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| Scene Title | Fucking Antarctica, Part II |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | They're in fucking Antarctica! |
| Date | April 13, 2009 |
Amundsen-Scott - South Pole Station Antarctica
Fucking Antarctica?
I stand at your gate…
Darkness begets blurry lights, numbness and a bone-deep chill begets aching pain and agonizing stiffness, as if waking up from a centuries old sleep. As her eyes slowly open, the first thing to greet them are circular hanging lamps swaying back and forth from exposed rafters and pipework, all a battleship gray color. Blankets bind her body tightly, with thick, protective winter clothing covering her even further so. Worse of all is the tingling feeling in her extremities and the tip of her nose.
…and the song that I sing is of moonlight.
A tinny and staticy song plays out over an old portable radio situated on a desk, she only spots it when her head lolls to one side under a failed attempt to move her neck. An old calendar hangs on the wall beside the desk, dates checked off with red marker, and as her vision begins to clear, the date at the top of the calendar comes in to crystal clear focus — 1998.
I stand and I wait…
When her eyes wander, a small mirror catches her attention, propped up against the wall opposite the cot she's wrapped up in. It takes a moment for her eyes to blearily focus on it, but when Gillian Childs sees her own reflection, she recognizes none of the injuries on her that seem to have been taken care of. A bandage on her cheek, one on her forehead, and gauze wrapped around one of her hands — even if she can't feel her fingers on that hand.
…for the touch of your hand in the June night.
The song continues to crank out over the radio as an ache traces its way up and down her spine, little lightning-quick spikes of pain that accent her already muddied sense of self. But the calendar, 1998, the last thing she remembers, was electricity— and—
The roses are sighing…
She jolts up almost reflexively, all that twinging pain in her back screaming out as everything from the last few weeks comes rushing back to the front of her mind, the torrent of confused screams, gunfire, the feeling of a pistol's trigger being squeezed under her index finger when she took the life of a woman staring up at her. Everything comes back when the wall of delerium fades, and Gillian Childs finds herself in this cramped bunk, surrounded by winter survival gear and no sign of anyone else around…
…a Moonlight Serenade.
Memories are slow to return, as if the whole moment went into a blur. There's not even the need for a knot, as she feels too weak to try and tighten it. The good news would be, just like the first time she discovered what happened when an augmentor's augmentation gets augmented… it will be a while before she'll need it. The feeling of being drained, burned out, carries through her as much as the pain of her wounds, the stiffness of her muscles, and the sudden hunger that causes her stomach to grumble. Part of Gillian knows she could be dead. Should be. And she's not.
The visions didn't come true. Too many ways to die, all seen in some kind of sequence, not all of them could actually happen. "G— Gabriel?" she says, voice far more hoarse and raspy than normal, unable to call it out loudly, so it's more of a whisper, a breath. Her toes move, the right hand lifts up to touch her hair, the bandage there. Where all these injuries came from… where this place is.
Why is the calendar so out of date? It's funny what details sink in when she looks on.
My love, do you know…
The door creaks open, and a tall man with a long, narrow face that is mostly unshaven steps into the bunk. Seeing Gillian up he falters for a moment, eyes peering out from behind thick-framed glasses as one dark brow disappears up behind the knit cap on his head. For a moment, he looks like Gabriel, but the features are all wrong, as is the voice that finally comes out, "Senhorita, é você que sente bem?"
Portugese?
Clicking his tongue, the man hesitates and speaks again, this time in a manner Gillian can understand, "I— I sorry, my English is…" he pinches two fingers together as he walks into the room, quickly turning off the radio, "I sorry, Julia must have left this on," his dark eyes track back to Gillian. "My name is Paulo, I— you are Gillian, yes?" His lips purse together thoughtfully, "how is your hand? The frostbite was very bad, we only can do so much here." It's almost hard to understand his thick accent, "Drink?" He makes a motion with his hand to help that simple question, as if tipping back an imaginary bottle of water.
What the… There's a moment where Gillian has to wonder exactly how hard she hit her head. The hand presses against her forehead for a moment, until she can feel the pain there, sharper than before. A hiss through her teeth shows it hurts, a soft curse under her breath, and she stops pushing on it. At least she knows she's not dreaming. Why would someone speak whatever language that was in her dream anyway. "I— yeah— I'm Gillian."
The mention of water makes her try to wet her lips with what little moisture remains in her mouth. Not much, which shows how parched she must be. "Please, thank you…"
Trying to sit up more makes her wince and grimace, but the prospect of water is something she's not about to pass up. Even if… "Where am I? Is— is there anyone…?" There's one someone in particular. Her vision might go in and out of focus as she looks around, but making out his face wouldn't be difficult… if he were around. The eyebrows give emphasis, the jawline is recognizable. The shoulders.
"You are in Antarctica." Paulo says with a crook of one brow as he steps out of the room, only part way, and retreives a plastic water bottle from a rolling cart in the hall. When he walks back in, the bottle is swirled around before handed towards Gillian, his head cocked to the side. "This is a research station, your friend — the tall fellow with the scar?" Paulo's fingers trace across his face, "He brought you and other girl here, second time in less than a year people wander into research station, are you government people too?"
It is so very good Antarctica wasn't mentioned before she took the drink. Gillian can't help but stare at the word, the mention. Still, there's a jolt of movement at the mention of the location, movement she ends up regretting with a groan. That didn't feel too great. The water gets taken. The words are listened to. Tall fellow with a scar and another girl. Government. She snorts at the end, shaking her head as she takes a drink. It helps to be able to talk. "I wouldn't call Ass— … the guy with the scar tall," she comments hoarsely, once the liquid is down. "I don't really… remember how we got here," she says, telling the truth. She tries to move her left hand again, to little effect. That will take some time, it might just be bandaged too tightly. "What girl? Did she have a name?"
All Paulo can do is shrug both shoulders and tip his head to the side, "Your friend did not say, she is very sick, I think. She is down in the medical bay, Julia is taking care of her. Your friend, he was worried about you," Paulo paces over to the door and rests his fingers on the edge, "Should I maybe go tell him you are awake?" Lips press together in a thin line, and it's all Paulo can do not to ask more pressing questions, because when a man in a prison jumpsuit shows up on the door of their research station, questions inevitably have to be asked.
Just— by someone with better English.
"Worried about…" There's some signs of surprise in her broken raspy voice, holding the bottle of water close to her face. Gillian takes another drink, a long one, gulping the water into her throat, into her stomach. At least she'd not been in some kind of prison jump suit, but the injuries might have caused quite a few suspicions. …And she can't believe they're in Antarctica. "Fuck," she curses softly under her breath, pulling the blanket closer around her, even if she's more than covered as is. There's so many questions she wants to ask, but Paulo of the Antarctica who speaks just enough English that she can sort of understand him… he's not the one who can answer any of them. "Yeah, I— tell him I'm up. I'd like to talk to him." Maybe he can answer the questions.
"Si," he states with a crooked smile, eyeballing the calendar for a moment before walking out of the room. His footsteps echo n the otherwise quiet facility, heavy on metal floors until they fade away from the distance dividing Paulo and Gillian. Paulo doesn't come back, in fact after fifteen minutes pass, it seems like no one is coming back for her. All she has, is the silence of the research station and the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead that bleach the color and life out of everything around her.
Research Station in Antarctica. Gillian saw that movie once. Involved alien shapeshifting things that turned into sled dogs and people and tried to kill them. Didn't end well for anyone involved. And the last time someone got sent to this place… were they speaking about Gabriel? And his unexpected vacation in the artic? Thanks to her and the man with the scar… who she'd been sent to break out of Moab.
They're not IN Moab anymore, but… what happened? Looking in the mirror again, she tries to remember the last few minutes. The gun in her hand… why did she drop it? A woman held a knife to her neck. It brought back memories. Of the near-kidnapping and staged rescue that led to her running away, of the break in by a man named Ethan… Both times she couldn't fight. She couldn't do anything to protect herself. So when the woman started to get up…
Did she die? The bullets left the gun, but she's not sure if the woman actually died or if she just shot her. She'd held the gun in her left hand, which is far more damaged. While she waits, she looks at her palm, the bandaging hiding what happened, but she tugs at it, almost beginning to remove it. Almost as if she has to see. To understand what happened. Why she can't feel her fingers? Why she can't move them?
The soft knock of knuckles on the metal door to the bunk rouses Gillian from her thoughts, "Hey…" It's the first time she's heard a tone quite so soft from the man who tried to kill her once. Peter looks much like he did in Moab, standing there in the doorway. Though the hunter-orange jumpsuit has been forsaken for a blue winter parka with a fur-lined hood and black slacks. "You're pretty mucky, you know," he leans against the door frame, folding his arms, "frostbite nearly took your fingers."
Grimacing slightly, Peter tilts his head down, one hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly. "So, anyway— I— " dark eyes lift up, watching her for a moment before he finally allows himself to enter the room, "how're you feeling?"
"Bet the lightning didn't help much either," Gillian murmurs softly, still tugging a bit at the bandages as if she might really take them off now. She doesn't, but there's a moment where she comes across as very tempted, like a child who wants to pick at a scab. Her eyes settle on him as he practically stammers over his words, until he's finally in the room. "Guess I don't make that great of a rescueer after all," she shakes her head, sitting up more until she can turn to face him more fully. From the grimace on her face, such actions are painful, but it settles.
"I feel like shit…" Like she got threatened with a knife, hit by lightning and then dropped in the antarctic. All of which is up there with things she never thought would happen to her… well… after the knife part. "Where is… everyone else?" A specific everyone else might be at the top of her list, but everyone else is vague… "What happened to them? How did we get here?"
"I don't know." It's a perfect answer for everything she asked. "I— remember some— I don't know, some kind of feedback loop. It felt like my head was going to explode, then— then I caught a glimpse of Helena on the security cameras and…" Peter shakes his head, turning to give his profile to Gillian, instead staring into the mirror beside the bed, one hand rising up to brush over his mouth. "Everything started spinning, it— I don't know. The last thing I remember thinking was that I needed to get everyone out of Moab, and then— " there's a dry laugh, "here we are."
Looking up in the mirror, Peter's eyes catch Gillian's in the reflection. "That girl's here too— the one that was with us in the hall. I— I don't know what her deal is, but she's unconscious. I— I think she injected herself with something…" Tensing, Peter wraps his arms around himself and lets out a heavy sigh. "The people here think we're part of a science expedition," he turns to look over his shoulder, to look at her outside of a mirror, "I— had no choice. But they believe it like it's the truth now, and that's what matters."
Yeah, she totally passes as a scientist. Then again, as a librarian, maybe she could have faked her way through being in charge of documentation or something… though that doesn't seem to be too much of a problem. If they believe it, then they believe it… "I think that was my fault," Gillian does say with a grimace, trying her best to flex her fingers on the left hand and getting very little movement out of them. Frostbite on top of everything else… And fucking Antarctica of all places…
"When I found out my ability can counteract the drugs you were on… I asked Gabriel if he could use my ability as well, as a back up, and… we ended up in some kind of… I'm not sure, but he lost control, ended up bulldozing an entire block of Staten Island by accident." There's no real though that he may take part of this weird. Not at the moment. She did just wake up and she's in pain.
Peter's brows lower, a scowl forming on his lips, "He accidentally— " he cuts himself off, straining a sigh, "a whole block of Staten Island?" The disbelief is palpable in his tone, one hand rubbing across his brow. Of course, there's some hypocracy in his frustration with what happened, given how much devastation he caused in his greatest moment of weakness.
"So, we… we're going to leave, soon. I wanted to wait until you were awake, and until my abilities started— it's a strain to use them right now. Either it's the after-effects of the drug, or because of that power surge." Peter finally turns to look at Gillian again. "You were out for almost a whole day, and I think the people here are getting suspicious, since I've repeatedly had to tell them not to call for any help. I— once you're ready, we should go." Go where is the question, the calendar on the wall does say that it's 1998 after all.
"It was an uninhabited block," Gillian adds after a second, cause that's pretty important to bring up. They'd lived in that area specifically because it had no people, and super-hearing boy would have known, right? That's how she'd like to see it. "Biggest casualty was my clothes." There's a moment when she watches him, unaware of exactly what's going on in his own head, but remembering the look on Gabriel's when he accidentally'd a whole block… right before they laughed at the whole thing, and then had to go somewhere else and sleep it off.
"But where are going to go exactly? I mean…" That's when she glances at the calendar. "That's not just really fucking old and out of date, is it?"
One dark brow quirks up, and Peter looks over to the calendar. For a moment he seems puzzled, then breaks out into a laugh, rubbing at the back of his neck, "That— must be Julia's. She's one of the researchers here, I— I think you're in her bunk," Peter's focus shifts back to Gillian. "She's got a calendar of the same year in the lab, when I saw it I asked her if it really was 1998, and she just— well, she laughed at me."
Grimacing a little, Peter walks over and looks down at the Calendar, shaking his head before turning around, leaning up against the wall next to it. "She told me 1998 and 2009 had the same calendar positions, there was this— I don't know, it was like she had a script written in her head, about how we only need to keep so many calendars, because the dates eventually recycle." His shoulders rise into a shrug, lips crooking up into an awkward smile. "She's kind of strange."
"So it's not 1998?" Gillian asks again, as if to clarify this a couple times, cause she needs proof on this. "Cause the last time you teleported me I ended up a day in the past, you know. I had to relive Halloween and I had to keep myself from going to that damn pawn shop in the Bronx to make sure it really happened…" Of course she knew it had. She didn't just get injuries for no reason, nor did she get really drunk on Halloween and forget the day ever happened and make up some crazy ass dream about a guy who could split into two…
That actually… "You know I meant to ask you… if they hadn't been recording us and if the alarms hadn't gone off and…" The alarms went off both times, and they were probably recorded both times too? But she can ask now… "Which one are you? The Agent or the one who took me to the roof?"
"No, it's not 1998." Peter confirms with a smirk, pushing off of the wall to quietly walk the length of the small bunk room, his eyes closing as he moves. The notion that he accidentally sent Gillian a day into the past goes without reaction, save for a tightness in his jaw, it's the question that comes after that hooks under his skin and pulls back.
He doesn't answer her, not at first, he just lowers his head with his eyes closed and breathes in a slow breath. Likely, he's having trouble discerning the answer himself. "I— don't know." Once more, he's useless with the questions she needs answered. "I— think I was the one on the roof but— some days it feels like I was the Agent. I— " Peter's brows furrow, creasing the scar across them as he turns to look towards Gillian, finally opening his eyes again. "It's been harder to… to define that line, since I was in prison. They had an agent who— he scrambled my brain pretty good, looking for things on Phoenix. I— resisting him made it worse. So it— I can't really answer your question. I just— I don't know for sure anymore."
Brain scrambled and everything fucked with. That much Gillian might be able to understand, at least to an extent. "I'll take that to mean you're a bit of both, then," she says, letting it settle on something a lot simplier than he's trying to answer the question with. In some ways it reminds her of what happened to Gabriel, with the Tavisha identity he formed, and who he was when he came back to her finally. "I guess I just… wanted to make sure you remembered everything." That somehow seems to be important.
Maybe it is. She pushes herself off of the bunk finally, in the clothes they put her in, and stands for a minute, with her right hand propping most of her weight up. She's tired and weak and in pain, but she's able to stand. "There was something I meant to do when we teleported into your cell… if the alarms hadn't been going off, and if we hadn't needed to get out of there fast…" She would have done it? She doesn't finish.
Her hand comes away from the bed as she lifts her foot as if to step forward. Only she doesn't step so much as aim a kick at his shin.
"What was it you— " Peter lets out a sharp yelp and hops up on one foot, wincing when he's kicked. There's a look of abject confusion on his face, like a puppy that was just swatted with a newspaper. For a moment the expression sticks, and then it shifts to something more wry, something more amused, finally breaking down into a laugh. It's the first time he's ever really laughed in her presence, and the reaction seems to surprise him as well, surprised at the natural way it slips out. "Ow," he mutters, still smiling despite the kick to his shin. "I'd ask what I did to deserve that, but— I— I'm not entirely sure I want to hear it."
There's a moment when Gillian might start telling him exactly what he did to deserve it, but she doesn't even get past opening her mouth cause first he has the kicked puppy expression, and then he's laughing at her. Laughter is new from him, and that seems to surprise her as well. "If— if you don't want to hear it, then you don't have to," is what she finally manages, stumbling over her words just a bit as she settles back to lean against the bed she was in.
Something about this moment seems to have made her glance away from him, looking toward the wall for an instant. The ex-librarian had good reasons for kicking him and now she's suddenly forgetting what they were all cause he laughed. And she can't help but smile a little too, even through the grimace of pain and frostbite. "I guess what matters is that you're out, and once we get back to New York we can figure out where you sent everyone and you can talk to your dad."
"Yeah I— " Peter chokes on his own words as he goes over what Gillian said again, narrowed eyes darting to her. "That isn't funny," he spits out, giving a shake of his head as he runs one hand through his hair, moving to the doorway. "Yeah, when we get back… I have to figure out what to do with the girl, though. She's— she needs a doctor, I think, I just— I don't even know who she is. I can't just take her to a hospital, there's…" Peter's brow furrows, and he breathes in a slow, steadying breath.
"Do you know any place that's safe that I could bring her? Somewhere she could at least get some kind of medical attention? She's just— she's unconscious, and has been since we got here. I'm worried, especially given… given what she seems to know about everything that's going on." He smirks, bitterly, "Maybe I'll go grab my dad's urn and ask his ashes, hm?"
Considering it wasn't meant to be funny at all… Gillian's eyes dart back to his face in surprise, eyebrows raising as she tries to figure out which part he might be taking as a failed joke. At least until he gets to the bitter ending. Well, actually, she does know a place with medical resources that isn't connected to Phoenix, who she has no real right to use just yet. Or the Ferry, who she also doesn't feel she has much right to go to… but ashes…
Well, the guy had been in a hospital like bed and stuff, but he definitely wasn't in an urn. "Fuck, okay, maybe someone was playing with me, it's possible. It wouldn't be the first time, but the guy who told me that my ability could mess with the drugs they were giving you… he seemed to be working for— well he introduced me to an old guy in a bed named Arthur Petrelli." Not having a perfect memory and not really carrying much about dead lawyers… she didn't really recognize the name. "He wanted me to save you. I was going to anyway, but the whole drug plus my power thing, it worked."
All of the color drains out of Peter's face, his brows furrow together and that look of eagerness and humor that waslingering a moment ago has given way entirely to bitterness and frustration. "I— " he swallows, throat tightening as he does, "He— I saw my father's funeral, I held his urn. I— people in the Company talked about his funeral. He— he was one of the Company founders." His words have a touch of confusion to them in their tone, "if— if anyone would know— I would have— " would he have? "Where? Where did you meet this person?"
Suddenly, Peter reminds Gillian more and more of the determined man who cornered her on the rooftop of the Deveaux building, "Who did he work for, where was he, how long ago did you talk to him!?" He wanted Gillian to save him? Everything in Peter's mind spirals further and further out of control as he tries to rationalize what she's saying.
Determined and a touch on the terrifying side. And she can't even think about overloading him in defense of herself. Gillian raises her hands, both of them, including the damaged one, and says, "Look, I was given a card. They found me, specifically because of my ability, because they knew what it was— because I was involved with Phoenix. Of course I figured it could be some kind of fucking trap so I went on my own without telling anyone." After waiting a few weeks, but still… They'd only get her if it came down to it, or that's what she thought…
He could read her mind and there's absolutely nothing she could do about it. So much complicated stuff. The determined look on his face makes her vaguely wish she would have just given the address and told him to find out on his own. "They probably have medical facilities for the girl, and… listen, if it's not your dad then I'm sorry, but I really thought that… It's some kind of company called Pinehearst, science stuff, you know? And they told me things that… I don't know, maybe you should hear them on your own… but… maybe we can take her to them? They wanted to get you out of Moab… and they told me how to do it. I think they were wanting to help Phoenix, and since it didn't end up being a complete trap… And Teo didn't kick my ass when I told him about it, either." Wasn't too happy, though.
Furrowing his brows, Peter stares blankly at Gillian, then breathes out a heavy sigh, "No— she— " something touches Peter's expression, an unusual softness that breaks away his intent countenance. "She can't even defend herself, I— I won't take her somewhere that I don't even know is safe or not. Just because they didn't kill you to get to me it— " Peter hisses out a sharp, frustrated breath, "my father is dead."
Swallowing tensely, Peter turns and looks back at Gillian, one hand wiping down across his mouth. "I— There's somewhere I might be able to take her to, take the three of us to, until things blow over and I can figure out heads or tails of what's going on." Shaking his head, Peter looks down to the floor, then steps to the doorway. "Get ready to leave," he says in a hushed tone of voice, "the clothes you were wearing when you got here are under the bed."
The parka and winter clothing did feel different, but it begs the question of who took them off of her. "I'll be down in the medical wing, just follow the signs."
"Listen, we can probably take her to Phoenix if everyone's already beat us back there. I know some of their new safe houses, ones you probably don't, and if not there's this chick who tried to help clean up the fucking mess we got ourselves into when we tried to get to you— Wireless? Eve probably knows where to find her. And maybe we could contact Abby too…" Gillian's rambling a little bit as she glances around the room. The violet guy who teleports might be very dangerous, and he can't blame him for being worried about taking an injured person there. And he says his dad is dead which dredges up some guilt. And makes her wonder if she has a second power of seeing dead people or something cause she did see her sister…
She's touching the clothes she got changed into as he moves to the door, then looks to the bed. Her clothes are under there… Now that she thinks about it everything under the winter clothes feels different too and… wait a—
"Did you— I mean I know you— other you— said you used to be a nurse and…" They DO that kind of thing and… of course she figured someone had to have changed her clothes but he knew where her other clothes were and…
… "Or was it crazy calendar lady?"
Peter stops in the doorway, a hand coming out to steady himself against the metal frame, turning to look over his shoulder to Gillian. "The last place I remember Phoenix being was the Library in Midtown. That was going to be where I looked, but…" dark brows furrow together, "I— guess you might know a bit more than me, huh?" Toying with his lower lip, Peter looks away as he answers her other question.
"When we got here, they were asking a lot of difficult questions. Their doctor, she wanted to give you an examination. I — I had no idea what you might be carrying on you, so— I told her I was a nurse. I mean, not— not like that's a lie but, she insisted, so I told her we were married and…" Peter laughs, shaking his head, "I don't think of things on my feet too well. So, I apologize for that," he takes a step out of the door, grimacing, "come find me when you're ready to go," he adds, not really wanting to weather her reaction to his ill-chosen improvisation, making his way around the corner and out of sight.
The Library isn't really an option since it's being watched and everything. That much she knows from the 'don't go here! Compromised!' alerts that Teo kept sending around, but that's kind of forgotten about in light of the other questions that are brought up, and the other things that he says. Gillian's initial reaction is to blink at him, and then as he grimaces and flees out the door he'll catch a strained and raspier than normal, "You what?"
She even follows out the door to watch him disappear around the corner. Oh, he's getting kicked again.
The door is pulled closed, actually slammed a little, before she moves back inside to find her clothes. For a moment she's managed to forget about the pain that she still feels, and everything else. Even Gabriel didn't see all her tattoos for a— oh she's going to—
Get dressed. And swear a few times under her breath. The people in the research station might just think there's been some kind of couple quarrel. Married couples often slam doors and yell at each other. And she must have won if he turned tail and ran, right?
At least she'll no longer be read in the face by the time she manages to follow the signs. That could be the one reason she didn't chase him down immediately…
Thirty Minutes Later
The corridors of the Amundsen-Scott station all look identical to one another. Riveted metal walls with ship-style porthole doors and wheel-lock door valves. Each wing of the research station is marked by plain black signs affixed to the walls, with directions leading through the labyrinthine corridors. Much of the station lacks natural light, with the corridors Gillian maneuvers through lit by hanging fluorescent bulbs, while bunk rooms have brighter, more radiant lighting designed to simulate sunlight.
The medical bay is one of the largest rooms she's seen yet, divided down the middle by movable surgical screens that show the shadowed silhouette of an examination table with someone laying atop it. Lightboxes show x-rays, and a bank of computers on the far wall seem to be running automated tests of core samples pulled up from the ice. "…think this through, she's going to need to be looked at by a proper physician. Her blood pressure is dangerously low, but I— I just don't know why she's unconscious."
The woman speaking sounds concerned, her accent hanging with the slightest touch of French. "Mister Childs, please, just consider staying a few more days to see how her condition is. We won't be able to have another helicopter out of here for at least three days anyway, so I don't know how — "
"Just be quiet." His tone of voice is sharp, frustrated and angry, but decidedly Peter's. There's a moment of silence, and as Gillian steps into the room, she can see Peter's back facing a young female scientist, blonde hair tied back into a bun.
"Oh— " She abruptly starts, "oh yes that's right you did call for your own helicopter didn't you. Well, given that you're taking her to your medical facilities, she should be in good hands." Is it really this easy for him to manipulate people's minds? Has he done it to Gillian before?
Mister Childs. Yeah, she caught that part. Gillian most definitely caught that part. Her steps speed up a bit as the poor woman is told to be quiet, looking at the back of the former prisoner's head. The more that happens, the more she has to wonder— how often does he do that to people? Was this how he got her to agree to take him to Gabriel so quickly after they met in the loft with the strings? No, she would have done that anyway… wouldn't she? He was the one that saved her, and she tried to…
With a shake of her head, dark hair falls around her face. Still dressed warmly, all the clothes aren't zipped up as much as they could be, but she's not just moving around in the clothes she'd worn to Moab. For one they're a little scortched, and some blood in a few places. And tears and who knows what else. And this is fucking Antarctica.
…Peter Childs. God.
In some ways it'd make sense that he'd take her name.
"How soon do you think we can leave… …honey bunny?" Did she just give him a humiliating nickname? Why yes she did. And with a dimpled smile.
Peter lurches forward as if an icecube had been dropped down the back of his parka. Julia crooks her lips up into a smile, tapping a finger on her chin as she watches Peter turns slowly, unable to see the piercing glare he delivers to the former librarian once his back is to the scientist. "Oh— soon" he adds with a sharp tone of voice. Though now that she's around the curtain, Gillian can see the other figure that had clearly come with them.
Curled up on her side on the examination table, Tamara Brooks looks like a lost kitten, her hair swept down over her face, lips slightly parted an dbrows furrowed in an expression that floats somewhere between pain and confusion. She's unconscious, though faint twitches of her fingers give sign that she may soon yet be awake.
"I'll— " Julia steps around Peter, grimacing at Gillian, "leave you two be. Don't forget to let me know when you're ready to leave," she adds, twirling a pen between her fingers as she makes her way towards the lab door.
Peter's eyes focus on Gillian for a moment, then as he shakes his head he looks away, walking to stand behind Tamara where she lays on the table. "Once Julia's out of earshot, we can leave." Just, up and teleport out, no questions asked. That seems like the blunt Petrelli way to do things. "We've got to get her somewhere."
It's a sharp contrast to the ferocity he was showing earlier, the way Peter reaches over and brushes the dirty blonde hair from the young girl's face, almost paternal in a way, dark eyes focused on her pained expression. "I don't know what's wrong with her… but there's something about her," he looks up to Gillian, "I met her before Moab. She— I don't know," his fingers lightly thread those errant locks of hair behind one ear, "she… she knows things."
That dimpled smile doesn't fade, even as he glares at her. His 'thinking on his feet' got him into this mess. Gillian doesn't add on anything else, not while the woman is in the room. But Honey Bunny is better than Assface, isn't it? And it happened to be the most sickingly humiliating nickname she could think of, and it seems to have done the trick.
Course the girl in the bed catches her attention with a blink. Not that she'd met the girl before Moab, but she saw what she did in Moab, and… she walks over as they're 'left alone', looking down at the girl and whispering in her rasped voice, "I never saw her before Moab, but Gabriel seemed to recognize her, and she was on our side…" At least in the 'I'll stab this dude in the neck with a needle' kind of way. "She knew enough to get into Moab without being caught too… cause I don't think she was supposed to be there." At all. At least people seemed surprised to see her. "I don't think I can help you," she adds, just so he'll know. "After the thing with Gabriel on Staten Island I couldn't even feel my ability for a day or so— I still don't yet. Probably better I don't anyway. That's what got us knocked to fucking Antarctica. …Honey Bunny."
Poor guy.
"It's okay, it's just the three of us. I shouldn't have too much problem teleporting," Peter looks up to Gillian as he says that, eyes narrowed slightly, "we just…" his eyes close, head lowering into a bowed gesture, "I don't know how I'm going to face everyone when I get back. Phoenix, I— I turned myself in, and…" when he looks up to Gillian, there's a pleading look on Peter's face. "I guess I'll worry about it when it happens, I need to make sure she stays safe. I— I don't know why, but I've got this really bad feeling that she's more important than I know."
Finally managing to look away from Gillian, Peter's focus rests on Tamara as his hand comes down to settle on her shoulder. His other hand is held out, palm up, towards Gillian. "Take my hand," he says quietly, "and just, stay still." There's a moment of pause, and Peter looks up from the young girl towards Gillian instead. "Where are we going?"
"It's all right. I'll tell them I kicked you for it already," Gillian says, giving him a mild glance, though the smile has left her face for the moment, and she's stopped tossing the nickname around. Her hand reaches out to take his, as she adds on, "Just don't tell them I teleported into your cell back before you got moved. I haven't exactly shared that with the rest of Phoenix yet." Even if Helena kinda got it out of her while she was drinking one time. But that hardly counts.
"Do you just need an address or do you need like a mental picture or something?" This is an important question. Kent somehow seemed to be able to teleport to him even without an exact idea where, but that was while he was being boosted by her… "Staten Island, 18 Cannaught Road." It's not technically Phoenix, she doesn't think. But it's the safehouse Teo stashed her in after HomeSec picked up Gabriel. And all else fails it's close-ish to the Lighthouse.
"Just— a general idea. I mean, I have to know something about what it looks like, the more specific the more accurate I am. But— I— don't really know Staten Island very well." Rolling his tongue across his cheek, Peter curls his fingers around Gillian's gently. "I think it's near the harbor, I… I think. If we're a little off, we might be able to walk." The fingers of Peter's other hand curl in the fabric of Tamara's sleeve, and as he closes his eyes, there's an intense look of concentration on his face, one that comes with a fair amount of focus. Despite everything that has happened, there's a hint of his old confidence coming back in the look on his face.
"You know," he mumbles while trying to visualize where he's taking everyone, "there is one thing I wanted to ask you…" Peter cracks one eye open, looking to Gillian as he breathes in a slow, calming breath. Even as the world begins to bend and distort, a sudden creeping sensation of falling coming over Gillian as Peter's power ignites again.
"Why a biohazard tattoo, there?"
And where they appear, somewhere near the harbor of Staten Island, Peter Petrelli gets a kick aimed at his shin yet again. "Assface."
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