Snapshot One: Partners
Title: Snapshots (1/8)
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I own no part of Heroes.
Summary: For Peter Petrelli, those 63 years of his life were the most significant, and they will be eternally, because she became the gift he held in turn for being immortal.
Notes: Snapshot--a record or view of a particular point in a sequence of events or a continuing process. Hope you Enjoy, and please comment.
PART(S): 1 l 2 l 3 l 4 l 5 l 6 l 7 l 8 l or HERE
Light rain. Clouds. Surrounded by green--except this large mound before him.
A heap of brown dirt, prodded by dirt, covering his world.
He crouches, with one knee on the grass, careful not to step on the mound, not to touch it. But the stone, engraved with so little words, his fingers graze over. His eyes wet, but not from the little droplets from the clouds above.
Everything is going to change. His life, his priorities. Everything is going to revert. His physique, his status.
It was Superman’s curse, and it sounds a bit pompous to compare himself to the man, the myth, the legend, but the fictional caricature is the only thing he can identify himself him with.
It was Superman’s curse, to be forever young in a land where everyone grew old. To live forever, when everyone else perished.
It was Superman’s gift, and by no means does he intend to portray himself as the greatest, but it was Superman’s gift to swoop in and save lives day after day, to mentor others to do the same.
But no gift, no gift that Superman claimed, was as grand as Lois Lane, the one gift that would kick his butt if he called her ‘his.’ And in no way does he dare to compare his grandest gift to Lois Lane, although if the bill fit…
Yes, the last 63 years of his life had been everything and more he could ever dream of, even the nightmares he wouldn’t dispose of. Yes, she had been his grandest gift, the one thing he would give up immortality and vanity up for. However, although Lois Lane had been tough, witty, independent, and spunky, she had been all of that and so much more. She had been all of that, times ten, and a million other things, but above all, she had been the shock wave of his life, the ever-changing bolt from the blue.
That gravestone could not begin to describe what she was in life. Nothing in the world could. She had provided him relief, humor, fun, and love in all the wars they fought. Through his life, forever he would carry her heart. Because she had said he was her heart, and so long as he was alive, she was also. This is what he believes, this is the faith he must carry, or else, he must utilize the fact that a wound through the head is the only way out.
He runs his hand through his gray hair, and then over his deep wrinkles. He pulls his hand out in front of him, eyeing all the lines and wrinkles on his hand.
This is it, now you go back to that day when age became irrelevant, because she swore she’d haunt you if you didn’t heal time’s effects.
She swore a lot of things, he smirks in spite of himself. Oh how he misses her. She’s been gone only three days, but he misses her bright eyes already. If it hurt this much after three days, he can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to go a lifetime without her. He can’t, because her memory still burns through his veins. Her power is as vivid in his eyes as it was those 63 years ago, when she was re-introduced into his life indefinitely.
__
__/
63 Years Ago
It was the last place he should have been. Especially after everything that happened, but it was because of everything that had just happened, that he had to be there.
The facility in which he had been held prisoner, not a patient. He walked the halls, past the rooms, all of it looking abandoned. Not a noise in the area, and it all appeared to be deserted. To assure himself that no one was around, he focused in on his ability to read others thoughts, hoping to catch any single, stray, random thought. He walked down many corridors, until he was able to catch such a stray thought.
Jumbled and incohesive, but they were thoughts of a person, and so he walked in the direction of the muttering voice that sounded so familiar, until he found the door that led to the person that held these thoughts.
He took a moment to consider whether he should break in, or walk in invisibly. But he was angry and spiteful, so he went with the latter choice, breaking the lock and rushing in, alerting the caught-off guard individual.
--
When the door burst open, she stood up from her seat alarmingly, and she lifted her hand--electricity on hand to attack her intruder. Before she could make out the invader, she threw the ball of electricity as a reflex, only to be caught by said invader. Her eyes went wide as she recognized the man, and immediately her hand flew to her eyes, wiping at evident tears.
His eyes did a double take, his reflexes having caught the glowing sparks, and his whole body tensed.
Her eyes were red, cheeks wet and flustered, and an arm in a sling from an injury--all of this he took notice of when he inspected the young woman who’s demeanor usually consisted of impish, playful tones.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a distant voice.
He then remembered the objective of his invasion of the facility.
Garnering his courage, and fueled by his pain, he said,” Finding my brother’s murderer.”
Her brows furrowed, and she gulped, this news entirely new to her.
“I doubt you’ll find them here,” she shrugged.
He walked towards her, where she stood her ground, willing herself to not move, daring him to come closer. He left a few steps between them and raised a menacing glare, his hate for the company and his brother’s murder coursing through him, pumping his blood in adrenaline.
“Who did it?” he demanded of her.
“We don’t kill anyone just willy-nilly, Peter,” she shrugged again.
“What about Ricky, Elle?”
She stammered a bit, but forced herself to continue shrugging everything off. “He was being problematic.”
“Problematic?” he seethed.
She nodded, and she saw his hand go up, and suddenly her throat felt like it was in a grip. Air felt scarce, her feet left the ground, and she began feeling dizzy.
“Peter,” she gasped.
He tried keeping his conscious from feeling her pain, tried prying his mind from the pain he was inflicting on another human, and so he made his eyes wander the room. Files, folders, tapes, and cameras filled up the bulk of the room. He looked at the computers, where Elle had been sitting before he burst in, and he noticed a recording playing on one of the computers. On the screen he could make out a small girl tied to a table, encased in a plastic box, electricity rising from her body time to time. Realizing who this girl was, Peter let Elle down gently, and he walked closer to the screen.
He glanced over at Elle, who was gasping, catching her breath, whilst her eyes were glued to the screen.
“Guess there is more to my story,” her voice was low and light, but the heavy feeling lay in her eyes.
He looked back down at the screen as screams of agony came from the fragile little body, screaming through the small speakers. Electricity ran amuck, and the camera shifted to a man in a suit--Bob. He grinned, peering at his daughter through a window.
“That’s enough, Bob,” a voice behind him came.
Sighing, he said,” Fine,” with a roll of the eyes.
The camera went back to Elle, and the blue finally died. A dark-skinned young man, probably in his teens, then was led into the room, and he put his hand on Elle’s forehead. Another scream escaped her and she collapsed--it was the Haitian, at a younger age, erasing Elle’s memories as a subject.
Peter’s turned back around to Elle, who’s eyes were glued to the screen. Her cheeks were no longer wet, but the redness did not subside. He had initially ignored the obvious, had put aside that she had been crying, to attack her, to get what he wanted. But now, as the redness stayed and she bit her lip to control herself, Peter couldn’t help but pity the girl.
“I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. That he was just lying to me,” she spoke softly, knowing he was staring at her, “I wanted to believe my daddy would never do that to me.”
“Turns out I was just being childish,” her eyes reverted to his. The bitterness emanated from her voice, a tone he had not heard from her before. She had been sadistic, playful, a little menacing, but even when she told him those bits and pieces of her childhood, he had never heard her sound so bitter and angry.
“Elle…” his head tilted to his right, a look of sympathy crossing his features.
“Don’t,” she said harshly. “You came here to find your brother’s assassin, not to hear Elle: Behind the Electricity, or Company, or whatever. So fight me, torture me…” a sad smirk came over her mouth,” kiss me to get what you want.”
She drew her hand up, concocting a ball of electricity in her hand, her fighting stance.
Peter stared at the bolt, then at Elle for a second, and back to the blue ball until it fizzed out.
She stared at confusion in her hand. She shook her hand, and her chest heaved. Elle spat her eyes at Peter.
“What did you do?!” She screamed at him, her foot stomped, her arm swung angrily at her side.
“The Haitian’s powers seemed the more effective route,” he kept a straight face, wanting to keep the moment serious, wanting the girl to let out her frustrations.
“Ugh, you’re not supposed to do that!” she marched up to him. “It’s no fun without powers--how am I supposed to fight you and jolt you!” Tears sprung to her eyes. Seeing what her dad had done to her had angered her, almost made her lose it, but it was without powers that she truly felt lost.
She pushed him, but he only fell back half a step in surprise, and rocked back on his heels, taking in her wrath.
“Give them back, give them back!” she pounded at his chest, little tears falling down her eyes.
Wanting to soothe her, Peter wrapped his arms around her fragile little body, holding her as her screams were muffled by his shirt, holding her until she tired of pounding at him (with her sling-free hand).
She stood frozen a moment after her tears stopped, demands escaped her, and arm tired, until she pulled away feverently, wiping at her eyes, and smoothing out her shirt.
She failed to look up at him, failed to say anything, so he took it upon himself to speak first.
“You don’t need your dad. Your dad needs you--for the company. If you take the right side, Elle, you can make up all the wrongs your dad has done,” he whispered down to her.
She lifted her gaze, fear evident at his suggestion.
“He only has as much power over you as you let him.”
Her sniffles stopped when he said this, and she thought of the lives she had saved earlier that day. How good it had felt to have done something without her father’s permission, and in return garnering thankful smiles from people she didn’t really know.
“Do I get to do whatever I want?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, unsure of the prospects of turning against her father.
He smirked at her need to be pleased.
“No one’s going to force your hand, if that’s what you mean. Of course, you’ll have to be weary of Matt for awhile--the whole mind control and everything,” he shrugged.
Elle seemed to ponder this a bit until she broke into a smile. “How about we do this on a trial by trial basis?” she suggested, not wanting to tie herself into anything just yet--or for awhile, as a matter of fact.
Peter sighed, but he knew that convincing a woman as child-like as her would take a lot of trust, so he agreed.
“Fine,” he rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, wondering if bringing in Elle in was really a good idea.
“And you have to give me my powers back.”
“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. Elle drew her hand up again, and to her satisfaction, blue sparks emitted. Sparks she jolted at Peter, causing him to half-wince, half-smile.
“Yay!” she laughed, and she jumped at Peter, slinging her non-injured arm around him.
“I get my toy back!”
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” he took her hand and began dragging her out, when he felt resistance.
“What?” he turned around when she wouldn’t leave.
“Um, I might have an idea of who killed your brother,” she bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t get angry again.
Not bothering to reprimand her or even asking her, he delved into her thoughts to find the name, and when he did he nodded to her.
He took a tighter hold of her hand to teleport them, when she whispered.
“Before we leave Peter, I just have to say thank you for the free trial.”
He looked to her eyes to find her being more sincere than he’d ever seen her be.
“No problem,” he returned her smile, and teleported them out, off to begin their partnership.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I own no part of Heroes.
Summary: For Peter Petrelli, those 63 years of his life were the most significant, and they will be eternally, because she became the gift he held in turn for being immortal.
Notes: Snapshot--a record or view of a particular point in a sequence of events or a continuing process. Hope you Enjoy, and please comment.
PART(S): 1 l 2 l 3 l 4 l 5 l 6 l 7 l 8 l or HERE
Light rain. Clouds. Surrounded by green--except this large mound before him.
A heap of brown dirt, prodded by dirt, covering his world.
He crouches, with one knee on the grass, careful not to step on the mound, not to touch it. But the stone, engraved with so little words, his fingers graze over. His eyes wet, but not from the little droplets from the clouds above.
Everything is going to change. His life, his priorities. Everything is going to revert. His physique, his status.
It was Superman’s curse, and it sounds a bit pompous to compare himself to the man, the myth, the legend, but the fictional caricature is the only thing he can identify himself him with.
It was Superman’s curse, to be forever young in a land where everyone grew old. To live forever, when everyone else perished.
It was Superman’s gift, and by no means does he intend to portray himself as the greatest, but it was Superman’s gift to swoop in and save lives day after day, to mentor others to do the same.
But no gift, no gift that Superman claimed, was as grand as Lois Lane, the one gift that would kick his butt if he called her ‘his.’ And in no way does he dare to compare his grandest gift to Lois Lane, although if the bill fit…
Yes, the last 63 years of his life had been everything and more he could ever dream of, even the nightmares he wouldn’t dispose of. Yes, she had been his grandest gift, the one thing he would give up immortality and vanity up for. However, although Lois Lane had been tough, witty, independent, and spunky, she had been all of that and so much more. She had been all of that, times ten, and a million other things, but above all, she had been the shock wave of his life, the ever-changing bolt from the blue.
That gravestone could not begin to describe what she was in life. Nothing in the world could. She had provided him relief, humor, fun, and love in all the wars they fought. Through his life, forever he would carry her heart. Because she had said he was her heart, and so long as he was alive, she was also. This is what he believes, this is the faith he must carry, or else, he must utilize the fact that a wound through the head is the only way out.
He runs his hand through his gray hair, and then over his deep wrinkles. He pulls his hand out in front of him, eyeing all the lines and wrinkles on his hand.
This is it, now you go back to that day when age became irrelevant, because she swore she’d haunt you if you didn’t heal time’s effects.
She swore a lot of things, he smirks in spite of himself. Oh how he misses her. She’s been gone only three days, but he misses her bright eyes already. If it hurt this much after three days, he can’t imagine what it’ll feel like to go a lifetime without her. He can’t, because her memory still burns through his veins. Her power is as vivid in his eyes as it was those 63 years ago, when she was re-introduced into his life indefinitely.
__
__/
63 Years Ago
It was the last place he should have been. Especially after everything that happened, but it was because of everything that had just happened, that he had to be there.
The facility in which he had been held prisoner, not a patient. He walked the halls, past the rooms, all of it looking abandoned. Not a noise in the area, and it all appeared to be deserted. To assure himself that no one was around, he focused in on his ability to read others thoughts, hoping to catch any single, stray, random thought. He walked down many corridors, until he was able to catch such a stray thought.
Jumbled and incohesive, but they were thoughts of a person, and so he walked in the direction of the muttering voice that sounded so familiar, until he found the door that led to the person that held these thoughts.
He took a moment to consider whether he should break in, or walk in invisibly. But he was angry and spiteful, so he went with the latter choice, breaking the lock and rushing in, alerting the caught-off guard individual.
--
When the door burst open, she stood up from her seat alarmingly, and she lifted her hand--electricity on hand to attack her intruder. Before she could make out the invader, she threw the ball of electricity as a reflex, only to be caught by said invader. Her eyes went wide as she recognized the man, and immediately her hand flew to her eyes, wiping at evident tears.
His eyes did a double take, his reflexes having caught the glowing sparks, and his whole body tensed.
Her eyes were red, cheeks wet and flustered, and an arm in a sling from an injury--all of this he took notice of when he inspected the young woman who’s demeanor usually consisted of impish, playful tones.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a distant voice.
He then remembered the objective of his invasion of the facility.
Garnering his courage, and fueled by his pain, he said,” Finding my brother’s murderer.”
Her brows furrowed, and she gulped, this news entirely new to her.
“I doubt you’ll find them here,” she shrugged.
He walked towards her, where she stood her ground, willing herself to not move, daring him to come closer. He left a few steps between them and raised a menacing glare, his hate for the company and his brother’s murder coursing through him, pumping his blood in adrenaline.
“Who did it?” he demanded of her.
“We don’t kill anyone just willy-nilly, Peter,” she shrugged again.
“What about Ricky, Elle?”
She stammered a bit, but forced herself to continue shrugging everything off. “He was being problematic.”
“Problematic?” he seethed.
She nodded, and she saw his hand go up, and suddenly her throat felt like it was in a grip. Air felt scarce, her feet left the ground, and she began feeling dizzy.
“Peter,” she gasped.
He tried keeping his conscious from feeling her pain, tried prying his mind from the pain he was inflicting on another human, and so he made his eyes wander the room. Files, folders, tapes, and cameras filled up the bulk of the room. He looked at the computers, where Elle had been sitting before he burst in, and he noticed a recording playing on one of the computers. On the screen he could make out a small girl tied to a table, encased in a plastic box, electricity rising from her body time to time. Realizing who this girl was, Peter let Elle down gently, and he walked closer to the screen.
He glanced over at Elle, who was gasping, catching her breath, whilst her eyes were glued to the screen.
“Guess there is more to my story,” her voice was low and light, but the heavy feeling lay in her eyes.
He looked back down at the screen as screams of agony came from the fragile little body, screaming through the small speakers. Electricity ran amuck, and the camera shifted to a man in a suit--Bob. He grinned, peering at his daughter through a window.
“That’s enough, Bob,” a voice behind him came.
Sighing, he said,” Fine,” with a roll of the eyes.
The camera went back to Elle, and the blue finally died. A dark-skinned young man, probably in his teens, then was led into the room, and he put his hand on Elle’s forehead. Another scream escaped her and she collapsed--it was the Haitian, at a younger age, erasing Elle’s memories as a subject.
Peter’s turned back around to Elle, who’s eyes were glued to the screen. Her cheeks were no longer wet, but the redness did not subside. He had initially ignored the obvious, had put aside that she had been crying, to attack her, to get what he wanted. But now, as the redness stayed and she bit her lip to control herself, Peter couldn’t help but pity the girl.
“I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. That he was just lying to me,” she spoke softly, knowing he was staring at her, “I wanted to believe my daddy would never do that to me.”
“Turns out I was just being childish,” her eyes reverted to his. The bitterness emanated from her voice, a tone he had not heard from her before. She had been sadistic, playful, a little menacing, but even when she told him those bits and pieces of her childhood, he had never heard her sound so bitter and angry.
“Elle…” his head tilted to his right, a look of sympathy crossing his features.
“Don’t,” she said harshly. “You came here to find your brother’s assassin, not to hear Elle: Behind the Electricity, or Company, or whatever. So fight me, torture me…” a sad smirk came over her mouth,” kiss me to get what you want.”
She drew her hand up, concocting a ball of electricity in her hand, her fighting stance.
Peter stared at the bolt, then at Elle for a second, and back to the blue ball until it fizzed out.
She stared at confusion in her hand. She shook her hand, and her chest heaved. Elle spat her eyes at Peter.
“What did you do?!” She screamed at him, her foot stomped, her arm swung angrily at her side.
“The Haitian’s powers seemed the more effective route,” he kept a straight face, wanting to keep the moment serious, wanting the girl to let out her frustrations.
“Ugh, you’re not supposed to do that!” she marched up to him. “It’s no fun without powers--how am I supposed to fight you and jolt you!” Tears sprung to her eyes. Seeing what her dad had done to her had angered her, almost made her lose it, but it was without powers that she truly felt lost.
She pushed him, but he only fell back half a step in surprise, and rocked back on his heels, taking in her wrath.
“Give them back, give them back!” she pounded at his chest, little tears falling down her eyes.
Wanting to soothe her, Peter wrapped his arms around her fragile little body, holding her as her screams were muffled by his shirt, holding her until she tired of pounding at him (with her sling-free hand).
She stood frozen a moment after her tears stopped, demands escaped her, and arm tired, until she pulled away feverently, wiping at her eyes, and smoothing out her shirt.
She failed to look up at him, failed to say anything, so he took it upon himself to speak first.
“You don’t need your dad. Your dad needs you--for the company. If you take the right side, Elle, you can make up all the wrongs your dad has done,” he whispered down to her.
She lifted her gaze, fear evident at his suggestion.
“He only has as much power over you as you let him.”
Her sniffles stopped when he said this, and she thought of the lives she had saved earlier that day. How good it had felt to have done something without her father’s permission, and in return garnering thankful smiles from people she didn’t really know.
“Do I get to do whatever I want?” she cocked an eyebrow at him, unsure of the prospects of turning against her father.
He smirked at her need to be pleased.
“No one’s going to force your hand, if that’s what you mean. Of course, you’ll have to be weary of Matt for awhile--the whole mind control and everything,” he shrugged.
Elle seemed to ponder this a bit until she broke into a smile. “How about we do this on a trial by trial basis?” she suggested, not wanting to tie herself into anything just yet--or for awhile, as a matter of fact.
Peter sighed, but he knew that convincing a woman as child-like as her would take a lot of trust, so he agreed.
“Fine,” he rubbed the back of his head self-consciously, wondering if bringing in Elle in was really a good idea.
“And you have to give me my powers back.”
“Fine,” he rolled his eyes. Elle drew her hand up again, and to her satisfaction, blue sparks emitted. Sparks she jolted at Peter, causing him to half-wince, half-smile.
“Yay!” she laughed, and she jumped at Peter, slinging her non-injured arm around him.
“I get my toy back!”
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” he took her hand and began dragging her out, when he felt resistance.
“What?” he turned around when she wouldn’t leave.
“Um, I might have an idea of who killed your brother,” she bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t get angry again.
Not bothering to reprimand her or even asking her, he delved into her thoughts to find the name, and when he did he nodded to her.
He took a tighter hold of her hand to teleport them, when she whispered.
“Before we leave Peter, I just have to say thank you for the free trial.”
He looked to her eyes to find her being more sincere than he’d ever seen her be.
“No problem,” he returned her smile, and teleported them out, off to begin their partnership.