Participants:
| Scene Title | Like Stalking |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peter Petrelli finally catches up with Wendy Hunter. Also, it's not really stalking if you don't stalk the same person twice! |
| Date | March 1, 2010 |
If ignorance is bliss, Peter Petrelli is one of the happiest people on earth.
On his way up the curb and towards the snow crusted front steps of a brownstone condo, dark eyes stare up at the glow of streetlights reflecting off of frost icing the front of the building. There's a chill in the air tonight, and huffing out a visible breath, Peter can feel it in his bones and in his reddened ears. It's not his own apartment building he's making his way up to; these upper east side condos cost so much more than he pays in rent for his 14th floor residence. No, today he's here to make something of a house call.
Still dressed in his paramedics jacket, not even having returned home from work yet, Peter hesitates once he's arrived at the door. An awkward look is ovvered back over his shoulder to the waiting cab on the curb, and when he turns back around it takes a deeply exhaled breath to push the tension out of his shoulders and knock on the door.
This is, after all, stalking.
Or one could justify it as checking in on someone met at the Gala to make sure she's okay. He was afterall the paramedic there, albeit just not on duty. "Fuck" Comes from behind the door, a series of thumps. Bella'd been gone, something about an appointment with a patient but that she'd be back. That'd been how many hours now? Meant that Wendy'd disengaged the empty bag that hung limply from a lamp in the livingroom, kept taking the pills the shrink had directed her to, and made it mostly through the weekend. Tail end of the detox.
Another series of thumps, and another choice few swear words and the door itself rattling as the brunette made it off the couch, maneuvered through the livingroom and was now peering through the peephole. He was Evo. Even in her muddled state, she could feel it."I think you got the wrong house, i'm not buying anything" She manages to croak, turning away from the door. Thank god he can't quite see her right now. She's a royal mess. "Fuck off"
Wendy? It comes right through the door, there's no need to speak loudly, just feel the presence of a mind on the other side. My name's Peter, I'm the paramedic that took care of you at the gala. Through the peephole and on the other side of the door, Peter's posture stiffens as he hunches his hsoulders forward against the cold, tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and rocks his weight from one foot to the other. I just wanted to… it takes him a moment to imagine the proper thought to project, …talk to you?
The lopsided smile he offers to the peephole comes with an equally awkward furrowing of dark brows and a rather helpless puppy expression that may just be a part of some grand dopey-eyed plan to garner Wendy's sympathy as he freezes his ass off on her stoop.
Just fucking great. The telepath? oh… shit There's hesitation as she tries to awkwardly make stringy greasy hair not look so stringy, and a glance to her apartment. Fuck She swears a lot. Christ he'll see everything. Shit, you can hear me right now…. "Just, just a moment. She's got a bathrobe somewhere, hanging over the side of the couch and she throws that on to try and play off that she's just sick is all while locks are undone and the door opened.
'Come in, before you freeze your ass off" She offers, huddling behind the door to avoid the gust of cold. Boxers, button down mens shirt, bare gangly legs and eyes more sunk than usual. The place smells like art supplies, and like someones been living in the livingroom for the whole weekend. Cold pizza and TV on low, leather couch a nest of blankets and pillows. "How'd you find me?"
Nose rankling at the artificial smell of art supplies, Peter's eyes crease into a squint as he takes a step in through the door and out of the cold, looking back as he watches Wendy push the door shut with a click. "I ah…" clearing his throat, Peter draws in his mental reach, withdrawing from Wendy's thoughts as dark eyes wander her legs for a moment before flitting back around the apartment. "I saw your address on your identification card while we were at the gala…" He takes one step in further to the apartment, then squares his shoulders and turns around, offering a scrutinizing look at Wendy.
"Are— you alright?" Dark eyes flick back to the interior of the apartment before leveling on Wendy again. "I mean, if I came around at a bad time I can just…" he motions ot the door with one bare hand, brows rising slowly. "You— really don't look so good though."
"I look about as good as.. never mind, not going to say it. I'm fine. I'm just .. tail of getting off a nasty drug with the help of a friend who's up and disappeared on me. Getting on the wagon sucks" Wendy closes the door behind him, belting the robe shut. "I'm recovered. About half an hour later. Thanks for getting me out of the room. There were just enough people in there, I was going to be fine but then" But then range increased and she was fucked.
"Would have been longer if you hadn't been a telepath and heard me. last time that happened, lets just say, no one heard me for at least a day. I need to sit down" there's a gesture to the kitchen and apparently wendy's going to try and dig up some hospitality. The gesture also exposes the fact that she's down a few inches on various fingers on her left hand. Something not seen at the party thanks to the gloves and her left ear looks a little visually off. "So what's your name, oh paramedic of the gala"
"Peter…" It's a quiet enough offering of his name, and last names only complicate things as far as he's concerned. With a furrow of his brows, he takes a step to the side around Wendy. Immediately on seeing the damage to her hand an ear, Peter hesitates, grimacing slightly before reaching out, then stopping himself. "I— Was your episode at the gala strictly the result of your ability, or… was it because of the— " Peter quietly tiptoes around the use of the word addiction.
"I'm— sorry that's really not any of my business." The sharp self-imposed rebuking comes with a scratch of Peter's hand at the back of his neck. "Um, look I— I was worried about you, but that isn't the only reason I came here, admittedly." There's a hesitant, if not somewhat awkward, smile that creeps up on Peter's lips.
"It had nothing to do with the refrain" Wendy // tries// really hard not to snap at him, seeing the grimace and digging her hand into the pocket of the bathrobe. "Too many evolveds in a certain range and I just can't.. I can't process it. Too many blips on the radar so to speak" Towards the open kitchen she goes, taking her time, mentally wondering where the fuck Bella is and how long has she been sleeping. Time to take another pill? Maybe, damned if she remembered. God she hated this. Should have asked Logan//.
"I'm Wendy, you're Peter, now all we fucking need is some fucking fairy to sprinkle some dust and we could hop a couple stars and off to never fucking never land. You wouldn't know how to take an IV out would you?" She's at the fridge, looking to see what there is to offer in the way of drinks. "So then, Peter Pan, what did you come here for?"
Managing a laugh, Peter reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers scruffing through his hair. "Yeah, I can take out an IV. I can show you how to do it yourself…" Peter manages something of a crooked brow as he follows Wendy through and into the kitchen, dark eyes darting around to the contents of the counterspace and back towards the refrigerator, nosily inspecting living space like some sort of private investigating paramedic stalker. "You sure you need it out? I wouldn't want to really get in the way of whatever your physician's recommended…"
Swallowing nervously, Peter keeps shifting his weight from one foot to another as he stands at the edge of the kitchen between it and the living room. "I ah, I'm not a telepath." Peter admits with a bit of an uncertain tone. "I'm… I mimic abilities of people I touch, sort've copy their power like a photo-copy onto myself. I can only hold onto one at a time, but… I was wondering about yours. It'd be helpful in my line of work, and… for keeping an eye out for a healer. I just— " Peter cracks a smile, "I saw what it did to you, so— better safe than sorry?"
"She's gone and It's not like I really need to be hooked up to the bag when it's very clearly empty" She points out. "Besides, i'm a refrain addict peter pan, sticking myself with needles? Not so high on my squick list" She points out. The kitchen's fairly clean, whatever Bella helped herself to, dishes were put into the washer and the fridge stocked with just about everything that a person could clearly want to eat and not a single thing of diet food anywhere. "I just don't trust myself to take it out right now, is all. I'm not exactly the most stable fucking thing" Case in point, she lifts a hand that is clearly shaking badly.
"You're a telepath" Wendy reaches out with her right hand, abandoning the fridge to touch Peter's sleeve, let go, then touch again. "Nope, Telepath, you give me brain fuzzies, just like Kaylee does" She looks up at him. "can't bullshit the touch slut there peter pan, evo-dar doesn't lie"
Cracking a smile, Peter rolls his shoulders. "I'm a telepath right now," he admits, lifting a bare hand out of his pocket to lightly rest on Wendy's shoulder. Narrowing his eyes, his brows furrow, and there's a warm goldenrod glow over his hand, shedding light up through the bones and flesh before cooling back down. When Peter pulls his hand away from Wendy's arm, his fingers wiggle and he offers out his hand again, palm upturned and both brows lifted.
"Also… touch slut?" There's a broad, if not lopsided, smile spread across Peter's face at the term. "I'm going to keep that one quiet, before people who knows me better starts actually calling me it." There's amusement in Peter's voice, entertainment in this odd pairing of personalities. "Why don't you come on over and take a seat on the couch and I'll take out that IV.
For a brief moment when he touches her, the middle of the transfer it's there. Telepathy gone, a different ability incoming and Peter's real ability poking through. A sense of imitation before it's gone and with it, something else she's never felt. Her own ability in play in someone else. He's still on her radar but with the touch, it leaves her standing there, focuses on him and the really big neon signs that seem to mentally be around him. Power detector. Evolved detector. It makes her mouth drop open a bit and just stare at him.
"Fuck me,"
"Touchslut, cause I can't stand not touching other Evo's, like… right… now" Nope, evo detection. Though not really. This is a new thing for her really and she wavers a bit where she stands. "Fuck me"
Cracking a smile, Peter's brows furrow and his lips creep up a bit more. He can't help but laugh, can't help but smile; she's sort've like a very long-limbed firecracker. "You want to hear a doozy of a story, why don't you come on and sit down…" Peter reaches out to lay an arm across Wendy's shoulders, carefully guiding her from the kitchen and back towards the living room, head still crooked and one brow raised as he watches her, so very amused.
Mindful of her woozy state, Peter guides her over towards the couch, sliding his arm from her back to her hand to help her down to sit, being at least cordial about the whole affair. "This isn't the ability I was born with…" he says once she's seated, "I don't think. My father had a power like mine, 'cept he stole the abilities from people. Just one touch, and you're an ordinary human. He… took my power from me, and the one I had…" Peter moves to settle down on the sofa beside Wendy, carefully touching her hand at the wrist and lifting it up, looking at the IV plug on the back of her hand. "I use to mimic powers, like this… but I'd get them just by proximity. If I was around someone like me and you, like how you detect them?" He quirks a brow at the rhetorical question. "I'd just copy their ability. I had dozens of powers, all at once…"
There's a wistful quality to Peter's voice, though somewhat soured at the end when he adds, "It— wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Anyway… I know you're probably thinking I'm crazy, but… " Peter turns her hand over, checks the inside of her arm with a brush of her sleeve up, then turns her hand back over and starts taking out the IV while he talks. "Someone helped me get my power back. Doesn't really matter how," because that's a long story, "but I did… and now I do this…"
All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel, is thiiiiiis what she would feel like to someone else who had her ability? She lets him walk her towards the couch if only just so he'll keep touching, keep contact. Wendy just stares where his hands work, pushing up her sleeve and the back of her palm. The palm that Danko scarr'd. Sadly for Peter, or maybe a good thing, there's no track marks marching up the inside of her arm. Wherever she shot up with refrain, it wasn't in the usual place most do.
"So you do the same thing, just instead of proximity, it's touch and only one?" She's following, barely, and the look on her face is clearly not one that is that screams I think your fucking nuts. "I'd hate your father" A bit of sympathy there for him. "Fuck, I gotta put you in my books. I got books full of people who i've touched, and where, their powers, everything. A couple noteboks just listing them. You're gonna be on a scavenger hunt now. Just watch, it's addictive, needing to know what every single pull is and trying to figure out their shit. Some are obvious, I mean pyro's it's like being licked by flames, and pre-cogs, Deja-vu central. Telepaths, it's a brain fuzziness like static. Negators are tricky, they're just voids, or if you hit a blanket negator, they're horrid. Fuck, empaths, so many empaths in this fucking city. I hate them. I swear everyones a fucking empath" She winces at the withdraw of the plastic and catheter from the back of her hand but doens't pull away. "There was a guy at the Gala, fuck, I never touched that before. Still trying to figure out what he could do"
If only there was that connection to be made, perhaps Peter could save a great deal of tragedy. Unfortunately, with so many people at the Gala, there is no way for Peter Petrelli to know that Sylar has returned, and no longer the man he nearly considered a friend.
"I know a little something about addiction," Peter admits, reaching into his pocket to pull out a simple band-aid, using his teeth to open the package and peel back the smooth flaps before sliding it over the spot in the back of Wendy's hand where the IV was inserted. There's a crooked smile, a stroke of his thumb over the back of her hand, then a grin.
"There's abilities out there, terrible ones, just— really savage things." Furrowing his brows, Peter rolls one shoulder. "I know what having them and being… sort've at their command can be like. I have a— " he almost says 'friend' naturally. Revisions come in tense and terms; "There was someone I knew, who was so addicted by his power that he just… he let it control him. I used to begrudge him about it, until I walked a little bit in his shoes."
"They can be addictive" She allows. "To yourself. To others. I know a guy, who's ability… I love it when he uses it. It makes me feel so good" Shit, probably shouldn't have said that much and it flickers across her face, that she let herself get carried away. Wendy draws her hand back, letting her good one cover the bandaid and in turn her hand. Hide it from sight.
"The ability you just got, whole different addiction though. Not so.. deadly to ones health. Well, I mean, unless you walk into this like, hiive of Evo's and then, you know, your fucked" She leans away, reaching for the pill bottle so she can shake out one and with a tilt back of her head, swallow it. "flop like a fish and seem like your nuts"
Grimacing a bit, Peter reaches up to rub at the side of his head. "I think I'll keep it for just a little while… until I find what I'm looking for." Angling his head down, brows furrowed, Peter regards the IV in his hand before leaning forward to rest it on the table top in front of himself. "So… I mean, other than being some sort've stalker," Peter's tone is entirely teasing, "of people like us, you're… okay? Refrain's pretty serious to be kicking, do you need some help? I mean— I'm not an addiction counselor, but I know a few who work down at the Suresh Center."
Squinting, his eyes are drawn to Wendy's damaged ear, then back to her eyes. "I ah, I might be able to pull a few strings and get you in there with someone. I know a few people who work there, and my family's got— " Peter just grimaces and shakes his head. "I sort've feel like I owe you," he holds up one hand, "you know, for borrowing your trick."
"I'm not a stalker, I'm a touch slut, big difference. I don't keep following the same evo. I touch once, I move on" There's a grimace at the mention of the Suresh Center. "Remember that part… about hives of evo's? you might want to seriously avoid that place. I was going there, too many started going to the meeting. I get a friend, she's a shrink. Doctor Bella Sheridan. She was here with me" A gesture to the depleted IV bag, bottle of medicine and the now spent IV on the table.
"I teach art classes there, did teach art classes there. Can't exactly teach them anymore cause I did it outside cause the only time I can step foot in that place is after hours. It's a coma for me in there, literally. Listen, Peter Pan. It's your trick, just like mine is mine. We all got tricks you just got a more unique one in your bag As much as I'd love someone to owe me for once instead of the other way around, it's still just your trick, like you take the telepathy. Only now, you borrowed my trick, which, on the tail of a shitty weekend and a probably shitty week of cramps and the screaming uglies as Bella calls it, it's gonna be a smile. A high fucking point. Got it?" Speaking of cramps, Wendy's long legs curl up and she looks away from him towards the large screen TV with a grimace. "fuck I hate withdrawal, never get hooked on anything. It's not worth it, not afterwards"
It's a sentiment that makes Peter look thoughtful, brows furrowed together. Did Gabriel suffer from withdrawls? Did his ability hurt him like Refrain withdrawl is hurting Wendy now? Peter gives a shake of his head, scratching just under his nose with his thumb as his smile fades and he nods his head subtly. "I'll… have to think about that, I never considered how dense that place is." Brows furrowed, Peter offers a side-long look to Wendy before rising up from the sofa, hands resting on his hips. "Christ I have a cab waiting out front for me…"
Ruffling one hand thorugh his hair, Peter's lips manage something of a rueful smile. "Hey, ah…" Rummaging through the pockets of his jacket, Peter comes out with a yellow stick-it notepad and a clicky-pen. Jotting down his name and a number, he peels off the sheet, pauses, then leans forward and sticks it to Wendy's forehead with a smile.
"If you think of something you need…" Peter admits with a smile, "give me a call. Even if you just want someone to stop by and change your IV or something. I work six to six weekdays," he adds with a wave of one hand, tucking the notepad and pen back into his pockets. "But otherwise I'm usually free."
"You just wanna borrow it again in the future" Is the retort and she stares up at the sticky note, shaky hand grabbing it to look at it. "Fly away fucking peter pan. You got some lost boys to find before captain hook decides to feed your arm to the crocodile" She offers him a smile back, opting to just keel over and curl up on the nest of blankets in the couch. Makes things more bearable that way. "Lock the door on your way out, you're welcome for the Christmas present!"
Exasperatedly laughing and scratching at the back of his neck, Peter can't help but shake his head when Wendy lobs off those Neverland references and practically throws Peter, verbally, out on his ear in the nicest way possible. Snorting out that restrained laugh, Peter's crooked smile is more honest than it's been in days. "I'll see you around, Wendy…" As he backpedals towards the door, dark eyes watch as the brunette curls herself back up into the blankets and slouches down into the sofa.
"Feel better."
By the time he's outside, headed for his cab, Peter considers Wendy's vulnerable state and his offer to help her more. Had he thought about it longer, things might have turned out different.
He should have thought about that harder.
Too late now.