2007-06-30: Sunshine


Peter_icon.gif Jack_icon.gif

Summary: Red light, green light.

Date It Happened: June 30th, 2007

Log Title Sunshine

Location NYC - Hyde Park - Petrelli Mansion - Foyer

Jack is taking his position as Petrelli Private Security very seriously. Presently, he's kneeling just inside the front door of the mansion with small tools arrayed around him, a screwdriver in one hand, and a penlight clamped between his teeth. He tightens a final screw in the exposed mechanism of the heavy bolt/knob combo he's installing, then flashes the penlight inside to check his work. Apparently he's satisfied, because he picks the cover up off of the floor and goes about the business of screwing it into place.

Next to him, a dark-skinned man with long, intricately braided hair and an enormous mole at the corner of his mouth is tapping a series of numbers into a freshly-installed alarm panel. When it beeps and the indicator light flashes from red to green, he turns to grin at Jack and give him a thumbs up.

All the while, Peter's been inside the house unaware that a friend happens to be downstairs working on the alarms. At least that's until he goes downstairs and towards the front door with a small white dog in tow on a leash. It's obvious that he's decided to take his dog for a walk. The Eskimo has a summer cut at the moment, fluffy tail still full, while fur on her body is trimmed close. Pointed ears and big fluffy tail make her look like a tiny white fox. As soon as he gets to the door, he frowns, recognizing one of the two men working on the alarm, and speaking up, "Jack?" What's the bartender doing messing with the alarm system? If it were anyone else, he might have checked with the security staff— but this is Jack.

When Peter arrives with puppy in tow (or vice versa), Jack glances over at his alarm-programming cohort. "Milkdud. Piss off, okay? I'll call you later."

Rather than upset, Milkdud seems pleased to be dismissed. He responds by waving his middle finger at Jack, then slips quietly out the door.

The Irishman hauls himself to his feet and dusts his hands off on his grey denims before offering one for shaking. "Pete. Good t'see you, boy-o." He glances at Peter, then the puppy, then at the mostly assembled lock. "Didn't know you were here or I'd have said hello. 'M doin' a bit o' upgradin' in light o' what's been happenin'."

Milkdud? There's a hint of a smile, especially considering the man's reaction with the particular finger waving, before Peter moves over to stand closer to the much taller — if slightly younger — man. "Guessing you talked to Nathan about this— it's a good idea. The alarm system definitely could use some beefing up. Especially considering there's two people we might have to worry about." The man who tells people what to do, and a serial killer who cuts open people's skulls. It's true that Sylar may have a specific set of targets he prefers to go after, but he also knows where the Petrelli's live, and has walked the halls of this house before. It's just another thing to worry about in a long line of things to worry about. The puppy looks up at the man's leg, and ends up putting her paws against him for a moment, tail wagging.

"Yeh, Nate and I had us an interestin' discussion last night. He's got me on the payroll now." Jack's voice is a little hoarse, his eyes are thoroughly bloodshot, and his forehead is pinched into a constant frown. These seem to be unconscious reactions, because he's grinning when he leans down to ruffle the doggie's ears. Nice doggie. While he's bent over, he picks up his discarded penlight. "Hey. Look what we can do!" He holds the penlight in both cupped hands, grits his teeth, and narrows his eyes as he begins to focus. How did he do it with the diamonds? He grunts, and beads of sweat spring up around his hairline. Then… POOF! The flashlight disappears.

Jack's muscles immediately go slack and his shoulders slump. A single tear wells up in one eye, then leaves a pinkish trail as it drags down his cheek.

The dog definitely likes the attention, even attempting to lick his hands before he pulls them away to show off with the pen light. Peter smiles faintly, nodding a bit at the payroll part, before the man starts to attempt a demonstration. Knowing the man's ability well enough that he's used it on his own, he's still not sure what to expect until it finally vanishes. With the visible effort, he reaches forward and puts a hand on his arm to offer some support. "You okay? Where— where did it go? You figured out how to send things away from you?" That's definitely helpful, even if it looks like it's strained him more. Could be similar to telepathy in that respect. Reading minds came pretty fast, but when he tried to send thoughts it took a while to figure out, and hurt more.

"I'm figuring it out," Jack replies. Though he's normally stoic to the core, he makes no attempt to shrug off Peter's grip. He even leans in, allowing the other man to support a bit of his weight for a moment. Absently, he reaches up to dab the tear from his cheek, then peers at his fingertip curiously. "I sent it to my toolbox in your brother's den. But man… Doin' that really makes my head hurt. I don't think I'll be tryin' again for a bit."

"I've had that problem with some abilities," Peter has to admit with a hint of a smile, before he glances in the direction of his brother's den, as if trying to look through the wall and see proof it'd been moved. "That'd be useful. I wouldn't need to keep a key to my lockbox anymore— I could fuze the lock shut, make it harder to get things out of it." The puppy turns towards him and starts pawing at his legs now, jumping up and down a little, so he kneels to retrieve her. Once in his arms, she settles down quite a bit. She just wanted to be held, is all! "Been using your ability to keep a lockbox, secret stuff— but I had to keep the key because otherwise I couldn't get anything back in it."

This is a concept Jack's familiar with. He's catching his breath now. He straightens his posture and stretches out a few cramps. "I pretty much use my apartment the same way. It won't be long b'fore you get very, very good at remember where you left things." He smiles and reaches over to scritch behind the doggie's ears. "I like that idea, though. S'clever."

Like all puppies, Snowy still loves the attention. At the scritching, her ears shift and she turns her head to position it just where she wants it to be. The tail sticking out wags back and forth. Peter nods, agreeing with this, "I've been through that a few times— always been pretty good with my apartment, but— I needed my video camera one day a while back and it took me a few moments to remember where I'd put it last." There's a laugh, and he shakes his head. "Cass made me think of it. She wanted me to be able to call a gun to my hand if Sylar showed up again. My gun just happened to be in a lockbox, and I decided to put more in there."

Jack nods agreeably. "That's a good idea, boy-o. It's always best to be prepared, but you can never be too safe, either." He gives the dog a final pat, then stoops to collect his tools and jam them into the back pocket of his jeans. He's smiling when he straightens up. "M'glad to hear my little trick's been useful to you. At first I wasn't crazy about havin' a part o' me inside you forever, but I got used to the idea." This statement comes complete with a leer and waggling eyebrows, though the look would be more effective if he weren't suppressing a laugh.

"Yeah," Peter admits, glancing away for a moment, even as the puppy turns her nose towards him for some of that attention now that the other man's sticking tools into his pockets. She's disappointed, as he's busy staring at a wall, but at least she's still held firmly. "Sorry about that," he seems embarassed and legitimately apologetic. And perhaps the leer and wagging eyebrows isn't helping with this, but the suppressed laugh might be. After a moment, he actually chuckles a bit himself, looking back over, a lopsided smirk on his mouth. "Glad you don't mind too much." There's another pause, before he looks a little more serious, "The other night in the bar— did I pay you? I honestly can't remember much of it after Mara showed up."

Jack shakes his head, the leer melting off his face in favor of his customary crooked grin. "Nah," he replies. "But don't sweat it. I was buyin' you drinks. Now that the Den is flooded…" he pauses to clear his throat and the muscles around his left eye twitch. " Speakin' of, I talked to 'Lena yesterday. She had some interestin' things to say." Now he's studying Peter, most intently around the eyes. The look he's giving isn't quite suspicious, but it isn't a pleasant one either.

"Are you sure?" Peter asks, actually shifting his hold on the white fluff ball as if to reach for his wallet at the first sign that the man isn't sure. The eye twitching and throat clearing actually does lead him to stick his hand into his pocket, though he waits a moment— pausing especially when Elena is brought up. "…Elena…" he repeats hesitantly, eyes shifting off to the side a moment before he looks back. The unpleasant look definitely has him cautious. "Was I not supposed to talk about her family problems? Or— did she mention the whole… thing with Elle?" Bringing up something ambigious always creates interesting responses, doesn't it?

"I'm not interested in what you did to Elle with your thing." Jack lets out a short, mirthless laugh. "I'm more concerned about what you plan to do to Elena with your thing." For most people, the statement would be unessescary to the point of rudeness. For Jack, it's a delicate, diplomatic prod for information. He winces, then makes an attempt at rephrasing. "M'not smart, an' even I can see there's somethin' odd about you two's friendship. What are your intentions, boy-o?"

"With my…?" Peter doesn't seem to understand what he's implying at all. The first thought he has is that Elena did mention what happened with Elle and he's concerned about him using that ability on her for some reason? It's only when he gets to their friendship, and his 'intentions', that it starts to settle in. Instead of looking embarassed, he actually looks pale. "What— what did Elena say about…?" All of a sudden he's really wishing he remembered that night, now. What exactly did he /say/ to her? The puppy in his arms continues wagging her tail, but it's slowed down a little at the signs of tension. "I don't… really have any intentions." His eyes downcast after he says that, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, remove his hand from his pocket to play with his pant loops instead. "I'm not trying to…"

"Hey, calm down." Jack holds both hands up with his palms facing toward Peter. It's a universal sign of peace. I am not holding weapons, I do not plan to hurt you. He's still not smiling, though. "What you are or aren't plannin' on doin' is up t'you." Deep breath. Hold it. Let it out. None of these words are coming particularly easy to Jack, who's far more inclined to keep Elena from dating for the rest of her natural lifespan. "But no more smoochin' until you get the issue sorted out. And for the love of God, stay off the freakin' drugs. She said summat about you bein' high or somethin'… ?"

If he'd been pale /before/… Peter actually looks as if he might get sick at what the other man has to say. Smooching? On /drugs?/ His mouth opens a little, and then finally he says about the only thing he can think to say… "Think I need to sit down." Luckily there's a place to sit not too far away, and he does so, the puppy dropping from his arms onto his lap, and then to the floor beside him instead. Leaning over, he puts his head in his hands, resting his elbows against his legs, and just sits there a minute. Once he's sure he's not about to pass out, he looks back up again, "I… kissed her? She didn't— didn't tell me that." And it sounds as if he's regretting it. "And I don't do drugs— Only thing I did that night was drink. A lot." A lot more than he probably should have, but… could he have done drugs too? He certainly hopes not.

"Shit, s'nothin' wrong with drinkin'," Jack murmurs by way of reply. He sucks in another breath and sighs it out. "Get drunk enough and strange things are 'bout to happen. She didn't tell me it was you wot kissed her, but it didn't take much thinkin' to figure it out." He peers down at Peter, then shakes his head and claps the man on the shoulder reassuringly. "So the question is, did y'do it because you were drunk, or because y'wanted to?"

That coming from a bar owner isn't really reassuring. Peter's starting to dislike the habit of drinking when he's upset— it seems to run in the family, though. "Makes sense… she took me home and…" His eyebrows lower, and he rubs at the middle of his forehead, as if he's suddenly fot a headache. The hand on his shoulder isn't as comforting as he'd like it to be, and he tenses up with the question. There's no answer for a time, almost giving the image that he's waiting for something to interupt— or maybe he's trying to figure out the answer himself. "…Both," he finally says, closing his eyes again and lowering his head. "What I want isn't— shouldn't have done that. She's… nine years younger than me. She calls you her Nuncle and I'm older than you are… And she has… Eric. And I just broke up with Elle… She deserves better…"

"Hey!" If comfort doesn't work, Jack knows other ways of going about things. He removes his hand from Peter's shoulder, but only to prod him in the chest with one long finger. "Will you cut it out? You need to give yourself some credit, man. You're not just the Walking Saviour, you're a person. You're allowed to want shit, too." Now Jack sits too, but instead of sitting next to Peter he plops down gracelessly on the floor, hands propped behind himself and legs sprawled out ahead. "Now I don't know you all that well, but you seem like a nice boy. Nice man. Whatever." He waves one hand, dismissing the issue of age altogether. "Mentally, Scrappy's older than both of us put together. I've just figured out that she's old enough to make her own choices about what she wants, even if it's to date a substantially older man who just broke up with a ravin' psychopath. Pete, I think she likes you."

"I'm not…" Peter starts in protest, even though he does sit up when he's poked, and then stays there even as the other man sits down. It changes the level his eyes need to be, but— At first the man makes him smile faintly, the mention of Elena's mental age— but that fades rather quickly. Without a smile, he takes in what the other man has to say, until finally he gives a small nod and looks away. "If she does, then… I don't know. I don't feel… right… starting anything with her right now." At least he's not denying that she could possibly like him, but that doesn't make things easy, either. "Still think she deserves someone better. I'm really not a walking savior… I'm just… you're right. A person." Who happens to be able to kill millions of people if he can't control his emotions.

Jack lets out a sympathetic sigh and nods slowly. "I get it, man. Kinda. Bad timin' and all that. Just remember, our girl's somethin' special. Pass up the opportunity to tell her how you feel now, you might not get the same chance later." The bartender raises both eyebrows, then lets out a snort of laughter and shakes his head. He reaches up to knuckle at his stubbly jaw and continues, "Jesus, am I really sayin' this? I guess I am. I just want to see her happy, boy-o. She deserves to be happy. You do whatever you think's best."

"Yeah— bad timing," Peter repeats, thinking a bit too much about this. With the whole thing with Elle fresh in his mind, there's… such a thing as the rebound girl. She deserves much better than that. But at the same time… the temptation is there. Especially at some of the reminders. "She is special… and important. She's like…" There's a fond smile and he can't help but laugh. "Sunshine." It's cheesy and he knows it, which is why he shakes his head and moves to stand again. Now that he doesn't feel like he's going to pass out, standing is a good thing. "I want to see her happy too… but I'm not sure… I'm the one who could make her happy."

"Are you takin' the piss?" Jack peers up at Peter from under furrowed brows. "You're gonna tell me she's your sunshine, then turn around an' say you don't think you could make her 'appy? Sounds to me like you could make a good go of it." He scrubs both hands over his face, then drags them through his hair. It's time for a completely candid moment. "'Lena is one of a kind. The reason I'm so hard on her about boys issat she deserves better than to have some punk come about wot tries to hide his erection behind empty promises. Obviously, you're not that guy. If she decided to date you… I would approve." It's a slightly reluctant admission, but there it is. Nuncle gives this venture the greenlight. "S'all I really wanted to say, I guess."

The sayings of an Irish are strange and unexplained. But Peter can put things in context, even if he looks confused a moment. Before… he looked pale and ill. Now he looks embarassed. Not only because the man happens to be rather crude about these things, but also because he's being called on his cheesy comment. And the /permission/. It makes his eyes lower a little, some color returning to his cheeks, and it seems he doesn't know what to say. There's hint of words, but they don't fully form. Yet. "Not sure what to say… It's her decision in the end…" But at the same time it's his decision to say something to her before too much time passes. There's a pause and then he nods, "Thanks." And at this point, the forgotten puppy at his feet barks and starts to tug on the leash. Walk now?

The Irishman climbs to his feet and meets Peter's eyes a final time. "You're welcome. Take your dog for a walk, yeh? You look like you could use the fresh air. I need to finish with the locks, anyway." He lifts two fingers to touch his brow, then turns and heads back to work.

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