2008-06-29: The Final Hour


Haitian_icon.gif Angela_icon.gif Kory_icon.gif

Summary: A deserved goodbye to a man out of time.

Date It Happened: June 29th, 2008

The Final Hour

(Previously on Heroes MUSH: The Guardians of Forever)

New York City

"You must… let go." The Haitian kneels beside Kory; beside the scar-faced Peter hidden away in the alley. His words, proving that he can indeed speak when the time is right, are more than simply instructional. He lays a long hand on her shoulder, and he prepares to take the body into his arms.

Mrs. Petrelli stands by a black van, stark and dire in all black: black pants, black boots, a lightweight black leather jacket— black circles under her eyes, or very nearly. They came alone, the pair, the Haitian minus his partner H.R.G., and Angela. She's been silent, watching, her expression as guarded as a castle gate's. "You deserve to come with us. Get in the van," she tells Kory.

Kory looks up, tear-stained face blinking. It is a moment or two before she realizes she's met the tall, imposing man encouraging her to let go. She hangs onto him one more time, though. A final hug to Peter, even though all that made him him is gone now, and the skin cold. Tears fall onto his face. And she bends to kiss his cheek, despite needing to take a moment to find an unbloodied patch of skin.

"…yes ma'am," she says obediently, swaying to her feet and staggering on legs struck by pins and needles to get into the van.

The ride is not short. The van hurtles quietly out of the city, as far as the outskirts and beyond. For the most part, it's silent. Peter is covered in a dark grey woollen blanket, out of sight behind the seats. Angela is quiet, not speaking more than a few words and looking nothing but grim and pensive. The Haitian, at the wheel, certainly doesn't say a word.

Old Primatech Research, Hartsdale

The night was lonely in the small piece of the city Angela found Kory (and Peter) in, but out here, under the wide open sky with its many cold-looking stars and a white half of a moon, it's ten times lonelier and infinitely darker.

The ruins of this building — little more than bits of rubble and scorched earth where a large facility once stood — were the site of a false rescue orchestrated by the man who died tonight. An operation that nearly lost one man his life, certainly changed the operation of his mind, and meanwhile allowed for Angela to be saved from the imprisonment of her husband. All because of this future Peter.

Lit by two pale beams from the van's headlights, the Haitian works swiftly, methodically, but with reverence for the dead. A slab of stone from the Primatech building, brush from the surrounding wilderness. The body in the middle of it all. It's clear, what he's doing here. Angela stands nearby, arms folded. "There can't be any physical evidence of him ever existing in this time; Peter is very much alive." Her words seem distant. "There are … easier ways to go about this, but…" The woman pauses, almost trailing off altogether before she says, more assured but more troubled, as well: "He deserves this."

Kory is practically an automaton. The shock and grief are still too fresh for her. She looks up at Angela, expression blank and uncomprehending. But a moment or two later, she nods. "I…understand." She understands, she does. And this will be her last chance to bid him goodbye. "Thank you …for letting me come to see him off. He deserves that too."

"I knew this would happen," Angela says; there's no matter-of-factness to it. It's simply stated, almost emotionless. An illusion, perhaps; for all her ire toward this future version of her son, the woman's eyes, while she's composed, are glassier, damper than that of someone completely stoic. "Whether he'd go back to his time or simply vanish trying, or something … like this; the timeline couldn't support the both of them."

The Haitian lights the tip of a long branch afire and holds it as he would a torch. The sudden orange flare sends a glow on the now pale face of the scarred Peter, laid supine on the stone slab of rubble. He looks to Angela.

The woman nods. "This was always meant to be, the moment he came back."

Fire snaps and crackles as the makeshift funeral pyre is set alight.

"Nothing could have changed it," Angela adds to Kory. "Nothing should have."

"I know," is all Kory can muster up the energy to say now, even as the light of the flame plays across her face. "Goodbye, Peter. Thank you for giving us a chance. I'll remember you. I'll miss you. Always." She still hasn't even had the chance to clean up; it makes no difference that smoky soot adds to the miasma of grime on her face.

The Haitian lights all corners, all sides of the pyre that's been built up with branches, underbrush, firewood in such a short amount of time. His ease of movement suggest that he's no stranger to things of this nature. He steps back and becomes still as a statue on the opposite side from the women. The flames start to rise and hide the features of the body within, becoming tall walls of devouring, purifying fire.

Angela looks away for the first time, not so willing to watch an all too familiar face be engulfed in flames. There are some things that are unnerving even to Angela Petrelli. She's thankful when the fire starts to truly rage and hide Peter. The heat reaches them, warm in the already warm summer air. It's intense, even from this distance, and only grows stronger in the effort to turn everything into ash. "He meant to change everything by putting it in our hands. This is fate's way of saying it's our final hour." Dark eyes look on, jumping with reflections of flames, but otherwise unmoving, albeit crinkled around the edges. The woman's voice turns into a hoarse whisper. "God bless."

Dark, thick smoke plumes into the sky, up, up, up into the starry heavens. Down below, the eerie headlights illuminate the ruins. The three small fire-lit figures stand still, until one of the women — Angela — rests a motherly hand on the other's shoulder.


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