Letters To My Niece (9/13)
Title: Letters to My Niece (9/13)
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall; R for sexual suggestion and language this chapter
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 4059
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: Peter and Claire try to come to terms with how they feel about each other while the world threatens to end around them
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.
A/N2: Sorry for such a long break between chapters! Real life got crazy but I definitely have not forgotten this story!
One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight
Dear Claire,
I often wonder what my parents must have been like when they were our age, before everything became about the Company and making money. Were they idealistic? Were they madly in love? Were they able to see what they had become or was it too late?
I have so few positive memories of my father that I can’t imagine him as being my age.
He would’ve been a father already at 28, married and on his way to success; I can’t help but think he’d declare me a complete failure at having none of those characteristics. At this point, the only thing I’ve done is completely ruin all of the plans that the Company had for me to become a nuclear explosion.
I know that you don’t like Nathan and I don’t know Meredith, but, despite the amount of fear that Noah instills in me, he’s clearly a good father to you. I envy you that. I hope that I can be half as good of a father as he is.
Peter
* * *
Noah Bennet had never dreamt of being a father until the day that Kaito Nakamura had placed Claire in his arms. He had been a Company man, a man who lived for his job and loved his wife, but he had never desired to be a father. His own father had been a bitter man who drank too much and raised his hand far too often; Noah had left him behind without a second glance and swore that he would never do that to another human being.
But he had become a father and, when that had happened, he swore that he would be the best father that existed. His world has revolved around Claire, perhaps to the detriment of his relationship with Lyle and even Sandra; she had become the shining beacon of hope in his life and he had compromised every value he had held prior to her coming to be with them in order to protect her. Claire was his daughter and, despite their fights, he would do anything for her.
It was hard for him to see her as anything other than the little girl who had begged him for pony rides around the living room, pleaded to go swimming on hot days, and giggled with delight every time that she was presented with a new teddy bear following a business trip. Intellectually he knew that Claire wasn’t a child any longer, that she was eighteen and beautiful and frustratingly independent, but that didn’t stop him from wishing that he could still protect her the way that he once had.
Noah did not believe in trusting people; it was a trait he had learned early on in his work as a Company man. And if that training had done anything, it taught him to be extremely weary of any of the Petrelli family. Of all of the Board members, the Petrellis were the most ruthless, the ones who would smile to your face as they slit your throats, and it made it that much more inconceivable that Claire had been born of them.
Nathan was someone that Noah was starting to believe was sincere in his actions despite his less than stellar beginnings. And while Noah knew that he’d never trust Angela, he couldn’t help but be confused by Peter. He knew to his very core that the man would die for Claire and vice versa; what worried him was whether or not his feelings were as an uncle or more.
This concern was in no way alleviated when he called Sandra and found out that Claire had left in the middle of the night with her uncle and was certainly not upstairs in her room.
And so Noah sat and worried.
* * *
As Claire slowly awoke, she became aware of several things simultaneously. The first was that she was the only one in Peter’s double bed, the only one who was tangled in the cool, blue sheets that smelled of them; the second was that there was a crimson rose in full bloom on the pillow that Peter had slept upon; and the third was the scent of breakfast being cooked by her missing bedmate.
Picking up Peter’s discarded shirt from the night before, she slipped it over her head, the hem of the shirt brushing the center of her thighs. Briefly making sure that her hair wasn’t sticking up in a thousand different directions, she quietly made her way to the living room where she caught sight of Peter.
He was standing with his back to her, the muscles dancing as he moved around the kitchen preparing breakfast. She suppressed the desire to step behind him and trace the lines of his bare back as she had the night before; instead, she leaned against the door frame, nervously twisting the bottom of the shirt, and announced her presence with a small, “Hi.”
Peter turned, a grin stretched across his face, a rose in full bloom cradled in his hand. “Morning.”
“Is that for me?” she playfully queried as she pointed to the flower, taking several slow steps toward him.
“Maybe,” he replied, “but I was going to give it to you when I brought you breakfast in bed.”
Claire’s cheeks flushed pink. “Really? Well, then I’ll go - “
“Oh, no,” he interrupted, reaching out and catching her around the waist with his free hand. Tugging her against him, her back pressed to his front, he wrapped an arm around her so that the rose was now in front of her face. “Since you’re already here…”
Claire plucked the stem from his hand and brought the bloom to her nose, inhaling the rich, heavy scent. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he countered, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin beneath her ear.
They stood there for a minute, suspended in time, before Claire craned her neck to see him. She saw the sadness and resignation in Peter’s eyes, the truth of their situation plain despite the crooked smile on his face, and she knew that someone was going to have to say it.
“We’re going back to Nathan’s after breakfast, right?” Not waiting for an answer, knowing that it was the plan, she continued, “So this is it then.” Twisting her body so that she was fully facing him, she cupped his face between her palms in the same way that he done to her so many times. “I wouldn’t change anything.”
Brushing a piece of hair away from her face, Peter kissed her for a long, tender beat. “I wouldn’t either.”
Pulling apart, they moved towards the table to eat the breakfast that Peter had made for their last moments of pretending that they weren’t uncle and niece.
* * *
Dear Claire,
I think about that night in Odessa a lot. Not the part where I first met you and not even when Sylar and I fought, but of when I woke up after the fall. I remember the pain and the shock of being alive, of being able to fix myself, but I also remember you, covered in blood, being amazed that I was like you.
But most of all I remember the way that you stopped running to ask what my name was.
I had been so focused on saving the cheerleader that I hadn’t about introducing myself to you since I expected to die and stay dead. But even in the midst of the greatest terror of your life, you wanted to know who had saved you.
Your heart is unbelievable in its kindness, and I love that about you.
Peter
* * *
Mohinder was in the middle of studying a sample of Shanti under one of the microscopes in his lab when Elle entered without permission, sliding onto one of the stools as if her presence had been expected. When Mohinder did not acknowledge her, she drawled, “You know that Bob’s pissed about what you and your friends did in liberating Claire.”
“I have not the slightest idea what you’re speaking about.”
Elle smiled. “Of course you don’t.” Picking up an empty slide, passing between her fingers, she continued, “He expected it but he’s still not happy. He had big plans for her.”
“I have a great deal of work to do - “
“And I’ll get out of your hair in a minute but I think there’s something you need to see.” Reaching into her tiny purse, she removed a DVD in an unmarked case. “I thought that your people would want to see this, especially Nathan and Noah. It seems that someone else has even worse intentions for Claire.”
Mohinder paused before accepting the case. “What sorts of intentions?”
Elle shrugged. “Let’s just say that someone in your camp isn’t exactly as virtuous as he appears. I think that it’s important that you keep her safe. I mean, after all, save the cheerleader, save the world, right?” Rising to her feet, she added, “I hope that you can protect her.”
As the blonde left the lab, Mohinder took the DVD and tossed it into his bag. He did not trust Elle any further than he could throw her; he doubted it could be anything serious.
* * *
Ando had established an uneasy rhythm in the past few weeks: get up, go to work, continue his now clandestine search for Hiro, eat a meal somewhere in there, and then go to bed before doing it all over again. He knew that Kimiko could be right, that Hiro was never going to be seen again; after all, it had been over two years now and there was no sign of his best friend. The problem was that he could not forget all that he had seen alongside Hiro, the horrors that he had seen perpetrated by Sylar and the knowledge that Kaito had possessed; Ando was the last person in Japan who knew what the world really held and he would not give up his friend’s quest to save the world.
Unfortunately, given both his lack of powers and finance, his contribution to the cause was spent Googling murders that fit Sylar’s profile and harassing the NYPD about details into Kaito’s murder.
On this particular Friday morning, Ando was in the midst of being chewed out by a receptionist in Manhattan for his third call that week when he felt a light breeze at his back followed by the familiar shriek of, “Yatta!”
Ando whirled around so quickly that he nearly fell out of his seat. When he was able to focus on the person who had just teleported into his cubicle, there such an explosion of hope, relief, and joy that it almost made an optimistic man out of the cynical Ando Masahashi.
Hiro was completely decked out in seventeenth century Samurai armor, the Kensei sword clasped in his hands, the same youthful grin across his round face. When he saw his best friend standing there gap mouthed, he immediately flung his arms around Ando and declared, “I missed you!”
“Where have you been?” Ando asked, confusion and joy warring inside of him.
“Oh, it is an amazing story! I met Takezo Kensei, who was not a hero at all, and I stopped White Beard and then there was Yaeko and - “
“Hiro, stop!” When Hiro obediently closed his mouth, Ando queried, “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”
He paused, shook his head. “Not that long?”
“It’s been almost three years, Hiro! So much has changed!”
All of the excitement seemed to drain out of the hero as he echoed, “Three years?”
Ando gestured for him to sit. “I have a lot to tell you, Hiro, and you’re not going to like it all.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
Elle once told me that there is no such thing as a hero, that people are inherently selfish and that everyone will let you down in the end. There is no way for a person to be a hero, she rationalized in her typically psychopathic manner, because there is nothing heroic about being human.
I liked myself a lot better when I was your hero and not so pathetically human.
Love,
Peter
* * *
Claire swore to herself that she would not cry when Peter approached to teleport them to Nathan’s home. She promised herself that she would be strong and accept what had to happen as an adult. But tears still pooled in her eyes, which she determinedly kept hidden by closing her eyes and burying her face in Peter’s broad chest. He stroked her hair tenderly for a moment before wrapping her up in his arms, bringing them into the living room in less than a blink of an eye.
Maya was seated on a chair in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest while answering all of Noah’s questions. Nathan, who had been studying the big board, turned to look at them; there was something written on his face, something in his expression that made Claire instantly start to worry.
“What?” she immediately blurted out. “What’s wrong?”
Noah got to his feet, abandoning his crouching position near Maya. “Claire, you can’t keep running off like that.”
Ignoring her father, she continued to stare down Nathan. “What happened?”
Nathan sighed, rubbing at his tired face with his hands. He hadn’t slept well in months, tossing and turning when he was able to sleep at all; Niki had taken to returning to her own room or else she was unable to sleep. When Maya had told them of Meredith’s likely death, he had been unsure of his own feelings, let alone what Claire’s could be. He couldn’t summon up any grief for Meredith; upon finding out that she had been an employee of the Company, it made their sad, little courtship that much more meaningless. Claire was not just the only proof of his relationship with Meredith; she was the last shred of proof that Meredith Gordon had even existed.
“Um…could I talk to you in private?”
Claire blinked in surprise, glancing at Peter out of the corner of her eye before agreeing. Following him into the den, she impatiently waited for him to drop whatever bomb he possessed.
“I don’t…What I mean to say is…You see…”
As he sputtered, Claire amusingly noted how similar he was to Peter when he was at a loss of words.
“Claire, we think that Meredith’s dead; Sylar…”
At the mention of the villain’s name, Claire knew instantly what had happened, could picture it perfectly. She knew better than anyone what Sylar was capable of and it made her stomach turn to think that was how her biological mother had died. As she stood there, trying to absorb the knowledge, she thought of Sandra Bennet, of her infinite patience, the lack of judgment in her every word, the desperation with which she protected Claire and Lyle. Meredith Gordon was nothing like her mother, and the only interest she had ever had in knowing Claire had been to scam money off of Nathan. That was no mother, but the pain in her chest still didn’t alleviate.
“I didn’t even know her,” was all Claire could manage to say. “I don’t know anything about her and now I guess I won’t.”
Nathan awkwardly stood by, unsure whether or not hug her, before blurting out, “She loved strawberry milkshakes.”
Claire blinked in surprise at the seeming randomness to the statement. It was only after a moment’s pause that she realized he was trying to give her a bit of information on her mother that she hadn’t had before.
Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, Claire said, “Really?”
Nathan nodded, moving towards her. “When we first started dating, we used to go to this ice cream place by the base; she always ordered a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream. And she…she’d always sing along with the radio but she never really knew the right words.” Laying a soft, paternal hand atop her shoulder, he revealed, “She named you after her mother who died when she was six; she said it was the prettiest name she knew.” He sighed. “I think that she loved you more than any of us knew.”
Sniffling, Claire bitterly declared, “Yeah ‘cause it would get her another 50 grand.”
“She wasn’t always like that,” Nathan argued despite the fact that he knew it to be true. “She was different once.”
As Claire leaned into him, her tears falling onto his shirt, Nathan stroked her hair, offering her the type of support only a father could. He would never tell her what Meredith really had been and how she had been an operative for the Company; Claire deserved at least one illusion in her life and he wanted it to be that her mother hadn’t seen her as just a pawn.
* * *
“You’re in love with her.”
Adam, who had just snapped his cell phone shut in frustration upon getting Claire’s voicemail for the thirtieth time in the last 24 hours, glared at Arthur, who was lounging on the twin bed opposite of his in the hotel room they had procured. He hadn’t heard a word from Claire since she had left them and he was beginning to worry, not because he believed that Bob had captured her again but because he had scared her.
He did not believe in making connections with people, not after what had happened with the Board in the seventies. They were untrustworthy, selfish, fickle, and cruel; people were to be used as you saw fit and you had to stay one step ahead. But Claire was the first regenerator that he had ever seen himself in; she wanted what he wanted, saw what he saw.
Claire was the first women since Yaeko that gave him hope that perhaps he wouldn’t have to spend his long life alone and now he couldn’t find her.
“Shut up.”
Arthur chuckled. “No, I think it’s cute. You of all people falling in love with that little slip of a girl. She’s a beauty, I’ll give you that. Her mother was one too. But you know she’ll never love you back.”
“I thought I told you to shut up.”
“A girl like that doesn’t fall in love with men as morally bankrupt as us. Women like Angela, women who desire power and influence, they love men like us. Women like Claire, women who want peace and harmony, they love men like Charles, men who wish to make the world a better place.”
Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be having this conversation, Adam pointed out, “I wanted to do that. I’m trying to do that.”
“No, son, you’re trying to get your revenge. You take apart the Company, take apart what we built, and you’ve eliminated a breeding ground for psychotics like Bob Bishop but there will still be people like us who will use their powers to torture, maim, and kill. The human race is inherently bad; that won’t ever change. And once everyone’s dead and the Company is in ashes, what will you do then? Will you ask Claire to settle down in the suburbs with you, have a few kids, get a regular job?” Arthur chuckled at the mere idea. “A tiger doesn’t change their stripes, Adam, and you are still the same man you were in Japan.”
Gritting his teeth, he tersely replied, “I’m a good man.”
Arthur smirked. “If we were good men, we wouldn’t be hiding.”
* * *
“What’s the matter, sis? You’re looking a little rough,” West quipped as he entered his father’s office to find Elle seated at his desk, typing away on the computer.
“Fuck off!”
“Ooh, ouch! Someone woke up on the wrong side of a stranger’s bed this morning.”
“I swear to God, I will kill you.” Inserting her flash drive into the computer, Elle began to copy files. “Today is not the day, asshole.”
“What happened, you fuck up again?” Noticing the fury in her eyes, West smiled the smile that only an irritating younger brother could possess. “Ah, I see. This is a Petrelli related problem. He finally gave you the last kick to the curb? Got a little tired of sloppy thirds?”
The burst of electricity she sent through him was a warning but it was enough to make West cry out and spasm as his muscles contracted. He groaned in pain as he struggled back to his feet. Elle hadn’t used her power on him in years under penalty of captivity. West couldn’t deny that he was now afraid; if Elle was willing to electrocute him, she might have finally lost it.
Yanking the disk from the computer, Elle walked around the desk, meeting him head on. Despite the fact that, even in four-inch heels, she was still significantly smaller than her surrogate brother, West shrunk back.
Taking his chin in her hand, she stated, “We’re going to keep this little conversation to ourselves, aren’t we?”
“S-Sure, Elle,” he stuttered.
With a twisted, satisfied smile, Elle left the room, slamming the door behind her. Trying to shake off his fear, West went around the desk to see what exactly Elle had done on the computer.
The folder that was pulled up featured files on all of the Board, most long since dead. Curiosity getting the best of him, he double clicked on the file labeled Petrelli and watched as files popped up: Arthur, Angela, Nathan, Claire. It was only after a moment that there was no file for Peter Petrelli.
Confused, West clicked backwards and began to open the other folders, the ones labeled Linderman, Nakamura, Parkman, Bishop, Deveaux, and Pratt. When he opened the last folder, his jaw dropped.
“Holy fuck.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
Last night, I got incredibly drunk. When I woke up this morning, I was covered in paint. I do not remember painting - whether because of Isaac’s power or because of Jose Cuervo - but what I do know is that I awoke to find that I had painted your high school graduation.
Congratulations.
Peter
* * *
Sylar had gotten very good at observing people since coming into his powers and he was extraordinarily skilled at earning someone’s trust quickly. It was for that reason that, when he saw a hurried Christmas shopper knock over his mark - a young woman with the ability to mimic voices - he immediately swooped in to help her gather her packages with an easy going smile and shy demeanor. He introduced himself as Gabriel, asked if he could help her carry her gifts home; she was new to the city, instantly weary, but she acquiesced.
They always did; Gabriel Gray was a trustworthy fellow.
He was nearly to her front stoop when the woman came out of nowhere, a flash of blonde hair and fury, catching him hard across the face with a closed face. As he stumbled backwards in shock, the hellion began screaming, “So this is what you’re doing when you’re supposed to be working, having a little afternoon delight with this slut?!”
“What?” his unsuspecting victim gasped. “No, he was just helping me.”
“Helping you? Yeah, right into your pants! You son of a bitch!” she screamed, kicking him sharply in the ribs.
Sylar gasped in pain, climbing to his feet while his victim disappeared inside her apartment, clearly trying to avoid an ugly domestic disturbance and a unique one at that as he had no idea who this crazy bitch was.
“You picked the wrong person to fuck with,” he growled, shedding his helpful Gabriel persona and becoming Sylar once again.
Extending her hands palms up, she quipped, “Did I?” Seeing the hungry look on his face, she drawled, “Slow down, cowboy; I’m sort of attached to my brain.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come to see me,” he declared, advancing on her.
Sending a burst of electricity through him that was the equivalent of a Taser, she snapped, “If you kill me, you’ll never get to Claire Bennet!” When he froze, she grinned. “Yeah, I thought that might just do it for you. Seems everyone wants the little skank nowadays.”
“Who are you?” he panted.
“I’m your new partner.”
Author: lit_chick08
Rating: NC-17 overall; R for sexual suggestion and language this chapter
Pairing: Paire, Claire/West, Peter/Elle, Claire/Adam Monroe
Word Count: 4059
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: Peter and Claire try to come to terms with how they feel about each other while the world threatens to end around them
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.
A/N2: Sorry for such a long break between chapters! Real life got crazy but I definitely have not forgotten this story!
One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight
Dear Claire,
I often wonder what my parents must have been like when they were our age, before everything became about the Company and making money. Were they idealistic? Were they madly in love? Were they able to see what they had become or was it too late?
I have so few positive memories of my father that I can’t imagine him as being my age.
He would’ve been a father already at 28, married and on his way to success; I can’t help but think he’d declare me a complete failure at having none of those characteristics. At this point, the only thing I’ve done is completely ruin all of the plans that the Company had for me to become a nuclear explosion.
I know that you don’t like Nathan and I don’t know Meredith, but, despite the amount of fear that Noah instills in me, he’s clearly a good father to you. I envy you that. I hope that I can be half as good of a father as he is.
Peter
* * *
Noah Bennet had never dreamt of being a father until the day that Kaito Nakamura had placed Claire in his arms. He had been a Company man, a man who lived for his job and loved his wife, but he had never desired to be a father. His own father had been a bitter man who drank too much and raised his hand far too often; Noah had left him behind without a second glance and swore that he would never do that to another human being.
But he had become a father and, when that had happened, he swore that he would be the best father that existed. His world has revolved around Claire, perhaps to the detriment of his relationship with Lyle and even Sandra; she had become the shining beacon of hope in his life and he had compromised every value he had held prior to her coming to be with them in order to protect her. Claire was his daughter and, despite their fights, he would do anything for her.
It was hard for him to see her as anything other than the little girl who had begged him for pony rides around the living room, pleaded to go swimming on hot days, and giggled with delight every time that she was presented with a new teddy bear following a business trip. Intellectually he knew that Claire wasn’t a child any longer, that she was eighteen and beautiful and frustratingly independent, but that didn’t stop him from wishing that he could still protect her the way that he once had.
Noah did not believe in trusting people; it was a trait he had learned early on in his work as a Company man. And if that training had done anything, it taught him to be extremely weary of any of the Petrelli family. Of all of the Board members, the Petrellis were the most ruthless, the ones who would smile to your face as they slit your throats, and it made it that much more inconceivable that Claire had been born of them.
Nathan was someone that Noah was starting to believe was sincere in his actions despite his less than stellar beginnings. And while Noah knew that he’d never trust Angela, he couldn’t help but be confused by Peter. He knew to his very core that the man would die for Claire and vice versa; what worried him was whether or not his feelings were as an uncle or more.
This concern was in no way alleviated when he called Sandra and found out that Claire had left in the middle of the night with her uncle and was certainly not upstairs in her room.
And so Noah sat and worried.
* * *
As Claire slowly awoke, she became aware of several things simultaneously. The first was that she was the only one in Peter’s double bed, the only one who was tangled in the cool, blue sheets that smelled of them; the second was that there was a crimson rose in full bloom on the pillow that Peter had slept upon; and the third was the scent of breakfast being cooked by her missing bedmate.
Picking up Peter’s discarded shirt from the night before, she slipped it over her head, the hem of the shirt brushing the center of her thighs. Briefly making sure that her hair wasn’t sticking up in a thousand different directions, she quietly made her way to the living room where she caught sight of Peter.
He was standing with his back to her, the muscles dancing as he moved around the kitchen preparing breakfast. She suppressed the desire to step behind him and trace the lines of his bare back as she had the night before; instead, she leaned against the door frame, nervously twisting the bottom of the shirt, and announced her presence with a small, “Hi.”
Peter turned, a grin stretched across his face, a rose in full bloom cradled in his hand. “Morning.”
“Is that for me?” she playfully queried as she pointed to the flower, taking several slow steps toward him.
“Maybe,” he replied, “but I was going to give it to you when I brought you breakfast in bed.”
Claire’s cheeks flushed pink. “Really? Well, then I’ll go - “
“Oh, no,” he interrupted, reaching out and catching her around the waist with his free hand. Tugging her against him, her back pressed to his front, he wrapped an arm around her so that the rose was now in front of her face. “Since you’re already here…”
Claire plucked the stem from his hand and brought the bloom to her nose, inhaling the rich, heavy scent. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he countered, pressing a kiss to the patch of skin beneath her ear.
They stood there for a minute, suspended in time, before Claire craned her neck to see him. She saw the sadness and resignation in Peter’s eyes, the truth of their situation plain despite the crooked smile on his face, and she knew that someone was going to have to say it.
“We’re going back to Nathan’s after breakfast, right?” Not waiting for an answer, knowing that it was the plan, she continued, “So this is it then.” Twisting her body so that she was fully facing him, she cupped his face between her palms in the same way that he done to her so many times. “I wouldn’t change anything.”
Brushing a piece of hair away from her face, Peter kissed her for a long, tender beat. “I wouldn’t either.”
Pulling apart, they moved towards the table to eat the breakfast that Peter had made for their last moments of pretending that they weren’t uncle and niece.
* * *
Dear Claire,
I think about that night in Odessa a lot. Not the part where I first met you and not even when Sylar and I fought, but of when I woke up after the fall. I remember the pain and the shock of being alive, of being able to fix myself, but I also remember you, covered in blood, being amazed that I was like you.
But most of all I remember the way that you stopped running to ask what my name was.
I had been so focused on saving the cheerleader that I hadn’t about introducing myself to you since I expected to die and stay dead. But even in the midst of the greatest terror of your life, you wanted to know who had saved you.
Your heart is unbelievable in its kindness, and I love that about you.
Peter
* * *
Mohinder was in the middle of studying a sample of Shanti under one of the microscopes in his lab when Elle entered without permission, sliding onto one of the stools as if her presence had been expected. When Mohinder did not acknowledge her, she drawled, “You know that Bob’s pissed about what you and your friends did in liberating Claire.”
“I have not the slightest idea what you’re speaking about.”
Elle smiled. “Of course you don’t.” Picking up an empty slide, passing between her fingers, she continued, “He expected it but he’s still not happy. He had big plans for her.”
“I have a great deal of work to do - “
“And I’ll get out of your hair in a minute but I think there’s something you need to see.” Reaching into her tiny purse, she removed a DVD in an unmarked case. “I thought that your people would want to see this, especially Nathan and Noah. It seems that someone else has even worse intentions for Claire.”
Mohinder paused before accepting the case. “What sorts of intentions?”
Elle shrugged. “Let’s just say that someone in your camp isn’t exactly as virtuous as he appears. I think that it’s important that you keep her safe. I mean, after all, save the cheerleader, save the world, right?” Rising to her feet, she added, “I hope that you can protect her.”
As the blonde left the lab, Mohinder took the DVD and tossed it into his bag. He did not trust Elle any further than he could throw her; he doubted it could be anything serious.
* * *
Ando had established an uneasy rhythm in the past few weeks: get up, go to work, continue his now clandestine search for Hiro, eat a meal somewhere in there, and then go to bed before doing it all over again. He knew that Kimiko could be right, that Hiro was never going to be seen again; after all, it had been over two years now and there was no sign of his best friend. The problem was that he could not forget all that he had seen alongside Hiro, the horrors that he had seen perpetrated by Sylar and the knowledge that Kaito had possessed; Ando was the last person in Japan who knew what the world really held and he would not give up his friend’s quest to save the world.
Unfortunately, given both his lack of powers and finance, his contribution to the cause was spent Googling murders that fit Sylar’s profile and harassing the NYPD about details into Kaito’s murder.
On this particular Friday morning, Ando was in the midst of being chewed out by a receptionist in Manhattan for his third call that week when he felt a light breeze at his back followed by the familiar shriek of, “Yatta!”
Ando whirled around so quickly that he nearly fell out of his seat. When he was able to focus on the person who had just teleported into his cubicle, there such an explosion of hope, relief, and joy that it almost made an optimistic man out of the cynical Ando Masahashi.
Hiro was completely decked out in seventeenth century Samurai armor, the Kensei sword clasped in his hands, the same youthful grin across his round face. When he saw his best friend standing there gap mouthed, he immediately flung his arms around Ando and declared, “I missed you!”
“Where have you been?” Ando asked, confusion and joy warring inside of him.
“Oh, it is an amazing story! I met Takezo Kensei, who was not a hero at all, and I stopped White Beard and then there was Yaeko and - “
“Hiro, stop!” When Hiro obediently closed his mouth, Ando queried, “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”
He paused, shook his head. “Not that long?”
“It’s been almost three years, Hiro! So much has changed!”
All of the excitement seemed to drain out of the hero as he echoed, “Three years?”
Ando gestured for him to sit. “I have a lot to tell you, Hiro, and you’re not going to like it all.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
Elle once told me that there is no such thing as a hero, that people are inherently selfish and that everyone will let you down in the end. There is no way for a person to be a hero, she rationalized in her typically psychopathic manner, because there is nothing heroic about being human.
I liked myself a lot better when I was your hero and not so pathetically human.
Love,
Peter
* * *
Claire swore to herself that she would not cry when Peter approached to teleport them to Nathan’s home. She promised herself that she would be strong and accept what had to happen as an adult. But tears still pooled in her eyes, which she determinedly kept hidden by closing her eyes and burying her face in Peter’s broad chest. He stroked her hair tenderly for a moment before wrapping her up in his arms, bringing them into the living room in less than a blink of an eye.
Maya was seated on a chair in the corner, her legs pulled up to her chest while answering all of Noah’s questions. Nathan, who had been studying the big board, turned to look at them; there was something written on his face, something in his expression that made Claire instantly start to worry.
“What?” she immediately blurted out. “What’s wrong?”
Noah got to his feet, abandoning his crouching position near Maya. “Claire, you can’t keep running off like that.”
Ignoring her father, she continued to stare down Nathan. “What happened?”
Nathan sighed, rubbing at his tired face with his hands. He hadn’t slept well in months, tossing and turning when he was able to sleep at all; Niki had taken to returning to her own room or else she was unable to sleep. When Maya had told them of Meredith’s likely death, he had been unsure of his own feelings, let alone what Claire’s could be. He couldn’t summon up any grief for Meredith; upon finding out that she had been an employee of the Company, it made their sad, little courtship that much more meaningless. Claire was not just the only proof of his relationship with Meredith; she was the last shred of proof that Meredith Gordon had even existed.
“Um…could I talk to you in private?”
Claire blinked in surprise, glancing at Peter out of the corner of her eye before agreeing. Following him into the den, she impatiently waited for him to drop whatever bomb he possessed.
“I don’t…What I mean to say is…You see…”
As he sputtered, Claire amusingly noted how similar he was to Peter when he was at a loss of words.
“Claire, we think that Meredith’s dead; Sylar…”
At the mention of the villain’s name, Claire knew instantly what had happened, could picture it perfectly. She knew better than anyone what Sylar was capable of and it made her stomach turn to think that was how her biological mother had died. As she stood there, trying to absorb the knowledge, she thought of Sandra Bennet, of her infinite patience, the lack of judgment in her every word, the desperation with which she protected Claire and Lyle. Meredith Gordon was nothing like her mother, and the only interest she had ever had in knowing Claire had been to scam money off of Nathan. That was no mother, but the pain in her chest still didn’t alleviate.
“I didn’t even know her,” was all Claire could manage to say. “I don’t know anything about her and now I guess I won’t.”
Nathan awkwardly stood by, unsure whether or not hug her, before blurting out, “She loved strawberry milkshakes.”
Claire blinked in surprise at the seeming randomness to the statement. It was only after a moment’s pause that she realized he was trying to give her a bit of information on her mother that she hadn’t had before.
Feeling the sting of tears in her eyes, Claire said, “Really?”
Nathan nodded, moving towards her. “When we first started dating, we used to go to this ice cream place by the base; she always ordered a strawberry milkshake with whipped cream. And she…she’d always sing along with the radio but she never really knew the right words.” Laying a soft, paternal hand atop her shoulder, he revealed, “She named you after her mother who died when she was six; she said it was the prettiest name she knew.” He sighed. “I think that she loved you more than any of us knew.”
Sniffling, Claire bitterly declared, “Yeah ‘cause it would get her another 50 grand.”
“She wasn’t always like that,” Nathan argued despite the fact that he knew it to be true. “She was different once.”
As Claire leaned into him, her tears falling onto his shirt, Nathan stroked her hair, offering her the type of support only a father could. He would never tell her what Meredith really had been and how she had been an operative for the Company; Claire deserved at least one illusion in her life and he wanted it to be that her mother hadn’t seen her as just a pawn.
* * *
“You’re in love with her.”
Adam, who had just snapped his cell phone shut in frustration upon getting Claire’s voicemail for the thirtieth time in the last 24 hours, glared at Arthur, who was lounging on the twin bed opposite of his in the hotel room they had procured. He hadn’t heard a word from Claire since she had left them and he was beginning to worry, not because he believed that Bob had captured her again but because he had scared her.
He did not believe in making connections with people, not after what had happened with the Board in the seventies. They were untrustworthy, selfish, fickle, and cruel; people were to be used as you saw fit and you had to stay one step ahead. But Claire was the first regenerator that he had ever seen himself in; she wanted what he wanted, saw what he saw.
Claire was the first women since Yaeko that gave him hope that perhaps he wouldn’t have to spend his long life alone and now he couldn’t find her.
“Shut up.”
Arthur chuckled. “No, I think it’s cute. You of all people falling in love with that little slip of a girl. She’s a beauty, I’ll give you that. Her mother was one too. But you know she’ll never love you back.”
“I thought I told you to shut up.”
“A girl like that doesn’t fall in love with men as morally bankrupt as us. Women like Angela, women who desire power and influence, they love men like us. Women like Claire, women who want peace and harmony, they love men like Charles, men who wish to make the world a better place.”
Despite the fact that he didn’t want to be having this conversation, Adam pointed out, “I wanted to do that. I’m trying to do that.”
“No, son, you’re trying to get your revenge. You take apart the Company, take apart what we built, and you’ve eliminated a breeding ground for psychotics like Bob Bishop but there will still be people like us who will use their powers to torture, maim, and kill. The human race is inherently bad; that won’t ever change. And once everyone’s dead and the Company is in ashes, what will you do then? Will you ask Claire to settle down in the suburbs with you, have a few kids, get a regular job?” Arthur chuckled at the mere idea. “A tiger doesn’t change their stripes, Adam, and you are still the same man you were in Japan.”
Gritting his teeth, he tersely replied, “I’m a good man.”
Arthur smirked. “If we were good men, we wouldn’t be hiding.”
* * *
“What’s the matter, sis? You’re looking a little rough,” West quipped as he entered his father’s office to find Elle seated at his desk, typing away on the computer.
“Fuck off!”
“Ooh, ouch! Someone woke up on the wrong side of a stranger’s bed this morning.”
“I swear to God, I will kill you.” Inserting her flash drive into the computer, Elle began to copy files. “Today is not the day, asshole.”
“What happened, you fuck up again?” Noticing the fury in her eyes, West smiled the smile that only an irritating younger brother could possess. “Ah, I see. This is a Petrelli related problem. He finally gave you the last kick to the curb? Got a little tired of sloppy thirds?”
The burst of electricity she sent through him was a warning but it was enough to make West cry out and spasm as his muscles contracted. He groaned in pain as he struggled back to his feet. Elle hadn’t used her power on him in years under penalty of captivity. West couldn’t deny that he was now afraid; if Elle was willing to electrocute him, she might have finally lost it.
Yanking the disk from the computer, Elle walked around the desk, meeting him head on. Despite the fact that, even in four-inch heels, she was still significantly smaller than her surrogate brother, West shrunk back.
Taking his chin in her hand, she stated, “We’re going to keep this little conversation to ourselves, aren’t we?”
“S-Sure, Elle,” he stuttered.
With a twisted, satisfied smile, Elle left the room, slamming the door behind her. Trying to shake off his fear, West went around the desk to see what exactly Elle had done on the computer.
The folder that was pulled up featured files on all of the Board, most long since dead. Curiosity getting the best of him, he double clicked on the file labeled Petrelli and watched as files popped up: Arthur, Angela, Nathan, Claire. It was only after a moment that there was no file for Peter Petrelli.
Confused, West clicked backwards and began to open the other folders, the ones labeled Linderman, Nakamura, Parkman, Bishop, Deveaux, and Pratt. When he opened the last folder, his jaw dropped.
“Holy fuck.”
* * *
Dear Claire,
Last night, I got incredibly drunk. When I woke up this morning, I was covered in paint. I do not remember painting - whether because of Isaac’s power or because of Jose Cuervo - but what I do know is that I awoke to find that I had painted your high school graduation.
Congratulations.
Peter
* * *
Sylar had gotten very good at observing people since coming into his powers and he was extraordinarily skilled at earning someone’s trust quickly. It was for that reason that, when he saw a hurried Christmas shopper knock over his mark - a young woman with the ability to mimic voices - he immediately swooped in to help her gather her packages with an easy going smile and shy demeanor. He introduced himself as Gabriel, asked if he could help her carry her gifts home; she was new to the city, instantly weary, but she acquiesced.
They always did; Gabriel Gray was a trustworthy fellow.
He was nearly to her front stoop when the woman came out of nowhere, a flash of blonde hair and fury, catching him hard across the face with a closed face. As he stumbled backwards in shock, the hellion began screaming, “So this is what you’re doing when you’re supposed to be working, having a little afternoon delight with this slut?!”
“What?” his unsuspecting victim gasped. “No, he was just helping me.”
“Helping you? Yeah, right into your pants! You son of a bitch!” she screamed, kicking him sharply in the ribs.
Sylar gasped in pain, climbing to his feet while his victim disappeared inside her apartment, clearly trying to avoid an ugly domestic disturbance and a unique one at that as he had no idea who this crazy bitch was.
“You picked the wrong person to fuck with,” he growled, shedding his helpful Gabriel persona and becoming Sylar once again.
Extending her hands palms up, she quipped, “Did I?” Seeing the hungry look on his face, she drawled, “Slow down, cowboy; I’m sort of attached to my brain.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come to see me,” he declared, advancing on her.
Sending a burst of electricity through him that was the equivalent of a Taser, she snapped, “If you kill me, you’ll never get to Claire Bennet!” When he froze, she grinned. “Yeah, I thought that might just do it for you. Seems everyone wants the little skank nowadays.”
“Who are you?” he panted.
“I’m your new partner.”