2009-12-05: Fly Away Home



Date: December 5th, 2009


After making sure Lena got home, Peter returns for Tracy only to discover they have to leave immediately. Meanwhile, he still thinks she's the woman from his visions and dreams.

"Fly Away Home"

Tracy's Apartment

Washington, D.C.

Tracy has been laying on her side on the dark floor of the equally dark apartment— the only lights being the city's, shining in through the window and subdued by flurries. Finally, she's starting the sluggish and, quite frankly, unwelcome process of waking up. She groans, slowly lifting a hand to swipe her hair out of her face. "Mmh." Her body gives protest as she pushes herself up, as falling to the ground after healing a broken arm isn't spectacular, She presses her hand to her still-moist forehead, sitting up. "Helll— ooo…" she calls out, her voice cracking. She coughs a bit, squinting around. "Anyone here…?" No answer? Her place is— empty? Way to go, heroes. Drop her and run.

There's silence to greet her for a time. Peter wasn't expecting her to wake up as quickly as she does, so there's no indication besides a few missing things that anyone had been here. Then pop. He's back in the room, a little cooler for standing out in the middle of Central Park waiting to teleport back. And short a couple bigger bills which he'd handed over to the young woman to pay for her cab. When his eyes open, he sees her already sitting up and blinks in surprise. "You're already awake. I'm sorry— I thought you'd be asleep longer. I— are you feeling any better?"

"Awake" is a generous word. After whipping her head around to the sudden pop and reappearance of Peter, a dizzy Tracy looks quite like she might just pass out again. "What do you think," she says with half-hearted sarcasm. "I feel like I was hit by a train." And shaken upside down and forced into what she imagines heroin withdrawal might feel like on top of what seems like her whole life being mangled, but thanks for asking. She should look on Peter with appreciation, but she doesn't. Not yet. Instead, he gets the brunt of how she feels in glare form. Of the many things she could say, a logical thought knifes its way through the foggy cloud of her mind. Something important. If only she could articulate it. Every word seems like a struggle against unconsciousness or being sick. She presses fingers to her browline, closes her eyes, tries to think. "…How long was I out."

Even without a look of gratitude, Peter's been long accustomed to the look of distain that people sometimes give nurses when they're in pain. Even if it isn't what they'll feel later on. It happens. People can't always feel the way they should when they're sick and gross feeling. "I wasn't gone very long— I'd say only about forty minutes." He moves around, looking through doors until he finds what he's looking for, and then disappears into the kitchen. He's only gone a minute, water runs, and he comes back with some water. Much like he had done before, in another place. When her arm was broken.

Tracy is quiet, trying to force herself to feel better, to put things together in her mind. Neither of these plans work very well, but the sound of running water is promising as a first step to feeling better. She is, at least, grateful when she takes the glass from Peter. She downs a good deal of the water. "Mm," she says through a sigh as she hands the glass back. "Thank you." Immediately, she gets to her feet — a wavery affair, but she manages, pale and unsteady as she is. Force of will again. With a shaking hand, she gestures at Peter. "This place is— " she stumbles, literally. " —I think it's wired." She swallows in an attempt to keep her equilibrium. "They've been watching me. I can't stay here. We have to go. Now."

"What— are you…" Peter looks around at the place, cursing in his mind. Then he's really glad he didn't use Lena's name while they were in here, it might make it more difficult to track her down and figure out who was the other woman. If it has video, though… "I didn't realize. I— I know a place we can go." She may know it too. "I'm still getting used to teleporting. Why don't you grab some clothes and— I'll prepare while you're doing that. If we can't get out of here in a few minutes that way, I'll fly with you. It'll be cold, though." Just a warning on that. Even if she doesn't seem to mind the cold.

What Tracy takes out of this is: "You can fly?" She just shakes her head, her incredulity coming and going. She plucks her purse from he floor. "Why'm I not surprised. Okay. I'll be … a minute. I just need a minute." Hopefully just a minute.

As much as Tracy just wants a shower, she has a strong sense of self-preservation. When she's stumbling around like a wounded gazelle, it's even stronger.

One hand raised as if to say 'I don't need help, I swear', she makes her way toward the bedroom door, which is thankfully close-by, weaving lightly as if she's intoxicated and not detoxicated. "I can throw together a wardrobe in one minute no problem," she calls out from the depths of the apartment, a joking tone to her sarcastic words because, if she stops and thinks, she might just lose what composure she has. "Fugitive chic," she mumbles to herself in her closet. More than a minute later, but no more than three, after throwing some things together and hurriedly cleaning up a little, she emerges with a small bag. She still looks ill and pale, but not quite so covered with the oily sweat. (Gross.)

"I can do a lot of things, I'm afraid," Peter says, while he closes his eyes and tries his best to gather things together. "It'll be easier on you if we can teleport— is there somewhere else we can go that isn't… so far away or possibly bugged?" Anything would be good at this point, even a broom closet in the hallway, as long as they can go inside, wait for him to find the right frame of mind and teleport to his other apartment. The one place he doesn't think the government knows about, because he didn't even know about it. The building they might know of, certainly, but he never enters the building visible— and he wouldn't this time either.

He looks up when she appears, and steps over to her. "Unless you know a place we can wait til I get it. I wish my abilities would work sometimes, but they're still a little… off." She'd known him before he left. She has seen him struggle with his powers before.

It should be an easy question. Somewhere they could go, somewhere safe? A friend's…? Anywhere nearby? Tracy has to think about it. Slowly, she comes to the realization that has her shaking her head. "… No. No, there's … nowhere." And if there was somewhere, they'd hear her say it. "A random spot in the city. Anywhere but here. We just have to get out." Out… she looks across the living room toward the doubly balcony door windows that look out over building rooftops and D.C., the snow trailing past the glass.

"Come on," Peter says, reaching out to take her hand, not wearing gloves. He hesitates for a moment and says, "You're rather cold. Are you going to be okay?" He makes sure, before he pulls her toward the balcony door windows. As they go they turn invisible, though she may not know it. He doesn't think it'll stay on while he flies, but he can keep her unable to be seen for a while. "I'll stay with you until you're okay, I… I promise." It's said softly. A promise he's not sure he can keep, but one he will always try to keep. "Do you think you can handle flying, or should I try to teleport from out here?" He doesn't want to make her more sick than she already is… "We're not visible anymore, so if anyone's watching they might think we flew off already." And he's talking in a whisper.

Tracy follows suit, going along as her hand is taken and she's led outside, lowering her voice to a whisper as well. "I'm fine," she lies, but she's not worried about the cold at the moment, even though she is on the chilly side. She hitches the strap of her bag over her shoulder. Guarded, Tracy looks over the man almost warily. "I'll survive." As long as Peter can do what he said. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yeah, I can do a lot of things," Peter says. Not quite anything, but more than nothing. And more than most people, for that matter. As they get outside, he wraps his arms tightly around her, and says, "Just hang on. I already did this once today," he says with a grin, not meaning that he's tired, just to prove that he does know how. She's tall, almost as tall as he is. With heels, taller. But it won't take too long, considering he knows the flight quite well, by this point. He's been spying on her for a while, after all. Even if he wouldn't call it that.


Tracy does as she's told for in-flight safety: she hangs on, wrapping her arms around Peter's neck and holding tightly to him, the belongings she's brought secured as well as possible. Her hold isn't as healthy as it might be normally, and he'll have to do most of the holding on. It seems a romantic storybook pose, but as the sick woman gazes at the younger of the Petrelli brothers, her expression is much the same as it was on the balcony: ever-so-slightly dubious, not one-hundred percent trusting of Peter. There is one addition, however, and that's wonder. It's all a little surreal.

Eventually, she buries her head against his shoulder to hide the once beautiful view of the quickly blurring landscape and does her best not to be sick or freeze Peter in midair. He may never know how many close calls he had.

The flight to New York takes a lot less time than the train, or even a conventional flight. Most flights aren't allowed to go as fast as this power lets him go. With the city in sight, Peter does slow, allowing for a better view of the buildings. There's roofs everywhere, and there's one specific roof that he slows down to land on. In his memory it was his place of employment for six months. It was also the place that he trained. When he lands upon it, he can't help but notice that it's changed. In ways he doesn't quite remember. But he finds his eye drawn towards a door to the inside stairs. For only a moment before he looks back at the woman he's carried many many miles.

"You okay? There's a fire escape, we can use it to get down to my apartment." Because he can unlatch his window with telekinesis, but he'll leave that out for now.

Peter gets his answer from his passenger … in the form of complete silence. The trip may have been short in comparison to traditional means, but those many miles and one exhausting upheaval of a night later, Tracy just couldn't take it anymore. Normally, she wouldn't be missing a thing, but today isn't a normal day. There may not, in fact, be such a thing as normal days anymore. She's fast asleep, managing to hang on by some reflex like one might hug a pillow. Her face, still a couple of skin tones too pale, appears deceptively peaceful.

The long silence earns a look, one that's rather affectionate, even if she can't see it. Then Peter does the only thing he can… he carries her toward the firescape and down to his window, sneaking her inside and depositing her on the bed, as under the covers as he can manage without dropping her. He tries his best not to wake her, but he can't help but kiss her lightly on the forehead, before moving to sit in the chair against the wall. It seems so familiar, watching her sleep. There'd been a vision or two of that in here…

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