If there's one thing that's true about Peter Petrelli, it's that he doesn't easily let go of things. It's been true of him since he can remember -- his first crush that he pined after for years, a sentimental hairband that he doesn't still have only because it broke and fell off his wrist, the way he'd designated himself the protector of a classmate from bullies in his teens, his favorite take-out meal.
He's sure as hell not going to hear that the Company is experimenting with biological weapons and just shrug it off.
"They're stubborn enough to keep you locked up for decades, I don't trust that they just gave up when they couldn't find the answer right away," he insists. Adam's comforting rubbing of his arm is doing nothing even remotely comforting (but it's still nice, so he's hardly going to protest). "First a bunch of people wanted me to explode and wipe out New York. And then another group of people want to release a virus? This doesn't feel like coincidence, Adam."
Shit. Peter rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He's going to have to use every trick in his book to fall asleep -- and he learned a lot of tricks catching naps during 24 hour shifts.
no subject
He's sure as hell not going to hear that the Company is experimenting with biological weapons and just shrug it off.
"They're stubborn enough to keep you locked up for decades, I don't trust that they just gave up when they couldn't find the answer right away," he insists. Adam's comforting rubbing of his arm is doing nothing even remotely comforting (but it's still nice, so he's hardly going to protest). "First a bunch of people wanted me to explode and wipe out New York. And then another group of people want to release a virus? This doesn't feel like coincidence, Adam."
Shit. Peter rolls over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He's going to have to use every trick in his book to fall asleep -- and he learned a lot of tricks catching naps during 24 hour shifts.