Starring:
Summary: Peter shows up at Trina's apartment to apologize for the last time he showed up at her apartment. He also wants to talk to her about her ability which he knows he used and no one else seems to know that. He has to dance around HOW he knows, since he promised FutureTrina he'd never even tell her about the future.
Date It Happened: November 30, 2007
Better Late Than Never
Trina's Apartment
The apartment's clean. It took some doing, but finally things look normal. …Everything except the giant hole in the carpet. That's still there. So Trina made Jack help her rearrange, and there is now a couch atop said hole. It's not perfect, but it will have to do.
Atop that couch, there is a dark-haired woman. She's curled up around a pillow, a blanket wrapped about her as she stares with a half-lidded gaze at the television. There's a Pimp My Ride rip-off on, and it has at least managed to snag her attention for a little while. It fills the hours, at any rate.
The hours are about to get a tiny bit more interesting than a rip off of tv show. Or at least there's a knock on the door. Standing outside the apartment is one Peter Petrelli, the same man who caused her carpet to get torn up and mangled. He did make sure that Jack came home as he was supposed to after disposing of the body, but he'd not stuck around to talk or make repairs.
It's days in the future now, and he stands in the hallway. Well dressed for the chill, and with a rolled up rug resting against the wall beside him. Not the best rug ever.
Trina's blue eyes drag over to the door with her typical late-afternoon lethargy, and then there is a world weary sigh to follow. She probably shouldn't answer the door in light of recent events. That doesn't stop her, however, from eventually pushing herself out from her snuggle spot and making her way slowly across the room in Jack's grey sweatpants and a beat up Pantera shirt that she's been wearing for two days.
Roughly dragging her hand through her hair as she slowly and unevenly shuffles along, she ends up slamming her shoulder against the closed door once she gets there instead of lightly leaning against it like she originally intended. Instead of looking through the peephole, however, she simply closes her eyes and calls through the heavy front portal. It may have taken a while, sure, but she got there. "Whozzit?"
It takes a while. Maybe no one's home. Maybe he should have buzzed the right apartment instead of just asking someone who was exiting to let him in with his heavy load. Peter glances over at the rug, dreading the walk down the stairs and knowing he could cheat and just deposit it inside the apartment and leave— with a note about why it's there… But then he hears a voice through the front portal and his eyes snap back with surprise.
"It's Peter Petrelli. I— wanted to give you something to make up for the carpet that got cut up…" His voice is loud enough to be heard, but there's an awkward trail off to his voice as if he's not sure whether he'll be told to leave or not. "I won't be staying long," he adds, as if that might affect her decision.
Trina rests her head against the door for a moment before pulling her hand up to start unlatching it. Once the barrels are turn in their place, the too-thin, tired-looking woman pulls open the door and affixes Peter with a suspicious look. She then casts the rug an equally dubious look before jerking her head back to indicate inside. "Jack tells me you're alright. So… come on in." That said, she pulls back to let him slip through, arms crossing protectively over her chest without moving too far from the doorway. "He ain't here, though."
"I didn't come here to see Jack," Peter clarifies softly as he hefts the rug up over a shoulder and brings it in— and sees the couch over the hole in the carpet. "Well, this can always… go under the couch and help cover it up more— until Jack can replace the carpet at least." Once fully inside, he leans the rug up against the wall and looks at Trina. "Are you feeling okay? Not achey or bruised anymore?"
Trina rears her head back to look at Peter, clearly confused by what he's saying. After turning and locking the door, her eyes look him up and down once from beneath her furrowed brow. "No more'n usual, I guess," she offers. "But thanks for askin'."
Heaving a sigh, the woman blinks and then shakes her head. Jack says this guy's alright. She needs to stop being so suspicious. She starts walking to follow the man in, same awkward stride well in place. "S'nice of you to check in. And to…" A hand finally untangles itself to gesture vaguely at the rug. "…bring that. But you didn't need to do that. Jack's been bringin' all sorts of trouble down on his head. Gettin' used to it."
"No, I did have to," Peter says softly, now that the rugs safely in the apartment. He said he wouldn't stay long, but he watches her quietly for a moment, not leaving right back out the way he came. "I especially owe you an apology. I wanted us to meet under better circumstances." There's a hint in the way he's looking at her, the sheepish expression on his face, that meeting her had some kind of significance. He should have made it happen earlier.
"I'll do what I can to help Jack because I know he'd help me." There's a lot he needs to explain, but at the same time— can't. The person he'd known didn't want him to tell her anything. That makes things even more difficult. "I cooked something for you," he finally says, and something pop-appears in his hands. A basket that he left at home where it would stay warmer than the trip. A basket full of various pastries.
Trina is so confused that she can't even begin to explain how confused she is. So she doesn't try. Instead she just carefully picks her way over to the man in her living room, watching him carefully with narrowed eyes. "I don't understand," she finally allows, a shoulder shrugging. "I ain't no one and I never met you before th'other day." Then she looks to the pastries. Food. Man. Looks good, too. If her stomach wasn't so upset, she'd be tempted. There's a reason why she hasn't gained back her weight in all of her months out of the hospital. "It smells wonderful," she offers, even though her smile strains to hold. She does, at least, stretch her hands out to take the basket. "Jack… Jack used to bake a lot more'n he has lately. S'been a while." Hasn't been much need anyway.
Confusion is understandable, considering the circumstances. Peter can understand why she'd be looking at him like he's a crazy person. He still hands over the basket, even if she doesn't reach and grab and devour, like he might have hoped. SORRV pancakes won't save the day this time. "We have met before, actually," he says softly. "The day of your accident. We didn't talk, and I… after you were hurt I tried to heal you, but my healing doesn't always work the way I'd like it to." He rubs a hand over his face. "But I know Jack. Jack's a good man and a good friend, and he's helped me more than he knows. He's… he loves you and from… from what I've— heard… I wanted to meet you under better circumstances." Not quite true, but it works.
There's a pause and he glances toward the door. Eager to leave? No. His eyes are narrowed and he asks in a softened tone, "You really didn't know what I did when I stopped Jack from walking out?"
There's a sheepish shrug as Trina ducks her head, and there's a smile. "I'm sorry. I don't remember anything from the day of the accident." She reaches a hand up to scratch awkwardly at her scalp again before sighing and setting down the basket on the coffee table, subtly moving to grab up her bottle of pills and stick 'em in her pocket. "I guess maybe you're part of the reason I survived at all, if you can actually heal people." There's a glimmer of some indiscernable emotion in her eyes, and finally she sighs again and moves to carefully settle herself on a chair. Whether he can or not, it doesn't really make much of a difference anyway. Let him think what he wants.
Once she's there, Trina slumps backwards into it and lazily looks at the man across the room from her glorious slouch-worthy throne. "Anyway. Nope. Don't know. Guess it kept Jack from goin' off by himself, though, so I owe you one. That man's more stubborn 'n a mule some days."
"Maybe— but… you don't owe me," Peter says, shaking his head as he moves a little closer to the slouching throne. He remains standing, and keeps a distance so she doesn't have to look up too much at him. The expression is serious and almost sullen— and almost too serious. "My ability is that I can… absorb the abilities of people that I meet. Whether they know they have an ability or not." There's truth and lies to everything he's trying to say, omissions at her own request— a request she doesn't know she made.
"I got that one from you. I'm not really sure how it works exactly, but I know it can stop people, hold them, and protect them."
Trina's gaze darkens at that, a frown taking over the place where a neutral line once held. "You don't know nothin' 'bout nothin'," she finally manages, although her voice is trembling. Except that he knows that she's different like he is. Like Jack is. She doesn't know how he found out that she's got her little curse, but she knows she's terrified by the prospect and it brings all of her broken brain wiring more clearly to the surface. She shakily pushes herself to her feet — after a failed attempt and falling back onto her duff in the chair — because she needs to make Peter understand. "My ability hurts people. Bad. If any good comes of what you can do, it ain't mine." She shakes her head, looking up at him in close proximity. "You made a mistake."
"Jack came out of the car crash without much of an injury, Trina. Where you were… nearly torn apart by it," Peter remembers, because he'd seen it happen. He went to the hospital with them, he looked over them. He fought beside Jack the nest few days. "Many abilities have the possibility of hurting someone, but that doesn't mean that's all they are. I know yours can do more than what ever you think it did before— just like I know that my ability could kill millions of people if I don't keep it under control."
Trina just stares at Peter for a long time, jaw set and body wobbling. She doesn't know what to say. Somewhere she finds herself torn between hope and unbelieving despair, just past the fact that she hasn't spoken about the emotional crap from the accident with anyone. Period. It's still so strange to hear someone else talking about it. Someone who says he was there. Someone she feels like she's barely met.
The raven-haired woman finally just falls back down into her chair as she decides to not completely exhaust what little is left in her energy reserves, burying her face in her hands. "Yeah, but have you?"
"No," Peter answers plainly, moving to find a seat to get closer to her level so they can talk more friendly like. Not too close to her chair, but within easy speaking range. "But I could have. If people hadn't stopped me. You live in Midtown… if you lived here last year we might not have been able to have this conversation if someone hadn't intervened to stop me when I lost control."
Glancing down, his eyes shift toward the carpet that got ripped up. He could have killed that man he brought, easily, but the man killed himself. He takes in a slow breath before he looks back up at her, "Who did you hurt with your ability?"
"Buncha folk. Jack only knows the one." Trina looks up at that, eyes narrowing to help hold back the terrified tears that hide there. "You can't tell him. You can't tell him I …If he finds out that I'm dangerous…" He'll kick her out of the apartment. Leave her. She doesn't know this man in front of her from a hole in the ground, and here she is spilling out truths that she has no business spilling. "Please."
"He won't find out from me," Peter assures, leaning forward to look at her better, and the serious expression remaining. Serious, but in a concerned and open way. He's listening to her. "Jack knows how dangerous I am. It was one of the first things I told him when we actually met each other. Because he deserved to know exactly who and what he risked himself for." That's a long story he's not sure he should go into, but… "Jack doesn't need to know anything you don't want him to, I promise. But you can talk to me. It might help you understand what it is that you… did. And that might help you keep from doing it again— and how to turn your ability into something that protects rather than hurts."
"I may not have to worry about it," Trina shoots back with a rueful smile curling her lips, rubbing at her eyes as tears threaten to escape. "Doctor said that the accident screwed up a whole bunch of stuff. I… I may not be able to do it anymore, anyway." She doesn't know! She's not smart like a bunch of other people Jack seems to have made friends with. It makes sense, right?
Abilities are one thing that he tries to know a lot about, but Peter can't argue that if something messed up biologically she may not be able to use hers anymore. Except that she'd been able to use it in the future. And the accident happened there the same as it did here. That's not exactly an argument he can give, though. Not and keep his promise to another her. "I don't think abilities work like that, Trina. And it— it might be better to think that you might still have it, rather than assume you don't. If you learn how to control it, bad things won't happen again. Trust me… I know what it's like to be afraid of what you can do. I let myself be locked up and drugged for almost five months after what happened… what could have happened… because of what I can do."
Trina runs her hands through her hair quickly before emphatically thrusting them into the air between Peter and herself as if she could hurl comprehension across the space and directly into his brain. "How the hell am I supposed to control something that kills people when I can't even eat most of the damn time because I get so dizzy I get sick or walk like a normal person because I can't feel whole parts of my— ?" Trina snaps out the words, angry and bitter, before she even knows what's out of her mouth. And then there's wide eyes. Realization. Peter said hurt. Peter made her admit that she hurt people, not that she'd killed anyone. Her hands drop and become skeletal claws that dig into the arms of the overstuffed leather chair that she occupies, the woman too afraid to even speak anymore. 'Oh, crap' does not do her feelings even the most remote hint of justice as she stares at Petrelli, but her increasingly panicked, shallow breathing might be some sign.
Though he'd been on the edge of his seat before, Peter stands up now, looking at her with a shock of surprise. It's not her yelling that shocks him, since there's only so much he can really do about that right now— he's just a firm believer that control is important, considering what happened to him, what happened to his brother because of him. But then there's… what she said. What she didn't say. And what she let slip. She killed people. That's not entirely what he tries to focus on, though. She killed people. Just like he could have done if he hadn't been flown above the city at the right not. "I— Trina— I just want to help you. I don't want people to go through what I did because of their abilities. I wanted… you to know you could talk to someone about it if you wanted to." Because she helped him, whether she knows it or not. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried." But he does stand up and begin to move closer to her.
Trina just watches Peter, swallowing hard and her legs drawing up more tightly against the chair behind them. "Y-you gotta understand," she rapidly explains with a voice so soft it could almost be lost over the sound of the neighbor's vacuum running and Southern drawl so thick that she should be shovelling grits onto plates in a roadside diner. "It… It were an accident. I'd never— Jack said…" Room, stop spinning; you're making her feel ill again. She pulls her legs up at that, burying her face in the valley between her knees. "Oh, God."
"I know, Trina," Peter reassures, moving until he's closer so he can get even closer. "I know you didn't mean to do it— whatever happened. I know it, okay?" He keeps his voice calm, as he bends down at the side of her chair and reaches out to touch her shoulder as she ducks her head. "It's okay. You're not the only person who's done things they didn't mean to because of their abilities. I'm not going to judge you poorly even if… even if you killed someone— or a lot of someones." He's a walking nuclear bomb. She'd probably have been dead if she lived here a year ago and he hadn't been stopped. "You don't have to tell me anything else unless you want to talk about it." But at the same time… he's trying to reach out and find some damage that might need fixing, something that might be lingering under the surface. Injuries he probably should have asked to try to heal again months ago.
Trina with her face still plastered against her legs shakes her head. She feels his hand on her, but she can't feel as nerves grow along her left side, filling the long gap where they had died off; cut by wreckage. "No," she mumbles, trying to hide the face that betrays so plainly that she's crying. Another person to know the dreadful secret, another person to potentially send her into a world of trouble of her own making. And Peter talking about scores dead; no. No, the one she's sure of is more than enough. "How could you not? When I… I…" She stops her sobbing and pulls in a deep, unladylike sniffle so that she can stare at her own leg in confusion. "I… I can feel." Then she looks up to Peter. More surprise there. "And… And you… There's… There's only one of you." Cue those wide blue eyes once more, now reddened as they sit in a wet face. "Did you—? How?"
This… was something he should have done months ago. Peter had no idea it was this bad. He can feel the changes taking place under his fingers, the damage fixing itself. He gets a little winded by the whole endevor, but he doesn't feel ready to pass out, at least. When his hand drops away, he looks over at her, watching her looking at her leg, then up at him. One of him. "I told you I could heal— I should have done that a long time ago," he says softly, hand moving from where it dropped to touch the tears on her cheeks. "It's okay. What happened with your ability— whatever it was— isn't your fault. It's like… being given a shiny car and then later finding out that it's straight out of a James Bond movie and the air conditioning button can set off a bomb. You didn't know. You didn't mean to. And now that you do know— if you try to stop it from happening again… that's more important than what has happened already."
There's only one of him. She was upset, and now there's only one of him. Trina clings to this fact with a wide-eyed wonder. Everything else he said is momentarily lost as she just shakes her head in disbelief. Everything else is unimportant in the wake of that amazement. "You… you fixed it." Watch out, Peter. Because next thing you know, there's gonna be a would-be mechanic hurling herself in your direction, intending with every bit of her being to throw her arms about your neck and possibly squeeze the life out of you.
"The doctor… He said it wasn't gonna ever be right. And you fixed it. I don't know how, but…" She's sobbing in relief at this point — into the crook of Peter's neck if she has her way — and entirely not caring if Jack shows up or not. She has gratitude to mumble. "Thank you."
At times like this… is it any wonder that healing just happens to be one of his most favored abilities? No harm can come from it— only help. Peter looks rather startled as she leaps off the chair at him, but he doesn't pull back or try to block her in any way. The hug is even returned after a few moments of genuine 'what'. The smile rises up, a genuine smile, and he holds onto her. "You're welcome. I'm just sorry I didn't do it earlier," he admits softly, closing his eyes. Was this how Heidi would have reacted when she was healed, had she known it was actually happening? "Guess now you can… eat my apology pastries?" There's a hint of a laugh there. Apology breakfast had worked in the future…
"God sent you. I know he did," Trina whispers in Peter's ear before pulling away and resettling herself on her chair properly. She wipes furiously at her eyes with her palms, banishing the last of the tears. It doesn't hurt to sit up anymore, she notes next. There are pastries to consider. And they smell good. The world is so shiny, even with the world of wrong whirling around her head like a great maelstrom, that she is completely blind to it for now. All that she can think about is that she can't remember what this felt like. To not hurt or feel sick without constant medication.
She reaches forward to seize one, only to shove half of it directly into her mouth. Once she's there, practically choking on the mouthful, she smiles around it blissfully. Her body curls over soon after, masking the enormous swallow that she needs to execute in order to clear her mouth.
God sent him. Peter can't help but lower his eyes a bit and look sheepish. She says that after he admitted he could easily kill millions of people if he just didn't control himself? He doesn't repeat this particular thing, though, unable to be anything except mildly proud at the sight of her moving away and going for the pastries. This is far more like the Trina that he'd known, the one that he met in the future. He just performed the equivalent of a miracle. Who wouldn't be a little bit proud about that? "I'm glad I could help." That sounds very genuine.
No aches. No pain. Good night is Jack ever in trouble when he gets back. Trina is practically giddy at the thought. She bounces happily in her seat as she pushes more pastry in her mouth, eyes closing and face lifting upwards.
Peter brought a dead body in here? Okay, yeah, he was dead already. She's over it. Because Peter brought pastries and a rug and fixed her.
The world may be okay, after all.
After a few more chomps, the brunette then slows as some semblance of sobriety returns to her. She looks up to Peter, brow furrowing. "You… You ain't gonna tell anybody, right? About me? Jack's the only one who knows."
"If you don't want me to, I won't tell anyone," Peter says with a small nod. "Though I do think you should… give a thought at least to maybe… talking to me about what you can do. I can't promise that I can teach you or anything, but we could learn how to use your ability together— in a way that won't hurt people." There's no more argument that it can't hurt people— because it certainly had felt like she was going to squash him with it, but at the same time… he can't believe that it only has dangerous applications. What he did to the door was fairly harmless, just kept Jack there.
"I promise I won't tell anyone about you. Though I may tell Jack that I healed you if he asks— or Elena." He vaguely can't believe that no one told him how badly she was hurt— then again they may not have known all the details. Doctors don't have to tell boyfriends what's wrong with you.
"Only about the… the healing thing, though, right?" Trina pushes another small morsel into her mouth, considering. Her forehead is creased as she looks at Peter. "Are… are you sure that… I mean, do you really think that's my ability? Have you ever been, I dunno, wrong about that kinda thing?"
"Nothing else— except maybe the pastries— but why I gave you the pastries might be left out. Same as if I'd like it if you not mention the whole… why there's a hole in the carpet," Peter glances to the couch, where he knows there's a hole under it. "I left — that — out of some of my explanations of what happened." Mostly because he didn't want to worry anyone, or admit that he might have led to someone's death— even if he killed himself. "I'm sure it's your ability, though."
"I'm …kinda pretendin' there ain't no hole," Trina offers, turning her head to look at the couch. That head tilts. Man, this is such a mess. A hand reaches up to ruffle her hair, the other arm draping across herself and resting on her lap. "I guess I got a bit to think about."
"Yeah, I guess you do," Peter says, nodding to the rug. "That should help with pretending there isn't a hole there— it's a good rug. I found it on sale. You can return it if you don't want it after Jack replaced the carpet. Just tell him to take it out of the money he owes me— I'm sure he'll know what I mean by that."
He's watching her for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wallet. No money is drawn out, instead he pulls out a card. All hand written. "This is my cellphone number. If you want to talk or meet up and talk or if you need help— or healing— anything… you can call me and I'll try to be there." He should really just get these printed.
Trina looks to Peter at the last of that, her forehead crinkling in obvious confusion. "O-okay. I will." On both counts, apparently, as she moves to take Peter's card into her hand and looks it over. Putting it down on the table, she crosses her other arm over her knees and leans over. "You always got a safe place here, Peter. I'll make sure of it, best I can."
That makes him blink a little, as if it wasn't something he expected at all. Confusion is causing confusion. Peter does nod, though. "Keep yourself and Jack safe before me. I'll be fine." He survived a gunshot wound to the stomach without so much as a limp afterward— and he can survive just about anything in general. He glances down, though, that lopsided smile returning, "But it's nice to know I'm invited." That's important to him— her approval. She'd been one of the few whose approval really concerned him in the future, and it followed him back here— to someone he barely even knew about. "I should get going. You probably want to— do something— now that you can actually… do something." No more couch potato Trina.
Jack left her with a nurse for two months after promising to take care of her before she'd even retaught herself to walk without feeling on her left side. She'll forgive Peter Petrelli the body of somebody who tried kill him. So long as he doesn't make a habit of it. "Well, Jack seems pretty hellbent on making that a fulltime job." But Peter's itchin' to go. She can take a hint. Pushing herself to her feet with only that little bit of weakness that has come of her limited activity, she still marvels as she starts walking. It takes her a few steps for her to remember how to walk normally — without the pins and needles and numb — but it comes back soon enough, leaving her with the smooth stride she remembers. "Yeah. I got a couple things I should probably see to." Jack. And Derex.
Trina offers a sheepish smile and aversion of her eyes to the floor. "Yeah. Well. I don't really think I could ever stop sayin' thank you enough and covering it."
"Keeping me out of trouble would be a full time job, too, but luckily I can survive quite a bit more stuff than Jack can, so— taking care of him is far more important." Peter couldn't even count how many times he's died, and it'd be kind of sad if he mentioned it right now. "I intend to help you with taking care of him as much as he'll let me— but right now he just wants me to look after the people he's put in danger." Which included her… He rubs a hand through his hair. It's not so much he's in a hurry as he's afraid to wear out his welcome today— even if he did a lot more than he'd expected to smooth things over. "Just call me if you need any help with anything— Jack related or otherwise." Even if he has no idea how to help with certain things, he's making the offer anyway— there really needs to be ten of him for how much he makes this offer.
Either way he does start moving toward the door.
Trina gladly walks along beside Peter, feeling her legs stretch beneath her with her easy grace. She loops her arm through his, resting her head on his shoulder as if she'd known him for years. Too trusting, perhaps. But Jack said it was okay to trust him. …she sure hopes her darling boyfriend was right about that. "Don't worry about us, sugar. We like takin' care of things on our own." Once they reach the door, she pulls it open and hangs off of that instead. She feels no pain. It's euphoric in its way, and all she can do is over that pleased smile. "'Sides. It sounds like you got your hands full."
"I've noticed that— but as long as you know you can call me if you need to," Peter says, touching the doorknob. Hands full? Yeah… that he does… more than his hands can normally carry, even with super strength and time stop and… dozens of other abilities. "I'll stop by and visit— see if you can't get Jack to start cooking again. I've heard… people… say he's a good cook, but I've never seen it." With that said, he turns the knob and starts to move out.
"I'll see what I can do." Once Peter's in the hall, everything Trina says is for the neighbors' benefit. It's up to her to maintain appearances once in a while. "You have a good day! And thanks again for stoppin' by!" Offering a wiggle of her fingers, the brunette then quickly closes and latches the door behind her. Yeah, okay, she's been a little cautious lately. She doesn't like the door gaping open. Once that door is closed, however, she slumps, back hitting the door.
A lot to think about, indeed.