2007-08-14: DF: Keep Moving Forward


DFElena_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Summary: After the events in Sylph Rising, Elena and Peter dodge patrols as they move back to the Saints' headquarters. Progress is the word of the day.

Dark Future Date: August 14th, 2009

Log Title

A few blocks away from Phoenix Rising Penthouses, New York

She's wrapped up in his arms, and then? They're off. Elena hasn't been flown like this in a while, so she latches onto him tightly and squeezes her eyes shut. It's been a while, and from the time she's from, they've only done it once. So off they go……….

They land around 20 minutes from the towers, drifting down in a dark alley and landing lightly on their feet. He's used how many powers today? Elena's actually quite surprised to see him looking better than she remembered after the usage of several of his abilities in succession. Still, she helps him lean against the wall, if he needs to catch a breath. "Hang on, let me check you," she breathes quietly. Two years, and she still knew how he worked - Elena, after all, had a very good memory. Her hand reaches over, fingers folding gently over his forehead to detect the balances in his body. She closes her eyes then, a loose lock of hair curling on her cheek as she lowers her head to fully concentrate. As her control invades his system, she continues. "You did good today, Peter. I'm…..proud of you."

The green has faded from his eyes, but Peter certainly needs to lean against the wall once they've landed. Slow breaths, he has his eyes closed when she first touches his forehead, but they open again and he watches her close her own eye— watches her hair curl against her cheek. And then she says what she does. The first reaction is a surprised inhale, nearly a gasp, before she'll feel his head lower a fraction, leaning into her hand. "Been practicing— even before I came here," he says softly, and then… reaches up to touch her cheek, specifically, aiming to push the stray lock behind her ear.

The gesture doesn't end there, though, because his hand lingers, fingers sliding under her ear, into her hair, while his thumb gently rubs at her cheek. "It's… we saw her the first time that day in the hospital. That day's important…" He's still looking at her quietly, even as he's still working to keep his breath steady.

But before he can continue… "You're proud of me?"

"Your stamina's improved," Elena observes, her eyes still closed. Like confronted with a switchboard full of controls, she starts adjusting the imbalances in his body. And she's surprised to find there wasn't much. "I think your body's finally adapting to the abilities you've absorbed from others. Just took time, I suppose. Cass….is doing such a good job then, from back where you were." And speaking of Cass. "When we get her back, we have to ask her if she's come across a situation where an ability suddenly grows dormant only to re-manifest uncontrolled later. I've taught a few how to use their powers themselves, I've never come across a situation like that. It's weird."

Her hair is pushed back, and the rough pad of his thumb strokes her cheek. She can't help but open her eyes then, once her work is done. "Hm? I know, the quarantine. You, me, Nathan, Jack….I think her name's Yael. The cop, the blonde nurse…" Elena tries to recall with a quiet sigh. Who were the others? "Evelyn…the snarky nurse who yelled at me." She can't help but smirk a bit at the last. "I guess it was, if it was the first time we saw her."

At the last, she hesitates…but she gives him a small nod. "You've improved in such a short time. With any luck I'll be able to show you how to do this without my help." She eases the hand that's on his forehead away from him, to show him her palm. "And fix your levels on your own."

"You said it'd happen eventually," Peter says softly, still watching her, even as he's working to breathe quietly. It's a lot less than he might have said— she's said a lot, and he's just responding with that, because he's too busy watching her. His eyes slide over her face carefully, the thumb gently moving. But it's what she said after that makes him smile faintly, almost tiredly.

"I'll learn more— but…" Fixing his own problems will be nice, it will help things, but that's not what he thinks is most important right now, as he tries to keep his breath steady.

"That wasn't… what I meant— I mean it is— important because that's the day we first saw her— but it— at breakfast that morning. That's… not entirely what I meant, Elena." A slow breath later and he just seems to give in, leaning forward and nudging his nose against hers. It's just a prelim to something more, but she could probably pull back to avoid it if she really wished to— she knows what happens next. Two years later, he hopes she hasn't forgotten.

"….I did. It was a long time ago," Elena tells him quietly, her eyes averting to the side. It was that look again, reflected from the past to haunt her present. She lowers her own hand to rest on her side. But she doesn't pull away, feeling the thumb trace a gentle, indiscernable pattern on her skin. She can't help but close her eyes, remembering what her father said the night before. The man who knew her the best in the world. She hoped somewhere within herself that he had been wrong, that she had changed the propensity he recognized in her sometime in the course of two years, but she was wrong.

When he tries to explain something, she turns her head to look at him, a quirk on her brow to denote a small sense of confusion. "….what…?" she wonders, trying to interpret what he's trying to say. But looking at him now, she can't avoid the expression on his face. And when he leans forward, feeling his nose brush up against hers…it was tempting. She couldn't help but feel her heart ache a little. This was the Peter she loved, who she missed, who she hoped would come back even if he was married to someone else because he had been such a good person then. It was almost too much to resist.


Her fingertips lift up to touch his mouth gently before it makes contact with her own, tracing absently on the corner of his mouth where the dead nerves are. The expression in her face is unreadable, but it's clear that she remembers. Until it lowers.

"What were you trying to say?" is said at last.

The resistance she has certainly outpaces him. But as soon as her hand comes up to block him, Peter lets out a breath he hadn't been away he was holding. There's a hint of disappointment, or maybe shame in that single exhale. Eyes close, he leans against her forehead heavily, and stays there. What was he trying to say? Letting his hand drop away from her face, he puts his hand on her shoulder. Might be a temptation to push her away and leave it alone, not tell her what he meant, but…

"The day after— is when I fell in love with you," he says, still close as he is. Only once it's said does he physically push away, before he's tempted to do anything besides press his lips against her fingers. The hand even moves off her shoulder to take her hand and pull it out of the way.

"Sorry— We can— go on to the Towers now." There's some hint of hurt in his voice, other negative emotions, but he's trying to push it aside. "We— found out a lot of important stuff— Things we needed to know." And maybe now he can fix things when he goes back— more than just problems with relationships.

She lowers her other hand, Elena not saying anything as she turns to head out of the alley, sliding her hands in her pockets. She knows she hurt him, and part of her regrets it. Her body, still, responded to his as if two years hadn't passed and she was a teenager again. But at the same time… what could've that accomplished? If they kissed, then what? He'd have to leave eventually, she'll be left haunted by his spectre yet again. It took her two years to make peace with her mistakes. Maybe all the talk of Destiny was right. He was back, perhaps, to test her resolve, her dedication to her cause.

Or maybe he was back to prove the same, girlish idea she had back then that they were somehow fated.

This wasn't a Shakespearean play, however. They weren't star-crossed lovers. No tragedy awaited for them in the end. No one was going to die. At least, she hoped so anyway. She goes first, but she doesn't step out of the alley yet, looking around, expanding her sphere of detection. They were safe, it looks like.

She looks at him at what he says, and then she continues walking, slinking out of the dark and walking towards the direction of the Penthouses. "I don't know…" she begins. "When I started feeling for you that way. It was like I woke up and I knew," she says after a pause, falling a step next to him as she walks. "Heidi actually asked me at some point, whether I felt anything for you. At first I didn't get what she was saying….I thought she meant that she was worried we weren't friends anymore because that was the time I didn't talk to you for a week after….what….happened with Elle. But when she asked me the second time a couple of months later, I admitted it. I don't know when it started. I guess….I don't really think much about that sort of thing until it actually happens. Silly, reckless me I suppose."

She looks over at him, and then she keeps moving forward. "….Papa said….a few things to me last night. He was having another one of his rages. He tends….well. When we lost Luis, 'Nita, and Dezi in one day, they were worse after that. It's tapered off some but….it never stops. I've been afraid for a bit that he might hurt me every time he gets so deep in it, when I try to pull him out of it…but he never has. He said…"

She falls quiet, indecision warring over her features.

With her hands sliding into her pocket, Peter's left with nothing to grasp onto, so he does much the same thing, stick his hands into his pocket. One ends up grasping a bullet that he still carries around. Used, and not useful anymore. Not for anything except a reminder. Walking nearby, he keeps a good pace with her, in case he needs to reach over and turn them both invisible, but for now… he'll keep his distance.

And then she talks about it. It surprises him a little, and he glances over to watch her, until he looks back towards the street. "No— not silly— I didn't think about it until it happened— I just realized it faster." That might be his experience with falling in love that helped him realize it before, but it doesn't really change much of anything now. They do have tragedy awaiting in the form of him having to leave eventually. All he can offer her is now— and maybe it's selfish to still want to give that much, when she's the one who's getting left behind.

But then he hears the rest— Luis and 'Nita. Desiree. He knew she was missing, if not dead, but the two children… he'd not known of this. It causes him to look at her a lot longer than before, quieter. He only met the children once, and it'd been extremely brief, but… he remembers it well. And if it'd been his nephews, for example, he knows he'd feel it heavily. Apologies for what happened to her family won't change anything, she's probably heard them a dozen times, she can see them in his eyes. He decides to stick with the topic at hand.

"What did he say?"

It had been a habit for so long. Elena always stuck her hands in her pockets, rarely were they ever held by anyone. But when they try to navigate the dark, and eerily quiet streets of this New York, she doesn't look at him when she mentions the two little siblings are dead. It was easier to look forward, and she was afraid she would cry if she saw the expression on his face. She hasn't cried in a very long time, she didn't have it in her anymore. All she can do, as always, is move forward. Her worn sneakers crunch on the ruined gravel underneath the both of them.

But at least he doesn't apologize. Even now he knew her so well. It made this entire thing even harder to swallow.

"He said….I don't really hate you. The Now-You," she says. "He…time hasn't changed much. He's still the one person who knows me the best in this world." She looks up at the dark and foggy sky. "But he reminded me that I wasn't one to love, only to cut it off so easily - though…" A small laugh escapes her. "There's nothing really easy about this." She sighs a little, her breath causing her long bangs to dance around her face. "He said I don't really hate him. Or you. But rather I still love the both of you, but I'm just so….angry with how everything worked out. At him for not doing any better, and at you for…coming back and being so fragile that I can't put my hopes on you, no matter what you do here. And that I'm angry at myself, too, because I can't stop. Out of all the changes I could've hoped for, the one thing I wish would change never did."

She stops in her tracks, turning her body so she could look at him fully. "You proved me wrong today though. With what we found out. Your resolve. The questions you asked, the ideas you demonstrated. You even found a way to use my ability to keep one you just absorbed in control." She gives him a small, but genuine smile. "Maybe you're not completely the Peter I remember."

Fraility. It's not something most men would like to hear. But it's also not something he can deny, really. Peter listens to what she says and nods slowly. There could be some defense for himself. He'd just arrived in the world they've had two years to cope with— his friends shot him, threatened to shoot him. They looked at him as if he was some kind of outsider, someone they didn't care about. And the last time he'd seen her, they'd fought. He thought he lost her— and the next time he saw her… they were laughing about killing people. Even if those people would have killed him, he can't stomach it entirely. It really bothered him. That, and the look she gave him…

But… "The people you care the most about can cause the biggest pain and heartache," he says softly. "Seeing them become something you can't stomach is… I understand." And considering he's clenching a bullet his brother fired at him in his pocket— he really does understand.

But the last did make him smile, lopsided, but also genuine. At least most of the hurt fades from his eyes, almost completely. "Well— far as I know he didn't actually travel through time, right? So that's… something." He laughs a little, removing a hand from his pocket to run it through his hair. He still has the one with the bullet. He's not letting go of that yet. "And I do know what it would be like— for her. The idea of the damage I could have done last year— with the bomb— if I'd been given a second chance to change that— then she does too, right? And not just for her, but… for a lot of things." There's another pause, "I picked your ability cause I've been using it a lot lately— and because you were there. It's easier when you're there."

"I know. Besides, it's not like…" Elena hesitates. "It's not like I haven't done that to you before. Or….just now." Back in the alley. Even now she knew how to read him. She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse, but all she knew was that it helped her understand him and know how to motivate him. To her, perhaps, it was more important than the other things. They had a job to do, an objective, and the finish line made it easier to tell him the things she should've told him before. Not like they made a difference now….but it cleared the air between them, re-established their connection. Maybe this really was the only way to convert him from a ghost to just a beautiful memory.

The smile and the small laugh causes her to grin at him, the dimple appearing on her left cheek. She inclines her head at him, and lifts her shoulder just a bit. "I guess it would be. If you left after we fought…." She pauses. "I guess you wouldn't be able to tap into my abilities as well as you'd normally, if we stayed together. I might not have trained you as long as Cass has, but I do understand how your powers work. The emotional connection is necessary to you. If it's all hurt and jumbled and you feel a sense of loss…"

She falls quiet for a moment.

"I…hope you'll forgive me eventually for being so harsh. And distant. I'm very well aware that this isn't easy for you either. I mean, I at least know how the world works around here. You don't….at least not as well as others." She lifts her eyes up to meet his. She seems to want to say something more, but she exhales, and keeps walking.

The rebirth of their connection has also helped a great deal with his sudden mastery of her abilities— maybe her level of experience with them has helped. There's a hint of a gust of wind, and Peter narrows his eyes a moment, but when it doesn't pick up, he leaves it alone— for now. He might have to find a place in privacy to figure out the trigger for that— enough to keep it from kicking in on it's own. The last thing he needs is to have it… lay in wait and strike and hurt someone uncontrolably. But for tonight… he can keep it under control with her help— whether she's phyiscally with him or not. The talk is also helping.

"Yeah— after— after our fight I couldn't use your ability even if I tried— and I did try a few times." He won't say what he tried, but he remembers it failed. In fact, he can't remember one time it succeeded until after she used it on him in the training room. "So I can imagine he doesn't use your ability that often… if at all." But there's so much that he doesn't know about how he became this person that he did… Then again… it could easily be explained in one world. Nathan. The most important person in his life is also the one who could destroy him the most.

"I'm… learning— but mostly just enough to know how to fix this— I don't want to live in this world. Even if there's… some things here worth staying for. I know I can't. Because there's just as many things— more— worth going back for." And so many more people he needs to save that he can only help by going back.

Though he catches the hesitation, he doesn't call her on it, and instead moves just a bit closer and touches her upper back, between the shoulder blades. "You weren't that bad. After the initial meeting… you weren't that bad." His brother did much more damage than she did— and somehow she managed to help pick up the pieces after that.

Well, she'll have to monitor him closely - the wind picking up isn't unnoticed. In fact, he could tell by the sharpness of her gaze that she did and knows what it is. She blinks as she looks at him, Elena inclining her head a bit when he mentions he tried, after she left for Spain. She nods. "Maybe he's forgotten me. I don't think he's ever used it here." The thought was a little irksome, since she's never forgotten him. A girl never forgets her first love, no matter how much time has passed and how terrible the break was.

She sighs. "Truth be told, I don't see….you in him anymore. I could be wrong, I try to stay away as much as I can. But in those rare occasions where he'd be in the same vicinity…." She glances down at her hand, and lifts it up to him so he could touch his own fingertips to hers if he wants. "It's like he was never the same person. I don't…." She groans. "It sounds so stupid…" And she does look embarassed, the red tinging her cheeks. "But I don't feel you anywhere at all. It wasn't like….how we first met when I was still working at that little Starbucks shop when we held hands for the first time." The small jolt, that certain feeling of something intangible occuring that wove into the cosmic pattern. "It's like you don't exist even if I know you're…HE's….running around doing god-knows-what."

When he touches her shoulder, she gives him a wry look. "It was pretty bad," she tells him. "But I take it your reunions with other people here didn't go so well…" she ventures carefully.

There's a long pause. Peter looks away from her as she talks about how different he is, like it was never him at all. "I lied— about killing Sylar," he says softly, continuing forward and keeping his hand between her shoulder blades. "The one thing I could never really forgive other people doing… is keeping a major secret from those they're supposed to love, trust and care for. My whole family kept secrets— to protect people, to protect public image— if I did that— whatever the reason…"

The hand slides a little lower, until it falls away entirely, dangling at his side between them. "That isn't me. There was— this one time with Mohinder, in the subway. He was talking about his father and his research. Claimed to hate it, thought it ruined his career— but at the same time— he'd become a genetist too, he followed in his father's footsteps. And he said something… we're all just… variations of the last model. Cheap knock offs of our fathers." And he hated his father. Loved him, hated him. Had been disgusted with what he did, the people he protected… the secrets he kept.

"I guess I can be closer to him than I want to be— closer to… my brother. Keeping that kind of secret— and… living that kind of lie— getting people killed just to finish an assignment— the train accident… all of it."

He was rambling a little, but the point comes out, "You're right— it's not me. And I never want it to be me."

And that's one future he can work to make sure never happens. Now, he reaches back to touch her shoulder again, "Lachlan and Jack weren't too bad— Lachlan actually hugged me. Jack… he was nice to me." Even after the whole punching thing. But… he pulls his other hand out of his pocket and opening his palm to show the broken bullet. "Cass and my brother both shot me. But I guess Nathan could have let me fall off the roof— and he didn't. I was pretty close to it… And a lot of the people I've met here— I never really knew them back in the present. Trina and Ms. Cain… Prime. McAlister— I barely even knew Eric." In passing, more or less. "You… just happened to be the person I wanted to see the most," he adds, putting the bullet away again.

Patrols. She could hear the sirens and the flashing lights. And life signals, moving in their direction.

As he rambles, Elena suddenly grabs his arm, steering him away from the street and into an alley. She lifts a finger to her lips, to signal quiet. She doesn't respond to him - not yet, but she does press her back against the wall, her head tilted to the street and sliding further into the darkness, watching a large truck rumble through, its blue, white, and red lights flickering on top as it passes the street they were in just seconds ago. Footsteps follow, after the truck, a troop of National Guard clomping in a running march down the street to follow the truck, for back-up.

A sinking feeling returns to her stomach as she watches. "They're picking someone up," Elena tells Peter quietly, her body tense. A flash of indecision could be seen in her profile. She wanted to suddenly leap out of where she is and take the entire convoy out before they victimized another family. Or business. But she was only one person, and part of her command position now was to choose her battles carefully. She squeezes her eyes shut, leaning her head back and tapping one fist against the wall behind her.

When she opens her eyes again, she glances over at him, her lips pressed in a line. Searching his face, almost critically - though not really that so much as discerning just how sincere he was being, she gives him a nod. "I'll hold you to that," she tells him. "That it's not you, and that you never want it to be you. When you get back, you remember that."

She reaches out, if he lets her, she'll take the bullet that shot him, and examines it under the dim light. The casing was gone, the bullet mashed a bit on impact. She might not be a ballistics expert, but she knew her share of physics. Shot through the heart - she can't really tell just by looking at it, but she makes the correlation figuratively like the old Bon Jovi song.

"I figured," she says, her eyes on the bullet when he tells her she's the person he wanted to see the most. She hands the bullet back to him. "It's…when it comes to the other things, you're not the sort to let go so easily. At least, emotionally." She meets his eyes. "But you have to understand I'm not the same person you remember. Not completely. I've fallen far from the ideals I once held important. I've killed people, Peter. I'm sure once you see me do it, you'll never look at me the same way again."


As soon as their pulled inside the alley, Peter looks surprised. He's not learned this ping ability yet— he's still catching up with the boosting of his own systems, but what he can do is keep them further out of sight. Putting his hand over hers, they slide out of visibility— whether she knows it for not. Shouldn't they help? Why are they hiding? For the same reason that he ran away the first day he got here— there's little he can do without risking himself— and risking her in the process.

There's promises to keep himself alive that keep him from running off half-cocked and trying to save the day. He'll just hold onto her as much as he can, until it's passed, and until she gives the clear.

It's passed, and they're now off the street, stopped, and a lot closer physically than they'd been before, mostly because he refused to let go of her to keep them both invisible. That remains, for now. She might even feel the slight change in his biological processes since he'd called up another ability… His body's still able to cope with it. He's not falling over or turning pale.

"I'll remember." It'd be nearly impossible to forget without outside interference, like the Haitian. Hearing what he's become… that monster isn't what he ever wants to be. Ever.

"I know you've killed people," he says softly in response, voice serious, hand still on her arm, though once the bullet is put away, he reaches up to brush her cheek with his knuckles. "This is a war— and you're all soldiers— you're only doing what you have to do…" It changes people, he won't dismiss that, but his father and brother were both soldiers, and he still loved his brother even if he knew he flew planes over hostile territories and probably killed people— probably even civilians at times— such things happen.

"And I know you've changed— but you're still in there— you didn't destroy yourself to become what you needed to be… I know because… you kept the music boxes… you care more about your Saint's happiness than you do your own— And even in this dark place… you're still one of the brightest rays of sunshine around. It just takes longer to see it than it used to."

Moving closer, he leans in— only this time he's not directly trying to kiss her lips, just her cheek. That much shouldn't hurt anything, right?


Her eyes have moved away from him to keep watch on the street. They may be in the clear now, but Elena's not taking any chances. They've dispensed snipers on the roof lately. "I can't," she says, as if reading his mind even if that ability has been given by the Almighty to another member of her family. "They know who I am. Perhaps not my face…I don't really know how much they actually know about 'Angel', but I know for a fact that they know one of my aliases and an agent was able to identify what I was when I ran into him the other day." George Dawson.

When she detects the change, her attention snaps to him again, her eyes narrowing a little bit. But then…realization hits her. "…….you're keeping us out of sight, aren't you?" Invisibility was one of his better talents, absorbed from his first teacher - one of many now probably. Well that was useful. She closes her eyes to do another sweep, homing in on what she could reach.

She's distracted by the touch on her cheek. Her eyes open again, staring at him at what he says. She chokes back a humorless laugh, rolling her head against the wall and giving him a dry look. "We're terrorists, Peter," she reminds him. "If you believe the propaganda machine anyway. Your brother's taste in spin doctors have improved over the years." Granted, the Saints have been doing more entertaining than terrorizing. Their exploits were all over Youtube.

He argues the point anyway. She shuts her eyes. If she hasn't destroyed what she was along the way, why did her old self seem so far away? "Oh, Peter…" The last is a groan. "You're so incredibly biased." These remain closed until she feels his lips press against her cheek lightly. And no, that much shouldn't hurt anything - she kissed Jack on the cheek all the time. So she lets him. Her fingers curl on the forearm that's around her, expelling a breath.


There's a frown. Identity known— honestly Peter half expects to suffer a case of mistaken identity (though not so mistaken) once or twice before he leaves. Already happened with Donovan. The man thought he was going to kill him, and he had no idea why he'd want to. Of course now he understands… terrorist. This woman in front of him might have even tried to kill him. But… "Yeah, invisible— it's pretty easy, figured it— it'd help a little." It also means he gets to have an excuse to keep his hand on her while she looks out. And… multiple hands, actually, because her cheek got that rub.

"Well… soldiers who are fighting against a corrupt government are often considered terrorists— but you're not… going out of your way to create terror in the people. The government's doing that enough on their own." And Sylar isn't helping. And the other him. But they're not doing things quite the same at all.

"Yeah— I'm a bit biased," he has to admit, before he looks away, glancing towards the street, and lowering his hand to wrap fingers around one of hers. "Biased or not, though… I'm not lying." It's what he believes, and what she made him believe.


"Huh? No." Elena shakes her head, and she can't help the shade of that old, mischievous grin tugging up the edges of her mouth. "If anything we try to entertain. Try looking us up on Youtube while you're here. We actually have fans." Of course, those who could only declare themselves to be are hardcore hackers who've managed to keep their technological identities secret from the careful watch of Big Brother….as apt as that is as far as Peter is concerned. "But we don't kill civilians….at least, we try not to." Some of them have tried to kill her Saints, after all. But the moment they pick up the gun and join the fight is the moment they stop being classified as such.

When he looks away to take her hand, she inclines her head at him. Her eyes lower to watch his fingers intertwine with hers, and she can't help but close them. With a quiet sigh, she squeezes his hand. Just once. The gesture is a little awkward, considering the circumstances. But she tries. She doesn't have to express her gratitude with spoken words - the gesture is enough.

"At least in this incarnation you're honest," she says absently, her attention turning back to the street. The siren's faded off to the distance, and once again their surroundings are vacant. "We should get moving."


"It's not… nevermind," Peter says, shaking his head. His view on killing is different— threats don't always have to be threats. Killing only creates more killing. There can be justifications and circumstances… but that doesn't change that someone's getting killed, somewhere. Even those people working for the government may have reasons, just like the Company Agents of old had reasons. Family, friends— their people threatened. He can't help them do what they do— understand it, live with it— but it helps that he knows he can change it, make it so they never have to become what they've become.

"We can go the rest of the way like this." She's right, they need to get moving. The closer they are, the harder it is for him to avoid certain things— and while she allowed a kiss to the cheek, there's so much more than he'd rather do… and she already stopped him once. This does mean he retains her hand as he starts in the direction of the Towers again. They'll go together, and they'll do it relatively out of sight. Even if no one's really watching.

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