Contingency 8/? (Claire/Isaac hiatus fic Heroes/Incidental Heroes)
Title: Contingency
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to The Hard Part, 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.
Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: I do not, and most likely will never, own any part of NBC or Heroes.
AN: I really intended to update this long ago, but I had written myself into a corner, and was reluctant to throw away what I had. Anyway, now I'm ready to do this, and continue the story--although this has to be the least written-during-hiatus hiatus fic.
----
Contingency
Chapter 8
He was beginning to wonder when exactly he was expected to get any sleep. Or whether anyone in this place slept at all. It really wouldn't have surprised him at all if Peter--and his whole family as well--turned out to be vampires. It wasn't like that would have been any less believable than what he had been through in the past month.
Whether they were creatures of the night, or sadists refusing to let him get any sleep--there were clearly too many people in this place. As evidenced by the fact that new people just kept on multiplying and pouring into his door.
Oh. Right. And yelling, too.
"You can't do this, Nathan!"
He half expected the door to crash to the floor after it slammed into the flimsy-looking wall. Peter. Claire. His brother--Nathan. And Santa Claus on crack.
Classy.
He sighed, and resisted rolling his eyes. Definitely a tour now. At least he only had to suffer this humiliation a short time before...well, before being introduced to a whole new brand of humiliation.
Dammit.
The oldest of the group, white haired and immaculately dressed, strode purposefully up to him, while the brothers argued at the doorway, and his babysitter-to-be hung back with a nervous expression.
"And what are you here for?" Isaac drawled sardonically at the man. "My grown up Christmas list?"
The man gave an amused smile that was as thin as tracing paper. "I'm afraid not, Mister Mendez."
Isaac narrowed his eyes, but did not bother asking why or how the man knew is name. That much was apparent enough.
"You needed be so suspicious, Isaac." The man placed a hand on his shoulder. He almost shrugged the man off, before a throb of pain reminded him how difficult that action would be. "You see, I'm quite a fan of your work."
"Write a letter, then." He grumped.
The man smiled. "I suppose you wouldn't recognize me. Miss Deveaux usually handled all of the business, didn't she?"
Alright. Now the man was crossing a line. "And who the hell are you? Peter's father?"
The man gave a hearty chuckle. "Not at all. I was a friend of his father, however, so I suppose you could call me a family friend."
"Then I have nothing to say to you."
"Perhaps." The man gave a knowing smile. "However that may be, I have things I would like to say to you. An offer, if you would."
"Not. Interested." Isaac snarled through gritted teeth. "Even if I were, I think its quite obvious to anyone with eyes that I'm in no condition to accept an offer, anyway."
"Nonsense. You can speak, cant you?" The older man leaned close, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think you'll find...superficial things such as wounds are just that. Superficial."
Isaac gave him what he hoped was his best 'what the hell are you on?' look, before jerking away from him. "Get the hell away from me. I'm not doing anything for you or for Peter."
The man smiled slightly, and nodded, patting his shoulder again. "Have some time. I'm sure you'll see things my way sooner or later."
Isaac would have replied, but the man was already walking away, passing by the ruffled looking brothers as if they were not there at all.
--
"Get him out of here, Nathan."
"I'm sorry, but maybe you haven't noticed, Peter, but this is my house."
"And that's Linderman you're letting roam around like he owns the place!"
Nathan sighed. "What? Do you expect me to walk up to him and say my little brother wants him out?"
"No! I thought you said it was your house? Just...kick him out!"
"I am not throwing him out, Peter!"
"He's only going to cause more problems, Nathan!" Peter grabbed his brother's shoulders in the hope of catching his attention better. "Do you think he went up to Isaac just to say hello?"
"Why does it even matter to you, Peter?"
"That's Linderman! It should matter to you, too!"
Nathan glowered at him, and knocked his hands away, backing up. "At least Linderman didn't stick some strange killer in my attic right before the election."
"Nathan--" Peter turned after his brother, as the man walked away. "Nathan!"
---
Claire bit the inside of her cheek as she smiled at her grandmother. Picking out clothes for the trip was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Who was that in the attic? Why was he so important? Who was this Linderman? Why did Peter hate both of them so much, but want to protect the one?
She had so many questions, and no one was answering them! It wasn't fair. She wasn't some air-headed kid anymore, and she didn't need 'protecting'. What she needed was to know what was going on! Peter kept avoiding her, Nathan never had time to talk to her, and Angela--her 'grandmother'--just smiled and brushed the subject aside like she was one of Nathan's young sons.
She nodded absently when the older woman pushed some brownish coat at her, and packed it away into the oversized travel bag.
That's right. Paris. They were shipping her away to Paris, away from everyone and everything she knew. Keeping a pretty little blind fold on her eyes and patting her on the back into a plane without giving her a chance to decide anything. After her father gave up everything so that she had a choice in the first place.
She hated it. She hated every part of it, and she wouldn't go along like some mindless kid. Not anymore.
She frowned determinedly.
If they wouldn't listen to her, then she would make the person this was all about talk. He wouldn't be able to get away from her.
--
He sighed. "What's this? Visiting time over for the Hall of Freaks?"
Peter made an angry sound. "I'm not in the mood for your theatrics, Isaac."
"I'm not in the mood for you, so we're almost even."
Peter glared at him. "The offer of gangrene is still open."
"I haven't turned it down yet, have I?"
Peter growled, yanking at one of his bandages. "Well, it's faster suicide than taking up an offer from Linderman."
"Nice pitch."
"I don't give a damn what you do." Peter paused in his abusing of Isaac's wrist to glare at him once again.
Isaac frowned. Linderman...the one who bought my paintings? What connection does he have to this?
"What the hell, Peter? You don't seem the type to hang out with art collectors."
Peter shot him a look, before returning to wrestling with the bandage--that was apparently stuck. "He's not an art collector, you moron. He's a mob boss."
"What?"
"He's a crooked mob boss, and you're better off facing Sylar armed with a toothbrush than dealing with him." Peter enunciated this speech by yanking the bandage off of his arm violently, drawing a cry of pain.
"Damn it! I didn't ask for your nursing and I don't want it!"
Peter did not immediately answer. He was staring down at the reddened patch of skin the bandage had just come off of. "What...the...hell?"
"What do you expect happens when you rip my skin off?" Isaac snarled, yanking his arm out of Peter's grip.
That was when he realized one layer of skin was the only thing his wrist was missing.
--
"You...speak to man who told you to come here?" Hiro was frowning interestedly, while Ando stared out across the trashed loft. "To stop the bomb?"
She nodded slightly. "That's about the gist of it."
It had been easier than she expected to explain the entire situation without including the whole part that this was a TV show and she shouldn't even be here, because it shouldn't be real in the first place.
The ease might have had to do with the fact that it was Hiro she was speaking to, and his beginnings had been pretty similar in a...general sort of way. Even Hiro would have difficulty believing the whole truth, though. If it was even the truth.
Hiro nodded slightly. "Then...Mister Isaac..."
"I don't know." She sighed hopelessly. Maybe... "Peter, the one that saved the cheerleader, must have come and rescued him after all."
Because that was the only thing that made any sense in this situation. They had scanned the loft already, and there was no sign that anyone had recently been anywhere but the main lobby where the painting and blood was.
Her eyes traveled down to the mess that adorned the painting on the ground. It was surreal to be standing on top of it...so huge and brightly painted. The TV made it look duller than it really was--it almost seemed as if the painting itself mirrored the brightness of the explosion it depicted. She almost could not bear to look at it.
If not for Hiro and Ando being there, she might have knelt down and touched the mural--just to make sure it was real.
Hiro and Ando standing there kind of certified that by themselves.
"So...what now?" Hiro's voice cut through the silence of the loft in a quiet awe.
MacKenzie shook her head. "I'm not sure...but we have to find them. We have to find them, and we have to stop Sylar."
Hiro nodded. "Yes. We must stop Sylar."
"But...how are we going to find them?" Ando chirped suddenly. "It's not like we've got future comic books to look them up in."
"What about the comic? Can't we just see where to go with that?"
Hiro shook his head sadly. "There are no words to it."
MacKenzie frowned slightly, scanning her brain for any hints the show had given about where Peter lived--or where he would bring Isaac. As far as she knew, they never gave out any addresses besides the one where they were standing.
She gazed down at the comic still clutched in her hands, that had led her here.
And then it hit her all at once.
"The publisher!"
"What?" Hiro looked perplexed.
"He must have just sent out the comic--right?"
"I...think so?" Hiro nodded slightly.
"Well, if they haven't gotten to inking it yet...that would still have the words, right?"
Hiro and Ando glanced at each other in thought a moment, before Hiro grinned and nodded. "Yes! You are right! We can go there!"
Ando shook his head slightly. "But...where is Mister Isaac's publisher?"
CH END
---
AN: So, there it is. Long overdue, but I feel it is far superior to what the past version of it was, both in pace and characterization. A bit longer this time, as well.
Rating: R
Spoilers: Up to The Hard Part, 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.
Previous Chapters
Disclaimer: I do not, and most likely will never, own any part of NBC or Heroes.
AN: I really intended to update this long ago, but I had written myself into a corner, and was reluctant to throw away what I had. Anyway, now I'm ready to do this, and continue the story--although this has to be the least written-during-hiatus hiatus fic.
----
Contingency
Chapter 8
He was beginning to wonder when exactly he was expected to get any sleep. Or whether anyone in this place slept at all. It really wouldn't have surprised him at all if Peter--and his whole family as well--turned out to be vampires. It wasn't like that would have been any less believable than what he had been through in the past month.
Whether they were creatures of the night, or sadists refusing to let him get any sleep--there were clearly too many people in this place. As evidenced by the fact that new people just kept on multiplying and pouring into his door.
Oh. Right. And yelling, too.
"You can't do this, Nathan!"
He half expected the door to crash to the floor after it slammed into the flimsy-looking wall. Peter. Claire. His brother--Nathan. And Santa Claus on crack.
Classy.
He sighed, and resisted rolling his eyes. Definitely a tour now. At least he only had to suffer this humiliation a short time before...well, before being introduced to a whole new brand of humiliation.
Dammit.
The oldest of the group, white haired and immaculately dressed, strode purposefully up to him, while the brothers argued at the doorway, and his babysitter-to-be hung back with a nervous expression.
"And what are you here for?" Isaac drawled sardonically at the man. "My grown up Christmas list?"
The man gave an amused smile that was as thin as tracing paper. "I'm afraid not, Mister Mendez."
Isaac narrowed his eyes, but did not bother asking why or how the man knew is name. That much was apparent enough.
"You needed be so suspicious, Isaac." The man placed a hand on his shoulder. He almost shrugged the man off, before a throb of pain reminded him how difficult that action would be. "You see, I'm quite a fan of your work."
"Write a letter, then." He grumped.
The man smiled. "I suppose you wouldn't recognize me. Miss Deveaux usually handled all of the business, didn't she?"
Alright. Now the man was crossing a line. "And who the hell are you? Peter's father?"
The man gave a hearty chuckle. "Not at all. I was a friend of his father, however, so I suppose you could call me a family friend."
"Then I have nothing to say to you."
"Perhaps." The man gave a knowing smile. "However that may be, I have things I would like to say to you. An offer, if you would."
"Not. Interested." Isaac snarled through gritted teeth. "Even if I were, I think its quite obvious to anyone with eyes that I'm in no condition to accept an offer, anyway."
"Nonsense. You can speak, cant you?" The older man leaned close, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think you'll find...superficial things such as wounds are just that. Superficial."
Isaac gave him what he hoped was his best 'what the hell are you on?' look, before jerking away from him. "Get the hell away from me. I'm not doing anything for you or for Peter."
The man smiled slightly, and nodded, patting his shoulder again. "Have some time. I'm sure you'll see things my way sooner or later."
Isaac would have replied, but the man was already walking away, passing by the ruffled looking brothers as if they were not there at all.
--
"Get him out of here, Nathan."
"I'm sorry, but maybe you haven't noticed, Peter, but this is my house."
"And that's Linderman you're letting roam around like he owns the place!"
Nathan sighed. "What? Do you expect me to walk up to him and say my little brother wants him out?"
"No! I thought you said it was your house? Just...kick him out!"
"I am not throwing him out, Peter!"
"He's only going to cause more problems, Nathan!" Peter grabbed his brother's shoulders in the hope of catching his attention better. "Do you think he went up to Isaac just to say hello?"
"Why does it even matter to you, Peter?"
"That's Linderman! It should matter to you, too!"
Nathan glowered at him, and knocked his hands away, backing up. "At least Linderman didn't stick some strange killer in my attic right before the election."
"Nathan--" Peter turned after his brother, as the man walked away. "Nathan!"
---
Claire bit the inside of her cheek as she smiled at her grandmother. Picking out clothes for the trip was the last thing she wanted to do right now. Who was that in the attic? Why was he so important? Who was this Linderman? Why did Peter hate both of them so much, but want to protect the one?
She had so many questions, and no one was answering them! It wasn't fair. She wasn't some air-headed kid anymore, and she didn't need 'protecting'. What she needed was to know what was going on! Peter kept avoiding her, Nathan never had time to talk to her, and Angela--her 'grandmother'--just smiled and brushed the subject aside like she was one of Nathan's young sons.
She nodded absently when the older woman pushed some brownish coat at her, and packed it away into the oversized travel bag.
That's right. Paris. They were shipping her away to Paris, away from everyone and everything she knew. Keeping a pretty little blind fold on her eyes and patting her on the back into a plane without giving her a chance to decide anything. After her father gave up everything so that she had a choice in the first place.
She hated it. She hated every part of it, and she wouldn't go along like some mindless kid. Not anymore.
She frowned determinedly.
If they wouldn't listen to her, then she would make the person this was all about talk. He wouldn't be able to get away from her.
--
He sighed. "What's this? Visiting time over for the Hall of Freaks?"
Peter made an angry sound. "I'm not in the mood for your theatrics, Isaac."
"I'm not in the mood for you, so we're almost even."
Peter glared at him. "The offer of gangrene is still open."
"I haven't turned it down yet, have I?"
Peter growled, yanking at one of his bandages. "Well, it's faster suicide than taking up an offer from Linderman."
"Nice pitch."
"I don't give a damn what you do." Peter paused in his abusing of Isaac's wrist to glare at him once again.
Isaac frowned. Linderman...the one who bought my paintings? What connection does he have to this?
"What the hell, Peter? You don't seem the type to hang out with art collectors."
Peter shot him a look, before returning to wrestling with the bandage--that was apparently stuck. "He's not an art collector, you moron. He's a mob boss."
"What?"
"He's a crooked mob boss, and you're better off facing Sylar armed with a toothbrush than dealing with him." Peter enunciated this speech by yanking the bandage off of his arm violently, drawing a cry of pain.
"Damn it! I didn't ask for your nursing and I don't want it!"
Peter did not immediately answer. He was staring down at the reddened patch of skin the bandage had just come off of. "What...the...hell?"
"What do you expect happens when you rip my skin off?" Isaac snarled, yanking his arm out of Peter's grip.
That was when he realized one layer of skin was the only thing his wrist was missing.
--
"You...speak to man who told you to come here?" Hiro was frowning interestedly, while Ando stared out across the trashed loft. "To stop the bomb?"
She nodded slightly. "That's about the gist of it."
It had been easier than she expected to explain the entire situation without including the whole part that this was a TV show and she shouldn't even be here, because it shouldn't be real in the first place.
The ease might have had to do with the fact that it was Hiro she was speaking to, and his beginnings had been pretty similar in a...general sort of way. Even Hiro would have difficulty believing the whole truth, though. If it was even the truth.
Hiro nodded slightly. "Then...Mister Isaac..."
"I don't know." She sighed hopelessly. Maybe... "Peter, the one that saved the cheerleader, must have come and rescued him after all."
Because that was the only thing that made any sense in this situation. They had scanned the loft already, and there was no sign that anyone had recently been anywhere but the main lobby where the painting and blood was.
Her eyes traveled down to the mess that adorned the painting on the ground. It was surreal to be standing on top of it...so huge and brightly painted. The TV made it look duller than it really was--it almost seemed as if the painting itself mirrored the brightness of the explosion it depicted. She almost could not bear to look at it.
If not for Hiro and Ando being there, she might have knelt down and touched the mural--just to make sure it was real.
Hiro and Ando standing there kind of certified that by themselves.
"So...what now?" Hiro's voice cut through the silence of the loft in a quiet awe.
MacKenzie shook her head. "I'm not sure...but we have to find them. We have to find them, and we have to stop Sylar."
Hiro nodded. "Yes. We must stop Sylar."
"But...how are we going to find them?" Ando chirped suddenly. "It's not like we've got future comic books to look them up in."
"What about the comic? Can't we just see where to go with that?"
Hiro shook his head sadly. "There are no words to it."
MacKenzie frowned slightly, scanning her brain for any hints the show had given about where Peter lived--or where he would bring Isaac. As far as she knew, they never gave out any addresses besides the one where they were standing.
She gazed down at the comic still clutched in her hands, that had led her here.
And then it hit her all at once.
"The publisher!"
"What?" Hiro looked perplexed.
"He must have just sent out the comic--right?"
"I...think so?" Hiro nodded slightly.
"Well, if they haven't gotten to inking it yet...that would still have the words, right?"
Hiro and Ando glanced at each other in thought a moment, before Hiro grinned and nodded. "Yes! You are right! We can go there!"
Ando shook his head slightly. "But...where is Mister Isaac's publisher?"
CH END
---
AN: So, there it is. Long overdue, but I feel it is far superior to what the past version of it was, both in pace and characterization. A bit longer this time, as well.