2010-03-04: Transfer Interruption



Date: March 4, 2010


Two prisoners are transfered out of the Barracks, slated for an elusive Theta Protocol…

"Transfer Interuption"

Building 27

With a sigh, Nathan rolls off his uncomfortable cot in the barracks. Things are… boring to say the least. He paints his usual diplomatic smile over his lips, drops to the ground does a couple of push-ups and then rises again to his feet. He touches his collar before shaking his head. Nothing like a dog collar to dehumanize prisoners further.

With yet another sigh, he continues to smile and steps out of the room. The smile fades, however, as he walks down the hall to the common room — a place with couches, televisions, and most of the other prisoners. He purses his lips as he peers at the television.

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?!" "SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS!"

Nathan narrows his eyes as he glances at the gathered crowd. People must really be reaching a point of boredom to watch this. Or maybe it's better than it looks? Furrowing his eyebrows he sighs again and plops down on the chesterfield, leaning back into it.

Anyone in the barracks not familiar with the Nine Inch Nails song "Every Day Is Exactly The Same" is at least acquainted with its lyrics simply by merit of repeating routine over and over again in a sizable yet still tiny gray box. A section of that routine is Daphne, who is as much a part of the furniture as she is a resident. At least making it to be the first one to the television every day means she's a morning person…

She is not, however, a Spongebob person. That just happened. How?

As Nathan strides into the room, the former speedster's indulging in the kind of yawn that means your nap ended too soon. Hand braced under her nose to cover it, she soon slides her fingers right back to fit the red imprint falling asleep on her palm made on her face. A second ago she was wide-eyed with the wild shudder that comes with realizing your dreams are just that, but now she blinks blearily over at the senator-once-smuggler. "Did you put it on this?"

Nathan sideglances Daphne and then the camera up on the wall. Regardless, an inexcusable lopsided smirk plays on Nate's lips. "So you pegged me as a Spongebob man? Huh." He tries to put on a diplomatic smile, but it only comes out as the same cheeky lopsided smirk. "I… don't actually watch much tv." And then as if to counteract the current inaccuracy of the statement he adds, "Usually." He offers her a dimpled grin after smoothing his orange jumpsuit. He glances around the room, still refusing to give into the current negativity permeating the room. "How are the legs?"

"You're sitting there," Daphne replies easily— bored; she isn't paying the cameras any mind. "You were an easy mark." Eyes trailing around to the television screen out of sheer habit, she absorbs some portion of the inane animation before he asks that particular question. Her nostrils flare instinctively, but then her head bows in more acceptance than anger. The untamed masses of tangled blonde help to hide an expression he — and most here — is used to anyway: that blank unhappiness that's saturated everything here… except him, maybe. Maybe. "Dumb and glum," she responds after a moment, factually stated. A glance at them where they're settled in front of her, slightly at an angle. A glance to the wheelchair not next by, but within arm's reach. "But they're still there."

Or maybe some people are just more accustomed at being diplomatic. Crossing his arms over his chest he takes a slow deep breath before releasing it equally slowly. Lowering his hands he places them behind his head, knitting his fingers together. "Dumb and glum," he repeats — the lopsided grin long gone and replaced with one reminiscent to his old campaign poster. His eyes, however, are gentler. The smile fades entirely for a moment as once again he glances at the gathered prisoners. The majority look bored and lethargic. "At least they're still there," he finally observes. "Things would be… very different then, wouldn't they?"

"Millbrook, Petrelli," a firm voice suddenly says. The man who came with it is dressed in a uniform of sorts, or at least body armor. Armed as well. He's flanked by two nurses and doctor types, with bags of supplies. "It's a good thing I found you together. You're being transfered to another facility." One of the nurses moves, revealing that they have two wheelchairs, one for each of them.

"I think you'll like your new… accommidations," the man adds, as the doctor and nurse split off to move to "help" both of them into their new outgoing wheelchairs.

Cut off from responding to the senator, Daphne shoots this new figure a rather spirited look, mainly because 'something new' isn't exactly done here. The flare is just as soon gone as came at the sight of the travel accommodations. "Doesn't look all that new to me," she comments disparagingly. Pressing to the back of the couch, she rises out of the slouch she was in, hands dropping cautiously near her chest. Otherwise she offers no movement against being slapped into the new seat; she only basically makes them do all the work. Hey, they want her to move… they have the perfect opportunity elsewhere.

"Excuse me?" Nathan asks as his eyebrows furrow as he rises from the couch. "I can walk… in fact, I'd rather walk…" He's shoved into the wheelchair despite his polite objections. In a rare moment of vulnerability, Nathan scowls openly, but only momentarily. Circumstances can only go downhill with this crew. Pursuing his lips, he fights the scowl and finally forces another diplomatic smile. Once he feels like he's collected himself he twitches, "Where are we going?" the tone isn't demanding although it does echo with the authority he regularly exercises in his office.

"The doctors think it would be best if you get wheeled out. Make sure nothing happens to you. Like a hospital," the soldier says, but he has a bit of a grin on his face, as they begin to get pushed down the hall toward one of the side exits. "You'll be taking a ferry over to Brooklyn, where you'll be put in a new facility. A special facility. I don't have much more information than that, though."

"We'll need to give you both an injection before you get on." As they are allowed outside, for the first time in so long, there's a van to carry them to the docks, and they finally have an idea exactly where they are. From the view of the bay, the city in the distance… they're on an island just south of Manhattan.

Governor's Island. The barracks are the old Coast Guard Base barracks.

The trip to the ferry is relatively silent, though, up into a van, closed inside… They aren't bagged, their heads aren't covered.

The soldier watches them both carefully, showing off the gun he looks ready to use. "Do you want to wear a life vest? Don't anticipate the ship sinking, but you never know." From the way he's grinning, he may seem to want them to drown.

Daphne enjoys the outside for what it is: outside. Fresh air. A deep breath of all that and she can almost pretend to forget that the mentioned the dread 'I' word. Even as her head lolls lazily to the side, she's quick to suck up every visual detail around her before that van encloses them. Her gaze flickers to that gun, since he's so useful in pointing it out, then unconsciously to her left leg. "After all this trouble, you're giving us the option of life vest or not? You people have some funny ideas about choice." A thread of nervousness is clear underlying the sarcasm, which might be the reason she shuts her trap. Well, admits, "Sure. Vest me up. I bet I'll be a fantastic buoy," then shuts up.

Unlike anyone else in the barracks, Nathan has seen the outside of Building 27 before; he was stupid enough to walk in. And then fly around. The memory draws a smile to his lips as does the first random bit of fresh air and sunlight he's had in months.

Crossing his arms over his chest again, Nathan sideglances Daphne and manages to keep his personal irritation unverbalized, instead he forces his infamous diplomatic smile. "A life vest is fine, but won't be necessary. I can swim. I was in the navy; it's a requirement to enlist." Beat. "Unless you actually are considering paralyzing me to make this chair moderately necessary." He manages to keep his tone level and the diplomatic smile pasted across his lips.

"We're nothing if not humanitarians," the soldier says with a joke, as the nurses help put on life vests to go with their collars and chairs, and then stop to stab a needle into the back of their arms. The effects aren't paralytic, but they do seem to be tranquilizing, making the world seem a little less… unfriendly. As it settles, Nathan will realize— no, he couldn't swim like this.

Thank god for life vests.

They're settled in against the house of the ferry boat, a small boat, only able to carry a few people, and it begins to move down the bay, toward Brooklyn, and away from the Barracks they came to know…

Where every day was exactly the same as the last.

At least today is new. The soldier, one of the doctor and nurses, and the pilot are all they have to contend with, as the sun sets behind them.

The feeling of the needle, the idea of it, earns a heavy grimace from Daphne before she's fully settled into the effects, set into place as that boat moves beneath them. "Sailing to adventure on the big blue…" she jests openly to the one beside her, though most of her attention seems to be in snagging tranquilizer-lazy glances at the sunset. Colors, memories… She used to run after that sight, no obstacles between her and that oft-inspiring vision.

Now, everything else taken from her, she steals back a part of that sunset. Her breath catches, and she releases it long seconds later in a sigh. Absently, fingers trail down the wheelchair she's in, picking at parts of the contraption, running along that metal support.

Like Daphne, Nathan cringes at the needle, although he relaxes some as the drugs work their magic. "Maybe we'll meet Spongebob," he says dryly before suppressing a yawn. He stretches his arms into the sky before stretching his neck from one side to the next.

Nathan's eyes get heavier as they sail off. And ironically, he's thankful for the wheelchair at this moment; the Senator probably couldn't stand if he wanted.

"Any word what they're being sent off for?" one of the nurses whispers quietly to the soldier, barely audiable by the prisoners, but just a bit of it able to be heard.

"They were shifted into something called Theta Protocol. I don't know much else then that," the soldier says, shrugging a bit, as he casts a glance toward them. "You need to change their collars before we get there, though," he adds, casting them both a look.

The nurses nod, moving around behind them and beginning to undo the collars they're wearing now. They're around the halfway point…

Click. The collars open up. "These new ones will give a sting every so often, but don't worry about it. It's just a shot of the same medicine they've been…"


The nurse is cut off mid sentance as something heavy impacts the deck. It's strong enough to wake the sleepy ones up.

A sweep of a dark hand, and the nurse goes flying in the boathouse. A second sweep and the soldier goes flying, gun drawn, right into the water of the bay. He didn't have a life vest. The remaining doctor and nurse raise their hands, backing up, and looking toward the water in worry.

Daphne and Nathan feel a hand on their arm each. "Miss me?" a familiar voice asks, a lopsided smile marring the younger Petrelli's face, as the cold air and the world around them dissolves and disappears. Suddenly they're somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm, and dark.


"… I'll punch Spongebob…" is the super-important thing Daphne was saying instead of listening to the gossip further across the boat. Then the nurses close in and there's a moment to indulge in the kind of gulping and stretching you forgot while there was a weight constantly around your neck. She's breathing in deep again to anticipate the new prison digs when that noise happens that sends it out of her in the form of a half-hearted yelp.

She tries to push up in her seat at all the movement happening, but her arms are jello and uncooperative. That new weight on her arm causes a twitch, her collapse back against the chair; the voice seems too unbelievable to register.

"P— " Whoosh, the world is gone. And then it's replaced. But Daphne's gasping is the same. " —inch me!"

Groggily, Nathan suppresses a chuckle. He shakes his head, "Do punches really work on sponges…" Oh the clarity of a drugged up mind. He does manage to hear the word theta, but doesn't have time to process it, instead, his spacey self urges Daphne, "… Punch one of their moms inst — " But he's interrupted by the shaking of the boat. "What the — …?"

"P-pete?! N-" And then they're gone. Blinking, Nathan's face pales. " — o! I… the kids, Heidi…? They're watching them… Agent Baker… said…" His face pales even further as he stands from the wheelchair, but his jello legs force him down again.

"You're not dreaming," Peter assures, as he releases the two wheelchaired people and focuses briefly on Daphne, reaching out to touch her face with his hands, leaning down close. There's a moment where his nose touches hers, and then his lips. It doesn't last too long, but long enough that his brother is probably getting upset. After all ex-wife and kids are important!

A touch of his forehead against hers, and then he's straightening again, looking over at his brother. "I took care of that. They're somewhere safe. The boys are all excited cause they don't have to go to school. I didn't know they'd threatened them, but… I guessed they might have. I had to wait til they took the collars off." After his dream, when he saw Lena's head explode as he hastely removed the collars, he wasn't going to strike until he knew they were off. Does this mean he's been wanting to get them out for a while now?

"I— you're both okay now. And so are Heidi and the kids."

Even in the warmth, even with the physical touch, there's a heightened nerve of paranoia in Daphne's expression as he presses affection on her. Her eyes briefly betray her, fluttering shut to the feel of his nose on hers, the lips. Her reaction of leaning in, straightening forward with confusion and need, is belated, sluggish. After the fact, her hand springs forward but is too stingy to go all the way towards touching him. Him. Peter.

"I am, I'm dreaming," she babbles rudely over his reassurances, knees knocking inward as she pushes against the back corner of the wheelchair in some sad bid to put distance between them. She's fighting both the injection and the want for this, but she seems to be succeeding fairly well if that fierce head-shake is any indication. "I've done this before— it'll all go wrong in a second. It always does."

There's a moment of lucidity, or perhaps just hysterical calm as listening reminds her that she's not alone in this oddly specific delusion. Eyes on Nathan, accusatory. "Why are you in my dream?"

Nathan is indeed upset. His eyebrows furrow as the rest of his face scowls, "The kids." Oh how the times have changed. The only concern is his family. He breathes easier though when he knows the trio are safe. With a nod he repeats the word, "Safe. Good." He leans back in his chair, sinking down into a slouch and resting his head on the back of it to look straight up at the ceiling.

He's still freakishly groggy, but now more than ever, he's fighting the tranquilizer. Now there's work to be done. He's spent the last two months in virtual silence, saying next to nothing and pretending to forget his entire past, but the time for sitting has long since past. He lifts his head, straightens in his chair, and then stretches.

Groggily Nate stands to his feet. This time he manages to stay vertical as he raises a hand to his forehead. He shoots Daphne real smirk, there's no diplomacy left in his smile, "Pete is my brother.. I don't think is a dream… I have no idea why you'd be in my dream, especially when I'm wearing such normal socks." He stretches his neck as he attempts to take a step; not his best thought-out plan; his leg gives out under him, but he manages to catch the edge of his wheelchair.

"I told you, it's not a dream," Peter says, keeping a hand on her cheek, and reaching up to touch her hair gently. The blonde hair that's grown out a bit since her captivity. It will take some time for everything to return to normal, but he's happy to have two very important people back. "I wish I could have got everyone out, but even just the two of you…" It's enough for him. He reaches over to touch his brother's arm, finally releasing Daphne to quickly hug him.

Even if the life vest makes it a bit awkward.

"You shouldn't be standing yet— but I think whatever they gave you will wear off soon. But I promise, you're not dreaming." Not this time. He casts a glance toward her legs. "Are— are you okay? Do you need a doctor? I…" Had a dream she was bleeding badly from the leg? Yeah.

"That's exactly what dreams say," Daphne counters, but with incrementally less force than before, further aided by the little hiccup that accompanies it. The hand juts forward, following the trail of Peter moving away — too late to make her own contact. It retracts to her lap as she passively watches the hug, the wobbling. Without something to push against, she sags on the fabric side of the wheelchair and suspiciously waits for what feeling will come next.

Turns out it's shame. For the first time in a long time, since she's been at the barracks, she feels unused to being stared at. Her feet jerk awkwardly to turn outward like a normal person sitting but, soon enough, they're jutting in again. "I— she shot me," she admits, staring down, weighing her words, "I thought I was gonna— if… if you have a crutch or something." 'Crutch' is possibly the hardest word she's ever had to get out. All confidence before; she's clearly wobbled to the other end of the scale.

The quick hug is returned as Nathan realizes he's wearing a life vest. He'd forgotten about it. Everything feels hazy still; distant. As he releases his brother a glance is given around the room followed by a shake of his head. "There's no time. They aren't doing what we thought. It's not a gather project… it's…" he shakes his head again. "I don't know."

"There are more protocols. Alpha is the beginning. The facility is… " he frowns and shakes his head. "Our allies are few and far between. DeSouza wasn't… I was wrong… I'm sorry… I was wrong… Pete…" The entire expression is apologetic, but he leaves the reasons for the apology unspoken. "…there's at least a Kappa… Kappa… Alpha to Kappa… that leaves what? Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, Epsilon, Zeta, Eta, Theta, Iota… then Kappa… why would they skip one? That leaves at least…" he counts on his fingers dizzily, "10?"

Two months of reasoning begins to come out of Nathan's mind. He'd been shut down for two months. Nathan is virtually shaking now as he finally can utter his thoughts.

His attention is diverted by Daphne though and met with a tightening of Nate's jaw. "Were you shot while in prison?"

"I'll find one," Peter says about the crutch, though he doesn't have one at the moment. He still has a part time job at a clinic, and can probably borrow one, though… "I know that it's different, that it'll go a different direction than we though. I had a dream and… things got really bad." Bad for him, bad for everyone. "I think it was prophetic because… the collars they had on you were in it, people were put into fenced off camps… People with abilities."

And… he shakes his head. It was horrible. And little does he know it wasn't entirely prophetic. "So at least ten objectives… don't worry about deSouza… I— don't worry about it." He commited murder. It wasn't the first time. He just hopes it mattered, in the end. Somehow…

"We'll stop them," he says, trying to sound confident, but at the same time sounding almost dire.

No matter what it takes.

Daphne doesn't immediately answer; she's caught in the act of absorbing everything the other two are saying, and in those dramatic tones of voice. Her eyes have never really ceased being wide, but she ogles with a fresh intensity at the veritable list of enemy camps, the task before them. As soon as Peter seems certain, she flings a passionate arm to the side, cutting the air with her hand.

"No, you have to get out!" Nathan might as well not even be in the room for the moment as she stares pleadingly at this apparition of Peter that's starting to become real. "If they're here, you go somewhere else. If there's anywhere else— I stopped, I tried. I came to find you and they got me. Shot me. That's what happens going out there."

She's some mad mixture of angry, bitter, resigned, and scared. All mashed together. Each one focused just as much on him. Palms sliding to the edge of the wheelchair arms, she juts forward with feet flopping awkwardly to the ground. If the chair hadn't been locked into place from being on the boat, she probably wouldn't be able to support herself on shaking arms as she does. "Please, Peter."

"First time or not, we should've known better. I should've known better," Nathan reaches to his neck to adjust his tie, and then remembers he's wearing an orange jumpsuit. This causes the Senator to shake his head. Old habits die hard.

"We need to stop them. The goals alone…" The goals that he doesn't know. "If they've taken to shooting prisoners that's a direct violation of the Geneva convention. And holding people without trial like that before they've committed a crime is illegal…" But to make any of this information relevant, would mean exposure. Unless… "I need to get in touch with George Dawson. Except…" He frowns, incoherence is still ruling his thought process.

He sideglances Daphne and sighs heavily before he tries to take another step. This one doesn't fail him, maybe the fog is clearing.

And then he asks, "Have you seen Ma? They're looking for both of you like mad. I was questioned more than once…"

"Daphne…" Peter says, looking helplessly toward his brother for a long moment, before kneeling in front of the tiny speed pixie, trapped in a wheelchair, and obviously tramatized. Taking both of her hands, he stays knelt in front of her, rather than getting up to go anywhere. Yet. Soon he'll have to… There's so much he has to do.

"I promise you— I'm careful. They haven't caught me again." Not since the first time with the helicopter? "I'll be careful." Bringing one of her hands up, he presses a kiss against her fingers, before looking back to his brother. "Mom's being careful too. But I've not really seen her, I just know she's okay. They've actually caught me a few times, but as soon as the depower me, I slip out of their grasp." He smirks a bit, even if they won't really get that…

It happened more than once, though. "I'm very careful."

Being stuck in the chair is equally unfair when everyone else gets to stand and make their points so seriously. Loosened from her grip on the confining metal, Daphne is mostly seated once more, though she takes this second time of Peter being close to lean right into him. Right now isn't yet. She isn't fully satisfied with his answer, by her bunched fists; but she hasn't got the energy from this whole trying experience to really put up more of a statement, by the way those fists can't keep together.

She mumbles, partially into Peter and partially into the life vest that wants to ride up her neck from her odd positioning. "I kept," something something, "happen to you," something, "My fault…"

There's a vague peak of interest, later than what sparked it, but it at least gets her to sit on her own, to acknowledge that Nathan exists. "If it wasn't for some spaz doctor," she tells him flatly, "The bullet would still be in me. Does that count for anything else?"

"Good. Everyone needs to be careful, especially when we don't know what the agenda even is." Nathan manages to take a second step. This makes him feel dizzy so he lingers again — stopping in his tracks. "If Dawson comes forward with this information, his team is screwed too. No one knows about the Protocols in theory," now he's thinking aloud.

The notion about the bullet makes Nathan wince. "Are you suggesting that they wanted to deny you treatment?" Now that is definitely a violation of human rights and this certainly peaks Nathan's attention. "That might be enough to shut it down on the government end, but…" He frowns. "I have a feeling the President doesn't know what the project is about… I think half of the Protocol's employees are in the dark…"

He takes another step towards the door and then stops again.

Well, he's not standing right now, he's kneeling! Peter keeps his hands on hers, even with hers bunched into fists. "It's not your fault," he says, reaching to finally move his hands, going to the life vest, which he starts to undo and pull off. Sure, everything he's heard about what happened to her horrifies him, but now at least he has a chance to make it better?

"Don't leave, Nathan. It's not safe for you to be walking around. I have plenty of rooms here, and it's secure. The last person I helped bust out of the Protocol is even here, and hasn't been reclaimed yet. And with how much they want me…" He knows they want him. "Just stay the night and we'll figure out something. I'll give you a number to contact mom, or Kitty, or someone else… Dawson possibly too. Just… don't leave yet."

Even if Daphne's getting a lot of his attention, he doesn't want his brother to walk out and immediately get caught…

"You need to get some rest too. I'll try to heal you, if I can. Get you back on your feet… but for now… let me take care of you. I'm a trained nurse, remember?"

"Wanted?" Daphne scoffs, though the edge has been taken off by the rise of that weariness. "They did. That's what they do." Feeling Peter's hands moving around her, she goes to try and help with the vest but suddenly the notion of it is a bit absurd and she cracks a smile that's all frazzled nerves and none of the cheer. An odd little giggle. She's clearly having more difficulty adjusting than gung-ho Nathan.

Who gets the eye right after a stare at Peter and a hurried, "I can't believe I'm here— you're here." Okay, now on Nathan: "That your brother used to wear stupid socks and is now gargling politics. That this is even—" But the face falls again when she tries to hide self-consciously behind that removed life-vest, "… I didn't want it to be like this…"

To Daphne he defends Brayden's taste: "Hey! I liked those socks. And the whittling. You made me cut myself." Three people did that. All snuck up on his other self.

Back to Pete he sighs, "Fine. One night. But there's no time. Whatever the goals are, they've been at this too long already. And if I wait too long, I'm sure they'll release information to the public that I died." Nathan sighs heavily, shaking his head again. This is the first time in months he's been able to let his guard down. "And that would be real career killer." Although, Nathan's tone isn't altogether upset about it, even if his rehearsed expressions match some level of cynical disappointment.

Nathan's thoughts, however, betray him as he manages to trudge a few more steps away. Good riddance. When this is all over, I'm buying a plane.

"I didn't either, but— we haven't seen each other for so long that I'm just glad you're here," Peter says, not really minding her awkward state, the wheelchair. He's worried about her leg, but she's here which means in his mind he can fix it.

"I know it's weird. It'll get better," he says, that optimistic and determined side there. Suddenly he's leaning over her and wrapping arms around her, pulling her up from the wheelchair in a style that is very similar to the first time she narrowly escaped the Protocol. A princess carry.

He looks towards his brother, and nods. "You're right. It's gone too far already. But we won't be able to stop it in one day. We need to get people together. We need to work together… And we need to find out more about what they're doing. Just— stay put tonight. At least until I can pass along some addresses and numbers." There's people on their side, after all. More than he even knows…

But right now he is aiming for the stairs. With a bundle of wounded speedster.

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