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[acautionarytale]

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[acautionarytale]

There was a time when one would get their news from the television, staring at something startling or shocking on a screen in one's home or workplace, in a bar or in an electronics shop window. Some folks still remember that time. Most people, however, remember the internet a little better, from before the invasion and its survival through and after.

Nowadays the news scrolls up a screen, text and pictures and the occasional sound file, hyperlinks and windows.

To-day's news, on a damp, chilly November morning, comes with a warning. There've been sightings, it says, of someone matching the description of one of the Invaders. It warns people to arm themselves, to keep a close eye out.

And then it moves along to a list of live performances in the area.

Boston, MA

[emotionisweakness]

Peter's head is pounding again, just enough so he's finding it harder to concentrate than usual. It's a thing he's learned to deal with, something that seems to cycle on and off at its own whim, and if it weren't for the benefits outweighing the disadvantages he probably would have gotten help a long time ago.

He has his usual remedy, synthetic coffee substitute with a chaser of aspirin, and glances at the news feed. Approximately thirty seconds later he disappears and winks back into existence at the mouth of a side alley in Harvard Square, scanning the crowd and waiting. If there's a full-blown Observer still hanging around, it's logical to assume they should be able to somewhat sense each other's presence, even if the tech in Peter's head is... incomplete. Teleportation in particular should stand out in this world like a beacon. It's only a matter of time before Peter will know exactly what he's up to here. And that will inform his next move.

[acautionarytale]

Harvard Square is not as densely populated now as it once was, but it is recovering. Cars drive by calmly. People walk by, seeming to trail colour behind them.

Someone stares at Peter from a shadow. That someone is difficult to make out, but there's a glint of light off of something that had been raised to that someone's eyes as it's hastily put away. There's movement, but the figure in the shadows seems to hesitate, as though unsure what he should do next. A very familiar buzz of thought accompanies this shadowy shape, the idling noise of an Observer's thoughts.

[emotionisweakness]

That glint of light-- he sees it across the square, impossible for his new eyes not to catch. Peter continues to play dumb, looking out over the auras of ordinary people and not simply staring into the shadows.

Meanwhile, though, he's straining to listen, to see if his hypothesis is right. He's not even sure he can reach out to an Observer's mind. Hasn't really had a chance to try it since Windmark. But maybe he senses something there, just on the edge of hearing. He tries to tune into it, blocking out the busy and yet strangely muted sounds of a once-vibrant community rebuilding itself, letting his eyes glaze over a little with the effort.

[acautionarytale]

The buzz resolves itself into thoughts, multilayered and somehow... brittle. Furtive.

Then they stop, focussing on Peter with laserlike precision. And yet there's a tint of ... fear? The focus is less microscope scrutiny and more deer in headlights.

It shifts, though, to a kind of squinting suspicion.

There's a small whush of displaced air and Peter now has company in his alley.

[emotionisweakness]

He's been expecting something like this, after that shock like cold water of his thoughts being met, recognized and zeroed in on. So when the Observer suddenly appears nearby, Peter's ready. It's mostly instinct and reflex that guides his response: he whirls around, hands shooting out toward the other man's shoulders. His momentum will hopefully help pin his adversary against the brick wall.

[acautionarytale]

The breath leaves the Observer's lungs with an explosive whoosh as he's slammed against the wall. His hat tumbles from his head. He remains still, though, hands held up, palms facing outward.

No Observer has ever surrendered before.

"I mean no harm," he wheezes. "I am looking for someone...."

[tookhishand]

Really? After all they've done, really?

It's too soon to panic, surely. It could be anything, down to some idiot playing dress up and acting terrorist-like.

There isn't much he can do, not yet out of the hospital. And it's only rumors.

[acautionarytale]

A quiet knock on the hospital room door interrupts his thoughts, and swings open to reveal his frequent visitor, Astrid, bearing a fragrant pan of something edible. She smiles upon seeing him awake and steps inside, closing the door behind her.

"Hi, Donald. I hope I'm not too early, but I thought I'd bring you some of these muffins."

Her gaze flicks to the terminal he'd been reading and her smile falters a little. Between that and the muffins, it was easy to tell that she was worried.

[tookhishand]

He's going to read something else, yes, as if that will make it all go away. It's too late, he knows she's seen it, but at least he might distract her.

"You're not--better now than after they've served breakfast, thank you." Hospital food will always be terrible.

[acautionarytale]

This does make her smile return as she makes an amused sound.

"Anything's better than egg sticks and fiber loaf," she answers, popping the lid from the tray and reaching in to retrieve a warm, blueberry-studded piece of baked heaven, nestled in its little accordioned paper cup. She hands it to him almost reverently. "I'm only sorry I can't do anything about the lack of real coffee."

A second muffin is retrieved and she sits in the chair next to his bed, quietly munching. She's not one to ignore any elephants in the room, but at the same time, she's learnt from years of dealing with Walter that when bad news is afoot, food is Important.

[tookhishand]

Delicious blueberries, who can pass those up? Om nom nom.

"Real coffee... That would be a miracle and a half."

Indeed, sugar goodness then bad news!

[acautionarytale]

"Mmhm." Can't talk. Muffin.

It's a pleasant moment, and Astrid is loath to break it. But she has to see what he knows about these sightings, if it really is something to worry about. She clears her throat softly.

"News gets around," she says, glancing at the newsfeed again. "We managed to get a picture, though."

She digs her mobile out of her pocket and pokes the screen a few times, bringing up the photo and then handing the device to him. "Do you think it's real?"

The subject of the picture, despite looking a trifle worse for wear, is familiar. If he didn't know any better, he'd say this fellow was one of the original twelve, the ones who really were Observers....

[acautionarytale]

The door is really just like any other door, save for the fact that it's the one Astrid marches right up to. She lifts a hand to knock and then hears, from the other side, a very... wet explosion.

Knock knock knock. "Peter?"

[tookhishand]

What... was that noise? Is is safe to open the door?

Or fake being oblivious and talk to his new future roommate here.

"Yes, I know him too... he seems like he's in the middle of something."

[acautionarytale]

Astrid is the best roommate, though. She cooks ALL THE THINGS.

Right now, however, she frowns at the door. "He probably is, but I don't remember him working on anything that sounds so... wet."

More knocking. "Peter? You okay?"

Silence.

This makes Astrid frown more. She tries the doorknob, then reaches into her coat pocket and retrieves her wallet, fishing out a credit card that, really, is thoroughly useless....

Except for this. "You didn't see me do this," she says quietly, sliding it between door and frame and tripping the lock. Carefully, she pushes the door open. "Peter?"

[tookhishand]

Donald always was the sort of bachelor who can cook. He had a lot of free time and food is fun.

He leans back, genuinely smiling and Not Looking. Did Not See.

"He needs tougher locks." Something else Donald had a lot of. Locks. Six or seven on his old home's door.

[acautionarytale]

COOKING BUDDIES.

Ahem.

"I'm... actually kind of surprised that worked, to tell you the truth." Astrid steps in. The living room is empty, so she looks in the kitchen.

...and finds a bald man in a suit trying desperately to clean up what looks like an explosion of coffee grounds and... is that sriracha?

The moment she claps eyes on him, however, she yelps and steps backward.

So does he.

And now they are staring, wide-eyed, at each other.

[tookhishand]

Donald is right on her heels, wary. Then... this day is full of shocks and surprises.

"October." Stunned. His old coworker, breaking into Peter's house for reasons unknown and proceeding to do unspeakable things with hot sauce and a coffeemaker.

Why.

[acautionarytale]

Astrid walks out of the room with Peter's clothes. "You are not fine, Peter. You're coming with me and we're all gonna stay in one place and actually see each other like we used to do."

HI, GUYS!

[tookhishand]

A less tired Donald in some other universe makes a quip about him not being seen, like he used to.

"I was wondering if Peter would come myself."

Below the belt, Donald. Below the belt.

[emotionisweakness]

Peter doesn't look terribly happy about it. Or maybe it's just the sudden migraine he seems to have. He looks tired, pale, and, well. Cranky. Hey, wait a second--

"All of us?" Dear God, please tell him she's not going to try to get Olivia living there too.

XDXD

[acautionarytale]

"Yes," Astrid answers. She hands Peter's clothing to October. "See if any of this fits."

"All of us that we can find. It'll be great. One big happy family." She marches back into the bedroom and picks up the Box That Must Never Ever Under Any Circumstances Be Opened That She Will Nevertheless Rifle Through At The First Opportunity Because FBI Training Never Really Dies. That box. It's handed to Peter. Then she stops. Taps a foot on the floor.

"Don't forget whatever's under the boards," she concludes.

October, for his part, looks a bit mystefied at the clothing. They're serious? They really want him to... He catches the look Astrid gives him. Oh.

Still, no-one expected him to strip off right there, did they?

[tookhishand]

Donald to the rescue. They can toddle off to a nudist beach another day.

"October, you can change in the bathroom. I'd recommend privacy."

[emotionisweakness]

Peter glares at Astrid, and everybody, and stomps off himself, back into the bedroom. The door clicks shut, but they can clearly hear the sound of loose floorboards scraping and clunking around soon afterwards. And approximately two minutes later, the door opens and Peter trundles back out with a messenger bag full of what sounds like glassware, can openers, and paperback books.

He doesn't relish the idea of Astrid pawing through his belongings, but clearly nothing he's stored here will be safe now. He'll have to find a new hiding place for his project.