Participants:
| Scene Title | Not Unlike Confession |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After a difficult meeting with Messiah, Peter finally returns to Abigail's apartment with a heavy conscience he needs to unburden. |
| Date | August 11, 2010 |
The world that encompasses Abigail's apartment, where Peter and Francois of late occupy, is clean. The stringent scent of Mr. Clean in every single corner of the place, the bathrooms lemon fresh and sparkling in such a fashion that the residents Momma's alive and dead, would smile. With the potential ceasement of life tomorrow when the liberation of those that can be liberated from the hospital on Staten Island, Abigail works through the stress, worry and fears by cleaning.
The apartment is quiet, bedroom door open to the rest of the place and light on, spilling out into the hall, the blonde medic is fresh from the shower, cotton nightgown on and feet up, going over her toenails with clear nail polish while the TV plays softly in the background. Bible by the bed with it's singed sooty edges, glass of water on top of it, simple cross nailed above the bed, the cat sits in the window, watching rats and whatever night time element that might be out there, scurry along the streets.
"Gotta get a vest" Talking to herself, making out loud verbal notations. "Taser's charged, but need to dig up a vest" Okay, so she's talking to the cat, or maybe to the dog that's under her bed and gnawing on a bone with the tenacity and veracity that only a dog still in it's puppy years could manage. "See what supplies have come in last minute. Get them transferred over, get a count of the volunteers and… where to send people" somewhere on her screen, there's a documentary about river monsters and giant catfish.
Keys in the lock and a jingling noise is what comes before the apartment door opens, giving way to a tired-looking and crestfallen Peter Petrelli. While his arm had been in a sling last he met Abigail, Peter looks to be in a good a condition as seems to be possible these days. While fatigued, it looks to be playign less severely on him than it has in the last couple of months. Tired brown eyes sweep the apartment, immediately noticing the lack of baby smell in the air or the accompanying infant detritus that tends to litter the home of a small child.
There's no greeting from Peter as he pushes the door shut, brows furrowed and clothing wrinkled and slept-in looking. When the door clicks shut, Peter leans his weight back against it, as if uncertain that he's allowed to go much further into the apartment than the doorway without expressed invitation.
"Do you think we could talk?" Is a sequence of six words Peter has never said to Abigail, especially not with the sincerity and pensive air that he possesses now.
"You can come in my room and talk because I am doing my nails and if I smudge them, I will be really unhappy" if she cranes, she can see him and maybe that's why she took this room. Because she can see into the livingroom. All the more better to nail people with illegal weapons should they come in unwelcomed.
Her room's about as close to a confessional as Peter will likely ever get to again.
Treading across the floor, Peter tucks his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders forward without any discomfort that a gunshot wound would imply. It's a slow progress to the doorway of Abby's room, and that's about as far as Peter gets at first. Glancing down one side of the room and then up another, Peter offers a worried expression to the blonde, then dips his head down and takes one step inside of the doorway.
"Are you Catholic?" It's an unusual question, given that the topic of religion hasn't ever come up between the two outside of throw-away terms and mentions. Admittedly it's also a personal question, and getting anywhere beneath skin deep on Peter is a difficult proposition.
"I'm a flaming Baptist Peter, now in more ways than one. But I can respect and do respect those of the catholic faith" Abigail shifts, making room for him on the pale purple quilt that adorns the top of her bed with it's green hemming and thread, something from her parents once things had gotten back to normal for them and they'd found out the bar burned. "Are you?"
"I guess," is non-comittal for a response, but it's the answer most Catholics would probably give. "I… When I was younger, my parents used to take me and Nathan up to St.John's for Sunday service…" treading quietly across the floor of Abby's bedroom, Peter offers a look to her, then down to the bed and faintly smiles before seating himsself on the corner, hands folding in his lap.
"I haven't been since my father's funeral…" It's hard to imagine at one point in time, Arthur and Angela Petrelli raising children together, being a family, and somehow hiding the things they were doing. "I— It's been hard, since what happened at Midtown, to even think about going in to one. With allt he things I've had to do. It— feels like I don't belong there anymore, you know?" Lifting his attention up to Abby, Peter creases his brows and then looks back down to his lap, wringing his folded hands together.
"I guess… I'm saying this because I feel like I've been a terrible person lately. Not— even just because of the things I do for Messiah, but the way I've treated the people around me. Helena, Gillian, Kaylee, Melissa… you." CLosing his eyes, Peter exhales a sigh and slouches forward, lifting up his hands to rake thorugh his hair, then just sits there, bent forward holding his head in his hands.
Peter's hands push across his face and then slide fingers thorugh his hair, eventually coming to lace his hands together at the back of his neck. "I've lied to you, abused your generosity…" eyes shut and don't open again. "I don't know," is said with a sigh, and reiterated once more in hushed quality, "I don't know."
"So you find another church Peter, or you take baby steps to get back to the point where you feel like you belong somewhere. You don't need to stand in a building of stone and steeple to feel close to god. The Lord is infinite in his patience and if it takes you twenty years to feel like stepping foot into a house of god, then it takes you twenty.
Her hand settles on the cent of his back, naturally warm, fingers spread, resting there as he puts his words in order as best her can, eventually moving her palm up and down like she'd done for Kasha countless nights when she railed upset. "You are not a terrible person. Terrible deeds done, and you acknowledge it, but you sit, day after day in the ambulance, and you rush people in their hours of direst need, keeping them alive, smiling at them, bringing them comfort and confidence at a time when they need it most. I see you Peter, and you struggle to atone for what you did, for loosing control like you did." Abigail's palm moves up to rest atop his own at his neck.
"You get from life, what you give and you need to go through life Peter, treating others as you'd want them to treat you. Not how you deserve to be treated, but how you want them to treat you. So you've lied to me. You are not the first, nor are you the last. I still love you none the less and you are still here in our home" Our. He's been here long enough she counts it as his too. "I can't say that I like what you do in your spare time, but you don't like what I do either and the our lives don't keep turning solely on account of what other people like."
Tension defines Peter's posture and expression, nervousness and anxiety too even after Abigail's comforting words. There's a look offered to the blonde, pensive, and then that look is instead shared with the floor. Letting his hands fold down in his lap, Peter wrings them together in the awkward silence that follows, before his eyes drift to the dim light of street lamps coming in thorugh the bedroom window, then back over to Abby.
"I'm scared of not making it back tomorrow…" isn't easy for Peter to admit. "I'm— scared that something terrible is going to happen at the Hospital and I'm not going to make it out alive." Right leg jittering, Peter creases his brows and looks down to his lap again. "I almost died at Pinehearst, Abby… I— This feel just like Pinehearst did. I'm terrified something is going to happen and this time I'll be out of luck and…"
And Peter falls silent, sliding his tongue over his lips and slowly shaking his head. "And I'm afraid I'm going to go with all of this guilt still sitting on me." Tongue darting out across his bottom lip and brows furrowed, Peter offers a slow shake of his head. "I got hurt at a Humanis First raid we did on Staten Island… kept away from the house because I was afraid how you'd react to seeing me beat up. I've— I don't think I know how to empathize with people anymore. I don't even understand myself half the time."
"I woulda patched you up Peter, put your arse in bed and made sure you slept some before letting the Messiah folks come find you. Like I react when anyone comes cross my path and is hurt. Good, bad, don't matter. And maybe, maybe you need to give up Richards ability and go find yourself an Empath and borrow their ability for a bit. I saw how Richard pulled away from the world when he couldn't turn real and I'm sure that your using that, don't help you any"
She still rubs at his back, settling her chin on his shoulder, lips pressed together in thought. " You'll come out of it alive Peter Petrelli, because you are a gentleman enough, to not leave it up to me, standing beside Robert and telling your Momma that you perished in the basement of a hospital. Because you are too much a Gentleman to leave me practicing and learning from Trevor when I go back to school and spend my weekends in the rigs."
There's a kiss to his cheek, chaste in nature but meaningful. "You are Peter Petrelli. Baby brother of the President who's not really the president, my rig partner, a man with a whole world of responsibility on his chest and in desperate need to getting carnal with someone. Teo would tell me that you just need to get laid."
Snorting a laugh and actually looking a little embarrassed at the kiss to his cheek, Peter shakes his head and looks up to Abby with his brows furrowed and lips creeping up into a reluctant smile. "That's never gotten me anything but trouble," he admits reluctantly, lifting up a hand to rub across his forehead, the heel of his palm scrubbing over one eye. "I don't really think there's a way to fix me," he admits reluctantly, lowering his hand and looking up to Abby with that crooked, wan smile.
"I um, I don't… have Richard's ability anymore. I borrowed one from Gabriel, for what's happening tomorrow. It lets me walk thorugh walls," is a little smug, he enjoys the versatility of his power and the uniqueness of it, "I have Claire's regeneration too, just— to be safe."
Looking away from Abby, Peter breathes in deeply and then exhales a slow sigh. "Sometime next week, maybe… Friday or something," there's a look back up to Abby, "I'm going to take you somewhere, and we're going to burn things together. I'll teach you how to do what you do better… Because if I need to learn how to empathize with people better, I can't think of a better example to go by than you."
"No more Haitian sensation, Abby cry with sad" The blonde commiserates, hand still on the back of his neck over Peter's hands. "I would adore going to the middle of nowhere, possibly totally imposing on Elias to take us to an evolved friendly country so that we can practice without fear" Or at least, she could. Peter was a registered evolved. "and yeah, I can see how getting carnal might get you in trouble. I guess it's not gotten me anything but trouble either. Smack to the face and my heart in love with with a man who can't touch me without it hurting something fierce" A heat to her cheeks and blush. "Big warning Peter, I burn up all my clothes, so when I stop being on flame, I'm bare as the day that my momma birthed me"
One dark brow arches slowly, and there's a laugh that comes more honest than the last. "We'll keep the details of that little training exercise uh, private then. I don't even want to think about what people would say, because if I'm training you, I'm going to have to have the ability too, and I don't know anyone with clothing generation as a power." There's a crack of a smile and a slow shake of Peter's head as he looks down to his lap, then very slowly moves his hand from the back of his neck down to rest on Abby's shoulder.
"I'm… really sorry for being such an ass, just— Messiah's hard work, it's difficult to feel like I can try to trust people. Even just talking to you has had me wanting to get up and leave almost every time i start to say something."
Looking askance to the bedroom door, Peter's brows crease and he turns to look back to Abby, squeezing her shoulder under his hand. "I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow, i don't even know if I'm going to make it back, I just— I didn't want to go into that hospital not having said this stuff to you. Not— having apologized."
"I was warned, ahead of time, by your multitude of ex's Peter, that you are what they call a grade A asshole. But you know me, I prefer to decide on my own. Same as I am sure, I drive many a person nuts and crazy with my own brand of personality and rabid insistence that in everyone, there's some good so long as you dig deep enough…"
"You chose to be in Messiah" She doesn't say lead, not after the words that Eileen had spilled from her mouth at the dressing down. That Rupe was the one above Peter, not Peter above Rupe. "And I choose to be with the Ferry and stand out in the center much as I can. And.. as you saw, I'm part of the council. Neither of us may agree with what the other does Peter, but it doens't make either of us less or shouldn't, in each others eye's. If it did, I woulda punted your arse out onto the alley"
There's a glance to his hand on her shoulder too, the ruffle of eyelett'd cotton crushed under the weight of his palm. "And if you haven't figured it out, not just anyone gets to where I'll let them just touch me. Lord put us together on that rig, for a reason peter." Or maybe someone a bit more tangible. "I thank you, for the apology and… I'm sorry for what I said that night. You should know it too before tomorrow darkens our doorstep. I shouldn't have thrown midtown in your face. There was no excuse"
He doesn't say it's alright or anything placating like that. If Peter had one thing that pushes his buttons, it's the mention of what happened at Kirby Plaza almost four years ago. "Thank you," is a much more honest thing to say, because this may be the only time someone has ever apologized for bringing up Midtown like a weapon against him, like a cross to a vampire. "I— I mean it." Awkward, Peter rests his hands on his knees, then shifts his weight forward and rises up from the bed. Standing straight, Peter turns around and looks down at Abby, his smile subdued but still there despite himself.
"You're not as hard to get along with as I thought you'd be when I first met you," is quietly admitted, perhaps a bit guiltily. "You don't deserve all the trouble you've had in your life, Abby. If there was ever anyone in this whole city who actually deserved a happy ending," one of Peter's hands waves in the air towards one of the windows, as if motioning to everyone in the city at once.
"It'd be you."
"No more in truth that you or any other deserve such a thing. If I really did Peter, I wouldn't be here, I'd be back in Louisiana and I'd know none of you. Maybe it is, maybe there is some happy ending and maybe it involves Robert and some home in England or… or maybe it involves me dying some place with a smile on my face and knowing that before I went, I saved someone. Who knows"
Abigail pauses then cocks her head.
"Tamara"
She rises too, the clear polish having hardened, no smudging or anything of the sort, just light glancing off of the shiny surface. "I'm going out, with a team tomorrow. I'm gonna have to take a handgun. I'll take my taser too but… odds are, I'm gonna have to shoot the gun" There's a gesture towards the kitchen, in dire want of something comforting so that she can sip it despite the heat that permeates the city almost in a garish and flagrant counterpoint to the winter cold that lingered.
"She would know," Peter agrees with a laugh, then looks up to Abby with a nervous expression when she talks about armaments, then looks down to the floor. "You don't have to go, Abby. We can— people can figure something out without having to get you involved. You can be safe, be somewhere— anywhere else other than on the front lines. You should be back at the nature center, getting beds ready and…"
And that's where Peter should realistically be too.
Sighing, Peter doesn't give a further point ot that, he just cedes victory to Abby's decision and dips his head into a brief nod. "Be safe," he asks as he looks up with a faint smile, "alright?" Then, perhaps less seriously, "I really don't want to have to kill the Vegan."
"The riots kill the vegan. I think… I heard the riots, the ambulance was overturned and he was part out of it. He was in the back with Delilah when whatever happened to put us in that state, happened. I only saw Delilah pushing out Walter and delivering him" Her bedroom light is left on, Rhett poking his head from under the bed to see where the lady of the house is going and where Peter is going.
"I can't, in good conscience, have sat there in that meeting Peter and have said that I would vote yes, if I wouldn't be willing to strap on a vest and grab a pack and try to see if I can't save someone out there in the grounds. Megan's got the beds, she's the head of the medical section of the Ferry, I'm just her co-head. I don't think I'll be going inside, I'll just stick to the outside. I'm not exactly your crack shot with a handgun"
Shtogun is a very different thing. "I'll be there, afterward. Back at the center and patching folks up" In as much confidence that she has of escaping unscathed physically. She elbows Peter, padding off into the kitchen, getting out the milk and a pot for the stove. "You better come out unscathed Mr. Phasing and regeneration. I don't wanna commit murder of Trevor either. Nor do I wanna live in this place alone, because I know that the moment Teodoro is saved, Francois will not be leaving his side for a long time and even though I got this monitor now…" Pets do not satisfactory roommates make.
"Tell him to take the 8th off of work," Peter recommends. For all that he's a self-righteous bastard, Peter isn't going to condemn that man to death. Besides, some of Peter's best friends are self-righteous bastards. "Maybe we'll figure out a way to stop what's coming, maybe what we do tomorrow's part of that. I don't know, and I think the only person who does know," and Tamara's name is invoked suggestively only, "isn't saying, or doesn't care to."
Taking a step away from Abby, Peter runs both of his hands through his hair and laces his fingers at the back of his neck again before turning around in her doorway and facing the blonde again. "Get some sleep tonight and… if we make it through all of this?" Peter offers a tired smile. "We'll watch some things burn to let off stress."
"You're gonna sleep too Peter. The other side of the bed is empty, I don't move around too much in bed and I know you're an honorable man if you think you'll sleep better and feel better. I know you probably miss sleeping beside Kaylee" She doesn't say with, but beside. Milk is heated, how Teo liked to make it and she had adopted the style.
"I could do with that though, burning things. I haven't.. experiment on touching fire while not on fire, or just… seeing what I can do while turned. Just figuring out how long and trying to turn it off"
It goes without saying that she had already told Trevor and the folks who did the schedule about how under no circumstance is the man to work that day. "I told Robert I had to go away for a few days. That if I didn't get in touch, give it a few days before.. you know" Sounding the alarms and looking for her. "Can we go to a beach? Some place sandy, maybe an island somewhere? I'm sure Elias knows. Be like Lost. I'll be the… the… Juliet to your… Jack" Since when did Abby start watching Lost.
Peter watches Abby, silent for a good few minutes, then lifts up a hand and awkwardly scrubs at the back of his neck, head shaking slowly as he turns partway from the blonde and towards thhrough the door he's standing in front of. It almost seems like he's just going to leave without saying anything, but hesitates and turns to look over his shoulder to her with an embarrassed smile.
"I'm," Peter points out the bedroom door, "going to stay in my bed tonight. I've been phasing thorugh the bed while I sleep and— I don't want to know what'd happen if I accidentially phased through you while I was asleep, or— " there's a dismissive wave of his hand at the excuse.
"Thanks, though, for the offer. I am going to sleep though, it— I need to be rested for tomorrow, if I'm going to help anyone." It's probably the first real sleep he'll be getting for a long while too.
"Oh my lord, you're right, you can sleep in your bed. You'd end up phases into Mrs. Tetterson's bedroom if you stayed in mine" A wooden spoon pauses in it's stir in the pot, raised brows at the other man as she imagines the older woman and her husband that live below her. "I do not want to imagine that explanation in the morning. Or to the cops"
She won't press. Leave your door open. Scarlett's been taking to sleeping in your windowsill. I'm gonna turn in real soon after I have some milk" With a touch of rum to it. "Just get through tomorrow Peter, and beyond that, we'll take it a day at a time… getting you back to a point where… well, we'll get you back on the humanity bandwagon yeah?"
There's a crack of a smile as Peter turns away from Abby's door and instead walks a few steps into her room. His smile grows, head shakes and as he starts to talk, his body begins to fade away, becoming hazy and indistinct on the edges and transparent, like a ghost walking. "I wouldn't go that far," Peter jokes as he walks towards the wall to his bedroom, "Goodnight, Abby."
The direct route is always faster.