Promises And Chances


bennet_icon.gif colette_icon.gif doyle2_icon.gif tasha_icon.gif

Scene Title Promises and Chances
Synopsis One is usually broken, the other usually doesn't come around for a second time. Both of those commonalities are shattered in a stroke of good fortune and luck.
Date July 25, 2010

Gun Hill

Even God had to rest, eventually.

Laid out on the sofa in front of the air conditioner, one arm draped over her forehead and mouth partly open in a soft snore, Colette Nichols is closer to unconscious than asleep. One leg has slid off of the sofa, toes touching the floor. The loose tanktop and baggy khaki shorts she wears are streaked with paint stains, though not from anything recent, they're just grubby old clothes to wear around the house on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Having worked nine days straight for the courier service, Colette has — begrudgingly — finally taken a day off. It's not that she needs the money, not that she enjoys the work or even that the Ferry has had her doing too much. But being away for nine days helps Colette avoid dealing with more pressing problems: The future, registration… all the things she's scared of having to address.

But sleeping for thirteen hours isn't good either, and given that the clock says 2pm and Colette is still asleep where she fell on coming home Saturday night, it's about high time she at least start showing some semblance of life.

Not that she's going to do it of her own volition.

Having tiptoed out over an hour ago to go to the grocery store, Tasha re-enters the apartment, arms weighed down with five canvas shopping bags. She manages to make it into the kitchen before finally letting her arms straighten out, allowing the bags to slip off to the ground. Her thin arms now bear ten marks from the straps. "Oof." She quickly puts away the frozen and refrigerated items, then moves to the doorway of the kitchen to peer at Colette.

Smirking to herself, Tasha pads back to the freezer, retrieving the pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream she just deposited, then tiptoes back to the living room. Loose tank top definitely works in her favor. Slowly, one hand tugs the shirt up inch by inch, Tasha's brown eyes watching Colette's face for signs of wakefulness, and then, just as slowly, she lays the pint of ice cream on its side on the flat belly, rolling it upward and waiting for the squeal.

It's more of a shriek, to be honest.

Scrambling away from the touch of cold on her bare skin, Colette's eyes go wide and there's a fireworks effect of blossoming lights sparking all around her, followed by a corner of the couch turning invisible and patches of her skin turning canary yellow.

Only once Colette's actually awake does she realize what happened and does she manage to rein in control of her photokinetic abilities. Sucking in a sharp breath, her mismatched eyes stare wide at the brunette before she lunges across the sofa at Tasha, one arm around her midsection as she slings her onto the couch and climbs on top of her, sending the closed carton bouncing down to the floor, rolling until it hits a leg of the coffee table.

"You," Colette breathes out with face flushed red, "are so dead." There's a bright smile that creeps up Colette's lips as she murmurs that, leaning down to press her forehead to Tasha's, still trying to catch her breath. "So dead," she reiterates, "soon as I catch my breath."

The scream was expected. The light show — not so much. Tasha's eyes widen and the fact that those lights could have possibly been laser beams flashes into her brain like its own little lightbulb. She doesn't do much to try to escape Colette's "wrath," but instead blinks stupidly up at her. Finally, her lips curve into a smile and then that smile erupts into a giggle. Tilting her chin upward, she brings her lips to Colette's to kiss softly, her eyes closing.

Leaning back from the kiss, she whispers, "Holy shit, you could have Cyclopsed me or something. Remind me not to do that again!" she teases. There is no real fear. She trusts Colette implicitly and explicitly, and her soft gaze shows it. "Good to see you awake. I was thinking I was going to have to steal some one's epi-pen and jab you with it."

Snorting noisily as her response, Colette leans down and brushes her lips over Tasha's before offering the tiniest of smiles. Dark lashes partly shadow her eyes as she slides off of the younger girl, then down onto her knees on the floor. Reaching out to pick up that carton of ice cream, Colette shifts her attention from it to Tasha. "Sorry… I guess i was more tired'n I thought." Turning the carton around, Colette's dark brows crease together and her tongue presses against the inside of her cheek.

"Guess Tamara's not home?" There's a look towards the hall to the bedrooms, then back to Tasha as Colette starts to stand up straight. The question isn't left to hang for very long before Colette tosses the carton up and down in her hand, then makes barefooted tracks towards the kitchen wordlessly and intently.

"Do you wanna' go out for dinner tonight?" is wholly unexpected when it's asked on Colette's way into the kitchen. Dinner out sort of reads like a date. You know, that thing normal couples do.

They never really have had a date. The one night at the opera is probably the closest, and yet they had little girls to tow and preen and groom and take pictures of. And then it was crashed by that creepy guy with the beard. "Out?" Tasha says, sitting up from where she was pinned against the couch a moment before. "Tamara's not here and you want to leave?" she teases, shoving her hair out of her face.

"We can go out. Where do you wanna go?" Tasha asks, standing to follow Colette to the kitchen, leaning in the doorway to watch the finally awoken sleeping beauty. The shorter of the two is dressed in her cut off jean shorts and a black tank top, flip flops on her feet showing off toe rings and a woven hemp anklet. They'll both have to change if they're going anywhere besides McDonalds or Taco Bell.

"You ever had sushi before?" is asked just as Colette disappears out of sight, only to have her slender frame revealed as Tasha winds into the kitchen as well, spotting Colette opening a drawer of silverware, retrieving a spoon from inside as she sets the carton down on the countertop. "There's this really nice place on the upper west side I've always wanted to go to, but it was like super expensive and really nice and— " there's a faint crook of her lips into a smile as she turns to look back at Tasha, tugging the top of the carton off.

"We could take the night, have a dinner— just the two of us, no interruptions." Dark brows lift at the suggestion, though Colette's eyes are down on the ice cream instead, carving little lines in the top of the ice cream with the tip of her spoon. "So," her eyes alight to Tasha, "maybe we could get all dressed up… spend a night on the town? Get away from, you know, here for a little while?"

"Sure. I like it, though not the raw stuff. Crunchy rolls and stuff are good though," Tasha says, moving to hop up on the counter. "Are you sure though? I mean, we can go to some hole in the wall that's good, and just pretend we're at the fancy place and be all dressed up and look like crazy people. That's equally as fun. Sometimes more. 'Cause you know, everyone else is wondering if they're underdressed because we look so devastatingly amazing and all." Typical teenager thing to do — dress up and go to a cheap place where allowances go further. It's also a way to keep Colette from blowing all her hard-earned cash on a few bites of rice and fish.

Tasha's eyes narrow suspiciously, as she reaches out to nudge Colette with her foot, the flip flop falling to the tile. "You're just trying to get me in a skirt again, aren't you! I already had lunch in a dress last week. I have a tomboy rep to maintain, you know!"

"I'd be in one too," is something of a coy sentiment, slyly delivered with a crooked smile as Colette scoops out a spoonful of ice cream from the carton for herself. "The raw stuff's good you're missing the point," is delivered in a sing-song teasing tone. "My sister got me all hooked on it before, you'll totally love it, trust me. I'll make you try something other'n a California roll and you will not realize it i fish and you will be so happy."

There's a crooked smile as Colette leans over with the carton in hand, cleaning off the spoon with her lips before scooping out another bite, then lifting her brows and offering it up to Tasha. "I talked to Scott yesterday," she adds, taking the spoon back as if threateningly, "he told me you were going up to Canada next week?" Both of Colette's dark brows lift up slowly and she wavers the spoon back and forth slowly.

"Eat," she instructs, holding out the spoon, "then why don't you tell me what else has been on your mind. Because if I didn't know you were going to Canada, I'm worried about how much else I missed, y'know?" What she doesn't say — can't say — but shows on her expression is that she feels guilty for it all, for not being around enough.

"You're telling me to eat like there's something nutritional I'm going to miss out in if I don't eat that ice cream," Tasha says with a laugh. "But you're right, I might as well eat this now if you're going to make me eat sashimi later." She sticks out her tongue, taking the spoon and wrestling out a chunk of chocolate from the ice cream to spoon into her mouth.

"I just found out yesterday, and you were conked out asleep so I hadn't had a chance," she explains. "Just a rustling job." Like it's no big deal, though they both know it is.

"There is something I haven't had the right time to tell you… my mom finally admitted to having a vision." That, she had kept close for a couple of days, not wanting to burden Colette with more ominous tidings of the future. "It's not good," she adds in a small voice, but she lifts her chin, determined not to cry. "But we'll change it."

The spoon lowers, Colette's shoulders slack, and giving a hasty look to the ocunter she takes a step back and sets the carton down, along with the spoon. A quick melting puddle of ice cream begins forming beneath where the spoon is set down, but Colette is turning towards Tasha, arms spread and wrapping around the brunette's shoulders, pulling her into an embrace and pressing her lips to the side of Tasha's head at her hair. "It's okay," is easy to say when she doesn't know what it's about, "it'll be okay."

Leaning against Tasha, Colette slides one hand up into the back of her hair and guides Tasha's head down to her shoulder, squeezing gently around the younger girl's waist. "I'm not gonna' let it happen," is whispered into Tasha's hair, and Colette's eyes fall shut in that embrace. "Not for one minute, I'm not, I promise I'm not…" there's a quiet, hushed quality to her voice as she tries to find that determination.

"But I need you to tell me what you— " the obvious question is interrupted by a sound, knuckles rapping on the apartment door several times.

It's easy to not cry until the hug comes. The comfort and compassion and warmth of Colette break down the walls Tasha was trying to keep in place. She wraps her arms around Colette and nods in agreement. It's what she told her mother: it isn't going to happen. She won't let it happen. It will change. It has to change. "I know. I know," she murmurs under her breath, tears slipping down her cheeks and onto Colette's shoulder.

Tasha lifts her head and gives a nod to Colette to let her know she'll tell her, just not now. She hastily wipes her eyes, pulling up the hem of her shirt to dry her face. "Whoever it is," she says with a smirk, "we're not inviting them to dinner with us. You are mine." She hops off the counter and makes her way to the front door, glancing behind to survey the visible rooms to make sure the apartment looks presentable; reasonably so — Tasha's and Colette's room always looks like a cyclone ripped every piece of clothing out of the closet and dressers and left them on every available flat surface in the room. But it's way down the hall with the door mostly shut.

"Oh, man, it's … that guy from the Ferry." She doesn't know all their names yet, but she knows he was important. The door swings open and Tasha blinks up at the tall man. "Hi," she says, a little lamely.

To say that Noah Bennet never looks surprised might be something of an overstatement, but the calm and in-charge demeanor he exudes is only amplified by his ability to wear a sharply tailored suit in any weather and not look to be a sweaty hog doing it. The crisp charcoal gray suit Noah wears today gives him a business-like streamline, black framed horn-rimmed glasses catching light from the hall, shielding his eyes with a reflective gleam. "Miss Oliver," is a measured greeting more formal than Tasha's, and when Noah tilts his head ever so subtle the glare disappears from his glasses, revealing that he's stealing a glance past her into the apartment.

"Do you mind if I come in? I had something I wanted to talk to you and miss Nichols about. I promise it won't take too much of your afternoon." Always the paper-salesman, Noah's demeanor is about as wooden as would be expected, but behind that door-to-door facade there's an air of charisma that just cannot be concealed entirely.

Behind Tasha, Colette comes into Noah's view, looking equal parts surprised and nervous to be in one of the founding members of the Ferrymen's presence, especially one that she — up until right now — has never actually met face to face. Seeing him at a meeting is one thing, having him need to see her is another.

"Um. Su-Sure!" Tasha says, eyes widening a little when it turns out he's not simply at the wrong door. "Come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Soda? Beer?" Wait, they're not supposed to have beer, are they? But then, it's not like the Ferry is all about following laws, is it? She opens the door wider, gesturing for the poshly dressed man to enter their humble abode, their IKEA sofa probably costing less than his suit.

She glances at Colette with wide eyes, the expression of what did we do wrong clearly written across her face. Shutting the door, she nods toward the living room, for him to sit, though she doesn't, waiting for his "order" from the kitchen. "I hope … I hope I didn't do anything wrong?" she asks. Her heritage being her biggest fault, of course.

"Not yet," is Noah's answer, and from his tone of voice it's hard to tell if he's teasing or being serious. Stepping into the apartment, Mr.Bennet's hard-soled shoes click on the floor with each step, his appraising attention drifting around the apartment as he gives a slow and steady nod in recognition. "Air conditioning," he admits with a faint smile, "color me relieved."

Managing something of a charming smile, Noah doesn't answer questions about needing anything to drink, because it's easier for him to pretend that a girl his daughter's age didn't just offer him a beer. Instead he makes his way partway into the livingroom, then turns around and creases his brows together. "Your names both came up at the first official council meeting. Nothing bad," he feels the need to clarify, "but some assignments came up that we thought you both might be able to tackle with your different talents and resources. I thought I'd come by and talk to you about them face to face, it's something I'd rather ensure gets done in a timely manner."

Her name came up at a council meeting? Tasha glances at Colette, still nervous. She sinks down to sit on the arm of the sofa, looking up at the man curiously. Talents and resources? "Oh. Well, sure. Whatever we can do to help. It's why we're here, right?" she manages with a bright smile. She's still not used to being treated like a capable adult by grown men that are old enough to be her father, though it's becoming more and more commonplace. Doyle, Raith, now Noah Bennet himself. His name has finally come to her mind — he's not just that Ferry guy. He's that Ferry guy.

"What can we do?" she asks, reaching up to shove her bangs out of her eyes.

Colette's demeanor changes noticably in Bennet's presence, shifting in a similar way to how she does around Raith. Gone is some of her bubbly demeanor, even her expression seems to be steeled a bit more, brows pinched together and stare more attentive. She circles around the sofa, coming to sit on one arm of it, folding her hands in her lap and watching Noah with a silent expectance.

"Two things," Noah begins to explain with a slow, meandering series ot steps further into the living room. "Firstly, I'm sure you've both heard about the Department of Evolved Affairs and the news about the non-evolved registry. I don't need to explain to either of you what kind of threat that could pose to the Ferry's continued operation, but it isn't an insurmountable one."

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Noah inclines his head into a sideways nod, then flicks his stare over to Tasha. "You're obviously going to need to be registered, both because of your family background and because you have nothing that needs to be hidden. It will be easier for Ferry operations if we have some legitimately registered members. Grace Matheson and Alistair McKeon are going to be registering soon as well. This serves a double purpose, both legitimately having you on record and allowing us access to the finalized identification cards."

Noah's progress into the living room stops and one hand lifts to straighten the frames of his glasses. "I'd like you to get a look at these new card, Tasha, and see if you can replicate them as best as you can. I know they won't fool anything more than a cursory look if they're anything like passports, but we need to get on that and you're one of our identification operatives."

Then there comes another knock on the door, the tired voice of Eric Doyle rising from behind it. "Hey… hey Colette, are you home? I'm getting ready to move the kids back to the Lighthouse, I wanted to, uh, well, are you home?" Quieter but still audible, a mutter, "God, Eric, you're talking to a fucking door."

The mention of her family background makes Tasha's eyebrows rise and her cheeks flush, but she gives a nod. At least she has to quit worrying about who knows who she is — obviously it's not really a secret within the network anymore. It's a relief, really. "All right — I'm supposed to go to Canada this wee—" the knock on the door and Eric's voice coming through interrupts her words; Tasha smirks a little, glancing to Colette and tipping her head in the direction of the knock. Go get that? is the obvious message.

"I'm supposed to do a run up to Canada but I'll do it as soon as I get back, and start making them for anyone who needs them," she finishes.

Hopping off the arm of the sofa, Colette chooses to give Noah a wide berth as she goes the other way around the couch to get to the door. Noah, however, seems more interested in who is at the door rather than Tasha's explanation of the trip up into Canada. Answering the door, Colette opens it wide and takes a step back, the door itself obscuring Bennet's presence like a shield. "Eric!" is a cheerful greeting, accompanied by a wave of one of Colette's hands inside. Lazily dressed in those khaki shorts and a tanktop she can't be doing anything important.

"I— I thought you were leaving on Sunday?" Which is to say Colette forgot it is Sunday today. "I— I wanted to go with you down to the— " shit. There's a look over her shoulder, to Tasha, then back to Doyle with a grimace that becomes more of a smile once she's aware of her face making the expression. "C— C'mon in, we were just getting some assignments or something."

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Noah is remaining quiet as a mouse.

"I've still got to talk to Chesterfield about the problems with that little idiot upstairs and the possible dangers he's brought to his door — did you, did you realize that they left a bloody knife with Sable's blood on it where they called the cops? You're really going to need to be — hey, Tasha — careful, and…" A few strides into the room, Eric Doyle pauses for a moment, his brow furrowing a little as he looks to Tasha. Who's looking at someone behind him. "I. Uh. I. Is there, uh. Somebody else… here?"

Sure, he could turn around. But for some reason he'd rather not.

"It is Sunday, you goof," Tasha corrects Colette, her fond expression surely leaving no doubt in Noah Bennet's mind as to what the relationship between the two is. "Hey, Eric," the small teen says, giving a wave to Doyle, not thinking his name needs to be covered up with the nom de guerre Jason, since, after all, Noah Bennet is Ferry, and Ferry knows everything. He knows she's not an Oliver, certainly.

She realizes belatedly that Colette's swear is because she has double-booked herself. "You can go, we can reschedule," she adds, then she frowns at the discussion of Magnes and Sable and bloody knives. Shit. That won't sound good to Noah, and Colette is supposed to be in charge of that group. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, before turning back to offer an apologetic look at the man in the horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hello, Eric," is delivered about as icily as the blood in Doyle's veins on hearing Noah's voice behind him. "I was just talking to the girl about some assignments, why don't you come on and take a seat." Now leaning up against the wall, Noah has crossed his arms over his chest, head tipped forward into a nod that has the apartments lights reflecting off of the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.

There's a look from Colette over Eric's shoulder to Bennet, then back as the brunette teen edges back into the living room with a jerk of her head into a suggestive motion, heading back to reoccupy her perch on one arm of the sofa, hands folding in her lap again. "But apparently we have some other administrative issues that need to be handled in the interim. I'm admittedly disappointed in mister Varlane's actions as of late, but I guess this just reinforces something Scott suggested at the council meeting."

Noah exhales a breathy sigh, lifting up one hand to raise his glasses off of the bridge of his nose, pinching there with his forefingers and thumb. "I think you younger members of the Ferry could all benefit from some education in procedures and… well, just a little extra common-sense training. I volunteered Jensen for the job."

Lucky him.

At that soft, icy voice behind him, Doyle straightens slowly, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Then he slowly turns, his head looking back over his shoulder to bring Noah into his line of sight - partially, enough to catch the glint from those glasses.

"Bennet." As quiet and cold as the other man's words.

A breath's drawn in, exhaled, and he slowly steps over to the sofa, turning around to look at Noah as he eases himself down to sit, lips pursed in a suspicious frown, gaze not leaving Noah as he folds his hands together.

Frowning a little at the cool greeting between the two middle-aged men — Doyle is always nice, unless he's protecting one of the kids or even Tasha herself from something — Tasha glances from man to man. She also can't quite disguise a slight roll of her eyes. "Some of us have common sense," she says a touch defensively. "And it doesn't always have to do with age. I mean, he's older than, like Abby, isn't he? Not that I mean to disagree, sir. I'll happily go to any sort of training you think is in order."

"I think it would still be a good idea. I'm going to get in touch with Jensen about it and see who among the Ferry would be interested, and then they can't claim ignorance on matters like bloody knives. Then I won't feel so bad meting out punishment." As warning as that sounds, Noah's tone of voice is deceptively smooth and casual, much like his posture as he takes to pacing across the floor.

"Identification work aside, we also have the issue of needing to hide those in our organization who do not wish to register their ability, which will be easier to do under the pretense of being non-evolved. Now, falsifying registration can come with a huge risk, anyone who does have a falsified ID could get the person responsible in serious jeopardy if they— say— get brought into a hospital and are blood tested from an accident."

Noah exhales a quiet sigh. "Regardless, we'll need the option. Which, brings me to you, miss Demsky." Not miss Nichols, it's a pointed distinction. "I'd like you to talk to your father and see if he would be willing to assist us in the registration of some Evolved Ferrymen members as non-evolved."

Colette's eyes go wide when she hears her name, and when Judah is indirectly mentioned her heart pounds in her chest and face drains of color. Unable to even stammer an answer, Colette just nods repeatedly and sharply, agreeing to something that she's not even sure Judah will do simply so she doesn't disappoint. Now she just has to find a way to not disappoint Eric or Tasha. If she were Brian Fulk, this would be easier.

"As for you," is somehow directed to Doyle despite his not originally being part of Noah's plan here. "How invested are you, time-wise- in the children at the Lighthouse? Because there's something I'd like to get your assistance with, Eric, if you have the time. It wouldn't be more than a day or two of activity."

The little forger-to-be gives a silent nod, her stomach turning a little when the reality is spelled out so explicitly. Those holding the cards will be in jeopardy if they are found out, and Tasha would also be in danger if she is found out to have made the documents. She already warned her mother she was planning to do so. Her father knows she's involved in Ferry, and by association, guilty of illegal activities, in his book, forgery most likely the least of them. She glances at Doyle when Noah addresses him, the children of the Lighthouse a soft spot among all of them.

At the question, Doyle's head raises up a bit, his brow furrowing. "Once they're moved back to the Lighthouse… Brian could watch over them for a bit, that's plenty of manpower," he says in careful tones, "What do— what do you want me for? I mean—" A faint laugh, "I couldn't even take care of a safehouse without everything going to hell."

"Not even the Company could manage to not be made to look the fool with Varlane in their ranks, I don't fault you for being unable to control his… peculiarities." Clearing his throat, Noah offers something of a mild smile, then looks over to Eric intently. "We discussed something at the council meeting, home schooling for the children within the network. We have an abundance of children and adolescents who are going without education, and we simply can't afford to be that detriment to them."

Is Noah asking Doyle to—

"Would you be willing to teach. Part-time, to start, and whatever you know well enough to teach. Crafts, literature, anything you might happen to be versed in. We're taking any and all volunteers, and I thought this might be good for you. We've had several safe-houses already volunteer to be used as makeshift schools, most of them on the mainland." One brow arching, Noah leaves the remainder entirely in Eric's court.

"Eric would be a great teacher," is Colette's enthusiastic answer, because in her eyes he's capable of doing no wrong. Of course, she doesn't know him as well as Noah does, which means her vote is one of confidence and Noah's is a test.

"He would be," Tasha agrees. "And the kids love him," she adds, moving to slip an arm around Doyle's wide waist. She's probably a third of his weight, tiny next to the man but clearly trusting him, no idea what Noah knows about the puppetteer.

"I can offer to teach art, by the way. Right now I don't have a job or classes, just Ferry stuff. Once school starts, I'll have less time, but I'm sure I could at least handle giving a couple of classes a week." Tasha smiles brightly up at Noah, offering her artistic talent readily for the kids of the Ferry and the Lighthouse.

That was just about the last thing that Doyle expected to hear, clearly, and he ends up just sort of staring at Noah Bennet for a long moment. A hand lifts, rubbing against the nape of his neck as he leans back, "W-what? Seriously, you want me to…. to teach? But… I mean. I, I guess, I mean, I've taught some stuff to the kids…"

Off balance? A little!

"See how you like it, give it a shot. I know you and I may not have always been on the most even footing, Eric, and we both know why. But I didn't spend all those years at Primatech without the hopes, or at least the dreams, that no one was above the capacity for reform. If someone like me can get a second chance at life, I shouldn't be so hard on other people who are willing to give it a second chance as well." And that is about the closest thing to kindness that Noah Bennet can ever show without losing his reputation.

Walking away from the sofa, he seems to be showing himself to the door, though his pause halfway there comes with him turning to offer his profile and a smile back to those on the sofa. "Oh and, Colette?" The brunette perks up when Noah addresses her, almost like the way a teenager would when called on in class. I was paying attention, I swear!. "When you see Sable, could you explain to her my frustration? Also, that I'd like to get her and Mouse together for some reconnaisence. He already knows the details, just give Sable the heads up and tell her that he'll be by."

"M— Mouse?" Colette squints, trying to remember who— "Oh! Oh— yeah sure, alright. I— I can do that, Mister Bennet!" Noah offers a solemn nod at that affirmation, then looks up and over to Tasha and Doyle in like fashion, seeing if those two have any parting comments or requests.

Especially Doyle.

Tasha rises from her spot on the couch arm and moves toward the door to see him out. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Bennet," she says, taking her cue from Colette in addressing him as such. That, and he's older than her parents — it just seems weird to call him Noah. "I'll make an appointment to register as soon as I'm back from the great white north, eh?" The little quip is a telltale sign to Colette that Tasha is still nervous at the man's presence, as her humor is always her form of defense. She offers an impish smirk up to the tall man before glancing back at Doyle.

The statement that Noah Bennet thought that the people on Level 5 were there to be reformed gets the legendary agent a rather sharply dubious look from Doyle - maybe even angry - but the puppeteer swallows it with a tight shake of his head, exhaling a rough breath. "Alright. Alright, yeah, I'll give it a try. Can't hurt anything…"

"Hopefully you're right," is Noah's warning comment back to Doyle that comes with a too big smile, "but either way," he adds with a glint of his horn-rimmed glasses as they catch the light in the apartment again. "I have a feeling we won't be strangers." To part on those words, Noah merely offers a smile down to Tasha in thanks for her hospitality and understanding, slipping out into the hall with a momentary hesitation at the different of the air-conditioned apartment and the swelteringly hot fourth floor hall.

On Noah's departure, Colette offers something of a wry smile, looking around the room with her hands folded in her lap, smile crooked and brows furrowed. "Tasha," she offers in a small voice, having finally figured it out. "You're comin' out to the Lighthouse with me an' Doyle…" and her smile grows for the comment, "then we're gonna' go out t'dinner. Bring your good clothes, an' we'll change at the Lighthouse."

Looking to Eric, the teen offers a thankful smile for him coming by before leaving. "I wouldn't let you leave without sayin' goodbye, an' I won't break no promise either."

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