Log; completed

[ohrosalita.livejournal.com]

When; December 7th (12:05 am)
Rating; PG
Characters; Peter Petrelli powersponge & Rose Walker ohrosalita
Summary; Those little red stones get everywhere.
Log;

It didn't matter what people said in the daytime, everyone got a little tense when midnight rolled around. Even if it went unvoiced, eyes would stray to the clock and then search other people's faces for signs of a change, search themselves for anything that might feel different. It was an audible thing, the collective intake of breath and then slow exhale as the next minutes passed unremarkably.

Five past, and all was well. Rose untangled a stray limb and pushed herself up on one elbow to look down into Peter's face. "You sleep like a sea creature, it's always either starfish or limpet." Usually she'd wait until he fell asleep and then rearrange him, always to give herself more space. Starfish-Peter spread across the bed, taking up more room than should have been possible for just one body, but that was usually when she hadn't fallen asleep beside him. Limpet-Peter held her close, and she didn't mind that, she just couldn't spend a whole night restrained.

"So I was thinking about getting something to eat. I can get cookies and bring them back if you're not gonna complain about the crumbs." A light other than the clock's digital display was blinking on the opposite bedside cabinet, small and red; Rose squinted at it in the dark, then leant across him to pick it up. "What's this?"


A sea creature? He could think of worse things to sleep like, of course, so he didn't bother to argue. But he let her know what he thought of that with the simple raise of an eyebrow. What did Rose sleep like? He wasn't sure, as half of the time he'd have passed out hours before she even closed her eyes.

"I won't complain," he answered, "Just as long as you bring some for me."

He hadn’t noticed the light, but once she pointed it out, it held his attention. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, it looked like a rock or some sort of precious stone that might have fallen out of someone's necklace. Maybe it was Claire's.

"No idea," he answered again, rolling it over in Rose's palm with a fingertip. "I've never seen it before."


"It's pretty." And it felt warm in her palm, warm and almost tingling, although that could as easily have been attributed to the way Peter’s fingers brushed her skin. She closed her fist around the rock, catching Peter's finger too and grinning. "Wouldn't Claire have missed a stone from her necklace? It's not a little one."

Shifting half-reluctantly to the side of the bed, she swung her legs over the edge and felt around for one of his shirts, something long enough that she could make a kitchen run without giving the new doctor in the apartment more of her personal anatomical information than she was comfortable with. If he was up, of course, but she knew that hospital shifts played havoc with any internal timer.

Maybe it was down to sitting up too quickly, but the first twinges of a headache throbbed into being at her temples. Which - wonderful - more than likely meant the medication for the near constant sickness accompanying her pregnancy was wearing off. A month ago she'd thought nausea was all in the stomach, now she was used to a multitude of warning signs flaring up the fact she'd be kneeling in the bathroom for the next hour.

"I might just sit up a while." she offered. After that first time (and even after she no longer had to lie about the reasons) she still tried not to show him when she felt bad. He worried too much.


"A valid point." he commented, eyeing the thing before it was closed inside of her palm. He tried to picture some of the things he saw Claire wearing, and he couldn't remember any of them containing a big red stone.

He watched her get up and feel around, and yawned. He was beginning to feel very worn out, much more tired than he thought he’d been, but he wiped his eyes and continued to watch her.

"To your right," he said, nodding toward a basket of fresh clothes that hadn't be shoved in his dresser just yet. He relaxed for a bit, reclaiming his bed in a very starfish-like manner.

He nodded at her last comment, even though he wasn't sure why. He could easily assume it was because she wasn't tired, but his mind was racing in another direction. Unknown to him, it was the right one. Knowing that she probably didn't want him behind her holding her hair back, he simply answered, "Ok."


She looked over her shoulder, frowning, "It's not that I don't want you helping me, Peter. There's just no point you getting up when I'll be fine soon enough. I'll make it soda crackers instead’ve cookies, they help, sometimes."

Shaking her head as though she could throw off the headache with a toss of her hair, Rose reached into the linen basket and snagged the first thing that came to hand, pulling it over her head. Maybe this wasn't one of her usual headaches, it felt more like an oncoming migraine. Or like guys with hammers had set up and decided to chisel away part of her skull. Jesus.

Standing up was what really confirmed it as something she'd never felt before. 'der if he really likes me I miss my mom work sucks what did I need to pick up from the grocery tomorrow not when Amy's ten times prettier than me I wonder if she's thinking about me now I should just quit oh that's right, milk.' The wall of thoughts smacked into her like a mack truck.

"STOP IT." Rose let the little stone drop to the floor, bringing both hands up to cover her ears.


Peter wasn't just confused, he was also very freaked out. He could have let the help comment slide, since it was predictable of him, but the shouting was what threw him off.

He sat up almost immediately when hearing it, staring at her with curious eyes. "Stop what?" he asked her, trying to think of a reason for her to start shouting like that, and covering her ears as if a million people were--no. It couldn't be...could it?


"Oww. Fuck, it h--hurts..." Rose choked out, knotting her fingers into her hair and twisting tight with some small hope that the more familiar pain might help pull her focus from the static inside her head. The white noise of a whole building full of people who wouldn't stop thinking, all at once, loud enough in combination to drown out any thoughts of her own. She could even hear the slower subconsciousness of dreamers, their thoughts falling into slow meandering tangles or the frenetic pulse of nightmares.

This wasn't the same as being part of the dream, though, She was too awake, too involved, not in control enough to be entering that state. Not in control at all.

"Peter, it hurts. I don't know what to..." turning toward the bed, she reached out as her legs gave way, trying to find something to steady herself against. A moment later and she was on her knees, staring dumbly at a hand that had passed right through the bedframe without damage.


All he needed was to see her hand phase though the bed to know exactly what had happened, but to be sure, he concentrated on reading her thoughts----nothing happened. His powers were gone.

He sat up quickly and moved beside her, pulling her close to him. "Shh, Rose, concentrate on me. Just concentrate on me..."

He held her tight, probably more than he realized he was doing. He'd been through all of this, knew how it hurt, and couldn't imagine having to go through all of his powers at once. If she could focus on him, and him alone, she could zero in on hearing one person's thoughts...and that's a start.


She tried, though at first the way he crushed her to him only added to the sensation of being overwhelmed, dragged under by a tide she had no way of stemming. Focus. The steady rhythm of his voice, almost but not quite hiding the break beneath. His particular smell, the way they fit together like puzzle pieces. Peter.

Slowly she began shutting down the other thoughts, room by room down through the apartment block. Turning the lights out and closing the doors, leaving their thinkers unknowing and undisturbed. Eventually she was down to three - no, four - Claire and JD, both sleeping and quiet, Peter's worried intensity and the faint underswell of panic she could finally recognise as her own. She'd never thought her own stream of consciousness could be so quiet. Then she was down to two.

At least it no longer felt as though her head was going to explode. "You think I might, though." She told him, voice distant, "you're trying to think reassuring thoughts but you're worried I'm going to lose control. This is what it feels like? Every day?"


Every day. But Peter actually smiled, it was working. As this enormous wave of relief passed over him, he began to think of the other powers he might need to help her control. Some would be easier than others, and she was right, it was the radiation he was worried about more than anything else. He couldn't control it all that well in the first place, making the chances of her thinking it a piece of cake very, very small.

"I think you'll be fine, as long as I'm here, beside you." he said, finally. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, "And, I don't plan on leaving."


"And here I thought we were on a curse-free streak." her voice warmed a little, weary. Every so often other thoughts would start to slip under the edges of the doors she'd closed, Rose didn't know how long she could keep up the mental vigil. Focus. She curled her arms round one of his and let herself lean against him. "That's what it is, though, right? It has to be. I just don't understand why it kicked in late."

So she had his powers, whatever that meant for the rest of the city. Maybe in other buildings right now Lee would be finding out he could do magic, or George would be getting a day out of Arion's life (literally). If that was how today's curse worked then there probably would be explosions before the end of it. What about her family?

"You're so tired, I don't get it. It's like you haven't slept for a week." she pressed a hand to Peter’s forehead, her own creasing in concern.


"I guess so," he replied, thinking about the curse itself. Why had it kicked in late? Think Peter, think. The clock ticked midnight, and you were laying in bed, then...

"Did we figure out where that rock came from?" he asked her, wondering where it fell to. He began looking for a red glint in the dark room, pausing every few seconds and yawning.

"Yeah, I can't explain it. I just feel...wiped out." he wasn't sure if it had something to do with his powers missing and leaving him weak, or if he really was just simply tired. "I'm sorry... it's getting harder and harder to keep my eyes open."


"The red stone? I think I dropped it. Don't fall asleep." She didn't leave room for argument in what was more an order than a request. She was worried about him, but more than that she didn't know what she'd do alone in the dark without him to focus on and to tell her how to cope. For instance,

"I don't know how this works, for me. I know the way you control it, but I haven't got memories of any of those people. Do I just think about you? Why aren't I falling through the floor right now? I mean, if you want to lean against a wall without putting your hand through it, does that just happen, or do you have to think solid thoughts? Heavy thoughts, or light thoughts?"

For just a moment she thought about her leg being light and insubstantial, and before she knew it she was kneedeep in floorboard, one bare foot kicking out through somebody else's ceiling. "Solid thoughts! Oh, fuck. Solid thoughts!"



He grabbed ahold of her, as if to stop her from falling, even though he knew it wouldn't work. She'd just take him with her.

"Solid thoughts." he repeated. "...at least you can't get hurt."

It was tough for him to try to explain it to her. Essentially, you had to be conscious of the powers in order to control them. It was like...getting a baby to breathe, for instance; her first few breaths may be shallow and irregular. With each breath after birth, it would get easier.

Every time you used a new-found power, it would become easier to control it. Life could go on regularly, but you'd have to think about holding your breath in order to make it happen.

"For now, all you need to do is focus." he told her, "Focus on one of the powers, and then once we have that under control, we'll work on the next."


"Interesting choice of metaphor." Rose looked down to where the loose fitting shirt concealed all of the three pound weight gain she'd so far developed round her middle. "So it's like learning to control an involuntary response. It sounds like the kind of thing that's a lot easier to say than do."

Carefully she bent her knee up, shaking her foot free of the carpet and setting it back down without letting it fall through. "I can't just work my way through all your powers, Peter, I have no idea what..." she picked the name out of his head, the person related to the power forefront in his concerns, "Ted's? What Ted's will do to the baby. You're not even supposed to get x-rays when you're pregnant."


Peter frowned, he forgot all about that. It was different, though. Ted was convinced he killed his wife from his radioactivity, but not once was Peter around another person who seemed ill just by being in his company. He wasn't sure how, but it was not the same.

"But if you don't learn to control it--" Peter paused. Had he even told Rose about the explosion? He wasn't sure that he had, but one thing was for sure; she'd know, now.


Yes, she knew now. Rose knew exactly what Nathan's expression would be in a moment of complete acceptance. She knew that the worst thing Peter could feel was helpless, and how that sudden burst of relief and love was as much in gratitude for his own salvation as that of a city. Salvation of a different kind, anyhow. Spared the guilt and the blame. "But you're not dead. You exploded but you're not dead."

She'd slept beside him practically every night lately. The dead in the city might look and function just like everyone else, but there was no mistaking his warmth. "See?" she half laughed, shaking her head, "I told you you were miraculous."

It didn't make her any more confident about her own ability to handle some of the powers he had, at least not all in one night. "I'll just have to stay calm, that's all. I mean, look how long it took you to handle the fire." Next to her, neatly illustrating the point, the laundry basket went up in flame.


Peter's smile disappeared when he saw his clothes catch on fire. Without even thinking, he bolted out of the room to the kitchen, where he grabbed a bowl and filled it with water.

Why couldn't she just trust his judgement, he thought, dashing back, bowl in hand, the contents then flung at the flames, putting them out. Somewhere in the hallway there was a fire alarm that he didn't need waking the others, so without words he opened the window to let the smoke out.

He eyed his scorched clothes, leaning on the window frame. "So are you ready to try what I suggested?"


"I'll buy you more." She stayed on the ground by the bed, elbows hooked round her knees. It wasn't like it really mattered, anyway. Any of it. They'd live though today, or she would, since apparently she could survive anything now. Then tomorrow they'd wake up, the dead would revive, life would go on.

It was all one long status quo. People died in the city on a daily basis, and while it would be easier if it wasn't on her account, while she'd prefer it that way, the method didn't really matter when the results were the same in the end. "We can do it your way if you like. What's first on the list?"

Under her breath, she started humming. Sunday morning, and I’m falling...


"It's fine," he said. And it wasn't a lie, he wasn't really worried about his clothes...just her. Her safety, but also his. He couldn't survive half of the things he normally would, now. Meaning if she were to go nuclear, he'd be a goner.

"Why don't we, for the sake of tradition, head for the beach." he asked her. "You can practice there." He held out his hand so that he could help her up.

"I'd lend you a pair of pants but they're all a bit ashy at the moment."


"Mm. I don't think I barbequed my own stuff. Non-intentional, I promise." she shrugged, accepting the hand up and flicking on the light beside the bed in order to track down her own things - she had a bad habit of losing them enroute to the bed lately, and she'd never been much of a folder. "You don't need to worry about dying, Peter, it doesn't last. And they say the dead here never get to leave. Maybe we both oughtta try it."

It made sense, rationally. They'd both spoken about not wanting to leave, why shouldn't they take steps to reduce the likelihood of it happening? Today would be his best chance at dying, without any regeneration getting in the way. She could even be useful, make it quick for him.

That humming was becoming insistent, she gave it words, "Early dawning, sunday morning, Its all the streets you crossed, not so long ago..."


Peter wasn't sure whether he should laugh or be afraid. "I don't really think dying is an option, Rose," he responded, inching for his closet where some clothes were kept that were not recently on fire.

He dressed, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. Listening to the singing and wondering if there was another fire burning right outside of the bedroom door...he didn't smell any smoke.


No, with this power - one she'd spent a lot of time talking to Mao about since Peter picked it up from another contractor - the singing was a sign that things were getting back under control. "Watch out, the worlds behind you, Theres always someone around you who will call..." For a moment she was surprised to feel relieved about it, "It's nothing at all..." before the next moment supplied the memory that not feeling wasn't meant to be her default state. Not anymore, and that curious, cold rationale had never been part of her.

She looked up at Peter, half dressed herself, with an expression just as disarrayed as her clothes. "Of course it's not an option, I don't know what I was thinking. For a moment it just seemed to make sense."

She tugged her sweater on over his shirt, not too worried that the combination of sizes and fits made her look like a five year old let loose in her parents closet, and stood up with her arms hugged round her chest. "I've been talking to a lot of people lately, about love, and being here. Are we gonna walk to the beach?"


He watched her rise, thinking about his first experience with that power. "I know it seems like the answer to all of our questions, but killing you would kill your baby...not to mention, I don't think I'm ready for my life to end yet."

He moved closer to her and grabbed her hands, this was always a sensitive subject. But was it something that they should talk about now, when Rose was power-sensitive? There was no avoiding it.

"What about it?" he asked finally, gently tugging on her hand to suggest they start walking, "We can talk on the way."


She gave him a slow sidelong glance when it seemed like he'd actually taken her seriously on the subject of dying to stay together. Even if it'd seemed to make sense when she said it, "It's not an answer to any question, Peter, it's like trying to start a sentence with a period. You remember what the side effects of... that power are, right?" Rose asked the question and simultaneously tried not to think about it too much, just in case something less replaceable than a pile of laundry went up in smoke. "Whatever logic there is in what I said, it isn't the kind I want to live by. Note the 'live', there, please."

Pulling one of his arms around her waist, she leant against him as they walked, waiting until they were out of the building before picking up the thread of conversation. The night was the kind of cold that people called crisp, it bit into her lungs with every breath. "I've never committed anything to anybody. It’s always been on my terms, you know? I've always been really careful never to let anyone think I was theirs."


"I just needed to clear it up." he said as they walked, holding her close to feel the warmth between them. He wasn't sure how to take what she was telling him, of course, he was questioning everything right now, and he wasn't sure why.

"So what does that make me?" he asked reluctantly, unsure of whether or not it was the right thing to say. His brain wasn't working correctly tonight. Basic instincts were intact, but deep thought was right out the window. He was just too tired.


Rose thought about it for a moment, at least temporarily glad that she was the mind reader today. She thought about the curious sort of pride she felt every time he called her 'his'. "I guess-- I guess it makes you different."

Love went against every survival instinct she had, every method of self defence. Love was a stupid, irrational thing, a way of making yourself vulnerable that had no proper foundation in reason. It was an excuse to get hurt. But, she was slowly figuring out, the heart had it's own logic, too. While her head told her that standing too close to a fire only made it easier to get burned, her heart argued that things were so much colder from further away.

Her free hand dug into her pocket, fingers curling round the cool metal of a cigarette lighter.


Peter smiled, there was a certain sense of relief in the word different. A word that usually defined him as something bad or unusual, finally in a context that he could be happy with.

Peter wasn't afraid of love, but you could say that it was of him. It just never fit before, he'd fall for a girl who he thought would be the one, only to have his heart broken in the end. The story of his life. He'd find out he was the other guy in her life, or a rebound of some sort. He'd confess his love for a girl and then she'd laugh at him, or run away. The most recent girl ended up dead...was that his fault?

So in a way, he guessed that Rose was different, too. But it figures that the one relationship in his life that worked, technically shouldn't. That was what scared him the most.

He gave her hand a small squeeze, it was a long walk to the beach, but he didn't mind making it with her by his side.