A/N: Well, in the continuation of my series of compulsively-written Pemma oneshots, here's another relatively light one. This is just how the next meeting between Peter and Emma would play out if I owned Heroes. (Sadly, I don't.) I personally think it's my best one yet.
Emma glanced up from the stack of files she was trying to sort through to see a familiar face. It was the handsome paramedic from yesterday. The one who had seen her in the park. She gave him a tight smile and turned back to her work, hoping that he would get the hint and go away. She didn't need any more complications in her life. The sudden manifestation of a confusing (albiet amazing) neurological phenomena was quite enough to deal with at the moment.
But apparently he wasn't going to be put off that easily. What's your name? he signed.
She was surprised, to say the least. You know sign language? she replied.
I used to be a hospice nurse. A lot of my patients were deaf. Knowing signing was strongly recommended. A self-effacing smile crossed his face as he explained, and Emma had to admit, he really was extremely good-looking. But something about him was bothering her and she couldn't figure out what it was. You didn't answer, though. What's your name?
"Emma," she said out loud, knowing that her voice would sound a little off (or maybe a lot, she didn't know) to his ears. "I'm Emma Jameson."
My name's Peter Petrelli, his hands said.
For a moment, she couldn't place the name, though it sounded familiar. The Senator's brother? she asked eventually. Maybe this was what was causing the something-out-of-place feeling niggling at her?
Emma was good at reading facial expressions by necessity. When his dark eyes lost a little of their glimmer and his smile slipped just a bit, she realized that Nathan Petrelli wasn't perhaps the best topic of conversation. It was confirmed when he signed, Yeah, more or less. She knew better than to push it beyond that.
So is there any particular reason you're interrupting my work? she asked. Despite the tedium of the task, she was eager to get back to her filing, if only because she wanted to finish faster, and she wasn't likely to get much done with such an obvious distraction leaning against her doorframe.
His good-natured smile was back. I saw you at the park yesterday. Where did you learn to play like that?
She was amazed. Just about anybody else would have asked how she had learned to play like that. Just another reminder of her deafness. But Peter hadn't, and she wasn't quite sure to make of it. Another thing to add to the nagging sense of confusion she felt about him. But he was waiting for her answer.
I... didn't. I don't know, the man just left it sitting there and I picked up the bow and I started playing.
The synesthesia was too complicated to explain to some random stranger. She wasn't quite sure she understood it herself. But he seemed to, from the knowing look on his face. His eyes clearly revealed that he'd just had a "lightbulb moment." She wondered just what it was that had clicked into place for him, since she hadn't had any particular revelations about her virtuoso performance yet.
It was beautiful, he signed. You play amazingly well.
Amazingly well for a deaf person, right? she replied, attempting to make her fingers convey the snappish way she heard the words in her mind.
To her surprise, he shook his head. No way. You play beautifully by anyone's standard. They'll probably try and recruit you to the orchestra for the Met any day now!
You're just saying that, she signed. But inside, she couldn't help but be pleased. And she was inclined to think he was probably right, if the perfectly intertwined patterns of light she had created were anything to judge by.
He shook his head. No I'm not. My mom plays the piano, and my brother studied the violin for a long time when we were kids. I know what good music sounds like, and believe me, you play wonderfully. The look on his face was completely honest. He meant what he said. And just like that, it clicked into place what had been bothering her about him this whole time. He didn't have that predatory look that she got from most men. He wasn't just interested in her because she was pretty enough. He wasn't having a laugh at her. He was just Peter. He was genuine. It was a refreshing change, to say the least.
Musical family, then? she replied. Mine too. That's why I never go to Christmas dinner anymore. Playing carols together was always a tradition, but with my "disability--" She paused to make airquotes in the midst of her signing, hoping he would understand the sneer she intended to infuse the word with. Well, you get the point.
Peter nodded. Good to know I'm not the only one avoiding my family, then.
Emma wondered how the hell this conversation had gotten so intense in such a short period of time, but dismissed it. Peter's easy manner made it feel less significant than it probably was, and she was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying human contact for the first time in... well, she wasn't sure how long.
There's really an art to it, she signed with an ironic smile. How many emails you can avoid before they show up at your doorstep convinced that there's something wrong.
He laughed, and she could tell that he got it. How few times you can drop by in a month before they start showing up at work to talk to you, he added, continuing her line.
Sending cards on birthdays and holidays instead of visiting, she suggested, and they both laughed this time.
Exactly, he said, his eyes dancing with merriment.
Dear Lord, Emma thought as their silent conversation continued, I actually like this guy. It was a surprising realization. He wasn't condescending about her "condition," and though he didn't bring it up intentionally, if the conversation turned it up, he was neither insensitive nor overly delicate about it. He was funny and even in sign language he managed to be charming in a simple, innocent sort of way. And Emma began to see that he was like her in a surprising way- he was hiding from the rest of the world every bit as much as she was.
They had been talking for some ten or fifteen minutes when Renee, the human resources coordinator for the trauma unit, poked her head into the office and shouted something Peter couldn't hear. He made some protest, but looked apologetic and eventually she nodded. With a shake of her finger and a tap on her watch, she whisked back out of the room.
Sorry about that, he said. Apparently my shift started three minutes ago. Hesam will be wondering where the hell I am. I gotta go.
She forced a smile, pretending not to mind the loss of his conversation. That's alright, she replied. I really need to file these. She gestured at the tower of files still sitting, unsorted, on her desk.
He nodded, and was about to walk out, when suddenly he paused. He took a breath, as though steeling himself for something. When he began signing, he seemed to struggle for the first time to find the right sequence of gestures to explain what he meant. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to have dinner with me sometime? he asked.
Emma almost laughed at the expression on his face. He looked extremely hopeful, but at the same time there was a look in his eyes that suggested he'd been shot down in more than one area of his life too many times to expect much. On the other hand, maybe it wasn't so funny after all. She knew what that was like. Sure, why not? she signed back.
Peter's eyes lit up and his grin could have probably done the same to the whole room. I'll give you my cell number and you can text me later, she signed. Then she pulled a Post-it note out of her desk drawer and pencilled down the digits, before tearing it off the pad and handing it to him.
He took it from her, and as he did so, their fingers brushed against each other. Emma would have been lying if she'd said she hadn't felt a tingle where his skin met hers. She felt herself turn pink, and quickly buried herself in at least the appearance of doing her job as he left. This was going to be interesting...
Awww... Aren't they cute? And that's why this ship has Potential, with a capital P.