2007-05-01: A Not-Perfect World


Elle_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Peter invites Elle over for a home-cooked meal and they discuss the not-perfect world that they live in.

Date It Happened: May 1st, 2007

A Not-Perfect World

Peter's Apartment

As promised, Peter called in the morning when he woke up, wishing her a good morning, saying nice things to her— and then telling her he turned his toothbrush into gold last night. Yeah, not fun that bit. He said he'll spend the rest of the day practicing, and would try to figure out how NOT to use it before he sees her again. There's another call around lunch, which consists of much the same things. Affection, questions on how she's doing, and an update on Midas touch. Nothing has been changed. By dinner, he calls again. Nothing. He thinks it might be safe to come over and visit. "I'll cook you dinner. If I don't turn your dinner to gold, or any of the utencils, we should be okay," he'd have said, before waiting for her to come over.

Elle shows up. It's interesting that dinner's on the agenda, because it was a topic of discussion earlier. The blonde arrives at Peter's apartment, dressed in slacks a sapphire blue blouse, and knocks at the door.

A few moments after the knock, the door is unlatched and unlocked, and Peter opens it to smile at her. It's obvious that he's cooking already. There's smells of what foods he knows she likes — as he'd seen her eat before when they dated — and he's also wearing an apron. Don't mock the man apron. "Hey, come on in. Do me a favor— will you spend some time with Snowy? I've only picked her up, or taken her out if I have gloves on. She's getting rather lonely," he gestures into the living area, where the puppy has been restricted to a small pen, fenced in, with food, water and toys. He must have bought it earlier in the day, when he went shopping for food.

The blonde smiles. "Oh, good. You do know how to cook. Jane asked me. I don't." she says. She nudges the door shut with a foot, and smiles. "I can do that." Off she walks to the puppy pen, and scoops the puppy out. "Hey there…" she says, cradling her up close.

Puppies need affection, so as soon as she starts walking over, the white little fluff ball starts wagging her tail wildly and jumping around, putting her front paws against the pen before she's picked up. She continues to wag her tail, giving warm and excited breaths as she's cuddled. Peter smiles from the kitchen, nodding to the remark, "Yeah. I cooked you breakfast in bed the— a few times." There seems to have been a 'The' there. "Cooked you more than breakfast while you stayed here too. We didn't go out every night."

Elle grins. Even psychopathic blondes like puppies. She scritches the puppy behind the ears, and starts to walk out towards the kitchen with Peter. "Gotcha. I don't really know how to cook. Never needed to."

The cooking continues. Frying and flipping on pans and the like. It's a meal made with affection, and at least he knows he won't have to nuke it in the microwave. She's already here. And no Nathan to distract him. "I never got to ask you yesterday— we got distracted. How'd things go with your father, besides you still being here? Am I going to need to wear a bullet proof helmet next time I see him?"

Elle smiles. "They went pretty well." Peter doesn't need to know her contingency plan. "As long as I keep doing my job, everything is fine. So I think those fires are out for the time being."

At least he has other things to focus on. It keeps him from looking worried when he asks the question he needs to ask next. With his eyes still on the food he's cooking, Peter asks in a careful tone, "What exactly does your job entail?"

Elle looks back at him, seriously. "Whatever needs doing. I don't know what happened between us the first time, Peter…but I can't believe I kept secret what I do. Or the kinds of things I have to do sometimes."

There's a sigh, and Peter pays attention to his cooking, even as he responds in an almost whispered voice, with some tension, "I understand wanting to stop those with abilities that are dangerous. Imprisonment— containment— whatever may be needed. Especially if they're uncaring in how they use their abilities, or if they're outright hurting people. Even if it's against their will. If they don't try to find a way to control it— or to stop themselves…" He shakes his head. "But that doesn't mean I understand other things that you may be asked to do— what I didn't want to be asked to do."

Elle nods. She looks back at him. "It's probably easier to just…treat it like I work for the CIA or something. I have to do some dangerous, sneaky things sometimes, and that doesn't mean I can always tell everyone everything about what I have to do. That doesn't mean that I care any less for you."

"Fair enough," Peter says, even if it sounds as if he's displeased. Working a little more on the food, which seems to be some kind of stur fry, he shifts it around, before turning to face her. "As long as— I won't be able to tell you everything either. I'm not going to attack the Company, nor will I support anyone in attacking them. And I won't support public displays of ability except in defense. Doubt I'll be making you, or your dad, completely happy with everything I'll be up to, but…" There it is.

Elle looks back to Peter. "I think that's all we really need, Peter. You don't need to worry about making me happy." A quirky smile. "And it's not like I'm going to run to my father with every bit of information I find out."

"I don't think you'd tell him everything," Peter admits, looking over the food a bit. A nod of satisfaction later, and he looks back towards her, and the happy puupy she's holding. "It's ready. If you want to have a seat, I'll bring it to you." There's a table in the front room, near the pen, and next to the couch, though it's low and not a proper eating table. Hey, he's been a bachelor for years.

Elle moves over to sit near the table. She looks at the puppy. "Sorry, fuzzball…you're gonna have to get down now…" she carefully puts the puppy down on the floor.

When Peter steps into the room, he has silverwear, wrapped in disposable napkins, and a plate for her, which he deposits on the table. He treks back in for her soda, which he places on a coaster. "Well— I've been thinking about you and your dad the whole time since you entered, and the Company— Haven't used it. Think I figured out how to keep from using it," he finally says, reaching forward and touching the tip of her nose, cautiously. She won't turn to gold.

Elle can't help but blink. "You -think- you figured it out?" she says, as he touches her nose. "Heck of a way to test it." But she doesn't seem worried; she knows Peter's the overcautious sort by nature.

"I have to keep from blowing up the entire city every day," Peter says softly in response to her exclaiming, even if she's not worried. "Easier not to use an ability once I figure out the trigger than it is to actually use it." As crazy as that might sound. Stepping away, he goes back for his own plate and drink, so he can join her, giving Snowy a ruffle of her ears before he is burdened.

Elle frowns at his comment. "I was -teasing-, Peter." she says, looking back at him with a soft sigh. She takes the offered plate, and takes a bite of the food.

"You were teasing, but it's still worth explaining," Peter says, setting his own plate and drink down long enough to take off his apron, which gets tossed into another chair, before he settles down beside her, pulling his plate mostly into his lap. Now that she's free, Snowy goes up to his leg and starts to move around, hopping and weaving in place. He nudges her with his socked foot, a playful gesture. "I am training myself. Been working on the object relocation— with a gun. In case I fight Sylar again, I might need all the help I can get."

The blonde frowns. "Wouldn't it be better to just carry a gun, period? That way you -know- you have it if it comes down to it." She takes a sip of her soda. "Just playing Devil's Advocate."

"I think the point is to surprise him," Peter says, eating a bit as he thinks about this. "I've seen guns used against him. He stopped the bullets with his mind, and then reversed them so they hit the person who shot them. Sure, that wouldn't keep /me/ down… but if I can call it into my hand, ready to fire, when my hand's a few inches from his head… he might not have time to stop it." There's a shrug, as if he's not sure how well it will work. "It's just a thought."

Elle nods. "It's not a bad plan." she admits. "We need one, plain and simple. I am -so- tired of his ass still running around that it isn't funny."

"Especially now that he's invisible," Peter says, shaking his head with a hint of disgust. "You should probably ask your father for— heat sensor goggles? If he hasn't made it standard issue by now. It doesn't sound like he's done anything, unless the police, or the Company, are covering it up. At least not with his usual MO."

The blonde says "I can get them. But they'd be really obvious if we were wearing them all the time. And we're not covering up for Sylar, Peter. First off, why would we, and second off, I'd tell you." She sounds annoyed.

"I meant from the public, Elle," Peter says, shaking his head. "Maybe if it became too obvious that abilities were used. Your father seems real concerned about it. Only thing I've had to go off is news reports, and no corpses with the top of their heads removed have been mentioned."

Elle sighs. "Sorry. I'm just tired of all this flak about how the Company is evil incarnate or something like that. We're trying to help people."

"I've never said the Company was evil," Peter assures, shaking his head after he takes a drink. "Things don't work that way. Some of the things they do— what was done to you, for example— that's different. But I know there's some good intention behind it. Sylar's more of a threat than they are."

Elle nods. "I know. And I'm not saying that everything is perfect. But this isn't a perfect world." And now she's feeling morose. "Thank you for making dinner."

"If the world were perfect… we'd never appreciate what we have," Peter says softly, not looking at her as he finishes off a few bites. When he does glance over at her again, it's to add, "And you're welcome. I like cooking for you."

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