gillian_icon.gif kaylee2_icon.gif

Scene Title Lonely
Synopsis Kaylee comes upon Gillian saying goodbye to those lost. And saying goodbye to someone who's already left and will leave again.
Date April 27, 2011

Pollepel Island: Burial Grounds

It starts with one freshly turned grave, a swatch of black earth that will only grow over with flora in the coming spring. Out the corner of one's eye, an erected cross, leading the gaze to yet another burial site. And another. Moving through the trees, the evidence of burial becomes more frequent, coming to a cluster at an open clearing devoted to burying the dead of the Ferrymen. There are rocks of grey and black to mark each site, and on chalk that is renewed nearly every day, especially when the rain comes, are the names of the deceased, the day of their death, and their age.

Placeholders, for when they can be honoured properly. This place is quiet, reverent, and almost claustrophobic in the press of trees and the density of the buried. Crosses made of wood, both cut and raw, can be spied looming their shadows like guardians, save for one cross made of metal, a relic of a church perhaps, leaning against a tree.

The ground around the graves is damp and dreary, with sprinkles of rain catching in the leaves that canopy the area before sliding down to give water to the earth. Much of it runs off the mostly rock covered island and into the Hudson, but some still pools in damp puddles in places. The Burial Grounds have been lucky in that the top soil isn't corroding.

The water's actually making the grass greener and the flowers look brighter, when the sun hits them.

Right now they're grayed out, as the woman known mostly as Gillian Childs kneels down in front of one of the wooden maked graves. One covered with miracelously appeared flowers.

"I'm going to be leaving the island soon," she says quietly, dark hair damp with the rain that she stood in, a slick jacket keeping most of her body dry, but not stopping much of it. The rain and her have an odd relationship. "Everyone misses you. I miss you."

The good thing about rain— it does a good job in hiding tears.

Something about rain, it invokes memories of evenings on the porch back home watching lighting chase itself across the sky in an awe inspiring dance. Mostly it brings with it the memories of her grandaddy. Maybe that's why Kaylee Thatcher risks catching a cold coming outside when the world hisses with the sound of water falling from the sky. Like she does her grandaddy's grave when she goes home, it seems like the best time to go and grieve.

The tan long coat she's acquired for herself won't keep her dry for long, especially as droplets of water slide down her neck into the collar wetting the shirt she's wearing under it. Already her long blonde hair is starting to cling together wet and hang lanky on her head. Her eyes are not focused ahead of her as she makes her way into the burial ground, her attention is on her feet and watching out for the soft muddy patches.

A bouquet of purple daisies are held in her arms, cradled there so that she can free a couple of flowers and rest them next to the rocks that bear their names.

Turning from one of the victim's graves she turns finally to Gillian. Maybe a part of her was avoiding the other woman, not wanting to intrude. But the children's graves are the ones she wants to visit as well, so slowly and with hesitant steps she approaches. "Hello Gillian." She offers softly with a gentle smile. Taking a moment to separate flowers for graves. "It's so droll out here I figured a bit more color was needed til the grass grows in fully." She sounds so sad as she bends down to place them. Laying them there with lips pressed tight against the threat of crying.

"Kaylee— hey," Gillian says, standing from her crouched position to rub at her face. Just getting the excess rain of, or so she'd like if anyone believed. Especially the telepath. Unlike the last time they saw each other, her ability is under control, with no leak of energy threatening the privacy of her own mind.

Other than what Kaylee might catch on her own, which she doubts would be much.

"Looks like something decided to put flowers here already," she adds, looking down at the grave site for the young girl whose smile had been infectious. The transplanted flowers have no known benifactor— but real benifactors don't need to be known. The kids can believe it was Mala herself— though Gillian thinks a hand played a part.

"The daisies are lovely, though." And her favorite color.

"I'll be heading to the mainland soon— staying with the kids in their new place for a while. Until I figure out something to do." She gestures toward the grave, then looks at the other two that belonged to Lighthouse Kids. "I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to them." More than anyone alive in the castle, she needed to say goodbye to them.

"I imagine the kids will like having you there," Kaylee comments resting another group of flowers on Lucy and Eric's graves. "Wanted to stop by there, but… things have been kinda crazy." She looks rather guilty as she admits that. "I've been missing Emily and now that Abby has Kasha…. with Mala gone. She must be feeling lonely."

Straightening, the telepath glances at the other woman, blinking against the droplets of water that slide down her face and make her temple itch on one side. "I haven't heard from Doyle since Mala's death… I know the two of them were close." It's hard not to deal with the kids and not get attached. "Worried about the big guy."She hasn't really used the nicknames she always had for him since she got back. "Keep an eye on him?" It's an odd request, but…

"I'll keep an eye on him," Gillian agrees quietly, with a tone that shows she understands the concern. "He went back to the other kids to tell them— the ones that weren't here. But I'll… I'll try and make sure he's okay." As okay as someone can be, considering.

It's hard to be okay.

"I was— hoping I'd see you before I left too," she adds, pushing her hands down into the pockets of her slick jacket. Wet dark hair hangs in her face, the beauty mark on her cheek standing out more as she looks rather pale in contrast. "I had another dream. A while ago. But I wasn't sick anymore so I don't think it was a fever dream this time…" She almost wishes it were… but it's getting harder to dismiss. "I didn't want to tell you at first…" and from her voice, she still doesn't. Not really. "I'm not even sure I can… explain what happened."

Even with the dampness to hide her tears, she doesn't think she can go through it without crying—

And she doesn't want to cry in front of the blonde woman.

"All you can do is try." Kaylee offers as encouragement. "At least you know with me, I'm not gonna laugh no matter how weird it is." She did live five years in the past after all, has a crazy man as a father and two version of her adopted brother in this time… that list goes on and on.

There is even encouragement in her smile, "Was it another dream of your future?" It's gently asked, with understanding. "A… lot of that going on." She might have said so before, but it bears repeating. "I even have a notebook filling up with them, if you want to read it."

"I might," Gillian says quietly, taking in a slow breath. "Kinda wish I'd just—- wrote you a letter with everything I remember now," she says with a laughing exhale, looking down toward the earth and letting the rain drip down her face. It keeps her body cold, which helps keep her from flushing.

But the tears are still there… even masked.

"My son from the first dream— Nate— he was in the second one. A teenager, maybe even close to twenty. He looked a little like his father." She bites down on her lower lip for a time, before she looks back up at her. "It was Peter."

The woman in front of her may be long over Peter Petrelli, but the one doing the telling isn't over what happened last year— not by a long shot. And with those three words, one of the hard parts is over.

"He was dead— Peter. He'd died years ago in the dream… and I was telling our daughter about him. The father she never met. Jolene. Her name was Jolene… and she looked more like me."

A slow inhale later, and she turns away, to rub her hands over her face a moment.

Both brows shoot up at the mention of Peter being the father of her children. Kaylee opens her mouth to start to say something, but then stops herself. It's a subject to be tread lightly around. "Jolene and Nate?" She looks away from Gillian giving herself time to recover. "I like those names. Good ones.

"So we both get to bury someone in the future." The words are softly spoken and sad. Sad for herself, but mostly for Gillian. "I found out just the other day that when I bury my husband in the future." She points to the spot that seems like the one in those dreams. "Right over there. I'll be pregnant with our first child. Son named Eli. It's a heart breaking thought.

"Scares me to think that I'll be finishing raising his Hannah and raising our son alone." Eyes drift down to the graves at their feet. There are things that she wants to say to Gillian, but doesn't know how too.

"Peter wasn't my husband," Gillian says quietly, keeping her back turned toward the woman as she addresses her eyes skywards— or treewards would be most appropriate. The water slides down her face as she does, joined by something saltier.

"He wasn't with me even while he was alive. Not for very long, at least… Long enough to give me children, but not long enough to be a father to them— or to be with me. I could almost forgive him for leaving me— he's done it so often to others— that I'd expect it of him, but leaving his children?"

She shakes her head, reaching up to rub at her face once again. The cold and damp aside, her face is now red.

"Eli's a nice name, too," she offers the blonde as she looks over. "So… this is a real future? Or is someone just playing with our brains?"

"His loss to leave you and them like that." Kaylee offers sharply, clearly not thinking well of Peter abandoning the other woman and her children. "I don't doubt you will be a great mother for them, just like you are for those Lighthouse kids."

That said in Gillian's defense, Kaylee lets out a long sigh. "But yes… it's a real future. I—" How does she explain that? The ever chatty telepath seems a loss for the right words at first. "Joseph's Hannah and Kasha have traveled back… there may be more." She turns to watch the woman's reaction to that news. "The dreams are apart of their coming back I believe. I came back to the island hoping that Hannah came back too. I… want to talk to her."

There is a small nervous smile from Kaylee as she adds, "Not that I know what to ask her… maybe why Joseph and I wanted so long to start having children."

"Such a great mother that four of them have died since I started helping," Gillian says with a glance toward the graves, where three of the four are buried. Denisa had died a year before, and her grave is more proper and elsewhere— but no less a deep hole in her heart that will never really be filled again.

Defending her isn't the easiest, when she happens to think bad of herself.

But she nods, very slowly. A real future— with people travelling back in time, it sounds like. "That means it won't happen now— when people travel, things inevitably change." Even in the smallest ways— She knows from experience. From future's lost and a past that she wears around her neck.

"So Kasha and Hannah, huh? From what I saw— it may not have been the best place to raise children. Definitely not the best place to raise them alone… So I'm sorry you had to."

"When you read the journal…" Kaylee trails off shaking her head slowly. "It gets really bad." Fingers move to touch the thin cross at her neck. "They are going to keep putting out new versions of that virus, pregnancy is require a license. Telepaths and precogs rounded up and… killed." It's pretty much the same thing she told Joseph.

"War. Us and them." Kaylee states matter of factly. "Hannah told her father, she came back to look after him and me. Wants him to be there when we have our first child." There is a small smile at the thought, but she brushes it away quickly. "I've seen Eli… I hate that I might not even get to meet him in person. I don't even know if Joseph and I will even get married. It's a blank slate still… you're right. We don't know what they will change by being here."

"I'll stay long enough to read it," Gillian says quietly, obviously needing to dry off first, and then wait til the next boat leaves. "Mine were a little personal, but… I wrote a depiction of both my dreams in mine— so I'll let give those to you, you can add what you think is important to the bigger picture." One of her dreams had robots, the other had been more personal, though…

"But I'd perfer if some things are left out."

But she's sure the other woman can figure out what's more personal than the rest— what should be kept close to the vest.

"I hope that things work out for you— but I don't know if I want to be with Peter. I mean… I want those kids— I loved those kids. Those kids are the greatest thing that anyone could possibly give me, I know that." Hidden in a viel of damp hair and water, it's hard to see the tears. "But I don't want to be alone… I don't know if I can be with him… knowing that he's just going to leave me."

"Its' a slippery slope." Kaylee agrees, she glances at what is left of the flowers in her arms and then offers them to Gillian. Around them the graves all have flowers on them. It's almost like a peace offering, given with a gentle smile. "I don't want to be alone either," is said very softly. "It will happen if this future happens… which it might not. But I want to grow old with Joseph, not mourn him… and us Thatcher women… when we commit to a man… there is never really anyone else. Even if they are assholes, like my father."

Fingers brush at 'rain water' on her own cheeks, and Kaylee promises, "I'll omit the parts about it being Peter and say it was some guy and anything else that shouldn't be knowing to the general public. I did it for Abby."

"Thank you," Gillian says quietly, as she looks back at the small graves— the too small graves. "I guess we should get inside before we both catch cold," she says with a small smile that brings out the dimples. It seems forced, though— and no doubt.

"I hope you get to meet your son one day— I really do. Or a daughter— or many. Joseph's a good guy."

Better than Peter..

She doesn't have to say it outloud, cause it pushes through loudly anyway, even as she turns around and leaves, back toward the castle, where it's dry, and warm. And where a little privacy is waiting for her before she checks out this journal, and adds her own notes.

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