[heroes] Evolution: Volume II
I apologise for any incorrect Spanish. I'm afraid French is my foreign language of expertise.
Title: Left Behind
Pairing: Peter Petrelli/Maya Herrera
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lastly, Peter visits Isaac Mendez’s loft.
He’s about to change the world. He and Adam, the mysterious saviour. Everything is about to turn - and the world knows, whether or not the people do. The air holds a static crackle that skitters over his skin and keeps his hair on end. They’re so close to a revolution.
Peter doesn’t know why, but he wants to visit all his favorite sights before that happens, before they become something else. Not the Eiffel Tower, not the pyramids of Giza, but all those places that really mean something to him. He can’t go to the mansion, it’s too risky, and he can’t go to his apartment. There’s no time to visit Odessa. What he can see, he does, with an odd and cold reverence.
He looks upon the Deveaux building from the ground, as people part and sway around him like a stream bending for a rock. Invisible, he sits atop the modern art in front of Kirby Plaza, a brilliant orange staircase leading to nowhere. It’s a perfect metaphor for his life before his powers.
Nathan’s old campaign headquarters, the newsstand where he bought his morning paper, the park through which he jogged on the mornings he wasn’t too tired or busy.
Lastly, he visits Isaac Mendez’s loft. It is clearly occupied: there are chalkboards leaning on easels with scientific formulas half-smudged across them; papers form peaks on any flat surface, where Isaac’s paintbrushes were once strewn about; and there are books on the ground, propping up the short leg of a table, stacked to fashion their own shelves.
He keeps the lights off; the streetlamps and moonlight illuminate the room enough so that if Peter blurs his vision just a bit, it still looks like Isaac’s loft, and not a scientist’s. Visible, he casts a dark silhouette over the painting of erupting New York - the tragedy he almost caused. It feels strange to walk on it, as though no time has passed and nothing has changed. With the silence and filmy darkness, he can almost revisit the past year.
A sob breaks the atmosphere - softly, like a droplet of water in a pond. It is not an aggressive sound, but Peter vanishes and rounds the corner quietly. There is a desk with a computer behind the wall, and more papers and books. The windows that separate the loft from the hall are shattered and glass glitters along the floor like snow. Most alarmingly, there is a woman curled up in the corner, dark hair falling over her face and knees. She shakes with tears.
Peter becomes visible again and approaches her, kneeling down. “Hey, are you all right?”
She looks up, startled. Her dark skin makes her features hard to discern in such poor light, but the tear tracks on her face glisten like gasoline in the rain. Along her forehead is a familiar gash; blood had begun to drip and crusted over her eyebrow. What any of this has to do with Sylar, Peter doesn’t know.
“He lied to me,” she says. Her voice is raspy and low, but he can hear the hysteria in it. “He killed my brother. He lied to me. Ese demonio me mintió!”
Like a mantra she repeats it, her words slurred with grief. It takes him a moment to decipher it, but from the little Spanish he remembers, it is a very simple sentence: That demon lied to me. It unravels further, until the last demonio slithers into the air with all the tangibility of smoke.
“Listen…” Peter places a hand on her shoulder but she jerks away. He makes his tone gentler to compensate for not being able to touch her. “I know who did this to you.”
“Demonio,” she mutters, tears falling down her face. “El diablo.”
“If you come with me,” he says, “I can keep you safe.”
Her eyes meet his, possibly for the first time, and there is something dark there, a haunted knowing that seems to both dare him and warn him. Finally, she stops rambling, but the silence is terse and unabated. He feels as if she wants to tell him something but won’t, too desperately does she need to be protected.
“What’s your name?” he asks. He wants to gain her trust, to help her. He doubts Adam will approve - he looks at the big picture and not the brush strokes that form it - but Peter doesn’t care.
Hesitantly, she tells him, “Maya.”
“Maya,” he repeats with a careful smile. “I’m Peter.”
For some reason, her lips part and a small, watery laugh bubbles through her that chills him. “Peter,” she says, grinning a bit madly. “Like the saint.”
Title: Special
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder Suresh
Rating: R
Summary: Mohinder laughed, and it hurt, but it was something he wanted Sylar to hear - a noise so like the ones he made as he threw Mohinder around the room.
“Palahniuk?” Sylar asked, his tone a mix of conversational curiosity and skepticism. The book in his hand was worn, its soft-cover creased and faded. “You don’t seem like the type.”
It was lent to him by Eden, who thought he needed to do more recreational reading, but lying against the wall in a crumpled, bloody mess, Mohinder did not feel inclined to share the details of his personal life with the person who had put him there. Instead he asked, “I’m to assume you’ve read it?”
“Once or twice,” he said, leafing brashly through the pages. “It has some decent themes.”
Mohinder laughed, and it hurt, but it was something he wanted Sylar to hear - a noise so like the ones he made as he threw Mohinder around the room. By the perk of his eyebrows, the symmetry was not lost on him. “You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake,” he recited, a line that had been in his mind since first he’d read it, and to whom it had never been more applicable than the man standing before him.
Sylar smiled cruelly, but Mohinder did not miss the way his eyes flashed. He had grown adept at noticing the cues of his face, as he transformed slowly from Zane to Sylar - from friend to enemy. “Except that one.”
Like birds fleeing the aviary, the pages of the book fluttered out from the between the covers and remained aloft. When Sylar turned all his attention to Mohinder, his expression had darkened wholly. “Now tell me, professor, have you ever gotten a papercut?”
Title: Left Behind
Pairing: Peter Petrelli/Maya Herrera
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Lastly, Peter visits Isaac Mendez’s loft.
He’s about to change the world. He and Adam, the mysterious saviour. Everything is about to turn - and the world knows, whether or not the people do. The air holds a static crackle that skitters over his skin and keeps his hair on end. They’re so close to a revolution.
Peter doesn’t know why, but he wants to visit all his favorite sights before that happens, before they become something else. Not the Eiffel Tower, not the pyramids of Giza, but all those places that really mean something to him. He can’t go to the mansion, it’s too risky, and he can’t go to his apartment. There’s no time to visit Odessa. What he can see, he does, with an odd and cold reverence.
He looks upon the Deveaux building from the ground, as people part and sway around him like a stream bending for a rock. Invisible, he sits atop the modern art in front of Kirby Plaza, a brilliant orange staircase leading to nowhere. It’s a perfect metaphor for his life before his powers.
Nathan’s old campaign headquarters, the newsstand where he bought his morning paper, the park through which he jogged on the mornings he wasn’t too tired or busy.
Lastly, he visits Isaac Mendez’s loft. It is clearly occupied: there are chalkboards leaning on easels with scientific formulas half-smudged across them; papers form peaks on any flat surface, where Isaac’s paintbrushes were once strewn about; and there are books on the ground, propping up the short leg of a table, stacked to fashion their own shelves.
He keeps the lights off; the streetlamps and moonlight illuminate the room enough so that if Peter blurs his vision just a bit, it still looks like Isaac’s loft, and not a scientist’s. Visible, he casts a dark silhouette over the painting of erupting New York - the tragedy he almost caused. It feels strange to walk on it, as though no time has passed and nothing has changed. With the silence and filmy darkness, he can almost revisit the past year.
A sob breaks the atmosphere - softly, like a droplet of water in a pond. It is not an aggressive sound, but Peter vanishes and rounds the corner quietly. There is a desk with a computer behind the wall, and more papers and books. The windows that separate the loft from the hall are shattered and glass glitters along the floor like snow. Most alarmingly, there is a woman curled up in the corner, dark hair falling over her face and knees. She shakes with tears.
Peter becomes visible again and approaches her, kneeling down. “Hey, are you all right?”
She looks up, startled. Her dark skin makes her features hard to discern in such poor light, but the tear tracks on her face glisten like gasoline in the rain. Along her forehead is a familiar gash; blood had begun to drip and crusted over her eyebrow. What any of this has to do with Sylar, Peter doesn’t know.
“He lied to me,” she says. Her voice is raspy and low, but he can hear the hysteria in it. “He killed my brother. He lied to me. Ese demonio me mintió!”
Like a mantra she repeats it, her words slurred with grief. It takes him a moment to decipher it, but from the little Spanish he remembers, it is a very simple sentence: That demon lied to me. It unravels further, until the last demonio slithers into the air with all the tangibility of smoke.
“Listen…” Peter places a hand on her shoulder but she jerks away. He makes his tone gentler to compensate for not being able to touch her. “I know who did this to you.”
“Demonio,” she mutters, tears falling down her face. “El diablo.”
“If you come with me,” he says, “I can keep you safe.”
Her eyes meet his, possibly for the first time, and there is something dark there, a haunted knowing that seems to both dare him and warn him. Finally, she stops rambling, but the silence is terse and unabated. He feels as if she wants to tell him something but won’t, too desperately does she need to be protected.
“What’s your name?” he asks. He wants to gain her trust, to help her. He doubts Adam will approve - he looks at the big picture and not the brush strokes that form it - but Peter doesn’t care.
Hesitantly, she tells him, “Maya.”
“Maya,” he repeats with a careful smile. “I’m Peter.”
For some reason, her lips part and a small, watery laugh bubbles through her that chills him. “Peter,” she says, grinning a bit madly. “Like the saint.”
Title: Special
Pairing: Sylar/Mohinder Suresh
Rating: R
Summary: Mohinder laughed, and it hurt, but it was something he wanted Sylar to hear - a noise so like the ones he made as he threw Mohinder around the room.
“Palahniuk?” Sylar asked, his tone a mix of conversational curiosity and skepticism. The book in his hand was worn, its soft-cover creased and faded. “You don’t seem like the type.”
It was lent to him by Eden, who thought he needed to do more recreational reading, but lying against the wall in a crumpled, bloody mess, Mohinder did not feel inclined to share the details of his personal life with the person who had put him there. Instead he asked, “I’m to assume you’ve read it?”
“Once or twice,” he said, leafing brashly through the pages. “It has some decent themes.”
Mohinder laughed, and it hurt, but it was something he wanted Sylar to hear - a noise so like the ones he made as he threw Mohinder around the room. By the perk of his eyebrows, the symmetry was not lost on him. “You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake,” he recited, a line that had been in his mind since first he’d read it, and to whom it had never been more applicable than the man standing before him.
Sylar smiled cruelly, but Mohinder did not miss the way his eyes flashed. He had grown adept at noticing the cues of his face, as he transformed slowly from Zane to Sylar - from friend to enemy. “Except that one.”
Like birds fleeing the aviary, the pages of the book fluttered out from the between the covers and remained aloft. When Sylar turned all his attention to Mohinder, his expression had darkened wholly. “Now tell me, professor, have you ever gotten a papercut?”