Contingency 5/? (Claire/Isaac hiatus fic Heroes/Incidental Heroes)
Title: Contingency
Rating: R
Spoilers: Everything, including .07%, all the way up to Episode 9: Return, of Incidental Heroes. Vastly AU
Pairings: Isaac/Claire, others to be determined.
Characters: Isaac, Peter, Claire, MacKenzie (IHeroes), as well as the rest of the Heroes cast.
Genre: Action, Drama, Romance, It uses Incidental Heroes storylines and characters, so is arguably Crossover.
Warnings: Speculation!fic, character deaths, some underage themes.
Summary: Is destiny set in stone, immobile? Can disaster ever truly be prevented? And can a broken soul ever find salvation? Four broken heroes will do anything to make certain they can be.
Disclaimer: I cannot stress how much I do not own Heroes.
AN: Wow, short break there, but Contingency is back!
--
Contingency
Chapter 5
"MacKenzie?"
She snapped awake, blinking in disorientation as she looked around the hospital room. The slim figure of her mother stood to her left, a concerned frown written across her expression.
"Mom?"
The woman frowned, pulling up a seat. "I heard what happened...I'm sorry about your friend...who was he--"
"Shawn." She cut in, frowning. "His name was Shawn."
Her mother nodded. "Yes...I'm sorry."
MacKenzie shook her head, glancing over to the chair that she had last seen her friend sitting. "I don't want to talk about it."
What was she going to do now? Shawn said New York still needed her, Chandra was convinced she was important, even Mohinder had thought she was key in saving New York....
But she didn't know what to do. What could she do without Shawn? Why would it even matter?
"MacKenzie...why don't you come and stay at home for awhile?" Her mother suddenly cut into her thoughts. "We're worried about you, all this traveling around, talking about TV Shows and crazy things, and now this..."
"This had nothing to do with that, Mom." She said tersely. "And I don't want to talk about that, either."
Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. "MacKenzie..."
"I..." She laughed in frustration. She'd just come back from trying to talk sense into two characters from a TV show come to life, to save one's life, and hopefully stop the bomb in the process...and...she couldn't talk about this, not now. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't."
Her mother frowned silently for a few moments, before nodding. "The Doctors say they're only going to keep you here for a few hours, so...you know my number if you change your mind."
She nodded numbly as the woman left.
Shawn...
--
"That delicious ability, regeneration..." The man stepped around a stray can of paint as he advanced on where Peter was standing. "I wonder, will I get that as well when I get you?"
Peter snarled. "You're not getting anyone."
Sylar smiled. "Big words from a man who barely escaped with his life only four hours ago."
Peter's smile was more of a show of teeth than anything else. "We'll see."
He only barely caught the sight of a full can of paint hurtling toward him, before it crashed over him, blue paint splashing around a hastily created telekinetic sheild, and decorating the mural below.
Sylar sneered.
"What's wrong, Sylar? Don't like your own tricks used against you?" Peter taunted, jerking one morbid painting in the killers direction with a flick of his hand. The easel careened into the wall fifteen feet away from Sylar before it could come close.
"Don't attempt to compare yourself to me."
"Why don't you try landing something before saying that?"
Sylar smiled.
Peter expected something to come flying at him--maybe even a telekinetic blast. He didn't expect a blast of ice to come out of nowhere and crash into him violently.
His world spun and he found himself spinning rather nauseatingly toward the wall. His collision with said wall was quickly followed by another crash, and a whoop. Which seemed highly irregular to what he remembered before the ice and cement wall had filled his vision with stars.
Firmly picturing Claire in his mind, he willed away whatever frostbite (could you get that so quickly?) or broken bones he had suffered, and stumbled to his feet.
He blinked, and made sure to pay special attention to his head with Claire's regeneration, before he opened his eyes and looked again.
Claude was still standing there, smug look on his face, and broken stick in his hand. Sylar was still crumpled on the floor.
"Well, hurry up, Pup! He's not gonna be out for that long!"
--
Pain. So. Much. Damn. Pain.
Isaac groaned as he squinted against the light streaming into his eyes. He moved his hand up to sheild his eyes, but the agonizing stab of pain that lanced through his arm at any movement cut off that thought with a loud yelp.
A silhouette next to him stirred in its seat. He couldn't make out much of the room due to the uneven lighting that filtered through it, but it seemed to be a small wooden bedroom of some kind--and really, really cheap.
"Don't move, you'll aggrivate your wounds."
He narrowed his eyes at the figure. "Thanks for the warning."
"It's not my fault you're a moron."
He recognized the voice. Obviously that girl had gotten through to Peter after all. Isaac wondered privately which part of the argument had convinced him--it was all a bit blurry now.
"I don't remember asking for your help."
"Oh, you'd rather have died then?" Peter retorted. "You sounded pretty desperate to me."
Isaac glared at him. "If you're expecting me to paint you something, I'm not doing any paintings without a hefty amount of morphene and better stitches than these."
Peter snorted. "I don't need you to paint anything. I can do it myself, remember?"
Isaac could barely make out an angry expression on the boy, before he turned a sour expression to the ceiling, fighting off the sick feeling that twisted in his gut at the man's words.
--
Claire frowned deeply, laying back in the fluffy bed that Ang--her grandmother had assigned her. She could hear the raised voices of her new family in another room, but she couldn't make out words. That Haitian guy who worked for her father (and apparently her grandmother) was guarding the door to their little 'conference', so she couldn't dare sneak up close enough to hear anything.
Too bad she didn't have super hearing instead of stupid regeneration. That would have been so much easier--plus, who would care if she had super hearing? Life would really be so much simpler.
And plus she could listen in on conversations like what Peter had stashed up in the attic that was causing so much ruckus.
She blinked, staring up at the ceiling a few moments.
Screw it. The Haitian couldn't guard the door and the steps, could he? It wasn't like Peter would bring back anything dangerous when his nephews were here, right?
She nodded to herself.
She could sneak out to her Homecoming from her Dad, who just so happened to be some sort of secret agent. She would see what was up in the attic.
...It wasn't like she had anything better to do but hide in her room from Nathan--her 'father's family.
--
"All I'm saying is you shouldn't have brought him here, Peter!" Nathan smacked his hand on the round table between them to emphasize his point.
"Calm down, Nathan." Angela said calmly, standing a little distance to Peter's right, expression stern.
Peter sighed, and shook his head. "Where else did you expect me to put him?"
"I don't know! Your friend's place? Anywhere?"
"He was bleeding to death, Nathan!"
"So take him to a hospital!"
"And how am I supposed to explain the holes in his arms and legs, huh?" Peter snapped, exasperated. "How would you like that press?"
"Enough!" His mother barked. "Its already done. There's no point in arguing over it anymore. What's important is what we do now."
"I'm not going to throw him out on the street where Sylar can find him."
"Why do you care so much?" Nathan insisted.
"You want me to throw out a person to Sylar knowingly?!"
"We can't protect every single person!"
"It's one person!"
"Both of you!" Angela bellowed. "We are not about to throw anyone out on the street."
"Then what are we supposed to do about him, Ma?" Nathan sighed, exasperated.
She clasped her hands in front of her waist. "What we do best."
--
He wasn't certain when he had drifted off, but the sound of a door clicking shut snapped him awake. The sun had moved out of his eyes somewhat, so he was able to squint across the room at the slight form that had entered.
He shifted slightly to get a better look at the still form, and winced. Moving was a bad idea.
"Who's there?"
The form was silent another moment, before a small feminine voice spoke.
"Who are you?"
CH END
---
AN: So...quite a few questions left open at the end of this chapter, but things are moving along well, so you should get your answers soon!
Rating: R
Spoilers: Everything, including .07%, all the way up to Episode 9: Return, of Incidental Heroes. Vastly AU
Pairings: Isaac/Claire, others to be determined.
Characters: Isaac, Peter, Claire, MacKenzie (IHeroes), as well as the rest of the Heroes cast.
Genre: Action, Drama, Romance, It uses Incidental Heroes storylines and characters, so is arguably Crossover.
Warnings: Speculation!fic, character deaths, some underage themes.
Summary: Is destiny set in stone, immobile? Can disaster ever truly be prevented? And can a broken soul ever find salvation? Four broken heroes will do anything to make certain they can be.
Disclaimer: I cannot stress how much I do not own Heroes.
AN: Wow, short break there, but Contingency is back!
--
Contingency
Chapter 5
"MacKenzie?"
She snapped awake, blinking in disorientation as she looked around the hospital room. The slim figure of her mother stood to her left, a concerned frown written across her expression.
"Mom?"
The woman frowned, pulling up a seat. "I heard what happened...I'm sorry about your friend...who was he--"
"Shawn." She cut in, frowning. "His name was Shawn."
Her mother nodded. "Yes...I'm sorry."
MacKenzie shook her head, glancing over to the chair that she had last seen her friend sitting. "I don't want to talk about it."
What was she going to do now? Shawn said New York still needed her, Chandra was convinced she was important, even Mohinder had thought she was key in saving New York....
But she didn't know what to do. What could she do without Shawn? Why would it even matter?
"MacKenzie...why don't you come and stay at home for awhile?" Her mother suddenly cut into her thoughts. "We're worried about you, all this traveling around, talking about TV Shows and crazy things, and now this..."
"This had nothing to do with that, Mom." She said tersely. "And I don't want to talk about that, either."
Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. "MacKenzie..."
"I..." She laughed in frustration. She'd just come back from trying to talk sense into two characters from a TV show come to life, to save one's life, and hopefully stop the bomb in the process...and...she couldn't talk about this, not now. "I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't."
Her mother frowned silently for a few moments, before nodding. "The Doctors say they're only going to keep you here for a few hours, so...you know my number if you change your mind."
She nodded numbly as the woman left.
Shawn...
--
"That delicious ability, regeneration..." The man stepped around a stray can of paint as he advanced on where Peter was standing. "I wonder, will I get that as well when I get you?"
Peter snarled. "You're not getting anyone."
Sylar smiled. "Big words from a man who barely escaped with his life only four hours ago."
Peter's smile was more of a show of teeth than anything else. "We'll see."
He only barely caught the sight of a full can of paint hurtling toward him, before it crashed over him, blue paint splashing around a hastily created telekinetic sheild, and decorating the mural below.
Sylar sneered.
"What's wrong, Sylar? Don't like your own tricks used against you?" Peter taunted, jerking one morbid painting in the killers direction with a flick of his hand. The easel careened into the wall fifteen feet away from Sylar before it could come close.
"Don't attempt to compare yourself to me."
"Why don't you try landing something before saying that?"
Sylar smiled.
Peter expected something to come flying at him--maybe even a telekinetic blast. He didn't expect a blast of ice to come out of nowhere and crash into him violently.
His world spun and he found himself spinning rather nauseatingly toward the wall. His collision with said wall was quickly followed by another crash, and a whoop. Which seemed highly irregular to what he remembered before the ice and cement wall had filled his vision with stars.
Firmly picturing Claire in his mind, he willed away whatever frostbite (could you get that so quickly?) or broken bones he had suffered, and stumbled to his feet.
He blinked, and made sure to pay special attention to his head with Claire's regeneration, before he opened his eyes and looked again.
Claude was still standing there, smug look on his face, and broken stick in his hand. Sylar was still crumpled on the floor.
"Well, hurry up, Pup! He's not gonna be out for that long!"
--
Pain. So. Much. Damn. Pain.
Isaac groaned as he squinted against the light streaming into his eyes. He moved his hand up to sheild his eyes, but the agonizing stab of pain that lanced through his arm at any movement cut off that thought with a loud yelp.
A silhouette next to him stirred in its seat. He couldn't make out much of the room due to the uneven lighting that filtered through it, but it seemed to be a small wooden bedroom of some kind--and really, really cheap.
"Don't move, you'll aggrivate your wounds."
He narrowed his eyes at the figure. "Thanks for the warning."
"It's not my fault you're a moron."
He recognized the voice. Obviously that girl had gotten through to Peter after all. Isaac wondered privately which part of the argument had convinced him--it was all a bit blurry now.
"I don't remember asking for your help."
"Oh, you'd rather have died then?" Peter retorted. "You sounded pretty desperate to me."
Isaac glared at him. "If you're expecting me to paint you something, I'm not doing any paintings without a hefty amount of morphene and better stitches than these."
Peter snorted. "I don't need you to paint anything. I can do it myself, remember?"
Isaac could barely make out an angry expression on the boy, before he turned a sour expression to the ceiling, fighting off the sick feeling that twisted in his gut at the man's words.
--
Claire frowned deeply, laying back in the fluffy bed that Ang--her grandmother had assigned her. She could hear the raised voices of her new family in another room, but she couldn't make out words. That Haitian guy who worked for her father (and apparently her grandmother) was guarding the door to their little 'conference', so she couldn't dare sneak up close enough to hear anything.
Too bad she didn't have super hearing instead of stupid regeneration. That would have been so much easier--plus, who would care if she had super hearing? Life would really be so much simpler.
And plus she could listen in on conversations like what Peter had stashed up in the attic that was causing so much ruckus.
She blinked, staring up at the ceiling a few moments.
Screw it. The Haitian couldn't guard the door and the steps, could he? It wasn't like Peter would bring back anything dangerous when his nephews were here, right?
She nodded to herself.
She could sneak out to her Homecoming from her Dad, who just so happened to be some sort of secret agent. She would see what was up in the attic.
...It wasn't like she had anything better to do but hide in her room from Nathan--her 'father's family.
--
"All I'm saying is you shouldn't have brought him here, Peter!" Nathan smacked his hand on the round table between them to emphasize his point.
"Calm down, Nathan." Angela said calmly, standing a little distance to Peter's right, expression stern.
Peter sighed, and shook his head. "Where else did you expect me to put him?"
"I don't know! Your friend's place? Anywhere?"
"He was bleeding to death, Nathan!"
"So take him to a hospital!"
"And how am I supposed to explain the holes in his arms and legs, huh?" Peter snapped, exasperated. "How would you like that press?"
"Enough!" His mother barked. "Its already done. There's no point in arguing over it anymore. What's important is what we do now."
"I'm not going to throw him out on the street where Sylar can find him."
"Why do you care so much?" Nathan insisted.
"You want me to throw out a person to Sylar knowingly?!"
"We can't protect every single person!"
"It's one person!"
"Both of you!" Angela bellowed. "We are not about to throw anyone out on the street."
"Then what are we supposed to do about him, Ma?" Nathan sighed, exasperated.
She clasped her hands in front of her waist. "What we do best."
--
He wasn't certain when he had drifted off, but the sound of a door clicking shut snapped him awake. The sun had moved out of his eyes somewhat, so he was able to squint across the room at the slight form that had entered.
He shifted slightly to get a better look at the still form, and winced. Moving was a bad idea.
"Who's there?"
The form was silent another moment, before a small feminine voice spoke.
"Who are you?"
CH END
---
AN: So...quite a few questions left open at the end of this chapter, but things are moving along well, so you should get your answers soon!