Participants:
| Scene Title | Why Delphine Couldn't Fix Gabriel |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In case you were both bored and curious. A day in the life, and a failed attempt at more than just dinner. |
| Date | June 7, 2009 |
An Apartment Building On Staten Island
She uses her teeth to rip open the bag of dry pasta. This was a bad idea, her hand jerking and shredding plastic as it slices itself open, butter-smooth in motion. There's a spray of piss-coloured, cheap macaroni arcs, half a second of silence before they clatter like rainfall on the counter, the kitchen floor, the sink.
"Fucking bollocks and shit!"
It's been three days, now, and Delphine's sharply toned exclamation is possibly the loudest and most verbose thing to have been spoken within this apartment, currently shared by two people. She's wearing the same pajama pants she'd escaped New Jersey in, and that had been an exciting trip, certainly, and an oversized— at least on her— shirt owned by the man she's currently staying with. The one who doesn't talk, king of uncomfortable silences when he's not skulking around the bedroom or the rooftop. The one she's staying with because right now, he might be the only option she has left.
And the last time she left the side of a powerful man, she'd been taken again. Hooray for feminism. Such values taking a backseat, such values she'd given up the first time she'd slept with a man for money. It's a dangerous cycle, this.
On her knees, she scoops up spilled pasta and puts it into the bowl, wondering whether or not Gabriel would still want to eat it, how clean the floor is, whether he heard, and such forth. She's not exactly sure how much money they— he— she has at her disposal, but having lived off pennies these past few months, well. The waste irks her more than it should, and her head twitches up when she hears footsteps.
"There you are. I had an accident."
There's a pause before the footsteps come closer. Long legs, clad in jeans, bend a little awkward, still sore. Delphine isn't surprised, except perhaps more surprised by the fact the man is still walking around. Gabriel kneels down opposite her, and solemnly helps clean up, long fingers raking along the floor to grasp handfuls of the macaroni.
They don't talk until they're done. The silence will soon drive Delphine maaad, of this she is certain, but surprisingly enough, he's the first speak once all the pieces are collected.
"We're not eating this."
"The floor's not that bad. The water'll boil it— "
"I'm not eating this."
Delphine only lets a sigh stream through her nostrils, picking up the bowl and headed for the bin beneath the sink, letting the pasta waterfall inside. "Well then you get to pick somethin', or I'll get fat on toast all evening." No response, save for the sound of Gabriel walking away. Delphine tips her head back on her neck, giving the ceiling a look of annoyance before turning to watching his journey towards the front door, her mouth pursing, and waiting for his hand to reach for the handle before speaking out again. "Gabriel."
The distracted look he swings back on over towards her isn't particularly impressed, an eyebrow raising in distant patience. Yes? Christ. That had been her best maternally firm voice, too. Delphine sets the bowl aside, moves close enough that her feet move from tile to cheap carpeting.
"I was gonna— say that maybe what I can do. Maybe it takes back what he did, in stealing your powers. It fixes a lot of things, you know?" That has his interest. Delphine watches as he releases the handle, turns towards her with a narrowed eyed look beneath a brow almost comically serious, in her eyes. Julian was good at that same scowl. "So if y'wanted, I doubt that— "
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
It's Delphine's turn to be silent, now, mouth thinning into a line. Takes a breath, blows it out. "I spent the last month havin' what I could do tested and exhausted. Forgive me if I wanted a wee break before climbin' back into the saddle, alright? I'm tellin' you now." And she manages to keep her face blank of intimidation as Gabriel paces on closer. "It's not particularly pleasant for me, been copin' with a migraine all— "
"Do it."
Men. Men and their egos. And somehow, Delphine expects he's not going to be any nicer even if she succeeds. The hard look she gives him is as flat and unimpressed as the one he seems to view the world with, and she tells herself, he is her best protection right now. It would be better if he had all his parts together. Swallowing back her reluctance, Delphine raises a hand, fingers spread. She can sense it as soon as she concentrates, the wrongness contained within this shape, the ability to fix it with a simple thought.
If only everything in the world could be this easy. The power to take back what's been done, or whatever this is. Even Arthur Petrelli didn't seem to know what to do with her.
It starts as fairy lights, circling her fingers, and hazy, smokey light emitting from her hand, coursing its way towards Gabriel's chest, who watches it with faint and superior analysis. As soon as it touches him, the same glowing purity emits from him. Delphine sometimes wonders what it's like, what it must feel like. She remembers the burn victims from two years ago. One had said it was like being touched by an angel, which is silly, and a TV show. Others had more practically described it as a gentle, tingling numbness, as if protected for a moment by the world's hurts.
And so it is surprising, to say the least, when Gabriel abruptly gives a pained gasp, and lashes out with a hand to knock her hand aside, the glow cutting out. "What are you doing?"
"What?" Delphine breathes out, shocked, and drawing her hand back as if tempted to hit him right back, anger flashing in dark eyes before reading the look of fear she saw crossing his face just now. Like a Big Foot sighting. This, she manages to see through the haze of the headache that's unfurling itself in her skull, drawing lines of and angles of pain across her expression. "I was fixin' it. Why, what's wrong?"
Gabriel raises a hand to press against his chest, brow tensed in thought and worry, before finally muttering, "You took something. You took something and— brought something else back."
"How do you— ?"
"I know. That's my ability, to understand things. You took something away."
Baffled, awkward silence descends, a question lingering between them and no answer readily available until Delphine lets her hand drop down. "How do you have 'em?" Her chin jerks up in a gesture towards him. "How do you get those powers o' yours? They ain't yours, are they." The silence is enough of a resounding yes to make up for the lack of words she gets, and she smiles, genuinely rueful. A hand raises to clasp her forehead, to stop the world from spinning. It never used to spin this way. "I undid some of his work, and undid some of yours.
"I'm sorry." She opens her eyes. "Bit of a plot twist, there."
And she doesn't really blame him when desolate acceptance is made manifest in the tension of his shoulders, the jerky nod, and the attempt not to care. Fine, whatever. The inevitable sullen walk away, back towards his destination, and the firm click of the door when he shuts it, are all logical progressions.
Well, you can't fix everything. Apparently, no one ever told him that.