Letters to My Niece (5/?)
Title: Letters to My Niece (5/?)
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 5567
Spoilers: Everything shown thus far, including Season 2. I’m picking and choosing what I like, so you could be potentially spoiled if you haven’t seen the latest episodes
Summary: When everything starts to spiral out of control, Peter realizes that he needs Claire to give up the normal life he forced on her to help save the world once again. The only problem? She isn’t sure she wants to anymore
A/N: This is a sequel to “Letters to My Uncle,” which can be found HERE. You might be confused if you try to read this one without reading the first one.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
Dear Claire,
The first time I slept with Elle was purely accidental. It was about a year ago and I was completely shit faced. I know that you told me that you can’t get drunk, but I can as long as I don’t try to tap into your power. I had gone out for my friend Brian’s birthday and was feeling particularly self-pitying that night. When I got back to the house, she was lying across my bed, smug and waiting to piss me off, but all I could see was this petite, blonde woman in my bed and I thought of you and the look on your face that night in your room right after you had come. You looked so relaxed and beautiful that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. When I jumped her, she was shocked but she went with it, of course.
When Elle was on her hands and knees, her long, blonde hair hiding her face, I could pretend that she was you.
I was in varying states of intoxication the first few times with Elle. We’re always heavy on the sex and low on the conversation. Sometimes she tries and I think that she wants to believe that I’m her boyfriend, but I could never love Elle. I know how much darkness is in her and I can remember what it felt like to have her barbecue me for information. I’m not an idiot; I know that the second we’ve erased any trace of the Shanti virus, there’s a very real chance that Elle will sell us all up the river to save her own ass.
It’s just that sometimes, when I’m lonely and I miss you so much that it hurts, it feels good to pretend.
I hope you never find out about us. I don’t think I could live with the shame.
I love you.
Peter
* * *
A week had passed since the night that Peter had pinned Claire against his bedroom door, and they hadn’t talked about it. While it was obvious to everyone else that they had clearly settled whatever friction was between them, neither Peter nor Claire wanted to risk the shaky peace that they had managed by discussing the kisses. Instead, they shared meals together, laughing and joking with the others, went out for coffee, and tried to catch up on the past two years. Claire laughed at the stories that Peter told about the friends she had never met, especially the ones about his wild best friend, while Peter listened raptly as Claire described her classes and the few, solid friends she had made in Kentucky. For all of the hours they talked, there were certain topics that they would not broach, such as Adam. With the centuries old regenerator out of town once again, it removed one of the largest sources of tension in their relationship, which was why Peter dreaded his return. Even if he and Claire were able to reestablish their friendship, she was still close to Adam and that wasn’t likely to change.
On this cold December morning, Claire was curled up on the couch in the living room, her body stretched across the length of the couch, her eyes glazing over as she half-watched the latest rerun of an MTV reality show. The days were the worst, boredom wise, and she spent far too many hours watching daytime television while everyone else went about their lives. Even Monica wasn’t there during the day anymore, having found a job teaching yoga after watching a few exercise tapes and mastering the moves. The only person who was ever home during the day was Angela, whom she didn’t want to speak to and who didn’t want to speak to her. But even Angela had found something to do today, accompanying Nathan to some office to discuss business matters. She was sincerely debating calling one of her sorority sisters just to talk to another human being when the front door opened and Peter entered.
He was dressed in his loose, blue scrubs and sneakers, and Claire had known from their last conversation that his latest patient hadn’t been expected to last much longer. Clearly, as he was home much earlier than he should be, that assessment had been correct.
“Hey,” she greeted softly, pulling herself up into a sitting position.
His smile was wan as he sat beside her, sinking heavily into the cushions. When he offered no words - a rarity for him - she took a chance, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. Peter seemed to sag beneath the gesture, and Claire was startled when a moment later, he twisted his body, his arms coming around her body, clasping himself tightly to her. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breathing deep and heavy, each exhalation brushing across her skin. At a loss, Claire simply returned the embrace, her right hand stroking from the crown of his head to the base of his neck, the same comforting movement that her own mother had used on her many a time.
After minutes of silence, Peter pronounced against her collarbone, “He was just a kid, not even as old as Monty. I don’t understand.”
“He’s in a better place now.”
“What good is fighting the Company when things like this keep happening? Are we making the world a better place?”
Claire was startled by the defeat in Peter’s voice, and she knew that this little boy’s death must have shaken him to his core to speak like this. Filling her voice with a resolve that most of the time she didn’t feel either, she declared, “We’re fighting so that they have the chance to live whatever life they have available. We fight for Molly and Micah so that they don’t have to spend the rest of their lives afraid of being tortured or studied like animals.” Pulling back, forcing him to look at her by trapping his face between her hands, she firmly said, “We fight so that we don’t have to hide.”
Peter held her gaze for a long moment before softly brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. With a shy smile that Claire remembered far too well, he asked, “You want to get out of here?”
“Out where?”
“Anywhere. I’ll get changed and we’ll just…hit the open road.”
“In our invisible car with our nonexistent money?”
A wide grin now spreading across his face, Peter assured her, “I have money. Call your dad and tell him that we’re going on a day trip and we’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“And we’ll be going where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Don’t you think we have enough surprises?”
Getting to his feet, Peter assured her, “You’ll like this one, I promise. Now, go pack a bag and call Noah.”
“Peter-“
“C’mon,” he urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet. “We have to move fast before someone comes home and then we’re stuck here again. I think we’ve earned a little fun, don’t you?”
His spirit becoming infectious, she narrowed her eyes and asked in mock suspicion, “Who are you and what have you done with Peter Petrelli?”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he called over his shoulder, “You don’t know everything about me, Claire!”
* * *
It was true; there was actually very much that Claire didn’t know about her uncle. She didn’t know that he had been voted Best Looking in his high school yearbook or that he’d dated more beautiful women than even Nathan had; she didn’t know that his best friend Brian had been drunk under the table by Peter on more than one occasion or that, during a Spring Break trip his junior year of college, Peter became so drunk on tequila that he had ended up passing out in a stranger’s bathtub only to be cruelly yanked awake by hotel security. She didn’t know that Peter had an amazing sense of humor and, that for all of his compassion and seriousness, he had once been the person that his friends had turned to when the mood needed lightening. Claire didn’t know that he had once been a fraternity boy, though it had been due more to his father and Nathan’s urgings than his own desire to be Greek, or that he had gotten a nearly perfect score on his MCATs when he had taken them on the sly just to see what he would get.
And Claire certainly didn’t know that, before he had settled down during nursing school, Peter’s spontaneous road trips had been the cause of legendary blowups between he and his father, a tradition that seemed to be repeating as Peter briefly explained to Nathan as they boarded the train that they would return tomorrow morning.
“What do you mean, tomorrow morning?!” Claire heard her biological father boom from the other side of the phone. “Peter, you can’t just-“
“We’ll be fine, Nathan, and we’ll see you tomorrow,” he state definitively before ending the call and turning the phone off, slipping it into his pocket.
Claire stared at him in amazement; it was the first time she had ever seen him take a stand against Nathan. When she recovered, she pressed, “So you’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Can’t you just trust that it’s something you’re going to enjoy?”
“You come home depressed and decide that we should run away from home temporarily because it would be fun. You’re gonna have to excuse me if I’m a little shocked.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve run away from home,” he pointed out, a touch of malice to his voice, and Claire stiffened.
“That was different.”
“You’re right; you know me. And therefore there’s no reason for you to be worried.”
As the train began to move, Claire decided to take the plunge. “Is this some sort of pissing contest with Adam?”
“Why would I need to be in a pissing contest with him?”
“Because I slept with him.”
Peter tried not to flinch at the words or the pictures that bloomed in his imagination at the soft statement. He had known what had happened in Chicago; he had just never heard it spelled out so explicitly and it hurt.
“You’re an adult,” he slowly replied. “You can sleep with whoever you want.”
“And you don’t care?” she skeptically asked.
“It’s not my business.”
“And because it’s not your business, you threw a ball of electricity at him and sent him flying through the French doors?”
Flushing lightly, he acknowledge, “I might have overreacted.”
Despite the fact that she knew what she was about to say was partially a lie, she said it anyway, knowing that he needed to hear it. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s the worst part.” Glancing out the window at the rapidly passing scenery, he elaborated, “I don’t understand the weird…bond you two have, but the idea that he can…be with you like that and have it mean nothing while I…It’s hard.”
“Adam’s…Adam knows what it’s like to be like me; he treats me like I’m an actual member of the team. I don’t have any history with Adam; it’s not all doom and gloom. Sometimes it’s nice to just…I did the normal thing at school and I felt like I was faking everything, but with Adam, I can still goof off and be like anyone else but still be who I am. Does that make sense?”
Peter nodded before cautiously asking, “I don’t make you feel like that?”
Trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, she hoarsely declared, “You make me feel like I can’t breathe.”
The silence that fell around them was awkward and heavy, and Claire was about to curse herself for saying something so blatantly revealing when Peter revealed, “We’re going to Princeton.”
“What’s in Princeton?”
“An old friend.”
* * *
Mohinder Suresh had seen much phenomenon that couldn’t be explained since taking up his father’s research several years ago, but this black, tar-like killing substance was something terrifyingly new. He had once thought that Sylar was the greatest threat that they would face; that had been changed when the Shanti virus had made its appearance. But this epidemic of unexplained origin was something that, if twisted, could potentially be more destructive than Shanti.
The pattern of the Shanti virus was rather simple. First the virus would attack the part of the brain that Mohinder knew from CAT and PET scans controlled the manifestation of a person’s ability. Once that ability was suppressed, the virus continued to attack different sections of the brain, inhibiting neural transmission and slowly shutting down autonomous systems, eventually stopping the function of the cardiac and respiratory systems, killing the afflicted person. The gestational period varied depending on the person who was infected, but, if the virus wasn’t cured by the time the excessive sweats and shakes ended and the trouble breathing began, Mohinder’s blood no longer worked as a cure due to the body’s extreme state of distress. The first symptom of the disease was the inability to use a power followed by a high fever, vomiting, and sweating. Once the sweating began, the body began to tremble like someone with Parkinson’s before eventually suffering through full body spasms, similar to a grand mal seizure. Since starting the research for Primatech, no one with an ability had died on Mohinder’s watch.
The killing substance was different entirely. It was neither a disease nor virus; it was not infectious to the touch or through airborne contact. What caused it to occur was unknown, though Bob had hypothesized about abilities that were too dangerous and impractical for a person to live with. He had likened it to an animal who could spit poison in order to protect itself; the human equivalent was this substance, which, if the bodies revealed anything, it was that it liquefied internal organs and caused the person to hemorrhage the substance from their eye sockets. If applied to a large group of people, it would be 100% deadly with no cure in sight. It was truly a terrifying prospect.
Bob was trying to act as if there was no reason for extreme concern thus far, but Mohinder knew that he was worried, so worried that finding a cure or inoculation against it had become his top priority. Niki was also worried; he could see it in her eyes, in the way that she looked at Micah and wondered aloud if they shouldn’t have gone into hiding when DL died.
Mohinder suspected that Bob knew more than he was letting on, and he needed to know what it was. Of course, the only way to do that would be to make a deal with a certain blonde haired, sociopathic devil. The old Mohinder Suresh would have written the idea off entirely, using his morals as an excuse not to seek the help of an unrepentant murderer.
It was amazing what a few years and multiple attempts on your life could do to a person’s sense of self-preservation.
* * *
When Claire had looked at colleges in the wake of her Peter-related heartbreak, she had sworn off any schools that were on the East Coast. In her desperation to forget about all things Petrelli, she had vowed that she wasn’t going to go any further east than Ohio, and, as such, had cancelled out any schools that she might have actually liked in order to keep that promise to herself. Noah Bennet had been grateful for that decision; he had barely survived her decision to attend school in Kentucky. But it wasn’t until Claire looked around at the Princeton campus that she realized that she might have robbed herself of a chance to go to a school like this.
Claire was smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for, and the fact that no one realized that constantly frustrated her. She had finished third in her class at Costa Verde and had been accepted to every school she had applied to, including Stanford. The only reason she had decided on UK was due to the impressive scholarship that they had offered her as well as the promise of a job in the biology department. When all was said and done, she really was a geek at heart, especially since her power had manifested itself her sophomore year.
The New Jersey campus was dusted by a light covering of snow and the air was bitterly cold, causing Claire to draw her hands up into the sleeves of her coat. When she had complained of the freezing conditions, Peter had tugged on the arm of her coat, leading her through the campus as if they were on a mission, which, to Claire’s knowledge, they very well could be. Peter had revealed nothing more than their location, and Claire was starting to wonder if he hadn’t completely lost his mind.
When he abruptly stopped them near a library, Claire was certain that he was playing some kind of joke on her until he grasped her shoulders and rotated her body so that she was starting straight ahead at the person who was descending the stairs.
He was older now, his hair a little darker and shaggier; he had outgrown the awkwardness of his past posture, and he had seemed exceedingly more self-assured than he had the last time she had seen him. As she watched him laugh at something the guy that was walking with him said, she felt a little pang of jealousy in her heart; she wondered if that was his best friend now, if he had replaced her. There were times when she convinced herself that she hadn’t lost much while making the transition from Claire Bennet to Claire Butler; she had been wrong.
He saw her a moment later and comically froze mid-step, blinking as if he was hallucinating. When she tentatively lifted her hand to wave, the expression of shock quickly melted into one of excitement and he began to hurry towards her, surprised laughter spilling out of him. Claire quickly looked at Peter, who smiled before nodding for her to go to him.
They met halfway, flinging their arms around the other, laughter and tears mingling, rushed questions and fast answers as they tried to deal with the shock of seeing the other for the first time in years.
Finally, he gestured to Peter, who was standing placidly by, glancing around the campus and leaving them to their reunion.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Peter.”
His eyebrows arched before he walked over to the empath. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Zach.”
Peter clasped his hand in his own. “Yeah, I know.”
* * *
“This is not my fault!” Elle exclaimed, crossing her arms over her breasts and pushing her lower lip out, appearing much younger than she actually was.
“How do you figure that?”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that Adam was going to go get her?! It’s not exactly like he’s predictable!”
“You should’ve known that the second he knew about Claire, he was going to go after her! He’s been alone for 400 years and you waved a pretty toy in front of his face!”
“I didn’t wave shit! I didn’t tell him about the perky, little cheerleader; the others did! And besides, what does it matter if he decided to fuck her brains out? It doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything, Elle! You know what Adam is, how he operates; there’s a reason he was put in a box and left there to rot for three decades! And now, he’s decided to partner up with someone who could be just as strong as he is!”
Elle scoffed, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “Claire Bennet isn’t exactly Wonder Woman. There’s no way she could ever be like Adam.”
“Yeah, and, in case you forgot the mythology, Adam Monroe was just a drunken Englishmen swindling Japanese people, and look what he became!” Getting to his feet, he declared, “We need to keep them apart.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re just sitting here and making me do all the work!”
“Well, it is your job, in case you forgot.”
“And I’ve done my job! I rallied the troops, I got them the info about the Company, and I’ve been very careful revealing what they do and don’t need to know! You think it’s easy trying to keep that group of misfits from actually finding a pattern in it all? I work my ass off!”
“You were supposed to kill Angela Petrelli.”
“How the hell could I do that without everyone knowing it? The family matriarch just mysteriously turns up electrocuted while I’m in the area and everyone cries suicide?” Elle scoffed. “The boss gave me a pass on that until it’s feasible. Besides, those in glass houses and all…”
“I did my job.”
“Yeah, you’re a regular 007. I’m surprised you didn’t break down in tears when you realized everything went to hell. You’re so useless.”
“I’m useless? Listen, Sparky-“
“Don’t call me that, Mighty Mouse!”
“Children!” Bob cried as he entered the room, forcing the two into silence. “What have I told you about bickering like this? You are too old for this kind of nonsense. Now, apologize to each other and act like good siblings.”
“Sorry, Elle,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Barely managing to resist the urge to roll her eyes, she dutifully replied, “Sorry, West.”
* * *
The coffee shop that Zach took them to was small and crowded, the smell of freshly pressed beans wafting through the air, mingling with the scent of pastries and the twang of the acoustic guitar currently being played on stage. Claire was sandwiched tightly between Zach and Peter in one of the booths, acutely aware of the press of Peter’s body against hers while Zach went to the counter to order their drinks. The moment he was out of earshot, Claire turned to Peter.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“You don’t like it?”
She lightly backhanded him across the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I just thought it would be something you’d need.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” she repeated, tugging at the ends of her ponytail. “You’ve officially become the coolest person on earth for this.”
He smiled. “Was there much competition?”
“Well, Micah was about to get it for making the TV in my and Monica’s room get all the movie channels, but you definitely beat him for this.” Leaning over, she brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I just want you to be happy,” he offered by way of explanation.
Zach suddenly flopped down beside Claire, ruining the moment. As Peter and Claire awkwardly tried to shake off the tension, Zach pronounced, “You two are disgusting.”
Fear twisted sharply in Claire’s heart. “What?”
“Happy couples,” he scoffed, shaking his hair dramatically out of his eyes in a move that would’ve gotten him beaten up at Union Wells. “Clearly you two are all wrapped up in your relationship bliss and once again, I am the odd man out.”
“We’re not-“
“Oh, c’mon, Claire, don’t do your boyfriend the disservice of denying that you’re together. I’m a big boy; I can take the truth. I’m almost happy for you.”
“Almost?” Peter echoed, amusement flickering his eyes.
“There’s a little jealousy,” Zach acknowledged, reaching for a Splenda packet in the center of the table, passing it between his fingers. “I mean, you’re eight kinds of hot.”
Peter’s laugh was loud and genuine. “Thanks.”
“And here I thought you’d spent the last few years mooning over me,” Claire mock-lamented, pressing a hand to her heart.
She had always known that Zach was gay; she had probably known even before he had, but he had always kept his sexuality carefully protected in Odessa, where his ultra-macho father and narrow minded classmates would’ve scorned him completely. It was only at college that he had let loose and, as he had explained it to Claire during the conversation that they had on the way to the café, “let his rainbow flag fly.”
“Sweetie, if you couldn’t make me straight, no one could,” Zach assured her, patting her hand in comfort. “You’re the only person that’s could, quite possibly, be hotter than your boyfriend. Agree?”
“Absolutely,” Peter instantly assented, wrapping an arm around a startled Claire’s slender shoulders. “She’s always the most beautiful girl in the room.”
“Now you’re officially going to make me vomit.” As their number was called, Zach once again hopped up, insisting that they stayed put while he fetched the coffee, swearing that it was on him.
“What are you doing?” Claire queried out of the side of her mouth, keeping an eye on Zach.
“Being your hot boyfriend.”
“Except that you’re my hot uncle,” she reminded him, lowering her voice at the last word as if she was swearing in church.
“Not here, I’m not.” Glimpsing the confusion in her eyes, he quickly babbled, “We’re miles away from home, the only person who knows us here is Zach who doesn’t know the full story, and we can just be…normal.”
“You hate being normal.”
“You don’t.”
Warmth filling her heart, Claire reached up, capturing his face in her hands. Slowly and deliberately, she kissed him, her lips moist against his, their tongues tangling erotically as the hand Peter placed at the small of her back bunched the fabric of her shirt. It was the type of kiss that they would’ve shared countless times if they had been given the gift of simply being Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet, two strangers who met under the most bizarre of circumstances and fell in love without nasty, accusatory words like “incest” being used to define them.
It was the type of kiss that they should never have shared.
“Disgusting,” Zach reiterated with no malice as he set the three cups down on the scratched veneer of the table.
Had it been anyone other than Claire engaging in extreme PDA , he would’ve been upset, but if anyone had earned the right to make-out with her gorgeous knight-in-shining-armor, it was Claire.
* * *
There are moments in life when a person can point to a single event and definitively state, “That’s the moment my life changed forever.” For Adam Monroe, there were dozens, if not hundreds of those moments, for he had witnessed them not only in his own life but in the lives of others.
Until three months ago, he had believed that the moments that had changed his life had all been linked to Hiro Nakamura. That spectacled, time jumping, man of the future had made him want to be a good man, had shaped him into the hero of Takezo Kensei, and had given him a purpose in his otherwise pathetic existence. He had fed him on the legends that would be made in his image, had nurtured him on stories of great loves and human goodness, and then he had taken it all away by kissing the woman that Adam had vowed to protect and love. It had often struck him as ironic that he had learned honor and betrayal from the same man; it seemed poetically just that the carp had learned the same lessons from him.
When Hiro had attempted to kill him in White Beard’s camp, Adam had respected that move. For a man as naively noble as the Japanese man, it was a powerfully hard move to kill a man he had once considered a friend. At first, he had liked to believe that hatred and jealousy had fueled Hiro’s attack; when it had become apparent it was out of his genuine belief in the goodness of people, he had become convinced that perhaps, there might just be some good in the world.
This lesson wasn’t learned, of course, until well into the nineteenth century when he had cut a swath across Europe, revealing men of their fortunes and their fiancés of their maidenheads. It had been during the eclipse while he was in London that had reminded him of that day back in Kyoto when life had changed forever. He had decided then and there that he would find those that were like him and they would fulfill Hiro’s plan of saving the world.
It had been easier said than done. For nearly seventy years he had fruitlessly searched the globe for those that were gifted like him and, just when he had given up hope, he had met Victoria Pratt at Woodstock, of all places. The beautiful redhead was dancing in a circle of friends, her body twisting elegantly, and Adam had wanted nothing more than to bed her, which wasn’t exactly a hard accomplishment with everyone tripping on LSD. He had infiltrated the circle, encouraging her to dance with him, and she had complied, spinning wildly, her peasant skirt flaring around her, the beads around her neck clinking together. When she had finished, Adam was stunned to see that flowers had grown beneath her feet where there had been nothing but dirt previously. To the drugged crowd, it was another hallucination; to Adam Monroe, it was the first sign that he wasn’t alone.
He had demonstrated his talent for the hippy, and she had been neither awed nor horrified. Instead, she had clasped his hand and declared that he must meet some friends of hers. He allowed himself to be tugged through the cavorting crowd and presented to a black man with an afro.
“This is Charles Deveaux,” she had purred into his ear, her fingers drawing patterns on his back. “You’ll like him.”
Charles Deveaux was a public defender who had the ability to bring people into memories; his fascination with Adam had been evident from the start. It was Charles that had found Victoria when she had been arrested at a protest after making a tree grow in the center of a street. Adam had begun to tell them his tale when Charles told him that he knew others like them if Adam was interested.
Arthur and Angela Petrelli were an upwardly mobile couple in Manhattan with a young son named Nathan; it was they who had told him of Linderman, who had, in turn, contacted Kaito Nakamura and Maury Parkman before finally inviting Bob into the fold. Their powers varied from useful - Linderman’s ability to heal anyone or anything - to useless - Bob’s Midas touch - but together they were a powerful group. They had concocted the idea of Primatech, of a company that worked to find and help those like them all over the world; together, they could make a world of people that lived proudly with gifts and understood the burden and joy that could come from them.
It had taken less than ten years for the Company to break down completely. Victoria and Charles had shared his vision for a better tomorrow, but the others had started to imagine themselves in a far grander context. It was Arthur who had so succinctly explained it as they had tossed him into the cell which he would call home for the next 30 years.
“You look at the world and see what needs saving; we look at the world and see that it’s too late for that.”
Adam had sworn off trust completely after that. He had no use for people; he hardened himself and became cruel in his box, snapping at those around him. Angela Petrelli had tried to visit him once, bringing him a book and a bottle of imported beer, waxing philosophical about why he was in the cell and how it all could have been avoided if he had only seen the big picture.
Throttling her had been the single most satisfying moment of his life until the day that Claire Bennet’s picture had been tacked up to the big board.
He didn’t pay much attention to the giant bulletin board that occupied most of one of the living rooms. People were all the same to him; faces and personalities blurred. But it was the golden girl’s arrival that had piqued his interest, especially when coupled with the description beneath her picture. He had only met one regenerator in his lifetime, and that one certainly hadn’t been a breathtaking young woman. The moment he had seen her, he knew that he was not going to let her slip away from him. He had earned her; he would have her.
Manipulation was a tactic that Adam had no problem employing. It was why he had played upon her loneliness and insecurities in the UK cafeteria to get her to agree to the trip to New York; it was why he had given her the little speech about not being her boyfriend in order to keep her intrigued. And it was why, on this little jaunt to Odessa in order to gain information about the Company, he had purchased two dozen of her favorite cookies from the best bakery in town.
Adam Monroe had seen enough life-altering moments to know that Claire was positioned to be one of his, and he was not going to let her slip through his fingers like Yaeko.
He was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that.
Part Six is this way!
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 5567
Spoilers: Everything shown thus far, including Season 2. I’m picking and choosing what I like, so you could be potentially spoiled if you haven’t seen the latest episodes
Summary: When everything starts to spiral out of control, Peter realizes that he needs Claire to give up the normal life he forced on her to help save the world once again. The only problem? She isn’t sure she wants to anymore
A/N: This is a sequel to “Letters to My Uncle,” which can be found HERE. You might be confused if you try to read this one without reading the first one.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
Dear Claire,
The first time I slept with Elle was purely accidental. It was about a year ago and I was completely shit faced. I know that you told me that you can’t get drunk, but I can as long as I don’t try to tap into your power. I had gone out for my friend Brian’s birthday and was feeling particularly self-pitying that night. When I got back to the house, she was lying across my bed, smug and waiting to piss me off, but all I could see was this petite, blonde woman in my bed and I thought of you and the look on your face that night in your room right after you had come. You looked so relaxed and beautiful that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. When I jumped her, she was shocked but she went with it, of course.
When Elle was on her hands and knees, her long, blonde hair hiding her face, I could pretend that she was you.
I was in varying states of intoxication the first few times with Elle. We’re always heavy on the sex and low on the conversation. Sometimes she tries and I think that she wants to believe that I’m her boyfriend, but I could never love Elle. I know how much darkness is in her and I can remember what it felt like to have her barbecue me for information. I’m not an idiot; I know that the second we’ve erased any trace of the Shanti virus, there’s a very real chance that Elle will sell us all up the river to save her own ass.
It’s just that sometimes, when I’m lonely and I miss you so much that it hurts, it feels good to pretend.
I hope you never find out about us. I don’t think I could live with the shame.
I love you.
Peter
* * *
A week had passed since the night that Peter had pinned Claire against his bedroom door, and they hadn’t talked about it. While it was obvious to everyone else that they had clearly settled whatever friction was between them, neither Peter nor Claire wanted to risk the shaky peace that they had managed by discussing the kisses. Instead, they shared meals together, laughing and joking with the others, went out for coffee, and tried to catch up on the past two years. Claire laughed at the stories that Peter told about the friends she had never met, especially the ones about his wild best friend, while Peter listened raptly as Claire described her classes and the few, solid friends she had made in Kentucky. For all of the hours they talked, there were certain topics that they would not broach, such as Adam. With the centuries old regenerator out of town once again, it removed one of the largest sources of tension in their relationship, which was why Peter dreaded his return. Even if he and Claire were able to reestablish their friendship, she was still close to Adam and that wasn’t likely to change.
On this cold December morning, Claire was curled up on the couch in the living room, her body stretched across the length of the couch, her eyes glazing over as she half-watched the latest rerun of an MTV reality show. The days were the worst, boredom wise, and she spent far too many hours watching daytime television while everyone else went about their lives. Even Monica wasn’t there during the day anymore, having found a job teaching yoga after watching a few exercise tapes and mastering the moves. The only person who was ever home during the day was Angela, whom she didn’t want to speak to and who didn’t want to speak to her. But even Angela had found something to do today, accompanying Nathan to some office to discuss business matters. She was sincerely debating calling one of her sorority sisters just to talk to another human being when the front door opened and Peter entered.
He was dressed in his loose, blue scrubs and sneakers, and Claire had known from their last conversation that his latest patient hadn’t been expected to last much longer. Clearly, as he was home much earlier than he should be, that assessment had been correct.
“Hey,” she greeted softly, pulling herself up into a sitting position.
His smile was wan as he sat beside her, sinking heavily into the cushions. When he offered no words - a rarity for him - she took a chance, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders. Peter seemed to sag beneath the gesture, and Claire was startled when a moment later, he twisted his body, his arms coming around her body, clasping himself tightly to her. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, his breathing deep and heavy, each exhalation brushing across her skin. At a loss, Claire simply returned the embrace, her right hand stroking from the crown of his head to the base of his neck, the same comforting movement that her own mother had used on her many a time.
After minutes of silence, Peter pronounced against her collarbone, “He was just a kid, not even as old as Monty. I don’t understand.”
“He’s in a better place now.”
“What good is fighting the Company when things like this keep happening? Are we making the world a better place?”
Claire was startled by the defeat in Peter’s voice, and she knew that this little boy’s death must have shaken him to his core to speak like this. Filling her voice with a resolve that most of the time she didn’t feel either, she declared, “We’re fighting so that they have the chance to live whatever life they have available. We fight for Molly and Micah so that they don’t have to spend the rest of their lives afraid of being tortured or studied like animals.” Pulling back, forcing him to look at her by trapping his face between her hands, she firmly said, “We fight so that we don’t have to hide.”
Peter held her gaze for a long moment before softly brushing a piece of hair from her cheek. With a shy smile that Claire remembered far too well, he asked, “You want to get out of here?”
“Out where?”
“Anywhere. I’ll get changed and we’ll just…hit the open road.”
“In our invisible car with our nonexistent money?”
A wide grin now spreading across his face, Peter assured her, “I have money. Call your dad and tell him that we’re going on a day trip and we’ll be back tomorrow morning.”
“And we’ll be going where?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“Don’t you think we have enough surprises?”
Getting to his feet, Peter assured her, “You’ll like this one, I promise. Now, go pack a bag and call Noah.”
“Peter-“
“C’mon,” he urged, grabbing her hand and tugging her to her feet. “We have to move fast before someone comes home and then we’re stuck here again. I think we’ve earned a little fun, don’t you?”
His spirit becoming infectious, she narrowed her eyes and asked in mock suspicion, “Who are you and what have you done with Peter Petrelli?”
Taking the stairs two at a time, he called over his shoulder, “You don’t know everything about me, Claire!”
* * *
It was true; there was actually very much that Claire didn’t know about her uncle. She didn’t know that he had been voted Best Looking in his high school yearbook or that he’d dated more beautiful women than even Nathan had; she didn’t know that his best friend Brian had been drunk under the table by Peter on more than one occasion or that, during a Spring Break trip his junior year of college, Peter became so drunk on tequila that he had ended up passing out in a stranger’s bathtub only to be cruelly yanked awake by hotel security. She didn’t know that Peter had an amazing sense of humor and, that for all of his compassion and seriousness, he had once been the person that his friends had turned to when the mood needed lightening. Claire didn’t know that he had once been a fraternity boy, though it had been due more to his father and Nathan’s urgings than his own desire to be Greek, or that he had gotten a nearly perfect score on his MCATs when he had taken them on the sly just to see what he would get.
And Claire certainly didn’t know that, before he had settled down during nursing school, Peter’s spontaneous road trips had been the cause of legendary blowups between he and his father, a tradition that seemed to be repeating as Peter briefly explained to Nathan as they boarded the train that they would return tomorrow morning.
“What do you mean, tomorrow morning?!” Claire heard her biological father boom from the other side of the phone. “Peter, you can’t just-“
“We’ll be fine, Nathan, and we’ll see you tomorrow,” he state definitively before ending the call and turning the phone off, slipping it into his pocket.
Claire stared at him in amazement; it was the first time she had ever seen him take a stand against Nathan. When she recovered, she pressed, “So you’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Can’t you just trust that it’s something you’re going to enjoy?”
“You come home depressed and decide that we should run away from home temporarily because it would be fun. You’re gonna have to excuse me if I’m a little shocked.”
“It’s not the first time you’ve run away from home,” he pointed out, a touch of malice to his voice, and Claire stiffened.
“That was different.”
“You’re right; you know me. And therefore there’s no reason for you to be worried.”
As the train began to move, Claire decided to take the plunge. “Is this some sort of pissing contest with Adam?”
“Why would I need to be in a pissing contest with him?”
“Because I slept with him.”
Peter tried not to flinch at the words or the pictures that bloomed in his imagination at the soft statement. He had known what had happened in Chicago; he had just never heard it spelled out so explicitly and it hurt.
“You’re an adult,” he slowly replied. “You can sleep with whoever you want.”
“And you don’t care?” she skeptically asked.
“It’s not my business.”
“And because it’s not your business, you threw a ball of electricity at him and sent him flying through the French doors?”
Flushing lightly, he acknowledge, “I might have overreacted.”
Despite the fact that she knew what she was about to say was partially a lie, she said it anyway, knowing that he needed to hear it. “It didn’t mean anything.”
“That’s the worst part.” Glancing out the window at the rapidly passing scenery, he elaborated, “I don’t understand the weird…bond you two have, but the idea that he can…be with you like that and have it mean nothing while I…It’s hard.”
“Adam’s…Adam knows what it’s like to be like me; he treats me like I’m an actual member of the team. I don’t have any history with Adam; it’s not all doom and gloom. Sometimes it’s nice to just…I did the normal thing at school and I felt like I was faking everything, but with Adam, I can still goof off and be like anyone else but still be who I am. Does that make sense?”
Peter nodded before cautiously asking, “I don’t make you feel like that?”
Trying to keep the emotion out of her voice, she hoarsely declared, “You make me feel like I can’t breathe.”
The silence that fell around them was awkward and heavy, and Claire was about to curse herself for saying something so blatantly revealing when Peter revealed, “We’re going to Princeton.”
“What’s in Princeton?”
“An old friend.”
* * *
Mohinder Suresh had seen much phenomenon that couldn’t be explained since taking up his father’s research several years ago, but this black, tar-like killing substance was something terrifyingly new. He had once thought that Sylar was the greatest threat that they would face; that had been changed when the Shanti virus had made its appearance. But this epidemic of unexplained origin was something that, if twisted, could potentially be more destructive than Shanti.
The pattern of the Shanti virus was rather simple. First the virus would attack the part of the brain that Mohinder knew from CAT and PET scans controlled the manifestation of a person’s ability. Once that ability was suppressed, the virus continued to attack different sections of the brain, inhibiting neural transmission and slowly shutting down autonomous systems, eventually stopping the function of the cardiac and respiratory systems, killing the afflicted person. The gestational period varied depending on the person who was infected, but, if the virus wasn’t cured by the time the excessive sweats and shakes ended and the trouble breathing began, Mohinder’s blood no longer worked as a cure due to the body’s extreme state of distress. The first symptom of the disease was the inability to use a power followed by a high fever, vomiting, and sweating. Once the sweating began, the body began to tremble like someone with Parkinson’s before eventually suffering through full body spasms, similar to a grand mal seizure. Since starting the research for Primatech, no one with an ability had died on Mohinder’s watch.
The killing substance was different entirely. It was neither a disease nor virus; it was not infectious to the touch or through airborne contact. What caused it to occur was unknown, though Bob had hypothesized about abilities that were too dangerous and impractical for a person to live with. He had likened it to an animal who could spit poison in order to protect itself; the human equivalent was this substance, which, if the bodies revealed anything, it was that it liquefied internal organs and caused the person to hemorrhage the substance from their eye sockets. If applied to a large group of people, it would be 100% deadly with no cure in sight. It was truly a terrifying prospect.
Bob was trying to act as if there was no reason for extreme concern thus far, but Mohinder knew that he was worried, so worried that finding a cure or inoculation against it had become his top priority. Niki was also worried; he could see it in her eyes, in the way that she looked at Micah and wondered aloud if they shouldn’t have gone into hiding when DL died.
Mohinder suspected that Bob knew more than he was letting on, and he needed to know what it was. Of course, the only way to do that would be to make a deal with a certain blonde haired, sociopathic devil. The old Mohinder Suresh would have written the idea off entirely, using his morals as an excuse not to seek the help of an unrepentant murderer.
It was amazing what a few years and multiple attempts on your life could do to a person’s sense of self-preservation.
* * *
When Claire had looked at colleges in the wake of her Peter-related heartbreak, she had sworn off any schools that were on the East Coast. In her desperation to forget about all things Petrelli, she had vowed that she wasn’t going to go any further east than Ohio, and, as such, had cancelled out any schools that she might have actually liked in order to keep that promise to herself. Noah Bennet had been grateful for that decision; he had barely survived her decision to attend school in Kentucky. But it wasn’t until Claire looked around at the Princeton campus that she realized that she might have robbed herself of a chance to go to a school like this.
Claire was smarter than anyone ever gave her credit for, and the fact that no one realized that constantly frustrated her. She had finished third in her class at Costa Verde and had been accepted to every school she had applied to, including Stanford. The only reason she had decided on UK was due to the impressive scholarship that they had offered her as well as the promise of a job in the biology department. When all was said and done, she really was a geek at heart, especially since her power had manifested itself her sophomore year.
The New Jersey campus was dusted by a light covering of snow and the air was bitterly cold, causing Claire to draw her hands up into the sleeves of her coat. When she had complained of the freezing conditions, Peter had tugged on the arm of her coat, leading her through the campus as if they were on a mission, which, to Claire’s knowledge, they very well could be. Peter had revealed nothing more than their location, and Claire was starting to wonder if he hadn’t completely lost his mind.
When he abruptly stopped them near a library, Claire was certain that he was playing some kind of joke on her until he grasped her shoulders and rotated her body so that she was starting straight ahead at the person who was descending the stairs.
He was older now, his hair a little darker and shaggier; he had outgrown the awkwardness of his past posture, and he had seemed exceedingly more self-assured than he had the last time she had seen him. As she watched him laugh at something the guy that was walking with him said, she felt a little pang of jealousy in her heart; she wondered if that was his best friend now, if he had replaced her. There were times when she convinced herself that she hadn’t lost much while making the transition from Claire Bennet to Claire Butler; she had been wrong.
He saw her a moment later and comically froze mid-step, blinking as if he was hallucinating. When she tentatively lifted her hand to wave, the expression of shock quickly melted into one of excitement and he began to hurry towards her, surprised laughter spilling out of him. Claire quickly looked at Peter, who smiled before nodding for her to go to him.
They met halfway, flinging their arms around the other, laughter and tears mingling, rushed questions and fast answers as they tried to deal with the shock of seeing the other for the first time in years.
Finally, he gestured to Peter, who was standing placidly by, glancing around the campus and leaving them to their reunion.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Peter.”
His eyebrows arched before he walked over to the empath. Extending his hand, he introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Zach.”
Peter clasped his hand in his own. “Yeah, I know.”
* * *
“This is not my fault!” Elle exclaimed, crossing her arms over her breasts and pushing her lower lip out, appearing much younger than she actually was.
“How do you figure that?”
“How the fuck was I supposed to know that Adam was going to go get her?! It’s not exactly like he’s predictable!”
“You should’ve known that the second he knew about Claire, he was going to go after her! He’s been alone for 400 years and you waved a pretty toy in front of his face!”
“I didn’t wave shit! I didn’t tell him about the perky, little cheerleader; the others did! And besides, what does it matter if he decided to fuck her brains out? It doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything, Elle! You know what Adam is, how he operates; there’s a reason he was put in a box and left there to rot for three decades! And now, he’s decided to partner up with someone who could be just as strong as he is!”
Elle scoffed, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “Claire Bennet isn’t exactly Wonder Woman. There’s no way she could ever be like Adam.”
“Yeah, and, in case you forgot the mythology, Adam Monroe was just a drunken Englishmen swindling Japanese people, and look what he became!” Getting to his feet, he declared, “We need to keep them apart.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re just sitting here and making me do all the work!”
“Well, it is your job, in case you forgot.”
“And I’ve done my job! I rallied the troops, I got them the info about the Company, and I’ve been very careful revealing what they do and don’t need to know! You think it’s easy trying to keep that group of misfits from actually finding a pattern in it all? I work my ass off!”
“You were supposed to kill Angela Petrelli.”
“How the hell could I do that without everyone knowing it? The family matriarch just mysteriously turns up electrocuted while I’m in the area and everyone cries suicide?” Elle scoffed. “The boss gave me a pass on that until it’s feasible. Besides, those in glass houses and all…”
“I did my job.”
“Yeah, you’re a regular 007. I’m surprised you didn’t break down in tears when you realized everything went to hell. You’re so useless.”
“I’m useless? Listen, Sparky-“
“Don’t call me that, Mighty Mouse!”
“Children!” Bob cried as he entered the room, forcing the two into silence. “What have I told you about bickering like this? You are too old for this kind of nonsense. Now, apologize to each other and act like good siblings.”
“Sorry, Elle,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Barely managing to resist the urge to roll her eyes, she dutifully replied, “Sorry, West.”
* * *
The coffee shop that Zach took them to was small and crowded, the smell of freshly pressed beans wafting through the air, mingling with the scent of pastries and the twang of the acoustic guitar currently being played on stage. Claire was sandwiched tightly between Zach and Peter in one of the booths, acutely aware of the press of Peter’s body against hers while Zach went to the counter to order their drinks. The moment he was out of earshot, Claire turned to Peter.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
“You don’t like it?”
She lightly backhanded him across the shoulder. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I just thought it would be something you’d need.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” she repeated, tugging at the ends of her ponytail. “You’ve officially become the coolest person on earth for this.”
He smiled. “Was there much competition?”
“Well, Micah was about to get it for making the TV in my and Monica’s room get all the movie channels, but you definitely beat him for this.” Leaning over, she brushed her lips against his cheek. “Thank you.”
“I just want you to be happy,” he offered by way of explanation.
Zach suddenly flopped down beside Claire, ruining the moment. As Peter and Claire awkwardly tried to shake off the tension, Zach pronounced, “You two are disgusting.”
Fear twisted sharply in Claire’s heart. “What?”
“Happy couples,” he scoffed, shaking his hair dramatically out of his eyes in a move that would’ve gotten him beaten up at Union Wells. “Clearly you two are all wrapped up in your relationship bliss and once again, I am the odd man out.”
“We’re not-“
“Oh, c’mon, Claire, don’t do your boyfriend the disservice of denying that you’re together. I’m a big boy; I can take the truth. I’m almost happy for you.”
“Almost?” Peter echoed, amusement flickering his eyes.
“There’s a little jealousy,” Zach acknowledged, reaching for a Splenda packet in the center of the table, passing it between his fingers. “I mean, you’re eight kinds of hot.”
Peter’s laugh was loud and genuine. “Thanks.”
“And here I thought you’d spent the last few years mooning over me,” Claire mock-lamented, pressing a hand to her heart.
She had always known that Zach was gay; she had probably known even before he had, but he had always kept his sexuality carefully protected in Odessa, where his ultra-macho father and narrow minded classmates would’ve scorned him completely. It was only at college that he had let loose and, as he had explained it to Claire during the conversation that they had on the way to the café, “let his rainbow flag fly.”
“Sweetie, if you couldn’t make me straight, no one could,” Zach assured her, patting her hand in comfort. “You’re the only person that’s could, quite possibly, be hotter than your boyfriend. Agree?”
“Absolutely,” Peter instantly assented, wrapping an arm around a startled Claire’s slender shoulders. “She’s always the most beautiful girl in the room.”
“Now you’re officially going to make me vomit.” As their number was called, Zach once again hopped up, insisting that they stayed put while he fetched the coffee, swearing that it was on him.
“What are you doing?” Claire queried out of the side of her mouth, keeping an eye on Zach.
“Being your hot boyfriend.”
“Except that you’re my hot uncle,” she reminded him, lowering her voice at the last word as if she was swearing in church.
“Not here, I’m not.” Glimpsing the confusion in her eyes, he quickly babbled, “We’re miles away from home, the only person who knows us here is Zach who doesn’t know the full story, and we can just be…normal.”
“You hate being normal.”
“You don’t.”
Warmth filling her heart, Claire reached up, capturing his face in her hands. Slowly and deliberately, she kissed him, her lips moist against his, their tongues tangling erotically as the hand Peter placed at the small of her back bunched the fabric of her shirt. It was the type of kiss that they would’ve shared countless times if they had been given the gift of simply being Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet, two strangers who met under the most bizarre of circumstances and fell in love without nasty, accusatory words like “incest” being used to define them.
It was the type of kiss that they should never have shared.
“Disgusting,” Zach reiterated with no malice as he set the three cups down on the scratched veneer of the table.
Had it been anyone other than Claire engaging in extreme PDA , he would’ve been upset, but if anyone had earned the right to make-out with her gorgeous knight-in-shining-armor, it was Claire.
* * *
There are moments in life when a person can point to a single event and definitively state, “That’s the moment my life changed forever.” For Adam Monroe, there were dozens, if not hundreds of those moments, for he had witnessed them not only in his own life but in the lives of others.
Until three months ago, he had believed that the moments that had changed his life had all been linked to Hiro Nakamura. That spectacled, time jumping, man of the future had made him want to be a good man, had shaped him into the hero of Takezo Kensei, and had given him a purpose in his otherwise pathetic existence. He had fed him on the legends that would be made in his image, had nurtured him on stories of great loves and human goodness, and then he had taken it all away by kissing the woman that Adam had vowed to protect and love. It had often struck him as ironic that he had learned honor and betrayal from the same man; it seemed poetically just that the carp had learned the same lessons from him.
When Hiro had attempted to kill him in White Beard’s camp, Adam had respected that move. For a man as naively noble as the Japanese man, it was a powerfully hard move to kill a man he had once considered a friend. At first, he had liked to believe that hatred and jealousy had fueled Hiro’s attack; when it had become apparent it was out of his genuine belief in the goodness of people, he had become convinced that perhaps, there might just be some good in the world.
This lesson wasn’t learned, of course, until well into the nineteenth century when he had cut a swath across Europe, revealing men of their fortunes and their fiancés of their maidenheads. It had been during the eclipse while he was in London that had reminded him of that day back in Kyoto when life had changed forever. He had decided then and there that he would find those that were like him and they would fulfill Hiro’s plan of saving the world.
It had been easier said than done. For nearly seventy years he had fruitlessly searched the globe for those that were gifted like him and, just when he had given up hope, he had met Victoria Pratt at Woodstock, of all places. The beautiful redhead was dancing in a circle of friends, her body twisting elegantly, and Adam had wanted nothing more than to bed her, which wasn’t exactly a hard accomplishment with everyone tripping on LSD. He had infiltrated the circle, encouraging her to dance with him, and she had complied, spinning wildly, her peasant skirt flaring around her, the beads around her neck clinking together. When she had finished, Adam was stunned to see that flowers had grown beneath her feet where there had been nothing but dirt previously. To the drugged crowd, it was another hallucination; to Adam Monroe, it was the first sign that he wasn’t alone.
He had demonstrated his talent for the hippy, and she had been neither awed nor horrified. Instead, she had clasped his hand and declared that he must meet some friends of hers. He allowed himself to be tugged through the cavorting crowd and presented to a black man with an afro.
“This is Charles Deveaux,” she had purred into his ear, her fingers drawing patterns on his back. “You’ll like him.”
Charles Deveaux was a public defender who had the ability to bring people into memories; his fascination with Adam had been evident from the start. It was Charles that had found Victoria when she had been arrested at a protest after making a tree grow in the center of a street. Adam had begun to tell them his tale when Charles told him that he knew others like them if Adam was interested.
Arthur and Angela Petrelli were an upwardly mobile couple in Manhattan with a young son named Nathan; it was they who had told him of Linderman, who had, in turn, contacted Kaito Nakamura and Maury Parkman before finally inviting Bob into the fold. Their powers varied from useful - Linderman’s ability to heal anyone or anything - to useless - Bob’s Midas touch - but together they were a powerful group. They had concocted the idea of Primatech, of a company that worked to find and help those like them all over the world; together, they could make a world of people that lived proudly with gifts and understood the burden and joy that could come from them.
It had taken less than ten years for the Company to break down completely. Victoria and Charles had shared his vision for a better tomorrow, but the others had started to imagine themselves in a far grander context. It was Arthur who had so succinctly explained it as they had tossed him into the cell which he would call home for the next 30 years.
“You look at the world and see what needs saving; we look at the world and see that it’s too late for that.”
Adam had sworn off trust completely after that. He had no use for people; he hardened himself and became cruel in his box, snapping at those around him. Angela Petrelli had tried to visit him once, bringing him a book and a bottle of imported beer, waxing philosophical about why he was in the cell and how it all could have been avoided if he had only seen the big picture.
Throttling her had been the single most satisfying moment of his life until the day that Claire Bennet’s picture had been tacked up to the big board.
He didn’t pay much attention to the giant bulletin board that occupied most of one of the living rooms. People were all the same to him; faces and personalities blurred. But it was the golden girl’s arrival that had piqued his interest, especially when coupled with the description beneath her picture. He had only met one regenerator in his lifetime, and that one certainly hadn’t been a breathtaking young woman. The moment he had seen her, he knew that he was not going to let her slip away from him. He had earned her; he would have her.
Manipulation was a tactic that Adam had no problem employing. It was why he had played upon her loneliness and insecurities in the UK cafeteria to get her to agree to the trip to New York; it was why he had given her the little speech about not being her boyfriend in order to keep her intrigued. And it was why, on this little jaunt to Odessa in order to gain information about the Company, he had purchased two dozen of her favorite cookies from the best bakery in town.
Adam Monroe had seen enough life-altering moments to know that Claire was positioned to be one of his, and he was not going to let her slip through his fingers like Yaeko.
He was prepared to do whatever it took to ensure that.
Part Six is this way!