FIC: Blame It on the Booze
Title: Blame It on the Booze
Characters: Noah/Angela, Peter/Claire, with Sandra and Lyle
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10k
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers until the end of Season 3. Does not take into account any of the events of Season 4. I was really really really late finishing this.
Summary: A misguided trip to Vegas and a little too much to drink leads to the rekindling of an old relationship.
A/N: Written for yetanothermask for Sweet Charity, a fandom auction to raise money for RAINN. Thanks to all three of my betas - psycho_llama, kathrynthegr8, and cadesama, none of whom gave me a hard time for writing "unphased" instead of "unfazed."
I.
Noah Bennet woke up with the taste of whiskey still in his mouth. It was something he'd become familiar with since his marriage, which had survived several moves and memory wipes and identity changes, finally collapsed. He wouldn't call himself a drunk exactly, but he was no stranger to a double in the evening after a long day of staring at the blank walls of his apartment. He liked to think of alcohol as a nonprescription sleep aid. That was all. Nothing unusual.
But this time was different. This time he wasn't waking up in his pathetic little apartment, in the twin bed that had been left behind by the previous tenant. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bennet was able to take in his surroundings a little more clearly. He appeared to be in a sumptuous hotel suite, occupying part of a king-size bed. The sheets probably had a thread-count higher than his monthly expenses. One entire wall was a window overlooking much of downtown Las Vegas; Bennet had come here often enough on Company assignments to recognize the city, although this was the first time he'd seen it from this point of view.
Even more strange than waking up in an opulent Las Vegas hotel room, however, was the fact that he wasn't waking up alone. He ran his tongue along his dry lips, turning onto his side before he realized that someone was lying there beside him.
That person wasn't facing him, but it was clear from the delicate slope of her back and the dark hair that fell in thick coils on the pillow that it was a woman. Bennet stared for a moment, unbelieving. The slow rise and fall of her breathing indicated that she was still sleeping, and Bennet was relieved. At least this way he'd have time to figure out what the hell was going on.
He threw back the covers and tried to keep his feet from tangling up the sheets as he shifted in the bed, sitting upright. He delicately set his feet on the floor, trying to make as little sound as possible. He wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not when he realized he was completely naked, but his head was already pounding with a hangover so he easily pushed his nudity concerns to the back of his mind.
He rose to his feet slowly, stretching and suppressing a yawn. His first order of business was to find the bathroom. He felt like a wreck, and at this point he could only imagine that he looked and smelled like one too. He crept carefully around the bed, but for all his attempts to keep quiet, his body was preparing to betray him. As he rounded the corner into the corridor to the bathroom, out of sight of the bed at least, he could no longer hold it in. And, since Bennet never did anything half-assed, his flatulence was fantastically loud.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
He could hear the rumpling of the bedcovers before a familiar voice called out to him. "Noah? What are you doing?"
He'd recognize that voice anywhere - commanding, condescending, and an instant turn-on. "Angela?"
"It's so early, Noah, come back to bed," she pleaded, almost plaintive.
As tempted as he was, he first allowed himself a whiff of his armpit. "I'm going to get in the shower," he decided instantly. "Definitely going to shower."
"Oh, all right," she replied. "Then I'm going back to sleep."
Bennet wiped his eyes and escaped into the bathroom, away from the stench of his own emission, as he struggled to wrap his head around what was happening.
The facts were these: He'd just woken up. Naked. In bed with his old boss.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
II.
The divorce was hard on them all - Sandra, Claire, Lyle. Even Mr. Muggles seemed a little out of sorts. It was readily apparent during their last meeting as a family. They sat at the dining room table in their Costa Verde home, awkwardly glancing askance at one another. It had already been decided that Sandra was keeping the house, although she was already considering selling it and moving somewhere smaller. That decision, of course, was dependent on how this meeting turned out. They were trying to work out, as a family, whether the kids would rather live with their mom in California or move to Washington D.C. with their dad.
It was Lyle who finally broke the silence. "Mom. Definitely Mom. I would definitely rather live with Mom."
Bennet was taken aback by his son's certainty. "You sure, Lyle? It's okay - this is a tough decision to make."
"I definitely want to live with Mom."
"If you need to think about it, I mean, you can take as long as you want..." Bennet continued. "A few days, even. There's really no hurry."
"Dad," Lyle interrupted, looking his father in the eye. "I don't mean to, like, hurt your feelings or anything, but let's face it - you've been a mostly absent parental figure for most of my life, and besides that you lead a life of perennial peril."
There was a distinct whistle from across the table. Claire was rolling her eyes and shaking her head at her brother. "Looks like someone finally passed a vocabulary test," she remarked.
"I already hung it on the fridge," Sandra said, smiling. She reached out and tousled her son's hair affectionately for emphasis.
"Okay, Mom, stop," Lyle whispered, trying to straighten his mussed 'do and failing. His head looked like Mr. Muggles.
Bennet tried to hide how hurt he was as he turned to his daughter. "Well, what about you, Claire? Have you decided where you want to live?"
Claire sighed, not looking directly back at her father as she spoke. "I got some scholarships to schools around here."
Bennet was quick to respond. "But you don't have to worry about tuition. Not at all."
"Why's that?" Sandra interjected. "We had to dip into the kids' college funds when we moved here. We're not going to be able to afford tuition without some help, Noah. And I'm not comfortable filing for financial aid just to have someone look into why we moved or why we changed our name..."
"Angela Petrelli," Bennet said over Sandra's complaints. She looked stunned, so he felt the need to clarify. "Claire's biological grandmother - said she'd help out with that." Bennet looked at Claire intently over the horned rims of his glasses. "Provided she's on the east coast."
Sandra furrowed her brow, and Claire's jaw dropped. "Why? What does that -" she stammered.
"She just wants to be able to spend more time with her family, that's all," Bennet said. He knew that Angela didn't always put others' needs before those of the Company, but since Primatech Paper had been dissolved, he felt fairly certain that Angela was acting only with Claire's best interests at heart. "Claire is her only granddaughter, and she's missed out on eighteen years of her life already."
"Do you really want your daughter to be involved with that family at all?" Sandra said snippily back.
"Peter's not so bad," Claire interjected. "I like Peter."
Sandra sighed, resigned. "I guess it's not my decision to make, anyway. It's really up to you, Claire. Whichever way you go is fine by me. Just make sure you think about it."
"How about a compromise?" Claire proposed. "Here's what I'll do - I'll spend the summers and holidays with you, Mom, and I'll go to school in D.C. by Dad. That way I can spend time with both of you." She paused for a second, biting her lip. She knew that what she was proposing would be tough on her mom, but she couldn't help it. "It would be really hard to pass up a free college education."
"All right. Fine." Sandra said, hiding any trace of disappointment in her voice. "If that's your decision, I will respect it."
III.
Bennet wiped his face, yawning, as he shuffled to the bathroom. He had to step delicately around the remnants of a shattered sculpture on the floor. He turned the shower on as he gazed at himself in the mirror. Even without his glasses, he knew he looked like a wreck - bags beneath his eyes, scruff on his face, hair mussed and sticking out, askew, in some places.
When the water ran as hot as he could stand it, he stepped in, and the memories from the night before came into focus. The broken sculpture helped remind him.
It had been amazing.
And it wasn't just because it was the first time in a long time - it had been a while for him and Sandra, since even before the divorce they'd fallen out of sync with one another. It wasn't just because he was drunk and his inhibitions had been lowered. It wasn't because it was a one night stand, and he didn't have to be afraid to ask for what he wanted. Somehow he'd struck a new connection with the woman in bed, a connection even stronger than the one they'd had before.
He remembered her stripping her clothes off before they even got to the room. As they were leaving the elevator, her navy jacket had started sliding from her shoulders. She'd slung it over one arm as she reached up and undid her intricate hairstyle skillfully with one hand. Her hair was unexpectedly long. It fell in glossy black locks down her back. When the doors slid open, she started ahead of him, looking back at him with a deliciously saucy smile.
His heart had already been racing with anticipation; now the blood was rushing somewhere else, and he followed her with a stilted gait because of it. She keyed into the room quickly, shoes coming off at the door. When he caught up to her, she was taking her earrings out, so he grabbed her by her hips and pulled her close against him, his erection perfectly cradled by the crevice of her ass.
"Is that a handgun in your pocket," she giggled with a pitch that belied her age, "or are you happy to see me?"
It was an old, tired joke, but they were both so inebriated that it didn't matter. Noah almost doubled over laughing. As he did, his hardened dick strained against the zipper of his pants, so he released Angela long enough to undo them.
"Just like old times, Noah," Angela purred, turning around and hooking her finger into his belt loop playfully.
"Yeah," Bennet replied, "except this seems like a hell of a lot more space than a supply closet or office." He was so excited his hands were shaking as he unbuckled his belt and unfastened the button on his waistband.
"There's no need to rush, Noah," Angela assured him, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him with her wide brown eyes. She batted her eyelashes and smiled as though to emphasize her point. She took his hands in hers and set them back on her waist before she slipped them beneath the fabric of his pants. "Still wearing boxers, I see."
"I like the freedom," Noah grunted, squeezing her closer as he felt her hands brush against the sensitive skin about his crotch. He buried his face into her shoulder, kissing her neck gently as her hands explored the region between his legs. She traced the line of his shaft so lightly that he gasped with pleasure, but she didn't linger there. She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand, running her thumb against the base of his cock. "Jesus, Angela, it's been a while since you've been so bold."
"We've never had more than a quickie, have we?" she whispered into his ear. "I want us to take our time."
"I don't know if I can last that long," Bennet replied.
Angela pulled away from him, bringing one finger to his lips and gazing at him stubbornly. "None of that, now," she said. "We've both had practice. We know what we're doing."
Did they ever.
Angela sank to her knees on the plush carpet, tugging at the waistband of Noah's pants as she did. He inhaled deeply as he backed against the wall in anticipation. He sighed as Angela pulled down his boxers, exposing his swollen red cock. She batted her eyes flirtatiously as she took it in her mouth, her lips encasing its head in a kiss.
"Oh, Angela, please don't tease me like that."
"Now, now, Noah - we have all the time in the world." The corners of her lips turned upwards as she ran her tongue along the bottom of his shaft; the sensation made him shiver.
He bent down and hooked his hands beneath her armpits, pulling her to her feet. He clumsily attempted to step out of his pants as he spun her around, frantically searching for the zipper to her dress.
"It's on the side, Noah," Angela said, clucking her tongue, finding his enthusiasm charming. She lifted her arm helpfully and allowed him to fumble momentarily with the hook and eye closure before she attended it herself. While she stripped to her slip, Bennet pulled his pants off over his shoes, and then hurriedly kicked his shoes off as well. He was operating with a sense of urgency he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. He was unstoppable; she was irresistible.
"Wait - wait - where are you going?" he panicked as she began to walk away from him.
"I need to freshen up," she told him, throwing a sly wink over her shoulder as she continued to stride towards the bathroom.
Bennet staggered after her, undoing his shirt as he went. "But I need you, Angela," he begged. "Don't walk away from me now."
She left the door open a crack as she started the shower. Noah peered inside, almost giddy, his hand naturally finding his cock and holding it tightly. While the water ran, Angela let her slip fall to the floor. When steam began to cloud up the doors, she stepped inside, gasping as though surprised at the heat.
"Are you going to join me, or do you like to watch?"
The question snapped Bennet out of his reverie. Sheepishly he let go of his dick and straightened before he pushed the door open and let himself in. He embraced her from behind, pulling her glistening wet body against his, letting his erection settle comfortably against the small of her back. He let his hands wander all over the front of her body. First he massaged her neck, her shoulders, until she leaned back against him, practically purring. From there his hands slid down her upper arms until they were level with her breasts; he hugged her closely and palmed them in his hands. He pinched her nipples playfully until they hardened and stood erect on their own. As she sighed with pleasure, he wrapped one arm around her waist and his other hand found its way into the crevice between her legs. He relished the sensation of her skin - in comparison so smooth, so soft, so warm against his calloused palm. Aided by the water from the shower, he pinched and stroked and slid his fingers with ease, and Angela leaned into him and sighed until she couldn't take it anymore.
"It's too hot in here," she gasped, and Bennet reluctantly pulled his hand away to reach for the shower knob. They leaned against one another as the water flow slowed to a halt, their shallow breaths mingling. It was Angela that moved next, regaining her balance and searching for towels. As she dabbed the moisture from her body, Bennet felt a new surge of sexual energy rise and seize him, and he licked his lips, as though hungry. He waited for her to face him again, and then he pounced, grabbing her fiercely and growling like an animal as he did so.
"Noah!" Angela cried out, almost laughing, and they stumbled out of the bathoom locked in an awkward embrace. They couldn't help backing into one of the suite's many unnecessary extravagances that had occupied the space beside the bathroom door. It had been a giraffe sculpture, much taller than it was wide, which is probably why it was knocked over so easily. It landed against the tile floor with a resounding smash that made Angela laugh even more wildly.
"Oh shit," Bennet whispered.
"Don't worry about it, don't worry about it," Angela assured him, running her fingers up his neck, making his skin tingle. "Ignore it."
Bennet, though, decided to move their lovemaking back to the bedroom, and hoisted her up. Automatically she wrapped her legs around his waist and he stepped carefully back onto the bedroom carpet.
He pinned her naked back against the wall, and she shivered against him. He braced himself and thrust into her vertically, her hips bouncing into his. She gripped his upper arms with all her strength and let her head fall back as she cried out. Encouraged, he thrust again, and again, and again, and each time she moaned almost as though she were in pain.
"Please, Noah," she pleaded, "harder. Harder." He growled in return and followed her command until he was spent. He knees nearly buckled beneath him and he immersed his face into her long, loose hair.
"Noah... Noah," Angela gasped.
"Did you come?" he asked, slurring his words a little.
"Oh, Noah, Noah," she repeated, her head lolling. She let her limbs fall from his body, leaning against the wall for balance. Her legs trembled as she made her way to the bed. Bennet followed suit, and together they collapsed between the luscious linens.
IV.
As he turned the shower off, Bennet struggled to remember how he'd ended up in Las Vegas in the first place. It wasn't a trip that was within his income (being unemployed and all), nor was he the type to take vacations. No. He'd traveled there for a very, very important reason.
He'd come to Vegas because, for the first time in a long time, Sandra had called him. She was worried and panicked and when he answered at first he was flattered that she'd thought to call him. Of course, when he realized she had called him because of Claire, he began to panic as well.
"She left two days ago, Noah," she told him. "I didn't think too much of it at first, since she's an adult now, but she stopped answering her phone and I can't report her missing..." There was a trace of blame in this statement, but Bennet couldn't hold it against his ex-wife.
"Do you know where she is, or where she was headed?"
"No. She took the car and just vanished. I checked her room. One of her suitcases is missing, and some of her clothes, so it looks like she packed. She was planning to leave, Noah, and I don't know why."
"You're probably worrying over nothing, Sandra," Bennet said, trying to be reassuring. "Too many of those prime-time forensic shows will do that to you."
"You know I'm not overreacting," Sandra chastised him.
Bennet couldn't help his exasperation. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
"What it is you do best." There wasn't even a hint of irony in her voice - Sandra was as serious as a heart attack. "Find her. Track her down."
"Fine," Bennet sighed. He knew that Claire probably had her reasons for disappearing, and taking her power into account, she probably wasn't in any real danger. Still, he had a pang of worry in his heart. She could be stubborn, and she could be stupid. She'd gotten it into her head that she could be some sort of hero, and that was a dangerous idea to consider. He thought of some of her more recent missteps - smuggling people with abilities because a text message told her to, for example. Or perhaps she was going after Sylar. She might have any number of reasons, and each one was more worrisome than the last.
And so he started doing what he did best. He called any contacts he had. He began searching his old files, the old Primatech database, determining if there were any dangerous people with abilities that could be involved. He tracked her license plate number, and found that it had been stopped at a DUI checkpoint near the California/Nevada border not more than a day ago. He ran Claire's debit card number and saw that she'd last used it at a gas station ATM just outside of Vegas.
Perhaps it was just a trip for pleasure, Bennet hoped.
But Vegas was also a hotbed of special abilities and former Primatech activities. Linderman had been headquartered here when he was the head of the Company, and there were still a lot of former employees with questionable loyalties and powerful abilities in the area. Bennet knew he needed to act as though it was a worst case scenario - even if it meant bagging and tagging his own daughter.
V.
The towel was the softest he'd ever touched, but he wasn't thinking about its plushness as he used it to wipe away the traces of dampness on his naked skin. He was too busy trying to piece together night's progression, trying to figure out how one thing had led to another. It didn't make sense, just running into Angela Petrelli like that. It wasn't that small of a world. But he honestly couldn't remember past the (admittedly engrossing) sex that they'd had last night. He knew something had to have occurred to have made that happen, but in all honesty he couldn't figure it out.
He'd left all his clothes in the bedroom, which meant walking back there completely nude. Not that Angela hadn't seen it all already, obviously, but it was different in the cold glare of the morning light. Without shadows, without alcohol, things could get a little embarrassing, and he paused at the threshold to listen for Angela's slow, steady breathing, hoping she was still asleep.
It was as he lifted his hand to his face restlessly that he noticed it. There was something cool, something metallic rubbing against his cheek. He held his hand out at a distance, giving his myopic eyes a second to focus.
It was a wedding ring - a thin, cheap band on the fourth finger of his left hand. He'd had one there for so long that it was no wonder he hadn't noticed its replacement right away.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
VI.
When he arrived in Las Vegas, Noah Bennet hit the ground running.
He was armed with nothing but a briefcase and one of the Company's custom tasers, engineered specifically to take out those with abilities. The briefcase was an old one, with the leather wearing away at the corners and the hinges dented, but it contained several printed lists of known specials in Las Vegas and the surrounding areas. The taser, too, was worn, but that was only because it was so often used.
His first stop was the Corinthian Casino, operating under new management since Daniel Linderman's death. It was still as luxe and lavish as ever; everything sparkled or twinkled or gleamed, each surface either polished or gold-plated.
He wandered awhile, watching and waiting for something to happen, before his concentration was interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice.
"I know you," she said by way of greeting.
He turned, tilting his head. Dressed in a two-piece suit and sensible heels, with her hair pulled back in a restrictive bun, she looked like she meant business.
"Miss Sakamoto," Bennet replied, glancing at her gold-plated name tag. "I don't believe we've met."
"You're Noah Bennet," she said, her eyebrows furrowing. "Your reputation precedes you." She looked over him with disdain, crossing her arms. "So does your fashion sense."
Bennet smiled, reaching up to his glasses and tapping the frame jokingly. "Horn-rimmed glasses never go out of style. It's a classic look."
Miss Sakamoto obviously didn't find him funny; she maintained her brusque tone as she changed the subject. "The Corinthian is no longer managed by the Linderman Group. I don't see any reason for you to be here."
Bennet's smile faded. "It's not business, I assure you. It's personal."
"Pleasure, then?" Miss Sakamoto asked, her voice lilting in a way almost girlish. She was well-trained in the art of customer service, and if Bennet was a customer, then that changed everything.
"Not exactly," Bennet answered, and Miss Sakamoto's expression returned to that of haughty contempt. While he still had her attention, though, he thought he'd take a chance. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a picture of Claire. It was a photo taken while she was still a cheerleader at her Texas high school, and the corners of the photo were a little worn, but the girl in the picture was unmistakably Claire. "Have you seen this girl, by any chance?"
Miss Sakamoto took the picture from Bennet's hand and allowed herself a moment to look it over thoroughly before handing it back. "No," she told him, "but I do have girls who look very similar. Masseurs - trained, professional, very discreet."
Bennet didn't appreciate the implication. "She's my daughter," he said gruffly.
Miss Sakamoto was unfazed. "Still doesn't look familiar."
It was time to try a different tack. "Mind if I ask you something else?" Bennet asked, and before Miss Sakamoto could refuse, he followed his question with another. "Were a lot of employees retained when the Linderman Group was dissolved?"
"Why do you ask?" Her frown was discouraging; there was no way Bennet was going to get any information out of her without resorting to force, and he needed to save his energy until it was absolutely necessary.
"Just curious," he said back. "I'll just... show myself out, then."
He started at the top of the list, searching out one of Linderman's hoodlums or henchmen or corrupt law enforcement officials after another. Some had powers, some did not, but Bennet treated them all equally - by kicking ass first and taking names later. Some volunteered information that Bennet knew to be false, trying to avoid a beat-down; others fought back but were handily defeated by the old Company taser gun. No one had seen Claire; no one had even recognized her. Bennet should have been reassured that she was apparently staying out of trouble, or at least staying out of the way of these thugs and thieves, but at the end of the day, Bennet was no closer to locating his daughter than when he began.
VII.
As luck would have it, he found her where he wasn't even looking.
He was running on empty - empty wallet, empty stomach - and he had just enough change in his pocket for a cup of coffee. While he counted out his dimes and nickels in the palm of his hand, he caught a glimpse of long, blonde locks ahead of him. When he lifted his head, she turned just enough for him to recognize her profile, and he shoved his change back in his pocket and stepped out of line, approaching her with relief.
"Claire Bear," he said, setting his hand on her shoulder.
She jumped at his touch and as she turned her hair whipped around dramatically. "Dad!" Claire exclaimed, but she wasn't surprised; instead, she seemed almost scared to see him. "What are you doing here?"
"I hear they have good coffee, this Starbucks place," he joked.
"Dad, seriously," she said, raising her eyebrow and tilting her head petulantly.
"Your mother's been worried about you," he told her. "You haven't been answering her calls."
"So she immediately sends in the cavalry? God, I've been gone, like, a day," Claire whined. "Can't I just lead my own life already? I thought that's what happened when people turned eighteen."
"When most people turn eighteen, yes," Bennet said, smiling paternally at his daughter. "But you're special."
"Oh, come on, Dad," Claire laughed, punching him in the arm. "Even more reason to let me go. It's not like anything that bad can happen to me."
"Neither your mother nor I would like to take that chance," Bennet replied. "I know that life can be tough for you right now, Claire Bear, and I know what your mother can be like. I don't know if the two of you had a fight or what, but I don't blame you for needing a little vacation from everything that's been going on. Seriously, Claire, is it that much trouble to answer your phone?"
She shrugged and looked away, shoving her hands into her pockets as she spoke. "I've been busy," she mumbled.
"Maybe you should call your mom and just let her know that you're safe."
"Maybe you should," Claire suggested.
"It would mean more coming from you," Bennet told her, and Claire rolled her eyes even though she knew it to be true. She sighed as she rummaged through her purse for her phone.
"Mom? Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I'm okay. No, nothing's going on - I just needed a break is all. I didn't mean to make you worry. Sorry to have missed all your calls." Her expression changed for a moment as she looked upwards at her father. "Actually, he's right here. Want to talk to him?" The corners of her mouth turned down in a sudden frown as she snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into her bag. There was a tone of disappointment in her voice when she reported "She says thank you."
Bennet, too, felt disappointed. "But she didn't want to talk to me?"
"Sorry." Claire attempted to smile, but it wasn't covering up a look of pity. "I wish you guys would just talk to each other not about me or Lyle sometimes."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Bennet muttered under his breath. It was time to change the subject, he felt, and he tried to convey an air of cheeriness. "I feel like I haven't gotten to spend a lot of time with you lately. Maybe it's good that we're both here. Can I take you to dinner?" he suggested, momentarily forgetting his low cash flow.
"Actually, Dad," Claire blushed a little, "I'm meeting someone..."
"Oh, really? I don't suppose, then, that that is the reason for this impromptu trip?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted, her cheeks a deep cherry red now, like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "It's an old friend I haven't gotten to see in a while."
"Someone who couldn't have met you in Costa Verde?"
"He was in Las Vegas this weekend anyway, so it was easier to meet here."
"Oh, so it's a guy friend?"
"Come on, Dad!" Claire sheepishly shrugged off her father's implication. "I should go, or else I'll be late. I don't think I even have time to wait in line anymore."
Bennet sighed. He knew it was useless to argue with Claire any longer, given how headstrong she could be. "Fine, then. Give me a call later when you get the chance; maybe we can meet for brunch in the morning."
"Brunch," Claire repeated. "Brunch sounds good. Thanks."
"I will see you tomorrow then, I guess," Bennet smiled. "Oh, and Claire - don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Sure thing, Dad," she said, winking at him over her shoulder as she exited the large glass doors.
VIII.
He'd found Claire. Mission accomplished. So why didn't he feel accomplished?
It had been the phone call with Sandra. He was angry and upset and hurt that she hadn't wanted to speak to him, even if it was a brief "thank you" for going all the way out to Nevada to find their daughter. He felt used. He felt confused. And in his used and confused state, he quickly found himself staring at the bottom of an empty tumbler.
Then again, he couldn't really blame Sandra. They were still on speaking terms, even if they weren't exactly amicable, and that was more than could be said for most divorced couples that he knew of. Besides, he was the one who had, for their entire marriage, had her memories erased at regular intervals. He was the one who worked the dangerous job, he was the one that sometimes took that danger home. She had every right to be angry with him.
Perhaps he was being too hard on himself.
Then again, perhaps not.
Nothing another double couldn't help sort out, right?
As the bartender handed him another beverage, a mysterious woman sidled up beside him at the bar. "I'll have what he's having," she said, gesturing. When the bartender reached for the inferior bottle that Bennet had been drinking from, the woman changed her mind. "Actually, top shelf please," she asked. "And one for him, too. He looks like he could use it more than I could."
Bennet sucked in his breath as he turned to this brash woman with the commanding tone. "Angela Petrelli," he said. "It is a small world."
"Not as small as you'd think, Noah," Angela corrected him. "This isn't coincidence."
"It isn't?" Bennet asked. "I thought perhaps we were like two sea turtles meeting in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean."
"Are you trying to be poetic, Noah?" she asked, taking a seat at the barstool beside him. "Because it doesn't suit you."
"Then explain to me what this is, if not coincidence?" Bennet asked.
"It's a check-up, of sorts," Angela replied. "Or a check-in. Whatever you'd call it. Whatever it was you had with Claire earlier today."
Bennet furrowed his brow, suspicious. "How did you know about that?"
"Peter," Angela told him. "They met for dinner, I suppose. I wasn't invited; I guess grown-ups aren't allowed," she said, making a small joke.
"She came here for Peter?" Bennet asked. "She didn't tell me that."
"She's eighteen years old, Noah. She's at the point where she doesn't need to tell her parents everything. I'm sure she has her reasons for being private," Angela said. "Just like I have mine."
"So then, Angela," Bennet said. "Tell me, what are you doing here?"
"One of Linderman's old employees called - a Miss Sakamoto. She told me you were causing trouble, asking questions, looking for people," she began, "so I came here to try and put a stop to it." She put her hand on his wrist and looked up at him sincerely. "The Company's dead, Noah. There's no reason trying to revive it. You're just going to cause problems, make matters worse."
"I wasn't doing anything for the Company," Bennet replied. "I was trying to protect my daughter."
"She's with Peter; there's nothing to worry about."
"I know that now," Bennet snapped back, almost growling. He thought the better of his tone, though, as soon as he heard his own words. He shook his head as though trying to revise his earlier statement. "She had disappeared a few days ago without telling anyone anything about it. Her mother was worried."
Angela sighed. "And so were you."
"Well, you know how I get."
"I do, I do," Angela said gently, patting his wrist gently before pulling her hand away to reach for her glass. She lifted the tumbler to her lips, pausing just long enough to appreciate the deep aroma of the whiskey, before she took a sip. She spoke again as she set the tumbler back down on its coaster. "I understand how you feel, Noah, I really do - I feel the same way about my own boys most of the time. But at some point you have to let your children grow up, Noah. Let them make their own mistakes."
"Oh, I get it," Bennet figured out loud. "Let them make their own mistakes so they'll have less to blame us for."
"Very funny, Noah," Angela said, raising hey eyebrow. "Maybe you should consider writing greeting cards."
"You don't need to patronize me."
"I'm not being patronizing. I've always thought you've had an original sense of humor, Noah."
"Always? Really?"
"Yes, really." Angela turned her attention to the bartender for a brief moment. "More of the same," she ordered.
They spent the next few hours catching up, drinking and reminiscing about their time together at the Company. To anyone else, they were two old friends, two old co-workers being nostalgic, but there was more going on between the two of them than would meet the eye.
IX.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, according to the old adage, an adage that apparently appealed both to Noah Bennet and Angela Petrelli when they worked together at Primatech Paper.
The fact that she had both been married to someone else when they first met didn't really make a difference to her. She was already bored with her marriage, tired of it, miserable in it. Arthur Petrelli wasn't the man she thought he would be. He turned out to be more ruthless, more ambitious, and more reckless with his power than she would have ever expected. Even having a child together didn't improve their relationship, and although she was technically a stay-at-home mom, she spent as much time at the Hartsdale branch of Primatech as possible, trying to escape the doldrums of her everyday life.
It had started when Bennet was a young recruit. He remembered being introduced to many of the higher-ups, but when he met Arthur Petrelli, he couldn't help but focus his attention on the gorgeous woman on his arm rather than the man himself. She smiled at him and batted her eyes flirtatiously, but he thought nothing of it until the next time they met, and she was alone. She wasted no words and he was equally eager, and that led to the beginning of something so forbidden as to be almost romantic.
Their rendezvous were sporadic and quick, but that didn't diminish their enthusiasm. They'd meet once, twice, maybe three times a week - she, to escape the misery of the marriage she was in, and he in hopes of obtaining juicier assignments. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.
Each tryst followed a pattern. They wasted no time, no breath - they couldn't be afforded the luxury of a prolonged touch, a wayward caress, a kiss. They undressed only as much as required. They kissed only when it was coincidental to the circumstances they were creating. They pawed at each other like animals, harsh and unforgiving. Sometimes she'd knock him to the floor and straddle him, riding him with her skirt hiked up to her waist. Other times she lay on the floor and spread her legs for him, inviting him in. In one particularly memorable instance, they'd taken advantage of Arthur Petrelli's absence and used his office. Bennet went down on Angela for the better part of an hour before they went at it doggy-style against the desk.
Afterwards they held one another for a few brief moments, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal, together and yet not really together at all.
And then it was all derailed.
Bennet knew going into it that this was going to be the last time. He meant it this time, he really did - he'd asked Sandra to marry him, and she'd said yes, and he had no intention of being unfaithful in marriage. So he knew he had to make this time with Angela count for something.
He met her in a supply closet in a part of the building that was frequented only by the Company's lowest level peons. It was strategically chosen not only because of location, but also because the door conveniently locked from the inside. She had been waiting for him impatiently; when he'd knocked, she opened the door almost instantaneously and pulled him inside by his collar.
"Fancy meeting you here," Bennet tried to remark, but before he could finish his sentence Angela pressed her lips vehemently to his. In a few quick movements she had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Hey, now, there's no hurry," Bennet said gently, interrupting her by placing his hands on her shoulders. He caressed the back of her neck, letting his fingers get tangled in her hair, as he gazed into her eyes. "Let's take it slow this time, okay? Allow ourselves to really appreciate this."
"I'm not in this for the romance," Angela replied.
"Just this once," Bennet pleaded, cupping her head in his hand, kissing her delicately on the forehead. He embraced her, squeezing her body flush against his, burying his face in her glossy locks.
"You're being ridiculous," Angela said, chastising, but even so she let her hands fall idle for a moment, letting them rest against the small of his back as she returned his unexpected hug.
After enjoying each other's warmth for a few brief moments, Bennet began to kiss the line of Angela's jaw down to her throat. She leaned back against the supply shelf behind her, holding onto the bars for support, as he undid her silk blouse and slipped one hand beneath her bra. He massaged her with his palm while his other hand moved up under her skirt; even through the fabric he could tell she was already wet. He took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it, tweaked it, while at the same time he found her clit. Angela couldn't help but moan as her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, grabbing Bennet by the arms and pulling him down with her.
Bennet immediately went for his belt, but Angela smiled and stopped him. "Allow me," she told him, and deftly she unfastened his pants and pulled his cock out of the fly of his boxers. It was red and erect, and Bennet watched anxiously as Angela leaned forward and took it into her mouth. All the while she looked up at him, her eyes flashing with mischief, and Bennet fell back onto the floor, unable to sit up any longer as he was lost in the sensation.
"I'm going to come," he said breathlessly, but he regretted saying so when Angela released his cock from her lips.
"Not quite yet," she said wickedly, cupping his balls in her hands, tugging them cruelly. Bennet couldn't help but reach down protectively, and Angela refrained. While he searched the pockets of his fallen pants for a condom, she shimmied out of her panties and pantyhose. He slipped on the rubber as she lifted her skirt and straddled him.
She placed her hands on his chest for balance as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. Her hair fell around her shoulders, down her front, framing the pale skin of her face and throat; she looked impossibly beautiful. It took every ounce of self control that Bennet had to keep from erupting too soon, and so to distract himself he pushed his hand towards Angela's clit and circled it with his thumb. She closed her eyes and gasped at his touch. It was more than Bennet could handle any longer, and he thrust upwards and groaned. At the same time she came, and immediately afterwards she folded on top of him, her body like that of a limp doll. Bennet reached around her and squeezed her tight, relishing the scent of her hair as it fell forward on his face and the soft feel of her cheek against his chest. The important moments, though, never last long enough, and before he could stop her she had pulled away, sliding off of him, sitting up against the shelf as she sighed deeply and attempted to reign in her ruined hairstyle.
She leaned into him for one final kiss, and after their lips parted Bennet turned to her ear. He had something he needed to tell her.
"This is it," Bennet whispered. "I can't do this anymore with you. I'm getting married."
Angela seemed startled; she jumped at his words as though they were physical objects being tossed at her. "Marriage isn't what you think it's going to be, Noah."
"I'm getting married," he repeated. That wasn't the response he was expecting, and he was unprepared for his own defensiveness at her remark.
"I'm just warning you," Angela said, sliding away from him and straightening her skirt. She ran her hands along the floor, searching for her panties and hose. When she found them, she leaned back and slowly ran her legs through as she dressed, caressing her calves and thighs in ways that almost made Bennet change his mind. "It's not like what we have together. You could still have it both ways, you know."
Bennet scoffed. "Jealous?"
"Jealousy is beneath me, Noah," Angela replied. There was nothing he could do or say that could rattle her perfect composure. Angela Petrelli had always been the one in control.
"My socks," Bennet said with realization as stood up, getting dressed. "My socks are gone." He turned towards Angela, who smiled deviously back at him.
"Go home without them," she told him. She held one up in her hand, balling the fabric in her fist and delicately sniffing it. "I deserve a small memento of our time together."
It was a strange keepsake - a pair of dirty, smelly socks - but Bennet didn't question it. He slid his naked feet into his shoes and resigned himself to blisters he probably deserved.
Even after his wedding, when Sandra was willing and able whenever he was up for it, Bennet found that he still missed Angela. It was as though his body itself longed for her. Sometimes he'd wake up at night, sweating and erect, caught in a dream, and it was all he could do to press his thoughts of her to the back of his mind in order to fall back asleep once again.
Of course, this wasn't what they talked about at the bar. This was what they felt, however, and they expressed it to one another in light, affectionate touches. Her hand on his wrist, his palm on her shoulder. Their eyes would meet for one magical moment and there'd be a spark, a flash of something between them.
X.
It was a typical "one thing led to another" kind of scenario, but the setting was Vegas, after all, so in between one thing and another there was a quick expedition to a wedding chapel.
It hadn't been like his first wedding at all. He and Sandra had had a small, tasteful ceremony at the church her family attended in Texas. She'd looked absolutely breathtaking in a white eyelet dress, which had been the style at the time, and he'd worn his nicest blue suit. The reception had been outdoors, and a potluck affair to boot, with all their relatives pitching in. It was a sweet and simple affair, all told, and when the memory came to him, Bennet could feel hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
Angela's wedding to Arthur, of course, had been almost the opposite. The Petrelli clan wasn't one to hold back, especially for a celebration. It was a lavish event, with no expense spared. Angela's dress was made from miles and miles of silk and tulle, with a train that extended far longer than necessary. She wore kid gloves and high heels and, for all intents and purposes, looked the part of a princess bride. Still, for all the trouble and money spent, she had no happy memory of the wedding. Arthur, in his restrictive tuxedo and cummerbund, had treated the whole thing as seriously as could be expected; Angela would be hard-pressed to remember him cracking a smile even once that day.
Their wedding to one another was something neither of them would have expected. In some ways, it was a typical Vegas quickie, right down to the Elvis impersonator and the line of couples behind them, waiting impatiently for their own ten minute ceremonies. And, like many of the other couples there, Bennet and Angela had wound up there for all the wrong reasons. After all, most marriages require more than a few stiff drinks and a phenomenal sex life to stay afloat.
Still, somehow their wedding had been more, something special.
It was because it was a first for both of them. In their relationship with each other, they were total equals.
Bennet's first reaction to finding he'd gotten married again had been knee-jerk. It was like taking a large dose of "What were you thinking" with a side of "this is a really bad idea," chased by a bit of "how could this have happened?" His last marriage had failed pretty fantastically, in spite of all his hard work to prevent that from happening.
After a few moments of reflection, though, he began thinking that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. He'd always worked best with an anchor - someone he could trust, someone he could love, someone he could rely on, and Angela could trust, love, and rely on him in return. In fact, he couldn't think of anyone better to possibly spend the rest of his life with.
XI.
Angela, as far as he could tell, had dozed off once again, so Bennet crept quietly as he dressed in his clothes from the day before. Once clothed, he left the bedroom and entered the suite. He left the door slightly ajar behind him as he wandered into the middle of the living space and sunk down onto the sofa in the center of the room. He ran his right hand through his thinning hair as he gazed down at the cheap ring on his left. "What was I thinking?" he asked himself out loud, but before he could answer himself there was a knock at the suite door. He hesitated for a moment whether to answer, but there came another knock, and he didn't want Angela to be woken prematurely again.
"Just a second," he called out, but when he pulled the door open, he was speechless.
"Dad...?" It was Claire, looking just as worse for wear as her father. She, too, was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Her makeup, once perfect, was a little smudged in places. At least she'd taken the time to run a brush through her hair.
"Claire, what happened to you?" Bennet asked, his paternal instinct kicking in. "Is everything all right?"
She stared at him blankly for a moment before she came up with something to say. "Dad, I'm fine. What are you even doing here? I thought you were staying at a motel across town."
"I... I was planning to," Bennet said, unsure of how to explain himself. "What can I say? This is Vegas. I got lucky." Bennet looked back over his shoulder. The bedroom door was closed, and he couldn't just shut his daughter out without causing suspicion. The least he could do was invite her in; hopefully she wouldn't take him up on his invitation, or else she wouldn't stick around long. "Why don't you come inside?" he asked her, and he tried to hide his dismay when she did.
"I thought this was someone else's room," she stammered. "I came here to see my grandmother."
Bennet bit his tongue to quell his surprise. Obviously if she'd come to this room, she'd be looking for Angela. His synapses fired furiously as he tried to think up an excuse for his presence in her grandmother's hotel room - one that didn't involve drunken elopement. "Your grandmother," Bennet repeated, buying himself a little time to explain. "Well, Claire, I was doing the same thing. I needed to see her for... Company... business."
Claire turned abruptly and tilted her head in confusion. "I thought the Company was defunct."
"Well... defunct is a strong word," Bennet replied, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth he regretted them. "Don't tell your mother I said that."
Their awkward exchange was interrupted by the creaking of the bedroom door. Angela stepped out into the living space, wrapping a hotel robe tightly over her otherwise-naked body. "Hello, Claire," she said, as though she'd been expecting company. "What a pleasure to see you."
Claire's eyes darted from her grandmother to her father, as a slow, horrified realization came over her. "Were you two... did you... is this what I think it is?"
"Now, Claire, don't get upset," Bennet began. "There's nothing to get excited about."
Angela smiled knowingly. "Now, sweetie, don't worry. We waited until we were married." She extended her hand so that the glint of the cheap wedding band was unmistakable in the morning light.
"About that, Angela," Bennet started, running his hand through his thinning hair. "I was just thinking -"
Angela held up her hand, interrupting him. "It was stupid and impulsive," she said. "A bad decision made possible by alcohol and unhindered access to wedding chapels."
"Actually," Bennet replied, "I don't think it's such a bad idea." He approached her slowly, taking her hands in his and gazing intently into her eyes. He couldn't make his first marriage work - too many memory wipes, too many attempted murders, and too many missions got in the way. But Angela was someone who knew these things, who could understand and possibly even appreciate them. Besides that, they did have awesome sex. Bennet couldn't think of anything more that a marriage needed.
"Really?" she asked, and in that hopeful moment she lost her jaded facade and became young Angela again. It had been such a long time since she'd had someone to love, someone besides her sons, who both struggled to push her away most of the time. And they did have awesome sex - Angela and Bennet, not Angela and her sons.
"Really," he replied, taking her in his arms and giving her a gentle squeeze.
Claire stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, bringing her hands to her face and shaking her head. Considering the conservative sweater she had on, with fabric up around the neck, she looked like nothing so much as a bewildered turtle.
"Oh god. Oh my god," Claire said as she began to hyperventilate. "Mom's going to flip out when she hears about this. Lyle, too. Fuck. Even Mr. Muggles is going to lose his shit." Claire could feel her knees getting weak, and she backed up into a chair before they could buckle beneath her.
"Watch your language, young lady," Angela chided her gently. "I can understand your... surprise... but there are better, less offensive words to use to express yourself."
"Dad, what were you thinking? She's my grandmother."
"And step-mother, now," Angela added.
"That makes my bio-dad my brother," Claire groaned. "And... and Peter... this makes it so much worse..."
"This makes what so much worse?" Bennet asked sharply. "Claire, what are you talking about? This makes what worse, Claire?" He couldn't help but repeat himself, his pitch escalating in parental panic.
Just then Claire's cell phone rang, and she glanced quickly at the caller ID before answering. "Peter," she said by way of greeting. "Yeah, I know, and you're not going to find him there - it's because he's here. In your mom's room. You're never going to believe this."
Bennet furrowed his brow as he reached for his glasses. He wiped the lenses gently on the fabric of his pants before putting them on. When he did, though, everything started to come into focus - starting with the glint of gold on the ring finger of his daughter's left hand.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
Characters: Noah/Angela, Peter/Claire, with Sandra and Lyle
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~10k
Disclaimer: I don't own any aspect of Heroes or its characters
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers until the end of Season 3. Does not take into account any of the events of Season 4. I was really really really late finishing this.
Summary: A misguided trip to Vegas and a little too much to drink leads to the rekindling of an old relationship.
A/N: Written for yetanothermask for Sweet Charity, a fandom auction to raise money for RAINN. Thanks to all three of my betas - psycho_llama, kathrynthegr8, and cadesama, none of whom gave me a hard time for writing "unphased" instead of "unfazed."
I.
Noah Bennet woke up with the taste of whiskey still in his mouth. It was something he'd become familiar with since his marriage, which had survived several moves and memory wipes and identity changes, finally collapsed. He wouldn't call himself a drunk exactly, but he was no stranger to a double in the evening after a long day of staring at the blank walls of his apartment. He liked to think of alcohol as a nonprescription sleep aid. That was all. Nothing unusual.
But this time was different. This time he wasn't waking up in his pathetic little apartment, in the twin bed that had been left behind by the previous tenant. After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bennet was able to take in his surroundings a little more clearly. He appeared to be in a sumptuous hotel suite, occupying part of a king-size bed. The sheets probably had a thread-count higher than his monthly expenses. One entire wall was a window overlooking much of downtown Las Vegas; Bennet had come here often enough on Company assignments to recognize the city, although this was the first time he'd seen it from this point of view.
Even more strange than waking up in an opulent Las Vegas hotel room, however, was the fact that he wasn't waking up alone. He ran his tongue along his dry lips, turning onto his side before he realized that someone was lying there beside him.
That person wasn't facing him, but it was clear from the delicate slope of her back and the dark hair that fell in thick coils on the pillow that it was a woman. Bennet stared for a moment, unbelieving. The slow rise and fall of her breathing indicated that she was still sleeping, and Bennet was relieved. At least this way he'd have time to figure out what the hell was going on.
He threw back the covers and tried to keep his feet from tangling up the sheets as he shifted in the bed, sitting upright. He delicately set his feet on the floor, trying to make as little sound as possible. He wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not when he realized he was completely naked, but his head was already pounding with a hangover so he easily pushed his nudity concerns to the back of his mind.
He rose to his feet slowly, stretching and suppressing a yawn. His first order of business was to find the bathroom. He felt like a wreck, and at this point he could only imagine that he looked and smelled like one too. He crept carefully around the bed, but for all his attempts to keep quiet, his body was preparing to betray him. As he rounded the corner into the corridor to the bathroom, out of sight of the bed at least, he could no longer hold it in. And, since Bennet never did anything half-assed, his flatulence was fantastically loud.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
He could hear the rumpling of the bedcovers before a familiar voice called out to him. "Noah? What are you doing?"
He'd recognize that voice anywhere - commanding, condescending, and an instant turn-on. "Angela?"
"It's so early, Noah, come back to bed," she pleaded, almost plaintive.
As tempted as he was, he first allowed himself a whiff of his armpit. "I'm going to get in the shower," he decided instantly. "Definitely going to shower."
"Oh, all right," she replied. "Then I'm going back to sleep."
Bennet wiped his eyes and escaped into the bathroom, away from the stench of his own emission, as he struggled to wrap his head around what was happening.
The facts were these: He'd just woken up. Naked. In bed with his old boss.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
II.
The divorce was hard on them all - Sandra, Claire, Lyle. Even Mr. Muggles seemed a little out of sorts. It was readily apparent during their last meeting as a family. They sat at the dining room table in their Costa Verde home, awkwardly glancing askance at one another. It had already been decided that Sandra was keeping the house, although she was already considering selling it and moving somewhere smaller. That decision, of course, was dependent on how this meeting turned out. They were trying to work out, as a family, whether the kids would rather live with their mom in California or move to Washington D.C. with their dad.
It was Lyle who finally broke the silence. "Mom. Definitely Mom. I would definitely rather live with Mom."
Bennet was taken aback by his son's certainty. "You sure, Lyle? It's okay - this is a tough decision to make."
"I definitely want to live with Mom."
"If you need to think about it, I mean, you can take as long as you want..." Bennet continued. "A few days, even. There's really no hurry."
"Dad," Lyle interrupted, looking his father in the eye. "I don't mean to, like, hurt your feelings or anything, but let's face it - you've been a mostly absent parental figure for most of my life, and besides that you lead a life of perennial peril."
There was a distinct whistle from across the table. Claire was rolling her eyes and shaking her head at her brother. "Looks like someone finally passed a vocabulary test," she remarked.
"I already hung it on the fridge," Sandra said, smiling. She reached out and tousled her son's hair affectionately for emphasis.
"Okay, Mom, stop," Lyle whispered, trying to straighten his mussed 'do and failing. His head looked like Mr. Muggles.
Bennet tried to hide how hurt he was as he turned to his daughter. "Well, what about you, Claire? Have you decided where you want to live?"
Claire sighed, not looking directly back at her father as she spoke. "I got some scholarships to schools around here."
Bennet was quick to respond. "But you don't have to worry about tuition. Not at all."
"Why's that?" Sandra interjected. "We had to dip into the kids' college funds when we moved here. We're not going to be able to afford tuition without some help, Noah. And I'm not comfortable filing for financial aid just to have someone look into why we moved or why we changed our name..."
"Angela Petrelli," Bennet said over Sandra's complaints. She looked stunned, so he felt the need to clarify. "Claire's biological grandmother - said she'd help out with that." Bennet looked at Claire intently over the horned rims of his glasses. "Provided she's on the east coast."
Sandra furrowed her brow, and Claire's jaw dropped. "Why? What does that -" she stammered.
"She just wants to be able to spend more time with her family, that's all," Bennet said. He knew that Angela didn't always put others' needs before those of the Company, but since Primatech Paper had been dissolved, he felt fairly certain that Angela was acting only with Claire's best interests at heart. "Claire is her only granddaughter, and she's missed out on eighteen years of her life already."
"Do you really want your daughter to be involved with that family at all?" Sandra said snippily back.
"Peter's not so bad," Claire interjected. "I like Peter."
Sandra sighed, resigned. "I guess it's not my decision to make, anyway. It's really up to you, Claire. Whichever way you go is fine by me. Just make sure you think about it."
"How about a compromise?" Claire proposed. "Here's what I'll do - I'll spend the summers and holidays with you, Mom, and I'll go to school in D.C. by Dad. That way I can spend time with both of you." She paused for a second, biting her lip. She knew that what she was proposing would be tough on her mom, but she couldn't help it. "It would be really hard to pass up a free college education."
"All right. Fine." Sandra said, hiding any trace of disappointment in her voice. "If that's your decision, I will respect it."
III.
Bennet wiped his face, yawning, as he shuffled to the bathroom. He had to step delicately around the remnants of a shattered sculpture on the floor. He turned the shower on as he gazed at himself in the mirror. Even without his glasses, he knew he looked like a wreck - bags beneath his eyes, scruff on his face, hair mussed and sticking out, askew, in some places.
When the water ran as hot as he could stand it, he stepped in, and the memories from the night before came into focus. The broken sculpture helped remind him.
It had been amazing.
And it wasn't just because it was the first time in a long time - it had been a while for him and Sandra, since even before the divorce they'd fallen out of sync with one another. It wasn't just because he was drunk and his inhibitions had been lowered. It wasn't because it was a one night stand, and he didn't have to be afraid to ask for what he wanted. Somehow he'd struck a new connection with the woman in bed, a connection even stronger than the one they'd had before.
He remembered her stripping her clothes off before they even got to the room. As they were leaving the elevator, her navy jacket had started sliding from her shoulders. She'd slung it over one arm as she reached up and undid her intricate hairstyle skillfully with one hand. Her hair was unexpectedly long. It fell in glossy black locks down her back. When the doors slid open, she started ahead of him, looking back at him with a deliciously saucy smile.
His heart had already been racing with anticipation; now the blood was rushing somewhere else, and he followed her with a stilted gait because of it. She keyed into the room quickly, shoes coming off at the door. When he caught up to her, she was taking her earrings out, so he grabbed her by her hips and pulled her close against him, his erection perfectly cradled by the crevice of her ass.
"Is that a handgun in your pocket," she giggled with a pitch that belied her age, "or are you happy to see me?"
It was an old, tired joke, but they were both so inebriated that it didn't matter. Noah almost doubled over laughing. As he did, his hardened dick strained against the zipper of his pants, so he released Angela long enough to undo them.
"Just like old times, Noah," Angela purred, turning around and hooking her finger into his belt loop playfully.
"Yeah," Bennet replied, "except this seems like a hell of a lot more space than a supply closet or office." He was so excited his hands were shaking as he unbuckled his belt and unfastened the button on his waistband.
"There's no need to rush, Noah," Angela assured him, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him with her wide brown eyes. She batted her eyelashes and smiled as though to emphasize her point. She took his hands in hers and set them back on her waist before she slipped them beneath the fabric of his pants. "Still wearing boxers, I see."
"I like the freedom," Noah grunted, squeezing her closer as he felt her hands brush against the sensitive skin about his crotch. He buried his face into her shoulder, kissing her neck gently as her hands explored the region between his legs. She traced the line of his shaft so lightly that he gasped with pleasure, but she didn't linger there. She cupped his balls in the palm of her hand, running her thumb against the base of his cock. "Jesus, Angela, it's been a while since you've been so bold."
"We've never had more than a quickie, have we?" she whispered into his ear. "I want us to take our time."
"I don't know if I can last that long," Bennet replied.
Angela pulled away from him, bringing one finger to his lips and gazing at him stubbornly. "None of that, now," she said. "We've both had practice. We know what we're doing."
Did they ever.
Angela sank to her knees on the plush carpet, tugging at the waistband of Noah's pants as she did. He inhaled deeply as he backed against the wall in anticipation. He sighed as Angela pulled down his boxers, exposing his swollen red cock. She batted her eyes flirtatiously as she took it in her mouth, her lips encasing its head in a kiss.
"Oh, Angela, please don't tease me like that."
"Now, now, Noah - we have all the time in the world." The corners of her lips turned upwards as she ran her tongue along the bottom of his shaft; the sensation made him shiver.
He bent down and hooked his hands beneath her armpits, pulling her to her feet. He clumsily attempted to step out of his pants as he spun her around, frantically searching for the zipper to her dress.
"It's on the side, Noah," Angela said, clucking her tongue, finding his enthusiasm charming. She lifted her arm helpfully and allowed him to fumble momentarily with the hook and eye closure before she attended it herself. While she stripped to her slip, Bennet pulled his pants off over his shoes, and then hurriedly kicked his shoes off as well. He was operating with a sense of urgency he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. He was unstoppable; she was irresistible.
"Wait - wait - where are you going?" he panicked as she began to walk away from him.
"I need to freshen up," she told him, throwing a sly wink over her shoulder as she continued to stride towards the bathroom.
Bennet staggered after her, undoing his shirt as he went. "But I need you, Angela," he begged. "Don't walk away from me now."
She left the door open a crack as she started the shower. Noah peered inside, almost giddy, his hand naturally finding his cock and holding it tightly. While the water ran, Angela let her slip fall to the floor. When steam began to cloud up the doors, she stepped inside, gasping as though surprised at the heat.
"Are you going to join me, or do you like to watch?"
The question snapped Bennet out of his reverie. Sheepishly he let go of his dick and straightened before he pushed the door open and let himself in. He embraced her from behind, pulling her glistening wet body against his, letting his erection settle comfortably against the small of her back. He let his hands wander all over the front of her body. First he massaged her neck, her shoulders, until she leaned back against him, practically purring. From there his hands slid down her upper arms until they were level with her breasts; he hugged her closely and palmed them in his hands. He pinched her nipples playfully until they hardened and stood erect on their own. As she sighed with pleasure, he wrapped one arm around her waist and his other hand found its way into the crevice between her legs. He relished the sensation of her skin - in comparison so smooth, so soft, so warm against his calloused palm. Aided by the water from the shower, he pinched and stroked and slid his fingers with ease, and Angela leaned into him and sighed until she couldn't take it anymore.
"It's too hot in here," she gasped, and Bennet reluctantly pulled his hand away to reach for the shower knob. They leaned against one another as the water flow slowed to a halt, their shallow breaths mingling. It was Angela that moved next, regaining her balance and searching for towels. As she dabbed the moisture from her body, Bennet felt a new surge of sexual energy rise and seize him, and he licked his lips, as though hungry. He waited for her to face him again, and then he pounced, grabbing her fiercely and growling like an animal as he did so.
"Noah!" Angela cried out, almost laughing, and they stumbled out of the bathoom locked in an awkward embrace. They couldn't help backing into one of the suite's many unnecessary extravagances that had occupied the space beside the bathroom door. It had been a giraffe sculpture, much taller than it was wide, which is probably why it was knocked over so easily. It landed against the tile floor with a resounding smash that made Angela laugh even more wildly.
"Oh shit," Bennet whispered.
"Don't worry about it, don't worry about it," Angela assured him, running her fingers up his neck, making his skin tingle. "Ignore it."
Bennet, though, decided to move their lovemaking back to the bedroom, and hoisted her up. Automatically she wrapped her legs around his waist and he stepped carefully back onto the bedroom carpet.
He pinned her naked back against the wall, and she shivered against him. He braced himself and thrust into her vertically, her hips bouncing into his. She gripped his upper arms with all her strength and let her head fall back as she cried out. Encouraged, he thrust again, and again, and again, and each time she moaned almost as though she were in pain.
"Please, Noah," she pleaded, "harder. Harder." He growled in return and followed her command until he was spent. He knees nearly buckled beneath him and he immersed his face into her long, loose hair.
"Noah... Noah," Angela gasped.
"Did you come?" he asked, slurring his words a little.
"Oh, Noah, Noah," she repeated, her head lolling. She let her limbs fall from his body, leaning against the wall for balance. Her legs trembled as she made her way to the bed. Bennet followed suit, and together they collapsed between the luscious linens.
IV.
As he turned the shower off, Bennet struggled to remember how he'd ended up in Las Vegas in the first place. It wasn't a trip that was within his income (being unemployed and all), nor was he the type to take vacations. No. He'd traveled there for a very, very important reason.
He'd come to Vegas because, for the first time in a long time, Sandra had called him. She was worried and panicked and when he answered at first he was flattered that she'd thought to call him. Of course, when he realized she had called him because of Claire, he began to panic as well.
"She left two days ago, Noah," she told him. "I didn't think too much of it at first, since she's an adult now, but she stopped answering her phone and I can't report her missing..." There was a trace of blame in this statement, but Bennet couldn't hold it against his ex-wife.
"Do you know where she is, or where she was headed?"
"No. She took the car and just vanished. I checked her room. One of her suitcases is missing, and some of her clothes, so it looks like she packed. She was planning to leave, Noah, and I don't know why."
"You're probably worrying over nothing, Sandra," Bennet said, trying to be reassuring. "Too many of those prime-time forensic shows will do that to you."
"You know I'm not overreacting," Sandra chastised him.
Bennet couldn't help his exasperation. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
"What it is you do best." There wasn't even a hint of irony in her voice - Sandra was as serious as a heart attack. "Find her. Track her down."
"Fine," Bennet sighed. He knew that Claire probably had her reasons for disappearing, and taking her power into account, she probably wasn't in any real danger. Still, he had a pang of worry in his heart. She could be stubborn, and she could be stupid. She'd gotten it into her head that she could be some sort of hero, and that was a dangerous idea to consider. He thought of some of her more recent missteps - smuggling people with abilities because a text message told her to, for example. Or perhaps she was going after Sylar. She might have any number of reasons, and each one was more worrisome than the last.
And so he started doing what he did best. He called any contacts he had. He began searching his old files, the old Primatech database, determining if there were any dangerous people with abilities that could be involved. He tracked her license plate number, and found that it had been stopped at a DUI checkpoint near the California/Nevada border not more than a day ago. He ran Claire's debit card number and saw that she'd last used it at a gas station ATM just outside of Vegas.
Perhaps it was just a trip for pleasure, Bennet hoped.
But Vegas was also a hotbed of special abilities and former Primatech activities. Linderman had been headquartered here when he was the head of the Company, and there were still a lot of former employees with questionable loyalties and powerful abilities in the area. Bennet knew he needed to act as though it was a worst case scenario - even if it meant bagging and tagging his own daughter.
V.
The towel was the softest he'd ever touched, but he wasn't thinking about its plushness as he used it to wipe away the traces of dampness on his naked skin. He was too busy trying to piece together night's progression, trying to figure out how one thing had led to another. It didn't make sense, just running into Angela Petrelli like that. It wasn't that small of a world. But he honestly couldn't remember past the (admittedly engrossing) sex that they'd had last night. He knew something had to have occurred to have made that happen, but in all honesty he couldn't figure it out.
He'd left all his clothes in the bedroom, which meant walking back there completely nude. Not that Angela hadn't seen it all already, obviously, but it was different in the cold glare of the morning light. Without shadows, without alcohol, things could get a little embarrassing, and he paused at the threshold to listen for Angela's slow, steady breathing, hoping she was still asleep.
It was as he lifted his hand to his face restlessly that he noticed it. There was something cool, something metallic rubbing against his cheek. He held his hand out at a distance, giving his myopic eyes a second to focus.
It was a wedding ring - a thin, cheap band on the fourth finger of his left hand. He'd had one there for so long that it was no wonder he hadn't noticed its replacement right away.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."
VI.
When he arrived in Las Vegas, Noah Bennet hit the ground running.
He was armed with nothing but a briefcase and one of the Company's custom tasers, engineered specifically to take out those with abilities. The briefcase was an old one, with the leather wearing away at the corners and the hinges dented, but it contained several printed lists of known specials in Las Vegas and the surrounding areas. The taser, too, was worn, but that was only because it was so often used.
His first stop was the Corinthian Casino, operating under new management since Daniel Linderman's death. It was still as luxe and lavish as ever; everything sparkled or twinkled or gleamed, each surface either polished or gold-plated.
He wandered awhile, watching and waiting for something to happen, before his concentration was interrupted by the sound of a woman's voice.
"I know you," she said by way of greeting.
He turned, tilting his head. Dressed in a two-piece suit and sensible heels, with her hair pulled back in a restrictive bun, she looked like she meant business.
"Miss Sakamoto," Bennet replied, glancing at her gold-plated name tag. "I don't believe we've met."
"You're Noah Bennet," she said, her eyebrows furrowing. "Your reputation precedes you." She looked over him with disdain, crossing her arms. "So does your fashion sense."
Bennet smiled, reaching up to his glasses and tapping the frame jokingly. "Horn-rimmed glasses never go out of style. It's a classic look."
Miss Sakamoto obviously didn't find him funny; she maintained her brusque tone as she changed the subject. "The Corinthian is no longer managed by the Linderman Group. I don't see any reason for you to be here."
Bennet's smile faded. "It's not business, I assure you. It's personal."
"Pleasure, then?" Miss Sakamoto asked, her voice lilting in a way almost girlish. She was well-trained in the art of customer service, and if Bennet was a customer, then that changed everything.
"Not exactly," Bennet answered, and Miss Sakamoto's expression returned to that of haughty contempt. While he still had her attention, though, he thought he'd take a chance. He reached for his wallet and pulled out a picture of Claire. It was a photo taken while she was still a cheerleader at her Texas high school, and the corners of the photo were a little worn, but the girl in the picture was unmistakably Claire. "Have you seen this girl, by any chance?"
Miss Sakamoto took the picture from Bennet's hand and allowed herself a moment to look it over thoroughly before handing it back. "No," she told him, "but I do have girls who look very similar. Masseurs - trained, professional, very discreet."
Bennet didn't appreciate the implication. "She's my daughter," he said gruffly.
Miss Sakamoto was unfazed. "Still doesn't look familiar."
It was time to try a different tack. "Mind if I ask you something else?" Bennet asked, and before Miss Sakamoto could refuse, he followed his question with another. "Were a lot of employees retained when the Linderman Group was dissolved?"
"Why do you ask?" Her frown was discouraging; there was no way Bennet was going to get any information out of her without resorting to force, and he needed to save his energy until it was absolutely necessary.
"Just curious," he said back. "I'll just... show myself out, then."
He started at the top of the list, searching out one of Linderman's hoodlums or henchmen or corrupt law enforcement officials after another. Some had powers, some did not, but Bennet treated them all equally - by kicking ass first and taking names later. Some volunteered information that Bennet knew to be false, trying to avoid a beat-down; others fought back but were handily defeated by the old Company taser gun. No one had seen Claire; no one had even recognized her. Bennet should have been reassured that she was apparently staying out of trouble, or at least staying out of the way of these thugs and thieves, but at the end of the day, Bennet was no closer to locating his daughter than when he began.
VII.
As luck would have it, he found her where he wasn't even looking.
He was running on empty - empty wallet, empty stomach - and he had just enough change in his pocket for a cup of coffee. While he counted out his dimes and nickels in the palm of his hand, he caught a glimpse of long, blonde locks ahead of him. When he lifted his head, she turned just enough for him to recognize her profile, and he shoved his change back in his pocket and stepped out of line, approaching her with relief.
"Claire Bear," he said, setting his hand on her shoulder.
She jumped at his touch and as she turned her hair whipped around dramatically. "Dad!" Claire exclaimed, but she wasn't surprised; instead, she seemed almost scared to see him. "What are you doing here?"
"I hear they have good coffee, this Starbucks place," he joked.
"Dad, seriously," she said, raising her eyebrow and tilting her head petulantly.
"Your mother's been worried about you," he told her. "You haven't been answering her calls."
"So she immediately sends in the cavalry? God, I've been gone, like, a day," Claire whined. "Can't I just lead my own life already? I thought that's what happened when people turned eighteen."
"When most people turn eighteen, yes," Bennet said, smiling paternally at his daughter. "But you're special."
"Oh, come on, Dad," Claire laughed, punching him in the arm. "Even more reason to let me go. It's not like anything that bad can happen to me."
"Neither your mother nor I would like to take that chance," Bennet replied. "I know that life can be tough for you right now, Claire Bear, and I know what your mother can be like. I don't know if the two of you had a fight or what, but I don't blame you for needing a little vacation from everything that's been going on. Seriously, Claire, is it that much trouble to answer your phone?"
She shrugged and looked away, shoving her hands into her pockets as she spoke. "I've been busy," she mumbled.
"Maybe you should call your mom and just let her know that you're safe."
"Maybe you should," Claire suggested.
"It would mean more coming from you," Bennet told her, and Claire rolled her eyes even though she knew it to be true. She sighed as she rummaged through her purse for her phone.
"Mom? Yeah, it's me. Just wanted to let you know I'm okay. No, nothing's going on - I just needed a break is all. I didn't mean to make you worry. Sorry to have missed all your calls." Her expression changed for a moment as she looked upwards at her father. "Actually, he's right here. Want to talk to him?" The corners of her mouth turned down in a sudden frown as she snapped the phone shut and dropped it back into her bag. There was a tone of disappointment in her voice when she reported "She says thank you."
Bennet, too, felt disappointed. "But she didn't want to talk to me?"
"Sorry." Claire attempted to smile, but it wasn't covering up a look of pity. "I wish you guys would just talk to each other not about me or Lyle sometimes."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Bennet muttered under his breath. It was time to change the subject, he felt, and he tried to convey an air of cheeriness. "I feel like I haven't gotten to spend a lot of time with you lately. Maybe it's good that we're both here. Can I take you to dinner?" he suggested, momentarily forgetting his low cash flow.
"Actually, Dad," Claire blushed a little, "I'm meeting someone..."
"Oh, really? I don't suppose, then, that that is the reason for this impromptu trip?"
"Maybe a little," she admitted, her cheeks a deep cherry red now, like a child who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "It's an old friend I haven't gotten to see in a while."
"Someone who couldn't have met you in Costa Verde?"
"He was in Las Vegas this weekend anyway, so it was easier to meet here."
"Oh, so it's a guy friend?"
"Come on, Dad!" Claire sheepishly shrugged off her father's implication. "I should go, or else I'll be late. I don't think I even have time to wait in line anymore."
Bennet sighed. He knew it was useless to argue with Claire any longer, given how headstrong she could be. "Fine, then. Give me a call later when you get the chance; maybe we can meet for brunch in the morning."
"Brunch," Claire repeated. "Brunch sounds good. Thanks."
"I will see you tomorrow then, I guess," Bennet smiled. "Oh, and Claire - don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Sure thing, Dad," she said, winking at him over her shoulder as she exited the large glass doors.
VIII.
He'd found Claire. Mission accomplished. So why didn't he feel accomplished?
It had been the phone call with Sandra. He was angry and upset and hurt that she hadn't wanted to speak to him, even if it was a brief "thank you" for going all the way out to Nevada to find their daughter. He felt used. He felt confused. And in his used and confused state, he quickly found himself staring at the bottom of an empty tumbler.
Then again, he couldn't really blame Sandra. They were still on speaking terms, even if they weren't exactly amicable, and that was more than could be said for most divorced couples that he knew of. Besides, he was the one who had, for their entire marriage, had her memories erased at regular intervals. He was the one who worked the dangerous job, he was the one that sometimes took that danger home. She had every right to be angry with him.
Perhaps he was being too hard on himself.
Then again, perhaps not.
Nothing another double couldn't help sort out, right?
As the bartender handed him another beverage, a mysterious woman sidled up beside him at the bar. "I'll have what he's having," she said, gesturing. When the bartender reached for the inferior bottle that Bennet had been drinking from, the woman changed her mind. "Actually, top shelf please," she asked. "And one for him, too. He looks like he could use it more than I could."
Bennet sucked in his breath as he turned to this brash woman with the commanding tone. "Angela Petrelli," he said. "It is a small world."
"Not as small as you'd think, Noah," Angela corrected him. "This isn't coincidence."
"It isn't?" Bennet asked. "I thought perhaps we were like two sea turtles meeting in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean."
"Are you trying to be poetic, Noah?" she asked, taking a seat at the barstool beside him. "Because it doesn't suit you."
"Then explain to me what this is, if not coincidence?" Bennet asked.
"It's a check-up, of sorts," Angela replied. "Or a check-in. Whatever you'd call it. Whatever it was you had with Claire earlier today."
Bennet furrowed his brow, suspicious. "How did you know about that?"
"Peter," Angela told him. "They met for dinner, I suppose. I wasn't invited; I guess grown-ups aren't allowed," she said, making a small joke.
"She came here for Peter?" Bennet asked. "She didn't tell me that."
"She's eighteen years old, Noah. She's at the point where she doesn't need to tell her parents everything. I'm sure she has her reasons for being private," Angela said. "Just like I have mine."
"So then, Angela," Bennet said. "Tell me, what are you doing here?"
"One of Linderman's old employees called - a Miss Sakamoto. She told me you were causing trouble, asking questions, looking for people," she began, "so I came here to try and put a stop to it." She put her hand on his wrist and looked up at him sincerely. "The Company's dead, Noah. There's no reason trying to revive it. You're just going to cause problems, make matters worse."
"I wasn't doing anything for the Company," Bennet replied. "I was trying to protect my daughter."
"She's with Peter; there's nothing to worry about."
"I know that now," Bennet snapped back, almost growling. He thought the better of his tone, though, as soon as he heard his own words. He shook his head as though trying to revise his earlier statement. "She had disappeared a few days ago without telling anyone anything about it. Her mother was worried."
Angela sighed. "And so were you."
"Well, you know how I get."
"I do, I do," Angela said gently, patting his wrist gently before pulling her hand away to reach for her glass. She lifted the tumbler to her lips, pausing just long enough to appreciate the deep aroma of the whiskey, before she took a sip. She spoke again as she set the tumbler back down on its coaster. "I understand how you feel, Noah, I really do - I feel the same way about my own boys most of the time. But at some point you have to let your children grow up, Noah. Let them make their own mistakes."
"Oh, I get it," Bennet figured out loud. "Let them make their own mistakes so they'll have less to blame us for."
"Very funny, Noah," Angela said, raising hey eyebrow. "Maybe you should consider writing greeting cards."
"You don't need to patronize me."
"I'm not being patronizing. I've always thought you've had an original sense of humor, Noah."
"Always? Really?"
"Yes, really." Angela turned her attention to the bartender for a brief moment. "More of the same," she ordered.
They spent the next few hours catching up, drinking and reminiscing about their time together at the Company. To anyone else, they were two old friends, two old co-workers being nostalgic, but there was more going on between the two of them than would meet the eye.
IX.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, according to the old adage, an adage that apparently appealed both to Noah Bennet and Angela Petrelli when they worked together at Primatech Paper.
The fact that she had both been married to someone else when they first met didn't really make a difference to her. She was already bored with her marriage, tired of it, miserable in it. Arthur Petrelli wasn't the man she thought he would be. He turned out to be more ruthless, more ambitious, and more reckless with his power than she would have ever expected. Even having a child together didn't improve their relationship, and although she was technically a stay-at-home mom, she spent as much time at the Hartsdale branch of Primatech as possible, trying to escape the doldrums of her everyday life.
It had started when Bennet was a young recruit. He remembered being introduced to many of the higher-ups, but when he met Arthur Petrelli, he couldn't help but focus his attention on the gorgeous woman on his arm rather than the man himself. She smiled at him and batted her eyes flirtatiously, but he thought nothing of it until the next time they met, and she was alone. She wasted no words and he was equally eager, and that led to the beginning of something so forbidden as to be almost romantic.
Their rendezvous were sporadic and quick, but that didn't diminish their enthusiasm. They'd meet once, twice, maybe three times a week - she, to escape the misery of the marriage she was in, and he in hopes of obtaining juicier assignments. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.
Each tryst followed a pattern. They wasted no time, no breath - they couldn't be afforded the luxury of a prolonged touch, a wayward caress, a kiss. They undressed only as much as required. They kissed only when it was coincidental to the circumstances they were creating. They pawed at each other like animals, harsh and unforgiving. Sometimes she'd knock him to the floor and straddle him, riding him with her skirt hiked up to her waist. Other times she lay on the floor and spread her legs for him, inviting him in. In one particularly memorable instance, they'd taken advantage of Arthur Petrelli's absence and used his office. Bennet went down on Angela for the better part of an hour before they went at it doggy-style against the desk.
Afterwards they held one another for a few brief moments, waiting for their heart rates to return to normal, together and yet not really together at all.
And then it was all derailed.
Bennet knew going into it that this was going to be the last time. He meant it this time, he really did - he'd asked Sandra to marry him, and she'd said yes, and he had no intention of being unfaithful in marriage. So he knew he had to make this time with Angela count for something.
He met her in a supply closet in a part of the building that was frequented only by the Company's lowest level peons. It was strategically chosen not only because of location, but also because the door conveniently locked from the inside. She had been waiting for him impatiently; when he'd knocked, she opened the door almost instantaneously and pulled him inside by his collar.
"Fancy meeting you here," Bennet tried to remark, but before he could finish his sentence Angela pressed her lips vehemently to his. In a few quick movements she had loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Hey, now, there's no hurry," Bennet said gently, interrupting her by placing his hands on her shoulders. He caressed the back of her neck, letting his fingers get tangled in her hair, as he gazed into her eyes. "Let's take it slow this time, okay? Allow ourselves to really appreciate this."
"I'm not in this for the romance," Angela replied.
"Just this once," Bennet pleaded, cupping her head in his hand, kissing her delicately on the forehead. He embraced her, squeezing her body flush against his, burying his face in her glossy locks.
"You're being ridiculous," Angela said, chastising, but even so she let her hands fall idle for a moment, letting them rest against the small of his back as she returned his unexpected hug.
After enjoying each other's warmth for a few brief moments, Bennet began to kiss the line of Angela's jaw down to her throat. She leaned back against the supply shelf behind her, holding onto the bars for support, as he undid her silk blouse and slipped one hand beneath her bra. He massaged her with his palm while his other hand moved up under her skirt; even through the fabric he could tell she was already wet. He took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinched it, tweaked it, while at the same time he found her clit. Angela couldn't help but moan as her knees buckled and she sank to the floor, grabbing Bennet by the arms and pulling him down with her.
Bennet immediately went for his belt, but Angela smiled and stopped him. "Allow me," she told him, and deftly she unfastened his pants and pulled his cock out of the fly of his boxers. It was red and erect, and Bennet watched anxiously as Angela leaned forward and took it into her mouth. All the while she looked up at him, her eyes flashing with mischief, and Bennet fell back onto the floor, unable to sit up any longer as he was lost in the sensation.
"I'm going to come," he said breathlessly, but he regretted saying so when Angela released his cock from her lips.
"Not quite yet," she said wickedly, cupping his balls in her hands, tugging them cruelly. Bennet couldn't help but reach down protectively, and Angela refrained. While he searched the pockets of his fallen pants for a condom, she shimmied out of her panties and pantyhose. He slipped on the rubber as she lifted her skirt and straddled him.
She placed her hands on his chest for balance as she rocked back and forth, back and forth. Her hair fell around her shoulders, down her front, framing the pale skin of her face and throat; she looked impossibly beautiful. It took every ounce of self control that Bennet had to keep from erupting too soon, and so to distract himself he pushed his hand towards Angela's clit and circled it with his thumb. She closed her eyes and gasped at his touch. It was more than Bennet could handle any longer, and he thrust upwards and groaned. At the same time she came, and immediately afterwards she folded on top of him, her body like that of a limp doll. Bennet reached around her and squeezed her tight, relishing the scent of her hair as it fell forward on his face and the soft feel of her cheek against his chest. The important moments, though, never last long enough, and before he could stop her she had pulled away, sliding off of him, sitting up against the shelf as she sighed deeply and attempted to reign in her ruined hairstyle.
She leaned into him for one final kiss, and after their lips parted Bennet turned to her ear. He had something he needed to tell her.
"This is it," Bennet whispered. "I can't do this anymore with you. I'm getting married."
Angela seemed startled; she jumped at his words as though they were physical objects being tossed at her. "Marriage isn't what you think it's going to be, Noah."
"I'm getting married," he repeated. That wasn't the response he was expecting, and he was unprepared for his own defensiveness at her remark.
"I'm just warning you," Angela said, sliding away from him and straightening her skirt. She ran her hands along the floor, searching for her panties and hose. When she found them, she leaned back and slowly ran her legs through as she dressed, caressing her calves and thighs in ways that almost made Bennet change his mind. "It's not like what we have together. You could still have it both ways, you know."
Bennet scoffed. "Jealous?"
"Jealousy is beneath me, Noah," Angela replied. There was nothing he could do or say that could rattle her perfect composure. Angela Petrelli had always been the one in control.
"My socks," Bennet said with realization as stood up, getting dressed. "My socks are gone." He turned towards Angela, who smiled deviously back at him.
"Go home without them," she told him. She held one up in her hand, balling the fabric in her fist and delicately sniffing it. "I deserve a small memento of our time together."
It was a strange keepsake - a pair of dirty, smelly socks - but Bennet didn't question it. He slid his naked feet into his shoes and resigned himself to blisters he probably deserved.
Even after his wedding, when Sandra was willing and able whenever he was up for it, Bennet found that he still missed Angela. It was as though his body itself longed for her. Sometimes he'd wake up at night, sweating and erect, caught in a dream, and it was all he could do to press his thoughts of her to the back of his mind in order to fall back asleep once again.
Of course, this wasn't what they talked about at the bar. This was what they felt, however, and they expressed it to one another in light, affectionate touches. Her hand on his wrist, his palm on her shoulder. Their eyes would meet for one magical moment and there'd be a spark, a flash of something between them.
X.
It was a typical "one thing led to another" kind of scenario, but the setting was Vegas, after all, so in between one thing and another there was a quick expedition to a wedding chapel.
It hadn't been like his first wedding at all. He and Sandra had had a small, tasteful ceremony at the church her family attended in Texas. She'd looked absolutely breathtaking in a white eyelet dress, which had been the style at the time, and he'd worn his nicest blue suit. The reception had been outdoors, and a potluck affair to boot, with all their relatives pitching in. It was a sweet and simple affair, all told, and when the memory came to him, Bennet could feel hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes.
Angela's wedding to Arthur, of course, had been almost the opposite. The Petrelli clan wasn't one to hold back, especially for a celebration. It was a lavish event, with no expense spared. Angela's dress was made from miles and miles of silk and tulle, with a train that extended far longer than necessary. She wore kid gloves and high heels and, for all intents and purposes, looked the part of a princess bride. Still, for all the trouble and money spent, she had no happy memory of the wedding. Arthur, in his restrictive tuxedo and cummerbund, had treated the whole thing as seriously as could be expected; Angela would be hard-pressed to remember him cracking a smile even once that day.
Their wedding to one another was something neither of them would have expected. In some ways, it was a typical Vegas quickie, right down to the Elvis impersonator and the line of couples behind them, waiting impatiently for their own ten minute ceremonies. And, like many of the other couples there, Bennet and Angela had wound up there for all the wrong reasons. After all, most marriages require more than a few stiff drinks and a phenomenal sex life to stay afloat.
Still, somehow their wedding had been more, something special.
It was because it was a first for both of them. In their relationship with each other, they were total equals.
Bennet's first reaction to finding he'd gotten married again had been knee-jerk. It was like taking a large dose of "What were you thinking" with a side of "this is a really bad idea," chased by a bit of "how could this have happened?" His last marriage had failed pretty fantastically, in spite of all his hard work to prevent that from happening.
After a few moments of reflection, though, he began thinking that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing. He'd always worked best with an anchor - someone he could trust, someone he could love, someone he could rely on, and Angela could trust, love, and rely on him in return. In fact, he couldn't think of anyone better to possibly spend the rest of his life with.
XI.
Angela, as far as he could tell, had dozed off once again, so Bennet crept quietly as he dressed in his clothes from the day before. Once clothed, he left the bedroom and entered the suite. He left the door slightly ajar behind him as he wandered into the middle of the living space and sunk down onto the sofa in the center of the room. He ran his right hand through his thinning hair as he gazed down at the cheap ring on his left. "What was I thinking?" he asked himself out loud, but before he could answer himself there was a knock at the suite door. He hesitated for a moment whether to answer, but there came another knock, and he didn't want Angela to be woken prematurely again.
"Just a second," he called out, but when he pulled the door open, he was speechless.
"Dad...?" It was Claire, looking just as worse for wear as her father. She, too, was wearing the same outfit as the day before. Her makeup, once perfect, was a little smudged in places. At least she'd taken the time to run a brush through her hair.
"Claire, what happened to you?" Bennet asked, his paternal instinct kicking in. "Is everything all right?"
She stared at him blankly for a moment before she came up with something to say. "Dad, I'm fine. What are you even doing here? I thought you were staying at a motel across town."
"I... I was planning to," Bennet said, unsure of how to explain himself. "What can I say? This is Vegas. I got lucky." Bennet looked back over his shoulder. The bedroom door was closed, and he couldn't just shut his daughter out without causing suspicion. The least he could do was invite her in; hopefully she wouldn't take him up on his invitation, or else she wouldn't stick around long. "Why don't you come inside?" he asked her, and he tried to hide his dismay when she did.
"I thought this was someone else's room," she stammered. "I came here to see my grandmother."
Bennet bit his tongue to quell his surprise. Obviously if she'd come to this room, she'd be looking for Angela. His synapses fired furiously as he tried to think up an excuse for his presence in her grandmother's hotel room - one that didn't involve drunken elopement. "Your grandmother," Bennet repeated, buying himself a little time to explain. "Well, Claire, I was doing the same thing. I needed to see her for... Company... business."
Claire turned abruptly and tilted her head in confusion. "I thought the Company was defunct."
"Well... defunct is a strong word," Bennet replied, but as soon as the words came out of his mouth he regretted them. "Don't tell your mother I said that."
Their awkward exchange was interrupted by the creaking of the bedroom door. Angela stepped out into the living space, wrapping a hotel robe tightly over her otherwise-naked body. "Hello, Claire," she said, as though she'd been expecting company. "What a pleasure to see you."
Claire's eyes darted from her grandmother to her father, as a slow, horrified realization came over her. "Were you two... did you... is this what I think it is?"
"Now, Claire, don't get upset," Bennet began. "There's nothing to get excited about."
Angela smiled knowingly. "Now, sweetie, don't worry. We waited until we were married." She extended her hand so that the glint of the cheap wedding band was unmistakable in the morning light.
"About that, Angela," Bennet started, running his hand through his thinning hair. "I was just thinking -"
Angela held up her hand, interrupting him. "It was stupid and impulsive," she said. "A bad decision made possible by alcohol and unhindered access to wedding chapels."
"Actually," Bennet replied, "I don't think it's such a bad idea." He approached her slowly, taking her hands in his and gazing intently into her eyes. He couldn't make his first marriage work - too many memory wipes, too many attempted murders, and too many missions got in the way. But Angela was someone who knew these things, who could understand and possibly even appreciate them. Besides that, they did have awesome sex. Bennet couldn't think of anything more that a marriage needed.
"Really?" she asked, and in that hopeful moment she lost her jaded facade and became young Angela again. It had been such a long time since she'd had someone to love, someone besides her sons, who both struggled to push her away most of the time. And they did have awesome sex - Angela and Bennet, not Angela and her sons.
"Really," he replied, taking her in his arms and giving her a gentle squeeze.
Claire stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, bringing her hands to her face and shaking her head. Considering the conservative sweater she had on, with fabric up around the neck, she looked like nothing so much as a bewildered turtle.
"Oh god. Oh my god," Claire said as she began to hyperventilate. "Mom's going to flip out when she hears about this. Lyle, too. Fuck. Even Mr. Muggles is going to lose his shit." Claire could feel her knees getting weak, and she backed up into a chair before they could buckle beneath her.
"Watch your language, young lady," Angela chided her gently. "I can understand your... surprise... but there are better, less offensive words to use to express yourself."
"Dad, what were you thinking? She's my grandmother."
"And step-mother, now," Angela added.
"That makes my bio-dad my brother," Claire groaned. "And... and Peter... this makes it so much worse..."
"This makes what so much worse?" Bennet asked sharply. "Claire, what are you talking about? This makes what worse, Claire?" He couldn't help but repeat himself, his pitch escalating in parental panic.
Just then Claire's cell phone rang, and she glanced quickly at the caller ID before answering. "Peter," she said by way of greeting. "Yeah, I know, and you're not going to find him there - it's because he's here. In your mom's room. You're never going to believe this."
Bennet furrowed his brow as he reached for his glasses. He wiped the lenses gently on the fabric of his pants before putting them on. When he did, though, everything started to come into focus - starting with the glint of gold on the ring finger of his daughter's left hand.
"Oh shit," he muttered. "Shit shit shit shit shit."