That Heroes/Pushing Daisies Crossover AT LAST! (Part 1: The New Dead-Girl)
Title: Heroes Pie-Wich, Part 1: The New Dead-Girl
Fandoms: Pushing Daisies and Heroes
Rating: PG-13, methinks
Word Count: 2,451 (aprox.)
Pairings: Ned/Chuck, Olive/Claire, more as the series goes on
Characters: Ned, Chuck, Claire Bennet, Olive Snook, Emerson Cod, Digby, Mr. Muggles, and Sandra Bennet.
Disclaimer/Spoilers: I only wish that I’d come up with the idea for Pushing Daisies, and I only wish that I could control Heroes. Sadly, I own neither, so please do not sue me, devote your time instead to sending ‘Save Pushing Daisies!’ letters to ABC or whoever will listen to our plight. I also don’t own the band The Might Be Giants. Spoilers for S2 of Heroes and S1 of Pushing Daisies.
Warnings: Femslash. Het love. Bad Jim Dale impersonations. Dogs with plans. Murder.
A/N: This is my first Pushing Daisies fic (well, unless you count that House/Wilson fic where they went to meet Wilson’s aunts Lily and Vivian); I hope I got the general mood right. It’s really hard to write this verse when you can’t color-coordinate the sets and have a hard time sounding like Jim Dale. I split it up into three parts, because it is so long and rather plot-heavy. In this verse, Olive knows about Ned’s ‘gift.’ All the backstory you need is in the previouslies. Enjoy!
Dedicated To: yaoi_anti_drug , who sadly had no time to write this and speculated about it with me instead.
Previously on Pushing Daisies, young Ned had a special gift. He could touch dead things and bring them back to life. But he could only bring them back for one minute, any longer, and someone else had to die. And there was one more thing he had to learn: first touch, life; second touch: dead, again, forever. But as young Ned grew into the Pie Maker, this gift proved to be most useful in the untimely death of his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles, whom he brought back to life. Unable to touch, Chuck and Ned nevertheless grew very much in love with each other. For years, Ned had been using his extraordinary gift to touch murder victims, ask who killed them, and collect the reward money with his business partner, Detective Emerson Cod.
Previously on Heroes, young Claire had a special gift. She could be struck dead and come back to life. This gift proved most useful, because in her world, being different made her the target of dangerous people. From the unnamed Company her father used to work for, to the superpowered serial killer Gabriel Gray (aka ‘Sylar’) who cut open the heads of fellow ‘special’ people to acquire their abilities. Mr. Sylar was suspiciously lenient with Mohinder Suresh - the son of Chandra Suresh whom Mr. Sylar had killed after being deemed ‘normal’ by the unfortunate geneticist Sr. - despite being tortured and almost murdered by the revenge-seeking geneticist. Mohinder Suresh adopted Molly Walker, a young girl whose parents were murdered by Sylar, one for their ability, and the other for simply being in the way.
~*~
At this very moment, Claire Bennet was eighteen years, two months, six days, eleven hours, and five minutes old. She was also sprawled in the middle of the road in a pool of her own blood in such a way that a morbid person might be able to construe it as ‘artistic.’ She had been on her way to the Pie Hole, seeking employment, and contemplating her family’s sixth move in the past two years when a pickup truck smashed into her and she blacked out.
Slowly regaining consciousness as her inner-organs regenerated, Claire began to hear a collection of voices from the sidewalk.
“I … I think she’s dead …” stuttered a nervous male voice.
“That is one dead girl.” intoned a somber, deep voice.
“How awful …” a woman’s voice interjected. “Wish I’d gotten the plate-number …”
A different female voice said, “She’s so young, her poor parents …”
Parents …Claire groaned aloud and sat up, snapping her various limbs back into place. Dad is going to kill me …another move and we might really leave Lyle behind. Looking around, she saw a group of four people on the sidewalk in front of The Pie Hole: a tall man with an apron around his waist, a tiny blond woman in a bright orange dress, a large African-American man in a rather lurid shirt; and a brunette woman in a brilliantly red dress. The vaguely-neurotic looking ginger-dog standing beside this group began howling as Claire shakily rose to her feet and made her way towards the four people. They all leapt back in alarm.
“Sorry about that …” Claire ran a hand through her blood-crusted hair and addressed the tall man, who looked very distressed indeed. “Are you the Pie Maker?”
The blond woman’s eyes rolled up into her head and she began falling to the ground. Both the brunette and the tall man attempted to catch her, but, upon seeing the other moving in, leap back. The blond slumped to the ground in a faint; the dog bolted inside the Pie Hole. For some reason, the whole event did not seem to faze the African-American man, for he only rolled his eyes and turned to Claire.
“Hey, New-Dead-Girl, help me with Olive. You can clean yourself up inside.” he jerked his head at the Pie Hole. “Name’s Emerson Cod: P.I.”
Claire smiled shakily and pulled the woman named Olive up and, with the help of Emerson Cod: P.I., managed to drag/carry her inside. The brunette opened the door for them - “That’s Chuck, she’s been dead too” - while the tall man - “He is the Pie Maker; I’m sure ya’ll have a lot to talk about” - directed them into the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Claire was hiding in the back room of the Pie Hole, washing the blood off of her face and arms with old towels that a rather groggy Olive was handing her while Ned, Chuck, Emerson, and Digby watched cautiously.
“I’d appreciate it if what I can do didn’t leave this kitchen,” Claire said, rinsing her hair in the sink. “My family just moved because someone found out, and I’m sick of packing.”
Over the past two years Bennet and her family had moved quite a bit. After crossing the country at every angle imaginable, and having their entire household whittled down to ten boxes, five suitcases, and a doggie bath, the Bennets were very ready to settle down. Not to mention Claire’s bother, Lyle, who’d been left behind … twice.
“Are there more people like … us?” the Pie Maker asked tentatively, looking both nervous and excited.
Claire shrugged. “Well, we’re all different. I mean, I can do … this,” she held up her bloodstained arm. “My mom can start fires with her fingers, my dad can fly … and you can bring back the dead.” she begins washing her hands and arms with copious amounts of soap. “That’s part of the reason I came here when I was looking for a job. My dad - not the one who can fly, the one who raised me - he used to be part of an organization that dealt with people like us. Tracked us … and worse.” Claire shuddered, and noticed that the brunette - Chuck? - look at the Pie Maker in concern.
“That’s … awful.” Olive squeaked.
“Definitely ain’t legal.” Emerson Cod said, crossing his arms and looking around suspiciously.
Claire sighed. “Anyway, he remembered your name, you were one of the people he kept hidden from the Company, something about your dad being important,” Claire swore she almost saw Ned’s ears literally perk up, “but … I really need a job. I’m good with waitressing, dishwashing, anything …”
The Pie Maker blinked. “Uh … um … er …”
“It would be lovely to have a new waitress, wouldn’t it, Ned?” the blond - Olive - asked, looking positively fearsome, despite the fact that she looked to be roughly half the Pie Maker’s height.
Ned the Pie Maker turned to Claire, who was drying her arms and legs with a fluorescent towel. “The hours are eleven-thirty A.M. to seven-thirty P.M., but they can fluctuate. Emerson and I sometimes go off to solve crimes; Chuck and/or Olive sometimes join us. You … can’t join us. The car’s too small. You’d have to sit on someone, and we don’t know you well enough to justify sitting yet. Ever. No sitting.”
Claire smiled. “I understand … that’ll work.”
*
Mr. Muggles was a dog with a plan. He wanted to rule the world, make Gabriel Gray his personal masseuse, and put an end to the competition in ‘Best in Show’ in the process. However, every dog he had encountered since this revelation had proved too friendly with cats, far too eager to leap at the door when their humans arrived, and generally useless in all world-taking-over prospects.
That is, until Mr. Muggles met Digby.
The facts were these: Claire Bennet had been working at the Pie Hole for six days, eight hours, six minutes, and seventeen seconds when her mother, Sandra Bennet, arrived to bring her home for the evening. Mr. Muggles - on a leash, another thing he’d be putting and end to when he ruled the world - trotting along at her side. Claire had been cleaning up the kitchen with Olive and Chuck, tossing strawberries at each other. Sandra, upon spotting Emerson Cod reading Knit-Wit magazine in a corner booth, had ambled over and struck up a conversation with the (at first) wary and (in the end) delighted P.I. Mr. Muggles - free of his leash - skipped over to the ginger-haired dog who was lying forlornly in a bed in the corner of the kitchen.
“My human’s name for me is Mr. Muggles,” yapped the Pomeranian.
“My human’s name for me is Digby,” sighed the golden retriever.
“That’s rough,” commented Mr. Muggles.
“Likewise,” Digby replied, nodding at his companion.
Dog-protocol aside, Mr. Muggles settled down beside Digby and began to strike up a professional relationship.
*
“Why they changed it, I can’t say / people just like it better that way!” Claire and Olive sang in unison, scrubbing the countertops with the fervor of two women with shared musical interests on a crusade to clean. Chuck had long since skipped upstairs to ‘put her bees to sleep.’ Claire had been around long enough to know that ‘put my bees to sleep’ was code for ‘stare longingly at Ned and make romantic talk with him from behind a plate of glass or a sheet of plastic.’ At least, she hoped that was all they were doing. Claire wanted to remain blissfully ignorant of ways Chuck and the Pie Maker would ever manage to go beyond hand-holding and plastic-wrap kisses.
“Those two … I swear, someday they’re gonna melt all over the floor and we’ll have to keep them in pie tins.” Claire giggled at the thought, wondering if a Ned-pie would be taller than a Chuck-pie and how their pie-voices would sound.
Olive was clearly having the same train of thoughts, for she held a pie plate high above her head and said a deep voice “I love you so very, very much, Chuck. But I can’t touch you now! I don’t have any hands!”
Claire laughed and held up her own pie plate and said in a bad Chuck-impersonation “Oh Ned … just being close to you is enough for me …” Claire noticed that, during the course of this skit, she and Olive had become very, very close.
Olive seemed to notice too. Both women set down the pie plates and recommenced scouring the sinks and counters.
Olive leaned backward over the table and craned her neck as roars of laughter echoed from the seating places.
“Your mother’s laughing up a storm with Emerson. I think they’re … getting out knitting needles.” she slid off of the table and began running her sponge across the spot where she had lain.
“Aw hell, that means she’ll be out there for hours and … wait, Emerson knits?” Claire paused in her work, sponge dripping suds onto the floor.
Olive shrugged. “People can surprise you.” she drew herself up importantly. “I, for example, used to be a professional horse jockey!” she struck a pose, then picked up a stack of plates.
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Wow, a jockey ...” Claire slid over to Olive, batting her eyelashes. “You ride things … besides horses?”
Were Olive a less-disciplined employee, she would have dropped the plates in her arms at that moment. Instead she set them down on the counter, excused herself, and fled into the walk-in-freezer in an attempt to do battle with her perplexing pack of emotions.
She fled so quickly that Claire was almost surprised the plates weren’t left hovering in midair accompanied by a Road-Runner sound effect. With a shrug, she put them away and pondered the situation: Olive had not laughed, or slapped her, or began a rant about how homosexuality was an abomination unto the Lord … she’d blushed. Aha. This could be … interesting. Claire looked down at how she was filling out the fuchsia-rose colored dress she’d bought with her waitressing money at a local store. She had a new power, one that had nothing to do with regrowing a toe.
“Claire, honey?” Sandra was leaning over the counter, stuffing her knitting needles and something that looked like a gun-cozy into her handbag. To blend in with the public, she had decked herself out in a lavender suit and put Mr. Muggles in a lavender sweater-vest. “You about finished up? It’s movie night, and unless we make it home before your father and Lyle, we’ll be stuck watching another James Bond flick.”
Claire winced and laughed, found her fuchsia-rose jacket, and winked at Olive - who was standing on tip-toes to look out of the window in the walk-in-freezer - before leaving with her mother.
“Come on, Mr. Muggles,” Sandra said, stooping to snap the leash onto the dog’s collar. Straightening up, she waved to the P.I. “Thank you very much, Mr. Cod, my husband’s birthday is coming up, and I was at a complete loss in the presents department. Hope to be seeing you again real soon!”
The door swung shut, and Olive Snook tentatively crept out of the freezer.
Olive Snook did not consider herself a girl’s girl. She was deeply, desperately in love with Ned the Pie Maker, but he was deeply, desperately in love with newly dead Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles, and the former Lonely Tourist was deeply, desperately in love with him. It was a conundrum of couples, and Olive wanted in. It wasn’t until the sweetly charismatic Claire Bennet arrived that Olive realized she could be deeply, desperately in love with another woman too.
“Huh,” Olive rubbed her chilled hands together and headed home, musing on Claire Bennet vs. Ned the Piemaker vs. her own confused psyche.
*
Twenty-hours, six minutes, and forty-two seconds later, Claire Bennet was approaching one of her tables, which had been vacant until quite recently. With all the avoiding going on amongst the staff - Ned and Chuck having to avoid each other lest Chuck die permanently, Olive avoiding Ned and Chuck because she was in one of her moods, and Claire avoiding Olive to make the other woman jealous - Claire didn’t have brain-space left over to put two-and-two together when she noted that her table hosted two people she vaguely recognized and a third whose face was hidden behind a menu.
Claire smiled and forced herself to stop thinking about how darned cute Olive was, especially in one of her extra-revealing waitress dresses with a plunging neckline and no sleeves.
“Welcome to the Pie Hole, as in ‘shut your,’ or, in this case, ‘open your,’ because it’s real good. I’m Claire; I’ll be your waitress today. What can I get for ya’ll?”
The man whose entire face had been concealed set down his menu and looked Claire square in the eye.
“I don’t know, Claire … what’s good?”
Claire was certain that she had at least three simultaneous heart-attacks in that one instant.
Sylar.
End of Part 1 (Please comment, or Sylar will EAT YOUR BRAIN!)
Fandoms: Pushing Daisies and Heroes
Rating: PG-13, methinks
Word Count: 2,451 (aprox.)
Pairings: Ned/Chuck, Olive/Claire, more as the series goes on
Characters: Ned, Chuck, Claire Bennet, Olive Snook, Emerson Cod, Digby, Mr. Muggles, and Sandra Bennet.
Disclaimer/Spoilers: I only wish that I’d come up with the idea for Pushing Daisies, and I only wish that I could control Heroes. Sadly, I own neither, so please do not sue me, devote your time instead to sending ‘Save Pushing Daisies!’ letters to ABC or whoever will listen to our plight. I also don’t own the band The Might Be Giants. Spoilers for S2 of Heroes and S1 of Pushing Daisies.
Warnings: Femslash. Het love. Bad Jim Dale impersonations. Dogs with plans. Murder.
A/N: This is my first Pushing Daisies fic (well, unless you count that House/Wilson fic where they went to meet Wilson’s aunts Lily and Vivian); I hope I got the general mood right. It’s really hard to write this verse when you can’t color-coordinate the sets and have a hard time sounding like Jim Dale. I split it up into three parts, because it is so long and rather plot-heavy. In this verse, Olive knows about Ned’s ‘gift.’ All the backstory you need is in the previouslies. Enjoy!
Dedicated To: yaoi_anti_drug , who sadly had no time to write this and speculated about it with me instead.
Previously on Pushing Daisies, young Ned had a special gift. He could touch dead things and bring them back to life. But he could only bring them back for one minute, any longer, and someone else had to die. And there was one more thing he had to learn: first touch, life; second touch: dead, again, forever. But as young Ned grew into the Pie Maker, this gift proved to be most useful in the untimely death of his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte 'Chuck' Charles, whom he brought back to life. Unable to touch, Chuck and Ned nevertheless grew very much in love with each other. For years, Ned had been using his extraordinary gift to touch murder victims, ask who killed them, and collect the reward money with his business partner, Detective Emerson Cod.
Previously on Heroes, young Claire had a special gift. She could be struck dead and come back to life. This gift proved most useful, because in her world, being different made her the target of dangerous people. From the unnamed Company her father used to work for, to the superpowered serial killer Gabriel Gray (aka ‘Sylar’) who cut open the heads of fellow ‘special’ people to acquire their abilities. Mr. Sylar was suspiciously lenient with Mohinder Suresh - the son of Chandra Suresh whom Mr. Sylar had killed after being deemed ‘normal’ by the unfortunate geneticist Sr. - despite being tortured and almost murdered by the revenge-seeking geneticist. Mohinder Suresh adopted Molly Walker, a young girl whose parents were murdered by Sylar, one for their ability, and the other for simply being in the way.
~*~
At this very moment, Claire Bennet was eighteen years, two months, six days, eleven hours, and five minutes old. She was also sprawled in the middle of the road in a pool of her own blood in such a way that a morbid person might be able to construe it as ‘artistic.’ She had been on her way to the Pie Hole, seeking employment, and contemplating her family’s sixth move in the past two years when a pickup truck smashed into her and she blacked out.
Slowly regaining consciousness as her inner-organs regenerated, Claire began to hear a collection of voices from the sidewalk.
“I … I think she’s dead …” stuttered a nervous male voice.
“That is one dead girl.” intoned a somber, deep voice.
“How awful …” a woman’s voice interjected. “Wish I’d gotten the plate-number …”
A different female voice said, “She’s so young, her poor parents …”
Parents …Claire groaned aloud and sat up, snapping her various limbs back into place. Dad is going to kill me …another move and we might really leave Lyle behind. Looking around, she saw a group of four people on the sidewalk in front of The Pie Hole: a tall man with an apron around his waist, a tiny blond woman in a bright orange dress, a large African-American man in a rather lurid shirt; and a brunette woman in a brilliantly red dress. The vaguely-neurotic looking ginger-dog standing beside this group began howling as Claire shakily rose to her feet and made her way towards the four people. They all leapt back in alarm.
“Sorry about that …” Claire ran a hand through her blood-crusted hair and addressed the tall man, who looked very distressed indeed. “Are you the Pie Maker?”
The blond woman’s eyes rolled up into her head and she began falling to the ground. Both the brunette and the tall man attempted to catch her, but, upon seeing the other moving in, leap back. The blond slumped to the ground in a faint; the dog bolted inside the Pie Hole. For some reason, the whole event did not seem to faze the African-American man, for he only rolled his eyes and turned to Claire.
“Hey, New-Dead-Girl, help me with Olive. You can clean yourself up inside.” he jerked his head at the Pie Hole. “Name’s Emerson Cod: P.I.”
Claire smiled shakily and pulled the woman named Olive up and, with the help of Emerson Cod: P.I., managed to drag/carry her inside. The brunette opened the door for them - “That’s Chuck, she’s been dead too” - while the tall man - “He is the Pie Maker; I’m sure ya’ll have a lot to talk about” - directed them into the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Claire was hiding in the back room of the Pie Hole, washing the blood off of her face and arms with old towels that a rather groggy Olive was handing her while Ned, Chuck, Emerson, and Digby watched cautiously.
“I’d appreciate it if what I can do didn’t leave this kitchen,” Claire said, rinsing her hair in the sink. “My family just moved because someone found out, and I’m sick of packing.”
Over the past two years Bennet and her family had moved quite a bit. After crossing the country at every angle imaginable, and having their entire household whittled down to ten boxes, five suitcases, and a doggie bath, the Bennets were very ready to settle down. Not to mention Claire’s bother, Lyle, who’d been left behind … twice.
“Are there more people like … us?” the Pie Maker asked tentatively, looking both nervous and excited.
Claire shrugged. “Well, we’re all different. I mean, I can do … this,” she held up her bloodstained arm. “My mom can start fires with her fingers, my dad can fly … and you can bring back the dead.” she begins washing her hands and arms with copious amounts of soap. “That’s part of the reason I came here when I was looking for a job. My dad - not the one who can fly, the one who raised me - he used to be part of an organization that dealt with people like us. Tracked us … and worse.” Claire shuddered, and noticed that the brunette - Chuck? - look at the Pie Maker in concern.
“That’s … awful.” Olive squeaked.
“Definitely ain’t legal.” Emerson Cod said, crossing his arms and looking around suspiciously.
Claire sighed. “Anyway, he remembered your name, you were one of the people he kept hidden from the Company, something about your dad being important,” Claire swore she almost saw Ned’s ears literally perk up, “but … I really need a job. I’m good with waitressing, dishwashing, anything …”
The Pie Maker blinked. “Uh … um … er …”
“It would be lovely to have a new waitress, wouldn’t it, Ned?” the blond - Olive - asked, looking positively fearsome, despite the fact that she looked to be roughly half the Pie Maker’s height.
Ned the Pie Maker turned to Claire, who was drying her arms and legs with a fluorescent towel. “The hours are eleven-thirty A.M. to seven-thirty P.M., but they can fluctuate. Emerson and I sometimes go off to solve crimes; Chuck and/or Olive sometimes join us. You … can’t join us. The car’s too small. You’d have to sit on someone, and we don’t know you well enough to justify sitting yet. Ever. No sitting.”
Claire smiled. “I understand … that’ll work.”
*
Mr. Muggles was a dog with a plan. He wanted to rule the world, make Gabriel Gray his personal masseuse, and put an end to the competition in ‘Best in Show’ in the process. However, every dog he had encountered since this revelation had proved too friendly with cats, far too eager to leap at the door when their humans arrived, and generally useless in all world-taking-over prospects.
That is, until Mr. Muggles met Digby.
The facts were these: Claire Bennet had been working at the Pie Hole for six days, eight hours, six minutes, and seventeen seconds when her mother, Sandra Bennet, arrived to bring her home for the evening. Mr. Muggles - on a leash, another thing he’d be putting and end to when he ruled the world - trotting along at her side. Claire had been cleaning up the kitchen with Olive and Chuck, tossing strawberries at each other. Sandra, upon spotting Emerson Cod reading Knit-Wit magazine in a corner booth, had ambled over and struck up a conversation with the (at first) wary and (in the end) delighted P.I. Mr. Muggles - free of his leash - skipped over to the ginger-haired dog who was lying forlornly in a bed in the corner of the kitchen.
“My human’s name for me is Mr. Muggles,” yapped the Pomeranian.
“My human’s name for me is Digby,” sighed the golden retriever.
“That’s rough,” commented Mr. Muggles.
“Likewise,” Digby replied, nodding at his companion.
Dog-protocol aside, Mr. Muggles settled down beside Digby and began to strike up a professional relationship.
*
“Why they changed it, I can’t say / people just like it better that way!” Claire and Olive sang in unison, scrubbing the countertops with the fervor of two women with shared musical interests on a crusade to clean. Chuck had long since skipped upstairs to ‘put her bees to sleep.’ Claire had been around long enough to know that ‘put my bees to sleep’ was code for ‘stare longingly at Ned and make romantic talk with him from behind a plate of glass or a sheet of plastic.’ At least, she hoped that was all they were doing. Claire wanted to remain blissfully ignorant of ways Chuck and the Pie Maker would ever manage to go beyond hand-holding and plastic-wrap kisses.
“Those two … I swear, someday they’re gonna melt all over the floor and we’ll have to keep them in pie tins.” Claire giggled at the thought, wondering if a Ned-pie would be taller than a Chuck-pie and how their pie-voices would sound.
Olive was clearly having the same train of thoughts, for she held a pie plate high above her head and said a deep voice “I love you so very, very much, Chuck. But I can’t touch you now! I don’t have any hands!”
Claire laughed and held up her own pie plate and said in a bad Chuck-impersonation “Oh Ned … just being close to you is enough for me …” Claire noticed that, during the course of this skit, she and Olive had become very, very close.
Olive seemed to notice too. Both women set down the pie plates and recommenced scouring the sinks and counters.
Olive leaned backward over the table and craned her neck as roars of laughter echoed from the seating places.
“Your mother’s laughing up a storm with Emerson. I think they’re … getting out knitting needles.” she slid off of the table and began running her sponge across the spot where she had lain.
“Aw hell, that means she’ll be out there for hours and … wait, Emerson knits?” Claire paused in her work, sponge dripping suds onto the floor.
Olive shrugged. “People can surprise you.” she drew herself up importantly. “I, for example, used to be a professional horse jockey!” she struck a pose, then picked up a stack of plates.
Claire raised an eyebrow. “Wow, a jockey ...” Claire slid over to Olive, batting her eyelashes. “You ride things … besides horses?”
Were Olive a less-disciplined employee, she would have dropped the plates in her arms at that moment. Instead she set them down on the counter, excused herself, and fled into the walk-in-freezer in an attempt to do battle with her perplexing pack of emotions.
She fled so quickly that Claire was almost surprised the plates weren’t left hovering in midair accompanied by a Road-Runner sound effect. With a shrug, she put them away and pondered the situation: Olive had not laughed, or slapped her, or began a rant about how homosexuality was an abomination unto the Lord … she’d blushed. Aha. This could be … interesting. Claire looked down at how she was filling out the fuchsia-rose colored dress she’d bought with her waitressing money at a local store. She had a new power, one that had nothing to do with regrowing a toe.
“Claire, honey?” Sandra was leaning over the counter, stuffing her knitting needles and something that looked like a gun-cozy into her handbag. To blend in with the public, she had decked herself out in a lavender suit and put Mr. Muggles in a lavender sweater-vest. “You about finished up? It’s movie night, and unless we make it home before your father and Lyle, we’ll be stuck watching another James Bond flick.”
Claire winced and laughed, found her fuchsia-rose jacket, and winked at Olive - who was standing on tip-toes to look out of the window in the walk-in-freezer - before leaving with her mother.
“Come on, Mr. Muggles,” Sandra said, stooping to snap the leash onto the dog’s collar. Straightening up, she waved to the P.I. “Thank you very much, Mr. Cod, my husband’s birthday is coming up, and I was at a complete loss in the presents department. Hope to be seeing you again real soon!”
The door swung shut, and Olive Snook tentatively crept out of the freezer.
Olive Snook did not consider herself a girl’s girl. She was deeply, desperately in love with Ned the Pie Maker, but he was deeply, desperately in love with newly dead Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles, and the former Lonely Tourist was deeply, desperately in love with him. It was a conundrum of couples, and Olive wanted in. It wasn’t until the sweetly charismatic Claire Bennet arrived that Olive realized she could be deeply, desperately in love with another woman too.
“Huh,” Olive rubbed her chilled hands together and headed home, musing on Claire Bennet vs. Ned the Piemaker vs. her own confused psyche.
*
Twenty-hours, six minutes, and forty-two seconds later, Claire Bennet was approaching one of her tables, which had been vacant until quite recently. With all the avoiding going on amongst the staff - Ned and Chuck having to avoid each other lest Chuck die permanently, Olive avoiding Ned and Chuck because she was in one of her moods, and Claire avoiding Olive to make the other woman jealous - Claire didn’t have brain-space left over to put two-and-two together when she noted that her table hosted two people she vaguely recognized and a third whose face was hidden behind a menu.
Claire smiled and forced herself to stop thinking about how darned cute Olive was, especially in one of her extra-revealing waitress dresses with a plunging neckline and no sleeves.
“Welcome to the Pie Hole, as in ‘shut your,’ or, in this case, ‘open your,’ because it’s real good. I’m Claire; I’ll be your waitress today. What can I get for ya’ll?”
The man whose entire face had been concealed set down his menu and looked Claire square in the eye.
“I don’t know, Claire … what’s good?”
Claire was certain that she had at least three simultaneous heart-attacks in that one instant.
Sylar.
End of Part 1 (Please comment, or Sylar will EAT YOUR BRAIN!)