There's No Place Like Home, Part IV



Scene Title There's No Place Like Home, Part IV
Synopsis "Our future—it matters."
Date May 15th, 2021


Gillian's voice is hushed, knowing full well that this will end up leaving them barely able to function if it goes the way she remembers it going the other times. Augmentation loops are the quickest way to overload, and she pulls up even closer to him, closing his eyes as she waits for a moment. There was something that they needed to tell him, but what she tells him isn't that. Even with everything going on, she can mention that much to her husband that she hasn't had a chance to since the sprung him from the medical labs.

"Nate's with Eve and Kent— they'll take care of him no matter what happens."

To either of them, or both of them. Assuming the world doesn't end, at least. It's something she might think he needs to know. There's a deep breath before she opens her eyes so she can look up at him, a smile making dimpled cheeks stand out. The time travelers can go home, and she'll do what she can to help them get there. "I love you," she adds to her husband, waiting for his cue to begin the augmentation loop.

Her eyes continue to wander around the area, keeping track of things and people, ready for any trouble that might surface. Cat's alertness draws her to hear the story of Gabriel, Arthur, Elle, and… Odessa. Her jaw sets, she fumes quietly, but there's also anticipation, a hope that one might surface here. She owes that one some retribution. Darkness flares in her eyes.

But Odessa isn't within sight, and there are other matters to address. She faces Peter, and the mention of Canfield's ability draws up the video clip from Kaito, the words at the end. "Peter," she starts, speaking in a voice to command attention, "think of the place where you dreamt of true strength."

Choking out a wet, gurgling breath, Stephen's eyes slowly close as Helena holds his hand. Peter's lips press together in a frown, eyes closing as he turns to look over to Gillian, head tilting to the side, then slowly angling down as he rises up to his feet with her help. Something happens though, something unexpected.

It's like a bubble of air-pressure popping, and suddenly a torrent of howling wind from somewhere, somewhen else comes swirling across the rooftop. Lightning flashes in the skies in a storm that comes over Helena so abruptly. Emotions carried in the weather and the funnel clouds forming in it — fear, rage, contempt — so many negative things fueling the windstorm and the driving sheets of rain that now pummel the rooftop. In that instant where it feels like the pressure breaks, a torrent of voices can be heard, among them Elle's. Trask can see a tumble of blonde, and the scrape of metal sliding across the rooftop as Hiro Nakamura's Takezo Kensei sword comes tumbling out of its sheath, bouncing over the rooftop from where Odessa Knutson had been carrying it. She cracks her head against the concrete below the helipad, clutching it with both hands as she rolls onto her side, curling up into a ball from the pain, looking dazed by whatever happened and wherever she came from.

But before anyone can make sense of the sudden sounds coming from the low portion of the roof below the helipad, there is a sonic boom as a figure clad in black, glowing with radioactive light rockets up from the rooftop into the skies…

…carrying Arthur Petrelli in his arms.

It's Gabriel. Peter stares with eyes wide as the black clad figure launch himself into the air, recognizing the sickening glow of Ted Spragues atomic power as he becomes airborne, watching Arthur grabbing at Gabriel's face, arcing bolts of electricity coursing through him as he tries to kill him before they can make their ascent. That's his father, and here he is feeling nothing towards the monster being lifted aloft by the man he once called his greatest enemy. Here Peter is, worried about Gabriel Gray.

And here Gabriel Gray is, becoming a hero.

Peter's head tilts down, and he squeezes Gillian's hand in his. "I love you too," the words come easy this time, for the first time. Words spoken without regret, without self-chastisement for her being the one who came after Helena. For the first time ever, and perhaps too late to matter, he means it. The pool of blood around where Peter stands is too big to be anything but disastrous. Deep crimson soaking where the knife drove too deep between his ribs.

Breathing in a deep, wet breath, Peter heard Cat's words, and finally understands.

Kaito, you always knew, didn't you?

Two Years Later

Gray Memorial
Unity Memorial Park
New York City

May 15th


"This… is always weird."

Peter Petrelli's voice is barely a whisper as he addresses the minimalist concrete obelisk tucked away in the rambling forests of Unity Memorial Park. He kneels down, laying a wristwatch on the memorial where dried flowers and other tokens that have sat for far longer. "Bai-Chan is doing good, he um…" Peter scrubs one hand at the back of his neck. "He's starting college in the fall, overseas. Talks about you every day, still. I wish… I wish there was more I could tell him. That anyone could. But you know—you know how you were."

Swallowing tightly, Peter looks up at the memorial, searching the pale concrete slab. His eyes wander without purpose, and in his meanderings he finds nothing but his own thoughts. Own doubts. "I wish…" He starts to say, then shakes his head and starts to turn away from the memorial. But something stops him. Peter hesitates, then looks back askance at the monument. "I thought things were going to change. I really, truly did. I keep going over everything in my head. The paintings, the visions, everything that we gave up to send them home and it just—kept going."

Peter looks down at his feet, wringing his hands together in front of himself. "We all have to just keep going. They finally passed the Gray Act through congress, stripped down but—but the protections are in place. Proper access to specialized mental health services for Evolved going through manifestation, paid for by Uncle Sam." Peter tries to smile, but one never fully materializes. Instead he just stares at a loose, dried rose petal fluttering at his feet. "We're trying to make the world the better place Helena said she wanted. The one that would be born if they got back to their own time. The one… we were promised."

Exhaling a deep sigh, Peter closes his eyes and shakes his head. "I wish we'd been better." Peter whispers, and just as he starts to turn away a second time something catches his eye, sitting amid the flowers on the memorial: a little origami crane. He almost dismisses it, but does a double take and holds out one hand in the crane's direction. The piece of paper lifts up off of the monument's plinth and floats through the air as if the crane itself were in flight, straight into Peter's waiting palm.

Turning it over in his hand, Peter examines the crane. It looks new, the paper hasn't been weathered by the elements. The folds are still crisp. Peter laughs, a rueful and bitter thing and makes a motion to send the crane back. But something gnaws at him. A sense of uncertainty. A twisting knot of unfinished business that has been eating at him for the last two years. Rather than return the crane to where it was placed, he picks at a corner of the folded paper and peels it back, opening it up into the single sheet it was crafted from.

Peter's dark eyes shift from side to side, brow furrowed together and lips slightly parted. Confusion sinks in. Inside the paper crane there is a drawing in thick black marker.

A circle.

Beneath which is written: "Don't keep me waiting."

Peter's eyes grow wide. He reads the note once, then twice, then crumples it in one hand. With a single push Peter rockets into the air like a missile and disappears into the twilight sky.

The Deveaux Building


A rush of wind gusts across the overgrown rooftop of the Deveaux Building, rustling the foliage that encrusts the sculpture of a ring of whitewashed stone flanked by two cherubs. Peter lands amid that gust, trailing strong winds behind him. He rises from a crouch, looking around the rooftop at the dilapidated remains of pigeon coops, the grass growing between the slate floor tiles, and the moss clinging to what remains of the greenhouse. He walks in a circle, looking all around, then out to the verdant and overgrown Unity Park, to the other skyscrapers encrusted with vegetation. His eyes turn to the bright, orange flowers growing around the sculpture, ones with eight petals and dark purple stamen. They're… familiar. Like something he saw once in a dream, a lifetime ago.

When the ambient noise of the city cuts out, Peter whips around and comes face to face with a ghost he wasn't expecting to see. His voice nearly fails him, breath caught in his lungs. He has to spit the name out in shock.



"Not yours," Hiro replies, which only further confuses Peter. But before Peter can issue a stammering request for more information, Hiro raises two fingers and dips his head in an apologetic nod. "I know this is a lot to take in, and… ironically, we don't have all the time in the world."

Peter circles Hiro like an animal, looking him up and down with a mixture of building rage and overwhelming grief. Tears fill Peter's eyes, followed by a riotous outburst. "Where have you been!?" He lunges at Hiro, grabbing him by the collar of his vest and slams him up against the sculpture on the roof's edge. Hiro exhales sharply from the impact, grabbing Peter's wrists tightly.

"I'm not your Hiro." He reiterates, staring into Peter's eyes. Teeth gnashed together, Peter stares daggers back at Hiro, even as tears dribble down his cheeks and off of his chin. "I'm not your Hiro," he says again, slowly shaking his head.

Peter swallows loudly, releasing Hiro and recoiling from him, scrubbing a hand across his face to dry his tears as he does. "What the hell is this? Who are you?"

"I'm Hiro Nakamura," he replies, then gestures with both of his hands to his left, "from a little bit to one side from here. It's hard to explain, and I can't promise it will all make sense, but I need to ask you something."

Peter swallows down some of his anger, rounding on Hiro like a wounded animal. "You've got a lot of fucking nerve coming here and asking me for help. Why now? Why not ten years ago?"

"You know why." Hiro says back, slowly moving away from the roof's edge. "Don't you?"

The question has Peter lurching, bile rising in the back of his throat. His future refused to change. Peter's dark eyes dart around the rooftop, then back to Hiro. He can't form a response, just stares expectantly, hoping that somehow whatever Hiro has to say next will make any amount of sense.

"If I ask you about a red door," Hiro says, and already Peter's stomach is turning in knots, "what does it mean to you?"

Two Years Ago

"Dean told me about Edward."

Gabriel Gray's voice is firm, raising a hand in a defensive gesture and irritation leaking into his tone, giving way to a flare of anger. No need to grand stand, but his voice has a venomous edge to it. "Look, you all want my help to save you and none of you are listening. You're right, I've been forward in time, and the only reason I was sent back was because Ray knew that he couldn't do a damn thing if it was him."

Short silence, just long enough for Gabriel to move, touch his fingers to the corner of the painting. It's not a gesture for emphasis. "Ray and whoever he took with him can do what they want, but they can't change the past. Helena and the rest can't help but change the future. They won't have a choice in the matter."

Something is happening to the paint, and it only starts to show when the dried paint is suddenly glistening as if freshly painted. From the center and out, the black pushes out, smudges away to reveal— red. Nothing conclusive, the paint smeared, but it's not black at its heart. "Flint Deckard watched me paint these. He saw there was a red door behind all of them." His eyes fix on Peter. "That's why I came here tonight, at this hour. We need your help. You can't let them go back, Peter. None of us can."

Dark brows furrow together as Peter tilts his head to the side, looking at the painting with a confused expression. Something doesn't make sense— well, nothing makes sense— but the world is beginning to find itself painted in shades of ridiculous colors that clash loudly with common sense. Without Hiro here, without some form of guidance to put things together and give an educated frame of reference, Peter's beginning to doubt who could possibly be right.

But when he thinks back to the way Helena pleaded with him on the rooftop, the notion that maybe he's sending her back out of some selfish and misguided hope that she doesn't die, and out of some cowardly desire not to have to deal with her in his life. Maybe he's selfish, maybe he's a coward, maybe he's wrong…

"I'm not going to be any help. I—" This is a dangerous argument to get into, especially after burning away any chance he has of bluffing Gabriel down, should he decide to change his attitude. "I can't convince my father not to send his men back, he's the one with the ability to send people through time—not me." Rubbing a hand over his mouth, Peter looks up slowly to Eileen, then Gabriel. "I think they should go back, because—because they don't belong here." He doesn't sound entirely convinced, "They can't stay here… I—" his eyes avert, back down to the floor, then something seems to dawn on him. Treading a dangerously defiant ground, Peter swallows his words.

"If Doctor Ray of that future believed going back would do nothing, then why would he go back this time? Wouldn't the same rules still apply?" Gillian argues, though there's no real understanding in any of this conversation. There's a gnawing hole in her stomach that's getting bigger, and the tears are starting to spring up, especially as her husband mentions his lack ability in that area. Something that doesn't seem to surprise her now, so he must have confessed it recently. From the way her breath shakes for a second, it had been very recent. "Gabriel we don't know what this means. We don't know what the door means, and we sure as hell don't know what happens if they stay. Will you never paint the future again? Will everything still disappear? We don't know."

There's a small shake of her head and she finally pulls away from Peter. Not to leave the room, but to go over to the precious liquor cabinet with scotch and other Petrelli-esque drinks and prepare herself one. While she flips over the glass, she adds, "You don't even know what happened to that world that you saw. You don't know that it disappeared. It mattered for us. It made everything that happened that night in the Bronx important. It made everything that led up to it matter and everything that happened in that future… mattered. And I'd like to think, no matter what happens… our future—

it matters."

Present Day

Peter stares transfixed at Hiro, two years of guilt he'd pressed down bubbling to the surface. His chest rises and falls with each trembling breath, hands shaking, eyes wide.

"Does it mean anything to you?" Hiro asks, taking a step closer to Peter as he does.

Peter looks to the side, down to the ruined pigeon coops, then to the cherub with a small chip in it from an old bullet impact, then back to Hiro. Peter's answer is a nod, a regretful and frightened nod. He's seen the door, and the door only means one thing. It just takes him a while to vocalize it.

"It's death." Peter says shakily.

"The door means death."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License