2008-02-29: Mellita Domi Adsum

Caution: contains Season Three material!


Angela_icon.gif Arthur_icon.gif

Summary: He's back.

Date It Happened: February 29th, 2008

Mellita Domi Adsum

Angela Petrelli's Townhouse

The shadows cast over the Petrelli household provide perfect cover for a stealthy intruder in the middle of the night. The steps out of them, even at this time of night wearing a charcoal gray suit. Highly polished shoes dimly reflect the soft light sneaking in through the slits in the curtains, and they take the stairs, two at a time. He has no reason to fear waking Angela. After all, she is his wife.

The patriarch of Petrelli clan, stretched and torn as it may be, silently opens the door to Angela's bedroom, stepping through and softly closing it behind him. He waits a beat before calling out, his voice ringing loudly through the room; his tone is far too casual, as if sneaking into her house were a perfectly normal thing to do. "Honey, I'm home."

Closer and closer and closer— and Angela's dreams become more intense. The woman's head twitches sharply to one side, then the other, on the verge of tossing and turning. The second Arthur's voice speaks up inside the room in the waking world — perhaps, in fact, a fraction of a second earlier — she is violently launched out of her dreams.

Instantly, Angela catapults into an upright position, sitting up stiff as a board with a sharp gasp of air as if breeching the water after a near drowning. Dark eyes fly open, wide as saucers, immediately fixed on her husband who the public presumes to be dead. "Arthur," she says, a breathless whisper.

Looks like he's not welcome home.

Stepping forward into the room, the sliver of light from the streetlight outside falls across Arthur's face, casting half of it in shadow. He watches her for a moment, his visible eye unblinking, and he finally steps forward into the light, coming to a stop at the foot of the bed. Placing both hands on the footboard in front of him, he smiles at Angela. If anything, he seems amused. "Having a nightmare, are we?"

"You!" Angela finds that her hands are digging into the duvet in front of her, fingers hooking around it like claws as she stares at Arthur. Realizing it, she promptly lets go. Her focus never leaves Arthur; she doesn't blink. "You won't get away with any of this," she accuses, an anger-infused hiss. "I should have put you through the incinerator myself."

"Now now," Arthur says, turning from the bed and pacing around the room as he speaks. "Is that any way to greet your long lost husband? The husband you killed?" He comes to a stop near the window, peering out to the yard below. He knows he wasn't followed, or that no one else is on the property. He knows that it's just him and Angela, so he can take his time. "Angela, dearest," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm when he says it, "not only will I get away with it, you're going to help me get away with it."

All the while Arthur paces, Angela chances tense, determined sidelong glances at the bedside table. An escape route. Two phones sit beside her, oh-so-close: the elegant, streamlined home phone and the cell phone with a direct line to the Company. To her sons. To the Haitian. To security, lot of good they'd be."I will do no such thing, Arthur!" She sneaks a hand under the covers and it slowly crawls toward the bedside table while she presumes she's not being watched. "Go back to hell where you belong!" She makes a mad grab for a phone — any phone — but her mind sharply veers, at the last moment. It's the base of the expensive beaded lamp that her hand wraps around, and it's this that she boldly throws at her husband.

"I can make you if I have to." Arthur's tone is neutral, relaxed— but it carries a weight behind it. He'll kill her if he has to. He turns around to face his wife, but instead of seeing her, he sees a lamp headed straight for him. He manages to get an arm up, the vase breaking over his elbow and the side of his head, a cut appearing underneath his hair. He stumbles back a few steps, but not before quickly reaching out with a hand, sending out a telekinetic shove in Angela's direction.

Angela is already scurrying out of bed, the covers thrown hurriedly back — but her feet barely even touch the floor before she's shoved back against the heavy wooden headboard behind her, shoulder-first before the telekinesis flattens her back. "Arthur," she spits out the name with ire, but there is the slightest hint of pleading. It doesn't suit the matriarch in the slightest, but it's human, that sliver of desperation. "I won't be part of your grandiose schemes! Changing the world, Arthur, you're taking it too far this time!"

Stepping away from the wall, Arthur moves to the bed, coming to a rest just beside it, looking down at Angela. He crosses his arms, frowning at her, his face dark. He's clearly not happy with her. "I'm doing what Primatech could never do. I have no one in my way to stop me this time. I'm most certainly not going to let you try and put me out of commission again. On top of that, our son is helping me do it. Pinehearst will show the world its vision for the future, and they'll embrace it. So will you. For now, though, I can't have you warning Primatech about this." He reaches out, placing a hand on Angela's shoulder. It almost looks as if it's a comforting gesture, but it's far different than that. "You're coming with me." A loud cracking noise sounds throughout the room, and in the next instant, both Arthur and Angela are gone.


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