Peter knew as well as anyone how futile it was to try and ignore the dreams, to dismiss them as not real. At first, he had chosen to believe they nothing more than terrible nightmares despite what the network implied. His resolve eventually was crushed when he woke up badly burned, forcing him into the emergency room in the middle of the night. Since then, he had sustained a number of injuries, the burn scars and the scars from Derek's claws when he killed him being just a few. Explaining the injuries had been difficult, especially considering the fact they occurred so strangely and without cause, but in light of the recent crime wave, his insurance company decided to believe they were precursor crimes and accepted the claims. It was ridiculous, but Peter had other things to worry over.
"I remember when I first moved into my house," he mused with a smile. "I had nothing to put in it. It was empty for years." Prior to owning his home, Peter had travelled too much to ever have a place to call his own. All the apartments he lived in were bought and paid for by the company, and when he finally bought his house, he only had a few things to move into it. There were very few things that Peter considered dear to him, and even now, if his house was destroyed at this very moment, he would only look for a handful of things in the rubble. "I think having enough boxes to still have ones to unpack is better than the alternative."
He wasn't surprised by Helena's reaction to his question, nor was her reply a shock. Following her as she escorted him into the living room, Peter stood by one of the armchairs, eyes regarding the numerous family portraits and scattered pictures. Peter couldn't help but think of his daughter, someone he knew knew and possibly never would. By now, he had missed all of those early milestones, missed everything that made her, her. Even if they did ever met, they wouldn't be anything more than strangers with a shared bloodline and it made him angry. The fact his own sister had stolen all of that from him turned his stomach, and while Peter would never hate her completely, he could get as close as he could to the feeling in this regard.
"Thank you, but no." Since alcohol had stopped working entirely, Peter had completely given up the habit. Before this, he hadn't been much of a drinker and he usually detested anything that could affect his mind anyway. His brief foray into alcoholism late last year had been a product of desperation, but he was long past that. He hoped.
Finally sitting in one of the chairs, Peter studied Helena for a brief few moments. "Having the same nightmare? Or are you thinking about the recent fire?"