2007-08-20: DF: What Is Left Behind


DFElena_icon.gif Eric_icon.gif DFPeter_icon.gif

Summary: Another morning with the Saints takes a dramatically dark turn.


Dark Future Date: August 20th, 2009

What Is Left Behind

Weischel Carcass House

The morning comes, and unlike perhaps most of the Saints, Elena is not hungover. Because she can't get drunk. This will either be a blessing and a curse later, especially with what she's about to find. Given that Nate's secured location is, presumedly, known to only a few of the Saints' inner sanctum, she recruits Peter and Eric at breakfast to transfer some supplies over to the Weischel House. These supplies range from medicine, to…dangerous looking instruments that Eric may or may not use to interrogate Archie Mortensen with, who had been placed in one of the holding cells of the dark place and was ABSOLUTELY NOT invited to the reception the evening before.

It is quiet when Eric drives the Battle Shell through the safety precautions of the meatpacking plant. She's riding shotgun, her elbow propped on the sill and looking out. It was so early. 7:00 in the morning and the skies were still somewhat dark…

She can't help but feel goosebumps rise on her skin. The last two years have given her an almost sixth sense when it comes to danger and wrong. And something doesn't feel right. She's jittery, and she feels cold. But it could also just be the place. She never felt comfortable here. She tugs her jacket's collar up higher, clad in a tanktop today, and a pair of dark jeans and her steel toed boots.

She's quiet when she gets out of the Battle Shell, dropping down and pulling her hair absently in a twist. She'll leave the boys to unload the supplies - there aren't many. "I'll go check on Jack and Nate," she tells them over her shoulder, sliding her hands in her pockets as she moves to the packing room.


Eric's been up for hours already. He didn't have quite a hangover…but he does have a quietly thoughtful look on his face. His mind isn't on the 'talk' he is going to have to Mortensen, and he's said very little in the drive and even at breakfast. He just has driven, wearing a dark blue t-shirt, some black jeans, and his beat up denim jacket. He's got his boots on too of course, and his guns. Never can be too careful.

As the pulls the Shell into park he nods once towards Elena. "…we'll get the supplies," He says casually, easily. Hopping out of the drivers seat to walk around back and pull one of the two crates out of the back.

…yes Peter. He just volunteered you for manual labor.


Like the young Hispanic woman, Peter is not hung over. Not just because of her various abilities, but also because of the fact he only had two drinks the whole night. That's it. And that's not enough to get him drunk, unless it's like… a whole bottle as a drink. He'd made a promise. Sure, he broke it with his brother, but considering some of the things that slipped out when he did that, he opted not to at the reception(s). His sleep wasn't the best, though— then again, it almost never is in this dark terrible future— one would have thought after such an amazing night it would have been different.

The uneasiness of Elena is noted, something that puts him a little on edge as well, but— she's going to check on them. "Jack's here?" Really? Shouldn't he be with his wife in bed cuddling up to her and all that stuff a newly wed is supposed to do? Somehow he missed the fact that he might actually be here— because it just didn't even cross his mind he'd be anywhere other than in bed with his wife.

Okay… Eric volunteers him for manual labor, and he raises an eyebrow as the other man picks up two crates. "Yeah, we'll take care of this," he adds, before gesturing with his hands and… lifting up all the other crates at once. What?


"Thanks." A quick smile is flashed to Eric, though this can't be easy for him either. This has been his first big break in finding out who killed his family in forever. So Elena follows the carefully planned route further, pulling out the portable Geiger counter she always kept on her person to make sure she stays away from the deadly, radiated areas. She moves around, finds the metal door, and reaches for it. She grunts, twisting the huge metal wheel around until the five steel rods pull back and unlock. And then, she leans her entire weight forward, pushing at it.

"Jack? Nate?" she calls out in the darkness…..what hits her first was the smell. The overwhelming stench of rust. Granted this part of the plant always smelled wrong, considering the nitrate left behind by the cows that had been slaughtered here. But this smelled…..disturbingly fresh. And it was quiet. The only light in the room's on…well. Cup Face. Which still has money stuffed on it.

"Jack?" she calls out, and gropes for the light switch, turning it on…..

To reveal scarlet.

There was blood all over the place. The cage has been broken open. Blood pools were all over the floor, and spattered in trails with indiscernable, almost artistic patterns. Specks of crimson, already darkening by the lack of oxygen, is splashed all over the walls. She had gone to MIT to pursue science and medicine. She knows what arterial spray looks like.

And a fleshy lump of something is in the middle. She recognizes Jack's boot. A mist overtakes her mind as she stares at it, and stares at it, her eyes glazing over as she takes in everything. She's barely aware of her back thumping hard against the wall. She can't breathe. Why can't she breathe? And what was that noise?

The room. The red room. Everything looks red. Everything…

She doesn't realize she's screaming. Bloodcurdling and full of sheer abject terror.


"Show off…" Eric mutters under his breath as he notes Peter picking up the whole of the rest of the supplies in one fell swoop. He mutters as he goes to start to follow Elena, moving where she stepped to keep on the outside of the rad-zones. He lags behind, concentrating as he hauls the heavy box around. He's just concentrating on the box for the moment.

…and then she screams.

The box is dropped to land forgotten, the contents spilling out over the ground. He doesn't say her name, he doesn't even run…just one moment there and the next covered by a globe a blackness.

Then he is stepping out of the shadows next to Elena, and into hell.

The smell hits him first as he pulls his paired pistols to train them around. His mind starts to gibber and shake. The blood. The vomit.

…the leg.

His mind shuts down then. He'll rage and scream later, but just to function now it has to shut down. Lock it all out. Else he'll loose it right here, he'll break down crying…and Elena is already screaming. He can't break down.

Instead he stalks forwards, looking for anything besides the boot. Shell casings, tracks, survivors.

Anything that might refute the evidence that's sitting in a bloody mess on the floor in front of him.

"Elena wanted me to practice more," Peter defends himself, beginning to move the crates towards the warehouse. But then the screaming starts. The crates don't immediately drop, they are quickly set down, and set down a little too hard. There might be some damage, but the supplies won't all be destroyed. While Eric disappears, he has to do things the old fashioned way, running. Which means the other man arrives a good time before he gets all the way through the door and into the— oh god what is that smell.

He's used to blood in a way. It's usually his. But it's not something that he'll ever like seeing, or ever be able to stomach. He turns pale. The only thing that keeps him from adding to the painting on the floor is the fact that Elena's right there, backed against the wall. Oh God… is Nathan okay? Was Jack— is that Jack's—

This— this isn't right. The last time he'd spent time alone with the man, he'd punched him, then healed him, and he'd dragged him up to an office to…


This wasn't supposed to happen. Things were supposed to get better.

He can't help but remember someone saying that things couldn't get much worse. That someone was very wrong.

While Eric investigates, he steps over to Elena and, hesitates, but still reaches out to touch her, wanting to do something, even if he knows nothing he can do at this moment will make anything at all better. She's told him more than once that she can't lose her Saints. Been on the verge of cracking just at the mention of it. And now… now she probably has and… The only comfort be could possibly offer is something that won't help this Elena at all.


She was too horrified to cry. By the time Eric and Peter reach the red room, her hand is clapped securely in her hand once she realizes the noise is coming from her, Elena leaning against the wall and both hands on her face to keep her voice inside her body. She's not looking at anybody, she's just staring at everything - staring, but not really -looking- at anything, the glassy expression in her eyes as to what one would associate with catatonic patients.

When Peter touches her, she doesn't react. She's still looking forward, the roar in her head isn't lessening any. To her credit, she doesn't shake, and she's stopped making a lot of noise. Only the cold fingers stroking down her spine like a dead lover come back from the grave remains.

She hits her head back against the wall and closes her eyes tight. Her hands are still clapped around her mouth. She had to breathe. Breathe. BREATHE.

She wills herself to cheat. A blast of something calming fires from her brain to bleed into her system. She was a walking painkiller, a remote pain transmitter. She can cause euphoria. She doesn't do this too often but she needs something to calm her down and the only person who can do it right now is her. She doesn't do this often - it resembles the effect of highly addictive depressive drugs too much. She slumps heavily against the wall. She can breathe. She pulls her hands away from her mouth and braves opening her eyes again.

She shoves away from the wall, walking towards the middle of the room. She felt sick - she would've thrown up if she could. But the warm, languid feeling thrumming in her system is keeping her from doing so. She stops near the leg. She gives the room another look.

She's quiet, but she's thinking. She can't keep her hand from shaking but it lifts up to start toying and tugging at a lock of hair that's come free from the bind.


Eric looks back towards Elena, worry writ for all to see on his face and in his eyes. He's doing the same thing she is, but his is coming natural. That iron will slamming down, preventing him from shutting down. Preventing him from throwing up or some other reaction. His teacher. His boss. His friend. All thats left here of him is his leg.

God damn you, Jack. You were supposed to be invincible. You were supposed to be unkillable.

You were not supposed to die.

He sucks in a deep hissing breath though his teeth as he sweeps the room again. His hands are steady, but there is a deadness to his eyes. An ice thats almost frightening. He can't let it out. Can't let out anything else or he'll loose what control his has left.

God damn you, Jack.

"…the room is clean…no bodies, no hostiles."


Unlike these two… Peter isn't quite steeled as much to this. He's lost people, but never like this. He's seen people die, he's died so many times he's lost count, woken up in pools of blood. But this… When the only thing keeping him from breaking down moves away from him to inspect the room quietly, he leans against the wall she just left and watches them. There's no strength left in his legs, but he stays standing. He's pale. He's quiet as well. He doesn't start screaming or crying yet— but he doesn't know what to do.

He'd just found his brother again, pulled out from the shell of a mirror image. They'd bonded. They'd talked about how things would be now— and Jack…

At this point, he does end up sliding down the wall, sinking to the floor, hands going up to touch his forehead. He doesn't cry yet, but he can't watch. And he can't focus. The air is sickening, the hopelessness that wants to take over heavier than ever before, and he can't do anything. Not right now. And even if he goes back and fixes this— if this world still exists after like he wishes it will— the man whose leg has been left behind in the room will still be gone. Like all the others who went before.


"No," Elena whispers, her fist clenching tightly on the side of her hip. "This room isn't clean. There are traces. Whoever did this is going to burn." Her back is to Eric. Her back is to Peter, and for once she doesn't meet any of their eyes as she says it. She could feel her face twisting to reveal the demon beneath. She's no Angel. Not today. Maybe she never was. Maybe all that goodness and light really did die after Luis and Nita were interred in the Earth.

She doesn't say anything more. Her back straightens, and her shoulders square. It was as if the screaming breakdown something didn't happen. She strides with a purpose, over to the end of the room. There's the sound of something ripping, jerking packing paper off the roll left behind when the place had been a legitimate business two years ago. She strides over to the mass of blood in the middle of the room. And she gets on her knees. The way she wraps Jack's leg is almost loving, feeling blood soak into her skin and her fingertips. It was cool. The leg was already stiff with rigor.

She also wraps it up like a leg of lamb. She uses her teeth to yank a piece of twine out from the roll she has in her pocket, and ties the paper securely. She'll carry the leg back to his widow. The duty was hers.

She picks up the limb, and turns to rest it on top of the butcher's table left behind. And then? She picks up the fireman's axe left behind in case of emergencies. She turns around again, and moves to the cage. Her eyes close, and her head lowers. When it rises up again, her eyes are gold.

She rears back, swinging the deadly object. It crashes hard into the cage. Over and over and over again until she gets what she wants. The cacophony of sound and twisted metal echoes into the silent plant.

She gets what she wants. She grabs one of the steel rods from the broken entrance of the cage that she had forcibly cut from the rest. She turns around, and marches towards Peter. Her shadow falls over him - should he ever look up, her half-shadowed face is looking down at him, the catlike eyes riveted on his grief-torn features.

She turns the blunt end of the rod forwards, handing it out for him to take.

"I want to know what happened. Not now. Take all the time you need but I want to know what happened." She pauses. "….I can't give you the leg. Your precognitive ability leeches off the visual and the empathic. I can't….I don't want you to have to feel what it feels like getting your leg ripped off."

She keeps holding out the piece of metal, her jaw set stubbornly.


…well Now Eric doesn't have to do what Elena just did. Try to get Peter to snap back into shape. In shape to do /something/. He is Peter Fucking Petrelli. He better be able to do something. "…they will," Eric's words back to Elena aren't the fire and brimstone of hers. They are the flames and promise of Hell coming after that seems to be burning in Elena's face. His words are cold, ice hard as the look on his face. The fire had burned out long ago. There was only the calm, cool, certin revenge. Oh no. Whoever did this. Whoever brought this down on Jack's head would have a reckoning to pay.

They would reap it. Jack's Saints.

He turns to watch at Elena gathers up the remains. The cold, dispassionate look in his eyes never changing. He watches still as she breaks one of the bars out and turns towards Peter with it. Those half-dead eyes fix on Peter then.

"…find who did this, or find Jack." Or what's left of him.

He turns away then, the guns returned to their holsters as he glances around the building. "…I'll keep looking for more physical evidence." He says, his voice still strong as he stalks off into the darkness of the battlefield. Leaving the pair to themselves for the moment.

There was time enough for grief later.


There's no watching as the leg is wrapped up for delivery to the man's widow— but Peter does flinch visibly with each of the hits with the axe. He can't even look to see what's being hit, but he can tell who's doing the hitting. Right now, all he can think about… is how he really wishes he were home now. Not too long ago, he'd half wanted to stay. A little over a day ago, he'd admitted as much to his brother. Even with everything else… part of him wanted to stay. That part of him has very nearly been ripped out.

The hands lower when she speaks, eyes sliding up to see the broken piece of cage first, and then higher into her face. The hope has drained quite a bit from his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. Take all the time he needs? There is not time. And there's all the time in the world. And even if he waited forever— some things no one's ready for.

The thought of losing a leg makes him flinch, but he doesn't correct her. Even if he didn't use the leg, he'd probably still feel it if the vision included it. All the pain in the immediate area would be his, all the emotions, all of it. And from the look of the room, it probably would be too much for him to handle right now.

He's died more times than he can count. He's lost a hand and watched it grow back, painfully. And this terrifies him. But he still reaches forward and just takes it, wrapping his hands around the piece of metal.

No time at all is taken, because he slumps over onto the floor, the piece of metal falling out of his hands. And he'll be that way for about fifteen minutes. Just before he wakes up, there will be grunts of pain, groans, and some visible flinches, as if he's being struck.

But then it's over, and he gasps back into consciousness, still laid over on his side. For a few moments he just stares out into the blood soaked room.


She told him not to do it right now. Some part of her that cared about him more than anything didn't want him to do this right now. But when Peter grabs the metal, the look in his eyes says it all. She barely has any time to intercept his falling body as he keels to the side, her hands coming up to grasp his shoulders to steady him as his head lolls forward, unconscious and diving right into the nightmare of the last few hours. Elena's fingers tighten on his shoulders, and she couldn't help but drop her forehead against the top of his head.



She pulls her head away and pushes him back, propping his seated body against the wall. She doesn't want to lay him on the blood-soaked ground. She didn't want it to be any worse. It was already going to be bad. She knows it. But she can't help but wish he WAITED until they got to someplace more comfortable, but they can't do it right now it looks like.

When he wakes up with a gasp, a few minutes later, she's seated at a companionable distance from him. She's waiting for Eric to come back - because she can't exact the next steps by herself. They can't come back here. The location's compromised. It needs to be hollowed out, wiped from anything that could lead back to where they leave now. Her head is leaned back against the wall, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. It was the only space not covered by blood.


For a long moment there's just breathing. And then Peter forces himself up and discards the piece of metal. He doesn't speak at all as he moves to stand. There's something stiff about the way he's moving, as if there's residual pain clinging all over his body. Which there probably is. That's how this ability works. No wonder the person he got it from became a total nutcase.

But that's something for another time. Looking around the room, he doesn't try to find shrapnel or bullets like the others had already looked for, and he doesn't even look at the wrapped leg. But there's a reason he's looking around, which he finally states in a shaken voice, "I— I need— something else." What he'd seen… "The cage— doesn't work— not connected enough to… this. It— saw something else." Something he probably shouldn't have seen at all, but he understands it, he knows what was happening. And it hurts like a son of a bitch anyway.

"I'll wait this time, though…" Probably best, because from the look of his skintone, he's not going to manage a second one nearly as well. "Bullets, or…" A deck of cards.

He spots some of the cards on the floor, some with blood on them. And he knows… that hadn't been here yesterday. They would have played a game or two if there had been. "Pick— pick up those cards… hold them for me." If he touches them, he's not sure he can stop himself from seeing it right now.


She could understand most of his abilities, but she's still mostly at a loss as to how his Precognition is triggered. She thought the broken cage would be able to show him how the hell Nathan got out, or who broke it to get him out, because obviously it wasn't Jack but rather the person who killed him. Elena watches him as he tries to catch a breath.

"You're tired." Whatever he saw in place of what she wanted him to see had been strenuous. Part of her wanted to know, but since everything was so urgent, she doesn't have the time.

She reaches out to place a hand on his forehead to take some of the edge off what he's feeling. It's a sharp change from the first few days they met again in the future - she had been harsh, demanding. She didn't care about what he felt about anything, and she focused on what she could do to make sure that he came back to the Present prepared to fight. It had been a necessity, to give him the proverbial kick in the ass he needed to leave fragments of his weaker self behind and transform into a different, more capable creature. He's done it, for the most part. She can justify some semblance of mercy. Some semblance of care.

She usually gives the orders. When he actually seizes enough of his conscious mind back to give her one for a change, or at the very least a set of decisive instructions, she stares at him for a few seconds - but only a few seconds, and she nods.

"Stand up. We have to leave right away," she tells him, standing up herself. She moves over to where the cards have been laid. The cards, and Cup Face. She sweeps both items up and puts them in a small bag she manages to find.


It's that moment that Eric decides to return, sliding out of the shadows like he lives there the young man watches the pair of them in silence for a long moment. His eyes are still cold and hard as he glances away from them both. The tender semblance of care, he just shakes his head slightly before he folds his arms across his chest.

"…I have some things I'm going to have to set up. Ramon needs to drop off the grid. I'll be back at the Towers as soon as I can." He murmurs to the pair of them. Then he pauses and blows out a sigh. Peter is in no shape, and even this angry Elena can't drop worth a flip. "They can wait," He adds softly. "…come on, then. Let's get out of here…"

What else he found in the building are all tucked into his pockets, tagged and bagged. Shell casings, bullet fragments. They might be able to tell them something even if Peter can't.


The cage had seen too much in recent days. Even this horrific experience isn't quite tied enough to it. Maybe the lock itself would have shown who broke it, but otherwise… Peter didn't see anything that would be useful in this case. He's not going to share it either— it wasn't his to see, much less his to share. The gentle touch that she gives him makes his eyes stop staring off at nothing and he looks towards her instead. It helps lighten some of the pain digging into his heart, and bring out something a little less… jarring. But at the same time…

A hand reaches up and briefly touches her wrist, wanting to clasp her hand and hold on to her like some kind of tether to hope and existence… but then he just lets her go so that she can listen to his 'order'.

Standing fully, he nods, watching as she gathers up the small items. He wants to apologize for her loss— and the loss of everyone else as well. But instead… he falls back on something that she taught him the last few weeks. The only way to really be sorry about something is to do something about it. He can't do anything right now, but… Eric speaks. How long was he there?

Why does Mr. Gomez have to drop off the grid? And… It's not his place to ask. He probably wouldn't understand it if he did. The only thing he can offer is this. "I'll fix this, Elena…" Maybe not for the her that she is now… but— it's all he can really offer. A promise that the world will be better somewhere.


Elena looks over at Eric, her expression stubborn. "No, they can't. I don't know what they found here, but what they didn't take we have to grab and dispose of…" And she has doubts that ALL THIS was done by one person. Jack was one of their top fighters. There had to have been a team to take him down. But if they won't do it, she will. She's the de facto Commander of the Saints now. They'll be after her next. The head of the Snake had been cut off. The next step would be to cut out its heart.

She doesn't say that out loud. She had been in danger before, but now it was even more dangerous for her. She doesn't give a flying rat's ass about it right now however. Let them come. They took her nuncle. It would only be a relief, such a relief, if they speared her through and ended it. She would die with a sigh. Finally…, she would say with her last breath.

But she wasn't that weak.

She hands Eric the bag, with Cup Face, the money, and the cards on it. "Papa was trying to help Nate dominate Logan. If he's free, I don't know how long Nate can hang onto his body. But if Logan takes over, my father'll be a threat to him." She looks over at Eric seriously. "Protect my father," she tells him - to her credit she doesn't choke up. She can't. She could see it. The hour glass. Her last days were numbered, but like hell was she going to not do something about it. Jack had kept himself in the shadows as the leader and the head - she didn't know if anyone else saw it, but it had been to protect her too. If he stayed untouchable, their enemies would be focused on taking him out first. Now there was nothing left for her to rely on. Jack wasn't here to protect her anymore, and her father was ill.

"Take him too. He needs to rest," she says, glancing over at Peter. "I need to finish things here, but my father. He's important right now. I'll take one of the spare bikes left behind here. I need to get the charges." She rakes a hand through her hair. She trusts that Eric grabbed everything they need from this place. No need to leave it standing.

The promise is heard, but she doesn't comment on it. At least not yet. She nods to Peter. "I'll hold you to that." And with that, she turns to head out the door, her Desert Eagle twirling into her hand in one swift movement. Just in case. But she doesn't need it. She hasn't really needed weapons in a while. They had all been an illusion to cover up her real talents.


Death would be a relief from the pain. Eric knows it, knows at least some of what she's thinking. He just takes one step towards her and reach out to place one hand on her shoulder. Its a comforting grip, he manages a ghost of a smile. "…I'll watch him. You have my word." Not for the first time in his life he is very very glad he plans ahead and plans well. Ramon will be safely underground within half an hour of the message as long as the stubborn old man listens to reason.

"…if your sure you'll be alright here," Eric replies with a nod towards her. She's the boss now, as much as it hurts to see it thrust on her like this. He was hoping Jack could retire, that they all could. This dream seems so far away from them all now though.

He sighs as he watches her start off. "…come on, Peter. Lets go."


And there she goes. All determined to do what needs to be done with no time to grieve or wait.

And Mr. Gomez is a threat to Logan… That doesn't surprise him. Since she's so worried about protecting him, though, Peter will not comment that he's also a threat. He's overpowered the man mentally once already. And if Logan gets out, he can imagine he won't be TOO PLEASED with him at all. What he did, taking away one of his sources of power, would be worth hunting him down. And the knowledge of a time traveler, someone who can keep Nathan strong, someone who could go back and make everything that Logan worked for never happen… Yeah. He'd be a target too. But he doesn't care.

"Go take care of Mr. Gomez. I don't need to leave yet— I can stay and help her." It's not so much an offer as it seems he intends to do it anyway. He's already moving to follow after her, despite being pale and a little stiff from residual pain from the vision. He's not intending to leave her behind by herself. Not if he can help it.


Eric sighs slightly and shakes his head. He pauses to glance towards Peter's retreating back, his longer legs help him catch up to the other man before he just raises an eyebrow. "…she wants to be alone," He murmurs towards Peter quietly. "…just let her finish packing and we can meet everyone back at base alright?" He is going to try to talk first.


It doesn't take too much to catch up to Peter, honestly. Not only is he shorter and generally slower, but he's still hobbling a bit. He'll walk it off with time, he knows this, but time is what's needed. The words make him pause, glancing up at the taller— if younger— man. There's a stubborn set to his jaw that follows, "Just because she wants to be alone… doesn't mean she should be. I'll stay out of her way and I'll make sure she gets back to the base." In short, it looks like it will take more than talking. He's stubborn. Because he's had a stubborn teacher these last few weeks.


"…thats…about what I thought you would say," Eric says with a shake of his head as they get near a wall. With that the younger man pivots on his foot to drive his knee into Peter's side. Its less of an attack and more of a push though, so he can get him shoved though the shadow portal that leads back into the corridor outside the med center in Phoenix Towers. He'll even follow him though the portal.


What he'd say and what he'd mean. Peter doesn't really expect the kick that hits him towards the wall, though. He grunts, not even having a chance to react before falling through the shadow against the wall and ending up landing on the clean floor of the med center. The smell is a nice change, but everything else is just… jarring. He's never teleported like that before and it's rather disorienting, that's for sure. In light of everything else…

And there's Eric, having followed through a little more gracefully. Scrambling to his feet, he reaches for the taller man in an attempt to shove him against the wall. "Take me back there, now." He's definitely not happy with this turn of events. The taller man can easily beat him right now, considering how generally weak he looks, and he's barely able to throw a punch, much less those fancy kung fu Nun tricks that were thrown about. But at least he's using his hands right now, and not his abilities.


Eric…doesn't seem to be in much of a mood to be charitable. However he does let himself get shoved, the portal closing as he offs softly, the wall smashing the guns he carries into the small of his back. "…no," He says as he stares right back at Peter, the younger man's eyes hard and cold. He makes no move to even break away from Peter at the moment, just watching him with those cold and hard eyes.


In opposition to cold and hard eyes, Peter's has more intensity of emotion. He's still hurt over what he'd seen, what appeared to have happened, and everything that he'd experienced otherwise. But there's more to it than that, more that makes him angry. Pulling back a little, he shoves the man against the wall one more time, before letting go and turning away towards the door. "Fine. I'll go back on my own," he says as he reaches for the door, fully intending to make his way towards the exit. He's in no shape to run all the way across town, no shape to fly, but he's going to do it anyway because some things are more important to him.


Eric has to resist the urge to snarl towards Peter as he starts off. He shakes his head instead though, eying the man's back. "…selfish, pig headed bastard…" He says with a half growl to his voice. "Do you think I really want to leave her there?" He asks, standing there behind her. "She told me to leave, she told you to leave. Why don't you listen to her for once in your fucking life?" He catches himself from going any further though, eyes closing as he tries to exersise his own brand of self control. "She wants you safe so you can fix this hole we are in. Can't you see that, dammit? You can hardly walk. Just sit down and wait for her to get back, and she will be."


"She also told you to take one of the spare bikes and go protect her father," Peter snaps right back, not intending to stop. He can do this. The residual pain is already fading away. He just needed to walk it off. The paleness isn't going away just yet, but it's possibly a reaction to the surroundings they'd been in, and have just left. He does pause when he gets to the door, though. "I do listen to her. And I know her well enough… that I know she shouldn't be alone right now. She takes everything on her shoulders, and she'll never ask for help, but right now… she needs it. And she told you to get me out of there— you did. She didn't tell me I couldn't go back." Which is kind of a major loophole in what she said. Major loophole. But he's taking it.


He will be the calm one. He will be the calm one. He will, dammit. Eric grits his teeth silently. "Peter, listen to yourself. Your trying to justify what your doing by saying she didn't tell you not too. Do you want her to start treating you like a five year old?" He shakes his head slightly. "No, you don't listen to her. You really think she wants you too see her like she is now? The demon in her? The killer? She is going to take it all on her shoulders regardless of you being there or not. All she's doing is taking down a com array and then coming here." He just pauses a moment, one hand resting against the wall. Its cool. He tries to concentrate on that feeling. "…hell with this. You do what you want to do, you child with the powers of a god. I just saw one of my best friends…" One hand gestures, Eric is entirely at a loss as what to say. Finally he just slumps, leaning his back against the wall. "…I'm doing all I can do to protect them, and its still not enough."


"And she's got a lot of supplies to load back into the Battle Shell by herself," Peter reminds stiffly. "Supplies that you really can't afford to lose, especially not right now. So I'm going to go back and take care of that and stay out of her way. She can mourn in peace… and so can you… but there's some things she can't do on her own." There's really no arguing this, but… "Go take care of Mr. Gomez. You can't lose him right now on top of everything else." Him? They'll lose him eventually. What does it matter if he teleports away or something else happens? It'll look the same to them, either way.


"They are just supplies, they can be replaced, people can't," Eric replies without looking up at him. Grief. Its something that he thought he had got over. Not this though, not someone so close. "…if you die, Peter… If you die here, then this doesn't change. Think about that." He closes his eyes a moment. Yes. There are some things she can't do on her own. Damn the woman, though if she doesn't try. "…do you really think I don't want to go back?" He asks softly. Then he shakes his head. He can't take an argument right now, not in this state. He'll either break down in tears or just…shoot Peter. That's the last thing they need right now. "…just go."


"No— things would change," Peter says softly, frowning down at his hands. "Maybe someone who could actually kill Sylar would step up and do it— and maybe the world would be a little bit better. Who knows… but I don't plan to get myself killed. I have something to live for. Just like you do." Something to live for is far more important than something to die for. However… There's a hint of tension along his jaw, and then he says thickly, "I'll be in my room." That said, he steps outside and closes the door. And that's exactly where he'll be going, too.


"…and? Would that bring Elena's family back? Would that bring mine back?" Eric hardly looks up. "Would that undo what this world did to Jack, to Ramon, to all of us? Even to your brother?" He shakes his head. "No, it might get better, but it wouldn't change. It would still be hell." His eyes close before he leans his head back against the metal of the wall. He doesn't even make any response to the other man as he walks off either, but as soon as he is gone, Eric slides down the wall, sitting there with his head in his hands.

What else can he do right now?


Hide. That seems the best decision right now. Peter doesn't even walk down the hallway visible, and once he's to his room, he closes and locks the door. Damn it, Jack. Why couldn't you stay in bed with your wife just this one night?

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License