Participants:
| Scene Title | They Have Sylar |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Peter gives Cat information which murders her appetite |
| Date | September 15, 2008 |
St. Luke's Hospital is known for its high-quality care and its contributions to medical research. Its staff place an emphasis on compassion for and sensitivity to the needs of their patients and the communities they serve. In addition to nearby Columbia University, the hospital collaborates with several community groups, churches, and programs at local high schools. The associated Roosevelt Hospital offers a special wing of rooms and suites with more amenities than the standard hospital environment; they wouldn't seem out of place in a top-rated hotel. That said, a hospital is a hospital — every corridor and room still smells faintly of antiseptic.
By the door, Peter fades out of sight as Cat opens it, not wanting to be seen exiting the hospital room. As he fades out, Cat can feel that sensation of his mind in hers dissipate, his focus now entirely on hiding himself from Cat's own guards, as well as the hospital staff. His footsteps, however, can be heard behind her. For the time he choses to linger by her side, waiting to see where she goes, keeping his presence known in private.
It's to the cafeteria she goes, and once there Cat takes up a table in a corner where they can sit and not draw much notice should he choose to become visible again, or where she won't look weird holding a conversation with herself if he doesn't. Food is set down there, and the reading material she brought, as a quiet sigh escapes. "She's tough," the woman opines. "she'll pull through. Just doesn't like to be seen at her lowest moments."
"Who does?" Peter's voice is hushed, and Cat spots one of the chairs at the round cafeteria table scooting out and then creaking as weight is settled down on it. "I feel bad for her, this could really impact her career as a journalist." The chair scoots next to Cat, as to be able to communicate quietly and privately. "She could have memory-related issues the rest of her life." Peter keeps digging into the worst case scenario pile, "Part of me can't believe this happened to her, part of me expected something to happen… I dislike being right about things like this."
"She could. It's all true. I choose to be optimistic. If I weren't, I'd be trying to find a healer or buy blood from someone who regenerates." A look of quiet understanding is shown to him, Cat turning partly toward the apparently empty chair he occupies, and also seriousness. She has no intention of letting the worst case happen. In point of fact, she opts not to dwell on it at all. "How does that thing the courier has work?" It's a matter of factly asked question, spoken while one hand takes out a sandwich and lifts it with the intent of biting. "Eat," she also invites. "Piccoli's makes great food."
"Optimism doesn't come as easy for me anymore," Peter's voice grows quiet for a moment, "Blood from…" He finally says, sounding puzzled, "What good would that do?" His curiosity has the better of him, and he doesn't directly answer the question about the courier. However, one of the sandwiches does begin to move, promptly turning unseen after a few moments of ghostly maneuvering.
"I don't know if it would work," Cat replies pensively, "but it could. People who regenerate might have something in their blood which transmits the instructions to rebuild. If injected into someone, even without that ability, it could trigger restoration of DNA and tissues. And if we're at the point of the worst case being true, there'd be nothing to lose in trying the theory. But, before I tried to go that route I'd seek after someone who can heal others by touch."
Cat bites carefully into her sandwich and chews slowly, her eating manners showing that blue blood background, swallowing before she speaks again. "I will not let her be disabled long term."
Peter thoughtfully lets out a quiet sound, the only sound he makes for a while. After a few minutes, he finally chimes back in, the corner of an unfinished sandwich appearing on the table. "Sounds dangerous, espescially if untested. There's no telling the kind of reaction someone might have, even if the blood happens to share the same type." Peter pauses, giving the other comment a second thought, "I've never heard of anyone who can, but it doesn't mean they're not out there. If I can help — espescially if they won't — just ask."
"There's a registry, and people who chose to be on it. Tier 0 doesn't show any identifying data to the public. The next two tiers do, but they don't list anyone with those abilities. If I had to, I could find a way to access Tier 0 data and see if that category is the right one." Cat pauses for another bite, after which she asserts "I detest the law as much as anyone like us should, but people who register made a choice. If I make that choice work for me, well, that's how it goes."
Peter remains quiet for a time, taking in what Cat explained. He doesn't have a response to what she says, instead his voice comes even lower than before, just above a whisper, "We found him." It seems to non-sequitur at first as to have no relevence at all, but as he continues the pieces start to fall into place. "From the etching, the man. I'm pretty sure I know where he is." Peter hesitates, the chair shifting slightly, "I'm sorry for not having talked to you about this lately, I've been dealing with some things." His tone shifts to something more hesitant, "Can we talk, later? Not here."
Her head tilts slightly toward him as he speaks those words, eyebrows raising. "Intriguing." Cat pauses to take a drink from the soda, after which she sets it down and speaks again. "That's where I was yesterday when you and Miss FitzRoy were around. Overseeing workmen at the apartment. Not that I criticize your artful displays, but it had to be done. Too many questions are raised by anyone seeing it. The painting of me, though, I keep in a closet. Thank you for that."
And the request to talk later is given consideration. "Yes," she replies. "Later, certainly. We can even go elsewhere now, if you like."
"I wish that painting was of something happier." Peter says with a regretful tone, growing silent again. However, this silence is met by the chair scooting out across the floor a few inches, as well as the sound of footsteps circling behind Cat's chair. "I could use the conversation." He finally says in response, on the opposite side of Cat from where he was earlier, just waiting by her side to follow her lead.
Standing, Cat takes the food and drinks with her, heading out of the cafeteria and hospital too. There isn't much more, but she won't abandon it just the same. "Where to?" she asks quietly, not wanting to draw attention by speaking to someone who isn't there. As doors are approached she opens them in such a way as he can follow without the whole ghost effect going on.
As they head out of the hospital, the sound of footsteps move around behind a parked ambulance, and after a moment Peter emerges from the other side, giving a nod to Cat, "Here's fine," He says quietly, "We can walk and talk a little, I just don't want anyone seeing me around Dani, it might complicate her life more than necessary." He walks back up to where Cat stands by the entrance, "A lot's happened, and…" He slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "I'm sorry for keeping you in the dark. It was petty."
She stops there, setting down the carried items which also include reading material on the best surface available, then faces the now faceable scarred man. "Nothing to be sorry for. Things are yours to tell or not in your own time, Rock." Cat doesn't seem to think differently than she said on that score. Her attention calmly, and curiously, rests on him.
Walking over to the low brick wall that Cat had set her belongings down on, Peter settles down on it like a makeshift bench, folding his hands. He looks back, to the shrubbery and flowers planted behind the wall, then back to Cat, "No, it deserves an apology." He stubbornly says, "I was giving you the cold shoulder, selfishly. Some kind've misplaced jealousy, I don't know…" He shakes his head, "Either way, I'm not proud of it, and it wasn't fair of me to treat you that way, when you've only ever been acomodating. Just because…" He clicks his tongue, crooking his head to one side. "I apologize."
"I accept," she replies sincerely. Cat also sits, her back straight where it contacts the wall. One hand reaches for the still uneaten portion of her sandwich, the other for the drink she'd been imbibing. "You found him?" she asks. "Who is he?" Once queries are spoken, she takes a bite.
Relaxing a bit at the accepted apology, Peter lesns forward and folds his hands, staring down at the pavement. "That we don't know…" His eyes trace the jagged line of a crack in the concrete, "He's being held in a secret detainment facility in the Bronx, under the cover of a Primatech Paper facility." Peter's eyes wander over to Cat, "It's run by a nameless organization, I've known about them for a while. I'm not sure if they're some secret government faction or privately-funded, but they've known about people like us for a long time." He sounds nervous, gaze wandering back to the crack. "That's, really, not what I wanted to tell you though…"
"Primatech Paper, in the Bronx." Cat nods, taking in the rest of that statement and remaining generally silent. Her eyes on him and the expectant expression are his sole prompts to continue when ready. She's listening; he has her full attention. The sandwich and drink are set down as further evidence of that.
Peter wrings his hands together, focused now on the patch of cracked pavement squarely between his feet, "You can't go to anyone with this, only bacause I don't know what…" He hesitates, letting out a strained sigh as his eyes fall shut. "They have Sylar." The words are spoken quiet, but in a casual tone, as though one would explain that onion was the soup-de-jour at thew cafeteria. Despite the way in which he says it, there's a visible tension in Peter's form, one that he seems to be actively trying to take control of.
The eyes widen, and her jaw opens. It closes and reopens a few times in much the same way it had when he confessed to having Nuked York. Cat needs something close to a full minute to pass beyond speechlessness and squeak out a confused "What?" which is followed soon after by "How the fuck is he still alive?"
Cat seems about to speak further, but realizes for this verbal conversation is perhaps not a good thing. Her temple is tapped twice, a few seconds are spent waiting for him to catch the gesture, then the stream of thoughts begins. You were fighting him at the time, he was right there with you, wasn't he? Why do you believe he survived?
Peter watches Cat, studying her reactions before he responds. He seems surprised by the calmness in which she takes the news, Because I never saw him die. I don't remember everything clearly about the last few moments before… He shakes his head, hanging it for a moment in shame, I was approached by someone, from Homeland security. Doctor Mohinder Suresh — We knew each other back before the bomb. He took a risk to come out and talk to me. He — and apparently… other people, Peter's tone is decidedly angry there, They're aware I survived. He told me they're keeping Sylar prisoner, to experiment on him. He pleaded with me to kill him. I'm of the mind to agree. Rolling one shoulder, Peter tilts his head to the side, considering something. A woman in PARIAH, a precognitive who sees things in dreams, she — before I had told anyone about this — had a dream in which she saw a man attacking PARIAH members in a facility, killing them. She chose to paint a likeness of him later, it was Sylar. His head shakes again, Too many threads to be coincidence.
For her, this is other than calm. Cat's still, and her skin is paling. There was the speechlessness which held her in its grip, the wide eyes, the way her mouth opened and closed. And she used profanity too. The need to focus now, however, does rule the moment. Her thoughts are something of a whirlwind, wrapping around it all at first. Variables, so many of them to be put into order and considered methodically.
When they do take structure, over the course of minutes, Cat seems to be applying the same means she used to prioritize at Yale. It doesn't seem likely anyone could inspire her to have false premonitions. But it's not impossible. Illusory powers exist. It could be a trap designed to lure you, also, tying with the first point. But if it's true… the organization holding him is arrogant to the point of idiocy, as demonstrated by his foreseen actions.
They tried once before, they had him in custody, and he escaped, Peter closes his eyes, trying to sift through the mental chaos, trying to derive from Cat's whirling consciousness the relevent bits of information. It might be a trap, you're right. A pensive look crosses Peter's face as he turns to look up to the woman at his side. But I have to take that risk. He can't be allowed to go free, if he does, no one is safe. Peter's brow tenses, and he looks away, breathing out a heavy and burdened sigh. The man from the mural, he was in the dream too, she painted him. Slowly shaking his head, Peter reaches up to run his hands through his hair, steadying himself. I'm sorry I waited so long to tell you.
Her eyes close and the head shakes side to side three times, vigorously. He escaped. Idiots! If this is real, and he's seen killing people, that suggests he'll escape again. Is he killing with abilities, or with standard weapons and brainpower? It's important which, because it indicates how effective or not whatever they use to suppress abilities is. And the hardness of him as a target now.
I can't say for certain, but in the painting Eve did, the man I etched into your window… Peter pauses, watching a pair of hospital staff walk by, as if they'd overhear him, His head was sliced open, like all of Sylar's other victims. Eve said she saw him regenerating in the dream as well, but he never had that power… Peter closes his eyes for a moment, thinking, Dani's injury couldn't have come at a worse time, I wanted you to meet the people I work with, He winces, That sounded more selfish that I intended it to…
Cat eyes her remaining food for a long moment as these most recent thoughts are received, and she stands slowly. A waste barrel nearby is found, and that which remains uneaten is dumped into it unceremoniously. She remains there for a minute or so more, seeming as if she may reject that food which was already consumed, but somehow manages not to.
Eventually she returns to sit again, face pale. Fear shows in her eyes, something not seen in her before. Then whatever is used as a suppressant would no longer work on him, or he found a way to fake taking it and fooled the idiots. Not surprising, with them thinking it's other than stupid to have him alive. Dani's well taken care of, I can get away for a time and meet your associates. Don't worry about that, Rock. You… you've heard of William Wallace, haven't you?
Peter cracks a smile, tilting his head to the side, Only so much as that I've seen Braveheart a couple of times. History was never my strong suit. He tries to lighten the mood, seeing Cat's expression, but his tone is indicative of his own nervousness and fear. I hope you're not thinking of comparing me to him, He adds, becoming a bit more serious as he does, I'm not going to end up martyred by an angry mob. Despite what stories say, I don't find glory in idea of death, no matter the cause.
She chuckles, a quick and dry one, to accompany what she next thinks. No. I was thinking more of what the legend says was done to him after he was captured and executed. They carved his body into parts and sent them to several places. This needs to happen with Sylar, to make sure he is and stays dead. But instead of the display part, his pieces should all be burned into ashes and scattered as widely as possible. Glory in death? No thanks. I prefer Patton's angle. He said the job isn't to die for your country, it's to make the other poor son of a bitch die for his.
Peter cracks a smile, nodding as he listens to Cat's thoughts. As he does, Peter calls to mind the visceral imagery of Eve's paintings, sharing with Cat her impressions of what was to come, Trust me, I'm going to finish what I started. This time, I'm not afraid of myself. I'm going to make sure he doesn't live to hurt anyone else, ever again. The resolution in Peter's mental voice is strong, adamant, his confidence in his strength hopefully proportionate to his abilities.
There is, however, something else in this mental exchange as well. When Peter recalls to mind the paintings, he is replaying those scenes that his mind catalogued so detailed thanks to Cat's gift. But it is not just vision, sound and scents that are recorded — emotions, feelings of grave concern, anxiousness, fear, hesitance all come flooding at Cat as well, as if experiencing them for herself from Peter's mental connection. Their shared ability, and Peter's inexperience with sharing information in this manner, results in Cat experiencing what Peter shows from his perspective. Most powerfully, a feeling of strong emotional damage at the sight of an unfamiliar blonde girl impaled by a piece of rebar. Peter himself seems unaware of the exchange.
The flood hits her and is instantly committed to memory, everything he projected. Cat is left mentally speechless for a time as it's absorbed and processed, she working to again get and keep a hold on herself. Hands clutch at a surface and go white knuckled, the mouth opens and closes with words that don't come, and more than moments, mere seconds, pass. This takes longer than a minute. Maybe even two.
When the unspoken voice returns, she's thinking This is how you felt when you saw the paintings from Eve, Rock? And the blonde girl, she's connected more than the others. Your niece?
Peter watches Cat, not understanding at first as he sees her rather visible reactions. Then, still not quite fully aware of what just happened, he withdraws. There's a hesitant expression on his face, and his head shakes, No, no that's… not Claire. Brow tensing, Peter looks away from Cat down to his feet. You felt that? I mean, what I… Peter blinks his eyes slowly, reaching up to rub at the side of his head, a strained look coming over him. I'm sorry about that. It — That wasn't what I meant to do at all.
Her head shakes a few times again, and her voice transmits back to him. Stop apologizing, Rock. It is what it is. I opened my mind to you, invited you in, and won't be blaming you for what comes across. If I can't handle something, I'll shout for it to stop. Trust me on that.She's emphatic on that point, the volume of it a bit increased as the sharing is made. She wasn't Claire, but she is someone closer to you than most others. It softens there, leading into the next thought. Someone you can find happiness with, I hope.
Peter's brow tenses as he listens to Cat, and as he slowly begins to nod, there's a look of something mixed betwen apology and regret. A smile does show after a few moments, though he doesn't look up to make eye-contact. I hope so too. With that, Peter draws in a slow, tired beath before rising up to stand straight. He looks down to Cat, watching her in silence for a few moments. "Thanks for listening," The dissonance between spoken word and thought feels like a great divide after so long of maintaining mental contact, like a certain level of intimacy is lost.
"I need to go back, check on everyone. I figure you want to get back to Dani too, she needs you." There's a gentleness in his tone, mixed with sadness at her condition. "When do you think you'd want to meet some of them?" He raises one brow, watching Cat closely, "I mean, if you do. I can come by and pick you up, let them get used to having someone unfamiliar around."
Her eyes blink a few times with the end of contact in that fashion. It still has that effect on her, in a lingering way, but not so much as that first occasion. They had a moment, he made a choice, and the moment passed. "As soon as can be managed," Cat replies with her voice to his spoken question. "She's hurt, and I watch over her, but the world also keeps moving. Things still require attention." Her face is still a bit pale, she lifts the soda container and drinks from it slowly, that being the only thing which remains from the meal she felt driven to discard. A phone number to call her at is provided. "See you soon, Rock."
 September 15th: Worst Case For Dani |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 September 15th: Hold Out Hope |