Peter Petrelli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spongetastic) wrote2010-02-01 09:17 am
spongetastic) wrote2010-02-01 09:17 am
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Incarcerated!Peter
He breathed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The pain hadn’t completely died down and he knew it wouldn’t for a while. But he didn’t even care about the pain anymore. All he cared about was getting out. It would have to be soon, before they came back to rip him apart again.
Peter paced the room, measuring every inch with his restless feet. His eyes darted to find the entrance and exit. A noise caught his attention and he stopped, turning toward it warily. But it turned out to just be Elle going into the kitchen to warm up milk for the baby.
“Are you staying?” she asked him. “You can feed Noah.”
“No,” Peter answered with a shake of his head.
“No!!” Peter screamed, slamming the steel door hard with his fists. “Dammit.” He walked away until he was on the other side of the room, then came running back to slam his whole body against the door. He collapsed on the floor.
The pain lasted longer than it should. They did something to his powers. He lost his strength and he wasn’t healing. Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed up to his feet again. He thought only about getting back to Elle before running up and slamming against the door again.
“Bottle’s ready,” Elle announced. “You’re not going now, are you? You’ll miss Noah.” Peter didn’t answer. He stood in front of a wall, pressing his hand against it and watching with a relieved sigh as it easily passed through. “You’re always in such a hurry to leave,” Elle complained.
“So were you,” Peter reminded her.
“That’s different,” Elle argued. “That was just a job. This is my home.” There was a heavy silence, and she turned away to test the bottle on her wrist. “Just a job,” she repeated bitterly.
“You know that’s not it,” Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“What, then?” Elle demanded. Peter didn’t answer. He never talked about when he was being tortured, and he never would. All that mattered was that Elle was still safe.
“I’ll feed Noah,” he decided.
Peter paced the room, measuring every inch with his restless feet. His eyes darted to find the entrance and exit. A noise caught his attention and he stopped, turning toward it warily. But it turned out to just be Elle going into the kitchen to warm up milk for the baby.
“Are you staying?” she asked him. “You can feed Noah.”
“No,” Peter answered with a shake of his head.
“No!!” Peter screamed, slamming the steel door hard with his fists. “Dammit.” He walked away until he was on the other side of the room, then came running back to slam his whole body against the door. He collapsed on the floor.
The pain lasted longer than it should. They did something to his powers. He lost his strength and he wasn’t healing. Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed up to his feet again. He thought only about getting back to Elle before running up and slamming against the door again.
“Bottle’s ready,” Elle announced. “You’re not going now, are you? You’ll miss Noah.” Peter didn’t answer. He stood in front of a wall, pressing his hand against it and watching with a relieved sigh as it easily passed through. “You’re always in such a hurry to leave,” Elle complained.
“So were you,” Peter reminded her.
“That’s different,” Elle argued. “That was just a job. This is my home.” There was a heavy silence, and she turned away to test the bottle on her wrist. “Just a job,” she repeated bitterly.
“You know that’s not it,” Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“What, then?” Elle demanded. Peter didn’t answer. He never talked about when he was being tortured, and he never would. All that mattered was that Elle was still safe.
“I’ll feed Noah,” he decided.