2007-08-15: DF: All Jack's Fault


DFElena_icon.gif DFTrina_icon.gif

With a Cameo By:


Summary: Private confessions are interrupted by insanity. Another day at the Saints' HQ.

Dark Future Date: August 15, 2009

All Jack's Fault

Dark Future - Living Area - Phoenix Rising Penthouses

She was so mad she could spit. Or worse.

Elena's pacing around the Saints' living area, having just put Eric in medbay making sure whatever had been given to him doesn't explode in a full-on contagion. What the hell was he thinking?! And the benefit to boot. And Erin. He was there when Ali warned them about Erin. Was he INSANE?! And without backup. And he gets wiggy when she goes off by herself. This was ridiculous!

She growls under her breath. She was Ramon's daughter, so she's almost obligated to. At least he wore a mask. There was that, to protect his identity. Reckless shenanigans were fine and good but she preferred doing them together unless it can't be helped. This one? COULD have been TOTALLY helped.

Trina is entirely unaware of the situation. Blissfully so. She is, however, aware of Elena's current position. Maybe that's why it is that the elder Saint quietly makes her way towards said living area with, not one, but two cups of hot chocolate. Complete with whipped cream and a small little curl of shaved chocolate on top, due to a certain chef's inability to keep anything simple. Her step is smooth and careful, blue eyes focused on the wicked and sinful concoction contained in the pristine white ceramic latte cup on its saucer. Wouldn't do to spill after all. It's almost a comedic sight, watching the girl in battered jeans and Mötley Crüe shirt filled with holes, being so delicately curled around a pair of steaming doses of diabetes in a cup. "Hey, sugar," she finally speaks, not really paying attention to the pacing. There's chocolate to watch. "Wanna help me out with one of these?"

When Trina steps inside, Elena stops from her pacing, looking over the mechanic. Unconsciously, her shoulders untense. Despite the other woman's fiery temper (and she's seen it), most of the time, she was a calming personality that they all needed on occasion. This is what happens when you roll with a crew whose strategy tends to involve plenty of Hot Blood and Leeroy Jenkinsing all over the place. Still, Trina must have a different ability. On top of her forcefields, her walking in the room has an automatic tendency to deflate tension because of how cool and levelheaded she usually was.

She sighs, and finds it in her to flash her a small smile. Walking over, she takes one of the hot chocolates. "I haven't had these in ages," she confesses, taking an indulgent sip. Looking at her, she inquires. "Any word on Jack?"

She'll grouse over Eric later. Despite everything, Elena was female. There was chocolate in the room, and she must have it.

Relieved of half of her burden, Trina is now left to the significantly less stressful task of minding her own cup. Both hands now cradling the beautiful luxury, the dark haired woman gingerly settles herself down on a comfy cushion of the comfy couch. She doesn't immediately answer Elena, instead choosing to take a very settling sip of cocoa. After a small sigh of pleasure with eyes lightly shut, she is now braced to handle conversation. Yes, chocolate is JUST THAT IMPORTANT.

"Nope," replies she, forcing a small smile onto her lips. "But I'm sure if he wasn't alright, Petrelli'd have plastered it across every radio station in the country by now." It's important to have a job. Elena could plan and organize and do Important Things. She had a brain that could sort through facts and come out with a plan of attack with a dizzying speed rivaled only by Jack. Thus, Elena needed things of a different nature. Much like the whole group. A cool center. Balance. Practicality. Remembrances of the softness that humanity could still show its fellow members. The mechanic never professed to be very good at it, but the effort sometimes meant so much more than any actual measure of success. It took her a little while to realize it, but now she knows. So now? Now Trina just does her job. "I'm sure he'll come back when he's good and ready." Another sip. "So, you wanna talk about it?" The vague 'It' should be understood. It's whatever happens to be on the other female's mind.

She takes a seat near Trina whenever she does, Elena cradling her cup to her, hoarding it like a prized possession. Mine now. MINE. PRECIOUS. She takes another sip, and basks in Trina's calming aura. She could feel her anger drain away, slowly, but surely. When Trina tells her she hasn't, she could only nod, and leaves it at that. She was right, after all. When it came to Jack, there was no greater authority than Katrina "DON'T MAKE ME PULL OVER" Mah.

When she poses her question, she rolls her head back on the couch and closes her eyes. "Sure. Maybe you can keep me from slaughtering Eric," she remarks dryly. "He went all on his lonesome and engaged two members of the President's personal security team. They were both Evolved - one was the one who infected Ali with SARS, and the other one…from what Eric described, she's got the same talents you do, in the genetic front. So now he's hacking and coughing and I've quarantined him in medbay for 24 hours to make sure it doesn't explode in a fullblown contagion." She pauses. "I also told Louis to make a couple of gallons of good ol' chicken soup. I'll funnel it down his gullet wearing a HAZMAT suit if I have to."

Meanwhile. In quarantine.


"I dunno, sir. She looked really mad," Louis replies. o O (That and I've been wanting to do this for years…)


Yeah. Its not pretty folks. Go back to the pretty girls talking. Its just better all around.

Another Evolved with forcefields. Well, isn't that special?

The thought is enough to draw a frown onto Trina's face, despite the little bit of heaven wafting up into her nostrils. Yeah. More cocoa, please. Sipping again, she thinks very, very carefully before actually venturing so far as to offer words. "Well. If he doesn't die, maybe he'll have learned his lesson. If he's all cooped up, he's missin' some of the action. Not likely to sit well." The grown up version of time out. Another sip. "And if that don't teach'im, there's other ways to make a point."

"Louis is making his point right now," is Elena's simple reply, taking a sip of her hot chocolate and looking all -_- as she does. "Maybe he should miss a couple of things to drive the point home." She sighs. "He knows I do it out of worry anyway. He harps on me for being reckless and then he turns around and does the same. And we need him. He can get in anywhere. Him and Prime are similar like that." Same end result, but different methodology. Eric can just black-hole a surface and walk through it. Prime can inject himself anywhere. Looking at Trina, she offers a small smile. "How are you, anyway?" she asks. Knowing Jack was off in what could be considered a kamikaze run can't be easy on her. " 'Least you were well-fed yesterday."

"I'm fine," Trina replies, smiling again. She's not sleeping well, but she's hardly about to admit it. Time in a hot shower and cold compresses are good for reducing the tell-tale puffiness under her eyes. There are other things to worry about than… Well, than Trina worrying. "S'hard not to be fine when you got a belly full of home cookin'. 'fore you know it, we're gonna have to just roll each other at Homeland, 'cause we're gonna be too round to run anymore." Jokes are great for changing the subject.

For effect, Trina lifts her cup in a mock toast. MMM, CALORIES AND FAT.

She watches Trina intently from where she is, Elena's gaze lingering on the older, but still very young woman next to her. She glances at the mug in her hands, her fingertips gently playing with the saucer. The joke is much appreciated. She couldn't help but smile. "HS would -love- that," she quips back. "Death by Marshmallow. Or Death by Dinner Rolls. Can't really think of a more humiliating way to die. Our operation names will all end up having something to do with food. Operation: Tootsie Roll. Operation: Lard Retard. Operation: Hide the Salami - that one would have to be some sort of strip club bust or something."

She eases on her seat so she could face Trina a little more. "Listen, Trin…" she begins. "I know all of us…we try to keep whatever's we're really feeling about something on the downlow, but…I know you do your best to look out for me. So if there's anything I can do for you, just let me know, okay? I'm not asking to be your best friend, but I'd like to return the favor on occasion. Even if it's just bringing you back some actual coffee."

When Elena refuses to do the manfully respectful thing by allowing the subject to change, Trina dodges the Look of Seriousness by turning her face back down to the cup and saucer sitting on her lap. "Look, babe. I… I don't do favors. 'n' it's not some 'oh, dear God, poor me' pity track, either. I jus' don't. Someday, maybe I'll need somethin'. Until then?" Finally looking up, the brunette beside Elena offers a shrug and a half-hearted attempt to maintain the smile. It really mostly fails. "Just lemme take care of you."

"I -let- you already," Elena says, a small laugh escaping her. "I think you're the only one, these days. Only 'cause you've got the keys to the lockbox that holds the other keys to the Wheels of Awesome we keep in the garage and I need 'em to get somewhere every day," she quips. "Besides, it's safer if a girl does it anyway." She takes another sip of her cup. "Not like I've decided to bat for the other team or anything." She glances down at the cup. "Thank you, though. I appreciate it. I just…I feel like what I do in turn isn't enough these days. I'm out all the time."

Trina's response is a simple arch of her eyebrows, the rest of her body remaining very, very still. It's hard not to comment on the possibility of Elena the Lesbian, if for no other reason than because ANYBODY IN THIS WHOLE DAMN OUTFIT WOULD. No. Must. Not. Comment. Replying only to the last of the lieutenant's speech, the words are quiet. "'Cuz Jack can't be."

She eyeballs the look, and Elena rolls her head back and snickers. "Ah, just say it. Jack does. He never lets me go on anything. Maybe I should let go of my mouth around you more often than I do him if you're gonna keep holding back on the goods." But she winks at her teasingly. At the quiet response though, she takes another sip of her cup, and toys with it. It's almost empty. Elena was like a food vacuum most days anyway. "Yeah," she says. "I'm relieved though, about that," she confesses. "And it's not because of all the injuries. Hell, the only way I can beat him in a fight is if I cheat through it. It's just that….we can't afford to lose him. I'd rather he coordinate from a distance like he does more often these days than be in the fray himself, even though he's not happy about that all the time. He's a guy. He's protective. It's like…going against his nature to just sit back and let us do the fighting."

"Nobody likes to just sit and watch as their friends go and risk everythin'. Nobody worth the knowin', anyway." There's another smile. She knows that it kills her lovely boyfriend some nights, knowing that he's at home while everyone else puts their lives on the line. It's also part of why Trina never questioned his decision to go off alone with Prime. Well, in front of anyone else, anyway. "You know if anythin' happens to him, that's gonna be you."

"Honestly, that's one of the reasons why I don't want anything to happen to him. I won't be able to handle it, just sitting there knowing Prime, Eric, Ali, Candy, you, and Gene are getting shot at. I know he's been grooming me since this all started, but….and it's not just because of that, that I can't entertain the thought of him being….just gone. I'm sure you understand…hell, I'm sure you know more than anybody. You guys've been together for forever." Only two years sure, but that's a long time to stay alive doing the work they do so it might as well be. "He's my nuncle."

Very, very carefully, Trina puts aside her mostly untouched cocoa on an occasional table. She kinda lost her stomach for the now too-sweet confection. Then her hands reach out to, momentarily, take away Elena's mostly finished portion. Why? Because the very next thing she's gonna do is stretch out those slender arms of hers and grab her almost-but-never-quite niece and guide her deftly into the crook of her neck so she can settle her head on top of the barely younger girl's. "I know, sugar. That's why he ain't gonna go nowhere." You hear that, Mr. Derex? Wherever the hell you are, you had better be taking notes. COPIOUS NOTES. "But if the time ever comes, there ain't gonna be a choice. And it's still gonna be alright. We won't let it be anythin' else, you and me."

The empty cup is replaced by an armful of Trina. Elena isn't used to hugging people anymore, so she's a little confused as to what the mechanic was trying to do until she's there. There's a brief pause, but then Elena's head sinks into the shoulder, her arms around the barely-older woman and her not-quite aunt. She doesn't cry - she hasn't cried for a very long time, but this is a rare occasion where she willingly receives this sort of care for someone. She sighs. "Damned straight," she grumbles. "He's not allowed." Her voice is a little muffled on Trina's shirt. "And you're right. As always. I'm holding out hope we'll get to see the light at the end of the tunnel either way. I just prefer that we all do it together. We're all we've got. I think in the end that's why we've always pulled through, even after all the moves and lack of showers and scattered hidey-holes."

"And that God-Awful powdered milk. And the futons," Trina adds in helpfully. The dreaded futon is definitely above lack of showers in the Most Hated List. She may not be Candy with the baking and the Bosom Hugs, but this? This, she can do. It's a small skill, trained over two years to become something more natural. Why? Because Elena needed her to be. Sighing a little, Trina's calloused, thin fingers move to lightly run through the ends of Elena's hair while her lips softly kiss the roots. What do you say to a lack of hope? Suddenly, Trina falls sadly short of things to say. All that's left is to hold on and give a more silent assurance.

"Oh god. I didn't know if I was drinking or chewing milk those days. Let's never speak of that again," Elena groans, trying to make it easier on Trina by tossing a crack now and then. But when she falls quiet, so does Elena, closing her eyes and feeling the gentle kiss on top of her head. But then the silence goes on, and after a few moments, she speaks up again. "I have to tell you something," she says quietly.

She doesn't speak for a while, again, but she continues. Ramon was right, what's going on right now, Hope was so tenuous it could break their hearts if it doesn't pan out. "I met the person who….caused those storms in the city two years ago. The tornado. Yesterday. Peter was with me." She doesn't say any more, but she offers that. There's a chance. A real chance that all this could be undone. "It's a start, yeah?"

"It's half the problem that boy can fix if he's got a mind." Goodness. If Peter gets back and neutralizes the person responsible? Trina would have been horrified two years ago if she knew how she was thinking now. Get back, Peter, she hopes. Get back and kill the bitch who did it. It's a horrible way to think of anyone, but now the equation has become fearfully simple. The life of one to save the lives of many. It doesn't have to be painful. It can be quick and merciful, like putting down an animal that gets somehow lost and begins causing damage because it is where it shouldn't be. It pains the conscience, for a time, until the heart becomes so NUMB that morality is lost in the stinging sensation of wave after wave of loss. Trina smiles quietly against Elena's hair. "Jack'll be so proud when he gets back. We may have to break out the sparklin' cider."

And she was proud. Of Peter taking the initiative, him doing what has to be done. The training, the dogged determination to stop all this while maintaining his sense of self. She had already told him that. He was getting stronger, he was becoming less fragile. But she can't celebrate just yet. This was, however, a good start. Elena feels Trina's smile on her head. She knows, however, that there's no way Peter was going to kill Evelyn. He was going to find another way. She knew him once, and these days, she's becoming more and more aware that she knew him still. This one anyway. "I hope so. I mean, I don't mean to get anyone's hopes up but….this is what we do, yeah?" she asks rhetorically. "Trying to fix things, if not just change them to make them more tolerable." Her arms around Trina squeeze a little tighter. She had to hope. She had to keep moving. She wasn't doing this for nothing. "Forget that….we'll do a special op to hit the President's preferred distributor of champagne and bring the real stuff back," she says jokingly.

"You don't have to convince me to upgrade," Trina jests right back, hugging Elena back with a desperate ferocity, as though she could somehow will inspiration and hope to get into the stubborn little corners of the Gomez heart. Even if her own sense of hope is tempered by an unpleasant piece of something called Reality. Yeah. The mechanic never liked reality. Reality has come to truly, honestly, genuinely suck. Hope has no home in reality. But maybe? Maybe it can live in Peter's reality, once he gets back to it. Thrive, perhaps. "I bet Eric even has real champagne glasses stashed away somewhere. We could do it right." They haven't had cause to celebrate in a very, very, very long time.

"Why yes Trina I do have glasses…and…you know," Eric's voice floats almost lazily out of the intercom unit. "I could just order something for us…buuuuut…I think I like the idea of hitting the president's distributor instead!" He sounds almost cheerful too.


"Oh, and my bloodwork is back. I don't have anything so you can let me out," Pause. "…really. You can."


"…and for the record I didn't /mean/ to fight anyone, it was just a random encounter."


"And if you havn't guessed, you left the intercom on from where you were yelling at me last."

At moments like this, Eric is also very glad that Elena's power requires line of sight.

She can't help but grin, and at the desperate hug, Elena can't help but sink in further, closing her eyes finally and savoring the comfort. It felt good to be held. Felt good to be reassured. And given her position and everything else she tried to do, she can't, can't, can't get these from the guys too much. She was all too aware for what they felt for her to risk anything. And at what Trina says, she can't help but laugh. This time, more genuinely. She pulls back, and flashes her an impish grin. "We'll make sure Louis's got 'em ready," she says. And she'd say something more - until the intercom breaks in with Eric's voice.

She pauses. She -stares- at the intercom.

She narrows her eyes.

"Eric. Walker…." she growls low in her throat.

She homes in on him, finding him within the basement levels of the Penthouses. And before he knows it, there'll be a sharp pinch. On his backside.

Yes. Elena just mentally goosed him.

"Eat your goddamned chicken soup," she huffs. "And just for that you get to stay in there for another hour!"

There is a long pause from Eric. Then.

"Elena? Did you just grab my ass?" Pause. "I know your tricks!"

At the sound of Eric's voice breaking the silence, Trina shoots an altogether murderous glance at the intercom speaker. He did not just do that. "Walker, I swear on all that's holy, if you were gawdamned eavesdroppin', you ain't gonna have to to worry about what Elena's doin' to your ass because I will rip your fuckin' head off and SHOVE IT SO FAR UP YOUR ANUS THAT YOU WILL BE SHITTIN' NOSEHAIRS FOR A MONTH!." Quiet, tender moment's over, t'would seem.

"Seriously, he's so impossible sometimes," Elena grumbles next to Trina. She can't help the small smile tug up the corners of her mouth afterwards though. "I think the puppy just wants attention. I should go down there and make sure Louis didn't drown him in soup."

She is about to get up, when Davis, the head of the building's security team, and one of Eric's trusted agents, strides inside the living area, his lined, British face looking serious. "I think you two better watch this," he says, picking up the nearby remote and turning on the TV screen mounted on the other wall. When it's flicked on, it's Cyprus Donovan, Nate Petrelli's loyal spindoctor, broadcasting about a sudden tragedy to hit the country…

Nathan Petrelli was kidnapped.

At the part where he describes that the terrorists escaped through a hole in the wall at the benefit, Elena stares at the screen. Her mind flashes back to Jack's smirk in their last meeting:

"Prime and I are off to secure some insurance," his voice echoes in her head.

There is a pause.

"….he didn't."

Oh yes, he did.

As Davis comes striding through, Trina watches him with a confused expression. Private time is, apparently, SACRED TO NO ONE. And then the nature of the security man's urgency becomes clear. The arms around Elena? Yeah, they go slack… and then one drops entirely only to be brought up as Trina covers her mouth in shock. "He wouldn't," she continues. Because that's bringing the height of Hell swarming in on them. Of course, deep down, she knows that Jack absolutely would if he could find a way to swing it. And, as seems to be the case, he did find a way. Her blue eyes are frozen for now, looking at the screen. She is simultaneously horrified, amazed, furious, and so incredibly turned on right now.

It's a very strange thing to be her at this particular moment.


"…..he would…" is Elena's rejoinder, only voicing what they're both thinking. As Trina lifts her hand to cover her mouth, the Saints' second-in-command is just gaping at the TV. She can't take her eyes off it. Whatever Jack pulled off, it was….quite possibly the most brilliant thing ever. She's sad she missed it. At the same time, Trina's right. The hounds of hell will REALLY BE AFTER THEM NOW.

"…at least they don't know which group…" she says weakly. "There's so many around they won't know which." She knows it's a very tiny hope. If HS was smart, they'll know that only one group has the balls and flair to pull something this bad. And the Petrelli Resistance is out, with his wife having sold her soul to the devil and all.

"….I guess I better go head out and make sure the meatpacking plant's ready," she says, standing up from the couch. "You wanna come with me? I'm pretty sure we're not housing El Diablo here."

"I… I'll drive," Trina offers with a still-horrified hush, blue eyes still staring at the television. That distracted gaze, however, does not stop Trina from slowly rising to her feet. She is going to kill him. She is… going to make rabid monkey love to Jack Derex, and then she will kill him. Most likely in that order. "We… we better hurry." She says that, but she's not quite moving yet, either. She still can't believe he ACTUALLY DID IT.

"Y…yeah," Elena says, still staring in a disbelieving fashion at the TV even as Donovan ends his piece on the podium. And then, back to the regularly scheduled programming. Lifting a hand, she gently ushers Trina by the shoulders to walk towards the elevators, so they can get to the vehicles. Yes, Trina has to drive.

But…oh god. Jack. JACK. And PRIME. No wonder he wanted Prime with him. He was the best one out of all of them to be able to pull this serious breach in secret service security off.

On the way out, just before they are out the door, the call from the intercom comes through. "YOU TWO BETTER NOT BE THINKING OF LEAVING ME HERE WHEN THERE IS A PARTY TO PLAN!" Yes, Eric sounds…amazingly thrilled. Happy, you can just see him down there hugging Louis and laughing. He's annoyed they left him out of it, but still.


Laughter comes though again before he shakes his head slightly. "And damn right Trina is driving! I'm not going anywhere if Elena is!" Even at a time like this…he can tease.


"Now let me outta here!"

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