2007-05-06: Cooking The Door


Jane_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif Elle_icon.gif

Summary: Elle returns home after being defeated by Jessica and Micah and flips out. A door is fried, then she and Peter reach a new understanding.

Date It Happened: May 6th, 2007

Cooking The Door

Forrest-Bishop Residence, Greenwich Village, Manhattan, NYC

It's been a full day and some hours since the events in Times Square and the regrouping to consider it all afterwards. Jane's kept it to herself for that time, having not seen Elle and chosen to mull it over as to whatever she should or shouldn't share, but curiosity is getting the better of her, not to mention lingering annoyance. At around eleven in the morning, with Elle out doing whatever she does, a phone call is made to Pete. Numbers are dialed, she listens for his answer.

As his girlfriend snuck out of his bed the night after his rather messy murder in the bookstore, Peter's quick to answer the phone, not even waiting for the phone to identify the caller, "Hello?" He's already dressed and moving around, in fact outside at the moment, from the sound of the street.

"Pete," she begins, "it's Jane. I was at Times Square the night before last, saw what happened there. And some other things happened, that make me wonder if information's still being kept from me. You and Elle both mentioned threats out there before, we never got to talk about them. Are you free?"

"I got a text message about that but— didn't have a chance to ask," Peter admits, glancing around as he starts looking for the area he's in. He doesn't mention he didn't get a chance to ask because he was murdered in Enlightenment Books. "Yeah, I'm free, and I'm not too far. I can be there in about… fifteen minutes. I'd like to find out what happened, besides what was on the news," he admits, starting to move a little faster as he talks.

This is about the point where Elle makes her way into the apartment. The key sounds in the lock, followed by the sound of the door -slamming- open as it's flung by as much force as a furious five-one blonde can manage. She starts through the apartment, and is clearly in a state…her hair and attire bear the signs of having recently been wet, and at the same time, there's black patches on some parts of her clothing, along with the distinct aroma of cooked fabric. Yummy.

Still on the phone with Pete, Jane replies "Good. I… I'll see you then. Thanks." At that point, she pauses, and the slamming door may well be heard through the phone. "Pete, something's up. Elle just came home, loudly, and she looked wet."

Elle? Loudly? Looking wet? Peter actually curses softly into the phone, "I'll be there in five minutes," is all he says before he hangs up. And starts running. Maybe he can make it in five minutes without taking to the sky.

Elle storms into her room, slamming the door. This is followed by a long scream. Not of the "eek" kind, but more of the "primal anger" sort. Someone is NOT a happy blonde.

Jane puts her phone down and stands, hearing that scream, and recognizing the emotion behind it. If she were the one emitting it, there'd be a cloud of shattered glass to accompany it. Moving quickly, she approaches Elle's door and pauses, looking at it for a moment, while she thinks over whether or not the blonde wants to be alone. Usually when she screams, she makes it a private thing and tries to be as remote as she can for safety. But then again hers are so potent. While pondering this, she remembers something. How Elle clambered out of the bucket and tub, stripping to her skin, not concerned that Nathan was present. So instead of knocking, she instead goes to the bathroom and gets several towels.

More sounds of general chaos and destruction. Glass breaking. Someone throwing an utter fit.

"Elle," Jane says from outside the bedroom door when she returns with towels in hand, knocking once, "I brought you towels." She then steps aside and sets them down, not wanting to be in the path of whatever might come through the door if it opens.

What comes out of the blonde is the kind of discharge she's only let out once before. It's this searing blue continuous beam. Like a Ghostbuster pack, only tighter. Wood doesn't normally conduct, but it will if you run enough current through it; that's why a tree branch can short power lines. Electricity starts literally arcing out of the door as it crackles, blackens, and chars.

Standing back, watching this, and not so surprised, Jane takes a few more steps back away from the door for safety, and leaves the towels where they lay. An eyebrow raises, she remarks softly to herself. "Okay… I guess she's already dried off, then. Hopefully she gets it all out before the place catches fire." More moving back, she takes a seat near her own bedroom door and waits.

There's a knock on the door, rather urgent sounding, and Peter's standing outside, breathing hard from all the running. Flying would have been so much easier. Or teleporting. Unfortunately he did things the old fashion way. He had been fifteen minutes away at a decent walk. A lot less at a dead run. Don't mind him as he stands there with his hands on his knees, waiting for someone to let him in.

The beam is shut off before the door -ignites-…but not by much. It's blackened, charred, and very warm to the touch by the time she cuts it off. More sounds of general storming in the room, as she grabs out dry things.

That's a positive development. The current seems to have stopped, in that it no longer comes through the cooked bedroom door, so Jane stands and moves to answer the entrance door. Opening it, she cracks a slight smile of greeting. "Pete. Might want to give her a few moments, she just finished cooking her bedroom door." So calm about this, seemingly, as she admits the younger Petrelli brother.

It's good that he needs a few minutes, because he's breathing rather heavy as he steps inside, and again leans over to rest his hands on his knees. Peter doesn't know what happened, but he can guess. She fought someone. Obviously. "What— do you know— what happened?" he says, between breaths, looking up towards the woman. His hair is getting longer again, but hasn't even begun to curl over his forehead at all. It's just a little more windblown and sweat-streaked than normal. He's not out of shape, he's just not used to running that fast.

Sounds of movement in the room. Sounds, briefly, of someone at the door. A brief thumping, then the sound of glass breaking again. Probably a window.

"I've no idea, Pete," Jane replies after admitting and closing the door behind him. "She came storming in, slammed her bedroom door, and started smashing things. I got towels and knocked, then set them down and got out of the way because, well, she's who she is. That's when she started to cook the door. So I'll let her get it all out." Jane moves toward the main room and her instruments, sitting at the piano and running fingers across the keys when she gets there. There she is, doing what she does, going for the music. Maybe the calm is just a front? Hard to tell; she plays when she's troubled, plays when happy, and when she wants to scream too.

There's a nod, and Peter starts to move towards the bedroom, despite the fact that straightening makes breathing difficult. There's a lot of sweat built up around his neckline. He heard the banging, and the window crash, but doesn't put it together just yet. "Elle?" he asks the door, before he reaches out to test the handle. It's still /hot/. Not enough to burn him, but he pulls his hand back and then tries again, letting it burn him. Only it doesn't budge. "Are /you/ okay, Jane?" he asks, looking towards the woman, worried that maybe she's having some trouble— she's just way too calm. Then again… "I guess you know what it's like to need to just let go, though…" She's the one who screams and breaks all the glass in her apartment.

"I get her, Pete," Jane answers quietly from the piano bench, her fingers poised but not yet playing. "Things happen, the pain and frustration has to come out somehow. I scream and make music, sometimes both, Elle cooks things." The voice is still calm. "It'll take her time to find a way and a place to go for letting it out safely." When she's done speaking, her fingers start on piano keys, and the best indicator yet of her emotional state follows. The music made is of an angsty sort, like she's improvising heavy metal piano.

Unable to get the door knob to turn, Peter doesn't remove his hand despite the pain, trying to get it open. Unfortunately not going to happen. At least it's cooling now. "There's other ways for things to go out than destroying your apartment," he murmurs, but then… he pushes against the door. The wood splinters a bit. It's not deadbolted, so at least he gets it to crack open, though the metal hinges don't want to budge. He might need another good shove to get it all the way open. "Elle?"

No answer, though perceptive ears might well hear the sound of Elle's SUV starting up outside, or see it through an appropriately-placed window.

Did Jane hear what he said before he began trying to bull through Elle's bedroom door? Maybe, maybe not, she's busy playing piano and getting out whatever she's getting out. It doesn't stop and she doesn't reply, whichever is true. If he has knowledge of Van Halen, the tune would be recognized as And The Cradle Will Rock.

Trying to force the door open more, Peter's forced to rely on his own strength, pushing the door open enough that he can look inside. He's not worried about getting fried. The window's broken, and she's not there, and he thinks he might hair a little noise from outside, so he lets go of the door and heads back into the front room. "I think she went outside," he says as he goes to the door, still winded, but at least gathered together enough he can walk. He opens the door to the apartment and makes his way towards the exit of the apartment, to look for the blonde or her car.

Sure enough. Blonde, in car, and apparently getting ready to pull out into traffic and make her departure. And probably not in the most stable of states.

Apparently she does hear him, at least when he speaks from closer to her, because the piano stops and Jane stands up. Feet carry her behind the man to check things out. This has gone beyond simple venting in her eyes now. It's far from certain the electric one has gotten her grip back, after all. The expression: concerned.

Cry. He just got a break from running. As soon as Peter sees her about to take off, he starts running towards the SUV, recklessly trying to get in front of it— is he asking to get ran over? Perhaps he is! "Elle stop! Wait a minute!" he calls out, whether she can hear him or not.

Elle glares. "G-GET OUT OF THE WAY!" she shouts, and slams a hand into the horn.

She doesn't run, but she does move quickly, coming out of the building about fifteen seconds behind Pete and headed toward both him and the about to drive away Elle Bishop. Jane watches carefully as she gets closer, not particularly thinking it so wise to approach at all before she's clearly calmed, but also understanding the dangers of driving when incensed. And that's just for people who don't carry their own internal electric dynamos.

Despite the danger, the honking, Peter doesn't get out of the way of the car, and in fact puts his hands down against the hood as if he might be able to stop it. He probably could, in some ways, but that's probably not quite up his alley right now. "Elle please, calm down and get out of the car." He's not calm like Jane, and from the looks is still winded. But he's pleading with her at this point.

Elle's shoulders slump, and instead of driving further forward, she starts doing something she hasn't really since getting braincleaned, and only rarely before. She starts crying.

Witnessing this, her own eyes closing, Jane turns and goes back inside to leave them their privacy. She knows to be seen like that by anyone would be embarrassing for her, she won't complicate things by being seen to watch. Her own mood, meanwhile, darkens a bit more. Something happened to spark all this, she'd like to eventually know, and may at some point ask. Her mind is also on the other things she'd wanted to discuss, and which will now be most likely set further aside. It simply isn't the time to bring them up.

There's a slow release of a breath as Peter moves out from in front of the car and towards the driver's door, looking inside, pulling on the door until it comes open. Luckily it wasn't locked. This allows him to reach inside and try to take her face in his hands. "Elle— it's okay. It's okay." Not everything is okay. Not by a longshot. But at least no one is dying right this instant.

Elle is…shaking, as she cries? No. Twitching. Someone isn't exactly in the best of states at the moment. Emotionally -or- physically. Just that the tantrum has masked the latter thus far.

It's not the piano this time she goes to, but her favorite guitar, the Fender Strat. After re-entering her apartment and closing the door, Jane plugs it in and commences to play. She's letting her own emotions and concerns flow into it and out. The sound is improvised, being created on the spot by fingers which manipulate strings and frets rapidly.

"Elle— it'll be okay," Peter changes what he had been saying, running his hands down her face and towards her arms, reaching to pull her out of the seat and against him a bit. Not all the way out, because he'll need to get into the driver's seat and park the car, with her in his lap if he has to…

Elle lets herself be pulled out. She hugs to Peter, clinging. Screw the car. She's gone from angry mode to breakdown mode. There are tears. Many.

Inside, the feelings flow out of her and into the guitar, resulting in some of the best sound Jane's ever given forth. Edgy, rapid, speed metal this is, mixing with elements of classical music folded into it. Some might even call it virtuosity.

Elle hangs on. The twitching against Peter subsides some, though the crying hasn't. Days and days of bottled stress are all breaking out now.

The young man pulls the tiny woman against him, smoothing her hair back, and trying to remember that doctor he met so briefly. Peter doesn't even remember her name, but knowing her well isn't as important as the moment he realized he did something to heal someone. "It's okay— it's okay," he repeats, holding her against him as he tries to get up into the car. Luckily she's small, so he can fit her in his lap as he gets his foot on the break to make sure it doesn't roll out into traffic. He'll hold her and free one hand to do the driving. Which isn't easy. By the time he pulls the keys out and just holds onto her, he's not only double parked, but has a tire stuck up on a concrete guard. Um, oops. But at least her SUV is out of the way.

The blonde is gulping in some air now, but she makes no reply. Words aren't something she's ready for yet. The SUV can stay crooked. A ticket isn't going to bother her. She just clings tight, a little blonde limpet.

Moving his free hand so he can open the door, Peter keeps ahold of the keys, and her against his chest, as he locks the SUV and closes the door. With her held against his chest, he carries her back towards her apartment, thinking of another young woman that he carried recently, a power that might be better equipt to handle what she's going through, fix what's happened to her, as he nudges the door to the apartment with his foot. He's back. Let him in.

There's the sound of playing which comes through the door to his ears, that on the spot improvised mix of speed metal and classical elements. The nudging of foot to door makes a sound that somehow reaches Jane's ears. Her sound stops and feet can be heard to approach, then the door opens and she stands aside to admit the pair.

Elle looks up, red-eyed and teary, and mumbles. "S-sorry about the door…" UnhappyBlonde. She's still clinging tight. HERE seems like a particularly safe place to be at the moment, and she isn't in any hurry to go anywhere but.

Still carrying her, Peter takes her to the couch and keeps her in his lap as he drops the keys onto the table nearby for later. Reaching up, he smooths her hair, and tries to reach out towards her, to find the imbalances in her body, and nudge them back into the proper place. Shouldn't completely calm her emotions, but it should at least stop the shaking, give her some sense of balance. "It's okay— there's always new doors," he says as he runs his fingers through her hair.

Holding the door open for them to enter, Jane looks outside and sees the haphazard parking job on the vehicle once they're inside. She leaves it open and follows the pair, concern and relief showing in equal measure. Fingers take up the keys, she speaks softly. "I'm not worried about the door at all." And she's off, heading outside to get the vehicle properly parked.

Elle feels a lot better, with the damage caused by her earlier self-electrocution handled. She looks back up at Peter. "Sorry…about all that." She looks back to her door, and sighs.

"It's okay, firecracker," Peter teases softly, choosing a playful nickname for her as he continues to pet her hair. She feels mostly put back together, thankfully, but he's definitely not going to let go. He inclines his head in Jane's direction, a look of approval as she steps outside, before he continues to hold her. "Are you okay now?"

It's a fairly easy task, getting the vehicle re-parked and ensuring the absence of tickets, one that takes just a few minutes to accomplish. Jane does so, needing perhaps three minutes to get out there, do the deed, and return to her apartment while Pete consoles his doorcooking belle.

Elle looks up as Jane comes back in. "I'm sorry, Jane." she repeats. "It's just…" Pause. "I didn't mean to break things. Or fry the door. I'll get them fixed."

Peter shakes his head as she continues to apologize, but doesn't let go of the girl, reaching up to finger the tears off her face. "Are you okay now?" he repeats his unanwsered question. A moment later he adds, "What happened?"

"I know," Jane quietly answers, looking the blonde over. Calm has returned, whether it's a front or the hidden things were all excised with her use of Fender Strat is anyone's guess. "Sometimes things have to come out and the results aren't pleasant. If you want to tell us what happened, I'll listen. Or not. That's your call." It's understanding and comfort offered in her voice. She can remember with full clarity how often she comes close to letting loose devastating screams.

Elle replies "I went after Jessica. It didn't go so well. But it's more than just that. It's…all this holding back. Peter, I have -tried- to be what you want. But I'm not that little miss nice and sweet. That's not ME."

There's a slow exhale and Peter rests his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. Still, he doesn't let go of her, keeps holding on. He knows she's okay— it didn't go well, but it could have gone so much worse. She could be missing limbs, or have her insides crushed. There's a long pause of silence, before all he can finally say is a soft, "I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, just listens, as she recalls having a conversation about this not so long ago in her kitchen. Their kitchen now. The blackened spot long since covered over with paint. Jane pulls up what she said then, and her own replies to it. And emerging from the angry outburst both unharmed and unkilled. It's why she trusts Elle. Because as dangerous as she is, she still found a way in all of that to hold her fire. Speaking is considered, and decided against. She can only speak for herself, and will likely do so when Pete's elsewhere.

Elle looks back at Peter. "Don't be." she says, looking at him more openly now. "I'm not dumping you. And I hope you're not dumping me. But Peter, I can't keep…I can't keep locking things up. I'm gonna go nuts if I do. I want you to be safe, just like you want me to be safe. But I just…I am who I am. And that's either someone you want to be with or not." She says, her voice straining.

With his head tilted back and his eyes closed, Peter's not looking at her right away. But his eyes open when she mentions dumping. Looking down, he blinks at her, as if that thought surprised him. From his expression, he's definitely listening to her, emotionally wounded, but then he often looks like that. It's nothing new. "…I get it…" There's a sigh and his hands loosen, so she can get out of his lap. "I need some time to think. I am sorry— you got hurt because of me."

"No one can lock it all in. It comes out, one way or another. Trying to is madness. The key is where and when you let it all fly. There has to be some place in the city or near it where it can be unleashed. A firing range. Abandoned buildings, warehouses. Deep in the woods. A place you can get to quickly when the need for it strikes." After a beat, Jane adds "You are you who you are. It's all about how to be you safely."

"If you were waiting for the opportune moment…that was it." A wise man said that once. Clearly, in Elle's world, that was Peter's chance to confirm that he loved her for who she really was, or loved her unconditionally. And instead…he needs time to think. The blonde stands, looking just a little numb. "Sure. Just doing my job."

Looking away, the wounded look only grows deeper, before Peter reaches up and touches his face, moving to stand up. There's moments where he looks as if he's about to say something, but considering he can't even look at her for very long, it shouldn't be a surprise when no words come out. He could try to explain, but there's really only so much he can say. Finally he says softly, tone whispered and deep from tension, "Wasn't talking about Jessica. Was talking about— you didn't have to pretend. To be something you're not."

Having broken silence and spoken her thoughts, Jane starts to wander out of the main room and down the hall, leaving the pair to continue in private. Her heart feels heavy, something in her perhaps understands what might have just happened in that room, and it's not her place to comment on it. No, her role is to stand by and give support when and if Elle needs it. Ten to fifteen seconds later her bedroom door opens and closes as quietly as she can make it.

Elle shakes her head. "I…" Long pause. "Peter, I love you. I really do. You're the first person whose ever really been good to me and didn't ask for anything in return. But…the person I am…I'm not a nice person, Peter. I like to hurt people. And I know that bothers you. So I try to hide it away inside. And it just…I don't know. I don't want to lose you." She expressed similar worries -before- the memory wipe. She just doesn't remember them.

There's a hint of a rather sharp inhale through his nose that gives away the level of Peter's emotions at the moment. If that didn't do the job, then the moisture on his eyelashes probably would as he moves closer to the blonde woman and wraps his arms around her again. This time standing up. "I love you, too… I just don't know— how much is you— how much is what you think you need to be— to be with me. Not— losing me. Just need to think this through…" There's no hiding the tears when he reaches for her face, looking her in the eyes, before leaning in and trying to kiss her—

Elle kisses in return, almost needily, and then she gets the idea. "You can look into my head." she says. Peter's a telepath. "You can see for yourself."

Letting the kiss break, Peter rests his forehead on hers and concentrates, trying to find the right frame of mind… to get into her mind. Listen… Listen to what she feels. His hands slide down from her face, towards her shoulder, but he keeps his forehead against hers, so he's leaning down quite a bit.

Elle's mind is a somewhat fractured thing. So many patchworks of memory, places erased here and there. And it doesn't help that the psychologists -were- right to a large extent. Regardless of -how- she became that way, Elle IS a sociopath, and a sadist, and the other things they claim her to be. She's got almost a pathological need for approval, something her father's never given. Her feelings towards Peter are one part love, one part confusion, one part obsession. He reflects the Holy Grail for her; all the things she wanted to have and never has. She does honestly love him, though that's tempered through the dual lenses of her sadism and sociopathy…a more correct statement might be she loves him as much as she's capable of experiencing that; her damaged psyche doesn't process things the same way normal people do. Foremost in her thoughts right now are her frustration with Jessica, her feelings of being reined in or trapped, and a growing panic about the thought of losing Peter.

There's a feeling of tension where they touch, the muscles of his forehead flexing against hers the longer this goes on. There's a flood of information, much more than he's used to. Sentences, soft mental voices— those are more along his alley. Maybe recent exposure to another telepath did something else to his gift— or perhaps he's just getting stronger. Either way, Peter gasps for air when he pulls back, jerking away suddenly when the information's become too much. The pain is high, and he looks tense all over, before he takes a few slow breaths. There's a long pause, before he finally whispers, "You know how… I'm— not perfect, Elle. I— can't give you everything. Doesn't mean I won't try… to fill in the pieces that you never got to have. But…" Not some kind of mythical thing, no matter how much he'd like to be a knight in shining armor.

Elle nods. "I'm not perfect either, Peter. The question is if we can accept each other's imperfections."

"Easy to accept— not so easy to live with," Peter says softly. He takes a slow breath, letting his hands slide down to her own, allowing him to straighten finally. Those tears are still in his eyes— and there's signs on his cheeks that some fell. "I knew who you were— what you're capable of. And I can accept it…" Living with that, though… He lets go of her hands and reaches up to rub at his face. "You have changed, you know— not completely— not a lot. But… I never thought you were all good and nice— not like you seem to think I did. But you could be… you can be."

Elle had changed more…prior to having her memories blanked out. "Sometimes." she agrees. She moves up to put her arms around him. "That's all I needed to hear." That he can accept her. Contented expression.

Guess this means he doesn't get to walk off and have some private emotional guy time? Peter wraps his arms around her in return, his eyes staying open as he glances back into the apartment, apologetic in nature. This has been a rough night, it would seem… "That's the first time… you said you loved me. Since the memory wipe," he notes, a hint of a smile in the sound of his voice.

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