fic: Easy Money, 6/7
Title: Easy Money.
Rating: PG.
Characters/Pairings: Nathan, Claire, Matt, Peter/Simone + a cast of thousands.
Word count: ~32,000.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Summary: Nathan is a conman with a habit of getting in too deep, and this time is no different. While he's recklessly trying to reach the prize before anyone else, Claire attempts to keep him safe from the gangsters that are always two steps behind them, Matt tries to get the upper hand on Nathan, and Peter just wants to get married in peace.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Simone hears it first. She's in her office, balancing the books, and thinking about Peter. She has to see Isaac soon, and convince him to keep working; they're behind schedule as it is, and he has these attacks of conscience sometimes. The promise of selling more of his original artwork normally assuages that.
Her phone buzzes mid-morning; she answers it tentatively. She wishes it would be Peter, but she knows it won't be. He deals with being hurt by retreating into himself. The text reads:
ADAM MONROE IS IN LAS VEGAS. HE IS LOOKING FOR THE SWORD.
Oh, that sword, it's been in her dreams of late. Her father never spoke of it, and of that she's glad, because she, predictably, would have become obsessed with it. Something so clean, elegant, rare; it makes her breath catch. It's art as surely as any of her paintings.
She clears her schedule.
-
Matt is next. It's his day off, and he has no intention of getting out of bed. Mohinder is sitting next to him, on top of the covers, legs crossed, laptop on legs, glasses slipping down his nose. He's working on a book, about the psychology of the children of criminals. Sometimes Matt thinks their whole life is an elaborate way to use him, and perhaps Molly, as subjects for the book, but logically he knows that it's far more likely that Mohinder's writing about Peter. He knows, too, that he's naturally mistrustful. Janice always said so.
“Are you going to write all morning?” he asks, “because I don't get time off that often, you know.”
“Inspiration comes when it comes, Matthew,” Mohinder replies evenly. “I happen to write a little every morning, you're the one who's interrupting my work.”
“Sorry, sir,” Matt mutters, rolls over to get his phone and turns it on. The screen lights up and plays its jingle, and then beeps. “Hey,” he says, reading the message, “look at this.”
He holds it out to Mohinder, who takes it and reads the few words very intently. “Oh,” he says eventually. “Well, now I definitely can't write any more today.”
-
Nathan is last to pick up the message, his phone having been misplaced amid his argument - fight - with Peter. Peter has seemingly been yelling at him continually since yesterday, and then Claire yelled at him a bit, and then they both stomped off to their rooms and slammed the doors.
And Peter can't go back to his apartment, apparently, because it 'isn't safe'. Because 'of your shit, Nathan, I'm being tracked down like I'm responsible!'. Because 'Hesam said the mansion is well protected and I have to stay here until they kill you or something'. Nathan doesn't get a particularly helpful answer when he asks who Hesam is.
His ma hasn't been around at all in the last few days, which gives him a chance to snoop further. Every now and then he thinks he sees something out of the corner, movement outside the windows, but he puts it down to nerves. He is nervous, and slightly depressed, he supposes. He's never been very good at sorting out his feelings, it's always just been 'play the character that will manipulate the mark best', but he does know that he misses Claire. She's only upstairs, but he's got used to her observations and input, and he thought they'd got past the whole 'at each other's throats' thing.
By noon, he leaves his snooping to tidy his things, strewn as they are all around his room. Claire, again, normally does this in a flurry of irritation at him, to keep their tiny motel room clean, but here he's alone. Not that it matters, because he's always been independent, fiercely so. It would be nice to have some help, though.
He finds his phone under his bed, vibrating itself in little circles. The message fills the wide screen, all black caps, and he gets a knot of excitement in his gut.
Claire and Peter are less excited about it.
“If we go now, we can find Adam and follow him,” he says.
“How would we even find Adam, theoretically?” Claire asks. “Not that I'm saying I'm going to have anything to do with this.”
That's his girl, ever curious. “We'll talk to Hiro, he knows everything that goes on in Vegas.”
“And why would he tell us anything?”
“Because he likes us. Before you ask, I don't know why,” Nathan adds quickly.
“I think you're missing the biggest question,” Peter says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why the hell would I ever get involved in this?”
“Because you love me?” Nathan replies, then changes his tack at the look on Peter's face. “Because the sooner I get the sword, the sooner I'm gone, and the sooner you can get back to your life.”
“That's been pretty much destroyed already,” Peter mutters, ever blowing things all out of proportion. Nathan hardly destroyed his life. More just dinged it a little.
“Well, then I don't know, but we have to go soon. Adam's not stupid, he won't hang around for long.”
“You're going to do it either way, aren't you?” Claire says. It's even really a question, the answer has been made implicit by their last conversation.
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. “Okay,” she says. She sounds disappointed.
“How am I even supposed to get there?” Peter asks. Nathan stares at him for a second, and Peter sits back. “No. I don't do that any more. I don't use my powers.”
“Then I guess you'll have to catch a flight, but it'll take a while. Can you even afford plane tickets on an honest paramedic's wage?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
-
Hiro plays blackjack while he waits. He doesn't cheat because it's his casino, and that doesn't really make sense, but he's still winning - he's learnt how to win the game honestly, not that he needs to any more. He's drawn a crowd around him; they don't know who he is, but everyone loves a winner, and they all want a piece of his luck.
Niki deals the card, face expressionless, though he can only imagine how she's going to look once she finds out that Nathan is in the same state, in the same building, as her. Nathan and Niki together are like a powder keg.
His phone rings, once, and he sits back. “Excuse me, sir?” he calls to a downtrodden-looking man near the fruit machines. “Would you like to take my place?”
Hiro leaves the man to stare wide-eyed at the pile of chips. He takes the personal elevator to the top floor, and enters his office to find Nathan, Claire, and Peter all standing with at least three feet between them. Charlie is sitting behind the desk, and Daphne is on the couch.
“Peter!” he says, and hugs him. “It's been a long time!”
Peter's cheek twitches.
“Perhaps you hoped for longer still,” Hiro amends, and smiles. Peter doesn't smile back.
“So, Adam Monroe's came to Las Vegas today,” Nathan says. He always did know when to cut through all the shit. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes,” Hiro answers, and says no more. He moves to the drinks cabinet and begins pouring glasses.
“And?” Nathan probes.
“We can't start yet, we have to wait.” He offers them a drink each, and only Nathan accepts. As he always does.
“Wait for what?” Claire asks.
“The others, of course. They should be here in a matter of hours.”
Hours
They wait. They pretty much have to, and Hiro knows that he's really abusing the trust that the Petrellis somewhat unwillingly place on him, but there's nothing he can do about that right now. They play cards, and Nathan is good, but not quite as good as he is, Daphne shows Claire some self defence moves, and Charlie talks quietly to Peter. She has her understanding face on, one that Hiro sees a lot (especially when he goes to conventions instead of board meetings) and Peter seems to be receptive to it.
Finally, the doors of the office open, and Ando leads five people in.
“Adam-- and,” Nathan pauses dramatically, “crazy blonde girl.”
“Simone,” Peter says shakily.
A couple of seconds pass, and then, “I guess nobody cares about us,” Matt says to Mohinder, who tilts his head. This is quickly proven not to be true.
“Dr Suresh?” Peter says, wrenching his gaze away from Simone. “Why are you...?”
“Now, Peter,” Mohinder says carefully. “I know this is a shock.”
Peter takes a half-step back, narrowing his eyes. “What's a shock?”
Nathan watches the scene with confused interest. “Mohinder is Matt's husband, Peter,” he says, and his voice is tinged with something... a little smug, Hiro thinks. They always did like to get one over on each other.
“You're- you're not a psychiatrist?” he asks, and Hiro isn't sure what's going on, but it doesn't sound good, whatever it is. He shares a look with Charlie, who's shaking her head slightly.
“Well, no, not in the strictest terms. We needed information about your family, I'm terribly sorry. But I really did care about you, and I hope our sessions helped you at least somewhat.”
“But, I paid you. A lot. You had an office. And a... receptionist.”
Mohinder looks pained. “Yes, well.”
“I told you everything,” Peter says, which draws a several nervous glances.
“What did you tell him?” Nathan asks, ignored by all.
“I know you did, and it was a huge breach of patient confidentiality, and I'm sorry. If you'd like to discuss it further--”
Adam clears his throat loudly. “Look, this is great, but can we get down to business, please? I don't care for soap operas at the best of times.”
Peter mutters, 'awesome' and looks at the ground as Nathan speaks again. “Well, why don't you tell us where the sword is, then?”
“Would that I could,” Adam replies wistfully. “But I was never privy to such information. I don't believe Kaito trusted me with such things. Which was a good call on his part.”
“But you were the one who hid it. You attacked Kaito.”
“Ah, I see that you did talk to your mother. I hoped she might lead you on more of a merry chase, but no matter. Kaito and I were rather good friends, as it happens. We did all look for the sword, and Kaito and myself did find it, but he thought we were all already too obsessed with it, and that we would never be able to share it, so he decided to hide it. Charles agreed with him,” he adds, casting a look to Simone.
“And you just took the fall for it?” Nathan asks.
“I did. The group was already starting to turn against me, and I needed an out, so I took it. I was growing bored, anyway. Kaito hoped that they would turn all anger towards me. It did for a while, but in the end, they still turned against each other.”
“So,” Matt says slowly. “If you don't know where the sword is, what are we doing here?”
Adam shrugs. His demeanour is always so calm, and today is no different. Hiro suspects that he enjoys the game far more than the prize.
“I have it,” Hiro says. He has moved to stand behind the desk with Charlie now, and he holds in his hand an envelope. They all turn to him. “My father gave me this for safekeeping just before his death, and I had hoped that it would stay sealed, but I understand now what my father did: none of you are going to stop until you find the sword, and this is the safest way that I can find to end this.”
“What are you doing, Hiro?” Nathan's tone is a warning, and Hiro is quite sure that Nathan would do something quite unfriendly if he had to.
“I'm going to open the envelope, and then all of you can read it, and then the first one who gets it wins.” He picks up a letter opener and slowly lifts it to the envelope. He's doing it on purpose, and he knows they know it - he feels like a host on a gameshow - but there is nothing they can do about it right now. He slides the blade across the top, shakes the note out, takes a deep breath, and holds it up for them to see.
“Fuck,” Nathan snaps, and grabs Claire's hand, dragging her from the room. Elle smiles up at Adam, and they leave at a quick walk, and Matt and Mohinder back out of the room, but their footsteps quicken the moment they clear the doors.
That just leaves Simone and Peter. Hiro lays the note on the desk, and Charlie touches his arm. “We're going to go now,” she says, collecting him, Ando and Daphne, as Simone's eyes flicker between Peter and the note.
-
“So.” Peter says. He stares at a spot somewhere beyond Simone's knee.
“Peter, you know that I'm sorry, don't you?” Simone ducks her head and tries to catch his eye, though the note continues to tug at her. It's just singing out to her. It's a really nice tune.
He crosses his arms, remains resolutely not looking at her. “Yeah, I know.”
“You haven't been answering my calls.”
“Yeah.” He repeats. Takes a breath. “Stuff's been going on. Somebody tried to kill me.”
“Who did?” She steps closer to him, reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He doesn't push her away, mercifully. He even looks up at her. “Yeah. And it was Nathan's fault.”
She purses her lips. “Of course it was.”
He watches her for a couple of seconds, uncrosses his arms, recrosses them, then uncrosses them again. “Okay, look, the thing is: I hated that this became part of my life again, and that you lied to me, but I lied to you too. I mean, I thought I lied to you. I mean, I did, but you already knew.”
“I know,” she says, after processing what he's said. She lays a hand on his cheek. “I knew that you didn't want any part in your... family's business, everyone knew, so I thought it would be kinder not to tell you. I didn't think I'd fall in love with you. Not with a Petrelli. I just thought it would be a fling.”
“Thank you?” he replies, and smiles a little, the first smile she's got out of him in weeks. “There's only one thing I need to know.”
Her eyes drift to the desk, but she pulls her attention back into line. “Yes?”
He takes her hand from his face, and holds it between both of his. “Have you ever slept with my brother?”
“Mm.” She worries her lip, and his face sort of - not falls, more settles into resignation. “Once. I was twenty two. He wasn't very good.”
He nods, even smiles a bit, which she thinks is an awfully mature reaction to such a confession. “Let's get married,” he says, then clarifies, “Today. Now. I can rearrange the flights to Australia, we can get married by Elvis, go on our honeymoon tomorrow. And when we come back, you can go back to your... things, and I'll go back to being oblivious to it. Like, you know, a normal marriage.”
The note sits there, waiting for her to take up its challenge; she gives it one more look, then sighs. Her dad would say that there are many things more important than money. “Where's the nearest Elvis?” she says.
-
“The Corinthian! Ma was right!” Nathan rests his hands on his hips and looks up at the closed casino. “We've done it.”
Claire hugs herself; it isn't that cold, but she feels cold. “There's been a car following us the whole way here. It's over there.” She slides her eyes to the right, but Nathan doesn't even glance that way.
“They can't have, we flew. You're being paranoid. Look, we need to get in there now, before the others catch us up.”
She grits her teeth. “Well, they did, and we are being watched. Do you think Danko's really just going to get over it?”
“The quicker we get in, the quicker we get out,” he replies vaguely, still admiring the building.
“Nathan!” she shouts, “they are going to kill you! We need to go!” She tugs on his arm, trying to get his attention off the casino and the glittery, incoherent skyline beyond.
He turns around. “Goddamnit, Claire, you don't have to be a part of this if you don't want to, but I am going in there, okay?” And she knows, clearly, that he is telling the truth. He is not going to be swayed from this.
“Fine, good bye, Nathan, it was nice knowing you.” She turns and walks quickly away. He doesn't even call out to her once. But as her momma always said, she was better off alone.
-
He opens the door with a key he happened to pickpocket off his mother. All that work, and it came down to this; a building that his family owns, that he can legally get into. It's like... fate.
Hiro's note said: Corinthian, basement, locker 138, so he sets off to find the elevators, thinking that in ten minutes, that sword is going to be in his hands and that he's going to get some fucking respect for once. Claire will come around, she always has before. At least, well, he thinks she has. Sometimes she doesn't talk to him for weeks, but she always thaws in the end.
He can't think about that now, the elevator is up ahead and he's this close to the fame and fortune.
He has, oh, all of two minutes to dream happily on that before it's brought to a screeching halt. A bullet, and the unmistakable sound of it ricocheting off a wall, send him instinctively to the ground, scrabbling to find cover in a doorway.
“Nathan Petrelli,” a voice calls out. “Nathan fucking Petrelli.”
He looks around the door frame, and yes, Claire was kind of right, he guesses. Danko, gun, his men clustered around him, more guns, angry faces - this all spells out T R O U B L E. “Hi,” he says.
“You've really been pissing me off, Nathan,” Danko says in lieu of a greeting.
He stands. If he's going to get shot then it's not going to happen with him cowering in a doorway. He at least wants there to be a rumour that he went out in style. “People tell me that a lot.”
“Yes, including people like your daughter. My men saw her leave you here.”
“She's like her mother,” he says. “She doesn't like me all that much. Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes,” Danko replies flippantly. He checks the rounds in his gun, then looks up. “You need to tell me where my money is first, though.”
“So, if I don't tell you where it is, you won't kill me?”
“I won't kill you right this moment,” Danko says slowly. “But I'll maim you until you do tell me, then I'll kill you. Don't try to negotiate.”
He didn't really think that would work. “I don't have it anymore. I spent it all years ago.”
“How unfortunate for you.” Danko raises his gun, and wouldn't you know, the door Nathan's leaning on is locked and there's nowhere else to go - at least nowhere he could get to before Danko pulls the trigger.
A lot of things happen in the next few moments, most of which he is unaware of because, despite the fact that his life should be flashing before his eyes right now, he is struck with blind terror induced amnesia. He's never been quite this close to a man with a gun who wasn't his father. And then his father wasn't normally pointing it at him.
There are a lot of noises, thumps, shouts and the like, which seems like a lot of fuss just to kill him, but he isn't going to open his eyes to find out why he isn't dead yet.
“God, I hate you,” someone says, not Danko. A different member of his not-fanclub. He risks a look, and in front of him Niki has Danko in a choke hold with one arm, and is repeatedly bashing another guy's head into the wall until he passes out. “You just can't help but fuck up, can you?”
He smiles. “Hey, Niki.” Maybe he leers a bit. She's as gorgeous as ever, and even more amazing in full battle mode as she is. The last time he saw her like this, she was hitting him, and he was turned on then, too.
A hand comes out of the wall and grips the back of a guy's shirt as he swings for Niki's head; he disappears and a second later is thrown out, unconscious.
“Oh, I see you got back together with DL,” he says, sidestepping the last of Danko's men. He sticks out a foot and the man lands face first on the concrete floor.
“No thanks to you,” she says, gripping tighter as Danko's fingers pry at her arm. “We spent hundreds in couple's therapy. I should bill you.”
“You'll have to take an IOU,” he says, and grins. They was a time when she might have been charmed by that. “Can I ask what you're doing here? Both of you,” he adds as DL steps out from the wall. He doesn't look happy.
“Overtime,” she says. He doesn't understand, but their twin expressions suggest that he doesn't need to.
“Well,” he says, as Danko finally succumbs to lack of air and goes slack in Niki's grip. He doesn't get any further, because in less than a blink of the eye, Danko and all his men scattered around the corridor have disappeared. Niki wipes her hands on her jeans and turns to leave.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says, and takes two long strides towards him. She looks him square in the face, and with her heels on she's as tall as him (and she did all that in heels?). He smiles, and she smiles, and then.
She punches. “Consider that my fee,” she says.
Hiro really is an evil man, and a very good friend.
-
No one ever really had a chance against Nathan, they all knew that; he had an unfair advantage. Which, Matt reflects, has been the case his whole life: Nathan had his parents' money, his parents' influence, his brother to bully into doing things for him, his daughter to deal with practical things that seem to pass him by, and even Matt himself, to pull him out of trouble after some choice blackmail.
“Jealousy suits no one,” Mohinder says. His tone is kind of superior, and it rankles on Matt's nerves.
“Look, you were the prince of a crime syndicate, okay? I grew up in South Central, Mom worked nights, Dad abandoned us, and TV raised me. So, yeah, it pisses me off that Nathan gets to breeze through life, especially since somehow somehow even after ruining everything and fleeing to Mexico, he still manages to come back and get that fucking sword!”
“Everyone has their own trials, even Nathan.” Mohinder looks up as a spotlight passes over them. Three helicopters are covering the city with their lights.
“Right,” Matt says, nowhere near agreeing with Mohinder. “I'm sure Nathan cries about his pretty face and great body every night.”
A cop car comes screeching past them. Mohinder rolls his eyes. “Now now, don't make me jealous. Anyway, between us we have enough money to put ten kids through college and retire to the Cayman Islands. This sword isn't necessary to our life. In fact, I'm starting to suspect that this has more to do with your sense of self-worth than any desire for material gain.”
“I.” Matt pauses. Psycho-analysis makes him itchy. Psycho-analysis from Mohinder makes him break out in a rash. “If you didn't care about the sword, why did you go to so much trouble for it?”
Mohinder sighs. It's an 'oh, Matthew, what am I going to do with you?' sigh. “I did it for you. I mean, clearly, Matthew. Although I must say, it was an educational experience talking to Peter.”
He stops Mohinder with a hand. A beat cop runs past them, listening to crackly orders on his radio. “So, wait, are you telling me that you never wanted this?”
“Well, no, not really. I thought you knew that.”
Another two cars scream past, a spotlight zigzags across the street in front of them. “Then what are we doing here?”
Mohinder shrugs. Around them the streets are packed with people, even more than normal, not that either of them know that, having never spent much time in Las Vegas. Someone pushes past Mohinder, and he turns, annoyed - it's a look that could have led to someone getting a nasty surprise involving pain, once. But he doesn't do any of that anymore. He says that Molly's psychological development shouldn't be further scarred by violence. And perhaps, maybe, the change has something to do with Matt, as well. “You tell me.”
And when he turns back, the ground beneath them has turned from lit and decorated with celebrity stars to the dark tarmac of a parking lot. He looks over Matt's head, and Matt follows his gaze to a building behind them, all its windows lit. Matt's own station. And in front of them, five mobsters out cold and handcuffed, a note stuck to one that says, 'your consolation prize'.
“Well, that was easy,” Mohinder says.
-
Yellow tape lines the street, clashing with every other brightly coloured thing - neon signs, garish flashing lights in store windows, one curious miniature Eiffel tower statue outside the Paris Las Vegas Hotel. Only this tape isn't meant to decorate, however dubious the decorations are. This is courtesy of the LVMPD and friends.
Adam lets his 'borrowed' red convertible roll to a stop a block away from the scene. “Ah,” he says, rolling down a window. A helicopter shines its light on the Corinthian, not three blocks away. “I believe we've been beaten to the punch.”
“What punch?” Elle says. She climbs over him and sticks her head out of the window. “We're so close, let's just sneak in!”
“No, I don't think so.” He reaches around her tangle of limbs and releases the door handle. She tumbles out. “We'll be caught within minutes - you're not known for your finesse, and I don't like being in such close contact with the authorities.”
She picks herself up and dusts herself off. “But the sword! I've been dreaming about it for weeks!”
“Some things just aren't worth the hassle. I'll buy you something nice,” he says. He steps gracefully from the car, and holds an arm out to her. “I dare say maybe even something shiny.”
She threads her arm through his suspiciously. “How shiny?” she asks.
“As shiny as you want, love.”
She sighs. “This was the most exciting thing that's happened to us in years. What are we going to do now?” A police officer shoes them away as a new roll of tape appears, and a crowd is drawn to the excitement.
“I read that Shinjuku Historical Museum is going to be getting a new statue of Buddha shortly. You've never been to Japan, have you?”
-
With Niki and DL gone (thankfully; his face aches), Nathan is alone, again, in the abandoned casino, and this time he runs for the elevator before anything can get in his way. The trip is a short one, and he's soon in the basement, running for the storeroom.
Well, rooms, plural. Each one has five hundred or so lockers and he checks each before finding the 1 to 500 room. From there it's a simple case of picking the locker's lock, getting the sword, and getting out without running into the others.
He isn't great at picking locks, his fingers have never been quite steady enough for it, even though he's been practising his whole life. Claire was really the one who did these kind of things. Is really the one. She has the steadiest hands he's ever seen, and perfect balance. Years of gymnastics, she said.
He gets it though, after some rattling of the pick he keeps on him at all times. The padlock pops open, and he pulls the door open, reaches inside for the sword...
It is beautiful; old, worn in the shape of a hand at the hilt and scratched along the edge of blade as if in battle. It probably it has been. The thought makes him laugh - this is the most important thing he's ever stolen, the most decadent. The feeling is almost overwhelming.
He doesn't even see it coming. Like everything else that's happened today, he's completely blindsided. One second he's admiring the sword, wondering how he's going to conceal it out on the street, the next he's opening his eyes, still on his feet.
Hands empty.
He checks his watch; not two minutes have passed since he last checked, but there's a curious smell of something suspiciously like chloroform in the air, and a headache growing at his temples.
“Did I just get knocked out for sixty seconds?” he mutters to himself. “Oh, for fuck's sake.”
The room is empty, of people, of swords, and there's no way that anyone could have got in, is there? He doesn't think anyone could have got down here without him hearing. “Fucking hell!” he shouts, and kicks the wall. Which hurts.
“Fuck it,” he says, and leaves the room. On his way he passes an air vent, and a single screw lying on the floor. He kicks it away in disgust, and gets into the elevator. Nothing else could go wrong today: he's lost his daughter, and the sword, and his brother, apparently, and nothing else that could happen today could possibly make it any worse.
The elevator doors open. “Come out with your hands up!”
“What?” he says, not even bothering to be scared at the multiple gun barrels pointed at him.
He's asked, “Where's Danko?” And the day just got worse. It is, in fact, a one hundred percent proof bad fucking day. Agent Hanson (and they've had some run ins before - she'll be glad to arrest him for any minor infraction) lowers her gun an inch and narrows her eyes.
“Nathan Petrelli,” she says, in a way that suggests she isn't altogether surprised to find him standing there instead of a violent mobster. “How nice to see you.”
He steps out of the elevator. “I haven't broken any laws, Agent Hanson. In fact, I'm pretty sure yo still owe me a favour from that last time that I-”
“Possession of an unregistered fire arm is a crime,” she interrupts, the beginnings of an angry blush spreading on her cheeks. She never is receptive to talking about that one time.
“I don't have a gun,” he says. “I don't like guns.” That and being caught with a weapon is the fastest way to get a warrant issued to search your place of residence.
Which Audrey clearly is aware of. She smiles and inclines her head to a discarded gun of Danko's. “I'm sure we could find some of your prints on that,” she says.
“Yes, I'm sure you could,” he agrees. Shit, he thinks, trying to remember all the stuff he left at the mansion and just exactly how incriminating it will be. Audrey's had it in for him since he rigged that election (even after months of investigation, she couldn't prove it, and it was a huge embarrassment for the bureau), so the smallest thing could have him looking at months in jail. “Can we come to some kind of arrange-” He stops at the sensation of something cold pressed to the side of his head. Audrey's attention to drawn away from him, her gun pointing now to something beside him. Someone beside him. He glances to the side, but all he can see is a ski mask and a black jacket.
“Lower your weapons or I'll kill him,” a low, gruff voice says, close to his ear. Audrey looks like she might not mind that, but there are too many other people with her to get away with it. “Good,” the man says, and begins to drag Nathan away.
He struggles, but the guy is strong and really fucking tall, and when he wraps his arm around Nathan's neck, Nathan remembers Danko clawing at Niki and decides to go with it. He's dragged into a room, the door shut and bolted behind them, and then from that room to another, its door also shut and bolted. Then the pressure on his windpipe eases off.
“What is this?” he asks.
“This is a rescue.”
“René?” he says. He rubs at his throat and turns around. “Bennet?”
Bennet moves around from him, ski mask in hand, and picks up a suitcase. René sort of smiles - it isn't actually a smile, but it feels like it could be one, under the right circumstances.
“Are you going to kill me? I don't have the sword. Did you take it?”
“Wasn't us, Petrelli, and no, we aren't going to kill you.” Bennet pulls out a stack of papers and flicks through them, occasionally placing one or two on the lonely table in the room. It appears that they're in a mostly abandoned office.
“I saw a small figure in black running from the building a few minutes ago,” René offers. “They got into a vehicle and left.”
“You got ninjaed,” Bennet says. “It happens. Not to me, but they've been striking a lot recently.” He beckons Nathan to the table. “We need to work quickly, before Hanson gets these doors open. Here's the plan: take all this, climb out of that window, and avoid the FBI. Simple.” 'All this' is Bennet's stack of papers, and 'that window' is the tiny window eight foot up.
He looks down at the mess of papers: there are at least four passports, and a birth certificate for a 'Vivian Lewis'. “Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“My wife made me,” Bennet replies. “I'd have sooner shot you. Meredith says hi, by the way.”
“Oh,” Nathan says. He should have expected that Meredith wouldn't let him off the hook just because she was in prison. Bennet pushes everything into his hands, barking orders that Nathan can't follow. René translates the most important ones.
“We have given you three fake identities,” he says calmly. Bennet looks pissed, and kind of psychotic. Nathan can see why they're a team. It's good criminal, bad criminal right here. “And three for your daughter. Use them wisely. Find your daughter and leave the state. Leave the country if possible.”
“And stop fucking around,” Bennet adds. He gets up in Nathan's face, hand on shoulder, creepy stare. “Your child is the most important person in your life, don't forget it.”
Properly scolded, he's shoved towards the window. It's going to be a tight squeeze, that's for sure, and he floats up to it to get a better look. When he glances back down, his rescuers are gone.
-
Monica is saying into her phone, we've got it, we'll be over with it soon with one hand on the steering wheel, and the other holding the phone to her ear.
You shouldn't be on the phone while you're driving, Emma signs.
I have the reaction times of a racetrack driver, she signs back somewhat awkwardly, juggling the phone. She still finishes the phone call pretty quick, throwing the cell onto the backseat with the sword. They've thrown a blanket over it to conceal it.
What does Micah want with it, anyway? Emma asks. Monica shrugs, slowing down to let a convertible pass them. Urgh, Emma thinks, what a thing to waste one's money on.
I watched late night poker on our hotel room's TV last night. Monica grins. Let's have some fun before we go.
-
Claire gets out onto the Las Vegas Beltway before she really thinks about it. Up till now, her thoughts have gone a little something like this: fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, I hope he gets arrested. But as it knocks on one in the morning, her anger dissipates, leaving her tired and anxious and tearful. It's pitch black now, and somehow that makes everything ten times worse. Like, what if he gets lost - and he's forty years old, he can probably look after himself for one night.
Well, she hopes so.
She's still thinking on it when her phone buzzes. The text message says, Where are you? There's even a little sad face emoticon, as if it's an apology. She wipes at her eyes and replies with the nearest exit, then pulls over onto the hard shoulder. The headlights light the road in front of her, and she braces her feet against the dashboard and settles in to wait. She turns on the radio, hears about the swarm of cops and feds that descended on the Corinthian casino this evening, and switches it off.
Five minutes later, a figure appears in the distance. She sits up and watches his approach: she can tell it's Nathan by the way he walks. He keeps his chin up when he walks, never looks at his feet, takes long strides as if anything in his way will just magically move because he's coming through. Sometimes he's right.
She gets out of the car, and waits for him to reach her.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi.” He looks nervous, or at least as nervous as he ever does. “Thanks for... replying to my text.”
“Yeah. Don't use emoticons again, it's weird.”
“Okay. Look-”
It's a warm night tonight, and the humidity presses at her from all sides. It makes her feel even more vulnerable. “The thing is, Nathan, I was worried,” she says, talking over him. “About you. I was worried about you getting killed, and you not caring that you might be. And I was angry at you for ignoring me, like, like it doesn't matter that I care, like it means nothing that I love you.”
“Oh.” He steps a bit closer. “I don't know what to say. I really try, you know, to be a good father. It's just hard.”
She rolls her eyes. Yeah, right, she's heard that a thousand times. “I know you don't, and I know you do. So, what happened? And what happened to your face?”
He looks relieved. Conversations about his failings as a father are not conversations he likes having, no matter how much he says he knows he needs to do better. “Well, I ran into Danko, but that's been sorted out now. And then I ran into the feds, but that got sorted out too. And I... also ran into Niki at one point.”
So she has Niki to thank for the bruise blossoming across his nose and cheek. It's some small satisfaction.
“Where's the sword?” She doesn't see it, and she imagines that she wouldn't be able to miss a thing like that.
“I did have it, but-” He crosses his arms over his chest. “-a ninja stole it from me.”
“Right.”
“No, really.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever. Are you coming?” She indicates to the car with a nod of her head.
He looks at it, and all its red awfulness. “Can I drive it?”
“No, you'll probably pick up chicks.”
He laughs, and follows her to the car. They get in, and he's watching her more closely than usual, like he's worried. It's very offputting. She points to the things he's carrying in his hand to distract him. “What's all that?”
“New identities. This one is definitely you.” He holds a passport open to the photo page. The name 'Bonnie Monaco' is printed next to her photograph. It's a good fake. She searches through the other passports.
“Ricardo Monaco,” she reads. “You don't look like a Ricardo.”
“I could be a Ricardo,” he insists.
It does fit certain aspects rather well, she supposes. “Where are we going?”
“Arizona,” he says. “Now that Danko's squared away, we can dig up the money. And hey-” he continues, stilling her hand as she shifts the car into gear. “-I love you too.”
There's almost a question mark on the end of it, like he isn't quite sure how to say it. It's, like, the first time he ever has.
She starts the engine, righting the little toy plane she's placed on the dashboard. “Yeah, I know.”
Part 7
Rating: PG.
Characters/Pairings: Nathan, Claire, Matt, Peter/Simone + a cast of thousands.
Word count: ~32,000.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Summary: Nathan is a conman with a habit of getting in too deep, and this time is no different. While he's recklessly trying to reach the prize before anyone else, Claire attempts to keep him safe from the gangsters that are always two steps behind them, Matt tries to get the upper hand on Nathan, and Peter just wants to get married in peace.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Simone hears it first. She's in her office, balancing the books, and thinking about Peter. She has to see Isaac soon, and convince him to keep working; they're behind schedule as it is, and he has these attacks of conscience sometimes. The promise of selling more of his original artwork normally assuages that.
Her phone buzzes mid-morning; she answers it tentatively. She wishes it would be Peter, but she knows it won't be. He deals with being hurt by retreating into himself. The text reads:
ADAM MONROE IS IN LAS VEGAS. HE IS LOOKING FOR THE SWORD.
Oh, that sword, it's been in her dreams of late. Her father never spoke of it, and of that she's glad, because she, predictably, would have become obsessed with it. Something so clean, elegant, rare; it makes her breath catch. It's art as surely as any of her paintings.
She clears her schedule.
-
Matt is next. It's his day off, and he has no intention of getting out of bed. Mohinder is sitting next to him, on top of the covers, legs crossed, laptop on legs, glasses slipping down his nose. He's working on a book, about the psychology of the children of criminals. Sometimes Matt thinks their whole life is an elaborate way to use him, and perhaps Molly, as subjects for the book, but logically he knows that it's far more likely that Mohinder's writing about Peter. He knows, too, that he's naturally mistrustful. Janice always said so.
“Are you going to write all morning?” he asks, “because I don't get time off that often, you know.”
“Inspiration comes when it comes, Matthew,” Mohinder replies evenly. “I happen to write a little every morning, you're the one who's interrupting my work.”
“Sorry, sir,” Matt mutters, rolls over to get his phone and turns it on. The screen lights up and plays its jingle, and then beeps. “Hey,” he says, reading the message, “look at this.”
He holds it out to Mohinder, who takes it and reads the few words very intently. “Oh,” he says eventually. “Well, now I definitely can't write any more today.”
-
Nathan is last to pick up the message, his phone having been misplaced amid his argument - fight - with Peter. Peter has seemingly been yelling at him continually since yesterday, and then Claire yelled at him a bit, and then they both stomped off to their rooms and slammed the doors.
And Peter can't go back to his apartment, apparently, because it 'isn't safe'. Because 'of your shit, Nathan, I'm being tracked down like I'm responsible!'. Because 'Hesam said the mansion is well protected and I have to stay here until they kill you or something'. Nathan doesn't get a particularly helpful answer when he asks who Hesam is.
His ma hasn't been around at all in the last few days, which gives him a chance to snoop further. Every now and then he thinks he sees something out of the corner, movement outside the windows, but he puts it down to nerves. He is nervous, and slightly depressed, he supposes. He's never been very good at sorting out his feelings, it's always just been 'play the character that will manipulate the mark best', but he does know that he misses Claire. She's only upstairs, but he's got used to her observations and input, and he thought they'd got past the whole 'at each other's throats' thing.
By noon, he leaves his snooping to tidy his things, strewn as they are all around his room. Claire, again, normally does this in a flurry of irritation at him, to keep their tiny motel room clean, but here he's alone. Not that it matters, because he's always been independent, fiercely so. It would be nice to have some help, though.
He finds his phone under his bed, vibrating itself in little circles. The message fills the wide screen, all black caps, and he gets a knot of excitement in his gut.
Claire and Peter are less excited about it.
“If we go now, we can find Adam and follow him,” he says.
“How would we even find Adam, theoretically?” Claire asks. “Not that I'm saying I'm going to have anything to do with this.”
That's his girl, ever curious. “We'll talk to Hiro, he knows everything that goes on in Vegas.”
“And why would he tell us anything?”
“Because he likes us. Before you ask, I don't know why,” Nathan adds quickly.
“I think you're missing the biggest question,” Peter says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Why the hell would I ever get involved in this?”
“Because you love me?” Nathan replies, then changes his tack at the look on Peter's face. “Because the sooner I get the sword, the sooner I'm gone, and the sooner you can get back to your life.”
“That's been pretty much destroyed already,” Peter mutters, ever blowing things all out of proportion. Nathan hardly destroyed his life. More just dinged it a little.
“Well, then I don't know, but we have to go soon. Adam's not stupid, he won't hang around for long.”
“You're going to do it either way, aren't you?” Claire says. It's even really a question, the answer has been made implicit by their last conversation.
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. “Okay,” she says. She sounds disappointed.
“How am I even supposed to get there?” Peter asks. Nathan stares at him for a second, and Peter sits back. “No. I don't do that any more. I don't use my powers.”
“Then I guess you'll have to catch a flight, but it'll take a while. Can you even afford plane tickets on an honest paramedic's wage?”
“Oh, fuck you.”
-
Hiro plays blackjack while he waits. He doesn't cheat because it's his casino, and that doesn't really make sense, but he's still winning - he's learnt how to win the game honestly, not that he needs to any more. He's drawn a crowd around him; they don't know who he is, but everyone loves a winner, and they all want a piece of his luck.
Niki deals the card, face expressionless, though he can only imagine how she's going to look once she finds out that Nathan is in the same state, in the same building, as her. Nathan and Niki together are like a powder keg.
His phone rings, once, and he sits back. “Excuse me, sir?” he calls to a downtrodden-looking man near the fruit machines. “Would you like to take my place?”
Hiro leaves the man to stare wide-eyed at the pile of chips. He takes the personal elevator to the top floor, and enters his office to find Nathan, Claire, and Peter all standing with at least three feet between them. Charlie is sitting behind the desk, and Daphne is on the couch.
“Peter!” he says, and hugs him. “It's been a long time!”
Peter's cheek twitches.
“Perhaps you hoped for longer still,” Hiro amends, and smiles. Peter doesn't smile back.
“So, Adam Monroe's came to Las Vegas today,” Nathan says. He always did know when to cut through all the shit. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes,” Hiro answers, and says no more. He moves to the drinks cabinet and begins pouring glasses.
“And?” Nathan probes.
“We can't start yet, we have to wait.” He offers them a drink each, and only Nathan accepts. As he always does.
“Wait for what?” Claire asks.
“The others, of course. They should be here in a matter of hours.”
Hours
They wait. They pretty much have to, and Hiro knows that he's really abusing the trust that the Petrellis somewhat unwillingly place on him, but there's nothing he can do about that right now. They play cards, and Nathan is good, but not quite as good as he is, Daphne shows Claire some self defence moves, and Charlie talks quietly to Peter. She has her understanding face on, one that Hiro sees a lot (especially when he goes to conventions instead of board meetings) and Peter seems to be receptive to it.
Finally, the doors of the office open, and Ando leads five people in.
“Adam-- and,” Nathan pauses dramatically, “crazy blonde girl.”
“Simone,” Peter says shakily.
A couple of seconds pass, and then, “I guess nobody cares about us,” Matt says to Mohinder, who tilts his head. This is quickly proven not to be true.
“Dr Suresh?” Peter says, wrenching his gaze away from Simone. “Why are you...?”
“Now, Peter,” Mohinder says carefully. “I know this is a shock.”
Peter takes a half-step back, narrowing his eyes. “What's a shock?”
Nathan watches the scene with confused interest. “Mohinder is Matt's husband, Peter,” he says, and his voice is tinged with something... a little smug, Hiro thinks. They always did like to get one over on each other.
“You're- you're not a psychiatrist?” he asks, and Hiro isn't sure what's going on, but it doesn't sound good, whatever it is. He shares a look with Charlie, who's shaking her head slightly.
“Well, no, not in the strictest terms. We needed information about your family, I'm terribly sorry. But I really did care about you, and I hope our sessions helped you at least somewhat.”
“But, I paid you. A lot. You had an office. And a... receptionist.”
Mohinder looks pained. “Yes, well.”
“I told you everything,” Peter says, which draws a several nervous glances.
“What did you tell him?” Nathan asks, ignored by all.
“I know you did, and it was a huge breach of patient confidentiality, and I'm sorry. If you'd like to discuss it further--”
Adam clears his throat loudly. “Look, this is great, but can we get down to business, please? I don't care for soap operas at the best of times.”
Peter mutters, 'awesome' and looks at the ground as Nathan speaks again. “Well, why don't you tell us where the sword is, then?”
“Would that I could,” Adam replies wistfully. “But I was never privy to such information. I don't believe Kaito trusted me with such things. Which was a good call on his part.”
“But you were the one who hid it. You attacked Kaito.”
“Ah, I see that you did talk to your mother. I hoped she might lead you on more of a merry chase, but no matter. Kaito and I were rather good friends, as it happens. We did all look for the sword, and Kaito and myself did find it, but he thought we were all already too obsessed with it, and that we would never be able to share it, so he decided to hide it. Charles agreed with him,” he adds, casting a look to Simone.
“And you just took the fall for it?” Nathan asks.
“I did. The group was already starting to turn against me, and I needed an out, so I took it. I was growing bored, anyway. Kaito hoped that they would turn all anger towards me. It did for a while, but in the end, they still turned against each other.”
“So,” Matt says slowly. “If you don't know where the sword is, what are we doing here?”
Adam shrugs. His demeanour is always so calm, and today is no different. Hiro suspects that he enjoys the game far more than the prize.
“I have it,” Hiro says. He has moved to stand behind the desk with Charlie now, and he holds in his hand an envelope. They all turn to him. “My father gave me this for safekeeping just before his death, and I had hoped that it would stay sealed, but I understand now what my father did: none of you are going to stop until you find the sword, and this is the safest way that I can find to end this.”
“What are you doing, Hiro?” Nathan's tone is a warning, and Hiro is quite sure that Nathan would do something quite unfriendly if he had to.
“I'm going to open the envelope, and then all of you can read it, and then the first one who gets it wins.” He picks up a letter opener and slowly lifts it to the envelope. He's doing it on purpose, and he knows they know it - he feels like a host on a gameshow - but there is nothing they can do about it right now. He slides the blade across the top, shakes the note out, takes a deep breath, and holds it up for them to see.
“Fuck,” Nathan snaps, and grabs Claire's hand, dragging her from the room. Elle smiles up at Adam, and they leave at a quick walk, and Matt and Mohinder back out of the room, but their footsteps quicken the moment they clear the doors.
That just leaves Simone and Peter. Hiro lays the note on the desk, and Charlie touches his arm. “We're going to go now,” she says, collecting him, Ando and Daphne, as Simone's eyes flicker between Peter and the note.
-
“So.” Peter says. He stares at a spot somewhere beyond Simone's knee.
“Peter, you know that I'm sorry, don't you?” Simone ducks her head and tries to catch his eye, though the note continues to tug at her. It's just singing out to her. It's a really nice tune.
He crosses his arms, remains resolutely not looking at her. “Yeah, I know.”
“You haven't been answering my calls.”
“Yeah.” He repeats. Takes a breath. “Stuff's been going on. Somebody tried to kill me.”
“Who did?” She steps closer to him, reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He doesn't push her away, mercifully. He even looks up at her. “Yeah. And it was Nathan's fault.”
She purses her lips. “Of course it was.”
He watches her for a couple of seconds, uncrosses his arms, recrosses them, then uncrosses them again. “Okay, look, the thing is: I hated that this became part of my life again, and that you lied to me, but I lied to you too. I mean, I thought I lied to you. I mean, I did, but you already knew.”
“I know,” she says, after processing what he's said. She lays a hand on his cheek. “I knew that you didn't want any part in your... family's business, everyone knew, so I thought it would be kinder not to tell you. I didn't think I'd fall in love with you. Not with a Petrelli. I just thought it would be a fling.”
“Thank you?” he replies, and smiles a little, the first smile she's got out of him in weeks. “There's only one thing I need to know.”
Her eyes drift to the desk, but she pulls her attention back into line. “Yes?”
He takes her hand from his face, and holds it between both of his. “Have you ever slept with my brother?”
“Mm.” She worries her lip, and his face sort of - not falls, more settles into resignation. “Once. I was twenty two. He wasn't very good.”
He nods, even smiles a bit, which she thinks is an awfully mature reaction to such a confession. “Let's get married,” he says, then clarifies, “Today. Now. I can rearrange the flights to Australia, we can get married by Elvis, go on our honeymoon tomorrow. And when we come back, you can go back to your... things, and I'll go back to being oblivious to it. Like, you know, a normal marriage.”
The note sits there, waiting for her to take up its challenge; she gives it one more look, then sighs. Her dad would say that there are many things more important than money. “Where's the nearest Elvis?” she says.
-
“The Corinthian! Ma was right!” Nathan rests his hands on his hips and looks up at the closed casino. “We've done it.”
Claire hugs herself; it isn't that cold, but she feels cold. “There's been a car following us the whole way here. It's over there.” She slides her eyes to the right, but Nathan doesn't even glance that way.
“They can't have, we flew. You're being paranoid. Look, we need to get in there now, before the others catch us up.”
She grits her teeth. “Well, they did, and we are being watched. Do you think Danko's really just going to get over it?”
“The quicker we get in, the quicker we get out,” he replies vaguely, still admiring the building.
“Nathan!” she shouts, “they are going to kill you! We need to go!” She tugs on his arm, trying to get his attention off the casino and the glittery, incoherent skyline beyond.
He turns around. “Goddamnit, Claire, you don't have to be a part of this if you don't want to, but I am going in there, okay?” And she knows, clearly, that he is telling the truth. He is not going to be swayed from this.
“Fine, good bye, Nathan, it was nice knowing you.” She turns and walks quickly away. He doesn't even call out to her once. But as her momma always said, she was better off alone.
-
He opens the door with a key he happened to pickpocket off his mother. All that work, and it came down to this; a building that his family owns, that he can legally get into. It's like... fate.
Hiro's note said: Corinthian, basement, locker 138, so he sets off to find the elevators, thinking that in ten minutes, that sword is going to be in his hands and that he's going to get some fucking respect for once. Claire will come around, she always has before. At least, well, he thinks she has. Sometimes she doesn't talk to him for weeks, but she always thaws in the end.
He can't think about that now, the elevator is up ahead and he's this close to the fame and fortune.
He has, oh, all of two minutes to dream happily on that before it's brought to a screeching halt. A bullet, and the unmistakable sound of it ricocheting off a wall, send him instinctively to the ground, scrabbling to find cover in a doorway.
“Nathan Petrelli,” a voice calls out. “Nathan fucking Petrelli.”
He looks around the door frame, and yes, Claire was kind of right, he guesses. Danko, gun, his men clustered around him, more guns, angry faces - this all spells out T R O U B L E. “Hi,” he says.
“You've really been pissing me off, Nathan,” Danko says in lieu of a greeting.
He stands. If he's going to get shot then it's not going to happen with him cowering in a doorway. He at least wants there to be a rumour that he went out in style. “People tell me that a lot.”
“Yes, including people like your daughter. My men saw her leave you here.”
“She's like her mother,” he says. “She doesn't like me all that much. Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes,” Danko replies flippantly. He checks the rounds in his gun, then looks up. “You need to tell me where my money is first, though.”
“So, if I don't tell you where it is, you won't kill me?”
“I won't kill you right this moment,” Danko says slowly. “But I'll maim you until you do tell me, then I'll kill you. Don't try to negotiate.”
He didn't really think that would work. “I don't have it anymore. I spent it all years ago.”
“How unfortunate for you.” Danko raises his gun, and wouldn't you know, the door Nathan's leaning on is locked and there's nowhere else to go - at least nowhere he could get to before Danko pulls the trigger.
A lot of things happen in the next few moments, most of which he is unaware of because, despite the fact that his life should be flashing before his eyes right now, he is struck with blind terror induced amnesia. He's never been quite this close to a man with a gun who wasn't his father. And then his father wasn't normally pointing it at him.
There are a lot of noises, thumps, shouts and the like, which seems like a lot of fuss just to kill him, but he isn't going to open his eyes to find out why he isn't dead yet.
“God, I hate you,” someone says, not Danko. A different member of his not-fanclub. He risks a look, and in front of him Niki has Danko in a choke hold with one arm, and is repeatedly bashing another guy's head into the wall until he passes out. “You just can't help but fuck up, can you?”
He smiles. “Hey, Niki.” Maybe he leers a bit. She's as gorgeous as ever, and even more amazing in full battle mode as she is. The last time he saw her like this, she was hitting him, and he was turned on then, too.
A hand comes out of the wall and grips the back of a guy's shirt as he swings for Niki's head; he disappears and a second later is thrown out, unconscious.
“Oh, I see you got back together with DL,” he says, sidestepping the last of Danko's men. He sticks out a foot and the man lands face first on the concrete floor.
“No thanks to you,” she says, gripping tighter as Danko's fingers pry at her arm. “We spent hundreds in couple's therapy. I should bill you.”
“You'll have to take an IOU,” he says, and grins. They was a time when she might have been charmed by that. “Can I ask what you're doing here? Both of you,” he adds as DL steps out from the wall. He doesn't look happy.
“Overtime,” she says. He doesn't understand, but their twin expressions suggest that he doesn't need to.
“Well,” he says, as Danko finally succumbs to lack of air and goes slack in Niki's grip. He doesn't get any further, because in less than a blink of the eye, Danko and all his men scattered around the corridor have disappeared. Niki wipes her hands on her jeans and turns to leave.
“Oh, one more thing,” she says, and takes two long strides towards him. She looks him square in the face, and with her heels on she's as tall as him (and she did all that in heels?). He smiles, and she smiles, and then.
She punches. “Consider that my fee,” she says.
Hiro really is an evil man, and a very good friend.
-
No one ever really had a chance against Nathan, they all knew that; he had an unfair advantage. Which, Matt reflects, has been the case his whole life: Nathan had his parents' money, his parents' influence, his brother to bully into doing things for him, his daughter to deal with practical things that seem to pass him by, and even Matt himself, to pull him out of trouble after some choice blackmail.
“Jealousy suits no one,” Mohinder says. His tone is kind of superior, and it rankles on Matt's nerves.
“Look, you were the prince of a crime syndicate, okay? I grew up in South Central, Mom worked nights, Dad abandoned us, and TV raised me. So, yeah, it pisses me off that Nathan gets to breeze through life, especially since somehow somehow even after ruining everything and fleeing to Mexico, he still manages to come back and get that fucking sword!”
“Everyone has their own trials, even Nathan.” Mohinder looks up as a spotlight passes over them. Three helicopters are covering the city with their lights.
“Right,” Matt says, nowhere near agreeing with Mohinder. “I'm sure Nathan cries about his pretty face and great body every night.”
A cop car comes screeching past them. Mohinder rolls his eyes. “Now now, don't make me jealous. Anyway, between us we have enough money to put ten kids through college and retire to the Cayman Islands. This sword isn't necessary to our life. In fact, I'm starting to suspect that this has more to do with your sense of self-worth than any desire for material gain.”
“I.” Matt pauses. Psycho-analysis makes him itchy. Psycho-analysis from Mohinder makes him break out in a rash. “If you didn't care about the sword, why did you go to so much trouble for it?”
Mohinder sighs. It's an 'oh, Matthew, what am I going to do with you?' sigh. “I did it for you. I mean, clearly, Matthew. Although I must say, it was an educational experience talking to Peter.”
He stops Mohinder with a hand. A beat cop runs past them, listening to crackly orders on his radio. “So, wait, are you telling me that you never wanted this?”
“Well, no, not really. I thought you knew that.”
Another two cars scream past, a spotlight zigzags across the street in front of them. “Then what are we doing here?”
Mohinder shrugs. Around them the streets are packed with people, even more than normal, not that either of them know that, having never spent much time in Las Vegas. Someone pushes past Mohinder, and he turns, annoyed - it's a look that could have led to someone getting a nasty surprise involving pain, once. But he doesn't do any of that anymore. He says that Molly's psychological development shouldn't be further scarred by violence. And perhaps, maybe, the change has something to do with Matt, as well. “You tell me.”
And when he turns back, the ground beneath them has turned from lit and decorated with celebrity stars to the dark tarmac of a parking lot. He looks over Matt's head, and Matt follows his gaze to a building behind them, all its windows lit. Matt's own station. And in front of them, five mobsters out cold and handcuffed, a note stuck to one that says, 'your consolation prize'.
“Well, that was easy,” Mohinder says.
-
Yellow tape lines the street, clashing with every other brightly coloured thing - neon signs, garish flashing lights in store windows, one curious miniature Eiffel tower statue outside the Paris Las Vegas Hotel. Only this tape isn't meant to decorate, however dubious the decorations are. This is courtesy of the LVMPD and friends.
Adam lets his 'borrowed' red convertible roll to a stop a block away from the scene. “Ah,” he says, rolling down a window. A helicopter shines its light on the Corinthian, not three blocks away. “I believe we've been beaten to the punch.”
“What punch?” Elle says. She climbs over him and sticks her head out of the window. “We're so close, let's just sneak in!”
“No, I don't think so.” He reaches around her tangle of limbs and releases the door handle. She tumbles out. “We'll be caught within minutes - you're not known for your finesse, and I don't like being in such close contact with the authorities.”
She picks herself up and dusts herself off. “But the sword! I've been dreaming about it for weeks!”
“Some things just aren't worth the hassle. I'll buy you something nice,” he says. He steps gracefully from the car, and holds an arm out to her. “I dare say maybe even something shiny.”
She threads her arm through his suspiciously. “How shiny?” she asks.
“As shiny as you want, love.”
She sighs. “This was the most exciting thing that's happened to us in years. What are we going to do now?” A police officer shoes them away as a new roll of tape appears, and a crowd is drawn to the excitement.
“I read that Shinjuku Historical Museum is going to be getting a new statue of Buddha shortly. You've never been to Japan, have you?”
-
With Niki and DL gone (thankfully; his face aches), Nathan is alone, again, in the abandoned casino, and this time he runs for the elevator before anything can get in his way. The trip is a short one, and he's soon in the basement, running for the storeroom.
Well, rooms, plural. Each one has five hundred or so lockers and he checks each before finding the 1 to 500 room. From there it's a simple case of picking the locker's lock, getting the sword, and getting out without running into the others.
He isn't great at picking locks, his fingers have never been quite steady enough for it, even though he's been practising his whole life. Claire was really the one who did these kind of things. Is really the one. She has the steadiest hands he's ever seen, and perfect balance. Years of gymnastics, she said.
He gets it though, after some rattling of the pick he keeps on him at all times. The padlock pops open, and he pulls the door open, reaches inside for the sword...
It is beautiful; old, worn in the shape of a hand at the hilt and scratched along the edge of blade as if in battle. It probably it has been. The thought makes him laugh - this is the most important thing he's ever stolen, the most decadent. The feeling is almost overwhelming.
He doesn't even see it coming. Like everything else that's happened today, he's completely blindsided. One second he's admiring the sword, wondering how he's going to conceal it out on the street, the next he's opening his eyes, still on his feet.
Hands empty.
He checks his watch; not two minutes have passed since he last checked, but there's a curious smell of something suspiciously like chloroform in the air, and a headache growing at his temples.
“Did I just get knocked out for sixty seconds?” he mutters to himself. “Oh, for fuck's sake.”
The room is empty, of people, of swords, and there's no way that anyone could have got in, is there? He doesn't think anyone could have got down here without him hearing. “Fucking hell!” he shouts, and kicks the wall. Which hurts.
“Fuck it,” he says, and leaves the room. On his way he passes an air vent, and a single screw lying on the floor. He kicks it away in disgust, and gets into the elevator. Nothing else could go wrong today: he's lost his daughter, and the sword, and his brother, apparently, and nothing else that could happen today could possibly make it any worse.
The elevator doors open. “Come out with your hands up!”
“What?” he says, not even bothering to be scared at the multiple gun barrels pointed at him.
He's asked, “Where's Danko?” And the day just got worse. It is, in fact, a one hundred percent proof bad fucking day. Agent Hanson (and they've had some run ins before - she'll be glad to arrest him for any minor infraction) lowers her gun an inch and narrows her eyes.
“Nathan Petrelli,” she says, in a way that suggests she isn't altogether surprised to find him standing there instead of a violent mobster. “How nice to see you.”
He steps out of the elevator. “I haven't broken any laws, Agent Hanson. In fact, I'm pretty sure yo still owe me a favour from that last time that I-”
“Possession of an unregistered fire arm is a crime,” she interrupts, the beginnings of an angry blush spreading on her cheeks. She never is receptive to talking about that one time.
“I don't have a gun,” he says. “I don't like guns.” That and being caught with a weapon is the fastest way to get a warrant issued to search your place of residence.
Which Audrey clearly is aware of. She smiles and inclines her head to a discarded gun of Danko's. “I'm sure we could find some of your prints on that,” she says.
“Yes, I'm sure you could,” he agrees. Shit, he thinks, trying to remember all the stuff he left at the mansion and just exactly how incriminating it will be. Audrey's had it in for him since he rigged that election (even after months of investigation, she couldn't prove it, and it was a huge embarrassment for the bureau), so the smallest thing could have him looking at months in jail. “Can we come to some kind of arrange-” He stops at the sensation of something cold pressed to the side of his head. Audrey's attention to drawn away from him, her gun pointing now to something beside him. Someone beside him. He glances to the side, but all he can see is a ski mask and a black jacket.
“Lower your weapons or I'll kill him,” a low, gruff voice says, close to his ear. Audrey looks like she might not mind that, but there are too many other people with her to get away with it. “Good,” the man says, and begins to drag Nathan away.
He struggles, but the guy is strong and really fucking tall, and when he wraps his arm around Nathan's neck, Nathan remembers Danko clawing at Niki and decides to go with it. He's dragged into a room, the door shut and bolted behind them, and then from that room to another, its door also shut and bolted. Then the pressure on his windpipe eases off.
“What is this?” he asks.
“This is a rescue.”
“René?” he says. He rubs at his throat and turns around. “Bennet?”
Bennet moves around from him, ski mask in hand, and picks up a suitcase. René sort of smiles - it isn't actually a smile, but it feels like it could be one, under the right circumstances.
“Are you going to kill me? I don't have the sword. Did you take it?”
“Wasn't us, Petrelli, and no, we aren't going to kill you.” Bennet pulls out a stack of papers and flicks through them, occasionally placing one or two on the lonely table in the room. It appears that they're in a mostly abandoned office.
“I saw a small figure in black running from the building a few minutes ago,” René offers. “They got into a vehicle and left.”
“You got ninjaed,” Bennet says. “It happens. Not to me, but they've been striking a lot recently.” He beckons Nathan to the table. “We need to work quickly, before Hanson gets these doors open. Here's the plan: take all this, climb out of that window, and avoid the FBI. Simple.” 'All this' is Bennet's stack of papers, and 'that window' is the tiny window eight foot up.
He looks down at the mess of papers: there are at least four passports, and a birth certificate for a 'Vivian Lewis'. “Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“My wife made me,” Bennet replies. “I'd have sooner shot you. Meredith says hi, by the way.”
“Oh,” Nathan says. He should have expected that Meredith wouldn't let him off the hook just because she was in prison. Bennet pushes everything into his hands, barking orders that Nathan can't follow. René translates the most important ones.
“We have given you three fake identities,” he says calmly. Bennet looks pissed, and kind of psychotic. Nathan can see why they're a team. It's good criminal, bad criminal right here. “And three for your daughter. Use them wisely. Find your daughter and leave the state. Leave the country if possible.”
“And stop fucking around,” Bennet adds. He gets up in Nathan's face, hand on shoulder, creepy stare. “Your child is the most important person in your life, don't forget it.”
Properly scolded, he's shoved towards the window. It's going to be a tight squeeze, that's for sure, and he floats up to it to get a better look. When he glances back down, his rescuers are gone.
-
Monica is saying into her phone, we've got it, we'll be over with it soon with one hand on the steering wheel, and the other holding the phone to her ear.
You shouldn't be on the phone while you're driving, Emma signs.
I have the reaction times of a racetrack driver, she signs back somewhat awkwardly, juggling the phone. She still finishes the phone call pretty quick, throwing the cell onto the backseat with the sword. They've thrown a blanket over it to conceal it.
What does Micah want with it, anyway? Emma asks. Monica shrugs, slowing down to let a convertible pass them. Urgh, Emma thinks, what a thing to waste one's money on.
I watched late night poker on our hotel room's TV last night. Monica grins. Let's have some fun before we go.
-
Claire gets out onto the Las Vegas Beltway before she really thinks about it. Up till now, her thoughts have gone a little something like this: fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, I hope he gets arrested. But as it knocks on one in the morning, her anger dissipates, leaving her tired and anxious and tearful. It's pitch black now, and somehow that makes everything ten times worse. Like, what if he gets lost - and he's forty years old, he can probably look after himself for one night.
Well, she hopes so.
She's still thinking on it when her phone buzzes. The text message says, Where are you? There's even a little sad face emoticon, as if it's an apology. She wipes at her eyes and replies with the nearest exit, then pulls over onto the hard shoulder. The headlights light the road in front of her, and she braces her feet against the dashboard and settles in to wait. She turns on the radio, hears about the swarm of cops and feds that descended on the Corinthian casino this evening, and switches it off.
Five minutes later, a figure appears in the distance. She sits up and watches his approach: she can tell it's Nathan by the way he walks. He keeps his chin up when he walks, never looks at his feet, takes long strides as if anything in his way will just magically move because he's coming through. Sometimes he's right.
She gets out of the car, and waits for him to reach her.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi.” He looks nervous, or at least as nervous as he ever does. “Thanks for... replying to my text.”
“Yeah. Don't use emoticons again, it's weird.”
“Okay. Look-”
It's a warm night tonight, and the humidity presses at her from all sides. It makes her feel even more vulnerable. “The thing is, Nathan, I was worried,” she says, talking over him. “About you. I was worried about you getting killed, and you not caring that you might be. And I was angry at you for ignoring me, like, like it doesn't matter that I care, like it means nothing that I love you.”
“Oh.” He steps a bit closer. “I don't know what to say. I really try, you know, to be a good father. It's just hard.”
She rolls her eyes. Yeah, right, she's heard that a thousand times. “I know you don't, and I know you do. So, what happened? And what happened to your face?”
He looks relieved. Conversations about his failings as a father are not conversations he likes having, no matter how much he says he knows he needs to do better. “Well, I ran into Danko, but that's been sorted out now. And then I ran into the feds, but that got sorted out too. And I... also ran into Niki at one point.”
So she has Niki to thank for the bruise blossoming across his nose and cheek. It's some small satisfaction.
“Where's the sword?” She doesn't see it, and she imagines that she wouldn't be able to miss a thing like that.
“I did have it, but-” He crosses his arms over his chest. “-a ninja stole it from me.”
“Right.”
“No, really.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever. Are you coming?” She indicates to the car with a nod of her head.
He looks at it, and all its red awfulness. “Can I drive it?”
“No, you'll probably pick up chicks.”
He laughs, and follows her to the car. They get in, and he's watching her more closely than usual, like he's worried. It's very offputting. She points to the things he's carrying in his hand to distract him. “What's all that?”
“New identities. This one is definitely you.” He holds a passport open to the photo page. The name 'Bonnie Monaco' is printed next to her photograph. It's a good fake. She searches through the other passports.
“Ricardo Monaco,” she reads. “You don't look like a Ricardo.”
“I could be a Ricardo,” he insists.
It does fit certain aspects rather well, she supposes. “Where are we going?”
“Arizona,” he says. “Now that Danko's squared away, we can dig up the money. And hey-” he continues, stilling her hand as she shifts the car into gear. “-I love you too.”
There's almost a question mark on the end of it, like he isn't quite sure how to say it. It's, like, the first time he ever has.
She starts the engine, righting the little toy plane she's placed on the dashboard. “Yeah, I know.”
Part 7