Food for thought

[fallen_empath]

Who: Peter Petrelli and Mohinder Suresh
When: Tuesday, August 7th, evening
Where: The cafeteria
What: Peter is hungry and he makes his way to the cafeteria, and while there he meets an old friend. Or not so much a friend. Guess we'll find out.
Warnings: None, except for Peter's truck-driver mouth may make an appearance.

Comments

[fallen_empath]

Peter leans in closer to view the feed, and needless to say, watching himself and his beloved niece walk willingly to their deaths -- what looked like it, anyway -- brings a horrible, empty ache to his stomach.

He can't die. Claire can't either. Well, they can, but it just doesn't take. And if this is really him on that video, then why doesn't he remember it? He always remembers, and honest to God, sometimes wishes he didn't.

"That's not me," he whispers, his mouth suddenly dry. "I would know if I were here... I was home. I was trying to fix things, and teleported here by accident."

Peter paces a bit, panicking as he tries to access Hiro's power again. Nope. Nothing. But maybe...

Peter seizes the taller man by his biceps and gives him a little shake.

"Mohinder, you've got to believe me," he nearly begs, his voice breaking. "You've got to help me get my power back. Help me and I'll get you out of here too."

[splice_of_life]

Don't do that, Peter. Mohinder's easily shaken in more ways than one. His poor brains might actually fall right on out of his head!

He sees the desperation in Peter's eyes and lightly cups one hand over the other man's shoulder. "Peter." The accented voice is as soft as ever, and very, very tired. "I'm afraid that I simply can not. If you mean your power of being able to leave here... The conclusion seems to be, for those of you that are able to shift realities, that this is fixed. A point in time and space that can not be changed or moved or created to be anything else. It is also likely that there is no other place either."

At least he looks sorrowful having to explain that.

"I am so very sorry."

[fallen_empath]

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Peter cries in disbelief. But he would know if the scientist were lying to him. Unless that's not working right either...

Peter shrugs Mohinder's hand off his shoulder, looking much like a five-year-old about to throw a temper tantrum. He doesn't like to be told 'no': ask the future version of Mohinder, and he'd most likely say it's a Petrelli trait.

"You just expect me to believe that there's no way out? Where's your scientific proof? Do you even have any? Isn't that what you do?"

Peter flings the tray down on one of the tables so hard the plastic cracks, beginning to feel like a caged animal.

"If I got in, I can get out. It's not a fucking Chinese finger trap!"

Better run, Mohinder, before he starts breaking shit.

[splice_of_life]

Okay, not his Peter. Definitely not. If anything, he's pretty much as volatile as the last and... Well they hadn't been friends now, had they? He holds his hands up, paler palms facing outward, and waits for Peter to calm down.

Not that he's calming down.

So he'll back up instead. Slowly. Carefully.

"For now, we've found nothing-- I truly am sorry, this is a bit beyond-- Peter, stop!"

[fallen_empath]

Talking him down isn't going to work, and that placating tone in Mohinder's voice just enrages Peter even more.

He raises a hand and shoves Mohinder to the side as if he were merely a rag doll, and he tries to tap into Hiro's power one more time with all the strength he can muster.

Nothing.

Peter screams in frustration, and then there's a terrible shuddering in the cafeteria's foundation that could be mistaken for a small earthquake tremor.

If he really can't get out of here, then his worst fear has been realized. He'll never be able to make up for what he did in his own time, and he'll never see his brother again. Or anyone else, for that matter. All because he fucked up. Again.Thankfully Peter's telekinesis is not strong enough to raze a building, but that angers him even more. With complete disregard for any occupant's safety, Peter sends chairs flying across the room to smash against the walls. Tables up-end themselves, their legs wrenching free and becoming deadly projectiles. The windows shatter straight through, and the

[splice_of_life]

Oh, it's just like having Sylar around again. Except... Sylar was nice to him when he was here. Peter's just...a raving lunatic! Mohinder hunkers down behind a pillar and a blown over table. He's going to be spending the rest of the day cleaning this up, he just knows it.

At least the storm is over pretty quickly and Mohinder's survived it with only a little bump on the head, hidden in his hair. It's bleeding, but he won't notice it until later.

No real harm done.

He peeks over the table and blinks slowly up at Peter, heaving and drained.

He doesn't ask if he feels better, though. He just sort of stands there himself.

[fallen_empath]

Peter lifts his head and blinks after a moment, to see Mohinder staring at him, looking a bit disheveled but seemingly unharmed. It doesn't occur to him that Mohinder might be scared to death of him after that display of destruction as he sprints toward him, his medical training kicking in. Before he co-owned a nightclub, before he destroyed New York City in fact, he worked in hospice nursing.

"Jesus, Mohinder, I'm sorry," he says breathlessly, pulling the tipped-over table out of the way, then holding out a hand to help him up. "Are you okay? I really didn't mean to... I was just..."

Apologies aren't worth much. Peter surveys the damage, his empathy tuned in to pick up anyone who might have been injured due to his recklessness.

[splice_of_life]

Scared? Okay, a little. But he's been vampire mind-raped, has drank blood, was killed, and gets terrorized on a daily basis here so... Yeah. A temper tantrum? That's perfectly all right. He can handle that.

He does take Peter's offered hand though because-- Thank God. He's at least back to being friendly Peter again. He offers the other man a smile. A genuine smile. He's quite capable of it, even after all of this hardship.

"You were just frustrated. I know. It's all right, you didn't hurt..." He glances around the cafeteria, frowning. "I...let's hope there's no structural damage."

[fallen_empath]

Once Peter is satisfied that no one is seriously hurt, he looks away from the people who are exiting the cafeteria and giving him dirty looks. Again, no sense in apologizing. He'll just feel worse. He needs to do something productive.

What was that phrase he'd heard in AA? Something about knowing when things are out of one's control. Fight against it as he may, Peter is just going to have to accept that this is his reality for now.

"I guess I have nothing else to do, so I can help clean up," Peter says rather sheepishly. He forces a smile to prove to the other man that he's all right now, that he got it all out of his system, but on the inside he is still angry at himself and at the whole situation. But Mohinder's the closest thing to a friend he's got, and he ought not to screw that up.

"Um... how long have you been here?"

[splice_of_life]

"Seven months. I spent two months dead though and it's a very long story. I promise I'll tell it but...not right now."

At least with Peter's help, cleaning shouldn't only take three or four days. He's expressly impressed, however, at the cutlery imbedded into the wall.

"Peter, I... You've gotten incredibly strong. I'm impressed."

[fallen_empath]

The knowledge that Mohinder came back to life after being dead for two months is very intriguing, but Peter forces himself not to push the issue. If he's going to be stuck here, possibly for months (or more!) Peter's sure he'll hear about it eventually.

Peter pries the forks and spoons out of the wall, simultaneously righting tipped-over chairs and tables, looking embarrassed while mumbling, "Um, thanks."

Only Mohinder, with his ever-present scientific curiosity, would be impressed after Peter effortlessly smashed up a cafeteria to an unrecognizable pile of debris and scared the living shit out of him in the process.

"I picked up a lot of things ever since the eclipse. And you know, practicing helps." He sighs and immerses himself in busy work. "Not that any of it's going to help. It just gets me into trouble."