Fic: We All Shine Like Stars (then we fade away) (1/?)
Fic Title: We All Shine Like Stars (then we fade away) (1/?)
Author: lit_chick08
Disclaimer: Not mine; blame Kring
Pairing: Peter/Claire; Claire/OMC; Claire/Sylar overtones
Rating: PG-13 for language in this chapter
Spoilers: everything thus far plus alleged spoilers for Season 4
Summary: They were all trying to be normal again; they all knew it wasn’t working
A/N: That death that happened in the finale that changed everything? Yeah, that didn’t happen for the purposes of this story; nor did Hiro’s storyline. Also, Claire’s college? Not real
A/N2: Feedback is awesome!
Roosevelt University, Washington DC
“Well, this is nice,” Noah Bennet declared as he deposited the last box of Claire’s belongings onto the side of the room she had decided would be hers. “My dorm room was much smaller than this.”
“What’s smaller than a casket?” Claire countered, wrinkling her nose at the miniscule square footage she would be sharing with Gretchen Berg of Columbus, Indiana.
Noah chuckled. “I know that it probably doesn’t seem like much, but I bet you’re going to have a lot of great times in this room.”
“That’s true. I mean, it is a coed floor.”
With a mock glare, Noah pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”
“I do what I can.”
Releasing her, he clapped his hands together and asked, “So where do I start?”
Tucking her hands into her back pockets, Claire replied, “I’d rather just do it myself, if that’s alright.” Noticing the way his face was falling, she rushed on. “It’s just that I want to wait for Gretchen to get here in case she has any big stuff. And besides, do you really want to help me put away my underwear?”
“Claire - “
“Dad, seriously - “
“I promised your mother - “
“Dad! I’m fine here. After everything that’s happened in the last three years, this? Not even a blip on the radar.” Giving him her very best smile, she added, “I’m ready to go back to being plain old Claire Bennet, and she can unpack her own stuff.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “And anyway, I’m sure you have something to do for work…whatever that may be, and keep in my mind I don’t want to know any details because, as far as I’m concerned, you work for a paper company.”
Noah chuckled. “Well, if I can’t help you unpack, I’m taking you to go get your books. You’ll need someone to carry them.”
“And pay for them.”
“Well, it might be a little tight on my…paper company salary, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
* * *
Everything had changed after Danko’s unit had been shut down and Sylar had been roasted on a funeral pyre. It was as if the slate had been wiped completely clean, like three years of death, destruction, and madness had been completely obliterated; suddenly the opportunity for normalcy had presented itself.
In one of the most surreal days of her life - and since her powers had manifested, Claire had more than her fair share of those - she and the others had sat down and began to plot out what life was going to be like in a post-Sylar era.
Would they rebuild the Company? Would they try to keep their secrets? Would they out themselves? Would they try to right the wrongs of the Original 12?
Claire had sat at that summit, the men that she had come to define herself in terms of surrounding her, and she had felt an unspeakable sadness overwhelm her. She had meant what she had said at Coyote Sands; she was done trying to be an agent for Angela’s agenda. But she wasn’t so certain that she wanted to be parted from the people that had come to mean so much to her, the men that had risked their lives to save the cheerleader, the men that she had been more than willing to stand beside in a fight to the death.
If it hadn’t been for Sylar, Matt Parkman, Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, Mohinder Suresh, Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli…they would never have been anything to her.
And as she had glanced across the table at Peter, who held her gaze steadily and offered her a small, tired smile, Claire knew in the depths of her soul that, if they all agreed to go back to their lives pre-Sylar, they would go back to being strangers.
With the exceptions of Noah and Angela, they had decided to go back to their old lives; in the end, Claire hadn’t even gotten a vote. And so she had hugged the men who had been her heroes, her friends, her enemies, and her kindred spirits before going to La Guardia Airport and flying back to her real family.
Sandra had been grateful for her return, hugging her tightly and declaring that everything was going to go back to the way it had been; Claire hadn’t pressed but she assumed that her mother meant before Ted Sprague had burnt down their house and destroyed life in suburbia.
Despite Noah’s best efforts, Sandra was adamant in continuing the divorce, something Lyle fully blamed on Claire. She hadn’t even been home a week before Sandra had declared that they were moving back to Odessa, to the place the Company had run them out of, the place that Claire would always associate with Sylar, Peter, and Homecoming.
Lyle had started back at Union Wells and Claire, having completed her GED, had simply sat on the stone steps she had once fled up with Peter and tried to remember the girl she had been back then. The Claire that Sylar had tried to kill that night had been concerned with cheerleading, accepting her tiara for Homecoming Queen, proving Jackie wrong; that Claire had no idea the can of worms she had opened by seeking out her birth parents. That Claire had flirted with the cute guy outside the trophy case and been warmed by his attention.
She had been tearing up when she heard someone call her name. When she had looked up, there had been Zach, three months away from graduating, a shocked but pleased smile on his face. Claire had practically flown from the bleachers to leap into his arms, laughing hysterically until she cried, Zach had cut his afternoon classes, and they had ended up at that old tower, where she had performed a swan dive for old times’ sake.
After the first week back in Odessa, Claire had stopped going to Union Wells; even years later, the story of how Jackie had been murdered was still a popular tale. The only time she had voluntarily entered her alma mater was for senior prom; she had worn a pink dress that her mother had loved, posed for pictures in front of the fireplace while Sandra tried out her new camera, and then spent the rest of the night getting hammered at an after-party. Well, Zach had gotten hammered; Claire had snuck into a bathroom and left a long, rambling message on Peter’s voicemail that she had immediately regretted.
Noah had pressed for her to go to college on his few visits to Texas, leaving her with brochures for Texas A&M, University of Texas, and Rice; Angela had sent her brochures for Vassar, Wellesley, and Smith with notes attached about who she should ask to speak with in the admissions office. Zach, who was bound for Reed in the fall, had told her to fuck with all of them and join the Peace Corps.
She had ended up applying to a handful of schools she had selected randomly, and it was Roosevelt that had offered her a partial scholarship. And even though she had little to no desire to live in DC, she had been anxious to start fresh and invisibly away from everyone else.
But now, as she sat up in her uncomfortable bed, Gretchen Berg passed out and snoring away in the bed not even six feet from her own, Claire held her Blackberry and stared at Peter’s name on her contact list.
In the past six months, she had wanted to call her uncle a thousand times, even if it was just to hear his voice on his voicemail. They had spoken a few brief times, exchanged a couple emails and texts, but their communication had been limited. It hurt for her to think that maybe the relationship she had thought they had wasn’t as great as she had once thought; it hurt even more to think that he had only been nice to her out of familial obligation.
Finally, her longing beating out her commonsense, she hit send and waited. As expected, it went straight to voicemail.
Softly so as not to disturb her roommate, Claire said, “Hey, it’s me. I just called…I just called…I just called. Hope you’re doing okay.”
Hitting end, Claire set her phone on the bedside table and silently stared up at the ceiling, tears stinging her eyes.
If ever she needed validation that she was back to being plain old Claire Bennet, it had arrived in being ignored by a man she had thought cared about her.
* * *
Peter’s Apartment, New York City
He had barely been asleep for an hour after working a double shift when his phone had started to vibrate on the bedside table. With a groan, he had rolled over to check the display in case it was work; instead, Claire’s name was there, an electronic indictment that cut him deeply.
Though he had stopped counting, Peter was certain that he had avoided no fewer than thirty calls from his niece in the past six months. Over the past month, the calls had nearly stopped and that had hurt him worse than deliberating ignoring the calls; at least when she was still trying, it meant that she was thinking of him too.
After the meeting they had held to decide their futures, Peter had returned to his job as a paramedic; he had called friends he hadn’t spoken to since his powers had manifested and went out for drinks. And one night, when he had stumbled home, he had found Noah Bennet waiting on his couch. Peter had expected another spiel on saving lives and helping the cause; what he had gotten instead had stopped him cold.
“She’ll never let go of all of this…insanity if you stay in touch,” the older man had explained as calmly as if he was telling Peter how to program his TiVo. “For all of her maturity, when it comes to you, she’s still sixteen, seeing you through hero colored glasses. She expects things from you, Peter.”
“Noah, I don’t know - “
“Claire isn’t rational when it comes to you, Peter,” Noah stated bluntly, “and I don’t think you’re rational towards her. I won’t pretend to understand the bond you two have; you’ve been there for each other through stressful times and that builds rapport. But she’s only eighteen, Peter, and she deserves a shot at a normal life.”
“I want that for her.”
“Normal can’t involve you. It just confuses her.”
Mind swimming, Peter had shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“She’s a young girl,” Noah reiterated, “and she’s full of romantic ideals. When she sees you, talks to you, she wants to save the world at your side.”
“I’m out of the world saving business, remember?” Turning his back to enter the kitchen, he added, “I think you’re paranoid.”
“She has a crush on you,” Noah called after him, stilling his steps. “From the moment you entered our lives, Claire’s primary concern has been you, and it’s not out of familial loyalty.” When Peter turned to face him, he repeated, “You confuse her.”
Whether it was due to Noah’s words or Peter’s shame, he started ignoring her phone calls the next day.
The only time he even heard her voice was when he listened to her increasingly somber voicemails, the pain of his rejection echoing in her every syllable.
And then he would delete them, erasing all proof that he was aching for his 18-year-old niece.
* * *
Thirteenth Precinct, Los Angeles
For as long as he could remember, Matt Parkman had wanted to be a police officer. He had always loved the idea of getting up every morning, putting on a uniform, and helping people in need. It had seemed so noble, providing comfort and assistance to the people who needed it the most. The department shrink had thought that his idealism about law enforcement was a manifestation of his abandonment issues, but Matt liked to think that he was a little more complex than simple psychology.
But as he sat behind the wheel of his cruiser, his 23-year-old partner rambling away on his cell phone to his harpy of a girlfriend, Matt wasn’t feeling noble or fulfilled; he just felt bored.
After Danko, after everything that he had did and done to save the world, Matt had honestly thought that there was nothing he wanted more than to come back to California, to Janice and their son. And when Janice had agreed to let Molly come and live with them, it was as if he had been handed every thing he had ever wanted in one, fell swoop.
But Janice had no idea what to do with their specially-abled son, and, as the only one in the house who didn’t have some sort of gift, Matt was able to pick up on her frustration even without telepathy. He had gotten Molly to agree to not using her gift, was trying to help his toddler function without turning on and off every electronic device in the house, and had stopped referencing his own abilities in conversation, but…Janice was unhappy, and Matt was beginning to suspect that they were right back to where they had started.
The L.A.P.D. had hired him back easily enough, but, without using his abilities for potential gain, he was the same dyslexic approaching middle age who couldn’t pass the detective’s exam.
Giving up a greater purpose had made Matt Parkman feel like a loser again, and he hated every second of it.
Molly didn’t like being back in Los Angeles, either, not that he blamed her. Despite how she acted, she wasn’t even a teenager yet, and returning to the place where Sylar had massacred her entire family wasn’t something she had wanted. He had taken her to see their graves once, to try to get the kind of closure that she’d been denied since Primatech had co-opted her for their own personal usage, but all Molly had done was sob so hard that he had worried she’d never stop.
Afterward, he had driven all the way to Venice, where they had gotten ice cream and sat on the boardwalk. As they had stared out at the Pacific, ice cream melting down their cones, Molly sighed, “I miss New York.”
He had tried to play it off as a joke. “What, all the garbage, the cold weather, the crime? You’re crazy, girl.”
“I miss Mohinder.”
Having been safely ensconced in India during the previous year, Molly had missed the doctor’s many betrayals, all committed under the guise of bettering the human race. But, if he was honest, Mohinder had been his best friend once.
“I miss him, too.”
Licking vanilla off of her hand, Molly sighed again. “My aunt and uncle live in Seattle.”
Startled at the mention of relatives, he asked, “Do you want to go live with them?”
She shook her dark head. “What would I say? What am I supposed to do, lie about where I’ve been for the last few years? Pretend like I’m not…different? And what if they wanted to know what happened that day when Sylar…I can’t go back.”
“Molly - “
“Besides, I love you and Mattie. And Janice,” she quickly added, catching her omission.
Matt smiled, pulled her into a half hug. “And we love you.”
“We can’t go back, Matt,” Molly sadly said as she turned her big, doe eyes on her surrogate father. “Everyone thinks we’re weird.”
“Molly, that’s not - “
“Janice thinks we’re weird,” she clarified, tossing her cone into the trash can beside the bench. “People would think we’re dangerous. That’s what the Hunter thought.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’re just - “
“Rebel knew. He knew that all we have…all we have is each other. That’s what keeps us safe.”
Tightly clasping her hand, he assured her, “We’re safe, Molly. Sylar is dead, Danko can’t hurt us anymore, and we’re not going to be rounded up. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”
“We thought that Sylar was bad, and then there was the Company and that disease I had. And then it was Pinehearst and those guys. And then it was Danko and Sylar again. I don’t think we’ll ever be safe again, Matt. And I’m afraid…I’m afraid that we won’t be able to stop it.”
As Matt had hugged her and wiped away her tears, he had started to fully consider her words.
“Parkman, man? You listening?”
Matt shook himself out of his stupor and glanced at his partner. “What?”
“We got a call, domestic disturbance.”
Shifting the car into drive, Matt tried to refocus on his life as it currently was, the life he had been so certain he had wanted six months ago.
Matt had wanted normal; he had just forgotten how much he had hated normal.
* * *
Primatech 2.0, Baltimore
“It’s an impressive facility,” Angela Petrelli remarked as she toured the hallways alongside Noah Bennet. “It’s far nicer than the one we had in New York or even Odessa. Good work.”
Noah smirked, resisting the urge to ask if he was going to get a treat for being a good boy. “We’re not quite operating as well as I would hope, but we should be there soon.”
“And recruitment? How is that going?”
“Using the contacts we made during Danko’s operation, we’ve had no problem recruiting those with…extraordinary abilities. As for regular operatives, we’ve been lucky in persuading various agents of other more…legitimate operations to join us for cash incentives.”
“And how much are these incentives going to cost me?”
“Don’t worry; you’re good for it.”
Angela smiled as she paused on the balcony that overlooked the main room of the facility. As people passed by beneath her feet, she tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the railing. “And containment?”
“Six stories underground, so secure that it could withstand a nuclear blast without the captives even knowing what was going on.”
“Which will come in handy should we ever meet another Ted Sprague.”
“It was designed specifically with another Sylar in mind.”
“Then I’m going to insist that anyone who works down there has an ability.”
“Angela - “
“With all due respect, Noah, I highly doubt the competencies of the average person when it comes to dealing with people like Sylar.”
“You say average like it’s a curse word.”
“Sometimes I believe that it is. Sometimes it is truly the worst thing you can possibly be.”
“Isn’t it that sort of thinking that lead to Sylar?”
“Isn’t clinging to the average what lead to Mr. Danko?” she countered. When Noah didn’t respond, she continued, “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? Twenty years working along side of us, seeing what we can do, what we can accomplish…you’ve never once wished - “
“No,” he emphatically denied, turning away from the people coming and going in the lobby. “You see, old friend, what you perceive to be extraordinary, I see as potential threats: abilities that kill, that maim, that hurt those people you call average. It doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“Why, Noah Bennet,” she chuckled, “for a moment there, you almost sounded like your old self.”
“What I believe to be true has never wavered. Isn’t that why you’ve hired me to run this operation?”
Resuming her pace, her heels echoing against the floor, the crispness that had always been associated with Angela Petrelli slid back into place. “What you believe to be true is no more relevant to me now than it was twenty years ago. I selected you to run our operation because you have the most experience of those left. And, of course, your personal ties don’t hurt.”
“Are you actually citing your granddaughter as resume padding?”
“No, I’m citing her as a reason for you to care about the continued wellbeing of those extraordinary people you seem harbor such disdain for.”
Irritation started to burn in his veins. “I don’t think - “
“She settled in well?”
If he hadn’t been used to Angela’s sudden changes of subject, he would’ve been completely confused; instead, he simply chuckled. “She’s fine.”
“Let’s make sure she stays that way.” Walking away from her employee, she tossed over her shoulder, “I don’t suppose I need to stress the importance of keeping her as far away from any possible trouble we might encounter.”
Thinking of her sons, Noah called back, “Already taken care of!”
* * *
Burnt Toast Diner, Texas
Hiro Nakamura sat in the dingy booth he had sat in years before, his stack of flapjacks cooling before him, as he watched the unfamiliar waitresses float around the floor. The women changed, the orders changed, the customers changed, but the one thing that didn’t change was the one reason Hiro came to see every day: the memorial photo of Charlie that hung near the entrance of the kitchen.
Since the decision had been made to return to ordinary lives, Hiro had simply drifted from one form of inactivity to another. His life before his powers had been…terrible. He hadn’t been a beautiful cheerleader or a rising politician; he had been no one, a faceless office drone with a horrendous relationship with his father and no skills to speak of unless one counted speaking Klingon.
Without his powers, Hiro Nakamura had been a loser.
Ando swore up and down that he had not been, that he was a good brother and a loyal friend, but Hiro did not see the silver lining in their newly normal statuses. While Ando returned to Yakamoto Industries, serving as an assistant to Kimiko, who was running the entire company, Hiro searched for meaning.
But when he needed reminded of good people who had seen him for who he was, a good person that he had thought he could love, his thoughts always returned to Charlie. Sweet, beautiful Charlie, the girl he had tried to save, the girl that had been destined to have her skull opened by Sylar. Considering that, outside of his family, the only other woman who had ever shown the slightest interest in him had been 400 years old, Charlie represented the kind of normal life he wouldn’t have minded so much.
So while Ando worked and Kimiko took over the industrialized world, Hiro came to Texas, ordered food that he seldom ate, and remembered his fallen friend.
He had all the time in the world.
* * *
Roosevelt University, Washington DC
When she had started to pick out her class schedule in July, Claire had no idea what she wanted to take. Instead, she had decided on classes that seemed fun and would fulfill some general education requirements. That was how she ended up in Introduction to Genetics.
Taught lecture style in an auditorium by a professor with an indistinguishable Indian accent, Claire could say easily that it was her least favorite class, having inched ahead of her Calc class taught by the bimbo TA. Every day she would slide into a seat in the back, occasionally glancing at the PowerPoints that her professor would put up on Blackboard before class but mostly doing anything else: texting Gretchen, texting girls in her pledge class, Facebook stalking, and catching up on issues of Entertainment Weekly. She sometimes thought she should be a little more conscientious but, given her past, she knew far more about genetics than she had ever wanted.
It was nearly four weeks into the semester before she realized that the same guy had started sitting next to her. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he would sink into the seat besides her and steal glances, offer her snacks, or borrow a pen. By mid-term, she finally grew tired of his oh-so-subtle gestures and, after class one day, as he was packing up his messenger bag, she said, “I’m Claire Bennet.”
He paused for a moment, obviously stunned, before recovering. “I’m Jamie…Sullivan, Jamie Sullivan.”
Having usually rushed out of the room or ignored him in the past, Claire took a moment to study Jamie Sullivan.
He was ridiculously tall, easily 6’6”, and, though he was obviously muscular and toned, he had eschewed the whole “inappropriately tight polo shirt to emphasize my bangin’ pecs” look that was so popular amongst the frat boys she spent most of her time alongside. His blond hair was short and spiked, a pair of wire rimmed glasses perched atop his nose, and he had about two days worth of stubble on his cheeks. Though not her usual type, Claire was forced to admit: Jamie Sullivan was a babe.
“So, Jamie Sullivan, want to have lunch with me?”
After loading up their trays with inordinate amount of calories and sliding into a booth in the back of the caf, Jamie began to talk; in fact, she noted with amusement, he was practically babbling.
Jamie Sullivan was a 23-year-old freshman, a recently discharged Army Ranger who had enlisted for college money and ended up doing two tours in Iraq; he was a pre-med major, the youngest in his family, and had gotten lucky by drawing one of the suites in the nicest dorm on campus for first-year housing. After divulging close to every detail about his life, he had smiled with chagrin and asked Claire about herself.
Having had the conversation approximately 349 times since arriving at Roosevelt, Claire quickly rattled off the same details she gave to everyone: Texas girl, parents were mid-divorce, younger brother who was a pain in the ass, former cheerleader, current sorority girl, no idea as to what she wanted to major in or any real pressure to figure it out any time soon. It was a practiced story, one that was easy to tell because Claire Bennet of Odessa, Texas, was not extraordinary.
If he had asked about Claire Bennet, daughter of Nathan Petrelli and Meredith Gordon, or Claire Butler of Costa Verde, California…if he had asked about the girl that had killed Sylar (well, temporarily…) or the girl that had run an underground railroad out of her house or even the cheerleader who had been saved at the Union Wells Homecoming…Those were stories that would have been extraordinary.
“I’m a pretty boring person,” she finished, spearing a piece of lettuce.
He smiled sweetly. “I highly doubt that. I’m sure you have some interesting stories.”
“Hmmm…I punched a girl in the face once. That was kind of cool.”
Jamie chuckled. “Did she deserve it?”
It was hard for Claire to think about Jackie without thinking of what came after but she quickly pushed it down. “Oh, yeah. So what’s your embarrassing story?”
“I don’t believe the story you told me was embarrassing.”
“Well, tell me one anyway.”
His face actually turning red, he mumbled, “My family…We run a carnival.”
“A carnival?”
Taking a heavy swallow of his soda, he nodded. “Yep. They’re carnies. They travel all around the country putting on shows, living out of tents and trailers, and generally making any meeting a little awkward.”
“Is it like a generational thing?”
“No, my dad was a carpenter in Ireland. After he died, we came here, my mom died, and my brother Sam, he raised us. He started the carnival to support us and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Wow.” Thinking of her own biological family, she sincerely said, “He sounds incredible.”
“He can be. He can also be a total asshole. He’s not a big fan of me being here.”
“What, being a doctor is a bad thing?”
Suddenly avoiding her gaze, he simply replied, “It’s complicated.”
At the awkward silence that ensued, Claire struggled to find something to say. Finally, she said, “I get embarrassing families. My mom? Totally obsessed with her Pomeranian. I sometimes think she loves Mr. Muggles more than us.”
Jamie burst out laughing. “Mr. Muggles?!”
While Jamie launched into a story about one of his brothers, Claire’s Blackberry started vibrating in her pocket. As subtly as possible, Claire checked the screen and then froze as she saw the name on the display: Rebel.
Opening the message, she read the words three times before they really sunk in. Sylar is not dead. Go to New York.
Turning her attention back to the handsome, charming man seated across from her, Claire deleted the message.
Author: lit_chick08
Disclaimer: Not mine; blame Kring
Pairing: Peter/Claire; Claire/OMC; Claire/Sylar overtones
Rating: PG-13 for language in this chapter
Spoilers: everything thus far plus alleged spoilers for Season 4
Summary: They were all trying to be normal again; they all knew it wasn’t working
A/N: That death that happened in the finale that changed everything? Yeah, that didn’t happen for the purposes of this story; nor did Hiro’s storyline. Also, Claire’s college? Not real
A/N2: Feedback is awesome!
Roosevelt University, Washington DC
“Well, this is nice,” Noah Bennet declared as he deposited the last box of Claire’s belongings onto the side of the room she had decided would be hers. “My dorm room was much smaller than this.”
“What’s smaller than a casket?” Claire countered, wrinkling her nose at the miniscule square footage she would be sharing with Gretchen Berg of Columbus, Indiana.
Noah chuckled. “I know that it probably doesn’t seem like much, but I bet you’re going to have a lot of great times in this room.”
“That’s true. I mean, it is a coed floor.”
With a mock glare, Noah pulled her into a hug, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”
“I do what I can.”
Releasing her, he clapped his hands together and asked, “So where do I start?”
Tucking her hands into her back pockets, Claire replied, “I’d rather just do it myself, if that’s alright.” Noticing the way his face was falling, she rushed on. “It’s just that I want to wait for Gretchen to get here in case she has any big stuff. And besides, do you really want to help me put away my underwear?”
“Claire - “
“Dad, seriously - “
“I promised your mother - “
“Dad! I’m fine here. After everything that’s happened in the last three years, this? Not even a blip on the radar.” Giving him her very best smile, she added, “I’m ready to go back to being plain old Claire Bennet, and she can unpack her own stuff.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “And anyway, I’m sure you have something to do for work…whatever that may be, and keep in my mind I don’t want to know any details because, as far as I’m concerned, you work for a paper company.”
Noah chuckled. “Well, if I can’t help you unpack, I’m taking you to go get your books. You’ll need someone to carry them.”
“And pay for them.”
“Well, it might be a little tight on my…paper company salary, but I’m sure we’ll manage.”
* * *
Everything had changed after Danko’s unit had been shut down and Sylar had been roasted on a funeral pyre. It was as if the slate had been wiped completely clean, like three years of death, destruction, and madness had been completely obliterated; suddenly the opportunity for normalcy had presented itself.
In one of the most surreal days of her life - and since her powers had manifested, Claire had more than her fair share of those - she and the others had sat down and began to plot out what life was going to be like in a post-Sylar era.
Would they rebuild the Company? Would they try to keep their secrets? Would they out themselves? Would they try to right the wrongs of the Original 12?
Claire had sat at that summit, the men that she had come to define herself in terms of surrounding her, and she had felt an unspeakable sadness overwhelm her. She had meant what she had said at Coyote Sands; she was done trying to be an agent for Angela’s agenda. But she wasn’t so certain that she wanted to be parted from the people that had come to mean so much to her, the men that had risked their lives to save the cheerleader, the men that she had been more than willing to stand beside in a fight to the death.
If it hadn’t been for Sylar, Matt Parkman, Hiro Nakamura, Ando Masahashi, Mohinder Suresh, Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli…they would never have been anything to her.
And as she had glanced across the table at Peter, who held her gaze steadily and offered her a small, tired smile, Claire knew in the depths of her soul that, if they all agreed to go back to their lives pre-Sylar, they would go back to being strangers.
With the exceptions of Noah and Angela, they had decided to go back to their old lives; in the end, Claire hadn’t even gotten a vote. And so she had hugged the men who had been her heroes, her friends, her enemies, and her kindred spirits before going to La Guardia Airport and flying back to her real family.
Sandra had been grateful for her return, hugging her tightly and declaring that everything was going to go back to the way it had been; Claire hadn’t pressed but she assumed that her mother meant before Ted Sprague had burnt down their house and destroyed life in suburbia.
Despite Noah’s best efforts, Sandra was adamant in continuing the divorce, something Lyle fully blamed on Claire. She hadn’t even been home a week before Sandra had declared that they were moving back to Odessa, to the place the Company had run them out of, the place that Claire would always associate with Sylar, Peter, and Homecoming.
Lyle had started back at Union Wells and Claire, having completed her GED, had simply sat on the stone steps she had once fled up with Peter and tried to remember the girl she had been back then. The Claire that Sylar had tried to kill that night had been concerned with cheerleading, accepting her tiara for Homecoming Queen, proving Jackie wrong; that Claire had no idea the can of worms she had opened by seeking out her birth parents. That Claire had flirted with the cute guy outside the trophy case and been warmed by his attention.
She had been tearing up when she heard someone call her name. When she had looked up, there had been Zach, three months away from graduating, a shocked but pleased smile on his face. Claire had practically flown from the bleachers to leap into his arms, laughing hysterically until she cried, Zach had cut his afternoon classes, and they had ended up at that old tower, where she had performed a swan dive for old times’ sake.
After the first week back in Odessa, Claire had stopped going to Union Wells; even years later, the story of how Jackie had been murdered was still a popular tale. The only time she had voluntarily entered her alma mater was for senior prom; she had worn a pink dress that her mother had loved, posed for pictures in front of the fireplace while Sandra tried out her new camera, and then spent the rest of the night getting hammered at an after-party. Well, Zach had gotten hammered; Claire had snuck into a bathroom and left a long, rambling message on Peter’s voicemail that she had immediately regretted.
Noah had pressed for her to go to college on his few visits to Texas, leaving her with brochures for Texas A&M, University of Texas, and Rice; Angela had sent her brochures for Vassar, Wellesley, and Smith with notes attached about who she should ask to speak with in the admissions office. Zach, who was bound for Reed in the fall, had told her to fuck with all of them and join the Peace Corps.
She had ended up applying to a handful of schools she had selected randomly, and it was Roosevelt that had offered her a partial scholarship. And even though she had little to no desire to live in DC, she had been anxious to start fresh and invisibly away from everyone else.
But now, as she sat up in her uncomfortable bed, Gretchen Berg passed out and snoring away in the bed not even six feet from her own, Claire held her Blackberry and stared at Peter’s name on her contact list.
In the past six months, she had wanted to call her uncle a thousand times, even if it was just to hear his voice on his voicemail. They had spoken a few brief times, exchanged a couple emails and texts, but their communication had been limited. It hurt for her to think that maybe the relationship she had thought they had wasn’t as great as she had once thought; it hurt even more to think that he had only been nice to her out of familial obligation.
Finally, her longing beating out her commonsense, she hit send and waited. As expected, it went straight to voicemail.
Softly so as not to disturb her roommate, Claire said, “Hey, it’s me. I just called…I just called…I just called. Hope you’re doing okay.”
Hitting end, Claire set her phone on the bedside table and silently stared up at the ceiling, tears stinging her eyes.
If ever she needed validation that she was back to being plain old Claire Bennet, it had arrived in being ignored by a man she had thought cared about her.
* * *
Peter’s Apartment, New York City
He had barely been asleep for an hour after working a double shift when his phone had started to vibrate on the bedside table. With a groan, he had rolled over to check the display in case it was work; instead, Claire’s name was there, an electronic indictment that cut him deeply.
Though he had stopped counting, Peter was certain that he had avoided no fewer than thirty calls from his niece in the past six months. Over the past month, the calls had nearly stopped and that had hurt him worse than deliberating ignoring the calls; at least when she was still trying, it meant that she was thinking of him too.
After the meeting they had held to decide their futures, Peter had returned to his job as a paramedic; he had called friends he hadn’t spoken to since his powers had manifested and went out for drinks. And one night, when he had stumbled home, he had found Noah Bennet waiting on his couch. Peter had expected another spiel on saving lives and helping the cause; what he had gotten instead had stopped him cold.
“She’ll never let go of all of this…insanity if you stay in touch,” the older man had explained as calmly as if he was telling Peter how to program his TiVo. “For all of her maturity, when it comes to you, she’s still sixteen, seeing you through hero colored glasses. She expects things from you, Peter.”
“Noah, I don’t know - “
“Claire isn’t rational when it comes to you, Peter,” Noah stated bluntly, “and I don’t think you’re rational towards her. I won’t pretend to understand the bond you two have; you’ve been there for each other through stressful times and that builds rapport. But she’s only eighteen, Peter, and she deserves a shot at a normal life.”
“I want that for her.”
“Normal can’t involve you. It just confuses her.”
Mind swimming, Peter had shrugged. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“She’s a young girl,” Noah reiterated, “and she’s full of romantic ideals. When she sees you, talks to you, she wants to save the world at your side.”
“I’m out of the world saving business, remember?” Turning his back to enter the kitchen, he added, “I think you’re paranoid.”
“She has a crush on you,” Noah called after him, stilling his steps. “From the moment you entered our lives, Claire’s primary concern has been you, and it’s not out of familial loyalty.” When Peter turned to face him, he repeated, “You confuse her.”
Whether it was due to Noah’s words or Peter’s shame, he started ignoring her phone calls the next day.
The only time he even heard her voice was when he listened to her increasingly somber voicemails, the pain of his rejection echoing in her every syllable.
And then he would delete them, erasing all proof that he was aching for his 18-year-old niece.
* * *
Thirteenth Precinct, Los Angeles
For as long as he could remember, Matt Parkman had wanted to be a police officer. He had always loved the idea of getting up every morning, putting on a uniform, and helping people in need. It had seemed so noble, providing comfort and assistance to the people who needed it the most. The department shrink had thought that his idealism about law enforcement was a manifestation of his abandonment issues, but Matt liked to think that he was a little more complex than simple psychology.
But as he sat behind the wheel of his cruiser, his 23-year-old partner rambling away on his cell phone to his harpy of a girlfriend, Matt wasn’t feeling noble or fulfilled; he just felt bored.
After Danko, after everything that he had did and done to save the world, Matt had honestly thought that there was nothing he wanted more than to come back to California, to Janice and their son. And when Janice had agreed to let Molly come and live with them, it was as if he had been handed every thing he had ever wanted in one, fell swoop.
But Janice had no idea what to do with their specially-abled son, and, as the only one in the house who didn’t have some sort of gift, Matt was able to pick up on her frustration even without telepathy. He had gotten Molly to agree to not using her gift, was trying to help his toddler function without turning on and off every electronic device in the house, and had stopped referencing his own abilities in conversation, but…Janice was unhappy, and Matt was beginning to suspect that they were right back to where they had started.
The L.A.P.D. had hired him back easily enough, but, without using his abilities for potential gain, he was the same dyslexic approaching middle age who couldn’t pass the detective’s exam.
Giving up a greater purpose had made Matt Parkman feel like a loser again, and he hated every second of it.
Molly didn’t like being back in Los Angeles, either, not that he blamed her. Despite how she acted, she wasn’t even a teenager yet, and returning to the place where Sylar had massacred her entire family wasn’t something she had wanted. He had taken her to see their graves once, to try to get the kind of closure that she’d been denied since Primatech had co-opted her for their own personal usage, but all Molly had done was sob so hard that he had worried she’d never stop.
Afterward, he had driven all the way to Venice, where they had gotten ice cream and sat on the boardwalk. As they had stared out at the Pacific, ice cream melting down their cones, Molly sighed, “I miss New York.”
He had tried to play it off as a joke. “What, all the garbage, the cold weather, the crime? You’re crazy, girl.”
“I miss Mohinder.”
Having been safely ensconced in India during the previous year, Molly had missed the doctor’s many betrayals, all committed under the guise of bettering the human race. But, if he was honest, Mohinder had been his best friend once.
“I miss him, too.”
Licking vanilla off of her hand, Molly sighed again. “My aunt and uncle live in Seattle.”
Startled at the mention of relatives, he asked, “Do you want to go live with them?”
She shook her dark head. “What would I say? What am I supposed to do, lie about where I’ve been for the last few years? Pretend like I’m not…different? And what if they wanted to know what happened that day when Sylar…I can’t go back.”
“Molly - “
“Besides, I love you and Mattie. And Janice,” she quickly added, catching her omission.
Matt smiled, pulled her into a half hug. “And we love you.”
“We can’t go back, Matt,” Molly sadly said as she turned her big, doe eyes on her surrogate father. “Everyone thinks we’re weird.”
“Molly, that’s not - “
“Janice thinks we’re weird,” she clarified, tossing her cone into the trash can beside the bench. “People would think we’re dangerous. That’s what the Hunter thought.”
“Sweetheart, I think you’re just - “
“Rebel knew. He knew that all we have…all we have is each other. That’s what keeps us safe.”
Tightly clasping her hand, he assured her, “We’re safe, Molly. Sylar is dead, Danko can’t hurt us anymore, and we’re not going to be rounded up. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”
“We thought that Sylar was bad, and then there was the Company and that disease I had. And then it was Pinehearst and those guys. And then it was Danko and Sylar again. I don’t think we’ll ever be safe again, Matt. And I’m afraid…I’m afraid that we won’t be able to stop it.”
As Matt had hugged her and wiped away her tears, he had started to fully consider her words.
“Parkman, man? You listening?”
Matt shook himself out of his stupor and glanced at his partner. “What?”
“We got a call, domestic disturbance.”
Shifting the car into drive, Matt tried to refocus on his life as it currently was, the life he had been so certain he had wanted six months ago.
Matt had wanted normal; he had just forgotten how much he had hated normal.
* * *
Primatech 2.0, Baltimore
“It’s an impressive facility,” Angela Petrelli remarked as she toured the hallways alongside Noah Bennet. “It’s far nicer than the one we had in New York or even Odessa. Good work.”
Noah smirked, resisting the urge to ask if he was going to get a treat for being a good boy. “We’re not quite operating as well as I would hope, but we should be there soon.”
“And recruitment? How is that going?”
“Using the contacts we made during Danko’s operation, we’ve had no problem recruiting those with…extraordinary abilities. As for regular operatives, we’ve been lucky in persuading various agents of other more…legitimate operations to join us for cash incentives.”
“And how much are these incentives going to cost me?”
“Don’t worry; you’re good for it.”
Angela smiled as she paused on the balcony that overlooked the main room of the facility. As people passed by beneath her feet, she tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the railing. “And containment?”
“Six stories underground, so secure that it could withstand a nuclear blast without the captives even knowing what was going on.”
“Which will come in handy should we ever meet another Ted Sprague.”
“It was designed specifically with another Sylar in mind.”
“Then I’m going to insist that anyone who works down there has an ability.”
“Angela - “
“With all due respect, Noah, I highly doubt the competencies of the average person when it comes to dealing with people like Sylar.”
“You say average like it’s a curse word.”
“Sometimes I believe that it is. Sometimes it is truly the worst thing you can possibly be.”
“Isn’t it that sort of thinking that lead to Sylar?”
“Isn’t clinging to the average what lead to Mr. Danko?” she countered. When Noah didn’t respond, she continued, “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like? Twenty years working along side of us, seeing what we can do, what we can accomplish…you’ve never once wished - “
“No,” he emphatically denied, turning away from the people coming and going in the lobby. “You see, old friend, what you perceive to be extraordinary, I see as potential threats: abilities that kill, that maim, that hurt those people you call average. It doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“Why, Noah Bennet,” she chuckled, “for a moment there, you almost sounded like your old self.”
“What I believe to be true has never wavered. Isn’t that why you’ve hired me to run this operation?”
Resuming her pace, her heels echoing against the floor, the crispness that had always been associated with Angela Petrelli slid back into place. “What you believe to be true is no more relevant to me now than it was twenty years ago. I selected you to run our operation because you have the most experience of those left. And, of course, your personal ties don’t hurt.”
“Are you actually citing your granddaughter as resume padding?”
“No, I’m citing her as a reason for you to care about the continued wellbeing of those extraordinary people you seem harbor such disdain for.”
Irritation started to burn in his veins. “I don’t think - “
“She settled in well?”
If he hadn’t been used to Angela’s sudden changes of subject, he would’ve been completely confused; instead, he simply chuckled. “She’s fine.”
“Let’s make sure she stays that way.” Walking away from her employee, she tossed over her shoulder, “I don’t suppose I need to stress the importance of keeping her as far away from any possible trouble we might encounter.”
Thinking of her sons, Noah called back, “Already taken care of!”
* * *
Burnt Toast Diner, Texas
Hiro Nakamura sat in the dingy booth he had sat in years before, his stack of flapjacks cooling before him, as he watched the unfamiliar waitresses float around the floor. The women changed, the orders changed, the customers changed, but the one thing that didn’t change was the one reason Hiro came to see every day: the memorial photo of Charlie that hung near the entrance of the kitchen.
Since the decision had been made to return to ordinary lives, Hiro had simply drifted from one form of inactivity to another. His life before his powers had been…terrible. He hadn’t been a beautiful cheerleader or a rising politician; he had been no one, a faceless office drone with a horrendous relationship with his father and no skills to speak of unless one counted speaking Klingon.
Without his powers, Hiro Nakamura had been a loser.
Ando swore up and down that he had not been, that he was a good brother and a loyal friend, but Hiro did not see the silver lining in their newly normal statuses. While Ando returned to Yakamoto Industries, serving as an assistant to Kimiko, who was running the entire company, Hiro searched for meaning.
But when he needed reminded of good people who had seen him for who he was, a good person that he had thought he could love, his thoughts always returned to Charlie. Sweet, beautiful Charlie, the girl he had tried to save, the girl that had been destined to have her skull opened by Sylar. Considering that, outside of his family, the only other woman who had ever shown the slightest interest in him had been 400 years old, Charlie represented the kind of normal life he wouldn’t have minded so much.
So while Ando worked and Kimiko took over the industrialized world, Hiro came to Texas, ordered food that he seldom ate, and remembered his fallen friend.
He had all the time in the world.
* * *
Roosevelt University, Washington DC
When she had started to pick out her class schedule in July, Claire had no idea what she wanted to take. Instead, she had decided on classes that seemed fun and would fulfill some general education requirements. That was how she ended up in Introduction to Genetics.
Taught lecture style in an auditorium by a professor with an indistinguishable Indian accent, Claire could say easily that it was her least favorite class, having inched ahead of her Calc class taught by the bimbo TA. Every day she would slide into a seat in the back, occasionally glancing at the PowerPoints that her professor would put up on Blackboard before class but mostly doing anything else: texting Gretchen, texting girls in her pledge class, Facebook stalking, and catching up on issues of Entertainment Weekly. She sometimes thought she should be a little more conscientious but, given her past, she knew far more about genetics than she had ever wanted.
It was nearly four weeks into the semester before she realized that the same guy had started sitting next to her. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he would sink into the seat besides her and steal glances, offer her snacks, or borrow a pen. By mid-term, she finally grew tired of his oh-so-subtle gestures and, after class one day, as he was packing up his messenger bag, she said, “I’m Claire Bennet.”
He paused for a moment, obviously stunned, before recovering. “I’m Jamie…Sullivan, Jamie Sullivan.”
Having usually rushed out of the room or ignored him in the past, Claire took a moment to study Jamie Sullivan.
He was ridiculously tall, easily 6’6”, and, though he was obviously muscular and toned, he had eschewed the whole “inappropriately tight polo shirt to emphasize my bangin’ pecs” look that was so popular amongst the frat boys she spent most of her time alongside. His blond hair was short and spiked, a pair of wire rimmed glasses perched atop his nose, and he had about two days worth of stubble on his cheeks. Though not her usual type, Claire was forced to admit: Jamie Sullivan was a babe.
“So, Jamie Sullivan, want to have lunch with me?”
After loading up their trays with inordinate amount of calories and sliding into a booth in the back of the caf, Jamie began to talk; in fact, she noted with amusement, he was practically babbling.
Jamie Sullivan was a 23-year-old freshman, a recently discharged Army Ranger who had enlisted for college money and ended up doing two tours in Iraq; he was a pre-med major, the youngest in his family, and had gotten lucky by drawing one of the suites in the nicest dorm on campus for first-year housing. After divulging close to every detail about his life, he had smiled with chagrin and asked Claire about herself.
Having had the conversation approximately 349 times since arriving at Roosevelt, Claire quickly rattled off the same details she gave to everyone: Texas girl, parents were mid-divorce, younger brother who was a pain in the ass, former cheerleader, current sorority girl, no idea as to what she wanted to major in or any real pressure to figure it out any time soon. It was a practiced story, one that was easy to tell because Claire Bennet of Odessa, Texas, was not extraordinary.
If he had asked about Claire Bennet, daughter of Nathan Petrelli and Meredith Gordon, or Claire Butler of Costa Verde, California…if he had asked about the girl that had killed Sylar (well, temporarily…) or the girl that had run an underground railroad out of her house or even the cheerleader who had been saved at the Union Wells Homecoming…Those were stories that would have been extraordinary.
“I’m a pretty boring person,” she finished, spearing a piece of lettuce.
He smiled sweetly. “I highly doubt that. I’m sure you have some interesting stories.”
“Hmmm…I punched a girl in the face once. That was kind of cool.”
Jamie chuckled. “Did she deserve it?”
It was hard for Claire to think about Jackie without thinking of what came after but she quickly pushed it down. “Oh, yeah. So what’s your embarrassing story?”
“I don’t believe the story you told me was embarrassing.”
“Well, tell me one anyway.”
His face actually turning red, he mumbled, “My family…We run a carnival.”
“A carnival?”
Taking a heavy swallow of his soda, he nodded. “Yep. They’re carnies. They travel all around the country putting on shows, living out of tents and trailers, and generally making any meeting a little awkward.”
“Is it like a generational thing?”
“No, my dad was a carpenter in Ireland. After he died, we came here, my mom died, and my brother Sam, he raised us. He started the carnival to support us and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Wow.” Thinking of her own biological family, she sincerely said, “He sounds incredible.”
“He can be. He can also be a total asshole. He’s not a big fan of me being here.”
“What, being a doctor is a bad thing?”
Suddenly avoiding her gaze, he simply replied, “It’s complicated.”
At the awkward silence that ensued, Claire struggled to find something to say. Finally, she said, “I get embarrassing families. My mom? Totally obsessed with her Pomeranian. I sometimes think she loves Mr. Muggles more than us.”
Jamie burst out laughing. “Mr. Muggles?!”
While Jamie launched into a story about one of his brothers, Claire’s Blackberry started vibrating in her pocket. As subtly as possible, Claire checked the screen and then froze as she saw the name on the display: Rebel.
Opening the message, she read the words three times before they really sunk in. Sylar is not dead. Go to New York.
Turning her attention back to the handsome, charming man seated across from her, Claire deleted the message.