Be Near Me (10)
Title: Be Near Me (10)
Pairing: None
Rating: R (violence and language)
Length: about 4500 words
Spoilers: through 1-11: Fallout
Summary: Peter has been captured by Mr. Bennet, and held as a subject of research (or is it just torture and revenge?) and learns some things he'd rather not have known. Please read disclaimer
previously :: prologue:: one:: two:: three:: four:: five:: six:: seven::eight::nine::
Be Near Me (10): See Me As God Sees Me
Wait... they don't love you like I love you...
--Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Maps"
The first thing Peter thought when he woke up was Oh, Christ, not another fucking hospital.
The next was My God, I've got a stabbing headache.
The next wasn't even his own thought, but instead, in a thought-voice he had hoped against hope that he would never have to hear again, but even uglier, angrier and more twisted than he had ever heard it with his ears.
Oh, look. The little shit is coming around. I'll make him wish he never had. Wish I could have just taken him out and made it look like an accident, like he died of shock on the table. Still... this does have the possibility of being a great deal of fun.
Oh, shit, thought Peter, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh God, this guy's crazy. And I nailed his little girl. I am so fucked.
The world slowly became visible. Peter's headache receded until it was almost gone, but for a dull roar inside his head that he realized was the ability to read thoughts, like the empty hum on the radio dial between channels. He lay on his back in a mostly-dark room, hooked up to dozens of machines, with video monitors casting a menacing, Christmas-light glow across Mr. Bennet's craggy face, the mouth pressed into a thin, vicious line. "Back with us, I see," Bennet said, his speaking voice calm and dry, as blandly pleasant as usual. "Your abilities seem to be consistent with Claire's. Too bad."
"Where the fuck am I?" Peter grunted between gritted teeth. His arms, legs, and neck were strapped down to the bed, and his head felt cold. The usual weight of hair on his temple was gone, and as he turned his head from side to side, the sound it made was crunchy instead of swishy.
Bennet broke into a superior smile. "You like your haircut? I think it suits you. We haven't shaved it yet--that's for later, when you're being prepped for surgery." For emphasis, he pulled off the pale latex gloves he wore on his hands, their fingertips smudged with dark-red fluid.
Peter felt sick and dizzy suddenly. "Where am I? Where's Claire?" Peter struggled against his bonds, knowing it wouldn't do him any good, but trying as hard as he could nonetheless. Out the corner of his eye, he saw a metal receiving pan, and one of those silver pencil-shaped arrows lying in it, the pointed end grimy with fresh blood. The same kind that he'd seen shot through Claire's skull. He realized that Bennet had just pulled the arrow out of Peter's head, right where it was still sore, a few inches behind the ears. A great shot--efficient enough to puncture the skull and hindbrain, and cause instantaneous death.
But it hadn't killed him. Not permanently, anyway.
"Don't worry about Claire. She's safely back where she belongs. She's still in high school, you know. It wouldn't do for her to miss too many classes." Bennet leaned in, his eyes sparking furiously. "You do realize that my daughter is still in high school, don't you?"
Peter lay still, momentarily paralyzed with fear. Then, he wished he had enough moisture in his mouth to spit at Bennet, but his tongue was as dry as sandpaper. "Yeah, she's just a kid. And you shot her. You shot your own daughter in the head."
Muscles twitched in Bennet's jaw. "Don't forget that you're the cause of that. Besides, I know that it wouldn't hurt her for more than a second, and it wouldn't damage her, whereas if we had tried to reason with her while she was conscious, there was the possibility that--"
"That she'd beat your ass down, and kick the shit out of anybody who was with you," Peter finished. "Damage her? What is she, new carpet to you? She's a person! She had a right to be afraid of you, afraid of being honest about what she is. But I guess it's all just research to you. Hey, have you figured out a way to kill her yet?"
Bennet leaned back, eyes narrowing. I'll have him castrated. That'll shut him up. He turned away for a moment, pretending to study the scribbly pattern of Peter's brain waves being traced on one of the monitors. "You didn't really think you could do that to my daughter without consequences, do you?"
Peter let his breath out in a burst. "Do what? Sleep with her? I just don't understand why you suddenly get all fatherly about it. It wasn't even my idea--you made me do it."
Bennet looked at another monitor, and wrote a note on a little notepad he got out of his pocket. He sighed heavily. "It wasn't my decision to make. I didn't like that any more than you did. Less, probably, because while you were whoring around, I was worried sick about my daughter. It's more than just sexual contact. As awful as that is to consider. Kidnapping is a very serious offense, Peter. That was a fatal mistake."
"I'd do anything to get her away from you," Peter muttered bitterly. "All she has to do is ask."
Bennet continued on as though Peter hadn't spoken. "Happily for you, my superiors have been convinced, in light of recent events, that there are other things you can do that would be useful. You have a much more valuable role as a research subject." Bennet gave a little chuckle. "We made a mistake, too. We never tested you when we had you in custody before. And we have to test you. You're a very important specimen, very similar to a certain young man gone astray, name of Gabriel Gray. Chandra Suresh's Patient Zero. The more we understand the sources of your abilities, the greater chances we have of understanding his, and making sure this sort of thing never happens again. Oh--and there's another benefit, as well. You are valuable as an incentive to Sylar to... pay us a visit." Bennet bent over Peter with a peaceful smile, and Peter realized that this was the face of hate--someone so angry and yet so happy at the same time.
"You're using me as ... bait?" Peter's voice came out very small, and he swallowed before he could speak again. "What makes you think he's gonna come for me?"
"Oh, I think that's inevitable," Bennet said. "You're a sitting duck, strapped down and pumped full of drugs, and you now have several abilities that I'm sure he'd love to have for himself. And possibly revenge against you, for having caused him to be caught in the first place. I see it as... sort of one-stop-shopping. And our Gabriel is nothing if not a fiend for efficiency." Bennet ejected a disk from one of the computers, put another disk on the tray and slid it in. "That might also prove or disprove another theory that we have--that Sylar is primarily focused on serial murder at this point, and not simply the accumulation of powers. He's developed a taste for killing. But it's fairly definite that he'll want to get his hands on you. For that, he'll have to come here. We suspect that he's already in the area, thanks to a couple of... tell-tale murders over the last few days. We think he's coming in search of you, and we are giving him every possible indication, short of a neon billboard, that you're here. We're ready for him. Once he's here, he won't be able to escape again. That, I promise you."
"And... will... I ever be able to... get out of here?"
Bennet looked at him. "Probably not," he said. "But what have you got to go back to, anyway? You haven't got any friends anymore. You have no job. Your relationship with Simone is over, and your brother has left you far behind. And Claire is back with her family." He ostentatiously repositioned the glasses more squarely on his face, and gave Peter a smile that a barracuda would envy. "Besides, we are very curious about the limits of this regenerative power, and I don't really want to put Claire through what we plan to do to you."
Without another word, Bennet left the room, leaving Peter alone in the semi-darkness, dripping with cold sweat. The jig really was up; there wasn't any way out of this situation. He was strapped down, isolated, somewhere unknown, surrounded by enemies. None of his powers would benefit him in any way here. It all felt like a horrible joke; how could he have ever become so important that they'd go through all this trouble?
But he was important. He was special. He was the only one on the planet with his abilities, and people were willing to kill and torture to get him. He couldn't pretend anymore that he didn't matter, but he wished he could take it all back now, and just be an ordinary, aimless guy whose only claim to fame was that he was a rager in the sack.
He tried to think to Claire. Ceebee, if you can hear me, please let me know I'm not alone. Just give me strength. Save me. They're going to cut me up like a pickled fetal pig. You gotta help me, please. There was no response, and Peter widened his scope, his head pounding as he tried to accomplish something that wasn't even, as far as he knew, within his ability to do. Somebody, anybody, help me! Help! Don't leave me alone in here!
Peter wasn't alone for long. Two men came into the room, dressed in white lab coats and clear plastic safety goggles. One of them was pushing a dark tray, the surface of which held rows of chromed instruments that gleamed in the light from the monitors. If Peter could have pissed himself, he would have, but they'd thought of that too. He was fairly certain that they weren't there to help.
He gathered his breath to scream for help, but as he drew air into his lungs, he realized that he did still have a power that could help him, one which nobody knew about except him. Under the curious, then alarmed gaze of the two med techs, Peter willed himself down into deep unconsciousness, letting out his breath very slowly and smoothly, relaxing his whole body as he exhaled. In his mind, he visualized locking a lead weight to his leg, letting it pull him down below the surface of the outside world. The voices of the techs filtered faintly through to him, but they sounded like they were coming from a great distance.
"Look at line 16-A! He's going under! It's like he's been tranqued or something."
"Wake him up--he needs to be conscious for this."
"I don't think I can, not without cardiac failure, and Bennet would freak if anybody but him got to kill him... Shit, he's out..."
***
It was a roof this time. Peter had always liked rooftops, even as a kid; liked to stand right at the edge and look down at the grid of the streets, straining his eyes to read the tiny text of street signs blocks away.
This time, he stepped back from the edge, walking toward the center of the rooftop. Gabriel stood looking up into a partly-cloudy daytime sky. The tall, lanky young man reached into the left pocket of his vest and pulled out a tarnished silver pocket watch, flipping the clamshell case open. Peter took a moment to observe Gabriel, seeing him as he had been long before all this stuff had started happening; clothes and hair so amazingly square that it was almost cool again, slouched shoulders to hide his height, almost cowering. A secretly handsome, isolated geek, all but paralyzed with repression, wanting to break out but not knowing how, and scared to set himself free. And rightly so, Peter thought.
But that glimpse only lasted a moment; he looked up at Peter, straightened his spine, and approached, slipping off his glasses and putting them in the right vest pocket, becoming Gabriel Sylar, as plasma-hot and focused as a laser beam, resolute, in control, animated by a quiet, simmering anger without hostility. In this shared world, Peter saw Gabriel as Gabriel saw himself, and Peter realized that no one else had ever seen this, and no one else had ever seen Peter as Gabriel saw him now. It was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced, and he thought again of his directive to Claire, which had already been achieved with Gabriel. Love me religiously. See me as God sees me, and love me despite what you see. He didn't know if Claire could do it; you had to be crazy to love someone like that.
"Time's running out," Gabriel said.
"They got me," Peter told him.
"I know. I'm glad you remembered that you could come here." When Gabriel took Peter into his arms, Peter didn't resist, holding him back, leaning up against him, grateful for the support, grateful for the contact. Peter lived his life through physical contact. He needed it simply to survive, like an orphaned baby. "Was I right about Bennet or what? Listen carefully to everything he says. He thinks he's soooo cool... Mr. Espionage... when really, he's dribbling away information like a drunken sailor."
Peter wanted to laugh, but couldn't. He stepped out of the embrace, and began to pace back and forth, running his fingers through his hair (his hair, still long here, how much he'd hated it before, how much he'd wanted it cut, but now, in the dreamscape, he was so grateful to have it, knowing that it wasn't there anymore in waking life, grateful to have something to do with his hands). "How did this happen? How did they find us? I thought they'd go to Isaac's first, since they'd been there before."
"They did go to Isaac's," Gabriel said with a little shrug. "Before you got back. Your friends gave you up, you know."
Peter felt a chill of shock. "What are you talking about?"
"Let me show you."
Before Peter could protest or demand an explanation, he was suddenly standing In Isaac's loft, watching Simone's face as she walked toward the windows, answering her cell phone. "Yes," she said, her voice tense. "No, he's not here." She glanced over her shoulder at Isaac, who was sitting with Hiro and Ando, showing them his older sketchbooks. "We just sent him a message. I think he's just arrived back in town. Yes. She's with him." She grimaced, then, as if feeling a stab of pain. "I understand. Yes, I'll let you know when he's back home. Yes. Thank you." She ended the call, and gazed at Isaac with a stricken expression. Isaac approached her, and spoke under his breath.
"What's up?"
She sighed. "They want to take Peter back into custody."
"Simone!" Isaac said, frowning.
"They made it sound like... Peter's become dangerous."
"He might well be," said Isaac, "but still."
Simone shook her head, biting her lip. "They promised me they wouldn't hurt him," she replied, her voice all wavery, as though she were holding back tears, trying to convince herself. "They said he'd... he did cross state lines with a teenage girl. With a minor. It's kidnapping. This isn't a game."
"No, Simone. It's not a game. And it's not the law." Isaac said. He gripped her upper arms in his hands and gave her a gentle shake. "Don't you understand that that's not what this is about?"
"They didn't hurt you," Simone said miserably. "They cleaned you up and let you go."
"No, they didn't," Isaac said with his strange smile. "I escaped. They just... didn't chase me. Or so I thought." He stared out of one of the windows. "Of course they did, huh? Yeah... this is my fault, too, I guess. I led them here. But what was I gonna do? I didn't know. I can only see what I... see. Poor Pete."
"Can't he... defend himself? Isn't that what all this was for?" She wiped her eyes with the sides of her fingers, obviously struggling not to break down.
"Let's hope so," said Isaac. "Things are not normal anymore. We're trying to change the future; we've got to be able to change it, and I believe we can change it. But you only did what you had to. Peter's got his own destiny." Isaac shook his head, and let Simone go, glancing back over at the young Japanese men, Ando distractedly staring at the painting of the woman in the orange blouse, and Hiro shouting like an excited kid as he recognized something in a picture. "He's not the only one involved. He can take care of himself. He's gonna have to. We're all gonna have to."
In a blink, Peter was back on the rooftop. Disoriented, he shook his head, unable to meet Gabriel's eye. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Isaac, for all the good it'll do me," Peter muttered. "Guess I can't defend myself. Not when I'm strapped down. They're going to kill me, aren't they."
"No, they're not," Gabriel replied, taking Peter's chin in his hand and forcing Peter to make eye contact. "But you have to listen to what I'm saying. Believe in yourself. Believe in me. You have to trust me. Do you trust me?"
"Why should I trust you?"
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Do you have a choice? If you don't do what I'm about to tell you, yes, they are going to kill you. It might take them years--very unpleasant years--to figure out how, but Bennet will see you dead. All his guilt about what he's done to Claire, all his possessiveness of her, all his hatred and fascination about people like us, all of it's now focused on you. He couldn't get through to me, so he's gonna try twice as hard with you. He wants to break you. He wants to make you pay. For all of this... including the things I've done."
"Why don't you pay for them?"
"I will," Gabriel said, a look of genuine sadness and maturity on his face. "I will. Believe me. This is one of the things I can do. I can save you."
Peter shook his head, feeling confusion settle over him again. "Me?"
Gabriel shook his head too. "Listen. You must go with Nakamura."
"Hiro? Really? What do you mean? You told me not to trust him."
"I'm not asking you to trust him; I'm asking you to trust me. Enough questions." Gabriel stared at the horizon, then intently back at Peter. "Listen to me now. Go with Nakamura when he comes for you. It's your only chance. Please tell me you'll go with him."
Peter opened his mouth to reply (but didn't yet know what he was going to say) when a sudden bright flash happened off to the right, way downtown, toward the Financial District, and the buildings suddenly began to crumble into massive clouds of roiling dust. There it was--the explosion, the destruction of New York, the beginning of the end of the world. It had looked so different in Peter's vision, almost less horrifying than this; being at ground zero of the explosion was awful enough, but to see it coming at him made him sick with fear. This was like a tsunami made up of gamma rays and pulverized buildings and the vaporized people who had lived in them. He wanted to fly away from it, but knew that unless he could fly faster than light, there was no escape.
And Gabriel Gray had a moment to smile before the edge of the shock wave hit the building they stood upon.
It's not you.
And it's not me, either.
***
Peter woke up groaning in pain. It felt like every bone in his body had been broken and put back together wrong, every muscle pounded limp. He lay in the same bed, in the same room, this time with a fat IV line stuck into his left arm, and only restraints on his wrists. And he was alone, the room blessedly quiet but for the hum of the computer monitors.
He would have given anything to sit up and move around, shake off some of that stiffness and fatigue, figure out what exactly he could do. He knew that someone was coming for him, but he didn't remember who, or what they'd do.
Or really, what he was doing here, or how he got there, or...
So tired.
Using his teeth, he pulled out the IV tube from his vein. Under his blinking, confused gaze, the tiny hole in the crook of his arm swelled, then filled itself in and the skin grew over it, the small wound healing completely within ten seconds, and the fatigue lifted away from him like smoke.
It all came back to him.
How odd that they'd leave him alone. He imagined that he was on camera, it was the middle of the night, someone was watching him. But no one came in to replace the IV line. Peter slammed his head back onto the bed in frustration, wishing he could become a vapor or something, anything that would allow him to get out of leather shackles on a hospital bed, and out of whatever underground hell in which they had him imprisoned.
He almost wished he could just go back to sleep, so that he wouldn't have to just lie there trying to figure out what to do, waiting for someone to come into the room, for something to change. After clenching all his muscles and squirming for a while, he closed his eyes and relaxed, opening his senses, listening.
At first, Peter wondered if he was just making up the sound of footsteps. They were so quiet, like the soft stalking of a housecat, but moving rapidly and with purpose, growing more distinct all the time. Approaching.
His stomach clenched with fear and he felt sick, but he thought of Nathan standing beside him, and saying, You can do this, Peter. It's OK to be scared, but let it go. No more screaming, no more sniveling, no more doubting yourself. This is when it happens. Prove yourself now. You won't get another chance. Peter drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing himself. He wouldn't be put under again. He wouldn't let them win. If it killed him, he wouldn't let them win.
A figure approached, coalescing out of the darkness. A figure dressed in black. A pale face framed with long, smoothed-back dark hair, and narrow eyes burning with intent. A nearly soundless whisper: "Peter."
"Hiro," Peter breathed.
The Japanese man stood beside him, taking a moment to stare at the equipment, the IV stand and bag, the disconnected line lying on the edge of the bed. Without another word, Hiro bent over and began swiftly unbuckling the restraints. "I can't believe it," Peter whispered, his heart pounding in his throat. "You came. How did you--"
We have to go. No more speaking aloud.
Peter sat up when the second restraint was undone, rubbing his chilly arms, and opened his mouth to speak before he remembered. How did you know?
If you didn't have that power, I wouldn't be here.
Did you hear me? ... But... you couldn't have ... could you?
Hiro glanced at Peter with a slight smile. No, I didn't. He held out his arm, and Peter stood up and climbed down from the bed. All the fatigue and pain was gone, replaced by excitement and astonishment, but Peter's legs were still weak from disuse and he had to lean against Hiro for support. There's no time. We have to go. Listen to me, Peter. We have to be together on this. You and I are going to leave here. And now.
Peter stared, then mouthed, Time travel?
More than that. We bend time and space. Otherwise, there's no way out of here. You have never done this before, but I have. I can focus you. It will probably hurt, but do not let pain make you lose focus or you will die. Or we will get lost. The pain comes from within you and cannot damage you. Don't be afraid of it. Hiro stared into Peter's eyes, then, quickly, almost shyly, kissed Peter on the lips. He stepped back with a wicked little smile that just didn't last long enough; all too quickly, the smile drifted away, replaced again with his familiar expression of stoic determination. Concentrate on me. Follow me. Think of a slingshot. You are the shot. Map your mind to mine. Don't let go. Close your eyes and wish yourself away.
He took Peter's hands in his, then closed his eyes tight. Peter took a deep breath, and glanced around the room one more time, then closed his eyes too, holding the breath in, pressing his eyelids down so hard he felt like his eyelids would push through his cheekbones.
It did hurt. A violent, flame-like pain rose up from the base of Peter's skull and rushed over it, over his tight-tense face, through all his veins and all his bones. But just as quickly, the pain was gone.
Extraordinary.
Peter opened his eyes to the darkness of the room he was in, the glow of the monitors reflecting from the disheveled white sheets of the bed, and let his breath out. It didn't work, he thought calmly. Of course not. I'm not a--
Instantly, faster than a blink, he stood in a long, curving hallway, lit with blue and yellow cylindrical lamps that cast colored circles on the floor, still holding Hiro's hands. Hiro opened his eyes more slowly, and glanced around him, letting go of Peter. He turned to Peter and smiled. "Good," he said.
"Wow," said Peter, laughing a little, then a lot. "I did it. I fucking did it!"
Hiro began to stride purposefully down the hallway, and Peter was forced to catch up, high-stepping carefully in his bare feet along the cold, hard concrete floor. "Where is this?" Peter asked, staring around him. "Where are we?"
Hiro didn't answer, only kept leading him down the hall and through a tall, wide doorway, into a huge room with regularly spaced columns that Peter realized with a start had once been a parking garage, but now contained no cars or parking stripes, the walls now lined with strange, intricate machinery of a purpose Peter couldn't guess. Other things in the room, too; couches, tables, lamps, cabinets, all of it antique and painstakingly restored, as far as Peter could tell. Under the harsh overhead track lights, a tall man was pacing, back and forth, one hand anxiously flipping the clamshell cover of a silver pocket watch. Hiro strode into the room and then stopped, waiting, his expression unreadable, and Peter stopped beside him, shaking his head slowly with disbelief.
Sylar turned to them and smiled, smoothing his overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and tucking it behind his ears, and slipping the watch into a pocket of his long black coat. His movements were horrifically precise, measured--like clockwork.
"Peter. Good. You're here," Sylar said. "Good work, Hiro." He looked Peter over critically. "Hmmm. Shame about your hair. But I told you that you'd turn into me one of these days."
Peter stood frozen into immobility, into silent fear.
Hiro turned to Peter, and said quietly, "Welcome to the present."
...TO BE CONTINUED...
Note: Simone sells out Peter just like Lando Calrissian sold out Han Solo. But then they made Lando a captain... This will probably be the second- or third-to-last chapter. The plot has taken over the smut, and that's just not OK! All depends on how the next chapter flows; if I can get to the ending in one chapter, I will, but if not, there'll be one more after that. And if the inspiration won't leave me alone and/or it's requested, I can always just write a sequel. Thanks again to all the folks who've read so far!
previously...: next on...
Pairing: None
Rating: R (violence and language)
Length: about 4500 words
Spoilers: through 1-11: Fallout
Summary: Peter has been captured by Mr. Bennet, and held as a subject of research (or is it just torture and revenge?) and learns some things he'd rather not have known. Please read disclaimer
previously :: prologue:: one:: two:: three:: four:: five:: six:: seven::eight::nine::
Be Near Me (10): See Me As God Sees Me
Wait... they don't love you like I love you...
--Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Maps"
The first thing Peter thought when he woke up was Oh, Christ, not another fucking hospital.
The next was My God, I've got a stabbing headache.
The next wasn't even his own thought, but instead, in a thought-voice he had hoped against hope that he would never have to hear again, but even uglier, angrier and more twisted than he had ever heard it with his ears.
Oh, look. The little shit is coming around. I'll make him wish he never had. Wish I could have just taken him out and made it look like an accident, like he died of shock on the table. Still... this does have the possibility of being a great deal of fun.
Oh, shit, thought Peter, his heart pounding in his chest. Oh God, this guy's crazy. And I nailed his little girl. I am so fucked.
The world slowly became visible. Peter's headache receded until it was almost gone, but for a dull roar inside his head that he realized was the ability to read thoughts, like the empty hum on the radio dial between channels. He lay on his back in a mostly-dark room, hooked up to dozens of machines, with video monitors casting a menacing, Christmas-light glow across Mr. Bennet's craggy face, the mouth pressed into a thin, vicious line. "Back with us, I see," Bennet said, his speaking voice calm and dry, as blandly pleasant as usual. "Your abilities seem to be consistent with Claire's. Too bad."
"Where the fuck am I?" Peter grunted between gritted teeth. His arms, legs, and neck were strapped down to the bed, and his head felt cold. The usual weight of hair on his temple was gone, and as he turned his head from side to side, the sound it made was crunchy instead of swishy.
Bennet broke into a superior smile. "You like your haircut? I think it suits you. We haven't shaved it yet--that's for later, when you're being prepped for surgery." For emphasis, he pulled off the pale latex gloves he wore on his hands, their fingertips smudged with dark-red fluid.
Peter felt sick and dizzy suddenly. "Where am I? Where's Claire?" Peter struggled against his bonds, knowing it wouldn't do him any good, but trying as hard as he could nonetheless. Out the corner of his eye, he saw a metal receiving pan, and one of those silver pencil-shaped arrows lying in it, the pointed end grimy with fresh blood. The same kind that he'd seen shot through Claire's skull. He realized that Bennet had just pulled the arrow out of Peter's head, right where it was still sore, a few inches behind the ears. A great shot--efficient enough to puncture the skull and hindbrain, and cause instantaneous death.
But it hadn't killed him. Not permanently, anyway.
"Don't worry about Claire. She's safely back where she belongs. She's still in high school, you know. It wouldn't do for her to miss too many classes." Bennet leaned in, his eyes sparking furiously. "You do realize that my daughter is still in high school, don't you?"
Peter lay still, momentarily paralyzed with fear. Then, he wished he had enough moisture in his mouth to spit at Bennet, but his tongue was as dry as sandpaper. "Yeah, she's just a kid. And you shot her. You shot your own daughter in the head."
Muscles twitched in Bennet's jaw. "Don't forget that you're the cause of that. Besides, I know that it wouldn't hurt her for more than a second, and it wouldn't damage her, whereas if we had tried to reason with her while she was conscious, there was the possibility that--"
"That she'd beat your ass down, and kick the shit out of anybody who was with you," Peter finished. "Damage her? What is she, new carpet to you? She's a person! She had a right to be afraid of you, afraid of being honest about what she is. But I guess it's all just research to you. Hey, have you figured out a way to kill her yet?"
Bennet leaned back, eyes narrowing. I'll have him castrated. That'll shut him up. He turned away for a moment, pretending to study the scribbly pattern of Peter's brain waves being traced on one of the monitors. "You didn't really think you could do that to my daughter without consequences, do you?"
Peter let his breath out in a burst. "Do what? Sleep with her? I just don't understand why you suddenly get all fatherly about it. It wasn't even my idea--you made me do it."
Bennet looked at another monitor, and wrote a note on a little notepad he got out of his pocket. He sighed heavily. "It wasn't my decision to make. I didn't like that any more than you did. Less, probably, because while you were whoring around, I was worried sick about my daughter. It's more than just sexual contact. As awful as that is to consider. Kidnapping is a very serious offense, Peter. That was a fatal mistake."
"I'd do anything to get her away from you," Peter muttered bitterly. "All she has to do is ask."
Bennet continued on as though Peter hadn't spoken. "Happily for you, my superiors have been convinced, in light of recent events, that there are other things you can do that would be useful. You have a much more valuable role as a research subject." Bennet gave a little chuckle. "We made a mistake, too. We never tested you when we had you in custody before. And we have to test you. You're a very important specimen, very similar to a certain young man gone astray, name of Gabriel Gray. Chandra Suresh's Patient Zero. The more we understand the sources of your abilities, the greater chances we have of understanding his, and making sure this sort of thing never happens again. Oh--and there's another benefit, as well. You are valuable as an incentive to Sylar to... pay us a visit." Bennet bent over Peter with a peaceful smile, and Peter realized that this was the face of hate--someone so angry and yet so happy at the same time.
"You're using me as ... bait?" Peter's voice came out very small, and he swallowed before he could speak again. "What makes you think he's gonna come for me?"
"Oh, I think that's inevitable," Bennet said. "You're a sitting duck, strapped down and pumped full of drugs, and you now have several abilities that I'm sure he'd love to have for himself. And possibly revenge against you, for having caused him to be caught in the first place. I see it as... sort of one-stop-shopping. And our Gabriel is nothing if not a fiend for efficiency." Bennet ejected a disk from one of the computers, put another disk on the tray and slid it in. "That might also prove or disprove another theory that we have--that Sylar is primarily focused on serial murder at this point, and not simply the accumulation of powers. He's developed a taste for killing. But it's fairly definite that he'll want to get his hands on you. For that, he'll have to come here. We suspect that he's already in the area, thanks to a couple of... tell-tale murders over the last few days. We think he's coming in search of you, and we are giving him every possible indication, short of a neon billboard, that you're here. We're ready for him. Once he's here, he won't be able to escape again. That, I promise you."
"And... will... I ever be able to... get out of here?"
Bennet looked at him. "Probably not," he said. "But what have you got to go back to, anyway? You haven't got any friends anymore. You have no job. Your relationship with Simone is over, and your brother has left you far behind. And Claire is back with her family." He ostentatiously repositioned the glasses more squarely on his face, and gave Peter a smile that a barracuda would envy. "Besides, we are very curious about the limits of this regenerative power, and I don't really want to put Claire through what we plan to do to you."
Without another word, Bennet left the room, leaving Peter alone in the semi-darkness, dripping with cold sweat. The jig really was up; there wasn't any way out of this situation. He was strapped down, isolated, somewhere unknown, surrounded by enemies. None of his powers would benefit him in any way here. It all felt like a horrible joke; how could he have ever become so important that they'd go through all this trouble?
But he was important. He was special. He was the only one on the planet with his abilities, and people were willing to kill and torture to get him. He couldn't pretend anymore that he didn't matter, but he wished he could take it all back now, and just be an ordinary, aimless guy whose only claim to fame was that he was a rager in the sack.
He tried to think to Claire. Ceebee, if you can hear me, please let me know I'm not alone. Just give me strength. Save me. They're going to cut me up like a pickled fetal pig. You gotta help me, please. There was no response, and Peter widened his scope, his head pounding as he tried to accomplish something that wasn't even, as far as he knew, within his ability to do. Somebody, anybody, help me! Help! Don't leave me alone in here!
Peter wasn't alone for long. Two men came into the room, dressed in white lab coats and clear plastic safety goggles. One of them was pushing a dark tray, the surface of which held rows of chromed instruments that gleamed in the light from the monitors. If Peter could have pissed himself, he would have, but they'd thought of that too. He was fairly certain that they weren't there to help.
He gathered his breath to scream for help, but as he drew air into his lungs, he realized that he did still have a power that could help him, one which nobody knew about except him. Under the curious, then alarmed gaze of the two med techs, Peter willed himself down into deep unconsciousness, letting out his breath very slowly and smoothly, relaxing his whole body as he exhaled. In his mind, he visualized locking a lead weight to his leg, letting it pull him down below the surface of the outside world. The voices of the techs filtered faintly through to him, but they sounded like they were coming from a great distance.
"Look at line 16-A! He's going under! It's like he's been tranqued or something."
"Wake him up--he needs to be conscious for this."
"I don't think I can, not without cardiac failure, and Bennet would freak if anybody but him got to kill him... Shit, he's out..."
***
It was a roof this time. Peter had always liked rooftops, even as a kid; liked to stand right at the edge and look down at the grid of the streets, straining his eyes to read the tiny text of street signs blocks away.
This time, he stepped back from the edge, walking toward the center of the rooftop. Gabriel stood looking up into a partly-cloudy daytime sky. The tall, lanky young man reached into the left pocket of his vest and pulled out a tarnished silver pocket watch, flipping the clamshell case open. Peter took a moment to observe Gabriel, seeing him as he had been long before all this stuff had started happening; clothes and hair so amazingly square that it was almost cool again, slouched shoulders to hide his height, almost cowering. A secretly handsome, isolated geek, all but paralyzed with repression, wanting to break out but not knowing how, and scared to set himself free. And rightly so, Peter thought.
But that glimpse only lasted a moment; he looked up at Peter, straightened his spine, and approached, slipping off his glasses and putting them in the right vest pocket, becoming Gabriel Sylar, as plasma-hot and focused as a laser beam, resolute, in control, animated by a quiet, simmering anger without hostility. In this shared world, Peter saw Gabriel as Gabriel saw himself, and Peter realized that no one else had ever seen this, and no one else had ever seen Peter as Gabriel saw him now. It was the most intimate thing he had ever experienced, and he thought again of his directive to Claire, which had already been achieved with Gabriel. Love me religiously. See me as God sees me, and love me despite what you see. He didn't know if Claire could do it; you had to be crazy to love someone like that.
"Time's running out," Gabriel said.
"They got me," Peter told him.
"I know. I'm glad you remembered that you could come here." When Gabriel took Peter into his arms, Peter didn't resist, holding him back, leaning up against him, grateful for the support, grateful for the contact. Peter lived his life through physical contact. He needed it simply to survive, like an orphaned baby. "Was I right about Bennet or what? Listen carefully to everything he says. He thinks he's soooo cool... Mr. Espionage... when really, he's dribbling away information like a drunken sailor."
Peter wanted to laugh, but couldn't. He stepped out of the embrace, and began to pace back and forth, running his fingers through his hair (his hair, still long here, how much he'd hated it before, how much he'd wanted it cut, but now, in the dreamscape, he was so grateful to have it, knowing that it wasn't there anymore in waking life, grateful to have something to do with his hands). "How did this happen? How did they find us? I thought they'd go to Isaac's first, since they'd been there before."
"They did go to Isaac's," Gabriel said with a little shrug. "Before you got back. Your friends gave you up, you know."
Peter felt a chill of shock. "What are you talking about?"
"Let me show you."
Before Peter could protest or demand an explanation, he was suddenly standing In Isaac's loft, watching Simone's face as she walked toward the windows, answering her cell phone. "Yes," she said, her voice tense. "No, he's not here." She glanced over her shoulder at Isaac, who was sitting with Hiro and Ando, showing them his older sketchbooks. "We just sent him a message. I think he's just arrived back in town. Yes. She's with him." She grimaced, then, as if feeling a stab of pain. "I understand. Yes, I'll let you know when he's back home. Yes. Thank you." She ended the call, and gazed at Isaac with a stricken expression. Isaac approached her, and spoke under his breath.
"What's up?"
She sighed. "They want to take Peter back into custody."
"Simone!" Isaac said, frowning.
"They made it sound like... Peter's become dangerous."
"He might well be," said Isaac, "but still."
Simone shook her head, biting her lip. "They promised me they wouldn't hurt him," she replied, her voice all wavery, as though she were holding back tears, trying to convince herself. "They said he'd... he did cross state lines with a teenage girl. With a minor. It's kidnapping. This isn't a game."
"No, Simone. It's not a game. And it's not the law." Isaac said. He gripped her upper arms in his hands and gave her a gentle shake. "Don't you understand that that's not what this is about?"
"They didn't hurt you," Simone said miserably. "They cleaned you up and let you go."
"No, they didn't," Isaac said with his strange smile. "I escaped. They just... didn't chase me. Or so I thought." He stared out of one of the windows. "Of course they did, huh? Yeah... this is my fault, too, I guess. I led them here. But what was I gonna do? I didn't know. I can only see what I... see. Poor Pete."
"Can't he... defend himself? Isn't that what all this was for?" She wiped her eyes with the sides of her fingers, obviously struggling not to break down.
"Let's hope so," said Isaac. "Things are not normal anymore. We're trying to change the future; we've got to be able to change it, and I believe we can change it. But you only did what you had to. Peter's got his own destiny." Isaac shook his head, and let Simone go, glancing back over at the young Japanese men, Ando distractedly staring at the painting of the woman in the orange blouse, and Hiro shouting like an excited kid as he recognized something in a picture. "He's not the only one involved. He can take care of himself. He's gonna have to. We're all gonna have to."
In a blink, Peter was back on the rooftop. Disoriented, he shook his head, unable to meet Gabriel's eye. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Isaac, for all the good it'll do me," Peter muttered. "Guess I can't defend myself. Not when I'm strapped down. They're going to kill me, aren't they."
"No, they're not," Gabriel replied, taking Peter's chin in his hand and forcing Peter to make eye contact. "But you have to listen to what I'm saying. Believe in yourself. Believe in me. You have to trust me. Do you trust me?"
"Why should I trust you?"
Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Do you have a choice? If you don't do what I'm about to tell you, yes, they are going to kill you. It might take them years--very unpleasant years--to figure out how, but Bennet will see you dead. All his guilt about what he's done to Claire, all his possessiveness of her, all his hatred and fascination about people like us, all of it's now focused on you. He couldn't get through to me, so he's gonna try twice as hard with you. He wants to break you. He wants to make you pay. For all of this... including the things I've done."
"Why don't you pay for them?"
"I will," Gabriel said, a look of genuine sadness and maturity on his face. "I will. Believe me. This is one of the things I can do. I can save you."
Peter shook his head, feeling confusion settle over him again. "Me?"
Gabriel shook his head too. "Listen. You must go with Nakamura."
"Hiro? Really? What do you mean? You told me not to trust him."
"I'm not asking you to trust him; I'm asking you to trust me. Enough questions." Gabriel stared at the horizon, then intently back at Peter. "Listen to me now. Go with Nakamura when he comes for you. It's your only chance. Please tell me you'll go with him."
Peter opened his mouth to reply (but didn't yet know what he was going to say) when a sudden bright flash happened off to the right, way downtown, toward the Financial District, and the buildings suddenly began to crumble into massive clouds of roiling dust. There it was--the explosion, the destruction of New York, the beginning of the end of the world. It had looked so different in Peter's vision, almost less horrifying than this; being at ground zero of the explosion was awful enough, but to see it coming at him made him sick with fear. This was like a tsunami made up of gamma rays and pulverized buildings and the vaporized people who had lived in them. He wanted to fly away from it, but knew that unless he could fly faster than light, there was no escape.
And Gabriel Gray had a moment to smile before the edge of the shock wave hit the building they stood upon.
It's not you.
And it's not me, either.
***
Peter woke up groaning in pain. It felt like every bone in his body had been broken and put back together wrong, every muscle pounded limp. He lay in the same bed, in the same room, this time with a fat IV line stuck into his left arm, and only restraints on his wrists. And he was alone, the room blessedly quiet but for the hum of the computer monitors.
He would have given anything to sit up and move around, shake off some of that stiffness and fatigue, figure out what exactly he could do. He knew that someone was coming for him, but he didn't remember who, or what they'd do.
Or really, what he was doing here, or how he got there, or...
So tired.
Using his teeth, he pulled out the IV tube from his vein. Under his blinking, confused gaze, the tiny hole in the crook of his arm swelled, then filled itself in and the skin grew over it, the small wound healing completely within ten seconds, and the fatigue lifted away from him like smoke.
It all came back to him.
How odd that they'd leave him alone. He imagined that he was on camera, it was the middle of the night, someone was watching him. But no one came in to replace the IV line. Peter slammed his head back onto the bed in frustration, wishing he could become a vapor or something, anything that would allow him to get out of leather shackles on a hospital bed, and out of whatever underground hell in which they had him imprisoned.
He almost wished he could just go back to sleep, so that he wouldn't have to just lie there trying to figure out what to do, waiting for someone to come into the room, for something to change. After clenching all his muscles and squirming for a while, he closed his eyes and relaxed, opening his senses, listening.
At first, Peter wondered if he was just making up the sound of footsteps. They were so quiet, like the soft stalking of a housecat, but moving rapidly and with purpose, growing more distinct all the time. Approaching.
His stomach clenched with fear and he felt sick, but he thought of Nathan standing beside him, and saying, You can do this, Peter. It's OK to be scared, but let it go. No more screaming, no more sniveling, no more doubting yourself. This is when it happens. Prove yourself now. You won't get another chance. Peter drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing himself. He wouldn't be put under again. He wouldn't let them win. If it killed him, he wouldn't let them win.
A figure approached, coalescing out of the darkness. A figure dressed in black. A pale face framed with long, smoothed-back dark hair, and narrow eyes burning with intent. A nearly soundless whisper: "Peter."
"Hiro," Peter breathed.
The Japanese man stood beside him, taking a moment to stare at the equipment, the IV stand and bag, the disconnected line lying on the edge of the bed. Without another word, Hiro bent over and began swiftly unbuckling the restraints. "I can't believe it," Peter whispered, his heart pounding in his throat. "You came. How did you--"
We have to go. No more speaking aloud.
Peter sat up when the second restraint was undone, rubbing his chilly arms, and opened his mouth to speak before he remembered. How did you know?
If you didn't have that power, I wouldn't be here.
Did you hear me? ... But... you couldn't have ... could you?
Hiro glanced at Peter with a slight smile. No, I didn't. He held out his arm, and Peter stood up and climbed down from the bed. All the fatigue and pain was gone, replaced by excitement and astonishment, but Peter's legs were still weak from disuse and he had to lean against Hiro for support. There's no time. We have to go. Listen to me, Peter. We have to be together on this. You and I are going to leave here. And now.
Peter stared, then mouthed, Time travel?
More than that. We bend time and space. Otherwise, there's no way out of here. You have never done this before, but I have. I can focus you. It will probably hurt, but do not let pain make you lose focus or you will die. Or we will get lost. The pain comes from within you and cannot damage you. Don't be afraid of it. Hiro stared into Peter's eyes, then, quickly, almost shyly, kissed Peter on the lips. He stepped back with a wicked little smile that just didn't last long enough; all too quickly, the smile drifted away, replaced again with his familiar expression of stoic determination. Concentrate on me. Follow me. Think of a slingshot. You are the shot. Map your mind to mine. Don't let go. Close your eyes and wish yourself away.
He took Peter's hands in his, then closed his eyes tight. Peter took a deep breath, and glanced around the room one more time, then closed his eyes too, holding the breath in, pressing his eyelids down so hard he felt like his eyelids would push through his cheekbones.
It did hurt. A violent, flame-like pain rose up from the base of Peter's skull and rushed over it, over his tight-tense face, through all his veins and all his bones. But just as quickly, the pain was gone.
Extraordinary.
Peter opened his eyes to the darkness of the room he was in, the glow of the monitors reflecting from the disheveled white sheets of the bed, and let his breath out. It didn't work, he thought calmly. Of course not. I'm not a--
Instantly, faster than a blink, he stood in a long, curving hallway, lit with blue and yellow cylindrical lamps that cast colored circles on the floor, still holding Hiro's hands. Hiro opened his eyes more slowly, and glanced around him, letting go of Peter. He turned to Peter and smiled. "Good," he said.
"Wow," said Peter, laughing a little, then a lot. "I did it. I fucking did it!"
Hiro began to stride purposefully down the hallway, and Peter was forced to catch up, high-stepping carefully in his bare feet along the cold, hard concrete floor. "Where is this?" Peter asked, staring around him. "Where are we?"
Hiro didn't answer, only kept leading him down the hall and through a tall, wide doorway, into a huge room with regularly spaced columns that Peter realized with a start had once been a parking garage, but now contained no cars or parking stripes, the walls now lined with strange, intricate machinery of a purpose Peter couldn't guess. Other things in the room, too; couches, tables, lamps, cabinets, all of it antique and painstakingly restored, as far as Peter could tell. Under the harsh overhead track lights, a tall man was pacing, back and forth, one hand anxiously flipping the clamshell cover of a silver pocket watch. Hiro strode into the room and then stopped, waiting, his expression unreadable, and Peter stopped beside him, shaking his head slowly with disbelief.
Sylar turned to them and smiled, smoothing his overgrown dark hair back from his forehead and tucking it behind his ears, and slipping the watch into a pocket of his long black coat. His movements were horrifically precise, measured--like clockwork.
"Peter. Good. You're here," Sylar said. "Good work, Hiro." He looked Peter over critically. "Hmmm. Shame about your hair. But I told you that you'd turn into me one of these days."
Peter stood frozen into immobility, into silent fear.
Hiro turned to Peter, and said quietly, "Welcome to the present."
...TO BE CONTINUED...
Note: Simone sells out Peter just like Lando Calrissian sold out Han Solo. But then they made Lando a captain... This will probably be the second- or third-to-last chapter. The plot has taken over the smut, and that's just not OK! All depends on how the next chapter flows; if I can get to the ending in one chapter, I will, but if not, there'll be one more after that. And if the inspiration won't leave me alone and/or it's requested, I can always just write a sequel. Thanks again to all the folks who've read so far!
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