The Heroes Bride (8/?)
Title: The Heroes Bride (8/?)
Characters/Pairings: Overall, Peter, Claude, Bennet, Adam, Mohinder, Sylar and MORE!; in this chapter Peter, Mohinder, Niki, and Thompson.
Summary: My version of The Princess Bride, with assorted Heroes characters, centering on Plaude. In this chapter: Mohinder, Niki, and Thompson discuss morality. Sorta.
Rating: PG13 in this part.
Warnings: None, really. Suggestions of violence.
Spoilers: Pretty much nothing for the show, and lots for the movie.
A/N: It lives! And now, with the semester over, and my writing mojo (oh, how I hate that word) back in...some swing...hopefully I will actually, you know, finish.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Heroes or The Princess Bride, and, in fact, owe the creators of both my eternal gratitude.
Special thanks to c_quinn, as always. And super special bonus thanks to guanin, for encouragement reasons; sorry I couldn't give you any Adam in this bit, but next time, he's totally making an appearance.
Previous Chapters
History, as a rule, tends to boil down the causes of wars to very simple, singular events.
The deaths of arch-dukes, the taxes on stamps, the mostly consensual kidnappings of women with faces to launch ships, all of these are classed as the sparks set to ignite the vast magazines of long held resentments and jingoistic feelings the average citizen of any country has, stored beneath the tidy houses of their day-to-day lives.
And History, for reasons of simplicity, tends to ignore those noble, necessary men that are needed to direct such sparks; otherwise, most wars would be a great deal less exciting, being lead, as they would be, by paranoid arch-dukes, disgruntled philatelists, cuckold husbands and, of course, ship enthusiasts.
Mr. Thompson, Mohinder Suresh felt, saw himself as just such a man: the next in a great tradition of war starters, behind-the-scenes history makers whose deeds would be, for the most part, forgotten on their own, but nevertheless create ripples that would change the world.
Or so he had gleaned, from the occasional conversation the man had tried to draw him into, between his regular mild-mannered terrorization of Niki, and his furtive trips to the nearest village to receive more detailed orders from whoever it was that was employing him in his noble effort.
The not-quite-great, at least anymore, Doctor Suresh had his doubts as to just how noble an endeavor the whole thing was. The man was a great deal more enamored of unnecessary violence, for that to be true, and enjoyed torturing Niki with his quiet, smiling reminders of just how much she owed to him and just how likely it was that she would fail whatever task he set for her, for him to be anything other than an absolute gunda.
Which did little to change the fact that, for the time being, Mr. Thompson was very much his absolute gunda.
And although he was sure that his goal was a noble one (avenging the death of one’s father had clear precedent as the necessary and correct course of action when said father had been brutally and unnecessarily murdered, and he was managing it with a great deal less dithering than most), he couldn’t help wonder, at times, if his involvement in the less-than-noble actions of his employer might, perhaps, go so far as to tarnish the rightness of his own.
Right now was, unfortunately, the latest in the many, many instances of those times.
Because right now was when the full scope of this plan had really come together for Mohinder, what with Thompson hurriedly explaining to him the exact reason they had removed the young and unconscious man’s blood stained shirt and draped it over the saddle of the rather slow and docile looking gelding he had been riding.
“We’re going to have to kill him?” Niki was saying, clearly horrified, and Thompson, unsurprisingly, rolled his eyes.
“We,” the man’s ability to put peculiar but nonetheless sharp emphasis on words without so much as modulating his tone was uncanny. “Are not going to have to do anything. Do you really think I’d trust you to actually go through with anything that useful?”
“Well, I won’t be doing it,” Mohinder shrugged, when Thompson stopped fixing Niki with a cold glare and started looking at him expectantly. Another grievance to be addressed, once he’d gotten the needed information from the man, would most definitely be his tendency toward expectant looks. “I am against violence of all kinds.”
Even Niki looked surprised at that, he had to admit, as her eyes travel to the large and well-worn sword on his hip.
She was, of course, too polite to question it.
Which was more than could be said for Jessica, who chose that moment (and Mohinder had made the observation before, that she tended to appear when Niki was at her most nervous, and her most frightened) to grasp a moment’s control.
“Oooh, is it because you’re Indian? That’s going to make the whole revenge thing a bit tricky, isn’t it?” she sneered, and flipped her hair back, before grinning towards Thompson. “Don’t worry about the kid, though. I can take care of it, even if our pretty doctor can’t.”
“I have no doubt about that, Ms. Sanders,” and the man gave a smile that was not more comforting for its rarity, and even less so for its relative sincerity, as he laid an all too comfortable hand on her shoulder. “No doubt about that at all.”
And Mohinder, who, through several years of medical school and two more of intensive training to become, if not an excellent swordsman, at least one proficient enough to succeed in his chosen endeavor, had managed to see a great deal of scarringly disturbing things in that time, came to the inexorable conclusion that what the scene before him suggested ranked highest of all.
Thankfully, for his own sanity, Niki managed to break free at about that moment, and do what any non-psychotic would do in the situation: flinch away from Thompson’s touch and look at the ground.
***
He was dreaming.
He knew that, because Claude was there, and he was smiling.
They were both smiling, really, just grinning at each other like they were crazy and, for the most part, they probably were.
Because Claude was dead, and he was engaged to be married, or, quite possibly, he remembers suddenly, very close to dead himself.
Which is why, he realized, he should probably wake up, to be able to figure out which it was going to be.
And when he did, it was to a feeling of being rocked, like being on a boat, which he hadn’t been on since…since he first left home.
What had been home. Because home now was…well, it was somewhere else he had left, but that hadn’t really been his choice.
There was also the scratch of damp-smelling wool, a blanket, he figured, over his bare chest, and the slight burn of ropes around his wrists and ankles, and that was odd.
Not any odder than the very kind expression on the face of the blond woman, the one that had quite cheerfully and easily knocked him out in the first place.
“Shh,” she said, as if he had any choice, what with the piece of cloth that had been stuffed in his mouth. She smiled sympathetically, and laid a cool hand on his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetie, we just can’t…can’t have you shouting out, right now. But everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
A quick glance to his left revealed the slim, dark-skinned man from before, doing an absolutely terrible job of trying to look comforting, and Peter followed his contempt-filled gaze to the grey-haired man who seemed to be steering the boat.
And when the man looked back, cold blue eyes especially pale in the warm glow of the setting sun, Peter realized, the assurances of a basically kind if completely insane young woman be damned, everything was not going to be okay.
*
Extra special bonus Author's Note: I'm sorry this has been coming out so slowly. It is my promise to all of you, who have read this far, and are willing to continue to read this, that I will be more consistent with updating now. Thanks again, for reading!
Characters/Pairings: Overall, Peter, Claude, Bennet, Adam, Mohinder, Sylar and MORE!; in this chapter Peter, Mohinder, Niki, and Thompson.
Summary: My version of The Princess Bride, with assorted Heroes characters, centering on Plaude. In this chapter: Mohinder, Niki, and Thompson discuss morality. Sorta.
Rating: PG13 in this part.
Warnings: None, really. Suggestions of violence.
Spoilers: Pretty much nothing for the show, and lots for the movie.
A/N: It lives! And now, with the semester over, and my writing mojo (oh, how I hate that word) back in...some swing...hopefully I will actually, you know, finish.
Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Heroes or The Princess Bride, and, in fact, owe the creators of both my eternal gratitude.
Special thanks to c_quinn, as always. And super special bonus thanks to guanin, for encouragement reasons; sorry I couldn't give you any Adam in this bit, but next time, he's totally making an appearance.
Previous Chapters
History, as a rule, tends to boil down the causes of wars to very simple, singular events.
The deaths of arch-dukes, the taxes on stamps, the mostly consensual kidnappings of women with faces to launch ships, all of these are classed as the sparks set to ignite the vast magazines of long held resentments and jingoistic feelings the average citizen of any country has, stored beneath the tidy houses of their day-to-day lives.
And History, for reasons of simplicity, tends to ignore those noble, necessary men that are needed to direct such sparks; otherwise, most wars would be a great deal less exciting, being lead, as they would be, by paranoid arch-dukes, disgruntled philatelists, cuckold husbands and, of course, ship enthusiasts.
Mr. Thompson, Mohinder Suresh felt, saw himself as just such a man: the next in a great tradition of war starters, behind-the-scenes history makers whose deeds would be, for the most part, forgotten on their own, but nevertheless create ripples that would change the world.
Or so he had gleaned, from the occasional conversation the man had tried to draw him into, between his regular mild-mannered terrorization of Niki, and his furtive trips to the nearest village to receive more detailed orders from whoever it was that was employing him in his noble effort.
The not-quite-great, at least anymore, Doctor Suresh had his doubts as to just how noble an endeavor the whole thing was. The man was a great deal more enamored of unnecessary violence, for that to be true, and enjoyed torturing Niki with his quiet, smiling reminders of just how much she owed to him and just how likely it was that she would fail whatever task he set for her, for him to be anything other than an absolute gunda.
Which did little to change the fact that, for the time being, Mr. Thompson was very much his absolute gunda.
And although he was sure that his goal was a noble one (avenging the death of one’s father had clear precedent as the necessary and correct course of action when said father had been brutally and unnecessarily murdered, and he was managing it with a great deal less dithering than most), he couldn’t help wonder, at times, if his involvement in the less-than-noble actions of his employer might, perhaps, go so far as to tarnish the rightness of his own.
Right now was, unfortunately, the latest in the many, many instances of those times.
Because right now was when the full scope of this plan had really come together for Mohinder, what with Thompson hurriedly explaining to him the exact reason they had removed the young and unconscious man’s blood stained shirt and draped it over the saddle of the rather slow and docile looking gelding he had been riding.
“We’re going to have to kill him?” Niki was saying, clearly horrified, and Thompson, unsurprisingly, rolled his eyes.
“We,” the man’s ability to put peculiar but nonetheless sharp emphasis on words without so much as modulating his tone was uncanny. “Are not going to have to do anything. Do you really think I’d trust you to actually go through with anything that useful?”
“Well, I won’t be doing it,” Mohinder shrugged, when Thompson stopped fixing Niki with a cold glare and started looking at him expectantly. Another grievance to be addressed, once he’d gotten the needed information from the man, would most definitely be his tendency toward expectant looks. “I am against violence of all kinds.”
Even Niki looked surprised at that, he had to admit, as her eyes travel to the large and well-worn sword on his hip.
She was, of course, too polite to question it.
Which was more than could be said for Jessica, who chose that moment (and Mohinder had made the observation before, that she tended to appear when Niki was at her most nervous, and her most frightened) to grasp a moment’s control.
“Oooh, is it because you’re Indian? That’s going to make the whole revenge thing a bit tricky, isn’t it?” she sneered, and flipped her hair back, before grinning towards Thompson. “Don’t worry about the kid, though. I can take care of it, even if our pretty doctor can’t.”
“I have no doubt about that, Ms. Sanders,” and the man gave a smile that was not more comforting for its rarity, and even less so for its relative sincerity, as he laid an all too comfortable hand on her shoulder. “No doubt about that at all.”
And Mohinder, who, through several years of medical school and two more of intensive training to become, if not an excellent swordsman, at least one proficient enough to succeed in his chosen endeavor, had managed to see a great deal of scarringly disturbing things in that time, came to the inexorable conclusion that what the scene before him suggested ranked highest of all.
Thankfully, for his own sanity, Niki managed to break free at about that moment, and do what any non-psychotic would do in the situation: flinch away from Thompson’s touch and look at the ground.
***
He was dreaming.
He knew that, because Claude was there, and he was smiling.
They were both smiling, really, just grinning at each other like they were crazy and, for the most part, they probably were.
Because Claude was dead, and he was engaged to be married, or, quite possibly, he remembers suddenly, very close to dead himself.
Which is why, he realized, he should probably wake up, to be able to figure out which it was going to be.
And when he did, it was to a feeling of being rocked, like being on a boat, which he hadn’t been on since…since he first left home.
What had been home. Because home now was…well, it was somewhere else he had left, but that hadn’t really been his choice.
There was also the scratch of damp-smelling wool, a blanket, he figured, over his bare chest, and the slight burn of ropes around his wrists and ankles, and that was odd.
Not any odder than the very kind expression on the face of the blond woman, the one that had quite cheerfully and easily knocked him out in the first place.
“Shh,” she said, as if he had any choice, what with the piece of cloth that had been stuffed in his mouth. She smiled sympathetically, and laid a cool hand on his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetie, we just can’t…can’t have you shouting out, right now. But everything’s going to be okay, I promise.”
A quick glance to his left revealed the slim, dark-skinned man from before, doing an absolutely terrible job of trying to look comforting, and Peter followed his contempt-filled gaze to the grey-haired man who seemed to be steering the boat.
And when the man looked back, cold blue eyes especially pale in the warm glow of the setting sun, Peter realized, the assurances of a basically kind if completely insane young woman be damned, everything was not going to be okay.
*
Extra special bonus Author's Note: I'm sorry this has been coming out so slowly. It is my promise to all of you, who have read this far, and are willing to continue to read this, that I will be more consistent with updating now. Thanks again, for reading!