split me wide open and look right inside | there's so many things that i tried to hidejustdoingmyjobJune 17 2009, 21:22:19 UTC
That's one of the biggest problems here, at home, and everywhere else--or Peter would bet on it anyway--that of how much a person is welcome to know as opposed to how much a person needs to know, whether welcome or not. Half of the things he knows now he would have rather not known on levels of emotional capacity, of turning things over when so many foundations come up less as roses and more simply as lies. On that same matter, however, it would have been irresponsible for him to, if given an option for an off-switch, flick it down and never look back. Where do you draw the line though?
Partaking in the assortment of noodles is the idea but the chopsticks remain idle in his hand as his glance goes sidelong at a wall before actually returning to focus on the blond who is, fortunately, not offended by couches after a long day of standing on the job, which now that the ex-nurse thinks about it, makes sense. His mouth is a thin line for a while, considering, weighing, but the while is actually not all that long, for the weight of it, and just a handful of seconds after that opener--more generous than Peter had honestly hoped for--the brunette nods, a shallow gesture. It is the same as saying that's fair without saying it, because obvious things are obvious and while sometimes it's amusing to point them out anyway, this doesn't feel like one of those moments.
"There's a lot I could tell you," he doesn't say that I've thought about telling you, "But knowing everything never really helped anyone I've known." If wryness makes its way into his tone, it isn't for lack of seriousness concerning the subject, just a need to shoulder responsibility or something bigger than he is with whatever traces of humor he started out with. Part of him, sometimes, when he's joking with Claire about paper hats and cupcakes, still feels like that dreamy kid in the back of the classroom who believes the best is yet to come, and that, most importantly, they can prevail with hearts in tact. When it leaks through these days it's often by accident, thoughtless, but right now he balances between something angrier and darker, someone who believes in the benefit of the doubt but has a lot of doubt these days to combat.
"Sorry," he apologizes, prematurely maybe, or too late. "Was there something specific? I just don't think you should have to hear the whole story, and honestly it's not all mine to tell." Pausing, he gives up on eating and sets the carton he picked up back on the table, chopsticks laid across in diagonal fashion. Hands clasp between his knees and he leans forward rather than slouching back--his once default way of getting comfortable in the middle of all things not--and tilts his head a little to the side. He doesn't mean to make other people do all the verbal footwork, and he's not below or beyond taking the lead when he has to, but one thing the younger Petrelli has learned is that if Nathan was born to have the world in the palm of his hand, maybe Peter is there to pick up the parts that get left behind. Angela would call him softhearted. It says something that she'll probably never tell him that it's not criticism but a compliment, and, moreover, she means it. Then again, it probably says something that Peter might not believe her anymore even if she did.
split me wide open and look right inside | there's so many things that i tried to hideworksmartJune 18 2009, 03:38:53 UTC
"And you've worked in a hospital?" Chase looks doubtful. Not knowing enough tends to be the bane of any doctor's existence, from the guy who won't admit to cheating on his wife until the STD he passed on nearly kills her, to the patients who lie to themselves about what information is and is not 'need to know' in a medical context. Every detail, where they ate last night or what brand of dog shampoo they prefer, can turn out to be vital in its place within the bigger picture.
On a personal level, he takes a different approach. He's got his secrets and isn't about to labour under the illusion that he should be privy to anyone else's, for the most part. Lies are healthy things in human relationships, because if everybody knew the kind of things that went on underneath the surface of everyone else... well, they'd probably never speak to each other.
His general theory is that everyone else has to be at least as messed up as he is. Keeping that to themselves is fair.
Keeping the possibility that their niece might show up and shoot you a secret... less fair. It's difficult to know exactly what he'd like Peter to tell him without having much of a clue about what happened to him this weeked. He frowns, winces, then nods downwards, toward their floor and Claire's ceiling. "Didn't seem like she had much intention of reminding you to breathe. What happens between you?"
split me wide open and look right inside | there's so many things that i tried to hidejustdoingmyjobJune 18 2009, 07:45:36 UTC
Biting the inside of his cheek, he bows his head a little more, recognizing it as cowardly in comparison to meeting a stare dead-on, but saving that strength for later, because this conversation could be a long one. Matter of fact, he can't really see it being anything else. Where to start with it all though? The ideas of many possibilities for the future is nothing new, be it a world with weird science that results in people being more than they were born to be or an Earth like the one Robert Chase originates from--normal, if contrasted, but not without its own problems, no smaller for it. Still, even with that in mind, Peter feels like jumping right into in one future... is just that--jumping in, probably head first into a pool that was just emptied without notice.
"I don't know all the details," teeth worry a lower lip and he's adjusting his hands as if the way they clasp will give him a better way of how to proceed. Somehow it doesn't feel frantic or nervous, so much as restless. "Well, I did," he scowls briefly, and it's only the firmer hold of one hand on the other that keeps him from checking for a scar that, in two futures--one he's never seen--runs as a reminder on the diagonal across his face. "Anyway..." a muted sigh and he eases the scowl into something more neutral. "I don't know exactly, but I know that she blames me for a lot of it, and from what I--" he stops short, realizing how stupid I told me will sound. Then he takes that pause that often indicates a need to reorganize words. "From what I did learn, it's with fair reason...or as fair as people can be when things become perpetually out of control," he sighs and rubs at his temples, knowing how much this is likely confusing more than helpful.
"I..." just want to save them.
Like the man himself could be whispering the words in his ear, Peter remembers that other version of Sylar--no, Gabriel--telling him the world always needs saving.
"It could happen again---and even the way you saw her, she's not..." he wants to defend her. Every bone in his body, every beat of his heart wants to defend his niece who he first new only as someone, as it happens, he had to save.
Save the cheerleader. Save the world.
It's not fair really.
The story was supposed to end there, or so he thought. His brother was on the right side, did the right thing. He, Peter, managed to not quite fly away with him as a martyr so much as another hero, just like Nathan, or not at all, but on the same page, and that meant something...meant everything. What happened?
"I know this isn't...very clear," and he wants to justify it by saying no one's really been clear with him enough for him to be clear with anyone else, but even if that's true, it's somehow still not an excuse, so he bites his tongue this time. "She could become like that again, here," a frown and then a shake of his head, "...whatever I do back home doesn't have much relevance here unless it really does happen, really is the future, but I don't think that it's happening that way anymore."
Eyes finally peering up to meet blues supposing they're looking at him at all, he swallows awkwardness and inadequacy like something cold but necessary, a bullet maybe.
Partaking in the assortment of noodles is the idea but the chopsticks remain idle in his hand as his glance goes sidelong at a wall before actually returning to focus on the blond who is, fortunately, not offended by couches after a long day of standing on the job, which now that the ex-nurse thinks about it, makes sense. His mouth is a thin line for a while, considering, weighing, but the while is actually not all that long, for the weight of it, and just a handful of seconds after that opener--more generous than Peter had honestly hoped for--the brunette nods, a shallow gesture. It is the same as saying that's fair without saying it, because obvious things are obvious and while sometimes it's amusing to point them out anyway, this doesn't feel like one of those moments.
"There's a lot I could tell you," he doesn't say that I've thought about telling you, "But knowing everything never really helped anyone I've known." If wryness makes its way into his tone, it isn't for lack of seriousness concerning the subject, just a need to shoulder responsibility or something bigger than he is with whatever traces of humor he started out with. Part of him, sometimes, when he's joking with Claire about paper hats and cupcakes, still feels like that dreamy kid in the back of the classroom who believes the best is yet to come, and that, most importantly, they can prevail with hearts in tact. When it leaks through these days it's often by accident, thoughtless, but right now he balances between something angrier and darker, someone who believes in the benefit of the doubt but has a lot of doubt these days to combat.
"Sorry," he apologizes, prematurely maybe, or too late. "Was there something specific? I just don't think you should have to hear the whole story, and honestly it's not all mine to tell." Pausing, he gives up on eating and sets the carton he picked up back on the table, chopsticks laid across in diagonal fashion. Hands clasp between his knees and he leans forward rather than slouching back--his once default way of getting comfortable in the middle of all things not--and tilts his head a little to the side. He doesn't mean to make other people do all the verbal footwork, and he's not below or beyond taking the lead when he has to, but one thing the younger Petrelli has learned is that if Nathan was born to have the world in the palm of his hand, maybe Peter is there to pick up the parts that get left behind. Angela would call him softhearted. It says something that she'll probably never tell him that it's not criticism but a compliment, and, moreover, she means it. Then again, it probably says something that Peter might not believe her anymore even if she did.
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On a personal level, he takes a different approach. He's got his secrets and isn't about to labour under the illusion that he should be privy to anyone else's, for the most part. Lies are healthy things in human relationships, because if everybody knew the kind of things that went on underneath the surface of everyone else... well, they'd probably never speak to each other.
His general theory is that everyone else has to be at least as messed up as he is. Keeping that to themselves is fair.
Keeping the possibility that their niece might show up and shoot you a secret... less fair. It's difficult to know exactly what he'd like Peter to tell him without having much of a clue about what happened to him this weeked. He frowns, winces, then nods downwards, toward their floor and Claire's ceiling. "Didn't seem like she had much intention of reminding you to breathe. What happens between you?"
He wants to ask, what happens to her?
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"I don't know all the details," teeth worry a lower lip and he's adjusting his hands as if the way they clasp will give him a better way of how to proceed. Somehow it doesn't feel frantic or nervous, so much as restless. "Well, I did," he scowls briefly, and it's only the firmer hold of one hand on the other that keeps him from checking for a scar that, in two futures--one he's never seen--runs as a reminder on the diagonal across his face. "Anyway..." a muted sigh and he eases the scowl into something more neutral. "I don't know exactly, but I know that she blames me for a lot of it, and from what I--" he stops short, realizing how stupid I told me will sound. Then he takes that pause that often indicates a need to reorganize words. "From what I did learn, it's with fair reason...or as fair as people can be when things become perpetually out of control," he sighs and rubs at his temples, knowing how much this is likely confusing more than helpful.
"I..." just want to save them.
Like the man himself could be whispering the words in his ear, Peter remembers that other version of Sylar--no, Gabriel--telling him the world always needs saving.
"It could happen again---and even the way you saw her, she's not..." he wants to defend her. Every bone in his body, every beat of his heart wants to defend his niece who he first new only as someone, as it happens, he had to save.
Save the cheerleader. Save the world.
It's not fair really.
The story was supposed to end there, or so he thought. His brother was on the right side, did the right thing. He, Peter, managed to not quite fly away with him as a martyr so much as another hero, just like Nathan, or not at all, but on the same page, and that meant something...meant everything. What happened?
"I know this isn't...very clear," and he wants to justify it by saying no one's really been clear with him enough for him to be clear with anyone else, but even if that's true, it's somehow still not an excuse, so he bites his tongue this time. "She could become like that again, here," a frown and then a shake of his head, "...whatever I do back home doesn't have much relevance here unless it really does happen, really is the future, but I don't think that it's happening that way anymore."
Eyes finally peering up to meet blues supposing they're looking at him at all, he swallows awkwardness and inadequacy like something cold but necessary, a bullet maybe.
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