Safe - Chapter 20
Characters: Peter/Claude-centric ensemble
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Word count: 620ish.
Spoilers: AU; at most 1.02 ("Don't Look Back").
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
Summary: Holocaust-era Heroes
A/N: Very short chapter, sorry - I'm leaving on vacation first thing tomorrow and everything is chaos. There won't be any new chapters for a week, I'm afraid, but I promise to try and write while I'm away :) Today, we catch up with Mohinder. ( Previous chapters)
Children are crying, and Mohinder's head may split from the misery.
Hopeless feet that trudged, resigned, towards Muiderpoort station, now ache from hours of standing. There are not enough seats for everyone, and Mohinder will not take a seat while grandmothers and their families stand. Everyone is very quiet, aside from squalling infants and the puzzled questions of small children.
The train has been at a standstill for several hours now; cold seeps into the carriage, can be seen in the shivering of shoulders, bleak stares on pale faces.
Or perhaps that is just fear of what awaits them.
Again, Mohinder calls to mind the stories. Cruelest fairytales, he thinks, when all that's promised here is resettlement to the East. At the station, he tried to protest, pointing out that he was not one of them; but again, his pleas went unheard, and fell away to the silent tutting of his fellow passengers, who would not meet his eyes. He supposes he is not the first person to protest his ordinariness ... but neither can he take pride in something which he is not.
As dusk falls, the train jerks, unbalancing all who stand, lolling dozing heads. The carriage begins to move again, to the creaks and sighs of metal, and the stretching and inquiring glances of its inhabitants. Onward they go, slow and winding passage through the country, to the North.
Long after dark, when slow, lilting rhythms are lulling all to sleep, they stop again. Rough voices command them to disembark, and Mohinder and the other occupants of the carriage stumble out into ... a barracks? It has a military feel, and this suspicion is reinforced as soldiers approach the train, begin herding passengers towards the camp.
Clutching their possessions, all shuffle forward, lit only by spotlights in the encampment and a few storm-lanterns carried by the soldiers. Past gates and barbed wire, and he sees others glance nervously at this new enclosure. Feels the chill of it himself.
They are herded into one of the buildings to be "processed." The word sits uncomfortably; Mohinder is reminded of canned meat.
Men and women who do not look like - are not dressed like - soldiers log personal information about each new arrival in neatly-kept ledgers. When it's Mohinder's turn, he is given a fold of papers that turn out to be "money", for him to spend in the canteen. They are inked carefully and elaborately by hand, and bear the warning that they can only be spent in Westerbork. He supposes that's where they are, then. The name is meaningless, really.
Having been offhandedly dismissed by the middle-aged woman, he wanders, a little lost for a moment. Catches the eye of a dark-haired young woman, apparently alone. Gamine features pinched and tired, but when she sees him looking at her, they shift into something warmer. She has eyes that dance, and he wonders how she can, in this place, manage to look quite so alive.
They shrug to one another, almost apologetically, then offer hopeless smiles. What can you do. There's something reassuring in this moment of human contact, really the first meaningful interaction with anyone else since Mohinder boarded the train early that morning. He feels as though he should introduce himself, and does so. She is called Eva, it transpires, and he shakes her hand. And then is instructed by a passing officer that he will be placed in Barrack 63, and should come at once. Again, they smile, shrug ruefully. And he leaves, clutching at his possessions. He feels her eyes on him until he knows she cannot possibly see him any longer.
He wonders what will become of him, how long he will be here. Well, at least he knows one person, now.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Word count: 620ish.
Spoilers: AU; at most 1.02 ("Don't Look Back").
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words.
Summary: Holocaust-era Heroes
A/N: Very short chapter, sorry - I'm leaving on vacation first thing tomorrow and everything is chaos. There won't be any new chapters for a week, I'm afraid, but I promise to try and write while I'm away :) Today, we catch up with Mohinder. ( Previous chapters)
Children are crying, and Mohinder's head may split from the misery.
Hopeless feet that trudged, resigned, towards Muiderpoort station, now ache from hours of standing. There are not enough seats for everyone, and Mohinder will not take a seat while grandmothers and their families stand. Everyone is very quiet, aside from squalling infants and the puzzled questions of small children.
The train has been at a standstill for several hours now; cold seeps into the carriage, can be seen in the shivering of shoulders, bleak stares on pale faces.
Or perhaps that is just fear of what awaits them.
Again, Mohinder calls to mind the stories. Cruelest fairytales, he thinks, when all that's promised here is resettlement to the East. At the station, he tried to protest, pointing out that he was not one of them; but again, his pleas went unheard, and fell away to the silent tutting of his fellow passengers, who would not meet his eyes. He supposes he is not the first person to protest his ordinariness ... but neither can he take pride in something which he is not.
As dusk falls, the train jerks, unbalancing all who stand, lolling dozing heads. The carriage begins to move again, to the creaks and sighs of metal, and the stretching and inquiring glances of its inhabitants. Onward they go, slow and winding passage through the country, to the North.
Long after dark, when slow, lilting rhythms are lulling all to sleep, they stop again. Rough voices command them to disembark, and Mohinder and the other occupants of the carriage stumble out into ... a barracks? It has a military feel, and this suspicion is reinforced as soldiers approach the train, begin herding passengers towards the camp.
Clutching their possessions, all shuffle forward, lit only by spotlights in the encampment and a few storm-lanterns carried by the soldiers. Past gates and barbed wire, and he sees others glance nervously at this new enclosure. Feels the chill of it himself.
They are herded into one of the buildings to be "processed." The word sits uncomfortably; Mohinder is reminded of canned meat.
Men and women who do not look like - are not dressed like - soldiers log personal information about each new arrival in neatly-kept ledgers. When it's Mohinder's turn, he is given a fold of papers that turn out to be "money", for him to spend in the canteen. They are inked carefully and elaborately by hand, and bear the warning that they can only be spent in Westerbork. He supposes that's where they are, then. The name is meaningless, really.
Having been offhandedly dismissed by the middle-aged woman, he wanders, a little lost for a moment. Catches the eye of a dark-haired young woman, apparently alone. Gamine features pinched and tired, but when she sees him looking at her, they shift into something warmer. She has eyes that dance, and he wonders how she can, in this place, manage to look quite so alive.
They shrug to one another, almost apologetically, then offer hopeless smiles. What can you do. There's something reassuring in this moment of human contact, really the first meaningful interaction with anyone else since Mohinder boarded the train early that morning. He feels as though he should introduce himself, and does so. She is called Eva, it transpires, and he shakes her hand. And then is instructed by a passing officer that he will be placed in Barrack 63, and should come at once. Again, they smile, shrug ruefully. And he leaves, clutching at his possessions. He feels her eyes on him until he knows she cannot possibly see him any longer.
He wonders what will become of him, how long he will be here. Well, at least he knows one person, now.
( Next chapter)
x-posted to
heroes_fic