2007-08-01: Bless Me Father, For I Am Petrelli


Eric_icon.gif DFMcAlister_icon.gif DFTrina_icon.gif DFJack_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Summary: Sometimes knowing the code just isn't enough.

Dark Future Date: August 1st, 2009

Log Title Bless Me Father, For I Am Petrelli

Location Weichsel Carcass House - NYC

Weichsel House is an old-fashioned operation based out of one enormous room separated into sections by thick, opaque plastic curtains. One entire wall is dedicated to walk-in coolers and freezers. There are row after row of meathooks mounted on automated conveyors in the high ceiling, powered saws of all imaginable sizes and descriptions, and steel tables laid out with many hand-sized implements. Much of the equipment is still covered with dried blood. It looks as if the crew dropped what they were doing in the middle of a workday, walked out, and never came back. All that's missing is the meat. A creaky, shallow staircase at one side of the room leads up to a large, enclosed loft with a stout door and heavily shuttered windows.


This is what it sounds like when an industrial-strength circular saw slices through a partially frozen leg bone. When the (pork) limb has been hacked roughly in half, Jack drops his bloodied saw on one of the long, steel tables and peels off his apron and splatter-goggles. Gere and Freke are waiting expectantly at his heels, sitting very still with moist mouths and eager eyes like the well-trained guard dogs that they are. One of the halves goes to each of the Vallhunds, then the Irishman shucks his elbow-length rubber gloves in favor of short and snug leather ones. Hey. Everyone's got chores to do, right?

…well, at least Eric doesn't have to look very hard to find Jack.

Coming in from the loading dock area of the building, the young man pauses a moment and wrinkles his nose at this sight and the smell. The tailored jeans, designer denim jacket and shirt, and the shiny leather hiking boots don't quite fit in with the area. Eric though seems fairly comfortable, relaxed almost. Leaning against one wall he raises an eyebrow at the dogs tear into their dinner. "…hey, bossman." He finally comments, the smirk on his lips pulling at the long thin scar running across his jaw. "Got a minute?" He asks curiously before grinning slightly. "Oh. And I'm back."

Most people would've been alerted by the sound of a door slamming or footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. Not Jack, sadly. Impaired hearing is a single item on a laundry list of injuries and disabilities he ultimately has Nathan Petrelli to thank for. With one eardrum burst and the other perforated, he's come to rely and Gere and Freke to be his ears. Unfortunately, Gere and Freke don't think they need to stir or bark when friends come around, and certainly not when they have a meal to distract them. Greedy Gere doesn't even glance up from his bone, but Freke at least thumps her tail against the floor a few times when Eric comes in. The Shepherd's first clue that he's got a visitor is Eric speaking.

"Eh? How's that?" he replies. "Shit… Eric? C'mere and give us a hug, man. Fuck, it's good to see you."

Eric laughs as he shakes his head. "…the years haven't been kind to your hearing, Jack," The young man replies as he steps forwards out of the darkness with an honest smile coming to his face. He walks forwards and shakes his head as he does indeed give Jack a backslapping, friendly hug. He is of course wearing a pair of pistols in shoulder rigs, but that's to be expected nowadays. "…I thought everyone knew by now!" Eric says cheerfully as he steps back. "I've already been by the Zoo, and here at least once. I must have just missed you last time."

"It's a busy time," Jack agrees. He hugs back in a manly fashion, and when he withdraws, one gloved hand lingers on Eric's shoulder to give a quick squeeze. "An' not all of us can stay young and dashin' forever. Speakin of, you're lookin' pretty fit for a dead guy." He grins crookedly and gives Eric a gentle push in the direction of the stairs up to the converted living quarters. "C'mon. Step into my office an' I'll buy you a drink."

Laughing Eric shakes his head. "…lead on, Bossman. Lead on." He says waving a hand to have Jack show him around. He rolls his eyes though and shakes his head. "…dashing, my ass. As for being dead… Well, eight months in a hospital and six months of the best physical therapy money can buy can work wonders for being dead." He adds with a shrug. "Can't fix everything, but it does a decent enough job." Smirking slightly he follows the older man. "…oh, I have news…and presents…and yes. It's the old good news, bad news bit. So which do you want first?"

When Jack hears the words 'bad news', everything else pretty much slips between the cracks. He unlocks the door to the converted office space that serves as storage, bedroom, gymnasium, and intelligence center for the Saints. Flicking the lightswitch illuminates the area with bare, unshaded bulbs suspended from the ceiling. Still a little tense, he crosses over to the old-fashioned soda machine and fishes a fistful of quarters from the pocket of his battered jeans. "Let's get the bad news out of the way," he finally replies, his voice as hoarse and gravelly as it's ever been since his throat was damaged.

"…it's not that bad as far as bad news goes, so don't get too worried," Eric replies as he slides a sheet of papers out of one of the multitude of pockets of his jacket. "Elena called, Dark Angel is it?" He asks with a half smile. "Trina took it and asked me to give the message to you. She's going to need extraction in about three days, gave a time and place for it." Handing the paper over he gives Jack a lopsided smile. "…that's not so bad is it?"

WHOOSH! Jack lets out a loud, pent-up breath and deflates a little. During the war, bad news always meant that someone else had died. Usually a good friend like Sal or Cohen. "Sorry, mate," he mutters. "Force o' habit." He drops four coins into the machine's slot and operates the slide twice in quick succession. The can he hands Eric in exchange for the message isn't anything fancy. Just a cola. At least it's cold, though. Once the initial tenseness dissipates he smiles widely. "Man. Elena's okay." Obviously, but saying it out loud makes him feel a little better. "It's been more than a week since we heard from her," he explains. "If all she needs is pickup, we'll handle that in two shakes."

"Hot pickup I think were her words so that should be fun," Eric shakes his head slightly. "No problem…I understand," And he does. Quiet for a moment he then looks up again with a grin. "Alright. Good news, has Trina told you about my little offer yet?" He asks as he pulls a second sheef of paper out of his jacket and sets the folded packet on a desk there. "…if she has then I'd like to hear your opinion of it, and if she hasn't then I get to pitch it to you now."

Hot pickup? Jack frowns in response to this. Still, Elena is a big girl now. She's tough, and resourceful, and she knows how to handle herself. No need to worry, right? Right.

"I haven't heard anything about no offer. Just got in a few minutes ago. Had to make a late delivery over at Candyland." Jack chucks a thumb over his shoulder, vaguely indicating a direction that might be where Candywasteland is actually located. "What've you got, kiddo?"

"…ah well, Trina left the plans around here for you I'm betting, but I have a second copy," Unfolding the plans Eric reveals what looks to be blueprints for a building. "I bought a set of penthouse apartments in the upscale neighborhood. It's by a run down factory complex which is why it went out of business. Now somehow…" He smirks slightly. "…when the place was remodeled about three or four underground levels didn't get added to any but these special blueprints here. They include a garage, lab, armory, and recording booth as well as plenty of first class living quarters. I was wondering if you knew anyone that might be interested in using the space."

A grin towards the Saint before he adds. "It's got four entrances from the factories, most of which I own and are abandoned. All very remote and secure, along with an underground entrance to the garage, and a pair of boltholes just in case."

Initially, the offer makes Jack a little suspicious. Not of Eric, but of how good the offer itself sounds. The language of drafting is one that he's learned to speak well during his time as a freedom fighter. He studied the blueprints with his eyes critically narrowed, searching for any perceived flaw. He's silent for several very long moments. Then he swallows and lifts his gaze to meet Eric's. "Good God, man. You're gonna give 'em a real place to live." The words are quiet, almost to the point of being a whisper. "It's perfect. Thanks, man. Just. You have no idea how happy Trina will be to sleep in a real bed. And she can put Baby in the garage and keep her safe. And-and-and Elena can have a bathroom with a mirror and a real shower." He's grinning and bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. His eyes sparkle merrily. "Kid, I owe you one. So big."

"…yeah…I thought if you're going to be Saints, your going to need somewhere to live," Eric replies before he smiles and nods towards the other man. "I…wanted to try to give them a bit of a home. I've been gone awhile, missed helping, missed…" He sighs a moment and shakes his head. "…well, I've missed a lot. Maybe this'll make it up somewhat. Though…that's not the rest reason why I did it, not the only reason at least." He gives him a grin though and shakes his head. "You don't owe me anything, Jack. I have the money and the influence. I'm just trying to help out…"

He blinks a moment then before he stands out. "Oh yeah, the present!"

"What? There's more?" Jack is already verging on being overwhelmed. A home is the one thing he's always been unable to snap his fingers and provide for his crew. He takes his cold, unopened cola and presses it to his forehead as an improvised cool compress. The contact helps him to collect his thoughts. "You already did good, man," he continues. "The only present I'ma need from anyone is a night off to spend with m'love." He smiles and tilts the can of soda so he can peer over at Eric and grin. "But if you've got more, I'm listenin'."

"Just one more, I thought it might be better ta show you this though…" And Eric grins before walking over to one of the walls. He nods to himself then sets his hand on it, a sheet of darkness shoots up the wall from his hand and he grins slightly…then sticks his hand through the darkness. He pauses. He frowns. "…just a second…" He mutters to himself, and then sticks his head and shoulders though the dark patch on the wall.

So. If Ali happens to walk in now…there happens to be half an Eric sticking out of the wall.


A moment later though he pulls himself out of the wall grinning like a loon. "Put it too far back…" He mutters before handing Jack…a gun case. "…happy birthday."

"Whoa… Whoa!" Jack pulls the cold soda he's using as an ice pack away from his forehead so he can properly appreciate the sight of Eric partially disappearing into the wall. When the case is pushed in his direction he accepts it reverently. "Aww… Man, you shouldn't have." Touched to receive a gift as thoughtful as a new weapon, he inclines his head respectfully, then drops to his knees so he can set the case down and flip the latches. Inside is an enormous, bulky assault rifle with two clips and two barrels. "Oh. My. God. It's so pretty." Reverently, the former bartender picks it up and raises it to sight down the large, scope-like attachment bolted to the top. "Holy crap. It's a targeting doohickey with an IFF. You're the coolest kid in the school, Eric. Thanks."

… "That's me." Ali protests, mildly - "I've never been cool before, and you said I was, and — seriously. That's just not fair." She waves a hand at the case, drifting in from the loading dock, moving slow and a bit out of breath. "How am I supposed to compete with hardware?" It's a mock-whine, but a whine nonetheless, coupled with a grin as the woman carries her transmission rig across the killing floor.

Jack stands and hefts his new toy, showing it off for Ali. "Lookit what Eric got me! Isn't it pretty? It's like two guns in one and I dunno what either one of them does but MAN are they shiny." OMG. OMG. Grinning like a fool, he pulls one of the clips from the butt of the weapon. "Oh MAN. These are tiny grenades!"

"…20mm grenades," Eric replies with a laugh before he blinks slightly and glances down at his pocket. "…damn. No rest for the wicked and all that," He winks towards Ali and grins towards Jack. "I'll see you two around…" A grin at Ali. "…and trust me, Radio Girl. You're still cool." With that, and feeling quite pleased with himself, Eric turns and steps into the wall of darkness, and is gone.

"I'm." She watches Eric go.. then mutters. "Why do I get the feeling he tells everybody that?"

"Because he does tell everybody that." Humming tunelessly under his breath, Jack busies himself with checking some of his new toy's bells and whistles. After a few seconds he glances up at Ali again, just in time to watch her watch Eric on his way out. A smile tugs at one half of his mouth, but he does his best to suppress it. "I see you've met our patron Saint," he rasps, his voice made even rougher than usual by a long night and day of exertion. "Eric is a good kid. Dunno what I would've done without him helpin' make ends meet over the years."

"He's. pretty nice." Ali admits that— choosing a rusted railing to lean against, carefully. "He's /sweet/. He kinda reminds me of Buster Keaton—the actor—and I told him that. Dunno why." Bluntly, she asks — "When's the last time you slept?"

Hello pot, my name's kettle. I've something to discuss with you re: your hue?

".. and. I have to tell you something, and it sounds weird even for me. Unless Trina already got to you."

"Sleep? Wuzzat?" Jack counters wryly. Somewhat reluctantly, he slings the dual-barreled weapon around his shoulders by its canvas sling and lets it hang at his side. "I got a couple hours before I left this morning." He waves a hand dismissively and shifts topics. "I haven't talked to Trina today. She was gone when I woke up. What's on your mind, darlin'?"

"I was droppin' some stuff off to Cass - and I ran across Lachlan. He says hi, in his own way, by the way." Ali's… more serious than usual, leaning to the side to set that transmitter down, quick to tuck a hand that is visibly unsteady into her pocket once it's laid aside. "There was a guy there - looked just like Petrelli - Peter. Spitting image, except shaved within the last week and found a stylist somewhere. He didn't know you were around - didn't know me. And Lachlan /hugged/ him - said something about it being Peter, but not Peter.."

She shakes her head once, with a frown. "I got a feeling something really isn't right with this one. I mean /really/ isn't right. I know, I'm paranoid."

Jack crosses his arms over his chest and nods agreeably. "I met 'im, too. He says he's from the past. Not really sure what to make of it. I'm convinced it's him an' not some sorta imposter. What I'm not convinced of issat 'Lena won't kill him the second she lays eyes on him." He coughs delicately into a leather-gloved fist. "Can't say that I'd blame her. The Peter we ended up with is a right cock-up compared to the old one." He puts his semi-serious teasing aside and lays a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're not the only one who thinks it smells fishy," he assures her.

"… yeah, well.." Ali takes a breath. "Homeland's tightening up. You know that — and then this guy shows up that gets right in past Alliance security and .." She bites her lip, looking down. "Fuck it. I'm just scared, Jack. This guy just walked right into Cass's place, and there's every chance he's gonna walk right into the Zoo, and here - and, damnit, we got enough trouble. And if Elena wants to kill him - I might help her."

"Whooooooa. Slow down, cowgirl." Jack wraps an arm around Ali's waist and gives her a quick, reassuring squeeze. "There'll be no killing of Peter Petrelli. For now. Err… Actually, you can kill the scruffy one wot gots the long hair if you want. He's a pecker." He sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, then lets it out with a WHOOSH noise. It's an old habit he uses to calm himself. "I'm not crazy about this either, but if he is who he says he is, then we have to help him. If he can get back to his own time, he might be able to change things. Make it so we don't all have to live like this."

Lord, she's thin. Sharp edges under shapeless clothes - obvious in that quick hug. And she shrugs, slightly. "All I got is this, Jack. It sucks, sometimes. One night I'll probably eat a bullet. I can live with that.. but what's one guy going to do that we didn't already try? Don't get my hopes up? Right now, I'm having trouble anyway." Now /that/ is an admission. "But.. I'll follow your lead. You know I will."

"Hey!" Jack's voice is now a sharp, ear-catching bark. "You can't eat no bullets. S'not allowed, and that's an order. If this is all you've got, you guys are all that I've got." Now he folds Ali up into a proper hug. "I can't believe I'm actually sayin' this, but hope is what's keepin' us alive. If I ever have kids, I hope they don't have to see the things that we've all seen. That's enough hope and reason for me to keep fightin' no matter what. If this time-travelin' Petrelli even might be able to help, we have to try. God, girl. You're scrawny." His last observation is quiet and mournful. He looses his grip on her and glances away.

When he hugs? Ali hugs back just as fiercely - eyes closed. And for once, her voice is small, "Sure. No eating bullets. Got it." Defensively, though - with a trace of her prior humor, the DJ points out - "Hey. I'm bucking for supermodel when this is all over. You watch. I'll be on the cover of Vogue and you'll be /jealous/. You can point to it and say 'I knew her when' and write a book."

The two are near a railing, Jack's New Toy on its case in the floor nearby, Ali's transmitter rig on the ground near her feet.

Jack laughs. It's a warm, rich sound that comes from deep down in his belly. A belly laugh is about the only happy noises he's capable of making any longer, so he's always trying to make the most of them. "You gonna strut around on a stage wearin' one o' those outfits wot looks like three bottle caps and some string? I bet that'd get ol' Eric's attention." Sly, sly Jack.

And Ali flushes. "Yeah, right. Well, yes on the outfit. But yeah /right/ on the attention." Mildly embarrassed, indeed - "He needs a chick that isn't likely to top Homeland's most wanted each week. And do you have any /clue/ the last time I had a date? Seriously. I'm going to end up babysitting everybody else's and be happy with it."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're a pretty thing, and wise boys would admire your strength of character. Rebel girls are hot, right?" Jack grins, but it fades to a slightly puzzled smile after a few seconds. "I haven't seen you with a beau since I dunno when." He fixes Ali with an appraising stare. "If you're one o' them lesbodians, you can tell me. You can tell ol' Jackie anything." Again, he coughs into his fist. Compassionate Jack is Compassionate.

"Jack!" Ali stares. "i.. not that there's something.." She grumps. "AUGH. Men. Christ. No. Look… pretend for a minute you're me."

There's a moment's pause.

"Do not grab your chest. It's not all about the boobs. Seriously."

Jack halts with his hands halfway to cupping his imaginary boobs. "Uh. Uh. Okay. I'm pretendin'. If I don't have boobies, do I have a…" He points down at his groin with both index fingers and whispers, "A poochie?" It's an important question. He'll literally do anything for his team, including imagine he's a chick. If he's gonna do a good job, he has to know the details. Anything for the cause, right?

Ali cannot help but laugh. And.. you know? It eases the lines of her a bit, something long overdue. She actually relaxes, slightly - "… I don't trust me. And yes, if you want one. It's your time of the month. There. Method acting. Go for it." She rolls her eyes, still snickering. "Besides the fact that you guys make no sense… look. I tell people what to do. How to feel. And all I keep thinking is, 'so when this gets serious, what happens then?' And.. besides. So maybe he's interested. There's this whole war thing, you know?" Sure, it's a little dodgy - but she's still laughing. That's good, right?

"You're gonna give me a poochie and make it my time of the month?" Jack narrows his eyes and poke Ali in the ribs with one long, wiry index finger. "That's mean." He closes his eyes and lets his arms hang at his sides. A hiss of breath escapes from between his teeth and he shakes his hands vigorously to loosen the muscles of his upper body. Jack Derex is prepared to pretend he has a vagina.

Then Ali had to go and spoil it for everyone by getting all serious again. Caught in mid coquettish-pose, he gasps and coughs as he hastily reorganizes his limbs into a more manly arrangement. "Uh. War. Right. The thing is, we only live once, kiddo. If you've gotta live as a freedom fighter, you may as well make the most of it."

"Yeah. 'cause my life expectancy's off the charts." Ali reaches out and swats at Jack's shoulder.

Hey, if she knew what she was doing? That swat might be worth something. She doesn't. It's not. "I read. I talk on the radio. I throw bricks at cops. This is the win. There's a lion over at the zoo that thinks I'm cuddly without being gropey." She winks. "C'mon - let's get you and your mangina upstairs — I gotta thing. For you. It's shiny. Makes funny sounds. Plugs into the wall. You're gonna love it."

There's a deep rumble outside the plant. Accompanied by growls and rattling, it is the sound of a familiar, abused GMC engine. As was the case late this morning, there's the sight of a driver wrapped in clothes far too warm for this time of year, sunglasses too big for the face they're on with too dark for the now-twilight, bulky Applejack cap, a scarf obscuring the lower half of the face.

Once the figure behind the wheel has punched in the proper sequence of buttons deep within the glove compartment, one of the bay doors down on the unloading floor some distance away from the chatting duo starts opening, and the small, former U-Haul makes its way inside. The door pulls high enough to grant the vehicle entrance, and holds just long enough for it to slip under before quickly rolling back shut.

Once the bay is once again sealed, Trina takes the glasses from her face and settles back against the faded black vinyl seat to close her eyes for a second. Be it ever so humble, there's truly no place like home. After that second, she reaches down and pulls at the door handle. It never likes being opened from the outside, but it hates being opened from the inside more. Someday, she'll have spare time enough to fix it. However, for right now, to her utter lack of her surprise, it sticks and refuses to budge.

And again, there's the outright war with the driver-side door as Trina tries to kick her way to freedom. "Gawd damned piece of shit," she hisses somewhere in the middle of the process. This may take a while.

"You did what? Man…" Jack stoops over to scoop up the case for his new rifle. He's heading in the direction of the stairs when the roar and rattle of the Saints' work truck sounds out loud enough that even he can hear it. "Trina!" He pivots on the ball of one foot and jogs back down toward the garage, taking two and three steps with each pounce. The immense and bulky new gun that Eric brought him is hanging around his body on a canvas sling; it bouncebouncebounces against his back as he runs. He pushes through the door to the garage and makes a beeline for the truck's faulty door. "Hey baby!" he shouts cheerfully and he wrenches and twists at the reluctant handle. "Man, this is the best day ever!"

Ali.. oh, she grins, but - it's wistful in Jack's sudden enthusiasm. And.. she paces herself.

She isn't jogging that way - she takes her time, no less enthusiastic, just moving slower. In sight of the cab, and still up a bit in the plant's interior, she offers a wave, leaning on the rail there - calling down only when the engine stops, "Geez. It's like having a really big, heavily armed, puppy!"

When Jack comes to help her, Trina's smile is warm, but tired. "Hey, sugar." Then she peers at the strap that is on her beau's shoulder. When he finally wrests the door open for her, she slips out of the truck and the weariness gives way for genuine amusement. She hasn't seen him this happy in a long time, and it warms a special little corner of her heart to see it. "Best day, huh? What happened? The Primo Asshole fall into a faultline or something?" Man, that would be Fan.Tas.Tic.

Jack assists Trina on her way down from the large truck and grins wider as he holds up his new toy for her inspection. "Lookit what Eric got me. She's beautiful, isn't she? So pretty. She's a little chunky, but there's nothing wrong with a fat girl." With two clips, two barrels, and a single trigger to operate them all, it's a singularly mean-looking weapon. "Isn't it shiny? All chrome-y an' stuff, right? And one o' these clips has grenades in it. I can't wait to blow up some badguys." Perkier than he's been in months, the Irishman links one arm through Trina's and continues happily. "An' Eric found us a real place to stay wot gots beds an' bathrooms an' a real oven an' a garage for Baby an' all kinds of stuff."

But Trina gets a mischievous grin. "… 'Trina, hon? I think he likes it. You're gonna have to put papers down if he gets any more excited, too." She can't help but tease.

At the mention of Eric's place, Trina stops their merry little walk. "The gun's great, darlin'," she comments, only to be distracted by the next flurry of words. And Ali's commentary.

There's a wry grin tossed up to McAlister. "Well, I guess we'll just have to call Lachlan in if we have to have a discussion about housebreaking." Then her brow furrows as she looks at Jack, regaining her typical look of concern. "I left the full set of plans under the futon. I meant to tell you about it. 'm sorry." It was just for safe keeping until she could talk to Jack in person. "But… are you sure about movin'?" Moving would be great, and he's not saying anything that she hasn't thought of. Except for the fact that they'd be giving up the giant landmine of radiation that protects them here.

"I would probably spend at least some of my time here," Jack admits to Trina. "Eric's building would be home, but this would be the office. Speakin' of, I have to dash off a quick set of orders on the squawkbox. Be back in a sec. Gere! Freke!" He whistles for his Vallhunds, who leave off their bone-gnawing and follow him up to his workstation in the loft.

There's a sudden noise. Someone just started to open the bay doors. There's suddenly a worried sound — a curse maybe? — from outside, as if the person who opened it is worried about the sound. A little after it's open enough for someone to slip in, someone does— only they're not visible. The door closes again, as if it never opened, and Peter Petrelli dissolves into visibility, holding the clicker doohickey that Jack had given him when they met in the Zoo. Whew… He turns to look around, anyone home? Should he have knocked first?

Ali watches Jack go - laughing softly… and then blinks, and focuses on that door. And her alto is /warning/. "Trina.."

And she forgets being tired and the rest, already starting for the stairs as Peter suddenly, abruptly, goes visible. That her mouth sits in a thin, disapproving line may not be a good sign. No, not at all.

Jack leaves. The bay door opens. And there's no one immediately there. Trina immediately turns, black-lined blue eyes narrowing into distrusting slits. They've been over those doors, living with them for over a year. They don't open by themselves. There's a cloud of dirt and debris that flies around her feet as she quickly erects a forcefield. With the warning Ali gives, it's all the woman needs to go on the offensive. "On it." And then.. Peter appears.

The boot-wearing brunette chooses that moment to strike, racing forward and hand stretching out to help focus her concentration to switch the forcefield's center and wrap it instead about what could or could not be an intruder, then lifting the whole of the bubble up. She moves to stand just shy of underneath it, her face seized by a deadly sneer. "You have two seconds to tell me who the fuck you are, what you're doing here, and why I shouldn't squeeze you down to the size of a marble." Her lips curl upward into a pale mockery of a smile as her eyebrows flick upward at another thought. "…Or maybe I could just cut off the flow of oxygen. That might be fun to watch," she hisses, the smile fading. She knows who he looks like. She also knows that the form would be an entirely effective ganger to doppel.

…crap. Why is it the women in this timeline that are so scary? Peter lets out a yelp as he's grabbed in much the way he might have grabbed someone else with his own mental abilities. He doesn't lash out, though, because he recognizes her. She's Jack's sunshine. Trina. The last time he got attacked by a woman he used to know, it was because he didn't know the code, this time— he does. At first there's a squeaked, "Bless— bless me father for I have sinned." He's definitely not moving now, but he's hoping that she lets go soon and doesn't do the squishing thing. He's not sure he can come back from that.

There's a serious moment where the debate going on in Ali's mind is visible. It slides on a spectrum between 'solve this problem now' and the 'wishes of Jack'… and you know? For a long, long moment, she stays on the wrong end of it.

As she moves up to behind Trina, though.. well. The heart behind the head wins out. Muttering, she just says, "… let m' go, Trina. Jack knows him. I don't trust him.. but. Jack does."

Trina's head tilts into a very suspicious look. Even Asshole Peter doesn't know that code, and this one is all clean cut. Her eyes are dangerous slits for a few moments, but at least the forcefield holds at its current diameter. "Who told you to say that?" Not all of the Saints are home, and some may not be *coming* home tonight. It's a fact of which she is painfully aware. In a world of telepaths and torturers, there are few codes that are genuinely secure. And she isn't feeling particularly trusting. It's a Petrelli. Petrellis look out for one thing: themselves. So, in Trina's mind, either it's Asshole Peter, somehow, or it's Evil Nathan's minion.

Either way, it doesn't spell anything particularly pleasant for Team Awesome, and she is hardly about to let anything threaten the safety of their home. "I swear on everything that's holy, you ain't gettin' to Derex." Then there's a shout back to McAlister, Trina never taking her eyes off of Petrelli. "Go get Jack. Jack wants him let go, I'll do it. If he don't, you tell him to stay right where he is and you bring me a gawd damned gun." Because she is not gonna stand idly by and let a Petrelli do anything else to her man.

"Jack— Jack's the one who told me to say it— when we saw each other— yesterday at the Zoo, when he dropped off the crickets." There's definitely a hint of panic in the younger, more clean cut Peter Petrelli. He's also not wearing the long black trench coats that the other one is well-known for. People really don't like the other him, do they? "He also gave me this," he shifts his eyes down towards his hand, which holds the control thing he was given to open the door. Jack could have been nice enough to tell his girlfriend that he was given this?

Ali.. doesn't yet go. Instead, she looks up at the stairs… then to Trina, then to The Object of Interest, there. And she shakes her head. "I suddenly got a better idea." And she slowly moves for the bubble, her words meant for Trina - "We'll never get another chance to get the truth. The real truth. How long can you hold him?" And … she shakes out her hands. Takes a slow breath.

In most movies when someone teleports or steps out of the shadows there is a FWOOSH or a ZOT or some other silly kind of sound effect. In reality there isn't a sound at all, just empty darkness and then not so empty darkness. That's what happens when Eric Lancaster reappears. Stepping out of the shadows to one side of the little standoff he blinks once at the two women, and then at the trapped Petrelli. A smirk comes to his face and he shakes his head a moment.

"…you really do have a way with the ladies, don't you, Peter?" Eric asks lightly as he steps further into the light. A glance then towards him, a slight frown and then a nod. "…you're the one I met in the Zoo aren't you?" He asks with a raised eyebrow before he shakes his head slightly, a grin coming to his face. "…I think this one is on the level, Trina…but if you and Ali want to entertain him a bit I'll go see if I can find Jack." He offers with a shrug.

It's poor Peter's luck; he decided to stop by not minutes after Trina's return home. The timing reeks of her being tailed. "I'll hold him as long as you need me to. Don't you doubt that." Reaching up, Trina tries to subtly wipe the sweat that is beginning to bead on her brow just beneath the small outward jutting brim of the large, black crocheted hat that holds all of her dark hair up and out of sight under its bulging shape. She'll hold him, but it's starting to wear on her.

Then there's Eric's appearance. After she lifts her hand to cover her mouth as she coughs, she addresses the new arrival. "I'll tell you what I told her. Get me Jack if he'll come. Get me a gun if he won't. Don't bother coming back if you ain't got either."

"Eric!" Peter exclaims, surprised and looking a little relieved— but then he's talking about letting the ladies entertain him for a while. Their form of entertainment is really starting to worry him. Sure, if Peter wanted to fight back, he could, but he doesn't tend to fight back. This one certainly doesn't. "Yeah, it's me…" He has all the luck when it comes to timing, it would seem. And ladies threatening to kill him. But— if the other man isn't going to vouch for him, all he can do is look towards Ali. He has a good idea about what she can do because of things said by his ex-girlfriend back when they were still together. He takes a slow breath. "Go ahead— ask me for the truth."

Ali's eyebrow climbs to a near stratospheric height… and she gives Trina a worried, and somewhat significant look. After all - that the Voice is more than a voice on the radio is not precisely common knowledge among the Homeland Security set - or so it's hoped.

"You should tell me how you know what I'm about to do." Calm, simple, focused - even warm. "Then you just tell us who you are. Really. And then we'll go from there." There's no subtlety - not yet. Not now. There's too little time… but that she puts considerable focus into the words? Yeah. Harder to do that way.. but desperate times mean cutting corners.

"…alright, Trina, alright. Though I'm telling you he's the real thing. If you trust me, you'll let him go and he'll tell you what you want…" Eric shrugs though as he turns to go. "…and if he tries anything Jack does have a new toy up there that'll put a nice size hole in just about anything." Grenade launchers tend to do that, yes. A glance then at Trina, and then at Peter, and then at Ali.


"Good luck, man." And with that he strolls off to find Jack.

"Don't worry about it, Eric," Peter says, taking a slow breath before he goes to shift his eyes back to Ali. No reason to lie about this. "I found out from Elle and her roommate Jane. I was dating Elle at the time still, and she mentioned you as one of her new friends, and there were comments made where Jane thought you could tell people what to do and they would do it." But she seemed the nicer variety of it, compared to the ones he met afterwards. "I'm Peter Petrelli— but I traveled here from two years ago— two years and handful of days now— I've never even met you until a few days ago, McAllister— and the first time I met you… Trina… you went into a coma the same day— you're still in it when I come from." At least as far as he knows. "I'm here to find out what went wrong so we can fix it."

Ali stares at Peter - ever have that moment where the train of one's thoughts derails, and turns into a muddled mess of shopping lists, worries, and memories scattered about like… a bit of an overextended metaphor? Nevermind. But Ali actually seems speechless, for a moment.

No mean feat.

Yet, even so… she looks over to Trina, getting out.. "Let him go." And the tiredness returns - crashing in. "Just.. yeah. I don't know what he is, but he's not Homeland."

Eric goes whistling though the halls looking for Jack. Making his way back to the office he notes the light on and sticks his head in. Grinning he jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Hey Jack, I'm back… and your girl is downstairs force choking the nice Peter. Thought you might want to know, she was saying something about a gun when I left." Beam beam smile.

"Yeah, I got better," Trina growls in response to the talk about the coma. Everything in her is screaming to hold him in place. Eric's saying to let him go, but no longer here. Ali's saying to let him go, but not looking ready to defend. Fear of losing Jack is overriding all sense. So… hold Peter she does, despite the fact that her hand is starting to shake as a further outward sign of strain. "Jack'll be here soon enough to sort it out, then. You ain't goin' nowhere 'til he is." Then there's a flicker of emotion somewhere around Katrina's lips, chipping away at the stone cold expression that currently reigns over her features. It's an ironic sort of smile. It's not there long; just long enough for her to offer with an eerily chipper voice, "Sorry!" Sorta. Okay, not really, but at least she's not threatening to shoot Peter anymore?

For now.

"Willing to stay as long as you need me to," Peter says, shifting his eyes around, because he's honestly afraid to test too much of the field to see how much he can move. Oxygen? He'd like to keep it for the moment. "Glad to hear you got better— tried to heal you, but— still not very good at that. Think I just… stabilized you a little, but that's…" He actually sounds guilty for something that happened two years ago? Well, for him it was a lot less time. "I'm telling the truth— I really am from the past. But since I barely know either of you… I'm not sure how to prove it." Jack, at least, he could answer a question for.

Jack drops his radio handset with a clatter and bolts to his feet. He grabs Eric by the arm and drags him along in the direction of the scuffle. When he crosses the threshold between the office and the packing room he pauses in the doorway. "Let him down. It's okay, baby. You did good." Jack doesn't raise his ragged voice, but it carries a note of quiet pride. After all, Pete will survive. He smiles disarmingly as he limps down the steps to join everyone. "This is Peter Petrelli circa 2007," he explains. He limps closer to the still-captive and now younger Peter, his head cocked to one side as he studies him intently. "You know, I think I'll call you Nice Guy to keep things simple. It's better than This Peter and Other Peter. Makes it sound like a bloody sausage party's goin' on."

Ali backs up a few steps - and, failing to find anything to lean against? Simply sits. Right there. In the floor. She rubs at her hand, "… There's really two of them?" She honestly looks stricken. "Keeping up with one is hard enough." A pause - then.. a muttered, vaguely in Peter's direction.. "Sorry."

"I was in a public hospital for nearly two gawd damned months," Trina snaps viciously back at Peter in his little bubble (about a foot out from each of his dimensions), pale blue eyes turned icy cold. "If you're lookin' for a secret fact, you're just gonna have to Go Fis—."

And then Jack's gravelly voice resonates over the room. Jack's telling her to let him go. The frown holds, but now Trina's eyes at least are softening as she allows her gaze to flicker briefly at her leader as he comes to inspect her quarry. Questioning. "You sure, darlin'? Once I let him go—" She trails off, not willing to admit the truth in front of a Petrelli. She's not gonna be able to get the field back up. She's barely holding it as it is, as is evidenced by the increasingly visible variations seemingly on the air between Peter and the rest of the room. Fluctuations in the field.

Eric gets dragged back by Jack, stumbling the last few steps. A pause as he looks towards the three, then he beams at Trina a moment, points at Jack. "…found him." He says towards her before standing up again and brushing off his jacket. A glance around before he looks towards Ali and blinks in some surprise. "…you alright?" He murmurs towards her quietly.

He pauses again though, turning his grey eyes back towards the little group. "You can always call him P2, but that sounds like some kind of odd robot doesn't it?" He shrugs before he grins towards Peter. Don't worry, she'll let you out.

There are no secret facts that he can think of. At least not ones he'd be able to share with this mechanic. Peter looks a little helpless, until Jack appears. His eyes shift again, brighten, a spark of hope. That hopeful look is something only the insane still possess in this world, right? "Nice Guy works… I guess." It's not insulting, and he's come to learn the guy he became is an asshole. As the air starts to shimmer, he can't help but glance towards it. "This isn't like what I do, is it? It's something else…" He's actually interested for a moment, before he shakes his head. "Had no idea you were even like us," he admits, almost at a whisper. She is, though. He knows this now. "I won't try anything, I promise. I just— Jack said you guys would help me." A glance towards Jack. Right? Right? … "…and I'm not the second one, I'm an… older version restored." It's like a car.

Ali flashes Eric a smile - but hey. His attention's diverted - and she doesn't have to answer. So .. she doesn't. Instead - she just takes a breath, looking between this bunch… and ultimately focusing on Jack.

Fearless leader, after all. "You were serious. I figured he was just really good at snowing people. It still doesn't make any sense."

"I'm sure." Now having reached Trina's side, he loops an arm around her waist and beams down at her. Good girl. Protect home. Protect family. He presses a fond, gentle kiss to his cheek and gives her a squeeze. Then he releases her and move to stand almost underneath Peter. He's not about to sacrifice himself and break the other man's fall, but he'll be there to make sure Pete doesn't go ass over teakettle. "That's right, boy-o. You an' me are too good o' friends for me to watch you go by the wayside twice. Now brace for impact." When Jack is ready he nods to Trina.

If Trina had any idea of what secret she was betraying for her past self, she might be a little more horrified. Honestly, she doesn't remember anymore when it was that she admitted that she had abilities to the world at large. Much less why it was that she didn't just get it over with sooner. Those are details that were long since deemed unimportant and forgotten, crushed under the weight of more important information. No, instead she just feels Jack's arm about her waist and a kiss against her clammy cheek. The world is again right.

As Jack moves away, Katrina adjusts her weight to prepare for the aftermath. Alright. Ready now. When the Shepherd gives the word, the slender woman's hand drops and her entire body slumps. She manages, however, to stay upright and keep her gaze on Peter. She's beyond exhausted, the knees in her tight, faded denim jeans turn towards each other to keep her nominally stable, her chest quietly heaves against the confines of her small black tank top from the exertion, but the dark look is clear and still vividly painted on her partially down-turned face. You'd better not try anything.

Eric watches the little group before shaking his head. He's almost jealous of the bond that Trina and Jack have. But instead of being jealous, he's more…happy for the both of them. Happy that they found some nice bright spark of awesome in the middle of all this hell on earth. He smiles, a slight secret smile. Almost wistful in a way before he shakes it away and banishes it back behind the smirking facade that he shows the world. Smiling he shakes his head before turning towards Peter.

"Welcome to Chateau de Jack," He says to the Past Peter. "…so…what have you found out about the future so far Nice Guy?" He asks with a slight shrugging of his shoulders before him. He pauses a moment though, eying Ali. Ugh. Damn upbringing. Getting in the way.

Snapping his fingers a moment he calls up a small patch of darkness, and then just casually sticks his arm in there, it disappears up to the shoulder. He seems to be looking for something.

Down he goes. Peter braces himself well enough, and he's used to falling distances, so this isn't too bad. Catching himself, he stumbles a little, before straightening and looking around. "Sorry— I guess I should have… found some way to warn you I'd be stopping by." The apology is said with a grimace, and he looks down to make sure everything's intact. Squished into a marble… That wouldn't have been fun at all. He puts the controller into his pocket finally, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have chosen this day to wander across the city to try and learn more. "Quite a… lady you got there…" He runs hands over his chest a few times, as if to make sure it's all there. It is. "…I've learned the future sucks."

Ali, for now? She just watches - even trying out a faint smile. Well, at least until Peter brings up the future. "… could be worse? It could be raining." She even does a passable Igor (EYE-gor) impersonation, as obscure as it is.

And… she tucks her hands into her lap, watching the conversation as it unfolds. Eric's rummaging is subject to interest, mind you. Not every day someone just shoves their hands into shadows.

Everyone's alright, and the danger is seemingly passed. As the adrenaline further leeches out of her system, Trina doesn't say anything to Peter's commentary. Instead, she just tries to remove the knit hat she wears, now soaked with sweat. Her vision's getting blurry from fatigue that is setting in, and the hat ends up simply getting knocked off of her head and onto the floor. She doesn't bother picking it up, black hair hanging around her face like a curtain. She tries to maintain a glare, but the energy is no longer there. Now it's a battle just to keep her eyes open.

"Ali! Steady her up for me, okay?" Jack points to the staggering Trina. The only betrayal of his regret that he's not attending to her personally is a slight narrowing of his grey eyes. Meanwhile, he guides Peter toward the steps, which should serve as a more than adequate place to sit down and catch one's breath. Because the sooner Peter gets settled, the sooner Jack can get to Trina. The Shepherd pats the younger man on the back reassuringly. "She's really somethin', ain't she?" he murmurs. For a moment he goes glassy-eyed as he gazes at his lady. "Give everybody time to get used to you. I have the benefit o' havin' met Hiro, so I've dealt with the time travel thing before."

"…and here I thought I was the only one that liked Young Frankenstein," Eric replies with a smirk towards Ali before he pulls out a set of folding chairs. One for each of them. They're nice padded ones, and he passes one towards Ali as he pulls it out, and then starts setting up the rest for the rest of the people, setting one up for Trina first. Then Peter, and then handing one towards Jack.

Ali levers herself up — careful and easy — to receive that chair, setting it up as almost an afterthought. See, there's this Trina person, and she ain't exactly steady — well, the DJ does, indeed, reach out to support her her. It's debatable how much help it is, mind you, but — hey. It's help.

If nothing else, it's a sort of insistent pressure in the direction of that chair. "C'mon; you shouldn't be standing. Sit — you want some coffee or something?" The rest just fades into so much noise, for a minute.

Trina is moved. And when she feels the press of the chair's edge against her knees, she falls into the light padding of the seat. "m'alright, sugar," she murmurs, nearly inaudible. Ali's assistance is invaluable, and the tenderness appreciated. While not as gaunt as the Voice, perhaps, none of them have the luxury of being fat, either. Katrina's thin hand reaches out to lightly pat at her friend's. You did good, too. It lingers for a moment before she slowly draws it back.

Getting a chair is a good sign. Peter moves to drop into it, looking relieved to be back using his own form of moving around. Only one person has ever held him in such a way before, but at least that one he'd felt able to fight back. Fighting back against Jack's girlfriend wouldn't have gained anything. "I also know a few things. But still not what went wrong exactly— who started it with the tornadoes and— I heard someone say it might have been… Sylar— that he supposedly killed someone who could make tornadoes, but…" Supposedly. Maybes. Might haves.

Jack gratefully accepts a chair from Eric and unfolds it next to Trina's to give himself a place to sit his weary backside. Like Ali, he's concerned about the Saints' mechanic. She frequently puts herself in the line of fire and pushes herself to the limit and beyond for the sake of the team. From the sparkle in his eye and the smile on his worn face as he reaches out to lay a hand on her arm, he's more than a little proud of her. Peter's commentary snags his attention away. "I don't think anybody knows exactly what happened with the weather. Either way, Sylar's dead. Not Nice Peter killed him."

Ali moves away, once Jack's there - "Whatever he was, he wasn't the cause. The tornadoes? The storms? That didn't do half the damage that the President did." Odd, that - but she's tired, and it shows in a bit of the bitterness that comes through. "Sure, it sucked. Sure, people died. But the storms weren't what put people in camps."

She takes a breath, then - "I.. gotta go get some coffee or something. I'll be back." And without much more preamble, the woman starts for the stairs that lead deeper into the facility.

When Jack sits beside her, the last reserve of Trina's energy gives out. Her breathing is slowing to a normal rate, but the clamminess lingers as her sweat cools. Lucky Jack, she moves to rest against him as soon as she feels that touch of reassurance against her skin. Ew, sweat. A hand drapes on his leg. He's here, everyone in the nest is safe, and everything's okay. Before long, she's lost the battle against her body, and she closes her eyes. She's still listening, though. Really. She's just making the room stop spinning.

There's a grimace. "I know I— am supposed to kill him…" Sounds as if he doesn't like the idea, and might even be afraid of it. This version has never killed someone… though he'd been tempted to kill Carter. The guilt remains from that encounter. Peter's not sure how to answer what McAlister says. "But they storms— what happened because of them… they're what put him into power— what helped, at least. They let the world know about… us. I don't know what caused Nathan to become like this— but…" She's starting for the stairs. His eyes follow her. There's another grimace. "I won't let this happen. Just— need to know what to do…"

"Steady-on lad." Jack supports Trina's sagging weight and glances at Peter again. "It's too late to change things for us, but we can work together and figure out what you need to do to change it all when you go back when you came from. Then… Maybe all this would change. Things could be different for everyone." There's something wistful about his tone, and about the way he looks at Peter. Could it be that the man who preaches hope above all else has finally found some of his own?

Ali.. just frowns.. and moves on, heading for the back room.. and tucking hands into her pockets as she goes.

Okay, Trina's not really listening anymore, either. She's sleeping soundly, head limp against his shoulder.

"That's what I'm hoping for…" Peter says, looking down into his hands for a moment. The knowledge that Hiro's out there somewhere helps— and that he has people wanting to help him. But once he gets back… what if he's on his own? What if no one believes him? And how can he possibly tell his brother about this man that he's become? There's a sigh, before he looks back up, "Is it— okay if I stay the night? Took me a while to find this place, and… I'm not sure it's safe to head back just yet."

Though he's reluctant to give up his recently acquired chair, Jack hauls himself to his feet and easily lifts Trina's slight, lithe body. Now that she's sleeping, many of the fine lines have smoothed away from her face, leaving her looking as young and angelic as she did when they first met. Very gently, he brushes a single strand of hair away from her eyes. "Yeah, man," he whispers to Peter. "This place ain't fancy, but I can offer you a mat and a sleeping bag, and somethin' to eat if you're hungry. C'mon, follow me." He turns and limps up the stairs toward the converted office, cradling his lover in his arms tenderly to keep from jostling her awake.

Standing up as well, Peter looks around, wondering for a moment where everyone went— Eric must have slipped off into a shadow again. Following the taller man, he folds up his chair and… carries it over to put it back up, looking towards the others. He's tempted to do the same to all of them from the hesitation on his face, but he changes his mind and just follows. "Could use something to eat, yeah… I'll try not to be a burden." And hopefully no one else will try to kill him. Can't change anything if he gets squished into a marble, right?

Jack nudges the door open with his knee and shuffles through sideways, slightly awkward but unwilling to risk waking Trina by bumping her head or her boots against the frame. "Burden? Psh. Just 'cuz I don't like the Other You, that don't mean me an' you aren't still friends," he whispers. The normally simple Irishman seems to be the only one who's managing to roll with the punches when it comes to the issue of time traveling Peter. "Like I said, just give the others time. They've been through a lot." He heaves out a sigh, then gently lays Trina out on the futon in the living quarters. He limps around to the foot of the mattress and squats somewhat painfully so he can unlace her shoes.

They *have* been through a lot. They've learned to do without and sacrificed, and they'd do it all again if it came down to it. For now, however, those who are here are safe. Secure.

The time has come to rest.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License