2007-11-03: Promises To Keep


Elena_icon.gif Peter_icon.gif

Summary: Someone has promises to make, and he intends to keep them.

Date It Happened: November 3, 2007

Promises To Keep

Petrelli Mansion

Evening hours. The sun has set.

Peter was supposed to stay in Bat Country, but he doesn't always do what he's told, does he? Moving up into the yard, he pulls out his phone again and dials another number. This time his girlfriend's rather than his brother's. Dressed in something different than what he left in, he had to change his clothes to avoid re-infecting himself.

Sprawled on the bed in her stomach, Elena absently flips the pages of a book she's got in her hands. Since getting sick, if she doesn't do homework or webchatting with friends, she would be reading, and having spent most of her reading materials she'd brought from home she's started in on Nathan's collection. The book she's got is a staple in any American lawyer's library - The Thirteen American Arguments: Enduring Debates That Define and Inspire Our Country.

Binary Sunset suddenly goes off from her red jPhone. She reaches out and answers the phone. "Hi," she greets. For someone sick, she sounds cheerful. But she knew how to hide non-cheerfulness well.


"Hey," Peter says as soon as he hears her voice. It sounds as if he's a lot better off than when he left, voice less tired and raspy. There's a whispery tone, though, almost as if he's breathless— and from the sound of it he's outdoors. There's a distinct sound of wind brushing against the phone. "You feeling okay? No worse, right?" There's that worried sound, then a moment later he adds another question, "Could you come downstairs for a minute? To the sitting room?"


"It's hard to tell these days," Elena murmurs softly, rolling so she could sit up. "When the body's sick for this long, people get used to it. Starts believing it's normal. So it's…hard to tell whether we're getting worse. Kind of like appendicitis when gone on for too long before it bursts. You sound better." She couldn't help but smile at that. At least that's one of them. At his request, however, there's a slow blink. "Ummmm…okay….just a second."

She keeps the phone in hand, against her ear, moving off the bed and towards the door. Down the stairs she goes, and towards the sitting room. "What am I looking for?" she asks, getting to the room and looking around.

"Yeah— I know," Peter says, sounding rather quiet again. There's actually a tinge of guilt in his voice. It's not something that'll go away easily. As she moves down the stairs, he gets closer to one of the curtainless windows, looking inside into the light. He catches a glimpse of Spica in the background, which makes him smile faintly. The cat isn't anywhere near as bad off as those who live in the house with her right now, and she doesn't seem to have any thoughts other than bathing her feet.

"Me," he says plainly in answer to her question, reaching up to knock lightly on the window to draw attention to himself. "I needed to see you."


At the knock, Elena turns around…and there he is. His color is back, and he doesn't look sickly. He was even talking a little better. The change practically knocks the breath out of her in relief, and she wanders slowly towards the window. The change was so stark she couldn't believe it. She had almost forgotten what Peter looked like when healthy. "…you look so much better," she says in relief - so much so that she could honestly cry. But she doesn't. Instead she reaches out to touch the glass panes. "I'm so relieved."

At the last, she couldn't help but smile. "You saw me this morning," she teases gently.


The clothes could leave something to be desired— then again, she might find the fact that he's in a medical labcoat and practically scrubs to be attractive. There hadn't been much to choose from in the medical center after all, and he didn't dare wear his clothes much longer. As she approaches the window, Peter's hand shifts, turning palm against the glass and seeking out her hand— or as much as he can without putting his hand through the glass. "If we don't find anything soon— if we don't figure out how to fix this soon…" He trails off, but the expression on his face is worried. About her. About the other people who are sick.

"I won't let anything happen to you." It's stated as a promise. "I'm used to seeing you all the time now," he adds, actually smiling faintly, sad at the same time. Because he won't be able to continue that until she's better.


When his palm presses flat against the glass, her own follows, fingertips dragging on the smooth surface to press where his was. It was the best they could do, and she can't risk infecting him anymore. Least of all him. It wasn't like they couldn't touch one another, or be in the same room together. But Elena knows him. He wouldn't be able to resist doing more. Hell he was barely able to when they were just friends, it was an effort doomed to fail now that they were lovers. She didn't want to take any chances, and it looks like neither did he.

"Peter don't…don't do anything rash," she tells him quietly. "You know we'll hold out. Me, Nate, and Evelyn." She hesitates. She wants to tell him whatever happens, she'll be at peace with it. If God wanted her back, so be it. But she also knows she couldn't say that to him. She can't lose hope, especially in front of him. And he was better now. Whatever he did to get better, she wouldn't be justified to think that way.

So instead she smiles. "I know. I believe you," she tells him, nodding with conviction. She chuckles. "And so am I. The bed's going to be cold without you."


She might be able to accept it, but he wouldn't be. Peter knows death comes eventually, he can accept that— but there's so much she needs to do still, and… With their hands seperated only by a fraction of an inch of chilled glass, he curls his fingers, looking tempted to do more, even with that. Theoretically he could, too, since there's abilities he could use that would break down all barriers between them— but he couldn't risk getting reinfected right now. He won't be able to help Cass if he does. "We won't be apart long— I'll make sure of that."

It's another promise, one he's not sure he can keep, but he's certainly going to try. Rash? Well… he won't do anything rash unless he runs out of options. There's a pause, and the hand slips down and away, disappearing from sight into his labcoat, while he still holds onto the phone.

After a moment, the hand reappears, with a rose, red, delicate looking. Also real, from the small vial of water attached to the bottom. "I can't promise you'll be better before this wilts— but I'll try." Shifting it, he briefly kisses the petals and then pushes it toward the glass— and through the glass.

The glass ripples around his hand, and the rose, letting them both pass through. This much can't hurt.


"It's okay….I'll wait for however long," Elena assures him, that determined, stubborn look on her face. "Besides…this isn't the first time we've been…" She smiles ruefully. "It's a bit of a trend anyway. Every couple of months we always seem to be in this position. That we can't….before you say anything, I don't like it either." She can't help but flick her gaze over to his fingers, when they curl inward into the glass. There's a shift in her expression, chewing on her bottom lip delicately.

He'll try. She stares at him when the rose is lifted up from his labcoat, and he kisses the petals. "Peter…" Even now after all these months he could still surprise her. Heat stings her eyes at the….well, incredibly romantic gesture, but she doesn't cry. She reaches out in lieu of it, when the glass ripples over and the blossom passes through. She takes it delicately, and she glances down at it.

"It's beautiful," she tells him, closing her eyes and pressing her lips gently on it, before taking a deep whiff. "You're incredible, you know that? Thank you," she tells him softly. She leans in, to blow onto the window and letting it fog up, before tracing a heart on the mist. She smiles at him impishly from beyond the glass.


There's a strong temptation to touch her when she takes the rose, but his fingers pass through her own instead. Peter's not sure how to control it enough— but when he releases the rose, she can take it. Still ripping around his hand, he pulls it back through before it tries to solidify in the middle of the glass. "I don't like it either." He says into the phone, voice softened, repeating what she'd already said anyway. Neither of them like the seperation, and they tend to be long and difficult for both of them.

The kiss— indirect and through a rose— makes him smile faintly, as does the heart drawn into the fogged up glass.

But the he lets out a helpless sigh, glancing at the hand carefully and then at her again. "I should go. But I'll call— try to come and see you as often as I can." The more they see each other, the more tempted he'll be just to walk through the wall and kiss her, though, so phone calls might be best for a majority of their interactions. "I'll let you know how everything's going, I promise." No keeping her out of the loop, at least. He does start to take steps back, though, before he's tempted.

"I love you."

He'll give her a moment to respond, before he pulls the phone away, turns it off with one hand, and fetches a handwipe from the pocket of his coat, to clean his hand off just in case. She won't mind him being cautious over this.


She could sense the need. Elena was careful despite his phased-in state to pluck the stem out of his hand, without touching his fingers just in case. She can't risk him now. She'd been careful mostly through her interactions outside. She had managed to convince Frank the other day that she could keep the mug he gave her hot chocolate in just so he didn't have to touch ceramic with her saliva on it. But at the softened tone, she nods. "I know," she tells him quietly. "Was never easy. Even when we were just friends."

She smiles when he makes his promises. "I know you will," she says. "You do what you have to….but be careful, okay? It's still dangerous. You could catch it again. Tell Cass I said hi when you see her and I'm glad she's back from Texas." And when he steps away from the window, she moves to sit slowly on the sill.

The parting words cause her features to soften. "I love you too," she returns softly. So much. And then, she flashes him an encouraging smile. "Go get 'em."

When he turns to leave, she ends the call, toying with it absently. The rose remains in her hand. Leaning her head against the glass, she watches him leave until she couldn't see him anymore.

Easing upwards, she moves for the kitchen. Maybe she can find a small, thin vase for it.

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