2008-01-22: Eyes On The Enemy


Logan_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Sometimes it's better to follow the advice in the title.

Date It Happened: January 22nd, 2008

Eyes On The Enemy

Petrelli Mansion

Don't teleport into my home. It was a request made what might seem like ages ago, but Peter's kept it. Each time he's stopped by the house, he used one of the doors, his key jingling in the lock, feet wiping on the doormat. That is much the same as what happens tonight. The house should be empty. Heidi's in the hospital. The boys are staying somewhere else… but a key turns in the lock, and the front door swings open to admit a young man in a dark coat. The coat is removed, placed in the hall closet, and the keys are placed in his pants pocket. A slow walk is made through the house. Whether Peter expects to find anyone is up to debate, but he moves in the direction of his brother's study to start.

It's a good guess. Workaholic Nathan Petrelli. Such a trait carries over, it seems, and though the house is dark for the evening, gentle lamp light guides the way. Logan sits at his desk, his chin balanced on his hand, elbow propped on the polished wood as his other hand turns over pages. Pinehearst. The science jargon has been translated into something those of the higher echelon can understand, taking all those chemicals and tests and transforming it into business and power and practicality.

In a sense, Logan is reading one of the many reports designed to take over the world.

He almost doesn't hear the sound of the door opening— but he certainly hears it close. Such a sound is alien - no one with such free access to this place is supposed to be here. Shutting the file and placing it primly on the desk, Logan calmly moves a hand to the top drawer, taking out the gun that Nathan had started to keep there since sometime last year. Gentle metallic clicks ensue as he checks its ammunition, then, tucks it into his belt at the small of his back. The jacket draped across his chair is then pulled on, and by then, well, likely he's about to meet his visitor, whomever it is.

Any trouble that might be found in the study is unknown— just as any trouble that might be found within both of the brothers is tucked away and not visible on the surface. Peter's still unshaven, much like he'd been last night when he nearly strangled his own brother. Hair dangles onto his forehead, nearly touching his eyebrows as he moves closer to the doors— only to come face to face with the man he happened to be looking for. Stopping a couple feet outside the door, he doesn't raise his hands up, or make threatening gestures, but he does take in a deep breath.

There was once on a rooftop, two years in the future… and once just last night. And he didn't realize how closely connected those two nights were.

"Nathan," he says, letting his eyes shift lower for a fraction of a second. There's a line of tension, before he corrects himself. "…Logan."

Peter's presence is enough. The revelation of his name doesn't garner a reaction, Logan lowering his eyes to the folder with the Pinehearst logo printed on the first page. Gently, he picks it up, and slides it into his desk. "I'm not sure what to be surprised about," he says, placing his hands on the edge of his desk and pushing himself up to stand. The light from his lamp doesn't light up enough, only designed to shed light on the immediate desk area, and so the darkness outwards is deep and long. He moves around the desk to lean casually, features washed out by those shadows from this change of placement. "I didn't think to see you again so soon after last night, and on the other hand… it's taken you a while. What do you want?"

Even less between them than before, Peter still hesitates in moving closer, hanging in the door frame leading to the study. "I figured you had plenty of reasons to be mad at me," he says, looking at the desk top again for a second, before taking a step further into the light. There's something new to his jaw set, a determination that hadn't quite been there the night before. "You wrecked the car on purpose— you hurt Heidi. I hope you're not too disappointed that she'll recover from it eventually." There's a tense inhale, before he moves another step into the study. Still quite a distance between them, but maybe not nearly enough. "

"You don't know I wrecked the car," Logan shoots back, hands resting against the desk edge on either side of him. It's a challenge, and maybe more, head canting to the side as he regards Peter across the room, judging distance and details, including the set of his jaw. His brother almost choked the life out of him last night and Logan isn't about to underestimate him the night after. "You don't know anything."

It would be easy to lash out again, to lose control, to get angry because of things that this man is saying— but Peter just nods carefully, keeping his eyes on the man in front of him, "You're right. I don't know." That much he seems willing to admit to. The tension lines his forehead, his jaw line. He's having a difficult time with this calm that he's keeping, but he holds onto it. "I do know some things. I know you're not really my brother— and I should have realized it last night. My brother wouldn't have said those things. Even after what happened— even if he had the right to hate me for a year ago. He wouldn't have said them— not after everything we'd been through."

Despite the half-light, Logan's sneer is visible, hateful and full of disdain. "I'm a part of your brother, Pete," he says, taking his weight off the desk and taking steps closer, closing that distance a little bit. "Where else could I have come from? Maybe he wouldn't have said those things but don't you think he thought it? What am I, if not everything Nathan only wishes he could say?" A wide smile, a Cheshire cat grin, insincere and malicious. "What did you come here for? I don't want you in my house."

That does make his eyes shift further down to the desktop, the tension heavier than before. Peter grimaces, looking at his brother's hands, hands that would probably not want anything to do with him. "I came in the front door because my brother— because you told me not to teleport into your home again. Even though I know the people you wanted to hide it from wouldn't be here tonight." His jaw tightens, sets, as he looks back up into his brother's eyes. "I'm here to tell Nathan that I'm going to help him. No matter what it takes. I'm going to help him."

"He's not listening," Logan fires back, showing teeth before words, that sneer returning again. "Try leaving a message by the door and get the hell out. You don't think I remember what you did last night?" His eyes, dark and cold as they are, flash a little, voice quieting a little as he adds, almost silkily, "What you almost did?"

There's that flinch at the reminder of what he almost did— and what he did do. There's no arguments that can be made, no excuses that either of them would probably listen to, so Peter just says, voice thickening, "Then you know— if he doesn't. I'm going to get my brother back. One way or another." And with that, he turns around to leave out the doors of the den, to head to the front where he came in.

A threat. Well that's unfortunate. Logan's eyebrows raise a little as Peter simply turns and walks away, head tilting a little, studying him. Presented with such an easy target of the most dangerous man in the world walking away, Logan would fairly kick himself for not taking the shot, so, the handgun is extracted from his back, aimed with militant precision towards the back of Peter's head, and the trigger is pulled.

And that, my friends, will be the last time Peter knowingly turns his back on his brother. The gunshot can be heard as the bullet barrels out. With the ability to stop time, and bullets, that could have been enough warning— but it's not. It only manages to get him to shift just enough so the bullet slams into his neck, cutting through the artery and spraying blood, even as it exits through his jaw and continues into the foyer of the Petrelli Mansion— to get lodged in the far wall.

The pain is a distraction, but the desperation catches him just in time. As his legs start to buckle, his eyes close. His jaw can't tighten, for it's bone into tiny pieces, leaving blood and bone and teeth fragments in a small spray in front of him. There will need to be some cleaning up—

But at least not of a body. As he drops, he vanishes, one last teleport of desperation, location barely in mind when he goes. He hits the floor of a warehouse miles away, ending up on his stomach, choking for breath. It will take time for everything to heal over, but a few centimeters difference, and the most "dangerous man in the world" might be a whole lot less dangerous.

Logan lowers the gun as Peter collapses, and subsequently disappears. "Ah. Shit," he curses, gaze straying towards the spatter of gore. If the man could teleport even with a bullet shot through his head, then he's going to live. As a general rule. A line of irritation shows between Logan's eyebrows, before he turns, moves back to his desk and replaces his gun into his desk drawer. The phone is picked up, a call for the criminal variety is made, and hopefully the telling splash of bone and blood, the bullet in the wall, will all be gone by morning.

Then, he takes the file that he'd been looking at before out, and starts reading once more. With significantly less ease and comfort than five minutes ago, granted, but undisturbed all the same. The lamp glows as the only source of light within the dark mansion, and the quiet page turning accompanies the deepening of the night as blood glitters like dark rubies several feet away.

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