Down My Road (1 of 4)
fic title: Down My Road
author name: wings4music
genre: gen/het.
pairing: Peter/Elle
rating: pg-13
word count: ~19, 000
warnings/spoilers: none, but if any, just vague references to S2.
summary: For nearly four years, Peter has been searching for an answer he's feared. Instead of the expected answers, however, he finds an Elle that has opened up an entirely new road for herself, one she has chosen to walk without ever looking back. But before their roads diverge once again, another old face reemerges in Elle’s life to threaten that which she loves most, forcing Elle to remain in the cross of Peter's path longer than she would like.
note: The dashes are for shifts within a chapter, & click the last (-¤-) symbol to go to the next part of the fic. Written for the heroes_bigboom challenge. Lovely art H E R E by sameoldhope! A trillion thanks to my awesome beta, retroblair, whom helped polish this story so wonderfully. Both you & sameoldhope deserve mad props. ;D
link to fic: one ;; two ;; three ;; four
~*~
Nathan came to tell him one day that he had changed, that he was different somehow.
“We’ve all changed, Nathan,” he had responded.
It wasn’t a lie, but it was just the type of answer that proved Nathan’s hypothesis correct. He remembered the Peter, who although would undergo changes, would always insist on retaining the marker that made Peter, Peter.
The hope, the optimism, the dreams.
He still had a drive, and yes he still spoke of attaining the greater good and acted on acquiring it, but his motives were murkier now. As though he was doing everything for anyone but himself, as though he would reap no benefits from being the good guy. And he was more than fine with sacrificing himself for that, which worried Nathan to no end.
So Nathan asked, what was it, what had changed that Peter. He never got a proper answer--instead Peter would stalk off, going who knows where. It cemented what Nathan already knew, proved that Peter still kept his past very much with him. Peter was searching for something, probably someone who had left his and their lives abruptly, but it was never anything Peter spoke of.
Like many of them (those with those extraordinary abilities and thus grand responsibilities) Peter too had his demons now, demons he wouldn’t even share with his own brother. Nathan got bits and pieces here and there, just remnants of a story that made no sense and hence did not seem worth pursuing. Nevertheless, Peter kept on his path. He was indeed different.
It’s not as though Peter was unaware of this, of everything. His senses did not allow for him to be indifferent, allow for him not to recognize every feeling surrounding him. With every passing day, the abilities were more powerful, but he also got better at numbing down what he felt with each passing day.
As he walked through the crowded street (this time San Francisco, California), he quieted the thoughts along with the voices of the passersby, and blocked his heart from feeling the rush of pain. The big cities were always the worst, but they were just as likely to contain what he was looking for.
In the last four years, he had gone there seven times to look. That time would be the eighth, and with every turn he took, he lost more hope, but never determination. His pride and something else he was still afraid of naming would not let him give up, despite the disintegrating hope. Perhaps because every time it was stepped on, he would catch a glint of blond hair that built it up again. As it did again this time.
A petite woman with medium length blond hair walked arithmetically with the crowd, maneuvering skillfully. Without any type of conscious decision, his legs strode through, pushing to get to her because the stature and the hair, it fit her.
He moved to the side, his shoulder lining with the walls of the various stores. He was almost there when she turned her head back. He stopped in his steps then to curse to himself--it wasn’t her, it never was. The same anger and irritation as always rose up again, and his fists clenched. He was angry at himself for believing. It was of no use. He calmed himself down and brought his eyes back up, taking one last glance at the woman. He almost laughed to himself and just willed himself to walk past her.
His feet moved quickly, moved right past her, but he failed to mute the sounds in his fury and the woman’s voice flew out to another and the voice responding to her froze him mid-step.
He was hearing things, his conscious beat at him, but the voice continued and he had to look. His head swiveled, first catching sight of the woman who had gotten his hopes up and then catching sight of a person he’d been looking for.
Quickly he turned, so she wouldn’t have the opportunity to see him and then run. He turned to the shop by him, and pretended to scrounge through some worthless trinkets, until he heard the conversation end. She began moving away, but he lost no time in tracing her steps to follow her.
She walked through the street like an expert--quickly, without bumping into anyone, avoiding upturned streets, and as they approached a small coffee store she waved to a few store owners.
She slowed as she approached that same coffee place, until she stepped inside of it.
He paused outside, gathering all the questions he’d had for her for too long. He wondered if he was really prepared for everything--the whys, the hows, the whats, and more importantly, for the answer to what happened to--
He forced himself to get a grip, and he inhaled deeply, before he reached for the handle and pulled the door open. Once inside, his eyes scanned the place for any sign of her, but he could not spot her. He grumbled inwardly and took to a seat at the counter where the solitary individuals drank their beverages silently. He rested his elbows atop the counter and folded his hands, as his index finger impatiently tapped against the wooden counter.
A barista then came to stand directly across from him, right behind the counter, and after having waited for ten minutes, Peter was asked, “Good evening, sir, would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Peter brought his head up to nod in acknowledgment to the man, and just then he saw her wrapping an apron around her waist. Despite the dark brown hair, and being a few inches taller, her face remained the same, and there was no denying it was her.
His eyes snapped to the name tag she was currently pinning on, and he smirked; although the initial for her last name was not the same as the one he had known her as, the first name was the same.
--
“I don’t know where she is, Peter.”
“You’re lying.”
“How would you know that? Did you read my thoughts?” she said in a spiteful tone.
“I don’t have to--I know you.”
“You don’t know people quite as well as you’d like to Peter, otherwise you wouldn’t have done to her what you did in the way that you did.”
He ran a hand through his head, and bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, just to taste something.
“Yes, but it’s almost been two months, and no one has seen her.”
“Including me,” she was quick to add.
“I know she was here! The doorman saw her come in the morning after our fight!”
She ceased packing the suitcase on her perfectly made bed, and snapped her eyes to Peter.
“She came quickly, Peter, took a shower, stayed until the clothes I had washed for her dried, and only left until after I made sure she took some cash I had on me. She wasn’t here for more than an hour and a half.”
“Then what did she tell you in that time?”
They stared at each other, angrily, impatiently. This wasn’t her fight to come in between, and frankly, it was a situation she rather never tread. His relationship with her wasn’t necessarily a point of interest for her, especially since his actions two months ago had skewered her view of him.
“Get out.” It came out so cold, through fearless eyes.
“What did--”
She sighed, and hastily threw in the last of her clothes in the suitcase. She closed it quickly, grabbed it, and pushed past him. He called after her, but not once did she pause or look at him. She had chosen sides.
--
“I’m actually waiting for a certain person to attend me,” Peter said before the man turned around completely.
“Oh, sure, what’s their name?”
He lifted his chin, and eyed her from across the counter as he answered, "Claire.”
-¤-
“Hey, Claire!” the barista called to her without Peter having to say another word.
“Cody,” she answered with a laugh before looking up, but the instant she did, her sight took notice of the man sitting at the counter, and she made no pains to hide her surprise--and the fear evident in her eyes.
Her mouth parted, and her hand brushed across her forehead, before she began moving towards him. She approached him hesitantly, and when she stood across from him, with only the counter acting as the barrier, she still could not find any words.
“Pet--” she stopped herself and shut her eyes momentarily, “Peter.”
She opened her eyes again, but the distress remained. The barista looked at them strangely, and suddenly he felt some awkward tension between Claire and the guy who had asked for her, but he moved away after Claire shot him a look.
When he left, she leaned in over the counter and whispered harshly, “what the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to grab a cup of coffee,” he responded immediately, his eyes steadily on her.
“Yeah, well grab it somewhere else.”
She pushed herself off the counter and turned on her heel. She proceeded to scurry through the work area, prompting Peter to jump off his stool and follow her across the store. She opened a door on the opposite side of the store, and he watched her jump up a staircase.
He was fortunate to find the door was unlocked, and didn’t hesitate in following her to what must be her place of residence.
Once up the steps, he found there were a few set of doors, but only one was open.
“In here,” she called.
He walked in, found her pacing as she bit one of her nails.
She looked at him for a second and bit her lip.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said after a moment.
“Yeah, well neither should you.”
“I’m right where I need to be,” she briskly passed him and shut the door. She leaned against the door and exhaled loudly prior to saying, “Just tell me what you’re looking for so we can get this over with and you can leave.”
“Claire, we haven’t seen each other in over three years.”
She shook her head and stood upright, to go sit on her bed.
“Peter,” she looked up him with those wide eyes and a frown.
He gave her one nod, and began.
“What happened to--”
“Peter, please,” she stopped him, and standing up once again, she turned her back to him.
He didn’t relent however, and in a commanding voice said her name.
“Claire.”
He heard her sigh, and although she did not face him, she answered.
“She’s dead Peter, you know that.”
She could hear him walking to her, and she had to build her confidence up.
“How?”
“She, um,” her hand rose to her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut, “she went against her father, and he wouldn’t have any of it. Wouldn’t accept her change, so he had her killed. That’s it Peter.”
“No,” he stepped in front of her forcing her to open her eyes.
“That’s what happened, Peter,” she clenched her jaw.
“No, she would fight--”
“How would you know, Peter?” tears sprung to her eyes, fury making itself known.
“You left her! You told her you couldn’t stand by her if she didn’t get her shit together--and the worst part is that you never, NEVER came after her. You left her to fight her battles alone.”
Her words stung him, cut through the part of him that was the most fragile. His guilt.
“Fuck, you don’t know the story Claire, so don’t act--”
“Stop pretending Peter. I know enough, and yeah, maybe it was her fault too, but you knew what she was like. She needed someone, she needed…”
--
She moved beside him--he could feel her squirming the slightest, but he managed not to awake completely, and was drifting back off to sleep completely, when a shriek broke through his ears. His eyes shot open, to see her sitting upright in bed, and the mattress seemed to shake the slightest under her palm. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Elle, are you…” he reached his hand over to hers, to squeeze it, but to his surprise it was clammy. He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles, then moved his hand over her arm, where he could feel beads of perspiration. Concerned, he inched closer to her, wrapped an arm around her, and with a free hand turned her head to him by the chin.
“Elle, hey--look at me.”
Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows furrowed, and her lip trembling.
She opened her mouth a bit, but she couldn’t seem to form a word. She was struck with fear, as if she had the most terrible of nightmares. Her eyes shifted right and left, looked to his face, to the bed, until she shook her head, and swiped her hand across her forehead, but still it shook.
“Elle, talk to me.”
Raising her eyes, she bit her lip, and abruptly flung her arms around him, clung to him fiercely, and dug her head in his shoulder. Then, without warning, without thinking or doing anything, his head was bombarded with the voice of Bob and words he had spoken to Elle no more than a week ago. Although their condo was a private location, it still resided in New York, and they were aware of Bob knowing of it. Still, the man had stayed away from Elle since her escape from the Company, but he had come that one day, still looking to torture his daughter, simply through words.
“You’re going to hurt him, Elle. You’ll come to your senses, and return to being that person who just wants to enjoy life through everyone’s pain. That’s why you’re really with him Elle, because if you come out hurting the most powerful of them of all in the worst possible way, the more sense of pride and pleasure you’ll derive from his heartache. Let’s face it Elle, you’re just not good enough to actually love the man.”
The words ran through her head like a broken record, one so painfully loud, even he could hear it without focusing in on her, then--
“Sorry,” she muttered softly, and the thoughts stopped.
“It’s okay, Elle. You just have to ignore it.”
--
“…you didn’t listen to her, just thought she was strong enough to do it on her own or something! But she’s never been stronger than us, Peter, and she needed that strength, but you didn’t listen. You just left her, just like you let me walk away.”
“You were the one who abandoned us, Claire, so don’t be a damn hypocrite.”
Their eyes locked, furious not necessarily at each other, but at the truth being said through their glances.
“You got your answer, Peter,” she said in a low whisper, “so leave.”
He stared down at her for another second, his hand balled in a fist, but he was done. He got his God-forsaken answer, and despite his urge to ravage through her mind to ensure she was not lying he restrained himself. He had done enough damage.
Without a word, he made his way around her and headed towards the door when urgently she said, “what are you doing?”
“Leaving,” he didn’t stop.
“And what? You lost your power to teleport?”
He paused, and turned to give her a confused look.
“No, I’d just rather not use my powers.”
She was noticeably nervous, which only pushed his instinct to read her thoughts. Why would she want him to teleport instead of walking out through the café?
“Oh,” she breathed, “I just found it odd--bye Peter.”
He decided to leave the line of questioning, it was useless anyway. What he had been looking for no longer existed, and everything else was a casualty he did not wish to bother. Having to leave Claire did pull at him, but when she left those years ago she made it clear that her involvement with saving world and whatnot was done with for the time being. Time. That is what she had asked for, but no one knew how much she wanted, but for one instant he had spoken as though she was through with time. However, he had no right to push her into the fight, not when she couldn‘t stand the sight of him. Nor was it his biggest concern then. What Claire had told him--that was eating him up. All he had wanted was the answer, but receiving it had made him feel worse.
His heart had dropped, even though he had suspected what happened. He had left her, and she was left alone to fight her demons, resulting in her death. Her death. He couldn’t quite grasp that. Yes, everyone he encountered told them she was dead, but no one knew how, when, or why. That’s why he sought Claire out--if anyone was the least bit aware of what happened, it would be Claire. Claire and her had become allies against the Company.
Claire didn’t even disappear until months after she had, but he had no doubt the two retained some form of contact. He should have done that, should have found a way to keep in contact with her, but he failed in that aspect as well.
But at least he could stop searching for blond hair, he told himself, no longer would his eyes do a double take at the sight.
Although it would take some getting used to, he realized when he began taking the last steps to the door when another sort of blond hair flashed before his eyes.
It was thin, slightly wavy, and a lighter blond than Claire’s had ever been. It was the same length, same tint, same texture as…
“Elle?”
-¤-
Her name came out in a breathy whisper. It was the first time in about four years that his ears heard that name, and even more time since he had said her name himself. As soon as she disappeared, many quit saying her name, and those who did say her name eventually got the message not to speak it in front of him. Because those who never knew what transpired between them were, at one point or another, warned about the vocalization of that particular name, or they managed to infer from Peter reactions that she was a taboo subject.
--
“We need someone who knows how these facilities function, Nathan, someone who is personally familiar with the inside components and would be able to persuade the people within those places.”
“Well Claire doesn’t know them too well, but from the work she’s done down south, we know she’s been able to infiltrate a couple of companies.”
“Yes, but she had the help of someone, a someone that we need for the same purposes, except our mission extends beyond--”
“Mohinder, we can’t call Claire and tell her we need her accomplice because our mission is more important, she won’t accept that.”
“Nathan, her accomplice as you call her, is clearly a free agent. Elle is the perfect person for this.”
“Mohinder, Elle wouldn’t wa--”
“We don’t need her.”
Mohinder and Nathan quit their bickering and turned to Peter, who had been looking through various files silently for several minutes. While his eyes remained on the files, it was obvious that his focus was now diminishing.
“Peter, we didn’t mean to mention--” his brother began, but Peter cut him off with a sharp look.
“My hearing’s better than it used to be.”
Mohinder looked at Nathan with raised eyebrows, but the whole thing irritated Nathan--were they really supposed to step around the subject of Elle, and if so, why?
“We understand, Peter,” Mohinder stated, obviously willing to let Peter have his way. Peter was glad that Mohinder was a comprehensive man, at least to a higher degree than his brother. That’s what he needed at that moment, and Peter just hoped that soon he would forget her enough to keep things subjective like his brother.
--
But now, after four years, he said it.
There was no mistaking her. The hair was an indicator, but it was the giggle that flowed from her that confirmed her identity. It was one of her unique marks that no one else had.
He stood in place, his legs shaky, but he did not dissolve. He just stood, staring as she knelt by a table, tying the shoelaces of a little girl that looked to be four or so years of age just as Elle answered her ringing phone.
Then her giggling died, and Peter could see her tensing.
The words she spoke he could not hear, especially because she spoke with a hushed tone and he wasn't about to take away her privacy. Then she closed her cell hastily and picked up the girl.
Peter walked to her, as Elle grabbed her bag from the table and adjusted the girl on her hip.
They almost collided when she turned in an attempt to walk off.
“Sorry, I--” and then her eyes made their way up the form of the person into whom she crashed.
Her eyes stared up at his with what he could only call fear, and her face went pale.
But his own face in an instant went from one to anger and then it softened, just as his eyes searched through hers.
“Elle,” he repeated her name, this time directly to her, but still in a whisper.
She didn’t speak, only stared at him, and then she turned to the girl in her arms.
“Jeanne, you want Cody to make you your smoothie?”
“Yes!” the girl exclaimed.
Elle smiled softly at her and set her down on the floor, where the girl wasted no time in running to the counter. Elle eyed her until the girl made it and sat on the stool, where the same barista he had spoken to earlier immediately attended to the girl.
Then Elle turned her eyes to Peter, only to look at him coldly.
“Peter,” she said in a sharp tone.
Without warning, his mouth twitched and his arms moved, making their way around her. He pulled her to his chest, his arms tightly wound around her waist, and his head bent to rest between her shoulder blade and her neck.
“Elle,” he whispered over her skin. He had to blink back the tears he felt making their way through his eyes.
She was shocked when he did this, and her body tensed at the contact. She didn’t react, didn’t even make the effort to react for some seconds, but then her brain came into play and she pushed him away.
“Peter,” she spat out and threw him an angered look.
He fell back a step, and opened his mouth, but immediately she put up her hand.
“Don’t,” she said.
She took a step but he placed a hand on her forearm, and turned his body to be adjacent with her.
“Elle, I--I thought you were dead.”
She chuckled morbidly.
“Elle is dead. I’m Kelly.”
Her hand swiped his, pushing it off.
“Don’t think otherwise,” she added before moving towards the girl.
He wouldn’t have it. He placed his hand back on her forearm, and before she could protest, they were gone from the café.
She found herself in Claire’s room, the one right up the stairs, and she turned in his grasp to throw a punch at him.
He was surprised to say the least, so much so her fist actually hit his jaw. He heard it pop, and he groaned at the pain, while his hand grasped at his jaw.
Elle smirked and he heard Claire exclaim, “Elle!”
He let his powers take over then, and he healed quickly to stop Elle who was moving to the door.
She wasn’t playing, so neither would he. He gripped her arm and pulled her harshly, keeping her inside.
“Leave us alone, Claire,” he demanded.
Claire looked to Elle, who was beyond furious, and was trying her best to leave Peter’s grip.
“Leave!” he screamed, and he watched as Elle nodded to her.
When she left, he let Elle go, but not before locking the door and exerting pressure on it so she couldn’t break it down.
“What the hell do you want Peter?”
Amazingly, she was able to speak without yelling, but she might as well have considering her tone.
“I thought you were dead,” he reiterated.
“Elle is dead,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No,” he raised a hand and placed it on her neck, where his thumb stroked at her cheek, “you’re here.”
Her breath hitched, but she managed to pull her head away and took some steps to distance herself from him.
“I’m here. I’m here because you didn’t want me anywhere near you,” she threw that at him.
“I’m sorry Elle, I really--”
“But I’m glad,” she interrupted him, “you were right. I needed something for myself, and I found that and a lot more. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
Her eyes burned through him, the blue jumping across him with a light he had never witnessed in her before.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. His heart constricted at how she spoke to him, how indifferently she looked at him, with this acceptance of them being separate entities.
“So leave me alone, and don’t ever come back. You've seen your results.”
It was a challenge. That wasn’t new. Elle loved challenges, liked taking on them, often turned them into her own game, and succeeded according to her own concocted rules.
“Then what are they?” he couldn’t help asking.
It caught her off-guard. He needn’t know more than what she said. He wasn’t a part of her life, so how dare he ask.
“That’s my business.”
“Tell me,” he was insistent.
She shook her head in disbelief, and a bitter chuckle rumbled from her.
“I’m the manager of this café, Peter. Became manager a bit over a year ago--after working here for ten months. When you didn’t find me after those ten months, and after living in this city for two years, I felt safe. If you couldn’t find me, no one else could, right? So here I am, living above the café I manage with the one person who has stuck beside me. Those are your results.”
She clicked her tongue and placed her hands on her hips. “Anything else, sir?”
It made sense, on some level, then he remembered the little girl with long, dark blond hair, and pale skin.
“And do you baby-sit during your free time?”
When he said this, one of Elle’s arms fell beside her, and she shifted her body weight onto her left leg.
“What?”
“That girl you were taking care of?”
“Oh, that’s Jeanne.”
“Jeanne?”
Elle’s gaze faltered as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear before sighing and answering, “she’s my daughter.”
-¤-
author name: wings4music
genre: gen/het.
pairing: Peter/Elle
rating: pg-13
word count: ~19, 000
warnings/spoilers: none, but if any, just vague references to S2.
summary: For nearly four years, Peter has been searching for an answer he's feared. Instead of the expected answers, however, he finds an Elle that has opened up an entirely new road for herself, one she has chosen to walk without ever looking back. But before their roads diverge once again, another old face reemerges in Elle’s life to threaten that which she loves most, forcing Elle to remain in the cross of Peter's path longer than she would like.
note: The dashes are for shifts within a chapter, & click the last (-¤-) symbol to go to the next part of the fic. Written for the heroes_bigboom challenge. Lovely art H E R E by sameoldhope! A trillion thanks to my awesome beta, retroblair, whom helped polish this story so wonderfully. Both you & sameoldhope deserve mad props. ;D
link to fic: one ;; two ;; three ;; four
~*~
Nathan came to tell him one day that he had changed, that he was different somehow.
“We’ve all changed, Nathan,” he had responded.
It wasn’t a lie, but it was just the type of answer that proved Nathan’s hypothesis correct. He remembered the Peter, who although would undergo changes, would always insist on retaining the marker that made Peter, Peter.
The hope, the optimism, the dreams.
He still had a drive, and yes he still spoke of attaining the greater good and acted on acquiring it, but his motives were murkier now. As though he was doing everything for anyone but himself, as though he would reap no benefits from being the good guy. And he was more than fine with sacrificing himself for that, which worried Nathan to no end.
So Nathan asked, what was it, what had changed that Peter. He never got a proper answer--instead Peter would stalk off, going who knows where. It cemented what Nathan already knew, proved that Peter still kept his past very much with him. Peter was searching for something, probably someone who had left his and their lives abruptly, but it was never anything Peter spoke of.
Like many of them (those with those extraordinary abilities and thus grand responsibilities) Peter too had his demons now, demons he wouldn’t even share with his own brother. Nathan got bits and pieces here and there, just remnants of a story that made no sense and hence did not seem worth pursuing. Nevertheless, Peter kept on his path. He was indeed different.
It’s not as though Peter was unaware of this, of everything. His senses did not allow for him to be indifferent, allow for him not to recognize every feeling surrounding him. With every passing day, the abilities were more powerful, but he also got better at numbing down what he felt with each passing day.
As he walked through the crowded street (this time San Francisco, California), he quieted the thoughts along with the voices of the passersby, and blocked his heart from feeling the rush of pain. The big cities were always the worst, but they were just as likely to contain what he was looking for.
In the last four years, he had gone there seven times to look. That time would be the eighth, and with every turn he took, he lost more hope, but never determination. His pride and something else he was still afraid of naming would not let him give up, despite the disintegrating hope. Perhaps because every time it was stepped on, he would catch a glint of blond hair that built it up again. As it did again this time.
A petite woman with medium length blond hair walked arithmetically with the crowd, maneuvering skillfully. Without any type of conscious decision, his legs strode through, pushing to get to her because the stature and the hair, it fit her.
He moved to the side, his shoulder lining with the walls of the various stores. He was almost there when she turned her head back. He stopped in his steps then to curse to himself--it wasn’t her, it never was. The same anger and irritation as always rose up again, and his fists clenched. He was angry at himself for believing. It was of no use. He calmed himself down and brought his eyes back up, taking one last glance at the woman. He almost laughed to himself and just willed himself to walk past her.
His feet moved quickly, moved right past her, but he failed to mute the sounds in his fury and the woman’s voice flew out to another and the voice responding to her froze him mid-step.
He was hearing things, his conscious beat at him, but the voice continued and he had to look. His head swiveled, first catching sight of the woman who had gotten his hopes up and then catching sight of a person he’d been looking for.
Quickly he turned, so she wouldn’t have the opportunity to see him and then run. He turned to the shop by him, and pretended to scrounge through some worthless trinkets, until he heard the conversation end. She began moving away, but he lost no time in tracing her steps to follow her.
She walked through the street like an expert--quickly, without bumping into anyone, avoiding upturned streets, and as they approached a small coffee store she waved to a few store owners.
She slowed as she approached that same coffee place, until she stepped inside of it.
He paused outside, gathering all the questions he’d had for her for too long. He wondered if he was really prepared for everything--the whys, the hows, the whats, and more importantly, for the answer to what happened to--
He forced himself to get a grip, and he inhaled deeply, before he reached for the handle and pulled the door open. Once inside, his eyes scanned the place for any sign of her, but he could not spot her. He grumbled inwardly and took to a seat at the counter where the solitary individuals drank their beverages silently. He rested his elbows atop the counter and folded his hands, as his index finger impatiently tapped against the wooden counter.
A barista then came to stand directly across from him, right behind the counter, and after having waited for ten minutes, Peter was asked, “Good evening, sir, would you like something to drink?”
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Peter brought his head up to nod in acknowledgment to the man, and just then he saw her wrapping an apron around her waist. Despite the dark brown hair, and being a few inches taller, her face remained the same, and there was no denying it was her.
His eyes snapped to the name tag she was currently pinning on, and he smirked; although the initial for her last name was not the same as the one he had known her as, the first name was the same.
--
“I don’t know where she is, Peter.”
“You’re lying.”
“How would you know that? Did you read my thoughts?” she said in a spiteful tone.
“I don’t have to--I know you.”
“You don’t know people quite as well as you’d like to Peter, otherwise you wouldn’t have done to her what you did in the way that you did.”
He ran a hand through his head, and bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood, just to taste something.
“Yes, but it’s almost been two months, and no one has seen her.”
“Including me,” she was quick to add.
“I know she was here! The doorman saw her come in the morning after our fight!”
She ceased packing the suitcase on her perfectly made bed, and snapped her eyes to Peter.
“She came quickly, Peter, took a shower, stayed until the clothes I had washed for her dried, and only left until after I made sure she took some cash I had on me. She wasn’t here for more than an hour and a half.”
“Then what did she tell you in that time?”
They stared at each other, angrily, impatiently. This wasn’t her fight to come in between, and frankly, it was a situation she rather never tread. His relationship with her wasn’t necessarily a point of interest for her, especially since his actions two months ago had skewered her view of him.
“Get out.” It came out so cold, through fearless eyes.
“What did--”
She sighed, and hastily threw in the last of her clothes in the suitcase. She closed it quickly, grabbed it, and pushed past him. He called after her, but not once did she pause or look at him. She had chosen sides.
--
“I’m actually waiting for a certain person to attend me,” Peter said before the man turned around completely.
“Oh, sure, what’s their name?”
He lifted his chin, and eyed her from across the counter as he answered, "Claire.”
-¤-
“Hey, Claire!” the barista called to her without Peter having to say another word.
“Cody,” she answered with a laugh before looking up, but the instant she did, her sight took notice of the man sitting at the counter, and she made no pains to hide her surprise--and the fear evident in her eyes.
Her mouth parted, and her hand brushed across her forehead, before she began moving towards him. She approached him hesitantly, and when she stood across from him, with only the counter acting as the barrier, she still could not find any words.
“Pet--” she stopped herself and shut her eyes momentarily, “Peter.”
She opened her eyes again, but the distress remained. The barista looked at them strangely, and suddenly he felt some awkward tension between Claire and the guy who had asked for her, but he moved away after Claire shot him a look.
When he left, she leaned in over the counter and whispered harshly, “what the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to grab a cup of coffee,” he responded immediately, his eyes steadily on her.
“Yeah, well grab it somewhere else.”
She pushed herself off the counter and turned on her heel. She proceeded to scurry through the work area, prompting Peter to jump off his stool and follow her across the store. She opened a door on the opposite side of the store, and he watched her jump up a staircase.
He was fortunate to find the door was unlocked, and didn’t hesitate in following her to what must be her place of residence.
Once up the steps, he found there were a few set of doors, but only one was open.
“In here,” she called.
He walked in, found her pacing as she bit one of her nails.
She looked at him for a second and bit her lip.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said after a moment.
“Yeah, well neither should you.”
“I’m right where I need to be,” she briskly passed him and shut the door. She leaned against the door and exhaled loudly prior to saying, “Just tell me what you’re looking for so we can get this over with and you can leave.”
“Claire, we haven’t seen each other in over three years.”
She shook her head and stood upright, to go sit on her bed.
“Peter,” she looked up him with those wide eyes and a frown.
He gave her one nod, and began.
“What happened to--”
“Peter, please,” she stopped him, and standing up once again, she turned her back to him.
He didn’t relent however, and in a commanding voice said her name.
“Claire.”
He heard her sigh, and although she did not face him, she answered.
“She’s dead Peter, you know that.”
She could hear him walking to her, and she had to build her confidence up.
“How?”
“She, um,” her hand rose to her mouth, and she squeezed her eyes shut, “she went against her father, and he wouldn’t have any of it. Wouldn’t accept her change, so he had her killed. That’s it Peter.”
“No,” he stepped in front of her forcing her to open her eyes.
“That’s what happened, Peter,” she clenched her jaw.
“No, she would fight--”
“How would you know, Peter?” tears sprung to her eyes, fury making itself known.
“You left her! You told her you couldn’t stand by her if she didn’t get her shit together--and the worst part is that you never, NEVER came after her. You left her to fight her battles alone.”
Her words stung him, cut through the part of him that was the most fragile. His guilt.
“Fuck, you don’t know the story Claire, so don’t act--”
“Stop pretending Peter. I know enough, and yeah, maybe it was her fault too, but you knew what she was like. She needed someone, she needed…”
--
She moved beside him--he could feel her squirming the slightest, but he managed not to awake completely, and was drifting back off to sleep completely, when a shriek broke through his ears. His eyes shot open, to see her sitting upright in bed, and the mattress seemed to shake the slightest under her palm. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Elle, are you…” he reached his hand over to hers, to squeeze it, but to his surprise it was clammy. He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles, then moved his hand over her arm, where he could feel beads of perspiration. Concerned, he inched closer to her, wrapped an arm around her, and with a free hand turned her head to him by the chin.
“Elle, hey--look at me.”
Her eyes were wide, her eyebrows furrowed, and her lip trembling.
She opened her mouth a bit, but she couldn’t seem to form a word. She was struck with fear, as if she had the most terrible of nightmares. Her eyes shifted right and left, looked to his face, to the bed, until she shook her head, and swiped her hand across her forehead, but still it shook.
“Elle, talk to me.”
Raising her eyes, she bit her lip, and abruptly flung her arms around him, clung to him fiercely, and dug her head in his shoulder. Then, without warning, without thinking or doing anything, his head was bombarded with the voice of Bob and words he had spoken to Elle no more than a week ago. Although their condo was a private location, it still resided in New York, and they were aware of Bob knowing of it. Still, the man had stayed away from Elle since her escape from the Company, but he had come that one day, still looking to torture his daughter, simply through words.
“You’re going to hurt him, Elle. You’ll come to your senses, and return to being that person who just wants to enjoy life through everyone’s pain. That’s why you’re really with him Elle, because if you come out hurting the most powerful of them of all in the worst possible way, the more sense of pride and pleasure you’ll derive from his heartache. Let’s face it Elle, you’re just not good enough to actually love the man.”
The words ran through her head like a broken record, one so painfully loud, even he could hear it without focusing in on her, then--
“Sorry,” she muttered softly, and the thoughts stopped.
“It’s okay, Elle. You just have to ignore it.”
--
“…you didn’t listen to her, just thought she was strong enough to do it on her own or something! But she’s never been stronger than us, Peter, and she needed that strength, but you didn’t listen. You just left her, just like you let me walk away.”
“You were the one who abandoned us, Claire, so don’t be a damn hypocrite.”
Their eyes locked, furious not necessarily at each other, but at the truth being said through their glances.
“You got your answer, Peter,” she said in a low whisper, “so leave.”
He stared down at her for another second, his hand balled in a fist, but he was done. He got his God-forsaken answer, and despite his urge to ravage through her mind to ensure she was not lying he restrained himself. He had done enough damage.
Without a word, he made his way around her and headed towards the door when urgently she said, “what are you doing?”
“Leaving,” he didn’t stop.
“And what? You lost your power to teleport?”
He paused, and turned to give her a confused look.
“No, I’d just rather not use my powers.”
She was noticeably nervous, which only pushed his instinct to read her thoughts. Why would she want him to teleport instead of walking out through the café?
“Oh,” she breathed, “I just found it odd--bye Peter.”
He decided to leave the line of questioning, it was useless anyway. What he had been looking for no longer existed, and everything else was a casualty he did not wish to bother. Having to leave Claire did pull at him, but when she left those years ago she made it clear that her involvement with saving world and whatnot was done with for the time being. Time. That is what she had asked for, but no one knew how much she wanted, but for one instant he had spoken as though she was through with time. However, he had no right to push her into the fight, not when she couldn‘t stand the sight of him. Nor was it his biggest concern then. What Claire had told him--that was eating him up. All he had wanted was the answer, but receiving it had made him feel worse.
His heart had dropped, even though he had suspected what happened. He had left her, and she was left alone to fight her demons, resulting in her death. Her death. He couldn’t quite grasp that. Yes, everyone he encountered told them she was dead, but no one knew how, when, or why. That’s why he sought Claire out--if anyone was the least bit aware of what happened, it would be Claire. Claire and her had become allies against the Company.
Claire didn’t even disappear until months after she had, but he had no doubt the two retained some form of contact. He should have done that, should have found a way to keep in contact with her, but he failed in that aspect as well.
But at least he could stop searching for blond hair, he told himself, no longer would his eyes do a double take at the sight.
Although it would take some getting used to, he realized when he began taking the last steps to the door when another sort of blond hair flashed before his eyes.
It was thin, slightly wavy, and a lighter blond than Claire’s had ever been. It was the same length, same tint, same texture as…
“Elle?”
-¤-
Her name came out in a breathy whisper. It was the first time in about four years that his ears heard that name, and even more time since he had said her name himself. As soon as she disappeared, many quit saying her name, and those who did say her name eventually got the message not to speak it in front of him. Because those who never knew what transpired between them were, at one point or another, warned about the vocalization of that particular name, or they managed to infer from Peter reactions that she was a taboo subject.
--
“We need someone who knows how these facilities function, Nathan, someone who is personally familiar with the inside components and would be able to persuade the people within those places.”
“Well Claire doesn’t know them too well, but from the work she’s done down south, we know she’s been able to infiltrate a couple of companies.”
“Yes, but she had the help of someone, a someone that we need for the same purposes, except our mission extends beyond--”
“Mohinder, we can’t call Claire and tell her we need her accomplice because our mission is more important, she won’t accept that.”
“Nathan, her accomplice as you call her, is clearly a free agent. Elle is the perfect person for this.”
“Mohinder, Elle wouldn’t wa--”
“We don’t need her.”
Mohinder and Nathan quit their bickering and turned to Peter, who had been looking through various files silently for several minutes. While his eyes remained on the files, it was obvious that his focus was now diminishing.
“Peter, we didn’t mean to mention--” his brother began, but Peter cut him off with a sharp look.
“My hearing’s better than it used to be.”
Mohinder looked at Nathan with raised eyebrows, but the whole thing irritated Nathan--were they really supposed to step around the subject of Elle, and if so, why?
“We understand, Peter,” Mohinder stated, obviously willing to let Peter have his way. Peter was glad that Mohinder was a comprehensive man, at least to a higher degree than his brother. That’s what he needed at that moment, and Peter just hoped that soon he would forget her enough to keep things subjective like his brother.
--
But now, after four years, he said it.
There was no mistaking her. The hair was an indicator, but it was the giggle that flowed from her that confirmed her identity. It was one of her unique marks that no one else had.
He stood in place, his legs shaky, but he did not dissolve. He just stood, staring as she knelt by a table, tying the shoelaces of a little girl that looked to be four or so years of age just as Elle answered her ringing phone.
Then her giggling died, and Peter could see her tensing.
The words she spoke he could not hear, especially because she spoke with a hushed tone and he wasn't about to take away her privacy. Then she closed her cell hastily and picked up the girl.
Peter walked to her, as Elle grabbed her bag from the table and adjusted the girl on her hip.
They almost collided when she turned in an attempt to walk off.
“Sorry, I--” and then her eyes made their way up the form of the person into whom she crashed.
Her eyes stared up at his with what he could only call fear, and her face went pale.
But his own face in an instant went from one to anger and then it softened, just as his eyes searched through hers.
“Elle,” he repeated her name, this time directly to her, but still in a whisper.
She didn’t speak, only stared at him, and then she turned to the girl in her arms.
“Jeanne, you want Cody to make you your smoothie?”
“Yes!” the girl exclaimed.
Elle smiled softly at her and set her down on the floor, where the girl wasted no time in running to the counter. Elle eyed her until the girl made it and sat on the stool, where the same barista he had spoken to earlier immediately attended to the girl.
Then Elle turned her eyes to Peter, only to look at him coldly.
“Peter,” she said in a sharp tone.
Without warning, his mouth twitched and his arms moved, making their way around her. He pulled her to his chest, his arms tightly wound around her waist, and his head bent to rest between her shoulder blade and her neck.
“Elle,” he whispered over her skin. He had to blink back the tears he felt making their way through his eyes.
She was shocked when he did this, and her body tensed at the contact. She didn’t react, didn’t even make the effort to react for some seconds, but then her brain came into play and she pushed him away.
“Peter,” she spat out and threw him an angered look.
He fell back a step, and opened his mouth, but immediately she put up her hand.
“Don’t,” she said.
She took a step but he placed a hand on her forearm, and turned his body to be adjacent with her.
“Elle, I--I thought you were dead.”
She chuckled morbidly.
“Elle is dead. I’m Kelly.”
Her hand swiped his, pushing it off.
“Don’t think otherwise,” she added before moving towards the girl.
He wouldn’t have it. He placed his hand back on her forearm, and before she could protest, they were gone from the café.
She found herself in Claire’s room, the one right up the stairs, and she turned in his grasp to throw a punch at him.
He was surprised to say the least, so much so her fist actually hit his jaw. He heard it pop, and he groaned at the pain, while his hand grasped at his jaw.
Elle smirked and he heard Claire exclaim, “Elle!”
He let his powers take over then, and he healed quickly to stop Elle who was moving to the door.
She wasn’t playing, so neither would he. He gripped her arm and pulled her harshly, keeping her inside.
“Leave us alone, Claire,” he demanded.
Claire looked to Elle, who was beyond furious, and was trying her best to leave Peter’s grip.
“Leave!” he screamed, and he watched as Elle nodded to her.
When she left, he let Elle go, but not before locking the door and exerting pressure on it so she couldn’t break it down.
“What the hell do you want Peter?”
Amazingly, she was able to speak without yelling, but she might as well have considering her tone.
“I thought you were dead,” he reiterated.
“Elle is dead,” she said through clenched teeth.
“No,” he raised a hand and placed it on her neck, where his thumb stroked at her cheek, “you’re here.”
Her breath hitched, but she managed to pull her head away and took some steps to distance herself from him.
“I’m here. I’m here because you didn’t want me anywhere near you,” she threw that at him.
“I’m sorry Elle, I really--”
“But I’m glad,” she interrupted him, “you were right. I needed something for myself, and I found that and a lot more. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
Her eyes burned through him, the blue jumping across him with a light he had never witnessed in her before.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from them. His heart constricted at how she spoke to him, how indifferently she looked at him, with this acceptance of them being separate entities.
“So leave me alone, and don’t ever come back. You've seen your results.”
It was a challenge. That wasn’t new. Elle loved challenges, liked taking on them, often turned them into her own game, and succeeded according to her own concocted rules.
“Then what are they?” he couldn’t help asking.
It caught her off-guard. He needn’t know more than what she said. He wasn’t a part of her life, so how dare he ask.
“That’s my business.”
“Tell me,” he was insistent.
She shook her head in disbelief, and a bitter chuckle rumbled from her.
“I’m the manager of this café, Peter. Became manager a bit over a year ago--after working here for ten months. When you didn’t find me after those ten months, and after living in this city for two years, I felt safe. If you couldn’t find me, no one else could, right? So here I am, living above the café I manage with the one person who has stuck beside me. Those are your results.”
She clicked her tongue and placed her hands on her hips. “Anything else, sir?”
It made sense, on some level, then he remembered the little girl with long, dark blond hair, and pale skin.
“And do you baby-sit during your free time?”
When he said this, one of Elle’s arms fell beside her, and she shifted her body weight onto her left leg.
“What?”
“That girl you were taking care of?”
“Oh, that’s Jeanne.”
“Jeanne?”
Elle’s gaze faltered as she tucked some strands of hair behind her ear before sighing and answering, “she’s my daughter.”
-¤-