2007-05-17: As I Lay Dreaming


Elena_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: As Peter suffers from a rather intense nightmare, Elena picks THIS EVENING to knock on his door and finally speak to him after a week of not talking to him. Given the door is locked, and he's not answering, CLEARLY she must pull a Batman and drop on his balcony from the rooftop. And proceeds to do just that.

Date It Happened: May 17, 2007

As I Lay Dreaming

Peter Petrelli's Apartment, Midtown, New York City

The problem with over-taxing abilities… Peter needs a lot of sleep. The whole night, a lot of the day too. He only stepped outside the apartment to take Snowy for a walk and then stop by the mansion to talk to George. He didn't ask where Heidi was staying, or what she was doing, and instead dropped off her purse and cellphone so that she could have them back before he went back home. There was a phone call to his girlfriend to explain that he'd probably be able to see her soon, no, don't come over, he loves her, all that. Right now… he just wants to be alone.

In many ways, he doesn't want to be alone. But he doesn't want to be around certain people either. Maybe soon he'll try calling Cass, so he can drop off the pills he got— but right now… he'd rather sleep more. His body certainly agrees.

The feverish feeling has gone down, as he's avoided doing much tiring activity, but he still chose to sleep in less clothes. Just a simple pair of black shorts, and everything else lays discarded in the laundry basket for later. Not a warm night, so the sheets stay up over him— even if his body is warmer than it probably should be. The only other occupent of the apartment lays near the couch in the living area, chewing contently on a red chew toy. At least— she is when the noise starts.

What Peter sees while he lays in bed is very much different from what is actually going on anywhere in the world. Inspired by recent events, paintings and the like, he's seeing horrors he wishes were just on a flat canvas. The first sound out of him is a protest, a wordless cry— that startles the puppy and makes her sit up, ears raised. She's had a rough couple of weeks in his apartment already— As the yelling becomes louder, still wordless, she starts to bark, going over to the closed glass doors of the bedroom to bark there.

To those who might be outside his apartment, it sounds as if someone is in a lot of pain— not to mention afraid. And their dog is extremely displeased. After one such scream, the barking cuts off, whining follows, and the puppy goes over to the door to the hallway and start scratching on it. Maybe she's trying to call for help or something— or trying to get away.

This is what greets her when she comes up the stairs.

Elena toys with the CD in her pocket as she comes up, dressed in a tanktop, a fitted, black jacket that's left unbuttoned, and her dark-blue jeans. They're a little long, frayed in the cuffs over the sneakers she is wearing today. While she doesn't have her backpack, she's got her own carrier bag with her, and she pauses at the door. Her hand is curled to knock when she hears the shout of pain, and fear. Her limbs automatically freeze. Something was wrong, and that something picks the ONE DAY she decides to see him after….god. How long as it been since she left Jane and Elle's apartment that day?

"Peter?!" Her fist slams against the wood over and over again, rapping on the door frantically. "Peter!"

She could hear the dog scratching on the other side of the door, and she groans. She isn't exactly a criminal. She doesn't know how to pick locks. And it sounds like someone was KILLING him in there. Why? Why God? Why does this ALWAYS happen to her? "Shit!" she groans, and looks at the door, and looks at the width of the hallway. She turns around, and walks to the very end, rolls her jacket sleeves up her arms…and sprints. She angles her shoulder forward. Maybe it will help.

She SLAMS onto the door. Which…doesn't budge. The effort knocks her backwards, sprawling onto the floor painfully. She groans. That? Was so not a good idea. "…play to your strengths, Gomez," she breathes, sitting up and the stubborn expression on her face and turns a sharp eye down the hall. She blinks, seeing a sign at the end: ROOF ACCESS. Peter had a balcony, didn't he? And he was in the highest floor.

"Alright," she whispers, in an attempt to psych herself up. Paranoid visions of the younger Petrelli brother getting attacked in a locked apartment dance in her mind. She had to do something, and fast. "Okay. Get up. Get up." She is up, shoving herself off the ground and sprints towards the roof access, taking steps two at a time and, after a few short minutes, bursting up into the roof.

When she banged into the door as much as she does, she might hear another yelp, a scramble of claws against the kitchen floor, followed by silence, at least from the puppy. Looks like she scared Snowy enough that she's backed into a corner. The yelling hasn't completely stopped, though. Infrequent though it is, she'll have a few more calling out to spur her onwards. As he's in the corner, his nearest neighbor may not hear him— or may not care enough to do anything. No one opens doors as she runs by. Whatever's making Peter scream… it hasn't stopped. Even if she can no longer hear it as she makes for the roof.

Unlocked, the roof access just takes her up a little higher, and then the only difficult part is finding the right balcony… but assuming her direction sense is good, it won't be too difficult.

What she sees around her will be very different than what he's seeing. The buildings around her are unbroken, the sky is dark, but not clouded in horrors, and the streets blow? Certainly not filled with bodies. Bodies he recognizes— people who are dying around him, while he stands helpless.

He was at the corner. Elena whips her head around, the wind at this height blowing her hair around her face. She turns around, and darts for the edge of the roof where she knows Peter's apartment is, grabbing onto the ledge and looking down. She is suddenly struck by vertigo. Oh my god. Oh my god. The drop. She was 14 stories up. If she screws up, she's going to be salsa on the ground in less than ten seconds. She turns her back around to rest it on the wall, breathing heavily. Oh my god. Oh my god. This was it. The week's driven her crazy. She's SO not doing this. She's so NOT.

Pushing herself away, she steels herself, and looks down again. There was another ledge, below the top - wide enough at the very least to get her feet on across and sit on, and right over Peter's balcony. She takes several deep breaths, and with the same, determined expression, swings one, slim leg over the edge, gripping it tight with her fingers. "Oh my god. Oh my god. You're nuts. You're NUTS! What are you doing?" she whispers. She forces herself not to look down as she slides her body around, and over, inching carefully, and slowly, lower, and her toes pointed downwards so she could start to feel the ledge below when she gets to it. Elbows hooked on the edge, she finally finds it, and she slides further down, letting herself drop. Just a bit. She presses her body flat against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. Using her palms as a brace, she sinks lower still, bending her legs so she could get on her knees upon the sturdy, rough cement. She's NOT looking over her shoulder. She's NOT looking down. Oh no. If she looks down while she's here, she's going to come undone. She knows it.

She does the same thing for the ledge. She slides her legs over backwards, and bends low, elbows bracing upon it. Thank god she was flexible. Years of dancing at the very least gave her a tremenduous level of dexterity. "Oh shit. Oh SHIT!" she breathes. She could -cry-, she's so afraid. But if she doesn't -do something-….. she could feel her body start suspending, legs extended below, and feeling nothing. All she knows is that the balcony was somewhere below her, and that she has to let go at some point. She unfolds her arms, and grips the edge, her body dropping and her arms in full extension above her head now, gripping the edge.

What did she say about Jack and getting stronger again?

She takes a deep breath, and wills herself to go limp…..and let's go. She lands on her feet, tilts sideways, and sprawls onto the ground, just beyond the glass double-doors that led into Peter's apartment, knocking over a chair and several knick-knacks that he left there. Rolling over on her back, she clutches at her rapidly beating heart, staring up at the sky. Oh my god. Oh my god. Did she just do that?!


And next time? Call the cops instead. It'd be easier on her. Through the glass doors she'll have a dim view of his apartment. Dim because there's no lights on, except for the christmas lights in the living area. Tiny red and green blubs are lit up, but not overly shiny, showing the shelves of his bookshelves, and the coffee table. But the second set of glass doors that lead to his bedroom are closed, but through the glass there— she can spot some moving shadows. Specifically, unknown to her… by this point he's thrashing around in his bed, tossing some of the sheets aside and off of him.

Inside his dreams, the unknown forces that have killed so many of his friends are now turning towards him, as he tries to protect those who remain. He knows they'll die if he fails, so the yells have become more desperate than before, but they can still be heard through the glass.

The only difficult part is getting them open. Will she risk breaking the window? The lock might be able to be worked out, though, if she can slide something thin through the opening.

The impact had been painful. Elena knows she's going to bruise tomorrow, but at least she didn't break anything. Closing her eyes, she uses her own abilities on herself, to keep going. To keep moving. To be ready to attack someone else if necessary. She gets up, and grabs the chair she had just knocked over. Forgive her, Peter, but she's about to break some glass. With a grunt, she picks it up, and SWINGS it against the door. With all her might.

Which, to be frank, isn't all that much.


The doors shudder, but remain….intact. She didn't even DENT the goddamned things! Elena stares in disbelief. Biting back a curse, she tosses the chair aside and flips open her bag, dumping its contents on the balcony and grabbing her wallet. Fine. FINE. If that's the way it was going to be…. she finds her debit card, and turns around, grabbing onto the latch of the door and sliding her card into the thin gap between both appendages. She digs it in hard, and pushes onto the latch. Ah, the good ol' credit card swipe. It might not work at the front door, but a couple of flimsy balcony double-doors? It just might. She jiggles repeatedly, and keeps trying, until she feels the latch give way and the double doors pushing apart. She throws them both open, her hand extended and looking around wildly. In case she needs to drop somebody.

The shouts were coming from the bedroom, still tinged with fear and horror. And where was the dog?? Where was Snowy? Probably scared, so she doesn't even have canine backup. She hurries for the bedroom, throwing the door open. "Peter!" She looks ready to throw a ridiculous bomb of pain towards anyone NOT PETER she sees….but sees the room empty and the man himself thrashing on the bed. She almost -falls over-, and she didn't know if from her own bloody paranoia or relief in the fact that she was just having a nightmare.

A nightmare that she's about to drag him out of kicking and screaming. Literally.

Striding over quickly, her hand reaches out towards him. She nearly jerks it back as scalding heat sears across her palm. He was doing it again. What the HELL has he been doing for the last forty-eight hours?! Both hands stretch forward this time, depositing herself on the edge of the bed so this would be less awkward, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. "Peter! PETER! Wake up!"

Sleeping! Well— not all of it. It started with trying to use her ability, though. But at least she can be assured it's an intense dream, from the way his eyes are shifting around rapidly, and the increased sweat and fever, even more than when he went to sleep.

Her attempts to wake him are not in vain, at least. With her hands against his shoulders, the rapid shaking and yelling close to his face, he starts into awareness, leaving behind the dream but not the panic that it's riled up entirely. Could have been a rougher awakening, so she's in luck. Eyes wide, Peter stares up into the darkness. At first all he can make out is a form leaning over him. Breathing off, faster and heavier than normal, he's not completely out of it. As his vision settles and he can make out more than a form, he blinks in an unsure and surprised way. Throat sore from all the yelling, his voice is rasped when he finally does manage to say something. "Elena?"

That's who's here— how she got here… he doesn't really care. It's been so long since he's seen her that he inhales— and then reaches up to hug her, pulling her down closer to him and wrapping his arms around her. Heart rate increased, skin drenched in a warm sweat, and breathing off— he seems to think hugging her is the best idea in the world.

At least he's not screaming wordlessly anymore, right?

He's awake. He's breathing raggedly but he's awake. He has a fever, but he's awake. Elena couldn't help but sag just a touch in relief when his dark eyes open and stares up at her, uncomprehendingly at first. And when he utters her name in that gasping, disbelieving tone, she opens her mouth. There were so many thing she wanted to say. Things like 'I'm sorry' or 'I heard about Heidi' and 'I didn't want to talk to you because…' and list all those reasons why. But when he looks so pale and so worn and so damned scared and tired all she could think to say is…

"I'm sorry," she utters, breathlessly in her own right considering she just JUMPED OFF HIS ROOF and onto his balcony. "But I think….I committed a felony just now."

Elena wasn't one to break the law. Is breaking and entering a felony? BURGLARY was a felony, but she didn't really want to steal anything. God, if Peter called the cops on her hopefully it'll just be a misdemean—

This is when she's grabbed, pulled closer and tightly into a hug. Her eyes round into dinner plates, her hands automatically fisting against his shoulders as she's dragged in. "I— Peter— " she squeaks. Thank god it was dark in his room, otherwise he'll be able to see the shade of red-purple something her face was turning into. She could smell the salt on his skin, the fact that his heart was hammering so hard she was half-afraid it would burst (though he could regenerate so that's really not a problem for the long term), and most of all, he wasn't -dressed-. He wasn't completely naked, but still, he wasn't -dressed-. Cue head exploding. Even in her initial shock she knows somewhere deep down that this was SO inappropriate it was—

He was shaking.

It was like a dose of cold water thrown into her face and leaving her dripping. Hesitation lasts only a few seconds, before she curls her arms around him, fingers sliding over to cup the back of his head and feeling the short strands of his hair tickle the tips of her digits.

"It's okay," she says quietly, doing her best to be soothing. "It's okay."

It only becomes a crime if he presses charges, and in this case— it isn't likely to happen. When she mentions she might have commited a felony she'll hear a gasp of laughter, hoarse and shaky, and Peter just spends the rest of the time holding onto her. He certainly is shaking. And after a few moments, she'll hear a distinct sniff in his inhale of air, before he just continues to hold onto her. It's okay… it's okay…

"What— what are you doing here?" he finally asks, voice showing strain, insecurity, still some worry, and of course marginally breathless. And ignore the second source of moisture from him for the moment. It's not her imagination, but—

Inappropriate or not, he doesn't seem to notice. She's wearing more than enough so the hug isn't too awkward, and the sheets still cover the lower end of his body— and that wouldn't have been bare anyway. One of his hands slips out from around her to wipe at his face, before he starts to detangle himself so that he can lay back against the rather ruffled (and damp) pillow. So he can look up at her. Still as wide eyed as he'd been when she woke him up originally.


When Peter detaches from her, flopping back onto the pillows to look at her, Elena rubs the back of her neck, and glances a little bit to the side. She pauses, and she turns slightly so she could easily look away from him further. She doesn't say anything for a while. Finally, she reaches into her pocket, pulls out a CD, and rests it on the table next to his bed. "I came to give you that. It's a copy of that video of us being nutcases in that puppy daycare place," she says. "Also…. I stashed Heidi at my place the other day. She didn't know who else to call. She…told me what happened. She said she punched you. With your life…going the way it was in the last few days, I couldn't just…"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Apologize. Say sorry. She's been saying sorry a lot lately. She looks over at him, her delicate face somber. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm…." She rubs her face, and she laughs mirthlessly. "God, I'm such an incredible shit…. all my talk about how one shouldn't be afraid of the consequences of caring about someone, and the first thing that happens to me, I…" She falls silent again. "I just….I didn't want Elle to keep thinking that. So I avoided you for a bit. It was embarassing, Peter. And not only that but I know you've been having problems with your relationship with her and whatever happened. Whatever -happens-. I don't want to be the cause of it. I didn't want to give you any more trouble than I already have, so…"

She falls quiet again. Her explanation, her words. They come out awkward, indicative of one who isn't used to talking about what really lies behind those smiles. As open as she was when it came to what she felt, it was like banging into a vault in Lloyd's of London. Her fingers reach out, brushing the tangle of dark hair from his sweaty forehead, her control washing over him to fix the traces of overload in his system.

"Oh," Peter says, eyes following the CD. It's been so long he'd almost forgotten they'd made that video. So much has happened since he adopted Snowy. There's dozens of things that have taken his mind elsewhere. A surprise that she's brought it over now— just as much a surprise that Heidi'd gone to her. But— "I'm glad she had someone to go to," he admits, not rubbing his already healed jaw. There's a lot he could comment on that. How his sister-in-law packs quite a backhand when she's upset— that or his jaw is a lot easier to break than it should be. Good thing he regenerates.

Her apologies make him sit back up a little, arm pushing to brace himself a little off the bed. It's the /reason/ she stayed away that surprises him. Somehow, he'd never quite figured that would be the full reason. "I don't think your a shit," he finally says after a moment, as the touch on his forehead causes his body chemistry to settle down. The overload fades away, returning color to the right parts of his skin, and letting the sweat production slow. Even his heart rate goes down (though not fully) and the breathing is allowed to settle naturally. "And no matter what happens with me and Elle… you wouldn't be the cause of anything bad— I promise."

Even the jealous response only triggered an incident that had been waiting to happen anyway, he's sure. But… With a slow breath, he starts to shift on the bed, sitting up all the way and tossing back the covers, revealing at least a pair of loose dark shorts. She's not going to be seeing anything she may need to see in later days of her medical career at least. Putting his legs over the side of the bed, he stands up, a lot less wobbly than he'd have been without it, letting his hand linger on her shoulder until he walks over to the dresser, with the sectioned decorative and functional mirror. A lamp there is turned on, giving more light to the room, and casting quite a glow on his still damp upper body.

"So you broke into my apartment to drop off a CD and apologize?" he asks, as he glances through the doors, and then catches Snowy peeking out from the kitchen, looking timid. Maybe he doesn't realize how he happened to be screaming. "How'd you get in?" he asks, before he sees the open balcony…. wait… "Did you…?" No. She wouldn't do that. Surely!

"She was a mess, Peter," Elena says softly. "Then again any woman would be when she finds out the husband she married sought…someone else to do that. I might've said some less choice words about your brother, but for the most part….I did what I could to get her to stop crying. There was some…" She rubs her face. "Elle visited that night, and when Heidi found out that she had been babysitting the kids, she was….anyway to diffuse the situation I went along with the -both- of them back to the mansion. They needed a buffer. She didn't want Elle watching her kids. Elle didn't want to break her promise to you, so I…" She exhales a breath, and looks down at her lap. "It was…a -really-. Really. Long day for me."

"I know," she murmurs, looking around the bedroom. The darkness is dispelled by the lamp. But now that she could see him clearly, she's trying her best -not- to look at him. She twists the bracelet on her arm, her lips a soft, contemplative line. "Yeah," she says, shrugging. "I heard you. I thought you were being attacked. I had to do something. If I called the cops, and you had an attacker in here, it might've been too late, so…" She looks up and when she finds him staring at the balcony, and -what she did- forming in his brain, she winces, and for the most part looks sheepish. "I. Uh. Yeah. I'm never doing that again. I think. ….well, not unless I thought I really had to, and it sounded like…you were getting killed in here. I wasn't…..I wasn't thinking," she finishes softly. How many times has she said that this week? That was so unlike her. She was a -thinker-. For her -not- to think was….gah.

She glances at the CD. Should she go? Should she let him get to sleep? He looked tired, and she said what she needed to say anyway. And her -stuff- is all over his balcony, she had to go get them. So without much else, she moves to start standing up from the edge of his bed, absently pulling her wavy, dark hair into a ponytail.

"That's weird— I told Elle she could go home if someone showed up to relieve her. Guess I should've made it clear I meant Heidi," Peter says, running a hand over and partially through his damp hair. It's had time to grow out the last month, but still short. Barely in his forehead right now. Maybe he notices her eyes avoiding him, because he opens a drawer and pulls out a dark colored shirt and tugs it over his head. "I told Nathan to tell her," he says angerly, not pleased with this whole thing. "Now it doesn't even matter that it's been over since around the time Heidi got back. She has no reason to think it /is/ over the way she found out. I am glad you were there for her. Just wish Nathan hadn't visited right then— might have been able to help some."

Until that moment, he'd been rather forgiving of their mistake, but now— he's not sure he's looking forward to seeing either of them again anytime soon. So much has happened. The description of him yelling makes him flinch mildly, and he realizes that /that's/ why his throat hurts so much. The yelling hadn't woken him up, anymore than the thrashing about, which— now that he looks, makes his bed look a lot more slept in than normal. Now he's really going to hope no one decides to use his spare apartment keys because if there hadn't been wrong ideas before…

"Guess… as long as you're okay," he says, turning to face her with a serious, if still partially breathless look on his face. "You are okay, right? You didn't hurt yourself?" he asks, looking her over with his eyes, checking for bruises or the like. She could easily mask her pain with her ability, so he has to look for signs other than an ouch-expression on her face.

"I know. You're not one to…..let something like that slide, no matter how much you respect your brother enough to keep his secrets," Elena says, looking over towards Peter now that it was….well. Now that it was 'safe' to. She slides her hands in her pockets. Though she's keeping her eyes away from him for a different reason now. "Look I'm….I'm not part of your family. I'm not, I shouldn't be entitled to keep Petrelli family secrets either. And I know it's too early to say it considering emotions are running so high….but I honestly think one of these days the three of you ought to sit down and just talk about everything. Heidi doesn't know…who to trust anymore."

She nods, and she rubs the back of her neck. "I know. He should've been more responsible. Hell, he shouldn't have DONE THIS to begin with," she mutters. She finally manages to look at Peter, and she expels a breath. "….sounds like things got rough this week, huh?" she continues softly, searching his features with her eyes.

And when he turns the subject to her, she blinks at him. "Hm? Oh, I…." She pauses. She doesn't really know, really. The painblocker was active in her system. "Well, it hurt to land," she says, a small grin tilting up the corners of her mouth. "But I'm okay. Nothing I can't walk off in the morning." The grin softens, until it fades entirely into something more serious. "You shouldn't worry so much." About me. But that last part is unsaid despite the implication. "I'm tougher than I look."

"I've told him that, but the chances he'll listen…" Peter shakes his head, not really sure where to go with that. Nathan has so many secrets and many he doesn't even want to know about anymore. Will she be able to trust any of them again? There's a long pause, and he looks away too, towards the sectioned mirror and his own broken reflection. "Secrets are kind of part of being in this family… My father— had a major depressive disorder, since he was in his twenties." Or at least that's what his mother told him, and brother confirmed. Who knows if it's even true with the secrets of this family… "No one told me about it until I jumped off the roof trying to fly and Nathan told everyone I tried to commit suicide as the explaination for the press." /Before/ they even asked questions about it.

Yeah, maybe not the best time to paint a bad picture of his brother, but he's not too pleased with this at all. Moving forward, he reaches out to touch her cheek, even if he can't see any signs of damage, there's enough doubt in her voice that he's going to try anyway. Now that he no longer feels like even walking could make him pass out, he'll give healing a try. That should wipe away any future bruises she'd get from her tumble, a warm sensation reaching out through her, as he activates the ability.

"Sounds like they weren't easy on you, either… Heard you and Elle talked, at least. Surprised that you forgave her so quickly," he admits, turning away after his hand drops from her face, moving towards the living area, where he heads towards the desk instead of the balcony where her stuff has fallen about. The young Eskie sneaks over and noses at his ankle for attention, and perhaps even just to verify that he's okay as he opens a drawer and pulls out a small baggy.

"Sorry I scared you," he finally says, glancing back with a flinch at his apology. "Was just— having a bad dream. Didn't mean to— didn't realize I was yelling. But I'm really glad you're here." At this point his eyes divert and he takes in a slow breath. "Could've… really used your… ability to make people happy this week."

A little more about the Petrellis spills out. She had no idea about Arthur Petrelli before, that he had a depressive disorder which may or may not have killed him in the end. Elena remains quiet when he tells her about Nathan, and when Peter tells her about how he committed suicide…allegedly. She just shakes her head. "Ugh…" she murmurs. Nathan really needs to get kicked in the face sometimes. But at the same time, she knows that his heart of hearts was in the right place. Like she told Heidi, people were inherently good….just incredibly dumb sometimes.

When he steps towards her to rest his hand on her cheek, she'll be able to feel it, the healing ability repairing whatever inflammation of joints or bruises that might be waiting for her tomorrow. And yet he doesn't respond to that - he really shouldn't be worrying about her the way he does. But that was just his way, she doubts even she could convince him otherwise. Her eyes can't help but divert to the side….though once she's done she looks back over and gives him a small smile. "Thanks," she murmurs.

About Elle, she shrugs. "I'm Catholic," she says. As if that ought to explain why she was so quick to forgive. "She looked like she felt bad about it. I didn't have the heart to…especially when it had been my fault in the first place. I couldn't help but empathize a little bit, so….now she visits now and then, to talk. She told me what happened to her. After that I couldn't stay mad at her. I can't trust her entirely….but I don't hate her." She steps out of his bedroom, leaning her shoulder against the doorframe and watches his back as he moves over to grab something from a desk.

"It's okay," she says softly. "Nightmares happen. At least it's gone, yeah?" At the last, however, she swallows, and she looks away from him, her eyes falling on the owl cookie jar she could see from where she was at the kitchen. She doesn't say anything to that - she had apologized already, but she could read between the lines, at least in this case, and she could feel the punch into her ticker at the words uttered. Finally, she pushes away from the doorframe, taking a few steps to stand behind and somewhat to the side of him. A gentle hand reaches out to touch his shoulderblade gently.

"It…wasn't…" she says awkwardly, closing her eyes and fumbling for words. "It was….difficult too, Peter." She hesitates, and adds. "….for me."

After another pause, she smiles slightly. "But…I'm…well. I'm not going anywhere for a while."

Yeah— ugh. Peter isn't even completely thinking when he spills that tidbit of information. She knows by now he'd never jump off the roof to kill himself, and she also knows what his brother did later— after his election became irrelevent. He saved the entire city, and perhaps the whole world. "You're also just a wonderful person," he adds, not letting her Catholic religon take all the credit for her ability to forgive and allow even the start of a friendship to form. What happened to her…

There's a good hint that he knows exactly what happened to her, or at least enough of it for a flash of quiet anger to appear in his eyes. In fact, he's far more angry about this than what had been done by his brother, if the expression is any indication. It'd happened to such a young girl, and ruined her life. In fact… That's half the reason he's having the hardest time even wanting to end what they have, even if he's afraid what it would do to her if they stayed together, and how much being tied to the Company through her will affect him. It's something he needs to figure out some day… But not now.

"They're gone now, yeah— thanks to you." She's such a good influence. He even leans back into her hand a bit, before he nods. "Good— not planning to go anywhere either. And— I have something to give you too, actually." He turns around, taking her hand and putting the plastic baggy in it. It's very obvious that there's pills here. "There's two doses of the Haitian Pills in there. Not sure if you and Cass can figure out what they're made of, but if you can… it might help with things." Though all he needed to do was hand her the pills, his hands end up cupping around the one of hers, staying there.

"…….I try to be," is all Elena says. And she was right. She tried her damndest, her hardest. "…even if it makes me….even if it drives me to go at it the hard way sometimes." There's an unreadable expression on her face, remembering her confrontation with Lachlan the other day. Doing the right thing, she found out this week, can hurt. And hurt something fierce. But as always, whatever problems she had, whatever she feels, she keeps to herself. Heidi had mentioned that she should find someone to talk to, even if it's not her, but when one was so used to doing something in a certain way for so long, it was hard to change the pattern this quickly.

She stands firm, when in the last couple of months she could've recoiled at the look of anger in his eyes, even though she knows it's not directed at her. Hell, if she could stand up to a very angry and pissed off Lachlan the other day, she can hold her ground if Peter seriously looks angry. She looks up, though she shifts a bit when he turns, dropping her hand from his back. "Wait…what?" she says, something? She blinks when Peter explains what he has, feeling the plastic pressed into her hand, and feeling his fingers fold her own over it. She stares at it, incredulously, and then she looks up at him.

"You….you got them," she says, her lips parting in amazement. And then, the determined expression falls back on her face. "Right. We'll get to work. See how they made it." She pauses. "…I'm going back to Mount Sinai. Next week. See if there's anything else I could find out." She looks up to meet his eyes. "There's….really no room for me to be afraid anymore. It's only holding me back to do what has to be done." She hesitates, and reaches up to touch his cheek, her expression softening further.

And then, she couldn't help it anymore. Moisture pools into her eyes, though she blinks them back rapidly. She takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes, and when they open, she gives him a faint smile. "You need to rest," she says. "I'll make you some tea. It'll help."

Though there's no clear explaination of her words, to him, Peter nods slowly at her response, understanding that the right and good thing isn't always the quick and easy thing. In fact it's usually harder and takes a lot longer than something lesser. Getting Elle to act like a normal human being for example… He glances away from her face and towards their joined hands almost as soon as she looks up twoards him. Nothing at all telling about that. "Actually Elle got them for me," he explains. "I told her I needed them and— she just got them. Didn't even need to know why…" Now he does look up, a hint in his eyes that says he's trying to trust her, even if no one else does.

"I think— think she really wants to help. Me at least. Didn't— tell her all of why I needed that either— but I asked her to see if they have any files of the woman from Sinai. In case— if she gets caught she won't know you're involved in the asking. I was at the lockdown too— I can tell them I overheard her name, and looked into it on my own." Still hiding things from his girlfriend, but at least this is for good reason. He doesn't want her getting into trouble— and at least it's not really lying, if he goes about telling it the right way.

"She really just wants to help…" he says, before he releases her hand and closes his eyes, turning his cheek into her hand somewhat. "As long as /you're/ careful too," he finally says, reaching up to touch her hand against his face before he looks back into her blinking— and then briefly closed— eyes. She's— she's getting moisture there. "No— no, it's fine. I'll just…" he looks back towards the rumpled bed. "Just… try to sleep without that…" Key word there might be the 'try' part.

"I know. She promised me she wouldn't let the Company know about me. It's fine, Peter….she'll do what she has to do. Just as you do what you have to do. Just like I do what I have to do. Despite….despite everything else…" The heartache. The crazy. The zapping. The anger. The marital problems, and the problem with missing someone who was just a friend, all of it, in her eyes, was nothing compared to the big picture. She could forget about all of that, for the moment, in lieu of focusing on the bigger problem. It was just the way Elena was. She kept her eyes forward, at least she tried to always. "…there's still something bigger we all have to try and get a handle on." She nods. "I'm glad you did something about what I dropped you about the hospital. I'm glad you told Cass too. She and I tried to tell each other at the same time."

When he turns his face into her hand, she pauses. She would've let go if it wasn't for the hand coming up to touch it and press it there. Her thumb brushes over his cheekbone, and she nods. "I'll be fine," she tells him. And while she's not certain about that…god knows what she'll have to do to try and find something out, she at the very least sounds sure. If anything, she's stubborn enough to do what she needs to.

At the last though, she sighs, her head hanging a bit. When she looks up at him, and while her expression is exasperated, she couldn't help but quirk a smile. " 'Try', huh?" she says, once again calling him on his crap. She drops her hand slowly, and gestures to the bedroom. "Come on. I'll show a trick." She turns around then, shucking off her jacket and tossing it to the side of Peter's couch.

"Right— you know, I didn't realize she might not know you told me, since I did say we hadn't talked or seen each other since the incident at Elle's," Peter says, actually smiling a bit before his hand stays up near his face, touching his cheek right where she'd been. There's something absent in his voice, as if he's talking on auto-pilot, or not completely aware of things. At least the awareness returns for the most part when she gestures him into his own room, with promises of a trick. "Huh?" he says at first, showing that he's actually /not/ totally aware of what she meant.

Still, his hand drops and he does step back into his room, after kneeling down to rub Snowy between the ears. The puppy has been waiting very patiently for attention, but she'll leave them alone as he moves away. The yelling has stopped, at least. His throat's even feeling better when he sits down on the edge of the bed and looks over at her. "A trick to help me sleep? That what you mean?" he asks, glancing towards the ruffled sheets.

Assuming that he's right in her trick, he does something that may throw her off for a few moments by shedding his shirt again, basketballing the t-shirt to land on the clothing basket. Now he'll do whatever she asks of him, but he's too warm to wear a shirt while sleeping, even if her ability took away the fecer itself.


She closes her eyes. Please let there not be an industrial accident. Please let her keep her grace for once.

Elena opens her eyes, and, steeling herself, she turns to look over at Peter and gives him a smile. "Right. Well. Whenever I can't sleep," she says, going on full instruction mode. "I open a window." She strides over to the closest one to the bed, and opens it. "Just a touch, enough for the breeze to come in. Bears hibernate in the winter, right? I found I sleep better in the cold once you pile in the blankets. Maybe it'll work for you too." She pulls the drapes back down. "Heat keeps people awake. It fools your body into thinking it's engaged in some sort of activity, so it's best to lower it a touch whenever you have problems sleeping. Same principle with this."

She leans over, fluffing his pillow. "If you're like me and you're too lazy to get up and open the window in the middle of the night, I just turn over the pillow I'm laying on. The top part's already soaked in your body heat, but the -underside- is especially cool. It's soothing, when you lay your cheek on it. It tends to knock me out pretty good, especially when I'm….tossing and turning. I tend to have bad nights myself, not because of nightmares….because I think a lot." Her voice turns softer. "Especially what happened this week…"

Whatever underlays the sudden, contemplative tone, she doesn't explain it. She turns to him and points at the pillow. "Up you go," she says, her voice turning into something more cheerful. Is she really….going to tuck him in? Why yes. Yes she is. She could feel the cold drifting into the room already, given she was wearing a tanktop, her smooth, tanned skin was showing some goosebumps. The golden crucifix on the dip of her collarbones glints softly in the dim light of the lamp in the room.

"Do tend to sleep better when it's cool, yeah," Peter admits with a hint of a smile that's becoming more genuine by the moment. Maybe it's the motherly side that's coming out in her that's amusing him, or the view he's getting of her bedside manner. Though that's not all he's getting a view of in her tanktop. He— how had he not noticed this before? Suddenly he diverts his eyes and sits down on the bed, before tossing his legs up and pulling the sheet over him a bit. If she's avoiding eye contact, he is too— for almost the same reason— actually, wait, eye contact is better.

He quickly learns that looking below her eyes is recipe for disaster— and there's a lot of reasons why he's suddenly very interested in the color of her eyes, which seems to change slightly depending on the angle of the light. He's not laying his cheek on the pillow just yet, because he's wanting to look at her at least a bit longer. Her face. Just her face. Eyes and face. There's absolutely nothing wrong with this— nothing at all. She's just being motherly towards a friend who was having a nightmare.

"What all were you thinking about?" In some ways— it seems difficult for him to want to go to sleep. So long they hadn't talked at all, and he's almost afraid it could happen again— even with the end of the world possibly happening any day now. Then again it's always capable of happening any day now. Why would this be any different?

She had only shucked the jacket off because it wasn't just the bedroom that was warm - the entire -apartment- was way too warm. No wonder Peter couldn't sleep and no wonder he was having nightmares. He probably couldn't sleep to begin with and forced himself to. The overload didn't help, and she did tell him that she wasn't going anywhere for a while. When he piles in, Elena reaches up, tugging the blanket somewhat higher over his chest. She slowly sinks on the edge of the bed next to him, and she sighs. "Well, that's what sucks about New York," she tells Peter. "It's been around forever. Most of the buildings are over a hundred years old. They're all not exactly wired for airconditioning, and the ventilation isn't the best."

She was doing her best to get him to rest, to sleep, but like a stubborn 13 year old, he doesn't seem to want to. She could tell. His eyes are wide open. The focus is sharp, and fixed on where she was sitting near him. Sensing a conversation was at hand, she looks up a bit. Finally, she gives up. She slides her shoes off, swinging one leg along the edge of the bed, her back against the headboard and folding her arms on her torso.

"Just…everything. Guilt, mostly. You called me so many times over this week, and every time you did….I was reminded as to how I was cutting you off." She pauses. "….I have a tendency to just….I'm not….accustomed to talking about how I feel. I'm not accustomed to this many people worried about me. Especially when I feel like I should be able to deal with my problems myself. The fact that I know people are just worried about me makes me feel…." She pauses. "It's wonderful to be loved but….I don't want to be a burden. I don't want to be a burden ever." She turns her head, so her eyes could fix on Peter's face on the pillow next to her.

The breeze helps, at least, and even Snowy bounds over to the bed and looks up for a moment, as if wanting to jump up and join them. It's a little too high for her— at least for another few months— so she turns around and goes to an empty chair in the front room and jumps up there instead. It's a comfy enough bed for her, so she lays down and starts to settle in. Sleep time.

Still watching her quietly with 'not ready to sleep yet' eyes, Peter lstens to what she has to say when she finally starts explaining, and— blinks all of a sudden when he catches something she didn't say outloud. Not reading between her words so much as… reading her mind. Much as had been with Heidi, he's not even meaning to.

Though he can't help but feel guilty about it, since he got backhanded (and jaw broken) for the last one, he does speak up, "I missed you, too." The serious expression hints towards a partial smile, before he glances up at the ceiling above. "And you're not a burden. Not to me." There's a pause. "Or to anyone who— cares about you." Anyone else. And a different choice of words on his part too.

"Should be able to sleep well tonight, then. Long as you plan to answer the phone when I call you tomorrow." It is okay to call her again, right? For the answer to this unspoken question, he looks towards her again.

She watches as the white ball of fluff bounds on a chair and curls up on it. Elena can't help but quirk a smile. Just a touch. The puppy looks like she's getting bigger, at least. She's distracted by the pup, at least. And she needs it, the distraction. When she said she wasn't accustomed to talking about what was actually in there, it was true. Hell even now, she feels kind of awkward about it. She halts a lot, it's a different pace from when she actually talks about other things, the confident, eloquent way vanishes.

She blinks, her eyes turning to where he lays as he looks up at her and says what he does, responding to the surface thought floating at the back of her head when the topic of what she had been mulling over the entire week comes up. Inwardly, she winces. But people can miss friends. For someone who has scores of them, she shouldn't be surprised about it. So why was it… at the response however, she couldn't help but smile. It's faint, but it at least reached her eyes.

"Yeah…part of me knows that, I just…." she says quietly, but she doesn't continue that thought. Instead, she reaches out to push his hair from his forehead. It was growing out, and she couldn't help but smile. It was better than the uber-short cut he started out with. And about the phone, she can't help but crack a grin. "If I said no, you gonna smother me with one of your pillows?" she teases. The grin fades a touch, and she nods. "Yeah. I'll answer it this time. I promise."

Elle wasn't going to kill her anymore. Things look like it's looking up between the both of them in their relationship and in fact the blonde looks a little happier lately. With that squared away, it was okay. She sighs softly, tension she was ignoring in the last week or so leaving her. Instead, she turns slightly, so she could drop her head against the younger Petrelli brother, so she could press her lips gently on his forehead.

"You have a fever to sleep off," she tells him simply. But she doesn't move from where she is. Oh no. She'll wait until he sleeps, before she heads off.

People can certainly miss friends. Nothing wrong with that. Peter could come up with a ton of reasons why it's perfectly okay. "Then if part of you knows it— the rest of you should too. Weren't you the one who told me to stop being silly about things? There's a mirror right over there if you want to say it again." He believed he would get his loved one's hurt, and she believes she's a burden to those who care about her the most. It's similar in some ways. In many important ways. She wants to avoid the same things he's afraid will happen. People getting hurt because of her, or for her. People she cares about being burdened with her problems.

"If you don't I'll just have to stop by and bother you in person," he adds on, letting his eyes drift closed as she kisses his forehead. Somehow, all of the tension seems to leave him fairly fast, and though he's still going to need some sleep, he'll probably be a lot better in the morning now, thanks to her. "There's something I need to show you," he says softly, eyes remaining closed, voice almost a whisper. "Not today, but— soon maybe." A promise he might well be breaking, but maybe he can get away with just showing the partial image, not the full one. Or maybe he could describe his dream and the painting in a way that won't destroy confidences…

"If you're insisting I stay in bed… there's a spare key in the kitchen, first cabinet, in a decorative butter holder. Just so you can lock the deadbolt. Maybe you should hold onto it in case I need someone to come over and feed and walk Snowy in the future." Didn't having people with keys to his apartment already cause trouble this week? "Just don't try to go out the balcony this time," he says with a smile, as if a joke will make it seem less weird.

"Hey, you shut up and go to bed," Elena tells him, now that HE's calling her on her crap. She narrows her eyes at him playfully, but that same cheerful smile eases onto her lips. It was more of a mistaken assumption that telling her friends what's bothering her would be forcing them to deal with yet another giant thing in their already trouble-laden lives. She just wasn't selfish enough to think that they had room for her all the time. Cass had a volatile boyfriend. Lachlan was obsessed constantly over losing Cass. Let's not get started with her father, who had plenty on his plate.

When his eyes close, she straightens up, and she gives him a faint smile. "That would've been interesting," she tells him with a small laugh. She wondered how she would've reacted if he -did- show up when she had decided not to speak with him. It could've been awkward. It could've been ugly. But thankfully they won't have to know now, or worry about it. But when he says what he does, she nods. "Whatever it is….it can wait, Peter," she tells him quietly. "It can wait till tomorrow or the next day anyway. It's not like I'm leaving town again any time soon."

"Ah huh," she tells him. "I'm sure you're giving me a key to your place so I could feed and play with the dog." She knows why he's giving her one, it was obvious. Frankly he doesn't want her jumping off rooftops and onto his balcony. Which is, to be frank, rather legitimate. What if she missed the balcony the next time? Still, she nods. "Alright. I'll lock the door on the way out." She falls silent then, moving her eyes away from him so she could look at the ceiling.

Well— could've been worse. She could have taken things one step higher and referred to him as Peter Ethan Petrelli. Like an angry mother when they tell their kid to go to bed. Not that his mother ever really called him that, but it could happen. Keeping his eyes closed, he starts taking slower breaths, in an attempt to shut his mind down enough to sleep. "I know it can wait— it's waited a while already— it can wait a few more days." Whatever it is, though, it must be pretty important. The tone of his voice has the more important, world ending kind of tone. Not just 'girlfriend troubles' tone.

"Sure she'd like the company, though," he does say, shifting a little to lay on his side so he can face her, but resisting putting his hands anywhere near her. If he did, he might be tempted to hold onto her, which might make her worry about leaving… and she should leave.

Taking in slow breaths, his voice sounds more distant, as if he's drifting off, when he says, "Good night, Elena…" And to be sure, he'll be calling her when he wakes up to see if she does answer. After this last week, and heck, the last time she went out of town, he's glad she's not leaving for a while.

She knows, but the world wasn't going to end tomorrow. If it was, Desiree would've said something by now. Elena's fingers drift over his hair, brushing over the strands in a soothing manner. In a way, Peter was just like a big kid. She didn't know what all happened after she had been away from him for a week, but if things go down the crapper -this- fast…. part of her still feels a little guilty for not being there. Especially when he told her essentially earlier that he could've used her gift to inject some bright spots in his life the last few days.

"Goodnight, Peter," she says softly, watching him drift off. She closes her eyes momentarily, rolling her head back and resting it on the headboard, her fingers stopping the motion on his hair. If she jarred the strands too much, he might not fall asleep. So she waits, patiently, lifting her other hand up to look at the Haitian Pills in the transparent bag in her hand, rolling them around and around gently on her palm, before closing her fingers securely over them again.

Once she's sure he's asleep, she slips from the edge, stuffing her feet into her sneakers. She pads out quietly into the living area, out the balcony so she could retrieve her things and place the pills carefully in the inner pocket, zipping it shut. Closing the balcony doors, she moves to the kitchen, filling a small mixing bowl full of ice, and retrieving a tall glass. This last one, she fills with orange juice. Hunting around for saran rap, she seals the top, and sticks the orange juice in the makeshift ice bucket. This, she deposits on the side of Peter's bed, and leaves a note on it:


Drink this when you wake up. You need the carbs.

I'll see you soon.


Slingng the carrier bag over her shoulder, the strap diagonal on her chest, she takes the spare key from its hiding place, and steps out, locking the deadbolt behind her and stowing the key away in her pocket. She hurries down the steps, and heads out of the building. Queens was a little farther away from here than she would like, but considering it's so late, she gets a cab in no time.

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