2007-08-04: The Sound Of Drums


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Summary: Kate decides to pay a visit to the President, since he is in town, after all.

Dark Future Date: August 4, 2009

The Sound of Drums

Marriott Marquis

It's getting on in the afternoon. Security is tight. Isn't it always? But there are a few people that get a handwave into the room, even when President Petrelli isn't exactly feeling his best. People like his closest staff. People like his goddamn sister-in-law, who, for all public appearances, is of absolutely no threat. Two men in identical suits (why is it always two?) flank Kate Petrelli out of the elevator. Top storey. Pretty much, he has the floor to himself. "A half hour," one of the agents tells her, as they walk. "Unless the President requests more time." Got it? Good. She is admitted into the room, and one of the agents moves to the bedroom to alert him of her presence.

Logan is reading a book. It's even a fictional book. A small stack of paperwork sits casually on his bedside table, paper-weighted by a heavy glass that was once filled with water and has long since been drained. When he's told of who has come to visit him, he doesn't bother to hide his impatience, but ultimately, he nods. "Bring her in. Leave us."

Half an hour? That's workable. Kate glides smoothly into the bedroom when she's allowed entrance, shutting the door behind her and locking it even. "Oh, Logan," she murmurs. "You have no idea how simply electric this room is. This whole suite." Hazel eyes are open just a little too wide as she moves further into the room, but off to the side. "Oh, yes. Yes. I can feel it. I wish I could even begin to explain it. I wish I could just tell you how amazing this feels…"

…oh boy. What the fuck is this. If that can be made into an expression, that's Logan's. He's instantly on guard, reaching with his good hand towards his shirt and draping it over his shoulders, just managing to keep the wince off his face when he does it. He's fairly drugged up, but not nearly enough. He has his reasons. "Yeah. It's a nice suite. Compliments, now, of the hotel. Does Peter know you're here?"

"Peter never knows I'm here." Or maybe he always knows. Kate's never really bothered to ask, and he hasn't bothered to tell. "Oh, if these walls could talk…" She moves to an outwardly turned corner, pushing her cheek against one side of the stark contour, pressing her palm to the other. "Oh, but they can and they do." Her eyes have a glazed over sort of look. A vision. "Oh, Logan, Logan, Logan… Did you know the mob took out one of their own in this very room? In that bed? Well, I'm sure they've changed the mattress, but the position is the same. Screaming. Begging. Blood. And brains." With a gasp and a delicious little shiver, Kate disengages from the wall, eyes refocusing.

At least here, he can be reassured that security wouldn't even let her into the foyer with a weapon on her person. Makes him breathe easier. Logan is having a rough couple of days. He pulls himself out of the bed she speaks of, or at least, the bed positioned like the one she speaks of. He's wearing comfortable pants, barefoot, with his shirt draped over his shoulders, right arm in a tight sling, and he looks like he could use a month of sleep. But he's not going to stay bedridden, whether she's weaponless or not. "Looks like someone's gone off the deep end," he murmurs, more to himself than to her, and he watches on, curious.

"Shhhhh…" Kate saunters over to Logan and presses a finger to his lips. "Can you hear that? Can you hear it? Can you?" She closes her eyes and tilts her head to one side with a little smile on her lips. "Sssshhhhh. Just listen. Just listen to it. The rhythm of it. It's so…" She suddenly steps away, the smile gone and replaced with a scowl and fury burning in her eyes. "So bloody constant!"

If there's one thing that infamously haunts his dear, dear sister-in-law… Logan gives a slow smile, and reaches out his hand for her - the one on the good arm - to take hers. Gently, he swings it, back and forth. "Tick, tock, tick, tock?" he asks gently, a slightly malicious glint in his eyes.

Kate's eyes grow wide as saucers and she nods her head emphatically. "Then you can hear it, too? Oh, I knew you would." If she's spooked right now, she isn't showing it. She actually looks relieved. "Peter doesn't hear it. But I knew you would. I knew you would."

Boring. But then, maybe not. There's only so far in this direction she can go before— but he remembers something. And grimaces. His hand disentangles from Kate's and Logan takes a step back. Can't play. Can't break. Goddamnit, when did all these rules get put in place? No one lets him have any fun, not Peter, not that Walker girl, not anyone. "That's because we have something in common, Kay. We're both a little unwell." He rewards her with a bland smile.

Kate fixes Logan with a skeptical look and frowns just faintly. "I don't know what your problem is, but I'm just fine." She steps away, only to begin slowly circling the man in charge of the country. "Tick." Step. "Tock." Step. "Tick." Step. "Tock." Step. It's a slow, predatory circle. "Do you think he's alive? Sometimes, I swear I can feel it in my blood. It burns in my veins. Like it will boil right out of me."

"Then why don't you let it boil out of you? Couldn't take a lot of effort," Logan says, refusing to circle to maintain eye contact and just turning his head when she comes into view. "He's dead, Kay. That's the whole point."

"The entire point?" Kate's circle is cut off when she reaches the bed. Damned thing. She instead approaches the wall it's settled against, back to Logan as though she's nothing to fear from him. She muses softly to herself, "I wonder if this is the original headboard." She reaches out to touch. As soon as her fingers brush against the wood surface, her eyes roll skyward and she begins to tip back. Falling halfway against the bed at least softens the blow before she goes tumbling to the floor.

…alarming. But they can't change beds very often, so perhaps. Perhaps this isn't something to worry about. But after a bug attack, a wall attack, then a gun attack, Logan is a little on edge. Sauntering over to where Kate is collapsed, he regards her still form, before leaning over (carefully) and rolling her over. Head tilt to the left, to the right. Logan moves to pour himself a glass of water from the jug provided, takes a sip, and then rather casually splashes the rest of it onto her face. Time to get up.

There's a sharp gasp as Kate comes back into the realm of consciousness. Then, she starts screaming. Her hands go to her forehead, likely feeling for a bullet hole - for blood, but they only come back with water. Frantically, she looks around. When she spots Logan, her eyes go wide and she scrambles away from him, toward the wall and the window. "What did you do?!" How did she get here? Oh no. Oh, no. Peter, help!

Logan holds up the hand he can, his injured arm's hand clenching into a fist, out of tension and wariness. He starts to speak— but the door is tried, unlocked hurriedly, an agent rushing inside, the screaming drawing his unwanted attention. Brilliant. "No, it's fine," he snaps, pointing at the security man. "Get out." A look of confusion, hesitation, but he leaves before the President can tell him twice, even relocking the door before Logan can direct him to do so. His attention is turned back to Kate, anger clear. "Me? Nothing," he snaps. "Your husband aware he married a crazy bitch?" Not that he doesn't appreciate the crazy, but…

Kate curls in on herself in a protective oh-my-gosh-don't-shoot-me position when the guard hurries into the room. Only once he's gone does she move her arms from her face and stare at Logan. Her face falls and sick realisation settles in. "…Yeh. I told him the other day." She looks grim. There's no lying to Logan. He knows she's crazy, and she knows she is. Even though Peter swears she isn't. Her head tips back, thudding quietly against the wall as she tries to remember how she got to where she is now. "Oh…"

"Great," Logan says, with mock cheeriness, and with a lot of awkwardness, he manages to get his good arm through the sleeve of his shirt. He's not looking forward to the day he actually has to get dressed, and just substitutes by pulling fabric over his arm, covering it completely and doing up a couple of buttons. "You've been hearing that sound again. The clocks. You're bad at letting the past slide, you know that?"

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Kate just nods. "Yeh. I know." She looks up at him, vulnerable and apprehensive. Her fingers reach up to stroke the mirror dangling from the cord around her neck. A nervous gesture. "Sometimes it's quiet. And other times, it's like…" She pauses, peering thoughtfully at a space just over Logan's injured shoulder as though the words are just beyond her and him. "The sound of drums."

Standing is doing nothing for him. He turns his back on her, moving towards the bedside table, and with lazy, casual movements, Logan slides the drawer open, taking out a little container of pills and flicking it open, one handedly. Two of them are tipped out onto the surface, then consumed with water. Sedatives. He's not taking them as often as he's meant to be, but moving around is setting off all kinds of unignorable twinges. "You come here for advice?" he asks, sardonically, putting the painkillers away as he moves back towards her at a slow stroll. "Sympathy? Or just letting me get a free show of the train wreck that is," gesture, "Kate Petrelli." The last name comes out as a sneer.

Kate watches nervously as the drawer opens and relaxes only a fraction when she sees it's only pills that he's going for. She's trembling by the time he approaches her. She even flinches when she sneers her name. "I don't even remember why I came here." Were she more like Logan, she might have said she doesn't know why she came here, as though there were someone else inside of her head. Like Nathan's inside of his. But Kate won't hide behind a split personality. It's only her in there. Cold and lonely. And so damn fractured.

There is nothing in Logan's expression that even resembles charity - just cold apathy. "Then maybe," he says, stepping close, too close, so that his voice is lowered to a murmur, ducking his head so he can look into her eyes, patronising. "You should get out."

Kate's eyes avoid meeting his gaze and instead slide to his shoulder. "Did Peter do that to you?" She's tense, afraid that could be precisely what happened. It doesn't necessarily seem her husband's style, but… she isn't sure of anything these days.

When she doesn't immediately go running, Logan straightens his back, irritation flickering across his expression at this question. "No," he answers, flatly. As for his face, it's healed up fine - not a trace of bruising. Good thing that confrontation occurred before the shoulder wound. "Thanks for your concern."

"You're welcome," Kate responds cautiously as she rises to her feet. "Thanks for not having me shot when I started screaming." What does she owe him for that, she has to wonder. She takes one step toward the door, and then another.

"If you know my brother at all, you'll know it's not a favour," Logan adds, with a sneer.

The sneer stops Kate and she peers at him. For a moment, one might suspect she's going to sneer back. Instead? She has a look of pity. "Hold still," she says gently, closing the gap between them. She reaches forward and starts adjusting his shirt to sit better over his shoulder, while still being careful not to hurt him further. Then she works on the buttons for him. "There. That's much better." She offers him a small, genuine smile. "Take care of yourself, Logan. That's my brother-in-law you've got in there. I want him back in one piece." She turns her back then and heads back toward the door again.

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