2007-03-07: The Spark


Peter_icon.gif Elle_icon.gif

Date It Happened: March 07, 2007

Summary: Elle visits for the promised haircut, and reveals some things to Peter that change his perspective on where he's being kept. This time the sparks fly from a different direction than normal.

The Spark

Peter's Cell

The room's electrical lighting provides more than enough illumination for the activity that the current resident of the cell participates in. Even though he'd not been given much in the way of entertainment in the past, the deeply loved and heavily warn book, with scribbles and drawings in the margins, has had most of the young man's attention since he had time to open it. Peter sits up on the bed, the clean white shoes poised on the edge and the book resting on his knees. With his back against the wall, he flips the pages carefully, scanning the text, a somber and serious expression on his face, one that lightens, hinting towards a smile, as he takes the time to scan the margins of the page.

Strangely enough, Elle isn't heard before she's seen this time. She moves past the window fairly fast, so its hard to see who it is til she's opening the door. Today she's got on a peasant blouse, capris, a pair of slippers and her hair is tied back in a pony tail. "Who is ready for their haircut?" She brings her other hand from behind her back, revealing a pair of clippers and a pair of scissors. When she spots him picking through the book, however, she adds, "Finished it already, huh? How did you like it?"

"I'm guessing I better be," Peter says with a smirk, closing the book, but obviously marking the page— with the picture of his brother, actually, sticking it under the pillow as he slides his feet off the bed and stands. There's definite improvement in his apparent awareness of things, eyes much more focused, and not quite as inwardly depressed. "Not completely— but halfway. It's a little different from the movie," he says, reaching up to run fingers over, and partially through, his hair. "Your drawings are really cute, though. I understood why you drew the dog, and the scarecrow, and the other characters from the book— but you must have really liked unicorns."

"Yeah. It was kind of a phase," Elle says, pulling the towel she had tucked under her other arm out. "Really, I just liked drawing in books. I doodle. It's a thing." She pulls the chair out from the desk in the room and scoots it Peter can take a seat. "You're feeling better." Statement of fact, there. "I had a dream last night that you could walk through walls. You came and flew me away from this place."

From the smile tugging at his mouth as he settles into the chair, Peter might have a positive opinion of her phase. Resting his hands on his legs, he doesn't make any move to disrupt her hair cut attempt, though he does turn his head to watch her when she speaks of her dream. "I've never walked through walls before. I could have flown you, though." There's a pause, before he adds, "I thought the point of being here was so I wouldn't be able to do those things anymore… cause they're dangerous…" From the sound, he's wavering on the decision he'd made thanks to her and her father's coaxing, and his own guilt.

"Here's the question you should ask yourself," Elle starts, putting her hands on his head to gently force him to look forward so she can secure the towel about his neck. The scissors are set aside, but the clippers are powered on. She starts from the back, trimming up his neckline. Maintenance, for now. "Do you think the powers are dangerous, or do you think you are dangerous? Because I don't think it's both. You have a kind soul." Zzzz zzzz zzzz, more hair falls onto the towel she's wrapped about his neck to catch the bits she's cutting off. "I don't think I understood that when I first met you."

Not moving happens to be important as soon az the buzzing sound starts, so Peter just looks forward, eyebrows lowering as a serious expression begins to take hold. "I— I almost killed my brother, Elle. I almost destroyed the entire city. What— what would happen if I run into a power just as dangerous as Ted's and I can't—? I couldn't stop it, Elle." The set of his jaw shows stress, and his neck muscles tense as well, but he avoids moving except to breathe and speak. "I don't want to hurt anyone like that again."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" the blonde questions. The clippers are powered down and she leans in close, pressing her cheek against his and setting warm fingers on his bare neck loosely. "I could easily turn you into an overdone piece of toast… maybe destroy this entire building if I really wanted to." Straightening up, she adds, "Just because you believe you'll lose control doesn't mean you will. Maybe all you have to do is work harder at it. Maybe you shouldn't take the easy way out." This has got to be aggravating, since she helped convince him to stay here, months back. Elle resumes her work, trimming up the sides of his neck now.

Closing his eyes, Peter kneels his head as she leans in close and says those words. They might be aggravating, but at the same time those doubts have probably coursed through him, especially the last few days. "Do you really think that I could do it?" Such a simple question, but also very important to him. As he asks it, he tilts his head slightly, almost turning away, but at the same time leaning hair that's about to be trimed against her cheek.

The sound of the clipper is all the answer Peter gets for a few moments. It might be enough to make him think she hadn't heard him. Or maybe she's avoiding the question. However, she leans in and tousles his hair, before saying, "I know you can." Then it's back to working on his hair. "Look… I've got to tell you something. And you aren't going to like it."

As the clippers get to work, Peter has to straighten his head and try to stay still, though that doesn't exactly suceed when she finally gives his hair a tousle. Glancing over his shoulder to look at her, there's something quiet and serious in his expression, and eyes, similar to the gratitude that he'd had before. Even when it shifts a bit, a surprised blink and then a mild lowering of his eyebrows, "What?"

"There's not going to be a way for me to put this that you won't freak about so…" Elle starts, "I kinda've been giving you B-vitamin supplements instead of your normal pills." She keeps going with the clipper. It makes it harder to turn around and give her the angry eyes she thinks she knows must be coming. "But that's all, I swear."

B-Vitamin suppliments. As she's avoiding the chance of an angry look, she also misses the surprised blink that follows, but she'll feel it as Peter's head gives a mild shift, almost as if suddenly sitting up. "What?" he repeats, not in the same tone at all, voice softer and actually a bit more tense, hardly raspy. If anything it's almost higher pitched than normal. "Why would you do that?" Hands finally raise up, shifting as if he might reach out to take one of her wrists.

Elle doesn't pull away, so if he wants one of her wrists, he can have it. The clipper is stopped again. "Because you're a prisoner here." Yeah, she's gone and said it. "And I'm pretty sure that isn't right." She is a sociopath, after all. Baby steps. "You'll need your ability to get out of this place." In her head, she knows exactly how this all sounds. "I wasn't playing you, Peter. I think I might love you, whatever that means. It's stupid and childish and totally me."

With the clipper stopped, the hand that grabbed her wrist pulls her hand down, the other hand reaching up to remove the clippers. Peter's listening intently to what she's saying, but once the clippers are in his lap, he's holding her hand, pressing curled under fingers against his forehead. "I'm a prisoner…?" would be the first response, but after that… quiet breaths against her wrist are it for a time. From the feeling of things, both his forehead and breath are quite warm, perhaps from a flush he's hiding with her behind him, as she is. "Elle," he says at first, voice suddenly deeper and almost breathy. "You want me to take you out of here?" he says softly, almost a statement, but at the same time asking for confirmation.

"That's what I want," Elle confirms, trembling a little at the quiet intensity of the situation. A sigh is puffed out though, her chin dipping to her chest as she adds, "But I can't. Look. I'm not some princess in a tower. I'm not… a good person. I mean, really." She taps the clipper against her palm nervously. "I meant what I said. What we talked about. You are trapped here. And I do think you can and should control your abilities. But you know, giving you the placebos? That was to piss off my dad. At least at first. How's that for honest? You probably hate me now, so I'll just go." She snags the scissors from the desk and starts to walk past, intending on heading out the door.

"Elle, wait— " Peter says, standing up as she finishes talking and makes for the door. Once again he's reaching for her, trying to grab at her arm, shoulder— whatever works, and turning her around to face him. "A few months ago I might have believed that— that you're not a good person. Maybe you're not, but— you— " Cutting off for a moment, as long as he's delayed her this long, it's okay to take a breath and try to steady emotions running rampant. The drugs had dulled emotions for so long, no wonder they'd been strong the last few days. "You're trying to help me, even if— it was just to piss off your dad at first. I don't— I don't hate you. Even before— I never hated you." Moving in close, his hands seek out her face again, a habit of his, really, "I believe— that you can become a good person, Elle…" As he moves in closer, to lead a kiss that she would have taken before, she'll feel the tingling of electricity, like hints of static. Electricity that she didn't generate.

Elle is turned around. She didn't want to leave. The kiss? That's what she wants. In fact, she's leaning in to get it, that static enticing her when a monotone voice sounds over the intercom. "Elle Bishop, please report to Bob Bishop's office, immediately. Thank you." Inches from the kiss, she pulls away as if she's been physically struck. "Peter, I have to go."

At the voice over the intercom, Peter flinches visibly, pulling back even as he realizes that electricity had started to form between them. The source of which he can't quite be sure. Letting his hands drop away, he looks at her for a moment that might seem to long, but also feels too short, before he nods. "I'll see you soon, Elle." There's a hint of a promise, and a look of sudden determination, starting to form.

Elle smiles a sad smile as she starts to back out of the room, "Of course you will. I haven't finished your haircut yet. Someone's gotta tame the case of hippy hair you're developing." Waving the clippers, she adds, "Later gator," before pulling the door shut behind her. Maybe it wasn't so evident the last couple times, because of the positive notes she's been leaving on, but there's a definite click of the door locking as she goes. She passes the window, but doesn't pause this time, chin low and face more than a little grim.

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