Primatech 815 - Ch. 16
Title: Primatech 815
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes (Crossover with Lost)
Characters: Ando, Bennet, Claire, Claude, Hiro, Isaac, Peter, Matt, Micah, Mohinder, Niki, Simone, Sylar (more to come)
Rating: R
Summary: A plane crash unites a group of strangers.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Lost.
Warnings: AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9| Chapter 10| Chapter 11| Chapter 12| Chapter 13| Chapter 14| Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Sylar frowned as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, nudging him into the waking world. He grunted, turning onto his back and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He was shocked to see Mohinder in his tent, staring down at him with a quizzical look in his eye.
"Now Sylar," Mohinder started, shifting himself so that they were a bit closer, the Indian man's thigh pressed flushed against his shoulder, "I know we're stranded on a deserted island with nothing to do, but honestly, you can't spend all day sleeping! It's past noon."
The fugitive felt his frown deepen as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "Like you said, there's nothing to do," he shrugged. "What d'you want?"
"To apologize," Mohinder said sincerely, lifting a cracked cup that he had been cradling in his hands to Sylar's line of sight. "We've been on the island for over a week and all you've done was tried to help me. The tent, the tea, helping me with the transceiver-"
"Twice," Sylar cut in.
Instead of glowering and ripping into him, as he would have expected, the smaller man gave him a polite smile. "Right," he beamed. "Twice. Which I appreciate since, after all, you don't even want to get off this island. So, I brought you a little something."
Sylar knew he should have been cautious, he knew he shouldn't trust the man who had just two days ago said he wanted nothing to do with him, but Mohinder's smile was so kind and sincere that he honestly couldn't bring himself to do anything but smile back. "What is it?"
"Juice," he told him placing the cup in Sylar's waiting hands.
The serial killer smiled, taking the cup and all but pouring the juice down his throat. It was nice to drink something besides water for once.
The Indian man was practically beaming as he leaned over and bumped their bare shoulders together, sending a shock wave of pleasure coursing through Sylar's body. "Why don't we go for a walk?" he whispered, his hot breath ghosting against the pale man's already heated skin. "Just the two of us?"
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"Help! She's not breathing!"
Peter was on his feet and rushing to Simone's side in an instant. The tanned woman was trembling as she struggled to breath, her skin a smoky grey color and her eyes red and wide with panicked fear. He took the woman's trembling hands in his, noticing that her skin felt cold and clammy. "Simone. Simone!" he chanted, his tone harsh, but it needed to be to get the woman to focus on him. "Listen to me Simone. This isn't just the asthma. This is anxiety."
She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but only the sound of sharp gasps escaped his lips.
"You're having an anxiety attack," he told her. "You know you're out of medicine and you're panicking. Look at me Simone. Look at me! We can fight this together, okay? Simone, nod your head for me." He paused as the woman hesitantly nodded, doubt and desperation clashing in her light eyes. "Alright, now just breathe in through-"
"She needs her inhaler," Isaac whispered pointedly, crouching down next to them and darting his eyes between the two.
Peter frowned at the other man. He hoped that Isaac didn't think he had any ulterior motives for doing this. He may still harbor feelings for Simone, but right now she was just a patient in his eyes. "Breathe in through your nose, slowly," the nurse continued ignoring Isaac's words (and the panicked eyes of the other survivors that were staring at the two of them). "In through your nose. You can do it."
Hesitantly, Simone took in a quivering breath, her whole body still shaking as she did so. He smiled at her as she took in another gulp of air through her nostrils before letting it out again.
"There you go," he beamed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I knew you could do it. Your color's back. Do you feel it?"
She nodded her head sharply before giving him a quick "Yes."
"Good," he beamed. "It's passing. Okay. Again, in through the nose. Alright, just keep doing that. Keep breathing like that. That's perfect, good job."
Once the young nurse felt confident that Simone was calmer, he turned his gaze towards Isaac, motioning for the other man to come with him. He stood, releasing Simone's soft hands from his grasp and already missing the sensation of her skin on his.
"Keep her calm," he told him. "Don't let her panic."
"Okay," Isaac nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at his girlfriend.
Peter couldn't help thinking about how unfortunate and unfair their situation was. Isaac was still suffering from heroin withdrawal and now Simone was struggling with asthma. The couple would have to lean on each other now more than ever before. The young nurse nodded, patting the artist on the shoulder before walking away.
"Hey," Isaac started, following after him. "You're going?"
"I gotta talk to someone," he told him. "I'll be right back."
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Claude was surprised when he saw the nurse heading towards him on the path to the caves. He had been heading over there to refill a few bottles of water, but the angry, determined look on the young man's face clearly told the English man that the Poodle had serious business on his mind.
"Mornin' sunshine," he greeted, pulling a smug smirk onto his features. "Bit early for a walk, eh?"
"Here's the deal," the Pup cut in, his voice all business as he came to a stop in front of Claude. "I'll play your game, just this once. You're gonna give me the medicine and you won't say anything about this to anyone, got it?"
The older man had to bite his cheek to keep the eager smile off of his face. In truth, he had never expected the nurse to take him up on his offer. At best, he had expected the young man to blush and squirm before turning to those goodie goodie friends of his to help him steal the medicine from his stash. But this was just too good to be true. After all the trash he had to put up with, he was actually going to get a kiss from the pretty young nurse.
"Alright," he said. "Deal."
Yet after he had said that, all the confidence and determination seemed to leave the boy. He bowed his head, studying his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, before taking a few hesitant steps closer to Claude's large form.
"What's wrong, Pup?" he smirked. "Never been kissed before."
"No," the Poodle answered quickly, too quickly.
"Never kissed a man before?"
A deep red color spread across the boy's whole body at the man's correct assumption. "I told you yesterday," he reminded him, "I'm not that way."
At that he had to laugh. The British man found himself letting out a deep rumbling chuckle as he placed a hand on the Pup's hip. "No different than kissing a woman, mate," he murmured, rubbing a thoughtful hand along his hairy chin. "Course, there is stubble to deal with, but it don't so much hurt as tickle."
He heard Peter whisper a quick "oh God" before turning and staring back up at him. "Let's just get this over with," he said, stepping closer to Claude so that their bodies were pressed together. "No tongue."
"Yes tongue," the English man put in, his smile widening in spite of himself. The Poodle's eyes nearly tripled with horror at the idea. "Calm down, Pup. Not takin' your innocence, just gettin' ta second base here."
"Fine," he sighed, shoulders slumping in annoyance. "But could you at least call me 'Peter?' For once."
"Sure thing, Petey," he murmured before bending down and pressing their lips together.
The young man stiffened as Claude tightened his arm around his waist and cradled the back of the nurse's head in his large, rough hands. The Brit sighed, rubbing their bodies together and slipping his tongue out of his mouth and rubbing it across the young man's crocked lip. The nurse gasped in spite of himself, parting his lips just enough for Claude to slip his tongue inside, caressing and tasting the inside of the younger man's mouth. He tasted like sand and sweat and a sweetness that was all his own. As the two pulled away, Claude couldn't help but feel a sense of loss even as Peter glared up at him with his light brown eyes.
"Now give me the medicine," Peter whispered, pushing Claude away with his slim hands.
"I don't have it."
His words hit Peter like a punch to the face. The young man just stood there, staring up at him as a mixture of confusion and disbelief clashing in his wide brown eyes. "What?" he gasped, his voice soft and unsure.
"I don't have it," he told him. "Never did."
"But... but Isaac... he said he saw you reading his book."
"Found it in the plane so I took it. I never-"
His words were cut off when Peter slammed his fist into his cheek. His neck popped and his face throbbed as he watched the younger man storm off into the jungle.
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"You know what I don't get Rains?" Thompson began, leaning back in his chair and flashing his all too smug smile at Claude. "You go around, bragging about how you've been in this business for twenty-some-odd years, yet you don't seem to care enough to cover your tracks."
Claude scowled as his employer chewed him out. Thompson hadn't always been in charge of him. When he had started in this business, the two of them had both been on the same level. Then Thompson had gotten ahead, started spreading around ideas (like using a paper company as their front) and before he knew it, he was under the other man's thumb. Overall, Claude didn't mind much since he liked doing his job. He was good at it and it was a great way to relieve stress, but things were changing, he was changing. He was getting older, tired, sloppy, and even he had to wonder whether or not those sloppy mistakes were truly "mistakes."
"No one saw me," he pointed out.
Thompson's smirk widened as he tapped his hands on his desk. "No, but the neighbors sure as hell heard you."
"They can't prove anything," he shrugged indifferently. "Didn't leave any finger prints."
"Plenty of blood though," he told him. "The whole apartment was covered in it." He paused, studying the British man carefully. "There something you wanna say Rains?"
Claude said nothing as he silently glared over at the other man.
"Look, I get it," Thompson began. The other man adjusted himself so that he was sitting up straight in his seat, folding his hands on the table. "You're getting older, thinking about your golden years. You've got retirement on your mind."
"Something like that," the man grumbled.
"Then just say the word. If you want out, then you're out."
The British man scowled at Thompson's words. His gut told him that something just wasn't right.
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Sylar huffed, shaking his head slowly, trying his best to disburse the foggy feeling seeping into his consciousness. He felt light and dizzy and his body was tingling all over. Something wasn't right.
Mohinder turned and looked back at him, noticing his sluggish pace as he came to a stop. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.
"Fine," Sylar lied, wondering if this was some form of sunstroke or the flu.
"We'll rest here a moment," the Indian man suggested, settling down on a patch of grass.
The fugitive nodded, following Mohinder's lead. He sat down next to him, hoping to rest his weight against Mohinder's firm side, but was disappointed to find the man scooting away from him. Sylar frowned, not sure what to make of the sudden shift in mood, but he was too groggy to put much thought into it. "How's your head?" he asked, hoping that the small gesture would help Mohinder to warm back up to him.
The geneticist sighed, running a careful hand over the back of his head. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Mohinder told him. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, because I knew you would over react, but I was attacked the other day."
Whatever fog had been shifting on to him temporarily lifted at the other man's words. "What?" he gasped, his eyes widening as he turned to study Mohinder carefully. "You were attacked? Why?"
"I don't know," he told him honestly. "I just know that whoever did it came up from behind me, knocked me unconscious, and then smashed my equipment."
He nodded his head slowly, listening to Mohinder's words but not fully taking them in. All he could think about was the fact that someone had hurt the genetics professor and Sylar wanted nothing more than to find out who had done it and smash their head open. "Who did it?" he asked him. "Do you know?"
"I think it was you."
The serial killer felt his eyes narrow and his hands clench into fists at the accusation. "You think I did it?"
"You were mad at me," the Indian man reminded him. "You knew exactly where I was and you've told me several times that you have no desire to leave this island."
"That doesn't mean," he began, but stopped himself. The hazy feeling was starting to return and his body felt sluggish and out of his control. Something was definitely wrong. "I would never..."
"You've attacked me before," the Indian grumbled before grabbing Sylar's stubble covered chin in his dark hands and forcing the fugitive to look him in the eye. "Did you do it?" Mohinder asked. "Tell me the truth."
"No," he told him honestly. "I... you... you know how I feel."
Mohinder sighed, releasing the killer's face from his grasp. Once the other man released him, his whole body slumped over drained of energy, as if it had taken everything in him to stay up right for so long. "I know exactly how you feel," Mohinder told him, his voice seemed so distant in Sylar's ears. "That's why I have to leave. I can't stay here with you anymore. I can't stand looking at you and seeing all the horrible things that you have done."
It was then that everything seemed to click in his mind, even as sleep tugged at him. "What... what'd you do?"
"I put sleeping pills in your juice," Mohinder told him. "When you wake up, I won't be here. Don't bother looking for me."
The serial killer panted, struggling to stay awake even as his vision blurred and darkened.
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Claire frowned, tossing her arm over her eyes to block the sun's harsh rays from her face. She squinted, seeing that the sheet she had placed above her head had been removed by Bennet, who was now grabbing her things and folding them into her pink and white duffle bag. "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice raspy and thick with sleep.
"Packing your bags," he told her, a kind smile clear on his face. "You're moving to the caves."
The teenager's frown only deepened as her groggy mind attempted to process what the middle aged man had told her. Slowly, it dawned on her just what the other man was saying. "You didn't," she started, sitting up in her make shift bed. "You got me peanut butter?"
"You bet," the man said, the sun reflecting off his horn-rimmed glasses. "Although, I have to warn you; it's extra creamy."
Claire beamed, giggling sweetly at Bennet's words. "The creamier the better," she laughed, excitedly waiting for her part of the deal as Bennet crouched down beside her and dug around in his backpack. Her stomach was already rumbling at the very thought of the sticky substance. Weeks without peanut butter just seemed too long. Her smile practically crumbled to pieces when the tall man presented her with an empty glass jar. "I don't understand. Where's the peanut butter?"
"Right here," Bennet said, lifting the jar closer to her view. "Rich, creamy, stick to the roof of your mouth peanut butter."
The blonde looked from the empty jar to the man smiling over at her. A bright smile slowly spread across her features as she wrapped the jar in her tanned fingers. It seemed like she was going to be moving to the caves after all.
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Peter was in a foul mood when he finally got back to the caves. He felt foolish, humiliated, and used. He should have known better than to trust Claude. The English man had been nothing but a pain in his neck since the day they'd met. Now he had to return empty handed and unable to help Simone.
Yet the irritated scowl that had marred his face most of the day dissolved into a look of confusion when he spotted a much healthier Simone and Isaac speaking to one of the Asian men. The short man was holding a bowl full of paste under the tanned woman's nose. She smiled, breathing in the substance with ease.
"What is this stuff?" Isaac was asking the shorter man, staring at the substance questioningly.
"Can I see that?" Peter asked, gently taking the bowl from the Asian man's hands. He studied it carefully, breathing in the rich aroma. "Eucalyptus," he announced, smiling gratefully at the small man. "Thank you...?"
"Hiro," Isaac supplied, taking the paste from Peter and handing it to Simone.
"Thank you, Hiro," Simone whispered, her voice still unsteady.
The Asian man smiled, a light pink color spreading across his round cheeks as he murmured his appreciation.
"Peter?" The nurse turned and was surprised to see Mohinder standing behind him, a serious look on his face. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
He nodded allowing Mohinder to lead him away from the other survivors. "Is something wrong?"
"I wanted to tell you something," he began, a worried look on his face. It was only then that Peter noticed that the Indian man was carrying a thick bag on his shoulders, one too big to have merely been for the trip to the caves. "I'm leaving the camp."
The young nurse froze in his tracks at the Indian's words. "What?" he gasped. "Mohinder, if this is about the signal-"
"It's not about that," he cut in. "It's about Sylar. I can't stay here with him anymore. I know I said that he was my problem, but... he's been my burden for the past four years and I just can't live with him anymore."
Peter sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "What the hell happened between you two?"
"It's complicated," the other man told him, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder.
"Then uncomplicate it."
Mohinder laughed, shaking his head slowly at the nurse's words. "If only it were that simple." The Indian man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small key. "He's hand cuffed in the woods," he told him, "about half way between the two camps."
"Don't go," Peter pleaded, refusing to take the offered key. "We need you here Mohinder. Who else is going to get us rescued?"
"I'm not needed here. The camp needs a nurse, not a geneticist. Besides, I'm sure you and Matt will be able to handle Sylar." The Indian reached out and grasped his wrist, placing the cold piece of metal into the younger man's reluctant hand. "I hope we'll meet again."
With that said, Mohinder turned and disappeared into the jungle.
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Claude hadn't really expected to run into anyone on his way back to his tent. He had thought he'd be able to refill his water bottles and slip away without any trouble, but when he spotted Peter standing there, a confused and forlorn look on his face, he couldn't fight the temptation to go rub in the fact that he'd managed to steal a kiss from the young nurse.
"What's wrong, Pup?" he called, gaining the young man's attention. "Waitin' for someone ta take ya for your walkie?"
Peter turned towards him, a hateful scowl marring his features. "What do you want?" the nurse snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "Haven't you done enough for one day?"
"Easy Poodle-"
"Shut up!" the young man barked, his whole body radiating with anger. "It's Peter! My name is Peter! Not 'Pup' or 'Poodle' or any other dumb name that you want to call me." As soon as the words left his mouth, the young nurse started towards him and Claude felt certain that the boy was going to punch him a second time. Instead, he merely bumped his shoulder roughly, passing him by as if he were going to just leave, but he didn't. He stopped and turned to face him, irritation and something else still flashing in his eyes. "What's your problem anyway? There are forty seven other people here and you're the only one who has to cause trouble. Why can't you just help out or contribute like everyone else? Why the hell do you have to be such a-"
Before Peter could finish his rant, Claude grabbed him by the shoulders, just hard enough to leave a few bruises up and down his arms, and slammed him against a tree.
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The bullet hit his side with a fiery bite that soon spread through his entire body. He had seen it coming, known that they were going to pull something like this, and yet he hadn't truly been prepared for it. He'd dedicated twenty-three years of his life to this organization. He'd been loyal, hard working, and yet the second he started to even hint about his desire to leave this was what he got; a bullet in the side and a slow agonizing death.
Severance pay, Claude thought bitterly as the wind sent a shiver coursing through him and his whole body went limp.
He panted, clutching at the blood seeping out of his stomach as he glanced up at his faceless attacker. The moon was clouded tonight and the only source of light on the bridge came from the barely bright enough street lamp they stood under. Yet the man above him seemed to bend the light just enough so that he couldn't make out his face. Or maybe he had the loss of blood to thank for that.
"No hard feelings, Rains." The voice above him was hazy and unfamiliar, but there was the faintest hint of dark humor to his tone, even as the man grabbed his arms and shoved him over the side of the bridge.
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Peter's eyes widened for just a second, fear and confusion lighting his eyes before he bit his lip and forced them to harden in spite of himself. Claude had to give the kid credit for that. He knew he could be quite intimidating if he tried. Any other man would piss themselves if he had them in this situation. Although, a small voice in the back of his head told him that in his old age, he wasn't nearly as fearsome as he had once been.
"People suck, kid," the British man hissed. "They're all the same. Sooner or later they'll either leave ya or stab ya in the back."
The young nurse scowled, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. "So, what? This was some sort of lesson you've been trying to teach me? You kissed me just because you wanted to show me how cruel people can be?"
Claude smirked, studying the boy's wide brown eyes and his crocked lip thoughtfully. "Something like that."
"Well I don't buy it," the nurse snapped. "Just because something crappy happened to you doesn't mean you can brush off everyone. People are good."
The Brit scoffed, releasing Peter from his fierce grasp. He couldn't understand why the pup was trying so hard to prove him wrong, but he wasn't about to give up just yet. Peter wasn't a lost cause. He had to believe that.
Next Chapter
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes (Crossover with Lost)
Characters: Ando, Bennet, Claire, Claude, Hiro, Isaac, Peter, Matt, Micah, Mohinder, Niki, Simone, Sylar (more to come)
Rating: R
Summary: A plane crash unites a group of strangers.
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or Lost.
Warnings: AU, Violence, Action/Adventure, Drug use, Het, Slash, Crossover/Fusion
Chapter 1| Chapter 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7| Chapter 8| Chapter 9| Chapter 10| Chapter 11| Chapter 12| Chapter 13| Chapter 14| Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Sylar frowned as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder, nudging him into the waking world. He grunted, turning onto his back and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He was shocked to see Mohinder in his tent, staring down at him with a quizzical look in his eye.
"Now Sylar," Mohinder started, shifting himself so that they were a bit closer, the Indian man's thigh pressed flushed against his shoulder, "I know we're stranded on a deserted island with nothing to do, but honestly, you can't spend all day sleeping! It's past noon."
The fugitive felt his frown deepen as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "Like you said, there's nothing to do," he shrugged. "What d'you want?"
"To apologize," Mohinder said sincerely, lifting a cracked cup that he had been cradling in his hands to Sylar's line of sight. "We've been on the island for over a week and all you've done was tried to help me. The tent, the tea, helping me with the transceiver-"
"Twice," Sylar cut in.
Instead of glowering and ripping into him, as he would have expected, the smaller man gave him a polite smile. "Right," he beamed. "Twice. Which I appreciate since, after all, you don't even want to get off this island. So, I brought you a little something."
Sylar knew he should have been cautious, he knew he shouldn't trust the man who had just two days ago said he wanted nothing to do with him, but Mohinder's smile was so kind and sincere that he honestly couldn't bring himself to do anything but smile back. "What is it?"
"Juice," he told him placing the cup in Sylar's waiting hands.
The serial killer smiled, taking the cup and all but pouring the juice down his throat. It was nice to drink something besides water for once.
The Indian man was practically beaming as he leaned over and bumped their bare shoulders together, sending a shock wave of pleasure coursing through Sylar's body. "Why don't we go for a walk?" he whispered, his hot breath ghosting against the pale man's already heated skin. "Just the two of us?"
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"Help! She's not breathing!"
Peter was on his feet and rushing to Simone's side in an instant. The tanned woman was trembling as she struggled to breath, her skin a smoky grey color and her eyes red and wide with panicked fear. He took the woman's trembling hands in his, noticing that her skin felt cold and clammy. "Simone. Simone!" he chanted, his tone harsh, but it needed to be to get the woman to focus on him. "Listen to me Simone. This isn't just the asthma. This is anxiety."
She shook her head, opening her mouth to speak, but only the sound of sharp gasps escaped his lips.
"You're having an anxiety attack," he told her. "You know you're out of medicine and you're panicking. Look at me Simone. Look at me! We can fight this together, okay? Simone, nod your head for me." He paused as the woman hesitantly nodded, doubt and desperation clashing in her light eyes. "Alright, now just breathe in through-"
"She needs her inhaler," Isaac whispered pointedly, crouching down next to them and darting his eyes between the two.
Peter frowned at the other man. He hoped that Isaac didn't think he had any ulterior motives for doing this. He may still harbor feelings for Simone, but right now she was just a patient in his eyes. "Breathe in through your nose, slowly," the nurse continued ignoring Isaac's words (and the panicked eyes of the other survivors that were staring at the two of them). "In through your nose. You can do it."
Hesitantly, Simone took in a quivering breath, her whole body still shaking as she did so. He smiled at her as she took in another gulp of air through her nostrils before letting it out again.
"There you go," he beamed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "I knew you could do it. Your color's back. Do you feel it?"
She nodded her head sharply before giving him a quick "Yes."
"Good," he beamed. "It's passing. Okay. Again, in through the nose. Alright, just keep doing that. Keep breathing like that. That's perfect, good job."
Once the young nurse felt confident that Simone was calmer, he turned his gaze towards Isaac, motioning for the other man to come with him. He stood, releasing Simone's soft hands from his grasp and already missing the sensation of her skin on his.
"Keep her calm," he told him. "Don't let her panic."
"Okay," Isaac nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at his girlfriend.
Peter couldn't help thinking about how unfortunate and unfair their situation was. Isaac was still suffering from heroin withdrawal and now Simone was struggling with asthma. The couple would have to lean on each other now more than ever before. The young nurse nodded, patting the artist on the shoulder before walking away.
"Hey," Isaac started, following after him. "You're going?"
"I gotta talk to someone," he told him. "I'll be right back."
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Claude was surprised when he saw the nurse heading towards him on the path to the caves. He had been heading over there to refill a few bottles of water, but the angry, determined look on the young man's face clearly told the English man that the Poodle had serious business on his mind.
"Mornin' sunshine," he greeted, pulling a smug smirk onto his features. "Bit early for a walk, eh?"
"Here's the deal," the Pup cut in, his voice all business as he came to a stop in front of Claude. "I'll play your game, just this once. You're gonna give me the medicine and you won't say anything about this to anyone, got it?"
The older man had to bite his cheek to keep the eager smile off of his face. In truth, he had never expected the nurse to take him up on his offer. At best, he had expected the young man to blush and squirm before turning to those goodie goodie friends of his to help him steal the medicine from his stash. But this was just too good to be true. After all the trash he had to put up with, he was actually going to get a kiss from the pretty young nurse.
"Alright," he said. "Deal."
Yet after he had said that, all the confidence and determination seemed to leave the boy. He bowed his head, studying his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, before taking a few hesitant steps closer to Claude's large form.
"What's wrong, Pup?" he smirked. "Never been kissed before."
"No," the Poodle answered quickly, too quickly.
"Never kissed a man before?"
A deep red color spread across the boy's whole body at the man's correct assumption. "I told you yesterday," he reminded him, "I'm not that way."
At that he had to laugh. The British man found himself letting out a deep rumbling chuckle as he placed a hand on the Pup's hip. "No different than kissing a woman, mate," he murmured, rubbing a thoughtful hand along his hairy chin. "Course, there is stubble to deal with, but it don't so much hurt as tickle."
He heard Peter whisper a quick "oh God" before turning and staring back up at him. "Let's just get this over with," he said, stepping closer to Claude so that their bodies were pressed together. "No tongue."
"Yes tongue," the English man put in, his smile widening in spite of himself. The Poodle's eyes nearly tripled with horror at the idea. "Calm down, Pup. Not takin' your innocence, just gettin' ta second base here."
"Fine," he sighed, shoulders slumping in annoyance. "But could you at least call me 'Peter?' For once."
"Sure thing, Petey," he murmured before bending down and pressing their lips together.
The young man stiffened as Claude tightened his arm around his waist and cradled the back of the nurse's head in his large, rough hands. The Brit sighed, rubbing their bodies together and slipping his tongue out of his mouth and rubbing it across the young man's crocked lip. The nurse gasped in spite of himself, parting his lips just enough for Claude to slip his tongue inside, caressing and tasting the inside of the younger man's mouth. He tasted like sand and sweat and a sweetness that was all his own. As the two pulled away, Claude couldn't help but feel a sense of loss even as Peter glared up at him with his light brown eyes.
"Now give me the medicine," Peter whispered, pushing Claude away with his slim hands.
"I don't have it."
His words hit Peter like a punch to the face. The young man just stood there, staring up at him as a mixture of confusion and disbelief clashing in his wide brown eyes. "What?" he gasped, his voice soft and unsure.
"I don't have it," he told him. "Never did."
"But... but Isaac... he said he saw you reading his book."
"Found it in the plane so I took it. I never-"
His words were cut off when Peter slammed his fist into his cheek. His neck popped and his face throbbed as he watched the younger man storm off into the jungle.
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"You know what I don't get Rains?" Thompson began, leaning back in his chair and flashing his all too smug smile at Claude. "You go around, bragging about how you've been in this business for twenty-some-odd years, yet you don't seem to care enough to cover your tracks."
Claude scowled as his employer chewed him out. Thompson hadn't always been in charge of him. When he had started in this business, the two of them had both been on the same level. Then Thompson had gotten ahead, started spreading around ideas (like using a paper company as their front) and before he knew it, he was under the other man's thumb. Overall, Claude didn't mind much since he liked doing his job. He was good at it and it was a great way to relieve stress, but things were changing, he was changing. He was getting older, tired, sloppy, and even he had to wonder whether or not those sloppy mistakes were truly "mistakes."
"No one saw me," he pointed out.
Thompson's smirk widened as he tapped his hands on his desk. "No, but the neighbors sure as hell heard you."
"They can't prove anything," he shrugged indifferently. "Didn't leave any finger prints."
"Plenty of blood though," he told him. "The whole apartment was covered in it." He paused, studying the British man carefully. "There something you wanna say Rains?"
Claude said nothing as he silently glared over at the other man.
"Look, I get it," Thompson began. The other man adjusted himself so that he was sitting up straight in his seat, folding his hands on the table. "You're getting older, thinking about your golden years. You've got retirement on your mind."
"Something like that," the man grumbled.
"Then just say the word. If you want out, then you're out."
The British man scowled at Thompson's words. His gut told him that something just wasn't right.
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Sylar huffed, shaking his head slowly, trying his best to disburse the foggy feeling seeping into his consciousness. He felt light and dizzy and his body was tingling all over. Something wasn't right.
Mohinder turned and looked back at him, noticing his sluggish pace as he came to a stop. "Are you alright?" he asked, concern clear in his voice.
"Fine," Sylar lied, wondering if this was some form of sunstroke or the flu.
"We'll rest here a moment," the Indian man suggested, settling down on a patch of grass.
The fugitive nodded, following Mohinder's lead. He sat down next to him, hoping to rest his weight against Mohinder's firm side, but was disappointed to find the man scooting away from him. Sylar frowned, not sure what to make of the sudden shift in mood, but he was too groggy to put much thought into it. "How's your head?" he asked, hoping that the small gesture would help Mohinder to warm back up to him.
The geneticist sighed, running a careful hand over the back of his head. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Mohinder told him. "I didn't tell you the whole truth, because I knew you would over react, but I was attacked the other day."
Whatever fog had been shifting on to him temporarily lifted at the other man's words. "What?" he gasped, his eyes widening as he turned to study Mohinder carefully. "You were attacked? Why?"
"I don't know," he told him honestly. "I just know that whoever did it came up from behind me, knocked me unconscious, and then smashed my equipment."
He nodded his head slowly, listening to Mohinder's words but not fully taking them in. All he could think about was the fact that someone had hurt the genetics professor and Sylar wanted nothing more than to find out who had done it and smash their head open. "Who did it?" he asked him. "Do you know?"
"I think it was you."
The serial killer felt his eyes narrow and his hands clench into fists at the accusation. "You think I did it?"
"You were mad at me," the Indian man reminded him. "You knew exactly where I was and you've told me several times that you have no desire to leave this island."
"That doesn't mean," he began, but stopped himself. The hazy feeling was starting to return and his body felt sluggish and out of his control. Something was definitely wrong. "I would never..."
"You've attacked me before," the Indian grumbled before grabbing Sylar's stubble covered chin in his dark hands and forcing the fugitive to look him in the eye. "Did you do it?" Mohinder asked. "Tell me the truth."
"No," he told him honestly. "I... you... you know how I feel."
Mohinder sighed, releasing the killer's face from his grasp. Once the other man released him, his whole body slumped over drained of energy, as if it had taken everything in him to stay up right for so long. "I know exactly how you feel," Mohinder told him, his voice seemed so distant in Sylar's ears. "That's why I have to leave. I can't stay here with you anymore. I can't stand looking at you and seeing all the horrible things that you have done."
It was then that everything seemed to click in his mind, even as sleep tugged at him. "What... what'd you do?"
"I put sleeping pills in your juice," Mohinder told him. "When you wake up, I won't be here. Don't bother looking for me."
The serial killer panted, struggling to stay awake even as his vision blurred and darkened.
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Claire frowned, tossing her arm over her eyes to block the sun's harsh rays from her face. She squinted, seeing that the sheet she had placed above her head had been removed by Bennet, who was now grabbing her things and folding them into her pink and white duffle bag. "Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, her voice raspy and thick with sleep.
"Packing your bags," he told her, a kind smile clear on his face. "You're moving to the caves."
The teenager's frown only deepened as her groggy mind attempted to process what the middle aged man had told her. Slowly, it dawned on her just what the other man was saying. "You didn't," she started, sitting up in her make shift bed. "You got me peanut butter?"
"You bet," the man said, the sun reflecting off his horn-rimmed glasses. "Although, I have to warn you; it's extra creamy."
Claire beamed, giggling sweetly at Bennet's words. "The creamier the better," she laughed, excitedly waiting for her part of the deal as Bennet crouched down beside her and dug around in his backpack. Her stomach was already rumbling at the very thought of the sticky substance. Weeks without peanut butter just seemed too long. Her smile practically crumbled to pieces when the tall man presented her with an empty glass jar. "I don't understand. Where's the peanut butter?"
"Right here," Bennet said, lifting the jar closer to her view. "Rich, creamy, stick to the roof of your mouth peanut butter."
The blonde looked from the empty jar to the man smiling over at her. A bright smile slowly spread across her features as she wrapped the jar in her tanned fingers. It seemed like she was going to be moving to the caves after all.
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Peter was in a foul mood when he finally got back to the caves. He felt foolish, humiliated, and used. He should have known better than to trust Claude. The English man had been nothing but a pain in his neck since the day they'd met. Now he had to return empty handed and unable to help Simone.
Yet the irritated scowl that had marred his face most of the day dissolved into a look of confusion when he spotted a much healthier Simone and Isaac speaking to one of the Asian men. The short man was holding a bowl full of paste under the tanned woman's nose. She smiled, breathing in the substance with ease.
"What is this stuff?" Isaac was asking the shorter man, staring at the substance questioningly.
"Can I see that?" Peter asked, gently taking the bowl from the Asian man's hands. He studied it carefully, breathing in the rich aroma. "Eucalyptus," he announced, smiling gratefully at the small man. "Thank you...?"
"Hiro," Isaac supplied, taking the paste from Peter and handing it to Simone.
"Thank you, Hiro," Simone whispered, her voice still unsteady.
The Asian man smiled, a light pink color spreading across his round cheeks as he murmured his appreciation.
"Peter?" The nurse turned and was surprised to see Mohinder standing behind him, a serious look on his face. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
He nodded allowing Mohinder to lead him away from the other survivors. "Is something wrong?"
"I wanted to tell you something," he began, a worried look on his face. It was only then that Peter noticed that the Indian man was carrying a thick bag on his shoulders, one too big to have merely been for the trip to the caves. "I'm leaving the camp."
The young nurse froze in his tracks at the Indian's words. "What?" he gasped. "Mohinder, if this is about the signal-"
"It's not about that," he cut in. "It's about Sylar. I can't stay here with him anymore. I know I said that he was my problem, but... he's been my burden for the past four years and I just can't live with him anymore."
Peter sighed, running a hand through his thick brown hair. "What the hell happened between you two?"
"It's complicated," the other man told him, adjusting the strap of the bag on his shoulder.
"Then uncomplicate it."
Mohinder laughed, shaking his head slowly at the nurse's words. "If only it were that simple." The Indian man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small key. "He's hand cuffed in the woods," he told him, "about half way between the two camps."
"Don't go," Peter pleaded, refusing to take the offered key. "We need you here Mohinder. Who else is going to get us rescued?"
"I'm not needed here. The camp needs a nurse, not a geneticist. Besides, I'm sure you and Matt will be able to handle Sylar." The Indian reached out and grasped his wrist, placing the cold piece of metal into the younger man's reluctant hand. "I hope we'll meet again."
With that said, Mohinder turned and disappeared into the jungle.
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Claude hadn't really expected to run into anyone on his way back to his tent. He had thought he'd be able to refill his water bottles and slip away without any trouble, but when he spotted Peter standing there, a confused and forlorn look on his face, he couldn't fight the temptation to go rub in the fact that he'd managed to steal a kiss from the young nurse.
"What's wrong, Pup?" he called, gaining the young man's attention. "Waitin' for someone ta take ya for your walkie?"
Peter turned towards him, a hateful scowl marring his features. "What do you want?" the nurse snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his side. "Haven't you done enough for one day?"
"Easy Poodle-"
"Shut up!" the young man barked, his whole body radiating with anger. "It's Peter! My name is Peter! Not 'Pup' or 'Poodle' or any other dumb name that you want to call me." As soon as the words left his mouth, the young nurse started towards him and Claude felt certain that the boy was going to punch him a second time. Instead, he merely bumped his shoulder roughly, passing him by as if he were going to just leave, but he didn't. He stopped and turned to face him, irritation and something else still flashing in his eyes. "What's your problem anyway? There are forty seven other people here and you're the only one who has to cause trouble. Why can't you just help out or contribute like everyone else? Why the hell do you have to be such a-"
Before Peter could finish his rant, Claude grabbed him by the shoulders, just hard enough to leave a few bruises up and down his arms, and slammed him against a tree.
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The bullet hit his side with a fiery bite that soon spread through his entire body. He had seen it coming, known that they were going to pull something like this, and yet he hadn't truly been prepared for it. He'd dedicated twenty-three years of his life to this organization. He'd been loyal, hard working, and yet the second he started to even hint about his desire to leave this was what he got; a bullet in the side and a slow agonizing death.
Severance pay, Claude thought bitterly as the wind sent a shiver coursing through him and his whole body went limp.
He panted, clutching at the blood seeping out of his stomach as he glanced up at his faceless attacker. The moon was clouded tonight and the only source of light on the bridge came from the barely bright enough street lamp they stood under. Yet the man above him seemed to bend the light just enough so that he couldn't make out his face. Or maybe he had the loss of blood to thank for that.
"No hard feelings, Rains." The voice above him was hazy and unfamiliar, but there was the faintest hint of dark humor to his tone, even as the man grabbed his arms and shoved him over the side of the bridge.
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Peter's eyes widened for just a second, fear and confusion lighting his eyes before he bit his lip and forced them to harden in spite of himself. Claude had to give the kid credit for that. He knew he could be quite intimidating if he tried. Any other man would piss themselves if he had them in this situation. Although, a small voice in the back of his head told him that in his old age, he wasn't nearly as fearsome as he had once been.
"People suck, kid," the British man hissed. "They're all the same. Sooner or later they'll either leave ya or stab ya in the back."
The young nurse scowled, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. "So, what? This was some sort of lesson you've been trying to teach me? You kissed me just because you wanted to show me how cruel people can be?"
Claude smirked, studying the boy's wide brown eyes and his crocked lip thoughtfully. "Something like that."
"Well I don't buy it," the nurse snapped. "Just because something crappy happened to you doesn't mean you can brush off everyone. People are good."
The Brit scoffed, releasing Peter from his fierce grasp. He couldn't understand why the pup was trying so hard to prove him wrong, but he wasn't about to give up just yet. Peter wasn't a lost cause. He had to believe that.
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