Closed RP: The Morgan-Petrelli Tent

[likeabadpenny]

Damn, he had gotten dressed up for this? Surprise marriageStill, Peter Petrelli was hardly a man to fight fate - he tended to run face first into it - so he just calmly collected himself and headed down to the tent village. At least, by the looks of the rather large crowd, he wasn't the only person roped into this

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[likeabadpenny]

One day, Peter was really going to have to ask Rachel exactly what it was that she did to set up circles; every time it happened it sent a strange prickling feeling across the back of his neck. Not in an absorbing kind of way, but in a 'There's definitely something going on' kind of way.

Grimacing faintly, though he was appreciative of the concern, Peter gently picked Rachel's hands up off his knees. "Sorry, I just get... I don't know, hyper-sensitive to peoples abilities. Kinda feels like my blood is on fire," he summoned up a crooked smile, though it was wan at best.

There was something he needed to take care of. It looked like the release of the circle didn't change anything, it had given him time to calm down, but he wasn't going to run the risk of anything else happening. Pushing himself up off the chair, Peter shuffled into the kitchen where he'd seen an ice-box full of bottles of wine - a wedding gift from the Hat or house elves, possibly. Freezing cold was the opposite of radioactive heat, logically, so Peter felt like it was a great idea to lift the lid of the box and stick his hands in the ice for a while. Shifting at an awkward angle, he rested his forehead in the crook of his elbow, pondering exactly how he was going to apologize to Rachel for all this. She didn't deserve this.

[racheltherunner]

A flash of something went through me as my hands were gently and politely taken off of Peter's knees. Hurt, maybe. But for it to hurt, I had to care, and I sure as hell was not going to do that. There were wisps of some kind of emotion that were starting to ebb through me when I looked at him or thought about him, just the tiniest idea of something other than polite indifference. But I gathered them all up and shoved them away, buried them. Emotions made you vulnerable. I'd been almost broken up the past week, at loose ends and unsure, because of emotions. I couldn't do it again. Especially when Peter most assuredly was not being so afflicted. I just needed to get myself together.

So, no. I was not hurt. It did not make my throat ache to be so easily rejected. I felt nothing. Rejection wasn't possible when you didn't give a shit in the first place.

Standing, eyes down, I said in a flat tone, "It's all right. Let me know if you need anything." Then I walked back into the training room.

Emotions were worthless unless they were actions. Unless they were fuel to be used. Setting back up my training dummy, I proceeded to kick the shit out of it. Not stopping, not slowing down, not holding back, I pounded the grief and frustration and confusion that I refused to feel into it. Until my fists were bloody and my legs were bruised and I could barely stand up I was shaking from exertion. I sparred with it until I couldn't breathe. Then I paused, hands on my knees, and gulped in huge breaths of air, heart thundering so loud I couldn't have heard anyone else if I tried. Straightening up, I attacked again.

I didn't do emotions. I didn't know how. I could do actions. That was all. Simple, easy, clean actions. You do one thing, there's a reaction. You take that reaction, and you use it to clue you in on the next action. You punch, they block, you kick. Simple.

[likeabadpenny]

Not really comprehending exactly how much time was passing, Peter let the minutes tick by until his hands went completely numb. This was safe. If he kept this up, he wouldn't be in danger of blowing up the whole tent village. Forehead pressed into his arm, Peter closed his eyes and tried not to think about the dreams he'd had before Kirby Plaza. An empty street in New York, people he cared about running away from him in fear, Nathan standing too close and disintegrating. All because Peter couldn't control these stupid abilities.

Eventually, after an unknown amount of time passed, Peter lifted his hands free of the ice, watching as blood circulation was restored. Dimly, he could hear Rachel in the side room, the muffled thuds of what he assumed were here fists hitting the practice dummy.

From the sound of her voice when she'd left, Rachel had cut off again. Peter was almost coming to expect these times. Emotional unavailability was something he'd grown up with, but still never quite got used to. It didn't seem right for people to be able to cut off like that. He'd never really mastered it himself.

The temptation was there - to just leave Rachel alone and indulge in his own little pity party. But Peter couldn't leave it like that.

Wandering into the side room, Peter watched Rachel for a while, frowning. He didn't know what he could do to make this better, but he knew how to start. Coming up behind her, Peter put a hand on Rachel's shoulder - if that got him a startled kick, then so be it. "I don't think it's going to be fighting back any time soon, you've kicked the shit out of it pretty good," he spoke up, trying to inject some humor into his voice.

[racheltherunner]

The touch on my shoulder made me flinch aside. I didn't get touched. Not by many people. Jenks hanging out in my earring was the closest I got, most days. An impulsive hug to Ivy, if I wasn't in danger of getting bitten. Or fighting. Or sex. Sad, when I stopped to think about it. If I wasn't getting fucked or someone wasn't trying to kill me, I was pretty much an island. Alone.

Shaking those thoughts aside, chest heaving as I struggled to find air to talk, I looked up at Peter. Just in that one second, maybe because I was tired, maybe it was that I wasn't expecting anyone to come after me, but all that hurt and rage and confusion lay naked in my eyes. Completely vulnerable for him to see. Then I blinked it away, wiping a shaking hand over my face, grimacing when I saw what I'd done to the backs of my hands. "Yeah."

My skin slicked over with sweat and my hair half falling out of its holder, I was sure I looked horrific. Eyes going to the dummy and then back to the floor, I said, quietly, "Your hands probably won't make that great of Popsicles. Unless we covered them in cherry flavor or something." Random humor - or at least a lame attempt at it. Me going 'God, look away, look over there, look anywhere but me because I'm tired and I'm beaten, and this last week has almost broken me, and if you look to closely, you might actually see something'. I hoped it worked.

[likeabadpenny]

When Rachel first looked at him, her emotions showing clear, Peter had to struggle not to react. Was all of that because of him? God, his guilt was never going to stop. If this marriage hadn't happened, Rachel would likely be having a much better time of life right now. She said she'd been having a bad week; but at least she hadn't been inflicted with Peter.

"I dunno, I could taste great," Peter smiled crookedly, licking his thumb and pretending to give deep thought about the issue. "Tastes like ice. Okay, not as good as cherry," he allowed, and began guiding Rachel over to the chair that he had been sitting in not long ago. Even though she was glaring at him, Peter brooked no arguments and sat her down, vanishing briefly. He still felt like week old crap, but he wasn't going to do anything without looking after Rachel first.

Old nurse habit; he always had a first aid kit stashed somewhere. Returning to the living room with the kit and a bowl of warm water, Peter knelt down at Rachel's feet and gently took her hands, examining the knuckles. He barely paused at the odd-looking scar on her left wrist, choosing to start sponging off the blood instead of asking questions. "If this is what you look like, I'm glad I didn't get a look at the dummy," Peter commented quietly. "Sorry if this hurts, by the way. I don't want to leave these untreated."

[racheltherunner]

Closing my eyes as he started to tend to my hands, I had to struggle not to run away. I was pretty sure he could feel me trembling. Swallowing hard, I forced a smile at his joking, eyes locked somewhere on the ground.

"I told someone I loved them," I suddenly found myself saying. Why, I didn't know. God, I didn't know, but I was, and the words just kind of spilled out as I tried to keep myself from flinching out of his hands. "Or that I thought I did. And he just walked away. Well, I did, but he didn't come after me. He doesn't want me. And I don't..."

Taking a breath, I forced my eyes up to lock on his. "I don't get close." As if he hadn't figured that out by now. "And two of the three people I actually have...have felt anything for have just..." Shaking my head mutely, I just gave Peter a helpless look. "I'm not very good. At emotions. I'm sorry."

Sorry that he had to deal with me, sorry that I couldn't be more articulate, sorry that I had tried to reach out to him. Finally, I could take it no longer. Pulling my hands out of his grasp, whether he was done with taking care of them or not, I wrapped my arms around myself and allowed my gaze to drop. "I'm fine. They're fine. But thanks."

[likeabadpenny]

While Rachel was speaking, Peter had just kept attending to her hands, head bowed in concentration - listening closely, even though he probably didn't show it by reacting. This was likely was Rachel had been having a bad week; Peter didn't blame her, if she'd gone through that. Sympathy rushed through him, and suddenly he couldn't help but feel like he was trying to encourage a skittish wild animal to feed from the palm of his hand, in trying to communicate with Rachel. It was looking like it was going to be a long, hard, frustrating process. Hopefully, though, it would end in success.

But this was a step forward. Peter was actually surprised; short of telling her about his job or his abilities, she'd been the one to open up first, emotionally. Even though she said she wasn't good at them.

Should he say something in reply? Honestly, Peter couldn't think of anything that would help. Instead, he just smiled sympathetically, understanding lurking in his eyes.

Then, Peter just held out his hands, palm up, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Give your hands back," he prompted patiently. "Seriously, otherwise I'll turn into Nurse Hardass and I won't stop following you around until you let me help you."

[racheltherunner]

He didn't get it. That hadn't been me going 'woe is me' or looking for pity. That was a big fucking warning sign. Get out. I'm a mess. Run.

Standing, I gave him a tight little smile. "I'm fine," I repeated. "I'm going to go shower and then brew some potions. You should sleep." After all, he'd been the one that nearly gave me a heart attack a hour ago. If I couldn't handle skinned knuckles, of all things, I needed to switch careers.

My entire body was held stiffly, tense, as if I was ready to run. I didn't understand Peter. Maybe that was my problem. Not that he reminded me of Nick, but that the coping methods I'd developed slowly over my years of living with Ivy didn't work with him. One second he'd be so open that it scared me, the next he'd be closed off and dangerous.

...Okay, maybe that was exactly like Ivy, only I doubted Peter had a book on what I should and shouldn't do around him. God, how pathetic was that? I needed a book in order to deal with people.

Whatever. See, this is why I should work alone. Live alone. Just...be alone. As soon as you got another person in the mix, I screwed things up. I was screwing things up with Peter, right then, and I didn't even understand why. I'd fucked things up with Ivy so badly I didn't know how we were ever going to fix that. With Dean I'd let my emotions get carried away, seen something there that simply hadn't existed. All within the last month or so. Hell, Jenks was probably the only person I knew here who was still talking to me.

So thanks, Pete. But no thanks. He didn't speak my language; or, rather, I sure as hell didn't speak his. "Take the bed," I said as I started to move away. "I don't want to wake you."

[likeabadpenny]

...That hadn't exactly been the reaction he was hoping for.

As Rachel started to move away, Peter let out a measured, pent-up breath. Talking to people, helping people only worked two ways, and he could only try and connect with Rachel if she was willing to give something back. She had opened up briefly, told him about the fact that she'd told someone she loved them. And what had Peter been supposed to say to that? He had the feeling that whatever he said - whether encouraging for hope, or an insight on human behaviour - it would be reacted to badly.

So he'd said nothing, and she was still reacting badly. Peter didn't want to believe that some people couldn't be helped, but Rachel was sorely testing that. It didn't help that his faith in humanity had been developing cracks in it for the last few months.

"Sure," he replied softly, sliding the first aid kit over so that it wasn't somewhere it would be tripped over. Resigned, Peter stood, and made his way over to the couch, where he promptly curled up facing the back cushions.

Between nearly overloading and suffering what felt like emotional whiplash, he could probably sleep for a week. Which, actually, might be useful, seeing that it would keep him out of Rachel's way. Especially useful seeing as all he seemed to be doing was making her more miserable.

[racheltherunner]

Ah, showers. Showers were nice. They tended to ease out kinks, to pound off the dirt and grime of the day, to generally refresh. I stood under the spray for far too long, until my fingers turned all wrinkly and, magic shower or no, the hot water sputtered out. I won't say I cried. Sobbing in the shower isn't something I do. That's not me. But if someone had pointed out that my face wasn't wet entirely because of the shower, well... They wouldn't be wrong.

In any case, I felt better when I padded back out into the living room, dressed in my pajamas, hair still falling in wet, wild ringlets around my face. Catching sight of Peter, I sighed. Of course he'd still be on the couch.

Going to the kitchen, I quietly brewed up a pot of coffee, digging through the cupboard for the cookies I'd found earlier. When it was ready, I poured too mugs, tucked the box under my arm, and headed out to Peter.

"Hey," I said, nudging him gently. "Peter." Sitting down near his head, I studied his unmoving form for a second. Putting the cups and the cookies down, I rested my head on my hand and watched him. A sad, rueful kind of smile lifted one corner of my mouth. God, I wanted this to work. Some form of this. I really did. I just didn't know how. Or how to keep myself from getting hurt when it inevitably failed.

[likeabadpenny]

Peter had drifted off almost as soon as he had settled down on the couch, a deep sleep that he was sure he wasn't going to wake up from anytime soon. But it felt like a split-second between closing his eyes and waking up when Rachel nudged him. Peter grunted quietly, initially annoyed and attempted to pull a pillow over his head. Except, there was no pillow.

Confused, he opened his eyes groggily, finally catching on to the sight of Rachel sitting next to him. Huh. For a moment he just stared, confused, until the smell of coffee hit him. A dreamy smile worked its way over his face. Mmmm, coffee.

"It's not morning already is it?" He asked, trying to push himself up into a sitting position. But halfway through, Peter decided he couldn't be bothered sitting, and slumped back down, his cheek resting on Rachel's leg. "Mmm, comfy pillow," he mumbled, dazed.

[racheltherunner]

All right. That was adorable. My face splitting into a grin, I tapped his shoulder gently. "Um, no. Sorry. I was actually just kicking you to the bed."

My fingers went to idly push back some of his hair, combing it behind his ear. "And to ply you with coffee and cookies not to hate me?" I added lightly, hopefully, with a tiny smile. "It's been a long time since I've lived with someone. I plead being rusty."

That little something was stirring again, wisping against my defenses and struggling to get in. But I shoved it away, just as firmly, and refused to let my brain even go there.

[likeabadpenny]

Wait, what? He was being kicked to the bed? But he was comfortable right here, he didn't need to move. Peter groaned lowly in protest, trying to wrap n arm around Rachel's leg so that she didn't move. Between her leg, which was making an awesome pillow, and the way she was finger combing his hair, Peter was not moving. For anything.

He never was the most coherent person when he woke up.

Eyes still closed, Peter inhaled deeply, willing the smell of coffee to wake him up. "You're forgiven if you can figure out some way to get caffeine into my blood while I'm lying down," he replied slowly. "I think I have an IV kit in my bag somewhere."

[racheltherunner]

Oh, by the Turn, he was clinging to my leg. I stiffened, just for a second, before I forced myself to relax. My scar was silent, and this was not Nick. My instincts to flee were just freaking retarded.

And he wasn't flinching away from me, so I indulged in playing with his hair like I'd wanted to since I'd first seen him. "Sorry," I said softly, voice dipping into the husky range. "Afraid I don't do IVs. And you're not nearly rich enough for me to do the whole peeled grapes and palm fronds feeding you thing. So either you'll just have to stay laying down and not have coffee, or sit up."

He could do either, really. I shouldn't be enjoying this, but I was. Because I didn't have to warily watch him for eyes going soulless black, and because Peter didn't sell me out to a demon. He was just...him, and other than the usual emotional issues, he was harmless. That was a nice feeling. My fingers gently brushing through dark strands of hair, I let my head thump back and my eyes half-shut. Yeah. We could stay like this.

[likeabadpenny]

Rachel couldn't be making him decide between glorious coffee, and staying comfortable right where he was, could she? God, that was so cruel. Especially since she kept playing with his hair. Not nearly enough people did that; it was practically the nicest thing ever, in Peter's book.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, forcing his eyes open. His brain was slowly beginning to start working again, and Peter tried to look at his watch - which, crap, wasn't there because Sylar had stolen it. Bastard. Slowly pushing himself upwards, Peter sank into the back of the couch once he was upright and sitting.

God, how long had he slept? It seriously didn't feel like long at all - half an hour, maybe. If he stayed awake much longer he was going to topple over and pass out. But Peter reached for his coffee, holding the mug in both hands and wasting no time in practically inhaling it. "Christ, that's good," he sighed appreciatively. Finally taking stock and glancing over at Rachel, Peter raised his eyebrows. "Nice pajamas," he teased. "I haven't seen that shade of pink favored by anybody since my sister-in-law thought she was having a girl. Eye-blinding room, I tell you."

[racheltherunner]

Curling my legs up under me and forcing back a small tendril of disappointment that he'd moved, I picked up my own cup, slowly sipping it. At his tease my eyes flew open, and I looked at him, shocked. "Oh, this from the guy who feels black-on-black-on-black is both stylish and intimidating?" Nudging him with my elbow, I snorted. "I look cute. So you just shut up."

Huffing in mock indignation, I reached forward and grabbed a handful of cookies, settling back on the couch. My pjs were just fine. ...Weren't they?

Pulling one leg up so I could rest my chin on my knee, I waggled freshly painted toenails - hey, moping in your room for a week left some free time - absently and took another drink of coffee.