Elizabeth has been having one of those days where she's just getting nothing done. She doesn't even have all that much to do -- general housekeeping -- but she keeps getting distracted by the other things she hasn't got done and fails to finish (or even start, mostly) absolutely anything
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Today, Mr. Petrelli's wife came back - she's not Claire's mom - and he...doesn't want to call what he did sneaking out, but that's what it was, and it wasn't even hard. He's pretty sure no one's noticed yet, but he left a note for Claire (I'm okay, don't worry, I'll come back to check on you. Just going for a walk. - Todd) after he threw a couple changes of clothes, his notebooks, and Shmee into his backpack.
He kind of want to cry or throw up, but it's one of those things that he wants to do because he's happy for other people. Mrs. Petrelli seems really nice, and Mr. Petrelli and Peter both like her a lot, and he bets Claire'll like her too after awhile. Everybody back there (not home) is going to be fine, after they calm down.
Todd's just-
Todd's very confused about what Todd is.
So he's not sure why he's knocking on Ms. Weir's door, really, he just ended up here.
Kid, just go find another house and settle in. This is a waste of time, you know that.
"But I don't, Shmee," he mumbles, "I don't know that. And I said I'd say hi."
Did you?
"...I'm...pretty sure I did?"
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She glances up and puts her book aside. After a moment's deliberation, she tucks the book under the glass to make it harder to see the title. Satisfied with that, she goes to unlock the door and...let Todd in! "Hi," she says, surprised but not unpleasantly. "Come in." She examines him carefully, as if trying to figure out what he's doing and how he's feeling. It's fairly subtle, though.
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He bobs his head in a quick nod before coming inside, prying his shoes off with his toes - only one of them was actually tied. His hair's a spiky mess, and there is, mysteriously, dirt on his palms. He doesn't remember how that got there, or why his mouth tastes gross.
He hunches up his shoulders, holding the straps of his backpack, and keeps his eyes on the ground as he chews on his bottom lip for a while.
"Hi," he says, quietly, "Um, I was just kinda walking by, and, uh, I thought I might...you know, kind of stop by to see how things are. How are things?"
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She's not sure how to feel about the impression she's getting about Todd, but 'protectively maternal' seems to be top of the list of things she's going to feel whether she wants to or not. She closes the main doors behind him and carefully steers him through the open door of her apartment.
"Things are fine," she'd say even if they weren't, but for once it's something like the truth, "and it's nice to see you again." Which is entirely true, even if this is a little confusing and she's...sort of worried, actually. "Do you want something to drink? I have a sofa here, you can get comfortable and put your backpack down for a while."
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"Um, something to drink would be cool," he says, setting his backpack next to him, "Just...whatever. I'm not picky. Thank you. Nice to see you too, um." He runs a hand through his hair, leaving a smear of dirt on his forehead. The bandages are off, but his hands are a shiny burn scar mess under the filth- they're not a flexible as they used to be, either.
He folds his arms on his knees as he leans over his legs, staring at some point just underneath the floor.
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She spends a few extra moments in the kitchen, just looking out the window and trying to think of what could possibly be the problem -- and, of course, how she can fix it. She always thinks about problems in terms of how to fix them...that's probably why she's so quickly frustrated with herself, these days.
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When Elizabeth gets back, Todd's reasonably clean once again, though apparently he also stuck his entire head under the tap (he left puddles around the sink) and only vaguely attempted to dry it off.
This problem is not one Elizabeth can fix, while also being something she's probably the only one who can provide a solution to.
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"I have a sneaking suspicion," she begins, tapping her fingertips against the side of her own glass, "that there was a little more to this than just being in the neighbourhood." She regards him with that careful and slightly maternal care/concern she does surprisingly well, and tilts her head. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to--but I'm willing to listen if you do."
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"Mrs. Petrelli came back," he says, finally, "Um, from the dead. But she's not a zombie, or anything, she's...a really nice normal living lady. It's, um..." Todd looks into his orange juice for what he's trying to say, but it's not in there.
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For a moment, she hates the Petrellis, and then she remembers she's supposed to be mourning for Simon (but Simon broke her and she hates him, too).
She pushes all of that away, hoping this conversation will stay just her and Todd, and sips her water, gathering herself together. "It's...hard to know where you fit, I take it?"
She can relate to that.
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(nobody would do that for he but he is not jealous he is not jealous he is happy he wishes he were jealous he wishes he were)
"Yeah, um, it's..." He puts his hands on the back of his head and closes his eyes again. "I don't- it's like- it's, um, it's like there's a-"
"There's a Mr. Petrelli shaped hole, right? And a Peter shaped one and a Claire shaped one and a Mrs. Petrelli shaped one and they're all- they're all in there, they're all- fitting inside, but it's...it's very confusing because I- I- I shouldn't be- they're all shifting around now, and there's a different shape of them because- and I can see it but I don't know what it looks like and-" He stops, taking a shaky breath, and then he tries to say something else but it breaks halfway out of his mouth.
Todd presses his hands against his mouth and screws his eyes up tight, shoulders shaking as he leans farther over his legs.
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She's warm and clean and smells like soap and, for some reason, apples. (There are bottles and bottles of her perfume in a cupboard of cosmetics in her bedroom. She feels little guilt for indulging, every now and again.)
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He settles for not fighting, because it's the best way he knows how to say he feels safe, and feeling safe is as close as he gets to feeling loved. He knows she doesn't love him. He thinks he might love her right now but he can't tell for sure if he'll keep loving her after she lets go, but that's okay, because right now that's just enough.
He slumps against her and shudders into her shoulder. It's not crying, not quite, but it's something pretty close.
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"It's okay," she says, even though it isn't, as though she can make it okay just by wanting to really hard. There used to be a time when she really thought she could make everything better -- she remembers being twenty-two and half drunk and when Mack asked her what she was gonna do, she told him save the world.
She remembers how he looked at her like he thought she could do it.
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It's weird, because he doesn't know how to describe this either. He decides, eventually, that he's being cupped, because he feels like a liquid and he'd be splashing everywhere if she wasn't holding him in like glass.
"Uh," he says, once he can makes words again and stops shivering, "I...should I go now?" His hands are off his mouth and resting loosely between his neck and just below her collarbone. He think he should move them but he's not sure how to do that without it being awkward.
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"You don't have to," she says, quietly, her fingers stroking gently through his hair. She doesn't really mean anything by the gesture, except as a physical observation that this is someone she could care about, someone who she'd accept into her quiet attempts to rebuild a life here.
"Are you going back to the Petrelli house?"
She's not sure what she expects him to say.
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