2007-08-05: Forgive Me


DFNathanReal_icon.gif DFJessica_icon.gif

Summary: Someone has a sudden attack of conscience.

Dark Future Date: August 5th, 2009

Forgive Me

Hyde Park, New York City

The Petrelli mansion is not what it used to be. Who knows what went down here, out in Hyde Park, and while most of it is standing, a good deal of it has collapsed. Private property, it was never cleaned up, although the place had been picked clean of anything valuable or useful by looters. It's here that Logan has chosen to meet Jessica, standing upon rubble, where the roof had collapsed in on the once beautiful foyer. No cars around, so one can imagine exactly how he found his way here - that's no secret anymore. What is secret is the nature of this meeting. He'd told Jessica that they needed to meet quickly, and privately, and not an hour later, he waits for her at what was once his family home. He wears a bulky jacket, arm out of its sling but still bandaged tight beneath a button-down shirt, jeans on his legs and boots on his feet.

A call to meet quickly and in seclusion could mean a number of things, coming from Logan to Jessica. Given their last — and so recent! — meeting, she's taking it to mean something negative. The ruins of the Petrelli mansion are kind of dismal. Taking time out of her busy schedule of crime and iniquity, she drives herself to Hyde Park. A slick black sports car glides up outside the grounds, and soon, Jessica is walking into the rubble, eyebrow raised. Much more casual than the previous night, she too has jeans on, a rare sight these days, though they're tighter and blacker than Logan's, naturally. The woman's dark violet top has a V-neck and straps that just barely disguises her injury. She kicks a stone aside with her boot. "Homesick?" she asks sarcastically.

"Home's where the heart is," Logan responds, walking towards her, lazily looking her up and down before scanning around, in favour of actually meeting her gaze. "There's only so many times I can have you come around to the suite or me drop by your turf, now is there." That's the only explanation he offers, coming to stand on a relatively flat piece of cement in front of her.

Halting a few paces from Logan, Jessica eyes him critically. "Please," she says, incredulous, one side of her glossed mouth hooking up into a smirk. "I could visit you every night, all night, and your staff would only think you're a whore." Yeah, that's it, the President is a whore, not the trussed up blonde he gets coming to his room. She nudges her chin up in gesture at him, a prompt. "What's the occasion?"

His mouth twitches in a smirk, his good shoulder shrugging once. He seems laconic, today, doing worse than Jessica is when it comes to shoulder injuries. It's making him suffer, especially with his arm freed, but that is to be expected. "I got the contracts," Logan says. "There're some things we previously agreed upon that I've decided I have a problem with."

Jessica, jutting a hip out as she stands on the slightly uneven ground, and slides her right hand into her back pocket. Her left side is stiffer, but she's good at making it seem relaxed, even though Logan knows better. Last night may have been 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,' but now she's not showing weakness. She cuts right to the chase, but doesn't voice it: she just gives Logan an unimpressed, impatient, and questioning look of, 'well, what?'. Spit it out already, brave leader.

Brave leader isn't having a good day. Nor is he cutting to the chase. He paces now, almost circling her in a lazy stroll, stepping over falling brick and wood. "Call it an attack of conscience," he says, maintaining that sense of sarcasm. "But some people aren't cut out to have the power you're demanding of me." Almost lazily, a gun is withdrawn from within his jacket, and pointed. It's about as anticlimactic as that, but at least he waited for some distance. It's held in his left hand, not his firing arm, but damnit if he can't lift the right one. The weapon is cocked. "Some people shouldn't have it at all."

Jessica spins slowly, watching every move, never letting her back face Logan — funny, after saying they'd watch each other's backs.

Attack of conscience?

Realization strikes her eyes just before she finds herself looking down the barrel of a gun. "Shoulda figured." She smiles. It's far, far from touching her chilled eyes, which stare past the weapon at the man holding it. "You're in over your head, Nathan." A beat. Another. How fast can she move, to get to that gun? It'd be risky as hell. Jessica gambles. She plays the odds. Rushing toward him, she swipes for his gun-hand.

Nathan reacts, squeezing the trigger. Of course, the bullet doesn't hit. The world is fuzzy around the corners, she's a suddenly moving target, and this is entirely the wrong hand. He's no gunman. He fires wildly over her shoulder and staggers back when his hand is knocked, the weapon skittering across rubble. Fly away? No. It's the one plan he has and he's sticking to it. With a pained grunt, he launches himself to snatch it up again.

Jessica doesn't think so. She's not a big fan of Nathan's plan. As he tries to go for the gun, the woman, in turn, whirls to intrude - and more importantly, to try to kick whatever part of his anatomy happens to get in the way.

The kick sends him rolling, which hurts like a bitch, but he was flinging himself in that direction anyway. Miraculously, Nathan's hand finds the gun amongst the broken ground, and there's no hesitation now. He rolls onto his back, injured shoulder twisting painfully as his brings his other hand into it, holding the weapon steady. Pointblank range, he squeezes the trigger, and watches in a heavily medicated wonder as the bullet passes through the woman's midsection.

Before she knows it, Jessica shouting out in sudden, angry pain — her legs give out from under her and she starts to tumble until she's on her knees. She clutches her abdomen, her hands rapidly becoming wet as blood gushes through her fingers.

No— this— it's impossible, she—

Horror fills the murdering woman's eyes, straight up at Nathan through her cloud of fury as she gapes at him. There's another sentiment there, out of place: how could you? "You can't," she begins, her voice coming out low and thick. "Can't stop him. Giv— " Gravity takes her in a hard fall toward her shooter, and she clutches at whatever fabric she can to take him down with her. "Give it up, Nathan. We're stronger. We're better than you." A slightly unhinged flicker in her eyes, and something almost desperate, and then—


Nathan is aware that his shoulder is fucked now, but he stands there, not really feeling it in the most direct sense, trying not to sway, and watches blankly as the injured woman goes down, gripping his jacket. A groan of pain as the fabric pulls, and he drops down to one knee, unwillingly going with her as she collapses. He has nothing to say to her, simply waiting, waiting, until the light goes out. When it does, he shudders, unhooking her hand from his clothing and laying it almost respectfully down. "Forgive me, Niki," he breathes out. "I'm sure you…" He shuts his eyes. "Sure you understand." Except he still can't bring himself to turn the gun to his own temple. Maybe one day, he will be -strong- enough to do just that.

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