing we needed was Company on top of Adam Monroe hunting me… possibly us." A glare is shot at Doyle, he better not have just screwed her over, before she moves to get the dish towel. Another glance between the men, she eases herself down to start picking up mug pieces and deal with the mess.

"That didn't sound like an explanation, Eric," Mister Floppy confides, turning eyes of hard plastic that rattle in their transparent cages but see nothing back towards Doyle. The puppeteer gives the sock puppet a very serious look, noting gravely with a shake of his head, "No, no it didn't, Mister Flopsy."

That merciless, pitiless gaze of tiny black disks turns back to regard Peter, even as Eric's eyelids hood a bit and he breaks that dramatic facade to drawl out in tired, irritable tones, "PARIAH, or Phoenix, or somebody cracked the place open. I took a little walk, and then Homeland scooped me back up again and threw me into Moab. I see you've been there. So why don't you explain who you are and why I saw you patrolling Level Five, hm?" Brows leap up, encouraging. He ignores the glare in his direction.

"Monroe?" Blue eyes suddenly go wide, and Peter's attention is sharply on Kaylee. Working his gloved fingers open and closed, his attention stays focused on the young woman. A sharp, quick glance is given to Doyle, then back to Kaylee as Peter's silence comes with a furrowing of his brows, once that creases the deep scar across his forehead some. "I was the one who cracked it open," Peter finally spits out to Doyle, looking with a furrowed brow as his head tilts to the side. "Maybe you remember that ball of heat and fire that flew down the hallway? I was trying to stop Sy— "

Too much emotion, too little control, Peter stops himself abruptly and closes his eyes, hands curled into fists with a creak of his gloves' leather. "I snuck in with some friends," no need to label them, "and— we screwed up. You— nobody down there should have ever gotten out. Not especially Adam Monroe." There's no love lost for that name when it is flung off of Peter's tongue. "I'm not a Company agent…" Not anymore, anyway, and definitely not when Doyle was a resident of Level-5, but at least there's some semblance of relief in that notion. "I'm not one of these people either, I— I work for different people. But I'm not your enemy, especially if you're on the opposite side of the fence from Monroe."

Crouching down, Peter quietly begins to collect the shards of the coffee mug, gathering them up into one gloved hand. "My name's Peter…" he offers politely, remarkably so despite his very warm reception, "and provided you don't use that ability of yours again," a piece of glass clinks atop another in his palm, "we'll stay square."

Looking up from the mess on the floor, Kaylee focuses on Peter again. "Wait.. You know about him? Adam?" Eyes narrow slightly as if trying to decide on something. "I…." The woman's voice stumbles a bit and she looks down again she she continues to pick up those shards. "I work… worked for him. We were close… like family," She admits. "But something I did for him while he was - " She stops herself from revealing too much, before she continues, " — it caused what's happening to me. So at this moment — yes, I'm on the opposite side of the fence."

When her crouches near her, she leans back, watching him cautiously, head turns slightly as she considers him. "Kaylee… " She gives him a strained smile. "I'm sorry for.." She motion pointing between her head and his, "I don't make it a practice, if I can help it. But I had to know, for your sake and ours." She holds the towel out, held between her hands, pieces she collected weighing down the middle. It's held there so he can add his pieces. "I figured…" She stretches her neck to look at Doyle over the table. ".. Eric might believe me if I did it."

"Oh, well, then, it's a relief that your plan was just to kill us all instead of letting us out," Doyle replies cheerfully, his smile fading swiftly into a scowl and a glower at the man gathering shards of ceramics drenched in hot coffee on the floor, "You're such a humanitarian."

A sharp look to Kaylee, and he suggests, "Why don't you ask… him… about Monroe? He was walking around on Level Five, so he's seen the files. He knows all about Adam's history, I'm sure. I am going to go eat the rest of Felicity's cookies and work on Miss Mopsy."

The sock puppet's marker-drawn eyebrows seem to waggle under the knuckles beneath them, and then man and puppet turn to trundle away, grumbling darkly.

Offering a plaintive smilt to Kaylee, the glass shards he collects lay down in the towel, his brows furrowing before he looks up to Doyle's retreating form. There's consideration in his eyes, of the large man, but when his head hangs and his shoulders slack, no apology comes out — not yet. "Don't, for your sake," Peter begins to say, looking up to Kaylee, "go rooting around in my head again. I— I don't know what'll happen if you do for too long."

Blue eyes glance towards the doorway Doyle disappeared into, then settle back on Kaylee as a gloved hand comes out to lay on her shoulder. "I'm not willing to say you're safe here." It's probably not what she wants to hear. "If you're running from Adam Monroe, he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants." Layers upon layers of different experiences speak here. "I don't know how you know him, why you were with him or why you're running— " his head shakes slowly, "and I don't want to." Dark brows crease, and Peter pushes himself up to his feet slowly.

"But I do know that the Ferrymen aren't as perfect of a network as they might say. They're good— but like every organization they have their holes and faults. The last thing I want is you being lured into a false sense of security and letting your guard down." Blue eyes finally flick to the door again, and Peter asks quietly, "When did he get…" a gloved hand motions to the side of Peter's face, the same side of Doyle's face that's burned.

"Sometimes… that man really disturbs me." Kaylee murmurs quietly enough that the big guy won't hear her, giving her head little shake. "But he's amusing all the same." A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, as she regards Peter. Her expression seems to turn a bit more serious as she listens to Peter, her body stiffening with the hand on her shoulder. "Don't you know I don't know he's not going to stop?" Kaylee snaps without thinking. Embarrassed by the out burst, she looks away. Her voice still and a rather un-Kaylee like edge to it. "I'm a telepath… among other things. I know he's not going to be happy till he has his asset back. I'm scared shitless that he will find me even here and how he will react. I don't hardly sleep at night cuase I just know Huruma is going to find me and drag me back" When he rises, she grips the edge of the table with her hand, the shards with her other one, Kaylee pulls herself off the floor. Leaning on the table, she drops the towel on the surface.

"And I'm running cause just being near him… Just talking about him… Or even thinking about how I love him like a father…" There is a hiss of pain from her, both hands moving to rest on the table, as her choke chain is tugged a little tighter. She's quiet for a moment as she just breaths slowly. "My brain is telling my body to shut down, cause of something I did for him. Someone.. did something to my brain.. or that's the threory.. now trusting him is killing me."

Glancing at the doorway for a brief moment, Kaylee shakes her head a bit, her words strained. "The burns? Misunderstanding, between him and some of the Ferrymen." She frowns and straightens slowly from the table, still looking somewhat embarrassed. "Was he right though? Can you…. no.. Would you tell me everything about him?"

Looking down and then away a bit, Kaylee wars with her fear and her confusion. "I need to learn everything about him and his past. That or find a cure for this.. but the person that did this is dead. So I think I have to… I just… " She looks at the stranger and asks simply. "How.. do you stop trusting?"

Another cot to sit upon - one within view of the kitchen area - is chosen, and Doyle eases himself slowly and carefully down onto it. He privately grimaces in pain that he doesn't want the others to see, doing his best to ignore it as he reaches over for the sewing kit once again. The sock's drawn from his hand, and he quietly goes to work on another puppet, humming a faint, haunting little tune under his breath. 'Did You Ever See A Dream Walking' for those who might know music well, although its origin was back in the thirties.

"Never trusting at all is a good start." Peter admits with a lopsided smile as he dusts his gloves off together. "But that's hardly a healthy outlook for a young woman such as yourself," he notes with an incline of his head. "I know more about Adam Monroe than your friend might let on to, but that's a complicated story to tell, and best served for another day if we happen to meet again." There's an obvious fluctuation between Peter's method of speech. Sometimes it's short, terse and quiet mumblings, other times there's that eloquent and flowery lines like just now that remind Kaylee somewhat of Adam.

"Adam's story, what I know of it at least, is a complicated one to tell as well. But given your current predicament," his shoulders rise into a shrug, "I don't see it as being one I can't spare the time to tell. I am planning to be here for the night, and what better way to pass the time while you make me another cup of coffee…" a sly smile is offered as he pulls out one of the chairs by the kitchen table, "than a story?"

"Maybe.. but it's hard to stop trusting… when you have no reason not too. Beyond double shifts at Biddy's to keep me from getting into trouble." There is a slight tug at the corner of her lip at the word trouble, a slightly mischievous look to her eye. "He hasn't done anything truly bad too me. And the little people have told me… Even I'm not a good person. I've done things… that kinda scare me when I think about it now." Grabbing the towel again, she moves to dump the broken mug into the trash can. "Even the people that tell me he's bad are not saints, but something about him scares them. That's what they are not telling."

There a look of relief from Kaylee when she moves to grab another mug out of the cabinet, her whole body seems relaxed. Setting it on the counter, while she pours the new cup, she offers an honest, "Thank you, by the way. Your the first person I've talked to that seems able to help me." Picking up the mug and carrying it to Peter, she's actually smiling. "I have nothing but time for stories. I have no idea how long I'll be here… I don't really have anywhere else. Running from Adam, I kind of left my life behind and no real plan of where to go or what to do."

The mug, which Peter will find to be a rather fetching pink striped number, is set gently on the table. "So… Wow me with your storytelling skills."

"I wouldn't be so certain that I can help…" Peter admits, reaching out for the mug with a gloved hand, eyes settled on his reflection in it for a moment, and his expression is a puzzled one, as if he doesn't quite recognize the man looking back. It takes a moment, one fraught with an awkward smile, to remember his place and let his eyes settle up on Kaylee again. "I met— " That's the wrong way to start this, "The oldest story of Adam I know…" easier to swallow, this, "dates back to the second World War." Peter's head inclines towards Kaylee in thanks as he brings the coffee cup to his lips, taking a sip.

"Adam and…" it's hard to cut yourself out of a story, "Adam worked for the Nazi party during World War II. It wasn't uncommon for residents in Germany at the time, and not everyone associated with the Nazis were wholly evil, despite what fiction may say. Adam worked at a research facility in Berlin, part of a project put in motion by the Fuhrer to research super men." Both of Peter's dark brows go up at that, his coffee lowered to be nursed between both hands.

"The research the group Adam was a part of, may have been cruel in its own way, but much of the knowledge learned by human experimentation became the foundation of modern medicine. More importantly, it became the foundation of the modern world's understanding of people like you and I." Omissions are made left and right, only the relevent pieces are being layed out.

"What happened to Adam after the War ended, I'm not entirely sure of…" Or, Peter's not willing ot say. "But I do know that he found himself working with an organization called the Company in the 1960s. They were founded by a group of people who — coincidentially — were the victims of another generations experimentations into the Evolved. These founders, they looked up to Adam as a guide and mentor. Some of them, they agreed with Adam's very… caustic feelings towards the world… others less so."

Sliding carefully into a chair, Kaylee leans forward on her arms as she listens with the attention of a child hearing a fairy tale. Eager to learn as much as she can, turning over every word in her mind. Of course, the look of total shock on her face at the mention of the Nazi's in relation to Adam, you can't fake that. "Boy he was probably the poster child for their blonde and blue eyed stuff, huh?" Her head shakes slowly as she thinks on that. "He never really came out and told me how old he was. I mean…. I know he was old, but that was cause others were telling me so… "

The mention of the Company makes her grimace some. "That is something he talked about often." She rubs her arms at the thought, "Sounded like a scary bunch… tho…" Her voice trails off as she things back, "Founders… we… The one I think that did this too me.. She was a founder." Kaylee focus' on Peter. "I remember her mentioning that. He blamed her and all the others for his time in Level 5."

"He would." Peter says with a distinct edge of frustration, lifting his coffee cup up again to take a long sip before setting it down again. "But when faced with the promise of death, what would you do to protect yourself, Kaylee?" The question comes a bit double-edged, indicating there's no good answer. Thankfully, from the short gap between Peter's words, it's a rhetorical one. "The Company had found a young girl named Shanti Suresh, and she was dying because of a very special illness. The Company's researchers wanted to find out more about it, because it specifically targeted people like you and I… it made them lose their powers, it made them…" he shrugs, not really qualifying that.

"But it was killing this girl, and the Company had to know why." It goes without saying, that Peter is using the story as an allegory for the dangers of digging too deeply for knowledge and wisdom, something a man his age shouldn't really be concerining himself with. "Eventually, the Company discovered a strain of the virus, strain 128, the bridge between ordinary humans and the Evolved, where the virus could gain its lethality and… if given the proper climate… kill us all."

Looking into the reflection shown in his coffee cup, Peter is quiet for a moment. "Adam tried to unleash the virus on the world. He was going to use it to wipe out 98 of the human population of earth, like Noah's great flood." Dark brows furrow together, and Peter's tone of voice becomes humbled, almost guilty sounding. "If you believed in Adam's nihilistic world views, perhaps it was justified. A fresh start is what he would have called it." Those cold blue eyes level on Kaylee again. "The Founders didn't see it that way, and they locked Adam away for what was supposed to be forever. Why they didnt find a way to kill him…" shoulders rise into a shrug, "only they know."

The question gets a sad smile as her eyes drop to the table, examining the faux woodgrain. "I know.. and I walked into it, when he asked me to read her mind and see if her words were true." Then she wanted to show him she could do what he wanted, to prove herself… Now, she doesn't seem so certain and there is even an edge of guilt to it. "And I really don't blame her. I've.. done bad things to protect me… and the gang."

Blue eyes lift again at the mention of the Shanti Virus, she sits up a bit. As he goes on she seems more and more focused on his words. She doesn't interrupt this time, she lets him talk without interruption. "That.. that's one of the things she told me to learn about." A hand, trembling with the weakness of her body, lifts to press fingers to her mouth, she almost doesn't look like she wants to believe it. "He.. Adam? He wanted to end it all?" There is uncertainty in her tone.

The hand drops suddenly so that Kaylee can say softly, "I know he's killed two of these founders recently… I think he'd going after more. I think he plans to kill them instead." Her eyes widen a bit and she looks suddenly guilty. "He's killing them all for doing the right thing."

"Welcome to the world," Peter dryly states, his eyes uneasily lowering from Kaylee's. "Good people die for the wrong reasons all the time, and it all depends on how you handle that knowledge that matters in your life. Adam is a determined man that's very hard to kill. The chip on his shoulder that the world put there didn't help matters either." Peter's head tilts to the side, questioningly. "I'm not entirely surprised that he never told you about why he was imprisoned…"

A thoughtful quality casts Peter's voice, "But i'm left to wonder why you never asked why he was making you an accessory to murder." Rubbing his thumbs over the edges of his pink striped coffee mug, Peter's brows furrow. "You're never going to be able to live a normal life again, not even the illusion of it. With what he's had you do, someone knows. Someone will eventually find you, maybe years from now and make you pay. Maybe the child of someone you were accessory to the murder of, maybe a jilted lover. But it will happen, and you're never going to be able to live without that hanging over you." Then, quietly, he adds, "Was it worth his affection?"

"I never questioned him." Kaylee admits softly, after a long moment of silence. Finger taps softly on the table top, "I never had a father. Mine was blown up in Midtown, the day I was to meet him for the first time." There is no sorrow.. no sadness when she talks about that father. "Then along comes Adam. Saved me.. Wowed me with stories of his life, which might not even been true. He took me under his wing.. treated me like I was worth something." A smile smile touches her lips, "Up till him, men treated me like a piece of meat." She shrugs a bit… and gives a dismissive wave of her hand, "Anyhow, I've tried since then to prove that I'm worthy. That I am worth all the time he's put into me, treating me as his own." Both hands spread a bit as she asks him, "What would you do for the affection of your father. Cause for me, that's who Adam Monroe was."

"Was it worth it. I…. just don't really know."

"When I look now. I'm a twenty two year old woman that let herself be treated like a kid." Her hands fold as she leans forward a bit,"He always kept me on a tight leash, never taught me how to protect myself. I mean.. sure, I can make a guy turn a gun on himself.. but I can't even load a gun myself. So in a way… I wonder if he kept me dependent on him." Both hands lift to scrub over her face and then her fingers slide through her hair. "What did I get myself in with him. He made it sound like when I started helping him that he was going against the system and the governments and trying to stop things like registration. Now… it's just revenge."

Immediately, any hope of chiding Kaylee's lack of questioning Adam is shot in the face when she says died in Midtown. There's a silence that falls over Peter, his head dips down into a nod, and while the words, "I'm sorry…" may ring hollow after so long, it's with a guilt Kaylee hopefully will never know that they come out. "Losing family it's— " Peter shakes his head, looking down into his coffee now with less presumptuous fervor than before.

"People do foolish things for their fathers…" Peter admits after a moment of silence, "my father was a terrible man, he— I'm not proud of him, not proud of what I did working for him. He hurt many people, and hurt me, but in the end— even after he died, I still loved him. You can't ever truly destroy that part of yourself that love your parents. But Adam…" There's a slow shake of Peter's head, "Adam isn't your father. He's someone who used you for your ability, just like he uses everyone else he comes across and discards them when they've lost their purpose — or when they disagree with him."

Folding his hands and moving the coffee cup aside, Peter looks up to Kaylee quietly. "You said a telepath did something to you, and… is making something happen to your body?" He moves away from the heavy topics. "I've never heard of something quite like that before, but I at least know the principals. The mind governs everything in the human body, and a telepath with the right ability can simply shut section of the mind that regulate breathing or— any biological function— off. It's not quite what you're going through, but…" he offers a hesitant smile, "I might know someone who can help what's been done. Would you be interested in meeting them?"

"No reason to be sorry… you didn't kill th bastard." Kaylee offers with a small smile, one shoulder lifting in a small shrug, making it seem like no big deal, "I was his reminded of an affair. I think he felt guilt for tossing me aside like that… but… he was still a bastard." Leaning back in her chair, her hands slide off the table, to rub on her legs.

"He's the closest thing I had… and I wanted to badly to prove myself to him. I dunno why now… but I did. Whatever I did it never seemed enough… In Pinehearst… " Kaylee trails off, her teeth catching her lower lip as she stops herself. "In anything I could do for him… It was not enough."

"Persuasion.. or that's what Adam's assistant told me. That's all she knew of the person's ability. I though it was like what I can sometimes do, but it obviously isn't." When he offers the help, Kaylee looks hopeful, but then her brows drop slightly. "Why?" He realizes how the question sounds, "I mean, yes I would, cause I hate this.. I'm nauseous and in pain all the time…. but why help me?" She glances around where they are sitting and adds, "I should be asking that of everyone lately. Why help one of Adam's, if he's this horrible person."

Peter's silent for a time, not quite coming up with an answer as he stares down at his gloved hands. "I wanted my answer to be… because then you'd owe me a favor…" His blue eyes scan the terribly colored kitchen table, then alight to Kaylee again. "But I think I much prefer the answer of, because it's the right thing to do." One black brow raises, and Peter offers a hesitant smile, one tempered by the guilt he feels towards the death of her father.

"I used to devote my life to trying to save people… I used to be a hospice nurse…" the two aren't quite related, "I've gotten away from that, not really… feeling like myself lately?" Tlting his head to the side, Peter offers that crooked smile again. "I can't guarantee he'll be willing to help, or if I'll even be able to get in touch with him. But I'm going to try, and take the risk in doing so… because I think— " he cuts himself off, shaking his head slowly, "because I know that you're too young to be held responsible for Adam's mistakes."

"You deserve your life," Peter says in a hushed tone of voice. "You deserve something better than this…" a motion around the room, and blue eyes settle on Kaylee again. "So, that's my answer. Nothing selfish, this time. Just because I can."

The young blonde telepath, just seems to look at Peter for a moment. Her expression is not really readable, it just is. It's almost like the young woman is realizing something about herself… her life. Right in that moment. "You know… there is something to be said about honesty." Kaylee says softly, her eyes moving to the table as she tries to think of what she wants to say. "And it's nice to actually hear some. Feels like it's been awhile."

A half smile tugs up one corner of her mouth, as Kaylee's eyes narrow a bit as if considering him. Her voice is low, her words slow. "Even if this person doesn't want to help… even if you can't find them. I think… I will still owe you." Fingers lacing and arms resting on the table, Kaylee purses her lips and nods slowly. "I do hope you come around again, beyond this. For one, cause I'd like to learn more about Adam, since you know about him. Somehow I don't think I'm going to get too many false words from you, but a part of me feels that cause I can't get into Adam's head, I can't trust that he'll tell me the truth." Her smile widens a bit, "And I think right now I need some honesty to keep my head on straight." Though she doesn't mention the fact that having someone other them Doyle to talk to, could be a plus as well.

"Well… there is one catch," Peter admits, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tracy Strauss a month ago. "The only person who can contact the man who can fix you, isn't well herself right now." Dark brows crease together, and Peter breathes in deeply and looks up towards Kaylee again. "The man who can fix you has a unique gift, one for modifying and selectively erasing memories. I think— if he can get inside of your head and get to the memory of the telepathic instruction that was laid on you, that he might be able to erase the damage being done. But— I don't know how to get in touch with him myself."

Swallowing tensely, Peter folds his hands and looks up to Kaylee with a serious expression on his face finally. "My mother…" Peter's voice is quiet, "is the one who knows how to find him, but she's been in a coma for months. She's like us— she has these… dreams. She sees the future, and— " there's a shake of Peter's head. "I think my father did something to her, he had telepathic abilities like you." Amongst other things, but that's neither here nor there. "I think your ability might be able to help wake her up from what happened. Then, she can tell me how to get in touch with the man who can help you."

Tensed up, Peter nods his head once. "I'll be straight with you… she's one of the people that Adam wants to kill. She's one of the founders of the Company, but— she's the only one who can help me find the person who can fix you. So you have a choice, and you're the only one who can really make it." Tilting his head to the side, Peter's blue eyes drift to the door Doyle had wandered into, then looks back to Kaylee. "You can help her, and help yourself… but turn you back on everything Adam is to you. Or… you can try and find another way. I'm sure there's one out there, but this is the only one I'm sure of."

Blonde brows lift little by little as Kaylee listens to him and his catch. It was sounding simple enough really, well… not totally. When he mentions her fixing his mother, Kaylee looks uncertain, even nervous at the thought. However, those last words sink in and Kaylee goes almost white as a sheet " Is that even possible? — making her looks worse.

In a sense he was asking her to betray Adam. That's a lot bigger then just staying away. Suddenly, the blonde telepath looked a little green, but not from her affliction. "Oh god.. do… do you know what he'd do to me?" Looking up at Peter, Kaylee's eyes are a bit wild with fear as her imagination gets the better of her.

Kaylee closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, the sound quivering a bit as she tries not to think about the fact she wants to throw up, "I don't do this.. I'm dead for sure… I do this.. I'm still dead. Either way Adam kills me." There is a brief twitch of her lips at the irony. "But, I have a mother. And… I know I would want someone to do what they can for her." The telepath focuses on the man across the table from her, "I can't guarantee it. Seems like every time I need to be good at my ability, it fails me." Hands folding again, she presses the knuckles of her fingers to her lips as she take a moment to make sure of her next words.

"I'll do it. I'll help try and bring your mom out of her coma."

"If anyone can protect you from Adam, Kaylee, it's my mother." Peter offers her a reassuring, if only small, smile. "I'll give you some time to think on it, after all, I'm not going anywhere else tonight…" Looking to the side, Peter's focus is set to the now faded light out the window, and the gloom of evening that has set in. The back door clunks open, and one of McRae's boys comes walking in, offering a quiet smile as he circles thorugh the kitchen and starts clunking up the stairs to the second floor. Peter's eyes settle back on Kaylee then, and he dips his head down into a subtle nod.

"As much as most people would tell you not to, I'm of the mind that you have to look out for yourself before you look out for others. In this, do it to save yourself, not because I asked. But I won't sugar coat anything that's going to happen, depending on what my father did to her, there's no telling what you might have to do in order to help her…" as he pauses, Peter pushes his chair out and rises up to stand, offering another — larger — smile to the blonde girl.

"If you believe you're doing it to save your life, you'll push yourself even harder. It's only when we're at our lowest, at our worst and most desperate, that we find exactly what we're truly made of." Words perhaps Adam would find some agreement in, which makes this hard. Half of Peter — or half of what resides inside of him — still has some lingering respect for the man. But, like Peter said, he looks out for himself first.

"I'm going to go out back, pay my respects to McRae and thank him for allowing me to stay here." He nods to the doorway of the room Doyle left in, "Tell your friend, that if he wants help with those burns… that he should talk to me." And no explanation beyond that.

"Trust me, Peter." Kaylee says, mirroring that smile with one of her own, one that always leaves a person wondering what mischief this young woman is planning. "I'll push myself. I've been living with this pain for a month. I'm ready for it to be over." It's a hard thing to admit. "I'll push myself plenty for a chance to be without it."

When he moves to the doorway, Kaylee slides back her own chair and slides out of it, grabbing his mug as she does. "I'll let him know." She gives a little nod, taking a few steps back towards the sink, "Take care and rest well.. I'll give what you said serious thought, I'll let you know if I change my mind." She starts to turn and stops long enough to glance back and say with a warm smith. "Thank you."

There's something of a wry smile as Peter heads for the back door, tugging on his gloves just a little tighter. "Don't thank me yet…" he says with that teasing tone of voice, turning the door knob handle with a creak. But then, he hesitates and looks back towards Kaylee by the sink. "Oh and… Kaylee?" The pause comes only as he makes sure he has her attention. "Don't tell anyone about what you heard in my head?" There's a hesitant smile there, one tempered by something going unspoken.

"They wouldn't understand."

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