tampered | Log; Ongoing

Log; Ongoing

When; Saturday, October 12th, evening
Rating; PG
Characters; Peter Petrelli

suicideslowly
Summary; Eden invites Peter over for homemade macaroni and cheese. After Company food for such a long time, he might not ever leave.
Log; Peter felt like a new man. It was amazing what a shower away from the prying eyes of others and a change of clothes could do. The promise of homemade macaroni and cheese only sweetened the deal.

That didn't get rid of any of the questions still running through his mind, like what this place was exactly and how he would get home. And those questions only served as a distraction for another set of questions. Was he really doing the right thing by following Adam? Would he put people in danger again because of his abilities? Was he really just kidding himself with this greater destiny stuff?

Peter shook his head and ran his fingers through his close cropped hair. Right now the only question he needed to worry about was how much macaroni and cheese he could eat. Knocking on the door to Eden's apartment, Peter waited patiently for her to open the door.

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The more people who arrived in the City, the more Eden felt herself regressing. Falling back into old habits, watching journals closely, interactions, just in case she should need to intervene--no one ever really left the Company, and Eden knew that. This visit from Peter Petrelli, it wasn't really for the sake of housewarming, a welcome to the City, but instead for her to find some things out. Details that she couldn't get from Noah, the point of view from the other end.

Who knew what that would be?

And he'd recognized her voice, which was a pleasant surprise. It'd be a lie to say that Eden wasn't the slightest bit placated and hooked by that fact, and everything the files had listed on Peter Petrelli was just... so cute. He was bright-faced, young, the little brother everyone wished they had.

It was always the bright-faced ones. You felt a little bad about getting them involved, their hopes rising higher and higher, but Eden knew that it was far preferable to the opposite option. People like Elle.

She put on a bright smile as she opened the front door, resting her head against the door frame.

"If it isn't the flying Peter Petrelli," she grinned. "Here to visit my humble abode."

"I can fly," Peter insisted, giving her one of his lopsided grins. Who knows what she had heard from Mohinder and others. He remembered how awkward it was insisting that he could fly but being unable to duplicate the feat. He knew he had sounded crazy.

Eden seemed to be joking with him though. She was a little younger than he was with a big smile and cute dimples. The phrase "pixie-like" came to mind. And the smell coming from the open apartment was amazing. It smelled like home. After the sterile smell of his cell for so long it had the most relaxing sensation on him.

"I really appreciate this," he said, offering out his hand even as he winced a bit, a momentary sharp pain in his head. He must still be getting used to being off the drugs and being in this new place.

She waved the hand aside to give Peter a hug, little gestures of friendship that Eden was almost certain Peter wouldn't have had dealing with people like Adam Monroe--last she remembered, Adam had been kept in custody by the Company, and Eden could only imagine the types of implications that came with that. Beyond the genuine smile the man seemed to wear on his face, however, was a flinch, which Eden noticed, but also couldn't explain.

What had happened in the future? What weren't the others telling her?

"No need to thank me, unless you'd like to prove that little flying bit to me, but that can wait until after dinner," Eden replied as she pulled back from the brief hug, standing aside to let Peter inside.

Peter was surprised by the hug but in no way weirded out by it. He was a people person at heart and his time as a hospice nurse had gotten him comfortable with all sorts of things. Oddly enough, he had gotten a lot of physical affection during his time at the Company, albeit all from Elle. The variation was nice.

"Dinner first would be great," he said, stepping in and looking around. "It's been... a long time since I've had a home cooked meal."

The apartment was slightly more furnished than it had been when Noah came over for apple pie. Well, if bookshelves counted as furnishing, at any rate, bookshelves and the occasional oil painting. Mahogany looked nice against cream-colored walls, Eden thought.

After closing the door behind them, Eden walked past the futons and to the kitchen, gesturing towards the stools next to the kitchen counter. No dining room, given that the suite was small, cozy. The general atmosphere was one that Eden enjoyed, at any rate.

"Why is that?" Eden asked, curiously, gaze not meeting his as she checked on the macaroni and cheese, beans, mashed potatoes--one of those hardy meals that Eden used on the men in her life that seemed to rival her in size. "Too busy with your job? Usually turn to take-out?"

"Just... not in a place where I got a lot of it," Peter said, frowning just a bit as he sat down on the stool. Should he explain where he had been? He didn't know if he was ready to force that on anyone just yet. Besides, he could only imagine what it would sound like to explain that he had been locked up. And why he had been locked up.

"It smells amazing though," he said, glancing at it all. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

Well, that was about as vague of an explanation as anyone could give, and Eden supposed that there was probably a reason for that; no need to press before he was ready, and so Eden nodded--fair, Peter Petrelli, she'll let you have that bit of privacy for the moment, not like Angela would let it slide for long anyway. Or maybe Angela already knew.

"In that case, just remember that you've got someone more than willing to cook here, then," Eden replied, tone light. "I've never enjoyed cooking for one much anyway."

At his offer, Eden tilted her head in the direction of the cabinets. "The food's pretty much done, but if you wouldn't mind pulling out a couple of plates, that'd be great."

Peter was thankful that Eden didn't want to seem to press the issue of where he had been that he didn't get many home cooked meals or takeout. Maybe she just thought he lived a really sad bachelor life.

"Trust me, I understand," he said, giving her a lopsided smile. "I come from an Italian family, I don't think they even understand the concept of 'cooking for one.'"

Peter went over to the cabinet and grabbed a couple of planets and went over to the stove.

"I really appreciate this," Peter told her. "Really."

Oh, Peter, if Eden could only have read your mind, she would've found you even more adorable than she did prior. As things were, however, the last thing on Eden's mind was the idea of a sad bachelor life, but from there on out, everything was pretty much a shot in the dark. Whether it was the Company (likely), or merely a response to his powers, not barring existential crises, the sort that people like Isaac Mendez had on a weekly basis.

But did he understand? Did Peter really? How much cooking for her family had Angela done, Eden couldn't help but wonder. She couldn't have imagined much, couldn't really imagine Angela wearing anything other than her power suit, much less an apron or the like. Or did she act differently in front of her family?

It seemed contrary to Angela's nature. Nevertheless, Angela was a master manipulator, so it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility.

"And I'm equally appreciative of your company," Eden laughed, waving him off, pulling on a mitt or two--just in case, because guns were nearly impossible to handle if you had burns on your hands. "So stop thanking me, Peter Petrelli, and work on making tonight enjoyable for both of us, okay? Provided my food doesn't make you stop dead first."

She made sure to serve him extra.

Peter ducked his head sheepishly at her request to stop thanking her. It was an odd feeling, being mothered by someone that was cute and about his own age. He wasn't sure if it was just in her nature to do something like this or the "lost puppy" vibe he seemed to send out despite how hard he tried to be self relient.

"Trust me, your food would have to be really, really bad to kill me," he reassured her as he watched her serve him a heaping portion.

"And how about this; after dinner I'll take you flying. Seeing a city from above at night it really amazing."

Perhaps it was a bit of both, really, the lost puppy look and the desire latent within Eden to provide for others what her own parents never did for her. Besides, she knew Angela Petrelli--figured Peter could do with a little more affection, and not affection that came with clauses and loopholes.

"Either that, or really good, such that you don't notice your arteries slowly clogging," Eden joked as she then served herself, not too much, given her tendency to eat like a bird. "A new meaning to a hearty meal, I guess."

She walked to the dining table, eyebrows rising for a moment at his suggestion. Taking her flying? ...well, that'd be a new experience.

"You know, the only flying I've ever done is in an airplane. I'm not even sure if I'm scared of heights or not, but if you promise not to drop me..."

"I think other than a few select people, the only flying anyone's done is in an airplane," Peter said as he sat down across from her at the table. His manners prevented him from digging into the meal immediately but it was a near thing.

"And I promsie I won't drop you," he added. "I'm a lot stronger than I look."

"I don't know," Eden countered, grinning. "Hang-gliding, parachuting... there are people who pay to go up and jump out of planes. Even rollercoasters would count to a certain extent, I think. But okay, I'll trust you. I know a thing or two about being stronger than one looks."

Eden entwined her fingers, resting her chin on top. "Don't mind your manners around me, Peter. Besides, the guest should eat first."

"That's not flying," Peter argued. "That's just gliding, just falling really slowly."

And with that, Peter stopped hesitating and dug into the macaroni and cheese. Even as starving as he was though, Peter was still a Petrelli and as such things like chewing with your mouth full and not talking with his mouth full was ingrained into him.

"Wow, this is delicious."

"I wouldn't know the difference," Eden pointed out, gesturing with her fork before taking a bite herself. Not bad, although she would have to expand her cooking repertoire a bit more--macaroni and cheese had been far too much of a staple for her lately. "But I'm sure you'll show me."

Hmm. She could get used to this, having someone over for dinner. Someone who wouldn't give her petulant looks either, or at least not the sort that came with Mohinder Suresh.

"I'm glad that you like it," she replied earnestly. "You're free to stop by whenever you'd like for dinner, you know. Mohinder, in that tank over there, he's not the best at stopping the ticking. Guess he's too quiet."

Peter was quiet for a moment, too focused on the macaroni and cheese to want to interupt the wonderful thing that was going on between the food, his taste buds, and his stomach. Peter wasn't unused to home cooked meals, it was just that they were almost always more fancy than this. Food that was not done as an art form was delicious.

"You'd better be careful with an offer like that," he said as he finally took a break from eating. "You might find me over here every night."

"That's only something I need to be careful about," Eden reminded him gently, "if I think that I'd mind having you over every night. Which I'm not so sure I would. Just make sure that you take me for rounds in the night sky now and then, if it really does prove to be so breathtaking this time."

His bangs were hanging in his face, Eden noticed, as he looked down at his plate and ate, and Eden paused only momentarily before pushing the hair slightly to the side--no need for him to hide that face, she thought.

"I promise, it's really breathtaking," he reassured her, glancing up between bites to give her a smile.

When she reached up and brushed away his bangs though he ducked his head sheepishly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a shy smile.

"What was that for?" he asked.

[ooc: Peter actually has his short hair cut from where I've pulled him buuuuut we won't worry about that, because what she did is adorable.]

"Just trying to get you not to hide that face," Eden smoothly replied, resting her chin in her palm again, fork and knife abandoned--she was pretty much done with her meal, at that point. "Not that I don't like the bangs too."

"What's wrong with wanting to hide my face?" Peter asked, unconsciously running a hand through his hair as he said so.

"Are you just going to spend the rest of the meal watching me eat?" he said, smiling a bit to let her know he was teasing.

"Because it's a handsome face," Eden exclaimed, feeling as though the answer were obvious, belabored. What else did he expect for her to say?

"And yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do, unless that weirds you out too much, in which case I could probably play with Mohinder. I generally don't eat very much." She sighed, shoulders slouching a little once more.

"So does that mean if you grow your hair out I can brush it away out of your face?" Peter asked, giving another shy smile. "I't would be a shame to have those dimples covered up. And no, it doesn't weird me out too much."

Peter wondered what his life had come to when he found himself transported to this crazy dimensional City today and here he was having macaroni and cheese with a girl and telling her how cute her dimples were. He didn't think most hospice nurses did this sort of thing.

Her... dimples? Really? For some reason, having the compliment turned back to her was a little unnerving, caught her off-guard, and it was all a little hard to accept. That she could be found as attractive--that was what his words amounted to, right?

And when caught off guard, Eden just hid her uncertainties all over again. Force of habit.

"Peter Petrelli, are you flirting with me?" she asked, tone teasing and light.

What an odd man. But it wasn't new for Eden to surround herself with men like that, she supposed.

"I'm making an observation," Peter said, not exactly confirming or denying if he was flirting with her. Maybe because he didn't even know himself if he was.

"And don't even try and say that your dimples aren't cute," he told her, pointing a fork accusingly. "I will take a poll of the City about it if I have to."

"My dimples are dimples. Whether or not they're cute is a judgment I leave to others," Eden grinned. "No need to poll the City, though, I'm not really worth that much of a spotlight."

"Alright, then you can't argue with me when it's my opinion," he told her, grinning back at her before taking a few more bites of macaroni and cheese to hide his sheepishness.

"So what have you been doing in the City besides being some sort of angel of mercy and mac 'n cheese to those of us just arrived?"

She smiled faintly, rubbing the back of her neck with her hand--no, Peter, she really didn't deserve this--before turning his question over in her mind. What has she done here? Or, well, what has she done that she wouldn't mind telling him.

"I've thought about opening my own bookstore," Eden offered. "Just need to get the funds together and spruce the apartment up. Gets kind of quiet between Mohinder and me."

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Log; Ongoing

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