2008-03-13: Down In The Dark


Church_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: The Good Son is in the Wrong Place.

Date It Happened: March 13th, 2008

Down In The Dark

Outskirts of NY - Level 5

Time passes without many heralds when one is underground- is it daytime, nighttime? Is is cold, warm? The only relative hints are the demeanors of those people coming in and out of the Level, some for medical reasons, and some with files that trek the entire way into the security offices. If they are tired, it is likely night, and the coffee smells that trail through vents down from above give away the mornings. It is easy to keep track of days, if you know what to look for.

Almost never does someone coming down from above seem so content as to whistle- but this afternoon must be the exception. At first it seems like just another noise, but as it comes down the stairwells and onto the floor, the whistle is met with humming instead. Anyone familiar with Johnny Cash knows 'God's Gonna Cut You Down'. There is a stir in one of the front cells, and a pause in the humming, and after an extra thirty seconds, the musical man comes into view in the glass of Peter's own cell, the sound in his throat again as he aims a pair of sharp brown eyes inside. One hand curled around the handle of a clear plastic kit, the box hangs loose at Lawrence's side; his suit jacket is gone, as is his tie- the rolled up sleeves and peek of white shirt under his collar betray the ending of the daytime.

His face is likely to be familiar to Peter- and at the very least, Church comes across as one of those people that you swear that you have met before, yet cannot place immediately.

There's a light in his cell. Peter's got nothing much to do other than sit and stare at the walls. No books to read, no puzzles to play with, no deck of cards. Not even a ball to bounce off the walls. Just him and his clothes. And the people he can hear through the walls. They're quiet right now. He's not trying to speak to them. The whistling draws his eyes to the glass, from where he sits against the far wall, one leg drawn up against his body. Not in a corner, instead nearly in the middle. The slab that acts as a bed almost hides him from sight at certain angles, but he can spot the man standing outside. Spot and get that… feeling of having met him before.

If his mind wasn't still fuzzy thanks to the drugs, he might place him more quickly.

The bruise on the side of his face still stands out. A split on his lip has made most the way towards healing. It would have been worse, without medical attention. Talking isn't difficult, at least. He doesn't move from where he is, furthest from the window, far from the door, but he does watch.

The humming stops, long enough for Church to check his watch and fish around in his front pocket for the keycard to Peter's cell. "Bennet looks like a big old nerd, but he throws some nasty punches, doesn't he? Popped me in the eye once. Deserved it, though." The agent sounds amused, motioning at Peter through the glass with the card between his fingers. "Time for your happy juice, Peter. And I got you some better painkillers." A small favor, thusfar. But why? Lawrence motions at Peter to get back, waiting until he does so before running the card and slipping through the door.

When Bennet is mentioned, Peter starts to stand up, pushing himself back to his feet with a bit of a foggy groan. Painkillers would be welcome. Pain isn't something he's grown completely accustomed too after a year of regeneration. "I'm fine," he does say, loud enough it carries through the glass. "I don't— I don't belong here. Bennet's making a mistake." It's thick, but he doesn't move to run at the door and try and force his way out. There's no movement to get closer, even. The slab of concrete that acts as a bed remains between them.

The door shuts again with a deceptively innocent clang, leaving Lawrence as he takes a step towards the bed to put down the hard plastic case. His fingers pop it open as he speaks, only looking at Peter between every few words. "Yeah, I figured the same. He doesn't like being wrong." So here you are, Peter. "From what I heard, you did get into a fight with him, and you should know by now how he treats hostility." Out of the case comes the usual sight for those denying little shots, and a tiny pouch of painkillers.

"Then again, you've never been as sharp as the rest of your clan. But they've never been as compassionate as you, either." Who is this guy, anyway? The third thing out of the case is a couple of books- lucky Pete- he gets a copy of 'World War Z' and 'Watchmen'.

"I didn't— " Peter tries to say, but he cuts himself off, putting his hands on the concrete slab as he looks at the box. There's no way to get around it. It's not like the pills. The fuzziness helps keep him from getting too emotional at least, so when he looks up at the man. "I didn't mean to attack him. He injected me with something while I was unconscious. I just came out of a vision of my father attacking my mother with my own abilities." It's difficult to talk with everything they've put into him to make him safe, but he's managing. Even if he sounds tense. "I didn't mean to." There's a pause. This man… "I know you, don't I? You know my family…" Oh. Books. He wasn't given those for months last time…

There are some specifics there that bring a pause to Lawrence's hands, and for a moment with the supplies from the case, he almost drops one onto the flat bed there. He is quick to make it seem like a common thing with feigned pause of his fingers. Church lets out a breath he was holding onto, glancing up at Peter's face, hand lifting and the fingers not holding onto that needle spreading out about three feet above the bed. "I first met you… when you were about this big. Ish." His hand wags a little lower, an unsure expression on his brow. "Yes. I do."

There's a hint of a nod as Peter follows the man's motions, the height that he indicates. "You look familiar," he says, verifying that he knows the man, or at least recognizes that he should know him. "I don't remember your name, though." Eyes drift down to the needle, there's a long moment before he reaches for the books that were left to him. "Last time I was here, they didn't give me books." It's a quiet sound, but one that's showing some gratitude. "I don't belong here…" He's pretty much said that a few times already. "But at least I have something to do besides look at the wall and listen to… people." Crazy people.

"Church." And here comes the gloves- if you see him snapping on disposables anywhere else, turn around and leave. "Lawrence Church." Like Bond, only… not even close. "I know you don't. You've made some mistakes rcently-" Church pauses for a second of soft sighing. "-but you don't belong down here with these crazies. One more thing." There's the swab, and the agent holds out a palm for Peter's arm, leaving it hover and expecting him to just give in and cooperate at this point. "If any of them start talking to you, it's your best bet to not listen to a word. Most of them aren't well. Can't be trusted in word or with ability, and that is why they're down here in the first place. They had their chances, and failed miserably. You don't belong with these maniacs. I know that."

"I'm glad you realize that. …Mr. Church," Peter says politely, trying to remember if he heard that name when he was 'about that tall-ish'. It doesn't ring a bell. Then again, he probably just called him by his first name. Possibly with a tag of Uncle. The fuzziness could be to blame for some of it, or just the fact it's so many years later. For a long moment, it doesn't look like he's going to just offer his arm, before he finally rolls up the sleeve and moves close enough to make it easier on him. The injections are visible on his arm. Too many stabs of that kind on one place leaves a mark. He isn't healing well. "How long's it going to take for Bennet to figure that out?"

Lawrence has done this injection so many times before, the movements almost seem robotic. Something done so much it has become instinct. Burned into his brain matter. Brown eyes flicker up to Peter as the needle slips out of his arm again, from underneath of a worried wrinkle in his forehead. "As soon as he realizes that we need your help more than we need to keep you out of our mess." Unceremoniously, the used needle and its trash is stuffed into the plastic case, and Church leaves the baggie of painkillers on the bed. Right here, he seems ragged, strained in his head. And what a mess it is. "We need to get your mother back safely, and you're doing no good here. Your father- your father …needs to be taken care of."

The injection makes Peter flinch visibly, gritting his teeth until the needle gets removed and everything's done. Taking in a slow breath, he pulls away to rub his arm, already feeling the mind-fuzzing effects of the drug. It helps keep him from trying to concentrate. Which can be good or bad at a time like this. It does keep him from thinking of ways to escape. "I know he does," he says in a whispered voice, moving away to the far wall where he leans, closing his eyes. "I was working with my mother before this happened. She gave me a couple… of things to do." There's a grimace, before he shakes his head. "I was trying to check on her… she stopped answering my calls."

"He's worse than these people down here. Mandy might've went on a spree, and Kellie's a pyro-psycho, but he's worse in every way." The agent leans a thigh onto the bed, watching Peter as he closes that case back up. "He popped in and took her before there was even a chance for us to figure it out. I don't think anyone could have stopped him." Which is painful for Lawrence to say, considering the words he gave to Angela shortly before. All he can do now is do his best to get her back again. In one piece, preferably. "If it were my place to make the decision, I would ask for your help." It is not his place at all to make the decision, but nobody is holding his tongue hostage, are they? He can talk all he wants.

"He was able to do what he did because no one told me what he was capable of— because when I sought out my mother to ask about what happened… She didn't tell me…" Peter says, sounding angry as he sinks down the wall and ends up sitting on the floor. A hand goes up to his hair, to push it back. The floor isn't comfortable, but neither is the bed. Mandy killed him twice, but his father… "He stole half of my abilities. He probably would've stolen them all if I hadn't… he must have gotten one of my teleporting abilities. I know he got my regeneration… telekinesis… he's nearly unstoppable cause… no one told me what he could do."

That little noise? It's a groan. A small one. "If you know more of what he took-" Let us know. "No one telling you was probably a mistake. Too many assume you're incapable." Church mutters in a high enough volume to be heard. "So if you were out right now, what would you do about it?" The question is not meant to be mocking, or imply Peter is incapable; it is an honest question that simply needs to be answered. If Peter has no answer, then maybe he and the Company need each other more than Church thought.

"I don't know," Peter says, rubbing his hands over his face. "He didn't get flight… but I know he has electricity too… Telepathy he already had before." The hands lower from his face, before he looks up. "I'm not incapable. If I was free, I'd still be doing what I was trying to do. Stop what he's doing at Pinehearst. I know you're trying to do the same thing. I'm not claiming I can do it better… but two… people going against him is better than just one." Or that's what he'd like to think. There's a pause, before he winces and says, "The only thing that will kill him now is a bullet through the head."

"Two heads theory? I've always liked that one too. I was planning on seeing Bennet soon, about-" A gesture is made to Peter's cell. "-this." Lawrence gives the young man a flickering smile, and it fades at those last, wincing words. Bending one set of fingers into the other hand, knuckles cracking, Church peers back at him to answer. "If that's what it takes."

"Bennet won't trust me," Peter says softly, shaking his head slightly, as if not agreeing with the whole thing. That's pretty obvious. There's no actual bitterness in his voice, though. Taking in a slow breath, he forces himself back to his feet. "It may be what's necessary," is all that he can really say on the recommendation. "I just know that's the only way to kill someone with regeneration. I've seen it." In a way that no one in the Company would actually know about, but it matters to him. "You mentioned painkillers? All this talking has made my jaw hurt again."

Church lifts out a hand to pick up the baggie from the bed, holding it out in his fingers. There's a pen scribble on it- something about one every six hours. Peter can guess the time on his own. "Bennet may not, but some of us have less of a reason to mistrust you. And with your mother gone- it is the senior agents that are collectively in charge. I've got three years on Noah Bennet." And that is a point of pride. And means that whether he likes it or not- Noah has to listen and actually consider what he says this time around. None of that 'We'll see' bullcrap.

Six hours. "It'd be nice if you could get me a watch or something," Peter says as he takes the bag, opening it up and fishing out one of the pills. It will be difficult time time it exactly without a watch, but he takes one of the pills dry, as he nods in response. "I won't hold it against you if I'm in here for a while," he says after a moment. Though the same may not be true for one Noah Bennet.

Church looks genuinely apologetic when he nods, gathering the plastic case back to him and fishing once more for the keycard. "I'll see what I can do for you- and see what I can convince Bennet of." The only goodbye is a small wave of his fingers before Church makes for the door, slipping back through to dismiss himself back out into Level Five.

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