2007-08-11: DF: Help Now


DFCyprus_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Summary: The rooftop of fate. Two people meet. And Peter finds out Sylar's still alive.

Dark Future Date: August 11th, 2009

Help Now

Deveaux Rooftop

The rooftop of the Deveaux Building. Partially ruined from the storms, one would think it would have stopped recieving vistors. The main access is through the penthouse, still, which people will need to climb stairs to get to. The building isn't used anymore, many of the windows busted out. And even the pigeon coups are empty. No birds. Not real ones at least. A close observer might spot a handful of paper cranes (or ducks, really) inside the cages. Against the edge, there's someone sitting. A young man dressed in white and jeans. It's the middle of the afternoon, moving towards evening, and there's a quiet sound— a music box playing Chopin on repeat. Good quality resonence. The young man sitting there bares a striking resemblance to Peter Petrelli— but without the short ponytail, and the black coat— there's a difference. Also something much softer in his eyes. Not the violent and angry sort.

There no attempt to hide the sound of the penthouse door opening, then closing. A slow, steady stride moves through the penthouse, pausing here and there. Moving through the penthouse is Cyprus Donovan, dressed in his usual business suit, with a long overcoat. It might be a warm summer, but up here, there is nothing but wind. He stops walking about with curiosity when he hears the faint music of Chopin in the background. He moves towards it, curiously.

Though there's no attempt to hide the sound, Peter's so busy listening to the music he doesn't hear it at all anyway. It isn't until a shadow moves in the corner of his eye that he even notices anyone is there. Moving, he closes the music box, cutting off the song, and starts to stand up, looking more directly at the source of movement.

And Cyprus Donovan comes around the corner of the doorway that leads out onto the balcony, and stops dead. There really is no way to describe the look on his face, other than that of surprise, then fear. It's obvious he recognizes Peter, but makes the obvious mistake. He assumes it's this world's Peter. He glances towards the doorway out of the penthouse, measuring the steps in his mind, and coming up short. He looks towards the balcony, but that seems just as undesirable. Finally, he turns back to Peter, takes a breath, and lifts his chin. "Do it quickly," he requests, though it is more resignation than bravery in his voice.

There's a bewildered look on his younger than normal face. Generally, in most pictures the government sees of the man, he's usually wearing a scowl. No scowl is apparently today. If anything, he looks confused when the man makes his request. "I— If you're talking about… killing you— I don't know why I would…" Because really, he doesn't. There's no recognition in his eyes, no cold fiercness. It looks completely out of place, in fact. He does know what happened, though, he's seen this face before— just not quite with the 'kill me quickly' resolve. The fear— the worry… He knows what caused that.

For a moment, Cyprus just stands there. His gaze narrows for a moment, and then his head tilts to the side. Confusion begins to creep into his face, and he furrows his brow. "No," he says quietly. "You don't, do you?" Needlessly stating the obvious, even to other Petrellis. Cyprus remains studying Peter evenly, and takes a step onto the balcony somewhat. He seems now more intrigued than anything else. He asks cautiously "Who are you?" Ask a stupid question…

That's a good question. There's a lot of people who ask it, and sometimes he answers it before they have a chance to. This man, though— Peter doesn't recognize him. His clothes show he's a business man, well off in this world, but his presence at the Deveaux Building is a little odd— and he almost thinks he's seen him once or twice before, maybe in passing. "I'm… Peter Petrelli— just not…" Jack once told him not to tell everyone, didn't he? Yeah. You'd think he'd take that advice. Maybe this time he does, because he hesitates. "Have we met?"

It's the 'just not' that gets Cyprus to narrow his gaze sharply. Some piece of the puzzle just isn't fitting right here, and he's trying to figure it out. He smoothes his coat out somewhat, and smiles. "Never formally," he replies. "My name is Cyprus Donovan. I worked for your father." And he's watching Peter closely as he says his name. It's an experiment, checking for any recognition. Terrorists might not know his face well, but they would at least know his name.

There's a few moments where it seems like Peter actually has to think— and his body certainly gives all the indicators of it as well. He doesn't recognize the name, but it does click a little with a man who worked for his father. The mention of his father… it even has mixed emotions. One part hatred, one part regret and grief. "Right— I think I remember seeing you at his office a few times." The few times he visited the father he practically disowned. "I'm— why would— I want to kill you?" There's some obvious reasons. He should know the answer, but… Even the way he says 'I' sounds as if he's almost meaning 'he'. "You work for my brother now, don't you?" He's not dumb. That's one reason he would want to kill someone.

"Yes," replies Cyprus, evenly and without hesitation. "For two years, now." There is still the confusion there, lurking behind his eyes, but he's begun to roll with the situation. He does seem to adapt well. "And if you were really Peter Petrelli, you would know that beyond a shadow of the doubt," he replies, making at least the attempt to turn the tables. "Especially today." Because that's not vague in the slightest, really. Cyprus moves towards the side of the balcony, sparing a moment to look out over into the city beyond. His mind continues to watch Peter, however, noting all the little reactions and changes.

Two years. "You start working for him while he was still running for Senate?" Peter asks, watching the man carefully. If he's really Peter Petrelli. That's a weird question, but… "If you've been working for him for two years, then I'll meet you again soon. I'm actually from the past." Time traveller. Jack told him not to go and tell people, but the President already knows. It shouldn't make much different if his aid does. There's a pause, before he actually turns his back and walks over to the ledge, bending down to pick up a… Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle backpack, and stuff the music box back into it.

For a moment, it seems almost like Cyprus is going to object to the very concept of someone being from the past, but he seems to resist it. He takes a breath, and turns to face Peter once more. "After I took over your father's law firm," Cyprus states with a bit of a nod. "Your brother needed help. And… then the war started." He watches Peter carefully, measuring the movements, and finally asks "And you're planning to return to your own time?"

Pulling the bag up until it's hanging off his shoulder, Peter nods. "That's the idea. I'm trying to— fix this. Stop the war if I can, or at least keep things from getting as bad as they do." Fix things. That's what everyone tries to do. He's just cheating by travelling through time— even if to him none of this has even happened yet.

"Fix this," repeats Cyprus, glancing towards New York as he does so. "Huh. Our past, your future. Fixed." There's rueful noise from the Presidential aide, and he shakes his head. "Do you really think it will be that easy?" he asks, placing both his hands on the stone edge of the balcony. "That this… world is so simply avoided?" He stares out over what's left of the great city, and can't help but keep the bitter smile from off his face.

"Right— this," Peter says, looking out at the ruined city, that's being rebuilt in places, but just visible from here— so many ruins. There's a world's difference between this view, and the view that he's used to. "I don't know for sure— I would never call it easy. I have to survive to get back first." And that isn't the easy part. He's already died once… right on this roofop. He glances over towards the place he'd been shot. The bullets are still there, but the blood has been washed away by rain. "And I might not be able to do it— but I have to try."

"Have you even considered the alternative?" asks Cyprus, leaning forward slightly. If he noticed the bullets, he made no sign of it. For the moment, he's just staring out in to the ruins of New York City.

"The alternative of letting tens of thousands of people die and millions of people be put into camps?" Peter asks, looking over at this man as if— no, he really hasn't considered that alternative. "This hasn't happened yet— not for me— there's still time to fix things and make it better." This man worked for their father— took over the law firm, apparently. Makes sense, but… "We've changed things before— we can change this too."

"The camps… are an unfortunate side effect," Cyprus says with some obvious discomfort. It's not a subject he likes, that much is obvious. He turns away from the city, and shakes his head. "It happens after every major war, a backlash against those who lost. Humanity will never forgive us for winning." He focuses on Peter. "You're talking about changing our past. When there is no guarantee that the world you replace it with is any better than this one. Here… there is more than hope. There is opportunity." Pause. "Help us, Peter. Here. Now. Help me. Help yourself."

"I don't belong her, Mr. Donovan," Peter says politely, looking off towards the city again. "I can't stay, because there's people waiting for me to come back." There might be some temptation to stay, for some reasons, but… he has a mission, and he can't falter on it. "And humanity doesn't have to forgive us. But we don't have to become monsters just to protect ourselves."

"Then they will become the monsters, to protect themselves," says Cyprus quietly. "War is inevitable. In this world, we won. There are no guarantees of that, if you change this. People you care about could die." Because some people don't play fair. The aide takes a deep breath, and turns back to face the city. "When you return, if you be as kind to actually kill Sylar that time? It would be for the best."

"I'm not from here, but that doesn't mean I should just sit back and let things happen," Peter says, shaking his head a little stubbornly, but he doesn't seem to be pleased by this particular moral issue. But the last part, that makes him physically freeze. "What— what do you mean?"

Cyprus pauses and glances at Peter. There's almost a smile there. "You don't watch television much, do you?" he asks easily. "Your wife… your future self's wife… I arranged for her to have a press conference. To speak about the subject of the three hundred odd people whose deaths your future self caused. And she just happened to mention that Gabriel Gray is not only alive, but at large. And she wasn't lying when she said it. Terrified, but not lying." Cyprus turns back to the city. "Unless, of course, he really is dead. And you've become more like Sylar than even we were expecting."

Genuinely stunned. That's the main thing the man will get off of him. Stunned, and then a little panicked. Peter looks down towards the street, then out at the city itself. He doesn't exactly have a television to watch, so yes, this is news to him. He didn't kill Sylar. But then there's so much missing that… "I have to go," he suddenly says, putting his hands on the roof ledge and pushing himself up. Looks like he fully intends to just jump right off. Though that shouldn't come as too much of a surprise.

There's a lifted brow, and Cyprus does not get in his way. He just steps back, and watches.

When Peter jumps off the ledge, he doesn't take off like he probably should, but at least he doesn't fall to his death. He kinda… floats down to the street. Not exactly what he had in mind, but it works. Once he's on the ground, he straightens his clothes, and starts running down the alley towards the street.

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