[Heroes] Family Man
Title: Family Man
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Characters: Noah, Claire, and Lyle Bennet
Words: 1,150
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Noah is banished from the kitchen and reflects on family and friendship.
Author's Notes: Written for anythingshedoes whose Claire muse is adorable!
"When'sh mommy coming home?" Lyle asked from where he was rolling on the carpet in the living room. He had a slight lisp now that he was missing both his front teeth. He looked like the world's smallest hockey player when he smiled.
"Tuesday," Noah replied tersely. The Company had offered a nanny but Sandra had shot that idea down by accusing Noah of trying to shirk his paternal duties. So he'd asked about taking a few vacation days. He'd agreed to bring some work home with him while he played primary care giver but he was finding work and children don't mix.
He missed Claude.
When they'd been partners Claude had surprised him by having a natural touch with the children, despite his gruff and crusty exterior. Claire, especially, had latched onto Claude and after his death she'd gone on and on asking where he was. Noah had fed a lie to Sandra and let her talk to the kids about Claude. Claude's betrayal and Noah shooting him were two things he was having a hard time getting over.
"Ish mommy having fun without me?" Lyle had separation anxiety likely stemming from vague memories of his real parents leaving him. Not so much leaving as his mother's ability kicking in during the night and dissolving Lyle's father as they slept.
They'd found two year old Lyle crying in the bathroom where his mother had locked him up to keep him safe from her. He'd been in there three days before The Company had found him. They'd never found his mother but there had been evidence suggesting she'd been unable to control her fledgling ability and had dissolved herself the way she'd dissolved her husband.
"Daddy! Is mommy having fun?" Lyle's voice had taken on a tremor because Noah had delayed answering him. Noah sighed, closed his laptop, and scooped Lyle up into his arms. He was scrawny for an eight-year-old but he was also a fussy eater so that was to be expected.
"Daddy!" Claire called from the kitchen. "Set the table please!"
Noah carried Lyle into the kitchen while he wriggled and protested with, "No! I set the table! That's my job!"
"You pour the juice, Lyle," Claire said in her bossiest tone of voice. She was eleven now and was becoming more headstrong every day. Noah approved, in theory, but when she used it on him...
"I'm not even allowed to pour the juice?" Noah asked as he put Lyle down.
Claire rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the stove stop. She was standing on a foot stool with one of her mother's aprons tied around her waist, falling to past her knees. She was making grilled cheese sandwiches with some supervision from Noah. "No, daddy!" She pointed at the half-melted toaster sitting on the floor next to the garbage bin. "No more kitchen for you!"
Honestly, he had no idea how the toaster had caught on fire. He'd put frozen waffles in, adjusted the dials, and gone to wake the children up. The fire alarm downstairs had alerted him to the toaster's predicament. "That was a fluke accident, honey."
Claire pointed at the microwave. Black soot marks had stained the white plastic around the edges of the door. Noah flushed a bit with shame. He hadn't realized tinfoil shouldn't go in a microwave oven. Claire had known but he'd covered the plate of tin-foil wrapped baker potatoes with a piece of paper towelling like he'd seen his wife, Sandra, do with other dishes she heated up in the microwave. Claire hadn't noticed the tinfoil.
Noah set the table quietly as Claire finished frying the last of the cheese sandwiches she was preparing for lunch.
Lyle stared at the enormous pitcher of juice in the fridge and set out cold juice boxes instead; two boxes for Noah because he was daddy.
Noah picked up one of his juice boxes and read the label. What was 'cranapple' anyways? He'd heard of 'crab-apple' before but... oh, the ingredients list said it contained cranberry juice and apple juice; cran-apple. The 'Powerberry Punch', however, was a complete mystery even after reading the ingredient list.
"Dinner is served!" Claire proudly carried her plate of stacked grilled cheese sandwiches to the dining room table and avoided Noah's attempt to take the plate from her saying, "No, daddy! I can do it!"
Noah sighed and sat down at the table. He tried to convince himself it had more to do with Claire growing into an independent young woman than his talent for culinary catastrophe. He went to take a sandwich and had the plate whisked away by Claire, "We have to say our prayers first!" she reminded him indignantly.
Oh, right. Sandra had felt it was important the kids learn about religion. Hopefully it was a fad and would fall out of use soon. He had no use for religion. There was no divine creator looking out for people; if there was, he was a sadistic bastard. Noah preferred to believe people made it on their own and were, ultimately, responsible for their own actions.
He bowed his head and sat patiently through Claire's little prayer.
"Thank you for this food, Dear Lord, please bless it to our bodies. In Jesus precious name I pray. Amen!"
"AMEN!" Lyle echoed her enthusiastically. He knew 'amen' meant the meal could be eaten.
"Daddy! You didn't say 'amen'," Claire pointed out with a frown.
"Yes I did," Noah lied. "I said with my heart." Claire glared at him, pretty sure he was lying, but carefully served him a cheese sandwich using a pie wedge.
Noah knew the pie wedge was her favourite because she used to get Claude to steal it for her from the kitchen to play princess tea party with. That and she used it whenever she could. Last night she'd used it for serving pizza when Noah had to order take out after burning macaroni to the bottom of the pot.
When would he stop thinking about Claude?
Her cheese sandwiches were delicious, he had to admit. Maybe his being a bad cook would mean she would develop into a top-notch chef out of a primordial sense of self-preservation.
He looked across the table at his children. Claire was patiently cutting the crusts off of Lyle's sandwich so he'd eat it. They looked alike but that was because they were still young. Who knew what they'd look like when they grew up?
If he wanted to know, he'd have to keep them safe so they had a chance to grow up. He'd have to live long enough to see it. He sent a silent.. not a prayer but an apology, to Claude for what he'd had to do.
If he hadn't had a family to protect...
And that, in a nutshell, was why The Company had given him one.
Author: themaskedmckay
Rating: Gen
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: None
Characters: Noah, Claire, and Lyle Bennet
Words: 1,150
Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me.
Summary: Noah is banished from the kitchen and reflects on family and friendship.
Author's Notes: Written for anythingshedoes whose Claire muse is adorable!
"When'sh mommy coming home?" Lyle asked from where he was rolling on the carpet in the living room. He had a slight lisp now that he was missing both his front teeth. He looked like the world's smallest hockey player when he smiled.
"Tuesday," Noah replied tersely. The Company had offered a nanny but Sandra had shot that idea down by accusing Noah of trying to shirk his paternal duties. So he'd asked about taking a few vacation days. He'd agreed to bring some work home with him while he played primary care giver but he was finding work and children don't mix.
He missed Claude.
When they'd been partners Claude had surprised him by having a natural touch with the children, despite his gruff and crusty exterior. Claire, especially, had latched onto Claude and after his death she'd gone on and on asking where he was. Noah had fed a lie to Sandra and let her talk to the kids about Claude. Claude's betrayal and Noah shooting him were two things he was having a hard time getting over.
"Ish mommy having fun without me?" Lyle had separation anxiety likely stemming from vague memories of his real parents leaving him. Not so much leaving as his mother's ability kicking in during the night and dissolving Lyle's father as they slept.
They'd found two year old Lyle crying in the bathroom where his mother had locked him up to keep him safe from her. He'd been in there three days before The Company had found him. They'd never found his mother but there had been evidence suggesting she'd been unable to control her fledgling ability and had dissolved herself the way she'd dissolved her husband.
"Daddy! Is mommy having fun?" Lyle's voice had taken on a tremor because Noah had delayed answering him. Noah sighed, closed his laptop, and scooped Lyle up into his arms. He was scrawny for an eight-year-old but he was also a fussy eater so that was to be expected.
"Daddy!" Claire called from the kitchen. "Set the table please!"
Noah carried Lyle into the kitchen while he wriggled and protested with, "No! I set the table! That's my job!"
"You pour the juice, Lyle," Claire said in her bossiest tone of voice. She was eleven now and was becoming more headstrong every day. Noah approved, in theory, but when she used it on him...
"I'm not even allowed to pour the juice?" Noah asked as he put Lyle down.
Claire rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to the stove stop. She was standing on a foot stool with one of her mother's aprons tied around her waist, falling to past her knees. She was making grilled cheese sandwiches with some supervision from Noah. "No, daddy!" She pointed at the half-melted toaster sitting on the floor next to the garbage bin. "No more kitchen for you!"
Honestly, he had no idea how the toaster had caught on fire. He'd put frozen waffles in, adjusted the dials, and gone to wake the children up. The fire alarm downstairs had alerted him to the toaster's predicament. "That was a fluke accident, honey."
Claire pointed at the microwave. Black soot marks had stained the white plastic around the edges of the door. Noah flushed a bit with shame. He hadn't realized tinfoil shouldn't go in a microwave oven. Claire had known but he'd covered the plate of tin-foil wrapped baker potatoes with a piece of paper towelling like he'd seen his wife, Sandra, do with other dishes she heated up in the microwave. Claire hadn't noticed the tinfoil.
Noah set the table quietly as Claire finished frying the last of the cheese sandwiches she was preparing for lunch.
Lyle stared at the enormous pitcher of juice in the fridge and set out cold juice boxes instead; two boxes for Noah because he was daddy.
Noah picked up one of his juice boxes and read the label. What was 'cranapple' anyways? He'd heard of 'crab-apple' before but... oh, the ingredients list said it contained cranberry juice and apple juice; cran-apple. The 'Powerberry Punch', however, was a complete mystery even after reading the ingredient list.
"Dinner is served!" Claire proudly carried her plate of stacked grilled cheese sandwiches to the dining room table and avoided Noah's attempt to take the plate from her saying, "No, daddy! I can do it!"
Noah sighed and sat down at the table. He tried to convince himself it had more to do with Claire growing into an independent young woman than his talent for culinary catastrophe. He went to take a sandwich and had the plate whisked away by Claire, "We have to say our prayers first!" she reminded him indignantly.
Oh, right. Sandra had felt it was important the kids learn about religion. Hopefully it was a fad and would fall out of use soon. He had no use for religion. There was no divine creator looking out for people; if there was, he was a sadistic bastard. Noah preferred to believe people made it on their own and were, ultimately, responsible for their own actions.
He bowed his head and sat patiently through Claire's little prayer.
"Thank you for this food, Dear Lord, please bless it to our bodies. In Jesus precious name I pray. Amen!"
"AMEN!" Lyle echoed her enthusiastically. He knew 'amen' meant the meal could be eaten.
"Daddy! You didn't say 'amen'," Claire pointed out with a frown.
"Yes I did," Noah lied. "I said with my heart." Claire glared at him, pretty sure he was lying, but carefully served him a cheese sandwich using a pie wedge.
Noah knew the pie wedge was her favourite because she used to get Claude to steal it for her from the kitchen to play princess tea party with. That and she used it whenever she could. Last night she'd used it for serving pizza when Noah had to order take out after burning macaroni to the bottom of the pot.
When would he stop thinking about Claude?
Her cheese sandwiches were delicious, he had to admit. Maybe his being a bad cook would mean she would develop into a top-notch chef out of a primordial sense of self-preservation.
He looked across the table at his children. Claire was patiently cutting the crusts off of Lyle's sandwich so he'd eat it. They looked alike but that was because they were still young. Who knew what they'd look like when they grew up?
If he wanted to know, he'd have to keep them safe so they had a chance to grow up. He'd have to live long enough to see it. He sent a silent.. not a prayer but an apology, to Claude for what he'd had to do.
If he hadn't had a family to protect...
And that, in a nutshell, was why The Company had given him one.